Killing's Just A Game

I awake the next morning to someone banging loudly and obnoxiously on my door. My beauty sleep ruined, I storm to the door and wrench it open. No one is there. I peer down the hallway on either side of me; and again, see no one. I look down, shaking my head. There's a piece of paper on the floor. I pick it up.

The paper is thick and a tad bit sticky. I walk back into my apartment and shut the door behind me. I plop down on my couch and turn the paper over. Adorning the paper is a ton of multi sized letters, all cut out from magazines and newspapers. It looks like one of those ransom notes that you see in movies where little kids get kidnapped. In the top right corner is a picture of Frank, with a bandana around his face like an old western movie bandit. He's holding my cell phone at miniature gunpoint.

After a fit of giggles, I finally read the note. It says:

If you ever want to see your precious cell phone again, meet me for coffee at the cafe across the street in one hour. If you're not there, the phone gets it.

Peace, Frank.

At this point, I'm laughing uncontrollably and have fallen off of my seat. When I hit the floor, I stop my laughter and scowl. I haven't had a guy make me laugh, truly and sincerely laugh, in years. How is he doing this to me?

Thank God I don't have any roommates. Between my bipolar episodes and clients, they would probably think I'm a complete idiot by now. Or I would have killed them. It's anyone's guess really...

An hour later, I'm seated across from Frank in a booth at the cafe. He's holding my cell phone dangerously, and I shit you not, it's blindfolded. In a completely conspicuous way, Frank unties my phone and extends his arm towards me. I reach to grab the phone, but he pulls it away.

"I think I'll hang on to this for a while," Frank comments, shoving it in his pocket.

"Why?" I complain, "I want my phone back!"

"Well, because if I give you your phone back, you'll just get up and run away. And I'm not really much for girls who play hard to get," he jokes.

"What if I promise not to leave?" I bargain. Frank pulls his eyebrows together in thought, appraising my suggestion.

"No deal. I keep the phone until the date is over," he concludes, "I'm not taking the risk of losing you just yet, Melanie Kane."

I cross my arms and lean back in my seat, fully prepared to pout.

"Don't be mad at me, Mel," Frank whines, putting on a much more irresistable pouty face than mine.

"Oh, how can I refuse that face?" I smirk, sitting up straight again. Frank smiles, my heart melts, and we dive into conversation.

"So, you never told me what you do for a living," he hedges, clearly wanting to learn more about me. I manage a small smile and think carefully. I hadn't planned this far ahead yet. My profession is one of the most important lies I make in a work relationship. Hell, it's the one thing I have to lie about

"I just finished all of my schooling, actually," I improvise, unsure which route to take with this. I needed a decent job, one that could help me get in with the band. Surely there was something. "I'm actually going to be in the music business, well hopefully. I'm with public representations at a small firm nearby."

"So you want to be a PR person?" Frank's eyes light up. I can't help but get lost in their depth. They're so vibrant and fun, yet so deep and mysterious. There has to be more to Frank Iero than he's letting on.

"Yes," I respond, taking a little too much time to recover from my drooling episode.

"Are you representing any artists yet?" he presses. Yes, I'm right. He definitely has something more going on in that head of his.

"Not yet, but like I said, I just finished all of my training. I'm sure something will come along soon," I say. I can't help but hide the edge in my voice. He's making me uncomfortable, it's like he's investigating me, not the other way around.

"I think something has come along sooner than you think," Frank murmers, pulling out his phone, whilst handing me mine.

"What do you mean?" I inquire.

Frank holds up one finger, signaling me to be silent. I oblige, for the sake of eavesdropping on his conversation as best I can.

"Hey, Gee?" Frank says into the phone, "You know how we were talking about needing media representation, since you know..." he trails off.

I know what he's doing now. Frank's calling Gerard, the fan girl declared "leader" of the band. He's getting me approved, he's getting me in. He is so adorably clueless!

"Right, well, I think we've found our girl," Frank snaps the phone shut. It's only then that I realize my moment of realization made me miss the majority of the discussion.

"You don't mind hanging around to meet the rest of the band, do you?"

"What band?" I ask, hoping that I seem innocent and naive.

Frank sighs and pushes his hair out of his eyes, unleashing their full force on me. It's so unfair.

"Let's start over," he suggests, "Hello, and you are?"

"Melanie Kane?" I struggle to say, wondering what he wants. Frank makes a prodding motion with his hand, urging me to add more. "I'm in public representation?"

Frank nods encouragingly. "Hello, Melanie. I'm Frank Iero, and I'm the rhythmic guitarist for a band called My Chemical Romance."