H.G
New York, USA
30th May (The Next Day)

"Look, you being a jerk to celebrities is fun and all, sells magazines, but starting a fight with one of them looks bad."

I chuckled uncomfortably, "I already apologised."

"Apologies to me aren't going to cut it."

"Not even if I say it with a smile?" I asked dryly with the bat of my eyelashes.

Gritted teeth. "Not even then."

"In that case, I have tried everything I can." I exhaled loudly, as if I truly had tried my very best to resolve this mess, "I'll have my article ready by the end of the evening. Chat to you later-"

"Sit."

I plopped back into the vastly uncomfortable chair, which was tucked into the imposing and messy desk of my superior, Matt Wilde. I had just spent the better half of my morning being chewed out by him for the disaster I had gotten myself into with Freddie Mercury.

"I want you to personally apologise to Freddie."

My jaw slacked open, "You're joking aren't you?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Matt Wilde was the type of man who never looked like he was joking. A permanent scowl lay on his red face, whether he was happy or not. I think I was on his good side, which means I have never left his office in tears like I have seen many others. I had a bad bite though, so it was rare that any one attempted to rattle me. However, today may very well be the day, because the man's face was cracking with unconcealed fury.

"No," I shook my head and smoothed out a crease on my grey dress pants, "You don't look like you're joking."

"So you'll apologise to Freddie?"

"The thing is," I cleared my throat and averted my gaze, "I don't really see why I should."

"You don't see why you should?" His voice raised by several decibels.

I bowed my head slightly. I don't necessarily enjoy publicised conflict, and I have dealt with enough of it in the past two days to last me a lifetime. Yes, maybe I did hide behind the magazine to get my digs in as Freddie Mercury said. Just like he hides behind the guise of alcohol and being a rockstar to excuse acting like a pompous twat.

"Freddie pushed me."

"You pissed him off."

I folded my hands on my lap, "I'm really rather delightful so I don't see how I could have."

Matt's meaty hands twitched, as if they were struggling not to strangle me. "Apologise to him, right now. So I can see."

I made a point of looking around me, then past Matt, and finally under the table. "Doesn't seem like a viable request."

"Don't be a smart ass, I have been speaking with Queen's publicist and manager all morning in order to discuss damage control." He tossed a crumpled piece of paper my way, "Ring him."

This is the most bloody ridiculous situation ever. Never have I had to apologise to a musician for writing the truth! All because Freddie Mercury pitched a fit!

With an exaggerated roll of my eyes, I pretended to dial the phone as Matt took a break from exploding to light a cigarette. When he turned back, I quickly pulled on an unamused expression. I waited for what I deemed an appropriate time in which it would take someone to answer the phone. I leant forward eagerly in my seat when I pretended that the line connected.

"Freddie! Hi."

A silent second passed.

"Yes I'm good, I'm good. Listen, I'm so sorry about what happened last night."

I nodded my head, feigning complete understanding to what was being said on the other end of this one sided conversation. "Oh I agree, total mess."

Once again, Matt was now watching me like a hawk so I had to make this good. Usually, I loathed dramatics, but right now I was going to have to resort to them.

"Yes, well, I wanted to be the first to formally apologise, on behalf of myself, and Rolling Stone."

Matt lifted his eyebrows expectantly, I flicked my wrist to gesture, 'yes, I have this all under control'.

"Well Freddie, I'm impressed you can summon the humility to say that you did act like a complete and utter twat, most wouldn't."

Alright, I may have went too far with that because Matt's bushy brows knit into a suspicious frown. I was about to back pedal, when a sharp ring pierced directly into my ear. I dropped the phone back into the desk with the shock of it, where it continued to ring, and ring, and ring. This of course alerted Matt to the fact that I had not been on the phone to Freddie at all.

If looks could kill, I would be six feet under. My hand shook slightly, from the intensity of the glare I was on the arse end of, as I plucked up the phone once again.

"Matt Wilde's office," I murmured innocently, "How may I help-"

The phone was ripped out of my hand and slammed back down into the receiver. "Get out of my office before I put you through a table myself."

I quickly scrambled out of the chair, nearly knocking it over in the process. "Yes, I'll do that."

"You're on Cher duty."

I screeched to a halt at the door, "What?"

"You're on Cher duty," Matt smiled sweetly which was truly disturbing.

