Please, if you don't like the end of this story, or if you think I handled things inappropriately, don't tell me. If you hadn't caught the plot of the story from the get-go, then I'm sorry to have mislead you. It was incredibly difficult for me to write this, but coincidences abounded and I combined them and handled them as softly, gently, and respectfully as I could. Thank you. --Crystal
The concert had been planned for the late fall, a mere three weeks from Frenkie's decision to speed his own death. Maygent and Jiff Daff would be taking part in the concert, as well as your dear narrator. You must pardon me for not introducing myself sooner. My name is Rodge, and I am a coworker of Frenkie's as well, and visited him from time to time during his ailment. However, I was not there those first fateful nights that Janita and Jim first came to Dargen Lodge; I was told the story by Maygent and Jiff Daff after Fr—well, I mustn't go into that quite yet.
Maria hustled about Frenkie's enormous house in preparation for the most outstanding concert ever, a concert packed full of fans, fans unknowing of Frenkie's dire condition. Her experience with makeup and Jim's experience with hair would keep him looking his best, and cover up his dreadfully skeletal, blemished appearance.
The night of the concert arrived after an eerily long three weeks watching Frenkie's health steadily decline. Jim and Maria worked around the clock keeping the emaciated Frenkie comfortable and well-fed yet bedridden most of the time, for any physical activity exhausted and sickened him. He now had infections of all types plaguing his body, and a rather serious case of bronchitis, but he planned on sticking it out and giving his last concert everything he had. When Maria insisted upon him taking antibiotics for the various infections, he refused, and so, his condition was allowed to fall further.
Jiff Daff, Maygent, and Janita participated in setting up the chairs in the ballroom for the concert. The chandeliers were polished until they gleamed, and the multitude of floral arrangements—mainly roses—filled the air with their perfumy scent. This room was no longer a room of disease and impending doom—it was a light-hearted and splendid room forever echoing with the music of Frenkie and his group.
The audience began to pour into Dargen Lodge at the precise door opening of seven p.m. Janita and Maygent did valet parking, for the London streets were soon packed on either side with vehicles of all types, the police force having been handed quite a sum of money for an evening free of parking tickets and complaints. This was a special night for Frenkie, one night in his life that was planned to follow through smoothly without a hitch.
In the heavy staleness of his bedroom, surrounded by his beloved cats, Frenkie heard the din of the fans entering his home.
"They have begun to arrive," he whispered excitedly to Samson, his favorite cat. Finding some strength, he pulled himself up to a seated position against the headboard, and draped a skinny leg over the edge of the bed.
"I wonder where the hell Maria is," he grumbled, making the cat hiss and scamper away as he accidentally used its body to keep balance on the soft mattress.
Jim soon entered the room, noticing Frenkie's renewed strength and energy. The past few weeks had been difficult for Frenkie and his helpers, what with an increase in usage of sponge baths, portable urinals, and bedpans as the current week had begun.
"Would you like a quick haircut, Frenkie?" he asked his lover.
"If you think I need it," Frenkie responded. "Could you also try to style my hair? Hopefully Maria will be arriving soon to apply my makeup. Do you know where she is?"
A pang of jealousy coursed through Jim's veins. He knew that Maria was devoted to Frenkie and could understand her devotion; it just upset him to know that he would never be as dear to Frenkie as Maria was.
"I don't know where Maria is, but I'll give you a quick cut and style to prepare you tonight. You're going to be great, Frenkie."
Jim's emotions were raging. He held back the tears that threatened to emerge, not wishing to upset Frenkie in his most likely final moment of glory.
The barber placed a flattened trash bag on the floor behind Frenkie as he sat in his padded parlor chair. Frenkie's hips and rear were so bony now that any type of contact with surfaces had to be cushioned, for the contact chaffed his fragile skin.
He began to snip Frenkie's hair with the scissors, watching the sweaty yet damaged strands fall to the ground and land on the bag.
"You've really broken out into quite a sweat, Frenkie," he mentioned to his lover, attempting some light laughter, even though he was far from enjoying the moment. Every day the love of his life was becoming more and more gaunt and sickly and it seemed as if he had acquired every type of infection that any healthy person could easily shrug off. These infections crippled Frenkie and made it harder for him to function, so now any motion around the house simply had to be done via his bedroom elevator and the use of wheelchairs.
"I sweat all bloody day. If the sweat keeps up like it has been, I'll never need a bath again." The emaciated performer began to laugh, which turned into a hoarse cough that rattled so intensely that Jim had to hand him the glass of water that he had been dipping the comb in.
