Empire Boys 1/3
Masterpost
William runs across the busy traffic, balancing coffee and folders while New Yorkers sit impatiently in their cabs as the traffic lights glow red. It’s January 3rd, he’s still hungover as hell from New Years, and today marks the beginning of his fifth week working for The New York Observer. It doesn’t help that he’s going to be late because of stupid Brendon challenging him at blackjack for the last bagel just as he was about to leave (William cheated and stole it before Brendon could realise, he couldn’t afford to be late again). After several internships, William finally let his parents call contacts in the city and get him this job as a temporary junior writer. He wanted to try and find a job by himself but he seriously underestimated how hard it would be to find a job in the city with so little experience. He mostly does the bidding of those higher than him, but at least it’s a job. Even if it’s not what he wants to do.
He gets to the building, swipes in and takes a crowded elevator to the Observer’s floor, going to his small, cluttered desk. He finally sits down, about to drink some coffee and start organizing some files, when Hugo and Vivienne appear out of nowhere and start talking; Vivienne sitting on William’s desk despite his complaints and Hugo inhaling the scent of William’s coffee and then beginning a rant about Colombian over Arabian coffee beans.
“God, don’t you have work to do?” William says, snatching his coffee away from Hugo jokingly. William was actually pretty surprised when he met two young, fun and smart people at the paper who wouldn’t viciously backstab him to get ahead in the industry. Or so he hopes. It strikes William that he works in a pretty unintentionally international office. Hugo’s a tall, brunette posh English boy who wears an ascot every day to work and still hasn’t lost his Queen’s English accent and Viv’s a petite, blonde French girl who is possibly the sweetest girl William’s ever met. She made muffins for the office last week. Muffins.
William’s about to shoo them back to their own desks but they scuttle away when Leah Mill, one of the senior writers strides over to William’s desk and drops a few papers in front of him. From these papers, the face of some tan, rich guy who seems to be stumbling out a club beams up at William.
“You have two days to write 600 words on society’s fascination with New York’s socialites. You be better be grateful for this, this would usually go to someone a lot more experienced, but unfortunately, Jeremy’s ill and Anna’s still on maternity leave.” Leah says.
William looks up at her disgruntled face as she stands there, hands on hips, tapping her foot impatiently. She’s one of those women who never seem to be happy, but she’s not a total bitch. He doesn’t know the first thing about socialites, nor does he care. But there’s no way you refuse this kind of thing.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, though. It’s not going to be printed, but it will be online, so don’t disappoint me.” Her Blackberry starts ringing and she disappears before he can ask any questions. William can tell she’s not thrilled that she has to give the article to such a newb, but at least it’s not going to be in the actual paper, William thinks.
William starts shuffling through the Wikipedia pages of several of these famous do-nothings. Tinsley Mortimer, Bettina Zilkha, Patrick McMullan, all of the usual names. He’s more than unenthusiastic, but he knows that if he writes a terrible article, he won’t have any more chances. He taps his pencil against their grainy, powdered faces for a while, deciding how he’s going to spin this. He flicks to one - the same tan, drunk guy he saw first - and starts googling. He’s sure it won’t be too hard to trash him because William knows a lot about this guy’s crazy antics, despite his disinterest in gossip.
*
When he gets home that night, William finds Brendon sprawled on the couch, trying to balance a bottle of beer on his stomach as he half-watches repeats of Glee, and half-flails, trying to keep the beer from spilling over himself. Leah said he had two days, but he knows she wants it done by the end of the day tomorrow because she always has this ‘finally’ look on her face whenever she gets something on the deadline, so as soon as he flops down on the armchair, he pulls out his folders and laptop and continues the article.
“What’re you doing? You just got back from work, chill a bit.” Brendon says as a look of intense concentration comes across his face as the bottle almost falls to the floor.
“I can’t; one of the seniors gave me an article to write and-”
“Already? That’s great, man!” Brendon interjects.
“No no, it’s not. It’s about goddamn socialites and it has to be done by tomorrow. What the hell do I know about socialites?” William sighs, getting distracted by Darren Criss shimmying.
“Oh. I see your point. But, hey, you’re good enough to write anything.” Brendon says before his stomach rumbles quietly. “Do you feel like Chinese tonight?”
“Uh, sure. Order in, right? Let me finish this first, though. Or at least try to,” William says, groaning as he rubs his forehead where he feels a headache coming on.
“Let me see what you’ve written already,” Brendon says, finally putting his beer on the table, and reaching his arm out lazily for the laptop. William hands it to him, and watches Brendon as he puts his reading face on. After a few moments, Brendon starts laughing with a slightly pained look.
“What?” Williams asks, worrying if he’s written something totally wrong.
“You’re such a bitch! I mean, you called this guy a ‘complacent attention-seeker who does little more than spend his vast inheritance on partying, thousand-dollar jackets and town cars.’” Brendon laughs. “Aren’t you a little worried about saying this kind of shit?”
“Hell no, they’re only rich. Plus, what’s the worst that can happen?” William replies as he puts his feet on the table and reaches for the phone.
The next day, William walks over to Leah’s office after proof-reading the article for what seems the hundredth time. She calls him in after he knocks quietly on the door and takes the article from him. William stands in silence, nervously scrutinizing every look on Leah’s face as her eyes skim the page. He never set out to write such a scathing piece but he couldn’t help the direction it took and even if she hates it, he can’t get fired for it. Right?
“Well,” Leah says and puts the article down on her desk. “It’s certainly something.”
“Is it...okay?” William asks, nervous because he can’t read her expression very well.
“Yes, it’s good. Surprisingly, I like it.” she replies, giving William a small smile. She tells him she’ll get someone to check it with legal and gives him his new assignment before kicking him out of her office.
When he gets back to his desk, William slumps down on his chair and breathes a sigh of relief. I’m glad that’s over, he thinks.
*
Frank pulls his duffle bag out of the trunk of the car and sets it upright, looking up at the building towering above him. The paint is chipping away revealing aging bricks, the sides are covered in spray-painted scrawls and the street gutter is littered with remains of fast food and cigarette stubs. Frank grins toothily and bites his bottom lip, “Perfect.”
“Save it for the bedroom, sweetheart; $24.40,” the driver yells impatiently from taxi.
“Sorry, man,” Frank apologies and hands over the money, “Have a good day!”
The driver grumbles a response and manoeuvres his way back onto the road. Frank turns back and trips over his suit case which sends it flying down, he grapples for the handle but ends up stumbling over with it. Brushing down his clothes, he shakes off the feeling of contempt and makes his way inside the apartment block.
This all seems too surreal for him; renting an apartment in Brooklyn? It had always been his ambition in life - to move to New York City and now he was here, he had done it. He wasn’t made for the life he would’ve had to live if he stayed in his town in North Carolina. His parents were all about routine; staying on a rota, attending council meetings, going to the Terns’ fortnightly dinner party. Frank wanted to take life as it came, he wanted to make enough to pay the bills, treat himself every now and then and he wanted to not know what came next for him.