My boss then proceeded to shuffle through a few vinyls that lay scattered on his desk. How can anyone operate in such chaos? His hand stilled on a slipcase with a portrait of Cher wearing pink rimmed visor glasses.

"I Paralyze." He read aloud, "It was released a few days ago, so you better get listening."

"Is there anything else-"

"Oh you want more work Griffith?" Matt clapped me on the back, causing me to tense.

"I actually wanted to switch-"

"I want you to kill the Queen Leeds concert story, then go to Milton Keynes."

"You know what? Cher is fine."

"You can apologise, in public. Then write a nice fluff piece about how much you enjoyed the show."

I spluttered indignantly, "You want me to lie?"

"You made the magazine look bad, now you can make us look good again. If we publish a bad review regarding Queen now, they'll think we're singling Freddie out and are acting childishly. We'll lose credibility."

"I'll lose credibility by lying." I pointed out.

"That sounds like a you problem." He waved his hand dismissively, "Now leave."

I slunk out of the office, tail between my legs. Okay this is fine, surely I can fake being nice. I think my first words were an insincere apology to my father for not learning to speak fast enough. Faking an apology to an egomaniac celebrity would be a breeze.

"Griff!"

Great.

"Yes?" I pulled on a fake grin.

I whirled around to see all the critics gathered around the water dispenser in the canteen. All of the most judgmental people in New York, in one building, in one clique... I often tried to avoid them. Yes, I know I'm technically one of them, but their judgements extend to every walk of life and not just what they're paid to comment on. I am somewhat human.

Freddie Mercury would disagree profusely, that I know to be certain.

"I want to say good for you!" David, another music critic, clapped his hands together, "It's about time someone stood up to Mercury."

I took an irritated step into the critics den, "What's that?"

"He's notoriously difficult for the people in our circles," David chuckled, "He's more prissy in interviews than a woman. Acts so damn above us."

I blinked, "I suppose we can't really judge him off of a few interviews."

No, I didn't say that because I believed Freddie to secretly be a lovely person. I said it because the people snickering around me, hadn't actually met him in the flesh. I didn't like him because he rang me up to curse at me. Then, invited me to a show in order to further curse at me. And now as a result of his behaviour, my face was in every tabloid across the globe. I'm allowed not to like him, just as I'm sure he doesn't like me. At least I met him before I came to my conclusion.

"You're so sensitive Griff."

"Says the yank." I joked lightly in an attempt to change the subject, but I simply made it shift to an even more awkward topic.

"Maybe you and Mercury were just two English men looking to wrestle around together." He joked right back. "You Brits have that reputation."

"Pansies." Vince, movie critic, agreed. "Not you though Griff." He quickly added.

"Yeah of course not Griff," David rolled his eyes, "It was a joke.

"Right,"  I puffed out a laugh, "Very good. Now, I'm on Cher duty so I'm off to drink in my office."

"Cher duty?" David echoed, "Wilde really must be pissed."

"He is, so if you'll excuse me-" As I fumbled to get out the door, I was stopped by a petite figure. I would have rather taken a bath in the Hudson than stop and talk to this particular person.

"Hayes you're back!" Summer, a fashion critic, squeaked excitably. She had no intention of letting me leave as her hand gripped the doorframe purposefully.

"It would seem that way." I smiled tightly and evaded her incoming embrace.

"Miss me?" She flashed a pearly white smile.

No, I didn't miss being harassed in the office. "You have no idea."

"Your tie's crooked." It was then she proceeded to slip the knot right up to my Adam's apple.

I gulped uncomfortably, "Thank you."

Yes, I am aware of the effect I have on women, but I assure everyone I'm not a womaniser. I'm truly not. I just turned twenty nine and I have only slept with a handful of women in the span of my single life. I just respect them is all, and I have had a girlfriend for the past four years. So no, my womanising title doesn't fit, not at all.

Summer Saint-Cloud ( I know), was sent to test my restraint. She threw herself on me every chance she got. My favourite alabaster white shirt still has her faded lipstick stain on the collar from last year's Christmas party. I have tried to clean it, but no luck.

"Summer the assistant got your coffee wrong again." Another fashion critic drawled from the hall. My saviour.

Her lips thinned with annoyance, "I'll be back, we need to catch up."

"I was only gone for two days," I began feebly before she disappeared to dismember a poor kid.

