Julia

Michael turned the corner, slowing the car down so he could stop as gently as necessary. "Which number was it?"

"Twelve," I murmured. "It's the dark blue one."

"They are all dark blue from what I can see," he chuckled.

"No, you're right, they are- but the others are closer to black, to be honest, our door is just a little bit brighter of a blue, I think."

"Well, if it is, I doubt I could see it this far away at nearly midnight."

I only shrugged, not too interested in pushing the subject further. Michael had been very sweet to let me talk his ear off and then give me a ride home, so it made little sense to start some trivial debate over the color of the doors. I would really only bother with such a row if one particular man was involved- and at the moment I couldn't even bear the sound of his voice.

Now, truth be told, I was feeling less hostile now than earlier. Not much, of course, since I had had to tiptoe carefully around my story, omitting Freddie's name and leaving out that he had cheated on me with a man rather than a woman. But it had indeed soothed me a little to vent about my husband's infidelity, and when we are at our very lowest, any sort of lift in the spirits is a vast improvement. Michael just sat there and let me ramble on, rather like a German, blue-eyed version of John Deacon himself. But while John would generally stay stalwart and neutral, any time Michael would offer a few words, it was to reinforce my rage, assure me that my feelings were totally justified and how obviously that worm of a man did not deserve a woman like me. Nevertheless, in this case, I much preferred a cheerleader to a sounding board.

"Well, here we are," I sighed, picking up my purse off the floorboard. "Thank you for driving me home."

"My pleasure," he smiled, hopping out of the driver's seat so he could open the door for me. "I hope I may be able to do it again some day later."

"Well, I hope I'll never be in such a state so that you would have to." Carefully I eased my way out of his car- and what a pretty thing it was, too, a dark green 1974 Volkswagen Karmann Ghia, or simply "Carmen" as he called her.

Funny, but Freddie never really christened the Rolls with a name, I thought. He names everything else, but the Silver Shadow must go without. That's probably for the best, though; he's so fond of the old lady names, he'd probably call it something like Mildred, or Eunice- or Gertrude.

Michael shut the car door behind me, then stood back and surveyed the neighborhood with hands on his hips. "The Royal Borough, they call it," he remarked. "Whatever your husband does, he must be terribly good at it."

"He's okay," I shrugged. "Best thing he's got going for him is, he's really pushy."

"You never did say what his business is."

"That's because it's his- and not yours."

"Touche," he laughed. That time I almost smiled myself- when without warning, very faintly, I heard it. The first trill of the evening, which would be eventually followed, I already knew, by another four.

He's starting kind of early tonight, isn't he? I noted with a cynical little scoff. What's the matter, Freddie? No luck at the clubs or something?

"So," Michael cleared his throat nervously, "I suppose, that- this is where I leave you tonight."

I nodded. "Would you like to come in for one last drink?"

"I would, except you could not join me." He gestured toward my belly, which with the way the shadows were falling across the stoop, looked even more grotesquely round than before. God, I felt so hideous. I was so hideous that my own husband couldn't even bring himself to be true to me, and at this stage probably couldn't stand the mere sight of me any longer.

Fortunately for him, I would be gone by the time Queen's plane landed at Heathrow- so that was at least one cross he would not have to bear.

"Anyway, I should be getting back to the university before my roommates begin to worry," Michael chuckled softly. "Will I ever see you again?"

"Unless you come to America, probably not," I replied. "That's where I'm heading tomorrow afternoon."

"To do what?"

The tinny rings ceased for the moment, marking the end of the first failed attempt. "To live, obviously; there's nothing here for me or the baby anymore."

"Doesn't it have a name yet?"

"Not really, no," I admitted. "We never could agree one way or another, so we decided that we would choose a name once we saw what he looked like. I've just been calling it the 'baby,' or 'the yam'- that's what he called him anyway, which is a stupid nickname, but it doesn't really matter, seeing as Freddie won't be around to call him that anymore, so-"

"Well, what name do you like?" Michael steered me away from another another potential rant.

