It was late in the evening and Benny had to get home, he had an important business meeting the next day and he couldn't miss it for the world, it was crucial for his travel agency.
Frida felt better, her head hurt less thanks to the painkillers, but her back still hurt a lot.
He made her a nice cup of tea since she wasn't very hungry and they watched some television together before Benny left.
"Anni-Frid, I have to go..." he said softly so as not to scare her.
"No, please..."
"I don't want to leave, believe me, but I have to, the meeting we're going to have is very important, I can't miss it or be late, do you understand me, Anni-Frid?"
"Yeah... but you're coming to see me tomorrow, right?"
"Of course! What a question you ask, silly girl!" Benny said playfully.
"And don't call me Anni-Frid, that's a cold name. I'm Frida to you, of course, I'm Frida, love, honey, sweetheart, redhead, but not Anni-Frid."
"Alright Frida, love, honey, sweetheart, redhead but not Anni-Frid" he said laughing
"Stupid," Frida murmured.
"What?"
"Nothing love, didn't you have to leave?"
Benny giggled, kissed her forehead and got off the couch.
"See you tomorrow, beautiful."
"See you, handsome."
Benny grabbed the keys from the kitchen table and headed for his car.
When he got home he made himself a sandwich, he didn't want anything fancy, a meat sandwich was perfect, and of course a nice beer.
He put the plate on the coffee table in his living room and went to his record player.
He picked up a record by Stevie Wonder, who was undoubtedly Frida's favourite singer.
Listening to Stevie reminded him of the good times he had with his girlfriend in about a year.
Music was everything to him, he would not have known what to do if music had not existed, perhaps he would have died.
Benny played the piano, and well, since he was five years old. A long time.
When he was feeling particularly emotional, he took refuge not in TV as many people believe, but in music.
Music was the only thing that could calm him down.
Frida aroused the strongest emotions in him, which he could not calm down in any way when he was next to her, and thinking that she loved him made him jump for joy.
Frida quickly became everything for him, everything.
Everything he needed, her smile, her laugh, her piercing eyes, her shiny, thick red hair.
Everything. He would never change anything about her, because even her flaws were fascinating.
He felt that he loved her with all his heart, with all his soul and with all his body, it was a beautiful feeling that he had never felt before...
He sat down on the sofa and ate his sandwich, listening to Stevie Wonder, sipping a beer and thinking about Frida, the most beautiful thing he could think of was undoubtedly her...
For her part, Frida was on the sofa, terribly bored.
Her back was hurting like hell and she certainly couldn't work, she couldn't sit on a chair for too long without her back hurting.
She tried to watch television, but it was all crap, there was nothing interesting on. She didn't feel like listening to music right now, so no, option ruled out.
Frida remembered that somewhere in the house she should have some canvas and tempera. Tonight she was going to paint. That was exactly what she was going to do.
She got up lazily from the sofa and dragged herself to her studio, the canvases should have been inside the bookcase and there they were. She took the brushes from the pen holder on her desk and the tempera from the third drawer of the desk.
She set up the easel and sat down in an armchair to be more comfortable and began to paint.
Stroke after stroke, brushstroke after brushstroke, shade after shade, without even realizing it, Frida was painting her and Benny.
They were huddled together, naked, under green blankets and with messed up hair.
It was obvious that they had just finished making love.
Frida missed him so much, missed his body on top of her, his kisses on her neck, his hugs.
She couldn't wait for the next day.
She would see Benny again, take her painkillers and they would make love. Frida wanted it. She needed it. Backache or not.
