Saying Goodbye, Love is Learning to Say Goodbye

By Mahima Martel

What is love? Is it a possession, something to confine and put on display? Is it declarations for the whole world to hear, or is it a precious space within the heart?
After a tragic event in which agents and parents keep them apart, Frankie and Alex maintain a long distance love affair throughout the turbulent Sixties, away from the prying eyes of the press and the fans. Separated, their love breeds strength to overcome obstacles that once held them down. Individually, they blossom creatively and their talents soar to new heights. Within the secrecy of their relationship, they learn greater lessons of love, lessons not defined by society, but by the heart and the soul.
A true lover knows what the other needs and will often make great personal sacrifices for the well-being of their lover. Sometimes the strength of love is being able to say goodbye.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer Ott
• Release date: Jul 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310815607

Book preview

Saying Goodbye

Love is Learning to Say Goodbye

Mahima Martel

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 Mahima Martel

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Table of Contents

Tick Tock

Little Voices

Seal of Approval

Cost of Love

Love on the Big Screen

Be Careful Who You Love

Remember the Love

Love to Grow

Resounding Beat

Pretty Pictures

The Dancer

What to Say

The Space that Surrounds

Blooming Hearts

Set You Free

Tick Tock

For swinging Hollywood starlet Frankie Robinson, her days dampened, and her spirit dimmed. After her experience performing for the USO in Santo Domingo and seeing Alex for the first time since her abortion, life wasn't the same when Frankie returned home to New York City. In fact, it was worse; her parents placed her under house arrest, and any time she wanted or needed to go out was under her mother Geraldine's scrutinizing supervision. Most of her public appearances were such a drain. She barely had the presence to force a smile for a photographer's camera, and she avoided reporters as if they were disease-carrying rodents.

On a blustery March afternoon in 1965, Frankie escaped her parents' control and set off for her routine hair appointment in Manhattan. Sinking into the leather seat at the hair salon, she stared at her reflection in the mirror while trying to drown out the chatter of other salon patrons and stylists. She wore absolutely no makeup, and she dressed in an over-sized sweater and baggy jeans. She was far from feeling fab.

It was always fun seeing her hairdresser Gerry, like visiting a pal to chat and divulge secrets and share dirty rumors. Hi darling, he said, wrapping a plastic cape over her body, What's the latest and greatest?

Frankie certainly wasn't going to go into all the nasty details of the last painful months. Nothing really, she said quickly.

I hear you were in Santo Domingo with the USO. What's it like to be where front page news is made? asked Gerry, leaning over her chair hoping for some hot gossip. You must have some inside information to divulge.

Oh boy, do I have hot gossip; I am the hot gossip. If only the world knew what I went through. It would send shivers and cause shrills They kept us pretty much on guard. No news to report.

Still trying to wade through all those wannabe suitors? No man in uniform caught your eye? asked Gerry, I can't believe none of them made the Frankie Robinson grade.

More like Marcus and Geraldine Robinson's grade, Frankie responded dully.

Ah ha, can't say I blame them with such a beautiful, talented daughter, said Gerry. He fluffed her hair. What are we doing for you today?

Touch up the roots, she said and then retrieved a magazine picture from her purse, handing it to Gerry.

Gerry took one look at the photo and said, That's a boy's haircut.

Frankie nestled sternly in her chair. It is what I want.

Do you want the haircut or the boy? asked Gerry curiously.

Frankie chuckled ironically and replied, I want the haircut. I already have the boy.

Are you sure? asked Gerry, as he ran his fingers through Frankie's shoulder length blonde silky hair.

While most girls were trying to obtain a pretty and polished look with hair-sprayed, shoulder-length pageboys, Frankie was tired of being pretty and tired of being like everyone else. Her blonde mane was part of her trademark, as well as her fresh perky face and voluptuous body, but Frankie wanted no more part of it. Prepared to make a complete rebellion against everyone in the world, Frankie craved a complete makeover of her prior image and even her prior self. Where most women longed to acquire Frankie's superficial beauty of a starlet she maintained for the past couple years, Frankie was ready to let it all go. 'Yes, do it," she asserted strongly.

