Saying Goodbye (What the World Doesn't Know) (13 page)

            “Oh, look: it’s the girls—Cassie and Igor,” Nick said with a snort and giggle. And then the rest of them started giggling uncontrollably.

            “This does not look good.” Cassie took a seat alongside Nick. “What are you boys up to?”

            “Nothing,” Peter said, trying to act innocent.

            Frankie loomed over the back of Alex’s seat and glared down at him. She cleared her throat.

            Alex glanced up at her and asked, “What?”

            With her hands on her hips she asked, “Do you mind telling me who your girlfriend was?”

            Everyone started laughing at his expense.

            “We’ve already been through this, Igor. We’ve determined that he moves too slowly,” explained Josh. “He’s too s-l-l-l-o-o-w-w-w. He needs to move faster to keep away from the girls.”

            Frankie leaned over Alex and hugged his chest. “Slow can be good sometimes.”

            Alex reached around and grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her over the couch onto his lap. She screamed, straightening her skirt.

            “Is this the infamous Frankie Robinson?” asked Dave.

            “Oh, so
this
is Frankie Robinson,” swooned Robbie, reaching forward for her hand. “How could I have possibly missed you?”

            Alex slapped Robbie’s hand away. “Watch it!”

            “It’s Alex’s wife,” teased Nick as he took a hit off a joint.

            Alex pressed his face against Frankie’s. “We’ve been married for forty years.”

            “We’ve been married for too long!” exclaimed Frankie and then punched Alex’s arm. “Can you believe I put up with you for all these years?”

            “Ouch, settle down!” He took the joint from Nick and puffed.

            “What’s that?” asked Frankie, referring to the joint.

            Alex whispered seductively in Frankie’s ear, “It is marijuana.”

            Frankie stared at the joint with apprehension. “Isn’t that illegal?”

            “Only if you tell people,” replied Josh with a daring look in his eye.

            “Are you a snitch, Igor?” questioned Peter.

            “If you are, we’ll have to kill you,” said Nick with a monstrous facial expression.

            “My lips are sealed,” said Frankie.

            “I sure hope not,”
muttered Alex
. Frankie lightly smacked him across the head and everyone started giggling again.

            Alex presented the joint to Frankie. She paused before taking it. It was true, she was rebellious; but now she would be taking it to the next level: breaking the law.

            “What’s the matter?” asked Alex.

            “I’ve never broken the law before,” she said. Everyone laughed, and she didn’t find it very amusing.

            Nick leaned forward over Cassie, who was sitting on his lap. “What are laws? And who makes them?” 

           
“It’s just like marriage, isn’t it, Nick?”
Frankie asked.

            Everyone in the room sat back and there was a chorus of “oohs!”

            “Ouch” exclaimed Robbie, “A little fiery ain’t she? Seems she’s got you, Nickie.”

            Nick shot Robbie a glance. “The marriage laws in England only extend to the island shores. Beyond that, I’m a free man; besides, the rich and powerful have been trying to control us for centuries. They’ve been controlling our minds and bodies—and for what? Fear and profit. By not taking a hit of that joint, you are remaining in the prison they have created for us all.”

            Frankie looked to Alex. He gazed deeply in her eyes and asked, “You want to be free, don’t you? You don’t want to be controlled by the man?”

            “Yeah, but Big Brother might be watching,” replied Frankie.

            “Come on,” said Dave, “There’re no reporters or photographers here. It’s just us guys, you, and Cassie.”

            “Look, maybe Igor’s a square,” tempted Nick.

            “I am no square,” said Frankie and then looked at Alex. “What does it do anyway?”

            “Nothing, really—all it does is mellow you.” Alex nudged her waist, “It settles you down; and you could do with a little settling.”

            “Okay, what do I do?” she asked.

            “Take a puff, but don’t inhale fully. Hold the smoke in your mouth for a moment and then exhale,” explained Alex.

            Frankie carefully puffed on the joint and held it in as best she could, until she coughed out the smoke. Everyone started laughing at her.

“God, this was a marvelous experience. I’m
so
glad I tried it,” she said.

            Alex patted Frankie on the knee and said, “You did great, sweetie.”

            Frankie studied the joint. “But I don’t feel anything.”

            “That’s because you’re too high-strung,” responded Nick, “It would take all the weed in NYC to mellow you out.”

            Frankie took another puff of the joint, this time with a better effect. She slid closer to Alex and rested her chin on his shoulder.

            “See? You’re becoming an expert,” complimented Alex and then gave her a smile.

            Soon the giggling stopped and everyone was extremely slow in speech and mellow in their actions. Nick had already retreated with Cassie and, noticing the seductive look Alex’s eyes, Frankie knew they too would be vacating the party. Being alone with Alex was what she had been waiting for all week.

            They walked slowly to his room while a wild party erupted in the main suite to a blaring tune by the Four Tops. After Alex shut and locked his bedroom door, he and Frankie stripped to their underwear and began twisting to the music.

            Frankie grabbed onto Alex’s shoulders and hoisted herself up to his hips. With his hands on her waist, he swung her around and around with wild abandon until finally they both became breathless and collapsed on his bed.

            “Sounds like we’re missing a crazy party,” said Frankie, gazing into his eyes.

            “I’d rather be in here with you than out there with them,” he said and then covered her face and neck with kisses.

            “Me too,” she replied, wrapping her arms firmly around his shoulders. “It’s great shutting out the world and having you all to myself.”

            Alex positioned himself on top of her and grinned. “It would be even better if we stopped talking,” he said. “You’re mixing with my focus and concentration.”

            “Okay,” she muttered.

