Francine

This is Francine.


She lives atop the mantle at Union Hall in Park Slope, supervising the indoor bocce courts. Previously buried under a thick layer of dust, she was recently released by a pair of creative geniuses (or genii, if you prefer) and given a new lease on life.


At first they thought Francine was single, ranging anywhere in age from 22 to 35. (He said 22, she said 35.) While Francine is actually married (you can see the rings on her finger), this photo might lead even a creative genius to think that it was her parents' last-ditch effort to get her a husband. You know, one of those portraits they could take around to potential suitors and show them how nice her hair was.* And then ply them with money to take her off their hands before she became a spinster.


It was dark in the bar. He thought she (Francine) wasn't wearing anything; she knew she (Francine) had on a gauzy number that very likely had a scalloped bodice underneath. Possibly in teal or turquoise. She thought Francine's father was in the mob ("Just look at those earrings"); he didn't disagree, but looked around the bar suspiciously, just in case.


Why Francine was wearing a gold bracelet while at the same time sporting diamonds, she would never understand, but that's because she doesn't wear gold herself. He nodded. It was warm in the bar.


The picture was taken in the 1930s? '40s? 50s. Sometime in there. They agreed, drank to that and then posed for a picture themselves.


The frame around Fracine was, to him, the most disturbing part. At the top, the border's frippery was split in two, parted like bangs or theatrical curtains. It frustrated her that Francine could only be displayed in one direction. And that the frame was even dustier than the picture.


Francine could have been Hawaiian. Or half-Asian (which would likely make it a different mafia all together). She could have been anybody.


In fact, she was somebody, and may, actually, still be somebody. That's the weirdest part.


When she put Francine back on the mantle, he looked at her, smiled and said, "You know, a lot of people couldn't do what we just did."


"I know," she said. That's why she liked doing it.



*"When a woman is ugly they always say she has beautiful hair or eyes" -- Sonya, Uncle Vanya (Chekhov)