Author's Note: This is getting a little difficult to write; therefore I'm taking the extra time to write it properly. Not for any other reason but that I'm trying to get the characters to stay true to the movie and still seem plausibly more developed. Let me know if you think I'm off track.

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"Where are we going?"

Arthur had been asking that question for days. He'd even asked Shannon! But the woman had shrugged and told him she had no idea. "He planned it himself. I have no idea."

As Tommy Stone had put it- "Look, Art, I don't wanna be available, okay? I need an evening off. So we're going to this club I know and we're going to get those questions out of the way. Then you can catch the next flight back to New York if you want."

Stone was counting on the fact that Arthur Stewart would not want, not after that club. La Glace was very special. The last time Stone had been there, it had barely been open a few months. Of course, he had wanted to advertise it, put it in all the papers and have glittering stars visit its dark door every night. But he had seen the error of his ways. It had been remodelled, but only because another kind of star visited it.

Stone was looking forward to this trip. All the arrangements had been made. "Coming, Art?"

The reporter got his head out of the cloud and strode to where the rock star waited for him in the hotel lobby. Against snide comments and gentle suggestions, he had elected to wear black. As usual. In mourning, he thought acerbically to himself, for the rise and fall of celebrity. He was in a bad mood to top it off. He'd called his mother that morning, told her he was in London on a story. He'd tentatively suggested meeting, but she'd stonewalled him so fast, it had made his head spin. Until, that is, she heard he was the personal guest of Tommy Stone, musician extraordinaire and loved by children and adults alike. She wanted to meet Mr. Stone and maybe get his autograph.

"Stop looking so serious, kid. I won't eat you."

Stone's slender hand descended on Arthur's shoulder and for just a second the man looked at it in surprise as he went through the door held open and then cameras flashed in his face. "What the 'ell?" he gasped, shielding his eyes instantly.

"Never been on this side of the lens, eh?" Stone laughed beside him and waved a brisk hand at them before pointing Arthur into the cab that stood waiting. "Get in. Hurry." Arthur wriggled in and then Stone hopped in and the cab driver took off instantly.

Arthur blinked again and saw purple lights behind his eyelids.

"The reason we all wear dark glasses," Stone commented, uncannily reading his mind, "Even at night. Not to look cool. To protect our eyes. Those flashes can blind you at fifty paces when they all go off in a frenzy."

"Who called the press?" Arthur demanded. He knew how these things works. The press didn't turn up in such droves for no reason at all. And he'd never been bothered by them before. Of course, now that he thought about it, he'd never walked out of the hotel with Tommy Stone's hand on his shoulder. At one time that would have meant an awful lot, if it were Brian Slade. People would have talked. Arthur blushed just thinking about it.

"Shannon, I suppose. It was a good photo opp."

There was silence for the longest moment while Tommy Stone took off the hat he had affected and ran a hand through his platinum blond hair. Arthur got a good look at him for the first time that evening. That hair had not been teased and tortured into shape. It fell over in soft, if rather messy, waves. Not as much make-up either. Arthur took it as a sign of doom.

"Got the sound check to do tomorrow," Stone murmured distractedly, "Thank God. This place depresses me."

"Why?" The reporter was avidly interested, even if Arthur wasn't.

Grey eyes shot a quiet look at him before the chin jerked to the rain-drenched outside. "Too bloody dull! Give me L.A. anytime. Sun… Sea… Fresh Air…"

"Assembly line people," Arthur snorted, "Fake tans and fake smiles?"

Stone laughed again and shrugged ruefully. "I guess you have to meet the right people. Nothing wrong with a fake smile, is there? It's more polite, after all, than meeting someone with a frown. Sure they'd stab you in the back with no compunctions, but then I've had all that happen right here. Everyone stabs you in the back… sooner or later."

"Sure," Arthur said sarcastically, "Or they could shoot you."

Stone's head snapped up and he shot an intent look at the driver before frowning at Arthur. Not the right time for this, was what the gesture said. From the way the younger man nodded and looked back out of the window, Stone could tell he was actually lowering his defences. The rock star congratulated himself. Brian Slade had evidently lost none of his charm.

Before long, the taxi came to a stop and Stone tapped his companion's shoulder to signal their arrival. The taxi was paid for and it left instantly, the driver having been sufficiently cowed by that blond dragonlady back at the hotel into not daring to say anything to his passengers at all. But what the hell! The tip had been good!

Arthur had one moment to notice two strip bars before Tommy Stone walked swiftly to the bright red door set in-between and knocked.

