Chapter Seven
Old Mr. Robinson never dared creep outside the dingy walls of his apartment, not even to collect his copy of the daily Observer, thrown to the porch of the building every morning. Occasionally, when he was feeling masochistic, Arthur would head outside and pick up the paper and give it to the old man. As soon as the wizened old fiend would crack the door, he would begin a tirade about Arthur's clothes, which were too tight or too vibrant, or his makeup, which made him look like a queer.
Everyday since the concert, Arthur had delivered the paper to Mr. Robinson. He'd lean against the door jam first, paging through the newsprint, looking for any mention of Brian Slade's murder. Perhaps they'd caught the killer, found the gun, or- Arthur's personal favorite- a genius had come out of retirement to invent a time machine, and a team had been sent back to prevent Brian's death.
It was a childish fantasy, he knew. He never thought it would happen, that Brian could be alive just as surely as if someone had turned back time.
"Mal!" Arthur shouted, scrambling up the stairs to their apartment, clutching the paper.
"What is it, Arthur?" Malcolm grumbled, rubbing his puffy eyes.
Arthur thrust the paper at the suddenly wide awake roommate. "Brian's alive!"
Malcolm stared at the headline mutely. Arthur's commotion had roused the other Creatures and they lumbered out of the other room. Ray's hair was flattened on one side and his mascara from the night before was smeared all over his face. Pearl's hair flared around his face in a light brown afro, and he leaned heavily on Billy's bare shoulder. They entered just in time to hear Arthur's revelation and they rushed forward.
Ray seized the paper. "He's alive?"
Arthur was so focused on the fact that Brian Slade was alive that he barely noticed Billy's whispered, "That son of a bitch."
Arthur's head snapped up. "What?"
"Publicity," Malcolm hissed. "The git wanted to sell records. And it worked, didn't it? At the top of the charts again."
The reality started to sink in. "Publicity…"
"Yeah," Ray said, crossing his arms. "A stunt."
"We went in for it too, didn't we? Maxwell Demon… Bloody liar." Malcolm threw the paper down on the table, and stumbled back to bed.
The others followed suit, Ray and Pearl going back into the bedroom, Billy to the bathroom, muttering something about a shower. Arthur collapsed on the couch, not minding that he was sitting on a very uncomfortable pile of junk instead of the cushions. He stared down at the paper mutely, his eyes tracing the delicate features of Brian Slade through a curtain of tears. After a moment, he snatched the paper off the table and tossed it out the window, not wanting to see his face anymore.
*
Life went back to normal. Brian Slade sales plummeted after it was discovered that he was alive, and with Brian Slade's fall, other glam bands seemed to be fading too.
For the very first time Arthur and the Flaming Creatures were camped out on the floor of their flat on a Friday night since Arthur had come to London. There was no gig to be played and no other bands to see. So instead, they made popcorn and watched TV on the tiny black and white set they had bought after their last gig at the Sombrero Club. The news was on- music news, of course, since who really cared about the crime rate in London or the Vietnam War? The five roommates silently watched Curt Wild and Jack Fairy in Berlin as they discussed the downfall of Maxwell Demon.
Curt looked thoughtful, sad, when he was asked to explain why Brian would do such a thing to his fans. "I dunno. I guess it just got too big, too schitzo. In the end he thought he was fucking Maxwell Demon. And Maxwell Demon, he thought he was God."
Ray moved to the TV set as soon as Curt was finished speaking and switched it off. "Hey!" Arthur objected.
"No. We don't need to hear about stupid Brian Slade, alright? Pearl, toss me a record," Ray commanded.
Pearl spun around and dug through the collection, finally choosing a rather upbeat Polly Small album which Ray proceeded to blast, despite the fact that none of them were dancing.
Over the loud music, they barely heard the phone's shrill ring. Malcolm hopped up to get it. "Hello?" he said, pressing the phone to his ear. His eyes widened slightly after a few seconds and he waved for Pearl to turn off the music. "Yes, this is Malcolm."
