Frankie sat upright, pressing her breasts against his body. “Then you have served me well,” she said. “Thanks!”
He brushed back her hair, and admired her big eyes and cute button nose. “Tell me,” he said, “why psychology?”
“Are you scared that I’m going to shrink your head?”
“Yeh!” exclaimed Alex. “You’re a talented entertainer! Why would you continue to study? Why go to school?”
“Why continue to learn and educate myself?” she replied smartly. “Well, if you must know, the answer is Betty Friedan.”
“Is she like Betty Crocker?”
“She’s is the anti-Betty Crocker,” said Frankie, pulling the blanket over her body. “She wrote a book called The Feminine Mystique.”
Alex gently reached down between her legs and massaged her with his fingers. “I’m already familiar with the feminine mystique,” he said with a wily grin.
Frankie laughed and pulled his hand away. “No, the other feminine mystique,” she said. “Betty Friedan was a psychologist who wrote the book. It just talks a lot about women breaking away from the traditional roles of wives and mothers.” She gazed at Alex. “We’re like real people, you know.”
“You’re saying you don’t care to be a wife or a mother?” asked Alex.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m only nineteen now, but why can’t I have a career? Why can’t I enjoy sex and life like men? Why must I live by a man’s rules, under his house? The thing with being a woman is, it’s fine if I do everything a man wants me to do, but I can’t really do anything for myself without criticism and judgment.”
She then immediately regretted being so outspoken. She liked Alex and didn’t want to put him off so soon. “Anyway, there it is,” she said.
Alex pushed Frankie’s blonde hair off her shoulder. “We’re all in the same place,” he said. “We’re all just searching for our freedom. That’s why it is important for you to never let someone dictate who you are.” He paused. “We’re leaving tonight after the concert.”
“I know,” said Frankie.
“Do you want to come with me?” he asked.
Frankie laughed. “On tour?”
“Yeah, we could get you a disguise—a wig and some sunglasses, maybe a trench coat.”
“How about a fake nose and mustache?” joked Frankie.
Alex dragged on his cigarette. “Sure, but I was kind of thinking super-secret sexy spy.”
“What am I going to do while you’re performing?” she asked.
He hugged her tightly. “Enjoy the concert.”
His offer presented a dilemma for Frankie. She has always spoken so boldly of her independence from a man, now she was suddenly faced with giving up her freedom for one. Was he even listening to me, she wondered. She glanced at his hopeful expression and desperately wanted to give in completely, but she certainly wasn’t going to give up her life to tag along with him on tour. “You’re coming to New York, right?”
“Yeah, next week for a couple days,” he replied.
Frankie wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “So we can see each other in a week?”
Alex rolled over on top of her and kissed her neck. “Absolutely,” he whispered in her ear.
That evening at the Hollywood Bowl Frankie attended the concert as Alex Rowley’s personal guest and watched the Dark Knights from backstage. Being a celebrity, she was used to the VIP treatment, but never as the girlfriend of a performer.
It was an awkward feeling to stand there while stagehands and crewmen stared at her with prying eyes and devilish grins. Frankie could tell what they all were thinking: Alex Rowley had had Frankie Robinson. She knew they were all imagining their own tasteless scenarios in their minds. True, in the past she had been photographed as a sex object for young men’s magazines. Now, however, she was being sexually objectified before her very own eyes, and she hated it. Thankfully Gillian was there as a guest of Peter’s and helped to absorb some of the attention.
“Don’t you feel the least bit weird?” she whispered to Gillian.
“No, I feel lucky,” Gillian responded. “Can you imagine all those girls who are dying to be in our place?”
Frankie gazed around. “But people are staring at us. They’re all imagining us having sex with the band.”
“That’s only because you’re acting like an uptight freak! You have ‘I got laid by a Dark Knight’ written all over your forehead.” Gillian looked at her sternly. “Wipe it off!”
Frankie sighed. “You’re right. Are you coming to the concert in New York?”
