Is simplicity best
Or simply the easiest
The narrowest path
Is always the holiest
So walk on barefoot for me
Suffer some misery
If you want my love*
Californian sun was shining brightly even through the black velvet curtains. Dave stretched himself on the king-size bed, right across the black silky sheets; he was fully dressed in his T-shirt and white pants. Teresa and her friend was out, too busy with the shopping. He returned to the bed and turned on the music system. Miller sent him demo of Martin's Judas.
Oh, so that's what you meant to say to me, huh?
Man will survive
The harshest conditions
And stay alive
Through difficult decisions
So make up your mind for me
Walk the line for me
If you want my love
If you want my love *
Then Dave's telephone rang, he grabbed the receiver and pressed it right to his ear. It was Daniel Miller, he kindly informed Dave about the necessity to arrive to Spain immediately. Daniel said that Martin and Alan have already arrived and rented a house not far from Madrid, to make a new record. Dave said that he will call to Spain to wish them a happy honeymoon if he'd ever have a free time. Daniel gloomily coughed. And told Dave that they have to pay him double size wage for he is nursing them, evil buggers, every day from nine to five. He said that he bloody worn out and that they have gobbled his brains out from inside and that he has earned an idiosyncrasy and twisted bowels too, all from his uncountable attempts to kiss each of their asses.
- You are a commercial project, fuck you sideways, business - said Miller with the steel voice - Spell it with me - En-ter-prise.
- En-ter-pri-i-ise, - diligently repeated Dave.
- Are you mocking me? - Roared Daniel, - I will mock you, fuck it. Business is a thing that gives you all your greens that you are spending on your booze and dope and whores; is it easier like this for ya?
- Yeah, thank you, - said Dave - A lot easier.
- Enterprise - is a thing that gives me back all my money that I've spent at you, my son, when you didn't cost two pennies.
- I didn't cost what? - Asked Dave, giggling.
- A penny, shit, a penis, you can choose every word that you'd like; Nobody would give a piss for you, guys, anyway.
Dave laughed; at least Daniel managed to push away his apathy. At the beginning he wasn't impressed much with Miller's emotional burst but now he began to feel strangest kind of pleasure from their dialogue.
- We, Guys? We are? Who are we? We have only one "WE" in the band, - he said when he laughed enough, - We are, Mister Martin Lee Gore. We are the Great British Composer, laureate of the Queen's premium for his achievement in the name of his Motherland, Himself. The Maker and the Creator. The King and the God. What do you think, Dan, can I call him Sir now or My Lord would be more precise?
Idle talk
And hollow promises
Cheating Judases
Doubting Thomases
Don't just stand there and shout it
Do something about it*
- Why are you still bitching about that, Dave? - Suddenly Miller's voice became more peaceful, - Good Old Envy?
- Envy? - Dave set down in the bed, - No, another word. Although I doubt that English has a correct word to describe the feelings of the little street monkey, jumping and entertaining audience till the death, taking money from them and give it all to someone who grind a barrel-organ, huh? Fuck it, Miller, can you realize, that the barrel-organist takes it all? And don't you bloody try to tell me to drink something after big hangover or change the fucking topic. You won't distract my attention from the question, why, Dan, why I get less money then everybody in this pack of fucking wolfs?
- You know it perfect, - patiently said Miller, - I pay you similar charges. But also I think you do remember that Martin writing all the songs and no wonder that he has all author's rights. Yes, they're selling well, your albums became gold and platinum, Violator outdid previous success so he took his advantage as an author. That's the name of the game; don't tell that you didn't know that, that's not the question of injustice. You have a contract, have you ever check it? You want to accuse me that I am unscrupulous in my business?
- The fuck I want, - hurriedly added Dave, feeling that he probably found a soft spot, - Ok, let's leave him alone. What about Alan?
- You know he's written some songs too, and they have their arrangements with Martin.
- Another Great Composer?
Miller sighed uneasily.
- David, stop shagging with my brains, please. You know that everything is not that easy between them.
- Between Martin and Alan? - Asked Dave, - No I don't know. Is something wrong?
Daniel paused, it seemed that he lit up his cigarette and inhaled; it made Dave search for his own pack of cigarettes in his pockets too.
- Since you are having your fun in California, here in Foggy Albion we are trying to solve a conflict. In simple words, Alan reckons that he should be a holder of rights in a list of songs. Not only his, but those, written by Mart too.
- Really? - Dave asked with a growing interest. He turned into his navel, blindly moving his hand over the bedside table, still looking for his cigarettes, - why's that?
- Uhm… he has an opinion that it was his work as a musical director made those songs such popular, thus he believes that he could have co-author's rights with Martin.
- Fuck me, - Dave dropped a cigarette from his mouth with amusement, - And what does Martin thinks?
- Martin informed us in his own peculiar polite and courteous way, that he'd rather strangle himself.
- Ha-ha-ha, - rapturously laughed Dave, - B-bitch.
- I advised him to compromise a little, I hope it would help us to keep Alan in the band till the end of the recording.
- It couldn't be that…
- It appeared to be that. I told you, everything is not that simple. Martin did compromised somehow. Alan reckoned Martin's compromises as insignificant, but he is ready to establish it as a precedent, and he hopes that he could get a better profit that would meet his deserts. And the main thing, he hopes that his name would be mentioned in context of Depeche Mode a lot more equitably.
