Alex said nothing.
“Let me tell you a secret about reporters,” said Frankie. “They’ll throw random questions at you to spark a reaction. Once they
get
a reaction, they know they’ve hit a nerve and press further, so don’t give them a reaction.”
“What should I do then when reporters ask me if I scored with you?”
Frankie grinned. “Who?”
“You,” Alex said.
“What are you talking about?”
“Huh?” grunted Alex.
Frankie laughed out loud. “Exactly.”
Alex scratched his head and then roared with laughter. “You’re a fucking genius.”
“I’ve become a master at double-talk,” she said. “Reporters hate it—vague one-liners that can be taken any way. Let people make up their own stories so you can keep your privacy.”
“Brilliant,” replied Alex. He paused to take a drag on his cigarette.
“This session is free; next time I’ll have to charge you,” she said, stretching her legs out in the hallway.
Alex paused and then asked, “How many men have you been with?”
"Really? It’s private, but for you I’ll answer,” she said. “Four. My high school boyfriend, Tim; some hot young actor, who I’m now convinced is really gay because he was really lame in the sack; a producer who was a real drag, but thought he was to die for and you, of course. Anyway, why do men get so caught up in a girl’s sexual activity when it’s no big deal for a guy? How many girls have you had sex with?”
Alex paused and then said, “Four . . . no, wait—forty.”
“Four
hundred
,” said Frankie. “Yeah, I get it. Do you even remember their names? See, this is the problem. It’s no problem for you to be oversexed”
“Oversexed,,” Alex chuckled.
“Yet somehow if a girl wants to be sexual,” Frankie continued, “it’s a big scandal and she’s labeled a slut. It’s not fair. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander!”
“You think I’m a sexual predator?” questioned Alex.
“You’re like a lion in a herd of gazelles.” Frankie leaned around the corner to check if Marcus was listening to her conversation. When his focus seemed to be on the television, Frankie whispered into the phone, “Speaking of gazelles and lions, my mom said I can spend the night with Cassie on Friday.”
“Cassie?” Alex asked with an amused grin. “Are you a lesbian?”
“Ick! No, stupid,” replied Frankie, “Cassie’s my cover so I can get under the covers with you. Get it, bozo? So stop being such a grump, get some sleep, and I’ll see you in two days.”
Alex sat up in bed and extinguished his cigarette in an ashtray. “All right, sweetheart. I’ll see you later.”
“Bye.” Frankie hung up the phone and then said out loud. “What a weirdo!”
She carried the phone back to the living room, placed it on the table next to the couch, and then sat back down next to her father. Marcus noticed a rather suspicious grin on Frankie’s face.
“What was that all about?” he asked.
Frankie sighed. “I have a friend who is such mental case that it’s hysterical.”
“I guess it’s good for them you are studying psychology,” remarked Marcus.
Frankie rested her head against the back of the couch. “Yeah. Unfortunately no ordinary conditions really apply. He’s a real special case.”
Suddenly Marcus wasn’t amused with
Bewitched
anymore. Frankie’s conversation and her reaction became more concerning.
“Well, who
was
this mystery fellow you were bewitching on the phone?”
“Dad, can’t I have any male friends without receiving the third degree?” questioned Frankie.
“Not as long as I’m alive and you’re still living in my house,” replied Marcus.
Frankie threw her arms around Marcus’s shoulders. “Dad, it’s just a boy I know. It’s no big deal.” She kissed him on the cheek.
Marcus couldn’t resist her charm. And for now, he dropped the subject to continue spending an enjoyable night with his daughter.
What the World Doesn’t See
In order to elude suspicion and avoid any potential danger from overzealous fans, Frankie attended the New York concert as a guest of Cassie O’Brien—the opening act for the Dark Knights. Frankie admired Cassie. She was not only a very talented singer and songwriter—which was unusual in itself for young women of the day—but she had more than nominal control over her career as a musician. Normally, most girls’ careers were in the hands of male moguls who not only dictated the sound and tone of the music, but also provided sensual moves for the girls to use during performances to entice the audience. The girls had to be pretty and seductive, but not too sexy. There was certain amount of sex appeal allowed before a girl was considered a slut. There were rules everywhere for girls in the entertainment industry.
Cassie was pretty, but not so overly pretty to the point that men would only notice her looks. Men saw Cassie as a talented young girl with poise, not just some sexy pinup girl. Frankie, on the other hand, played right into the sexy pinup girl image. She did this for two reasons: First, because it was what most people already expected from someone who looked the way she did. Second, it was how Frankie was able to gain most of her power and influence. She knew what men liked, and she often used it in the pursuit of her success.
Once Frankie had men in the entertainment industry regularly eating out of her palm, she was able to demand more intense, challenging roles. Sure, she played the pinup girl for men to ogle, but she was certainly not going to let that define her or her career. Her motto was: “Give them what they want to get in the door, and then carve your own path.” At the young age of nineteen, Frankie Robinson appeared to have the world at her feet.
Everything was always easy for Frankie. Oftentimes her limousine would pull up to the front door of an event and she had only to step out onto the red carpet and be welcomed as a guest. She had never been forced to wait for anything in her life. Every door was just opened for her—men as well as opportunities. So when the Dark Knights came to New York City, she anticipated the same preferential treatment and daringly expected people to move out of her way.
Frankie was stunned when she found she had to fight her way through fans to get to the VIP box office window, and she became frightened when raucous fans started pulling at her hair and clothing. “Who exactly do you think you are, bitch?” asked one angry fan.
She wanted to say to the girl, “I’m Frankie Robinson, who are you?” But then, after gazing over the size of the crazed crowd, she gave everyone the same lie she had given to her mother: “I’m a friend of Cassie O’Brien’s.”