“Nah, I gotta be on set; besides, it’s not like I was invited to tour with the band,” she said with a disappointed chuckle.
Frankie bit her bottom lip, looked off toward the stage, and stared at Alex as he played. She didn’t dare say anything to Gillian about her conversation with him. While watching Alex play guitar, she wondered if they really had a chance together—if he really was “the one.” Will a Dark Knight be my own knight in shining armor? she thought with a wide smile.
After the concert there was no time for formal good-byes. The band was whisked off before the fans had a chance to break through any barriers and get backstage. All Frankie and Gillian received was a fleeting wave from both Alex and Peter as security rushed them through the backstage crews. It felt extremely anticlimactic after the days they had spent together.
“I need a drink.” said Gillian. “Do you want to go get a drink?”
“Maybe we can head to the Brown Derby and check out the boys,” suggested Frankie.
“I don’t really want to check out other boys,” replied Gillian. “I want just one boy.”
“I know; me too.” Frankie took Gillian’s arm and they began making their way through the crowds toward Gillian’s red mustang convertible. Out of the corner of her eye, Frankie could tell Gillian was crying. “It’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all,” she said, trying to make Gillian feel better.
Gillian wiped away her tears and then broke out with a dull laugh. “Oh, be quiet.”
“Sorry,” said Frankie, although she couldn’t help smiling.
It was a short ride from the Hollywood Bowl amphitheater to the Brown Derby, but their silence seemed to greatly extend the duration of the trip. As Gillian grasped the steering wheel, she tried unsuccessfully to suppress further tears of disappointment. “I know I talked a big game this morning, but, damn it, this is hard,” she said and then glanced at Frankie. “Don’t you feel bad?”
“Honestly . . .” Frankie started carefully. “I’m going home to New York tomorrow. I’m going to see Alex Friday night.”
Gillian gripped the steering wheel. “Well, I’m glad it worked out for you.”
“Nothing worked out for me. I live ten minutes from the amphitheater where they will be playing. It’s just convenient,” Frankie said, trying to ease the tension. “If you didn’t have to work, I’d surely invite you to come home with me.”
Gillian forced a tearful smile and rubbed Frankie’s hand. “Thanks. Alex does like you an awful lot.”
“Really? How can you tell?”
“He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you two met.” Gillian laughed. “And you know what? I didn’t know Alex Rowley could smile until he saw you.”
Frankie fell back against her seat and sighed. She rested her elbow on the open window of Gillian’s convertible and ran her fingers through her hair. She dreamily gazed at the stars in the sky and the palm trees waving against the moonlight. “Is this it? Is this love?”
“Only time will tell,” said Gillian as she turned into the parking lot of the Brown Derby.
The Brown Derby was already crowded with patrons who had recently arrived from the Dark Knight’s concert in addition to many unfortunates who couldn’t get tickets. For Frankie and Gillian, scoping out the young men inside who were eager to gain their attention just didn’t seem to suffice. Several made offers to buy Frankie and Gillian drinks as well as perform other favors. One phony even offered Frankie a part in a movie he wasn’t making. Frankie could smell the fakes a mile away.
Frankie took a sip of her cosmopolitan as she looked around at the patrons of the dark lounge. Some faces she recognized from television, movies, and magazines; others were either the hard-working behind-the-scenes types or just plain wannabes. Regardless of their personal status in Hollywood, they were just people—no better or worse than the person seated alongside them. Tonight for Frankie, however, everyone was just a dim soul whose light barely shined in the darkness of the lounge.
She missed Alex. She missed his light and his laughter. It was the low part of falling in love, when one says good-bye; and Frankie felt it in the pit of her stomach. Does he feel the same? she wondered. What is he doing now? Is he thinking of me?
Resting her chin on her fist, Frankie stared blankly around the room. She let out a sigh filled with longing; yet she remained hopeful, knowing there was another soul in the world that matched her own. She would be seeing him again next week, this time on her home turf in New York City.
