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David caught up to him the next day during Frank’s morning break. It was only September, still balmy in the afternoons, but starting to be cool in the mornings, and Frank enjoyed the change in seasons enough to spend as much time outside as he could before winter made it a miserable prospect. He usually sat in Cooper Triangle between classes, now that almost all of his were down here at the Journalism building instead of spread out all over. He and Billy had a place in Little Italy, this tiny little two bedroom joint that was nicer than any place Frank had lived since he left the dorms his first time through college. It was more expensive than he would have liked, but it was close to school and to the station, and Billy didn’t actually live there right now so it was kind of perfect.
When Frank had gotten out of the Marines and decided to go back to school for something other than the military science degree he’d gotten from GWU before joining the Corps, he’d never have guessed it would be journalism he’d be getting his degree in. But the more he thought about it, the better it would be to have a degree in something like that, something that could translate into thousands of different career options. Plus, he’d spent enough time on the inside of the military propaganda machine to understand how powerful stories could be when told the “right” way. He wanted to be able to tell his stories, too.
So, Journalism it was, though he did focus on multimedia and audio broadcasting as much as he was able, because he liked radio and video. He was always better at explaining things that way than in writing.
“Hiya, Frank,” David said, handing over a large coffee as he sat on the bench Frank had picked for himself. Frank grunted, still not fully functioning. “Late night?”
Frank took the coffee, knowing it’d be black (“Like your mood,” David had told him the first time they’d gotten morning coffee together), and took a large sip, sighing contentedly. “Thanks, David,” he said, saluting him with the coffee. “Yeah, it was late. I got wind of a last minute show for this little alt-rock-new-wave-revival group I like, but it was out at Brooklyn Steel.” Frank laughed, looking around at the other undergrads milling about in the Triangle, waiting on classes and friends. All of them were in their early twenties at most, and here he was, almost thirty. “I’m not as young as I used to be. But I’m getting used to being the old man in the crowd.”
David laughed along with him, another old man in the crowd of undergrads, though he was a Grad student who’d taken two years away from school to work after getting his bachelors so while he was twenty-five to Frank’s almost twenty-nine, he was still a bit older than some of his classmates.
David hummed in understanding, sipping his own confectionary monstrosity of a coffee, and sat, too still, next to Frank.
Frank gave him thirty seconds before he said something. “Alright, you got something to say, say it, Lieberman. You’re vibration’ with it, fuck.”
The words left David in a rush, like he’d barely been holding them in. “So who’s the girl?”
Frank kept his face blank except for a single quirked eyebrow. “Hm?”
David slugged him in the shoulder, trying to subtly shake out his hand after. “Your Blond-O-Sonic Shimmer Trap! C’mon, Frank, it had to be someone at the party, right? I know you went straight to the studio after. Come ooooooonnnnnnn!”
David was whining and Frank was doing his best not to crack a smile at how he sounded, like Frank had the winning lotto numbers or something, instead of a little crush. “I don’t know her,” he says at last, losing his battle and chuckling softly into his coffee. “I’ve just seen her around, usually in the Journalism building, sometimes at the library. She walked into the party Friday looking like a goddamn dream, legs for miles, skin all glowing...she looked good and she knew it. But she walked in right before I had to go, and disappeared into the crowd with someone so I couldn’t catch her.”
David was nodding, looking gleeful. He’d been dating the same girl since his senior year of undergrad, and he had officially taken up the spot of “In Love Friend” in Frank’s life, the one who was always trying to set everyone else up because they wanted everyone to be coupled up, too.
“Get that look off your face, Lieberman. No fuckin’ matchmaking. None. Hear me?” Frank pointed at him, eyes narrowed. “Tell Sarah. No goddamn matchmaking. It’s an infatuation, that’s it. She’s a stunner, and I spent six years in the Corps, and a lot of that time in the desert being dirty and filthy with men who were just as dirty and filthy, and as much as I love my buddies, that’s not how I swing so maybe I’m still a little bowled over by a beautiful woman, sue me. No. Fucking. Matchmaking.”