- Suck my dick, - Dave exhaled.
- I have every reason to believe that Mister Gore stands firm in this exact opinion in respect of Mister Wilder too, even if he didn't demonstrate it clearly yet. So, Dave, move on here, we have a little time. If it be your last album, do it the best way you ever could.
You can fulfill
Your wildest ambitions
And I'm sure you will
Lose your inhibitions
So open yourself for me
Risk your health for me
If you want my love * Judas by MLGore
Dave arrived into the Madrid's studio, in his own manner, right before the breakfast. He wore baggy trousers and t-shirt and black velvet jacket. While the taxi driver was unloading Dave's luggage, Alan, Martin and Andy were staring at Dave in complete silence, unable to produce any sound. They didn't recognize him at first.
- So, I should be a rich man soon, - giggled Dave, shaking his long black hair, they grew almost to his shoulders, - Look here, you, British synthy-pop's snobs, that's how the true rock-n-roll star should look.
Dave noticed that Martin's lips trembled. He didn't forget to mention it later when they remained alone. He moved close to Martin, who stayed near the high semi-circled Spanish-fashioned window.
- What? You don't like me? - Dave said, amusing even himself with his insolent tone. Martin turned away from him in silence.
- What a waste…wh-a-at a waste! - Dave made a false laugh; - But West Hollywood's chicks are wetting their panties because of my tuft, you know. Well I'd say it's rather sexy, don't you think?
- Dave, I love you, - Martin said slowly and rather indifferently. In his opinion his phrase explained everything.
- Are you gonna work today or what? - Andy opened the door and looked inside, - You, yes, you, The Great Rock-n-Roller, go and tell guys what you wanted to do since they are working.
It was Evening. Martin and Dave were sitting at the terrace and drinking beer. They were sitting opposite to each other in silence for quite a long time.
- Check it out, I've crawled up, - suddenly Dave broke the silence.
- S-sorry?
- I've crawled up to ya. Walking barefoot for ya. I am creeping and kowtowing to ya. I accept all sufferings and I am ready to become anything you need.
Martin hid his face in his hands, tiredly rubbing his face.
- Judas, it is only the song, Dave. You've heard hordes of them.
- Judas, it is only the song, Mart. I've heard hordes of them, - Dave repeated and raised his voice - I've heard them all, Mart and I lived each word. These words, they tore my soul to shreds, I've beaten to pulp by each of them. Martin Lee Gore, thou should fuck another's brains with all that shit, but I know that you never use occidental words.
Martin crossed his arms on his chest, leaning back in his armchair, he looked at Dave frowningly. Dave hit the table with his fist.
- You call me Judas? - He asked - Am I a traitor, Mart? Speak…no, don't speak, don't … you will lie.
Dave jumped off his chair and started pacing around the small terrace with white plastered walls. Suddenly he squatted down near the Martin's wicker chair.
- Here I am, Mart, and I want your love.
Martin looked down.
- Dave, we should stop for it is a rather painful topic.
Dave removed his hands from his face.
- Why? I am that bad at kneeling at your feet? - He asked, demonstratively changing his position to really stand on his knees, - That's better? What else should I do to you to make you understand that I didn't come up to you, I crawled up to you?
Martin abruptly stood off his chair and moved away.
- In my reality, Dave, - he said, not looking at Dave, - it is me…who is crawling up to you. All this time.
His remark ruined all the pathos of their talk. Dave stood up ant set down on his armchair.
Martin turned in his heels and headed to the kitchen.
- More beer? - He asked Dave.
- I'd like to see it, if only once, how are you crawling to me, - mumbled Dave under his nose, - I'd came hard from that sight in multiplied orgasms,…YES, beer, Mart! - He yelled to the kitchen.
Martin was back with two cold beers.
- How's Los Angeles?
- It's ok; - Dave took a sip, - They are still the same psychos as you knew them, Mart. I live as a rock star in a big mansion with two chicks. Teresa's best friend is living with us. I feel like Persian Sheikh. Crazy stalkers are everywhere. One chick was living near my house, for half a year, she quite seriously considered herself… - Dave giggled, - as my wife.
Martin laughed too; he put his ankle onto his other knee and set his boot against the table.
- Next time, - Dave continued, - That guy. Holy shit, he made me fucking crazy. It was like - I open my balcony door and whom do I see? I see that guy. I look into my window and I see that guy, I go out and I see that guy. I started to see him everywhere, even with my eyes closed. So once I was suffering a big hangover and I was mad, so kicked the shit out of his fucking ass. Why? Isn't that clear that he fucked me up with his presence yet? So that asshole called the Police and I had to explain them. However, like I said, LA is LA. What about our good old London?
- Uhm…it's all right, - said Martin, - Everything's fine as always. Once I was drinking at some pub near the Kingston Cross, some dude was like set down near to me and asked: "Excuse me, is that you, you were singing I just can't get enough?" I said, yes, and he was like Oh, wow, incredible, are you still alive?
