Saying Goodbye (What the World Doesn't Know) (7 page)

While Alex slipped away, Frankie covered her soaked dress with her hands, looking rather sheepish and discouraged. “Time to go already?” she asked.

            “Yes, and just in time by the look of things,” said Les.

            “What the hell?!” shouted Katie with a huge laugh.

            “We went for a swim,” said Frankie. “What’s the big deal?”

            “Without swimsuits?” asked Emily.

            “It was kind of impromptu,” said Frankie.

            “I guess,” said Katie.

            Alex returned to Frankie’s side with a towel and one of his long-sleeved shirts.          

              “Thanks,” she said, pulling the shirt over her dress and wrapping the towel around her waist.

            “It was the least I could do,” he said, wanting to say a lot more, but not in the company of all their friends.

            “Well, come on, girls,” said Les, heading toward the door. Emily and Katie followed, barefoot, with their shoes dangling from their fingertips. Les stopped at the door and turned around, “Gillian, it’s time to leave,” he called, trying to steal her attention away from Peter. “Frankie, come along before you catch your death.”

            “It’s been a blast,” said Frankie to Alex.

            “I’m going to need that shirt back,” Alex said, “preferably with you in it.”

            Frankie smiled and replied, “I’m sure that can be arranged.” She stood on her toes and kissed him on the lips. “Or maybe next time, you’ll see me
not
wearing your shirt,” she said with a wink.

            Alex grinned as he watched her walk out the door, dressed in his shirt, and wearing a towel wrapped around her waist. He had never met a woman so sexy. “I want my shirt back!” he yelled after her. “And the towel!”

            Frankie turned to look back, accentuating the curve of her hip, and threw him a sexy wink. “You can count on it.”

 

            Frankie and the rest of the girls arrived back at Gillian’s apartment—a stylish pad, decorated with posters of beaches and surfers—just off Sunset and La Cienega boulevards in Hollywood. Gillian was the epitome of the California girl—glamorous, fit, and completely all natural—and her apartment suited her fashion with perfection.

            While Katie and Emily collapsed onto the couch, Frankie followed Gillian into her bedroom to change. She settled for a pair of Gillian’s pajama bottoms and Alex’s shirt. Gillian appeared nervous as she quickly tidied up the place.

            “What are you doing?” asked Emily, exhausted. “Sit down and relax. Tell us what happened with Peter.”

            “I’m more interested in how Frankie ended up fully dressed and soaking wet,” chuckled Katie.

            “We were hot and sweaty from dancing,” Frankie replied with a shrug.

            “Or were you just hot and sweaty?” laughed Katie, lighting a cigarette “Tell me: did you . . . ?” she asked and then made smooching sounds.

            “That’s none of your business,” replied Frankie.

            “Did he slip you the tongue?” questioned Emily, enjoying the chance to embarrass Frankie.

            Frankie shook her head. “No.”

            “But as for the kiss, was it smooth and soft?” pressed Katie and then closed her eyes and puckered her lips as if she were about to plant a big wet one on Frankie.

            Just as Frankie slipped Katie a glare to leave her alone, the doorbell rang and everyone turned their attention to Gillian. Gillian leaped excitedly and ran to the door. “They’re here!”

            “What do you mean
they’re
here?” asked Katie, her cigarette held limply between her lips.

 

            “I gave Peter my address,” Gillian said excitedly. “He said if I had to leave the party, he’d bring the party to us.” She gave the girls a huge smile. “No chaperones, no parents, no prying eyes of the press, and no rules!”

            Emily, Katie, and even Frankie looked about nervously. Frankie was especially in no condition to greet a suitor—her hair was wild and untamed, she had absolutely no makeup, and she was dressed only in Alex’s shirt and a pair of pajamas bottoms. It was a little too much for any man to see her like this, but it was too late; Gillian had opened the door, and there stood Peter, grinning. Hidden in the darkness behind him were Alex, shrouded in a hooded sweatshirt, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and hands in his pockets; and Chase Crawford, the band’s old mate and now road manager, smoking a cigarette and carrying a bottle of whiskey.