"I don't know, really." I rubbed the side of my stomach, hoping to conjure the indentation of a tiny fist. "I've always been partial to 'Daniel' myself."

"Then call him Daniel," he said simply. "Your - Freddie? Is that his name?"

"Freddie is his name."

"Ah. Well, you can call him whatever you please now, and not worry about what Freddie says, or thinks anymore."

"That's true. I can." I took very little comfort from the news, however. This was not what I had hoped for my baby, to be born into a broken, unhappy home- but there didn't seem to be any alternative. I couldn't trust Freddie any longer, that much was certain; it was doubtful whether I ever could in the first place. We would be better off on our own in America, starting anew on familiar ground, as opposed to living in the same country as my soon-to-be ex-husband, a man whose loyalty apparently lasted only as long as his lust.

"I'm sorry, I really shouldn't be standing here like this, you need to get inside," Michael apologized after a beat.

I shrugged. "It's all right, the cats don't care."

"Perhaps, but you need your rest- especially if you're flying across the ocean tomorrow." Solemnly, then, he took my hand and gripped it tightly. "I wish you - and Daniel- all the best of luck."

"Thank you," I whispered. "We'll need it."

He smiled, then with a quiet "Goodbye, Ms. Dubroc," Michael strode down the steps toward Carmen.

"Goodbye, Michael," I called back with distance in my tone, for in spite of myself I was already listening for the second round of rings to begin. It wouldn't be too long now; Freddie was after all such an impatient creature.

As luck would have it, no sooner had I popped open the front door than the phone started up again. Ah, you poor sucker, I sighed inwardly. You never will learn, will you?

"Hello, my children," I called. "I'm home."

I switched on the lights in the foyer, where I found Oscar asleep among some of the packages I had piled up near the dining room entrance. None of them had been opened of course, seeing as they all bore the same name in the return address; that also went for the thick stack of envelopes and postcards I had accumulated just in the last two weeks. A small part of me wanted to know what these letters said, and learn what was inside the miscellaneous boxes strewn about my feet. However, a much larger, vindictive part would not dare give Freddie the satisfaction to see even one of these envelopes, stuffed to capacity with crocodile tears and empty oaths, be given any more attention than it took to take them out of the mailbox.

As soon as he saw me, my favorite orange tabby hopped down from the mound and rubbed up against my calves. Tom even crept down the stairs a little ways to greet me; I suppose he had chosen to sleep in our- in the master bedroom again. Tiff was the only one who didn't acknowledge my presence, but that was just as well. She was still Mary's baby, after all.

With a little grunt, I bent over as far as I could and scooped Oscar up off the floor. "Guess what, big guy; the baby finally has a name," I whispered right into his pointed ear.

Oscar's half-lidded green eyes regarded me blankly; clearly he didn't give one rat's behind whether the new human inside me so much as existed. But he was warm and cuddly, and that was enough. At the risk of a sneezing fit, I nuzzled my lips against the top of his head, holding him close while the phone continued to scream twenty feet away. Soon, I would cradle my little boy just like this. My little baby Daniel- Danny for short, perhaps. It was hard to say just yet. We would have to wait and see which one suited him when he was b-

No. Not we. I. There is no "we" anymore, so stop saying it. Stop acknowledging him. I mean nothing to him anymore, so I mustn't let him mean anything to me.

"Then why would he spend money on all that stuff?" I contradicted myself aloud, glancing at the pile of parcels. "Why bother?"

The mental answer came swiftly: Panic. Pure and simple. He's worried that I'll try and take half of his stuff in the divorce. We didn't sign a prenup after all. He's probably scared to death that I'll spring for a chunk of his royalties, maybe the Rolls- or, God forbid, one of the cats. And that's not even going into child support.

Freddie, of course, didn't need to worry. I wanted nothing. Not his money, not his name- not even Oscar. It would be hard enough every time I looked at the face of my little boy, watching it resemble that of his father more and more as he grew up. I wouldn't so much as ask Freddie to come see Danny, and waste time that he would feel much more fulfilled spending on tour, or with Paul Prenter, or in whatever juicy piece of ass that temporarily caught his eye. My only interest was giving him back his freedom; there was no need for him to steal it, when I could just as easily hand it over.