- Ha-ha-ha-haaa, - Dave laughed out loud, - How kind! Sometimes I terribly miss that sweet British boring snobbism. I heard you and Susanne, you have a baby?
- Viva, - Martin nodded with a smile.
Dave was rocking back and forth in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
- Blonde? - He hemmed, - beauty…Viva Lee Gore…I wish I could see her, but I think Susanne won't let me? Yeah? You are still under the Captain Boisvert charge, huh?
Martin smirked.
- That's good, - Dave answered to himself, - That's even better for ya. And for her. Listen here, why didn't you marry her?
Martin thoughtfully sipped his beer.
- I am not ready yet.
- Huh? - Asked Dave, - How many children should be born by her to make you ready?
Dave rubbed his tuft with hiding his smirk.
- That's not the issue, - answered Martin, - that's not the issue. It's just it… would be dishonest for her. It would be dishonesty regarding to her. I am sorry, I can't explain better.
- Honesty? - Giggled Dave, - A new fetish? Brand new romance, Martin Gore and the Honesty?
Outwardly Martin didn't react at Dave's sarcasm.
- I was always honest with you, Dave.
Dave spilled the beer over his trousers he was giggling that hard.
- You? Honest? Ha-ha-ha, honest, oh, my God, I can't bear it, - he wiped off the tears from his eyes and loudly exhaled, - Oh, dear, - he stoop up and dragged his chair closer to Martin's. Dave set down and bent forward, he grabbed Martin's hand, - And you truly believe that, - Martin snatched out his hand off Dave's hand, - Yes. Simple truth. You believe that. That's why I love you most - Dave laughed, Martin forced a weak smile.
Martin's not-so-aggressive behavior reassured Dave to continue.
- You are Monster, - peacefully said Dave, - Baby, I do love a monster. Once upon a time I fell in love with a sweet little funny queer kitten, oh, yeah… a long time ago. I knew it should pass. I waited till it passes. I believed it should pass. And, yes, it passed. I understood today, it's over now.
Dave put his hands on his knees, thoughtfully gazing somewhere over the Martin's head.
- Now I love the Beast.
At night Dave opened the door of Martin's room and Martin hardly was amused by that.
- Take me, - he told, clutching Martin's shoulders and pressing him to the bed with all his weight, - C'mon, I know you want it,….I know…you are dying for it, you wanting it badly, more then anything in this fucking world, take me. You need it, you need me, and I can give myself to you. Take me!
***
Several months passed. Telephone rang at the living room, Fletch answered to Daniel Miller.
- Hello? - Fletch said, - Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes, Daniel everything's fine. No, everything's ok, please, don't worry, Daniel. Alan? Listen, he can't talk to you right now. Yes, I went upstairs and told him. I've told him who's calling. No, nothing personal. He just locked himself in his room and he didn't walk out and he refused to let somebody in and he refused to talk to anyone. What is it? Is he alive? Uhm, I think, yes. Lads told me that he's fucking stealing their beer at nights. Well may be they are stealing by themselves. Daniel, I really don't know what had happened with him. We discussed the details of our next tour, he suddenly refused to go, and he stood up and yelled hysterically and then retired to his room and refused to leave it. Well, he said EXACTLY: "I will never ever go to any bloody fucking tour with you, fucking cunts". No we didn't do anything unnatural to him. Nothing like that. No, Martin neither. I am sure. What does he thinks about the tour? Well, he told me that he had heartaches and his head is aching too and he can't sleep and he isn't sure if his health let him to go. What? What did you say? Oh,… Arghh… Daniel, can I NOT repeat these EXACT words to him? No, he's not shagging whores here. No, they are not fighting. No. Two sweet teddy bears. Yes they do, Daniel, you know I hate your expression: "Fucking like bitches in heat". Dave? Dave doesn't thinking. Dave doesn't thinking anything at all. He will do as Martin will say. All right, I will do it. I will tell Mart that you will rip his balls off if he's refusing to go, I think he will understand all the importance. Do we have enough time to start the tour before their breeding period will be over? Who knows. Yes that's a risk. Eight displays, I told eight, yes. Anton called he finished the montage of all projections. How much? I though it would be cheaper then ten millions. Dan, here is Martin passing me, you wanted to talk to him, Martin, come here.
- Hello, Daniel, - Martin said.
***
It was unknown who was drunk and who was drugged at the party. The room was swinging; furniture twisted into intricate leaves of the unknown exotic plants, faces of their friends around was becoming monster's frightening muzzles. Martin crawled to the wall; Dave laid there smoking the cigarette that smelled of familiar scent of herbal cough-drops. Martin took the joint right from his mouth and inhaled the smoke. It took a long time to Dave to realize where his cigarette has gone. Martin dropped the joint and grabbed Dave's face.
- Listen, - he said, - I understood.
- Huh? - asked Dave and opened his eyes in fear to see some evil goblin.
- It's a God, - but it was Martin instead of goblin.
- Where? - asked Dave with consternation.
- It's not me … It's HIM, He managing me to write this. When I hear what I've wrote I can't believe that it was me, I couldn't do that, I don't understand it, it haven't been given to me to feel, I can't, I don't know how to say how I feel. I was thinking about that and I understood that it was Him. God is talking through me. And you know I understood somehow what keeps us together like an umbilical cord that should be never severe, even if it's fucking hurts to feel it sometimes. You. You are like the voice of mine you deliver everything that I can write but can not express, you are voice of him. The voice of God, do you understand me?