"Come on, Art," the rockstar called over his shoulder, "You don't want to stand there all night."

Arthur was just going to shake his head when he noticed two people staring at him as they exited the bar on the right. One of them sat something to the other and then spat in disgust. Whatever it was, Arthur knew hostility when he saw it and he went for the safe haven of the opening red door. Because Tommy Stone wouldn't go anywhere dangerous, would he? The man liked his privacy too much to jeopardize it, right? Right! Of course, right! It had to be!

A short, dark passage lay just beyond and Stone went in with a slick smile at the massive guy holding the first door open. The bald man grinned back at Stone, but the smile dropped away when he saw Arthur. "Who're you?" he barked.

Arthur took a step back and the two people watching him came closer.

Stone appeared as suddenly as a mirage and grabbed Arthur's by the hand. "He's coming in with me, Nigel. Come on, Art."

The door slammed to very hard behind Arthur, enough to make him flinch. He opened his mouth to say he was getting the hell out of whatever seedy dive Stone spent his time getting pissed in and he placed the words meticulously in order in his mind so that he wouldn't waste time stumbling over his own tongue while he said it. But then the door opened.

The girl, he thought in fascination, had bright red hair. It was long- down to her waist- and dyed carroty red. A bottle-haired tart, his mother would have called her. Though not in public, no. A woman never used that language in public. She'd whisper it to herself in the privacy of a quiet corner as she watched the girl swishing down the street from her kitchen window.

She smiled a wide, white smile at him and the glitter on her eyelids shimmered at him in the soft light. "New here, are we?"

Once again, Stone took Arthur by the hand and tugged him along after him. Arthur craned his head back to get one last fascinated look at the girl. She tossed another smile at him and waved at him, bright red hair dark in the soft light. The dark blue suit looked almost black, too. Arthur might have stared for longer if he hadn't noticed that there were a lot people staring back at him.

He looked around, and his eyes got wider and wider. Ferns obscured the walls and velvet curtains waited to shield all those interesting little alcoves with intimate places. Men, women, boys and girls- they all swept around like a host of gloriously coloured butterflies, all delicate cloth and fragile bodies. Porcelain figures walking in surreal luxury. The hat Stone had donned again when he exited the taxi had been pulled off once more and a waitress appeared before them, her dyed red hair cut short and her glittered eyes respectfully lowered as she took the hat and coat.

Arthur celebrated the loss of that proprietary hand on his arm by turning in a slow circle and taking it all in. Chandeliers, he noted in a daze, though not lit to fill the rooms with a blaze of light. There was a stage at one end, with the velvet curtain pulled across the front. Tables with candlelight dotted around. And right in front of the stage was a wide, empty space, constructed especially for standing, or for dancing. A few young couples were there, twirling around in each other's clutches with loud laughter.

"Arthur?"

He spun back around and his jaw dropped. Brian smiled at him and jerked his head at the waiting hostess. "Our table is ready. They don't like the clients to stand around in the entrance."

Arthut followed without question. It was all too much. There was too much here that made no sense. What was an obviously luxurious bar doing here, why was it filled with the beautiful people of a decade ago and why had Stone brought him here?

They were sat down, they were fussed over, and then the waitress slipped expertly away and left them in the best of the private little alcoves.

"I left the curtains open," Brian said, "The show should start soon and we shouldn't miss it. I think you'll like it."

Arthur nodded dumbly and looked down at his hands.

Brian waited for some reaction, any kind of reaction, and he tried to catch the reporter's eye but Arthur wouldn't look up no matter how he shifted his head. Pale faced and tight lipped and Brian suddenly wasn't so sure any more. Curt had said the man missed his youth but then Curt could be wrong. Brian leaned back and gave him his space.

Not that it didn't affect him either, he reflected. Just walking into La Glace was like jumping into the past. A past he had lived, had even helped create. A great place, La Glace, but deathly dangerous. So beautiful it made the rest of the world seem unappealing. So poisonous that too much could kill you. He looked around and the older people were the same desperate faces he had seen the last time, less than a year ago. They sat in corners, watching the pretty young things discover the glamour all over again, living vicariously through their eyes. And then, when the young things were drunk on their own adrenaline, the older ones would move in for the kill and suck the innocence from them like leeches.

Brian Slade knew these things. He'd seen both. He'd done both.

The last time, he mused, Curt had been there beside him. Curt had sat there and sniffed and wiped his nose and looked cynically out at all the pretty young things with his cynical eyes. And then had proceeded to disturb the peace something cruel. Brian had been so embarrassed. They'd gone their separate ways a month later- sadder, but wiser people.