Ray turned to the others. "It's probably that cute blond from the Last Resort. Malcolm has been drooling after him for months."
They laughed and watched Malcolm silently as he jotted something down on a napkin by the phone. "Yes, that sounds amazing. Thank you so much!"
"A little desperate, isn't he?" Billy joked.
"Play it cool, Mal!" Ray called loudly, to his friends raucous amusement.
Malcolm hung up the phone and looked at his friends with dazed eyes. "That was Jack Fairy."
Ray, Pearl and Billy snapped to attention. "Jack Fairy?"
"We've been invited to play a gig."
"A gig? With Jack Fairy?" Ray was up in an instant, whooping and tossing popcorn around gleefully.
"That's not all," Malcolm said, effectively silencing the joyous yelps. His friends waited eagerly. He burst into a grin. "Curt Wild's playing too."
Amidst cheers from the group, every drop of color faded from Arthur's face. "Curt Wild? We'd get to meet Curt Wild?"
"Oh, yes, Arthur's little boyfriend," Ray said with a smile. He tossed a handful of popcorn at the pale boy. "Come on, then. He'll find you irresistible and drag you off to a dressing room for a shag, I'm sure."
"Right," Arthur said, a small smile on his very red face as he studied his newly painted nails carefully.
"You're aloud to blink, Arthur; I promise they won't change colors," Pearl instructed lightly.
Arthur shrugged and looked up helplessly. "He's like my idol."
Ray snorted. "He's the object of your wet dreams, Arthur. You don't want to *be* him, you want to screw him."
"Do not." He chuckled. "Well, maybe a little."
Pearl smiled. "Alright then, lets celebrate. Music, anyone?"
"Music?" Ray asked. "I say we go out."
"And do what?" Billy questioned.
Malcolm threw himself onto the couch with a blissful smile. "What does it matter? Next week, we get to play with Curt Wild and Jack Fairy!"
Old Mr. Robinson never dared creep outside the dingy walls of his apartment, not even to collect his copy of the daily Observer, thrown to the porch of the building every morning. Occasionally, when he was feeling masochistic, Arthur would head outside and pick up the paper and give it to the old man. As soon as the wizened old fiend would crack the door, he would begin a tirade about Arthur's clothes, which were too tight or too vibrant, or his makeup, which made him look like a queer.
Everyday since the concert, Arthur had delivered the paper to Mr. Robinson. He'd lean against the door jam first, paging through the newsprint, looking for any mention of Brian Slade's murder. Perhaps they'd caught the killer, found the gun, or- Arthur's personal favorite- a genius had come out of retirement to invent a time machine, and a team had been sent back to prevent Brian's death.
It was a childish fantasy, he knew. He never thought it would happen, that Brian could be alive just as surely as if someone had turned back time.
"Mal!" Arthur shouted, scrambling up the stairs to their apartment, clutching the paper.
"What is it, Arthur?" Malcolm grumbled, rubbing his puffy eyes.
Arthur thrust the paper at the suddenly wide awake roommate. "Brian's alive!"
Malcolm stared at the headline mutely. Arthur's commotion had roused the other Creatures and they lumbered out of the other room. Ray's hair was flattened on one side and his mascara from the night before was smeared all over his face. Pearl's hair flared around his face in a light brown afro, and he leaned heavily on Billy's bare shoulder. They entered just in time to hear Arthur's revelation and they rushed forward.
Ray seized the paper. "He's alive?"
Arthur was so focused on the fact that Brian Slade was alive that he barely noticed Billy's whispered, "That son of a bitch."
Arthur's head snapped up. "What?"
"Publicity," Malcolm hissed. "The git wanted to sell records. And it worked, didn't it? At the top of the charts again."
The reality started to sink in. "Publicity…"
"Yeah," Ray said, crossing his arms. "A stunt."
