It was time for Linda's powerful boyfriend to make his appearance in the story. I explained that he was to blame for the neighbor's mutism. Then I filled Anthony in with the part he had missed, what had happened while he was in jail. The complete true version and what pointed me to my next track.
"So that's where my Frankie was all the time for years? So close to Linda's house, so close to what used to be my house... and I never knew? My poor son was in a nearly illegal shelter while I thought him dead? Oh my God Greg, do you realise everything I could have prevented if I hadn't been so credulous? I hate myself s-so so much..." he cried out of desperation and impotence.
"That bitch lied too well, Tony. You've never been that shitty, that vile, not even in your lowest moments. I didn't know you back then but you couldn't be. So you'd have never been able to imagine her capable of plotting something like that, it only fits into a sick mind." Greg hissed, trying to comfort his boyfriend.
"And again, the neighbors had been menaced." I added. "I went to that shelter, too."
I spoke about that place, how it worked and the good woman I had found there, the one who had helped Frankie. I mentioned what Frank's condition was upon arriving and how he had eventually learned to half-speak thanks to those volunteers' patience. I didn't leave out the maltreatment and over-medication.
Anthony looked as if the pain was unbearable, as if his heart was about to break in front of me. Not even Greg's caresses and sweet words could calm him. He needed to cry, he needed to grieve for all the time he had lost, for all the things he could have stopped, for everything he had ignored. For all that his innocent, little son had gone through.
I finally got to Frank's maternal mother's appearance and the salvation that sadly, couldn't be whole.
"At least Frankie met one relative who cared...if only for some time." Anthony smiled sadly.
"And he found someone else in that institution."
Grace, the famous Grace. I described the importance she'd had to Frank and everything I had learned through my telephone talks with her. I only spared him the part about John, I would tell him in the future.
"Grace was the closest to a mother he's had."
"I'd love to meet that woman and thank her." he said with honesty.
"Now...here comes the hardest part." I announced. "You know how I told you Linda took Frankie out of that place? Well, for years after Linda's mother died they kept receiving the money to pay for it...so I didn't understand why that had suddenly stopped and why they'd called Linda when they knew she didn't want the boy."
"Yeah...I was actually wondering the same." Greg scratched his head in confusion. Tony just nodded pensive, Frank's replica again.
I detached my eyes from him and told them all the information Grace had given to me which included the institution's rules, a manager under pressure, Linda's actress qualities back to action and a judge's number.
"I hope all this is not about what I'm thinking. Oh please, no." Tony whispered on Greg's neck. I knew he was thinking correctly. "You called that judge? You went that far for my kid?"
"He's worth it. I had my family and friends against me. They said it was too dangerous, knowing what kind of shit Linda's man was. But I was so angry after getting to know all that about Frankie that I needed to go on."
"Gerard...you're definitely the best thing that's happened to my son." he said, and that gave me hope. Hope that everything would be alright, that I could be honest with him about everything.
I went on. Phone calls, a grandma's will and a mysterious black car. A last talk, a procurator, a sad confirmation and a second fake death.
Silence, Anthony couldn't even cry, he could barely breathe. Forgetting about the almost untouched beer on the table, Greg asked a waitress for a glass of water. Tony drank slowly, choking on it.
"A-again!? They...they faked the documents but...but the institution confirmed it?"
"It seems so. We think the director was threatened too."
"Oh fuck...oh shit, MOTHERFUCKER!" he hit the table and Greg and I jumped to catch the bottles. Then he continued, enraged. "You're t-telling me, as I feared, that Linda -Frank's mother- faked her own son's death for the second time just to steal the money his grandma left him?"
"I wish I could say you got it wrong but no, that's exactly what happened." I sobbed, feeling again what I had felt the first time I knew it.
"Oh no, that's ENOUGH. ENOUGH. I'm gonna do something, I have to do something I..."
"Anthony...listen. Please don't even try, I beg you. That guy knows everything. They knew about my investigation."
"What do you mean?"
"The black cars? I wasn't being paranoid. Two guys got me and Frankie one afternoon some weeks ago and took us to an alley. They told me to stop investigating or they'd kill Frankie. Then they shot me in my shoulder..."
