Saying Goodbye (What the World Doesn't Know) (35 page)

            Frankie quickly saw through all the scams and publically created images. Alex was much deeper, darker, and introspective than anyone would have imagined. Everyone had an image of someone else, and many had images they tried to project of themselves. Frankie strived to find truth in people, rather than settle for an image.

            But it wasn’t just the image of the individual, so many had judgments and prejudices of race, social class, and nationality. Her own family and circle of friends had let her down when she recognized their own elitism and prejudice. Alex came from an English working-class family. Alex simply was not raised with prestige and that was frowned upon by her family and professional circle.

            And unfortunately the image portrayed of Dominicans did not suit the American palate, but merely encouraged the fear that Dominicans would spread the disease of communism to the American shores like the plague.
The inhumanity of the false image,
Frankie thought.
How it destroys so much.
It seemed only appropriate that she would end up here.

            The offer for Frankie to perform in Santo Domingo was negotiated by her parents and her agent Stanley. Much like her abortion, she had very little say. Her mother thought it would be a good lesson for Frankie—a wake-up call to the real world.
That’s just what slutty girls need,
thought Frankie as if she were her mother.
Mom could stand to be a little more of a slut. Maybe then she wouldn’t be such a bitch.

            It continued to be difficult for Marcus to look Frankie in the eye; his heart still ached. He wasn’t too keen on sending Frankie to the Dominican Republic; but after realizing she would be working under the protection of the US Army, it didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

            Frankie rubbed her eyes in an attempt to clear her mind from overthinking; it always hurt and never did any good. Sitting on the shoreline and gazing toward the horizon, she still missed Alex terribly and wanted so much to see him. It was strange being surrounded by so many young men and yet her heart only beat for the one who wasn’t there. Everyone here was sacrificing their love and livelihood for a bigger cause. And, like a good soldier, Frankie powered on past her own personal pain, struggles, and devotion for a greater unselfish love. The idea made the twenty-year-old weep as she sat alone on the tropical shore.

            The best part of the tour was being in the presence of other girls her own age. Frankie loved having discussions with them about boys, dating, kissing, and sex. She made sure never to bring up her experience with Alex specifically. She spoke of their past dates in the same fashion she brought up any time spent with a man—only as a vague reference and never by name. She wasn’t quite sure why, but she was extremely protective of him and their relationship. Perhaps she didn’t wish to become one of the people who exploited him with boasts and bravados. These talks did, however, bring up fond memories of the good times with Alex.

 

            It rained for several days and Alex grew hungry for the sunshine. The sun had become a drug for Alex; he was addicted and would often go through horrible temperamental withdrawals. The winter weather in London was miserable, to say the least, and it was dampening his already dreary mood.

            One of life’s oddities is that when people are denied something they want it even more. In Alex’s case, his longing for Frankie had become intense to the point of brooding. He was obsessive in his thoughts toward her. Sometimes he hated her for the abortion and choosing her father over him; other times he loved her to the point of experiencing a dull, aching pain in his chest. There were moments when his body
craved
Frankie, and having sex with Sarah was the only thing he could do to suppress his feelings. Anxiety and jealousy swelled within him whenever he imagined Frankie being around other men.

            No one could put a smile on his face, nor make him laugh. In fact, it was a challenge just to get him to talk at all. Sarah struggled the most with Alex’s moods. Physically she had Alex, but sometimes she just didn’t know where he was mentally or emotionally.

            They had had such a good time vacationing together in Bermuda the previous month—at least Sarah thought so. Alex’s moods baffled her. She suspected it all had to do with that girl he had knocked up—a subject she had no intention of ever bringing up again. No matter what occurred, she had Alex and everything would work itself out. Sarah told herself that she would have the old Alex back once enough time had passed.

            Frankie wasn’t the only thing on Alex’s mind; he also had his songwriting to contend with. It wasn’t that he had writer’s block—quite the opposite. Tunes played over and over in his head like voices in the mind of a mental patient. He constantly felt that he was about to explode but, without any formal training in composing, he couldn’t get anything down on paper. That was where the weed helped to silence the cacophony in his mind if only for a few hours.

            Occasionally he played them on the guitar a few times for Sarah and she of course thought they were lovely. She loved when he would play songs for her; it made her feel so special and loved. It became a matter of pride for Sarah; no girl in the world had Alex Rowley serenading her with song.

            Lyrics gave Alex the most trouble; he simply wasn’t the poet or lyricist that Robbie and Peter were. Words flowed from them effortlessly. When Alex read back his own words, they sounded like the musings of a prehistoric caveman. He would then crumple up the paper and toss it into the wastebasket, oftentimes missing. On one occasion Sarah retrieved and read what Alex had thrown away.

            “These songs are so sweet,” said Sarah. “Why don’t you record them?”

            “Because they are not ready to be heard,” Alex said. He stood abruptly from his chair and roughly grabbed the papers from her hands and threw them on the floor. “I can’t do this with you hovering over me.”

            “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just thought you could use some encouragement.”

            “Encouragement?!” he said with an ironic laugh. “Robbie and Peter don’t need encouragement. What are you going to do, check my spelling and grammar and then pat me on the head if I get it right? I know I’m not as educated or smart as some people, but I could do this if people would just give me the space.”

            “I said I was sorry,” said Sarah as she left with the wastebasket filled with Alex’s crumpled sheets of paper. Once she was alone next to the garbage cans outside, she pulled several sheets of paper from the wastebasket and read them curiously. She wondered what went through Alex’s mind while he wrote and, more importantly,
who
was he writing about.

