Beautiful Fool

We agreed to meet back at the cafe that evening. I didn’t want to leave him at the cafe, I could have sat and watched him write all day, but I needed to get back to my apartment and wash up and practice a bit.
I stood and we shook hands. I used both of mine, cupping the other around his hand and holding us together. He looked up at me with the same wide-eyed expression he had given me earlier. I tried not to, but I couldn’t help looking at him like he was a broken man. Something about the fear in his eyes shook me and I felt the innate need to protect him from whatever had happened in his haunted past.
He looked down and pulled his hand away.
“I’ll see you tonight, Gerard,” I said.
“Yes, 8 o’clock?”
“8 o’clock.”
I turned and nodded at the waiter, then left the cafe. Outside, I turned and peered back inside. Gerard was staring back down at his notebook, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

The day passed slowly. I walked the seven blocks to my apartment, a 6th story walk-up. Once there, I stripped down and threw my suit on the floor. It was a small one-bedroom I’d moved into a few months before. I didn’t mind it small. I rarely had company and didn’t need much space for just my guitar and myself.
I’d always wanted to live in the city. Something so magical about it, as if the possibilities were endless. As if anything could happen. Though months had passed, I still woke up and smiled, looking out of my bedroom window, knowing at any second everything could change. That was the beauty of the city. Of any city, but specifically New York City. It was full of possibilities and hope and energy. I could feel it buzzing around no matter the time of day. Buzzing in my fingers and toes and ears. Energy.
I’d come to the city with the little money I had saved up since the end of the war. I quickly found a new band to play with and we performed almost every night in speakeasies. It was a life I loved, and one I wished to live forever.
I drew the bath and stood in front of the mirror while the tub filled. I looked hellish, with circles under my eyes and my hair pressed flat in the back. Embarrassed to have seen Gerard looking like that, I turned away from myself. I sunk into the tub, with a sigh.
I cleaned myself quickly, wanting time to take a nap before that evening. I ran the soap over my body, already feeling better. I put the soap on the ledge and leaned back, relaxing into the water. The warmth pressed around me and I closed my eyes, fulling submersing myself in it. I held my breath and I thought about Gerard.
And hated myself for it.
Since the Navy I had been with several men, but never had felt more than the carnal need to sleep with them. I had never once wanted to caress their cheek or learn about their past or feel their body against mine in the most innocent way. And, of course, in not such an innocent way too.
I opened my eyes and stared up through the water. I pushed up and brought in a breath of air.
Slowly, I moved my hand down to my aching member and gave it a few strokes. I let out a moan and imagined Gerard there in the tub with me. I imagined it to be his hand. I picked up my rhythm and arched my hips up stroking faster and harder. I groaned, losing myself in the feeling, my whole body tensing up and falling further back into the water. My head fell under and I held my breath. I slid my hand up and down on my cock a couple more times before I felt the warmth spread through my entire body and I came, my hips jerking up. I quickly pushed my face through the surface of the water, breathing in the air deeply. I leaned my face on the side of the cool tub and panted, eyes closed.
Then I slowly got to my feet, toweled myself dry, and drained the tub.

