Saying Goodbye (What the World Doesn't Know)

by Martel, Mahima

  He got out of bed and rummaged through the suitcase to remove any pictures of Frankie or copies of her telephone number. Alex had had so many girls since the band started traveling and touring, he had simply lost count. The memories of each encounter had started to blend together in his mind. Frankie was the girl he had always dreamed of meeting, but never believed he would actually find. Now that he had gotten to know her, it greatly pained him that he might not be able to have her.

  As he studied Frankie’s picture he couldn’t fathom why this beautiful actress would want to be with him. Was it some kind of rebellion against her well-established family? Was she just playing him? He checked his watch and wondered where she was and who she was with at this exact moment. Anxiety welled inside him and filled him with questions to which he had no answers. The only way to set his mind at ease was to call her.

  After shoving Frankie’s number into his pants pocket, he wondered what he could do with her picture. He looked around his bedroom for a safe place for hide it, but everywhere he looked, he knew Sarah would be sure to find it. He snapped his fingers when an idea occurred to him.

  He walked past Sarah in the living room to a small room that he had set up as a studio. He went to a collection of records he had in a cardboard box. He selected an old blues record jacket and removed the sleeve. He then slid Frankie’s picture inside and replaced record and jacket in the box. Sarah rarely went through his records.

  Sarah lifted her eyes from the fashion magazine she was reading and watched Alex intently as he strolled past her again. For someone who was so tired, he seems to be hyped up about something, she thought. She had no reason to be suspicious and no reason to question him about anything. “Can I get you something?” she finally asked.

  “Nope, I’m good,” Alex replied with ease and then walked into the kitchen. He removed Frankie’s number from his pocket and nervously dialed the phone. He was not nervous about calling her when he was in the States. Now he felt like a pre-teen boy calling a girl for the very first time.

  It was Marcus who answered the phone.

  Alex paused and then said in an American accent, “May I speak to Frankie?”

  “May I ask who’s calling?”

  “Igor Shantzky,” said Alex, again in an American accent.

  “Igor?” Marcus questioned. “Okay.”

  Frankie grabbed the phone from Marcus’s hands excitedly. “Hi, Igor! I was hoping you would call. How was the trip home?”

  “Good. Things were a little crazy at the airport when we arrived.” Alex peeked out of the kitchen and saw Sarah’s legs dangling from the couch. Realizing she was out of earshot, he felt a little more comfortable continuing the conversation and leaned against the wall. “I was wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight.”

  Frankie laughed. “I would love to. What would you like to do?”

  Alex twisted the cord between his fingers, “I was thinking maybe a movie.”

  “Let’s go to the drive-in and then we can make out in the back seat of your car.”

  “That’s even better! I’ll pick you up at eight?”

  Frankie fell back onto the couch in the living room and curled her hair with her finger. “Perfect.”

  Both were silent for a moment.

  “I miss you already,” Frankie finally said. “I can’t believe you’re gone.”

  “I can’t believe I’m home,” said Alex. “It doesn’t even feel like home anymore; everything is different. I don’t know how I’m going to get by, not being able to see you.”

  Frankie rolled over onto her belly playing with the telephone cord. “I’m sure you’ll find some girl to take your mind off me.”

  “No girl will ever be able to take my mind off you,” he said. “And what about all your suitors?”

  “Suitors?” Frankie asked with a laugh. “Maybe, but they don’t have a shot at my heart.”

  Once again there was an awkward pause. “I guess we should have this discussion now about seeing other people since we’re so far apart.”

  It was not a conversation Alex had wanted to have with her; he didn’t want her seeing anyone else but him. “I don’t want to be with anyone else, do you?”

  “No,” she said. “But don’t you have a girlfriend? What are you going to do, break up with her?”

  Alex sat down at the table and lit a cigarette. “Nah, breaking up is such a harsh thing. “I’ll just get real busy and unavailable.”

  “So what are you going to do about sex?” Frankie asked with a teasing tone.

  “I’m going to go with abstinence,” he replied and then took a long drag on the cigarette.

  “Ha! Come on, Alex. I know men. You guys need sex.”

  “How about you?” he asked. “Don’t you need sex?”

  Frankie sat upright on the couch and placed her feet on the coffee table. “You see, it’s like this: men want sex, women want love. Most women have sex, hoping the guy will fall in love with them. But for the guy it’s really all about sex. That’s why some girls who want love get all freaky if you have sex with them.”

  “So why aren’t you getting all freaky?”

  “Who says I’m not? You’re thousands of miles away; it’s much easier for me to keep my cool.”

  “Well, I hope you don’t get too cool,” he said. “I’d like to see you again someday.”

  Frankie cradled the phone against her chin. “You will. I can promise you that.”

  They each said goodbye and hung up.

  Alex smiled, relieved. He took another puff on his cigarette. With the band on tour again in two weeks, it made it easier for him to busy himself so he would be able to brush off Sarah even though she was living in his house.

