Beautiful Fool

I woke up the next morning on the dock. A man was standing over me in a white suit and hat. He leaned on a cane. He didn’t look much older than me and he laughed loudly.
“Good morning, old sport,” he said, “did you have a good night?”
I felt my cheeks heating up.
“Christ, I am so sorry,” I said, straightening up and patting my suit down.
“No worries, no worries at all,” the man said. “That’s what a party is for, letting loose.”
“Are, uh, are you Mr. Gatsby?” I asked.
He laughed and nodded, “Indeed, but please call me Jay, old sport.”
“Ah, my name is Frank. Again, sorry. I’ll be going,” I said.
“You’re Daisy’s friend, aren’t you?” he asked.
“I am.”
“Splendid. I heard you met my friend Gerard last night.”
“I did, yes.” I had forgotten momentarily. The dark haired man.
“Good boy, that Gerard.”
I nodded.
“You know, I heard he left in a bit of a hurry last night.”
“Yes, I noticed that too.”
“Hm. Well, it probably has something to do with the fact that he loves to go write in that cafe downtown, the one on 3rd. Loves to go write there every morning. In fact, he’s probably there now.” He said and raised his eyebrows.
I smiled and nodded, unsure of how to respond.
“Well,” Jay continued, “if you happen to end up at the small cafe on 3rd downtown, called SingerHill I believe, if you end up over there for any reason. You let him know I say hello.”
“Ah,” I said, understanding. “You and Daisy seem to be progressive people.”
He laughed again. He was a handsome man, especially when he smiled.
“Yes, well,” he shrugged and tapped his cane against the dock, “I try anyway. I like people to be happy, I certainly know what it’s like to want something,” he dropped his voice a little and raised an eyebrow, “or someone.”
I felt myself blush and I looked towards the bay. The sun was still low in the sky, it might have been nine o’clock. I stretched a little. “I’ll be going,” I said, “I heard about this cafe on 3rd I might like to visit.”
Jay clapped me on the back, “yes, old sport. It was a pleasure. I hope to see you at my next party.”
I smiled and thanked him and turned up the dock. When I reached the lawn I turned back. Gatsby was standing facing away, staring out across the water.

The house was strange in the daylight. I saw a few people sleeping on the steps, but most everyone had gone. All was quiet and bright and it felt wrong to be there.
I walked through the house and down the drive, only then realizing I had no way of getting home. I stood on the street for a few moments before walking.
The day was already hot and I pulled my suit jacket off and rolled my sleeves up. I felt dirty and wanted badly to bathe, but I felt a strong need to get to the cafe. To see Gerard again.
I tried to think of other things. Of the show I was playing that night with my band, of Daisy and the strange relationship she seemed to have with Jay Gatsby, of what a beautiful day it was already. Anything but Gerard Way. Because I had no right to think of him in any way. I’d known him for a couple hours, at most. He should be just another person I met in passing.
I shouldn’t feel like this.
And it would definitely not be right to just show up at the cafe where he was writing. It wouldn’t be right at all.
I got to the mainland in a short amount of time and spotted a cab parked on the side of the road outside of a gas station. The cabbie was inside reading the paper.
“Good morning, sir,” I said.
The man glanced up. He was older and tired.
“Are you able to give me a ride into the city?”
“Of course, hop on in!” he said and began folding up his paper. I climbed into the backseat and he looked into the rear-view mirror. “Any particular destination?”
“Yes, 3rd avenue? A cafe there that may or may not be called SingerHill.”
“Ah, yes,” he nodded and pulled onto the road.
I stared out the window most of the drive. We passed through the coaling area, dirty and dark. The contrast from the rich West and East Egg, to this area, and then beyond to the city, always startled me.
We came upon the bridge which lead into the city and I watched the large buildings grow and grow before us.
Neither the cabbie nor I spoke the entire drive, and I saw glitter along his shoulders and hair and instantly knew he must have been at Gatsby’s party.

He pulled up outside of the cafe and I got out my billfold and paid him, and then stepped into the sun. I squinted up at the sky, bright blue. It contrasted against the gray of the buildings. I wondered if this was a good idea, if I should just leave and go home. But knowing he was probably inside, I couldn't bring myself to turn away.
I unrolled my sleeves and pulled my jacket back on before taking a few deep breaths and opening the door to the cafe. It was bright inside, the large storefront windows letting in the morning sun. There was a dull chatter among the patrons. I looked around and saw Gerard in the corner, staring down at a notebook, the end of his fountain pen in his mouth as he stared hard. From here I could see the sheet of paper was blank.
He looked, well, beautiful. His brows furrowed, his hair a mess, and now wearing a black vest over a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and an undone yellow bow-tie hanging around his neck.
I took one more deep breath, counted to five, and then walked over to the table. So in thought, he didn’t notice my approach.
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” I asked.
He startled and looked up. His brows smoothed and his mouth pulled into a smile, before his brows furrowed again.
“Frank,” he said.
I nodded towards the chair in front of him and raised an eyebrow.
“Sure, sure,” he said.
I sat and he laid his pen down on the notebook.
“What are you doing here?” He asked. “How did you-“
“Gatsby,” I said.
“Ah,” he said, nodding. “That meddling fool,” he mumbled.
“Are you upset?”
“I’m not upset.”
I nodded, unconvinced. I felt queasy, wishing I hadn’t come. I also felt relief, sitting in front of him, knowing he had been real.
“I’m not,” he said again. He picked up the pen and tapped it nervously.
“Should I go?”
He didn’t say anything, he stared down at his paper, tapping his pen.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
“O.K.,” I said. I began to stand, when he grabbed my wrist. I looked back and he was staring at me, wide eyed. He almost looked pained.
“Stay,” he said.
I sat back down and he let his hand stay around my wrist for a few seconds, before letting go, pulling it back to his side of the table.
“Forgive me. I’m glad to see you,” he said.
He looked up to the counter and nodded to the man behind it. He began making a coffee.
“Good,” I said.
He smiled, “good.”
The waiter brought the coffee over and set it in front of me.
“Thank you,” I said.
Gerard brought his own coffee to his lips.
I cocked my head and watched him as he took a sip and set it back down.Gerard cleared his throat and looked around, “I’ve been thinking about you,” he said.
My heartbeat quickened and my stomach instantly tied itself up. “I’ve been thinking of you too,” I said.
He nodded.
“I’m sorry I left in such a hurry last night,” he said. “You understand, right?” He raised an eyebrow and took to tapping his pen against his notebook again.
“I do.”
“Good,” he said.
“What are you writing?”
He looked down at the blank sheet and laughed, “nothing.”
“Well, what are you attempting to write?”
He was still half-laughing, “ah, a novel. I haven’t had an idea stick though.” He shrugged, capped his pen, and shut the notebook. “Something will come to me, just takes time.”
We sipped our coffee quietly, stealing glances at each other. Something in his graceful movements captivated me. The way he smiled mostly to one side, the way he sipped his coffee with his eyes closed, the way a slow blush hinted on his cheeks. I could hardly take my eyes away.
“Gerard?”
“Hm?” He glanced up from his coffee.
“Do you, uh,” I stopped and looked down, nervous.
“What is it, Frank?” he asked lightly.
“Do you want to come out with me tonight? My band is performing.”
I looked up. He was staring at me, biting his lip. I remembered how he left suddenly last night, and worried I had scared him off again. Slowly I watched as his tooth let go of his lip and he smiled.
“Sure,” he said, “all right.”

Notes

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-Me