With the touch of Gerry's shears, long strands of Frankie's hair fell to the floor, gathering the attention of some of the other stylists and patrons who gasped with awe and shock. Watching Gerry cut her hair, a grin crossed Frankie's face. She thought of the past couple of months of her life and the reaction she would surely gain from her parents and her manager, Stanley.

Her simple, defiant act of a haircut would be enough to shake the very foundation of the shallow image created by those who wanted to profit from her. Her parents and her agent could tell her who to date, how to live her life, what parts to take, what songs to sing, but they had no control over her hair. What an impression she would make when she returned not looking like their precious little girl, but a boy.

When Gerry was through, Frankie admired his work in the mirror. The pixie-short haircut suited her well. I love it! she exclaimed excitedly.

I had my doubts, replied Gerry, admiring his own handiwork, But I must admit; it suits you very well.

After Gerry had dusted her off, Frankie reached for her leather jacket and paid for the service. Stepping outside, a forceful gust of wind blew down New York's Fifth Avenue. Walking against the wind, Frankie loved the sensation of the wind blowing through her short hair. For the first time since she could remember, she felt truly alive and liberated.

Instead of hailing a cab or calling for a car to take her back to her family's house in an affluent Queen's suburb, Frankie boldly decided on the bus. Waiting on the corner of 5th Avenue and 42nd Street for the Q16 bus, Frankie lit a cigarette. She never considered herself a smoker even though she indulged in social settings; now dragging on a cigarette helped her focus and settled her heavy mind. Occasionally, she found herself imitating Alex's smoking habit. She had to chuckle at herself, because her smoking style was hardly feminine; she smoked like a man and loved it.

As the bus pulled to the curb, Frankie extinguished her cigarette with her boot and boarded the bus with the other passengers. She purposely took a seat that was facing the center aisle, wanting to look at the people. She envied them all. They could love whom they wanted; they could have children without fear of them being taken away, and they could live their lives without prying, speculation and judgment. The free masses: they have no idea how lucky they are. A few people glanced at Frankie curiously. If anyone recognized her, no one said a word, and Frankie was very grateful.

The bus dropped her off a mile from her home in Forrest Hills. She didn't mind walking home today. Driven around most of her life, she never saw much of the community. Now she was able to look at the houses and smile at her neighbors that passed. Everything seemed completely new to her, and all it took was a haircut.

Ahead in the distance, she saw her home, a two story, white house surrounded by a white picket fence. The rosebuds were just beginning to grow from the once thorny barren stems. It's all new.

She arrived home, headed up to her bedroom and tossed her leather jacket on the bed. Admiring her tough, tomboy look in the mirror, her rebellious smile grew broader. Wouldn't it be much easier if I were a boy? People wouldn't be so overly protective. I'd have more freedom to do what I want; go where I please. They wouldn't worry so much about my image and morality. I could enjoy sex without people thinking I'm a slut.

Frankie, Geraldine called from downstairs. It's dinner time.

Frankie licked her fingers and straightened her hair. Coming!

She bounced down the steps toward the kitchen table, taking a seat next to her mother.

Geraldine took one look at Frankie and asked, Did Stanley approve of that haircut? You do have some public appearances to make this month. And what about the promotional tour for your movie? The fans want to meet and see a pretty girl, not a girl that looks like a boy.

Stanley doesn't know, Frankie said smartly, breaking a roll of bread.

Honey, he is your manager and responsible for your image. If you want to be in this business, there are rules that need to be adhered to, reminded Geraldine. Your looks and your body are essential to your image. That's what people are buying, so that's what you need to sell.

And talent speaks for nothing, Frankie responded sharply.

Honey, I have seen the most talented people trampled in this business by less talented people. Image is everything, scolded Geraldine. I don't know why you need to be so rebellious. If I didn't know better, I'd think you're trying to sabotage your career.

