The moment of truth had arisen for them both. Going public would take a lot of courage, having to deal with the press and the fans. But keeping it under wraps would lessen the seriousness and sincerity of what was going on between them. Both wanted it to be known to the world that they belonged to each other and no one else. It was Frankie who broke the silence.
“What should we say?”
“I don’t know. What should we say?”
“I asked you first. Are we dating?” she asked.
Alex grinned as he leaned against the backboard of his bed. He lit a cigarette. “What is dating exactly?”
“Stop stalling and answer the question,” pressed Frankie.
“Huh? Well, then . . . I guess the answer is yes.”
“Wow. So this is it. I’m dating Alex Rowley. Heavy!”
“So does this mean we have to say something or do something?” asked Alex. “I’ve never dated a Hollywood movie star before.”
“No, let’s just play it cool and see how it comes out. Do you want a spectacle?”
“No,” he replied and then grew nervous. “I have to ask you a stupid question.”
Frankie curled her legs underneath her as she cradled the phone under her chin. “That’s never stopped you before.”
“Ha-ha,” he grunted. “Okay. We’re coming back to New York for a charity benefit. We’re doing a concert to help bring aid to those living in poverty in America. After the concert, there is going to be a ball.”
“A ball?” Frankie bit her bottom lip, excited as to where he was going with this information.
“Yeah,” he continued awkwardly, “A ball—can you believe it? So, uhm, do you want to go with me?”
“Like, be your date to the ball?” said Frankie, making sure she understood him correctly.
“Well, yeah! What do you think, ding-dong, I’m asking you drive the carriage?” he asked, trying to make light of the whole thing.
“Okay, I’ll have my glass slippers polished,” joked Frankie.
“And don’t forget your pumpkin.”
“My pumpkin is already good to go!” Frankie exclaimed with a loud laugh.
Alex grinned, relieved. “Great. I’ll call you later with all the details.”
“Okay. Bye.” Frankie hung up the phone. She waited for almost a minute without saying a word, then let out a bellowing scream of excitement as she bounced up and down around the room. This was more than any dream Frankie could ever have wished.
While Frankie leaped and bounded around her family’s living room, Alex remained motionless, stretched out on his hotel bed, and thought of the irony of it all. Here he was, this shit-kicker from the streets of Manchester, taking a Hollywood starlet and New York socialite to a charity ball. He had gone from pauper to prince so quickly that he hardly had time to make sense of it all. But it really didn’t matter as he began to feel every organ in his body expand three times its normal size. There was nothing he could do but smile.
Their relationship soon hit the public airways with the announcement of a charity concert the band was going to do in New York before returning home to England. Both Alex and Frankie played down the hype as best they could. Frankie, ever the actress, played it much cooler than Alex, who came across like a thirteen-year-old in heat at the mere mention of her name.
Alex and Frankie knew full well the implications of bringing their relationship into the mainstream. Suddenly both of them would be placed under a heavy spotlight of scrutiny. Keeping it as far under cover as possible was their best chance of survival. The press could break even the best relationships, and turn fairy tales into the worst. While Alex was on the road, Frankie and he consistently called each other by making use of an alias. The mysterious Igor Shantzky was always on the list of calls to be put through to the band’s room. No one was ever the wiser.
Marcus lowered the newspaper, folded it in half, and placed it alongside his breakfast plate. “I didn’t expect to start my day reading about my daughter’s love life in the gossip columns.”
Frankie dug hungrily into her scrambled eggs and sighed, “Dad, it’s not what you think.”
“And what is it that I’m thinking?” he asked curiously.
“Look, I like him; he likes me. What’s the harm in that?” questioned Frankie.
“The harm is that this boy can’t come to town without a mounted police escort, barricades, and thousands of screaming fans,” said Marcus. He stared down at his breakfast, deciding what to start eating first—eggs or potatoes. He pierced his fork into the mound of fried potatoes. “How do you plan to make a relationship in that madness?”
“We’re dating, that’s all,” said Frankie.
Marcus sat back in his seat. “How can you possibly be dating this fellow? Did he take you out to a dinner and a movie? Did you share a milkshake at the soda shop? Tell me, Francesca Marie, what have you and this boy done that constitutes dating?” He looked at the newspaper photo of crazed fans. “How could you have gotten near him within that madness?”
“Marcus,” said Geraldine as she entered the kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee and began pouring her husband a cup. “I’m sure Frankie knows people who can get her an introduction—like Cassie O’Brien.” Geraldine gave Frankie an intense look of disapproval. She glared at Frankie, knowing full well the amount of deceit her daughter was capable of and that she had been played by one of her daughter’s schemes.
“Is that what happened?” asked Marcus. “You know people who got you inside? Did this Cassie O’Brien introduce you to this fellow?”
Frankie sighed dramatically. “Again, I don’t see what the big deal is. I like him; he likes me. What is so bad about that?”
“Because it’s dangerous.” He pointed to the newspaper picture of fans. “Do you see all this insanity? How do you think your relationship with Alex Rowley will play with all these jealous girls?”
