As the heavy door closes behind us, I notice Veronica is still smiling to herself.

"I simply let you say the password, and your whole night is made," I say. "To think, for the last three and a half years, I've been doing it the hard way."

"Hush, you cheeky bastard," she giggles, putting her arm in mine.

I have never been to the Heatwave before. God knows, I've heard enough about it from more well-traveled clubbers like Freddie and Roger, but it's a place no one ever talks about in public. There's an edge of secrecy, and if the rumors are to be believed, as far as drugs and all sorts of other taboo things are concerned, it's well-deserved. The Heatwave is one of those places where the stars go to indulge. But Freddie's invited me, and I can't just hobnob about and leave my sport of a wife at home.

I suppose we'll only stay for a couple of drinks, say hello to Freddie, then head back home. True, it's ten past eleven, and Robert's fast asleep with a sitter keeping watch, but Veronica doesn't like leaving him alone for too long. What strait-laced, upright parents we are becoming. Though I dare say I haven't changed all that much. I guess I was born to be the responsible one of the group.

Well, the more responsible one, anyway.

The actual entrance is not so closely guarded, and we walk right in. I'm a little unimpressed at first, it's just like any other club around London these days. Veronica coughs, the smoke of the dry ice tickling her throat. We order our cocktails, and with a little toast to my lady, I down it the moment it arrives.

"You said the boys would be here?" Veronica asks, raising her voice to be heard over the throbbing music.

"Can't say for certain if they'll all show. Probably not. I know Freddie's somewhere around here, and I'll wager he brought that funny little sprite of his."

"Sprite?"

"The girl who was in his closet."

She frowns. "Whose closet? Freddie's?"

"Didn't I tell you?"

"Don't think so. If you did, I don't remember."

"Remember that little thing Robert swallowed-"

"OH! Yes! So she's the one? That thing's hers?"

"The Relic? Yes, it's hers."

"What's it for?"

"Dunno. I just hope it can do whatever it's supposed to once I put it back together."

Robert has since returned the golden thing he had swallowed, if you catch my drift. I'm letting it dry out fully before I reassemble the device. Will it work? Well, I'll be honest. My hopes aren't too high, but I still can't afford not to try.

"Where are they, anyway?" I ask aloud, squinting through the fog, searching for Eve, Freddie, or both. I expect Eve to be somewhere round the edge, hugging the wall, but I can't see her. A few more minutes of searching and I catch sight of a crowded bar table. When the man I recognize to be Freddie's friend Peter Straker moves aside, I see Freddie standing under a dark red light, hunched over his glass. Someone must have told an incredibly funny story, because quite suddenly he throws his head back and laughs hysterically, looks back behind him, then laughs even harder.

Veronica spots him as well. "There he is! Where's his girl?"

I shrug, then the two of us worm our way through the crowd to get to Freddie. The closer we come, the more messed up I realize he is. He can't keep still, and he's clearly ready for a little fun from the way he keeps putting his hands all over his friends standing there, planting kisses on any and every cheek. I've seen him in the mood before, and acting on it, but this time- I don't know, it just looks like he's trying too hard.

"Hey, Fred!" I clap him on the back.

He whirls, and with a loud shout says, "Daaaar-liiiing! So good to see you! And you've brought the missus! Hello, hello!"

Freddie throws his arms around me, then draws back. He reeks of vodka. And even in the crimson lighting, I can see faint white crust under his nose. I don't even want to know how much he's had.

"Where's the girl?" I ask.

"She's... she's with Roger," Freddie slurs, waving his hand at something behind him which puts him slightly off balance. His driver/bodyguard seizes his shoulder before he can slide to the floor. He is so drunk.

"So Roger's here, too?" I say. "Where?"

"He's with Eve, I jus' told you," he answers irritably. "Don't you ever f---ing listen?"

Before this can escalate, as it most likely is about to, his new friend Paul intercedes, saying, "He's asking where the two of them are, if they're in the same place."

Freddie grunts, and pointing behind him again. "In there."

