41. Define "Free"

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I wondered why Freddie would worry about the "hordes" when as far as anyone here was concerned, he was only a charismatic unknown with a very poor fashion sense. Force of habit, I guess, I said to myself as we plowed through the lobby. I'm glad this isn't Japan or I would have been trampled by now. You can't fool the Japanese when it comes to Queen.

We hurried outside, the sky much darker than when I had entered the Circus Maximus. As soon as we cleared the door Freddie pulled us over to the side. "These f---ing things are killing me," he muttered. "I can barely run."

I glanced over to see him take off the vertigo-inducing platforms, and my "fiance" stood before me in his sock feet. And I grinned.

"What?" he said, but there was a little laugh in his voice.

"Nothing, just, if you ever say anything to me about running around barefoot again-"

"I will pay dearly, yes, yes, of course, whatever. Where's the cab?"

"Well, you see, I didn't take a cab."

"What? But you said you had one."

"I said I had a car, not a cab. It's not even really a car, per se- ah, here he comes! He's coming up the drive now."

From behind the fountain Steve's battered old "Mother Ship" rolled into view. Even behind his Sam Elliott 'stache, I could see the blood leave Freddie's cheeks. He took off the glasses in disbelief.

"I do hope you don't mean that old thing," Freddie hissed.

I looked at him. "What old thing?"

"That decrepit rust bucket what's slowing down right in front of us!"

Steve's windows were open, and Freddie's voice had risen with emotion. Even over the loud blaring of Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Free Bird," Steve heard him.

He stuck his head out the window, thin hair fluttering in the breeze. "Better tell your man to watch it," Steve warned me.

"Meet Steve, Mark," I said. "He's our ride."

But just as Peter had predicted, Freddie wrinkled his nose in pompous disgust. "Not today, not tomorrow, not in two years, not in a million."

"You don't respect the Mother Ship, her captain doesn't respect you," Steve said flatly.

"That's fine by me. Where's a taxi?"

"Freddie, don't be like that, he's a friend of mine," I whispered. "Please make an exception."

"A friend? This bloke?"

"At least, we will be, eventually."

"Will be?"

"It's complicated. But we haven't much time! Come on! It'll be fun!" I hopped in the bed of the truck, and held out my hand to Freddie.

"I'm taking a cab," Freddie said defiantly, standing firm in his socks. And I sighed. Who was I kidding? He was still in fancy-pants performer mode, I realized. It would be a few minutes until he started acting like a human being again.

To his human side I tried to appeal. "My prince, I let you lock me in a traveler's trunk. A TRUNK. For over an hour. Can you stomach a ten minute ride?"

Freddie hesitated, mouth twitching. For an instant I thought I had him.

But then he replied, "That's different."

"Oh, come on-"

"It's an entirely different situation-"

"It is not!"

"Yes it is, now stop arguing and let's get a f---ing cab."

I'M arguing! Good Lord! You hypocrite!

I sat in awe of this rare moment. The roles had reversed. He was being the stubborn, stuck-up one, even so soon after the crazy "Fever" number; and I was the voice of spontaneity, urging him to take a chance, to take the fall. We really are alike- just about different things. Oh, God, this is frightening!

But that was a matter of speculation I was saving for later. For now, I would fight fire with fire; if the way he handled me in these scenarios worked for him, so would it too work for me. I risked his wrath, but it was only fair to reciprocate. About two hundred feet away from us, a caravan of young people pulled up to the Caesar's Palace entrance- more college kids ready to make the most of summer vacation. Target rock and roll audience. And I had an idea.

I looked at him, my eyelids drooping indifferently. "You're not going to get in the truck?"

"No."

"You're not?"

"No way."

"Are you sure about that?"

"I just said I won't! Now come down from there!"

"I will," I yawned. Kneeling in a ladylike fashion, I leaned over the edge and crooked my finger. "I just need to tell you something important."

Freddie drew closer. And as unceremoniously as you please, I tore off the mustache and the wig. His eyes widened in shock, but before he could say anything I played the fangirl for him at last.

"OMIGODOMIGODOMIGOD! FREDDIE MERCURY'S HERE! EVERYBODY LOOK! IT'S THE MAMA JUST KILLED A MAN GUY! THE SOMEBODY TO LOVE SINGER! QUICK! QUICK! GET HIM!"