Something told me, however, that this split would not be a smooth one. Freddie was the kind to fight for the sake of fighting. Everything was a battle, in which he would either be totally victorious, or die trying. I could see him now, ruthlessly warring with me in court, perhaps even to the point of causing a public scandal, just to bring me to my knees and force me to surrender, even if he still had no real incentive to be faithful- or else just straight up destroy my character for all the world to see, maybe even calling me the adulteress if he really wanted to play dirty. Almost too vividly I could picture him setting out to break me, his wife, just so he could say that once again, he had won, yes, naturally, of course he did, that bitch never had a chance in hell, what else is new.

"Dear God," I whispered, holding my head in my hands while I tried my hardest to hold back another flood of tears. "How stupid could I have been, to stay- and stay with him? How much must I think of myself, to believe he might have viewed me as the one and only exception?"

I sat in silence for a moment or two, jumping a little when the phone burst into sound for the third time tonight.

"Oh, shut up!" I yelled. Gritting my teeth, I marched over to the phone. I lifted it off its cradle, then slammed it down immediately before setting it on its side, off the hook.

"Try getting out of that one," I smirked.

Lifting my chin, I marched toward the stairs to get ready for bed- when I hesitated. Slowly I turned to look at the phone again, from which a single, mechanical tone faintly droned. Although I had no reason in the world to feel like this, I almost regretted the action. I didn't want to speak to Freddie, I didn't wish to see him whether in person or within a silver frame. But somehow, it felt almost too easy, too cold, to completely cut off his ability to even try and reach me. It was one thing for me not to answer the phone; it was another to see to it the phone never had the chance to ring.

What kind of thinking is that? I scolded myself. I don't owe him access to me. He doesn't deserve my time. Only a few seconds ago I was sitting there telling myself how evil he is, why would I give him the impression that there's any hope left, and put the phone back? Let him wallow in the silence, let him soak in abandonment. That's what he hates the most after all. Let him suffer. Let him burn, it's only for a while; this time next year, I won't even be a footnote in his memory. Paul will make sure of that.

All that being thought, however, still I idled, staring at the buzzing receiver. My mind kept seething with rage, warning me not to make such a fatal mistake- while my heart, to whose plaintive cries I had remained willfully deaf for the past fourteen days, beseeched me to reconsider. After all, I didn't have to actually answer the phone. It was no great sacrifice to let it go, I had been doing that quite faithfully up until now anyway.

"Shit," I hissed, hustling over again and placing the phone back where it belonged. Deep down I knew this was a mistake. I could feel it in my bones. But connected it stayed- as well as silent. I was almost surprised at how long he was waiting before trying again, till I remembered that he must have heard me answer, then hang up an instant later.

I've no doubt how discouraging that must have been, I mused. Good.

Absently putting my hand under my belly, I waddled back to the stairs and started up, clinging to the rail. It had been a couple of weeks since I last saw my feet; I had to move slowly, so as not to trip over the steps.

Upon reaching the second floor, I paused again, glancing a moment at the closed door across from the bedroom. I hadn't been on the other side of that door since returning from Brussels, nor had anyone else save Ms. Cottage, the cleaning woman. But there was a reason for that, just like there was a reason I had laid all of Freddie's picture frames face down.

Tonight, however, it seemed I was an absolute glutton for punishment. Against my better judgment, I turned the knob, and entered what used to be the spare bedroom.

Switching on the table lamp, I stood back and took it all in, my heart sinking like lead in water. To some extent, it was still a bedroom- but Freddie and I had made several major changes to it some months back, when we could still be considered newlyweds. First, we had repainted the room from a jade green to a soft, buttery yellow- Freddie's idea, of course. With a sad little sigh, I made yet another compromising mistake, and let myself reminisce.