"WHAT THE FUCK? OH MY...how...how are you? Oh shit, why didn't you tell me this before? I...I'm so furious right now. I can't believe all this, can't believe I once loved that woman that is now behind all that!"
I detailed the experience and what followed. What it meant for Frankie and how we were trying to forget though it was hard; very hard.
"That's why I told you that we have to take things slowly with Frankie, he hasn't been too well lately. Only now he's surfacing."
"I...I understand, I swear I'll be patient. As much as I'm dying to meet him I'll do everything you say. We'll follow the doctor's orders, I promise. I would never do anything that could hurt him in any way, never. I only want him to be happy." he cried, his hand on my arm and his eyes on mine. "Gerard...you could have died! My son must be really special for you to care so much for him."
"You'll see, really special in many ways." I replied. Anthony meditated for some seconds.
"I'll do something."
"Babe, no. Didn't you hear Gerard?"
"Yes I did, Greg. But I can't let them win like that. There's got to be something that I can do. Not right now, because I have other priorities but..."
"Please don't...Frankie needs you, and they could also hurt him." I pleaded.
"Don't worry, Gerard. Whatever I do, I'll make sure we all get out of this alive and fine."
I didn't press the subject, and instead we spoke of Frankie. I told them lots of things about him, everything but our relationship. I wasn't ready.
I let Tony know that he would be able to see Frankie soon but with some conditions. He agreed, beaming with happiness, and assured me he'd respect all the steps. I thought he'd start jumping around the bar, but he refrained himself and he and Greg only celebrated with a passionate kiss.
I got to know how Anthony had met Greg; he was his cellmate's brother. Said cellmate was a cool guy and had arranged for Greg to always say he was there to visit both of them, so Tony could get out of the cell for a while and have a talk. They had become friends. Greg had told him that he wanted to have a band, Tony had said he played guitar; and that ended up with the drummer telling him to look for him when he got out and he'd give him a hand.
And so did Tony. Greg had helped him through the depression he suffered after the news about his son. He had let him stay in his house and waited patiently until he was better and ready to go on. Then they had maintained a lot of different jobs to share the rent, spending the nights playing and writing songs. They had gradually became more than friends and thought neither of them had been with a man before, they didn't try to deny what was happening. They had never hidden it. Tony and Greg were proud of their love.
They had assembled and disassembled several bands until four years ago, when they finally felt that they were among friends. When they knew that they all wanted the same: music and some adventure. It had taken them a couple more years to have things ready, to make sure they'd all have an extra money ingress. Only then they had turned into a traveling band.
I liked these guys, I really did.
I finished my beer -which I had accepted because I feared having to explain why if I didn't- and then excused myself, sincerely saying that I didn't trust my friend Bob and Frankie alone for too long. I told Anthony to call me next time he was free and not far from there.
******
There was a familiar, not really unpleasant smell in the house when I entered it. I closed my eyes trying to remember what was it, but my brain was shut down. When I took a look around, the smell became an insignificant detail. The couches were out of place, pushed against the walls same as the TV. This left a wide, clear space in the middle of the living room, in which center stood the coffee table sprinkled with a brownish powder and some shiny particles. The cushions were all over the place and a new blue autograph graced one of the walls, a little red heart instead of the dot over the 'i'. There was music and giggles coming from the end of the corridor.
"Bee Gees?" I frowned.
Uncertain of the further chaos that could lay ahead, I walked slowly. Something of a bright purple color on the floor flied away as I passed it by, so I chased it.
"A feather? What the fuck?" I stared at the ethereal thing.
"N-no no wait, not y-yet!" Frankie's voice was heard louder. I looked up and saw Puppy excitedly running towards me. His short legs were entangled in a glittering, red shirt that was too big for the poor dog.
"What's all this about, Puppy?"
The music's volume increased and the bedroom's door opened with a chirp. Walking/dancing barefoot along the corridor came Frankie. He was wearing the only pair of jeans that still fit him, though tightly and marking every curve of his body. They were covered by what seemed to be glitter and a pink belt surrounded his waist. When I scanned him up -finally detaching my eyes from his ass- I had to chuckle. He had a sparkly, silver and black tank top on. The garment only reached above his navel, so his belly protruded in between it and the restraining pants. Over his shoulders was a purple boa, revealing where the feather had come from.