The haircut continued, and soon Maria entered the parlor.
"You're doing a great job on his hair, Jim," she commented. "Frenkie, let me know when you'd like your makeup done."
"Actually I'm just finishing up," Jim interrupted. He combed a few more times through Frenkie's shorter and less-shaggy hairstyle until the last strands floated to the ground, and moved out of the way for the woman of the house.
Maria pulled Frenkie's chair out from the desk, and knelt down in front of him with a bag of makeup.
"Would you rather leave that stubble on your face, or shav—"
"I'll leave it here. This is probably the last hair I'll ever be able to grow," he glumly replied.
She touched his hand. "Don't say that, Frenkie. You're doing fine—" I must cut in here. That was a blatant lie on her part, and she knew it, but she had to keep Frenkie's spirits up, at least for tonight—alright, back to the story—"You mustn't let yourself get down about such trivial things, Frenkie."
Jim felt uncomfortable in the room with the pair, and hastily left to find other things with which to help.
As Maria finished up applying Frenkie's thick yet pasty foundation, he happened to glance at himself in the mirror.
"Oh, Maria, I look dreadfully pale. Even more than I do without makeup. This won't wor—"
"What do you propose I do then, Frenkie? Make everyone else in the group wear the same shade of foundation?"
And so it was so. Jiff Daff, Maygent, and myself were called up to Frenkie's parlor, whereas we all received the same sort of makeup as Frenkie, so he should not stick out like a sore thumb. Mind you, Maria did not use the same makeup brush on us that she had used on Frenkie, for it was unknown how Frenkie's disease could be transmitted, and so we were safe with the other makeup kit and brush. We even wore eyeliner, mascara, blush, and lipstick like poor dear Frenkie, for now all of our faces looked washed out, and would be more so in the bright lights of the ballroom.
We changed into our respective costumes, with Frenkie's being much more modest than usual. Of course, that was understandable, because now he was so skinny—a bloody bag of bones—that any form-fitting suit would have only accentuated his frail condition.
For the past week we had chosen the final song we would be singing with Frenkie. The poor man was so exhausted that he feared being unable to even get through the one song, yet he had written another for the occasion along with the final song that would illuminate Frenkie's hopes and announce them to the world.
Jim helped Frenkie get into his costume, which consisted of a pair of decently baggy black jeans, a black denim vest, and a red t-shirt. The makeup was unable to hide the purplish marks around his neck, and so Frenkie decided to wear a red boa.
"Frenkie, you'll be great out there tonight. I am so proud of you," he told the dark-haired man.
"I just want to make it through the song, and then perhaps I'll believe that anybody could actually be proud of me," Frenkie responded bitterly.
Jiff Daff entered the room. "Frenkie, it's time to go," he said calmly, as Maygent waited behind him with Janita by his side and me even further away from Frenkie's parlor door.
"One second," Jim said to Frenkie. The dark-haired man shot him a confused look. "He'll be right out," Jim continued. Jiff Daff shut the door.
Jim looked at Frenkie, a feeling of dread creeping upon him.
"Frenkie, I love you," he confessed to the singer, leaning towards him affectionately. He pulled a gold ring out of his pocket, sparkling with sapphires, rubies, and emeralds, and held it out to Frenkie.
"Oh, how beautiful," Frenkie said, gaping at the ring gleefully. "Are these real stones? My goodness, I don't think anyone's ever bought me a rin—" Actually, he had previously received a ring from Maria, when they were girlfriend and boyfriend. The glimmer in his eyes faded, but his smile remained.
"Yes, they are real, just like my love for y—"
"Well, we'd better get a move on, dear Jim," he said, avoiding the ring.
Instead, Jim grabbed his hand. "How do you feel about me, Frenkie?"
"Silly boy, you mustn't put me on the spot like this before the big show."
"It shouldn't be hard to answer—" Jim was desperate for some real feedback.
Frenkie pulled his hand away. "How about I tell you my feelings after the concert?" he offered, attempting a feeble smile.
Jim sighed. He'd be shut out like this forever from the one person he truly loved. Hunching his shoulders, he left the room to fetch the wheelchair.
"Wait—where are you going, Jim?" Frenkie said, attempting to turn his head to look.
"I'm going to get you your wheelchair—"
"Nonsense. I'm walking to the concert." And with that he stood to his feet, knees knocking together only slightly as he took his first unaided steps in more than a week. Jim watched in wonder, feeling happiness for Frenkie mixed with disappointment. Was it so hard for Frenkie to say that he loved him too?
