Saying Goodbye (What the World Doesn't Know) (2 page)

            Marcus wasn’t the only one whose admiration Frankie was attracting; men of all ages had begun to fawn over her. Fortunately for Marcus, Frankie was uncomfortable with the attention. She was perfectly happy in the company of one particular suitor—Tim, the neighborhood boy down the street. Tim had been one of her best friends ever since she was thirteen. Apart from her father, Tim was the only man she truly trusted. It was her relationship with Tim that led to her first sexual experience when she turned seventeen. It was okay. Afterward, she didn’t know what all the fuss was about.

            It was during her tender years that Marcus and Geraldine were working hard to maintain Frankie’s reputation and image. There were many young men who continually called on Frankie, but the Robinsons would not approve of just any fellow who came courting. They had their own standards to determine who was fit for their daughter. Frankie, however, never judged a potential suitor, or anyone she met, solely on an image. Growing up in the entertainment world, she had witnessed firsthand a myriad range of relationships consisting of every caliber and quality. Many entertainers used these marriages and other affiliations to sell records, market a movie, or maintain the public’s interest in them. Frankie, having a passionate heart, desired love more than anything else.

            One night when alone in her bed, Frankie lay awake pondering her understanding of love. She thought about the examples of love she had seen throughout her life. There never seemed to be much passion in her parents’ marriage, and the relationships of certain friends and colleagues appeared superficial at best. Frankie became worried that perhaps love was only a fantasy written about in fairy tales and portrayed in movies to sell tickets. And to top it off, she could never remember experiencing the “mysterious kiss” that was supposed to make a woman’s knees weaken and butterflies flutter in her stomach. As much as she valued Tim’s company and friendship, there was no real desire to maintain an intimate relationship with him.
No wonder people are so complacent and bitter about love,
she thought.
They have such high hopes and become disappointed in the end.

            Her television debut however was an enormous success and soon the movie producers in were making calls to her agent. For all it became obvious, Frankie’s destiny was Hollywood. Although she was a fan of Marilyn Monroe, it was Bette Davis who truly inspired her. Frankie had a natural gift for comedy, but it was drama that she was most attracted to. Growing up in a sheltered, affluent life, dramatic roles gave her the opportunity to experience the hardships of life—even if it was only on stage.

            A week before a scheduled to fly to Los Angeles, Frankie felt she needed some time to herself. She decided to go horseback riding within the neighborhood of Fresh Meadows. She climbed onto the back of her favorite mare, Libby, and galloped off into the park. A cool misty breeze filled the spring air, and the grass was vivid green from yesterday’s rain. White and pink blossoms fluttered down from the trees, landing on the damp ground as Frankie and her horse trotted by.

            Under the blossom-filled trees, Frankie daydreamed of a knight in shining armor.
If love does eventually come to everyone, when will mine?
she thought. As she listened to the rhythmic sound of Libby’s hooves on the macadam, Frankie’s mind entered an almost meditative state. She began to imagine what her future beau would be like and where she might meet him.
Will he ride up to me today? Will he help me if I fall off my horse? Will he be tall, dark, and handsome?
There was so much hope and promise ahead of her.

 

            When Frankie was set free into the world at age eighteen, she was ready to let go of the structures founded by her parents. She wanted to live and experience life, date boys, and hang around with her girlfriends. She found friendship with a young, rising starlet, Katie Todd, a sultry blonde with a pageboy hairdo. Katie was the oldest daughter of a military family and had seen much of the world by the time she turned eighteen. She had lived on military bases in Japan and Germany, but spent most of her life growing up outside San Diego.

            Frankie had befriended Katie a year ago when their two families met on a cruise. Their parents seemed to hit it off, especially Frankie and Katie’s mothers. It was a clue to both girls that they were to be lifelong friends; and sometimes it felt as though they had been sisters in a past life. Actually, Frankie and Katie acted more like brothers, jokingly berating each other with insults.

