Make A Wish

“Hello?” he said as he picked up the phone.

“Good afternoon, may I please speak to a Mr. Frank Iero?” asked the commanding feminine voice over the line.

“This is he.”

“Very good, will you hold on a moment while I transfer you to another line?” she queried politely. “Mr. Toro wanted to give you the news himself.”

What news? And where did that name ring a bell? Why did it? “Sure,” he muttered. It wasn’t like he had much choice as he heard the lady switch him over to another line. Great, he hated waiting.

“Frank, my boy!” exclaimed a cheerful older man. Toro. “You will not believe it, but we’ve managed to fulfill your wish!”

“My wish?”

“It was quite difficult,” he rambled on, “but we managed to do it! You will be spending some arranged time with Gerard Way! How is that for a birthday wish? I’m sure this has to be a very exciting 18th birthday for you, young man! So how are you today, Frank?”

His mouth dropped open. Was this old coot crazy? He was going to meet Gerard Way? His idol! The musical prodigy? The man he aspired to be like? Shit.

“You’re joking,” he stated flatly. “You’re seriously bloody joking.”

“Nope,” Toro responded cheerfully, quite use to these older children that never believed that the Make a Wish Foundation was fulfilling their request.

“I’m very serious. You will be meeting Gerard Way at the end of this week. There are a few details that still must be discussed with your parents, though. But I wanted to give you the news myself because I’ve read a lot about your special case. And… you are a very brave young man, Frank. I hope this wish is everything that you dream it would be.”

Frank dropped the phone. The man couldn’t be serious. He was really meeting Gerard Way… and he was rather calm about the whole matter. He figure he’d be hyperventilating, but he supposed that all the training he’d done to keep himself collected for his mother was paying off. That didn’t mean he could speak though. He thought he’d just lost his voice. Bloody hell. This was really happening.

It had to be. He’d heard of the Make a Wish Foundation. His parents must have made the wish for him, knowing how much he worshipped Gerard Way. But he didn’t really think they liked the darn singer. Yet, they had to know how much it meant to him. This was the best birthday present he could have ever got gotten. His bottom lip trembled. Lord, he loved his parents.

He saw that his mother was grinning at him, having picked up the phone and started talking to Toro while Frank had been staring around in a complete daze. “It’s time we had some good news,” she remarked. “How’s that for an 18th birthday present?”

“Fan-bloody-tastic, mum!” he cried out, launching himself at her. “You’re unbelievable! How did you arrange that? Gerard is notoriously anti-social and that whole shebang. I can’t believe this! You’re awesome mum!”

“I pulled a few strings,” his mother replied warmly. “And Toro’s an old family friend of ours. He was more than willing to help us.”

Frank hugged his mother hard. “I love you, mum. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Frank.”

~

“No fucking way!” Gerard roared at his agent, publicist and best friend, Bert McCracken. “There’s no bloody way I’m playing baby-sitter to a damn fan. You know I’m not into this for the fame or the money or the fans, just the music! And who cares about the publicity?”

“Well,” Bert remarked smoothly, “it would do wonders for your reputation. Even if you don’t want the fans, you have them. It’s time that you did something for them. Is it so bad to be worshipped, Gee? I recall you use to make time for your fans before, you said they were your backbone.”

“That was before life wasn’t such a bloody pain in the arse,” Gerard retorted sharply. “So I grew up and grew up jaded. That’s what being a musical prodigy will do to you. I hate the limelight, and if it didn’t give me a chance to create and compose whatever music I wanted to-- I’d get out of it. But it does, so I deal with it. But I don’t have to deal with this! This is not part of my contract!”

“We can make it a part of it.”

“BERT!”

“Now, Gerard,” Bert began when Gerard had finished glaring dead glowers at him, “you need to calm down before you blow a fuse, which is hardly like you. You’re known, quite renown for being cool like a cucumber-- where has that all gone?”

“Down the gutter when you walked in,” Gerard spat.

Bert brought his hand up to his chest. “That hurt, Gerard. That really hurt. I thought you thought better of me, you did sleep with me after all. Are you saying you like my gutter-ness?”

“That’s not a word, you idiot,” Gerard sneered.

Lifting an elegant eyebrow up, Bert leered at his former lover. “Well, well-- no denials, eh? Perhaps, another go sometime? You know you’ve been aching for me to take you on a ride. Maybe after we see this wish through. You can hardly say no, I’ve already telephoned the Foundation and said that it would be our pleasure to fulfil the wish. You wouldn’t want to break a young boy’s heart would you? You aren’t the heartless bastard you try to make yourself out to be, Gerard, and you know it.”

“No,” Gerard snapped, “you’re the bloody bastard.”

Bert chuckled lightly. “Too bad my blood is as blue-blooded as they come.”

“And your heart is as black as they come.”

“Losing your sharp sarcasm? What a pity,” Bert commented offhandedly. “I do enjoy the challenge of your witty banter, but today you’re off your usual pedestal. You should get some rest, Gerard, my friend. You’ve got a full schedule booked for you tomorrow, and you will be picking the boy up at the airport when he flies in the day after tomorrow even if I have to escort you there myself!”

With that, Bert abandoned him to his piano and his sheet music. Blissful solitude finally. Destroyed, unfortunately, by Bert’s urgent news. He growled and ran his fingers over the precious keys. How was it that McCracken always got the upper hand on him? Always had, he thought with bitter remembrance. It was such a goddamn misfortune that Bert was only one that could get the terms he wanted for his albums.

Complete and utter freedom to write what he wanted. Sing what he wanted to sing.