3 July 1977

I hummed nervously to myself, shutting the freezer door. I was pretty sure I hadn't put the Relic in the fridge, but it did not hurt to check just the same. Having completed my thoroughly unsuccessful search of the kitchen, I dusted off my hands and headed for the dining room.

Freddie had been gone for about two hours by this point, leaving right after dinner. Since then I had washed, dried, and put away everything but the platter on which the roast chicken rested. I didn't know his opinion on leftovers, so I held off on throwing out the half-eaten carcass until I directly asked him what he wanted me to do about it. The rest of my time had been spent in photographing every square inch of the lower level, so that when I started moving things around in search of my ticket home, I could put everything back exactly where it belonged.

"Certainly I had it with me today," I said aloud for easily the eighteenth time. "I'm sure of it. It was right there in my bag, and then it was gone. Maybe it fell out at some point and I just didn't notice- or maybe I'm craz-"

I cut myself off when I saw a mischievous pair of green eyes peering at me from Freddie's dining chair. Oscar lay crouched against the seat, his tail slowly coiling and relaxing like a furry orange snake. He looked so menacing and yet so cute that I had to smile.

"And what are you doing, big guy?" I cooed.

The ears twitched, but Oscar remained silent. Charmed nonetheless, I padded on over. The bright eyes widening with interest, he stood up in the seat, meeting my hand halfway when I reached down to stroke his back.

I still can't believe Freddie bought me all those clothes, I thought to myself. The guy knows I'm not a permanent house guest, has no clue where I come from or who I am, but he just blew all that money on me.

I had already made up my mind to wear as little of what he had purchased as I possibly could, so that when I did find the Relic and leave, he could return the new-with-tag items and get his hard-earned cash back. But that still didn't alter how uncomfortable it made me that he would go that far so quickly, especially when there was no way I could ever repay so already massive a debt.

I'll worry about that when it becomes an actual factor, I decided. That's a few levels away, so let's just worry about getting past Step One first.

The front door opened, startling me. "You still here?" a voice outside crooned warmly.

"Still here," I called back.

Freddie stuck his head through the doorway. "So I see," he chirped, hopping over the threshold. "Any luck?"

"Not so far."

"Mm. Don't worry, dear, it's bound to turn up," he assured me as he closed the door.

I smiled weakly. "I wish I had your confidence."

With a chuckle, Freddie moved out of sight and into the parlor. "Did the phone ring while I was gone?"

"Just once."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know, I didn't answer."

"Some secretary you are," he teased.

"I tried to, though. I was in the bathroom when it rang, by the time I came out I had missed the call."

Freddie hummed skeptically. "Well, I suppose that's a decent enough excuse. But next time, dear, step a little livelier, or I will be forced to take very sort of drastic disciplinary measures."

"Yes, sir."

Tapping Oscar's nose, I went back into the kitchen to wash my hands. The little guy was cute and all, but leaving his dander all over my fingers and suffering the sneeze attacks which inevitably followed would be no help in so dire a quest.

As I reached for the dish towel to dry off, I heard a pair of sock feet tiptoe across the carpet. When I looked up, sure enough there was Freddie peeking in at me, a cocktail elegantly cradled in his hand.

"What is it?" I asked.

He drew further into the kitchen. "You do know I was kidding, right?"

I blinked, confused. "Kidding about-?"

"Just now. I was only joking round, I didn't really mean that I would- you know."

"Oh. Well, even if you did, that's still a good incentive to be a little quicker on the draw," I replied in as agreeable a tone as I could. "After all, I don't want to give you any reason to report me."

"Any more reason, you mean?"

"That, too. Oh, by the way, did you want to keep the leftover chicken, or shall I toss it?"

Freddie waved his hand dismissively. "Just go ahead, throw it out, I'm not going to eat it."

"Say no more." I pulled out the trash can and carried it closer to the dish.

"Can I help you?" he asked, setting his drink down.

I shook my head. "You're good, I got it."

"Are you sure? That thing's rather heavy."

"I'm stronger than I look."

