At about seven o' clock, I set down the bowls of cat food and waited. Within half a minute all three of Freddie's cats bounded into the kitchen: first my orange, self-appointed new best friend, Oscar; the dark brown and lethargic Tom; and the pretty calico named Tiffany. At this point I had yet to learn Tom's name, but since I write this story many times the wiser, I can tell it to you now.

"Oh, sure," I remarked softly. "You get your lazy arses off the couch for chow time. All the rest of the day, you sleep. The flat could burn down around you, and you'd sleep amongst the ashes. But someone gets out the can opener? Stampede."

At that, Oscar looked up at me, and I swear to God he beamed a sneeze right into my eyes.

"AAA-CHOO!" I rubbed my nose. "Oh, Oscar. Why do you find my allergies funny?"

I wandered into the living room. I really hadn't done a lot of exploring around here. Did I mention the walls were a warm burnt orange? No? Well, there you go. Gold records hung where art and crystal apparently didn't reach. There was a television on one side -a dinky little box by today's standards. Nearby stood the all-encompassing entertainment center. I was tempted to see if there was an auxiliary jack for my smart phone anywhere in there, but common sense prevented me from that search. Just beside it was the same kind of intercom speaker I'd seen in the kitchen and in my bedroom (I was thinking of it as my bedroom now). I had pretty much ignored them until now. The actual receiver was fixed in the wall at the top of the stairs, complete with a microphone and a radio dial.

I turned it on, whispered, "Test? Test?"  My voice echoed all around me.

"Hello?" I said in a normal voice, and the walls boomed with the word. But I shut it off before I got too carried away. Mischievous notions were already seeping into my brain- but not the one which would actually transpire.  Not yet.

Inside the entertainment center, I found vinyls, 33s and 45s, in numbers so great my fingers tingled with excitement. I pulled out one of his Aretha Franklin records (and he had many)- Lady Soul, as I recall- and placed it on the turntable. Before long, "Chain of Fools" purred through the speakers and the flat was filled with her soulful magic.

"I should see what Dr. C was talking about," I said aloud. "Those instructions probably won't do me much good here, being for ol' Alinsky and all- but that journal will be a great place to record my, shall we say, Freddie observations?"

So I traipsed back up the stairs, dragging along my backpack.  Sprawling comfortably upon my bed, I laid the journal out before me and flipped to the first page.  I read:

"Congratulations, Whom It May Concern!  You survived the first part of the experiment- an experiment no one has ever attempted before.  The second part- which involves bringing you back - may be a stickier situation, but chances are, if you made it this far, it's all downhill from here on out.

"You have arrived in the year 1971-

"Wrong," I said aloud, interrupting myself.  "It's 1977, you only thought I was going to fall into the hands of Mr. Rules for Radicals.  Not so!  Ha ha."  I continued:

"You have arrived in the year 1971, if our calculations hold true.  Do not panic.  If you follow these simple instructions, you will keep yourself safe."

What followed were my Three Commandments (which I was keeping pretty well so far, if you can excuse me showing Freddie the Relic), only worded differently.  Keep a low profile, don't talk about where you come from, et cetera.  After that, the list of questions I was supposed to ask Mr. Alinsky.  I could show you those questions, and I would, but it was in the waiver I had to sign that the questions, answered or unanswered, remained classified.  From their perspective, I can certainly understand.

"Record everything in writing; this is what your journal is for," it concluded. "If you are discreet enough, take photos with your smart phone.  ABSOLUTELY DO NOT TAKE ANY VIDEOS WHATSOEVER.  And at all times, use caution.  Enjoy your experience, of course.  But above all, understand you do not belong, and will not belong, in the place to which you have been sent.  There can be no exception.  If you go, you must come back."

This long and rather redundant note ended with some stupid little greeting card blurb, like "Happy History-Making!" or something.  The rest of the hardcover journal was made up of one hundred blank sheets of lined paper.  Certainly, I decided, if they were going to go to all that trouble to send me anywhere, even if it was the wrong place, I ought to scrawl down a little something about what I'd been doing, as well as the man I did wind up with.

