Chapter Two: Some Wounds Never Heal
Oh, how he hated London. Hated it with a passion that he hadn't felt since... Well, nevermind. Curt's bleached blonde hair fell in his eyes as he flicked his cigarette. Mandy entered the room and said, "You can still cancel it." Her eyes were as regretful as his. "No," he took a drag, "I can't." She nodded. Mandy had been supporting him for at least two years. The had something in common: Brian Slade. Their previous relationship hadn't been a spectacular one. Brian's wife and Brian's lover. But in the end, he broke both their hearts.
Curt would walk the streets of this wretched city, looking for some sign of Brian. No, not even Brian. The memory of Brian. Before he lied. Before he was Maxwell Demon. He hated the part of him that missed the glam-rocker. And he hated the part that still loved him. Things that were said that night and about a month after were so...so painful. So much more painful than anything Curt had ever known. The sting of those words still haunted him, everything he thought about them. 'It's been five years.' Curt thought. But some wounds never heal.
"Darling?" Mandy said, "I'm going out for a drink. Anything I can get you?" Her accent was all over the place. She hadn't been in London in a long time. Curt shook his head and she smiled as she left.
She had always said, "People look beautiful when the walk out the door." She had been right. But had he looked beautiful to Brian when he stormed out? Did it have the same affect?
Offhand, Curt could probably name eighteen instances when a fine Merlot and he had it out, just over that night. But Brian had worn Curt down to weak tendencies and meek rebuttals to his tired drawn out monologues. No, Maxwell Demon had done that. Some part of Curt was sure though, that there was a little bit of Brian hidden under that space-age queen image. And when he was sure that the real Brian Slade had died, he left.
And yet, maybe, after all these years, there was a glimmer of Brian left in whatever form he was in? Would Brian be at the concert?
The concert. How Curt dreaded it. And couldn't wait for it. He was so torn. His heart rose with the thought that he just may see Brian again. And yet the it was a formidable thought as well. Would Brian be willing to see him? Oh, God, why had he come to London?!
'I need a walk! Fresh air...' he thought and swiftly stood up. He walked out the door wondering if he was beautiful. Or was he as washed up as the tabloids said he was? 'You'll never change, Curt.'
The air of London was crisp and cool. He drew his coat about him in the evening fog. Passed the Lyceum, where he would be performing in only a few days. Where Brian had faked his death. He turned down a dark alley and sensed foot steps behind him. He turned around when someone said, "Curt!"
Oh, how he hated London. Hated it with a passion that he hadn't felt since... Well, nevermind. Curt's bleached blonde hair fell in his eyes as he flicked his cigarette. Mandy entered the room and said, "You can still cancel it." Her eyes were as regretful as his. "No," he took a drag, "I can't." She nodded. Mandy had been supporting him for at least two years. The had something in common: Brian Slade. Their previous relationship hadn't been a spectacular one. Brian's wife and Brian's lover. But in the end, he broke both their hearts.
Curt would walk the streets of this wretched city, looking for some sign of Brian. No, not even Brian. The memory of Brian. Before he lied. Before he was Maxwell Demon. He hated the part of him that missed the glam-rocker. And he hated the part that still loved him. Things that were said that night and about a month after were so...so painful. So much more painful than anything Curt had ever known. The sting of those words still haunted him, everything he thought about them. 'It's been five years.' Curt thought. But some wounds never heal.
"Darling?" Mandy said, "I'm going out for a drink. Anything I can get you?" Her accent was all over the place. She hadn't been in London in a long time. Curt shook his head and she smiled as she left.
She had always said, "People look beautiful when the walk out the door." She had been right. But had he looked beautiful to Brian when he stormed out? Did it have the same affect?
Offhand, Curt could probably name eighteen instances when a fine Merlot and he had it out, just over that night. But Brian had worn Curt down to weak tendencies and meek rebuttals to his tired drawn out monologues. No, Maxwell Demon had done that. Some part of Curt was sure though, that there was a little bit of Brian hidden under that space-age queen image. And when he was sure that the real Brian Slade had died, he left.
And yet, maybe, after all these years, there was a glimmer of Brian left in whatever form he was in? Would Brian be at the concert?
The concert. How Curt dreaded it. And couldn't wait for it. He was so torn. His heart rose with the thought that he just may see Brian again. And yet the it was a formidable thought as well. Would Brian be willing to see him? Oh, God, why had he come to London?!
'I need a walk! Fresh air...' he thought and swiftly stood up. He walked out the door wondering if he was beautiful. Or was he as washed up as the tabloids said he was? 'You'll never change, Curt.'
The air of London was crisp and cool. He drew his coat about him in the evening fog. Passed the Lyceum, where he would be performing in only a few days. Where Brian had faked his death. He turned down a dark alley and sensed foot steps behind him. He turned around when someone said, "Curt!"