Saying Goodbye (What the World Doesn't Know) (26 page)

            She knew Alex had a long-standing love-hate relationship with the camera. He certainly was not camera shy, but he did not like being told to pose. He despised being poked and prodded into specific stances imagined by the photographer. And he especially hated being told to smile when he didn’t feel like smiling.

            Alex’s true photographic personality was more or less that of a ham; he liked making faces. It was as though he felt happiest just mugging for the camera, which allowed him to make fun of the camera and the photographer at the same time. Frankie loved that particular aspect of his uncompromising personality—his blatant refusal to be a phony.

 

           
That was the thing about photographs; they rarely told the truth. Since she was a little girl, photographers were always telling her to smile. Once during a family portrait, twelve-year-old Frankie snapped, “I don’t feeling like smiling.”

            “Nice girls smile,” replied the photographer.

            Geraldine turned to Frankie and said in a scolding tone, “Good girls smile.”

 

            At that time, Frankie was finally labeled a mean, bad girl because she refused to smile on command. Later, when her entertainment and modeling career began to surge, Frankie grew used to smiling even though she was not happy. Behind her smiles was a frustrated and sometimes sad girl.
Funny,
she thought,
how everyone is told to smile before a picture is snapped and everyone does no matter if they are happy or not
.
So how can viewers assume the people in photos are happy and having a good time if they are only smiling on command? Why must people constantly smile for the sake of others?

            Alex’s phone call occurred right on schedule while Frankie was waiting downstairs, cuddled cozily in a blanket.

            “Hello,” she greeted.

            Alex
leaned back
 on his couch with his guitar in his arms. “What’s up, buttercup?” he replied with a strum of his guitar.

            “Nothing,” she said. “Called in sick today. I think I have the flu.”

            He began playing a somber tune on the guitar. “Ah, well, that’s too bad.”

            Frankie giggled. “I can hear you adding to my melodrama.”

            “The blues go very well with the flu.”

            Frankie sipped a cup of tea. “Yeah, normally it’s you with a cold or something. It seems like you always have some sort of ailment.”

            “I’m rather delicate,” Alex joked.

            “No, you’re not. You just don’t take good care of yourself. You drink too much, you smoke too much, you probably don’t get enough sleep and God knows what you’re eating.”

            “And yet I’m not the one with the flu,” said Alex with a sniff. “So are you going to the doctor?”

            “I’ll see how I feel in the morning,” she said. “If I still feel the same, I’ll go see Dr. Joe.”

            Alex laughed. “Dr. Joe? Does he magically pull coins out of your ears and make balloon animals?”

            “No,” said Frankie with a chuckle, “He’s a friend of my father’s. I’ve been going to him my entire life.”

            “My pop is friends with the plumber. We called him Plumber Paul. Our pipes are always sparkling clean.”

            “You are such a smart-ass,” said Frankie.

            “Nah, you’re just jealous because we had no clogs.”

            “Your head is one big clog,” she said. “Too bad your pop wasn’t friends with a psychiatrist.”

            Alex paused and then fingered the strings on his guitar. “I had a talk with Darren. I’m stuck in my contract.”

            “Well, that sure is bummer,” said Frankie, sinking into the couch. “What did he say?”

            “Contract’s not up until 1966 and if I break it, it will be years of dealing with money and lawyers,” said Alex. “You’re up honey. Are you ready to move out from under your ma and pa’s thumb?”

            Frankie curled up tighter and ran her fingers through her hair. “Do you want me to move to London with you?” she asked.

            “I think that was implied in my question,” replied Alex.

            Looking around her parents’ home she wondered if she actually
was
ready to leave home. Alex had left home when he was seventeen; she was now twenty.
Maybe it’s time for me to move on,
she thought.
Maybe it’s time to start my own life.
“Sure,” she responded to Alex, feeling anything
but
sure.

            “Great! Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow to find out what Dr. Joe had to say,” he said.