We'll see. Besides, I think Stanley and the world will survive my short haircut, replied Frankie.

Sitting in his New York City agent's office, cluttered with photographs and profiles of prospective clients, Stanley stared astonished at Frankie's new doo. He wasn't sure how he was going to explain this to the movie and television executives that were trying to position Frankie as the next Marilyn Monroe, not to mention her modeling contracts that hired her based on her mane of luscious blonde hair. Now, with her short cropped head of hair and dressed in a loose turtleneck wool sweater, she looked more like a member of a pretty boy band.

I already told her, said Geraldine with a sigh gazing at her daughter.

Well, said Stanley discouragingly, I do have something here that might just suit. Jack Hanson is a producer of a new rock and roll teen music show with all the hottest bands and dance crazes. He glanced at Frankie, And he wants you not only to open the show's premiere; he wants you to cut a record with a new dance song.

Despite all the tragedy and hardship Frankie endured, this was the first time a huge, excited smile came across her face. It was exactly the opportunity she wanted—to dance, sing, and even better, cut a record. She had the opportunity to become a recording artist just like Alex.

Where do I sign? she asked much to her mother's chagrin.

Hold on, replied Geraldine, I don't know if it's a smart move. you getting involved with these rock and rollers. She turned to Stanley and asked, How will this play with the Hollywood studios?

Stanley shrugged. Hard to say. These days rock and rollers are making movies; actors are recording records. There is just no way of saying these days what will be a hit and what won't. Seems the whole entertainment world has been turned upside down.

Across the Atlantic, rock star Alex Rowley toiled on the backyard of his suburban London home; yard work was the only thing that made him feel like a normal person and not someone's property. Here, he was king of his own domain, not having to answer to anyone. All would be perfect, except—.

In the living room, Sarah carefully placed tiny knick-knacks and planned where to hang several paintings and pictures she had acquired. She hung a large painting above the couch and then stood back to admire her handiwork. She needed a second opinion.

Sarah walked outside the house where Alex was tooling around in the yard, cleaning up the hedges and pulling weeds. She helped Alex by pulling out a few weeds. Alex studied Sarah. Her movements were so delicate, even while working in the dirt, and spending the day doing chores around the house, she was fashionably dressed and pristinely coiffed. She was pretty as a picture in her daily chores.

He imagined Frankie doing the same task—covered in dirt up to her elbows; smudges on her face and her wild blonde hair pulled back in a kerchief. Frankie would have been an absolute mess. Thinking of Frankie, a smile crossed his face.

Noticing his smile, Sarah kissed him sweetly on the lips. Do you want to go inside for a bit?

He retracted, startled by her embrace and grew ashamed that his smile wasn't for her. Not right now, he said and walked back inside the house.

Sarah tossed the weeds in a trashcan before entering behind Alex. She found him behind the refrigerator door searching for food. Do you want me to make you a sandwich? she asked.

Alex shoved a piece of roast beef into his mouth. No, thanks. He headed back outside.

Sarah was growing a little dizzy following him around. Can you stop for a minute? I hung a picture, and I want you to see if it's straight.

You can't tell that on your own? he asked bothered.

I want a second opinion, she said.

Do I have to do it now? he asked.

No, she replied meekly.

Okay then, I'll look at it later.

Sarah returned to the living room, studied the picture and found it was a bit crooked. Stepping on the couch to adjust it further wanting to make sure it was perfect, she and called out to Alex, I was thinking about asking Nick and Julie, Josh and Marie for dinner.

That sounds like a good idea, he said, sounding excited for the first time during the conversation. Often, time alone with Sarah was painful because she always had to be near him; she never gave him much space, and space was what he needed most. Having others around diluted her neediness.

Few understood what it was like being swarmed by people; it was overwhelming. Frankie was one of the only people he could be with and not feel suffocated. Alex didn't need to attend to Frankie's desires, needs and wants he could just be with her. He didn't understand why most women didn't get that men don't constantly want to be working for a woman; sometimes they just want to be with a woman. For Alex, the harder Sarah tried, the more she turned him away. Love should not be such hard work.