I peer over his shoulder and see he's referring to the Men's WC. "But that's the Men's room. What are they both doing in-"

"They're making g--d--- sure I owe him a hundred f---ing pounds," Freddie snarls. "You got any more questions?"

My jaw drops. "You mean, they're-"

"Since nine-thirty. They went in and di'n't come out. Don't go see, we don't wanna disturb them. Sex is a very private thing, and Eve deserves her f---ing privacy." He punctuates this by slamming whatever is left in his glass, and raising his hand for another. "Care for a line or two?"

But I just cannot believe this of Miss Houdini. I'm no Casanova, but I watched her this afternoon with Roger at lunch. If you ask me, she barely tolerated him; she'd been civil, even friendly, yet there had been no spark, no mutual connection, like I saw between her and Freddie.

So I venture, "Are you sure she didn't come out of there? Did you go see for y-"

Freddie shouts, "Stop f---ing talking about it! Who gives a f--- what she does? We're grown-ups, aren't we? The bitch can do what she likes. I 'll do what I want 'cause I don't care. So what if she likes Rog better? The f--- do I care? They can do what they want."

"Who can?" In a finger's snap, Roger appears at the table. And Freddie's bloodshot eyes nearly pop out of his face. But in typical Freddie fashion, he masks the surprise, even as wasted as he is.

He lowers his lids to look blase, and he says quite smoothly, in all truth, "So, how was Eve?"

"Oh, she was fan-tastic," Roger says, making a circle with his thumb and forefinger in an "okay" gesture. But the look on his face doesn't match.

"Never would have picked her for a tart," Freddie mumbles. "I was wrong. Even nuns take off their clothes every now and then." He crooks his finger at Rudy. "I owe you a hundred, don't I?"

"What? No, you don't."

"Yes, you won fair and square."

"What are they talking about?" Veronica whispers to me.

It's rather embarrassing to tell her, because it sounds so bad, but I bite the bullet. "Freddie and Roger made a bet."

"On Eve?"

I nod, then hold a finger to my lips. She shakes her head, disgusted.

"Well, if you really just want to give me the money, you can," Roger shrugs. "But for God's sake, Fred. You could have at least told me she was married."

"Yeah, okay, Rudy, give him the-" Freddie cuts himself off. He closes his open hand, turns back to face our drummer. "What did you say?"

"I didn't do anything to her, Freddie."

Freddie blinks, and his mouth twitches with excitement. I notice now he's standing a little straighter, a little steadier. "But- uh, but you two were in there for hours!"

"Are you taking the piss? We weren't in there five minutes!"

"I must not have seen..." Freddie trails off. He clasps his hands, eyes widening. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. All he does is laugh, but this time, it's like he means it.

"I'm glad you think it's funny," Roger scowls. "Did you know she's married?"

"Oh, I was so worr- huh?" Freddie stops. "Did you say, married?"

"She said she told you she's married. Did she?"

One split second is all it takes for Freddie to recover. But I see it; and there's no doubt that this is the first Freddie's heard of Eve being somebody's wife.

"Of course, she told me," Freddie said offhandedly. "What a bore. I thought everybody knew. That's what I meant when I said she wasn't your type. She told me Day One."

"Really?" Roger crosses his arms. "So what's her husband look like?"

"Well, you know, she doesn't really talk about him, but she has said he's a tough fellow."

"Eve doesn't talk about her own husband?"

Freddie rolls his eyes. "She's a different sort of person, remember? I know little things about him, basic stuff-"

"What's his name?" Roger demands, a "gotcha" smile in the works.

Everyone looks at Freddie, ready for the next aloof reply, but Freddie is flummoxed this time. "Um... oh, f---. I mean, she did tell me. I'm just awful with names, and what's more I'm pissed out of my mind, so, uh... Steve?"

I cringe. Eve and Steve. That wasn't even clever!

Roger smirks. "I thought as much. The bet still stands. And we're still in the running."

"Look, Rog," Freddie suddenly exclaims, "why don't you just leave her alone? If she says she's married, why can't we just leave it at that?"

