Title: All’s Well that Ends Well
Rating: PG
Summary: Response to JenJen’s Valentine’s fic challenge. Curt in red
vinyl.
Notes: Curt belongs to that loveable genius, Todd Haynes. The song
belongs to Iggy Pop. The blue-haired beast belongs to Todd as well. I belong to
me and me alone. No, I’m not for sale, so don’t ask. But you can write about
me if you like.
Chapter One
“N. O. No.”
“But –”
“I said no, Curt.”
“I just –”
“Look, for the last time, I don’t sing in front of YOU, much less an entire
audience. I’m not going out there with you. End of discussion.” Curt sighed
exasperatedly and stormed off to the opposite end of the bus, snapping my book
closed as he walked past. Why I had ever agreed to go on tour with him was
beyond me. We had a hard enough time getting along in a house where we didn’t
have to look at each other 24/7…I’m surprised we had lived so long in the
cramped little bus.
“But…”
“NO!” I screamed back as he tried to argue me into it again, and he growled,
slamming the cabinet door.
“Bitch,” he hissed, opening a beer and downing half of it in one gulp.
“Slut,” I shot back, searching for my place in my book again.
“Can’t you be nice to me for once?”
“Why should I? You’re always a bitch to me.”
“I am not!” he shrieked incredulously.
“You’re a spoiled rotten brat of a rock star, Curt, and you don’t take me
seriously. Hell, you don’t take anything seriously.”
“That’s what you think, missy.”
“Bite me.”
He growled at me again and flopped down on one of the bunks, the rest of the
band snickering quietly to themselves, waiting for Curt’s next attempt at
getting the last word in. Argue as he might, though, he’d never win against
me, mainly because I didn’t get as frustrated with him as he did with me.
~ + ~
Curt had been acting strangely for days. I didn’t know what was going on, and
neither did any of the guys in the band. We were all used to the mean and
aggressive Rock Star Curt, and what we were now getting was the soft and
sensitive, misunderstood artist Curt, which bothered the hell out of me. I
couldn’t figure it out.
He’d been trying for days to talk me into going onstage with him, but I
refused to do it. He would beg and plead, and I’d say no, so he’d get
frustrated and storm off… but in the hotels at night, he’d wait until I was
comfortable in my own bed, then come over and curl up with me, saying things
that I never in a million years thought I’d hear Curt Wild say.
I kept telling him that it wouldn’t work to get him laid, but he’d just
laugh and kiss the side of my head, tell me he loved me, then go to sleep. Thus
had the normally insatiable Curt Wild gone soft.
~ + ~
Valentine’s Day was coming up, and I was trying my best to ignore the pinks
and reds that were so violently taking over every public place in sight. Curt
was getting sweeter by the moment, and it seemed like the nicer he became, the
meaner I got. I’d always hated Valentine’s Day with a flaming passion, and
he seemed to sense this… and in doing so, was apparently trying to keep me
from exploding and screaming out my hatred of the fake holiday in some public
place where we’d be recognized.
Hell, the flaming homosexual Curt Wild had even taking to holding my hand in
public when I’d let him. He’d never done that before for fear someone would
think he was – oh God forbid – straight. I mean, how dare he be seen in
public with a woman after the infamous Brian Slade episode? Granted, that was
years ago, but people still remembered that, and Mr. Wild DID have a reputation
to uphold.
~ + ~
Over that third week of the tour, I lost count of how many times he tried to
talk me into going onstage with him. He simply would not take no for an answer.
And then he’d get mad at me for not giving him what he wanted.
~ + ~
On February 13th, I’d finally gotten so fed up with both the sickening
sweetness of Valentine’s Day and Curt’s endless pleading that I’d gotten
up and left the hotel room after a big explosion between us. I’d told him no,
and he’d fought me, as usual, but I wasn’t in the mood to deal with him and
said a few things I shouldn’t have. I ended up lying on his bunk on the bus,
cold and miserable, wishing I could’ve held my tongue.
No matter which way I turned, I couldn’t get comfortable. Couldn’t even
BEGIN to think about sleep, because I could smell him everywhere, chocolate and
cigarettes mingled with cheap beer, even all over me. It was pure misery as I
laid there in the dark, feeling like a heel and wishing I wasn’t too proud to
just bite the bullet and apologize.