The signing for the teen music television show, Tick Tock Rockin', came a few days later. It was supposed to be the competition to another new dance craze, the Hullabaloo. The new dance she had to learn and even help create with the choreographers was called the Tick Tock; it was a mix of the Slop and the Watusi and inspired by Philadelphia DJ Jerry Blavat. Frankie didn't care what it was, or who inspired it; she was simply excited to dance wildly with young folks, and on television to boot!

All was fine except her mother, Geraldine, annoyingly tagged along during the meeting with creator and producer Jack Hanson, a hip thirty-something fellow dressed in a turtleneck and sports coat. He was real keen on the new sounds, the new bands and the latest dances.

Nice to meet you, Jack said, shaking Frankie's hand and then greeted Geraldine with equal affection. I look forward to working with you.

Me too, said Frankie, I didn't even know an opportunity like this existed. It is so exciting to be able to dance and sing to rock music on television.

Great, Jack replied with a grin, Allow me to introduce you to my London counterpart, Darren Chapman.

Frankie swung around to see Darren standing alongside Jack with his usual pleasant smile. Darren was such a personable and sweet man with such a soft demeanor.

Hello, Darren said to Frankie, giving the impression that he had never met her before.

Darren will handle casting the London based talent, where I deal mostly with the US, explained Jack.

It's an international show, replied Darren, mostly based on Frankie's curious reaction.

So will this be a one-time appearance for Frankie? asked Geraldine

Yes, said Jack, She will be our first guest star, but she will have the opportunity of introducing the show, the Bash and the record the single, Tick, Tock. So it will really be quite an opportunity for her.

Dance crazes don't last long, and no doubt the same for rock and roll, said Geraldine, What happens when this all blows over?

Both Jack and Darren stared at Geraldine. It's our job to make sure it doesn't, said Darren.

Geraldine nodded her head slightly. She wished Frankie would settle into a movie career, or land a role on a television series; that's where the money was. It certainly was not prudent to build an entertainment career on rock music and all this excitement for a record deal, and a rock dance number didn't seem like a great opportunity for Frankie's long-term career.

As Jack tried to sell the opportunity further to Geraldine, Frankie stepped aside for a private conversation with Darren. This is a big deal for me. I hope Alex didn't put you up to it.

Darren smiled warmly and said. I've checked out your talent and seen what you can do. I merely suggested you to Jack. He paused with a smile. But then I do have a vested interest in my client's contentment. He looked over Frankie curiously. I like the haircut. It's very mod.

Frankie smoothed her short blonde hair cut. I was inspired.

Catching Geraldine's interest in his conversation with Frankie, Darren, whispered, I will let him know. By the way, he said, reaching in his coat pocket, I have this for you. He handed Frankie an envelope. Please send all correspondence to my secretary, Mary Simmons. She will make sure they get delivered.

Quickly folding it in two, Frankie inserted it into her coat pocket. Thanks. I greatly appreciate your help.

Darren smiled at her with the eyes of a caring father. I feel responsible for the unfortunate events that have transpired. I should have stepped in sooner, instead of leaning toward the cautious side. I only hope this small gesture can help.

Frankie bit her bottom lip, not quite knowing how to respond. She grew tired of thinking about it and wanted just to move on with her life. Well, we all share in the responsibility, she said to Darren, shifting her gaze away.

She stepped away from Darren to Geraldine's side, her hand in her coat pocket feeling Alex's letter. She couldn't wait to read it, but it just wouldn't be prudent in front of Geraldine; it was something she needed to do in private. She grew more impatient to read what Alex had written, and the drive home from the studio became unbearable. The traffic moved painfully slow, and every red light seemed to last an eternity.

