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“We should fuck”
Iggy says. He’s still stuck being Iggy Pop. Even if David is kind enough to call him Jim. They are sitting on the floor side by side waiting for Starsky and Hutch to start. David leaning on him is annoying. It restricts his movements. But it also makes him feel incredibly rescued. Coming off smack really aquaplanes his libido; but the feeling of connection is worse, almost unbearable.
“I don’t think so Jim”
Fuck him, that just makes it worse.
What else has he got left for a gift. Not much.
Being resurrected is painful.
“I feel like I’m in love with you. It’s transference”
“I know”
“and you have zero fucking boundaries. So…”
The catch isn’t in his voice. It’s in his chest. His voice is just his normal manipulative, straight-on-through voice. His sister midnight voice. You got me in rags voice. David is largely immune. He misses his parents so much right now.
David sits up straight. Like he is meditating. Poised. Like he is life-modelling for the artist in his head. He sighs. Steeples his elegant fingers together, his index fingers tapping his forehead.
“Jim. Boundaries. I moved us to a city inside a city, inside a wall..."
“with all the smack on the inside...”
“yes, that was a miscalculation. I’m sorry. Look, we can come back to this after the task at hand.”
If they do fuck Iggy bets David will stop in the middle to take notes. Jesus. Literally Jesus. He feels so grateful at times he’d gladly wash David’s feet. Dry them with his hair were it long enough.
The broadcast is on Armed Forces Network. David hovers before the TV set with the reel to reel. He’s recording the call sign. Yesterday he recorded the refrigerator. He recorded the S-Bahn stooped down in his greatcoat. The Berliners did not deign to notice. Iggy sprawls and curls round David while he works. He receives a distracted but kindly pat for his trouble. The beeps – they sound Motown beep beep beep; beep beepdy beep beep. Funky almost but pop. Not like that fat bass Carlos did for The Idiot. Boppy.
Starsky is driving Hutch round in their red car now. They are so in love with each other. Hutch never makes Starsky crawl. Always has his back.
“I’m going down to the bar”
“Uh?”
“Downstairs”
David nods. Tapping. Is he getting bored? ‘Low’ isn’t out till New Year and his own release date will have to wait. Maybe he should just kiss him. Push him down in front of the TV while gunshots fire overhead and sexy women cry. He never would let himself want people he couldn’t have till David turned up. First Keulan, now this. It will only get worse, living together like this.
Anderes Ufer. It means something like ‘the other bank’. Like fags back home say a guy plays for the other side. Iggy well, he’s just not in the team at all by this point. How do you stop loving someone who saved your life? Are you just meant to accept it? Some girl he recognizes pulls him into a booth full of pretty hookers. It feels warm. David didn’t mind her cock the time they partied so what’s the problem now? They all have beautiful cocks. He tells her, and she says she needs reminding and gets his out under the table. Nothing serious. He can still carry on a conversation. Everyone has shots and they light them on fire. He can’t remember the girls name. She says she has to go score now, but her friend has heard about his cock too. He’s very pretty and so Iggy kisses him between shots. The boy has his head in Iggy’s lap by the time David turns up. There is this kind of lull while everyone in the booth calls the odds of a fight in their minds. Then David kisses him full on the mouth. It’s hot, possessive, intentional. It’s a million-dollar number one album kiss. It’s like the kiss Lou did for the journalists when David wanted everyone to think he was gay. It feels like redemption. Success.
David slides sinuously into the booth and when the boy looks up, David just strokes his hair and smiles. Magnanimously. David’s being coquettish with Iggy now. His skinny arm draped affectionately round his neck. Iggy knows it’s all for show. That David is probably getting ready for his close-up. But his eyes, electric eyes, ray-gun eyes, still.
Doctor Zucker has explained this. Megaton crush. Transference. Gratitude. David’s kindness is just fucking with his brain chemicals. But it feels like love. In what way is it different? He adores David and it’s painful not to show it. Iggy just wants to be held. Wants David to stroke his back while they watch TV. Wants to be a good girl and wear his ring. But David likes things to be interesting. Watching Iggy be blown in a bar is probably mildly interesting. After Iggy comes David takes the boy to the rest room. They go to the women’s room because it has mirrors. When David gestures if he wants to come too, he just smiles no thank you. The familiar girl is back. She shows Iggy her cute little pet rat from her pocket. He’s glad she has something to care for.
Iggy loves David so much they only have one set of keys. They are always together. He watches David open the big Yale lock to their apartment and wonders if they will ever kiss tenderly. Maybe tonight was the last time they will kiss at all.
“I made you something”
“Yeah?”
“Jim?”
Iggy flops down on the settee and realizes that he still has a Bowie tour badge on his leather jacket. He’s not sure who kissed him in the bar. David or Bowie. He thinks it might matter somehow.
“Uhuh?”
“Jim. I love you. So, we are not going to fuck”
What’s the point of saying anything? Is this what happiness feels like?
“Okay”
David picks up his ukulele. Shows him the chord structure. Iggy can feel the money in it. The success. He would swap it all. For one last kiss.
“It’s called Lust for Life” David instructs.
Of course it is. He gets his pencil. He already knows the words.
“Hey man, where'd you get that lotion?
I've been hurting since I've bought the gimmick
Something called love, yeah, something called love
Well, that's like hypnotizing chickens”
...