Delayed reactions are either very helpful, or very damaging, I still can't decide which.  I consider them fantastic emotional protection, but if they happen too often or take too long, waiting until you find solitude to release them, other people might start wondering if you have any feelings in the first place.  However you choose to see delayed reactions, I had one as soon as Freddie's back was turned.

He kissed me, I said to myself.  Oh, my gosh, he kissed me.  On the lips.  Freddie kissed me on the lips.

I hurried back to my room, supposedly to put on my stilts- I mean, shoes.  But as soon as I closed the door, I felt my limbs go numb, and a wave of tenderness washed over me.  Again, it was a very innocent little kiss, but at that time, I was still quite new to the whole canoodling thing, and proper kisses meant a great deal. 

With a dizzy smile, I nuzzled my head against the door frame.  I laid my hand over my lips and softly laughed to myself.  I'm glad he doesn't see me this way, I told myself.  It's bad enough I desire him in silence; if he knew how twitterpated I am right now, I'd never hear the end of it.

Still, I flipped to a new page in my journal, and scrawled down another NFO: Freddie tastes like cinnamon vodka.  I found this out because he kissed me.  He smells like licorice and tastes like cinnamon vodka.  I just want to eat him up.  The question is, would I use a fork or a spoon?  Or is he a dish better suited for the fingers?

Nice work, Julia, real scientific, I said to myself, not only to be sarcastic but also to remind myself that my name was in fact Julia, and not Eve, no matter how many times Freddie kept calling me that.

I rubbed my eyes.  This feeling only escalated each time I came near him, and multiplied by five with his every affectionate caress.  There was only one surefire cure for my worsening disease: leaving him.  But this bird could not fly; my wings were clipped but good.  And anyway, the idea of just up and deserting him seemed more unappealing the longer I was with him.  Don't misunderstand me, I still wanted desperately to go home.  But that didn't mean I wanted to leave Freddie; for all his moodiness and often quick temper, he was very dear to me.  He had such a way about him...

A hard fist rapped at the door.  "Are you quite through?"

"Coming!"  Thanks for disturbing my reverie, I griped. Carelessly I opened the door only to be ambushed yet again.

Click!  BZZZ. 

Freddie lowered his camera.  "So let's get going, then."

"Are we still having camera wars?"

"Why?  Giving up so soon?"

"Why would I when I'm so far ahead?"

"What's the score?"

"Forty-one to three."

"How'd that happen?"

"You need film, all I need is memory space," I told him, brandishing my Android like a samurai sword.  "Your kung fu is not strong.  But I can't take a chance on leaving it anywhere tonight, so I'll go without.  I don't have any service anyway."  I tossed it on the bed.

"Service?"

"Phone service.  Cell signal.  You know."

But of course, he didn't know.  "Phone?  You can call people on it too?" 

I waved my hand the way he often did.  "Goodness me, Freddie, so many questions."

"Who can you call?"

"Nobody right now.  The phone that works is gone."

"This one's broken, too?"

"Too?" My brows furrowed.  "What do you mean, too?"

Freddie looked confused.  "You said broken."

'No, I said it was gone, not broken."

He shrugged.  "Sorry, dear, must have misheard you."

My face fell.  "God.  You got my hopes up, I thought maybe you knew where the Relic wa- hold on.  Tell me honestly, for the sake of my sanity." I took him by the arms.  "You don't have the Relic, broken or otherwise, do you?"

Freddie looked me deep in the eyes and held up his right hand.  "I swear to God, I do not have the Relic."

Rudy knocked on the door.  Freddie tried to turn and receive him, but I still held on and asked one more question- and a very unfair one at that.  "You wouldn't lie to me, would you, Freddie?"

"Of course not," he said.  "Would you lie to me?"

The word melted sourly on my tongue, but I still spat it out: "Never."

He smiled and hugged me.  "I didn't think so."

Oh, dear God, I am in so deep... 

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

When we arrived at the club called the Heatwave, as might be expected, the usual suspects were clustered around Freddie: Peter Straker, Paul Prenter, and Rudy Barnes his driver. Since we'd picked up Paul, like before (Doesn't this guy have his own transportation? I mean, come on), I hadn't gotten one word in edgewise with Freddie. As more of his friends, old and new, collected, I was progressively pushed to the back of the crowd, further away from the dark-eyed gem they surrounded, as if they were protecting him from me.

I started seeing a pattern before too long; when you are the only female in a crowd of seven or eight, you notice these things pretty early. I feel like Black Widow from the Avengers, except without the super duper ninja moves- or the sex appeal, I said to myself.  I'm the token chick.

The Heatwave at once seemed pretty shady, and therefore downright cool, because it was one of those clubs with a not-so-obvious entrance.  The four of us got out of the Rolls and Rudy surrendered the steering wheel to a valet parking attendant, but I couldn't see a door or a club sign anywhere.  As Paul and Rudy fastened themselves to Freddie's side, we walked around to the side of the building.  There, in the shadows of the alley, an enormous slab of a metal door.  At the top was a small peep window which slid open when Freddie knocked.

"Password?" A gruff voice demanded.

Freddie purred, "Play it again, Sam."

