fade away never
"So, we going to lunch?"
Just shutting the file drawer on his desk, Arthur looked up from his bent position and looked at his boss, momentarily confused. Then he remembered their conversation the night before, blurred by time and the emotional stress he'd been under, and blurted the first thing that came to mind.
"Why?"
Crossing his arms easily, one hand holding a sheaf of papers, a common sight, the older man tipped his head and spoke in his usual authoritative manner.
"I want to talk to you."
"I'm not going to like this." Straightening, Arthur reached for his jacket. The bright emerald pin glittered on the collar.
"Relax." Lou gave him a hard grin. "It won't hurt."
They walked a few blocks to a diner Lou said he loved. This was news to Arthur, but it didn't surprise him. His boss seemed the epitome of the hard‑boiled newsman, the editor every writer wanted and feared. He practically lived for his paper and the emotions he allowed to show were usually along the lines of frustration and irritation, occasionally lightened by sarcastic amusement. He expected the best of his people and bullied them until he got it.
Remembering his first few months in the office, when he hadn't been sure he could make it, that he wanted the pressure, Arthur also remembered the first kind words he's gotten from this man. After a fierce chewing out over a piece on the recent election, which Arthur had asked to write, Lou had patted his shoulder as he went out the door, moving stiffly, angry at himself and at Lou, and Loud had simply said 'Hang in there. It might not get better, but quitting never helped anyone."
So he had hung in there.
And now they were sitting in a greasy spoon diner and Lou was ordering breakfast ‑ an omelet and pancakes and hash browns, and Arthur quietly asked for a salad and soup, and then they were staring at each other over the vinyl tabletop.
"So you were there."
Startled, Arthur nodded, tucking his hands into his pockets as he sat.
"Yes."
"That's why you remembered. Is that when you met Wild?"
"The night of the tribute concert. The farewell to glam rock. Brian came, but Curt didn't see him..." He stopped, unwilling to share it all.
"And then you found him again. Were you ‑ looking for him?" Lou looked curious and uncomfortable, a peculiar combination.
After a moment Arthur nodded again.
"I didn't know I was, as first. But then I found him. I'd almost managed to forget. What it used to be like. Who I used to be."
"There's nothing wrong with who you are, or who you used to be." Lou said, meeting Arthur's eyes steadily. "I had a cousin who stayed with us in the summer when I was a kid, on the farm. His name was Philip. We were the best of friends. And the year we turned sixteen, Philip went out into the barn and hung himself."
"Bloody hell." Flinching, Arthur jerked his head as if he'd been hit. Why was Lou telling him this?
"I didn't understand, not until years later. That he was gay, and he was hurting. I wish now that he'd been able to come to me, to talk to me, but I was like the other boys my age ‑ I made the jokes, I picked on the kids who seemed different. But I never thought Philip was different. Never saw that he was in pain."
"Do I remind you of him?"
"No." Lou sighed, and dropped his eyes. "But if Philip were alive, I'd want him to be with a man like you."
"Thank you." Arthur said, and then thought about it for a minute. "I think."
"You have potential, Arthur Stewart." Lou said, almost fiercely, as the waitress brought their food. "Don't squander it."
Accepting his food and a refill of coffee, Arthur smiled at him, feeling both relieved and moved.
"You wouldn't let me."
"Damn right." Snapping with his usual irascible tone, Lou returned the smile, and started eating.
Arthur knew, the way people sometimes just know things, that this was the only time they would have this conversation, or even, perhaps, have lunch. And he was very glad that they had.
He worked late, wanting to catch up for lost time, and went straight to the Shooting Star afterwards. Not really sure what to expect, what kind of mood Curt would be in, but hoping for the best. His lover had said that morning that he intended to talk to the police, and he’d had several interviews scheduled during the day, still looking for a second bartender so he could have a bit more free time. The woman he had hired after the asshole quit was good, but she didn't like to work more than forty a week, and Arthur thought that was understandable, she had a kid at home, Curt had said. Americans worked too much anyways.
