Part two of Expectations
Here's the next part of Expectiations:
********
There was always something intensely satisfying about the sound of a slamming door. Although he was only a few steps down the corridor before Curt remembered that there was nothing even remotely satisfying about walking away from Brian Slade. It left a bitter taste in his mouth and made his chest heavy and tight. He stuck his cigarette into his mouth angrily and quickened his pace. He needed some fresh air, needed time to think.
He found his way out onto the roof and sighed in relief, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. It felt like he could finally breathe. He scrubbed the hand that wasn’t holding his cigarette over his eyes and face, uncaring of the damage it’d do to his make-up.
The tension coiled tightly in his chest. It felt like he was going to explode. “Fuck,” he shouted, kicking viciously at the wall, and felt some of the tension ease, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
He went over to the edge of the roof to look out over the city. He remembered screaming something nearly as incoherent in the recording studio at Brian. Nothing ever fucking changed, did it? He spent his whole life screaming at the top of his lungs with absolutely no one to hear him.
“You okay?”
Curt leapt at the sound and whipped his head round. It was the Brian look-alike from earlier, standing near the door and looking nervous as hell. Curt turned around and lent heavily against the wall, his hands coming to rest as far apart on the wall as he could make them meaning that he was lent a little over the edge. Nothing ever fucking changed. He sighed. “Yeah,” he answered, “smashing, top hole, jolly old time.” He gestured, a sort of royal wave and his final cigarette slipped from between his fingers and fell over the side of the roof. Curt laughed harshly. Fucking wonderful.
“Right,” the kid didn’t seem convinced. There was a long pause, then, “Did you see…” he stopped suddenly.
Curt looked at him over his shoulder, the kid was blushing and looking unsure. “Did I see what?” Curt licked his lips and tried not to sound too annoyed.
“Nothing, really,” the kid was fidgeting, “I mean, I might have imagined it but I thought I saw…” he trailed off again looking worried.
Curt smiled. “Brain,” he said and looked back out over London.
“Yeah,” he answered, his voice small. “Must have been someone else.”
“No, it was him,” Curt said, not really sure why he was telling him.
“Oh, I thought…” he paused to swallow and look up at Curt through his eyelashes, “because Mandy didn’t mention it…before… it couldn’t have been him.”
Curt reversed his position so that his arms were stretched out behind him and he was facing the kid. He was a real fan, if he knew Mandy by sight. “Yeah, probably thought it was another Brian mind game, he turned up a couple of times at some gigs I did with Jack, but if I tried to get to him he always took off.”
“Oh,” he looked down at his boots and scuffed them over the loose gravel underfoot. “I’m sorry.”
Curt laughed. “It ain’t your fucking fault,” he looked briefly over his shoulder at London and back again. “What’s your name?”
He looked up, obviously surprised. “Arthur.”
“Arthur,” Curt repeated and nodded. “You got a cigarette?”
“Umm, no sorry.” Arthur shook his head, little bits of hair falling into his eyes. “So he left again?” The words were rushed, but it was obvious how curious he was about the whole situation.
Curt felt a smile threatening which considering the evening he was having was a surprise. “Nope, he was waiting in my dressing room for me.”
Arthur’s eyes went wide. “What did he want?”
The kid had balls, you had to give him that. “I have no fucking idea. From what I can tell it was to tell me that his fucking master plan worked out exactly how he wanted.”
Arthur frowned up at him, clearly not sure if Curt was joking. “What plan?”
Curt did laugh then and was surprised to hear how hollow it sounded. “You got me, kid.”
“He didn’t really want that whole thing after, after the shooting, did he?” Arthur looked pleadingly at Curt.
“He said,” here Curt put on a not entirely convincing English accent, “I said I got what I wanted, not what I expected.” Curt huffed angrily. “Oh, fuck him, I’ve spent too long trying figure him out and all it’s ever done is give me a fucking headache.”