Frenkie shuffled stiffly over to the doorway, making his way past Jim as he approached the ballroom door, where Jiff Daff, Maygent and I were waiting. I couldn't imagine seeing Frenkie on his feet anymore, least of all in a casual trip through his house. I had figured he'd attempt to be strong when in front of an audience, but this unaided trip was just to prove himself to us, his coworkers and friends of almost two decades.
"My goodness, Frenkie, you look excellent," Maygent commented. Janita gave Maygent one last kiss then disappeared into the ballroom with the other guests. The door shut behind her, and the concert was scheduled to begin. Jim attempted to get nearer to Frenkie, but it was as if the dark-haired man was avoiding him completely. Sighing loudly, Jim entered the ballroom, noticing Frenkie slipping the ring onto his right ring finger. There was hope.
Frenkie leaned against the door, listening to the excited whisperings and chatter of the audience, his devoted fans. Upon his entrance, he was planning on announcing what had happened to him, then the songs would commence.
Maria was the last of the household to appear. At the sight of her, Frenkie turned to greet her, taking a few steps toward her as she embraced him and kissed his cheek.
"Go out there and sing your heart out, Frenkie. You'll give the performance of a lifetime, I'm sure."
"Oh, I will be sure to do that, although I'm not sure how much of my heart is left—"
Maria gave him a little tap on the arm, as well as a friendly sneer. "I'm glad to see you still have your humour, Frenkie." She motioned to the ballroom door. "I'm going to head in, then. Good luck, Frenkie." One last kiss on the cheek, and she disappeared into the ballroom as well.
The chatter that could be heard from our vantage point outside the ballroom suddenly dimmed to nothing, and we knew that the show would be starting. We all touched each other's hands for mutual support in this, all making sure to hold onto Frenkie's a little longer, then the doors opened.
All of a sudden, the frail weak Frenkie became the performer he had always been. He trotted out in front of Jiff Daff, Maygent, and me with mike and partial stand in hand, as we actually had to struggle to keep up with him. The audience roared at the sight of their godsend, the most excellent Frenk M. Curry. I could hear Janita and Maria screaming shrilly for us, as the spotlight turned on, the remainder of the lights dimmed, and the Britons all about us became a blur of sound and movement.
Frenkie made his way to the front of the room, standing in front of the throne as Jiff Daff, Maygent, and I took our places in the three seats in the very front of the room. We knew his announcement was coming, and sat ready to hear the song that he had written for the occasion.
"Hello, dear friends, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you." Frenkie smiled broadly, although I noticed the slightest quivering of his legs, a sign of intense nervousness. I've never seen his legs shake in even in the slightest amount. God, this must have been so hard for him to do.
"Thank you, everyone," he said once more, as the cheering audience quieted.
"Now, I have some news that may shock you, everyone." I hoped he'd say his bit soon, for he was beginning to stutter. "I have the BAND virus," he said, and the audience hushed until a pin drop could be heard. It was a death sentence, and they all knew it.
"We must all fight to conquer this horrible disease. Please pray for me, everyone, but don't fret. This is, however, my farewell concert, so please don't allow yourselves to grieve until after the proceedings." A smirk came across his face at the comment, another sign of his intact sense of humour remaining intact in the direst of circumstances.
He had written a song especially for this occasion warning others of the danger of the disease that was threatening to seal his fate. After coughing with mouth covered, he sat in the padded throne, holding the microphone and part of its stand as he had always done, but the tone of the night was somber and all audience sound muted.
He began to sing his song, glancing about the audience to reach into their depths with his statement of warning disguised in song form.
"I'm just a shadow of the man I'd always been
Oh, I've been up against a force that's gonna win
I've been suffering at home
But I have never been alone, I've got my friends
---
I wish the doctor hadn't told the truth to me
But, oh, then again, it isn't really hard to see
In my wretched state of mind
I have searched myself to find
Where I went wrong
---
My lifestyle choices doomed me, I
Never could make up my mind
Torn between my lovers
And the love I left behind
I'm headed for disaster
Cause I didn't read the signs
Ignorance will kill you every time
---
I'm only pieces of the man I used to be
There will not be a wayout of this for me
I used to be so carefree
Now all I do is fear what is to come
---
What could you do if you could stand here in my shoes?
Even so, there'd be no path that you could choose.
It is now too late for me
Anything I try, I'm bound to lose
---
I hope you've learned a lesson
From my story full of gloom
A fast lifestyle will kill you
Your decisions, they will loom
And consequence will strike you
At an unsuspecting hour
So please control your life, you have the power."