Originally he had planned to pay someone to paint the room, but the "f---ing tradesman" never materialized, leaving me holding the paintbrush. So me and my pregnant self got up on the step stool while Freddie was at the studio and started covering the olive walls with Freddie's pastel yellow paint. I had gotten about halfway when he came home that night and saw me still hard at work. As I recalled, the man almost became angry at me for not telling him the painter was a no-show, insisting that I should have waited and let him do the job, if either of us had to do it, since I could have very easily fallen and hurt myself. So the next day, both my pri- both Freddie and myself completed the second half together, then we cleaned up, jumped in the car, and ransacked the stores for decorations, furniture, and children's playthings, turning the flat's spare room into something much more suitable for our newest addition to the Mercury household: a nursery.

I reached into the crib, my fingers gently grazing against the stuffed animals inside- the little giraffe, the teddy bear, the bunny rabbit, all of which chosen with the utmost care and concern. Right over where little Danny's head would have rested, a beautiful mobile reached down. It was a gift from Freddie's sister, a lovely, frail thing with five white birds that reminded me of Japanese paper cranes hanging from strings, their wings outstretched as if in mid-flight. The only thing we hadn't changed, or moved out, was the vanity, now chock-full of baby clothes and blankets. They were the only things I hadn't packed for my flight just yet; I fully intended to do so tomorrow morning.

Such a beautiful little room, I said to myself, marveling at the fantastic drawings hanging on the walls- sketches of fairies and elves, winged horses and wizards, from the hand of Freddie himself. Look at how much he cared, not so long ago. Look at all he did for his baby- all he did for me.

A lump was forming in my throat. Swallowing hard, I shuffled over to the rocking chair in the corner, sat down, and clasped my hands in my lap.

"Go try it out," Freddie had whispered in my ear, the day the men had carried this chair up the stairs and set it where it now stood.

I knew where this memory was headed. I couldn't bear to think of it now. I didn't want it. I couldn't take it. Desperately I tried to think of anything else- but it was too late.

With a little giggle I had walked on over and settled in, as instructed. Very gently I rocked back and forth, while my husband watched, those dark eyes shining like black pearls.

I don't want to think about those eyes. Damn those eyes, damn those beautiful forever eyes, damn them to H-

"I just can't wait," he sighed, shaking his head.

I stopped rocking. "For what?"

Please don't do this! I begged my own mind. It's not true, it wasn't real! It's all over now, he's through with me! Please stop!

Freddie hadn't answered right away, instead came closer and closer until he knelt there at my side and took my hand in his. "To watch you, my darling wife, rocking our baby to sleep," he murmured. "I can't think of a lovelier picture, really."

"Oh, I can," I had replied.

"What would that be?"

I reached over to stroke his cheek. "Looking up from our child to see you, my beautiful husband- and watching you, watching me."

It was then that Freddie stood and grasped the armrest of the rocking chair with one hand, while with the other he lifted my chin and kissed my lips, murmuring that he loved me until the memory evaporated at last, and all that remained was myself, sitting there in an empty nursery, weeping my pain away and wishing that I hated my husband just a tiny bit more than I loved him, and would always love him.

"Oh, Freddie, why didn't you just let me go?" I whispered with a shudder. "Why did you have to make me yours that night? Why did I let you? Why?"

I don't know how long I sat there, whispering unanswerable questions to no one, but I do know why I stopped.

The phone started ringing again.

My head jerked up, my resolve so weakened that my heart actually fluttered. Nevertheless, still I hesitated, unsure of whether I should so completely humiliate myself, and pick up that phone.

If not for my meltdown in the nursery, I very likely would not have answered. I would have been far too concerned with giving him the silent treatment until I finally flew the coop. But my heart was yearning for him now, even as my brain continued to curse his name. I knew in my soul that if I answered that phone, and heard him speak after two weeks of going without that sweet, charming coo that was his voice, there was a fifty-fifty chance that I would abandon all my escape plans, and once more play the part of his fool.