"Because she isn't married. It's obvious," Roger says simply, staring out at the dance floor. "No ring, and married women wear their rings even if they don't fit."

Veronica looks at her hand. "That's true, we do."

Freddie is grasping at straws. "Can't we just call it off?"

"You afraid you'll lose?" But it's Paul who chimes in with this, not Roger. A sly smile crosses his unfriendly face, and Freddie's pride is again dragged onto center stage.

"Not at all," Freddie simpers. "But supposing she is married?"

"No way. It would take the marriage license itself to convince me of that," Roger states. His brows pop up as he watches whatever is happening out under the mirrorball.

"I'll make her show it to me, and I'll show it to you," Freddie replies. "And then won't you feel like an asshole."

"No, I think I'll win this one," Roger says absently. "She's not married."

"You don't know."

"True, but if she is, she certainly doesn't dance like it."

Freddie frowns. All of us who are interested (meaning us Deacons, Freddie, and Rudy) follow Roger's gaze. There she is at the very center, in a white jumpsuit, bouncing up and down like mad with her arms in the air, and a smile so big and so frightening we can see it from all the way back here in the dark. There's one fellow in particular who has her attention, and she's flirting, and flirting hard.

I can scarcely believe this wild, unchained maniac is the same polite, smiling girl what visited Wessex this morning. I turn to Freddie to ask what happened when I see he's left the table. I just barely catch him disappear into the moving throng. Rudy moves to go in after him but I volunteer my services. Somehow I feel I'm a party to this. I ask Veronica to excuse me a moment, and I follow.

Freddie's not amused. Far from it. He looks ready to bend this little minx over his knee and give her a few good wallops. It's a sea of people we're pushing through, and for a moment we lose sight of her, till we hear a high-pitched, rasping scream:

"'RASPBERRY BERET'! WE WANNA HEAR 'RASPBERRY BERET'!"

"Oh, God," Freddie murmurs. We follow the sound of her voice as she keeps yelling about wanting music from somebody called Prince until at last we're within grabbing reach. She's laughing, her back is turned towards us, and a man that all of Queen admires greatly is necking her.

Freddie's boiling angry- and I don't know why. But Freddie's Freddie, and there doesn't always have to be a why. He grabs her arm and violently yanks her away from Rod Stewart.

"Hey, man, what's the big idea? I saw her first!" he protests.

Freddie ignores Rod, and instead starts accosting Eve. "What the f--- do you think you're doing?"

"I'm having a good time, thas' what I'm doing," she yells back. "You got a problem with that?"

"What are you dancing like that for?"

"Well! Since when did you become such a mean ol' fuddy-duddy, Freddie?" The way the last three words fumble out of her klutzy mouth sends her into a fit of giggling. "Fuddy-deddie-fruddy-Freddie-duddy-feddie..."

I notice her eyes are practically spinning in her head, and her breathing is much faster than normal. "Are you feeling well, Eve?"

"We're fine, we're fine," she slurs. I lay my hand against her forehead. She's burning up. I tell Freddie this, and that's enough for him.

He takes her hand. "Come on, we're getting you out of here."

"I'm staying," she informs him unsteadily. "Can't stop, can't stop."

Now people are trying to insinuate themselves between Freddie and Eve, and not just to dance with Freddie. Rod pulls Eve back over to him, saying to my friend, "Take your square ass elsewhere, honey."

And Eve puts her arms around her dance partner. "Hey, Rod," she giggles in her loud, throaty voice, "do you think I'm sexy?"

"Let me tell you all about it," he growls, and her smile only grows wider.

Freddie shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath. He's still drunk, but now he's focused, because now it's necessary.

"John, I'm about to be the adult here," he whispers to me. "Don't hold it against me, hm?"

"Go for it, be the bad guy," I urge. "It's past time you took your turn anyhow."

"That's Mister Bad Guy to you," he hisses back, with a hint of humor. But the humor vanishes in the very next instant as all of a sudden he reaches down and grabs Eve round the legs. She lets out a startled little scream, and suddenly she's jackknifed over his shoulder. But she's not going down without a fight.