The audience was shocked silent, and then the whimpers and sobs began. Before it could become full-fledged bawling, Frenkie called the other members of his group, including myself, to the stage, where we took the stage at our respective instruments for the final song.
Still possessing the magic he had in every motion, every vocalization, Frenkie proceeded to count off the third and fourth beats of the song, and soon we all were harmonizing. Even so, we could hear sniffling and sobbing in the audience as the realization of the song came to be. We had made a surprise for Frenkie that he hopefully would enjoy, later on.
Maygent began with the verses, beginning in his soft yet deep voice.
"Why can't you spare Frenk M Curry his life
He don't deserve this, he's been nervous
And it cuts him like a knife
He's done nothing wrong
I sing you this song
Oh please, can you just give him
A brand new start
So let him live
He'd make a brand new start."
I then sang a verse for Frenk -
"I know that Frenk would gladly give up his wealth
To just return to and stay at his previous good health
Make a miracle
For our Frenk, the jewel
He's just desiring
A second chance to live."
It was then that Frenkie began to sing, earnest and pleading. "Let me live; I'd make a brand new start."
As he finished up the chorus, Maria stood up from the front of the audience with a microphone in hand and sang him her own verse, our surprise from the true love of Frenk's life.
"It's been a difficult time for you
But I'll be right by your side
I've always loved you, Frenkie
And that love for you abides."
Frenkie's tear-stained cheeks glistened in the spotlight as he began his verse. His former girlfriend's verse had truly touched him, bringing tears to his eyes to the point of no return. He was now crying silently as he held a hand to his earnest face, knowing this was the last time he'd be performing for his devoted fans. He knew this was the last verse he'd be singing in the song, and I can't honestly imagine how he could have been feeling to perform this final time, uttering the last sung words to his fans, perhaps for forever.
"Oh, can't you spare me this horrible fate
My body's aching, and breaking
And death's a mere short wait
Shivers down my spine
Always feel like cryin'
Just help me one last time
Please spare my life"
His lyrics were racked with his own sobs, and the strains of his beautiful voice were wrought heavily with the rumbles of the pneumonia that had set in during the previous week. It seemed as if the whole audience was crying, by the din of their resounding sobs, and I glanced briefly at the snare to see that I too, had been crying, for the teardrops bounced atop the head like falling rain. The song was soon to be finished, for Frenkie began walking down the aisle to exit the room in his energetic way. The old Frenkie had returned to us, if only briefly, but it amazed and astounded me to watch this man, in his last throes of life, performing as only he could do with his amazing strength. A hasty exit at the end of the song would ensure that a complete emotional breakdown of the audience members would not happen in Frenkie's presence, and thankfully, that he would not see my impending emotional breakdown.
He finished the last two bars, sobbing yet retaining his broad and satisfied smile as he gently reached out to touch a young fan's hand—
"Let me live
I'll make a brand new start"
—And just after he turned to face the audience one final time as the song ended before reaching the curtained door, he collapsed.
Maria was the first to stand up and rush over to him, with Jim close behind. We all threw down our instruments and ran over to him from the front of the ballroom after a brief stage of initial disbelief over what had just happened. The audience members stood up in their seats, mumbling and murmuring amidst themselves, as members of Frenkie's hired stage helpers instructed them to remain seated. Soon, however, when the situation became direr and direr, the stagehands hustled the audience out of the ballroom away from the sight of the motionless Frenkie upon the floor, for there was nothing that anyone could have done for him and a panic was beginning to arise amidst the audience members. In the confusion, the mayhem of it all, I was helpless to watch Frenkie's closest companions, Maria and Jim, stroke and fondle his face as they felt desperately for a pulse.
Frenkie was dead. I stood above his lifeless body with Maygent and Jiff Daff as Maria and Jim cried their hearts out on the floor, squeezing his lifeless hands in their own, saying his name over and over as the audience was herded out of the ballroom. Frenkie had made it through his final song, and had successfully given his fans a proper goodbye.
The story of Frenkie closes, and new memories are made in his absence. I sing my final song to you, dear reader, and hope that you retain peaceful and happy memories of Frenk's existence.
So, dear friends, Jim's love is gone
Nevermore we'll hear Frenk's song
I dare not say Maria still lives there
Frenkie had left her most of his share
Jim can't sleep, but stays in bed
Janita and Maygent have since wed
From all the gloom, a new love has bloomed
And the crying will cease soon….