(Sal here.  Note the asterisk in the third paragraph.  If you are confused, see the one shot entitled "Mysterious Ways."  There is more information found there to clear it.  I hope. ;) )

It was close to seven when I returned to Stafford Terrace, the parcel containing Freddie's jade cats in one hand and a small box of Godiva chocolate in the other.  My heart hung heavy within me, heavier than it had before I had gone to Westminster that afternoon. 

I had thought that speaking to the vicar at the cathedral, the one who had heard my confession after last Sunday's Mass (and kind of had to walk me through proper Catholic procedure of confessing one's sins), would give me a little peace of mind.  I told him what had happened the night before, hoping he could help me sort out my head.*

But with one sentence, one question, Father Timothy- I believe that was his name, either that or Thomas- brought everything into unpleasantly realistic perspective: "You need help choosing between pursuing a successful, healthy future, or maintaining as this man's mistress?"

My own dear Baptist pastor isn't that blunt.  But the vicar still had a point.

Try though I might to shy away from the idea, that's what it boiled down to, should I choose to stay: I would be resigning myself to be nothing more than Freddie's mistress.  For if Mary, the love of his life, couldn't fully capture his heart or his fidelity, what were the odds he would even think of committing himself to me? 

I attempted to cheer myself up.  What are the odds of anything that's happened?  I tried to smile.  Maybe, maybe things will be different now.  He said he loves me-

"I have love enough for all of you."  Minsy's words resounded in my head, ruthlessly mocking me.  Was that really what he'd said?  There had to be more at play there.  And yet...

As I opened the front door, Oscar rose from the sofa and wound himself about my ankles as was his habit.  I knelt to stroke his fur, nudging the door closed with my foot.  Oscar rolled onto his back, asking for a belly rub, front paws folded over and resting against his white chest.  His fur tickled my nose enough to start a sneeze or two, but nothing more.  Setting my gifts down, I ran my hand back and forth over his belly and stroked Tiffany's spotted coat when she too padded over to greet me.  Tom was still asleep.  As usual.

"I have love enough for all of you," I repeated, more to myself than to the cats.  "I have love for every single one of you, in varying degrees.  Everyone gets a piece of the pie.  The piece I give Oscar might be bigger than yours, Tom, but hey, at least you get a piece at all, right?  Lucky you."

I admit it.  Where love is concerned, I'm pretty selfish.  I want to be the only one giving love to my love, and I want to be the only one receiving theirs.  I'm funny that way.  To me, love is not a pie, but a cycle, a give and take cycle between two people.  I don't believe in open marriages, or open romances.  Love is such a precious thing that can be beyond wonderful and beyond horrible at the same time, too precious to be downplayed, cheapened, or squandered- which was why I was so cautious about falling into it at all.  You may see it differently.  Maybe I shouldn't see it that way, maybe I've got it wrong.  They don't spend nearly enough time on the subject of love at the university, it's too complex for an hour-long lecture three days a week, so I could very well have it wrong.  But that's how I see it regardless.

With a sigh, I stood back up.  I set the gifts on the piano, about to search for a ribbon to tie around the wrapped box containing Yin and Yang.  But first, I looked down at the ivory keys.  For a moment I let myself think on how much more beautiful they were when Freddie's hands were stretched across them, coaxing that otherworldly music from this quiet, polished grand.  

Now my thoughts drifted to that "Birthday" surprise earlier today.  What a dear, silly goof my prince could be.  Freddie was still probably getting work done at Wessex, but I wished he was here now, not so he could fawn over me for my would-be birthday, but just so I could reach over and touch him to convince myself he was in fact real, and he was in fact standing there, smiling with those beautiful dark eyes, saying those sweet words that I wanted so, so much to trust. 

I am in it up to my nose, I thought to myself, and feebly asked one more time:  Why me?  You still haven't answered me yet, Sir.  Why me?  Is there a point to me being here, and messing everything up?  I always figured You get it right the first time, did something go wrong and I'm the tool by which You are fine-tuning the future? 