“I don’t care about the jealousy of others,” said Frankie. “That’s their problem.” She rose from the table. “I like him. You can’t stop me from seeing him.”
“What are we doing to do about this?” questioned Marcus to Geraldine.
“Marcus, he’s a musician. You know musicians; they’re like gypsies. They roll into towns, cause all kinds of havoc, and then their gone. This kid will be gone in a few weeks, Frankie will be forced to move on, and this will all be over. Let it run its course.”
Once the news broke of Frankie and Alex’s relationship, the greetings at a few of the airports they frequented seemed a lot less welcoming. In Boston tomatoes and eggs were tossed at them as they exited the airplane. Inside the band’s awaiting limousine they all removed their jackets and wiped any stray yolk and tomato juice from their faces.
“And I thought Boston would have been one of the civil American cities,” replied Robbie as he wiped smashed tomato from his face.
“At least they’re throwing something that’s soft,” said Josh. “It would hurt a little more if it were potatoes.”
“I guess we can count ourselves lucky it was just food,” said Alex.
Nick nudged Alex and said, “It’s entirely your fault anyway.”
Alex ran his fingers through hair and felt the sliminess of egg. “Yuck. How do you figure?”
“You had to go and get publicly involved with America’s hottest bird. Did you think these crazy motherfuckers weren’t going to retaliate? This is America; they kill people here for no reason at all. They’re a bunch of gangsters and psychos,” replied Nick. “Their intent is to send you back to the Queen in a body bag.”
“Shut up,” said Alex and then he lit a cigarette. “You don’t know that.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be sit
ting next to the window,” teased Peter.
“No!” exclaimed Robbie. “Let him sit next to the window with a bulls-eye drawn across his forehead. I don’t want to be taken down in the cross fire.”
With his cigarette dangling between his lips, Alex flipped up his shirt collar over his neck and sunk low in his seat. “You guys don’t know anything,” he muttered.
“We didn’t get caught with our pants down with an America’s sweetheart” said Robbie. “That’s all you, mate.”
“Can’t I be with a girl I like without being threatened?!” exclaimed Alex. “Shite!”
“We’re just messing with you,” replied Peter.
Peter’s words didn’t comfort him. Alex didn’t trust the American fans and it was quite possibly due to his relationship with Frankie. He was serious when he questioned why he couldn’t be with a girl he liked without being threatened; or what kind of life he would have if he was constantly hiding his affections.
Although there was no flying food in the upcoming cities, there was always the fan that broke through the crowd and barricades to grab hold of one the guys in the band. Robbie and Peter never seemed to mind the girl or two that broke through—Josh always thought it was hysterical—but Alex grew nervous, constantly looking over his shoulder to see who could be lurking.
Dallas was the last show on the road. Although everyone was getting weary from the American tour, they were all a bit sad to see it come to an end. So much had happened to them in a month—there was passion; overzealous fans, who tried to break into their hotel rooms; jealous boyfriends throwing food; and, for Alex, there was love. No doubt they were all changed by the experience.
After their last concert ended and security moved the Dark Knights quickly through the mob of groping fans. While the security guards were dealing with crowd control, the band members were busy holding on tightly to their instruments, trying to keep them from getting damaged. This, however, left them vulnerable to the tugging, pulling, pinching, prodding, and outright manhandling of the fans. As Alex was escorted through a narrow path of fans, a fist came out of the darkness and struck him in the cheek. A second fist was planted in his eye, followed by a third hit to his nose until a security guard finally pulled the assailant off.
Several security guards encircled Alex, lifted him from the ground, and carried him to waiting limousine. Slumped in the leather seat, Alex checked his face not being able to tell if it had been bloodied or was merely bruised, but his cheekbone ached profusely either way. The rest of the band was silent as the driver pulled away from the crowds. They all joked about the violence, but not one of them considered any threat a reality.
Back in the safety of their hotel suite, their manager, Darren Chapman, placed a frozen steak on Alex’s face and gave him a few aspirin. Alex dragged on a cigarette as he reclined on the couch with his head slung over the back of the seat.
“Whadda real meathead,” joked Nick with a laugh as he leaned over to inspect Alex’s injury. “Good thing the assailant didn’t mistake you for the president.”
“Well, he is part Irish and a Catholic,” said Josh with a casual shrug.
“And you know how Dallas feels about Irish Catholics,” added Peter.
“Serves you right for even setting foot in Texas,” Nick scolded. “You were pretty much asking for it.”
“Guys, give the poor guy a break,” said Robbie, plopping down on the couch alongside him. “The assailant was probably the president of the Frankie Robinson fan club.” Robbie looked closely at Alex. “Was his hands sticky?”
Nick broke into a loud laugh and started hooting and hollering.
Alex lifted his head and removed the steak from his face. “Fuck off!” he said, biting down on the cigarette between his teeth.
Josh lit a cigarette. “That’s exactly what we intend to do.”
When the guys departed from the room, Alex sat upright and called out to them. “Where are you guys going?” he asked.
“Out!” said Josh.
“What about me?” asked Alex.