No way; I'm not giving up a plane ticket out of here, I reminded myself. Do your worst, Freddie, say anything to me, yell at me, insult me, threaten me for all I care, but I'm still leaving tomorrow afternoon, and there's nothing you can do to stop me.

With that boost of confidence, I entered the master bedroom and lifted the receiver to my ear. "Hello?"

Silence- except for the sound of shallow breathing.

"Hello? Who's there?"

Again, silence.

Then, a dubious, shivering, but nonetheless familiar, "...Julia?"

I shut my eyes. That voice. Damn that voice. "Is- is that you, Freddie?"

"Oh, my God- yes!" He sounded absolutely beside himself with joy. "Yes, it's me, my God, I thought you'd never- I mean- it's so good to hear you, it's been so long, I- oh, darling...how are you feeling?"

The rapture in his dear voice was making it near impossible to keep the frigidity in my own- but I managed. "I'm well, thank you. Yourself?"

"Oh, I'm- I'm all right, much better now than before actually. Um- how is, uh- everyone?"

"The cats are fine," I said. "How's the tour going?"

"It's going very well, I think, um- yes, it's been really great."

"That's nice." I was trying so hard not to sound like I cared, when really it was taking all my control not to ask him if he had any more crazy stories to tell; it had been two whole weeks, there had to at least be three or four new ones since I caught him in the act.

My indifference was already chafing at Freddie; he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Uh- so, how is he?"

I blinked. "He who?"

"You know, the baby," he replied, then went out on a limb and added, "The- little yam, I mean."

"He's all right, I think. Why?"

I could tell by the three second pause which followed, that last "why" did not sit well with Freddie. "He- hasn't already been born yet, has he?"

I sat down on the bed. "So what if he has?"

"Because -I'm- whatever our sort of- situation is, I'd like to think you would at least call me if he had."

"You mean, you would want me to tell you?"

Another, longer pause. "Yes."

"Really?" I gasped. "Why, Freddie, I didn't know you cared."

That one hurt; I could hear it in his voice. "Julia, this isn't a complicated question, now stop f---ing with me and answer me yes or no: has my son already been born?"

"Temper, temper," I pretended to yawn. "No, he hasn't."

"Oh. Well, that's good- I suppose," he murmured.

For a second neither of us said anything, until I asked, "Is that all you wanted to call about?"

"No," he said, his voice sounding a little thicker than before. "I -just wanted to hear your voice, it's- you know, it's been a very very long time since we went longer than a day without talking to each other, and it's been all of two weeks, so- I've missed you quite a lot lately."

"How sweet."

I was driving him crazy and I knew it. "Anyway- um- I also just wanted to say- we're coming back to the UK tomorrow, so- I'll be coming home, and uh- we can-"

"That's wonderful!" I crooned. "The cats will be thrilled to see you, I'm sure."

"That's really lovely, but- all I'm concerned with doing is seeing you, and-"

"Oh, I'm afraid that's impossible," I cut him off.

I could hear the blink. "Why?"

"Well, I suppose you ought to know, too," I shrugged. "I won't be here when you get back."

Freddie was shocked. "...What?"

"I won't be here, I said. Because your plane is going to land at, what, two?"

"I think that's right. Maybe earlier. Why?"

"I thought so. Yeah, you will just have missed me, Freddie. Awful close though, I gotta say."

"W-where are you going?"

"America," I said simply.

"Wait. Why?"

"Good Lord, Freddie, and you say everything is a why with me-"

"Julia, stop it," he exclaimed, panic mounting exponentially. "Stop it right now, it's not f---ing funny, I-"

"Who said I was joking? I'm leaving. Period. Two o'clock, my plane leaves tomorrow. There's a ticket sitting on the piano, which will let me board a plane headed straight for New York- oh, and don't worry, I will have fed the cats their breakfast, so they won't be starving when you get here. They're the only reason I'm still here even now, to be honest; I wouldn't want you walking in tomorrow afternoon to find three dead emaciated kitties sprawled out all over the floor. I just couldn't have that on my conscience- just like I couldn't bear to keep you trapped in a relationship in which you are obviously not satisfied. It's for your sake I'm leaving, Freddie, not mine. I'm doing you a favor; I'm setting you free. That way everybody's happy. Right? Isn't that great news? Aren't you happy?"

