Glitters End
-1985-
Curt took a long drag of his cigarette, he let the burning smoke blister his lungs. He let his head fall back wearily. His clothes hanging loosely on his once healthy frame. The cold wind sweeping through him like famished wolves. The rain was heavy, pounding the earth in torrential bucket loads like it was trying to wash the earth clean. Curt pulled his leather jacket closer to him, trying to retain any warmth that he could gather. Above his head was a large neon screen. Tommy Stone was flashing across it, his sculpted face looked weathered and enigmatic. A blinding white suit with a silk, blue shirt. His blonde hair long and slicked back.
Curt was among the crowed of thousands. Just like the glam-mania that once swept the world over ten years ago. Tommy Stone's over synthesised rock was capturing the attention of the current youths. Now instead of being clad in vulgar glitter and over the top outfits. They are wrapped in leather and boots. Curt hadn't made a record in six years. His band "The Rats" were long gone. A band lost to the wind. Their music outdated and forgotten. They has dissipated in the late seventies, never to be heard of again, except for desperate hangers on, social outcasts, and people with a taste for electric sounds.
Curt ran a hand through his brittle, blonde hair, it was coming out in handfuls. Another drag of his cigarette. Another swig from his flask. The bitter alcohol dribble down his chin. Curt, spun around on is heels and fought through the crowd of bad hair cuts and cheap dye jobs. Another swig from his flask, another drag from his cigarette. Curt could feel his stomach rumbling, the only thing that was on it was discount brandy and cum. Curt had fucked everything from L.A to New York. He had been following the Tommy Stone tour. As Curt lay on top of his nightly lover they would moan beneath him as Curt slips in and out of their anal cavity. He thinks. How much did Brian Slade have to pay to change into Tommy Stone?
He cradles his nightly lovers and sends them on their way with a good fuck under their belt and a memory. They had, had sex with the once famous Curt Wild. A faded memory of the once glamorous rock scene. Curt walked down a street that could double for the Nile with all this dirty water flowing down the path. Curt retreated to his derelict squat. Curt had no money, he had resorted to selling the few joints he had left for some money. Curt had nothing in his pocket but another cigarette and a twenty dollar note.
Maxwell Demon. Had fulfilled his prophecy and left. Curt was nothing but a hollow shell. Curt climbed the soaking stairs and retreated into what was his make-shift bedroom. He collapsed on his mattress. His head swimming with tobacco and the cocaine that he took a couple of hours ago. Curt rolled over to see a body laying next to him. An icy chill went through him. He put his shaky hand out and stroked the persons shoulder. He didn't even care who it was, Curt just wanted someone to hold.
"Now here is someone I have missed the most" The sleek voice said.
"I have missed you too" Curt replied with a great deal of mysticism.
Curt sat up and rubbed his eyes, it was Jack Fairy. Jack also sat up and caressed Curt's face. His long delicate fingers curling around the nape of his neck. His painted lips, gently exhaling, warm, moist air. Jack Fairy, still existed. He had a tendency to disappear off the face of the planet. Then appear in the strangest places. Jack Fairy's candy red hair hung over his face limply. Jack's face had the usual forlorn chic, that he always sported. A string of pearls dangled off his neck and he curled them around his finger.
"Jack, I haven't seen you since…" Curt put his fingers on the bridge of his nose.
"Since we cut that album in West Berlin?" Jack finished Curt's sentence.
"I stayed there for quite some time, lovers wore thin, as did my presence, so I up and left, I want to drop in on Brian" Jack gave Curt a side glance.
"He isn't fooling anyone with that horrible, Tommy Stone cloak" Jack cracked a tiny smile.
"What are you going to do when you , well, if you get him in a room" Curt was now wide awake, his eyes focused on the tight smile of Jack.
"A record deal? Money? Drugs?" Curt asked.
"Yes, amongst other things. I shall blackmail him, I want him to come out, I want everyone to know that Tommy Stone, is actually Brian Slade".
"What with?" Curt said as he laid down on Jack's lap. Lighting another cigarette and shutting his eyes.
Jack recoiled at Curt's head, but he withstood it. Jack fixed his eyeliner, and he touched up his lips.
"I was hoping, you would supply me with that" Jack said slyly.
"No, I don't…did you try…" Curt trailed off.
"I have seen Mandy, yes. She didn't want to talk to me. She gave me a rather cold reception as it were" Jack said with a twist of sarcasm.
"I, no" Curt stuttered.
"No matter, I will just bluff and say we have evidence that he is Brian, and…we will go from there, I managed to use my last cash on a backstage pass to the next Tommy Stone show" Jack gave another tiny smile.
Curt curled up in a ball. Seeing Brian again. After eleven years. That sleek, boyish body. Those long slender arms. His androgynous face that once poured poetry forth. However, it hit Curt that now it was a grotesque product of selling out. His face not once the pampered, poodle of glam. He was now a man of synthesisers. Curt took another drag from his cigarette, and a final swig from his flask. He was out of liquor.
Curt sat up, Jack was standing. His beautifully quite stance was alluring. Jack started to take off his clothes. He looked at Curt suggestively.
"Before we go Curt…" Jack said smoothly.
Curt removed his shirt and opened his fly. Jack's naked body was aging, but it still kept some of it smooth curves, it subtle sexiness. Jack could feel himself decaying. However he still tried to seduce most people. Jack lay down and buried his face into Curt's crotch….
To be continued…