So saying, I lifted the large glass platter over the mouth of the bin. While Freddie watched, I started to tip the dish downward. I could feel his eyes boring into the top of my head, like he expected me to drop the whole thing and splash poultry and rosemary and oil all over the immaculate floor; never before in my life had cleaning up the leftovers made me so darned self-conscious. But somehow, I managed to transfer the dish's entire contents into the trash, spilling nary a drop whilst doing so.

"There!" I exclaimed. I straightened up, about to say more when I saw that Freddie had walked out of the room. Shrugging, I dunked the dish into what remained of the soapy water, working away at the tough residue the food had left on the glass.

Outside in the parlor, there was a bit of a rustling noise. I quit scrubbing and listened as the soft sounds of movement were followed by a click, a pop, and a hiss. Seconds later, the eeriest intro stumbled into my ears, vaguely reminding me of Freddie's own "Ogre Battle", and swirled around till the band got a hold of themselves and started actually playing music. Once I heard that distinctive, husky voice, I realized why it was so all over the place.

Of course he put on a Jimi Hendrix album, I smiled, grabbing the washcloth to finish the job. Electric Ladyland, no less; my favorite.

"Like it?" Freddie's voice startled me.

I looked up, and lo and behold, there he was again. "Yeah, I do, actually," I said. "Uh- who is this?"

He could not have looked more disappointed. "Do you mean to tell me you don't know Jimi Hendrix when you hear him?"

"Is that who this is?"

Freddie rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's who this is. My God. It's one thing not to have heard of us, but not to know who Jimi Hendrix-"

"I never said I didn't know who he is, I'm not that out of the loop," I interrupted without thinking.

"Does that mean you do?"

Step carefully. "I mean, I've certainly heard of the guy, I know he's a rock musician, and a pretty good one at that, but that's about all-"

"Good? Just good?" Freddie exclaimed. "He's the greatest guitarist the world has ever seen! My dear, where were you ten years ago? Under a rock?"

I bit back an ever so tempting reply, one that would have informed him quite matter-of-factly that in 1967 my own mother hadn't even started kindergarten and thereby sunk the entire facade. Rather I threw my washcloth back into the warm water and asked, "Okay, then, enlighten me; what makes him so great?"

The man was aghast. "Never in my life did I ever think that question would be posed at me- and meant."

"Does that mean you can't answer it?" I quipped, faintly smirking.

"Not at all, I- simply don't know where to begin! There's just so much I could tell you and still barely scratch the surface of- Here, come on, listen for yourself!"

When Freddie tried to drag me away from the sink, I protested, "Hey, I'm not finished!"

"Leave it for the morning. This is much more important."

"I'd rather finish up now, thanks, besides I can hear it just fine from-"

"Get your arse in there right now or I call the you-know-whos!"

For my own sake, I took that as a legitimate threat. I skedaddled out of the kitchen, seating myself on the sofa and slightly jostling Tom who lay dozing on the other end. Freddie lifted the needle off the turntable, cutting short the music.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

He didn't so much as turn his head as he removed the disc from the console and slid it back into the sleeve. I couldn't help a taste of disappointment as I realized we would miss "Crosstown Traffic"; while I can't say Jimi Hendrix was or will ever be in my top ten favorite artists, I did truly enjoy that track.

"One sort of interesting thing," Freddie suddenly spoke. "This second record starts with a song called 'Rainy Day, Dream Away,' and then, on Side B, he uses basically a reprise of the track as a sort of tail in- so it sort of comes full circle, you know."

I smiled. "That's very clever."

"Mm," he nodded. "More than clever, he was a genius. A lot of things he did on his albums, no one had ever done before, he just- he changed everything. When we were, um, just starting out, we took a lot of inspiration from him. Others too, but we- or probably should say, I- tried to do what he did, sort of try new things, take the songs, the music into new areas. Of course we couldn't do it like he could, but, um- I think it paid off just the same."

"I'd say so," I agreed.

He hesitated, then let out a little huff. "It just floors me you've never heard any of his songs."

"Maybe I have, and I just don't know it."

"Maybe," Freddie murmured, placing the second disc into the console and dropping the needle once more. "Here, this is the one everyone knows, if you haven't heard this one I'm going to jump off the terrace."

I clutched at my heart. "That's an awful lot of pressure you're putting on me, man."

"Sh. Listen."