When the fans gave way to her, Frankie gave a smug grin and then left to take her seat in the VIP section of the Forrest Hills stadium. It was strange to witness hundreds of women screaming at the top of their lungs for the guys she had met only the week prior, and it was equally strange to hear girls shrieking Alex’s name with shrill sounds of ecstasy.
Only
I’m
allowed to shriek his name in ecstasy
, she thought with an amused grin followed by a sudden burst of laughter. The audience members around her turned to see what she was laughing about, and Frankie just shrugged casually.
Frankie absorbed the chaotic scene as she quietly took her seat. She realized Alex had become more than a voice on the radio or a picture on an album cover; he was now her friend and lover—a real person, so different from what these girls were screaming for.
When Frankie went on dates, she was often treated like a sex kitten. Most men assumed she was easy just because of her image. Sometimes Frankie didn’t allow those evenings to start. She would demand to be driven home before dinner was even served, leaving those men sorely disappointed with how things turned out. Being treated like a starlet irritated Frankie, and she often acted out in order to break that image. Alex was the first person she had met who actually treated her like a person, not just as some girl to swoon over. It was probably the reason why she had quickly grown to like him so much and why she was becoming so protective of him. She understood Alex and everything he was going through and was certain the feeling was mutual.
While the girls in the audience were chanting for the Dark Knights, Frankie was trying to watch Cassie perform. To the crowd, it was as if Cassie were not even there. Frankie was rather annoyed with the disrespect the fans were exhibiting. Cassie was very talented; it wasn’t fair for her to be ignored, but then again, it was a great gig and an opportunity for Cassie to perform whether people were paying attention or not.
When the Dark Knights appeared on stage, the screams grew to a deafening roar like the sound of a jet engine hovering above the stadium. They opened with “Insatiable Lady,” their biggest hit. Girls leaped up in front of Frankie. She couldn’t see Alex, and she definitely couldn’t hear him. If it wasn’t for the screams, she might have doubted if he were really on stage.
She turned around to see Cassie squirming through the aisle to take the seat next to her. Frankie leaned toward her and whispered, “Is it like this in every city?”
“Yeah!” screamed Cassie and then handed Frankie some earplugs.
Frankie stood on her toes, trying to see Alex. “I’m not going to be able to hear him play.”
“You’re not going to hear anything at all afterward if you don’t use the earplugs,” replied Cassie.
As Frankie inserted the earplugs into her ears suddenly the crowd roared to a fever pitch even higher than the previous one. Frankie strained her neck in time to see some girl rush the stage and grab Alex around the waist.
Alex tried to shake the girl off while still continuing to play. No one could keep from laughing—even Peter and Nick on stage had a hard time keeping a straight face. Robbie turned around in mid-song to see what was happening behind him. Robbie grinned at seeing his fellow band mate manhandled on stage and shimmied backwards until he was next to Alex. With a dramatic, flamboyant gesture he displayed Alex and his hanger-on to the audience. The crowd roared.
Finally security came to Alex’s aid and helped pry the girl’s fingers from his waist. It was hysterical, but the only one not laughing was Alex. He looked more annoyed at the fact that he couldn’t play.
Still the serious musician even with a girl hanging on him,
she thought. Despite the comedy of the whole scene, she couldn’t help but be proud of him for trying to hold it together while maintaining the tune.
Cassie nudged Frankie hard in the ribs and laughed hysterically. “You’d better get up there; some chick’s trying to steal your guy.”
Frankie bit her lip. No matter how they felt about each other, no matter how their relationship grew, there was always going to be some girl holding onto him. He will never be entirely hers.
Do I have the patience and strength to deal with that?
she wondered. At that moment, she didn’t care to answer.
After the concert Frankie was able to elude the screaming hoard by riding back to the city with Cassie in a private limousine. The whole thing seemed like something out of a dream (or a nightmare, depending on how one viewed the situation). Frankie didn’t know what to think and could tell by the glazed look in Cassie’s eyes that neither did Cassie.
Cassie, a sweet girl from the Midwest, probably never dreamed she would live such an adventurous life. But she was the perfect girl to tour and travel with the band. She was like a sister to most of them—except for Nick but Frankie was not going to judge. It was hard not to get carried away with one’s attraction and affection.
Cassie turned to Frankie and said, “God, Alex looked pissed.”
“I know exactly what was going through his mind,” said Frankie. “Where is the fucking, bloody security? Somebody get this crazy chick off me.”
“Probably checking out the screaming chicks—that many high-strung, orgasmic girls are a gold mine to the few guys there. Everyone was just so worked up; you could feel sex in the air. You can bet a lot of people are getting laid tonight.”
Frankie reclined in the leather seat of the limousine. “Well, I know at least one guy who for sure will be getting laid tonight.”
The Dark Knights were back by the time Cassie and Frankie arrived at the hotel, and they could tell the band was apparently up to no good. The guys looked rather sheepish and were giggling. In their company was a Dave Rattigan, a fellow British musician, who was in town for their gig. Although Dave Rattigan had a cool, chill exterior, he still housed the image of a nerdy guy with bright red hair, freckled face, and dark-framed glasses. He was the type Frankie had often dated—intelligent, nerdy young men who wanted to portray the cool character. She liked the contrast.
Alex was the different sort—dark, dangerous-looking who always managed to shake her nerve. The rebel without a cause who cut class, hung around outside smoking, while everyone was doing what they should—studying. He was the type she would pretend not to look at when she passed, afraid she would catch his eye. Since she had met Alex, she had thought about him a lot, analyzed him, and really wanted to get behind his image. Through her conclusions, she considered herself a lot darker and more rebellious than her sweet, straight schoolgirl image let on, and he really was the studious nerd behind the rebel exterior. They both hid behind an image, protecting themselves from who they really were.