And just as I'd hoped, folks came running. I don't think Queen had ever played Vegas before this point, but the young people nearby recognized him anyway- as did everyone else within earshot. "Mama, just killed a man": universally renowned words even then. The doors of the Circus Maximus opened, people on the sidewalk turned, the valet parking attendants grinned. Here came the hordes.

"Oh, you BITCH!" Freddie shouted.

I ignored him. "K, get ready for takeoff," I shouted to our driver.

They were getting closer, and Freddie was getting nervous. "You get out of that f---ing truck right now!"

I held out my hand to him again, whisper-shouting over the insane "Free Bird" guitar solo, "Come with me if you want to live- or else just don't want to sign autographs!"

And this time, against his ego, against his better judgment, Freddie begrudgingly took my hand and clambered into the back beside me, throwing his shoes in first and almost hitting me (unintentionally, I'm sure). He ducked down behind the truck bed walls; no way would he be sighted in such a hideous costume.

"Why do I let you do this to me?" he grumbled.

"I ask that exact same question every day. Let's go!" I called to my former and future K, who swerved the truck around and started heading toward the road. The people stopped running, deciding I'd only been pulling their legs.

As we sailed past the lobby, I saw two men, one in another pair of outlandish tinted glasses and the other, a gentleman with narrow, slippery hands clutching some sort of small package, walking toward a limousine.

"Bye, Sharon!" I cried. When they saw me, Randy John immediately waved his arms around. He was trying to flag us down. So I shouted, "Hey, K, stop a minute." With a quick foot to the brakes, we jerked to a stop.

Freddie started to sit up when I told him, "No, not yet, it's Sharon!"

"F---," he said, sinking back down again. "Don't say-"

"I won't, don't worry!"

"Eve! Where's your fiance?" Elton cried, somehow passing over the fact that I was in the back of a pickup truck wearing a nice dress with my hair falling down around my face.

"He's with me!" I answered. To prove me right, Freddie raised only his hand up and waved playfully. That was my first hint maybe he wasn't as ticked as he let on.

"Oh! Mark, Freddie wanted me to get this to you," John Holmes said, holding out the parcel. "Said you needed it."

"I'll take it," I offered, reaching over the side so he wouldn't see the orange-clad "disco dude" lying beside me. Two arms reached up and nabbed it out of my hands, and he tucked it out of sight.

"Thanks!" came the muffled reply.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's a surprise," Elton's assistant winked. Another surprise? Good grief, Freddie, how many spring traps have you set up for me?

"Thanks, guys," I said, grinning, "I had the best time with you."

"Pleasure was mine," Elton replied with a bow. "Now go get married to your Eskimo."

"Quarter Eskimo!" I corrected him.

"Whatever. Good luck!"

With that, the truck lurched forward, and I waved good bye. That was the last I saw of Elton John and his assistant.

Now we pulled into traffic, heading for the chapel.

After a moment, Freddie picked himself up and sat against the back windshield. His disguise, the wig and all, still lay on the floor of the truck bed beside the package, so he just looked like himself.

"You all right?" I asked.

"When we get home, I'm going to kill you," he informed me.

"You're all right," I laughed. The night was dark around us, the neon lights rushing past in reverse. The dry July wind blew cooler tonight, and the moon had begun its ascent. I waved foolishly to the cars behind us. I was still higher than the stars, but Freddie hadn't stopped sulking. Fortunately, that changed quickly enough.

Steve decided that he'd heard enough Lynyrd Skynyrd for one day, and switched to his cassette player. "Mama Told Me Not to Come" by Three Dog Night now escaped the open windows. I started to wave my arms around and sing along. Freddie's arms were still folded, but he glanced over at me. What a fool I must look to him. I don't care. I'm so happy right now, the only thing that could make it twice as good is if Freddie felt just the same.

"Freddie, put your hands in the air," I said between lyrics, reaching my arms over my head and letting the wind thread between my fingers. After a moment, he put his hands up. I watched him wiggle his own tapered fingers against the current. And something in his hard expression changed. Maybe his jaw relaxed, maybe his movements weren't so rigid anymore, I don't know. It was too dark to decide for certain. But there was a difference.