Mistaken Identity
It seemed to Alex that everyone was falling in love but him. Sure, he had had his share of girls, but none of them made him feel true love. He had seen it before with his friends—two people so perfect for each other that it had to be destiny—their friendship undeniable, their passion unspeakable, and their bond unbreakable. Despite all the women he had dated, Alex couldn’t wait to find his match—the woman who would make him feel complete.
Throughout his teen years he had convinced himself that he was too roguish and wicked to deserve love. All those years spent mouthing off to his parents, teachers, or anyone that crossed him, as well as the fist fights behind the school, air-raid shelter, or convenient alley, was further proof in his mind that he was not the kind of guy who could love. He was just some dumb punk. What sorry sap of a girl would consider me a match? he thought.
It wasn’t just the relationships that haunted Alex; he simply believed he didn’t have much to offer a girl in the ways of love other than sex. Robbie had his looks, Nick had his wit and sense of humor, Peter was a complete Romeo, and Josh was sweet and sensible. According to Alex, he had nothing of value to offer. Then Sarah had come along.
Sarah had taken an immediate fancy to him, and Alex couldn’t understand why. He simply played it cool like he did with all the other girls. He knew that Sarah was not really into him, but the whole glamour of dating a celebrity. Alex admitted that Sarah was the prettiest girl he had ever seen, and there was a sense of kismet or chemistry as some folks called it. Sarah was sweet. She was beautiful. Perhaps Alex had finally found the love he was looking for.
All was going smoothly with Sarah despite Alex’s busy schedule. No matter how much time passed between dates, no matter what the distractions, Sarah was always there waiting for him. Her commitment and fidelity toward Alex made the love seem even more real to him. He depended on her presence and friendship. The relationship couldn’t have been any easier . . . until the day he met Frankie.
It was no surprise that Alex’s head turned once he laid eyes on Frankie. Something happened then that was unusual for Alex; he was able to look past the beauty that was ordinarily only skin deep—her smile, blue eyes, and shapely figure—and saw himself in Frankie. And there it was: Alex’s missing link to love.
He knew it instantly. The difference between Frankie and Sarah was that Frankie didn’t waste time playing games. She was not coy and demure; she embraced Alex straight on. Frankie immediately, as if by instinct, stepped into Alex’s tempo as though they were dance partners in another life.
Besides all that, Frankie was hip and every other guy thought so, too. She was cute, sexy, energetic, funny, and wickedly smart. She could play rougher than most boys. outsmart the wittiest of smart-asses, and was rebellious with a wild, independent streak. Like Alex—headstrong and proud—Frankie seldom took no for an answer. And despite all that she had, she still possessed the sweet, understanding soul of an angel. The more Alex saw in her, the harder he fell; and the best part was the way she looked at him. He knew he had her hook, line, and sinker. It was a wonderful feeling. Alex had finally found the love he had been looking for, and he couldn’t have been any happier.
As the band flew from town to town, Alex couldn’t keep his mind off Frankie. At certain moments he felt on top of the world, knowing that he had her love; other times he missed her terribly and was worried that other guys like Sam Esposito might be calling. Being on the road was hard for a twenty-one-year-old man in love. All of the fans, interviews, press conferences—even the concerts themselves—were merely a distraction from his thoughts of Frankie. She was all he wanted to think about; the rest was complete garbage.
During a cross-country flight to the next town on their tour, Alex closed the airplane window shade and tried to get some shut-eye. Travel time was the best way to escape the crowds and catch up on sleep. What he couldn’t escape, however, was the chatter between the reporters, the band, and the entourage. Annoyed, he curled up against the window and wondered why the hell Darren had allowed reporters to accompany them on their travels. Can’t we have some peace and privacy?
A lot of liquor was served on the flights which led to loud conversations, raucous behavior and the constant chain-smoking filled the cabin with noxious fumes that further aggravated tempers. Willie Bell, one of the band’s school mates and press reporters took the opportunity to pick up some juicy gossip while partaking in a shot of whiskey.