  Sarah entered the kitchen to make a cup of tea, but mostly she was intent on finding out what Alex was up to. “Who were you talking to?”

  “A friend I met in America,” he said casually and then headed toward the bedroom. “You can do my laundry if you’d like.”

  Sarah stood quietly for a moment. They were only a few months into their relationship, and she was still struggling to understand him; but she took him on faith. She was of course his girlfriend, so why should she worry? Alex could have any woman in the world, and he had chosen her.

  A smile crept across Sarah’s face and she lifted his suitcase and carried it to the washroom to start his laundry.

  Led Astray

  A few weeks ago, Frankie had been hanging out with one of the hottest bands in the world. Few people knew what went on behind closed doors—what young folks did while breaking curfew. Alex had never really been given a curfew growing up, so it was something he didn’t quite understand. Frankie’s parents had not only given her a curfew, but oftentimes, when attending local events, her date would wind up being her very own father, Marcus.

  Tonight she was attending a dinner at Rutherford’s Steak House. She and her father entered the establishment, walking arm-in-arm. She never quite understood why her mother never attended, but Frankie always liked getting dressed up and going out on the town.

  Being with her father certainly had its benefits; she always had a ride to and from the event, and there were absolutely no awkward moments at the end of the evening. But ever since going to the ball with Alex, attending a dinner with her dad just wasn’t the same.

  Frankie and Marcus were greeted by New York’s famed crooner Martin Escapone. Frankie always found Martin funny, but he made her uncomfortable as well. There was a dark and somewhat dangerous attitude beneath his sense of humor.

  These days the main topic of conversation in the New York entertainment circles was the invasion from Britain’s boy bands and what was to be done. To the New Yo
rk elite, these young bands were a joke and everyone was waiting for their popularity to end. To individual performance artists, the bands represented a genuine threat to their livelihood and needed to be dealt with. Martin Escapone was one such individual leading the charge to stop the invasion.

  It was a battle, not only for the charts but for the hearts of American women. The New York crooners had had women swooning for two decades and were now in grave danger of losing their status to skinny mop heads with bad teeth. It was not merely a head-scratcher for the likes of Martin Escapone, it was a war. He was determined not to let those limey punks mess with his mojo. Martin had no intention of hiding his distaste for the Brits; he attacked them verbally, if he couldn’t attack them physically.

  “What those mop heads need is a lesson from Buddy Holly,” said Martin Escapone and then sipped his martini.

  Frankie’s eyes widened at the comment. “You can’t mean . . .”

  This was the circle of entertainers in which Frankie had been raised, and now she found herself stuck in the middle between the old-timers on their way out and the young men who had taken control of the in-crowd. Frankie felt a bit like Juliet, knowing it was her Romeo who was the enemy. But she had no explanation for the British bands and their impact on female fans; only that they were rebellious and at times even behaved badly. Frankie gazed at Marcus and wondered what might be the cause of it all. Could it be that Italian crooners of days gone by had become as common as the boy next door? Could it be possible the boy her father disliked the most was the one she loved the most? Could it all just be about attraction to the exotic and rebellion for the sake of rebellion?

  Marcus covered Frankie’s ears and looked at Martin. “Shush, she’s a fan.”

  “Frankie, darling, you of all people should know better what real music is and what is shit,” replied Martin with the swirl of his martini. “But then, so should my son, too. It’s like some kind of trance—secret messages in the lyrics, I guess. English derelicts are sending messages to the American youth.”

  “What I don’t understand,” said Stanley, “is why the girls seem to go so crazy. I mean—don’t get me wrong—I don’t mind seeing ladies in an orgasmic frenzy, but geez.”

  “Again, need I remind you of my daughter’s presence during the conversation,” said Marcus.

  “Dad,” Frankie sighed, “I’m twenty.”

  “You’re still my little girl,” Marcus said, putting his arm around her shoulder.

  “Tight pants,” replied Mrs. Escapone, who was on the verge of intoxication. She raised her glass slightly, spilling a bit of champagne onto the carpeted floor. “I don’t know who their tailor is, but I would like to offer my kudos.”

  “So this is what entertainment has been reduced to now in America—tight pants,” Martin said with a buoyant laugh.

  “They’re just male prostitutes with musical instruments,” said Stanley.

  Everyone laughed except for Frankie. She couldn’t believe everyone could be so cruel and she really did like the music. Not every song was high-caliber quality, but they all had a good beat and were fun to dance to. But try explaining that to people who considered their own style of barely moving as dancing. “Excuse me,” she said, “I need to use the powder room.”

  As she entered and stood before the mirror she noticed that Mrs. Escapone had followed her.

  Mrs. Escapone checked her makeup and then washed her hands. “I hear one of the Dark Knights took you to a charity ball.”

  “Yes,” Frankie responded coyly.

  Mrs. Escapone turned toward her and rested against the sink. “So how was he?”

  “How do you mean?” asked Frankie.

  “Come on, woman-to-woman. How was he?”

  “You’re a married woman,” replied Frankie.