Before anyone could make any sort of comment, I slipped out of the canteen and made a break for my office. I locked the door, rattling it twice, just to make sure. With a large yawn, I placed the Cher vinyl onto my bare desk.

Haven't I been tortured enough?

___

F.M
Kensington, England.

I didn't appreciate my lunch being interrupted by a stack of papers being slammed down in front of me. Not after my morning from hell.

My bowl of cornflakes rattled as I glanced up to see my manager looming over me. Miami had already deemed me a PR nightmare when I woke up, now I can't even eat in peace it seems. I was nursing an awful headache because last night I headed straight for Heaven after I cleaned myself up. I don't think I made it home until 6am, I also don't think I returned empty handed. Paul informed me he had shooed someone out of the kitchen at 11am, which is precisely when Miami barged in.

"Do you know how bad this looks?"

"Not my fault."

"People say you pushed him."

"I lightly moved him with my hand." I flicked my wrist to complement my words.

"There was a cut on his forehead."

I winced at that, a small graze did ended appear on Hayes' forehead, most likely from hitting it off the table on his way down. That's the only thing I felt in any way guilty about. But, a tipsy Veronica and Dom both fought to help clean him up, which I'm sure he thoroughly enjoyed.

"It was an accident," I conceded, "But he provoked me."

My eyes flickered down to the issue of the Sun which was on top of the stack, they had snapped a particularly bad image. I was glaring at Hayes, looking particularly villainous, whilst the critic looked particularly wounded as he pressed two slender fingers to the light graze on his forehead.

'Drama Queen Can't Handle Criticism.' I muttered the heading aloud, the pound of a headache throbbed at my temple.

"Did you see the Daily Telegraph?"

I glanced up at Miami as if he has made a poor joke, "What?"

"The Daily Telegraph?" He repeated impatiently and rustled through the papers.

Miami had left for an hour at 1pm, it seems he had been shopping for newspapers to give a visual aid to my lecture. The clock hand was now crawling towards 3pm, and I certainly had not been making the most of my bloody day off.

"No," I shook my head, "I don't think they ever feature musicians, we're too uncouth for the likes of their audience."

"Well," Miami fumed, "Let me be the first to congratulate you on your debut feature!"

They didn't use the photo of Hayes and I from last night that had become an instant hit. No, instead there was a photo of Hayes, looking polished and sullen in a suit. An older, sterner, man stood beside him, hand on his shoulder. He looked vaguely familiar. Then to the right of their stuffy formal photo, was me on stage, in red leather shorts. Night and bloody day.

"I don't understand-"

"Read."

'Lord Chancellor Outraged by Attack on Son.'

Then Miami recited a quote from the Lord Chancellor, as if the lines would now forever haunt his dreams.

"My son could have been seriously hurt in this unprovoked assault initiated by that man. I know Freddie Mercury's type of people have questionable morals, but I can't overlook such a hostile attack on my boy."

My type of people? I scoffed, wondering if the man was referring to rock stars, or men of a certain assumed sexuality. I scanned the page one again, only just coming to a harrowing conclusion.

"Wait, Hayes Griffith." I theorised aloud, "Alastair Griffith. Hayes is his son?"

Miami snatched the paper back up, "Yes! And do you know what other titles Alastair Griffith holds?"

I opened my mouth but Miami was on a roll, "Secretary of State for Justice."

"So not good?"

"Deputy Prime Minister!"

"That's why he's familiar!" I exclaimed once the puzzle pieces fitted. The fact that I hadn't just pushed a high profile critic, but also the son of a British politician took another moment to click.

I pushed my bowl away, "Oh fuck."

"Good! I'm glad you see how terrible this situation is!"

"Not that, Hayes Griffith is probably best friends with Margaret Thatcher, it would explain so much".

"Freddie."

I exhaled slowly, "It'll blow over."

"Yes it will, once you apologise to Hayes."

"I don't see how-"

"One public photo of you two, acting like best mates. I don't care if it's a handshake, a clap on the back, whatever. Just make it look like there's no hard feelings."

I wished the spoon in front of me would transform into a knife so that I may stab myself. That sounded like a blissful experience compared to making nice with Hayes Griffith.

"What if I don't care?" I asked, "The media already decided I was a pretentious queen years ago. I don't see what another bad story is going to do."

"Half of England thinks you assaulted their deputy prime ministers son!" Miami sighed, "It reflects badly on the band, not just you. Hayes Griffith writes a bad review, then you attack him?"