So, of course, he did the only natural thing; he majored in business management at college. Truthfully, Frank didn’t mind what he studied; he picked something he was good enough to pass in and went with it. Criticizing his every move, his parents attempted to talk Frank out of it,
‘What are you going to do with that degree, Frankie? You just don’t have the initiative!’ Frank gave them the cold shoulder and carried on with his plans. His parents never actually stopped him doing anything; their nit-picking was just babble to Frank anyway.
He crashes forward through the door of his apartment and it opens with thundering slam against the wall behind it. Frank grimaces and tugs the key out, tentatively walking inside, dragging his bag along in his wake. He shuts the door and sets the bag down, looking around the room. A small corridor leads into a half-furbished room. An old couch lies in the far centre of the room, smelling peculiarly of grass and metal, whilst a small circular table sits behind it, two chairs with odd legs tucked underneath. The kitchenette is pushed up against the back wall, containing a stove and oven, microwave, sink and a small fridge. A door on the left leads into a small bathroom whereas the door on the right leads into his bedroom - currently a grimy mattress on the floor and a decrepit chest of drawers.
He drags his bag into the bedroom and pushes it against the corner perpendicular to the door. He and his parents made an agreement that they would drive up at some point in the following months with some of his things. It took some persuading to convince them that he was serious about moving to New York but they accepted it after a few hours of ‘heated discussions’. Frank walks over to the window and looks out. His enticing view is none other than a brick wall with a window boarded up, a spray painted dick embellishing the planks.
“Classy,” mutters Frank to himself. After pacing around his new apartment a few more times, taking every detail in, from the cobwebs in the corner of the bathroom to the small cracks in the east bedroom wall, Frank sighs contently and slumps down on one of the chairs which creaks and almost gives in.
He starts his new job tomorrow - a sales associate at Bloomingdales on Lexington Avenue & 59th Street. For a while back at home he worked in a small all-purpose store and after a couple of months the woman in charge, Ruth, a small plump woman with a cheery constitution, pulled some strings and called up a few contacts and got him this place. It was almost guaranteed that he would have the position but Frank would of course have to go through a regulation interview before starting out. Ruth had told him that Peter Wentz, General Manager of the store, was interested in diversifying his staff across the shop floor. In short, Frank would be working in Women’s Lingerie. Frank had no problem with this; he is less interested in what women had under their clothes than he is concerned about the economic changes in Bavaria under the rule of the House of Wittelsbach in the 14th Century. Of course, he’s struggling to piece together why Wentz is putting him there - Frank’s not sure how the women would take to him working there; but he isn’t going to question it.
Frank spent the rest of the Sunday settling into his apartment. He buys some groceries and puts his clothes and few possessions away, most of which are his favourite horror films though he isn’t sure how he’s going to watch them without a TV. Tomorrow’s going to be a hectic day.
*
Frank is expected to be on the shop floor by 9am, one hour before store hours, however as he’s having his interview with Wentz Monday morning, he has to be in the store by 8.30am. This means leaving his house at 7.40am to give him the 50 minutes needed for travelling. Keeping this in mind, canny Frank decided it would be a good idea to sleep through his alarm resulting in him jerking wide awake when he realised it was 7.25am.
“Fuck!” Frank curses and jumps out of bed, running into the bathroom shedding his pyjamas along the way. Splashing water on his face and threading his wet hands through his hair, Frank shoves his toothbrush inside his mouth as he stumbles back into his bedroom. He picks out his clothes easily enough; he’d been contemplating this last night. He puts on his only suit - a simple white shirt, black blazer, black slacks and black tie. It’s more likely too formal for every day work, but he’s looking to make a good impression and he forgot to ask Ruth what the dress code would be.
When the clock reads 7:38, Frank snatches his bag and keys and heads out the front door, sighing in relief that he’d gotten ready in time.
16 subway stops later, Frank walks up the subway stairs and finds himself in front of Bloomingdales, various other monsters looming above him in every direction. He had been in the heart of Manhattan several times before, but the shock of the immeasurable proportions of the buildings never wears off. In his hand he holds a printed out letter from Ruth, crinkled and creased from being folded and jammed into Frank’s pockets. He follows the instructions to call up on the entrance of East 59th Street and tell them his name.
His hand shakes slightly as he buzzes the intercom and speaks into the microphone, “Um, Hi this is Iero, Frank. F-Frank Iero. I’m uh here for Women’s Lingerie. I mean, the interview! The interview for Women’s Lingerie,” he says timidly.
A man replies in a low voice, “Sure, Pervert Iero, come on in,” Frank hears a different, nasally voice giggle in the back. “3rd Floor, take a right, first door on the left, knock three times.”
Good job, idiot, thinks Frank to himself. He laughs nervously, “Oh man, I didn’t mean it like that. Thanks, though.” After he receives no reply, he pushes through the door revealing a narrow corridor with several doors leading off the sides. He carries on straight down, the path eventually bringing him to an elevator. Following the instructions the man gave him Frank rides up to the 3rd Floor, where he’s greeted with another bland corridor. He takes a right and sees the door on the left, the door plaque readings ‘Interview Room’. Frank takes a deep breath, straightening his back and smoothing his tie down. He knocks on the door three times, loud and clear.
“Come in!” calls a muffled voice from the inside.
Frank pushes the door open, which creaks quietly. He greets Wentz and shuts the door behind him. The interview room is a small with only a few chairs and a desk in the middle. The lighting is harsh and bright; it’s as if Frank was about to be interrogated by the police. Wentz is not at all what he expected - the man before him is taller than Frank, a feat easily achieved. Though he’s dressed in smart, business attire, his dyed black hair say something else about his life away from the store.
Frank leans over the desk and shakes Wentz’s hand then sits down on one of the chairs. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr Wentz, and for well- hiring me without having met me! I know that’s something businesses seldom do.”
“Please, it’s Pete! Now Frank - can I call you Frank?” Frank nods. “You should understand that I would never do this if it was anyone but Ruth who recommended you. I trust that woman entirely and hope that you won’t let me, her or yourself down in this position,” says Wentz sternly. “We’ll give you a couple of weeks to impress, settle in and see how you get on in the store and your assigned department. She told me about your qualifications and they make me wonder why you didn’t apply to one of our other positions - such as management?”
Frank’s hands fidget in his lap. His brows furrow. “I always find this difficult to explain; it’s not that I don’t want to aim high and move up in the profession but I feel as if I have to prove to myself that I deserve to be there. To do that, I think I have to start at the bottom and work my way up.”
Wentz nods and smiles, “Sorry, Frank. I realise I started off quite gravely almost. Basically, you do your best, work with us and we’ll work with you and this whole thing should end up as smooth as a baby’s bottom!”