Arthur smiled at him and hesitantly came a couple of steps closer so that they were both leaning against the wall looking back out at the roof. “It seems to me,” Arthur said mildly, looking at the chimneys, “that you always sort of … derailed Brian’s plans, though. It seemed like that’s why he liked you.”
Curt looked hard at Arthur. He hated people talking about him and Brian like they knew either of them. “Yeah, he obviously fucking loved it, which why I was thrown out with the trash the moment I stopped performing exactly how he wanted.” Fuck. He needed a smoke. Needed a drink. Some smack. Anything.
Arthur blushed crimson, and Curt thought that it might be part anger. A true fan even to the end, this one. “But he’s here, isn’t he? He came to see you?”
Fuck, what was this kid’s problem? “Who the fuck knows why he’s here? He probably found out that I wasn’t feeling quite as much like shit as usual and thought he’d pay a house call to administer some fucking self hate pills. Nothing’s changed, Arthur, I thought,” Curt blinked thinking of when he’d first met Brian, “I thought they might once, but it was a dream, and we all gotta *wake up*.” Curt clapped his hands together, making Arthur flinch. The sound echoed over the top of the roof until it was swallowed by the sounds of London at night.
Arthur looked almost wistful and said, more to himself than to Curt, his voice soft, “I just think life imitates art far more than art imitates life.”
Curt laughed. “You sound like him,” his smile died and he scrubbed his hand over his forehead. “I hated all that bullshit, why didn’t anyone ever just say what they meant? All that fucking dancing around it, like they were all too good and clever to say anything real.”
Arthur looked hard at Curt as though he’d just seen him for the first time. “I don’t know,” he said, “why didn’t anyone make them?”
Curt laughed. “You’re a fucking trip, you know that?” He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.
Apparently neither did Arthur who half grinned but then said, “Sorry.”
“You think I should be in there with him? Seeing if he’ll fuck me again or some shit like that?” Some of Curt’s anger crept into the words making it sound like he was accusing Arthur and not actually asking for advice.
Arthur flinched. “Do you want him to?”
Curt stared incredulously at him, laughed in disbelief and when Arthur’s expression didn’t change from one of bewildered interest went back to staring at him incredulously. “Do I want him to? Did you not hear the fucking song? What the fuck do you think I’m even doing here?”
“But,” Arthur backed away from Curt’s rapidly raising voice, “then, why are you out here?”
“I…” Curt was stumped for a moment. “Because,” he said forcefully, “because nothing ever changes and I’m not going go back there just for him to decide that I’m not good enough and chuck me away.”
“I’ve always thought,” Arthur said earnestly, his eyes fixed on Curt, and for the first time he didn’t seem like a frightened animal and the transformation was remarkable, “that you can’t expect anything real until you tell someone what you want, without,” his grimaced trying to find the words, “pointed epigrams or elegant phrasing. It’s vulgar and it’s not art but … it’s true and-”
“There’s nothing so beautiful as the truth,” Curt finished. He exhaled slowly feeling the anger drain from him.
“Now you sound like him,” Arthur said with a shy smile coming to stand next to him and leaning back against the wall.
“Practice,” Curt said. “But I don’t reckon he’d ever say something like that. More like; beauty can only be found in the lie.”
“Maybe you should explain that he’s wrong then,” Arthur said.
Curt wanted to laugh. Or cry. “And why’d he listen to me?”
Arthur shrugged. “Maybe he wouldn’t, but he came didn’t he? And,” Arthur was blushing furiously again as he spoke, “you’re what real beauty is, so maybe he couldn’t just ignore it.”
Curt’s face split into a grin. Fuck yeah. “Good fucking point that, time Mrs High-and-Mighty realised that too.” He paused and chuckled softly. “Thanks.” He lent over and kissed Arthur’s blushing cheek his hand coming up his cup his chin, holding his head in place. Then he headed toward the door, but turned before he got inside. “Think he’ll still be there when I get back?”
Arthur looked up at him, his hand cupping his own face the way Curt had just done and slowly grinned. “If you aren’t too long, he’ll wait there for you all his life.”
