Vulnerable [Frollie]

Epilogue

Frankie’s in a crowded room, people all around her. She’s holding a flute of champagne, the condensation rolling down the side like a tiny tidal wave. She feels out of place in this dress, black as night and fitted to perfection, expensive Italian heeled shoes laced tightly around her feet. She’s hot and overwhelmed, and a little anxious.

People bump into her and she’s startled, but she smiles at them warmly and they smile back, putting their hand on her arm and saying how proud she must be. And Frankie thinks she’s starting to get it, she understands a little bit more every time someone approaches her, and it’s funny, because she’s been proud before, proud of Mollie, at every other gallery opening and countless other times, but this is different, this one is huge—there are people in black ties and high heels swarming around, shaking Mollie’s hand and smiling brightly, sipping on champagne while they admire Mollie’s work, pointing out their favourites.

It’s all over the place, taken over this massive room completely, and for Frankie, it’s a little bit frightening. This unease is mostly because most of the art features her, displaying different emotions, doing different things, ranging from sticking her tongue out and pulling a face to her in a crumpled heap, yanking on her hair and sobbing.

It’s not all her, but it’s mostly her, because she’s Mollie’s favourite subject, so for Frankie to see herself all of the walls, on massive canvases or tiny ones, tucked into corners and a little more discreet—it’s a bit much. It’s not necessarily bad, it’s not making her upset, she’s just overwhelmed, with all these people seeing her at her most vulnerable, her most relaxed, panicked, terrified, in love. They come up to her and they give her compliments, tell her she’s a fantastic subject. She feels a little weird about that, because she shouldn’t be the one getting complimented tonight, she didn’t do anything. A lot of these paintings she’d never seen before, actually, only when Mollie sat her down and asked her if it was okay.

“Frankie, love,” she’d said, sitting across from her at the kitchen table. “There’s something I need to ask you.” Frankie had nodded, intrigued, giving Mollie her full attention. “Do you remember when I told you about that gallery, the really big one?” she started, taking Frankie’s hands. Frankie just nodded again, staying silent. “Do you remember how I said they were interested in me, that they might want to show a piece or two?” Again Frankie had nodded, a bit of excitement growing at the base of her spine. “Well, uh,” Mollie clears her throat, “they are interested in me, quite a bit, it turns out, and, uh, they want to feature me. Like, as a featured artist.”

Frankie had squealed and thrown herself across the table, flinging her arms around Mollie’s neck. She was overjoyed, this was something Mollie had wanted for so long, and she was thrilled she was finally getting it. Mollie hugged her back, kissing the side of her head before letting Frankie go. Frankie had sat back in her chair and clapped her hands together excitedly, bouncing in her seat. “You’re going to be famous!”

Mollie laughed, shaking her head. “No babe, I’m not going to be famous. But I’ll definitely be getting some recognition, this event is supposed to be huge.” Frankie squealed again, grinning from ear to ear. Mollie grinned back but her smile faltered, and she grew serious again. “But, um,” she said cautiously, “for an event this big, they need a lot of art. Like, a lot. And that means that you’ll be getting some recognition too.”

Frankie had cocked her head to the side, nodding slowly. “Okay…”