            For Katie’s eighteenth birthday, her father (or “the General,” as Frankie liked to call him) bought her a 1963 blue and silver corvette convertible. It was a slick car for a sensuous young star. Katie and Frankie used it to their full advantage, cruising all around Los Angeles, teasing young men of all ages and statures. There was no real reason to succumb to sexual seductions when you had men eating out of your hand. In 1963, Katie Todd and Frankie Robinson had the City of Angels at their feet.

 

            Frankie despised photo shoots, but they were necessary for a rising star; besides, it was hard to turn down the money that modeling agents were offering. Southern California was known for its year-round sunny weather. This November day, however, it was especially cold in the studio while posing in a polka-dot bikini. “Can someone turn up the heat?” she asked. “It is freezing in here!”

            “We’ll be done in a few minutes,” said the photographer, looking through the lens. “Just hold still.”

            Frankie smirked and then smiled for the camera, when the photographer’s pretty assistant suddenly burst in. Her face was pasty, and there was a haunted look in her eyes. “This better be important,” said the photographer.

            “It is,” the assistant stammered. “President Kennedy has just been assassinated.”

            The photographer lifted his head from the camera and stared at his assistant with a look of disbelief. “What?” he gasped.

            Frankie covered herself in a robe and stepped toward the assistant. “What? How did it happen?”

            “In a parade—in Dallas—it’s all over the news,” she muttered. “It’s on television.”

            Frankie ran back to the dressing room and quickly changed into her clothes. When she returned she found the photographer, the assistant, and several others gathered around the television in the studio office, watching Walter Cronkite broadcast the news of the President’s death.

            Dead silence filled the room, except for a few whimpers. Frankie, unable to control herself, wiped the tears that fell from her eyes. Frankie had never been one to involve herself in politics, but Kennedy’s death touched most Americans on a much more personal level. Suddenly, it seemed, one could no longer take anything for granted.

            Later that evening, in the small Spanish-Colonial apartment she shared with Katie, Frankie’s eyes were glued to the television as the assassination footage was rebroadcast over and over. Every time it played, every time Kennedy’s car pulled closer to the crowd, Frankie silently hoped for a different outcome—somehow the bullet would magically miss him. But it was always the same.

            The apartment door swung open and Katie entered, tossing her tailored jacket over the back of a chair. She kicked off her shoes and plopped down on the couch next to Frankie.

            Frankie glanced sideways at her. “I can’t believe you went on your date with all that’s happened.”

            Katie peeled off her white gloves. “L.A. is as dead as Kennedy tonight.”

            “I can’t believe you can be so callous,” said Frankie, wiping a tear from her eye.

            Sorry. I just don’t know what to think or how to feel. It’s all just so surreal. It really kind of sticks to you, you know? One day you’re alive, the next day dead,” said Katie. “I don’t know what to feel.”

            “I can only imagine what Jackie is going through,” Frankie said with a teary sniff. Imagine having your husband die in your arms and you are helpless to do anything for him.”

            Katie wrapped her arm around Frankie’s shoulder. “You can’t spend all your time worrying about death, Frankie. You have to concern yourself with living.”

            Frankie knew it was the truth, but in the days that followed, it was hard for anyone to contemplate living. The road to Kennedy’s funeral was a sobering experience for many Americans. Frankie and Katie sat on their couch, watching the televised procession with a box of tissues between them. They witnessed the band play “Hail to the Chief,” after which ushers carried the president’s casket, draped with the American flag, up the steps of the Capitol. Life in America at that moment seemed to stand still. If there was any denial in any American that day, there was none now—Kennedy’s death was certain.

            Tears streamed down Frankie’s face, seeing Jackie and her two small children—Caroline and John Jr.—parade behind the procession, but what pained Frankie more was seeing Robert Kennedy, standing tall and strong, yet his face was tight with mourning. She couldn’t help it; she burst out sobbing. Katie pulled out a tissue and handed it to Frankie. “Thank you,” Frankie choked, wiping her face.

