Things were going from surreal to dream-like.

The minute that the Flaming Creatures got off-stage, Arthur got up in a daze and wandered towards them. Brian and Jack didn't stop him, and he didn't even consider that they might.

Minutes later, Malcolm was jumping up and down and throwing his arms around his neck and Ray was exclaiming very loudly about the shocking state of his clothes and hair and the other two were shooting him big smiles as they tried to get a word in edge-wise.

"We only started two weeks ago," Malcolm explained, "How did you find this place?"

"I, er, came with a friend," Arthur evaded. He paused for a moment and looked at the four of them. "It sounded good," he said, and meant it.

Ray sashayed towards him and planted a soft kiss on his cheek before turning him around to stare out over the club. "Beautiful place, isn't it?" he whispered, "A marble mausoleum of dead ideas."

Arthur noticed lines in the other man's face.

"Take my advice and forget all about this place."

Arthur looked around and the waitress at the door with the long red hair caught his eye again. She smiled and waved at him, almost seeming to beckon him over. And then he saw Brian Slade talking to Jack Fairy and what a photo opportunity that was!

"Is that Tommy Stone?"

Arthur shuffled his feet and Ray began to laugh next to him.

"My, my, my! All grown up and fucking rock stars, are we?"

"Shove it, Ray."

His tall companion bent just enough to brush his lips across his ear. "Gladly. But I'm afraid Mr. Stone might be upset."

Eventually Arthur had to leave, a little embarrassed and still a little stunned, but so excited about meeting his old friends again that he went back to his table with a smile. Jack Fairy was gone, but Brian Slade was still drinking moodily.

"Sorry 'bout that," the reporter mumbled, "Old friends."

"How do you know them?" Brian asked, the cloudy haze of alcohol clearing disconcertingly from his grey eyes.

"I stayed with Ray for a while." Arthur wasn't that happy just yet. He wasn't going to go into details about leaving home or staying with the Flaming Creatures while he sorted himself out. He didn't say a word about the fact that he'd travelled with them and that his big break came from covering their concerts for small magazines.

"I see."

Arthur watched the glass rise and fall, watched as it was re-filled and steadily emptied again. Brian was drinking with all the concentration of someone steadily looking forward to passing out. It wasn't fast enough to make him sick, and it wasn't slow enough to be indulgent. It was a business-like endeavour that made Arthur very uncertain of what to do next.

"What's Jack Fairy doing here?" he asked bluntly.

Tired eyes snapped up, more dark pupil than grey iris. "He owns the places," the rock star intimated, "Rather, he manages it for me."

"It's a nice place."

"It's poison."

"Tha's a bit harsh, isn't it?"

"Not if it's the truth." The glass was finally empty and this time Brian didn't refill it instantly. "We should go," he said, though he made no move to get up.

Arthur looked around and the hostess with the red hair was still watching him. This time the dark threw freakish shadows into her face, turning her into a papery-grey wraith with flaming hair. Her face looked gaunt and skeletal and her hands looked like claws as she fluttered her fingertips at him.

Brian Slade watched the reporter shudder and turn away, oddly satisfied at seeing the other man's discomfort. After all, this was what Arthur Stewart had held so sacred, wasn't it? This was the world of Jack Fairy and Brian Slade and Curt Wild. In another decade in another world, anyone let into such a club would have seen beautiful creatures with wild eyes and red mouths poised languidly at the best tables. And Arthur had worshipped that world without realizing how ghoulish it really was.

"Glamour can be such a misleading thing," Brian murmured, "It creates a mask, and the mask becomes everything."

Arthur shook his head and forced himself to look at the waitress again. She moved to greet someone else and the shadows slipped away from her as she stepped into the dim light of a wall sconce. He told himself that it was all a trick of the light. It couldn't be more than that. She wasn't some kind of monster waiting to devour the hapless. She was just a girl, and she was just doing her job. Nothing suspect about that.

"You should stop drinking," Arthur said sternly, "I'm not carrying you out of here."

"Are you telling me or ordering me?" Brian poured himself the next glass with remarkably steady hands.

Arthur's hands were just as steady. He placed his over the mouth of the glass and used the other to take the bottle away. Then he lifted the hand on the glass and beckoned a waitress imperiously over to their table. "Take this away," he said tersely, "And we'll 'ave some water."

Brian caught the waitress's eye and she looked as if Arthur had just demanded to be served rat in the best restaurant in London. He hated it when people curled their lip in just that fashion. More than he hated people trying to tell him what to do.

"Get the bloody water," he barked, "Or I'll have your job."

The waitress jumped and scurried away.

Arthur glared at him for his interruption but didn't say a word. Instead, he played with the hem of his shirt.

"We can go somewhere else if you don't like the place." Stone was back, bluff American niceness veiling the thinly disguised British sneer.

Arthur looked at him, watched the shadows turn him into something even more terrifying than the hostess had been, and shrugged in resignation. "We still have that damned interview to do," he said, "I have a plane to catch tomorrow."