Freddie hadn't been exaggerating when he said "everyone knew" this next song, which turned out to be none other than "All Along the Watchtower." My expression must have really given me away, too, because seconds in he exclaimed, "All right! You do know it! There's hope for you yet, my dear."

"Of course I do," I quipped. "Everyone does, like you said."

"Well, I'm learning very quickly not to take those things for granted, certainly not as far as you're concerned," he sighed. "You're a very backward sort of person, I tell you."

Yes, Freddie, I know. "Perhaps- but at least I know a Jimi Hendrix song. Got that going for me, right?"

"It's a start," he conceded. "Still a long way for you to go before you can officially be called a living, breathing human being."

"Who said I even was one?" I replied dryly.

"No one, dear," he crooned, "and no one would, I imagine- least of all me."

I tried to laugh. I really did. But truth be told, I found very little of what he was saying all that humorous. Maybe I would have taken his remarks less personally if I wasn't already trying to hold myself together, cling to a practically impossible hope that I would find the Relic and be able to leave this poor, busy man alone. However, this whole day had chafed away at me till my worries lay like exposed live wires simmering just below my skin, something which Freddie for whatever reason was hell-bent on getting under tonight. I needed a minute to regroup- and quick, before something blew and I jeopardized my already tenuous situation.

Fortunately, just then the phone rang. When Freddie headed over to pick it up, I seized my chance to slide back into the kitchen and finish washing the platter. I couldn't tell who it was he was talking to, but I didn't feel like sticking around to find out. Moving much faster now, I dried the dish, stashed it in the cupboard, then bolted up to the green room.

Humming the guitar solo of "All Along the Watchtower," I grabbed my journal and sat down cross-legged on the bed, picking up where I had left off that afternoon. One click of the pen later, I was venting with complete abandon.

I cooked Freddie dinner tonight, one he seemed to enjoy before he went out for a couple of hours. Where, I don't have the faintest- and I ain't gonna ask.

He's since come back, and generously decided to give me a lesson in Jimi Hendrix- albeit not without a few remarks about my ignorance and lack of humanity. I'll get used to it eventually, regardless of whether he means it- but I really could have gone without them tonight. I'm already well aware that I'm stranded, and an inconvenience, and a bona fide bore. Those are all things I'm trying my hardest to make up for- but I'm not sure how I'm supposed to fix being a freak, too. Guess he's just going to have to learn to overlook that- or else just kick me out.

NFO: none- aside of a deep deep love for Jimi Hendrix, which I already knew about- so deep in fact that anyone who doesn't think the dude's a genius is automatically a moron.

Also: I will not wear any of the things he bought for me. Not that I don't appreciate how nice he was to me this afternoon, because I do- and he was. However he's acting right now, he still spent his Sunday afternoon picking out a wardrobe for me that, God willing, I won't ever need to break in. It doesn't make any sense why he would do that. He doesn't know me-

"Eve?"

My pen clattered onto the page. "Yes?"

"Where did you go?" The voice floated to me from the stairs.

"I'm in the spare room. Did you need me for something?"

No answer, save a series of upward steps that grew louder and louder until Freddie stood there in the doorway.

"Hello," I greeted him.

Freddie's eyes fell on my notebook. "What's that?"

"Uh- just a journal of sorts."

"Am I in it?"

"Here and there," I grossly understated, setting the book on the nightstand. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, I just wondered where- I mean, one minute, you're sitting there, and then when I hang up the phone, you're gone." His voice sounded less haughty now, which took some of the sting out of the blows he had so expertly dealt my ego.

Not all, but some.

"Just wanted to give you a little privacy," I explained. "We rock and roll ignoramuses may not know much, but one thing we do know is when to split."

Freddie perched himself on the foot of the bed. "Eve, look, you really mustn't take me so seriously."

I blinked. "No?"

"Mm," he shook his head. "It's going to be very boring for the both of us if- I mean, I say and do a lot of things, but I scarcely mean even half of them, so, um- don't let it mean more to you than it does to me."

"Okay- but how can I tell the difference between what you mean and what you don't?"

"Trust me, you'll know," Freddie chuckled. "But in the meantime, loosen up a bit. Alright?"

I nodded. "I'll try."

"No, indeed. Don't try. Just let it happen."