Opening the door, he saw several patrons sitting near the large television, watching soccer on cable, and several more scattered around. It was quiet, the sound of the game the only noise, and it turned low.
Carmen, the bartender, smiled at him and waved. Arthur had been there for her interview, just by happenstance, and Curt had asked her outright if she had a problem with the two of them together, and she'd said it was perfect because it meant they wouldn't be hitting on her. A pretty woman in her early forties, arms covered with tatoos, she had a cultured accent and was also a recovered junkie, which only made her more suitable in Curt's opinion.
"He's in the office." She greeted him. "Want a pint?"
"Guinness." He said, not waiting for her to draw it, but going on back. The office was a little room off to one side of the storage room, and the door was completely closed. Hesitating a moment, he knocked.
"What?" Curt's voice, gruff and sounding irritated.
"It's me."
There wasn't an answer, and the door was yanked open and he was grabbed in a tight hug.
"You don't haveta knock, stupid!" Curt grinned at him, and then kissed him. It was slow and hungry and Arthur responded eagerly, digging his hands into Curt's hair and opening his mouth to the probing tongue.
"Hey, limey ‑ want your beer?"
Carmen's smiling voice interrupted them and Arthur swung away from Curt, reaching for the glass of foaming brew and gulping half thirstily.
"I do now,” he muttered, eyeing Curt warily. Mood swings were the norm for the other man, but this seemed odd. Curt was barefoot, his hair was still neatly tied, and his shirt had two buttons undone.
"Give us a bit of privacy, Carmen, luv." Curt hustled Arthur into the office and pulled him down onto the battered old sofa. His beer jostled and he set it on the floor quickly, just in time, as his lover pushed him down and straddled him and began kissing him with purpose.
"Curt? Curt, what's wrong, love?" With a bit of effort Arthur managed to get his face free so he could talk, hands going to grasp Curt's, twining with his fingers, holding the other man's arms close to his chest. "What happened?"
"Does something bad have to happen to make me want you?" Pouting, Curt lowered his head and breathed across Arthur's parted lips. "That doesn't sound very romantic. Can't I just want to make love with you?"
Inhaling sharply, smelling the rough tobacco‑beer‑cologne scent of his lover, Arthur squirmed slightly. His body was completely ready to abandon this line of inquiry and take what was offered.
"Of course." He sighed, opening his mouth, reaching for Curt with his tongue.
"Everything's fine." Curt muttered as he responded to the offer, his own tongue slipping out to tangle with Arthur's in the space between them. It was fun, and erotic, playing tongue games in the air, Arthur still holding Curt's hands, his lover making no attempt to free them. Curt pushed his hips against Arthur. "What you waiting for?"
"You want me to do something?" Arthur was only half‑teasing. They'd never made it back here before. Curt wanted to keep business and pleasure separate.
"If you don't I will." Curt let Arthur keep his hands, but he twisted his body and rubbed against Arthur eagerly. "Touch me."
His wantonness was inflaming. Arthur threw caution to the winds and got aggressive. He bent Curt back over the uncluttered desk, kissing him, and pushed his legs apart with a knee. Curt moaned and arched up into him and Arthur decided this was a very good way to say hello.
It had to be quick and dirty. There was always the chance they'd be interrupted. Or, worse, heard, though the soccer game on the telly meant there was some shouting outside the door.
Arthur got both of Curt's wrists into one hand ‑‑ and he did so like being a man and able to do that -- and used the other to unzip Curt's jeans and his own trousers. He pressed their groins together, erections bumping, and Curt began biting him on the neck, no doubt leaving a string of colorful bruises. Arthur didn't care.
"Lube?" he grunted, sure Curt had some here somewhere.
"Drawer. Left." Curt answered, the words muffled by the mouthful of Arthur's neck he was sucking on.