Funny, those words were much more difficult to say now than when I had rehearsed them with Michael earlier, but they had cut just as deeply as I had hoped. Maybe even deeper.

For what seemed like an eternity, all was silent on the other end. I wondered if perhaps he had hung up on me- that is, until I heard a loud sniff, followed by a couple of stifled sobs, then a gasp, a whimper, and another, smaller sniff.

He's crying, I gulped, the realization cutting me to the quick. I've made Freddie cry. I've made my husband cry. Good God. What kind of monster am I?

"So," I coughed, trying to jolt the tears from my own throat so I could finish my speech without collapsing first, "that's my game plan. That way, you don't have to look at me in all my bloated glory, and- if there's anybody nice you met in Munich, and you want to bring him home, that's fine, I won't be here to get in the way, so go cra-"

"No." He hadn't so much as spoken the word as growled it.

I frowned. "No, what?"

"You are not going anywhere," Freddie hissed.

"Oh, but I am. I've got a ticket and ev-"

"YOU are NOT F---ING GOING ANYWHERE," he shouted, scaring me to death even though he was thousands of miles away. "Not until you and I sit down, face-to-face, one on one, and sort this out!"

"Freddie-"

"No, you listen to me, you bitch," he snarled. "I love you. I love you so much that I will probably die from it someday. And I am not going to stand by and just let you f---ing walk away from me without us at least trying to work this out first because I love you, and I love that baby inside of you, and I will do anything and everything in my power to mend what's broken between us even if you don't give a f---, because unfortunately for you, I DO!"

My jaw hung slack. Oh, God, I said to myself. I think I just fell in love with him all over again.

And yet, I still couldn't help one last taunt, "My plane leaves at two."

"Mine leaves in one hour!" he cried. "Don't move!"

My eyes widened. "Wait. You're -not really going to leave Munich now, are-"

"You f---ing watch me!"

CLACK.

I blinked, trying to register what had just happened. Very slowly, a grin spread across my face. My prince loved me. He might have called me a bitch, he might have made a big mistake two weeks ago- but he loved me. And where there is love, is forgiveness really so far away?

"Oscar!" I cried. "Freddie's coming home tonight!"

Hear that, Danny? Your daddy's coming home- and he loves you! He loves us both, together! Come quickly, Freddie! Come home as fast as you can!

Isn't it funny, though, as an aside, how when someone hits their highest seconds after being at their lowest, they forget everything else except what they feel. The euphoria is almost too much to handle, the happiness so intoxicating one might as well be drunk.

For example, I never looked down at my feet as I burst out of the nursery and ran for the stairs. If I had, I might have seen Oscar hopping up the top step. If I had seen him, I might have avoided him, and descended the stairs safely.

But I didn't.

My foot caught under his belly, making him meow in surprise and me flail about for the banister. I came down hard, then hit again, and again, and again, and again, all the while reaching out for the rail but never quite catching it. Down I fell, all the way to the bottom; it happened in less than five seconds, but each one seemed to drag on for hours. Not that I felt anything once I hit the first floor, anything aside of sharp stabbing pains inside and out.

There was something wet trickling out of the side of my mouth. I couldn't move. And my head seemed unable to decide if it was dark or light here in the parlor. Eventually it settled for dark, and complete dark at that. A dark so comfortable and pleasant there was no need for the light to return.

But just before that darkness sank in, maybe one single split second before, a funny little song darted through my head. It was a song I really didn't even like, to be honest, and not just because it was a Lennon tune. But here it came anyway, singing me and my baby to sleep while the pain and the dark and the irony closed in all around us:

Instant Karma is gonna get you,
Gonna knock you right on the head.
You better get yourself together;
Pretty soon you're gonna be dead.

Why in the world are we here?
Surely not to live in pain and fear.
Why on earth are you there,
When you're ev-