"I'll tr- I mean, uh, yeah, I'll- do that," I stammered, chuckling nervously.

"Well, in case you don't know how, I'm here to help," he winked.

"I think I can manage it, but thanks just the same."

Freddie smirked. "We'll see about that."

Stifling a yawn, I raised my arms up in a stretch and spouted off the first excuse I could come up with to send Freddie out of the room so he could stop watching me make a fool of myself: "I'd better get ready for bed now, I'll look for the Relic some more in the morning."

His smile broadened. "Ooo. And what will we be wearing first?"

"What?"

"Your clothes, silly! What are you going to wear to bed? Or can you not make up your mind about that either?"

Oh, great. "Uh, actually-"

"I thought so. One moment." In one swift motion he rose to his feet and pulled open the top drawer where I had carefully laid the pajamas. "How about this green one?"

I couldn't believe this. "What are you? My fairy godmother?"

"If it means you'll put on the damn thing."

"Freddie, it's as sheer as it was the first time I saw it on the hanger-"

"I'll take that as a no," he sighed, stashing the nightgown out of sight. "I suppose we'll just have to settle for these striped monstrosities you liked so much." Freddie plopped the set of red striped button-up pajamas into my arms. "There you are."

"Thank you, but-" I cut myself off.

Unfortunately, I proved one syllable too late. "But what?"

Crap, now I have to be honest. "Uh- thing is," I began, "I- um- I'm not really sure if I should..."

"Should what?" Freddie said impatiently.

"It's only that- I don't feel right wearing any of this stuff because- I mean, you've already been so unbelievably kind to me by letting me stay here, it's enough that you did that much, but you going so far as to blow all that money on me when you know I'm not sticking ar-"

He rolled his eyes. "My God, are you still on that?"

"I just don't understand why you would do it," I insisted. "I appreciate it endlessly, and I thank you, but, I mean- why? You don't know anything about me. Why?"

Freddie looked me over, but he didn't seem nearly as annoyed as I had expected when he asked, "If I gave you a why, would you feel better?"

I nodded, gaze falling to the floor.

"All right." He paused to think a moment. "Let's just call it a sort of- reward."

My head jerked up. "Reward for what?"

"For passing the test yesterday," Freddie answered.

I knew full well, he was probably making this all up on the spot, but still I said, "There was a test?"

"Of course. See, when I handed you the money and told you to spend it, there were a million different things that could have happened- and most of them would have been plenty of reason to banish you from my house forever."

"Like what?"

"Oh, just- take my word for it, all right? What matters is- what you did, how you handled it, was the best thing you could have done. And so, to reward you- today happened."

"And a lovely day it was. Minus the whole Relic thing, but you didn't have anything to do with that-"

"Yes, well, anyway, there's your why," Freddie interrupted, suddenly looking very uncomfortable. "Um, hope you're satisfied now."

I nodded. "I am."

He searched my face again, as though unconvinced at my words, before adding, "And look. As far as the Relic is concerned, please don't worry too much. I have the utmost confidence that you'll find it sooner rather than later- but understand that until you do, you're welcome to call this place home."

This man's uncompromising generosity swallowed up every misgiving I had only minutes before. "Thank you, Freddie."

"You're welcome," he replied. "Now will you put on the fucking pajamas?"

I burst out laughing. "Yes, I will put on the pajamas."

"No, no. You said it wrong. It's the fucking pajamas."

"I'm not saying that."

Freddie planted his hands on his hips. "I'm not leaving this room till you do."

He had barely finished speaking when a canned, grating tone trilled outside the door. Initially Freddie tried to ignore the sound, but after three rings, he cratered, hustling out the door and down the staircase.

"Good night, Freddie!" I called.

"Good night, now get dressed!" he yelled back- a shout followed closely by a much more meek, apologetic "Oh, no, not you, dear, sorry..."

As tempting as it was to find out who "dear" was in this case, now was a good time to let Freddie get back to business. It was the very least I could do. So I shut the door and my mouth, and proceeded to dress for bed.

Once I had snuggled up under the sheets, I reached for my notebook, crossed through the "Also" section, where I had made such an adamant promise to myself, and wrote two sheepish little words:

Never mind.