Summary: While working her usual Sunday night shift in a Brooklyn bar, MC (Frankie) meets a handsome amateur boxer.
Frankie Parker stood in front of the jukebox, not even bothering to look at the guide as she deftly typed in the letters and numbers she wanted. Soon, the familiar opening notes began to blare out of the speakers.
What would you do if I sang out of tune?
Would you stand up and walk out on me?
Lend me your ears and I’ll sing you a song
I will try not to sing out of key
“Oh my god, Frankie, again?” an older man at the bar called.
“Hey, if you don’t like it, you should’ve gotten to the jukebox first,” Frankie called back as she headed back behind the bar.
“You always skip over my picks,” the man said grumpily. Frankie pointed to his empty glass and he nodded.
“Well, Greg, you can’t blame me for that,” Frankie said as she poured him another beer. “There are only so many times I can listen to ‘Strawberry Wine’ before I want to blow my brains out.”
“And you think ‘Hello, Goodbye’ doesn’t have that same effect on people?” Greg asked as Frankie dropped off his next round.
“I seem to remember you singing along to that particular song last week,” Frankie countered, one eyebrow raised.
“Did I?” Greg asked, furrowing his grizzled brow as he thought for a moment. “Was that when you kicked me out?”
“I wouldn’t say I kicked you out per se,” Frankie said. “Although I did strongly suggest you get a cab home on that particular evening.”
Greg grunted. “You’re a pain in the ass, Frankie.”
She grinned and patted his arm. “I love you, too, Greg.”
He patted her hand affectionately and Frankie headed down to the other end of the bar where a new arrival had just sat down.
(Would you believe in a love at first sight?)
Yes I’m certain that it happens all the time
(What do you see when you turn out the light?)
I can’t tell you, but I know it’s mine
“What can I get for you?” Frankie asked. This guy was tall with broad shoulders, with slightly curling light brown hair. His eyes were extremely blue, a fact that wasn’t lost on Frankie. She didn’t normally notice guys’ eyes, but his were striking.
“Whiskey, neat,” he said. “And a glass of water.”
“What kind of whiskey?” Frankie asked, trying to keep from rolling her eyes. She hated when people ordered a generic type of spirit without specifying.
“Um … what’s your well?” the man asked.
“Early Times.”
The man grimaced. “Bushmills?”
“You got it,” Frankie said as she turned around to grab the bottle off the shelf.
“Did you pick the music in here?” he asked as “I Saw Her Standing There” started up on the jukebox.
“Indeed I did,” Frankie said as she poured the shot.
“Awesome,” he said. “I love the Beatles.”
Well she looked at me
And I, I could see
That before too long
I’d fall in love with her
She wouldn’t dance with another
Oh, when I saw her standing there
Frankie paused, glancing at him to see if he was being sarcastic. However, she saw nothing but sincerity so she made his shout a double and slid it across the bar to him.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’m Seth, by the way,” he said, extending a hand across the bar.
“Frankie.” She noticed his hand was rough, thick calluses brushing her palm.
Well my heart went boom
When I crossed that room
And I held her hand in mine
“Frankie?” he asked, surprised.
“Yup.” This wasn’t the first time someone had been surprised by her typically masculine name, and Frankie was certain it wouldn’t be the last.
“Is that short for something?” Seth asked.
“Sure, Frankie is short for lots of things,” she said. Seth looked confused and was about to say more, but stopped. Uncharacteristically, Frankie felt a little bad. He seemed like a nice guy and here she was talking to him like he was some jackass who had just ordered a line of Jager bombs. “So, do you live here in Brooklyn, Seth?”
He shook his head. “Nope, Jersey. Born and raised.”
“You have my deepest sympathies,” Frankie said. Seth laughed and she couldn’t help but smile a little. He had a nice laugh, infectious.
“Well, okay, fine,” he said. “Where are you from?”
“I’ve been here for about six years,” she said.
“And before that?”
She hesitated. “Des Moines.”
Seth laughed. “Really? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but you look nothing like what I’d expect someone from Iowa to look like.”
“We don’t all look like a cornfed farmer’s daughter,” Frankie said. However, she knew what he meant. Her dark hair and tattooed sleeves somewhat ruined the idea of a wholesome farm girl.
“She’s an abomination!” Greg called from the other end of the bar. Frankie flipped him the bird and Greg laughed.
“So why’d you come to New York?” Seth asked. Frankie shrugged.
“Why does anyone come to New York?” she asked. “What’re you doing here, isn’t this a little far from home?”
“Yes and no,” Seth said as he sipped his whiskey. “I’m working a construction job a couple blocks from here. Plus I’m sometimes in the city for fights.”
“Fights? What, are you helping the Sharks and the Jets iron out their turf war?” Frankie asked. Seth laughed.
“That’d be way better, but I’m not that great of a dancer,” Seth said as “I’ve Just Seen a Face” queued up on the jukebox. “Instead, I’m a boxer.”
“A boxer?” Frankie asked. “So you voluntarily let someone punch you in the face?”
Had it been another day
I might have looked the other way
And I’d have never been aware.
But as it is I’ll dream of her
Tonight, di-di-di-di’n’di.
Seth laughed again. Frankie had just met him, but there was something about him that made her want to listen to him laugh over and over again.
Falling, yes I am falling,
And she keeps calling
Me back again.
“I mean, hopefully I do a little better than that and I don’t get hit that often,” Seth said. “But yeah, basically.”
“How’d you get into boxing?” she asked.
“It all started when I was a kid,” Seth said. “I was a small, Jewish kid and I got in a lot of fights. So, my dad took me to a local gym and got me into boxing.”
Frankie smiled at the idea of Seth as a scrawny kid with big red gloves on his hands.
“Then my dad passed away when I was eighteen, and I stopped for a while,” Seth continued. Frankie’s smile fell. “Then, finally, I got back into it a couple years ago.”
“I’m sorry about your dad,” she said. “Mine passed away when I was twelve.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Seth said. Frankie pulled her water glass out from underneath the bar and tapped it to his whiskey and they both took a drink.
“I have to admit, I know nothing about boxing,” Frankie said. “I think all my ideas of it involve shirtless guys from the 1920s with thick handlebar mustaches jumping around and shouting, ‘Bully!’”
“Oh, we only do that for very special exhibition matches,” Seth said. Frankie laughed. “Actually, I have a fight in a couple days if you want to check it out.”
“Oh, I don’t–” Frankie started to say, but Seth cut her off as “Love Me Do” started to play.
“No pressure, I just thought I’d put it out there. It’s at the Barker Gym in Bayonne, Wednesday at 8PM. I’ll put your name on the list and if you feel like watching me get voluntarily punched in the face, you can come by.”
“Okay,” Frankie said. Her automatic response to any customer was always no, but something about Seth seemed different.
Someone to love
Somebody new
Someone to love
Someone like you
Seth finished his whiskey and pulled out his wallet to pay her, but Frankie waved it away. “Don’t worry about it, it’s on me.”
He smiled and tossed five bucks down on the bar anyway for a tip. “It was very nice to meet you, Frankie …”
“Parker. Frankie Parker.”
“Seth Levine,” he said, holding out his hand to shake hers again. She took it and couldn’t help but note how neatly her hand fit in his.
“See you around, Iowa,” he said with a smile. Frankie wasn’t sure yet if she’d go to the fight, but she hoped no one hit him too hard in that face.
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