“Can you even use that phrase in that context?” Frank laughs, feeling immediately a lot more relaxed.
Pete laughs and stands up, lifting his hands in the air, ‘I’m the boss, Frank!’ He grins and walks around the desk; Frank instantly jumps up and follows him.
“Okay, so we’ll go into my office and deal with some official business then I’ll give you a quick tour of the place now and get you up to date with what you’ll be doing later.”
*
Gabe’s day starts nicely. He gets up, takes a shower, and spends only 20 minutes pondering what to wear. Looking at his schedule, today he has a lunch with a director, an appointment at his favourite elitist spa, and as usual, several party and event invites for the evening. God, does he love his life some days.
As he’s walking down the lobby to get a cab to a café for breakfast, Carrie-Anne calls him. Carrie-Anne’s not exactly a publicist or manager, but she handles Gabe’s image and organizes his schedule, and he thinks he pays her, so she’s something.
“Hey, Carrie, what’s up?” He says as he nods to the doorman to hail him a cab. He knows Carrie-Anne hates people only calling her ‘Carrie’, but she knows she can’t say anything to him and it amuses him to piss people off.
“Have you read it?”
“Read what?” Gabe asks, tipping the doorman and getting in the cab. “25 East 73rd Street,” he tells the driver, covering the phone’s mouthpiece as the cab pulls out.
“The article on the New York Observer website. The article about socialites, and most of all, you.” She carries on for a little while, but Gabe tells her he’ll call her back when he gets to the café. He pays the cab driver, and goes in. It’s rare that anyone writes a whole article about him, Gabe thinks. Well, sure, he’s mentioned a lot, but this is still slightly worrying, especially judging by Carrie-Anne’s tone of voice.
“Ah, Mr Saporta! Marvellous to see you again, sir. Table for one?” Gio, the overly-enthusiastic maitre d’ rushes over and beams at Gabe.
“Two, please.”
“Certainly, right this way.” Gio leads him to one of the nicer tables near the windows and leaves two menus. While he waits for Mark, Gabe gets his phone and goes on the paper’s website, and finds an article named ‘Socialites: rich, famous and certainly pointless.’ This must be it. He starts reading it and of course it mentions the others, but whoever wrote this is certainly laying into him, saying the kind of shit no one would ever dare say about him, especially since he’s a 6 foot Hispanic guy, and most people are intimidated by that shit. He’s halfway through when Mark arrives, and after he sits down and they both order breakfast and ask how the other’s doing, Gabe shows him the article.
“What the fuck?” Mark just says and yeah, exactly.
“What I don’t get is, what have I done recently? It’s just so out of nowhere, yknow?” Gabe says, his mood darkening by the second. “Who does this guy think he is?”
At this, Mark grabs Gabe’s phone and scrolls to the bottom of the page, eyes skimming it for the name.
“He’s a nobody too. Hey, isn’t there an Observer party this Friday?” Mark says, eyeing up the little brunette waitress as Gabe just nods sullenly. “Well, why don’t you go, find this guy- who will probably be there- and, yknow, give him a piece of your mind,”
Gabe doesn’t say anything, just mulls this over. He might as well. There’s no way he’s gonna let one goddamn article ruin his almost golden reputation.
After breakfast, Gabe decides to go shopping. He takes a cab to 5th avenue, and calls Carrie-Anne again. He’s going to this party.
*
William wakes up on Friday, takes a shower and gets ready earlier than usual. He eats cereal on the couch with Brendon, watching morning television. He swears the TV’s never turned off in their apartment. Hell, it’s the only thing Brendon does when he’s home.
“Do you want to do something tonight?” Brendon asks as he buttons up his white work shirt and brushes some lint off.
“Sure. Is there anything on tonight?” William asks after swallowing the rainbow-coloured, sugary cereal that Brendon bought on a whim when he was drunk a few weeks ago.
“No, not with me.”
“Oh, I just remembered, I think work’s holding a party tonight but I don’t know if I want to go and-”
“Oh, man, take me! I don’t want to just go to a bar again. And who knows, there could be hot guys,” he singsongs and grins at William, trying to convince him.
“What makes you think I’ll get a plus one?” William says, pulling on his black coat and gathering his folders as he starts making his way towards the door.
“C’mon, can’t you work those hips for once in your life? If it was me, you know I’d use my beautiful ass to my advantage. But then, if you had my ass, you’d already be invited be-”
“I’ll try, okay? Now, shut up about your goddamn ass, I’m leaving,”
“Bye!” Brendon shouts after William, searching frantically around the apartment for his work tie.
When William arrives at work that morning, he finds a note on his desk from Leah telling him to see her in her office at lunch. He’s curious as to why she wouldn’t just send him a memo about what he’s going to be made to write or organize or whatever, but he leaves it and starts researching the list of people and events that have been sent to him as today’s work. Apart from a hiccup with the photocopier, his morning goes normally and when lunch rolls up, he gets his bag and coat, preparing to go to the deli a block down after speaking to Leah. He knocks on her door and after a muffled ‘come in’, opens the door and walks to her desk. She’s scribbling in bright red pen on a first draft.
“Ah, William. I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve asked you to come here, and I’ll just be blunt and say it. Your interesting article has garnered some buzz in the press, and I’m sure everyone is expecting you to be at the party this evening. Of course, it’s not obligatory, but I would suggest it.”
She gives William this look, telling him he’s going. “It starts at 8 and remember to dress smartly, you’re representing the newspaper now.” She gets up from her desk and walks over to him, handing him a smooth, dark green invitation. William takes it and stands there for a moment, unsure what to say.
“Now, run along. I’m sure you have work to do.” But before she can usher him out, William remembers Brendon.
“Oh, is there any possibility of me bringing a plus one? I’m sorry for asking but I promised-”
“Sure, but just one. I’ll see you tonight.” She kicks him out, and William stands outside her office, surprised, looking at the invite with his name embossed in silver on the front. A week ago, he was a nobody, and now he’s being practically forced to attend his paper’s exclusive parties? He guesses Brendon’s going to be happy.
As soon as William’s sat in the quiet deli, mopping the grease off his pizza with a napkin, he calls Brendon who should also be having his lunch break about now. He picks up after two rings.
“Hey. My boss just told me I have to go the party tonight. And before you ask, yes, I can take you,” he says, taking a sip of his icy cold diet Coke. Brendon starts rambling about what he’s going to wear and William hears him telling some co-worker about it.
*
On the 3rd floor, the staff scurries around as opening time approaches. Gerard takes several steps back and looks across the counter. Eye make-up sections - in order of colour and tone, testers on top. Lipsticks, all open, ranged colours, top shelf arranged with last week’s best seller- the Viva Glam collection. He continues to pace around the counter making sure every thing's in order; including clean mirrors which he’d forgotten to do yesterday and was frustrated with himself all day. He had to repress urges to whip out the bottle of Windex that was sitting temptingly under the counter as women browsed the cosmetics. He will not put himself through that again.
