25. The Heatwave, Part Two

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"Your coffee," the bartender muttered, sliding a shallow mug toward me.

Greedily I pulled it over and searched about for a sugar cradle- the ones with the pink, yellow, and blue packets all denoting which carcinogenic sweeteners they contained- but alas, I was in a club after all. No such luck. I craned my neck, looking for the bartender, but he too had disappeared.

That's when I noticed, where Paul had been reclining, a clear packet of a white crystalline substance. Thanks, Charlie, or whatever your name is. I opened it to stick my finger in and taste it. I wanted to make sure this wasn't aspartame or saccharin. I don't do artificial sweeteners. But I started getting such odd looks from the people beside me, I just decided to go with the flow and dump a portion of the packet in. One night of saccharin wouldn't hurt me.

I took a stirring straw and swirled the sugar in the cup until it dissolved, then I took a sip. I tasted no sugar, in fact found the coffee to be stronger and more bitter than I liked. I poured in some more, watching the crystals rain down into the mug, and stirred, a little less thoroughly. I took a bigger swig, but tasted no sweeter difference. I poured in about another teaspoon, and found the coffee even more chalky than before.

"What kind of sugar is this?" I said to myself. I opened the last one, tapped some of the stuff into my palm and peered closer. Looked pretty ordinary to me. But I had three other senses to choose from, and I picked the worst one.

I lifted the crystals to my nose and took a sniff.

"YOW!" I cried, jerking back. I almost spilled my coffee rubbing my nose, which was now on fire. Remind me to never do that again!

But as the seconds passed, my nose numbed, similar to what the tip of my tongue was doing. I blinked one, two, three, four times. Somehow, everything was clearer before my eyes. I felt much more awake, my energy making a welcome rebound. In my amazement, I brought the coffee back to my lips and swallowed.

Hm. Not so bad now. I guess it's an acquired taste. I want to go dance again. I gotta move. Move, move, move. I slurped some more of the coffee. It seemed as though everyone was moving a little faster than before. I smiled, watching them, ready to spring off the bar back into the crowd of dancing people to the tune of the "Lido Shuffle."

"Yo!" A raspy voice said beside me. "Okoy!"

"Well, well! If it isn't Rrrroger!" I rolled the r's in his name. I must say, he looked especially dashing that evening. "Come to say hello to little ol' me?"

"No one but you," Roger smiled, then cheekily planted a little kiss upon my forehead.

"Aw, you naughty tease, you're embarrassing me!" I laughed. "Wanna dance?"

"In a minute," he said. "First, let's see about that palm reading I've heard so much about."

"Got the money?" I whispered.

"I'll pay any price."

"I take bids."

"Two hundred."

"Too low. Try again."

"Two hundred and one."

"I'm yours," I joked, then laughed a hyper, crazed laugh that wasn't my own. As from a distance, I asked myself, Okay, what did I just put into my system?

As if I didn't know.

Roger and I found ourselves a little bar table (well actually, Roger just walked up to an occupied table and said, "Can I have this?" and the table was cleared seconds later). Just a couple places down from us, I noticed Freddie and his buddies drinking themselves into wild incoherence. Of course, I had no right to pass judgment on them as I was; with every sip of my crazy Joe, I came closer to La La Land.

(At this time, the cocaine hadn't fully taken effect. I hadn't yet finished my cane-strong coffee, and coke takes longer to kick when swallowed. But it was coming soon.)

Setting his own shot of gin down, he put his elbow on the table and turned his palm up.

"You have very calm hands for a drummer," I remarked, ignoring how my own were starting to shake.

"You have no idea," Roger whispered with a slow smile. "Do you need to meditate or anything before you start?"

"Nope, I'll just get right to it, if you don't mind," I said, taking his hand in mine and peering into the lines I found there. "I see you're a tough man, unafraid of hard work. You have a habit of doing things over and over again until you get it right, no matter how it hurts."

"How'd you do that?" Roger asked.

I pointed at a rough little white spot on his thumb. "Callouses, dear."

We laughed, and I realized I was enjoying myself with the blondie. Freddie wasn't the only guy here who could have a little fun.  True, I was high and I could only go higher, but I wasn't hanging around waiting on Freddie to give me a second glance. Girls of all shapes and sizes were congregating around him, leaning over his shoulder, hanging over the back of his chair. This is so cool, I thought to myself. I've never had the undivided attention of two people in such high demand like this before. But I wanna go dance. I'm tired of sitting here, and I don't like the way they're all staring at us. I'll make it quick.