I doubted he’d accept my apology even if I could make myself go back up there.
Hell, he wouldn’t even answer the door. Leave it to me to leave my room key in
the room while we were fighting. Good job, genius…lose your head over a guy,
then lose your head because of him. Way to go.
I tossed and turned for several hours, hoping soon the boredom would take over
and I’d fall asleep. Every time I’d think I was dozing off, a noise outside
– more often than not a car horn – would startle me back to reality and I’ve
have to start the resting process all over again.
Before we got into the fight, Curt had been sitting in the window with a guitar,
picking out a tune that sounded strangely familiar, but when I asked him what it
was, he wouldn’t tell me. That, actually was how the whole argument started…
he told me he’d tell me if I’d agree to sing with him.
I couldn’t get that snippet of the tune out of my head. It played over and
over until I thought I’d lose my mind.
Finally, around 5:30, not but an hour before everyone would be back on the bus,
half asleep and irritable as ever, I zonked out, too tired from feeling sorry
for myself to do much else.
I slept hard, too. When I woke up, it was 3:30, and we were just outside
Houston. And, I was wrapped up in Curt’s arms as he slept against my back with
his head cradled against my neck. So much for bad boy rocker being pissed.
I was too shocked to move. Not hours before, we’d had the worst fight of our
time together, and now here I was curled up on that teeny bunk with him while
the rest of the band went about like nothing was out of the ordinary. A mumbled
“good morning” brought me out of my thoughts as Curt shifted and yawned
loudly, stretching like an overgrown cat. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,”
he purred, then leaned down and kissed my forehead before climbing to his feet
and going for his cigarettes on the table.
“So, have you thought about my offer?” he asked, a wicked smile playing on
his lips. I groaned.
“No, Curt. I’m not going to do it.”
“Why not? C’mon, baby…please?”
“No.”
“Even if I beg?” With his cigarette stuck between his teeth, he hit his
knees and crawled towards me, trying to force back the smile still stuck on his
face. I shook my head hard, more to clear it of the rampant evil images flashing
through it than to say no, but it worked in stopping him…at my feet. “You
sure? ‘Cause when I beg, you always give me my way.”
I’d have laughed, but he chose that moment to exhale smoke into the
atmosphere, and his position considered, right into my face. I fell backwards,
coughing and gagging, my lungs screaming “We’re dying! We’re dying!” as
I tried to expel the noxious smoke.
I sat up and glared at him, and he crumbled to the floor in a fit of laughter.
He never took me seriously. Least of all when I was angry with him. He always
managed to get rid of my anger before either of us could be injured
though. He was just too damn sexy to stay mad at for very long.
“So whaddya say?”
“For the last time, shithead…NO!” This time I walked away from him,
heading to the opposite end of the bus to get as much distance as possible in
the tight space, and nearly going through the front windshield when the bus
suddenly ground to a halt.
“Showtime!” one of the boys in the band chirped and I was quickly swept up
in the mess and dragged down the steps and into the back of the club where I’d
spend the next 12 hours of my life.
~ + ~
by 9:30, Curt and I had taken to not speaking to each other, for fear one of us
wouldn’t make it through the night. I was in a mood, and was ready to kill
anyone or anything that even remotely angered me. I was on the rampage, Curt was
his normal dickhead self, and everyone else involved was just waiting for the
two of us to go nuclear.
I opted to steer clear of all other humanoid life-forms, hoping I’d be able to
calm down before his set started. Since Curt and I met, I hadn’t missed a
single show, and I wasn’t about to do it now.
I just wished that I could’ve gotten stuck going on missions with Obi-Wan or
maybe helping run the writing shop with Jerome. At least I got along with them
MOST of the time.
~ + ~
“TIME!!!”
Aw shit, I thought to myself. Now I’ve got to pretend like I like people for
two hours…this is never going to work.
So, out I went. I headed down the corridor, stopping in my favorite spot to
watch the show, making sure my pass was showing clearly. I didn’t want any
heckling from the wanna-be rent-a-cop security guards. I’d have probably
punched one of them.
