Beautiful Fool

I met him in the Summer of 1922.
I was invited to the party by a friend of my cousin. She was a small blonde woman who wore her hair down in a short cut. She was beautiful and I was immediately enchanted by her. Not sexually or romantically, even. The way you might be drawn to a child. Her energy was captivating. Her name was Daisy. Daisy Buchanan.
“Oh, Frank,” she said, placing her hand on my shoulder, “There’s a party tonight, over on West Egg. Please come.” I had only met her once before but I already felt I had no choice but to say yes. “It’s being thrown by a man named Gatsby,” she said. She smiled a little and looked out across the water to the West.
“Do you know him?” I asked.
“Hm?” she asked, “oh, know Gatsby? No, no. Just by reputation, of course.”
My cousin Jordan Baker, the golf player, was fanning herself lazily on the couch. Jordan was tall and lean. She had heavily hooded eyes and often looked either bored or disapproving - which she often was anyway. Daisy’s husband had been sitting with us, but had left suddenly claiming he had business to attend to.
“So?” Daisy asked, raising her eyebrows. Her voice was soft and sweet, like a song all it’s own. “The party?” She pointed across the bay, “it’s just there.” I squinted and could indeed see a house across the way. A mansion.
“I suppose,” I sighed and shrugged.
“Oh, wonderful!” She said and clapped her hands together. “Maybe you’ll even meet a girl,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Ha!” Jordan erupted from the couch. “Frank? Meet a girl?”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Daisy said, her hands on her delicate hips.
I looked down into my drink.
“Frank has never had the time for girls. First with the navy, then with the music, breaks his poor mothers heart.”
I rubbed my hand through my short hair and sighed. She was right, I had never even bothered with girls. I had the sea and I had my music.
“Oh, well it’s never too late. Maybe, maybe, maybe,” Daisy said.
“Yeah,” I said and took a long pull from my glass. “Maybe.”
“Well, that settles it,” Daisy said and moves suddenly to the couch and grabs Jordan’s hands, “we are going to go get ready Frank,” she said, “help yourself to the liquor cabinet!”
I watched them as they ran from the room, arm in arm and laughing together. I shook my head and filled my glass a little more with the whiskey on the coffee table and then walked to the long line of windows that faced the bay. The water sparkled with the late evening sun and I watched a boat drift across slowly. The lawn of the house across the way was filling up, the liquor was going to my head, I could hear the girls giggling in the room above, and I couldn’t help but smile at the feeling of possibility that was growing in my chest.


Traffic was backed up from the party. Cars lined down the driveway and onto the street. I had never seen a party of such grandeur before. In the navy, we partied but it was usually just us guys in a local bar. But this was on an entirely different scale.
Daisy and Jordan were gossiping cooly in the backseat, unfazed by the splendor of it all. We decided to be dropped off at the gate and walk the rest of the way up to the house. And by house, I of course mean mansion. Castle, even. It was huge and it was full. Full of people, of music, of alcohol, of dancing, of laughter, of life. Jordan and Daisy linked arms and I followed behind. I double checked to make sure my sleeves were pulled down as far as they could be, to cover the tattoos that stretched over most of my body. There was nothing to do about the ones on my hands. Outside of the Navy I could feel the judgmental stares when one caught sight of the tattoos.
Before we entered the front doors Daisy turned to me and leaned in towards my ear, “welcome to a real party, Francis,” she whispered, “have fun, and remember; nobody judges at a Gatsby party.” She pulled away and winked. And then she and Jordan were gone in a flash. I stood in the entryway, surrounded by people, knowing not a soul. That was the most grown-up I had seen Daisy. Her, leaning towards me in her short glittering gown, a feather in her hair and her lips red and full. Somehow she seemed all knowing, and I felt uncomfortable with the thought of that.
A grand stairway to my right lead to the higher floors, who knew how many, and to my left was a large room. I squeezed through the people until I saw a tall door leading to the back of the house.
I took a deep breath of the fresh air when I had finally made it out. I was on an upper balcony looking down at another crowd of people. There were two more balconies beneath me, a swimming pool, and a large lawn before it turned to beach, and then bay.
I was amazed by the large throngs of people, drunk and giddy from all the excitement. The sun had barely gone down, the sky still blue and pinky. The air was thick with early summer and full of gossiping and big band music.
The band was on the middle balcony, and they played dramatically. I could almost imagine myself down there playing with them, watching the people dancing to the music. I stretched my fingers out, could almost feel my own guitar beneath them. I watched the band for a while, completely entranced by their showmanship.
After a few songs the band took a break and I turned away and looked to the balcony below me. Staring up at me was a man. His black hair was long and a little shaggy. His suit fit tight and he was leaning against the railing, pulling a cigarette from his lips. When he noticed I was looking back he immediately turned away and blushed, looking back to the woman in front of him.
He was truly striking.
I continued to watch him. The woman frequently touched his arm while she talked or laughed with him. Every time she did, he glanced up at me. It was always a quick look that I might have missed if I blinked. This happened several times. I leaned forward against the railing and continued to watch. She leaned in and laughed lightly touching his arm. He blushed and glanced at me and I raised my eyebrow and smirked at him. This time his cheeks burned bright and he managed to not look up at me for three more arm touches.
“Frank, darling,” Daisy said and came up behind me. She handed me a glass of champagne. “How are you enjoying the party?” she asked.
I pulled my eyes away from the man and smiled and thanked her for the drink.
“It’s a lovely party. The music is fantastic,” I said. But I noticed she was now looking directly at the man down below. He glanced up.
“What a handsome man,” Daisy said and looked sideways at me. “A very handsome man.”
“Oh? What?” I straightened up and raised my eyebrows to her.
She smiled lightly. “I once heard a rumor about him. Supposedly, he was once caught in the broom closet with another fellow. Isn’t that just the funniest thing you’ve ever heard, Francis? Who does anything in the broom closet, this house is full of rooms.”
I stared at her.
“Well, anyway, I am going to go. Mr. Gatsby himself has asked to see me. Fancy that. Enjoy yourself. Oh, and Francis?”
“Hm?”
“If my husband shows, please tell him you don’t know where I am.” She grazed her fingers over my arm before she was gone, walking straight back into the house without a look back.
I tried to swallow but felt like my throat had closed up. Daisy Buchanan had simply addressed an issue I had kept hidden most of my life, and within the same breath dismissed the absurdity of it all. I glanced back down at the man. The woman had moved on to someone else, maybe deciding he wasn’t going to be taking her into one of the many rooms in the house. He was now leaning against the railing and looking up at me, his head cocked to the side a little, his mouth a straight line. Expressionless.
I rolled my shoulders and then made my way down the stairs, one hand grasping the champagne Daisy had brought me, the other shoved into my pocket. My heart wasn’t pounding in my chest, it wasn’t beating at all. I held my breath. I could hardly convince myself to take each step but somehow I made it until I was standing directly in front of the beautiful stranger.
“Might I interest you in a drink?” I asked.
The straight line of his mouth pulled up into a crooked smirk.

Notes

Hey friends, thanks for reading! I really appreciate it. This is my first MCR/Frerard fic, and I am just trying to learn to enjoy writing again.
If you have any thoughts or suggestions, let me know.

Thanks again,
-Me