Arthur was still staring at his own hands on the tablecloth.

The waitress- what was her name again- came over with the usual compliments of the house. Brian didn't need to look; it was the best champagne La Glace stocked. Magnificent stuff. It fizzed and bubbled in the glasses and Arthur still didn't look up. He didn't seem to even notice that there was a glass beside him.

The waitress was surprised and looked uncertainly at Brian.

The rock star shook his head and sent her away with a wave of his hand. No toast evidently. He raised his glass to Arthur's averted head and drank it all. Then he poured himself another and waited. "Are you going to look up sometime tonight?" he asked aloud.

The hands twitched.

"I won't eat you, you know," Brian coaxed. He reached across and pushed the glass closer. "You'll feel better when you drink something. Go on. Have a taste. It's good; I promise." He sipped at his own glass and relaxed as the alcohol flowed into his bloodstream.

It took another few minutes, but eventually the reporter lifted his head and looked around. At first, it was just blind glances from the corner of his eyes. Then it was nervous staring. After that Arthur looked at his host and warily touched the glass still sitting before him.

Brian Slade poured himself a third glass just to be good company. "A toast," he suggested, smiling softly, "To youth and beauty."

Arthur didn't toast but he did drink. He sipped cautiously, made a face, and took another larger gulp.

"Easy! You don't want to get drunk just yet." Slade laughed softly and tipped his head to the side, well aware that the candlelight highlighted the mould of his face and cast interesting shadows in the hollows of his cheeks and temples. He knew he didn't need make-up to conjure up his youth in this light. He knew that the platinum hair was downplayed by the candlelight to gold and dark.

Arthur's smile was painfully forced, and vanished almost as suddenly as it had arrived, leaving his face as pale and sharp as Brian's. He concentrated on the steady burn of alcohol slipping down his throat and got his head back together.

"About those questions," he said firmly, "I was wondering, how do you write your… music? Is there a process? Do you just sit and write it?"

Brian looked surprised but he answered it readily enough- "Yes and no, I guess. Some songs just pop into my head and stay there, some I have to think about."

Arthur nodded and pulled the dictaphone out of his pocket. "D'you mind?" he asked casually, switching it on, "My boss. Wants me to be extra careful. What would you think is most important to you as an artist?"

"Lots of things. Integrity, of course. Music is nothing without integrity. You have to be true to the way you feel." Brian didn't resume his awful American drawl again, even when he heard he was being taped. "And most of all you have to be true to art itself. I'm not a superman," he added self-consciously, "I can only sing about things."

Arthur was in a strange quandary. He wanted to laugh at the surreality of it all. Personally speaking, he didn't believe a word Stone said. But Stone obviously did. He couldn't laugh without insulting his host, and he didn't really want to do that. "I see," he said cautiously, "And what are your thoughts about this new show, here?"

"In England? Oh, I can't wait. This show is going to be huge, bigger than anyone's ever seen it. Did you know…"

And that was when Arthur knew he had made a mistake. Brian Slade had abandoned his glass of champagne, arms crossed on the table so he could lean forward, pinprick flames dancing in his pupils as he glittered and smiled in excitement. In true excitement. He hadn't even glittered like that in any of the glossy magazines. Reddened lips, still wet from the alcohol, flushed cheeks and that long slender, white neck- perfectly at peace in this mausoleum of lost dreamers.

Arthur looked away compulsively, grateful that music was starting. Grateful that the pretty, young things had begun to squeal in ecstasy, still hanging on to each other, but no longer swaying together. He was very grateful that Brian stopped too, and turned to gaze at the stage with eager eyes.

"You'll like this," the rock star said, "It's a new act. Jack only got them a few months ago. So far, everyone loves them."

Arthur swallowed and turned in his seat, focusing all the confusion on the stage. Stage shows were good. Stage shows were easy. Stage shows were not complex at all because they were exactly what they seemed. No more, no less. He cleared his throat and leaned an arm on the table to prop his head.

The lights dimmed as a voice from nowhere proclaimed that the show was about to start. The startling swish of velvet and then a figure loomed into Arthur's direct vision. Or perhaps 'loomed' was the wrong word? The thin figure with its velvet suit was so unassuming at first glance that he had been in Arthur's direct line of sight for a while before the reporter had even seen him.

Jack Fairy silently joined them at the table, a cocktail in hand and a smile upon his painted mouth. Older, less flamboyant, but still Jack Fairy.