I was outside the cafe fifteen minutes early, fidgeting with my suit. The cafe had closed and I looked at myself in the reflection, making sure I looked more presentable than I had earlier that day.
Behind me, someone cleared their throat. I turned and saw Gerard standing there, in a white long-sleeve shirt, the same black vest as earlier, and a black tie.
“Good evening,” I said.
He smiled, “good evening to you.”
“Ready for a party?”
He bit his lip and nodded, “where are we going?”
“Just a little place my band plays often.” I leaned down and grabbed my guitar case.
We walked close together down the sidewalk and for the first time I noticed his height. He walked a little taller than myself, and I caught myself looking up at him. The sun was setting and the gold light caught on his cheek bones.
He caught me and gave me a sideways glance, “what?”
“Oh,” I said and looked ahead. “You look nice.”
He ducked his head and ran his hand through his hair. “Thank you,” he said.
We reached the pie shop and I stopped outside.
“Have you been here before?” I asked.
He nodded.
I checked my watch. 8:17.
“Ready, darlin’?”
He blushed, “ready.”
I held the door open and followed him inside. The pie shop had one couple eating and looking longingly at each other in the corner, otherwise it was completely empty.
A small man came around the corner, “Ah, Mr. Iero, running a little behind tonight, are we?” he asked.
“I’m always running behind, Richard,” I said. He laughed and then turned his gaze to Gerard.
“Haven’t seen you in a while, sir,” he said.
Gerard shrugged and smiled, “been laying off the sauce.”
“Good man,” Richard said. “Well, shall we?” He turned and we followed him down the hallway towards the kitchen. On the large metal door he knocked three times, waited two beats, and then knocked two more times. The door opened slowly.
“Have a good time,” Richard said and turned back down the hallway to the pie shop. I nodded and then lead the way through the door. Instead of taking us to the kitchen, as you would believe, it opened to a narrow hallway. Just inside the door was a large woman I knew to be Richard’s wife.
“How have you been, Sally?” I asked.
She smiled widely, “oh Frank, always a pleasure. And I didn’t know you were a friend with our writer here!” she said and beamed at Gerard.
“Good evening, Sally,” he said.
“New friends,” I said.
“How wonderful,” she said and motioned for us to go on down the hallway. I nodded to her.
The hallway was dark and the sound of voices and music could be heard louder with every step. We descended a staircase and before us was a large, open room. Full of life and laughter. Women swaying and drinking cocktails, men chatting and taking shots, and a group of Charleston dancers on the stage.
The Gimlet.
My second home.
I turned to look at Gerard. He was expressionless but I saw him eyeing the bar.
“Everyone seems to know you,” I said.
“I came here often about six months ago,” he said with a shrug.
I grazed my fingers over his elbow, discreetly. “Going to be alright?”
“Of course,” he said, turning his eyes from the bar and to me. “Happy to be out,” he said.
“My band goes up soon, and we don’t play for long. They will be showing the blind pig after that,”
“Ah, is that thing still alive?” he asked with a sad grimace.
“I think it might be a new one.”
“Poor bastard,” he mumbled.
The blind pig was the Gimlet’s main attraction. Pay to see the poor blind pig, don’t pay for the alcohol. A loophole that hardly worked.
The music picked up and Gerard leaned closer to me, “I see a table over there,” he said and pointed to a dark corner, “I’ll sit there during your performance and you meet me there?”
I turned and nodded to him.

