Saying Goodbye (What the World Doesn't Know) (29 page)

 

            During dinner, Frankie sat quietly, picking at her food as Geraldine precisely cut her steak into a long, neat strip. “We have some news,” Geraldine said to Marcus.

            Marcus buttered a bread roll. “Good news, I hope,” he said with a smile and then bit into the roll.

            “Frankie is getting married,” said Geraldine and then bit into her steak.

            Marcus turned quickly toward Frankie and studied her quiet, still posture. He sat back in his seat and scratched his chin, digesting not only his bread, but the information. It was too much to take in at dinnertime. He wiped his mouth with his napkin.

            Frankie leaned forward in her seat. “It’s Alex,” she said. “We’re in love and want to be together. And it’s hard when we live in different countries.”

           
“And which country have you two chosen to live in?” 
asked Marcus.

            “England. His schedule is much busier. Plus, he has to live where the band lives. He tried to break from his contract, but he couldn’t. I have more freedom to move about and be independent,” explained Frankie.

            Marcus sat back in his seat. “England? What about your career?”

            “Dad, they make movies in England. They have televisions, you know. I can live with Alex and work there too.”

            Staring at his food, he paused to contemplate the news. He glanced up at Geraldine, wondering why she had set him up with this conversation. Surely Geraldine did not support their daughter moving to England to be with Alex. “And you’re okay with this?” he asked Geraldine.

            Geraldine shrugged and took a sip of wine. “It appears the two have it all planned.”

            From Geraldine’s response, Marcus realized there was more to the story that he had not yet been told. “When are you two planning to marry?”

            “Well, we don’t want to make a big to-do, or have it be broadcasted as big news,” Frankie explained, “so we decided on a quiet, private elopement to Bermuda next week.”

            “Why do you need to marry so quickly? Why can’t you slow things down and get to know each other better?” asked Marcus.

            “If you love someone, why wait? Did either of you wait to see if someone better showed up, and then when they didn’t, you both got married? How many people marry the one they truly love, or the one they end up with?” asked Frankie. “Tell me, Mom and Dad, are you one another’s true love, or was there someone else who got away? I don’t want the one I love to get away.”

            “There is more to a marriage than passion,” explained Marcus. “It is a lifelong commitment you are making to someone. You don’t decide something like that lightly.”

            Frankie leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. “I’m marrying Alex.”

            “Why? Why him when there are so many other young men more suitable for you?” He looked at Geraldine and asked again. “Why?”

            “Marcus, there are occasions when people rush into a marriage,” said Geraldine.

            “What occasions?” he questioned and then it dawned on him. Marcus choked, but there was no food in his mouth; it was the information he received that was causing blockage in his digestive system. Looking at his beautiful daughter, he could see the truth in her eyes; she was pregnant.

            “It’s going to be all right, Dad. He promised me he’ll take care of everything
—
me, the baby, everything. We’ll have people around to help take care of the baby and then, when the baby is old enough, I can go back to work,” said Frankie, trying to sell her father on the idea.

            Marcus pushed his chair away from the table and abruptly stood. He headed straight toward the front door grabbing his overcoat.”

            “Dad!” Frankie called after him.

            Marcus waved for her not to speak and left, slamming the door behind him.

 

            Driving in the rain down a dimly lit street, Marcus pulled over next to a telephone booth. He got out of the car and closed himself into the booth. After inserting coins into the phone, he waited for the dial tone and then dialed. “I need to speak with you—it’s urgent.” He looked around. “Also, do you know anyone with information on Alex Rowley? Yeah,
that
Alex Rowley. Okay. See you soon.”

            As he got back in his car his head began to fill with murderous thoughts even though he was a very passive man. Even during all the accusations during the red scare in the fifties, which nearly ended his television career, he had never felt this much hostility. But through the anger, tears rolled down Marcus’s cheeks as he headed toward the city’s lights shimmering in the night rain.