I sat down on the bench and adjusted my hands, pressing an E flat chord- Freddie's favorite key (I assume- but almost all his songs end up in E flat in some form or another, so I think it's a safe assumption). Then a B flat, then one more down to C minor.  The words flew from my lips: "Another party's over..."

I'm not a pianist, but I actually knew how to fumble through "My Melancholy Blues" on the keys.  So, very softly, I played the song Freddie and I had recorded this morning, but this time to words that reflected my indecision.  It was strange how quickly they came to me, although they do after all say, great anguish makes for great creativity:

Another party's over,
And I'm left cold sober.
My prince will leave me for somebody new...
I don't want to think about it,
Want to forget about it-
But I must make up my mind about
What I should do:

Should K come and get me,
or let me
Stay in the sweetest feeling
That once my heart thought it would never know?
Oh,
They expect me
To return directly.
I'd stay a long long while,
But they say one day soon, aside I will be cast.
He makes me happy,
And be near him is all that I want to do.
He's such a wild sensation,
My one preoccupation.
I'm permanently glued
To that extraordinary dude. [In spite of myself, I snickered at that line]
Should I move over,
Or let love hold over?  They're my...
Melancholy Blues."

I sighed, and took my hands off the keys.  I didn't feel like singing a second verse.

Suddenly I heard someone politely applauding.  It came from behind, at the top of the stairs.

I spun around on the bench, but Freddie I did not see.  Nor was it David, or Mary, or Joe.  Or Paul.  Thank God.

"Rudy!" I exclaimed. 

"Hello, Julia," he smiled.  "Many happy returns, by the way."

"Thank you.  What are you doing here?"

"Freddie sent me," he replied, lumbering down the stairs.  "He had a message, asked me to deliver it."

"Oh?" I frowned.  "Freddie said he would call me at-"  I looked at the clock- "Any minute now actually."

But Rudy shook his head.  "He said he would not be able to call, he's all caught up in studio things.  So here I am."

"I see."  I nodded, combating the suspicions rising within.  "So what's the message?"

"Right here."  Rudy handed me an envelope with my name written in Freddie's hand across the back.  I tore it open, and read the apology hastily scrawled upon Wessex Studios stationery:

My dearest Julia:

I am so sorry I can't make the phone call, but the boys and I are onto something really fab and I can't afford to break now.  I probably won't be back until much later tonight.  I do, however, have a gift for you, something I found while we were in Las Vegas (see, I still have a thing or two up my sleeve).  Do put it on, come back up here, and show me how beautiful you are.  It's terrible, really, how addicted I am to you.  It's your fault, you being so wonderful...

That's all for now, my angel.  I will see you shortly, I hope- dressed to kill!

All my love,
Mark Zuckerberg (a.k.a. the Prince, a.k.a. Mr. J)

P.S.  You must explain the Mr. J thing to me sometime, I don't get it.

P.P.S. The gift is in red wrapping paper under our bed. 

P.P.P.S.  Nothing more, actually- I just wanted to put three p's. 

I had to laugh at the closing postscripts.  That was Freddie for you. 

But then I did a double take.  For a man as notoriously flamboyant as Freddie was, he could be ever so subtle, almost insidiously so.  Now his bed was "our bed"; he dubbed me his girlfriend among complete strangers.  By changing the language, he was integrating the two of us, transitioning us from separate individuals into a single unit.  And he knew I would notice, or else he wouldn't do it.  Clever chap.

What a sweet note, all the same. 

Still, I would have liked to hear his voice, even if only over the phone.  I would get to see him face to face, but only briefly- and I'd have to spend my potentially final night in 1977 all by myself. 

"Under the bed, huh?" I said aloud.  "I'll go see."  I turned to Rudy.  "Anything else he wanted you to tell me?"

The driver shook his head.  "Although he did ask that I take you to, um, Wessex in the Rolls Royce."

"When does he expect me?"

"About eight, eight fifteen."