"So what's the future look like?" Roger coaxed.

"Ahh! Yes! Let me see... Ooo, I see..." I actually had to think about this one. I knew less outside information about Roger than anyone else in the band, so I kept it generic.

"I see in this line here," I droned, tracing his thumb, "a grand slam hit, penned by you..."

"Really?" Roger's eyes lit up. "When?"

"It will be your first hit song... and all shall salute it..."

"When will I write it? Is it now? What?"

"The masses shall go... ga ga..."

"When?!"

I looked up. "I'm a palm reader. I'm not specific unless the spirits decide to be, too." My eyes drifted to Freddie's table for a split second, to see Freddie was killing himself trying get a good look at what was happening over by us.  His brows were knit together- but with what emotion was impossible to tell in the dim atmosphere.

"So you don't know?" he huffed. 

"Soon!  It will happen.  Be patient, and keep doing what you're good at."

"Playing the drums and singing and writing songs?"

"Playing the drums- and uh, yeah, all that other stuff too," I added quickly before I hurt his pride.

"Oh, Roger, let me do it next!" the girls started to say. "Me next!" "No, me!" "I saw him first!"

"Almost done, my dears," I said, draining the dregs of my Coca Joe-la. I figured the stuff had done enough damage already, I might as well just go all the way. (Not smart, kids, this was me being stupid, do NOT try this at home.)

"Yow! Okay. Now, in the crook of this pinky finger here, I see..."

Roger leaned in, eyes as wide as a curious little boy's.  I think he actually buys it, somewhat.  Let's freak him out, shall we?

"I see a baby."

The round blue eyes squinted, confused.  "A baby?"

"Yes, indeed!  A lovely little boy and- oh, what's this?"  I took a look at his ring finger.  I squinted hard, pretending to see something too faint to make out, then I gasped with joy.  "Another baby!  Let's see, any more you got hiding in there?"

I went through the same process until I had made it clear that Roger would father a child for every finger on his hand.  And Roger tried to smile.

"Oh, my goodness, Roger, you lucky thing!  A family man!  Aren't you happy?"

"You're not a real psychic, are you?" he said at last.

"Of course not!"

And Roger, young runaround Roger, breathed a sigh of relief.  "Whew!  I didn't think you were, just- I want to be sure, you know?"

"Me, a real psychic.  Yeah.  Please.  I can't even time stoplights right.  But I will say this: don't be surprised if it actually turns out you have five known offspring."

Roger just laughed- but I couldn't help detecting the tiniest note of nervousness there, so I said, trying to be consoling, "Oh, don't worry, Rog.  John's ahead of you, he'll have six."

"Six f---ing kids!"

"Yup.  Six effing kids.  But he'll love 'em.  And you will love yours too."

Roger sat back.  "How big will Brian's family be?"

I didn't know off the top of my head.  "Uh... big enough?"

Roger scratched the side of his nose.  "I thought so."

I said in a witchy, horror movie voice, "The spirits don't tell me everything, only what I need to know.  And I know that one day you will have a family.  Who knows when, but it will happen.  NOW!"  I clapped my hands and shouted, "Anybody else before I close up shop?  My rates are low, my ability unparalleled, and-"

I cut myself off when a large, smooth hand thrust itself under my nose.  I didn't need to ask who it belonged to.  Roger rolled his eyes, grinning his little grin, and coughed.

"Am I too late, Gypsy Rose Lee?" Freddie asked.  Paul gripped his forearm as if he wanted desperately to yank Freddie back to the guys, which I found extremely creepy.

I drummed my fingers against the table.  "For what?"  Someone who looked like they worked there passed the table, and I called, "Hey, may I please have some more coffee?  Thank you."

"Will the spirits reveal my future to you?" he said, smiling.

I sang, just as I had to Roger, "For a price." 

Freddie leaned in toward me, so close I could smell everything he'd been drinking.  "Darling, you live with me."

"An excellent point!  Have a seat," I shouted, pointing at the stool at my left.  The waiter came around, poured me a fresh (and clean, thank God) cup of coffee as Freddie sat down, and he laid his hand in mine which I turned over. 