            Alex persisted with his songwriting until he finally had some pieces he felt confident enough to share with Robbie, Peter, and their producer. He specifically wanted the producer’s involvement so Robbie and Peter wouldn’t immediately dismiss his efforts without listening.

After giving them a sample, their reaction turned out to be positive, and Alex was given a couple of tracks on their upcoming album. Finally, something promising was happening in his life and a little sun began to shine.

 

            The US Army’s canteen was filled with rock music. Frankie and the other girls hung around with some of the officers who were busy fighting amongst themselves as to who would buy drinks for the pretty actresses. After a few beers, Frankie was feeling fine. When she heard the song “I Get Around” by the Beach Boys playing on the record player, she knew dancing was next on the agenda.

            It was strange. Frankie felt more inhibited than usual. In fact she danced more conservatively then she ever had in her entire life, although it was still good to move and feel sexy again. Several handsome officers each asked for her to be his partner on the dance floor. She agreed to dance with each of them in turn respectively. She preferred one particular officer above the rest because he was physically built like Alex—tall, slender at the waist, with a muscular build. She allowed herself to be held closer to him than the others, specifically so she could imagine she was being held by Alex.

            But when the Dark Knight’s song “Insatiable Lady” began playing in the canteen, it became a bit too much for her.

 

 

            Frankie awkwardly pulled herself away from the officer. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I have to go.”

            “I’m sorry,” he said courteously, sensing he may have been coming on to her too strongly. “Did I do something wrong?”

            “No, not at all,” Frankie said as she bashfully backed away. “I just need to get back to the barracks.”

            “Well, at least let me walk you back,” he said. “You had a couple of drinks.”

            Frankie bowed her head slightly. “All right.”

            A warm, salty breeze blew through the tropical nighttime air as they walked. Looking up, Frankie saw swaying palm trees silhouetted against the starry sky. The moon, which was nearly full, brightly shone down, giving everything a silvery glow. It was such a romantic night; she missed Alex terribly and wished he were here with her.

            “It really was a great pleasure dancing with you tonight,” said the officer. “I remember watching you on television. You always seemed so sweet; I’m glad to know I was right about you. You just expect all pretty girls like you to be snobby.”

            “Being a pretty actress only gets a girl so far,” said Frankie. “A girl’s also gotta have personality and smarts to stay alive in this business.”

            “That’s true,” said the officer, placing his hand daringly on her lower back. “So can I ask if there is a lucky man in your life?”

            Frankie responded without looking at the officer. “There is a man,” she said, “although I’m not sure he’d consider himself lucky.”

            The officer removed his hand from Frankie’s back and looked at her oddly. “I don’t understand,” he said.

            Frankie smiled. “It’s complicated,” she said.

            The continued walking arm in arm until they reached the entrance of the barracks she was sharing with the other girls. “What’s complicated about love?” he asked.

            Frankie laughed and then immediately covered her mouth, ashamed of her outburst. “Sorry,” she said and then kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for being a gentleman.”

            The officer removed his cap and grasped it in his hand. “I know I’m just an army officer,” he said, “but would you like to dance with me again sometime?”

            “I would be honored,” said Frankie with a curtsy. She then turned and entered the barracks alone.

           
How foolish am I?
she thought. Such a cute man and she had been longing for some kind of sexual activity. She wanted to feel a man again—if not inside her, then at least lying next to her—just to feel that closeness she had felt so often with Alex. She remembered how similar the officer’s physique resembled that of Alex. Rushing to the door, she peaked outside to look for him, but he was already gone. For a moment she felt incredibly guilty. After all, it was sex that had gotten her into this situation.
Maybe I should consider abstinenc
e, she thought.

            Instead Frankie changed into her pajamas and got into bed. She fantasized about Alex lying naked on top of her, and tried hard to remember everything she could about him—his body, his moves, and his voice. Her fantasy was suddenly interrupted by the drunken arrival of the other girls entering the
barracks. She opened her eyes to see Eileen, the tall singer with a wild mane of curly red hair; Bridget, the dark-haired, full-figured, sexy pin-up girl; and Michelle, the delicate, svelte actress all laughing and staggering towards her, holding each other up.
   

            “Guess what!” Eileen yelled, tossing herself on top of Frankie.

            “What?” Frankie asked, smelling the alcohol on Eileen’s breath.

            “They’re in Jamaica!” she squealed with glee.

            “
Who
is in Jamaica?” asked Frankie.

            “The Dark Knights!” exclaimed Bridget, jumping onto Frankie’s bunk. “Robbie, Nick, Peter, Alex, and Josh—they’re doing a photo shoot for their next album,
Purgatory in Paradise
.”

            “We found out from one of the pilots,” explained Michelle with excitement equal to the others. “It turns out he’s got the sweets for Bridget, and he’s agreed to fly us there for the weekend.” She laughed. “Little does he know, Bridget actually wants to make it with Robbie Marin.”

            Frankie bit her lip and fell back onto her bed. “Good luck.”

“Oh, no way in hell are you staying here,” said Eileen. “You know the band. You have to introduce us. You’re our key in.”

            “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Frankie. “Who said I know them?”

            “Didn’t you once date Alex Rowley?” asked Michelle.

            Frankie stared at Michelle in shock. “It was nothing, really,” she said and then pulled the covers over her head.

            Bridget pulled at Frankie’s blankets to expose her face. “But you
know
him. You can at least ask him to introduce us to the others.”

            “I hear Robbie’s girlfriend Amelia Magdalene will be there,” said Eileen with a wiggle of her hips.