Nightblindness By Callie

chapter VI

Since they'd last seen her, Shannon had transformed herself now into a vision of 1980s excess. She was one with the changing times, as artificial as the makeup monsters she created. Her management skills had transformed countless nobodies into full-fledged celebrities, and none with such success as Tommy Stone, platinum pompadour and all. No one ever saw her worried, no one ever saw her nice. And today was no exception.

Curt sat in the lush leather chair, feet rested listlessly on the desk before him, a cigarette in one hand and Arthur's article in the other. The mother of the hairspray poster child stood before him, hands clenched in fists so tight that her long acrylic nails dug into her skin and the blood leaked underneath them. "Answer me, Curt," she hissed.

"Sorry, what was the question?"

"Who was that man last night and why the fuck was he asking about Brian?"

"I don't know what the hell you're trying to say, I wasn't there." Curt sucked the end of his cigarette slowly, calmly.

"Oh?"

"Look, mom, if you're shitting bricks about this, I left the concert early. It was so fucking horrible I was damn near cutting my own ears off." He returned to reading with indifference.

"And is this going to continue?"

"What, exactly?" Curt sucked the cigarette nonchalantly.

"This little coup, you obnoxious fuck, what do you think?"

Curt smiled and shook his head.

Shannon threw her arms in the air, obviously getting frustrated. "What do you want from me?"

Curt held the stub of cigarette to his lips, his eyes mockingly pensive. "Brian Slade," he said finally, letting the faintest touch of a smile pull across his mouth.

"Brian Slade is dead" Shannon replied with a contemptuous smirk, at once relieved and overwhelmed.

"So is Tommy Stone's career once this article's published."

The puppeteer tried to speak, but dropped her head, defeated; Curt felt a rush of excitement pulse through his veins at the sheer thought of seeing this fallen idol become his fallen lover once again. Don't lose control of yourself, Curt; it's been a long time. "7:00," he said softly. "No makeup, and have him come alone."

"Do you honestly think I'd let him-"

"For fuck's sake, Shannon, we're not gonna torture him, we just want to see Brian again without some asswipe getting in the way."

"Some 'asswipe?'"

"Okay, fine, we don't want to have to see you any longer than we have to, make sense now?"

A spark ignited in Shannon's livid eye but died fast, as she could find no biting counterattack. She turned in a huff and stalked out of the room, padded shoulders held high.

"7:00 then," Curt called after her, fighting his urge to blatantly express the hilarity of the situation, a battle which he quickly came to lose; he succumbed to fits of laughter as he crushed his cigarette on the desktop.