So I pulled out a black pen and started writing, downshifting into budding psychologist mode:

Day 1: Arrived in London 1977, July 1 in Freddie Mercury's house.  His closet, to be exact.  When he found me, he was very nice and let me sleep here.  Not sure how long hospitality will hold out, but grateful while it lasts.

N. F. O. [which stood for "Notable Freddie Observations"]: Freddie is very calm when something unexpected (like finding me in the closet) takes place.  Has deep sense of pride in Queen and the fame attached to it.  Was more than a little annoyed when I "failed to recognize" him.

Day 2: Made my host breakfast, went shopping.  Bought two t-shirts.  Fed his cats.  Whoopee doo.

N.F. O.: He must always have the last word.  Apparently very trusting of strangers, as he handed me five hundred pounds(!) and the key to his home and he doesn't even know my real name.  He calls me Eve Dubroc and he thinks I have big eyes.  I'm not really sure why.

I looked over my writing and yawned, underwhelmed.  Man, I sure know how to have a good time, I thought sarcastically.

According to the clock, it was only ten till eight.  I had no problem stashing myself away into a corner, being alone most of the time.  But I was feeling a little lonely for a friendly face- a REAL face, not just images I could pull up on my phone and stare at awkwardly for a few minutes.  So, naturally, I started thinking about Freddie.

"I wonder what he's doing right now," I said aloud. 

Two seconds later, the phone rang.  On instinct I slid off the bed, hurried downstairs (there was a phone in his room, but until he told me otherwise I was treating that part of the flat like it was quarantined), and picked it up.

"Margaret Thatcher's residence," I boomed in as low a voice as I could muster.

Clear, laughing tones came through on the other end.  "Hello, Eve!"

"Speak of the devil.  Hi, Freddie!"  I grinned.  "What's going on?"

"Glad you're still around.  I've got your first favor in order," he announced.  "If you could please grab two bottles of red wine, I don't care which, out of the pantry and bring them up here to Wessex, please?"

"Any glasses?"

"No, we've got those here.  Unless you want to bring one for you." 

His tongue sounded slightly thick in his mouth.  I stifled a snort and asked myself how many bottles of wine they'd already blown through.  "Anything else you need?"

"Just your sweet self and the wine."

"You got it!  What's the address?"

"Oh, don't worry about that, my driver's already en route to pick you up.  Should be there in two shakes.  Also!  You went shopping today, right?  Good girl.  Throw something new on and show us what you bought.  See you in a few!"

I hung up the phone.  Strange, I didn't feel euphoric or tongue-tied when talking to him.  I always thought I would, with Freddie's enormous image in mind. Maybe by pretending Freddie was just another guy, I was tricking some subconscious part of myself as well.  Ah, the power of  the mind.  But anyway!

I randomly grabbed a Cabernet and Pinot Noir.  I don't remember what brand, or what country, but they had both been bottled sometime in the 1940's.  I recall that much because it made me shake my head; there's no telling how much that wine cost, and there were two dozen more no younger in the pantry.

Of the red or white shirts I bought, I selected red.  I pulled it over my head and discovered a little too late that the tee, while looking chaste enough at the Market, was two sizes too small.  It hugged- no, squeezed in all the wrong places, certainly all the places I wanted hidden while anywhere near four young rockers (I trusted John most, but I couldn't take any chances).  The V-Neck collar looked especially strained, and my belly button showed.

From the bedroom doorway, Oscar stared with wide feline eyes.  He licked his chops.

"Oh, shut up," I said.  "I can't help the way it makes my fronts look.  But I gotta do at least something about this.  I look so trashy." 

And I did.  In a trice, I'd tied my black turtleneck round my exposed waist, forming a kind of sash.  There wasn't enough time to modify anything else; Freddie's chauffeur arrived too quickly.  One last dab of lipstick for good measure, and wine in hands, I flung open the door.

And almost screamed when I saw the well-dressed, six-foot-nine pillar of brawn standing outside the door.

"Miss Eve?" the man said. 

"That's me," I replied, recovering.

His voice wasn't the most amiable.  "I'm Rudy, Freddie's driver.  Come along."

Only in this surreal world of the past would I have allowed myself to follow this mountain of a man into a gleaming, silver Rolls Royce.  London was, if possible, prettier at sunset than at straight up midday, and I couldn't even enjoy it. He made me extremely nervous. 