"How's that feel?" I asked him.

"My dear, you are so easily amused," he murmured.

"Then why do you still have your hands in the wind?"

Freddie didn't answer that question.


"It feels free," he finally answered. "That's how it feels."

I patted his knee. "That's a nice way to put it."

"I thought so, too." He sighed. "I tell you, it's a feeling I'm not used to."

That's an odd thing for you to say. "Is it a good feeling?"

Freddie looked at me, and even in the half-light I could see his smile. "It's not bad. Not bad at all."

When the third chorus rolled around, it was two voices, not just one, singing and ad-libbing with Cory Wells at the top of their lungs. That was the sign: this snit was over.

Before the song had even ended, we pulled up to the chosen chapel, which was just as gaudy and unromantic as the rest of Vegas. It was shaped like the proverbial "little white church," and it was far enough off the beaten path that no one really had anything to worry about as far as being spotted was concerned. Freddie and I quickly started putting "Mark Zuckerberg" back together again before K hopped out of the truck and saw us. I stuck the mustache back onto his lip, and he adjusted his fake brown curls.

Freddie had just barely slid the glasses over his eyes when the door to the chapel burst open. A familiar tower of a fellow ran out.

Freddie's jaw dropped. "Rudy! What the-"

"I got worried," Rudy explained.

"I said I'd be all right!"

"I know, but that's my job, I'm your bodyguard, for God's sake. And anyway, you need two witnesses, so here I am. Are you Mark? Where's Peter?"

I'd never heard Rudy say so much at one time. Perhaps he's much more loquacious once you get to know him.

"He went to the airport- like he was supposed to," Freddie grumbled. "So much for a plan."

Rudy finally studied the truck and was aghast. "You came in that?"

"Eve's got friends, apparently," Freddie said. "And one of them drove us here. Where do you find these people, darling? I mean really. Rudy, when's our flight?"

"In about an hour, at nine thirty."

"How long did it take you get here?"

"Fifteen minutes."

"We can do that. This time, we have to make it. Everything will have to be on the fly though. Let's do this quick."

As for the second witness, as might be expected, we asked Steve if he would do the honors. He was just barely twenty-three, which made him a legal adult- and he'd been game for everything else so far, so why not?

"Far out," he agreed. "I got nothing else to do, sure. Man, this is the craziest Saturday night ever."

You have no idea, I said to myself.

One of the chapel employees came out and ushered us in, as if we might decide at any minute to take our five second vows somewhere else. They pushed the guest book at us, asked Freddie and me to sign it.

I took the pen in my hand, began to sign. Freddie looked on, interested. "Wow," he said.

I glanced up. "What?"

"I didn't know you were left-handed."

With a shrug I smiled. There's a lot you don't know about me, Freddie.

I did most of the talking; neither Freddie nor I wanted to chance people recognizing his accent- and his attempts at anything other than his elegant, colonial British came off as too comical.

"We just want to say the vows, we don't need pictures or anything," I said. "Just a very quick thing, is that okay?"

The minister shrugged with a used-car salesman grin. "It's your wedding, ma'am. Would you at least like a certain song while you're saying the vows?"

Before I could say a word, Freddie nodded. Clearly he had a little ditty in mind. I shrugged, said "You pick," and Freddie went over to the selection of 45s they offered. The minister left the room for a moment. My stomach suddenly began to churn as it finally hit me, what was about to happen.

Freddie seemed completely unaffected himself. "This place needs a little updating," he remarked softly. "The most current song they have is this." He held up "The Air That I Breathe" by The Hollies.

"Is that the one you want?" I asked.

"Do you like it?"

"I think it's terribly romantic," I replied.

"Great. Then we'll use that," he said brightly.

"Where are you from, Mr. Z?" Steve asked.

"Canada," Freddie lied.

"Oh. Nice."

As fake as this was, I was still saying "I do." It wasn't real for Freddie, it wasn't real for me. I wouldn't have had these butterflies had Freddie done what he said he would do and found some Joe to play the part. But he hadn't. It wasn't some random guy and me. It was US, though using different names- a personal label, the only thing that kept this silly exercise from turning into a real marriage.