David and Sarah threw a party for Halloween, which was on a Tuesday, and Frank was actually looking forward to it. He’d had no hint of matchmaking bullshit from either of them so he felt pretty safe. He was going as a boxer, in gear he already owned, and was glad it didn’t take long to get ready and get up to Kips Bay. It’d been a hell of a day, and he’d only managed a short nap after his last class.
“Hey yo, Frankie! You ready?”
Frank smiled to himself. Billy was home.
Billy’d been here for about a week, and would be here for another month, using up some of the leave he earned and never took, and actually sleeping in the apartment he paid half the rent on. He’d run to the bodega to grab a couple bottles of something and a thing of cups, refusing to show up to a college party empty handed. Frank tried to explain that it was mostly over-stressed grad students, but Billy’d have none of it.
“You know how long it’s been since I was at a college party, Frankie? To a party at all? Let me live a little.” Billy had smiled his most charming smile, which Frank deadpanned in reply, but Billy went to the bodega anyway, entirely undeterred.
He was dressed as Billy Idol, which Frank thought was a bit much but it wasn’t his costume so he shrugged. Also, it was New York. On a regular day no one was gonna look at the pair of them twice, let alone on Halloween.
The party is in full swing by the time they get there, and while Frank was telling the truth that it would be mostly grad students he’d definitely downplayed how raucous it would be. Billy punched him in the shoulder when he saw the overflow of people in the hallway, spilling out from the door to David and Sarah’s apartment. “You liar!” Billy said, indignant but smiling. Frank laughed and led the way, walking in to try and find their hosts.
He found them in the kitchen, and he laughed loudly when he saw them.
They were dressed as Dirk Diggler and Amber Waves from “Boogie Nights.”
“Great costume, you two,” he said, stepping forward to kiss Sarah’s cheek and hug David before turning and gesturing to Billy. “Sarah, David, this is Billy Russo.”
Sarah smiled and stepped forward, hugging Billy like he was an old friend and not someone she just met. “It’s so nice to meet you!” She stepped back and David shook Billy’s hand, his own small smile on his face.
“Frank’s told us a lot about you,” he said, taking Billy’s proffered bottles of booze.
“Only the stuff that makes me look good, I hope,” Billy said, all charm.
“Definitely none of that,” Frank grunted, moving to make the two of them drinks. “Like you need more of an ego, Beaut.”
Billy laughed, then winked at Sarah, making her giggle and blush. David narrowed his eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Billy told him, nodding at Frank as he took his drink. “I don’t have any designs on your girl, lovely though she is.”
Frank shook his head and sipped his drink. That was Billy all over. Charming son of a bitch. Frank loved him.
Two hours passed before Frank realized it, and he was feeling good. Not drunk, but definitely buzzing, body loose and relaxed. He was watching Billy flirt his way through the room, talking to a woman who didn’t seem to be falling for his usual tricks and Frank silently cheered her on. Billy could use someone who wouldn’t put up with his shit.
“Having a good time?”
Frank turned, finding Sarah at his side, looking pretty and a little sloshed, eyes bright but a bit unfocused. “I am, yeah, Sarah. It’s a good party.”
They chatted for a minute before Sarah saw someone over his shoulder and started waving. “Oh! Hey! You look great! Excuse me, Frank,” she squeezed his arm briefly, looking at him for a minute. “A friend of mine is here, I need to go say hi.”
She breezed away, Frank turning to see who’d just shown up and he felt his jaw drop.
His Blond-O-Sonic Shimmer Trap.
Fuck. Goddamn. She was a fucking stunner.
He didn’t know who she was dressed as, barely registered the silvery corset thing she had on, because his eyes got held up on the miles and miles of leg, every last inch covered in delicate black fishnet stockings.
Fuck, but he loved fishnets.
He wasn’t proud of it but he watched her as she mingled, kept vague track of her as she made her way around the party, but left her to her own devices. He was refilling his drink, trying to get up the nerve to go talk to her when he heard someone clear their throat behind him.
He looked over his shoulder, and did a double take.