Finally, they arrived home, and Frankie rushed straight to her bedroom, then retrieved Alex's letter from her pocket. She plopped onto the corner of her bed and smiled ear to ear. Falling back on the bed, she pressed the letter to her heart.

Later that evening, Sarah gathered around the kitchen table with Nick and Josh's wives, Julia and Marie. Sarah cradled Marie's newborn baby in her arms. Studying the tiny nose and big eyes of the baby, Sarah envisioned a baby of her own. She imagined a baby with big dark brown eyes like Alex but with her nose and lips.

You look like a natural, said Marie, Have you and Alex talked about children?

Yes, we both want children, said Sarah lifting the newborn to eye level, He's so sweet.

Thank you, said Marie, taking her baby from Sarah and cradling him in her arms. "It's so nice to have a baby in the house. It makes an empty house bearable when Josh is on the road.

Sarah understood too well the feeling of living in an empty house without a man. It was horrible and sometimes frightening, but she seldom got lonely with her busy schedule as television host and her many friends. Often when Alex was away, she stayed with friends in London, that way she wouldn't have to stay in the house alone.

Julia's young son tried to open the patio door. Eddy! she called.

Three-year-old Eddy pressed his hands against the screen door. Papa! he cried trying to gain Nick's attention outside.

Julia stood from her seat and guided Eddy back from the door. Papa's busy.

Sarah rose from her seat and stepped outside to the patio where Alex, Nick and Josh reclined in lounge chairs, passing around a joint. After Alex took a hit, Sarah took the joint from him and puffed. She reached out to hand it to one of the guys. Nobody took it from her.

It's got Sarah germs, said Nick with a laugh.

Josh giggled, Sarah germs.

Alex took the joint from Sarah and said, Don't worry, she's sanitized and sterilized.

Nick sat up in his seat, turning to Sarah. How so? he asked with wild-eyed curiosity.

Well, you know all the perfumes and lotions and potions and hairspray, they all have so much alcohol, explained Alex taking another hit of the joint. She's sanitized. She's cleeaann.

Is that why you can't get knocked up? asked Nick. You're sterilized.

Josh giggled, Sterilized.

Alex shot Nick and Josh an angry glance.

Sorry buddy, replied Nick quickly.

Sarah looked at the three of them and tried to hide her hurt. She always prided herself as a cool girl; the one all the guys liked. She didn't appreciate being the butt of their jokes; jokes she didn't understand and think funny Well, I'm going to back inside.

You do that, replied Nick.

Alex glanced back over his shoulder, Honey, can you make yourself useful and bring us more crisps?

In a few minutes, Sarah swung open the screen door and tossed a bag of crisps at Alex. With the joint dangling from his lips, he picked it up off the grass. Thanks sweetheart! he called as he tore open the bag while Nick and Josh broke into laughter.

Later, Sarah stared at her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her hair. In the mirror, she watched Alex walk past and climb into bed. Why do you need to treat me like that in front of the guys?

Like what? he asked with a yawn.

Setting the brush down on the vanity table, she turned and looked at Alex. Mean.

Alex sighed. Lighten up Sarah; we were just joking.

She climbed onto the bed beside him. But why do I need to be the butt of the joke?

He grew irritated by the conversation. Can't you have a sense of humor about yourself? We joke about everything and everyone. If you don't like it; you can leave, he said gesturing to the door.

Sarah kissed him on the lips and cuddled next to him. I'm sorry.

Alex lay alongside her for a few minutes not touching her or holding her. When he was ready, he turned over on top of her for sex. Sarah complied. It was like that already in their relationship—very little passion. He took advantage of a warm body in his bed, and she made sure to give him everything he wanted, fearful he would leave if she didn't.

April showers poured outside the vacant dance studio with cement walls and hardwood floors. Frankie entered dressed in jeans, boots and heavy wool coat and then stripped down to her tights and a wool sweater. She set a record on the turntable. As the needle set down on the vinyl album, Frankie warmed up in standard ballet poses against the bar to Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro.

Once all her muscles were limber and warmed up,