Frances and Frances

I sat in the museum office nervously shaking my leg. The museum director, Bertie, walked in with my name badge placing it in front of me. "Welcome to the MOMA family Frances."

"Thank you."

I took my museum badge and looked at it in my hand like a shiny new pearl. All my life I had waited for this moment. I had loved art since the first time I held my first paintbrush. To be hired as a staff member was everything I had ever worked for and dreamed of.

Bertie smiled as I proudly placed my badge on my blouse. "I remember my first day here like it was yesterday," she said.

"I'm thrilled to be working here."

"Well, I wish you luck on your first day. Your tour group should be arriving in about fifteen minutes. It's an exchange group from Paris, so it shouldn't be too stressful."

I left Bertie’s office with an extra skip in my step and made my way to the entrance of the museum.

That's when I saw him. He was tall, handsome, had the hair of a Greek god, and when his green eyes met mine, my legs went out a little. I spotted that he was wearing a museum badge and knew he was a staff member that ignited my heart with excitement. He smiled at me with a glimmer in his eyes and in that moment, it was love at first sight.

During my first day I looked around for him but didn't see him again. The next day however, there he was. When he saw me I noticed he did a double take. He gave me a friendly wave but

continued walking to another part of the museum. I watched him walk away and then it happened. He turned his head and took one last glance at me. Blushing I turned away wondering to myself, 'who is this perfect stranger?' I had never encountered someone who had physically taken my breath away.

It wasn't until that same afternoon as I sat eating my chicken salad in the staff lounge, that he reappeared. When he entered the room, I wasn't the only one who he had an effect on. I noticed other staff members postures changed a bit. He spotted someone he knew and seemed as though he was going to sit with him and then he saw me. He stopped and grinned. When his eyes met mine, my heart raced. He slowly approached my table. My stomach filled with butterflies and then he said to me, "Hi, you must be new here..."

Before he could finish, I nearly spit out my chicken salad and sputtered out, "Hello."

He stood above me like a statue carved from Michelangelo’s hands. I never had seen a man so attractive in all my life. But it wasn’t just his looks, he had a sweet boyish quality to him as well. An ease about him. Then he started to look as nervous as I felt. 

"May I?" He pointed to the empty chair across from me.

"Of course."

He pulled his chair out and sat down. I bit my lip trying of something clever to say. Be beat me to it.

"I noticed you the other day."

He was flirting with me. My goodness, he was actually flirting with me. Raising his dark eyebrow at me, he seductively leaned in and said, "I'm sorry, I haven't properly introduced myself. I'm Frances."

I looked at his name tag and sure enough it was Frances. My heart sunk so far that I heard a physical thud as it hit the floor. I took his hand he offered to me and shook it with a deep sigh. With a slight frown, I replied, "I'm also… Frances."

His eyes immediately shifted down to my name tag, and he let go of my hand. We both took a moment and could read each other minds. It would never work. Frances and Frances. It just... wouldn’t work.

Our frowns turned into smiles, and we almost giggled at the mirror like quality of our feelings. For lovers we

would never be, but friends surely. Our flirtatious, virgin hope, became two comfortable coworkers sharing their equal passion for art. Lunch turned into lunches. He was perfect in every way. The chemistry was undeniable. Just that damn name.

After a few weeks, I could think of nothing else. He was everything I had ever dreamed of. Our conversations weren’t just friendly banter. They were deep and complex. We spoke about art in a seductive way that would question everything we knew. Every time I saw him, I felt more alive. He brought out the best of me and I in him. It was torture. 

My heart ached. It was an impossible love. All I wanted to do was throw myself at him. I didn't know what to do so I sought out some advice. I told my friend Sally my situation and her reaction was simple, “Honey, Frances and Frances? I mean…” 

Truthfully it was laughable. Even when I told my mom he was the man of my dreams. She simply told me, “You can’t marry another Frances dear. That would just be... odd.” 

I knew it wasn’t just me who had the same thoughts. Frances had never once asked me on a date. I mean why would he? The name thing… isn’t just a thing. It was our reality. He knew it and I knew it.

Then one day at work, I was staring at The Starry Night, perhaps my favorite piece of artwork and he walked up next to me. I looked up to him and he, down to me. We both stared deeply into each other’s eyes as if they were the last eyes to look in. I could almost see the reflection of Van Goghs painted skies in his pupils. He leaned in and whispered in my ear, "I've thought a lot about this."

My heart raced again, and I could barely feel my legs. "Oh? What's

that?"

"What if... I changed it."

Alarmed I stepped back,

I looked over to the painting. Changed what?

He followed my eyes. "Oh no Frances, not the painting."

Relieved I laughed and he joined in. Then, he took both my hands in his and said, "My name."

I could hardly breathe.

"To what?"

"Anything you want."

We have been married twelve years now.