Dave was listening to him, so intently, he even opened his mouth. Suddenly tears rolled down by his cheeks. He snuffled, trying to keep them from falling, but in became even worse he started to whimper.
- You, moron … why are you crying? - Slurry asked Martin aware of Dave's reaction.
- You…never…told…me…anything like this before, never. Martin... Marti-i-in.
***
- Fantastic, my friend, I swear you it is just fun-fucking-tastic, - once exclaimed Dave, while he described his funny orgies with his wife and her friends, - Cocained cock, can be hard for an hour or more. You see? Whole hour, you can do whatever you want and he just stays as hard as just aroused, it's a super-mega-drive, man. Complete madness.
- You are fucking lying, - mistrustfully said Martin.
- The fuck I am lying, - Dave swore.
It felt for him like time stood still, or moving forward with giant jumps. Their mansion was so far away from the civilization, only the sun, the sand, distant mountains and yellowish withered grass. One night can last forever, a week, oh so it seemed, but sometimes clock jumped faster then the second. Andy grew grayish and thin, it was painful to see him sometimes, although he didn't even drink or going out that much, it was just his nerves, they were overstrained. Dave honestly thought that the absence in temporal and spatial continuum could stay unnoticed by the others. But when Martin third time in a week loudly announced his admire of the beauty of the Mediterranean dawn in 6 p.m., passing across the kitchen, in boxers, looking if the coffee is ready yet. Andy grabbed the coffee-maker and smashed it to the wall.
- What the fuck do you think you doing? - He asked Martin very silently.
Martin was staring puzzled at the broken glass, left from the glass pot, for a long time.
- Me? - He asked, truly amazed.
- No, me, - said Andy, - What time is it now?
- Mor… uhm…what? It's not morning? - asked Martin.
- Fu-uck, are you fucking charged? - Andy violently shook Martin by his shoulders.
- I am not charged.
- How come?
- I am not charged, - Martin shrugged Andy's hands off his shoulders and tiredly rubbed his face, - Leave me alone, Andy. It's my medications. May be too much of them. I. I couldn't sleep. Probably with alcohol it was a little bit too much. Don't be afraid, Andy, you know it happens.
Andy turned away from him and crossed his hand on his chest. Virtually he didn't trust Martin's words very much, but to express his doubts aloud would be too dangerous for the trust they had between.
- Oh, c'mon Andy, - Martin said, - It's not what you are thinking about.- He tore off a piece of the paper towel roll and very thoughtfully blew his nose.
- It's not what I am thinking about, - gloomily repeated Fletch, - not what I am thinking about… Yesterday Alan was dragging Dave from the toilet thrice. Dave was lying there unconsciousness in the middle of the puddle of his own vomit, - Fletch hit the kitchen sink with his fist, - He's on the other planet still, he got so high, he don't remember who he is and refuse to go down to Earth. Geez, I am not joking, fuck you, what the hell are you laughing at?! I fucking don't want to find you like this one day, is that clear enough?
Martin came closer to him and reconciliatory laid his hand on Andy's shoulder, he still held an empty cup in his other hand.
- Have I ever lied to you, Andy?
Andy snorted, then sighed, then shrugged his shoulders:
- Uhm, - he said, - it's kinda…I saw the coffee pot somewhere. I will make you a coffee?
Dave was making them all crazy with the swings of his mood. When he wasn't whining, irritated, nervous or just not in the mood, he literally was hanging in Martin's neck. He felt that he is absolutely and unalterably in love with him and he kept convincing Martin of his eternal devotion. From time to time Dave was importuning Alan and Andy with his stories about Martin's Genius, and that he can understand him much better now, it's unbelievable, how one could write such a songs, and that sometimes he just can feel his own thoughts in Martin's words, he singing them, but they are coming from inside.
It was Friday night, they were in stuffy overcrowded nightclub, but it was even better, to dissolve into the crowd. Alan was sipping his beer with the gloomiest gloom all over his face. Beside him Dave was sitting on a red leather couch, he wore snow-white shirt with gothic laces, a lot of necklaces and the cross, his hair was waving a little and he kept putting his hair over his ears not to let them to get into his face.
- He's not allowing me to… come closer…to him, - suddenly tears swelled in his eyes, - I can't understand it….for I do love him. I respect him. I want to be with him. I want to be closer to him…but there is a wall that separates us. The wall and I damn don't know what to do with it. One time I can be shocked with his reaction and the other time I see that he feels nothing.
- It calls Emotional Paralysis, my friend, - hemmed Alan, - all that you see is imitation. He is the one and only person he cares about. Yeah, that does can make him care.
- No-o-o-o-o, - Dave moaned, hugging himself tightly in his arms, - No. I know, I can hurt him and I am hurting him the way I don't want to. I am permanently in fear. I am in fear to say something wrong, in fear that he could get me wrong, again and I just go and kill myself, literally, I can't explain. What might I do? What? Wha-a-a-at? I have paranoia now. But then again, I open my arms and rush to him… to tear my body up to the blood, over the ice rock. Where did I go wrong? - Dave sniveled, his lips were trembling, he felt he will be crying, and tried to keep himself under control.
