37. Morning in Vegas

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"Hey, Fred, just had this idea for the backing track on 'Ragtime Pian-'" Peter began to say as he sauntered into the room. But he trailed off once he saw the bed, which looked like we had had a very serious romp upon it.

Shooting a look of surprise at Freddie, he said a little sheepishly, "I can come back in a few minutes..."

Freddie rolled his eyes. "It's not what it looks like."

Peter held up his hands. "Hey, each to his own, man, I just seem to remember she's engaged to-"

Before Straker could finish, Freddie pushed the bathroom door open and pointed at his bed-tub.

"You be the judge," was all Freddie had to say.

Room service picked up at last, and I asked them for some tea and coffee. Freddie and Peter fed me their desired breakfasts, which I relayed to the attendant, and followed theirs up with mine.

After saying good morning to Peter, I excused myself and slipped into the bathroom to get cleaned up. Pushing the pillow and such out of the bathtub (and making absolute certain the door was locked), I showered in peace. As the warm streams of water rained down upon me, I naturally began daydreaming, playing back in my head the scene Peter had crashed. I closed my eyes, reliving how those last few kisses had made me feel. His arms... That tongue... Oh, God...

Shame on me. Think of the other people in his life, I reminded myself. What would Mary say? Or Minsy? Or whoever it is he's officially with right now?

But even that didn't make much sense. If he was in a relationship with Minsy at the moment (that's who I thought he was with, anyway, I couldn't keep track of all his lovers), why did he want me? Why should he be sexually attracted to me, a girl- and one who wouldn't know what to do should he even get that far? Not that he would. He may come close, but that can't happen. That would make things so awkward, and I don't want to be a link in a chain of loveless sex partners. If I can only choose between friendship and a hot, heavy one-night-stand, I'd rather just be his friend. Problem is, that's not what he wants.

I had no illusions about the phrase "make love." Freddie wasn't saying he was in love with me, because on Freddie's lips, those two words only meant sex. Listen to "Get Down, Make Love" and see what I mean. There's no love there, no sweetness, no kindness, no desire for any long-term relations. It's just raw, unadulterated lust. Call me old-fashioned, but I wanted more than that from a man.

All the same, that didn't mean I couldn't be tempted.

"Again, I can't tell how glad I am you're helping produce the album, Fred," Straker was saying as I stepped out. Freddie had since donned a t-shirt, and was stirring his steaming cup of tea. He glanced up and smiled, pointing theatrically at the coffee pot.

"Are you a singer too, Peter?" I asked, making a beeline for the coffee.

"Sort of. I'm a kind of stage actor mostly. Musicals, you know."

"He was in Hair," Freddie said enthusiastically, "weren't you, dear?"

"You were?" I feigned surprise. "That's so cool!"

Straker nodded, lighting a cigarette. "I played Hud."

"Did you have a song?"

"But of course! Mine was 'Coloured Spade.'"

I tried not to react. "Did you, uh- did you say 'Coloured Spade'? Not sure I remember that one."

Peter needed no further invitation. He stood and planted his legs into the floor. Throwing his head around, he launched into the song, which, if you look up the lyrics, is nothing but a long list of racial slurs and derogatory names for black people (written to poke fun at stupid prejudices, that is all). I sat there stunned and a little nervous, while Freddie clapped along to the beat. What could I do but join him. Such a politically incorrect world compared to mine. So much has changed in forty years.

"So you guys are both working on albums," I said once the song (which Peter sang quite handsomely for an a capella rendition) was finished. "I hope this little trip hasn't cut into too much studio time for either of you."

"Darling, we've got two more months at least," Freddie said dismissively. "I needed a little time away anyhow. To clear my head, you know, so I can focus better later."

"Now, Freddie, there's just one thing I don't quite get," Peter said, sitting back down to butter his toast. "She's getting married, but she roomed with you- and last night I found you in more than just a friendly embrace. Won't Mr. Zuckerberg have a bone to pick with that?"

Freddie wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and shrugged. "Well, I suppose we can tell you what's really going down. We may need your help."

Straker leaned forward. "I'm listening."

"I'm trying to weasel out of a bet with Roger. We have to get a marriage license- an official one- for Eve. She told him she's married. He doesn't believe her."