"Am...am I p-pretty?" Frank asked giggling. I took his hand and made him spin, finally examining the rest of him. Make-up, that was the smell. I thin layer of foundation -slightly darker than his skin tone- and a touch of blush on his cheeks. Under his glasses, his eyes were neatly framed with thick, black eyeliner. I didn't think he could have done it himself. The pale green eyeshadow, instead, was messily distributed; same as the dark pink lipstick. I concluded that Bob must have been afraid of Frankie stabbing his own eyes with the eyeliner and did it for him. But...how come Bob knew how to apply eyeliner?
Frank's long hair was well brushed, puffy and also full of sparkles. From under his locks and across his forehead, a spangled, multicolored headband completed the outfit.
He stepped on the table and looked radiant, posing like a diva and extending the boa over his head. I didn't know what to ask first. About the mess? Why he was dressed like a very cute drag queen? Why Bob had woman clothes and make-up in his possession?
"G-gee! Y-you didn't answer! I...I d-don't look p-pretty?" Frankie knocked on my head.
"Oh yes, very pretty!" I smirked, poking his stomach. "But...all this was inside of Bob's bag?"
"Y-yep! S-super Bob is super c-cool, isn't he?"
"Oh my God...he better help me clean this mess. After explaining himself that is, because I'm dying to know." I laughed and called him. "BOB!"
"N-no, wait! N-not like th-that!" Frank stopped me.
"Uh?"
"L-like this. " he neared a closed hand to his mouth mimicking a microphone and screamed. "L-LADIES AND GEN...G-GENTLEMEN...SUPER BOB!"
"What the...?" I wondered.
"B-BOB! C-COME OUT N-NOW!" Frank demanded.
Did I want to see that?
CHAPTER 51
Close your eyes, have no fear.
The monster's gone,
he's on the run and your daddy's here.
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,
beautiful boy.
Bob made his triumphal appearance in the living room in a fruitless attempt to impersonate a model. I was thankful that he was also barefoot. To see my friend trying to walk in high heels would have been far too disturbing; not that it wasn't enough with what I was beholding. His legs were covered with holey, skin colored pantyhose, hairs peeping through them. His attire consisted of a mom-style, fitted blue dress. It was knee-length with short sleeves and a square collar; white fake pearls around his neck.
He stopped prancing around when he noticed my astonished face, probably unable to decipher if it meant that I was angry, surprised, or just deeply traumatized.
"Hi?" he essayed a high-pitched voice and blew me a kiss with his hand. Frankie rolled on the floor laughing.
I hadn't dared look Bob in the face until that moment. His lips were saturated with red, even his lipring tinted. He hadn't applied as much eyeliner on himself as he did on Frank, but his eyelids were shadowed in shocking pink. The cherry to the cake was a red haired wig, with long curls falling on his shoulders that he accommodated back with a graceful flick of his hand.
All the questions that had gathered in my mind escaped me upon that view. Frankie was still crying with laughter and I was standing in front of Bob with my jaw frozen open.
"What the fuck, Bob?" was all I could express. I thought it resumed my thoughts perfectly. He sat on the table and closed his legs self consciously.
"You're mad." he affirmed rather than questioned.
"Uh...I don't think I'm mad. But still -and I'll say the same again 'cause I can't find better words: what the fuck, Bob?"
"About what, exactly?" he mumbled. Frank emerged from the floor and laid his elbows on the couch's armrest, his embellished eyes watching the spectacle. I couldn't deny that the eyeliner looked great on him. Maybe not so much the rest of the stuff -at least not on that color- but the black outline made his hazels stand out.
"How about...everything?" I made a gesture which included him, Frankie and the disarrayed house.
"You're mad."
"N-no he's not m-mad, right G-gee?" Frankie asked dubious. "Are y-you? W-we were just p-playing..."
"I already said I'm not mad, babe. I want Bob to answer me because...never in my life I'd have imagined that he had all this in that bag! How...why?"
"H-he's so c-cool, isn't h-he?"