            Katie was rather cool and calm throughout it all, until the moment came when little John Jr. saluted the procession passing before him. She started balling, and it was now Frankie’s turn to hand her a tissue. It was so very tragic to everyone in the country who cried tears of grief—the sight of this little boy standing and saluting his father’s passing, without any clue to the significance his simple gesture would have on millions over the world.

 

            During the weeks that followed, Americans had no choice but to move forward; the United States watched as Lyndon B. Johnson was sworn into the office of president. It was only a short two months later, however, when the mood of the nation was transformed by the Ed Sullivan Show as it introduced a rock-and-roll band from England called the Beatles.

            That evening Frankie and Kate had forgone dates for the sake of a girl’s night in with a big bowl of popcorn and a six-pack of soda pop. There was so much anticipation for this band from England that the crowds they drew and the traffic they caused were almost rivaled those of Kenney’s funeral. How quickly American’s attention was diverted from sobriety, thought Frankie.

            Frankie was curious, but could not understand the sensation these young men were causing. Sure, the Beatles were cute enough, but what caught Frankie’s attention was the reaction of the crowds.
How could girls let themselves get so carried away?
she thought.
They’re just boys like any others.
. It was almost laughable.

            Katie tossed a few pieces of popcorn into her mouth. “Those girls need to get laid—badly.”

            Frankie grabbed a huge handful of popcorn and shoved it in her mouth and spoke while she chewed, “Why, they’re having orgasms right there in audience!”          

“Why waste a perfectly good orgasm without a dick?” Katie sipped her soda pop through a straw.

            Frankie laughed. “Maybe there’s something to it; orgasm and still get to keep their virginity.

            “Seriously, Frankie, do you really believe that?” questioned Katie. “Have you even had an orgasm?”

            Frankie hit Katie with a cushion. “Shut up. I must have. I’ve had sex before.”

            “Uh-huh. If you don’t know if you did, then you didn’t,” said Katie.

            “See, there’s my point,” explained Frankie. “You don’t have an orgasm with every guy you have sex with, right? Sometimes sex can be really lame. So, if orgasm can be induced without having to bear through a boring date full of wet, icky kisses, and feeling guilty the next day, then why not?”

            Katie slid down in her seat. “It would save a lot of wasted time.” She pointed at the television. “Oh my God, check out the chick in the dark glasses. She just wet her seat.”

            “And the girl beside her—holy shit!” commented Frankie. “See? We girls have better things to do than put up with bad dates and lame sex.”

            “Yeah, we can watch the Beatles,” roared Katie.

            Frankie giggled and took another big mouthful of popcorn. “You know what, Katie? I think we’re dating men from the wrong hemisphere.”

 

            During the months that followed the Beatles’ 1964 introduction to mainstream America, a tremendous wind of change was blowing westward across the Atlantic Ocean, causing a global uproar. The winds of this storm helped carry away the stinging effects of the Kennedy assassination and the lingering sobriety that it had caused.

            The playful, lighthearted beats of foreigners were just what the younger generation needed. The overall effect created a psychological condition for people worldwide that blew the lid off “traditional values” and American conservatism. For those whose minds, hearts, and bodies were still stifled by such traditions and values, suddenly there was a bright light of opportunity—a new way of living, of loving, and of being. This new clarity of vision inflicted many of the young who were more than ready to recreate a new world. It was fresh and absolutely brilliant.

            The clean-cut family values of the 1950’s were already under duress from the likes of Elvis Presley, Eddie Cochran, Little Richard, Chuck Berry, and others; but the bands invading from across the Atlantic were able to make Elvis Presley’s swaying hips seem like the bunny hop at a church luncheon. Young women of the world were ready and waiting for what seemed like centuries to be set free from their sexual boundaries and to let go completely.

            The bands of the British Invasion did more than just rise to the top of the American pop charts; they invaded the hearts of American women—daughters, girlfriends, and even wives. They did this so very subtly, dressed in pressed suits, singing seemingly harmless songs of love, while at the same time pulling the proverbial wool over the eyes of Americans in the form of hot, steamy sheets.