‹ Prequel: Frank Iero: P.A.

Gerard Way: Artist


The view from my studio is spectacular this morning. I've been casually drawing for most of the morning, catching up on the work that didn't get done for my collection at the MOMA. However, as 8 o'clock drew closer I found myself planted in front of the window staring down the street intently waiting for my sexy stranger to appear.

Finally, after 15 minutes of standing at the window, he comes into view. I check my watch; he's going to be late. I don't like tardiness.

I walk briskly from my studio downstairs to the office. As I'm passing through the assistant's office on the way to my I own I notice a framed photograph sitting in the corner of the room; it belongs to Marty. I snatch it up and drop it into the bin, hearing the distinct sound of glass shattering. Cruel? Yes. Do I care? Not in the least.

There are printed emails sitting on my desk that I've been meaning to read for the last two days. I browse them, trying to look busy before Ellie comes to tell me my stranger is here. It doesn't take long.

“Gerard,” she calls as she knocks on my door, “you new assistant has arrived.”

I nod. “Show him through.”

“Show who through?” she asks, smugly.

I narrow my eyes at her. “I will learn his name, Ellie.”

She mutters something in French under her breath as she leaves my office. A moment later I hear her greet the sexy stranger. She doesn't waste time with small talk as she leads him to my office. He looks as gorgeous as I remember, but the trousers he is wearing don't cling to him the way his jeans did on the train. I'm a little disappointed.

“You’re late, I don’t like that,” I begin before Ellie has even left the room. I take in his appearance more thoroughly. “You’re wearing slacks and dress shoes,” I continue, “I don’t like that, either. Tomorrow you wear jeans and converse – no negotiations.”

Sexy stranger looks down to his feet and then back up again; he doesn’t look too happy with my comment. I need to work the question of his name into the conversation.

“As my P.A., your job is to answer the phones, say no to any art gallery that wants to show my work on a regular basis, and organise my publicity – phone interviews only. I don’t do talk shows, I don’t do variety shows, and if Oprah calls, you can tell her to go fuck herself.” I stand up and walk through to Marty’s old office. “You’ll work in here. There’s the computer, there’s the phone, there’s the appointment book, and there’s the rolodex. Where do you live exactly, uh...”

“It’s Frank,” he replies. “I live on the other side of town.”


Not as sexy a name as I was hoping for, but I can work with it. Him living so far away from me, however, is not something I can work with.

“That’s not going to work; I need my P.A. to be easily accessible. You’ll live here – organise a truck to pick up your things tomorrow. That is all.”

I leave Frank to his own devices; the piece for the MOMA needs to be finished today and I don't have time to waste. As I reach the stairs one more rule occurs to me. I poke my head into Frank's office.

“One other thing, Frank,” I say, looking at him with such intensity he wouldn't dare break this rule, “my studio; you don’t enter it – ever.”

I don't wait for his response. There is too much to be done and he is way too distracting to look at for any longer than is necessary. It only takes me a minute or so to get back upstairs to my studio. I've barely had a chance to pick up a pencil before there is a knock on the door.

“Ellie,” I say when I open the door. “Is there a problem?”

“He's very handsome,” she says immediately.

I look at the laundry basket in her hands pointedly, then meet her eyes. “Shouldn't you be doing something about that?”

“Gerard,” she says firmly. Ellie only ever speaks to me firmly when she wants me to listen. “That boy,” she points in the general direction of the stairs dramatically, “is not good for you right now. You don't want to be distracted with everything that is happening with Michael and your work. Toby will only make it more difficult for you if he so much as senses that you like this new boy.”

“I don't like him,” I say quickly – too quickly. Ellie looks triumphant. “And even if I did, which I most certainly do not, Toby would be too dense to ever pick up on it.”

“I suppose you're right,” she concedes. “Toby still hasn't noticed that your interest in him has dwindled.”

I shrug. “He'll figure it out.”

Ellie hates it when I take such a lax attitude toward my relationship with Toby; she doesn't bother to hide it from me any more. Her eyes are narrowed and she looks about ready to hit me with the basket in her arms. The thing with Ellie is that she has been married for close to two thirds of her life, and the man she married is the only one she has ever “been” with. Understandably, she takes relationships very seriously.

“You should at least set him right before he becomes too invested in you,” she says.

I laugh. “No one ever gets invested in me, Ellie, you know that.”

She sighs heavily. “I'll give Frank the tour.”

When I go back into my studio I find myself thinking about my relationship with Toby. I do care about him, enough to sleep with him at least, but surely my feelings go beyond that for him? Being alone forever is not the life plan, but I've never found someone who I feel comfortable enough around to get attached to. Right now Toby is just around for sex; there's time for us to build on our connection, I just hope he's more interesting than he comes across.

The canvas of Frank catches my eye. I'm still trying to move past how attractive the man himself is; if he weren't my employee he could be a great replacement for Toby should that physical relationship ever become exhausted. But the fact of the matter is that he is my assistant and for all I know right now, he is just as stupid as Toby is and just as useless as Marty was when he held the position.

It occurs to me now just how little I know about the man I've just hired. He'll be handling my bank details, my sales, my bills, perhaps even some of my personal affairs. That is a big risk to take on an unknown kid, and I'm not someone who likes to take big risks. So why did I do it?

Because he was attractive... and he was the only one who had been perfectly honest in their opinion of me.

I walk over to my intercom and hold down the button. “Ellie – I need you up here now.”

It only takes a minute or so for Ellie to meet me out the front of my studio. She smiles at me as she approaches.

“Gerard, I take back my earlier comments about Frank – he is absolutely delightful,” she says.

“Did you happen to catch his last name?” I ask her.

Her smile vanishes. “Did you not?”

“It didn't come up,” I reply. “Do you know it or don't you?”

“Iero,” she answers. “I-E-R-O. You may like more than his looks once you get talking to him, you know.”

I shake my head. “I won't be doing much of that Ellie. He is here to be my assistant and I'll treat him as such, beginning right now with an in depth look into his background. Can you find me the number of the investigator we used on Marty?”

“Do you really need to go to all that trouble?” Ellie asks me. “I'm sure he would oblige if you simply asked him what you want to know.”

I turn on my heels and head back into my studio. “Get me that number, Ellie,” I demand without looking back.
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My apologies for not putting this up yesterday. I haven't had my laptop for a week and I had Friday off work, so I couldn't do it there either. But, good news, it's my birthday today :)

21 years old... good lord- I'm old.

So, make my birthday present a metric shit-tonne of comments, okay? Good.

Coming up in Gerard Way: Artist...

“Thanks for coming, Gerard,” Alicia greets me when I enter the apartment. I've had a key since the day they moved in and have never once knocked on the door to gain entry.

Mikey is sprawled out on the corner sofa. There's a sickening aroma on the air, which I'm gathering is coming from the bucket on the floor beside my brother.

“Hey, Gee,” Mikey croaks. His face is paler than usual.

“Bad day?” I ask.