"Yeah, he sure is..." I trailed off, still scrutinizing Bob.
"Ok. You know when you called me? Well, I was at my mom's and she and my sister had been cleaning their wardrobes. They had a huge pile of clothes there that was due to be donated."
"And how did some of that end in your bag, then?"
"Don't know why, but when you asked me to come stay with Frankie I looked at the clothes and had this crazy idea. Thought it'd be fun, dunno." he shrugged. "I told them I'd keep some of the clothes to give them away myself."
"It...it w-was lots of f-fun!" Frankie hugged him. I chuckled thinking that my boyfriend actually made a pretty girl, though I couldn't say the same about Bob.
"What about the make-up and other accessories?" I asked.
"Both women have lots of make-up they don't even use, so I stole some things. The wig...uhm..."
"What?" I raised my eyebrows.
"It's mine." he said, whispering the following in my ear. "Drunken party. It was being passed around and I kept it."
"Oh, that's interesting. Now I have something to bribe you with if necessary!"
"Oh but I'd have something to counteract!" he smirked.
"You have a lot, but I guess you wouldn't go that low with a friend, would you Bob?"
"No, I'd just tell everybody that you own a Bee Gees deluxe compilation." he pointed towards the bedroom where the CD was still playing. Hadn't he brought that?
"That's not mine!"
"Y-yes it is, G-gee! Wh-why you never sh-showed me it? F-funny music!"
"But it's not..."
"Gerard, stop denying it. I searched through your CDs and found that one at the back." Bob commented. Thinking about it better, I did remember listening to it at my mother's house once. Since I'd had to leave in a rush I took it with me to listen to the whole thing later, but had obviously never given it back.
"It's my mom's." I used in my defense.
"And the wig's my friend's. So? Relax, bro, you're gay anyway so what's the big problem?"
"You're not." I laughed.
"I could give it a try." he jumped on me with a pouty mouth, seeking to kiss me.
"Back off! Back off I tell you!" I protested and pushed him away, but not before he planted a kiss on my cheek. "Ewwww!"
"H-he left the m-mark! He l-left a m-mark!" Frank sang. He hung his arms on my neck and bussed my other cheek. "N-now you have t-two!"
"This deserves a picture." Bob spoke with British accent, holding an unlighted cigarette in a sophisticated manner. He stuck his cheek to mine and aimed the camera. "Get your face close to Gerard's, Frankie. Ready...say cheese!"
"Ch-cheese!" Frank screamed and we were blinded by the flash. Many more photos came after that one.
Bob ran out to get rid of the woman clothes and make-up. Frankie, instead, kept everything on; his own pants being the only item incommoding him. He unmade the top button and sat by me with a relieved sigh.
"More comfy now?" I simpered, welcoming him in my arms.
"Y-yep, had to l-let it f-free. It...it as-asked for help, h-heard it!"
"Who?"
"M-my belly. R-really!" he nodded gravely. "G-gee...I th-think I can't w-wear these pants an-anymore either."
"We'll buy new ones as I promised and your belly will have to shut up." I told him. I'd been waiting to get my paycheck which I now had.
"It's because of the meds, isn't it?" Bob inquired. I understood that he was talking about Frank's weight.
"Yeah, I guess. He's like always hungry. But I don't wanna try a different medication, he's only now getting used to the new dose. Besides, the other stuff that according to Grace also worked fine is more expensive. No way I can afford it. The doctor said he's okay anyway, so I'm just trying to watch what he eats a little more."
"H-he doesn't make e-enough fries. Th-that's evil!" Frankie pouted.
"I agree, Gerard. That's evil! Fries are sacred!" Bob opined, but he stopped laughing when he detected my seriousness. "Uh, and how did the blood test go? Got the results?"
"Yep, a few days ago. Thankfully it didn't show anything bad. Some values are a bit altered, but my mom was told it's all within the expected. So it's just the anemia, and we're already taking care of that. Oh, and next week he must have his heart checked again."
"Is there something wrong with it?" Bob appeared worried.
"N-no nothing! M-my heart's fine. 'C-cause it's in l-looove." Frankie kissed me unawares.