            “May we come in?” asked Peter politely.

            “Oh, this doesn’t look like trouble,” replied Katie sarcastically.

            Peter stepped inside and swept Gillian up in his arms and gave her a big kiss. “See,” he said, “I told you we’d come.”

            Chase gave Katie a casual, nonchalant smile and handed her the bottle of whiskey. “I thought you might need this,” he said.

            Katie took the bottle from Chase. “Finally, a man with some sense,” she said.

            While Peter and Gillian quickly retreated to her bedroom, the rest of the gang gathered around the kitchen table. Frankie took a seat next to Alex. Alex looked at her casually and said, “I came back for my shirt.”

            Frankie leaned close to him and whispered, “I don’t have anything on underneath.”

            “Like I said,” he replied sternly, “I came back for my shirt.”

            Massaging his back, Frankie said, “You’ll get your shirt, don’t you worry.”

            “I have my eyes on you two,” Katie pointed at Frankie and Alex. “And you,” she said, glaring at Alex, “I don’t know what you did to get my best friend all hot and bothered and wet; but, just so you know, I don’t let any fool mess with my best friend.”

            Alex glanced at Frankie. “I had you hot and bothered?”

            “Katie tends to the truth,” replied Frankie. “Not so much hot, just a little bothered.”

            “Well, give me a chance,” he whispered in her ear, “I can still try to make you hot.”

            Frankie chuckled nervously. “You can try, but I make no promises.”

             While Katie searched for glasses in the cupboards, lovemaking moans and groans emitted from Gillian’s bedroom. Everyone at the table gazed around awkwardly. “I think what we need is some music,” said Emily. She went into the living room and placed a Dark Knights record on the player. She walked back into the kitchen and noticed Alex. “It’s kind of strange, listening to your music with you sitting here.”

            “Yeah,” he said. “Do you have anything else?”

            “Seriously?” asked Emily.

            “Yes, he doesn’t enjoy listening to his own music.” said Frankie.  

            “How about the Beatles?” asked Emily.

            “Nah, I don’t listen to those fags,” said Alex.

            Frankie leapt from her seat and ran to the living room. As she rummaged through Gillian’s albums, she yelled out, “How about the Beach Boys?”

            “How about
not
the Beach Boys,” retorted Alex with a puff of his cigarette. He stood from his chair and walked over to Frankie to help her choose a record. “Here—this,” he said curtly, handing her a selection.

            “The Supremes? Really?” asked Frankie.

            “Yes. That’s what I want,” Alex said and then started serenading Frankie with “Baby Love.”

            Emily and Frankie stared at him incredulously. “You can’t be serious,” said Emily. “You like the Supremes? It’s even more frightening that you know the lyrics.”

            Frankie shrugged and played the record. Alex took her by the waist and danced her back to the table. Meanwhile, Chase opened the bottle of whiskey.

            “So what kind of drinking games do they play in England?” asked Katie.

            “Darts,” said Alex, quickly lighting a cigarette.

            “Darts!” replied Frankie with a loud laugh.

            “Yeah, every time you throw a dart, you take a drink; and, depending on your shot, you may have to drink more. The last person standing is the winner,” explained Alex.

            “Or not bloodied and filled with holes,” added Chase.

            “Sounds rather dangerous,” said Katie, lighting a cigarette of her own.

            “That’s why it pays to be good at darts,” said Alex. He held out his empty glass for Chase to fill. After Chased pour him a shot, he raised his glass for toast. “May the hinges of friendship never grow rusty!” he said.

            “Here, here!” everyone responded. They then downed their drinks, and Chase poured each of them another round.

            “So, guys, tell us about yourselves,” said Emily. “How long have you known each other?”

            “We’ve been mates since we were thirteen,” replied Chase.

            “We used to cut class and smoke behind the air-raid shelter,” said Alex.

            “Or go swimming down at the canal,” added Chase

            “Any sports or clubs?” Emily asked.

            “What are you, a reporter?” asked Alex suspiciously.