“Hey Isla, are you round there?” Gerard shouts out and moves his head around the mirror trying to catch the light in a position that reveals all of the finger marks on the surface.
“Yeah, Gee, I’m here. What’s up?” Isla says emerging from the other end of the counter, bags of change in hand. Isla works with Gerard at the M.A.C counter; she’s young, fresh and pretty with dark hair and features but a pale complexion. Gerard’s always been envious of how seemingly flawless her skin is - it’s partly why she’s so good at her job - customers see the products on her and immediately want to look like that. She’s graceful and her presence is almost intimidating, and Gerard often finds himself revering her. He drinks 2 litres of water daily and eats dry oats for breakfast to get rid of the, as he says, ‘nasty’ toxins as it keeps his skin gleaming and fair. That being said, he gets through a packet of cigarettes a day despite the other healthy practises in his controlled diet. Nevertheless, it all works together and well enough in the past to have helped him shed the fat left over from his unpleasant teenage years.
“Pass me the Windex and some newspaper? I’ve finally caught the light!” he says, freezing on the spot. She laughs and sets the money down, picking up the cleaner and leaning over the counter to hand it to him. “What happened with the new kid? I heard Luke said something to him.”
Gerard giggles as he starts cleaning the mirror, “Yeah, poor stupid kid, he rung when Luke and I were in the staff room. Luke called him a pervert and oh I wish I could’ve seen the look on the kid’s face - he sounded so abashed!”
She laughs but furrows her eyebrows, “Too early in the morning for big words, Gerard. I don’t know, I feel bad for the guy, that’s kind of harsh. Did he say who he was?”
“Yes, he’s Iero, Frank. F-Frank Iero,” Gerard giggles and bites his lip in concentration as he tries to rub off a particularly stubborn smudge.
“Um, Gee-” Isla begins before being cut off by another voice.
“You beat me to it, Gerard.”
Gerard shoots around and finds himself in front of Pete and a short, dark haired friend of his, whose features look crestfallen. “Good morning, Pe-Sir.” Placing his hands behind back and straightening up, trying everything in his power to cease the red blush charging up his cheeks.
Pete raises his eyebrows and half turns to face the man next to him but his hard pointed stare remains fixed on Gerard. Then he realises, the man with Pete must be the new guy. Fuck. He’s a couple of inches shorter than Gerard, but around the same height as Pete, dark black hair, similar to his own but shorter, sits carelessly styled across his head, several strands free over his forehead.
“Morning. Frank, this is Gerard Way, head of our Beauty department. Gerard, this is Frank, but apparently you knew that already. He’ll be starting in Women’s Lingerie and so far, he seems like a great guy with impressive qualifications so if there’s a promotion around the corner, I’d watch your back before saying things.”
Gerard swallows hard and glances at Frank, who looks astoundingly more confident than he did five seconds ago. “Yes, Pete. It won’t happen again, sorry. It’s good to meet you, Frank,” Gerard holds his hand out towards Iero but Pete has already started walking away towards the Lingerie, several counters away from Gerard’s. Frank grasps Gerard’s hand briefly, gives him a black look and follows Pete.
“I’ll see you around, Way.”
Gerard rolls his eyes then lets them follow after Frank who saunters - fucking saunters - up to Valerie, a kind, well-groomed woman in her late forties with greying hair who’s head of Women’s Lingerie. Of course he’s confident after Pete sticks up for him; Gerard is almost tempted to feel slightly betrayed by his boss’s fondness of the new kid after having known him for like an hour. But seriously, ‘I’ll see you around, Way’, who is this kid - Arnold Schwarzenegger? Gerard scoffs and turns back to the mirror, becoming immediately more interested in a loose bit of hair than the task he was doing before. Gerard most definitely did not deserve that over-dramatic performance, it’s the first time the kid had even heard him talk - he can’t judge him!
“Gerard? Gerard!” Isla’s voice snaps him out of his trance. “Stop evaluating your life monologue-style in your head and finish that off - it’s nearly 10.”
Gerard mumbles something in response and carries on wiping the mirrors. Maybe he should go apologise. Iero’s on good terms with Pete already, and if that promotion example was a hint then damn, Gerard really needs it. He really wants it. It’s decided, Gerard nods, I will go and make friends and it will have to be in front of Pete. Sure, he didn’t mean to hurt the guy’s feelings but Pete has to know that too.
“That’s great, Gerard, do it in your own time. Now go and work!” shouts Isla, eyeing up a potential customer.
“I’m the boss here, I give the orders!” he retorts, grumbling as he puts the cleaner away. He has to stop thinking aloud. “I need to give myself orders before I can give them to you, Isla. Patience is a virtue.”
“I’m going to be waiting a long, long time,” she grins at him and he giggles in response, moving behind the stand.
*
In his break, Gerard calls up Mikey, carefully dialling the number for Rattlesnake’s instead of Mikey’s home number that he got so used to calling.
Mikey had opened up a bar with their friend Ray not two months ago and Gerard couldn’t be more proud. When his younger brother approached him with the idea, Gerard had been supportive and constructive, offering Mikey a variety of great bar names such as ‘The White Swallow’ and ‘Rear End Friend’. Mikey wasn’t impressed; in fact, he didn’t say anything for a good few seconds. He just stared at Gerard who stared back, sporting a shining grin unlike his brother. Eventually Mikey looked away and carried on talking about his plans (“There’s going to be live music every night, Gee!”) until Gerard too was swept into his brother’s ambitions.
The staff room is large containing a few old sofas, chairs scattered all over the place with several tables in between and a small kitchenette accommodating the most important feature; the coffee machine. The wall opposite to the kitchen shows a large notice board; fliers, leaflets and posters dressing it. In the centre, a reasonably large photograph of Gerard, smiling brightly, ‘Employee of the Month’ in bold black letters above his image.
At 2:15PM Gerard’s sprawled out on the couch, that’s pushed up to wall underneath the staff phone, the room virtually unoccupied apart from a couple of people engrossed in their own activities. On one shoulder he balances the phone, talking animatedly to Mikey as his other hand brings him sips of bad coffee, already cold when it hits his lips. In that moment, the door opens and Pete walks in, Frank swiftly on his tail. Gerard freezes and cuts his sentence, stammering a quick ‘Gotta go, bye!’ down the phone. Pete nods hello to Gerard and walks over to Mel, a girl who works downstairs in Men’s Shoes. Taking his opportunity, Gerard rushes up and clambers over to Frank, who is sifting through the mugs.
Gerard puts on a smile and says excessively loudly “Hey Frank, how are you feeling?” His eyes twitch over at Pete, who’s oblivious of the two.