"And it's five till seven now."  I sighed.  "I wish Freddie was here when I opened it, it's his gift to me for crying out loud.  Oh, well."

Maybe I should do the same when he breaks into the little things I got him; I'd be too embarrassed to watch, I realized.  When you're used to Cartier and Tiffany's, antique jade carvings can seem pretty small-scale.

So thinking, I rushed up the stairs and strode into Freddie's bedroom (personally, I wasn't ready to call it ours yet).  I dropped to my knees and reached under the bed skirt.  In shiny metallic red gift wrap, sure enough, sat a rectangular box with an enormous red bow. 

"So let's see what he bought you!" Rudy called from below.

Not wanting him to feel abandoned, I took the package downstairs.

"I'm glad you're here, Rudy," I smiled.  "Nothing worse than opening wrapped boxes all by yourself."

All he did was shrug with a little grin, one hand behind his back. 

The two of us sat on the sofa, Rudy's long legs almost tucking uncomfortably up against him.  For a couple of minutes, I just sat there with the gift in my lap, then remembered Freddie expected me in a little over an hour.  So, almost reluctantly, I untied the bow, and tore away at the paper.  I lifted the lid of the box, brushing aside the wisps of tissue paper inside, and gasped.

It was a dress.  An ivory white, layered, formal gown with flowing sleeves and lacy embroidery about the bust.  I stood and held the dress up against me to see where it fell.  The skirt tumbled all the way to the carpet.  Aside of the cut away, bared shoulders, the dress was rather old-fashioned in style, the very definition of modest- but tastefully modest at that.  I could hardly believe Freddie had selected this- and in Vegas!

"Oh, how gorgeous." I turned to Rudy.  "He wants me to show up in this?"

The driver shrugged.  "I don't know.  Does he?"

"It looks like a-" I cut myself off.  I dared not speak the words. 

Rudy's brows rose.  He knew exactly what I was thinking.  "Like a what, Julia?"

I shook my head.  "I don't know.  Two minutes, I'll go put this on.  He and I are having a long talk when he gets home."  I darted for the stairs.  "A looong talk.  I don't care how tired he'll be-"

Rudy stood as well.  "Aren't you going to do anything about your hair?"

I stopped, and turned.  "What about it?"

"Oughtn't you, I don't know... put it up, or back, or something?"

I half-smiled.  "What's it to you, my friend?"

"Well, for one, it would make it easier to see these."  Rudy took his hand from behind his back and gave me a small, velvet pouch.  I frowned for a second, then looked up at his down-turned face to see he was mildly blushing.

"Rudy, what did you do?" I said softly.

He nodded at the pouch.  "See for yourself."

"Rudy," I growled playfully.  But I loosened the pouch's drawstrings and drew out a pair of small white pearls.  I said his name again, but this time, it was tinged with awe and complete surprise. 

"They're earrings," he said clumsily.  "I thought they would go well with, um- anyway, I hope you like them, and happy birthday.  Yes.  Right."

"They're just beautiful, Rudy," I breathed.  "My God, what did I do to deserve all this?  You, Freddie, the others-"

Rudy waved his hand and shook his head.  Excessive praise I think made him feel uncomfortable.  So I stopped for the moment.  "Second, if you'll excuse my frankness," Rudy murmured, "he might want to let it down himself later.  That is, your hair."

My eyes widened.  "You think s- wait.  Where would you get an idea like that?"

"I remember from when I was right behind you two in the truck," Rudy said.  His eyes almost glittered, and he said no more about it.  He didn't have to.

"You may have something there," I agreed.  "All right, I'll put it up.  Any other fashion advice you have to offer?"

Rudy's brows furrowed.  "I'm sure Freddie would be much better suited to-"

"Yes, but Freddie's not here, and you have an underappreciated eye for these things, I can see," I said.  "I'm willing to take all the help I can get."  I waved my hand, ushered him upstairs.  "Come along!  You know you have opinions, please share them."