- Waiter, one vodka, - he snapped his fingers in the air, toppling his glass.
Alan clenched his teeth and hit a table with his beer glass.
- I hate him, - he roared, - I hate him for what he'd done to you.
Dave even stopped scratching himself in surprise. Alan not often expressed his views so harshly.
- Uhm… and w-what did he done to me? - He asked puzzled.
Alan leaped to his feet.
- You are nothing, - he yelled, his face reddened, some people in the club looked at him wary, tall security behind the dance floor stared at him intently, - Look at you now, what did your turn into, huh? At day you get high, at night you crawl to the toilet and throw up, I have enough of it, - Alan passed his neck with the edge of his palm, he breathe heavily and then set down, comprehending that attracting too much attention with his emotional monologue, - Enough. I've already had enough of this Freak with his unfuckable self-importance, and now I am babysitting you and comforting you in your hysterics…
- You are hysterical bitch yourself, - said Dave, biting his lips and rubbing his cheeks.
- Why are you scratching yourself all the time? - Tiredly asked Alan.
- Me? Oh…that's … junk.
- Junk? You mean heroin?
The waiter bring another glass of vodka, Dave toppled it too.
- It doesn't working for me, - he said.
They were sitting in silence for a long time.
- I didn't mean to hurt you, or offend you, - finally Alan said, - Forgive me, Dave, I don't want to loose my friend, another friend. God, I am worrying about you, Dave, can't you understand that I care…
- Alan, - Dave moved closer to him at the couch, he put his hands on his friend's shoulders, suddenly his voice went hoarse, - Only you can understand me, Ala, I know, yeah…I know you my one and only true friend, - Alan hugged him by his back in answer.
Dave rubbed his forehead of Alan's shoulder in black cotton shirt.
- Yeah, it's true, I can feel it, - he whispered hot in Alan's ear, making him sweat.
- Dave, we are not alone, - whispered the rest of Alan's mind, that was still able to think.
- And I don't give a shit, - Dave said, - Geez, I love you, Al, no don't try to break free from me, don't try to push me aside, I won't do anything to you, I just had to say it now…
- Dave, you don't know what are you playing with, - Alan hoarse.
Dave understood his behavior like he wants to. He leaped up to his feet and beckoned Alan to go with him. Alan stood up, pulled the most appropriate banknote from his pocket at left it on the table, and followed Dave through the dancing crowd. He caught him in some black corridor, where several couples were hugging and kissing, and didn't give a damn of what was around.
- Where are you going?
- Hush! - Dave brought his index finger to his lips, then grabbed Alan's shirt and pushed him inside.
- Shit, I don't want to go to the toilet, - he said.
- You want to, - insisted Dave. He pressed Alan up to the wall and crushed his lips with his mouth. Alan's felt dizziness, Dave was kissing him over and over again, passionately, raggedly and greedily and Alan answered with no less eagerness.
- Okaaay, I want to… - Alan whispered into Dave's mouth, making Dave laugh smugly and put his hand into his trousers. Alan sighed, rapturously moaned from Dave's movements, he stroked his hardening cock, and he just bit Dave's shoulder with his teeth.
- Fu-u-uck, - he screwed his eyes, - What if anybody will come?
- Let them have they fun then, - Dave smirked, - Or you don't like it?
- I like it, oh,… I like it, Dave, you are right; anyway, why the fuck are club toilets exist?
Alan put his hand inside Dave pants, making him moan.
- Damn, I dreamed about it, - he whispered.
Dave kissed him again, hard Alan bitted his lower lip, savoring the sensation.
- Don't stop, - Now Alan was rubbing himself against Dave, his manhood became pretty alive now in his warm palm.
Dave abruptly got down to his knees, undoing his zipper. He took his now hard cock with his hand and took him into his mouth; Alan bumped his head into the tiled toilet wall. It should be happened. Sooner or later, it should be happened. He though about it, but every time he thought about it, he couldn't predict that it will happen like that, so simply and cynically and so awful yet so damn great. He bent forward not to miss a thing of this carnal sight of Dave plump lips on his oversensitive flesh, gliding over it, smoothing and caressing with unbelievable voluptuousness and unabated perseverance.
Soon he was on his knees in front of Dave too and took his thick resilient cock. The way, Dave was answering his caresses almost drove him to orgasm once again. Dave was writhing under him, and moaning, caressing his hair. Alan was kissing his navel and his balls, and taking him as deep as he ever could. He was helping himself, stroking Dave's dick with his palm, and soon it happened.
Right at the moment, Dave felt burning jolts over-warming his body, he opened his eyes to see it, and he noticed right before his eyes something that he decided at first was his hallucination. Yes, you are right, he saw Martin. Martin stood there, leaning his back to the ragged door and looked point-blank at him. Right up to him. And it seemed he was looking at them for some time already. Unfortunately, my story takes a lot more time to express what had happened then it actually was, because Dave can't help it and he cried out FUCK and Alan turned away from him and right in this second Dave came, spattering with his sperm everything that he ever could.
