Sal here, with an important FYI. This chapter contains politically incorrect language that, while in the 1970s was used very freely and usually without hate or malice attached, might seem insensitive and offensive in modern society. The use of the word(s) may be triggering to some, so please understand, I do not necessarily agree with the use of this word(s), it is included here for historical context and a more genuine image of the vernacular of the time. You have been warned.

The doors were scheduled to open in a couple more minutes, and the concert itself, an hour later at eight o'clock sharp. I was standing among the crowd outside Madison Square Garden, trying to ward off a panic attack with deep breathing exercises and self-assurance that Freddie would not, in fact, kill me as I had predicted earlier.

Yeah, but he'll want to, a voice inside reminded me grimly, and that's just as bad.

Honestly, though, I couldn't really say I blamed him. After all, he had explicitly reminded me not to forget my backstage pass, and I had promised to return the way I came as soon as I finished eating. And in my defense, I had indeed tried to do that very thing, with the faint hope that the guards would remember me and let me in just the same. However, when the cab rolled back around this second time, and I hopped out, they both treated me like a stranger.

"Guys, it's me again," I said pleadingly. "You know, from earlier?"

They just blinked at me. "Do you have a pass, ma'am?"

Needless to say, I didn't. It seemed neither of these fellows were in the most generous of moods, and so, I was relegated to the status of a typical audience member, sans all VIP privileges and benefits of the doubt, while my prince waited impatiently on the other side of the wall. I could see him now, pacing the dressing room, hands on hips, glancing at ever-diminishing intervals toward one of the roadies, who would only answer with the same slow shake of the head.

That's what you get for keeping your identity and your connections a secret, I suppose. If everyone knew we were together, they would have rolled out the red carpet and let me right in. But no! We've got reputations to protect.

Gently I rubbed a small circle into the side of my belly, fighting back the tears. "We'll get this worked out, sweetie," I whispered, more to myself than to the baby. "Don't worry."

I tried to look on the bright side. Surely Freddie would remember how forgetful I had been in the past few weeks because of the pregnancy; maybe he would simply write all this off as another episode of "baby brain." Besides, if nothing else, it was a pleasant group of people to mingle with. People from seemingly all walks of life congregated here outside the Garden entrance; mostly young people, granted, in their late teens to mid-twenties, but I spotted quite a few middle-aged folks here and there as well- a subtle testament to Queen's universal appeal.

Maybe there's a chance I can still get close enough to let him know I'm here, I suggested inwardly.

The thought lifted my heart. Yes! Surely Freddie could have worked some kind of magic, pulled a few strings to ensure that even if worst came to worst, I might still have close to the best view in the house. Whipping out my backup general admission ticket, I peered at the seat number. Before I could get too good a look at it, however, the doors opened, and the swarm of people started moving inside, carrying me along with them.

In seconds the crowd reformed into a nice, thick line which moved with admirable efficiency. I only had to spend ten minutes inching along through the line before I reached the door, where my ticket stub was ripped and handed back to me with a perfunctory "Enjoy the show."

I was in. Now all I had to do was find my seat.

Please be in the first four rows or something, I prayed. Maybe I won't be there to sing along, but I want him to at least be able to hear me scream his name during the acoustic part, so he knows I didn't just blow him off. I don't want a fight tonight.

But as soon as I read the following, my heart sank: Section 204, Row D, Seat 4.

Now not only was I anxious, I was ticked. Was this the best he could do? A spot two levels above the stage- and directly across on the other side of the auditorium?

And then I remembered, too late, one name. One crucial, loathsome name.

Paul.

My eyes narrowed. Of course. Come to think of it, Freddie had mentioned obtaining this ticket through Mr. Prenter, crooning at length about how his little pudding-faced assistant had so kindly taken it upon himself to work up a "safety net" system at every single show, amassing at least one ticket per venue just in case I desired to come and watch my lover do what he did best.

I should have known this would happen. He's seen to it I'm up in the nosebleeds every time, I'll bet. That spiteful little bastard. And now I'll never hear the end of it. There's no chance I can reach Freddie, or let him know I'm here. Not even if I scream his name all night; what difference will that make, seeing as half the Garden will be doing the same? Oh, why did I have to pick this night to be loopy?

Suddenly I had an idea. Right away I ran out the double doors, returned to the back of the line. Perhaps I could score another ticket with a better view. Certainly there were a few left over on the floor level? Certainly the place wouldn't have sold out just yet?

When I reached the ticket counter a second time, however, the man there only shook his head. "All we got are the two hundreds, lady- plus a few spots in the one hundreds I think."

One hundreds were just as useful to me as two hundreds; they weren't. So I shook my head sadly, thanked him, and walked away.

Just the same, there seemed little sense in wasting a perfectly good concert ticket. I was already here, I might as well enjoy the show, no matter my vantage point. There wasn't much I could personally do about it anyway.

And so, with a stiffened upper lip and a lifted chin, I navigated my pregnant self up two and a half flights of narrow stairs. It took me longer to get to the third level than I would like to admit; I had to actually stop and catch my breath a couple of times, shuffling out of my heavy coat when it became too warm and massaging the new ache that had spontaneously appeared in the small of my back. Never before had elevators seemed like such a wonderful invention.

