Saying Goodbye (What the World Doesn't Know) (23 page)

            “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:

 

 

            “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.

 

 

            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.

            Upon returning home, Frankie headed up to her bedroom while Marcus retreated to his room with Geraldine. Geraldine was still awake and engrossed in a book when he walked in the room. She barely took her eyes away from her reading to notice he had entered. Marcus quietly took of his shoes and socks at the foot of the bed and then changed into his satin pajamas.

Getting into bed alongside Geraldine, he finally said, “Frankie’s in love.”

            “Well, she’s at the age” Geraldine replied, still not looking at Marcus as she turned the next page of her book.

            “With Alex Rowley,” Marcus said, resting his head on his satin pillow.

            “Who?” asked Geraldine, still more interested in her book.

            “You know, the guitarist from
that
band—the kid who took her to the ball; the one who fell asleep on our couch until the wee hours of the morning,” Marcus explained.

            “Ah, the boy you don’t like,” replied Geraldine.

            “He’s not good enough for Frankie!”

            Finally Geraldine closed her book and set it on the bedside table. “They’re young, Marcus; they’ll grow out of it. You remember what it was like to be young and in love. Besides, this is good for Frankie.”

            Marcus lifted himself up on his elbows and asked, “How so?”

            “Sooner or later this kid’s going to get between the legs of another pretty girl and it will be ‘bye-bye, Frankie.’ Frankie will be heartbroken, but she’ll learn and grow from it,” replied Geraldine.

            “I don’t want to see Frankie hurt.”

            “You can’t protect her forever, Marcus; you’re going to have to let her go,” said Geraldine. Frankie let go of you
—
her daddy
—
now it’s time for you to let go of her.” She reached over and turned off the table lamp. “Like a bad cold, we’re going to have to let this run its course.”

            In the darkness, Geraldine rolled on her side away from Marcus, while he stretched out on his back, thinking of Frankie. He didn’t know why he was having such a hard time with her new relationship. Frankie had had boyfriends before, and many of these young men had made her happy. It was a joy for him to see her happy and playful. Maybe because at the time, it was simpler puppy love; this real, hardcore love was dangerous for young women. He had seen women wrecked by love and he saw Alex Rowley as a demolition ball. His beautiful daughter was going to be crushed. This was not going to end well, and he knew it.

 

            The next morning, Frankie sat across the kitchen table from her mother, wearing her pajama bottoms and Alex’s T-shirt, which she never did return. Wearing the T-shirt made her feel closer to him. While she dived hungrily into her breakfast of eggs and sausage, Geraldine sipped her black coffee and munched on a piece of white toast and jam.

            Suddenly Geraldine gave Frankie a look as though she had never seen her before, but it wasn’t Frankie she was looking at; it was Alex’s T-shirt. “Where did you get that?”

            “Oh, it’s Alex’s,” Frankie replied casually.

            “He gave you his T-shirt?” questioned Geraldine curiously.

            Frankie laughed and said, “It’s a long story.”

            Geraldine sat up and took notice. Long stories always meant there was more to it than willing to tell, or for the listener to know. “It seems you and Alex have really taken a shine to one another,” she said, picking up from Marcus’s concern last night.

            “Well, yeah, you know,” muttered Frankie, not wanting to divulge any information.

            As a woman and a mother, Geraldine knew the meaning. She didn’t share the same concern as Marcus; she was more concerned her daughter was losing herself in a boy. Frankie was so talented and had such a big future ahead of her, the last thing Geraldine wanted was for Frankie to give it all up—as she had.

            Geraldine sat back in her seat, watching Frankie. She sipped her strong black coffee and recalled her youth
—
a young woman, full of life and passion. She too had an aspiring career on the stage, but gave it up for marriage and motherhood. Fortunately, Alex Rowley was on the other side of the Atlantic.

            Then the telephone rang.

            Frankie leapt from her seat and rushed to the phone. “Hello?!” she yelled into the receiver.

            “Good Lord, you don’t have to shout,” replied Alex, sitting on a stool in the recording studio.

            Frankie dragged the phone into the coat closet and closed the door so her mother couldn’t hear. “I have something to say to you,” she said, waving away coat hems and kicking away rain boots and shoes. “Wear baggier pants!” 

            Alex lit a cigarette. “Are we now talking in secret code? Don’t wear your dress over your head.” Alex laughed.

            “I’m serious. Tell your tailor to make your pants looser,” scolded Frankie.

            “All right,” Alex chuckled and then said in a deeper, sexier voice, “but even balloon pants won’t make that much of a difference.”

            “Don’t get carried away. Remember, I’ve seen your package,” said Frankie.

            “Ouch! You do know how to hurt a guy,” he replied and then changed the conversation. “What are up to?”

            Frankie laughed. “Sitting in a closet, talking to you.”         

            “Why are you sitting in a closet? Aren’t you allowed to talk to me?”

            “Yes, but I don’t want people eavesdropping on our conversation. Where are you?”

            “Studio,” he said, casually leaning against the wall. “Robbie and Peter are working on some song with the producer, so I’m just hanging out, waiting.”

            “Why are you waiting? Get in there!” said Frankie strongly.

            “Why? I’m not a songwriter,” he said, “besides, I’d rather talk to you.”

            “Alex, you’re more talented than those fools.”

            Alex laughed and then puffed on his cigarette. “No, I’m not. I’m just the court jester.”

            “Why do you say things like that? You need to give yourself more credit instead of hanging out by yourself in a corner.”

            Flicking ashes from his cigarette, he started growing annoyed with the conversation. “Why are you pushing me, Frankie? Because Daddy will like me better if I wrote more songs?” he asked in an angry tone.

            “No!” Frankie exclaimed, “Because you’re capable of so much more, Alex. I have been around this business since I was a little girl. I know who’s talented and who’s full of shit. You, my friend, are talented. I just want you to see that in yourself and stop seeing yourself as some punk court jester, that’s all.”