  “Honey, don’t tell me you didn’t have sex with him. I hear the Dark Knights give it out to the fans after every concert. Perhaps the reason they’re making so much money selling records.” Mrs. Escapone looked at Frankie. “Don’t tell me he took you to a ball and didn’t even show you his balls! Tsk, tsk. That would have been a shame.”

  Frankie washed and then dried her hands. She looked harshly at Mrs. Escapone and said, “Some people don’t parade their personal affairs for all the public to see; and those who do, are either trying to sell something or convince themselves it’s love. I don’t need to prove anything to anyone.”

  “Wow, aren’t you so smart for such a young woman,” Mrs. Escapone said with biting sarcasm.

  “I have to be. It’s the only way a girl can avoid being taken advantage of in this business,” said Frankie. “Once you give it up to the media and the fans, you have to keep up appearances even when there’s nothing to show. Best thing to give is nothing.” She looked harshly at Mrs. Escapone. “And I am giving away nothing.”

  Mrs. Escapone grinned at Frankie. “I’m going to take it he was pretty damn good since you’re going to such great lengths to deflect the question.” Frankie remained silent. “Good for you, sugar.” She nudged Frankie in the shoulder and turned back toward the mirror to examine her lipstick. “It’s hard for a woman to get a good lay. They are few and far between.”

  Frankie pushed the door open and reentered the dining area. She scanned the room, looking at all the wealthy and bored married couples—powerful, rich men with their young lovers—until her eyes fell on her father, sitting alone and waiting for her. She walked over to Marcus, tapped him on the arm, and asked, “Can we leave?”

  “So soon?” he asked.

  “I’m not feeling well,” she said and it was the truth. “All this gossiping about Alex and the band was making her nauseous Frankie couldn’t believe people could talk so much about things they knew nothing about.

  “I’ll get our coats,” replied Marcus tenderly.

  Frankie waited for Marcus at the entrance. He appeared shortly with her mink coat, which he wrapped around her shoulders. “I suppose I’m not the date you’ve recently grown accustomed to.”

  The valet pulled up in Marcus’s black Chevrolet Impala and then got out to open the door for Frankie. Marcus climbed in the driver’s side, put the car in gear, and pulled away from the restaurant. Neither father nor daughter spoke as they merged with the street traffic.

  “I remember when you used to love getting dressed up and coming to these events with me,” Marcus said, finally breaking the silence. “You liked to act so much older than your age. I would worry, but then, I reminded myself that you were with me.”

  Frankie tuned the radio to a station that played Rock and Roll music. “I also like to be young.” She paused for a few seconds, staring out at the city lights. “Dad, why doesn’t Mom ever come with you to these events?”

  Marcus shrugged. “You always seemed to enjoy them more; and besides, being seen will help your career.”

  “Being seen with my father will help my career?”

  On the radio, the Dark Knights song, “Led Astray played:

  People say we are all sheep

  In the rich man’s order

  No one thinks to say a peep

  Or dares to cross his border.

  “It’s better than being seen with . . . certain boys,” Marcus replied, keeping his eyes on the road.

  “Boys like Alex?”

  Marcus nodded, but didn’t reply and then his attention to the song on the radio.

  We are all led astray

  By the schemes of another

  We are all led astray

  By ignoring things that bother.

  Not caring for the music on the radio, Marcus turned the volume down on the radio.

  Frankie frowned, insulted her father didn’t like
her music. “Why do you dislike him so much?”

  Marcus didn’t have a good answer to her direct question. Perhaps he could have given a generic answer like: “I don’t get a good feeling from him,” or “I know his type.” He knew, however, that anything he said to Frankie would be met with a response from her in Alex’s defense. Marcus simply did not like Alex for no reason other than the boy existed.

  Frankie settled back into her seat and folded her arms. “I bet if you opened your mind and got to know him, you’d like him,” she said. “He really is a good guy.”

  “I thought Alex left the country,” said Marcus.

  “Yeah, Dad, but there is the telephone; we talk every day.”

  “On whose dime?” asked Marcus, shocked that she was still in contact with Alex.

  “His. He calls me every day, sometimes twice a day,” said Frankie with a broad smile. “We really like each other. Someday we’re going to be together, so you might as well get used to it now.”

  Marcus felt a gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach to learn that Alex Rowley was still very much in the picture as far as his daughter was concerned. “Can we change the subject?” he asked. “There must be something else you’d like to talk about, say, your upcoming Broadway show or your studies.”

  There were other things in Frankie’s life, but Alex was foremost in her thoughts these days. “Yeah, but they’re not really all that important. People and love are important, jobs are not.”

  Glancing away from the road toward Frankie, the seriousness of how she felt suddenly dawned on him. His daughter, the apple of his eye, was in love with a boy he didn’t approve of, and he was not prepared for such an event. Marcus always dreamed Frankie would find a nice boy, someone he would approve of, and she would live a very happy and prosperous life. That was the future he envisioned for Frankie. Now, however, he was learning that Frankie had a different dream.