            It was a dark, quiet bar in New York’s Little Italy. Marcus was hardly a regular. He was a family man, quite happy to spend his evenings watching television with his daughter. Occasionally he’d break out a drink of port or sherry, but that was rare. He entered the club and immediately smelled the scent of stale alcohol mixed with cigar smoke which always made his stomach churn.

            “Marcus, over here!”

            Marcus saw Stanley sitting at a corner table, gesturing for Marcus to join him. He approached the table to shake hands with Stanley.

            “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” said Stanley. “What’s going on?”

            Before Marcus answered he noticed a smarmy red-haired man in a tweed coat and cap sitting at the table next to Stanley. It was clear Marcus was uncomfortable just how much he should say.

            “This is Ed Rollins,” said Stanley. “He covered the Dark Knights on tour.”

            Ed Rollins stood up and reached out his hand to Marcus. “Stanley tells me you’re looking for information on Alex Rowley.”

            “Yes,” replied Marcus, shaking Ed’s hand. All three men took their seats at the table.

            “Ha,” chuckled Ed. “Kid’s a real doozie
—
a typical limey.”

            Stanley poured drinks for everyone. “Thanks for the commentary, but I think Marcus needs more details.”

            “He’s quite the smart-ass. Someone told me he threw a drink at a photographer in L.A. and is known for breaking out into fistfights. His father was some sort of boxer back in Manchester. Guess that’s where the kid gets his fighting spirit. He’s a high school dropout. He then moved with the band to the sleazy part of London.”

            Marcus buried his face in his hands.

            “So, not the sweet boys the publicists make them out to be,” said Stanley.

            “Hardly even close—quite the opposite, in fact. Those kids get more action than most men do in several lifetimes. I even heard they invite girls back to their suite for sex after their concerts. Women drop their panties for Alex Rowley after just a wink and a smile. And that’s just
this
year.”

            Marcus felt bile rise in his esophagus and spill out a little in his mouth.

            “I tell you, if any of those trashy Brits came near
my
daughter,” Ed continued, “I’d blow his head off.” He gazed at Stanley and Marcus. “I hope that was helpful.”

            Marcus’s forehead was hot and sweaty with perspiration. He was unable to even lift his head to acknowledge Ed.

            “Okay. Thanks, Ed,” said Stanley. “That’ll be all.”

            Ed got up from the table and wished Stanley and Marcus a pleasant evening. After he left, Stanley leaned in closely to Marcus,

            “What’s going on, Marcus?”

            “I’ve just had some bad news,” said Marcus. “Very bad news.”

            “No doubt.” Stanley waved to the cocktail waitress to come over and give Marcus a drink. “What’s the problem?”

            “It’s Frankie,” replied Marcus. “She’s pregnant.”

            “Honey, bring the bottle,” Stanley called to the waitress. “And Alex Rowley is the father?”

            Marcus nodded.

            “That
is
a problem!” said Stanley. “That’s a
huge
fucking problem, Marcus!”

            “Apparently he’s going to marry Frankie,” said Marcus.

            “Of course he will. A kid knocks up Frankie Robinson, he’d be stupid not to marry her.” Stanley immediately noticed his comment didn’t sit well with Marcus. “Sorry, Marcus,” said Stanley. “That would be scandalous, if not dangerous. It would not only ruin Frankie’s career and reputation, but make her a target for all those crazed fans.”

            Marcus rubbed his face and took another shot of whiskey. “What am I supposed to do?”

            “Get rid of it before anyone else finds out,” said Stanley.

            “I can’t do that to my daughter,” said Marcus. “Not to mention it goes against my faith
—
everything I believe in.”

            “This is bad, Marcus,” said Stanley as he poured Marcus another shot. “Very bad.”

            Marcus muttered incoherently and then downed the entire shot.