With some fumbling he found it, and squirted a bit onto his hand. Just enough to ease the burn, and then he was pumping into Curt's groin, their cocks sliding together, hair getting caught and tugging, balls swelling. The contrast of the cool metal zipper was fascinating and Arthur stroked harder, keeping Curt's hands down to one side. Curt's arm was stretched tight across his chest and the bicep stood out tautly. Arthur bumped it with his chest and it felt good to have it there, to have Curt restrained, held still. Well, mostly still -- Curt got a leg up and wrapped it around Arthur's hip. He was grunting and growling and only tugging on his trapped wrists a little bit.
It was pretty basic, but neither of them was going to be complaining about the results. Curt bit really hard when he came, and Arthur muffled his surprise in Curt's throat. Then he came, too, the last few stokes especially good, now warm and wet with Curt's semen.
They panted together and Arthur realized that he was lying on top of Curt, and Curt was flattened on top of the hard desk. He lifted off with an apologetic grin, feeling a bit bashful.
"Wow, lover." Curt looked him up and down. "You looked debauched."
"I feel it, too." Arthur went to office loo and gathered some paper towels, wet them. He took a minute to clean himself up, then went back to do the same for Curt.
His lover just lay on the desk, legs spread, and purred at him.
"You want to move?" Arthur asked after he disposed of the towels.
"Nu‑uh." Curt opened his arms and reached for him. "I wanna be squashed."
"I already did that." Arthur grinned and snuggled close. It was hard on his back, but he could do it for a while.
"You did a fine job." Curt almost giggled. It reminded Arthur of how easily the ex‑rocker could veer into emotional outbursts, so he tried to cut it off at the pass, raising his head and kissing him, open‑mouthed.
"That good, eh?" he asked.
"That's *good.* Curt corrected. He used both hands to draw Arthur's face back down and kiss him back.
They kissed until there was a knock at the door. Curt ignored it, but then Carmen yelled.
"Hey, boss ‑ beer delivery! He's going to leave if you don't get your horny butt out here!"
"Shit." Curt broke away from Arthur's mouth and Arthur just lay there, panting. "This will take five minutes, tops ‑ you stay right here."
"No ‑" Arthur managed to get some oxygen to the few brain cells that were still working. "We've got to talk. You're acting weird, love." Arthur stood unsteadily as Curt bounded for the door.
"Dammit. I wanted you like that." Curt complained, opening the door. "Can I at least get a rain check?"
"Yes." Arthur grinned, unable to help himself. Curt was acting *cute*. "Of course."
"Okay then. Let me get rid of this guy and we'll take off for dinner ‑ I need to be back before the rush begins, in case there're any problems tonight."
"Fine." Arthur nodded. He wasn't sure going out to eat was a good idea, with those pictures still in circulation, but apparently Curt wasn't willing to hide. He followed Curt back out into the bar and finished his beer while his lover negotiated with the Budweiser guy.
Curt refused to talk about anything important until they had their salads at the restaurant. He'd opted for Italian and Arthur, bemused, hadn't thought to argue. The place was packed but they got a table quickly; the owners were more friends of Curt's. A nice Lambrusco accompanied the salads and bread and Curt was almost too mellow. It made Arthur anxious, and he interrupted Curt's quiet monologue about the search for a new bartender.
"Curt ‑ love ‑ talk to me about something important."
Curt munched on a piece of bruscetta and grinned at him.
"About whot?"
"About whatever the hell it is making you act this way!" Arthur raised his voice and several other diners glanced at them. He heard them whisper as they looked away. "You're making me crazy."
"I'm sorry." Curt put down the bread and the wineglass and reached across the table to snag Arthur's hand and hold it. "This was just a really fuckin' busy day."
"So *tell* me about it already."
"Okay." Curt leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. He waved away the waiter that would have refilled their wine glasses. "So I went to the cops. It was cool. They're all excited about pinning something on Stone. It seems that he's not as popular with him as he is with the current administration. He hasn't been a big supporter of the police; has his own security force and all. They want to set up a sting operation, and I said I'd do my part."
"You're going to try to trap Tommy Stone?"
"He deserves it. Cheeky bugger, threatening me. Like he's better 'n me. I'm not the one lying about who I am."