Frank looks up from his hands and frowns, “Peachy.”
Gerard rolls his eyes inwardly but carries on with the facade. “Great!” He slides alongside Frank and picks up an orange mug, big letters proclaiming ‘I Love Cock’. “Here you can use my mug! People tend to bring and care for their own. Coffee?”
Frank stands still but tilts his head back, slowly raising an eyebrow. He hums and walks back to sit at a nearby table. “Yes, please.”
Gerard places the cup under the machine and presses the buttons. “So, Frank, how has your day been so far?”
“It’s been really good, apart from some two-faced employees.” Franks mouth curls around a tight-lipped smile. He rotates around in his chair to face Gerard, resting his arms on the chair back and table. His shoulders pull at his shirt, stretching the thin material across his torso. The white shirt appears to be covering numerous tattoos, littered across a pale chest.
Gerard snaps his eyes back to Frank’s face and registers his comment. Well, this wasn’t working.
“I do hate those!” Gerard says with a smile more sarcastic than before. The machine finishes with the coffee and he picks it up, walking over to Frank. He sits down in the chair opposite Frank and raises the mug to his mouth, blowing on the hot drink. He takes a sip then passes it across the table. “Perfect, enjoy.”
Frank scowls and reluctantly mumbles thanks but leaves the mug on the table.
A few moments go by with both Frank and Gerard staring at each other, unmoving. Eventually Frank reaches over to the coffee and gulps a mouthful. It’s awful; harsh and bitter. Gerard would have offered to add sugar and make it suit Frank’s tastes, but he’s not going to bother with him acting like a heinous bitch. Inwardly, Gerard feels a pang of guilt for his hypocrisy.
Frank mutters, “Bye.” and walks away towards Pete and Mel.
“What happened there?” Pete asks, nosily. Mel leans further in, clearly interested. So they hadn’t been talking rather staring, thinks Frank.
“Nothing, he made me coffee, but it tasted like shit so I didn’t drink it,” he answers, looking over his shoulder at the table where Gerard is still sat, sipping on the coffee and eyes skipping along the pages of an old paperback he pulled out of his pocket. Frank cranes his neck but fails to see the title.
*
When Brendon waltzes into their apartment around 6 that night, he’s carrying several big brown bags that are probably containing what he’s going to wear that night. William thinks it’s funny that Brendon will wear a sweaty, used shirt to a bar but as soon as it comes to anything slightly highbrow, he buys a new suit. He doesn’t know where he gets the money from. He’s also carrying square boxes of take-out, which he drops on the coffee table before going to his room. William tucks into the vegetable chow mein as Brendon starts talking about some guy who helped him decide what to wear and how nice he was or whatever. As usual, he comes out from his room shirtless and just wearing sweats and flings himself down on the couch.
“Hey! Are you eating my chow mein?” he asks, trying to peek into the carton in William’s hands. William stops eating and looks at Brendon sheepishly before handing him the carton and taking another one. Brendon scowls and takes it from him, and they sit, eating and watching TV for a while.
“So, you ready for anything that happens tonight?” Brendon asks as he fishes out a pepper with his chopsticks from the bottom of the cardboard carton.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, aren’t, like, pretty famous people gonna be there? What if Gabe Saporta’s there?”
William pauses. He hadn’t really though about it. He tells this to Brendon who gives him a half concerned, half amused look and then declares it is time to start getting ready and goes to the bathroom, the drone of the shower heard a moment later.
When they’re both dressed and ready at 10 to 8, they head out of the building, and have to wait a while to get a cab during one of the busiest hours. By the time they arrive it’s almost quarter past, because of course the traffic was going to be horrendous. The crew of Observer assistants who were made to work the doors tonight give William and Brendon a dark green wristband each, and they enter the swanky, event room. There’s a large chandelier hanging from the ceiling, but the organizers haven’t gone for the totally classy look, as it’s pretty dark and the waitresses are dressed in small cocktail dresses and for some reason, feathered masks. They both beeline towards the bar at the other side of the room as soon as they overhear that it’s an open bar. They both get their usuals: a martini for William, and a long island ice tea for Brendon.
“Hey, don’t have too many tonight. You remember what happened last time, right?” William grins at Brendon who laughs and blushes slightly. A couple of weeks before Christmas, they decided to go out and get pretty wasted, so they went to one of the busier clubs in Manhattan, where after a while, they bumped into some of William’s college friends. They tried to persuade them to join them to a strip club and obviously, William and Brendon had nothing better to do, so they stumbled a couple of blocks down to a club called Candies. Somehow, by the end of the night, Brendon had drunkenly stripped on stage, pole-danced to Gaga’s Telephone in nothing but his boxers and a fuchsia boa, grinded with all the female strippers, and allowed everyone in the club to take a body shot off him. What made William even happier than actually being able to remember it were the photos on Facebook the morning after, especially the one where Brendon is pretending to do the scene from Flashdance with a bottle of beer.
William spots Leah in a navy shift dress, looking just as smart as she does at work, calling him over to probably introduce him someone. He finishes his martini and tells Brendon to have fun.
*
Carrie-Anne waits for Gabe in the marble foyer of his building, her tapping Louboutins echoing in the hall which is currently silent except for the murmur of several cleaners and the occasional ding of the elevators. She sighs and scolds him for being late when he emerges from the elevator, smiling charmingly at her.
“I like your suit. Ford?” Carrie-Anne asks as they slide into the black town car with tinted windows.
“D&G,” he replies absentmindedly, checking he has his phone and keys. When they get to the party, Gabe poses for a few photos before going in, telling Carrie-Anne he’ll see her later, and going straight to the bar. He gets a double whiskey on the rocks and starts mingling with the elite of New York that he’s met a hundred times before. Of course, it’s the same boring small talk as usual, but he knows he’s got to get through it. He bumps into Mark, who asks the sulky redhead on his arm if she wants a drink, and goes to the bar with Gabe.
“Hey, so, that guy’s probably here tonight. You should find him.” Mark tells him, ordering a beer for himself and a vodka and coke for his date.
“I don’t know,” Gabe replies, trying to sound blatantly uninterested but Mark doesn’t get the hint.
“It’s cool, I’ll totally ask some people. Oh, sorry bro, Amelia’s calling me over, I’ll speak to you later.” He leaves and grab their drinks as soon as he sees his date beckon him over, looking overly bored. Gabe gives him a nod in goodbye and turns back to the bar. He spends the next hour or so talking to a few of the editors and some of his friends before everyone watches some musician from England do a ten-minute set. He goes back to the bar alone, orders another whiskey and perches on the tall, leather barstool.