Martin gazed at fell faced Alan and Dave, then bent down, meditatively and with some disgust shrugged off the drop of Dave's sperm from his trousers.
- That was, - he said, demonstrating them his trousers, - You know, THAT was mean.
***
- I wanna hear your version of this exciting story, - Miller asked Fletch by the phone.
- Which story?
- I've read, some news-papers, about the video shooting, what's up with Martin?
Fletch rubbed his nose with his fingers and remain silent.
- He's in hospital now? Seizure?
- Oh, no, nothing to worry about, Daniel, he's ok now. Everything's fine. Overfatigue probably, yeah, we were partying a little bit too much before and after and he said he forgot to eat.
- Yeah, I've read this heart wrenching story and cried like a baby, then turn on the calculator. For three days? You forgot?
- Dan, what are you driving at?
- You understood precisely what am I driving at, Andrew.
- I've asked him. He said he didn't take cocaine.
- He's lying.
- He won't lie to me.
- I'll tell you, he is lying.
- HE WON'T LIE TO ME! - yelled Andy, so his face became red. Miller breathed heavily from the other and of the phone line.
- One dope head is far enough for me on your band, and the rumors, and all that stuff, what do you think my patience is endless?
- This talk is very unpleasant to me, - Andy squirmed, his head was aching so much, he though it will crack now.
- I know and I am sorry, Andrew, - Daniel said, - Forgive me, old boy, but you are only one person I trust. And I am wrong, I am wrong at every side that I am sharing it all with you, but I have no choice.
- It's ok, Daniel, I understand it's my job.
Miller became quiet.
- I,… - he started but stopped.
- You have my word, - said Andy, - I give you my word for him.
- That'll be enough for me, - said Miller and put down the receiver.
Fletch fell down to the chair, clutching the table with his numb fingers. He stopped hearing and seeing for several second, as a harsh pain pressed his temples. No, not now. Not now.
The rehearsals were started, their stage outfits were ready and to big black ladies from the back vocals joined them, and they were repeating their show back and forth. Alan drowned into the music, Dave was sweating and loosing his voice, he was casting glances at Martin periodically. You'd have enough fingers on one hand to count the days when Martin was actually sober. He wasn't just drunk he was drunk as a lord, overboiled and dead. Andy advised him to sit down, because he didn't succeed much in his attempts to stand. Martin smiled cheerfully and fell down right with the chair; actually, the more he drank the more his smile became cheerful. Andy rubbed his temples, his spasms growing more and more painful each day.
Once it had happen.
Andy didn't knock before he came into Martin's room, he was too eager to discuss everything Miller told him about the show. Martin was sitting there; he bent over the coffee-table, concentrating on inhaling promptly outlined line of white powder.
- Martin … shit, - Andy drew his breath.
Martin exhaled from suddenness, angel dust scattered in the air.
- Andy…
- Mart, you fucking told me that you…
- Andy it's just…
- HOW COULD YOU LIE TO ME, Martin?
- I wasn't lying, Andy, ANDY, - Martin jumped off his chair and followed him down the stairs, - Wait, you get it wrong…
- Yes, I am idiot and I can understand nothing.
- Andy, stop, please Andy, I didn't want to.
Andy stopped near the staircase at the first abruptly, so Martin almost bumped him, and turned.
- Speak, - he hissed through his clenched teeth.
- Andy, it was the first time.
- I don't believe you.
- Andy…
- Stop this childish games Martin, just stop. You are grown man, you can do with you life whatever you wish. You can fuck it up to the death, why the fuck should I bother?
- Forgive me, Andy.
- I will never forgive you, Mart.
- Andy, you know, there is a lot of complicated things in this life…
- You can stick your rotten philosophy up your ass, - Andy pushed him away. - Can you hear me? Can you?
Martin pushed him too in answer and jumped off the stairs. Andy's face were red from the anger, he tugged the collar of his t-shirt as if it didn't let him breath.
- It's a question of trust, Martin, and a question of friendship. There are things, you can't repair, and trust couldn't be repaired, once you shatter it. LISTEN, YOU! - Andy rubbed his eyes to hide his tears, - YOU…LIED…TO ME. I believed you, I trusted you as myself, I was ready to give my word for your words, and you just….fuck it.
- What happens? - asked Kessler and Alan, opening the door and coming inside the house.
- AAAAAA! - suddenly yelled Andy, abruptly falling down to the floor. He was shaking convulsively. His eyes rolled up.
- WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE? - Kessler dashed to him, and Martin too, he yelled:
- SPOON!
Alan rushed into the kitchen.
Foam showed up in Andy's lips.
Martin's strengths weren't enough to unclench Andy's cramped jaws, and Kessler and Alan were helping now to put a spoon into his mouth not to let him to swallow his tongue.
When the tour started, Depeche Mode's wish-list was full of very interesting things. They demanded. One separate limo to each member of the band. Strictly arranged interview time, not too meet each other occasionally, and the rooms should be near or opposite or at the upper or lower floor. Sometimes it felt easier to let them live in separate hotels.
Alan was dying from laughing every time he saw Dave heading to his own dressing room with black curtains and vanilla candles, and big mirror, he said he's an Actor and he should be in a right mood.
