I don't think I was entirely honest when I said I couldn't remember any of that night.  I do recall an intense dizziness, and feeling like someone was slowly turning the dial higher and higher on my internal thermostat.  And somewhere in the swirling fog I remember something light falling away from me, like clothes.  But the other ninety-nine percent either gave itself over to my unconscious mind, buried in its deepest cavern and never to be unearthed until a time when it was least helpful, or evaporated altogether. 

What I did recall, clear as crystal, was the nightmare.  Shortly after I slipped out of sentience, seconds afterward it seemed, the dry ice smoke began billowing forth from all directions, this time a darker magenta, rising and thickening until Freddie magically appeared before me and led me through the fog once more.  But we hadn't traveled more than twenty feet when the earth began to quake violently.  A deafening roar as the ground beneath us split open.  The jolt threw me off my feet, projecting us forward.  Luckily for me, I had enough land before me to keep me from falling into the rift.

But Freddie didn't. 

He hit the ground and rolled toward the cliff.  Desperately he scratched at the dry earth trying to get a grip on anything.  I shouted and reached out for him, but still he tumbled till he went right over the edge- and then the nightmare ceased.  Just quit right there, as though someone took White Out and smeared it all over my mind's eye.  From then on, I was absolutely senseless.

But I didn't want to think about last night.  Last night could go hang itself, as could this next morning.  All I wanted to do was lay in bed and vegetate.  I hadn't the energy even to think.  Oscar lay at the foot of the bed -at least, I assumed it was Oscar since only he liked sleeping with me.  I was face down into the pillow and I didn't feel like making sure.  My eyelids hung heavier than lead weights; I had no desire to force them open.  It was like coming out of general anesthesia, times two.

My ears were first to kick back in working order.  Gradually I started hearing Freddie's voice coming from his bedroom.  He spoke softly, as if to someone right next to him.  Ah, I thought dimly.  Guess he got lucky last night.  Well, good for him.

As he talked, however, the conversation sounded distinctly one-sided. After a moment, I realized he was on the phone. 

"...Course not, Rod.  No hard feelings," I heard him say, then laugh.  "Yeah, we were both pretty out of our heads."

Who's Rod? I asked myself.  Maybe Stewart?  Was he there last night?  Maybe?  Oh, wow.  Wonder what happened.  Summoning up all my strength, I tried to roll over, but the nauseating soreness in my limbs put the kibosh on that right away. 

Freddie hung up, then padded into my bedroom.  I didn't know what to do, so I pretended to still be asleep.  When all else fails, plausible deniability.

Which was much harder to maintain when he yawned, pulled back the sheets a little, and slipped in next to me.  My insides started working themselves into knots.  Freddie, what are you doing? 

That was bad enough.  But the knots only tightened when he snuggled right up against me and his warm, bare legs wrapped around mine.  He put one hand on my waist and with the other brushed my hair away from his face.

We're spooning, I noted.  Then in the very next moment I asked myself, Why? 

I was surprised at myself, reacting so coolly.  After all, it wasn't every day a man slid into bed and spooned with me.  With a pit in my stomach, I wondered if we'd been like this all night.  I stiffened with speculation.

"Good morning, Eve," he whispered. 

"Hmm?" I mumbled.  "What?"

"You're awake."

"I am, now."

"And you were, before."

I opened my eyes, still facing the wall.  "How'd you know?"

"I felt it," he said. 

"Maybe you're paranoid," I said, smiling into the pillow.

"Maybe I just know you."

"Maybe."  I closed my eyes again.  "What time is it?"

He reached across me a moment, then drew back.  "Nine-thirty-four.  That's what your Magic Mirror says anyway."

Nice.  Not even noon yet.  I don't have to move for hours.  "You'll be late."

"That's okay.  My record's pretty clean."

I couldn't stand it any longer.  "Would you mind telling me what you're doing?"

"I'm laying next to you."

"Next to me.  Ha.  You're practically on top of me."

"No, that's last night you're thinking of."

WHOOSH!  Despite my soreness, I bolted upright, my heart beating twice as fast, praying it was a joke.  When I looked at Freddie, though, my hopes sank.  Again, he was bare-chested, his eyes were squinting in pain, even thought the lights were out and the window closed, and his five o'clock shadow was anything but gone.  He rolled over on his back, folded his arms over his chest.  Despite his bedraggled appearance, he looked very pleased with himself. 

Dear God, I spoke too soon, please tell me I wasn't the one he got lucky with!

Still, I dared not assume.  "You're not serious, are you?"

"Never."

"I mean, about us."

His brows rose aloofly.  "Us?"

"Yeah, us, you know- um- and how we, ah-"

"Darling, stop stuttering.  What's wrong?"

I swallowed.  Was there even a way to put this nicely?  "Freddie, did we sleep together?"

"Who wants to know?"

His nonchalance rubbed salt into the opening wound, but I answered, "I do.  Badly."

He smiled.  "Why, yes.  We did." 