I continued for him, "So I'm getting 'married' so we get the license, and as soon as Roger sees it, we're getting it annulled. You can annul by mail, but licenses are another story."

Peter blinked. "That has to be one of the most unwieldy plot lines I've ever heard. None of the band knows about this?"

"Not one. Mary doesn't even know," Freddie replied.

"Whoa, that's what I call a secret."

"Yes, and we'd love it if you kept mum about it yourself."

"So how are you going to work this?"

"Ay, there's the rub. I'd rather discuss it with Rudy -our dear Fail-Safe- when he comes downstairs to the water. Eve wants to get some sun, so we're talking officially down there. Oh, yes, that reminds me." Freddie reached into the nightstand drawer, pulled out a little money, and slapped it into my hand.

"What's this for?" I asked.

"Go get yourself a suit, we'll join you in a little while."

"A suit? Like a bathing suit?"

"People tend to tan best in those, yes."

"It's too early for a proper tan, Freddie."

"She's got a point, you know," Straker chimed in. "Besides, proper tans usually mean no bathing suit at all."

"I hadn't thought of that! Did you have a little skinny-dipping in mind, darling?"

I shook my head. "I'm not even going to acknowledge that question."

"I saw this delicious little two-piece in the shop near the lobby," Peter said. "Fire engine red, halter top, looked like it was made out of rose petals. Would look fantastic on this one."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Straker," Freddie scoffed. "Eve wouldn't be caught dead in something so scandalous."

"Oh yes?"

"Yes. Evie's quite conservative, she'll likely go for the most, um- modest, yes, most Victorian, sort of conservative model they have. You know, where the skirt comes down to the knee and the bust is completely hidden-"

"You, sir, just kill me," I sighed, but in the back of my mind I said, He's daring me. This is reverse psychology at its zenith. No fair, Freddie! You can't turn my own weapons against me like this!

But knowing better than to fight him, I slid the money into my pocket with my room key. "Okay, then, I guess I'm buying a bathing suit."

"Two inches above the knee is all I ask, darling," Freddie said dryly. "Anything longer defeats the purpose."

"I'll keep that in mind," I replied, sipping my coffee. Challenge accepted.

**********************************************************************************

I dressed- or more accurately, undressed- as quickly as possible. Freddie was not a man to keep waiting. He could spend forever and a day preparing himself- but take one minute too long in getting ready, and watch the furniture fly. (I'm just kidding, I never saw him throw any furniture, just pillows, and most notably a large porcelain vase- but that was sometime later, and had nothing to do with me being slow. I don't even know why I brought this up now. Anyway...)

I guess Freddie brought a bathing suit as well, I mused to myself. He thinks of everything. All I know is, it better not be a Speedo, or else I won't be able to look at much of anyt-

I slapped myself. "YOU'RE NOT HELPING ME, ME!"

So shouting, I sighed, pulled off the cover-up dress I'd worn on the elevator ride down, and adjusted my bathing suit. And no, it wasn't the Victorian nightmare Freddie claimed I'd go for. Far from it.

It was a tiny, lemon-yellow bikini. Even by 2017 standards, it pushed the boundaries; it was strapless, revealing, and so tight and with so much stuff in the cups that I looked much more well-endowed than I actually was. The suit screamed a lot of adjectives, for sure- but "conservative" wasn't among them. All I did was sigh.

Damn you, Freddie. Just when I make up my mind to always adhere to the superego, you come along and breathe life into my id. And I let you. Why do I let you?

But the look on his face once he saw me coming would be priceless- and well worth it. Smiling, I applied another coat of red to my lips and fluttered my eyelashes. Go big or go home, I decided. When I felt sufficiently risque, I stepped out of the ladies' dressing room and strode toward the pool.

The boys weren't down yet. But it was a fantastically bright morning, the air hot and dry all around, and the early birds who weren't recuperating from hangovers had swarmed to the water's edge. There was a sunning chair just waiting for me, backed by a row of palm trees that were good enough not to cast their shadows over it. I stretched out and fitted my round sunglasses over my eyes, lazily watching the men in and out of the pool, their bad seventies' haircuts much improved by the water. A group of young people just one or two years older than me were passing a beach ball back and forth over in the shallower end. I sat up and looked on, passively rooting for the tubby guy with the red afro. That kid could serve.