Curt laughed and went back inside.
Tbc
********
There was always something intensely satisfying about the sound of a slamming door. Although he was only a few steps down the corridor before Curt remembered that there was nothing even remotely satisfying about walking away from Brian Slade. It left a bitter taste in his mouth and made his chest heavy and tight. He stuck his cigarette into his mouth angrily and quickened his pace. He needed some fresh air, needed time to think.
He found his way out onto the roof and sighed in relief, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. It felt like he could finally breathe. He scrubbed the hand that wasn’t holding his cigarette over his eyes and face, uncaring of the damage it’d do to his make-up.
The tension coiled tightly in his chest. It felt like he was going to explode. “Fuck,” he shouted, kicking viciously at the wall, and felt some of the tension ease, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
He went over to the edge of the roof to look out over the city. He remembered screaming something nearly as incoherent in the recording studio at Brian. Nothing ever fucking changed, did it? He spent his whole life screaming at the top of his lungs with absolutely no one to hear him.
“You okay?”
Curt leapt at the sound and whipped his head round. It was the Brian look-alike from earlier, standing near the door and looking nervous as hell. Curt turned around and lent heavily against the wall, his hands coming to rest as far apart on the wall as he could make them meaning that he was lent a little over the edge. Nothing ever fucking changed. He sighed. “Yeah,” he answered, “smashing, top hole, jolly old time.” He gestured, a sort of royal wave and his final cigarette slipped from between his fingers and fell over the side of the roof. Curt laughed harshly. Fucking wonderful.
“Right,” the kid didn’t seem convinced. There was a long pause, then, “Did you see…” he stopped suddenly.
Curt looked at him over his shoulder, the kid was blushing and looking unsure. “Did I see what?” Curt licked his lips and tried not to sound too annoyed.
“Nothing, really,” the kid was fidgeting, “I mean, I might have imagined it but I thought I saw…” he trailed off again looking worried.
Curt smiled. “Brain,” he said and looked back out over London.
“Yeah,” he answered, his voice small. “Must have been someone else.”
“No, it was him,” Curt said, not really sure why he was telling him.
“Oh, I thought…” he paused to swallow and look up at Curt through his eyelashes, “because Mandy didn’t mention it…before… it couldn’t have been him.”
Curt reversed his position so that his arms were stretched out behind him and he was facing the kid. He was a real fan, if he knew Mandy by sight. “Yeah, probably thought it was another Brian mind game, he turned up a couple of times at some gigs I did with Jack, but if I tried to get to him he always took off.”
“Oh,” he looked down at his boots and scuffed them over the loose gravel underfoot. “I’m sorry.”
Curt laughed. “It ain’t your fucking fault,” he looked briefly over his shoulder at London and back again. “What’s your name?”
He looked up, obviously surprised. “Arthur.”
“Arthur,” Curt repeated and nodded. “You got a cigarette?”
“Umm, no sorry.” Arthur shook his head, little bits of hair falling into his eyes. “So he left again?” The words were rushed, but it was obvious how curious he was about the whole situation.
Curt felt a smile threatening which considering the evening he was having was a surprise. “Nope, he was waiting in my dressing room for me.”
Arthur’s eyes went wide. “What did he want?”
The kid had balls, you had to give him that. “I have no fucking idea. From what I can tell it was to tell me that his fucking master plan worked out exactly how he wanted.”
Arthur frowned up at him, clearly not sure if Curt was joking. “What plan?”
Curt did laugh then and was surprised to hear how hollow it sounded. “You got me, kid.”
“He didn’t really want that whole thing after, after the shooting, did he?” Arthur looked pleadingly at Curt.
“He said,” here Curt put on a not entirely convincing English accent, “I said I got what I wanted, not what I expected.” Curt huffed angrily. “Oh, fuck him, I’ve spent too long trying figure him out and all it’s ever done is give me a fucking headache.”
Arthur smiled at him and hesitantly came a couple of steps closer so that they were both leaning against the wall looking back out at the roof. “It seems to me,” Arthur said mildly, looking at the chimneys, “that you always sort of … derailed Brian’s plans, though. It seemed like that’s why he liked you.”