I'd never experienced what I've heard called "blank horror."  But if it means what I think it does, this qualified.  I covered my mouth.  "Oh," was all I could say.  "Oh... oh, no..."

"Oh, yes," Freddie said.  "It happened.  I tell you, best sleep I've had in a week."

Immediately, terrified, angry questions started cooking in my head.  Oh, Freddie, how could you?  Why would you sleep with a girl clearly beyond sentience?  You know better than that!  Don't you?  What makes you think I would have allowed it had I had my head together?  When have I ever let on I wanted it?  We agreed from the very start!  Why?

But before I could ask any of them, Freddie continued.  "Yeah, you were having some kind of nightmare, and you started crying out, it woke me.  I got up and lay here next to you to try to settle you down.  As soon as I slipped in, you calmed down, and it was so cozy in here I just went to sleep myself."

I sat there, dumbfounded.  "You mean, that's it?"

"Of course.  What did you-" His eyes widened in fake surprise.  "Oh!  Sorry, were you asking if we had sex?"

"Um-"

"We slept together, dear, and that's it."

"So we didn't, uh-"

He rolled his eyes.  "I'll say it for you: no, we didn't do IT."

For my own sake, I took him at his word.  I breathed a huge sigh of relief.  "Oh, thank God." 

"But I mean, there was this one point when you started getting a little freaky and you kind of threw yourself at me-"

I bopped him over the head with my pillow.  Freddie wasn't fooling me this time; there was no mistaking that bouncy tone he used for jesting and jesting alone. 

"So we're playing rough today, eh?" he cried.  In one smooth motion he rose with his pillow in his hand and swatted it at my face.  I hit back, and popped him right in the mouth.

"OW!" Freddie dropped his pillow, slapped a hand against his jaw. 

I began to laugh until I realized he wasn't pretending.  "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing," he mumbled through his hand.

"Liar.  Let me see."  I switched on the nightstand lamp, which burned my eyes and his.  I still had my contacts in from last night; despite the dry plastic feeling behind my lids, I was able to get a good look at him.  Redness rimmed his bloodshot eyes, and his hair was sticking up in all directions. 

"You look awful," I said, but to myself I was thinking, Oh, Freddie, you make a hangover look so sexy, my God, what gives you the right to be this frickin' beautiful? 

"Thanks," he murmured.

"Don't mention it.  Now let me see."

"No.  You just insulted me.  Go awa-"

"Oh, shut up and show me."

I pulled his hands from his mouth and found a big purplish bruise under his bottom lip.  I gasped.  "How did that happen?  Did I do that?"

"Not directly."

"Was I aiming at somebody else and just h-"

"No, darling, that was Rod."

"Rod who?"

"The guy you were making friends with last n- You mean to tell me you don't know who Rod Stewart is, either?"

"I don't know names!" I lied.  Rod Stewart liked me?  Whoa!  What a night!

He just shook his head.  "Do you know anything?"

"What did he hit you for?"

"He didn't like that I was trying to get you home, and made things a bit difficult."

"Looks like he cut you a little, too.  Did you put some ice on it?"

Freddie huffed in irritation.  "I had my hands full, dear, wasn't really thinking about my lip."

"Hands full?  With what?"

"You."

"Me?"

"You mean, 'I'?"

"Not today!" I cried.

"Whatever.  Yeah, you were a goner, so John and I brought you home and I carried you up to your room-"

"You carried me?"  My voice grew soft.

"Yes, and-"

"Thank you."

The red-black eyes glowed.  "And, uh, we changed your clothes, and sent you to sleep.  Voila."

"Oh, Freddie, you didn't have to do that-"

"No, we didn't.  But we did.  Now go make me breakfast, I need a cup of tea so badly I can't see straight."

"Yes, sir!"  A little too zealously I swung myself over the side of the bed.  Oscar hopped off as well, but without the sudden leg cramps and achy muscles that assailed me as soon as I stood up.  Before I could head down to the kitchen, though, Freddie stopped me again.

"Eve?"

Rolling my eyes, I turned.  "Yes?"

"Are you, um- are you really married?"

"Do you want to tea or do you want to get personal?"

"Please answer me."

I laughed.  "Of course not."

"Then why did you tell Roger that?"

I walked back in and sat down on the bed, but Freddie started making noises about how far away I was, so I scooted closer and closer until finally I was lying down on the bed beside him again. 

"I had to get him off me somehow, Freddie,"  I finally answered him. 

"So you didn't want Roger?"

"Not really. He's awful cute, don't get me wrong.  But he's-"

"Not your type?" he offered.

"Well, no, I guess not.  And certainly not enough to do it in the restroom.  That's filthy."

"You like it familiar and comfortable in a bed, right?"

"Yes, I d- Oh, for God's sake, Freddie, really?  How should I know?"

Freddie grinned, his hangover by no means standing in the way of his sexual innuendos.  "Just thought I'd ask." 