*
The crowd claps as the singer thanks everyone, waves goodbye and walks off the stage, the music starting up again from the speakers. Brendon’s talking to some girl who works in the film business, a casting woman or something, so William leaves them to it. He sees he’s finished his drink and saunters over to the bar, sitting down and asking the tired-looking bartender for another martini. Bored, he looks around the bar and as he looks to his left, none other than goddamn Gabe Saporta is sitting next to him. Shit. He takes his drink and swings his back to him, wondering what to do. He turns back and takes another peek, and Jesus Christ, he looks a lot more intimidating in real life. He startles William when he turns to him and starts talking.
“You looking for someone? You’re restless like hell,” Gabe says, giving William this charming little smile.
“Um…no,” William replies and laughs awkwardly, with no idea what to say. Gabe just takes a sip from his drink and extends his hand.
“Gabe Saporta,”
Saporta must know it’s him and he’s probably gonna give him shit for it now. William doesn’t know if there’s anything to do to prevent the inevitable so just replies, “Bill.” Gabe nods and smiles that smile again.
“Just Bill?” he smirks.
“Yes. Just Bill.”
“So, Bill, what do you? Model?” Gabe says, taking another drink and licking his lips afterwards.
William tries not to laugh and he realises, this guy has no idea who he is, he’s just hitting on him. Well, William can certainly use this to his advantage. He takes his glass and drinks from it, peering up at Gabe from his eyelashes, whose eyes just flicker from William’s eyes to his lips.
“No, I’m more of a writer. I work for the paper.”
“Well you can’t blame me for thinking a pretty boy would use his looks, eh?” He smirks.
William just hums in reply, gulps down the rest of his martini and promptly gets up.
“Hey, where’re you going, kid?” Gabe says, frowning as if no one’s ever decided to leave him before.
“Well, pretty boys need their beauty sleep, don’t they?” William smirks as he picks up his jacket and gives Gabe one last look as a goodbye, before grabbing Brendon and rushing out into the freezing January chill.
*
This has not happened to Gabe before. He sits there dumbly, watching the hot boy saunter off and leave him. What the hell has happened to him? No one can resist him, boy or girl, and now with the sudden bitchy article and then this Bill guy, Gabe’s staring to wonder if he’s losing his appeal. He turns to the young girl on his left, a thin blonde girl with big, pink lips and is hugely relieved to find that after a three-minute-long conversation, she’s seductively telling him her apartment is only four blocks away and her roommate is really, really hot and can allegedly fit her whole fist in her mouth. He’s considering taking her up on her offer but then Mark comes up to him, grabs him by the elbow and leads him away, so Gabe has to shout behind his shoulder that he’d love to, but maybe another time.
“Hey, man, what are doing?” Gabe says, shaking Mark off him when they get to the cloakroom.
“What were you doing talking to the guy that wrote the article?” Mark says in a quick, rushed tone.
“You’re telling me that bimbo wrote it?” Gabe says, cocking an eyebrow, ignoring Mark’s use of ‘guy’ and trying to remember the name of the writer.
“No, the guy you were talking to before her! The tall one with the long hair, remember? That’s William Beckett, the guy who wrote it.” Mark snaps, taking a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and stepping outside. Gabe stands in the dark hallway, confused as fuck.
*
Gerard glides up to the lingerie department in his break. Over the past few days, Frank had managed to get under his skin. He made his blood boil like few he’d met before which is impressive considering he has known the guy for less than a week. He spent a good few minutes compiling a mental list of why this could be - starting with his eating habits. Frank always takes two fucking bites and then starts chewing. Who the fuck does that? Not to mention his obnoxious giggle. Gerard’s temper cracks when Frank’s eating and laughing in the lunch room. He’s also constantly eager, like he has never never seen a Bloomingdales before. He wants to slap him and tell him to shut the fuck up. He also drinks decaf. Decaf. Is he secretly a 50-year old woman who’s worried she won’t get her afternoon nap if she drinks one cup of normal fucking coffee? Gerard approaches Frank who’s standing patiently, waiting on customers.
“Hey Frank, tried any lacey underwear on recently?”
Frank doesn’t tear his eyes away from a fixed point in the store.
“Just a second, I’m trying to imagine you with a personality.”
Gerard lifts an eyebrow and scoffs, folding his arms. What poor sense of humour - he never did like anyone from North Carolina. Or named Frank. No, he definitely doesn’t like Franks. Nevertheless, accepting defeat, he grudgingly stomps away. Frank, on the other hand, smiles to himself - he is a stone cold fox.
*
During a break, Gerard sets himself down eager to eat his lunch. He rolls his sleeves up, licks his lips and lifts the sandwich to his mouth. Oh he is so ready for this. He opens wide to take the first big bite.
At that moment, Frank walks past slowly. Turning his head, he catches Gerard’s eye, “and I thought you only opened your mouth in the bedroom,” he taunts as he proudly walks away. He is on a roll.
Gerard snarls and bites down hard into the bread.
*
Frank steadily holds onto the white box. The smell of the cupcakes drifts into his nose and he is genuinely excited to eat them. Turning onto the staff entrance street, up ahead on the path he notices another man striding down from the opposite direction.
As they approach one another, Frank positions a impassive scowl on his face ready to meet his equally scornful opponent. Their eyes lock as soon as they’re in close sight. They walk solidly up to the entrance, eyes in an unwavering battle. Gerard manages to annoy Frank to an extent he didn’t know was possible. He’s not sure if Gerard’s face or Gerard’s lousy personality that’s more exasperating. In any case, the combined effort of his stupid up-turned nose, his crude comments and how proud his after he makes them is enough to make Frank see red. At the door, they stop, still facing one another.
“Frank,” greets Gerard, a faux smile on his lips. His eyes slip down to his hands. “Nice box.”
Frank exaggerates a laugh, “Thanks, Gerard!” Fucking asshole.
“Here,” Gerard pulls the door open and gestures with his hand. “After you.”
“Thanks.”
Frank walks down the corridor and towards the elevator which is currently on its route up before it descends back down to them. A few of their colleagues are waiting patiently for the slow descent of the elevator. Gerard catches up to Frank and stands closely by him, their shoulders brushing. Frank’s not majorly creeped out by physical contact but he knew something was going on here. Leaning over, Gerard twists his neck to look at the box in the other man’s arms.
“Oh, Magnolia? I love their cupcakes!” Before Frank can process a thought, the elevator pings and opens, Gerard pushes the box up and out of Frank’s hands and rounds everyone into the elevator.
Frank’s eyes bulge and his face scrunches up and he fumbles to catch the box. He looks up in time to catch Gerard walking in and turning to face Frank, a devilish smirk on his lips. Frank fumes. What the fuck? He opens the box of cupcakes and grabs onto the first mess he sees and aims it directly into the elevator.
The cupcake hits Gerard square in the forehead just as the doors shut.