Curt looked hard at Arthur. He hated people talking about him and Brian like they knew either of them. “Yeah, he obviously fucking loved it, which why I was thrown out with the trash the moment I stopped performing exactly how he wanted.” Fuck. He needed a smoke. Needed a drink. Some smack. Anything.
Arthur blushed crimson, and Curt thought that it might be part anger. A true fan even to the end, this one. “But he’s here, isn’t he? He came to see you?”
Fuck, what was this kid’s problem? “Who the fuck knows why he’s here? He probably found out that I wasn’t feeling quite as much like shit as usual and thought he’d pay a house call to administer some fucking self hate pills. Nothing’s changed, Arthur, I thought,” Curt blinked thinking of when he’d first met Brian, “I thought they might once, but it was a dream, and we all gotta *wake up*.” Curt clapped his hands together, making Arthur flinch. The sound echoed over the top of the roof until it was swallowed by the sounds of London at night.
Arthur looked almost wistful and said, more to himself than to Curt, his voice soft, “I just think life imitates art far more than art imitates life.”
Curt laughed. “You sound like him,” his smile died and he scrubbed his hand over his forehead. “I hated all that bullshit, why didn’t anyone ever just say what they meant? All that fucking dancing around it, like they were all too good and clever to say anything real.”
Arthur looked hard at Curt as though he’d just seen him for the first time. “I don’t know,” he said, “why didn’t anyone make them?”
Curt laughed. “You’re a fucking trip, you know that?” He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.
Apparently neither did Arthur who half grinned but then said, “Sorry.”
“You think I should be in there with him? Seeing if he’ll fuck me again or some shit like that?” Some of Curt’s anger crept into the words making it sound like he was accusing Arthur and not actually asking for advice.
Arthur flinched. “Do you want him to?”
Curt stared incredulously at him, laughed in disbelief and when Arthur’s expression didn’t change from one of bewildered interest went back to staring at him incredulously. “Do I want him to? Did you not hear the fucking song? What the fuck do you think I’m even doing here?”
“But,” Arthur backed away from Curt’s rapidly raising voice, “then, why are you out here?”
“I…” Curt was stumped for a moment. “Because,” he said forcefully, “because nothing ever changes and I’m not going go back there just for him to decide that I’m not good enough and chuck me away.”
“I’ve always thought,” Arthur said earnestly, his eyes fixed on Curt, and for the first time he didn’t seem like a frightened animal and the transformation was remarkable, “that you can’t expect anything real until you tell someone what you want, without,” his grimaced trying to find the words, “pointed epigrams or elegant phrasing. It’s vulgar and it’s not art but … it’s true and-”
“There’s nothing so beautiful as the truth,” Curt finished. He exhaled slowly feeling the anger drain from him.
“Now you sound like him,” Arthur said with a shy smile coming to stand next to him and leaning back against the wall.
“Practice,” Curt said. “But I don’t reckon he’d ever say something like that. More like; beauty can only be found in the lie.”
“Maybe you should explain that he’s wrong then,” Arthur said.
Curt wanted to laugh. Or cry. “And why’d he listen to me?”
Arthur shrugged. “Maybe he wouldn’t, but he came didn’t he? And,” Arthur was blushing furiously again as he spoke, “you’re what real beauty is, so maybe he couldn’t just ignore it.”
Curt’s face split into a grin. Fuck yeah. “Good fucking point that, time Mrs High-and-Mighty realised that too.” He paused and chuckled softly. “Thanks.” He lent over and kissed Arthur’s blushing cheek his hand coming up his cup his chin, holding his head in place. Then he headed toward the door, but turned before he got inside. “Think he’ll still be there when I get back?”
Arthur looked up at him, his hand cupping his own face the way Curt had just done and slowly grinned. “If you aren’t too long, he’ll wait there for you all his life.”
Curt laughed and went back inside.
Tbc