"Awww, why are you so damn adorable?" I kissed back and then brought my attention to Bob, who was smiling at us. "Not sure, it was a little accelerated when we went for the general check up, but it could have been a thing of the moment. The doc wanted to see him again, maybe do some more tests, I don't know. He's a pediatrician but also a cardiologist, so fortunately he can do everything himself."
"It'll be ok, I'm sure." Bob patted my arm, noticing my concern.
"Y-yeah it'll be 'c-cause I'm fine, t-told you."
"I know." I said, feeling Frank's rushed heartbeat next to my own chest.
******
Frankie wasn't scared or nervous at all that day. He knew what the doctor would do and even found it interesting, asking for the stethoscope to hear his own heart and then listening to ours. All the same, his was beating as fast as the previous time we'd been there.
He wasn't hyper, but rather slow and quiet. We had stayed up more than we should watching TV the night before, and Frank was almost falling asleep while the doctor attached the electrodes to do the electrocardiogram. He didn't move, whine or even talk save when he was asked to. Yet, the doctor's face told me the results weren't that normal. It could also be just my usual paranoia, of course; it seemed to me that doctors always had the same bad-news face.
I assisted Frankie in putting his shirt and hoodie back on with a painted smile to hide my worries.
"There is something, right?" I fearfully glanced at the doctor.
"Nothing too serious, relax. The tachycardia is still present, but it's not the most dangerous type and Frankie hasn't showed any more symptoms so far. This is usually fixed by getting to the origin of the problem and suppressing it." William explicated. "In this case, we already know what it is. However, I understand that there's no possibility of changing the antipsychotics Frankie's taking or having the dose reduced at the moment..."
"Definitely no, he's doing okay now and a new change would mean starting all over again. What can we do then? Heart pills?"
"It could be..." he meditated. More medication...
"I...I d-don't want more p-pills!" Frankie justly complained.
"You'll have to, if necessary. It'd probably be not more than one little pill per day." I threw just to make him feel better, even if I had no idea about the subject.
"S-same! N-not fair!"
"Damn...that would mean more spendings..." I thought aloud, watching William read over some papers. "I might not be able to buy you new jeans, Frankie."
"I c-can wear y-yours. Th-they fit me. Y-yes." he bestowed me a drowsy smile. Frank could be really understanding, remarkably less stubborn than he used to be.
"You know? I think you should buy him the pants." the doctor said kindly. "I thought better about it, and medication is not strictly necessary for this kind of tachycardia. I'd have to research further for something that could be safely taken together with antipsychotics, but I don't think it's worth the risk at the moment. I'd better keep Frankie regularly controlled."
"Are you sure he'll be fine?" I questioned.
"Yes, don't worry. I'll see him again in two weeks and we'll be open-eyed for any change."
"Oh...ok, thanks. Is there anything I should have in mind like...keeping him quiet?"
"No, from what you and your mother told me about Frankie, I think he can go on with his normal life. He doesn't do any activity that's too physically demanding."
"I c-can run?"
"He asks that as if he was a marathoner or something." I laughed. "He only runs around the house with his dog sometimes."
"Yes you can, just not for too long. And if you get too agitated or tired you stop, ok?" William responded.
"K-kay, I'll t-tell Puppy. Th-then we'll play s-something with no r-running."
"That's a good idea."
Frankie remained reserved as we left the clinic and got into the car. I tried to come up with some random topics but he ignored me. Then I realised that he was whispering, now and then shaking his head and saying 'no' louder. Was he hearing that voice again?
"Frankie? Is 'he' in your head?"
"Uh?"
"Are you hearing someone talking inside your head?"
"Y-yes...no. N-no I'm not!" he blurted out.
"You can tell me the truth, don't be ashamed." I encouraged him. Frank mulled about it a little longer, hit his head against the backrest and groaned.
"Y-yes." he whispered. "H-he was telling me s-something mean and b-bad. T-told him to sh-shut up and he d-did. H-he did, really! N-no not here n-now I...d-don't know. M-maybe it's t-true but n-no, he's always m-mean. Y-yes...no." he began to ramble.
"What did he say to you?" I asked. He didn't answer, just carried on talking to himself.