“Hey, Alex,” said Willie. “So tell me, how’d you score with Frankie Robinson? First base? Second base? Third? Or did you steal home?”
Alex curled against the wall of the plane. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up, Willie?!”
“Well, from what I hear, you wouldn’t have had to steal anything,” Willie said. “I hear she gives it up pretty easily.” He laughed and then downed his shot of whiskey.
Alex leapt from his seat, walked down the aisle, and punched Willie in the face. “I told yeh to shut the fuck up!”
Willie managed to stand up and took a swing at Alex, catching him in the jaw. Alex shook it off and slugged Willie in the face a second time. Nick and Chase rose from their seats to restrain Alex as Josh and Peter held back Willie.
“Hey, hey, hey! Fellows, we don’t want a mid-air collision,” Josh joked.
“She’s a slut, Alex,” said Willie. “She would have done any of you—maybe all of you!”
Alex struggled to get free from Nick and Chase’s grip. “I’m going to beat the shit out of yeh, Willie, if yeh don’t shut the fuck up!”
“Oi!” said Willie, “It’s not just her; it’s all American girls. Yeh know they’re the easiest in the world.” He looked at Robbie, Nick, and Peter, who also had scored American girlfriends. “That’s why yeh chaps fancy coming to the States, right?”
“Now, Willie,” replied Nick.
Alex grunted angrily. “Okay, this is for everyone on this plane. If anyone mentions Frankie—says anything about her—I will bust yeh open, ’ear me?”
Willie nodded and said, “Okay, Alex. Not a word.”
Robbie, slouched in the back seat of the plane, lifted his sunglasses from his bloodshot eyes and asked, “Who’s Frankie Robinson?”
“Exactly,” responded Peter jokingly. “Who is Frankie Robinson?”
“No, seriously,” said Robbie. “Who is Frankie Robinson? Is he a ball player or something?”
<
br /> Josh roared with laughter. “No, that’s Igor Shantzky.”
Alex threw his arms up in the air and returned to his seat. He lit a cigarette and puffed. He hated flying and couldn’t wait until he was on the ground, where he would finally be able to get some peace and quiet and time away from everyone. A few pillows hit his head and then landed on his lap. “Knock it off, arseholes!” he yelled, hearing Nick and Josh chuckle behind him.
“You need to loosen up, buddy!” exclaimed Nick.
“Did I miss something?” asked Robbie.
“Aye, when yeh had yer head up that redhead,” replied Josh.
“Oh,” Robbie sighed and covered his eyes once again with the sunglasses to get some sleep.
Chase sat down in the seat beside Alex. He too lit a cigarette and said, “Don’t let Willie get to you. It’s his job to get a rise out of you and make you open up for a story. Don’t give it to him.”
“He’s a fucking arsehole,” said Alex. “All reporters are fucking arseholes.”
“Yeah,” replied Chase, “but you have to maintain an image. Yeh keep lashin’ out at reporters, you’re going to get a bad rep.”
Alex turned to face Chase. “Shite, Chase. I can’t believe you’re the one lecturing me on image.”
“I’m the perfect one to vent to; you know it goes nowhere with me,” replied Chase. “You gotta let it out, buddy, or it’s gonna eat you alive.”
Alex opened the window shade of the plane and could see the jagged cliffs of the Rockies below. Memories of Buddy Holly passed through his mind. He closed the shade, trying to escape his thoughts of Frankie with other men. Deep down it was gnawing at him.
Frankie returned home to her family in Queens. It was always nice coming home—being able to sleep in her own bed and receiving home-cooked meals. Her plan for spending Friday night with Alex after the band’s performance was already set in motion. She was going to tell her parents that she was going to stay with folk singer Cassie O’Brien. Cassie, of course, was going to back the story completely because, in reality, it wasn’t a complete lie. She was going to see Cassie perform on Friday night, since she was opening for the band.
Saying Goodbye (What the World Doesn't Know) Page 7