I stared into the palm of his hand.  I've always thought he had beautiful hands, especially when they would fly over the piano keys, making that mystical music with that touch only he could claim.  They were expressive hands, creative, and strong.  In my synthetic clarity, I stroked his fingers with precision, noted how slender they were, how delicate.  I was silent.  Out the corner of my eye I saw Paul's hand hover a moment over my coffee, but I paid no attention.  I liked Freddie's hands better than anything Pudding Face decided to do.

"Go on!" Roger said.  "Tell him how many kids he's gonna have!"

Freddie laughed.  "I had my heart set on twelve."

I giggled, looking up at him.  "I almost think one of yours would be too many."

"Stop stalling, dear!" he chided me.  "My future is in my hand!  What am I paying you for anyway?"

With a grin, my gaze dropped down into his palm.

And I screamed.

I don't know the exact reason why I screamed.  I think was a bunch of things together.  The sneaky cocaine, yes, was making me increasingly paranoid and at last was really starting to set in.  And one of the blue lights over our table suddenly flashed and burned out, leaving us in a hellish red miasma.  But more importantly, it was the remembrance of Freddie's real future, his not-so-distant future, of which I was reminded as soon as I looked again at his hand.

It was the hand of a skeleton. 

Of course it wasn't really a skin-less hand I was looking at, but the lights hit it just so, and my eyes were tricking so, that I saw white, skinny bone, smooth ivory where there should have been soft flesh.  I glanced up into Freddie's gaping, frightened face, but in the glaring red light his features were lost and I came face to face with a hollow-cheeked, sunken-eyed zombie.

It was too much.  I screamed again and jumped down from the table.  Freddie tried catching me but this time I was too fast.  Tears blinding me, I raced toward the restroom.  Men's or Women's, I had no idea.  It was private, and I needed it.

The door swung closed behind me. I didn't even close the stall as I placed my hands on both sides of the toilet bowl seat.  With a violent shudder, I retched.  Quiet tears slid down my nose.  I wasn't thinking straight anymore, I wasn't reacting rationally.  How could I?  Let's even forget all the cocaine swimming around in my blood at the moment.  All I could picture was his bony hand, every phalange and metacarpal etched out in perfect detail.  What a brutal reminder.  And that emaciated face.  Oh, God. 

He's going to die, I said to myself deliriously.  He's going to die.  Oh, dear God, no.  Please. 

I had to tell him somehow.  There was no other way, or else I would be giving him the go-ahead to jump off into death itself.  I just needed to find the right entree.  Was there even one?  Sweet Lord, why me?  Of all the lightning rods you could have picked, why me?

The bathroom door creaked, and someone quietly walked toward my stall.  I lifted my head, my flushed cheeks turning even redder as the stall door pushed open.

"I'm sorry, Freddie, I didn't mean to do that," I managed.  "Just freaked, I guess."

The raspy voice replied, "It's Roger.  Freddie's still out there."

For some reason, that made it easier.  I turned and stood on wobbly legs.  My jumpsuit was still in good shape, or as good as it ever was anyway.  Roger slid a hand against my back, and started rubbing it.

"You do realize you're in the Men's room, right?" he said.

"Am I going to be arrested?" I croaked.

"No, no, I just thought you might like to know, in case a guy walks in on us or something," Roger said.  "You okay?"

"Yes.  Yes, I'm all right.  How's Freddie?"

"He's a bit shaken, for sure."  Roger handed me my coffee.  How nice of him to bring it along.  "Drink some of this.  You want some water?"

I took a long, greedy sip.  The coffee was still bitter, and now had a strange, sludgy texture as it slid down my throat.  Maybe this place just had really disgusting coffee.  "Water, please."

So he stuck an empty glass (his own, I'll bet) under the tap, handed it to me.  The water honestly wasn't that much better, but I still drank it.  He perched himself on the counter, and since it looked comfortably casual, I did the same.

"What do you mean, shaken?" I asked.

"He's just, oh, I don't know.  Just a little freaked out from that display."

"It had nothing to do with him," I lied.

"He thinks it does."

"He's wrong."

"You'd have to tell him that.  He's pretty upset."

That's why Freddie's not the one sitting here rubbing my back and making me feel better, I thought to myself.  I've got him in another mood.  Wonderful.

"Did you see something?" Roger asked.  "That made you scream, I mean."

I shook my head.  "No, I just had a moment."

He asked, "Can you really see things, Eve?  Like in the future?"

I looked him over suspiciously, unsure of where he was going.  I sniffed, and said in all honesty, "I can, up to a point."