I took the stage with the band, six other men. I wrapped the guitar strap around my neck. The other men set up with their instruments. The crowd cheered. I instantly looked for Gerard and saw him in the corner, a cup of coffee in front of him. He smiled and nodded at me. I smiled and turned to my band. We weren’t a very close group. We hadn’t known each other for long, and I was only hired in temporarily while their regular guitarist was on the West Coast. I hoped to make it a permanent position.
The drummer nodded.
We went straight into a swing number which was always a crowd favorite. I let myself go into the music and the performance went quickly. I would look to Gerard frequently. He was always watching me, sipping his coffee, tapping his foot, sometimes singing along.
An hour later we were ending our final song. We took a bow and patted each other on the back while the crowd cheered and then went to the bar for refreshments.
I packed up my guitar and went to where Gerard sat, waiting.
“You were fantastic,” he said, “everyone was having such a wonderful time.”
“I would have loved to see you out there dancing,” I said and winked while I took my seat across from him.
“Well, who would I have danced with?” he said with a smirk, “my date was on stage.”
“Date, hm?” I asked.
He instantly blushed and looked past me.
“Oh, uh,” he began to stutter through.
“Hush, I said and reached across the table, placing my hand over his, “I’m only kidding.”
He nodded. I took my hand away.
“So, date?” I said again with a smirk.
He sent me a fake glare and said with finality, “date.”
“Tell me more about yourself, Writer,” I said. “Richard called you Sir, which I am sure he never has done with anyone else. You must be a big deal.”
He threw his head back and I was instantly addicted to the sound of his loud laughter. “I can assure you I am not,” he said. “What would you like to know?”
“Just anything about you. You seem to be a person I could like very, very much, if only I knew more about you,” I said.
“Or, maybe you only like me now because you know so little about me. Mystery can be an incredible drug, Mr. Iero. Easy to get hooked on it, then you spend your time chasing the ghost of something that you created in your mind.”
I stared at him, “well, you’re certainly a writer. And you’ve certainly thought this through. You are a curiosity, Mr. Way, but I can promise you I am not just interested in you for that.”
“How can you possibly promise that?”
“How can you be so sure I wont like the real you?”
He furrowed his brows and took a sip of his coffee.
“Hm?” I pressed.
“Let’s just say, I am used to letting people in to see the real me and they being very let down by what they find.”
I sighed and reached under the table, I ran my hand over his knee and I saw him shiver. He looked around to make sure no one could see, but I was sure they couldn’t. The entire space was dark enough as it was, but he had managed to sit in the darkest corner as well. I continued to run my hand over his knee.
“I don’t know you, you’re right,” I said.
“No.”
“But I want to. And I don’t know what else to say about that. Tell me five things about you,” I said.
“You’re a very cocky, persistent man.”
“I’d say a confident go-getter,” I shrugged and smiled.
“O.K. five things.” He sighed and looked into his coffee cup.
I left my hand on his leg.
“One, I am twenty-seven years old. Two, I spent the last several years in Paris. Three, I have a younger brother whom I love very much. Four, I haven’t spoken to most of my family since I was twenty,” he glanced up at me to check my reaction. I smiled a little to encourage him to continue, “Five, uh, five…” he stopped and furrowed his brows again. “Is four close enough?”
“I want five things, but I’ll let you think about the final one.”
“Five things about you now,” he said. I was surprised when he reached his hand under the table and placed it over mine.
“Christ, of course. Uh. One, I am twenty-three years old. Two, I was in the Navy for the Great War, but in the band, not combat. Three, I really want a pet dog. Four, I practice the guitar five hours a day. Five, I am really glad I met you.”
He looked down and I patted his knee. He glanced up through his eyelashes.
“Boys!” A loud voice boomed. Gerard and I both yanked our hands away from each other.
“Well if it isn’t Mr. Jay Gatsby,” Gerard said, running both hands through his hair and leaning back into the shadows, probably trying to hide his blush.
Jay came up beside me and clapped his hand on my back. “Gerard, Frank,” he said, nodding at each of us. “Sure am happy to see you out and about,” he said.
“What are you doing here?” Gerard asked, standing to shake Jay’s hand.
Gatsby turned back towards the tables more in the center and waved. I saw Daisy and her husband Tom sitting. They both waved. Daisy, happily and smiling. Tom, not so much.
“Why don’t you boys come and sit with us? Plenty of room.”
“Um,” I looked at Gerard but his face didn’t offer anything. “Sure, maybe for a few minutes.”
We followed Jay back to his table and I brushed my fingers against Gerard’s elbow before we sat down.
“Oh, Frank, how lovely to see you,” Daisy said. She turned her gaze to Gerard and raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth also raising. “I don’t believe we have officially met,” Daisy said.
“No, no, I don’t believe so,” Gerard said.