            “No, I’m just a girl who’s curious,” said Emily.

            “We didn’t have cheerleaders in England; so we didn’t have a huge interest in sports,” Alex laughed.

            “You know, some people play sports because they simply enjoy them,” said Frankie.

            Alex looked directly into her eyes and said, “And some guys enjoy girls.”

            “So were there any girls behind the air-raid shelter or at the canals?” asked Katie, smoking a cigarette.

            Chase and Alex both looked at Katie and then each of them glanced at the other. “I don’t quite recall,” replied Chase with a grin.

            “So I take it you guys were the bad boys,” said Emily.

            “What’s ‘bad’?” asked Alex.

            “Cutting class, hanging around,” she said. “What else did you do?”

            “I wasn’t just hanging around; I was going places,” said Alex.

            “Where were you going?” pressed Emily.

            “Around,” said Alex. “I’d hitchhike here and there.”

            “So, while you were supposed to be in school, you were actually cutting class to hitchhike around England?” asked Emily.

            “School was a blooming joke. It didn’t teach me anything,” said Alex patting his chest. “Life became my education. The world was my classroom, and the occasional stranger was my teacher.” He paused and then pointed his finger sternly at Frankie, Emily, and Katie. “What have you really learned in school? Were you taught to think for yourselves, or were you programmed by your American Big Brother? You learned what those with power wanted you to learn, rather than the truth.”

            Frankie, Emily, and Katie exchanged awkward glances. None of them knew how to respond to Alex’s protest. “And what
is
the truth?” asked Katie.

            “Yeh can’t learn the truth unless you seek it for yourself. That’s what is meant by an education.” Alex tapped Frankie on the arm and asked, “And how about you? What was your life like?”

            Frankie thought carefully before she spoke. “In the mornings I went to school,” she began, “after which, depending on the day of the week, I had ballet lessons or show rehearsals. In the evening I had study time and my chores. Mass was every Sunday, and every other Saturday my mother had me volunteer at the soup kitchen—she wanted to keep me humble.”

            “Mass?” Alex laughed. “I gave that up when they wanted me to wear a robe and be an altar boy.”

            “Jesus must have been really relieved,” said Katie smartly.           

            “Well, you’re probably going to hell, right?” asked Emily.

            “No, I don’t believe that,” said Alex.

            “Then what will happen to you when you die?” she pressed.

            Alex paused contemplatively and grinned. “I’m going to be beamed back up to the mother ship. You see, I’m just here as an observer to watch over you sheep,” he said.

            Frankie stared at him curiously. His hood was still pulled over his disheveled hair, and his eyes were dark with obvious fatigue. He certainly didn’t bear the appearance of a normal, everyday boy; he looked like a sleep deprived, alien thug. She didn’t know how best to respond to his comments. Finally she just stared directly into his eyes and sounded, “B-A-A-A-A-H-H.” Everyone laughed.

            Soon everyone had had enough to drink and was close to passing out at the table. Katie went to the closet to search for extra blankets and pillows. She tossed several pillows and blankets on the living room floor, one for each person—except for Frankie and Alex who agreed to share a blanket.

            Once the lights were turned off, Alex stripped to his underwear underneath the covers. He then lay down next to Frankie, turned on his side, and put his arms around her. She turned around to face him. They kissed quietly, assuming the others were asleep. Frankie always says had been an early bird, regardless of whether or not her schedule demanded it, or even if she had stayed up late the night before. Lying on the floor, she saw that everyone else was still asleep. She smiled, feeling Alex’s body pressed against hers and his arms around her waist. It was a moment she wanted to savor and remember. Studying his hands and long fingers, she noticed callouses and blisters on his fingertips—an obvious occupational hazard for a guitarist. She wondered if it ever hurt to play, or maybe he just didn’t feel anything anymore when he touched the strings.

            Soon Gillian appeared from her bedroom, glowing with a big smile; she was the luckiest of them all last night. When Gillian disappeared into the kitchen, Frankie carefully slid from Alex’s embrace, covered him with the blanket, and headed for the kitchen.