Saying Goodbye (What the World Doesn't Know) (17 page)

            “What’s the matter with you?” she asked. “Why are you giving me that look?”

            “Are you using me?” he asked bluntly.

            “Yes! I’m using you for sex,” she replied with a giggle, reaching down between his legs.

            Alex looked at her sternly, removing her hand from his crotch. “No, I mean to rebel against your parents.”

            “Are you out of your mind? Do you know how many girls in the world would kill to be your date tonight? I’m the lucky one!” she said. “Besides, I’m not like that. What’s the point of wasting time with someone if you don’t really like them? I have much better things to do with my time, so don’t you forget it!” Frankie leaned toward him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Tonight is our night; do not let anyone ruin it.”

            Alex slouched in his seat and decided to take Frankie at her word; besides, she had given him no reason not to trust her. He had a choice: he could let that introduction bother him all night, or he could enjoy this last evening he had with Frankie.

He chose Frankie.

 

            Frankie’s new hairdo was a mess as she reclined naked under the sheets of the hotel bed. She sighed and said, “Tell me again why I wasted so much money getting my hair done only to come here and mess it up completely.”

            Alex, dressed in his T-shirt and trousers, walked into the room toward the bed, pushing a cart covered with a satin tablecloth and silver covered dishes. He then crawled onto the bed and over her.

            “Because I haven't seen you in two weeks,” he replied, kissing her on the face.

With her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, she tried to pull him down to her again.

            “Dinner’s here,” he said, pulling away.

            “Ah, boo,” she said, sitting upright and covering herself with the sheet. “I want another serving of Alex.”

            “But we have food, and Alex needs a rest.” He lifted the cover off one of the plates. “An American delicacy of ‘burgers and fries,’ as you like to call ’em in the States.”

            “Why? What do you call them?” asked Frankie as she slid into the hotel robe and took a seat at the rolling table.

            “Chips,” he said, popping one in his mouth. He poured each of them a large glass of milk from a cold pitcher. “Also, I don't understand—why are they French?”

            Frankie took a sip of the milk and then looked down at her plate. “What else would they be?”

            “Italian. My chips are Italian,” replied Alex as he nibbled a fry.

            “You’re weird,” said Frankie and then took an oversized bite of her burger.

            Alex wiped her cheek with a cloth napkin as burger juice ran down her face. “You're a mess. Who would imagine Frankie Robinson—naked and dripping in meat juice,” he asked and then quickly answered his own question. “Probably most men in America.”

            “Ha-ha,” she chuckled, cleaning herself off. “Doesn’t that make
you
the lucky one?”

            “Indeed,” he replied as he shook malt vinegar on his fries. “That’s why they’re gunning for me.”

            She examined the bruise on his face. “So tell me again how it happened.”

            “A fist came out of the darkness and hit my face; that’s all there is too it,” he explained.

            “Doesn’t it worry you that people want to hurt you?” she asked, running a fry through a glob of ketchup.

            “It freaks me out completely. Whether it’s a camera or a dark face in the audience, I have no idea who’s watching me. I never know if someone’s going to attack me on stage, or throw vegetables or fists at me. The day I stare down the barrel of a gun is the day I pack it all up and become a hermit,” he said and then bit into his burger.

            “Who would have thought playing guitar could be so dangerous?” Frankie said.

            “That’s what I thought. And to think I chose being a guitar player because I thought it would be easier than having a proper job working for an electrician.”

            “Well, it’s never too late to achieve your dreams. One day you could be an electrician,” said Frankie with a casual shrug.

            Alex laughed and raised his milk glass to toast hers. “To dreaming.”

            Frankie had never been touched by the harsh aftermaths of World War II. She was born during war-time celebration and festivity to parents who had spent the war years entertaining audiences. If it weren’t for her being educated in school about the war, she might never have learned much about it at all. The lives of Alex and the other Dark Knights, on the other hand, were personally affected by the war.