The window slammed shut, and the deadbolt door swung open.  The three men strolled in with me straggling along behind.  As the bouncer closed it up again as soon as I'd cleared the threshold, I felt my stomach churn.  The stairs before us led down under the storefront building.  Risky business, I remarked to myself, trying not to worry.  But the last time I'd visited a secret underground room, my whole life turned inside out.  I wasn't all that secure in how this evening would go down.

We came to another door, our crowd of four now increased to five since Peter Straker thought it would be cute to hide in the shadows and scare us when we neared the actual club entrance.  Without much further ado, we entered the Heatwave.

Dry ice billowed all over the crowded dance floor, the garish lights turning the smoke different colors to the beat of the music.  Despite the mirrorball and spotlights hanging from the high rafters, the place was dim, and I couldn't clearly pick out even the features of Rudy's face, who was nearest me.  Still, I wanted to make a good impression.  As nervous as I was, I lifted my chin and took long strides, my pant legs sweeping out with each step.  I couldn't look like some awkward groupie; tonight, I was one of the boys, here for a good time.  Whatever that meant.

Freddie and his posse made straight for the bar.  "The most expensive shit you've got, in the biggest glasses you've got," he ordered.

"And what are you having, Freddie love?" Peter teased as the bartender poured three nauseatingly tall glasses of Russian liquor. 

"Just a coffee for me," I said to the bartender.  "Sugar if you got it, please."

"This is a club, not a tea house," he grumbled. 

"I don't drink," I explained, as if he cared.

As people recognized Freddie, they fell over themselves trying to get near to him.  Rudy did his part to provide him a little room to breathe, but he couldn't do everything.  They pressed all around him, squeezing me to the edge, and ultimately I was pushed out completely.  Freddie looked up and around, finally realizing I'd vanished.  I shrugged, then turned to make my own way to the dance floor- I loved Andy Gibb's "I Just Want to Be Your Everything" which was the tune pulsating through the club at the moment- when someone grabbed my hand.

Wildly I turned to see Freddie.  He'd pushed his way through the amassing crowd to draw me back toward the bar, and now had his arm fastened around my waist. 

He grinned.  "Where were you going?"

"What?"

"WHERE WERE YOU GOING?"

"I was gonna go dance!"

"Can I come too?"

This he asked as three people almost simultaneously started tugging on his arm begging for a spin.  "You have your hands full!"

"Is that a no?"

"Sounded like one to me," Paul put in, patting his pockets as if in search for his keys. 

"Come on, darling, it's not the Mercurena, but it'll do."  He winked.

Paul protested, "I thought you wanted to do a little bl-"

"Afterwards, dear!  We just got here.  Watch our drinks, would you?" Freddie crooned, and kissed my cheek.  "Shall we?"

It was with these words I let him lead me out on the hazy floor.  I didn't know the first thing about disco dancing- real disco dancing, not the silly parody version everybody knows how to do- which became painfully obvious very soon.  Freddie was no John Travolta, but he was worlds better than me, and he showed me what to do.  At least I could blend in.

Eventually Gibb's peppy voice melted into a gentle ABBA tune.  Before I could say anything about getting off the dance floor, Freddie whispered, "One more."

"But what about Paul?"

"Paul's an ass."

We laughed, and I nodded, "Yes, he is, thank you."  We danced our second- and last (that I remember)- dance of the evening.

"I wanna know/ What's the name of the game?" Ms. Lyngstad was asking over the speakers as he put his arms around my waist and pressed his cheek against mine.  I slid one arm round his neck, the other slipped down his back.  I let my fingers play in the thick fringe of black hair hanging just over the edge of his collar.  I'd never touched him so intimately before.  And as small as the gesture seemed, it was electric.

I felt my body relax as we danced, as if I was melting into him.  I wasn't sure if it was imagination or not, but I swear that about a minute in, I felt him nibble at my ear lobe.  I closed my eyes, trying and failing to suppress the new rush of feelings surging in my chest. 

Freddie was right, nothing could ever compare to that embarrassing but, in retrospect, surreal moment in his flat.  But moving with him in that hot, smoky room, feeling his elastic body sway and brush up against mine while countless pairs of eyes (including Paul's) leered at me in envy- in that special two minutes of my life, there was nowhere else in the world I wanted to be. 

I wish I had kissed him back, I thought to myself.  I wish I could tell him.  He's so awful- and wonderful, and divine, and why don't I kiss him now?

As soon as I made up my mind to do just that, a brown hand clapped down on Freddie's shoulder and he turned around.  Peter Straker had some guy at his side that he absolutely had to introduce to Freddie,this was Jack, he was a very best friend of his, played with him in that one episode of Centre Play a year ago, he was absolutely in love with Freddie's charisma and stage presence, and before I knew it I lost my dancing partner.

Feeling like a used piece of chewing gum, I meandered off the dance floor.  I needed that coffee now.  Before I'd even reached the bar, my cynicism kicked back into action.  Well, that was sweet of him, I said to myself.  He danced with me now to get it over with, so he could at least say that he danced with me tonight.  Saving the fun stuff for last.  Smart man.  So considerate of the children.

Paul watched me come back, and seeing I was without Freddie, began scanning the club for a sign of tousled dark hair.

"He's with Straker," I said.  "Rudy's probably already-"

"Right," Paul muttered, and sticking his hand in his pocket, pushed away from the bar without even a thank-you.  I was alone now.  Oh well.  It was nice while it lasted.

CONTINUED IN PART TWO, SOON TO FOLLOW>>>>>