            “Okay. Love you,” she said. “’Bye.” Hanging up the phone she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. She thought of her phone conversation with him.
Why was I so eager to push him to move to America, yet uncertain about leaving home myself?
She did love Alex, but there was so much she would have to give up
—
her parents, whom she loved dearly; her career; and her friends.
Too bad I can’t have it all,
she thought. Even in her entitled life, she too had to make sacrifices.
Perhaps love will be the cause of many sacrifices yet to come.

 

            The next morning Frankie bolted out of bed and headed straight for the toilet, where she threw up nothing but mucus. She sat back on her feet and wiped saliva from her lip, and then the nausea resurfaced and she vomited again. She felt like hell. In fact, she thought the flu might be getting worse. It was time for a visit to Dr. Joe.

            Frankie waited alone in the doctor’s office, watching a young, skinny, dark-haired boy with a cowlick on top of his head play with a toy car on the floor. He crawled across the floor roughly pushing his car across the patterned carpet. As he got closer to Frankie, he slammed it right into Frankie’s toe.

            “Mikey!” his mother scolded, “come over here now!” The boy stood up and walked toward his mother, still driving his car in the air, making a
zoom-zoom
noise with his mouth. His mother wet her hand to slick down his hair.

            “He’s a cute little boy,” said Frankie.

            The boy’s mother laughed. “Thanks. You know, I’m looking for a full-time babysitter.”

            A nurse opened the door to the waiting room. “Frankie.”

            Frankie followed the nurse to an examination room and sat down as the nurse took her pulse. She stuck a thermometer in Frankie’s mouth. “So are you dating anyone special?” Frankie shrugged and shook her head no. The nurse removed the thermometer from Frankie’s lips and looked closely at it. “Ah, a little high. Pretty girl like you? I would think you’d have tons of boyfriends.”

            “I’ve been busy doing a show on Broadway and taking psychology classes at Stony Brook. I don’t have time for boys.”

            “When was your last menstrual period?” asked the nurse poised to write down the date in Frankie’s file.

            “Menstrual period, hmm,” Frankie paused as she silently counted backwards, “Hmm I believe it was September . . . tenth.”

            The nurse glanced at the calendar. “It’s November sixteenth.”

            “Like I said, I’ve been busy.”

            “Too busy for your period?” questioned the nurse.

            “Well, you know what they say, if you’re physically active sometimes you miss a month,” suggested Frankie.

            “Did you have sexual relations in September?”

            Frankie chuckled nervously and asked, “What are you saying? I might be pregnant? No. I’ve been busy.”

            “Frankie, your period doesn’t care if you’re busy.” The nurse opened a cabinet and handed Frankie a small paper cup. “Just to rule it out.”

            “I’m not pregnant,” asserted Frankie strongly.

            “Then you shouldn’t be worried about the results,” said the nurse, shooing Frankie to the bathroom.

            Frankie bit her lip and took the cup from the nurse. “You’ll see, it’s a waste of a perfectly good paper cup.”

            She walked into the bathroom and lifted her dress as she squatted over the toilet. As her urine rushed into the cup, her mind scanned every time she had been with Alex.
Yes, yes, he used a condom every time,
she thought.
Okay, let’s just rule it out.

            After exiting the stall she set the cup on the sink and checked her appearance in the mirror as she washed her hands.
I don’t even
look
pregnant,
she thought.

            Returning she handed the nurse the cup. “Go ahead and change into the gown and the doctor will be with you in a few minutes.”

            Frankie undressed and slid into the gown. She then jumped onto the examination table and sat nervously with crossed ankles swing nervously back and forth.
God, I hope I’m not pregnant,
she thought.

            Dr. Joe entered the room, studying her chart and then set it down on the desk, glancing at her quickly and then looked away. Standing in front of Frankie, he felt around her neck to check glands and then shined a light in her eyes and mouth. Sitting down back down in his seat he wrote a few notes in her chart and said, “Hi Frankie. It’s been a while.”