            Frankie loved making love with him; he just felt so damned good. She wanted to take it all in, knowing her time with him was precious—every little bit—from the sensation of their skin touching, feeling him inside her, and the sound of his voice.

            He noticed her expression and it immediately concerned him. He stopped momentarily and asked, “Are you okay? Is it all right?”

            Frankie laughed, arching herself backward, “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

            Alex slowly started moving again, studying the expression of rapture on her face. “That’s good, ’cause I’m kind of a perfectionist.”

            After they were through, Frankie rose from the bed, wrapped the sheets around her naked body, and walked over to Alex’s collection of guitars propped against the wall. She teased, fingering the strings on the six-stringed guitar. “May I?”

            Alex reclined against the backboard of the bed and lit a cigarette. “You know how?”

            Frankie lifted the guitar and strummed without caring which notes she played. “I’ve played around with a guitar here and there. I even played once in a show. Does that count?”

            “Sure,” said Alex. “Knock yourself out.”

            “I’m going to serenade you.” Frankie said as she sat crossed-legged on the bed opposite him.

            Alex sat forward, interested. “You’re going to serenade me?”

            “Yes. Ready?” she said with a smile. He nodded and she strummed the guitar and sang loudly and off-key. It was an old-time American folk song that Alex didn’t know:

 

 

            “I’m fucking lost and gone forever? What kind of serenade is that?” asked Alex. “That’s the best you got?”

            Frankie laughed. “Okay, wait. I have another one. This one’s going to be good. Are you ready?”

            Alex placed his arms behind his head and said. “Go on.”

            “Okay,” she said and then strummed softly as she sang “Moon River” to him.

            Alex watched her, naked beneath the sheet, her messy blonde hair and her skin glistening with sweat as she sang the sweetest of songs and her voice was so unbelievably beautiful. At that moment he knew he could never love another girl the way he loved Frankie.

            When Frankie finished her song she looked at Alex and asked, “How was that? Do you think I’m ready to go on tour with you?”

            He cracked a smile. “With an act like that, no one’s ever going to pay any attention to us again,” Alex reached for his twelve-string guitar and began playing “Pretty Woman.” He sang loudly and terribly off-key.

            Frankie laughed and fell backward on his bed. “Are you one of those geniuses who can hear a song once and play it?”

            “I wouldn’t say genius, but some.” With the cigarette dangling from his lips, he asked, “Do you want to hear some blues?”

            She rolled over on her side and watched as Alex played old-fashion guitar blues music. “Oh, that is so sexy.”

            Alex kicked her gently and said. “It’s not supposed to be sexy; it’s supposed to be the blues.”

            “The blues are sexy and you know it. If not, you would not have played it for me.” Sitting upright on the bed, Frankie once again propped Alex’s guitar on her thigh and began to play. “I have another song. It’s one of my favorites.”

She sang:

 

 

            “That’s mine,” said Alex with a grin.

            “I know,” Frankie replied, raising her eyebrows. “Tell me, who was it about?”

            Alex puffed on his cigarette and then extinguished it in the astray on the bedside table. He chuckled and then said, “Marlene Ulrich. She was a German stripper . . . and my first. I was seventeen at the time, and . . . well, once I got to know her—her story was kind of heavy, yeh know? She lived through Nazi Germany. She always put on this brave, strong front, but I could always see through it.”

            “Did you love her?” asked Frankie.

            “At the time, yes . . . or at least I thought so.” He smiled at Frankie. “Love changes with everyone you meet. I believe with each person you love, you find more to fill your heart.”

            Frankie leaned forward toward him. “You are just so damned thoughtful and sensitive.”

            “Auw no, don’t call me sensitive,” replied Alex.

            “Well, you are. And thoughtful, too,” she said with a seductive tone.

            “Okay, but don’t tell anyone else; let it be our little secret. I have a rough-and-tumble reputation to protect.” Alex returned his guitar to the case and returned to bed where he collapsed alongside Frankie. “What am I going to do with you?”

            “Love me,” she said.

            Alex ran his fingers through her blonde hair. It was an easy request.

 

            The press conferences were a dog and pony show. They were asked ridiculous questions like, “How often do you cut your hair? How often do you wash your hair?” Journalists even posed questions about American politics. This of course was ridiculous. If they didn’t even care what was happening in England, why would they care what was happening in America?

            On many occasions, Alex found himself compelled to answer a reporter’s question with another question, such as: what kind of society would assassinate its president? He wanted to know why they would segregate and murder innocent black girls in a church. He wanted to know why there was so much hate and bigotry in what was supposed to be the “greatest nation in the world.” But for the sake of peace, he kept his mouth shut.

            They were also constantly asked questions regarding their personal lives that had absolutely nothing to do with their music. Robbie, their lead singer, fielded most of those questions. They were targeted at him because he was the one who brought all the sex-crazed teens to their knees with his sexy moves. Robbie fielded many of the questions with comical bravado, which kept the press corps entertained. Peter also helped to address questions basically because of his natural talent for bullshit. Nick, Alex, and Josh were much more flippant and sarcastic with their answers, which didn’t sit well with reporters. More often than not, five young guys from England made a lot of older male reporters seem like dim-witted idiots, and most of the dim-witted idiots didn’t even notice.

            They were all used to personal questions about relationships in their private lives. They usually skirted around the issue by responding with a consummate verbal dance routine. It contained a variety of reasons—everything from maintaining some modicum of privacy to not wanting to disturb their image of availability, which was responsible for attracting the multitudes of fans. The single status of the band members was what gave millions of single girls around the world reasons to hope and cause to dream.