            “You have to get rid of it,” Stanley whispered. “I know you’re concerned with Alex Rowley’s past, but Frankie’s television and movie contracts are in the process of being re-negotiated. She has a movie promotional tour scheduled for next spring. How am I going to explain to the executives and producers why Frankie’s belly is bulging? Monies are invested and the bigwigs are going to want their profits. They’d drop her for sure and then there will be the media frenzy. Her face will be plastered on every tabloid and her reputation ruined. And then if it gets out that Alex Rowley is the father . . .” Stanley sat back in his chair and sighed. “I can’t say how all the fanatical fans will react. It would be terrible backlash on Frankie. I can’t express the danger she would be in. You gotta get rid of it—quickly, Marcus—and we need to sweep this entire thing under the carpet.”

            Marcus buried his head in his arms and cried.

 

            Arriving back home, Marcus staggered up the steps to Frankie’s bedroom. He opened the door to find her sleeping peacefully, just like when she was a little girl. His stomach churned, but it was not the whiskey. No amount of whiskey could wash away the feeling surging through his body. He couldn’t help but be disgusted by the thought of his beautiful daughter being violated by some sex-crazed punk.

            He lifted a picture showing Frankie and Alex at the ball. Alex dressed in a tuxedo didn’t coincide with the image Marcus had of Alex in his mind. Frankie and Alex did look very happy together in the picture. They looked like an average young couple in love, but that was something he couldn’t trust. He set the picture down and left Frankie’s room.

            Returning downstairs, Marcus poured himself a glass of sherry, retrieved and old photo album from the end table cabinet, and collapsed onto the couch. He began flipping through pages displaying childhood pictures of Frankie
—
his big-eyed little girl. Through the pages he witnessed Frankie grow right before his eyes
—
photos from the day she was born, her first steps, her first ballet recital at age five, horse riding, swimming, shoving hot dogs in her mouth, the father/daughter routines they would do at Christmas pageants. She was so innocent then and was now pregnant with a child of her own.

            His little girl was now gone.

            Geraldine appeared and took the photo album from Marcus. “What are you doing?” she asked.

            “Remembering my little girl; I can’t believe I lost her,” he said.

            Sitting on a chair opposite Marcus, Geraldine replied, “It was just a matter of time.”

            “I could have stopped this, you know,” said Marcus and then he nodded toward Geraldine’s seat. “He sat right there and I could see it in his eyes that he was no good. I let him take my Frankie. I should have stopped him right then and kicked the bastard out of my house.”

            “Really, Marcus! Is he that bad, or is it that he’s not at all like you?”

            Marcus gasped at Geraldine’s insinuation. “What’s
that
supposed to mean?”

            “I’m on your side, Marcus; Frankie can do much better for a husband. But I think you’re overreacting because Alex Rowley couldn’t be more different from you. If Frankie got pregnant from a nice guy down the street that looked and acted like you, I suspect you’d be a lot more supportive. You’re jealous, Marcus.”

            “I would rather Frankie be impregnated by a Negro than that piece of trash!” he yelled.

            “Marcus, shush! You shouldn’t say things like that! You’re upset.”

            “Sick is what I am.” He buried his face in his hand. “The more I learn about him, the worse I feel. And just the thought of him
being
with Frankie gives me the shivers.”

            “Frankie is a young woman; Alex is a young man. You remember what it was like being young; your standards were completely different. I’m sure Alex’s exotic rebellion is what attracted Frankie in the first place.” She reclined back in the chair and sighed, “Just like Clark Gable.”

            “Clark Gable?”

            “As a young woman, I had such a crush on him. He was so dashing, so daring, and he didn’t seem to give a damn what other people thought. How many women do you think swooned over Clark Gable?”

            “And how many daughters do you think Clark Gable impregnated?” Marcus answered, snapping Geraldine back to reality.

            “I spoke with Stanley,” Marcus continued. “He insists we terminate the pregnancy. I don’t think we have any choice, if Frankie is to have a decent chance at life and a career. She’s too young, too immature, and too emotional to make a decision like this on her own; and it seems this kid Alex has very little sensibility.