"Do you double as his bodyguard, too?" I asked.

"When necessary," Rudy answered. 

"Has it ever been necessary?"

"Yes."

I think that's all he said the whole twenty-five minute drive.

Needless to say, I was glad to see the old church building that was now Wessex Studio.  I clambered out of the car and adjusted my turtle-sash.  Heavy drum beats and the unmistakable wail of Brian's guitar escaped the church walls.

"I'll be here waiting," Rudy informed me, to which I replied that he wouldn't be waiting long.

I walked down the sidewalk, feeling slightly ridiculous in my outfit.  What would the Queen fellows think?  Some fashionista I was.  In spite of myself, however, I lifted my chin the way a stubbornly haughty Freddie would have done, and pushed the door open with all the confidence of a real queen.

"Who are you?" a hostile receptionist demanded. 

Inside, I shrank back, about to explain myself when another door opened and a head of dark, thick hair poked out. 

"There you are!" Freddie crooned, hands outstretched.  "And you've brought the wine.  Perfect!"

"As you wish, Master," I said, bowing low.  "Any other task thou wouldst have me perform?"

"Not tonight.  This will do quite nicely for now!" he said. 

"Great!  Then I'll just be heading back to the flat now-"

"Oh, no, not yet!  Come on in, the boys are anxious to meet you."

"You told your band about me?"  I stepped back.

"Why not?  If a girl shows up in your house unannounced, do you just ignore it?"

"Well, frankly, I don't know, I've never-"

"Exactly.  Come on!"

"Ha, ha, no, thanks.  They're busy, I can hear it.  And you," I added, "probably need to get back in there and corral them."

Freddie folded his arms.  "You're too much, darling.  Most girls, most people, would leap for a chance to get this close to us.  Maybe it's because you haven't seen us perform.  Or-"

"Hey, Fred, close the door!" a Londoner's voice chided- one I didn't recognize.  Freddie acted swiftly; he took me by the wine bottles and pulled me into the control room before I knew what was happening, closing the door behind us.

"Shifty," I muttered.  Freddie ignored me, and handed one of the bottles to a sound guy for him to open.  Something else to add to the NFO list: Does not open own wine bottle.

"What'ya think of that one?" called the drummer, setting his sticks down.

"We'll have to play it back in a second, come in and listen," Freddie said over the intercom.

Freddie looked back at me.  "Did you buy that shirt today?"

"Yes," I said.  "I'm regretting it now."

"It's just a tad tight, is all.  Show me tomorrow what else you got!"

"If I'm still here."

"Oh, that's right.  I forgot, I could still turn you in.  Thanks for reminding me."

"Not at all.  I really don't have to show you any more anyway.  I just bought this and another like it in white."

He blinked.  "That's all?"

It was here that the three others tramped into the control room.  "This song is getting so f---ing slow," Roger complained, whipping out a cigarette. "Brian, it gets slower every time, and I didn't write it like that.  It's not m-"

He cut himself off as his drowsy eyes glanced my way.  He looked at Freddie.  "Is this the Eve we're heard so much about?"

I forced myself not to react.  If I wasn't supposed to know Freddie, I couldn't recognize anyone else. 

"You're the guy with the sneakers," I said, too brightly.  When his brows knit, uncomprehending, I explained, "That's all I could see from under the bed.  You were wearing sneakers."

"So you remembered my voice," he said with a suave little grin, the cigarette between his pretty white teeth.  Roger was indeed very handsome, but with that high voice I found him incredibly hard to take seriously.

"Yours is a hard one to forget," I replied ambiguously before I realized how that might sound.  He took hold of my hand, then, so that I was convinced that he had heard it just that way. 

"Pleasure to meet you, Eve," he cooed, bending over my hand- perhaps to kiss it.

"That's Roger," Freddie cut in- rather hastily, I thought.  "He hits the drums, things like that."

"I play them," Roger corrected him, and let go of me to light his smoke.  I didn't mind.  He offered me a cigarette as well, but I shook my head.

"Whatever," Freddie said. "And that's Brian over there."

Brian was filling his glass of wine; he waved to me and grunted with supreme indifference. 

"Guy with Clogs," I said.  "Brian.  Got it."

