Saying Goodbye (What the World Doesn't Know) (16 page)

            “They’re lucky,” said another member of the ground crew, nodding toward Alex, Peter, and Chase inside the airport. “If they had hit the gas tank or the rudder, those kids would have been spilled all over the blue grass of Kentucky.”

            “Don’t I know it,” said the pilot, helping the ground crew with the bags. He dropped his cigarette on the tarmac and extinguished it with his boot. “Now I gotta go back and get the other three.”

            “Good luck,” said one of the ground crew.

            No one mentioned a word to Alex, Peter, or Chase as they waited for the car to pick them up and take them into the city. Right now, even being shot at by some Kentucky rednecks would not have upset Alex; he was back in New York City, and, within a couple of hours, he would be able to see Frankie again.

 

            Geraldine licked her fingers and then turned the page of her book. She heard the front door open and then slam shut. “Your date for the ball called!” Geraldine shouted, without taking her eyes off the pages of her book.

            Frankie entered the living room, being careful not to move her head too much, in fear of damaging her new doo. “What did he say?”

            Geraldine still didn’t look up from the book. “He said he’d call you later.”

            “He didn’t say what it was about?” pressed Frankie.

            “No,” replied Geraldine, more interested in her book than Frankie’s love life.

            “How did he sound?”

            Geraldine lifted her eyes from her book. “How did he sound? He sounded British.”

            “No. Did he sound upset or happy?” asked Frankie.

            “Neither,” said Geraldine, returning her focus back to the book.

            “What does that mean?”

            “Francesca, I don’t know!” exclaimed Geraldine. “I am not an expert on Alex Rowley’s mood swings.”

            Frankie stormed away and then up the stairs to her room, nervous as to why he called.
What did he want?
she thought as she looked at her reflection in the mirror.
Was he calling to cancel?
Did I get my hair done for nothing
?
Why couldn’t he just leave a message?

            An hour later the phone rang and Frankie sprinted downstairs to answer. Geraldine, still engrossed in her book, didn’t even bother with the thought of moving or answering. This time she wasn’t going to interfere between her daughter and her new beau.

            “Hello?” Frankie answered breathlessly and then asked: “Who calls without leaving a message?”

            Alex opened his suitcase while cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder. “Ah, apparently, I do.”

            “Well, don’t do it again!” Frankie scolded and then calmed herself. “So what’s up?”

“I’m here; I’m back in New York,” he said with a big smile. “I called to tell you I was returning early.” Glancing at himself in the mirror, he played with his hair. “I’m going to get a haircut, but I think that I can pick you up earlier so we can spend more time together.”           

            Frankie felt her entire body soften. “You’re getting a haircut,” she said with a sigh.

            “Yeah. So what should I go with—Larry, Moe, or Curly?”

            “Oh, you are such a Moe,” replied Frankie.

            “Actually, most people think I’m Curly,” said Alex, admiring himself in the mirror.

Frankie leaned against the kitchen wall and twirled the phone cord between her newly manicured fingers. “What time are you picking me up?”

            “When can you be ready?”

            “Well, I already had my hair done, so all I need to do is take a quick shower and put on my makeup and my dress. I can be ready in an hour.”

            “Okay, how about two o’clock?” he said. “Then we can come back here and have something to eat before the concert.”

            “Sounds good,” said Frankie. “See you soon.” She hung up the phone, she again sprinted past her mother toward the stairs.

            “All is good I take it?” Geraldine asked.

            “No time to talk!” Frankie shouted as she bounded up every other step. “He’s picking me up early!”

            As strict as Geraldine could be at times, she released a smile for her daughter. It had been a long time since she felt such love and excitement and, regardless of how it all turned out, it was nice seeing it once again in her home.

 

            Chase wound the limousine up through the pristine green hills of a rather affluent Queens suburb—a far cry from the terraced home Alex had shared with his parents and two brothers in Manchester. As they drove, the houses became larger and larger mansions, causing Alex to slump lower into his seat. True, this was nothing new to him, he had been inside mansions before, rubbed elbows with the wealthy; but he had to admit: Frankie’s social status had him a bit unnerved. It was one thing to rub elbows and walk away; it was another to be more intimately involved.

            The reality of a nagging doubt was finally sinking in, and the thought struck him that perhaps, in many ways, she was out of his league. Frankie had it all. She was the perfect girl—beautiful, intelligent, talented, and educated. And this poor working-class punk was about to take the closest thing to an American princess to a charity ball. If he believed in fairy tales, this certainly would be one for the books.

            Chase pulled the limo into the driveway of a large white house surrounded by white picket fences and roses bushes. He parked the car and turned to Alex. “Go get ’er, tiger,” he said.

            Alex’s palms were sweating around the cellophane-wrapped roses he had bought for Frankie. He hesitated, feeling a deep nervous twinge in his stomach. Slowly he got out of the car and walked to the front door. He had never felt so awkward walking; he felt like a zombie monster with two left feet.

            Just as he was about to knock on the door, Frankie opened it from the inside and said breathlessly, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

            Taking one look at her, his entire body went limp and his jaw dropped. He turned back toward Chase, who was waiting outside the driver’s side door, for any indication that he wasn’t dreaming. Alex had always found Frankie beautiful, but tonight she was absolutely radiant—her blonde hair shimmered in shiny curls that fell softly onto her bare shoulders, her face resembled a porcelain doll, and her full figure was twisted in a cream-colored silk gown with accents of pink flowers.

            “You look very handsome in your tuxedo; and I love your haircut,” she said, running her gloved hands through his hair. “And that shiner on your face almost matches the color of your eyes.”

            “Funny girl,” he mumbled.