Ray had been right. It was better to just forget. Besides, whatever Jack Fairy had tried to do to this place, it was nothing to do with Glam. Arthur remembered Glam. And this was nothing like it. This was some perverted, mutated version of the glitter of those times. But the actual vision? It was laughably different.

"What do you see yourself doing in the future?" he asked politely, "Any big plans once this is over?"

"Arthur, Arthur, Arthur." Brian had certainly drunk more than was good for him. His accent was fluctuating, swinging from one persona to another. He leaned forward, light sparking in his pupils. "Don't you know it hasn't even begun?"

"So there's another record in the works?" Arthur pursued.

"No." Stone took the glass of water with barely a glance at their new waitress. "No record. I never plan my music. Can't do it, you see."

"What's that s'pposed to mean?"

"You can't plan where to go next. There are things I want to try, different paths I want to explore. There's a whole world out there and I've always wanted to be a movie star. You know, like Gable and Grant; have my name in lights. Yeah, I could live with that. It's worth exploring at least."

"That sounds…" Arthur tried to think of a word, "… sounds exciting. Can we expect anything soon?"

Stone laughed and dragged a hand through his blond hair. "I'm in talks with a couple of people," he evaded, "Nothing set in stone just yet. But I am taking a look at other things."

"Like what?"

"Fashion." The look on Arthur's face was enough to make Brian's knowing grin widen as he reached out to touch the other man's hand. "A designer friend of mine wants to collaborate with me for his next season. I supply the big name; he supplies the labour. We both decide on the designs. Would it be so horrible?"

Arthur thought of that. It would, but he couldn't say so with any politeness.

Brian didn't take his silence as an insult. Instead, he was fully sensible to what the younger man was thinking. He could read it in the tense line of Arthur's jaw, and in the way he fiddled with the dictaphone on the table. "Anything else?" he asked gently.

"What keeps you going?" Arthur asked.

Stone looked confused.

"You know, what makes you want to do what you do? Like, do you have a personal philosophy? Is there some message that you want to give your fans? Things like that."

Stone was pleasantly surprised. He hadn't expected Arthur Stewart to ask something quite so delicate. After all, it wasn't a question that most reporters asked so bluntly. They tended to engage him in a discussion on his work and then hint that maybe he had some kind of hidden agenda to divulge.

"I think the art says it all," he answered slowly, "Interpretations are different for different people. But the art is always, in and of itself, the only thing that matters."

Arthur nodded and wondered who exactly was saying that. Was it Brian Slade speaking, or Tommy Stone? It didn't sound like either of them.

"What about you, Arthur? Do you have some personal philosophy? Some message you want to give your readers? What makes you do the things you do?" Brian considered it only fair play. If he had to bare his soul- figuratively speaking- to a complete stranger, he might as well have the complete stranger let him in on a few personal privacies.

Arthur shut off the dictaphone and slipped it into his pocket. "It's got nothing to do with me," he mumbled.

Brian raised an eyebrow and suddenly those light-hazed grey eyes slipped from Arthur's shoulder to latch onto a surprisingly ironic smirk. The band from before were congregated at the bar, arms full of various friends or groupies. Sometimes, in La Glace, it was hard to know the difference. But two of them sat slightly apart, their respective companions almost an afterthought as they sent curious glances to the best table in the club.

Malcolm was his usual bouncy self, chattering softly even as he stared openly at Tommy Stone with round eyes. Ray wasn't talking. His fingers were twisting into the fabric on his girl's shoulder as he looked between Arthur's averted profile and Tommy Stone's direct gaze.

Arthur turned with a small frown and then started as he recognized who it was his companion was staring at. He smiled at Malcolm's friendly wave and nodded before ducking his head in embarrassment.

Brian summoned the new waitress, tossing a charming smile her way before whispering something in her ear.

Arthur didn't trust either Brian Slade or Tommy Stone when they were secretive. He stiffened in his seat and curled his fingers around the edge of the table, ready to run if need be. The waitress was completely oblivious of his wild eyes following her back as she went to the two musicians sitting so amiably to the side of the room and faithfully relayed her message.

Malcolm made the decision for everyone- as Malcolm always did- and in less time than it took for Arthur to calm down, the band had dropped their friends and fans to saunter across the room and take their places at the table.

Tommy Stone smiled up at them with his usual mix of enthusiasm and reserved amiability. "Great show," he complimented, "When Arthur told me he knew you, I insisted on meeting up. Sit down, sit down! Can I get you something to drink?"

The band was very cool and Arthur marvelled at how easily they slipped into a friendly conversation with the rock star. He was still pondering that when Ray placed a discreet hand on his knee under the table and leaned into his side.

"You want to leave, you tell me," the guitarist whispered.

Brian caught the brief exchange, along with the shake of Arthur's dark head. He wasn't blind. He was also experienced. He knew what it meant when an arm shifted in just that way, or when a hand came back up from under the table with that casually negligent look on its owner's face. And he narrowed his eyes in speculation.

Friends. From where Brian Slade was sitting, Arthur had met a very personal old friend. And wasn't that a surprise, indeed!