The lights dimmed, the music cranked, and the crowd burst into thunderous
applause as the screeching strains of “TV Eye” blasted forth. The lights
came up, and Curt was nowhere to be found, which was odd. We could hear his
voice screaming the first note… and then suddenly he was there, coming from
God-knew-where and landing in the middle of the stage, his upper body already
shining from both sweat and glitter, while his lower half shined just as
brightly, the tight red vinyl pants conforming to his delicious form.
I don’t know about the rest of the audience, but my mouth instantly started to
water. I was just glad I was going to be the one peeling that tight plastic off
him later. I went from wishing I could get away from him to wishing he’d hurry
up and get off the stage so I could get TO him.
The show continued on for about half an hour before he looked my way. When he
did, he looked mildly surprised to see me there, considering we hadn’t spoken
since we got off the bus. He should’ve know, though, that I’d be there to
see him perform even if I was inches away from death.
I’d always loved to look at him in front of a crowd. He seemed so alive…like
he belonged under the spotlight. He was always at his most beautiful when
drenched in sweat and singing his heart out to his fans.
After all, that was what made me fall in love with him, atrocious personality
and all.
So on and on it went…Curt still attempting to taunt me onto the stage
occasionally as he continued to gyrate wildly around the stage, drawing screams
and giggles from all of the girls – and most of the guys – in the audience.
Then he did something that shocked the hell out of me. Apparently it surprised
the guys in the band too, because they all looked at me like I knew what was
going on…and at Curt like he suddenly had a tree growing out of his head.
It was that song again…and it sounded so familiar, but it wasn’t until he
started singing that I actually recognized it.
Status seekers - I never cared
once I found out they never dared
to seize the world and shake it upside down
and every stinking bum should wear a crown
Iggy Pop. “Cry for Love.” He knew it was my favorite Iggy song, yet he
always picked on me for it, saying I had no taste. Yet here he was, singing it…staring
straight at me.
Sayin' I cry for love
till all the plates are broken
cry for love
until my eyes are soakin'
yeah cry for love
on every Sunday morning
cry for love
'cause imitation's boring
cry for love
I stood and stared at him, in complete shock. I couldn’t believe what I was
hearing…and in my shock, I didn’t notice that he’d come to the side of the
stage, and was at that moment standing less than five feet away from me.
Bad TV that insults me freely
still I know what I'm dyin' to see
He reached out and took my hand, singing to me as he pulled me forward.
In searching for a meaningful embrace
sometimes my self-respect took second place
I was too intently watching him to notice that I’d been pulled to the center
of the stage. I was now standing under the lights with him, watching him as he
sang one of my favorite songs to me, in front of an entire, dumbstruck audience.
Glad I wasn’t the only one disbelieving.
An' I cried for love
I did what my heart told me
cried for love
can't stand it
when they scold me
yeah I cried for love
on every Sunday morning
yeah I cry for love
'cause imitation's boring
cry for love
It seemed to go on and on and on… I was completely lost in his eyes, so clear
and blue…and so loving despite the rock star façade plastered on his face.
There was an unusual warmth there, and it melted away any hard feelings I had
been harboring toward him.
It was then that I turned my head and realized exactly why Curt had pulled me
out there… Brian Slade was standing front and center…and had been smiling at
Curt until I appeared, thus proving that someone had, in fact, stolen his
thunder as far as Curt was concerned.
Suddenly feeling like I’d won a long battle, I smiled and turned back to Curt,
allowing him to slide a sweaty arm around my waist and pull me closer as he
continued to sing.
Surfers ride for love and wipe out when it hits 'em
soldiers kill for love and nobody admits it
if you're cryin' for love well, that's ok don't sweat it
if you're cryin' for love then there's still a chance you'll get it
cry for love
And then it was over. The curtain whooshed closed as he tightened that sweaty
arm around my waist and pulled me in for a deep kiss. Once he let me go and the
world stopped spinning, I looked around to find that the curtain was open again
and everyone was cheering. Brian was nowhere to be seen, probably waiting
somewhere out back to kill me and try to reclaim Curt.
Curt, completely uninhibited now, kissed me again, this time much less
involved, then grinned. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” he purred as he
forced me to take a bow. “Now, how about helping me out of these clothes?”
© Draickin und Phoenix
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