“Well, I am Daisy, Daisy Buchanan,” She reached her hand across the table and he kissed the top of it.
“My name is Gerard,” he said, “Way. Gerard Way.”
“Well it is a pleasure, Mr. Way. And this is my husband, Tom.”
Gerard turned and shook Tom’s hand. Tom was a hard man, black hair and constantly glaring. He looked like he might have been handsome in his younger years, but his permanent scowl made it hard to see anything redeemable about him.
“Well,” Jay began, “now that we all know each other, let’s skip the awkward small talk.”
I shook Tom’s hand in greeting and leaned back into my chair. Under the table, I pressed the side of my foot to the side of Gerard’s. He pressed back.
Tom looked at Jay and then back at Gerard.
“So, Gerard, what do you do?” he asked.
“I’m a writer,” he said.
“Anything I’ve read?”
“Probably not,” Gerard said and looked at Jay. If I hadn’t been looking, I would have missed it entirely, but I was sure I saw Jay give a short nod.
“What do you write? Poetry, novels, political pieces?” Tom rattled on.
“Novels, mostly. I try and stay out of the political scene.”
“Yes, yes,” Tom nodded. I looked at Daisy and she was reaching out to pat Tom’s hand.
“Let’s not get into politics,” she said.
Tom shrugged her off.
“I read a political piece the other day, can’t remember what it was called. It was great commentary though,” Tom said and paused, looking hard at Gerard, “on the state of New York City and the rise in the homosexuals.”
Gerard’s jaw clenched, as did mine.
“Says that they are on the raise, and so is the number of sexual crimes. The article suggests they all be locked up.”
“Is that so?” Jay said, shifting uncomfortably.
“Oh, Tom, this is not good party speak.”
“Dirty faggots, if you ask me,” Tom said.
Jay slammed his hand down on the table.
“Enough now with that talk,” Jay said.
Tom continued to huff but I turned to Gerard.
I had come to accept what I was long ago and that word had stopped stinging around the same time. By the look on Gerard’s face, that wasn’t the same case for him. He was pained, his jaw clenched and the corner of his mouth pulled down into a grimace.
Gerard cleared his throat.
I pressed my foot harder against his.
He pulled his foot away.
I kept an eye on him as the conversation shifted to Daisy talking about a play she wanted to go see.
When the conversation took a pause Gerard stood.
“I must be heading out,” he said.
“Gerard,” I started.
He shook his head at me with a stern look.
“It was really nice meeting you,” he said to Daisy, nodding. He did not look at Tom. “Jay, Frank,” he said. He let his eyes linger on me. Then he turned on his heel and maneuvered his way through the crowd. I stared after him until I couldn’t spot him anymore. Tom shrugged and started talking with Daisy. I looked to Jay. He gave me a sad smile.
“Should I go after him?” I asked.
Jay shook his head, “he probably needs to be alone. He’s a quiet fellow.”
I tried to focus on other things but all I could think about was how I had let him go and how upset he had looked. I should have followed him. I didn’t hear much of the conversation after that. Daisy and Tom stopped their talking when the blind pig was strutted onto the stage. I looked at it without really seeing it. The crowd laughed and pointed and the pig sat there dumbly, blind and miserable. I wish I could have ran onto the stage and taken the pig home, told everyone to stop their mocking, told them it wasn’t even that the pig was that strange at all.
The night only geared up after they took the pig away and the dancers came back to the stage. The music was loud, the dancing was fierce, and the liquor was pouring freely.
I finally stood, feeling only a little drunk but very tired.
“I’ll be heading home,” I said.
“Oh, Francis, but the night is young!” Daisy exclaimed, setting down her cocktail.
I smiled, “I am glad to have run into you,” I said and turned to Jay, who pulled me into a brief hug.
“Make sure you stop by that cafe tomorrow morning, old sport,” he said quietly.
“I will, I should have followed tonight,” I said.
“No, no,” he shook his head, “he needs his space. You know, writers.”
I nodded.
“See you around, old sport,” he said.
I began to weave through the crowd, a swell of affection for Jay Gatsby. I climbed the stairs and started down the long narrow hall.
“Oh, Frank,” Sally said from the end of the hallway.
“Hello, enjoying your evening?” I asked.
She looked grim.
“What is it?” I said.
She shook her head and pushed open the door into the pie shop, and she walked out with me. I followed her into the main area. She pointed to a booth in the corner.
A man was lying down in the booth, his legs hanging off the edge of the bench.
Sally shook her head sadly, then turned and went back to her post.
I felt my stomach drop. Oh no.
I approached the bench. Lying there, face wet with tears and vomit, eyes closed, was the wild haired, beautiful man.
“Gerard?” I said quietly.
He opened his eyes and looked at me.
“What happened?” I asked.
He spoke evenly then, despite the tears that poured down his cheeks and the obvious misery he was in.

Notes

Hey!
This one is about double the length of the other chapters. Hope that wasn't too much.
We're about to start gettin' into the nitty gritty so chapters will probably stay about this length.

Anyway, thank you so much for reading! and for your comments and ratings. It really is super exciting for me.

-Me