Although Alex had had his share of girlfriends here and there, he was rarely asked questions about his private life. He figured people just weren’t that interested. People were more interested in Robbie and Peter, and that suited Alex just fine. The less people knew of him, the better.
Once rumors had escaped from England that he had married Sarah
, but he quickly dismissed the rumors and announced wholeheartedly that he was still single, which made many women collectively sigh with relief. He wasn’t prepared, however, for the question that came out at the press conference a few days after their New York appearance.
“I heard you lads met actress Frankie Robinson,” said one reporter.
The question stabbed Alex in the gut and he sank in his seat. He wondered how they knew. Did they see her walking out of the hotel? Had they seen her with Cassie? Questions filled his mind along with a swell of panic.
Robbie chuckled loudly and asked, “Who is Frankie Robinson?” He looked to Peter, “Do you know Frankie Robinson?”
Peter shrugged and responded, “Does anyone really know Frankie Robinson?”
“Who is Igor Shantzky?” Nick asked with a laugh. All the other guys laughed except Alex.
Alex slumped forward toward the microphone. “I’ve never heard of her,” he said, feeling like a complete dunce, but they were the only words that slid from his mouth. Slouching into his seat he felt the stinging sensation of hot flashes and fever. He couldn’t believe that a mere question and his answer could make him physically sick.
While another reporter soon moved on to another question about the tour, which Josh yielded to with his natural modest sincerity, Alex’s mind was stuck on Frankie.
How could they know?
he thought.
What else do they know?
And worse yet, he didn’t even understand his own nervousness. Where was the harm in meeting a pretty actress? No one had to know if anything were going on between them. He puffed nervously on his cigarette. He liked Frankie a lot—maybe a bit too much. The simple question made Alex realize that he would have to personally address his feelings for her.
Later, during the downtime between the press conference and the show, everyone seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts. Alex thought hard about Frankie The more he thought, the more obvious the conclusion became: he wanted her for his girlfriend. This of course presented a problem; he already had a girlfriend, back home in England. Juggling a couple women was never really a concern to him . . . until now.
Sarah was very pretty and very sweet—a supercool girl, who he liked hanging out with. Frankie was entirely different. He never imagined dating a girl like her. He didn’t even know girls like Frankie existed, and now that he discovered her it was going to be hard to let her go. It was like being a humble, modest man finding a great treasure of riches. A man’s life would be immediately altered. And that’s what had happened to Alex; meeting Frankie changed him. She had changed his entire perspective on himself and life.
Now that he had come to this resolution in his mind, he needed to talk to her. He walked into the privacy of his hotel room to make the call. It was the middle of the afternoon and he was grateful it was Frankie who answered the phone.
“Hi, beautiful,” he greeted.
“Well, hello, handsome,” she responded. “How’s your day going?”
“Good.” He paused. “Your name came up in a press conference today. They asked if we knew you.”
“What did you say?”
“That I didn’t know you,” Alex said with a laugh.
Frankie bit her bottom lip and then responded, “You do know me pretty intimately.”
The moment of truth had arisen for them both. Going public would take a lot of courage, having to deal with the press and the fans. But keeping it under wraps would lessen the seriousness and sincerity of what was going on between them. Both wanted it to be known to the world that they belonged to each other and no one else. It was Frankie who broke the silence.
“What should we say?”
“I don’t know. What
should
we say?”
“I asked you first. Are we dating?” she asked.
Alex grinned as he leaned against the backboard of his bed. He lit a cigarette. “What is dating exactly?”
“Stop stalling and answer the question,” pressed Frankie.
“Huh? Well, then . . . I guess the answer is yes.”
“Wow. So this is it. I’m dating Alex Rowley. Heavy!”
“So does this mean we have to say something or do something?” asked Alex. “I’ve never dated a Hollywood movie star before.”
“No, let’s just play it cool and see how it comes out. Do you want a spectacle?”
“No,” he replied and then grew nervous. “I have to ask you a stupid question.”
Frankie curled her legs underneath her as she cradled the phone under her chin. “That’s never stopped you before.”
“Ha-ha,” he grunted. “Okay. We’re coming back to New York for a charity benefit. We’re doing a concert to help bring aid to those living in poverty in America. After the concert, there is going to be a ball.”
“A ball?” Frankie bit her bottom lip, excited as to where he was going with this information.
“Yeah,” he continued awkwardly, “A
ball—
can you believe it? So, uhm, do you want to go with me?”
“Like, be your date to the ball?” said Frankie, making sure she understood him correctly.
“Well, yeah! What do you think, ding-dong, I’m asking you drive the carriage?” he asked, trying to make light of the whole thing.
“Okay, I’ll have my glass slippers polished,” joked Frankie.
“And don’t forget your pumpkin.”
“My pumpkin is already good to go!” Frankie exclaimed with a loud laugh.
Alex grinned, relieved. “Great. I’ll call you later with all the details.”
“Okay. Bye.” Frankie hung up the phone. She waited for almost a minute without saying a word, then let out a bellowing scream of excitement as she bounced up and down around the room. This was more than any dream Frankie could ever have wished.
While Frankie leaped and bounded around her family’s living room, Alex remained motionless, stretched out on his hotel bed, and thought of the irony of it all. Here he was, this shit-kicker from the streets of Manchester, taking a Hollywood starlet and New York socialite to a charity ball. He had gone from pauper to prince so quickly that he hardly had time to make sense of it all. But it really didn’t matter as he began to feel every organ in his body expand three times its normal size. There was nothing he could do but smile.
Their relationship soon hit the public airways with the announcement of a charity concert the band was going to do in New York before returning home to England. Both Alex and Frankie played down the hype as best they could. Frankie, ever the actress, played it much cooler than Alex, who came across like a thirteen-year-old in heat at the mere mention of her name.
