Saying Goodbye (What the World Doesn't Know)

by Martel, Mahima

  Reporter on a high wire

  Asks questions he hopes wills inspire

  Hidden secrets or provoke ire.

  The spotlight shines this dismal light

  On us poor slobs with the same plight

  We watch amused at the show

  The press tripping over its toe.

  Promoters juggle acts

  Without ever listening to our tracks

  Caring only for the money in their sacks.

  The spotlight shines this dismal light

  On us poor slobs with the same plight

  We watch amused at the show

  The press tripping over its toe.

  Flashing lights from camera clowns

  Chase us all ‘round town

  Hoping to catch something shady go down.

  The spotlight shines this dismal light

  On us poor slobs with the same plight

  We watch amused at the show

  The press tripping over its toe.

  Once the song was over, Frankie peered over the balcony to gauge the reaction of the crowd. She smirked, realizing no body was really listening to their music only watching the band. Too bad they didn’t play “Jester.” she thought.

  The Dark Knights played their customary thirty minutes much more toned down from their normal high-energy performances. When the concert finished and the band took a bow, the audience rewarded them with a polite standing ovation. Alex was sure they had won over more than a few of the naysayers and maybe even Frankie’s father.

  Frankie rose to her feet along with the rest of the audience, but not to applaud the Dark Knights as a group; her focus was solely on Alex. Although he was at his best tonight, to the untrained ears in the audience, his playing appeared to blend in with the other sounds onstage. It would be difficult for some to distinguish Alex’s guitar apart from Robbie’s voice, Nick’s keyboard, Peter’s bass, and Josh’s drums. But Frankie not only could tell Alex was pitch-perfect, but noticed genuine emotion in his playing—almost as if his guitar had a personality of its own.

  As she applauded for Alex, she secretly wished and hoped that one day the rest of the world would be able to hear him the way she did—a musical tour de force—instead of just another performer on stage being drowned out by the other members of the band.

  Ian lightly tapped Frankie’s arm for her to follow him once again. She and Cassie were led down the back stairwell to the hallway outside the dressing room where they waited for Alex. Finally, they could be together for the rest of the evening.

  Alex appeared, looking exited and relieved, wearing a big smile on his face. He immediately kissed Frankie on the forehead. “Are you ready for the ball, Cinderella?”

  Frankie threw her arms around his neck. “You were so good tonight. I am so very proud to be your date.”

  “Aw, you’re going to make me blush,” he said. “I tried looking for you, but the lights were so harsh—nothing like the dark halls of Manchester or the seedy clubs of Soho.”

  “What was it like?” she asked, hanging on his shoulders.

  “Terrifying. I nearly pissed my pants.” Judging by Frankie’s reaction, Alex could tell that wasn’t the reaction she was expecting. “I mean, it was life-altering.”

  “I’ll bet,” Frankie said. She shook her shoulders and chest at Alex. “Shall we go shake it at the ball?”

  Alex grinned and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Yeah,” he said, “let’s hit it.”

  The entrance to the ballroom was through a pair or large white lacquered doors. Inside, New York’s affluent citizens could be seen socializing with five working-class lads from England. Frankie was well aware of the irony, and so was Alex. It was still the biggest inside joke the band shared ever since they had made it big—the fact that people who would normally turn down their noses at them were now paying big bucks just to be in the same room. Ironically, the music played during the ball was a series of square old-school waltzes. Everyone had dressed in their finest gowns in tuxedos to hear a rock concert, and were now winding down the evening with the Blue Danube.

  Never having had a dance lesson in his life, Alex allowed Frankie to move him around the dance floor. Occasionally he stepped on her foot or bumped into some fat lady behind him. He planted his focus on his feet to make sure he was in line with Frankie.

  “Look at me,” said Frankie, “and don’t worry about your footsteps.”

  “How can I be sure I won’t step on you?”

  “You don’t have to worry about a thing as long as you follow my lead,” she said with a cocky smile.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  Thankfully there were no prying eyes of gossip journalists or photographers. The wealthy were able to pay to have their privacy protected.

  Frankie was sure to keep Alex away from any wayward middle-aged socialite looking for a score. She witnessed a few eyes on him—a few women brushed by, trying to gain his attention—but Frankie proved to be the best deterrent a young man could have in such an occasion. She was beautiful, and if any woman crossed the line, Frankie would rip off her face. Alex, keenly aware, was loving every minute of it.

  Frankie guided Alex away from the dance floor to a buffet table where appetizers were being served. Frankie and Alex decided to share a plate and prowl the circumference of the ballroom together, watching the crowd like patrons at a zoo.

  “See that woman there with the exposed cleavage?” asked Frankie as she popped a stuffed mushroom in her mouth.

  “No, where?” Alex asked with a laugh, seeing the woman standing directly before them.

  Frankie smacked in his arm. “The one who has been eyeing you all night.”

  “Hmm . . . really?”