"Put me down, you fancy bastard!" she cries, kicking and beating at his back. "Oh! You dog!"

Rod chimes in, "Put her down!" and starts pulling her hands in an attempt to get her out of his grasp. Freddie whirls and shoves him into a spectator (and by now, everybody is watching).

Rod doesn't let this go unchallenged. He draws back his fist and throws a wild punch, striking Freddie in the lip. Horrified, Eve slaps Rod. Rod shoves me. I shove somebody I thought was Rod and they slap me. Somebody hits Rod and knocks into Freddie, and the place descends into utter chaos and everyone's on their way to fighting everyone else.

When there's an opportunity, Freddie puts Eve back on the floor and simply says, "We're going."

She's much more unsteady than earlier, but she obeys, and somehow the three of us manage to get off the dance floor without much more than a bruise or two (with the exception of Freddie; Rod hit him rather hard, and now his bottom lip has begun to bleed).

Roger's jaw drops. "You all right?"

"I'm fine," Freddie dabs at his lip, squints at the red spot it leaves on his fingers. "And thank you so much for all your help back there, Roger. I mean really. Rudy, could you go get the car?"

"We don't have to leave yet, Freddie," Eve gasps. "I'm all right, I swear, I-"

Suddenly she bends almost completely in half and runs for the ladies' loo. Freddie follows close behind in case she shouldn't make it there. They disappear into the WC. Without realizing it, I walk right behind them. When the door closes, I follow them anyway. But as I open the door, and walk over to the stall where they are, I hear Eve gag and hurl up whatever nasty stuff she'd accidentally gotten into. Poor thing. Immediately I back away. I'm not supposed to be in here anyway.

She gags again, and retches a dry heave. And then, there's Freddie's voice, calm and soothing, saying, "It's okay, it's okay. You're all right. Just take a deep breath. Good girl. Take it easy."

I marvel to myself as I step out. Freddie isn't in much better shape than Eve, and he's still trying to take care of her. I smile to myself. In its own funny way, that's very sweet.

Veronica taps my shoulder. "Are you all right, John?"

"I'm fine," I say. I point at the closed ladies' restroom door. "It's them I'm worried about."

"Do you want to see them home?" Veronica asks.

"Love, they'll be fine. I know it."

"Why don't you let me take the car home, and you can ride back to Freddie's with them and make sure of it."

"Ron, you don't have to do-"

"It's going to grate on you all night if you don't," she tells me. "I know you. And besides, I owe you a little favor, after what I let Robert get into yesterday."

I sigh. "Are you sure it's all right?"

She kisses me gently. "I'll see you later. I'll wait up for you, so don't stay too long." It's with that and a shared "I love you" that my wife vanishes out the door, leaving me and Freddie's friends here in the Heatwave. Should be an interesting drive back.

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

It's just four riding back in the Rolls tonight. Rudy, Freddie, Eve, and myself. I'm in the front seat, rubbernecking all the way as I keep my eyes constantly fixed on the two wasted people in the back. Peter wanted to stay at the club, and Paul was too miffed at Freddie to come back. Roger? I don't know his excuse. Surely he had a good one.

Rudy doesn't say anything, and I'm practically a mute anyway. The radio is off. So everything those two behind me murmur is perfectly audible from where I am. But there's very little spoken, Eve can barely sit up straight, let alone carry on a conversation, right now. She is even laying across the back seat, her head in Freddie's lap, eyes closed, hands holding her stomach. He is gently stroking her hair.

"She's still feverish," Freddie says at one point.

"That's something she'll have to sleep off," Rudy says. "We're almost there."

Eve's eyes open a crack. "Is 'No No's' Day over yet?"

"Almost, darling," Freddie purrs. "Go back to sleep."

"Hooray." Her eyes close, and she doesn't say anything else until we get to Freddie's home.

"Married," Freddie says to himself with a smile. "How odd. I didn't even know angels got married."

She's out like a light by the time we pull up to the door. Instead of waking her, Freddie leans over, lifts her up out of the seat, and carries her inside.

