on the rocks
Gerard huffed, frustrated, and pushed up his shirtsleeves where they'd fallen down again. It was too hot. September in New York should not be this warm, he was pretty sure.
"The composition's all wrong, Frank, come on. If we shift the arm angle a little it'd look a billion times better."
Frank made a face. He nudged up his glasses and shoved his hair back in a clumsy movement. All the brylcreem from this morning had been sweat out, and a high blush peeked out from underneath the thick tortoise-shell frames like it always did when he was annoyed, or tired, or both. He loosened his tie even further. If they set foot outside, Brian would almost definitely have words with them about the dress code again, but it was close and smoky and cramped and sticky-hot in their tiny office. Gerard was, by and large, far past the point of caring. Far past any level on which he could even concentrate on the ad work. He and Frank had been hunched over the drawing board for the better part of the afternoon, heads and arms pressed close together.
Frank made another face and drew two quick, frustrated crosses with the stub of a pencil.
"What about here?" he snapped.
Gerard breathed, in through his nose and out through his mouth. Paused momentarily. "I think," he said flatly, "that that would look absolutely fucking ridiculous."
Frank stood up straight and glared. "What the fuck do you want from me, Gerard?" and he was almost yelling, and Gerard couldn't breathe, not any more.
Their faces were dangerously close and Gerard didn't know how. Frank's eyes darted between his, dark and angry. Needle-sharp with something that made Gerard want to run, or throw up, or stay.
And then Frank turned to look at the clock. He picked his jacket from the hook on the door and straightened his tie.
"I have a lunch date," he said brusquely.
~
It was three o'clock and finally, blessedly raining when Frank returned with Jamia to borrow an umbrella before he took her to catch her bus. Gerard was talking to Ray about wedding reception table plans.
"Still pushing the aging single relatives together, huh, Ray?" Frank laughed as he approached, "women, I don't know. Always after some scandal or another."
"Oh, you boys aren't so different from us really," Jamia said fondly.
Frank had his arm wrapped loosely around her waist. She laughed her fluttering laugh and nudged Frank, and when he kissed her cheek Gerard looked away. He swallowed.
"I've fixed the problem we had earlier," he blurted.
"Oh?" Frank said with an odd look on his face. A smile that fitted him all wrong.
Gerard nodded. "The colouring, too. Hope you don't mind. Chose something to really make it pop."
"You creatives," Ray shook his head, "I never know what the hell you're talking about."
Frank grinned. "Nobody does." He looked at his watch, then at Jamia. "Well, we should go if you're going to make that bus. You ready, sweetheart?"
Jamia nooded and smiled and murmured goodbyes, kissing Ray then Gerard on the cheek. Her hand was warm through the material of Gerard's shirt. She was wearing pearls and smelled of flowers; wild roses and rain.
"Perfect couple," smiled Ray as they walked away.
"Yeah,"
~
The clock on the wall read eleven-oh-four. Alice, Gerard's secretary, knocked softly on Gerard's open door.
"I'm going home for the night, Mr. Way," she said shyly, "do you need me to do anything before I leave?"
Gerard shook his head slightly. Alice nodded and said goodnight, shutting lights off as she made her way toward the door.
"No," Gerard sighed to the empty office, eyes adjusting to the dark, "no, I'm just fine."
The amber streetlights created shadows where there weren't before, and Gerard tipped his glass back and forth in his hand, listening to the ice cubes in the whiskey clink against the sides.
"The composition's all wrong, Frank, come on. If we shift the arm angle a little it'd look a billion times better."
Frank made a face. He nudged up his glasses and shoved his hair back in a clumsy movement. All the brylcreem from this morning had been sweat out, and a high blush peeked out from underneath the thick tortoise-shell frames like it always did when he was annoyed, or tired, or both. He loosened his tie even further. If they set foot outside, Brian would almost definitely have words with them about the dress code again, but it was close and smoky and cramped and sticky-hot in their tiny office. Gerard was, by and large, far past the point of caring. Far past any level on which he could even concentrate on the ad work. He and Frank had been hunched over the drawing board for the better part of the afternoon, heads and arms pressed close together.
Frank made another face and drew two quick, frustrated crosses with the stub of a pencil.
"What about here?" he snapped.
Gerard breathed, in through his nose and out through his mouth. Paused momentarily. "I think," he said flatly, "that that would look absolutely fucking ridiculous."
Frank stood up straight and glared. "What the fuck do you want from me, Gerard?" and he was almost yelling, and Gerard couldn't breathe, not any more.
Their faces were dangerously close and Gerard didn't know how. Frank's eyes darted between his, dark and angry. Needle-sharp with something that made Gerard want to run, or throw up, or stay.
And then Frank turned to look at the clock. He picked his jacket from the hook on the door and straightened his tie.
"I have a lunch date," he said brusquely.
~
It was three o'clock and finally, blessedly raining when Frank returned with Jamia to borrow an umbrella before he took her to catch her bus. Gerard was talking to Ray about wedding reception table plans.
"Still pushing the aging single relatives together, huh, Ray?" Frank laughed as he approached, "women, I don't know. Always after some scandal or another."
"Oh, you boys aren't so different from us really," Jamia said fondly.
Frank had his arm wrapped loosely around her waist. She laughed her fluttering laugh and nudged Frank, and when he kissed her cheek Gerard looked away. He swallowed.
"I've fixed the problem we had earlier," he blurted.
"Oh?" Frank said with an odd look on his face. A smile that fitted him all wrong.
Gerard nodded. "The colouring, too. Hope you don't mind. Chose something to really make it pop."
"You creatives," Ray shook his head, "I never know what the hell you're talking about."
Frank grinned. "Nobody does." He looked at his watch, then at Jamia. "Well, we should go if you're going to make that bus. You ready, sweetheart?"
Jamia nooded and smiled and murmured goodbyes, kissing Ray then Gerard on the cheek. Her hand was warm through the material of Gerard's shirt. She was wearing pearls and smelled of flowers; wild roses and rain.
"Perfect couple," smiled Ray as they walked away.
"Yeah,"
~
The clock on the wall read eleven-oh-four. Alice, Gerard's secretary, knocked softly on Gerard's open door.
"I'm going home for the night, Mr. Way," she said shyly, "do you need me to do anything before I leave?"
Gerard shook his head slightly. Alice nodded and said goodnight, shutting lights off as she made her way toward the door.
"No," Gerard sighed to the empty office, eyes adjusting to the dark, "no, I'm just fine."
The amber streetlights created shadows where there weren't before, and Gerard tipped his glass back and forth in his hand, listening to the ice cubes in the whiskey clink against the sides.