  “She’s screwing her shrink,” Frankie said. “She’s a crazy; I wouldn’t go near her if I were you.” She then pulled Alex’s attention toward a debonair older man. “That’s her husband. He was an actor for many years; now he’s a director on Broadway.” She stood on her toes to whisper in Alex’s ear, “There is always a hot, new actor on his casting couch. I’d stay away from him, too.”

  Alex bit into a cheese puff and then said with his mouth full, “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  Frankie put her arm around Alex’s waist and led him around the party while she sipped champagne. “See that fat guy talking up that young pretty woman?” she asked. “He’s one of the biggest producers in the city—a real hotshot.” She then whispered, “Rumor has it he’s got a tiny pecker.”

  “That’s always the case,” said Alex and then stuffed two more cheese puffs into his mouth. “What about the tall, pretty guy who looking around to see who’s looking at him?” asked Alex.

  “That’s Robbie, your band mate,” Frankie joked.

  Alex laughed, “No, the other tall, pretty guy.”

  “Tad Benedict,” Frankie said. “He’s a Broadway actor, singer, and dancer; and he’s completely gueer although he hides it really well. Most girls become discouraged when they find out he’s more interested in their dates than them.” Frankie gave Alex a gentle push. “Let’s move along.”

  They stopped back at the buffet table to refill their plate and champagne glasses. Frankie sipped from her glass, making sure she had Alex’s back in case any women decided to wander over. None did. Feeling confident that she had the situation secured, Frankie led Alex back to the ball.

  “You see,” she said, “everyone here has an image they’re trying to sell, and most people see what they want to see. Lonely rich women pretend to be faithful wives while, on the side, they’re hooking up with the gardener or their tennis instructor. Industry men constantly find new ways to promote their power and
influence in order to attract naive young actresses. And then, saddest of all, there are those ‘aspiring individuals’ who have no game to play or image to sell. They are hopeless in this arena,” explained Frankie.

  “Where do we fit in?” asked Alex.

  Frankie looked up at him. “We don’t.” Tugging at his arm, she led him to the door and out into the hallway.

  “Where are you taking me?” Alex asked, still carrying the plate of food.

  Frankie heaved open the heavy exit door in her gown and then pulled at Alex’s arm, pushing him into a stairwell. She closed the door behind them, and then began to lead him up the steps. He followed, knowing that wherever she was taking him was better than where they had just been.

  Finally they came to another door, but Frankie couldn’t get it open. Alex set down his plate and managed to wrench the door open, using his shoulder as leverage. They stepped outside and found themselves on the rooftop overlooking the city skyline of Manhattan. Alex had seen this before, but only in movies; he never thought he’d get a chance to witness it firsthand.

  “It’s amazing,” he said.

  Frankie stood alongside him. “I know, right? It’s where dreams are made and hearts get broken.”

  Alex put his arm around her shoulder. “Ah, now we don’t want any broken hearts.”

  “Well, it happens. People come in search of a dream; and when their dream falls apart, all that’s left is a broken heart.” She looked up at him with a smile and said, “But this is where you and I belong—on top, above the fray.”

  Alex nodded. “You think so?”

  She put her arms tightly around his waist. “I know so. So many others want to tell us what to do and how to live. They will try to put us down, rattle our chains. But we will always rise above,” she said confidently.

  Turning away from the bright lights of the city, Alex focused his attention on Frankie and looked down into her big blue eyes. He had no words in response, only deep gratitude that she felt so strongly. It made him a believer. From that moment on, whatever anyone said to him, he would have stronger conviction.

  “Marry me,” he said suddenly.

  Frankie burst out laughing, then saw the hurt look on his face and knew he wasn’t joking. “Alex, it’s only been a month.”

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and stared into her eyes. “What is time?” he asked with a grin. “Besides, do you really think another guy can replace me?”

  The questioned frightened Frankie because she instantly knew the answer was no. She only had a couple more hours with Alex until he was to return to England. After that she didn’t know if she’d ever see or hear from him again. She wondered if agreeing to marriage now wasn’t such a bad idea.

  Alex checked his watch. “It’s eleven thirty.”

  “Whatever will we do for the next couple hours before you need to take me home?” she asked, hugging his waist.

  “I have a few ideas,” he whispered seductively and leaned over to kiss her neck.

  Frankie pulled away and then grabbed his hand to drag him back downstairs.

  They immediately found Chase, who was looking rather bored, smoking a cigarette in the hallway outside the ballroom. Before Alex even spoke, Chase stood upright and asked, “You guys ready to make a break?”

  “Yeah, back to the hotel for a bit,” said Alex. “But I need to have her home by two before she turns into a pumpkin or loses a glass slipper.”

  Chase finished his cigarette. “No problem.”

  Alex and Frankie returned to his suite, embracing and kissing as they entered. As Alex unzipped her gown, she unbuttoned his shirt.

  “Why do you have to leave?”

  “Tour’s over,” he muttered, holding her tightly in his arms.

