Saying Goodbye (What the World Doesn't Know) by Mahima Martel

back Willie.
                “Hey, hey, hey! Fellows, we don’t want a mid-air collision,” Josh joked.
                “She’s a slut, Alex,” said Willie. “She would have done any of you—maybe
all
of you!”
                Alex struggled to get free from Nick and Chase’s grip. “ I’m going to beat the shit out of yeh, Willie, if yeh don’t shut the fuck up!”
                “Oi!” said Willie, “It’s not just her; it’s
all
American girls. Yeh know they’re the easiest in the world.” He looked at Robbie, Nick, and Peter, who also had scored American girlfriends.      “That’s why yeh chaps fancy coming to the States, right?”
                “Now, Willie,” replied Nick.
                Alex grunted angrily. “Okay, this is for everyone on this plane. If anyone mentions Frankie—says
anything
about her—I will bust yeh open, ’ear me?”
                Willie nodded and said, “Okay, Alex. Not a word.”
                Robbie, slouched in the back seat of the plane, lifted his sunglasses from his bloodshot eyes and asked, “Who’s Frankie Robinson?”
                “Exactly,” responded Peter jokingly. “Who
is
Frankie Robinson?”
                “No, seriously,” said Robbie. “Who is Frankie Robinson? Is he a ball player or something?”
                Josh roared with laughter. “No, that’s Igor Shantzky.”
                Alex threw his arms up in the air and returned to his seat. He lit a cigarette and puffed. He hated flying and couldn’t wait until he was on the ground, where he would finally be able to get some peace and quiet and time away from everyone. A few pillows hit his head and then landed on his lap. “Knock it off, arseholes!” he yelled, hearing Nick and Josh chuckle behind him.
                “You need to loosen up, buddy!” exclaimed Nick.
                “Did I miss something?” asked Robbie.
                “Aye, when yeh had yer head up that redhead,” replied Josh.
                “Oh,” Robbie sighed and covered his eyes once again with the sunglasses to get some sleep.
                Chase sat down in the seat beside Alex. He too lit a cigarette and said, “Don’t let Willie get to you. It’s his job to get a rise out of you and make you open up for a story. Don’t give it to him.”
                “He’s a fucking arsehole,” said Alex. “All reporters are fucking arseholes.”
                “Yeah,” replied Chase, “but you have to maintain an image. Yeh keep lashin’ out at reporters, you’re going to get a bad rep.”
                Alex turned to face Chase. “Shite, Chase. I can’t believe
you’re
the one lecturing me on image.”
                “I’m the perfect one to vent to; you know it goes nowhere with me,” replied Chase. “You gotta let it out, buddy, or it’s gonna eat you alive.”
                Alex opened the window shade of the plane and could see the jagged cliffs of the Rockies below. Memories of Buddy Holly passed through his mind. He closed the shade, trying to escape his thoughts of Frankie with other men. Deep down it was gnawing at him.
     
                Frankie returned home to her family in Queens. It was always nice coming home—being able to sleep in her own bed and receiving home-cooked meals. Her plan for spending Friday night with Alex after the band’s performance was already set in motion. She was going to tell her parents that she was going to stay with folk singer Cassie O’Brien. Cassie, of course, was going to back the story completely because, in reality, it wasn’t a complete lie. She was going to see Cassie perform on Friday night, since she was opening for the band.
                As the late summer sun radiated off the water and onto her