            Robbie’s mother had offered her services as a nurse at a veterans’ hospital after the first Nazi raid on London. Peter and Josh had lost their fathers in battle and were raised by single mothers. Nick’s father never fully recovered mentally or emotionally. Alex was the fortunate one. His father, Leon, remained at home to work in the shipyard.

            Although the Nazi bombings had stopped by the time Alex was born, the air-raid sirens did not. As a young baby Nadine would go to great lengths to comfort his screams. Sudden loud noises still haunted Alex.
It seemed ironic Alex would find loud rock and roll music an occupation, but it wasn’t the music; the music always calmed Alex no matter how loud, it was sudden bangs that shocked his system. Roaring fans sent chills down his spine. It was why after every concert he needed time alone in silence. 

            As children, all the Dark Knights experienced what it was like to live on very little and heightened their sensibilities to areas of conflict around the world. Tonight, in New York City, the Dark Knights had been booked to do a benefit concert to aid President Johnson with his War on Poverty.

            While Frankie waited to leave for the concert, she couldn’t help but notice the inherit irony demonstrated by benefit concerts and charity balls designed to fight poverty. All the money that went towards buying gowns, tuxedos, jewelry, and hairdos for the evening could easily feed all the people in Mound Bayou, Mississippi. Instead, the poor would have to be content with whatever was collected from ticket sales to a Dark Knight concert.
Funny how the wealthy like to get dressed up and party to help the poor
, Frankie thought. To her it seemed almost cruel.

            After the Dark Knights were whisked away in a separate limousine, Frankie rode with Darren Chapman, their manager; Darren’s assistant; their press officer; and Nelson Fletcher, their lawyer. Here was Frankie, the sweet little cupcake girlfriend of one of the guys in the band, cowering in the corner of the limousine while the rest adhered to the band’s business.

            Finally Darren lifted his focus from a stack of papers in need of his signature and gazed curiously at Frankie. “I hear you sing and dance,” he said in a very soft and pleasant British accent.

            “Since I could walk,” Frankie responded. “I’ve been classically trained in ballet, and I’ve had singing lessons since I was a little girl.”

            “Huh,” he grunted. “Well, I’m always on the lookout for talent.”

            “I already have an agent,” Frankie hesitated, “but he’s just for movies and television appearances.” She was slowly beginning to realize the great opportunity that was unfolding right in front of her.

            “Do you fancy yourself a singer?” asked Darren.

            Frankie brushed her hair with her fingers. She had always dreamed of becoming an actress on the big screen and winning an Oscar; it was the reason she chose the more challenging roles. But seated alongside Darren Chapman, she felt she couldn’t possibly pass up this chance; plus, it would keep her tied to Alex.

            “I love to sing,” she said, “but if I could choose anything it would be to dance. Dancing is the best.”

            “Alex told me you won a Golden Globe. Such a talented girl, you must have the world at your feet.”

            “She definitely has Alex at her feet,” said Ian with a laugh.

            “Never has a more obvious statement been uttered.” said Darren. He then nudged his assistant. “Get this young lady’s information. We might be able to work together in the future.”

Darren’s assistant handed Frankie a clipboard.

            “How old are you?” Darren asked.

            Frankie’s hands shook has she began to write down her name, address, and telephone number. “I just turned twenty a couple weeks ago. Should I give you my agent’s contact information?”

            “Darling,” Darren said pleasantly, “
I’m
a talent agent.”

            “Right,” said Frankie, handing the clipboard back to the assistant. She couldn’t believe it—she had gone from merely dating Alex Rowley to being signed on by his manager Darren Chapman in the back seat of his limousine. Her life and career were no doubt about to take a dramatic turn.

            The limousine came to a halt when they arrived at Columbus Avenue. There was no way to get through; the street was crowded with fans. Several fans broke through the barricades and rushed toward the limousine, believing the band to be inside. Frankie was able to witness firsthand the sight of female fans pressing themselves against the windows to see who was inside only to become disappointed once they saw her.

