Chapter Text
Here's looking at you kid
Hard to forget
Here's looking at you kid
At least not yet
Your memory stays
It lingers ever
Will fade away never
- Roxy Music, 2HB
Broken glass. He was surrounded by broken glass, millions of pieces, all mirroring the same image. There was no getting away from it. It was everywhere he turned, haunting him. Years and years and years... They had flown by in the blink of an eye. He couldn't remember a single day. All days were the same, lived only in the colorful dreams of a never-ending daze. And now everything that remained was broken glass.
Maybe he should never have come back to London. Brian stood there with hanging arms, staring after the taxi cab as it slowly pulled away. He felt the sudden urge to make the driver stop, get out of here, but he didn't. He just stared after the car until the freezing January air made him shiver.He turned and looked up to the window, feeling his stomach tighten.
Five years. It had been five years. He'd pushed it all away, tried to ignore it, erase it, wipe it out entirely. He couldn't believe that it was still alive inside of him, hitting him full strength now like an unexpected blow. Slowly Brian Slade turned around and stared over to the other side of the street, memories dancing before his eyes.
White limo. And Curt. Curt.The name alone sent a cold shiver down his spine. He had avoided to think of him in years. Curt, dressed all in black. Staring up to him impatiently while taking a drag on his cigarette. His eyes burning with anger, full of life. Fixed on him standing there, hiding behind the curtain, seeing through him mercilessly. Famous last words, they were still hanging in the air.
"Piss of, then! Go on! Back to your wolves! Your junkie twerps! Your bloody shock treatment! And fuck you too!"
A cigarette falling to the ground like a helpless scream... A moment later the limo was gone. And the glass of the window broke as he smashed his fist into it. Broken glass, stained with blood... Broken glass all around. And the world around him had exploded with a blast. Boom!Everything was gone.
Brian exhaled. He hadn't even noticed that he'd held his breath. He'd been a fool, making believe that he was over it, that he'd forgotten. And while he had been out, travelling space, all the beautiful colors had faded away. Now that he'd finally gotten a grip on reality again, everything seemed gray and cold. Somehow he still couldn't understand all that had happened, why it had happened, why it had happened to him - and why it was over in a flash. The only reason why Brian Slade had come back to London was that he had somehow forgotten who he really was. As much as it might hurt, it was the only way. Going back, remembering. Remembering everything. Doing the exact opposite of what he'd been doing for the last five years. It was time to shove away all the broken glass and see what's underneath. If you can take it, sailor.
***
Heathrow Airport, London. And that same old feeling creeping over him as he got off the plane. Curt always felt uneasy in this city. It seemed like the shadows of the past were ever present. After all the years that had passed, he still dreaded to come back here. It was stupid, he'd told himself that countless times. The past was over and gone, no way of getting it back. Not that he wanted to.
Life always goes on. Music had changed rapidly during the past few years. Glam rock had perverted itself and was nothing but a sad caricature of itself now. Meanwhile, a whole new era had begun. What had once shocked the world was yesterday's news. The revolution had come to an end. And he was the only one still fighting. He smiled bitterly as the band made their way through the passport controls.
"Are you listening? Curt? Curt, this is serious!" Barry, their manager announced. He hadn't even noticed him talking before. "You should think it over, Curt, really. Your last album wasn't such a big hit, in case you haven't noticed. We've got to do something. And playing that song - people would simply go mad!"
He stared at Barry. "No. I fucking told you I'm not gonna play it." He shook his head with disbelief. "Fuck."
He couldn't believe that after five years and all the songs he'd written since then, everybody still only wanted to hear this one. The only song he refused to play. He'd sworn he'd never perform that song again, never in his life. The mere thought of it spooked him back, made his stomach tighten. He knew it was silly, but he couldn't change it. Everybody thought he hated the song. He didn't hate it. He just couldn't take it. Because it brought back the memories. And he was through with his past. For once and for all.
Stepping out of the airport, he glanced at the cloudy sky. Okay, here we are again. Let's get this over with quickly.
***
"You have the ability to make people love you, to make you the center of their lives. That would be a wonderful thing, but it's not. It's tragic. Because you yourself aren't able to love. You're just not able to."
Brian stared at his reflection in the mirror, the vision of Mandy standing behind him in the open door so real he had to turn around to make sure she wasn't there. It had been the last time she'd really talked to him, a few days after he and Curt... after the break-up. He remembered every word she'd said as if it had only been yesterday. She'd looked at him with sad eyes, suitcase in hand.
"I wish you... well, Brian. I do."
He still remembered the sound of her high heels on the parquet as she left, echoing through the empty rooms of an empty house. He'd stared at his reflection for what seemed like hours, just like he did now. He'd just stood there, hands on the wash-basin, looking into his own empty eyes. He didn't cry; he couldn't. He was too empty for tears.
And now? It was the same old mirror, the same old house. He'd never sold it, not sure why. Simply because he forgot to, probably. He'd sold everything else. There was hardly any furniture in the rooms, just like he'd left it five years ago. It was a sad and empty house. But it was the only link to his past still left.
Brian took a step back and stared at his reflection again. He'd lost some weight. The years of outrageous drug abuse had left their marks. He looked older than he was. But he was still handsome. Quite gorgeous, actually. He wore his hair short again, in his natural color. The clothes... Nothing special, just a pair of blue jeans and a casual shirt. Not much of a rock star anymore, are we?
He certainly wasn't. There was nothing glittery about him now, nothing special. Even the sparkle had left his eyes. People passed him on the streets every day without recognizing him. Maxwell Demon had been laid to rest. And that was a good thing, wasn't it?