            “I’ve been busy,” Frankie replied nervously.

            “Yes, I here. Tell me about your boyfriend,” said Dr. Joe.

            “Oh, I don’t have a boyfriend. It’s all just rumors, you know,” Frankie replied.

            Dr. Joe studied Frankie carefully. “Rumors,” he repeated quietly. “I don’t know how to break it to you, Frankie, but rumors don’t cause pregnancies. Your urine sample tests positive for pregnancy”

            Frankie started at Dr. Joe and laughed. “That’s impossible! I’m not pregnant; I’ve been busy…”

            “Busy, yes,” repeated Dr. Joe.

            Panic struck Frankie. “We were careful. He used a condom every time,” Frankie said, trying to sound convincing for Dr. Joe.

            “Condoms can break,” said the doctor, straightening his thick-rimmed glasses. He turned toward Frankie and addressed her with empathy. “What is your relationship with the father?”

            “What do you mean what is my relationship with the father?” asked Frankie.

            “Are you in a serious relationship with the young man? Is he ready to be a father?” Dr.  Joe asked.

            She had no intention of explaining to Dr. Joe that the father was the lead guitarist of the Dark Knights and living in London. Frankie paused terrified that she couldn’t answer the question honestly. “Please don’t tell my parents.”

            “They’re going to find out eventually. It’s not a condition you can hide for long.”

            “I’ll want to talk to the father first,” said Frankie, “before anyone else finds out.”

            “Frankie, I knew your
own
father before you were born. I have known you since you were a baby, and now
you’re
going to have a baby. Do you really think I can keep something like this from your father?”

            “Please,” Frankie begged. “I just need some time. I’ll tell him myself when I’m ready.”

            “If you need help, call me; but don’t wait too long,” said Dr. Joe.

 

            Frankie returned home. There were still a few hours left before Alex’s call was due. She tried to pass the time studying, but the words of her textbook blurred. She then listened to music, hoping for dreamy relaxation, but it only made her more nervous. She stared at the television and then, like clockwork, the phone rang.

            Resting her head back against the couch she thought of fate and how her path had become ironically similar to that of her mother,
who had given up
 a promising career due to a pregnancy. And here she sat on the same precipice of her career—pregnant. “Shit,” she muttered to herself.

            But what was she to do? Perhaps it was her destiny to marry Alex and have a family.
Things happen for a reason
, she thought.
And I do love Alex.

            While she had been waiting for his phone call, her mind had spun dreams of raising a family with Alex and the pursuit of an unknown career.
How big a star could I actually become and is stardom really worth it?
she thought
  
Is stardom bigger than love and family?
Her answer was no and then the phone rang.

            Frankie hesitated before picking up. “Hello?” she muttered.

            “Hey, our timing must be off. I heard a few rings,” said Alex on the other end of the line. “Did you go see Dr. Joe? You’re going to live, I hope.”

            “Yeah.” She paused and then asked, “Where are you now?”

            Alex kicked his feet up on Darren’s coffee table and slid down the satin-covered couch. “Timbuktu,” he replied with a drag of his cigarette.

            “Seriously,” she said.

            “
Seriously
? Why so serious all of a sudden?” he asked with a grin.

            “Because I’m serious now. Where are you?”

            Alex sat upright on the couch. “At Darren’s, hanging out here with Chase while he finishes up some business; and then we’re going out for some drinks. What happened with Dr. Joe?”

            “I’m pregnant,” she replied quickly. There was silence on the other end of the line. “Alex?”

            “I’m here,” he said, cradling the phone tightly to his chin. “Wow, that wasn’t the news I was expecting.”

            “You’re telling me.”
            Alex ran his fingers through his hair, “Are you sure it’s . . .”

            “Yes, it’s yours; unless it is Immaculate Conception.”