Frankie looked up at him. “Where do you want to go?” she asked.
“Outside,” he said. “It’s getting too hot in here.”
“All right,” said Frankie.
Frankie followed Alex away from the crowd and through a sliding door which led to the patio. The air felt cool against Frankie’s sweaty skin, and there was definitely romance in the air—palm trees swayed against the starry sky and the brilliant full moon hung low in the sky. Alex and Frankie stood awkwardly alongside each other, both staring at the sky.
“What shall we do?” asked Frankie, breaking the silence.
“Dance,” he suggested.
“We can’t hear the music,” said Frankie.
Alex stepped before Frankie and leaned toward her. “Music is in the soul and in the heart,” he said. “You don’t need a record player to listen to music.” He then took her in his arms and began to waltz her around the pool.
“What are we dancing to?” she asked.
“‘Great Balls of Fire,’” he said, gently waltzing her in circles.
Keeping step with him, Frankie said, “I don’t think you know the song.”
“Sure I do.” He lifted her onto his shoulder and yelled, “Great balls of fire!”
“Funny!” she screamed. “Now put me down!”
Alex spun Frankie around in the air. “Song’s not over yet,” he said, dangerously tipping her over the edge of the pool.
Frankie screamed and kicked. “Put me down!”
When Alex set her down gently, Frankie playfully shoved him into the pool. Laughing, she watched him sink to the bottom and waited for him to resurface. When the bubbles stopped appearing, she became concerned. “Alex?” she called. “Alex?!”
When he didn’t appear, Frankie kicked off her shoes and dived into the pool, fully clothed. She reached under his arms, attempting to lift his torso and pull him up to the surface.
He struggled away from her. “What’s the matter with you? Who goes around pushing people in the pool?” he asked. I could have drowned, you know.”
Frankie laughed and said, “But you didn’t.” She splashed water in his face. “Besides, you deserved it.
Alex splashed her back. “Yeh're a yampy lassie.”
She swam to the wall and said, “You’re so sexy when you speak cockney to me.”
He met her at the wall. Both of them took a moment to catch their breaths. Alex leaned closer to Frankie. “I want to give yeh a nasty bloody,” he whispered in her ear.
She had no idea what he said, but his breath on her neck gave her the chills. She sighed, nervous of his advance. “Do you want to race?” she asked to dissuade Alex.
“Do yeh really think you can beat me?”
“I know I can,” she said. “I’m a good swimmer; besides, Americans are better swimmers than Brits.”
“Well, that does it—you have offended my national honor,” said Alex.
They held on to the wall and counted down together, “Three, two, one . . . Go!”
Both pushed hard off the wall and started swimming. Underwater, Frankie could see Alex getting ahead of her. Damn him, she thought. Her competitive nature kicked in, and she swam over to him and pulled at the waistband of his jeans, hoping that would get him to stop. It didn’t. She then held on to his body to keep him from swimming further. When that didn’t work, she pushed his head down. Alex still kept swimming even with Frankie on top of him. Together they reached the opposite wall, with Alex winning by an arm’s length.
“What the hell?!” he shouted, standing up in the shallow end.
Staring up at him, she was surprised by how muscular he was in his wet T-shirt. He appeared to have more of an athlete’s physique than a musician’s. Frankie splashed him with water. “You, sir, are no gentleman,” she exclaimed. “You were supposed to let me win!”
“Who do you think you are?” he scolded, looking down at her. “Why should people just allow you to win? You should win on your own merit, not by cheating; and besides, I can see your nipples through your dress.”
“You’re a pig!” she yelled, splashing more water at him.
“Hey! Yeh know, I normally have to work a little harder for a girl to pull at my pants,” he said.
“Another race, then?” Frankie asked, laughing,
“No way,” he replied. “You cheat, and you’re a sore loser.”
“No, I’m a winner!” proclaimed Frankie. She then pushed off the wall and started swimming. Alex swam slowly alongside her. He had no intention of allowing her to win, but he’d settle for a tie.
At the other end of the pool they stopped and stared at one another. Alex then reached out his hand to her and said, “Truce?”
Frankie spat into her palm and then said, “Let’s spit on it.”
Alex spat into his own hand and shook Frankie’s hard—so hard that he almost pulled her underwater with his grasp. This sexy, beautiful starlet was becoming dangerously close to the textbook definition of a “good pal” rather than a romantic conquest. It was hard to imagine such a beauty could have such a crude, tomboyish personality. He loved it, but he wanted to make sure his true intentions would not go unnoticed. Underwater, her grabbed her waist and pulled her toward him.
In his arms, her head became filled with thoughts. She was hardly a virgin, and she had been with men who were more overtly physical with her; yet she was always able to deter their advances. Even at the young age of nineteen, she had mastered how to manage a man. It was for her to decide whose seduction she would allow and whose she would pass on.
Something about Alex terrified her. She was wildly attracted to him and thoroughly enjoyed their banter, but she was not ready for anything further. She didn’t want him feeling rejected or put off; she just wanted him to slow down.
She pulled back slightly. “Where did you learn to swim so well?” she asked, trying to keep the conversation going.