***
Curt recognized the hotel room. It was the one with the big armchair. He rolled his eyes when he noticed the flowers on the table. Slowly he crossed the room and took the little card lying beside it. It said: "I promised to come, and I will. It seems like it's been forever! Love, A."
It seems like it's been forever cause it's been forever, you bastard. Curt absent-mindedly put the card back on the table. He pulled the curtain back and looked down on the busy street. Familiar sight. He'd been in this hotel a couple of times before. They always seemed to give him the same room. Or maybe he just couldn't tell them apart. He'd been in too many hotel rooms in his life. There were nights when he woke up and couldn't even remember which city he was in. It didn't matter anyway. He didn't have a real home, a particular place where he felt like he belonged, a place he missed when he was abroad. He had a couple of houses, but he hadn't lived in any of them for more than three months in a row. That just wasn't his thing. He was constantly on the move, he liked it that way. Just like a gypsy. Lika a fucked up rock' n' roll gypsy.
He grinned a little, turned around and looked at the flowers again. Red roses. Typical. Angelo and his romantic Latin lover shit. He knew Curt couldn't have cared less about flowers, but he still kept sending them to him. There were few things they had in common. There'd been a lot of gossip when they'd first gotten together, the tabloids had had a field day, saying it was just a publicity stunt and shit like that. But as time passed, people stopped questioning their affair. Now pictures of them were a familiar sight in any fashionable magazine. No wonder, since Angelo was a fucking supermodel, and everybody's darling. When they'd first met Curt had told him to go to hell. But Angelo was stubborn. He simply didn't give up. He was the only person Curt had ever met who could take an insult with a smile and a shrug. And eventually he thought that there had to be something special about this guy if he could put up with his crap. And there really was something special about him. He made him laugh.
But as passionate as the affair had been at the beginning, it had become increasingly like a friendship with time. Even sex had become routine. Sometimes he wondered why they even stayed together. Neither of them really had the time for a serious relationship. But it was nice to know that there was someone special somewhere out there. That you weren't completely alone amongst all the strangers you met every day.
Only a few hours more to kill until he had to head down to the theatre for a sound check. It was barely five but already getting dark outside and a bit foggy. He remembered the London fog and the strange, surreal look it gave everything, the streetlights and the lights of the cars down on the street so hazy. Like a Da Vinci painting. The time Curt had spent in London was the closest he'd ever come to feeling at home. But that wasn't because of London but because of... He quickly banished the thought and turned on the TV. Turned it up real loud. He didn't even care what was on. Anything was better than being alone in this city and starting to think.
***
It seemed to Brian that the silence of the empty rooms was out to drown him. He desperately needed to get out, get some air. He grabbed his worn-out leather jacket and left the house. Outside it was freezing, but that felt surprisingly good. It made him feel alive and real. Just what he needed after hours in the empty house, engulfed by memories. It seemed as though the spirits of the people that had once lived there had somehow been preserved. Or maybe he was just being paranoid. Either way, he didn't like it. Everywhere he looked, everywhere he turned he seemed to see Curt or Mandy or both. The memories, even the good ones, hurt and were hard to take.
What Brian needed now was to be among people, real people, not ghosts. He strolled down the street and reached the bus stop just in time to fetch a ride downtown. He got off near Piccadilly Circus and felt better already as he mingled with the crowd on the busy streets. Blending in nicely. Slowly he strolled along, letting the masses guide him, he didn't care where to. He passed a record store he remembered and decided to go in for a look around. Half of the names he read on the records were completely unfamiliar.
Suddenly he stopped. There was a huge Curt Wild poster on the wall. Underneath it, a small rack filled with stacks of Curt's older records. Beside it a big sign: "SALE".
Sale. You too, mate, huh? You too. He took a deep breath and took a closer look at the poster. A classic shot. He couldn't help but smile a little. It was a picture of Curt on stage. He was on his knees and had that distant look in his piercing eyes, that look that had always sent shivers down his spine. Unlike any other performer he knew, Curt was able to completely lose himself in his songs, his performance. Sometimes it was like he performed the song for himself, as if he didn't even notice there were hundreds of people watching him. He'd always envied him for that. Brian had always been a totally different kind of performer. Every look, every gesture well-planned and aware of its effect.
"You're an actor, not a singer." Curt had once said it mockingly, but he'd been right. He'd lived for the performance. Curt had lived for the music.
Brian shifted uneasily on his feet, wondering if it still was that way. Or had Curt changed too, did he just put on a show now, did he fake it? He grabbed one record to take a closer look at it. When he realized it was the Berlin record Curt had cut with Jack Fairy he put it back immediately. He'd heard it was a classic now. It included Curt's biggest hit, "Gimme Danger".
For a second a memory flashed before his eyes. Curt on-stage, looking so surreal in the bluish light... the fallen angel of rock. Another glance at the poster, then Brian turned around and hurried out of the store, suddenly angry. With his hands in his pockets he walked on quickly as though scared of being followed. By what? By the poster? By a memory? Shit. Five years, Brian, and you're still trying to run away from that wanker! He hurried away, turned around a corner and leaned against the wall, panting slightly.
Okay, calm down. Bloody calm down! You're losing it, mate, you're losing it. He sighed deeply as he slowly regained his composure. This wasn't even funny anymore. He was really beginning to think that he was starting to crack up. Why did coming back here upset him so? He hadn't been touched by anything for years! He'd believed that he was completely empty and cold. And now, suddenly, all these emotions... It was too much all at once. He needed some peace of mind. He needed... redemption.
Redemption? You've always had a thing for drama, that's for sure...
Brian looked up, and froze. His eyes were fixed on the huge poster on the other side of the street.
"Curt Wild - All Day, All Night Tour - 20. January live at the Rainbow Theatre, London."
There was a big red sticker on it, saying:
"Tonight".