She was right there.
“Sorry,” she said, lips quirking, and God above, she had the sweetest beauty mark at the corner of her mouth. He’d never been close enough to notice before. “Can I sneak by you? I need a refill.” She held up her cup, shaking it slightly.
“Oh! Yeah, uh, sure,” Frank stammered, moving out of the way. He felt graceless and clumsy, like a teenage boy who isn’t used to his new height yet, all elbows.
“Thanks,” she said, stepping up and starting to look through the mass of bottles. She slides her eyes to him. “You didn’t happen to see any bourbon in this mess, did you?”
He sidestepped a bit, just enough that the sleeve of his boxing robe brushed her bare arm as he leaned in, reaching to where he’d seen the bourbon a moment before. “Here you go,” he murmured, eyes traveling over her body in a way that Sober Frank would decry as impolite. But this was almost-drunk Frank, and he was slightly less polite than normal. Those fishnets were driving him to distraction.
“Oh, thank you,” she said, taking the bottle from his hand and pouring a healthy slug of it into her cup. Frank was impressed. He dragged his eyes back up to her face just in time for her to face him, drink refreshed and eyes crinkled in a smile. “I’m Karen, by the way.” She held out her unoccupied hand and Frank switched his drink before taking her hand in his and shaking. It felt so small and soft-skinned compared to his own, rough with callous, the fingers big and thick.
“Frank,” he replied, smirking a little when he noticed that she was being much less circumspect about her own perusal of him, eyes dipping down to his bare chest, exposed under his open robe, his abs peeking out of the high waistband of his boxing trunks. He had gloves tied around his neck and the tall boots he never wore tied securely on his feet. He thought he looked pretty great.
He hoped Karen thought so too.
He was about to say something, anything, to keep her here, talking to him, when a man with shaggy blond hair barreled into her, shouting her name and wrapping her in a hug. He was followed by another man, dressed as some kind of superhero, if Frank had to guess, who had a red and white cane folded in his hands. The second man proceeded to greet Karen with a slow kiss to her cheek and a hand placed low in her back.
Hm. Well, Frank knew a guy trying to stake a claim when he saw one, so he bowed out silently, drifting away when she was still in the middle of her hellos.
Wasn’t a total loss, though.
She knew his name now.
—
His Friday show rolled around with all its usual speed, and he was relaxed and loose, still buzzing now and then about Karen and her fishnets. He may have had an alcohol-fueled dream about those fishnets, about asking her to keep them on as she wrapped those long legs around his waist, or threw them over his shoulders.
He was early for his show, and spent his time prepping his first few records, including another one for Karen. If she listened, maybe she’d realize this was for her, but maybe not. Either was fine for him. He just wanted the feelings out. He imagined this is why people journaled, an external medium to work through internal feelings.
He settled his headphones when the light came on, pulling the mic close. “New York,” he singsonged, voice rough. “I love you. Welcome to tonight’s show. I’m Frank Castle, and this is WNYU.”
He unzipped his hoodie, leaving it open over his tank top underneath, and making sure he was close enough to the mic that it would pick up the sound. “You mind if I get more comfortable, New York? Let's get comfortable, huh?”
He sat down for once, stretching out his legs and propping them on the desk, letting himself groan through the stretch. He’d been a little more aware of how pent up he was since Halloween, thinking about how much he’d like to flirt, to seduce a little, to touch and be touched. If his only outlet was to flirt with whoever was listening to this show late on a Friday night, then he’d take it.
“Oh, New York, New York. Hope your Halloween was everything you wanted it to be. Mine was pretty good, truth be told.” He smiled, letting it creep into his voice, smooth and sexy. “I saw her again, my little Blond-O-Sonic Shimmer Trap. She was even more gorgeous than before. Legs for days, New York, I tell ya. And all wrapped up in my favorite things.”
He dropped the needle on his first record. “I’m gonna let the Stray Cat’s tell you all about them. Start out our night with a little rockabilly. This song is called ‘Fishnet Stockings,’ and sweetheart, this one’s for you.”