*
William’s weekend is nothing extraordinary after that. After he left Gabe at the bar on Friday, he recounted it to Brendon in the cab ride back home, who found the whole meeting hilarious. They spent Saturday morning taking care of their own business, and went out drinking on Saturday night, where they had to walk 12 blocks back to their apartment because they totally forgot about putting aside any cash for a cab home. But it was worth it, because they walked past a late night sex shop, which Brendon ran into and bought a pair of heavy-duty handcuffs, prompting William to scold him for forgetting he had money. William then cuffed him to a railing as a punishment after his poor apology (“I never said I had no money...I was saving!”) and laughed at his feeble attempts to free himself. They stumbled back home and on Sunday morning, a hungover William awoke to find the handcuffs attached to his bed and Brendon gulping down an energy drink in the kitchen, explaining to William that he was called last-minute to cover a shift today as he ran around the apartment half dressed, smelling of alcohol and fresh deodorant.
While Brendon was at work, William showered and walked to the local grocery store, where he and Brendon would compete over who could get more discount or free stuff from the little, old Chinese lady who would watch them bend over for items on the bottom shelves. Feeling particularly suave that day, he’d only worn a thin, small coat so that when he reached up for the highest box of cereal, he knew Mrs. Wong would happily give him 20% off for being a ‘good boy’. Brendon just scoffed that night and said William would never beat the day he wore short-shorts in the middle of summer and got half off.
*
“Can I have these in a size up?” Gabe says, waving the tan, leather shoe he’s trying on at the shop assistant. when she takes it and scuttles off, Gabe wiggles his toes nonchalantly, looking around. He made Mark go shoe shopping with him after he scuffed his favourite pair that weekend. Somehow, Mark found out that the writer guy Gabe hit on wasn’t that interested. Gabe doesn’t remember telling him an certainly doesn’t find it as amusing.
“So, this is the first guy ever to turn you down? Ever?” he laughs, barely looking up from his phone.
“He did not turn me down. I didn’t even ask him out. You can’t turn down someone if they haven’t even asked you out,” Gabe snapped.
Mark just laughs again and throws a balled-up sock at Gabe.
“You’re only saying that because you couldn’t get him,”
Gabe scoffs. “I wasn’t even trying! Trust me, if I was, there’s no way he could’ve resisted,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows mockingly.
“You so couldn’t,”
“Yes, I could, jackass! Anyway, I don’t even like that guy, he still wrote shit about me,”
“You’re just saying that cause you know you couldn't get him in million years,”
“Yes, I could!”
“Fine!” Mark pauses, and thinks for a second. “I’ll bet you that you can’t get him to sleep with you,” he smirks.
“Are you sure you wanna do that?” Gabe says, already confident.
“We’ll see, Saporta. How’s... $100, and you’ve got 4 weeks?”
“Done.”
They shake hands just before the assistant turns up with Gabe’s shoes.
This isn’t even a challenge, Gabe thinks. Sure, the guy was a little hostile at first and well, Gabe doesn’t even really like him, only thinks he’s hot and seemingly hard to get. Well, Gabe’s a very charming guy. Poor kid doesn’t stand a chance.
*
William’s sitting at his desk the following Monday, absent-mindedly biting on his pen. Viv and Hugo have pulled up their chairs at William’s desk, slacking off for their usual 10 minutes before they all go on their break. William’s suspicious as to how they ever get work done.
“All I’m saying is that I’d rather-” Hugo begins to say, but gets cut off by the office phone on William’s desk ringing. William reaches over and picks up the receiver, spinning around to face away from the others, who would probably do something stupid to make to him laugh.
“Hello, Observer newspaper, this is William Beckett speaking. How can I help you?” William’s actually surprised to get a call on this phone, because they’re usually transfers and no one really calls a junior writer that isn’t someone from another department.
“Hey, William, is it?” the familiar voice crackles down the line. “This is Gabe. Gabe Saporta.”
William freezes and he spins around furiously, eyes widening as he faces Hugo and Vivienne’s curious faces.
“Um-just a second,” he squeaks and muffles the speaker with the palm of his hand. “It’s Gabe Saporta,” he just says and watches their faces mimic his. “Why is the fuck is he calling me?” he says, before it hits him that he could very well scream at him for writing the article. It wasn’t exactly...subtle. Shit.
“Well, find out!” Hugo says and grabs the receiver, presses hold and slams it back down on the holder. After several seconds of silence, he manically flails his wrists to signal to William to ask.
“Um, yes?” he speaks out into air.
“Hey, we met the other night and I think got off the the wrong foot. We should put this behind us, right? So, I was wondering, do you want to go for a drink this week?”
Huh. William was certainly not expecting that. Was he...hitting on him? Again? Before he can do anything, Hugo’s pressed hold.
“Oh my God, you’re going right?” he hisses, leaning over the desk, face full of glee.
“What? No!” Williams cries. “Why would I? He was so arrogant and sleazy and dumb and just... vile. Why is he asking me?”
This is what William can’t understand. Why on earth is he doing this? Surely he must’ve read the article, or at least found out before he called. And where did he get his number? But at his reply, Hugo gasped and pulled a face of disbelief.
“You have to go! It’ll be hilarious and then you’ll tell us-”
William cuts him off when he realizes they’ve kept Gabe Saporta on hold without saying. When he presses the small key, he quietens Hugo by clamping his mouth shut with his hand.
“Hello? Is anyone-”
“Yes, sorry about that,” William replies, struggling to keep Hugo away.
“Well, have you got an answer for me?” Gabe says, and William can practically hear the smirk in his voice. Ugh.
“Hm, well, about that, I’m afraid that-” but William doesn’t manage to finish his sentence. Hugo’s fought him off and grabbed the receiver and since he’s already on the other side of the desk, furthered himself quickly enough from William to squeak in a horrendous, fake American accent, “I’d love to!”
Still fighting William off, Hugo hears Gabe happily answer “Great, I’ll get my assistant to set it up,” before throwing the phone down on the holder.
“What did you just do?!” William shouts but it’s no use, as by that point, Hugo’s crying with laughter, banging his fist loudly on the glass desk.
*
“Why don’t you want go?” Brendon says but William can’t take him seriously because he’s eating cereal from a big wine glass. William sighs and flops down on the couch, kicking off his shoes. He’s just got back from work and after telling Brendon about Hugo’s infuriating meddling, he’s ready to fill the other wine glass with proper wine. But instead, he’s being made to explain why he wouldn’t ever want to date such a pompous ass.
“Because he’s a pompous ass!” William says. “He’s completely obsessed with looks and money and he’s richer than half of America, and yet he does nothing all day long. And he’s so goddamn attention-seeking, his relationships are all over the tabloids and I’m sure he does nothing to benefit society in any way. Oh and he only talks to celebrities, he thinks he’s so superior to everyone else and-”
“I’m sorry but how do you know this? You’ve barely met the guy and you’re assuming a lot about him,” Brendon says, and...damn him. “Look, why don’t you just go, try to have a good time and if really sucks, just leave early?”