"Is there anything I can do, Fred?" I ask. I bring her a glass of water -the poor girl's clearly dehydrated- and try to get some of the liquid down her parched throat. The bleeding on Freddie's lip has stopped, but the bruising has only begun. It's a tender spot, and will stay tender for another few days.

Freddie walks up the stairs, still cradling Eve in his arms, his movements still a bit unstable. I walk behind him to sort of spot for him. The last thing I know he wants to do is send Eve down for a tumble.

"You can help me get her out of this thing," Freddie answers at last. After he places her carefully on the bed, he roots around her drawers for a nightgown or pajamas. I take hold of the zipper when he says, "No, wait. I'll get her out of the jumpsuit. You find her something to wear."

So we switch places. I grab the first thing I see- a pink satin teddy- and we start, very delicately, very clinically, taking off Eve's clothes.

We've slipped her arms out of the tank part when she awakens and chuckles, "You naughty boys, hit me when I'm down..." but she offers no resistance. Instead, she cooperates, lifting her leg when I ask, and sitting up as best she can when Freddie coaxes her to.

It's actually a moment or two before we get to dressing her again. Freddie stands there, gazing at Eve, so vulnerable in nothing but her bra and her knickers. It's not a lustful look he's giving her. There's desire, obviously, but I know for a fact he's not going to pounce the way he might with, say, someone else. It's a wistful desire.

"Look at her, John," he whispers. "She's just a baby."

I know exactly what he means. Not to say she isn't well-developed, because she is. Very much so. It's her face. She looks so young, like a child. I wonder just how young this fragile little pixie of his happens to be. Certainly no older than twenty-one.

Freddie sighs. "Okay, darling, sit up again, one more time."

With a groan, Eve does her best. I hold her arms up over her head while Freddie pulls the short little gown over them.

She watches him as he does this, her eyes sleepily studying him while he straightens the skirt over her thighs. "Your eyes are so pretty," she murmurs.

Freddie pauses, looking up at her. "Uh," he says, clearly unprepared for that. "Thank you."

Eve blinks slowly. "You have such a beautiful face."

He smiles, getting in the swing of her words. "So do you."

"Why are you so sweet?" She reaches out a hand and puts it against his cheek. "Why are you so kind to me?"

Freddie doesn't answer her. He just sits there beside her a moment with this soft look on his face. After a moment he, too, lifts his hand to touch her lips. She closes her eyes with a small smile. It's a lovely moment between them, and I'm just standing here awkwardly staring as it happens. I wonder if I should leave the room, but my feet remain stationary.

"I think," Freddie slowly whispers, "you need to get some sleep."

Eve's smile broadens a little. "Ol' fuddy-duddy," she whispers, but lays down and draws back her legs so that he can pull the covers over them.

"Good night, John," she calls to me. "Thank you."

"Good night," I answer.

Freddie sits down on her bedside, then leans toward her and kisses both her cheeks. "You're an awful lot of trouble," he scolds her quietly.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

He leans in one more time and touches her forehead with his lips, staying there a few seconds before pulling away.

"I'm not," he says. "Good night, my stray kitten."

"Good night, Freddie."

He gets up and turns out the light. The two of us walk back downstairs, and Freddie offers me a drink before I go.

"No, I'm all right. I need to be heading back," I say.

"Rudy will take you. Thanks for everything, John. Couldn't have done it without you."

I worry he's going to bring up the Relic, but instead Freddie keeps gazing up toward her bedroom. He has other things on his mind. Suddenly he looks down and shakes his head.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Nothing. Here, I'll walk you out."

So we stroll back out into the warm night. The Rolls awaits to whisk me home. I'm quite tired myself. So much has happened today I can barely remember everything.

"You know what's sad?" Freddie says suddenly as I climb into the car.

"No," I reply. "What?"

He chuckles, but it's a mirthless chuckle. "I'd bet my life that tomorrow she'll wake up, and won't remember anything tonight."

I say nothing, just look at him, as is my habit with everything, practically.

Freddie shrugs. "Oh well. I won't keep you any longer. Good night. Give Veronica a kiss for me."