Wonder what's taking the fellas so long? Time's a-wasting!

"What is it?" a deep rumbling voice asked from the water's edge. I glanced down to see a man in his early thirties leaning against the side of the pool. Water droplets flecked his muscular arms and his rather impressive handlebar mustache, under which he was smiling.

"Oh nothing, I'm just watching the kids over there," I pointed and smiled back. Facetiously I sighed, "I remember those days..."

He nodded. "What's your name?"

"I'm Eve Dubroc. And yours?"

"Call me Sam."

"Hello, Sam."

"You all alone up here, Eve?" His very Western accent was a little jarring after over a week of Freddie's posh English.

"No, I'm meeting some, uh- some friends."

"So am I. Got a buddy who's shooting a TV movie here in Vegas, thought I'd come up and see him."

I had the feeling I'd seen him somewhere before, in a cowboy hat and boots. "Are you an actor, too?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I thought so, I know I've seen you before."

Sam and I talked another five minutes like this, just making small conversation, when he hoisted himself up onto the edge and asked, "So what do you do?"

And I honestly had no idea what to say. What did I do? I tagged along. I was a millstone wrapped around the neck of another. To some extent, Freddie was my sugar daddy, and he wasn't even getting any sex out of it. Just as I had feared when I lost the Relic, so had I lost my purpose.

I said, "Once I was studying to be a therapist, now I - I don't know what I'm doing."

Sam nodded. "We've all been there."

"No, I mean, I really don't know. I don't even have a job. I just- I just am. I follow this one musician around, he takes care of me, but we're not even lovers. Friends, yes, but there's this- this wall between us. I wish there wasn't, but it's got to be there for things to happen like they're supposed to. And I know that's too much information, but John Deacon's not here for me to vent at him, so I'm venting a little at you. I'm sorry."

He patted the top of my foot, which hung over the sun chair. "Sounds like a pretty good set-up. How'd you land it?"

I shrugged. "Sort of crashed into it on accident."

Sam chuckled. "Musician, huh? What's he play?"

"The piano. And he sings. Very beautifully, I might add."

"Anybody I might know?"

"Freddie Mercury."

"Who?"

I smiled tightly. "I won't tell him you said that."

At that moment a hotel attendant rushed up and said, "Mr. Elliott, phone call for you."

Sam nodded his farewell and shook my hand. "Pleasure talking to you, Miss Eve."

"It was nice talking to you too," I replied. "I needed it."

With that he walked away, wrapped a towel round his waist and followed the attendant. Quietly I watched the muscles in his back bunch and relax as he moved. Sam (Sam Elliott! NO WAY! WOW! What was he doing at the Sahara of all places? Who even cares why? He was there!) had planted a seed in my mind. I was stuck here permanently, it seemed, so it made no sense for me to keep sponging off of Freddie. I couldn't do much on my own, true; but I ought to indeed start exercising a little independence and find myself a job.

I felt a hand descend upon my bare shoulder. "I suppose you're finished talking to the Marlboro Man?"

Turning, I saw Freddie standing there, svelte in a pair of tight black swimming trunks- not a Speedo, but still relatively short and clingy. His eyes were hidden by a new pair of sunglasses (his disguise du jour, I guess) but I could almost see the green in his voice.

"Just waiting on you guys," I said. "Where are the others?"

"They'll be down in about two minutes or so," he said. "I wanted to check on you, make sure you weren't in any sort of trouble."

"I wasn't."

"No, you had your nice handlebar-lip cowboy keeping you company," he sniffed.

"Since when did you have anything against handlebar mustaches?" I asked.

"I don't know. You like them so much, maybe I should grow one."

"Nah, why don't you wait on the mustache. You're too young."

"Too young?"

"Freddie, this conversation is rapidly deteriorating, let's get to the planning already."

"Come on, then," he grumbled, holding out a hand for me to take it. As I stood, I saw Freddie look me up and down. Very quietly, his jaw clenched.

"Is this Victorian enough for you?" I asked spryly.