He smiled, following me to the second floor.  "Well, if you're asking..."

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

"Rudy, is this the way to Wessex?" I asked, staring out the passenger side window.  I didn't recognize the buildings and street signs we were passing. 

Freddie's driver only nodded in response.

"Then why are we going this way?"

"It's a sort of shortcut," he explained.  "Traffic's terrible this time of night over by the studio.  This is faster."

"Oh," I nodded.  I straightened my ivory skirt over my knees, and sighed to myself.  I hope he likes what he sees. 

Rudy seemed to read my expression like a book.  "You look lovely," he assured me. 

"You did most of it," I chuckled.  "Good grief, Rudy, there's nothing you can't do, is there?"

My hair was swept up into a swirl of a bun with a few stray, curling locks of hair left down to frame my face.  I wore Rudy's pearls and Freddie's gown, along with the sandy brown wedges - although, for the car ride, I had kicked them off.  The wedges looked pretty, but they were the same shoes that tore my heels to shreds about a week ago- so, not the most comfortable soles, but they worked with the dress, and that was all that mattered.  As for my makeup, it was actually Rudy who helped put my face together- and that means eye shadow, lipstick, mascara, blush, everything. 

When I asked him how he knew so much about cosmetics, Rudy only answered laconically, "You pick these things up, I suppose."

Very softly, the radio hummed over the engine- "Brown Sugar" by the Stones, I discovered when I turned it up a bit.  I sang along under my breath, but somehow my heart wasn't in it tonight.  There was something odd about this evening- a kind of finality in the air.  In the two times I came close to leaving Freddie before, I had never noticed such a feeling.  I bit my lip, but carefully so as not to smudge my pink lipstick. 

The silence began to eat at Rudy.  Rudy, of all people.  "Julia?"

I turned.  "Hm?"

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I lied, then added honestly, "I just feel sort of sad."

Rudy nodded, and didn't press.  I wished he would, I wanted to vent again.  The vicar hadn't done the trick earlier.

But instead I asked, after a moment, "Rudy, have you met David before?"

"David?  You mean, David, uh, Minns?"

"Yes."

"Oh, of course.  Many times over the months."  Rudy looked at me.  "Why do you ask?"

"Because I met him today."

He blinked.  "You did?"

"On accident.  But yes." 

Rudy nodded quietly.  "Is that why you're sad?"

"That's part of it. What he said Freddie said, that is."

"What's the other part?"

"I- I'll tell you later.  Have you met Liza, too?"

"I have.  But Julia-"

"How many lovers does he have, Rudy?" I blurted.  "I need to know, I need to know right now, this is going to drive me-"

"Julia, I'm going to tell you this once, and I want you to never forget it," Rudy said, his gruff voice stern.  We stopped at the traffic light, and he turned to face me, looking right into my eyes.

"I want only what is best for him, for Freddie, just like you do.  I am very fond of him, he's almost like the brother I never had- and please don't repeat that to Freddie, by the way, this is just between us.  Okay?"

"Okay," I whispered.

"You don't know how hard it is sometimes to keep my mouth shut, to merely sit and watch what goes on, when one critical but friendly word could mean the sack for me.  My tongue has teeth marks all over it, it's been bitten so much, wherever Joe or David or, my God, Paul are concerned.  Yes, Joe and David have taken that role- David more so than Joe, from what I have seen.  But even in the short interval I've spent as his chauffeur, I know the difference.  You're an absolute miracle.  And he knows it, too."

I thought for a moment.  "You still haven't answered me."

"He has had several different lovers, yes- but as of right now, truth be told, he only has one love."  Rudy looked right at me as he spoke.

"Mary?" I piped.

Rudy rolled his eyes.  "Don't be stupid.  I'm not talking that kind of love.  It's you."

The thought leapt and struck with cobra-like precision: Yes, but for how long?

Good God.

The light turned green, and the Rolls lurched forward again, turning on Sloane Street.  Rudy's eyes were on the road, but mine were on his profile.  After a moment, I said, "You are... very kind..."