            Frankie smiled and then glanced at the flowers. “Are those for me?”

            Alex grinned and said, “No, they’re for your next-door neighbor.”

            “Ha,” she grunted. She then grabbed him by the arm and dragged him inside her house.

            While Frankie disappeared to put the flowers in a vase, Alex stood in the foyer, studying the interior of the house. He noticed right away that the large living room, adjacent to where he was standing, contained a television and a fireplace. Pictures of Frankie and her brother decorated the walls. Alex stepped closer to look at photographs of young Frankie performing ballet and other dance routines. There were school pictures ranging from her childhood to her graduation. Frankie’s whole life was displayed on this wall; it was obvious her parents were very proud of their daughter.

            “Hello,” greeted a male voice from behind Alex.

            Alex turned and saw a man shorter than himself with greying brown hair. He knew from the family photos that this had to be Marcus.

“Hello,” Alex replied pleasantly and then extended his hand for Marcus to shake, but Marcus refused. Alex let his hand drop awkwardly to his side and felt it brush up against his thigh.

            Marcus studied Alex carefully, wanting desperately to see what his daughter saw in this young man. He didn’t find Alex to be particularly handsome—especially with the black and blue bruise on his face. Of all the handsome actors and entertainers his daughter could be dating, this was what she had bought home. To Marcus, Alex looked like a skid mark that had been scraped off the street and then dressed in a tuxedo, but of course he wanted to give Frankie the benefit of the doubt.

            “You must be the famous Alex Rowley I’ve heard so much about,” said Marcus.

            “Yes, sir,” said Alex formally, hoping to gain Marcus’s respect.

            “You look like a Molly Maguire,” said Marcus, scrutinizing Alex’s face.

            “Excuse me?”

            “Your face—you look like you were on the losing side of a fight,” said Marcus.

            Alex chuckled. “Oh, it was just an overzealous fan. Getting knocked about is just part of life.”

            “No, not everyone’s life. Have a seat,” Marcus said, gesturing to a chair. He took a seat across from Alex, and couldn’t get over his long hair. “It seems
a
 bit inappropriate to attend a ball with a black eye.”

            “They’re going to put some makeup on it for the concert,” replied Alex, sitting stiffly in the cushioned chair and gazing around the luxuriously decorated room. His attention was scattered, but mostly he wanted to avoid the face-to-face confrontation with Marcus. 

            Alex had never had to face the fathers of any of the girls he dated before. Normally he’d meet his dates at a party where they were performing, or even in the hotel room itself.

For Marcus, the fact that Alex didn’t make eye contact was very troubling. He knew immediately that this kid could not be trusted with his precious daughter.

            “So tell me about yourself,” said Marcus.

            Frankie entered, carrying a class of lemonade for each of them. She handed one to Marcus, the other to Alex, and then sat on the arm of the chair Alex was using. Marcus watched carefully as his daughter leaned toward Alex and put her arm around his shoulder. He reclined in his own seat, knowing this kid has already been intimate with Frankie.

            “Thank you,” Alex said to Frankie, referring to the lemonade she had given him. He then turned to Marcus. “I play guitar.”

            Marcus was on the verge of throwing the kid out of his house, but he didn’t have the nerve. He was too mild-mannered, and Alex was bigger than him. “Is that it?”

            “I don’t have time for much else,” Alex responded and then sipped his lemonade.

            “I guess they keep you busy jet-setting around the world,” said Marcus, “going from gig to gig . . . girl to girl.”

            Alex bit his lip, knowing Marcus was intent on tripping him up. “Our schedule is very busy. We hardly get any time off.”

            Frankie rubbed Alex’s shoulder. “He can play a song just by listening to it once, Dad, He’s written a few songs too. They’re really good. He co-wrote, “Double Standard” with Peter Barton,” she said and then sang:

 

 

              Marcus’s expression remained unchanged. “Ah, so you’re a songwriter. Tell me, do you have much formal training?”

            “No, I have not.” Alex grew unnerved by the conversation, as he was well aware that Marcus was being deliberately condescending.

            “He’s a raw talent—a natural,” said Frankie as she messed with Alex’s hair. “He taught himself to play the guitar.”

           
“It sure sounds like it,”
 said Marcus, standing up. He looked at Frankie, ignoring Alex. “Don’t forget, your curfew is midnight.”

            “Dad, it’s Alex’s last night here. Can’t we forgo the curfew one night? A girl doesn’t get too many chances to go to a ball,” she said. “Pleeease?”

            Marcus studied Alex intently and asked. “You’re leaving tomorrow?”

            “Tomorrow morning at ten,” replied Alex.

            “Good,” Marcus said and then turned to Frankie. “Two o’clock.”

            “Two o’clock,” Frankie whined.

            “It’s two o’clock or not go at all,” replied Marcus.

            “Okay, two o’clock.” Frankie kissed Marcus on the cheek and then guided Alex to the door.

            Once outside, Alex sighed. He felt like he had just been castrated. Marcus had taken all his wind and somehow blew it back up Alex’s ass. He could not have imagined a worse introduction to Frankie’s father and, deep inside, he knew he had ruined any real chance to be with Frankie.

            He opened the back door of the limousine for Frankie and then climbed in beside her. “Is your dad that rough to all the guys you bring home?”

            “He’s a teddy bear. I wouldn’t worry about him,” said Frankie and then leaned over and kissed Alex on the cheek.

            As Chase pulled out of the Robinsons’ driveway, Alex slumped in the back seat alongside Frankie. It was amazing: Frankie could be such a free spirit, while her old man was such a stick-in-the-mud. And then it dawned on him—was Frankie just using him to rebel against her father? Did she really like him, or was he just some joker or tool? He looked at her harshly.