Saying Goodbye (What the World Doesn't Know) (22 page)

            “Yeah, is that so bad?” asked Alex. “Don’t you think I deserve a pretty girl’s affection?”

            “I think you deserve a girl you can fall in love with,” replied Leon.

            Alex took a gulp of his lager, stared at his father, and laughed. “Like I said, it’s only been a few weeks. I like her. She’s a cool chick and she’s fun to hang out with. What’s the harm?”

            “The problem is, that girl is already planning your wedding in her head. The way she’s sucking up to your mother,” said Leon with a laugh. “I’m just saying, if she’s not the one, you’d better put on the brakes soon or that poor girl’s gonna get real hurt.”

            “Pop, once again, we’ve been dating for just a few weeks. I don’t see a problem with having a girlfriend; besides, who knows what’s going to happen in the future?”

            Leon stepped closer to Alex and put his forefinger in his face. “Let me explain something to you, son. I fell madly in love with your mother the first time I laid eyes on her, and I never
once
fell out of love. I love her today like I did the day I first saw her. That’s the kind of love you want; that’s the love you deserve. If you don’t feel that now, then she’s not the one.” Leon patted Alex on the shoulder and headed back toward the house.

            “That’s just you and Mom!” shouted Alex. “Everyone has their own story.”

            Leon waved the back of his hand at Alex and headed inside. Alex stood alone outside and lit a cigarette. He had traveled around the world, had been with more women than his father could even imagine, and yet Leon seemed to have the upper hand on love. Leon knew it and        Alex felt it. He wondered how love between his parents was different than with Sarah. He had a good thing with Sarah—he simply didn’t want to walk away, and he definitely wanted to pursue it to its end. He could only take what he knew at the time, and right now all he knew was Sarah.

 

            Lying in bed with his face in his pillow, Alex recalled the conversation he had had with his father only two months ago and a gnawing sensation grew in the pit of his stomach
—
Frankie. From the moment he had laid eyes on her, he knew that she was the one. There simply was no other girl for him.

            Alex sat up in bed and stared at the dresser where Sarah had placed her brushes, combs, and perfectly organized perfumes. On the nightstand was a framed picture of them taken at his parents’ home in Manchester. He imagined what Frankie’s bedroom looked like. Was her dresser organized as neatly? Did she have framed pictures on her nightstand? But it didn’t really matter what the décor— Sarah was attempting perfection, but Frankie
was
perfection.

            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.

 

            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 York 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.