What's in a name? Everything. That's what. And still my heart was fluttering.

The minister came out with a tray of rings and asked us to choose. My knees seemed to get weaker as I stared at the bands. Very cheaply made rings, fake gold, fake silver, it was obvious. Fake as the license in my hot little hand. Paper roses, paper roses...

But they were still rings.

I slid one on I thought was pretty -a thin, simple band of faux rose gold. To my surprise it fit perfectly.

"I always like to ask," the minister said to me as I admired the ring on my hand. "How did you two meet?"

"By accident," I began to say. "I just randomly-"

"No such thing as accidents," Steve mumbled from the pew behind me.

I turned to look at him. A future scientist who believes in Fate? "You really think so, K?"

Steve nodded. "There's nothing that happens that isn't supposed to happen," he said cryptically. "Otherwise, it wouldn't happen."

Ooo, deep, I thought to myself, in no mood for philosophical introspection. Will you still feel that way, K, when you help to develop a time machine? This whole stupid thing wasn't meant to happen! And look! It's happening! Riddle me that!

"He's right, you know." Freddie came up alongside me and took my hand. "There's no standing in the way of destiny."

The minister asked again, "So how'd you two get together, then?"

"Oh we've always been together," I said dismissively, trying to be blase. "It was a match made in heaven, you might say."

"In other words, she forgot," Freddie laughed lightly. "As did I."

He looked us over. "Funny couple."

The needle dropped onto the 45, and that sweet, slow love song began to play. For some reason that set my spine to prickling.

"Will it hurt?" I asked as the minister opened up his Bible.

"No more than necessary," he chuckled.

In my head a final stream of negations flowed: It's fake. My name is not Eve. His name is not Mark. We are not in love. We are friends. And we have to get back to England in half an hour. None of this real. It's like a bad dream. This was never meant to be. This is just to show Roger up. We are not actually doing anything that means anything.

Freddie squeezed my hand and took a deep breath. "When you're ready, darling," he whispered.

I nodded. "Okay, let's do this. Go."

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

We ran out of the chapel with thirty minutes to get to the airport and onto the plane. I was holding the signed, live license as tightly as possible without crumpling it, and both Freddie and I were trying unsuccessfully to dodge the rice being thrown over our heads. Ah, tradition.

"Don't let it blow away!" Freddie kept saying, as if I had any desire to go through all this rigmarole again. I had had a lot of fun the past two days, but I was tired. And so was he.

The vows went smoothly enough, and it was clear nobody on our end was taking this seriously. In fact, when the "I dos" had choked out of us and it was time to seal it with a kiss, Freddie leaned in and rubbed noses with me.

When the minister looked on, certain of our insanity, I shrugged and explained, "He's an Eskimo."

The minister signed and dated the license, and there was our evidence. Eve Dubroc was married to Mark Zuckerberg- two people who did not exist, at least not yet. But now Freddie had his proof, and now he could get back to work.

Mission accomplished.

Rudy climbed into his cab, our one piece of luggage in hand. And to everybody's shock, Freddie whirled to face Steve and said, "Do you know where the airport is?"

"Uh, sure, yeah-"

"Good, can you do us one more favor and give us a lift to McCarran International?"

"Fr- uh, Mark, there's a cab right there!" I said.

"Yes, but there's a truck right here- and it's a beautiful night," he answered.

I took his glasses off to make sure it was still Freddie under that disguise, because that hardly sounded like him. But the dark eyes behind the star lenses shone in earnest.

"I'm up for it if you are," I shrugged.

Steve decided he could squeeze in one more ride for the two of us, especially since Freddie was offering money this time. But Rudy was still all but nonplussed.

"Darling, it's fine," Freddie crooned. "We're going to the same place anyway, so what's the issue?"

Rudy thought better of pushing, and started to close the door when Freddie stopped him and pulled out the suitcase one more time. He drew out a random change of clothes, spoke a final time to Rudy, saying things I couldn't catch. And once he bid his driver farewell, this time it was Freddie who climbed into the truckbed and held out his hand to me.

I stared at him. "Are you feeling well?"

"No, it was that Eskimo kiss, just went right to my head," he quipped. "Come along, dear.

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