"I didn't attack him!" I half yelled with exasperation.

"I know that! But be real Freddie, admit you know how how bad this all looks."

Yes, a skirmish with a music critic just days after receiving a scathing review, looked bad. The fact he was the son of someone high profile? Bad. Being painted out to be a villain who goes around 'assaulting' people who may criticise me- awful. Throw all that together and it's a scenario that's completely tits up.

"Yes, it's bad." I finally agreed, "But the damage control doesn't sound like it'll work."

"Hayes' boss has already agreed to do it."

I raised a brow suspiciously, "He did?"

"Not exactly, but his boss said- and you'll love this- he said that he'll kick Hayes' ass into next year if he doesn't go along with this little PR stunt."

The thought of Hayes being put in his place truly was a ray of sunshine on an otherwise awful day. The thought of him grovelling to me was also particularly entertaining. Oh he could apologise first, that was non-negotiable.

"Right, where's Hayes staying, I'll phone him."

"He flew back to New York last night."

"Oh," I frowned, "Well then he's hardly at work today. I'll ring later, he's probably in bed."

"No," Miami blew out a sigh and took a seat across from me, "He's at work. His number is written there."

"Fantastic." I grumbled.

I tore the corner off of the Daily Mail, where Miami had hastily scribbled a phone number across. I then made a hasty retreat towards my living room. Tiffany's ever grumpy face greeted me from the couch. She certainly looked how I felt as I dialled the phone.

"Yes?" A relieved sigh sounded from the other side of the line.

I was startled by how quickly he picked up, "Hayes?"

There was a pause, and even the sound of record screech in the background. "Freddie, yes, hello."

Clearly, something about Hayes' velvety voice makes me become obsessed with time diffidences. "How are you at work right now?"

"It's 10am."

"Yes, but you caught a flight last night?"

No, this isn't really how I saw my conversation going with Hayes after last night. I had plenty of choice words for him when I woke up this morning, but they seemed to vanish for the moment.

"Mhm," I could picture his dark brows furrowed, "I got in at 8am."

"Did you not sleep?"

"You seem rather concerned with my sleep habits." He noted dryly.

His haughty tone brought me back to reality. "I suppose you had to go in to work. Are you writing your formal apology to me right now dear?"

A scoff, "I have actually been tasked with writing something far worse than your apology, thanks to you."

"Really?" I asked, interest piqued for a moment. My hand lazily ran along Tiffany's back. "What is it?"

A contemplative silence ensued for a moment, before Hayes spoke once again, "Were you aware that Cher released an album recently?"

"No?"

"Well, I have been forced to give a review on it. Freddie," he sighed in a way that made my body stiffen, "It hasn't even bloody charted."

I couldn't help but let out a little laugh, "That seems like a fitting punishment."

"It far outweighs the crime," He mumbled.

"My punishment is far worse," I assured him, "I have to invite you to the show in Milton Keynes."

"I was already told I have to go."

"Were you also told about our little photo op?"

"Pardon?"

"You and I, staged photo, shaking hands." I explained, not bothering to hide my disgust, "Preferably the day before the concert."

"And my boss agreed to this?"

"It would seem so."

I could picture his smirk, "Cher seems to be the lesser of two evils."

"I don't like it anymore than you do." I made sure to add.

"That's true," he huffed, "Because I dislike it far more than you do."

"Are you not enjoying your five minutes of fame darling?" I cooed.

Hayes grumbled something unintelligible, before he ground out a "no."

"Think of it this way," my fingers scratched behind Tiffany's ear, "By the time God Save the Queen sounds throughout Milton Keynes, you and will I never have to interact again."

"I am about to say something to you that I never thought I would." He paused.

For some reason, I naively expected him to say that he didn't wish to never interact with me again. I was also thoroughly confused as to why I wanted him to say it. Maybe I just didn't like the thought of someone finding me so awful. Like a fool, I let myself be drawn in.

"Yes?"

"Freddie, that's music to my ears."

All my choice words from this morning came flooding back, "You fucking-"

The line went dead, cutting short both my possible tantrum, and the start of Hayes' laugh. I didn't even think it possible for a creature such as him to laugh. Actually, upon further thought, he probably revels in misery.

Miami popped his head in the door, "How did it go?"

"He's coming to London."

"Oh good-"

"But I make no guarantees not to hit him."

And thus, another lecture began.