Freddie swallowed, then shook his head. "It's not fair," he complained. "It's just not fair!"

"Fair's in September, my prince," I sang, with far too much satisfaction in my voice. I should have saved it for later. A little too late I remembered how close I was to the water.

One more long look, as he took me all in. I saw the telltale smirk curling his mouth. But nine days with Freddie had me trained. I knew what was coming.

He charged at me. But right in the nick of time I leaped out of his path. Freddie ran out of room to stop himself and he plunged ungracefully into the pool.

When he didn't immediately come back to the top I began fretting. What if he'd hit his head? As the seconds passed, still no Freddie. I freaked. Oh, no. I hadn't meant to hurt him! Terrified, I knelt down close to the surface and squinted.

That's when his dark form rocketed back up from the bottom and with a wild yell he burst into the air, reached up, grabbed my arms. I let out a surprised scream that was immediately hushed as he pulled me down into the deep end. "You dog!" I tried to yell, but sounded much more garbled underwater. Freddie had too many tricks up his sleeve, and yet I was dumb enough to think I could expect them all.

He still held my arms, but his strong, muscular legs somehow wrapped themselves around my waist so that as we descended I couldn't slip out of his grasp and head back for air. My eyes were closed for fear my contacts would be washed away, my lips sealed shut to hold whatever little oxygen I had managed to catch. Freddie wasn't trying to drown me, was he?

I felt his thumbs gently rub against my eyelids. He wanted me to open them. I shook my head, gestured wildly in an attempt to tell him about my contacts. But he had an answer for that too. Freddie then briefly pressed his large hands against my breasts.

My eyes snapped open and I squirmed, for I was running out of air and Freddie was going too far. But he took hold of my panicky arm movements and pinned them behind my back. To my surprise, he didn't try to kiss me. All he wanted was for me to look into his eyes. So, forced into submission, I did.

And as badly as I needed to breathe, I felt myself grow calm when I looked at him. His shaggy dark hair floated so nicely in the water, forming an ever-moving halo; his dark brown eyes burned with an intense and beautiful fire, and I would have marveled at how long and black were his lashes, but neither Freddie nor I was part fish, and we had to breathe. Like before, Freddie unfastened himself from me and sped us back to the surface. With a tremendous splash we bobbed into the air, coughing and gasping, our once graceful tresses now plastered against our skulls.

"What the flying f--- did you do that to me for?!" I wheezed, then realized what wretched profanity I'd just hollered.

Freddie grinned and kissed one of the fading red spots on my neck. "For that," he whispered.

"Just to make me swear," I said. "I refuse to believe that."

"Not that so much as, it peeled back another layer."

"You make no sense. I don't have layers. You do."

"You know what your problem is?"

"What?"

"Everything you think is wrong with me is also everything that I know is wrong with you. Just switched."

I blinked, brushing his wet hair off his forehead. "Again, you make no-"

"Really, you two, can you cool it for five minutes?"

That last was Elton's voice.

What was Elton doing here? He was staying at Caesar's, or the International! But I peered up and there he was, arms folded, glasses off, his blue eyes looking very disappointed in Freddie. But the two of us would not be shamed; our heads high, we took long strides up the steps, breathing deeply. Everyone was there, all of our cadre was watching us, Peter with his hands on his hips, lips pursed in an attempt to fight back a laugh.

Freddie ran his fingers through his hair, combing it all back and making him look uncharacteristically sleek, and snapped back into default "offhand and pompous" mode. "What are you buggers looking at? We need to put our heads together here, we don't have a plan of action and we have to be back in the air heading home by about eight o'clock this evening. Come on, silly things, get with it!"

I sighed inwardly. I like you when it's just the two of us, I thought to myself, even if when we are alone, you're your most dangerous. Because that's when my feelings for you multiply. Damn you, Freddie. I wish you weren't so beautiful.

We all sat down and started planning this final leg of our secret mission. And then, we would fly back to Queen, back to the cats, back to studio all-nighters. Perhaps I now halfway considered the UK my home country, and Freddie, my safe haven. But Sam was right. I had to start finding my own way. As beautiful and crazy and generous as Freddie was, I couldn't ride his party train forever.



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