It was hard to hide my disquietude every time any symptom of his illness would reappear. It was normal, but it alarmed me. Knowing that it could always get worse, that the possibility was there, was torture to me.
"G-gee, I'm g-gonna die?" he voiced sniffing.
"What? Why are you saying that, baby?"
"'C-cause I saw on...on TV th-that people d-die when their h-heart doesn't work o-okay."
"You're not gonna die, Frankie. The problem with your heart is not serious, you just have to keep visiting the doc occasionally so he can check on you. It'll be alright." I placed one hand on his knee to calm him. He sobbed instead.
"T-tell him to g-give me pills? P-please? I...I'll t-take them, p-promise. D-don't want an-another illness."
"You don't need to take more pills, love. Didn't you hear William?"
"Yes b-but I...I d-don't wanna d-die. T-too young, d-don't want to." he cried even more and sounded awfully scared.
"Oh, sweety. Wait a second, gonna stop the car." I pulled over and turned to Frankie, capturing him in my arms. "You're not going to die. You're fine and healthy and I'll always take care that you stay this way."
"S-sure?"
"Sure. He told you those scary things?" I pointed to his head.
"Y-yes, said I w-was gonna d-die. M-maybe. And...and I s-saw on TV." Frank admitted. It was sad how TV was the closest thing to reality for people who, like him, had been locked away from real life for years.
"You know you shouldn't listen to him. He's not real. Ignore him and he'll go away."
"K-kay. I'm n-not gonna d-die?" he queried.
"No you won't, Frankie. You're gonna be fine." I kissed his tears and he suspired, taking my face in between his shaking hands and reaching up for my lips. Sweet and salty. Sad and hopeful.
"Wanna shop for new jeans now?" I proffered.
"Y-yes, need b-bigger ones!"
******
"H-hi! N-need new jeans 'c-cause I'm fat and m-mine doesn't f-fit anymore." Frankie announced giggling when we entered a shop. As expected, the female employees immediately melted with his cuteness. They surrounded him and told him that he wasn't fat at all and they would help him find something cool enough for him.
Even for us -'family' and friends- who knew Frankie well and all his facets, it was sometimes hard to not see him as a kid. And it was rather unavoidable for people who'd meet him for the first time. So it was no surprise when the girls from that clothing store treated him that way as soon as they saw him and heard him speak. Frankie didn't mind, though. What's more, he liked it. He only hated to be labeled as 'retarded' or 'crazy', but it made him extremely happy to have people being nice to him, even if in a childish way. Maybe he just loved the attention and to feel accepted, or maybe it reminded him of Grace.
He smiled at the girls all the time, chatted about lots of different things in a few minutes and never tried to hide his eyes like he used to do. I sat and watched it all, laughing and enjoying his cheerfulness while being under the spotlight.
While Frank was in the changing room, the youngest girl courteously asked me what it was that he had. I perceived her preoccupation, how she chose her words presumably afraid to say something that might sound derogatory. She complemented Frank, saying how sweet and polite he was; and I had to return the compliment. I told her that I wished there were more well-meaning people like her. It wasn't that hard after all.
I'd warned Frankie that I could only afford two pants; so after a long deliberation, moseying the shop in boxers 'not to waste time' and trying each jean repeatedly, he finally made his choice: a pair of loose, dark blue jeans -which he had to fold the legs of since they were too long for him- and other ones that were more close-fitting, of a washed-out, lighter blue. He looked very good in both and he was conscious of it, contemplating himself in the mirror from every angle and grinning. I didn't regret a single cent spent.
******
That week I reported my induced conversation with Frankie to Goldberg. I was pleasantly surprised when he congratulated me for how I'd managed it and what I had obtained. He said that he'd try to bring Frank back to the absent parents subject during that session and the following ones. He wanted to work deeper on it to prepare him. I had no idea how he was going to do that without making Frankie suspicious, but I trusted him.
In the meantime, he thought it would be good for the boy to get to know his father in the way we had previously accorded. If Frankie liked him and they got along, then things would be easier when having to tell him the truth. Based on my description of Anthony and what Frank thought a father should be like, Goldberg was feeling optimistic about it.
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