Alex continued to try to hold her close and said seductively, “The bath.”
“No, seriously,” Frankie said with a laugh.
“Seriously, the bathtub,” said Alex. “When I was a boy I’d fill the tub to the top and submerge under the water and pretend I was a diver diving for treasure.”
“Did you ever find anything?” asked Frankie.
“Lots of stuff—gold coins, crowns, scepters, diamonds,” he said.
“You must be very rich,” said Frankie.
“Nah, it all vanished when I pulled the plug,” he said, drawing her closer. He kissed her deeply and softly.
Frankie finally felt butterflies fluttering in her stomach, and if she were standing on solid ground, her knees would be buckling beneath her. As she wrapped her arms tighter around his shoulders, she could feel his body pressing against hers under the water. She wanted to stay in this place forever.
“Oi! No shex in the pool!” yelled a nearby voice with a drunken slur. It was Josh.
“Piss off!” Alex yelled back without taking his eyes off Frankie.
Josh stepped to the edge of the pool. “All I’m saying is it’s going to be you skimming cum off the surface.”
That ruined the moment for Alex and Frankie. “Sometimes I really hate those guys,” he whispered to her.
“He certainly is a candy-ass” she whispered. She then said out loud for Josh to hear, “Maybe they need girls; then they wouldn’t be JEALOUS!”
“Not jealous—” said Josh, “just looking for Frankie Robinson.” He gazed over the edge of the pool. “You ain’t ’appen to be ’er?”
“No,” said Alex, holding on to her tightly. “This is Igor Shantzky.”
Frankie
giggled. “Igor?”
“Igor, Frankie, whatever,” slurred Josh, “Some dude named Lester is looking for her. It seems the princess’s carriage is waiting.”
“No,” said Alex, “she’s staying with me tonight. I’m not letting her go.”
Looking into his eyes, she realized she didn’t want to go; she was having way too much fun—the most fun she’d ever had with a man. Frankie hung on to his shoulders for a minute longer and then pushed herself away. “I gotta go,” she said quietly to Alex. “He’s our chaperone and our ride home.”
“He kind of stinks as a chaperone,” said Alex.
“No, he is unfortunately a very good one,” said Frankie with a laugh. She swam to the edge of the pool and climbed out. She exchanged looks with Josh then proceeded inside. Alex reluctantly got out of the pool and followed Frankie back into the party. As they stood, both drenched and dripping water onto the carpet, they caught the attention of everyone around them.
While Alex slipped away, Frankie covered her soaked dress with her hands, looking rather sheepish and discouraged. “Time to go already?” she asked.
“Yes, and just in time by the look of things,” said Les.
“What the hell?!” shouted Katie with a huge laugh.
“We went for a swim,” said Frankie. “What’s the big deal?”
“Without swimsuits?” asked Emily.
“It was kind of impromptu,” said Frankie.
“I guess,” said Katie.
Alex returned to Frankie’s side with a towel and one of his long-sleeved shirts.
“Thanks,” she said, pulling the shirt over her dress and wrapping the towel around her waist.
“It was the least I could do,” he said, wanting to say a lot more, but not in the company of all their friends.
“Well, come on, girls,” said Les, heading toward the door. Emily and Katie followed, barefoot, with their shoes dangling from their fingertips. Les stopped at the door and turned around, “Gillian, it’s time to leave,” he called, trying to steal her attention away from Peter. “Frankie, come along before you catch your death.”
“It’s been a blast,” said Frankie to Alex.
“I’m going to need that shirt back,” Alex said, “preferably with you in it.”
Frankie smiled and replied, “I’m sure that can be arranged.” She stood on her toes and kissed him on the lips. “Or maybe next time, you’ll see me not wearing your shirt,” she said with a wink.
Alex grinned as he watched her walk out the door, dressed in his shirt, and wearing a towel wrapped around her waist. He had never met a woman so sexy. “I want my shirt back!” he yelled after her. “And the towel!”
Frankie turned to look back, accentuating the curve of her hip, and threw him a sexy wink. “You can count on it.”
Insatiable Lady
Frankie and the rest of the girls arrived back at Gillian’s apartment—a stylish pad, decorated with posters of beaches and surfers—just off Sunset and La Cienega boulevards in Hollywood. Gillian was the epitome of the California girl—glamorous, fit, and completely all natural—and her apartment suited her fashion with perfection.
While Katie and Emily collapsed onto the couch, Frankie followed Gillian into her bedroom to change. She settled for a pair of Gillian’s pajama bottoms and Alex’s shirt. Gillian appeared nervous as she quickly tidied up the place.
“What are you doing?” asked Emily, exhausted. “Sit down and relax. Tell us what happened with Peter.”
“I’m more interested in how Frankie ended up fully dressed and soaking wet,” chuckled Katie.
“We were hot and sweaty from dancing,” Frankie replied with a shrug.
“Or were you just hot and sweaty?” laughed Katie, lighting a cigarette “Tell me: did you . . . ?” she asked and then made smooching sounds.
“That’s none of your business,” replied Frankie.
“Did he slip you the tongue?” questioned Emily, enjoying the chance to embarrass Frankie.