            One of the fans spat at the window where Frankie sat. Another screamed, “Slut!” while another shouted, “Bitch!” Several more began to pound on the car furiously.

            Frankie kept her gaze low; she couldn’t face anyone. The fans’ hostility was one of the drawbacks to dating a celebrity. Alex had faced it in Dallas, and now it was her turn. It made her wonder if they could ever be seen together.

            Finally mounted policemen soon came to their rescue and escorted the limousine west on Sixty-second Street into a parking garage where they were greeted by the police communicating on walkie-talkies. Far away from the prying eyes of the media and fans, Frankie was escorted through the back door of the theater. It was all very cloak-and-dagger as everyone tried their best to keep Frankie from being detected.

            As an entertainer, it felt odd to be the girlfriend of another performer—especially in a place she had always dreamed of performing. A twinge of jealousy and competition filled her chest as she entered the dressing room and found the Dark Knights passing around a joint. Alex looked up at Frankie and grinned with a half-baked smile and make-up covering his black eye. She released a smile; she couldn’t resist him.

            Frankie had lived most of her life backstage in theaters and television studios. She was well aware of what went on backstage unbeknownst to the public. It was where love affairs happened, tragedies occurred, and many secrets were kept. Tonight’s secret was that the Dark Knights were as high as kites as they prepared for a benefit concert before New York City’s wealthy elites; it was the most perfect rebellion against those who in normal, everyday life would certainly turn down their noses at them.

            Ian, the band’s press officer, tugged at Frankie’s arm and said, “Allow me to show you to your seat.”

            “Okay,” she replied softly and then turned to the band. “Behave yourselves tonight. These folks are so uptight; they might just shatter in their seats.”

            Nick took a hit off the joint. “We’ll make sure to bring a broom.”

            “We’ll be on our best behavior,” said Peter. “Hear that Robbie? No swooning the Bettys in the first row.”

            “No way, probably be a bunch of
skanks
,” replied Robbie and then dragged on the joint.

            “Never stopped you before,” joked Josh.

            “All right, as long as we have all that cleared up,” said Frankie. She blew a kiss to Alex. “Good luck.” Alex pretended to catch it and then pressed his fingers to his lips.

            “Aw, isn’t that sweet. Don’t you have one for me?” yelled Nick.

            “Knock it off,” said Alex.

            Frankie raised a satin-gloved fist. “Yeah, and I’ll give it to you right in the kisser!”

            Alex laughed. “That’s my girl!”

            Hoots rang out from the rest of the band as Ian escorted Frankie through the back hallways of the opera house. As she walked along the hallway, Frankie thought of all the great composers and opera singers who had walked through these very halls and wondered what they would think if they knew the next musicians to do so would be five stoned working-class lads from England.

            She followed Ian up a back stairway that led to a posh private balcony seat. From above, she had a great view of the stage, but no one in the audience could see her hidden behind the curtain. She wondered if this was this how it was going to be—ducking inside buildings, being rushed through hallways, and forced to hide behind curtains to avoid being seen by the public
. I suppose it’s better than being spat at,
she thought.

            A sober feeling came over Frankie as Ian took a seat behind her and immediately got back to the business of writing notes on a pad. Soon other members of the band’s entourage joined her—their lawyer, Nelson Fletcher; followed by reporter Willie Bell, who slickly introduced himself to Frankie; Darren’s secretary; and eventually Darren himself. Her attention was quickly drawn to the stage below as Chase began setting up the band’s equipment.

            Frankie was relieved when Cassie entered the private balcony and sat down next to her. Cassie was dressed modestly but elegantly. Her long hair was piled into a beehive bun and she wore a simple sea-foam green, slim-fitting gown. Cassie was not here as a guest of any of the members of the band, though; Nick had cooled the affair since guilt had finally got the better of him. Cassie just played it off as part of a wild tour. To Cassie, there was no sense mourning a man she had never really had in the first place. As for Frankie, her relationship with Alex was just beginning to heat up. The thought of letting him go now was gut-wrenching.