Alex and Frankie knew full well the implications of bringing their relationship into the mainstream. Suddenly both of them would be placed under a heavy spotlight of scrutiny. Keeping it as far under cover as possible was their best chance of survival. The press could break even the best relationships, and turn fairy tales into the worst. While Alex was on the road, Frankie and he consistently called each other by making use of an alias. The mysterious Igor Shantzky was always on the list of calls to be put through to the band’s room. No one was ever the wiser.
Marcus lowered the newspaper, folded it in half, and placed it alongside his breakfast plate. “I didn’t expect to start my day reading about my daughter’s love life in the gossip columns.”
Frankie dug hungrily into her scrambled eggs and sighed, “Dad, it’s not what you think.”
“And what is it that I’m thinking?” he asked curiously.
“Look, I like him; he likes me. What’s the harm in that?” questioned Frankie.
“The harm is that this boy can’t come to town without a mounted police escort, barricades, and thousands of screaming fans,” said Marcus. He stared down at his breakfast, deciding what to start eating first—eggs or potatoes. He pierced his fork into the mound of fried potatoes. “How do you plan to make a relationship in that madness?”
“We’re dating, that’s all,” said Frankie.
Marcus sat back in his seat. “How can you possibly be dating this fellow? Did he take you out to a dinner and a movie? Did you share a milkshake at the soda shop? Tell me, Francesca Marie, what have you and this boy done that constitutes dating?” He looked at the newspaper photo of crazed fans. “How could you have gotten near him within that madness?”
“Marcus,” said Geraldine as she entered the kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee and began pouring her husband a cup. “I’m sure Frankie knows people who can get her an introduction—like Cassie O’Brien.” Geraldine gave Frankie an intense look of disapproval. She glared at Frankie, knowing full well the amount of deceit her daughter was capable of and that she had been played by one of her daughter’s schemes.
“Is that what happened?” asked Marcus. “You know people who got you inside? Did this Cassie O’Brien introduce you to this fellow?”
Frankie sighed dramatically. “Again, I don’t see what the big deal is. I like him; he likes me. What is so bad about that?”
“Because it’s dangerous.” He pointed to the newspaper picture of fans. “Do you see all this insanity? How do you think your relationship with Alex Rowley will play with all these jealous girls?”
“I don’t care about the jealousy of others,” said Frankie. “That’s their problem.” She rose from the table. “I like him. You can’t stop me from seeing him.”
“What are we doing to do about this?” questioned Marcus to Geraldine.
“Marcus, he’s a musician. You know musicians; they’re like gypsies. They roll into towns, cause all kinds of havoc, and then their gone. This kid will be gone in a few weeks, Frankie will be forced to move on, and this will all be over. Let it run its course.”
Once the news broke of Frankie and Alex’s relationship, the greetings at a few of the airports they frequented seemed a lot less welcoming. In Boston tomatoes and eggs were tossed at them as they exited the airplane. Inside the band’s awaiting limousine they all removed their jackets and wiped any stray yolk and tomato juice from their faces.
“And I thought Boston would have been one of the civil American cities,” replied Robbie as he wiped smashed tomato from his face.
“At least they’re throwing something that’s soft,” said Josh. “It would hurt a little more if it were potatoes.”
“I guess we can count ourselves lucky it was just food,” said Alex.
Nick nudged Alex and said, “It’s entirely your fault anyway.”
Alex ran his fingers through hair and felt the sliminess of egg. “Yuck. How do you figure?”
“You had to go and get
publicly
involved with America’s hottest bird. Did you think these crazy motherfuckers weren’t going to retaliate? This is America; they kill people here for no reason at all. They’re a bunch of gangsters and psychos,” replied Nick. “Their intent is to send you back to the Queen in a body bag.”
“Shut up,” said Alex and then he lit a cigarette. “You don’t know that.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be sitting next to the window,” teased Peter.
“No!” exclaimed Robbie. “Let him sit next to the window with a bulls-eye drawn across his forehead. I don’t want to be taken down in the cross fire.”
With his cigarette dangling between his lips, Alex flipped up his shirt collar over his neck and sunk low in his seat. “You guys don’t know anything,” he muttered.
“We didn’t get caught with our pants down with an America’s sweetheart” said Robbie. “That’s all you, mate.”
“Can’t I be with a girl I like without being threatened?!” exclaimed Alex. “Shite!”
“We’re just messing with you,” replied Peter.
Peter’s words didn’t comfort him. Alex didn’t trust the American fans and it was quite possibly due to his relationship with Frankie. He was serious when he questioned why he couldn’t be with a girl he liked without being threatened; or what kind of life he would have if he was constantly hiding his affections.
Although there was no flying food in the upcoming cities, there was always the fan that broke through the crowd and barricades to grab hold of one the guys in the band. Robbie and Peter never seemed to mind the girl or two that broke through—Josh always thought it was hysterical—but Alex grew nervous, constantly looking over his shoulder to see who could be lurking.
Dallas was the last show on the road. Although everyone was getting weary from the American tour, they were all a bit sad to see it come to an end. So much had happened to them in a month—there was passion; overzealous fans, who tried to break into their hotel rooms; jealous boyfriends throwing food; and, for Alex, there was love. No doubt they were all changed by the experience.
After their last concert ended and security m
oved the Dark Knights quickly through the mob of groping fans.
While the security guards were dealing with crowd control, the band members were busy holding on tightly to their instruments, trying to keep them from getting damaged. This, however, left them vulnerable to the tugging, pulling, pinching, prodding, and outright manhandling of the fans. As Alex was escorted through a narrow path of fans, a fist came out of the darkness and struck him in the cheek. A second fist was planted in his eye, followed by a third hit to his nose until a security guard finally pulled the assailant off.