Queen of all the Tarts
Lighting a fag, Brian slouched into the hotel. He was in a rather tetchy mood and didn’t much feel like having to deal with Steve’s furious rant about his ‘behaviour’. Sighing, Brian adjusted his tight jacket and made for the elevator. He poked the button and tapped his foot impatiently, but was startled when a fierce looking man stomped over towards him. “Excuse me.” He said angrily. Brian glanced over his shoulder to see if the man might me talking to someone else…he wasn’t. “Yes?” Brian queried confused. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” The man was now close enough for Brian to see his nametag with the poncy word *manager* scrawled across it. “I’m going upstairs.” Brian said frowning at the absurdity of the question. “See here, young lady! We don’t tolerate that sort of nonsense in our hotel!” Brian blinked at him. “I’m sorry?” “You! I won’t stand for it! Going upstairs, my arse!” The manager scoffed. Brian could only stare. “I paid for the room!” He spluttered. The elevator slid open but the manager flung out his arm, preventing Brian from entering it. “With what money, eh?” “Does it matter?” “Yes, it matters! I won’t allow you to sell yourself in my hotel, especially in a room paid for with filthy money!” Brian’s jaw dropped. “Sell myself?” “Just because you own certain womanly assets—” Brian looked down at his body and then back up his jaw open. He was wearing tight women’s jeans and an equally tight women’s leather jacket. *Fuck*. “Look, you bloody wanker, I don’t *have* ‘certain womanly assets’! And I wasn’t going to ‘sell myself’! I just want to go to bed! In the room, which my manager paid for!” “Oh so that’s what you’re calling them these days!” “I’m not a woman!” Brian said furiously. Usually he encouraged that sort of confusion. Only now, it was irritating him. And then he stopped. Wasn’t the more pressing matter that he wasn’t a tart? “I’m not a fucking whore either!” “Out I say!” The manager bristled. “*Come on*!” Brian said furiously. “I’m a man, you idiot!” The manager’s eyes narrowed and passed over Brian’s body, pausing on his long chin length bob and dark eyeliner. “You want to see my fucking dick?” The manager bristled and turned beet red. “See? I won’t tolerate your outlandish attempts to use your body to get my money!” Brian was about ready to deck the guy. He took one step towards the man, when someone shouted his name. “Bri, love, there you are!” Both looked over to see Steve striding towards the elevator, his jacket slung over his shoulder. “Ah ha!” The manager shouted triumphantly. “Caught in the act!” “In what act?” Brian bellowed. “He merely said my name you fuckwit!” Steve slowed to a halt with a frown. “What’s going on?” “I won’t have you and your bloody red light mistress in my hotel!” “He thinks I’m a fucking whore!” Brian shrieked, losing his head. “He won’t let me go upstairs!” Steve frowned at the manager. “Why do you think he’s a prostitute? C’mon, just because he’s dressed a little…provocatively…” Steve cleared his throat. “He’s a fucking rock star, man.” “I refuse to allow you and your demoralizing ways in my hotel!” Brian lunged forward to attack the man, but Steve caught him. Brian’s arms flailed dangerously close to the manager’s head. “Woah, man. Look here, do I have to call my manager?” “So *you’re* a prostitute too?” The manager threw his hands up in the air. It’s not bad enough that you sell your bodies, but to be *blokes* as well? What is the world coming to?” Steve’s jaw clenched. “My sodding *band* manager, you fucking arse-whole!” The manager opened his mouth to retort and then paused. “Band manager?” “Yes, band manager! We’re in a fucking band! We’re fucking *Placebo*!” The manager’s eyes widened in shock. “*You’re Placebo*?” “Yes!” Brian shouted. “And I’m a man, not a whore!” The manager just stared at them for a minute before his face reddened. “I—I’m so sorry.” He mumbled. “Please accept my apology…erm…Your stay will be on the house.” With that he turned and shuffled away as quickly as possible. Brian tried to kick him, but Steve caught him up, keeping him away from the retreating man. “Let me kick his ass, Steve!” Brian spat, struggling against his friend. “Let it go, Bri.” “He called me a whore!” Brian shouted. “Everyone calls you a whore, man.” Steve soothed. Brian stilled in his arms. “Oh yeah.” --Fin Story provoked by an interview found in NEW YORK DOLL - Kerrang, 18 Jan 1997
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