  She stepped out of her gown, kicked off her shoes, and backed onto the satin-covered bed. “Mm-hmm, yeah, but don’t you get a vacation or anything?”

  “No . . . I don’t know. We have to do another tour of England once when we get there.” He lay down on top of her.

  “That stinks” said Frankie as Alex kissed her face and neck.

  “Yeah,” he sighed with his face between her breasts.

  Frankie ran her fingers through his hair. “I don’t want you to go.”

  Alex lifted his face and looked down at Frankie with a serious expression. “I don’t want to go either.”

  “Then don’t. Can’t they get another guitar player?” she asked. “Besides, you can do just fine on your own.”

  Lying down on top of her, Alex held her tight. “Sometimes I wish they could. But they’re my friends. They’re more than friends—they’re like brothers. I can’t leave them.”

  “So that means I’m going to have to let you go,” whispered Frankie in his ear.

  “You could move to England.”

  Her mind whirled from thoughts of lovemaking to the thought of moving to England. She never thought of living in another country. She loved her home and her family. It wouldn’t be an easy move; but she was so fond of Alex, he just might be worth the sacrifice. She was quiet as she recalled her youth as a teen star—all the good times (and not so good times).

  “It seems that you are not fully here with me,” he whispered in her ear and then pulled himself up and looked down at her. “What are you think about?”

  “My career,” she said. “Just wondering if I could leave it all here.”

  He kissed her neck and breasts. “And could you?”

  “What are your parents’ names?” she asked suddenly.

  “Do you want to have sex or not?”

  Frankie laughed. “Can’t you carry on a conversation and have sex at the same time?”

  “I can, but I don’t want to,” he said and then kissed her passionately as he continued to make love to her. When they were through, he rolled away and lit a cigarette.

  “Leon and Nadine,” he finally said.

  Frankie rolled toward him and propped her head up on her palm. “Leon and Nadine. Do they love each other?”

  “Yes,” he said with a drag of his cigarette.

  “Would they like me?” Frankie asked.

  “Yes,” Alex replied with certainty.

  “How do you know?”

  Alex curled closer to her, gazed in to her eyes, and said, “Because you make me happy.”

  “That’s it?” questioned Frankie.

  “Isn’t that what parents should want for their children—happiness?”

  Frankie inspected Alex’s bruised eye. “Yes, among other things.”

  “What’s more important than happiness?”

  “Security,” said Frankie.

  “Money,” corrected Alex, a bit agitated. “That’s it, right? That’s why your father doesn’t like me. I don’t come from money.”

  “No, security—protection from crazed crowds and unruly fans. I got spat at and called a slut on the way to the concert tonight. My dad is concerned for my safety.”

  He ran his hands through her hair and studied her face. “I guess I can understand that. Do you think your father will ever like me?”

  “Yes, I do,” she said.

  Frankie sat up in bed, pulling the sheets over her breasts. “It’s hard, you know—this business. Everyone’s trying to get something from you.” She clutched the edge of the blankets. “Can I tell you something that I never told anyone else before?”

  Alex puffed on his cigarette and gave her a curious stare. “Of course,” he said.

  “I was performing for this show once when I was sixteen. One night, when I was changing in the dressing room, this photographer snuck i
nside and took a picture of me topless. I was stunned and just felt so vulnerable. I remember wondering what kind of a creep would do that.”

  Alex chuckled. “I don’t know why anyone would want a picture of you topless.”

  “Shut up!” exclaimed Frankie. “I get it now. At the time it kind of freaked me out. I never told anyone—my dad, mother, or any friend. It made me wonder that if there were such freaks in this industry, then did I actually want to be a part of it.”

  “Yeah,” Alex said. “There are a lot of freaks in this industry, but there are a lot of freaks in general. You don’t have to be in the entertainment industry for freaks.”

  “Do you have any secrets you’ve never told anyone?” Frankie witnessed Alex’s expression squirm. “Tell me,” she pressed. “I told you, so now you have to tell me.”

  “Okay,” he said, lighting another cigarette. “I was in school, goofing around, and not paying attention. Next thing I know the teacher nailed me on the wrists with a ruler and told me I had to stay after class.”

  “Detention? You? I would have never guessed,” Frankie said lightly.

  Alex dragged nervously on his cigarette. “Well, that fucker had something else in mind.”

  He paused to take another puff on the cigarette and then continued. “While he had me writing some shit on the chalkboard, he came up behind me and grabbed my . . .”

  “Family jewels,” Frankie said, finishing his sentence.

  “Yeah,” Alex sighed. “Like you, I was stunned. I tell you, I tore out of that fucking place so fast and vowed never to go back.”

  Frankie sat upright with her arms firmly around his shoulders and asked, “So what happened?”

  “Well,” Alex said with a laugh, “my pop saw my bruised wrists and asked me what had happened.” He puffed on his cigarette. “So I told him what that motherfucker did to me. Next day, my pop, who was a boxer by the way, beat that crap out of that teacher. My pop said to him that if he ever messed with his son again there would be even worse, barney bubble."