It doesn't matter, cause they've met on the stage only. Anton Cornijn filmed their show. Time became show-not show again. Miller fought the rumors about Dave's hard drug addiction, and some other problems, dealing with abuses and booze and medications.
Andy took his medications, but didn't fell much better.
Once he was forced to visit Martin Lee Gore. Martin Lee Gore was drunk up from the morning. He was lying on the floor in the middle of his room with a cigarette in his teeth. Ash was falling down lazily from the cigarette; Martin didn't care much he was too busy staring at the ceiling.
The door wasn't even locked.
- What the fuck? - Yelled Martin, - There was written "Do not disturb".
- Good Morning, Martin, - Andy said.
- A Morning can't be Good, - said Martin and took the cigarette off his mouth, - Mister Fletcher, fancy meeting you here! I am sorry for I didn't expect you'd come, else I'd tide up my kennel for ya a little.
Andy went inside and took a look around. Some packs of bottles should be gone, that's true. He undid his leather coat and combed his hair back with his palm. Then he shut the door.
- You live like a plant, - he said, - You have no shame at all?
- I don't give a shit, - Martin said slurry, - I don't care, I just don't fucking care. Who are you to tell me what to do?
- Martin, - Fletch shook his head displeased, - I am your former friend. My name is Andrew.
- Andrew? - Martin smiled, - How are you doing, Andy? And how's your health?
- Are you in your right mind? - Andy gloomily gazed over the Martin's room.
- Yes, - Martin said, - I am just fine.
- Evidently, - hissed Fletch.
Martin propped himself on his elbows, well he tried to but not succeed from the first attempt. He rested his head against the wall. Andy went to the window not to be able to see it. He evilly kicked an empty bottle aside.
- You were arrested, why?
- You would believe me anyway, - Martin said, - But why are we talking about me? You'd better tell me something about yourself. How are lads? I haven't seen them for a while…For how long are we in this fucking tour? For a year?
- A year. Miller asked me to convey his greetings to you, for we are justified all money he put up to this tour. Right from this date we will make money from that.
- What? - Martin's eyes sobered from the inner horror, - Only now?
- Yeah, - Andy said coldly, - he reckons that you will react correct regarding his proposal to prolong the tour. My secretary will acquaint you with the tab of you South American and African shows.
- It can't be true, - Martin shook his head, - I can't take it no more.
- You could, - Andy turned to Martin, - Exclude half of the alcohol from you diet and I am sure you will be just fine.
- I will die even sooner.
Andy forced a laugh.
- It is Hell, Andy.
- I am always ready to help you. Though you are not my friend now, just maybe good acquaintance, but the part of my heart will belong to your forever.
- Thank you, - Martin suddenly laughed, making Andy flinch, - Thank you, you are too kind.
Fletch frowned more.
- No-no, I am not sarcastic now, - Martin tried to keep himself under control, but his shoulders were shrugging still from the laughter, - you are good. You are too kind. I just wonder what you are doing here with such a shit, as I am.
- Mart.
- L-listen, I've heard what they are talking about. They say, it's my entire fault, they say you should keep away from me; they almost refused to talk to me. They blame me for your illness; they are avoiding me like I am a death on two legs. I know I'm the one to blame, I am guilty, but I don't know what I did wrong. I don't know how it could be any other way and I'd never did it any other way. I am thinking about it all the time.
- It's not your fault that we are in Hell now. It's ours fault.
- Keep away from me, Andy, - Martin tried to stood up, but useless, - Keep out. I don't want to be a reason of your distraction. I CAN'T BE, - his voice broke.
Andy sighed heavily and came closer to Martin.
- Leave it, Martin. We have to pay for everything, and you know that the price is high. I couldn't say that I have no questions to you, personally, but I'd say we are paying our debts to the Fortune. Every one of us is paying his own debts.
- Fortune? - Martin hoarse, - We have Fortune? We already did our best and now we'll just go down from the hill. We are going down. They say this is shit, what we've done and we're going down.
- They've said it all time that I remember, since when did you started to care?
- I am talentless and nothingness and useless. I can't do anything and they hate me, everybody hates me. There's no person in this world who need me or who cares. I don't know why the hell I exist? Why do I exist?
- You can't talk like this, Martin, because you have no right to decide it, you see?
- I see, - Martin raised his voice, - The Divine Jest of giving life to me I understood very long time ago…uh…I am guilty. If whatsoever - here is Martin Gore, fuck me sideways. I am a Scapegoat, heh, I believe, that's the reason why you all need me. Ok, - he crawled closer to Andy, - Take me as I am, if you want, it's my entire fault. My and only my.
- Martin I am here to help you.
- Go, Andy.
- I came here to help you and I give you my hand.
- Why? You wanna drawn with me?
- You need me.
- I don't need anyone.
- Fuck, it is alcohol, it's talking now, not you.
- Bullshit.
- Okay, then I will use my right, as a former friend…
- Fuck you, - said Martin, bumping his back against the wall again.
- Excuse me?
- I never take help from my good acquaintance, - Martin said, - Leave me alone. Go away. Be gone. I fuck my good acquaintance.
- Martin, you are making a mistake.
