………………………………………………………………………………………………………… Chapter Seven: A STAR FELL DOWN. (ON SUNSET BOULEVARD.) ‘Pay attention to your dreams - Angels often speaks directly to our hearts when we are asleep.’ Later that night, after two or three cigarettes and the slight glimpse of an angelic blond, Brian felt too bitter and miserable to stay at the bar, without using his usual pain management techniques, (sexual relief) he walks towards his mansion. As he slides the door wide open, Brian stumbles a couple of steps into his loft, carelessly kicks his shoes off till they hit the wall and throws his shirt on the floor. He unzips his jeans and thinks about removing them but forgets about undressing and lets himself falls on the nearest black couch. With one leg hanging to one side and his arms hanging limply over his head, he uncomfortably lays sprawled for two long minutes before sitting on his ass normally. Letting his mind play tricks on him, he imagines there’s a gun under his palm. Pretending he has a cold silver metal weapon between his fingers, he presses his two fingers, hard under his defined jawbone. Brian slightly tilts his head backward, simulating the act. He mouths a, ‘bang’, with his parted lips. His Adam’s apple slowly goes up and back down as he swallows hard. His arms heavily fall to his side, letting his made-up gun disappear out of his imagination. Thoughtlessly, he closes his restless eyes, leaning on his left side, holding his legs tightly up to his chest and falls into a deep sleep… *zzz* A blurred white shadow glows clearer above him. Brian watches the faint vision taking form progressively. He maintains his own look, straight and serious. A white, ghostly figure appears in the shape and manifestation of River Phoenix. His ghost comes forth; he opens his mouth and softly blows tiny little stars in Brian’s direction. Brian looks at River as the stars fall on Brian’s bare chest and melt away. Brian stays expressionless and unreadable. River’s breaths intensify like a gale of wind breaking into the mansion. Somehow the thought of ‘Wish upon a falling star’ comes to his mind since everything seems to be about wishes lately. The blowing lulls to quietness. River quits blowing stars and smirks beautifully, reminding Brian of his own trademark smirk. And River Phoenix’s ghost slowly disperses, and vanishes like a fading cloud of white dust. *zzz* Brian wakes up frowning to himself. He struggles to sit up straight as he feels his legs getting numb and his head slightly starting to ache. He stands awkwardly and walks to the bathroom. The tiles are cold under his bare feet. He flicks the mirror’s light on and opens his glass cabinet. He grabs a bottle of pain killers and throws back two, swallowing hard. Pressing his two hands against the sink, he slumps his weight onto his arms. Reflecting a bored-evil look in the mirror, Brian observes his image, watching his dark brown hair fall in front of his honey-hazel eyes, partially hiding them. He slightly tilts his head back, wet parted lips, as he inspects his dark unshaved cheeks. He rubs his neck. Even though he doesn’t take good care of his personal grooming, Brian still looks like the most beautiful and richest fag in New York. He deliberately applies white gel to his fingertips, which forms in a white foam, and covers it gently on his cheeks and chin. He takes his razor from the glass shelf, and strokes his skin, shaving upwards. He washes his face with a wet cloth and drags his feet across the bathroom, and takes a piss with his hand heavily pressed against the wall. Author’s note: I want to dedicate this chapter for the lovely and talented River Phoenix. (1970-93) ‘You were my own James Bryon Dean. Private Idaho was my East of Eden. Hit me like a stone when I heard you passed on Halloween.’ Lyrics from ‘Halloween’ by Grant Lee Buffalo. Title taken from ‘River’ by Natalie Merchant. Link for picture: http://i.imdb.com/Photos/Mptv/1392/21695_0001.jpg