“I don’t know. Won’t I sound like massive hypocrite?” William asks, and he could always turn up and leave, if he really doesn’t want to. Standing Gabe up would be a pretty dickish thing to do, though.
“Who cares, man?” Brendon just replies and tips the dregs of cereal into his mouth.
*
Gabe taps his fingers impatiently on the bar, scanning the room quickly. Gabe’s pretty sure he’s gonna turn up. Gabe’s never been stood up before, and it’s not gonna start now. However, he can’t help feel slightly worried about that prospect because, clearly, this guy’s not like the others. So when he catches a glimpse of William’s tall, slim frame at the door, Gabe coolly turns back to the bar and waits.
“Gabe?”
Gabe turns to this, and is faced with the same very pretty, very indifferent boy as a week ago. He takes a sip, and wises this kid up. He doesn’t look particular eager and Gabe notices that he’s still wearing his coat.
“Um, sorry, but I don’t think I can do tonight, I mean, I came down to tell you-”
“Wait, what?”Gabe interrupts him, fearing this going the way he’s dreading.
“I...I have to go,” he says, and turns away.
He’s just stepped away in the direction of the exit, but Gabe’s caught him by the wrist and turned him around.
“Can’t you stay for just one drink?” he says, trying not to sound too eager. He watches William internally fight with himself before finally deciding to sit down on the next barstool. He orders a martini and sheds his coat, all the while avoiding Gabe’s eye. He really is pretty hot, Gabe thinks, watching William’s tight shirt rise slightly as he moves on the seat. If that wasn’t enough, his cold demeanour and indifferent expression just make Gabe want him more, because this is on a whole new level of hard to get. As they slowly strike up conversation, that become even more apparent. Obviously, Gabe’s flirting like crazy, but this guy isn’t responding and Gabe’s running out of ideas. He tries to make him laugh and succeeds a few times, so when he’s finished his first drink, Gabe orders him another before he tries to leave.
As the night progresses, and they both drink more and more, they’re definitely having more fun. William stopped being a sour bitch after 20 minutes and although he occasionally quietens, Gabe knows he’s having a good time. It’s not very late when William says he’s got to go for real this time, so Gabe quickly pays for their drinks and follows him out. Show time, he thinks.
William notices he’s stumbling as he walks out of the bar. It was some trendy, expensive place and he offered to pay, but of course Gabe got it. They stand by the curb and Gabe raises his arm to hail a cab.
“So, I had a really good time tonight,” William says, smiling at Gabe, who just grins back.
“You wanna continue it at my place?” Gabe asks, smirking as he gives up hope of getting a cab late on a Friday night this quickly.
“You’re so bad,” William laughs and lightly hits Gabe on the chest, who just moves closer to William in response. William’s very tipsy and he’s can’t help thinking about how warm Gabe must be, so when Gabe steps closer and rests his hands on William’s hips, William doesn’t bat him away. He looks up at Gabe, taking in his masculine, tan features, who just smirks. William’s not even thinking when Gabe leans after a few moments of silence and slowly presses his lips against William’s. William sighs into the kiss and moves in closer, bringing his arms up to encircle Gabe’s neck. A car horn blasts from the road, and jolts William back into reality. What is he doing? He breaks away from Gabe and turns back to the street, flinging his arm up. Luckily, an empty cab pulls up and it’s only by the time William’s opened the door that Gabe responds, grabbing William’s wrist .
“Hey, what’re you doing?” he says, obviously confused.
“Look, I had great time but I’ve got to go,” William says and clambers into the cab.
“But...You didn’t even give me your number!” Gabe cries as the cab starts and begins to pull out. William just shrugs at him and as he drives away, he looks back to see Gabe standing there, still
confused, watching William drive away.
What the fuck did William just do? He hates socialites, fame, how fake it all is. He went to the...date? Was it a date? Either way, he went with the intention of leaving straight away and somehow got dragged into staying for several hours. He also doesn’t know if Gabe knows about the article; he never mentioned it. And then William stats to wonder why asked him out in the first place and seemed so keen to make him stay.
When his head starts to hurt, he tries to forget about it and when he stumbles into the apartment, only succeeds in recounting the whole night to Brendon.
*
“Hey Frankie!” a chorus of greetings sweeps through the staff.
“Good morning, guys!” A cheery voice announces striding (as far as those stupid little legs can stretch) across the floor. Gerard scowls and pulls a face at Isla. She giggles and flings herself over Gerard’s hunched figure, currently sprawled out on the floor with a large cardboard cut out of Wonder Woman at the tip of his paintbrush. He had spent spare moments in the mornings of the last few days painting her for the launch of the new M.A.C product line. They had obviously received some other forms of promo - posters, cards and other things - but Gerard wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to impress.
Gerard let out an ‘oof’ noise, “Fucking get off me, Shamu,” he grumbles and pushes her to the side. She rolls over and laughs.
“Cheer up, grumpy! What happened to being nice to Frank? Everyone else in the store loves him - he’s a really nice guy,” questions Isla. ‘Traitor’, thinks Gerard.
“He’s been here for like, I don’t know, two and a half weeks? And people are queuing around the block to shine his shoes! I personally do not see what so great about him,” he retorts, defensively. He keeps his eyes down, knowing that she’s giving him a deliberate look as if she’s figured the answer to the universe.
“So you’re jealous of his instant popularity and genuine likeability?” Gerard hunches his shoulders and lets out a dramatically exasperated sigh.
“He’s going to steal my job! I’ve been working for a promotion for ages and he waltzes in and captures Pete’s heart, I won’t let him, goddammit.” He hisses under his breath.
Isla lifts her hands in withdrawal and surrender then pushes herself up. “You don’t know what he wants. Be careful, Gee, don’t jump to conclusions.”
He rolls his eyes and carries on painting over the same spot as he’d been doing for the last 10 minutes. Gerard’s stubborn mindset refused to take in what she said - Frank totally has some sort of vendetta against him and Gerard’s feelings are more than mutual - he will not let him win! He peers over at Lingerie from under his hair, trying to mask his curiosity. Frank’s talking actively with his hands to Valerie, motioning at the various stands surrounding them then leads her over to a mannequin and lifts several items to it. She tilts her head slightly and takes a step back, eventually nodding head and placing a hand on his shoulder. Gerard swears under his breath and stands up, dusting his clothes off. Frank’s display should be no match for Gerard’s, but he’s new and this is his first. The staff and management already know Gerard’s creative, they’ve seen things he’s done before. But Frank - Frank’s a fresh mind. Whatever he does will seem ten times more impressive. A small voice shouts ‘You’re being irrational!’ in the back of his mind, but Gerard’s mind is already too busy plotting sabotage to even notice it.
Next