"What's that like?"

"It's hell."

"I guess it would be," Roger chuckled softly.  "My God.  Such theories."

I squinted, my fears gradually subsiding.  That was Roger's method: distracting people out of their woes.  "About what?"

"You!  We've all got one.  How you got here, who you are, et cetera."

"Really? What's yours?"

"I think you're a fan who won't admit she's a fan.  Brian's kind of in the same mindset as I am."

Imagine that, I snarked to myself.

"Freddie and John have weirder theories," he smiled. "Freddie especially.  I love him to death, but sometimes, sometimes he's just a little too wacked."

I nodded, unwilling to ask any more questions.  My fingers kept jittering, and I was ready to go back out and apologize to Freddie, maybe steal a few more dances, minus the cane.

"You okay?" Roger said again, trying I suppose to be sympathetic.  He was leaning in closer than before.

"Getting there," I said.  I became keenly aware of how Roger was now rubbing my back.  "You don't have to stay in here, Rog.  I'll be out in a minute."

"I want to make sure everything is settled in your head," he explained. 

"It is."

He kissed my forehead, and I was distinctly underwhelmed.  I thought he would stop there, it being simply a friendly gesture, but he didn't.  Roger's hand drifted up to my neck, entwining his fingers in my hair.  He began nuzzling the side of my face, kissing my cheek at random intervals.

"Roger," I said quietly, "what are you doing?"

Very soft, then, he whispered, "I want you."

"You do?" I said, watching as his other arm slipped tightly around my middle.  "I'm very flattered."

"I know you want me, too," he breathed heavily against my neck. 

"That's news to me," I started to whisper when all of a sudden my lips were stopped by his.  Roger put his mouth on mine- and that's really the only way to describe it because it didn't feel anything like a kiss- no pucker action, no lips at all, just mouth.

"What are you trying to do?" I asked him almost calmly. 

"I am going to make love to you right here."

"In the bathroom?"

He groaned, which I took for a yes.

"Why?"

Zonked away, Roger Taylor trying to seduce me in a dirty little nightclub lavatory, and still talking like a scientist. Oh, me.

His hand started drifting upward.  "Stop talking, love, just let it happen."

When he started fondling my bosom I decided to cut the act short.  I hopped off the counter and looked as coolly as I could at Roger.  I wasn't even heaving. 

He came at me again, though, wrapping his arms around me and pinning me against the wall.  "Stop playing games, you beautiful thing."  He buried his face in my neck, nipping and kissing wherever his lips fell. 

But I smiled.  For a stroke of genius had just hit me- and if Roger had any sense of decency, I'd just concocted the easiest out in the world.  At least, it seemed like genius then.  For it wasn't long before I regretted ever thinking the notion up.

"Roger," I whispered in a lusty voice, "what would Dom say?"

The drummer paused, faced me.  "Huh?"

"You know, Dominique?  Your girlfriend? What would she think if she saw you like this?"

"She'd understand."

"Would she?" I said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, she has her share of boys anyway whenever she's away.  But I don't wanna talk about her, how'd you know her name?"

I didn't answer.  "Just checking.  She may not care.  And that's fine."

Roger smiled and bent for my lips, this time with a little pucker at the corners of his mouth.

And I said it: "Of course, I know my husband wouldn't feel that way..."

The blue eyes snapped open.  "Husband?"

"Oh, yes.  My husband, Mark.  He's the jealous type, and if he found me standing like this, with you, he'd be liable to smash your face in."

"You're married?" Roger said disbelievingly.  "So where's your ring?"

"We got married in a whirlwind in Vegas," I lied through my teeth.  "Nearly forgot the rings, and the one I picked wound up being too big anyway.  I don't wear it.  But everyone back home knows I'm married.  They saw me coming with my six-foot-eight husband, and they'd say-"

"Six foot eight?" he repeated.

"Six foot eight, two fifty on the scale.  And a nasty, nasty habit of his, he would always tend to show up right when the other men were getting frisky, so he's broken a few jaws in his time.  And always in the weirdest places, at the weirdest times, he could walk in even now-"

"You're married," Roger said, then snorted.  "I don't believe you.  Does Freddie know?"

"Why wouldn't I tell him?"  I shook him off me and stumbled to the door.  "Thank you for the kind words though, Rog.  I'm very grateful for you."

"Er, don't

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