John had been still fiddling around in the studio room.  After a moment he set his bass down and joined the rest.  His small eyes landed on me and widened in surprise.

"I suppose you know Deaks already," Roger quipped. 

"I'm John," he said, putting out his hand.  "John Deacon."

"Oh, yes, we're practically family," I replied.  "Sorry for snapping at you yesterday.  I was- distracted."

He smiled shyly and shrugged.  It was that moment I knew I would make this guy my best friend.  John had the kind of face that makes you just want to pour out your whole life story to him because you know he'd be polite enough to listen to the whole thing. And for that moment, I ached to explain my reason for being here, as improbable as it sounded, because at least he would act as though he believed me. 

"Wine?" A full glass crossed my peripheral vision.

"No, thank you.  I don't drink," I answered.

"Really?" Freddie sounded surprised.

"Yep.  Never touch it.  Makes me sleepy, wine does."

"What a shame."

"You don't drink, you don't smoke," Roger said thoughtfully.  "Next you'll be telling us you're a virgin."

Somebody laughed.  I smiled, now uncomfortable and not a little embarrassed.  "Anyway, um, I just came to bring the wine, it was nice meeting you fellas, I'll let you get back to work."

John nodded, something strange in his face, a look that was anything but happy.  I felt like he was trying to tell me something.

"I'll see you out, dear," Freddie offered.  He took my hand, led me out and I called my farewells behind me, two of which were answered.  Just before the door closed, I heard Roger's indiscreet voice exclaim, "God!  Did you get a load of that ra-"

My mind finished what I was lucky enough to miss.  Now I REALLY regret wearing this, I groaned inwardly.

When we were in the front room, Freddie took me aside.  "Did I miss something, or did you say you spent five hundred pounds on two of these?"  He fingered the sleeve of my shirt to emphasize.

"I did not."

"What did you spend on them?"

"Ten quid!"  I grinned, pleased with my use of British slang.  God, I'm so American it's not even funny.

"Okay. Ten quid.  What else did you find?"

"That's it, really.  I bought lunch while out, and paid for the cab.  And that adds up to... twenty, yeah, twenty pounds give or take. Thank you so much for-  Oh, yes!  Here's what's left."

I handed him four hundred eighty pounds. 

It took him a minute to find the words.  "What kind of world do you come from?"

"Don't tell me you expected me to go pick out a whole new wardrobe!  I could be gone tomorrow."  And according to Dr. K, that's exactly what would happen.

Freddie rubbed his eyes.  "Well, that settles it.  We'll have to fix you."

"What?"  That didn't sound too good.

"You obviously need someone to hold your hand wherever you go and help you think, so tomorrow, after my interview, you and I are going to take this-" he held up the money- "and thoroughly burn it on proper clothes.  None of this peasant t-shirt stuff.  Proper things."

"Are you serious?"

"I'm in most deadly earnest, my dear Eve.  You can't be Scottish every minute of your life.  That's a life well squandered."

"I was only trying to be considerate.  And I'm only half-Scottish, thank you."

"What's the other half?"  Freddie was very easily sidetracked.

"Italian.  My mother is from Tuscany."

Swirling his arms dramatically, he thundered in his stage voice, "So be Italian.  Make your mother proud!  You're with me, live a little!"

Quite unsuccessfully I fought against a sudden fit of laughter.  "I think you're tipsy, and I need to go, I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll have Rudy come get you at half-past one tomorrow, I should be finished talking to the old bugger by then.  Don't disappoint me!"  Before I could give another wishy-washy reply, he added, "Let's consider it your favor for the day."

All right, now I had to agree.  I nodded, though the idea of going back on another shopping spree left me rather cold.  But a favor's a favor, and I was basically his indentured servant.

"Excellent.  I'll see you at two-ish."  With that, he leaned forward and kissed the top of my head.

"Happy recordings!" I said, refusing to react to the kiss and slipped out the door.  I bet he does that to everyone.

As I got into the car, and we started heading back in the same deathlike silence, I couldn't help but notice the way my toes were wiggling in my shoes.  Curiouser and curiouser. 

I just need some sleep, I told myself.  I'll need it tomorrow.

But I didn't know how much I'd end up needing it.