Frankie shook her head. “No.”
“But as for the kiss, was it smooth and soft?” pressed Katie and then closed her eyes and puckered her lips as if she were about to plant a big wet one on Frankie.
Just as Frankie slipped Katie a glare to leave her alone, the doorbell rang and everyone turned their attention to Gillian. Gillian leaped excitedly and ran to the door. “They’re here!”
“What do you mean they’re here?” asked Katie, her cigarette held limply between her lips.
“I gave Peter my address,” Gillian said excitedly. “He said if I had to leave the party, he’d bring the party to us.” She gave the girls a huge smile. “No chaperones, no parents, no prying eyes of the press, and no rules!”
Emily, Katie, and even Frankie looked about nervously. Frankie was especially in no condition to greet a suitor—her hair was wild and untamed, she had absolutely no makeup, and she was dressed only in Alex’s shirt and a pair of pajamas bottoms. It was a little too much for any man to see her like this, but it was too late; Gillian had opened the door, and there stood Peter, grinning. Hidden in the darkness behind him were Alex, shrouded in a hooded sweatshirt, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and hands in his pockets; and Chase Crawford, the band’s old mate and now road manager, smoking a cigarette and carrying a bottle of whiskey.
“May we come in?” asked Peter politely.
“Oh, this doesn’t look like trouble,” replied Katie sarcastically.
Peter stepped inside and swept Gillian up in his arms and gave her a big kiss. “See,” he said, “I told you we’d come.”
Chase gave Katie a casual, nonchalant smile and handed her the bottle of whiskey. “I thought you might need this,” he said.
Katie took the bottle from Chase. “Finally, a man with some sense,” she said.
While Peter and Gillian quickly retreated to her bedroom, the rest of the gang gathered around the kitchen table. Frankie took a seat next to Alex. Alex looked at her casually and said, “I came back for my shirt.”
Frankie leaned close to him and whispered, “I don’t have anything on underneath.”
“Like I said,” he replied sternly, “I came back for my shirt.”
Massaging his back, Frankie said, “You’ll get your shirt, don’t you worry.”
“I have my eyes on you two,” Katie pointed at Frankie and Alex. “And you,” she said, glaring at Alex, “I don’t know what you did to get my best friend all hot and bothered and wet; but, just so you know, I don’t let any fool mess with my best friend.”
Alex glanced at Frankie. “I had you hot and bothered?”
“Katie tends to the truth,” replied Frankie. “Not so much hot, just a little bothered.”
“Well, give me a chance,” he whispered in her ear, “I can still try to make you hot.”
Frankie chuckled nervously. “You can try, but I make no promises.”
While Katie searched for glasses in the cupboards, lovemaking moans and groans emitted from Gillian’s bedroom. Everyone at the table gazed around awkwardly. “I think what we need is some music,” said Emily. She went into the living room and placed a Dark Knights record on the player. She walked back into the kitchen and noticed Alex. “It’s kind of strange, listening to your music with you sitting here.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Do you have anything else?”
“Seriously?” asked Emily.
“Yes, he doesn’t enjoy listening to his own music.” said Frankie.
“How about the Beatles?” asked Emily.
“Nah, I don’t listen to those fags,” said Alex.
Frankie leapt from her seat and ran to the living r
oom. As she rummaged through Gillian’s albums, she yelled out, “How about the Beach Boys?”
“How about not the Beach Boys,” retorted Alex with a puff of his cigarette. He stood from his chair and walked over to Frankie to help her choose a record. “Here—this,” he said curtly, handing her a selection.
“The Supremes? Really?” asked Frankie.
“Yes. That’s what I want,” Alex said and then started serenading Frankie with “Baby Love.”
Emily and Frankie stared at him incredulously. “You can’t be serious,” said Emily. “You like the Supremes? It’s even more frightening that you know the lyrics.”
Frankie shrugged and played the record. Alex took her by the waist and danced her back to the table. Meanwhile, Chase opened the bottle of whiskey.
“So what kind of drinking games do they play in England?” asked Katie.
“Darts,” said Alex, quickly lighting a cigarette.
“Darts!” replied Frankie with a loud laugh.
“Yeah, every time you throw a dart, you take a drink; and, depending on your shot, you may have to drink more. The last person standing is the winner,” explained Alex.
“Or not bloodied and filled with holes,” added Chase.
“Sounds rather dangerous,” said Katie, lighting a cigarette of her own.
“That’s why it pays to be good at darts,” said Alex. He held out his empty glass for Chase to fill. After Chased pour him a shot, he raised his glass for toast. “May the hinges of friendship never grow rusty!” he said.
“Here, here!” everyone responded. They then downed their drinks, and Chase poured each of them another round.
“So, guys, tell us about yourselves,” said Emily. “How long have you known each other?”
“We’ve been mates since we were thirteen,” replied Chase.
“We used to cut class and smoke behind the air-raid shelter,” said Alex.
“Or go swimming down at the canal,” added Chase
“Any sports or clubs?” Emily asked.
“What are you, a reporter?” asked Alex suspiciously.
Saying Goodbye (What the World Doesn't Know) Page 5