- A mistake, - Martin tiredly repeated, - Once I followed this path, but I failed. Perhaps it wasn't a mistake then? Probably just a Destiny. You have to go, Andy. You can hate me, you can despise me, cause It' ok with me, I can handle it. I've tried already, you know it worked out, I get used to it…. I feared, before that I wouldn't, but I survived. I can survive hate and I can survive despise, oh…you know, the only thing that I can't survive is my former friends, humiliating me with their fucking pity. GO! - He shouted.
There was a band meeting with Alan and Dave, so guys learned that they would have to prolong the tour, because they couldn't earn enough money yet. And Martin announced the news that his tour will move on without Andrew Fletcher, because he should live them for a while due to his bad health and some other objective reasons.
- Bravissimo! - said Alan and stood up. He was applauding Martin.
Jonathan Kessler and the producers looked at Alan wary. Dave looked aside, he was giggling. Martin's face reflected nothing; he acted as if he didn't see it. He led the meeting for the next question, what was he awed to do, if he kinda had been left here as a senior?
Tour was prolonged. Dave was so impressed by the example of Punk's God Iggy Pop, he started to perform stage-diving. He broke his rib once but found it only at the third day; he didn't feel any pain because he was high all the time. He didn't exist any more; he was somewhere else at the other side.
Martin leaned his numb forehead to the window in their dressing room, pressing blinds to the glass; he opened his eyes with difficulty.
- Shit, Africa, - when his eyes focused on something over the window.
- Fuck it, - said Dave, he put black leather pillow on his face, - Africa-Fuckafrica, Zaire -Fuckaire, SAR-Fucksar. Same shit. Same shit different day.
The show was about to start with any minute.
- No, just think, it's Africa, - Martin looked at the brown mountains fading in a sand haze in last gleams of sunset. It seemed like the other planet from what they lived at for the second year.
- A-a-a-a-a-a-a-a, - Dave moaned, - Shut up, for I' m sick of it. I wanna go home. I can't see these evil muzzles around no more. I sick of them. I sick of this fucking band. I sick of you, Martin.
Martin straightened up and looked at Dave. His eyes were sparkling unnaturally from the eye-drops, responsible to hide redness of his eyes. Dave didn't move, he didn't take the pillow off his face neither. Martin thoughtfully and slowly spit on the floor.
- Fuck you, - he said, - You just fucking enjoy throwing up, Dave.
Alan hit the glass coffee-table with the magazine; he was far too ready to kill them both.
- Guys, time, - said an Assistant, opening the door abruptly, saving life of them three.
They passed the corridor in a long distance from each other; they've been even unable to feel nervous before the show. To overcome and to survive. Another week. The week means three shows. Black boy jumped from nowhere to him just for a second. Martin took something, he didn't know what it is, but it fucking got him high up to the skies.
- Stop! - He talked to himself on the stage, bending over his guitar, examining running somewhere from his fingers strings, - Stand up straight, you, cunt!
White cross on the floor. One step forward. Second step to the right. Third step forward again. Convincing Imitation, and the fuck you'll be aware of my state. Closer to the edge of the stage. The speaker. The prompting board. Fuck, I can't see anything. The crowd. Louder. Shout louder.
Greet your fucking God!
In your room
Where time stands still
Or moves at your will
Will you let the morning come soon
Or will you leave me lying here
In your favourite darkness
Your favourite half-light
Your favourite consciousness
Your favourite slave**
Dave hoarse with what was left from his voice, he was sitting on his heels in the middle of the stage. His vest was utterly wet, long hair glued with the sweat to his back. Bones protruded from the grayish, half-transparent skin, he grew so thin. You can't realize no more that he was a Dave still.
In your room
Where souls disappear
Only you exist here
Will you lead me to your armchair
Or leave me lying here
Your favourite innocence
Your favourite prize
Your favourite smile
Your favourite slave **
Dave cried out these words through the pain and sweat and it appeared to Martin that it was his own Soul, materialized somehow, crawling through the drug and booze and vice fumes, tearing the skin of its hands, letting the blood fall free in its attempts to break free from the cocoon, that was strangling it to death and crying out as if it would help to compel Him to show some mercy to it. Vain Endeavour. Vain. Vain. Fuck, where those crosses are gone? Sweat was rolling down by his forehead in drops, getting in his eyes, fuck it, fuck them, is it sweat or tears? That's why he can't see anything. Damn. My time to sing. It's Time to. Okay, come on, we are singing don't forget, we are trying not to howl or whimper.
I'm hanging on your words
Living on your breath
Feeling with your skin
Will I always be here**
The sea. Sea of people, if to look over their heads and not to see anybody's eyes. Howling, yelling, rocking and waving sea of people. It's easier to see it like that. A lot easier.
In your room
Your burning eyes
Cause flames to arise
Will you let the fire die down soon
Or will I always be here
Your favourite passion
Your favourite game
Your favourite mirror
Your favourite slave *** In your room by MLGore
Dave clutched his own chest, desperately scorching pain pierced his body, and he fell down onto the floor. They understood that everything is fucking shit right at the moment. Securities and stage workers and assistants rushed onto the stage, Emergency came soon too.
Doctors stated an infarction.
AJÁNLOM AZ OLDALT
Súgó
Új hozzászólás
Frissítés