"No, you aren't." Arthur was trying to absorb this. Curt seemed to have overcome his lack of self‑image in one huge leap. But that wasn't possible ‑ was it? "This sounds like ‑ a lot, Curt. A big risk."
"There's more." Curt smiled, and raised Arthur's hand to his lips, kissed it. The couple at the table next to them recoiled. Curt gave them a glance and dismissed them. "Must be Tommy Stone fans. Anyhow ‑ I called my mom again. She saw the paper, and she was mad ‑ for me, not at me. Seems like she's calmed down since my dad died."
"Your dad died?!" Arthur hadn't heard that yesterday.
"Yeah. Heart attack, couple of years ago. Good riddance, I say. He made me so fuckin' miserable ‑ "
"I know." Arthur interrupted again. He didn't want Curt to go off on a angry tangent. "My da was the same."
"Yeah." Curt smiled and kissed his hand again. "*Anyhow* ‑ she's going to fly up for a visit in a couple of weeks. And then I called my agent. He's always fielding offers for me ‑ I told him I wanted to think about doing a couple of gigs."
"You're going to sing again?" Arthur thought his eyes might bug out of his head. "Onstage? In front of people?!"
"You don't have to sound so bloody surprised. It's what I do, after all." Curt looked hurt and Arthur hastened to reassure him, holding Curt's hand with both of his own.
"No, I'm pleased. I'm *thrilled*. I just thought you weren't going to do any of that anymore."
"It's time. I gotta stop letting what he did to me stop me from being who I am."
"You've been hiding a long time."
The waiter approached with a tray on his shoulder. He looked nervous, but Curt sat back and beckoned him over.
"We want a bottle of champagne, Krystal."
The man nodded, flustered, and handed out their food. Arthur waited until he was gone before continuing the conversation.
"So what kind of show are you going to do?"
Curt chewed a bite of lasagna thoughtfully, and swallowed before he answered.
"It's like this; MTV wants to do an interview. Kurt Loder. I told Gil ‑ my agent ‑ that I would do it, but I want to do a couple of songs, too. When he told them that they called him right back, and said they want to do a whole fucking show on me. There’s this series, ‘Behind the Music’. Like a mini‑documentary. With clips from old shows and stuff and then me singing some new stuff with a studio audience. I can even do a turn on that sex advice show, Loveline."
"That's ‑ that's ‑" Arthur was at a loss for words.
"That's me rejoining the world, love." Curt grinned at him, that wide Cheshire‑cat grin.
Arthur just stared, his food untouched. Curt ate. When the waiter brought the champagne he opened it himself, and poured for both of them. Handing Arthur his glass, he whispered.
"We need to make a bit of a show of things for a few days. Give Tommy something to snap. Then when he comes after me again I'll have ammunition."
"Make a show?" Arthur spluttered on the sip of champagne.
"You know. Nothing tasteless; but we need to be seen out and about. Show everyone we're not ashamed of who we are. That we're not ashamed to love each other."
Curt drained his glass and looked at Arthur over the rim of it.
"You're not, right? This is okay with you?"
"Curt, love..." Arthur didn't know what to say. He watched Curt's face for some return of his hesitancy, and found none. "I never imagined being a rock star's lover."
"You were a rock star's lover." Curt told him. "You have been since that first night. Even if we weren't together."
"I guess you're right." Arthur sighed and drank his champagne, more carefully this time. "I do love you."
"And this is gonna be fun." Curt predicted.
Arthur started to eat, and thought about what Curt had planned.
MTV. Concerts. Maybe a tour. Getting Tommy for blackmail ‑ probably revealing him to the world as well.
Curt was right. This could be fun.
"I think it might be," he agreed.
Curt's cheerful mood settled as the evening wore on. Instead of going straight home, he suggested they spend a few hours at a jazz club they'd gone to before. Happy to see him happy, but still worried that the mood swings would return, Arthur agreed.
They sat and drank. Arthur watched as Curt ordered a third double scotch, and then smiled when his lover set it down, meeting his eyes.
"Last one," Curt said.