"No, just honest- and grateful," Rudy muttered.  "None of this leaves the car, all right?"

"Right."  And I used to think you a man of few words...

"Oh, look," Rudy announced after another pause.  "We're here."

I looked out, and frowned.  "Uh, no, we're not."

We were slowing down alongside some very high-end shops and restaurants on Sloane Street, the same part of town where I had found and browsed Cartier.  This was nowhere near Wessex.  We stopped in front of a place with the words "Le Gavroche" written elegantly above the door.  A gentleman dressed like a valet attendant approached us. 

"Are we?" I squeaked.

"You might want to put your shoes on now," Rudy quipped.

To my surprise, Rudy rose out of the driver's side and let the attendant take the wheel.  The tall driver walked around and let me out of the Rolls, holding out his hand to me as I stepped onto the sidewalk.  I didn't ask any more questions, I figured at this point they would just defeat the purpose.

On the other side of the entrance, I was met with the fanciest, most lavish restaurant I had ever seen, fancier perhaps than even the Ritz-Carlton.  Chandeliers, white tablecloths, everyone around me dressed to the nines.  I was almost reluctant to breathe the air, for fear it might cost me per every inhale.  Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a man who bore more than just a passing resemblance to Peter Straker walk around the corner. 

I turned back to ask Rudy, "Why are we here?"

"Well, it's a restaurant," Rudy said methodically.  "And people eat in restaurants. So I would venture a guess that-"

"But wha- I thought we were-"

"Madam, do you have a reservation?" The host cut in before he could respond. 

"What?" I asked, confused.   I drew closer.

"Do you have a reservation, madam?" he asked again.

"Um," I stammered.  "Uh..."

"Or are you meeting someone?" The host was being so patient, what a sweetie.

I glanced back at Rudy, who shrugged.  "I think," I began, "I think there's been some mista-"

And then my eyes drifted up over the host's shoulder to see someone standing there, hands clasped behind his back as he strode closer.  I blinked, and had to wonder to myself how I could still have it in me to be caught off guard by anything anymore. 

"It's all right, dear," he murmured to the host.  "They're with me, I'll take them."

"Of course, of course, Mr. Mercury," the host nodded quickly. "Do as you like."

Freddie turned to me then, a soft smile glowing on his face.

"Hello," he whispered.

"Hi," I said.  "I could be wrong, but this isn't Wessex."

"You're not disappointed, are you?" Freddie smirked. 

I shook my head.  "I just wish I could keep up sometimes.  My, my."

Then he had me spin gently around, and he took my hands, his eyes absorbing me in my pearled, white layered glory. 

"Better than I pictured," Freddie murmured.  "Oh, Julia, you're breathtaking."

He could talk.  I couldn't take my eyes off him.  I'd never seen him in a suit - at this age, that is.  Catsuits, wacky seventies jackets, leather pants, yes to all the above- but a black suit and tie at thirty years old?  Never.  But Freddie looked incredible, even with his shaggy late seventies' "do"- somehow it worked very, very well.  And now I focused in on the shining black gems, which were captivating at any time, in any circumstance.

"And you," I said finally, "look like James Bond."

Freddie laughed, cheeks flushing as he looked down.  "Now, let's not get too carried away."  He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it.  "We had better get back to the table before they start eating each other."  With that he led me further into the restaurant, and around the same corner, with Rudy close behind.

Then I squinted.  "They?"

"The others, of course," Freddie said dismissively.  "We won't be alone."

"Who-" I almost asked, but as soon as I saw it, the question seemed quite moot.  There, a few feet away, stood a table surrounded by six chairs, three of which were empty. The other three were occupied by Peter Straker, and John and Veronica Deacon, all of whom rose to greet us with loud cheers.

I covered my mouth.  I was dining tonight with all the people I told Freddie I would miss. 

He doesn't miss a thing.  Whoa.

It seemed our talk would be delayed a few hours.  But honestly, that was fine by me.