“You are going nowhere,” said Darren and then handed Alex a glass of whiskey. “So what did you do to cause this anyway?”
“Nothing, I swear. Guy just went ape on my face.”
“Did you say anything?” asked Darren. “Did you give him a look? You must have done something.” He was beginning to remind Alex of a judgmental interrogator.
“I’m the one who got punched!” exclaimed Alex. “Can’t I have a little sympathy?”
“You can get sympathy from your girlfriend,” replied Darren.
Tony the road manager was perched on the top edge of the couch next to Alex’s head. “This would be the perfect cover photo for a boxing magazine. He looks like Henry Cooper after a fight with Muhammad Ali.”
“Ha! Tony, you’re a riot,” remarked Alex. “Perhaps you should get your own television show.”
“I’m just glad it’s the end of the tour and we have a few days break before the charity concert,” said Darren, patting Alex on the head. “By that time, you should be pretty enough for the ball.”
“I don’t know,” said Tony with a wink, “You know how girls go crazy for guys with black eyes. You might be able to work it toward your advantage.”
“Leave me alone,” Alex said and then rose from the couch.
“Hey, Alex!” Darren called. “Is she worth it?”
Alex turned around, repositioning the steak on his face and stopped in contemplation.
“Yes,” he replied and then headed for his room to make his sympathy call.
Plopping on the bed, he reached for the phone and dialed. As it rang, he placed the ice pack over his face. Frankie’s mother answered.
“Is Frankie there?” he asked.
Frankie jostled the phone away from Geraldine and then quickly disappeared around the corner as far as the cord would allow. “Hi,” she said.
Alex studied his face in the mirror and fingered the bruises on his cheek. “Guess what happened to me tonight?”
“You were mauled on stage by a mother grizzly bear?”
“Close. I was punched in the face while making my way to the stage.”
“What did you do?”
“Why does everyone assume I did something? Geez,” said Alex. “No, he was jealous because I’m dating you.”
“Don’t blame me!” Frankie exclaimed, “I don’t want any part of it.”
“I took a few punches for you and it hurts really bad.” He faked a whimper.
Frankie laughed and said, “When you get here, I’ll give it a kiss.”
“I’m counting on it,” said Alex.
He hung up the phone and stared at his reflection in the mirror. The right side of his face was red and swollen, and there was a black circle darkening around his eye. He didn’t look like himself, but surprisingly he felt good even after getting punched. Alex immediately attributed that to Frankie. There was no groveling or swooning at his feet; there were no efforts to impress.
She treated him like he was a friend. It was great to finally be with someone for whom he did not have to put on airs and was absolutely free to be himself.
Double Standard
After their Dallas concert the Dark Knights were invited to Thoroughbred Castle Ranch in Kentucky for a much-needed break. Owner John Castle was a distinguished Chicago industrialist who specialized in hog feed and spent his earnings breeding Thoroughbred racehorses. Castle was not a fan of the Dark Knight’s music; he was more interested in the notoriety of playing host to the famous five. The Dark Knights looked forward to some quiet time away from the maddening crowds, but mostly they were hoping to meet some pretty female stable han
ds for some barnyard fun. They were disappointed, however, when they found out Castle’s hired help consisted solely of old, grungy, burly groomsmen.
Although it was nice to be far away from the fans and the crowds, Alex grew bored fairly quickly. Though the others were learning how to ride horses, mucking around the stables, and loving every minute of it, Alex wasn’t very impressed. He could go the rest of his life satisfied with never mounting a horse ever again, unless it was a certain desirable young filly named Frankie. His mind dwelt on images of making love to her in the barn in between the bales of hay. Every boy has his fantasy, and this was Alex’s.
On any other occasion, Alex would have appreciated the holiday. He had never breathed such clean, crisp air, and the rolling grassy hills were inspiring. As he rested his arms over a tall white picket fence, he watched a couple of stallions romp in the grassy fields. Alex could relate; he was given freedom to wander, as long as he stayed within the defined boundaries of his agent, Darren, and his agent’s lawyers. He could date Frankie as long as it wasn’t public, which was one of the new rules after being blitzed in Dallas by a crazed fan’s fist. It was ironic for Alex: he could travel the world, see more than most men would ever see in a lifetime, yet his life was comparatively more confined, making Alex feel like he was living in a prison.
That evening the band’s host, John Castle, entertained them with a private, informal cookout. There was a raging bonfire, hot dogs and marshmallows to roast over the flames, and all the ice-cold beer they could drink. Castle was thrilled to see the boys so happy; but little did he realize, the laughing and giggling was organically induced by the dope they were passing around behind his back. Even though Alex was enjoying himself, getting high with his buddies beneath the clear, starry Kentucky sky, he couldn’t get past the desire to get back to New York City.
Later, lying in bed, Alex had a hard time sleeping, despite the quietness of the countryside. Frankie was still on his mind. He had only known her for a few weeks, but it seemed he had known her for so much longer. A cool breeze blew through the open window as the magnolia tree outside clattered against the glass. Alex looked over at Pete, who was apparently fast asleep.
Saying Goodbye (What the World Doesn't Know) Page 11