He sighed, then went on, "Well, we're going to have to figure something out because I backed you up, told him you are. Married, I mean.  We two of us have to get our stories straight.  What did you say his name was?"

"Mark, I think.  Yes."

"Mark.  Not too bad, although I think Daniel is a good name too."

"I love Daniel.  I think I'll name one of my kids that."

"Daniel Dubroc.  That's got a lovely ring to it."

"No, I'll be married by the time I have any kids, so he'd have my husband's last name."

Freddie looked me over.  "You've got it all planned out, don't you?"

I nodded.  "I love plans.  They keep things organized."

"Yeah, but Life has a funny way of being disorganized, so to sort of keep things seeming, um, neat and sort of cleaned up, people tend to throw the hairy bits out as they go."

"Not if you've got a Life plan."

"Oh, really?  Did your life plan include this past week?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Would you ever tell your husband, whoever he is, that you slapped Rod Stewart?"

"Did I?  See, I don't even believe that, why would he?"

Freddie went on, "Or that he isn't the only one who's seen you without your clothes on?"

My blood ran cold.  "Oh, no.  You saw-"

"Yes!  We saw eeev-erything."

"WE?"

"Well, John was helping me, so uh- yes, the two of us."

Good God, is there nothing you don't know about me now?  "Then how am I supposed to believe that we didn't-"

"Darling, how many times do I have to say it?  Last night, we did not f---.  Okay?"

I winced at the word and how ugly it made the act sound, but I asked, "You promise?"

"On my life."

I nodded.  "Okay, it's just, you saw me without my clothes on, and now I'm so embarrassed, because God knows how I behaved last night, because I don't."

"You were bad," he said softly.  "You were a very bad girl last night."

"You're not helping."

"That's the idea."  He put his hand on the back of my neck and pulled me down toward him, and before I knew what was happening he kissed me. 

My weakened, hungover mind was clouding, but still I found the clarity to draw back a little and say, "That doesn't hurt your lip, but the pillow did?"

Freddie's voice hardened.  "Don't you ever stop talking?" 

"I-"

He kissed me again, this time a little less innocently.  Fire leapt from his half-parted lips, and it went straight to my head.  My eyes fluttered closed.  I felt myself kissing him back, my hands caressing his stubbly face. 

Suddenly Freddie rolled over, moving me along with him so that now I was on my back and his body pressed heavily against mine.  His lips slid away from my own and traveled down to my jawline, going down, down until they fell upon my neck, where the kisses turned to gentle bites.  I struggled frantically to pull myself together but he wouldn't stop long enough to give me the chance.  Oh, such feelings stirring inside.  A far cry from Roger, for sure.

Freddie's breathing changed, the normal soft sighs becoming hot, deep, and labored as he started sucking- not just biting, sucking- on my neck.  This was getting out of control.  I tried to make myself push him away but it was as though I had no power over the rest of me.  Silently I pleaded, Freddie, please don't start moaning, if you start moaning I won't be able to handle it and then we'll both be in tro-

DING-DONG!

Saved by the bell.

With this distraction, I found my strength again.  "Someone's at the door!" I hollered, pushing him off me.  I forced myself not to look at him as I flew to the closet and threw on my robe. 

I was just about to hustle downstairs when a pillow soared through the air and struck me in the head.  Freddie was sitting up, his eyes tired but flat with a chilly mask.

"Hey, you little tease, just thought I'd mention," he growled coldly.  "You might want to do something about your neck."

"Why?"

"Trust me."

I darted into the bathroom and inspected.  He was right.  There were little red marks all over both sides of my throat.  Thanks, Freddie, for turning my neck into a pizza.  I thought of asking to borrow a scarf, but the door bell rang again, and if I took too long in answering someone might get the wrong idea.

"And I am not a tease!" I shouted across the hall.

"You're so wild to answer the door, so f---ing answer it!"

I sighed.  "So rude.  I'm going to put cyanide in your tea."

"Arsenic works better, try that."

Just another peaceful morning in the Mercury household, I quipped to myself.  Thinking it would save time, I slid down the banister.  I pulled my robe collar up around my neck to hide my very first hickeys (oh, I've always hated that word) and flung the door open to see Roger standing there.

His head was down, eyes focused on the car keys he was twirling around on his finger.  He didn't know it was me who had answered.  That's the only reason why he said what he said:

"Hey, Fred, so what's the score after last night?  Be honest."

"Hmm?" I squinted.

"Do I owe you, or did she play coy with you too?"

Very slowly, his words sank into my brain.  "I beg your pardon?"

He looked up, then, and eyes widened.  "Oh, uh, hi there, Eve.  Uh, I was, um, talking about the score in a, er- there was a football match on, and we made a bet, one hundred pounds, against each other- but it wasn't even really a bet, it was more like a, um..."

"Okay, I know what you mean," I nodded, but I'm not stupid.  "Did she play coy with you too?" he said.  If ever was a sum-up, there was one.  A bet?  On she- aka, me?  One hundred pounds?  What was going on here?