"Not counting," Arthur replied.
"You are. You always do." Curt waved a hand in the air lazily. "But I don't mind, y'know. You're just looking after me."
"I don't mean to be so bossy."
"I know." Curt leaned forward, still smiling.
"I just worry, like."
"I know."
"I ‑ "
"Arthur ‑" Curt put a hand over Arthur’s mouth. "Arthur. I *know* I know I've been a real wanker lately. I know I hurt you. And I know that I've got to start living my life again and not just letting it pass me by."
He waited a minute, and Arthur watched him with wide eyes. The club was dark and quiet and they weren't making a lot of noise. It seemed like nobody was paying attention to them.
Curt took his hand away.
"Okay?" he asked, his smile showing in his voice.
"Okay." Arthur nodded. Curt leaned back again, hands in his lap. He looked ridiculously young.
"’an I know it's not going to be easy. I can't afford to get caught up in shit, and let myself get strung out again. I need to keep a level head and pay attention to the things that matter. The world ain't what it used to be."
"Glam is dead." Arthur said sadly. "I'm just not ‑ not sure there's a place left for you. For any of us."
"Your place is beside me." Curt stood and came around the table. He crouched by Arthur's chair and put a hand on his thigh, looking up at him, speaking in the same low, quiet voice that made Arthur want to believe him. "I can't do this without you. I couldn't do it before 'cause I didn't have you."
"You'd forgotten all about me," Arthur protested.
"Nooo." Curt rubbed Arthur's leg. "I was just afraid to remember you."
"Curt, git up." Arthur tugged at him. "You're making a scene."
"If that's what you want."
"I don't know what I want." Arthur pushed away from the table and stood. "I'm going to the loo."
Curt stood, too, and only watched him go.
Face‑to‑face with the bathroom mirror, Arthur tried to ask himself what he was doing. Curt was getting on with his life. He'd decided to confront Brian and deal with the past. He wanted ‑ he needed ‑ Arthur to be a part of it. To help him.
A comeback. It seemed a ludicrous idea, but it might just work. So why was Arthur so frightened of it? Didn't he want Curt to succeed? Or was he just afraid of losing him? Of not being the mainstay of Curt's life?
He was Curt's main man. But Brian had been, too.
He couldn't get it to make sense. He splashed some water on his face and leaned over the sink. It seemed hard to breathe, but after a minute the constriction in his chest eased up.
He didn't know what he was going to do. Leaving Curt seemed almost sane. But that would mean going back to the narrow, colorless existence he'd been leading for so long.
He couldn't do that? Could he?
If Curt was a star again, what would Arthur have to offer him? He was no Maxwell Demon.
Just a reporter, and not a very good one at that. Hadn't even been able to break the real story of Tommy Stone.
He took a deep breath, and then another. Getting some paper towels from the machine, he dried his face. Then he pushed his hair back and stared at his own eyes.
Why were they so haunted? He'd thought he was happy. With Curt.
He'd thought Curt was what he'd always wanted. Ever since that night on that rooftop. Wasn't it Fate taking a hand when they met up again, so many years later, so far away from that rooftop?
Did he want it to be?
Stepping back into the club, he looked at their table and felt a brief moment of panic; Curt wasn't there.
His eyes scanned the rest of the room and quickly found what he was looking for.
Curt was onstage, sitting in with the band, a guitar in his lap and a smile on his face. They were jamming quietly, a soothing riff with bluesy undertones and the piano to spark it up.
His eyes left his strumming hand and he looked across the room directly at Arthur.
He smiled, and his fingers did a little wave between chords, then he looked down again, concentrating on the notes, checking out what the bassist was playing.
Arthur went back to his seat and picked up the unfinished scotch, sipped it.
The tune they were playing was just right for the moment. An in‑between moment; no longer day but not yet night. The time when the world seemed to pause and let everyone catch their breath.
Curt looked serenely happy, sitting there with the others, quietly playing his guitar. He looked like he was where he was meant to be. He looked like maybe he had missed it.
Arthur paused, and caught his breath.