"We went in for it too, didn't we? Maxwell Demon… Bloody liar." Malcolm threw the paper down on the table, and stumbled back to bed.
The others followed suit, Ray and Pearl going back into the bedroom, Billy to the bathroom, muttering something about a shower. Arthur collapsed on the couch, not minding that he was sitting on a very uncomfortable pile of junk instead of the cushions. He stared down at the paper mutely, his eyes tracing the delicate features of Brian Slade through a curtain of tears. After a moment, he snatched the paper off the table and tossed it out the window, not wanting to see his face anymore.
*
Life went back to normal. Brian Slade sales plummeted after it was discovered that he was alive, and with Brian Slade's fall, other glam bands seemed to be fading too.
For the very first time Arthur and the Flaming Creatures were camped out on the floor of their flat on a Friday night since Arthur had come to London. There was no gig to be played and no other bands to see. So instead, they made popcorn and watched TV on the tiny black and white set they had bought after their last gig at the Sombrero Club. The news was on- music news, of course, since who really cared about the crime rate in London or the Vietnam War? The five roommates silently watched Curt Wild and Jack Fairy in Berlin as they discussed the downfall of Maxwell Demon.
Curt looked thoughtful, sad, when he was asked to explain why Brian would do such a thing to his fans. "I dunno. I guess it just got too big, too schitzo. In the end he thought he was fucking Maxwell Demon. And Maxwell Demon, he thought he was God."
Ray moved to the TV set as soon as Curt was finished speaking and switched it off. "Hey!" Arthur objected.
"No. We don't need to hear about stupid Brian Slade, alright? Pearl, toss me a record," Ray commanded.
Pearl spun around and dug through the collection, finally choosing a rather upbeat Polly Small album which Ray proceeded to blast, despite the fact that none of them were dancing.
Over the loud music, they barely heard the phone's shrill ring. Malcolm hopped up to get it. "Hello?" he said, pressing the phone to his ear. His eyes widened slightly after a few seconds and he waved for Pearl to turn off the music. "Yes, this is Malcolm."
Ray turned to the others. "It's probably that cute blond from the Last Resort. Malcolm has been drooling after him for months."
They laughed and watched Malcolm silently as he jotted something down on a napkin by the phone. "Yes, that sounds amazing. Thank you so much!"
"A little desperate, isn't he?" Billy joked.
"Play it cool, Mal!" Ray called loudly, to his friends raucous amusement.
Malcolm hung up the phone and looked at his friends with dazed eyes. "That was Jack Fairy."
Ray, Pearl and Billy snapped to attention. "Jack Fairy?"
"We've been invited to play a gig."
"A gig? With Jack Fairy?" Ray was up in an instant, whooping and tossing popcorn around gleefully.
"That's not all," Malcolm said, effectively silencing the joyous yelps. His friends waited eagerly. He burst into a grin. "Curt Wild's playing too."
Amidst cheers from the group, every drop of color faded from Arthur's face. "Curt Wild? We'd get to meet Curt Wild?"
"Oh, yes, Arthur's little boyfriend," Ray said with a smile. He tossed a handful of popcorn at the pale boy. "Come on, then. He'll find you irresistible and drag you off to a dressing room for a shag, I'm sure."
"Right," Arthur said, a small smile on his very red face as he studied his newly painted nails carefully.
"You're aloud to blink, Arthur; I promise they won't change colors," Pearl instructed lightly.
Arthur shrugged and looked up helplessly. "He's like my idol."
Ray snorted. "He's the object of your wet dreams, Arthur. You don't want to *be* him, you want to screw him."
"Do not." He chuckled. "Well, maybe a little."
Pearl smiled. "Alright then, lets celebrate. Music, anyone?"
"Music?" Ray asked. "I say we go out."
"And do what?" Billy questioned.
Malcolm threw himself onto the couch with a blissful smile. "What does it matter? Next week, we get to play with Curt Wild and Jack Fairy!"