But in the end, I did indeed make it to Section 204. Worming through the rows, I found my seat and draped my coat over the back. I peered out across the auditorium where the stage had been set up. As much as I was trying to be a good sport, I felt my optimism wilt a little more. Everything seemed so much smaller from this distance; I wondered if I would be able to see anything at all.

This wasn't my first time in the nosebleeds, of course. A couple of years ago (or should I say, thirty-eight years from now?) I had attended a Billy Joel concert in Dallas at the American Airlines Center. As fabulous as he sounded, as marvelous as the other musicians proved to be, the Piano Man appeared as little more than a pinhead from where I stood, relying mostly on the Jumbotron to get any kind of glimpse of the things happening on stage. I hadn't really minded at the time; it was enough for me to have simply been present, immersed in the timeless music. But here, now, fifteen minutes before Ratty and the roadies set the "Crown" on fire, I knew I could not be content with watching a miniature Freddie leaping about the stage like a little harlequin grasshopper from my distant balcony seat. I should have been waiting in the wings, watching for his wink, listening for his cue, ready to give him a great big smacking kiss when he bounded backstage while Brian and Roger played through their impromptu solo segments.

My throat began to tighten. Oh, God, not again, don't cry now, please don't cry now, I groaned inwardly. But the baby had other ideas. My nose cramped and my face heated, while my highly hormonal thoughts scattered in all unhelpful directions. I wondered what I was even doing there- not just at the Garden, but with Freddie in general. I questioned what he saw in me. I asked myself how he and I could ever make it work as a couple, especially since in a matter of months we would officially be three instead of two. I told myself we had nothing in common. I worried that we were doomed, just like K and C said. I began to doubt if I'd made the right choice after-

"Hey, I know you!"

The voice startled me. I whirled around, clutching at my heart, to see a middle-aged man standing there with a big, friendly smile.

Whom I did not recognize at first. "You do?" I said warily.

"Sure! I'm the guy who brought you here. The cab driver, remember?"

Truth be told, I hadn't set the first taxi driver's face down to memory, being somewhat drowsy and a little preoccupied- and I was in no mood at present to be trusting- but he seemed determined to remind me. "You had me drive around back, we listened to Rumours, you said disco sucks-"

"Oh, wow! It is you!" I tried to smile. "What was your name again?"

He put out his hand. "Schwartz. Larry Schwartz. Yours?"

"Eve Dubroc. Nice to meet you." I shook it politely. "I thought you had to work this evening, what are you doing here?"

"I called in," he explained. "I've never seen Queen live- plus I'm gonna be crazy busy tomorrow, and God knows when they'll be in town again, so I figured, what the hell."

"What the hell," I repeated absently under my breath. I turned away from him a little, eyes diverted by thick clouds of dry ice fog billowing out from either side of the stage- the first sign that the show would begin in any minute.

"Yeah, I know I musta startled you there, sorry for just sneaking up on you that way."

"It's okay, I just- wasn't sure right off. This baby's messing me up so m-" I covered my mouth- but it was too late. Larry smiled.

"Is it your first?" he asked.

"Mm-hm," I nodded quietly. "My first."

"That's great!" Larry cooed. "My wife and I- she'll be along pretty soon too- we're trying for our first as well- and my sister actually has three little ones herself. She was pretty ditzy her first time around too, from what my brother-in-law tells me, so I guess that's pretty normal. You'll be all right."

I sighed, wondering why this guy was telling me all this. "I hope so."

"Yeah. By the way- what happened back there?"

"Huh?"

"When you went backstage."

"Oh, nothing," I lied. "I was just- seeing someone for a bit. A, uh- a friend of mine."

"You're friends with the band?"

"You could say that. Yes. Some of them."

His eyes lit up. "So you're a groupie!"

"Not really, I just-"

"Which ones? Are you friends with, I mean."

I balked. "Uh-"

It was at this moment a plump woman about the same age as Larry made her way through the rows, heading our way. He waved her closer, catching the attention of everyone else filling in the section as he hollered, "Josie, come here and meet Eve! She's a Queen groupie!"

Every head in Section 204 turned- and I wanted to melt into the floor. Oh, great. It has begun.

Josie hurried on over. "Groupie? What's that? What's that mean?"

"She's part of their inner circle," Larry crooned a bit inaccurately. "I saw her go backstage myself!"

"That's unbelievable," she gushed.

I shrugged. "It's not that big a deal, I just-"

"So what's Roger like?" Some other, younger girl at my left asked. "Are you guys, you know-close?"

"As close as I want to be," I quipped nervously.

"What about Freddie?" Josie chimed in again. "Is he taken?"

"You sure are," Larry reminded his wife.

She just rolled her eyes. "Babe, I'm just asking! A guy that pretty has to have someone at least."

I shrugged. "He does, actually, now that you mention it. He's, uh- got a girlfriend."

"He has a girlfriend?" The young woman at my side gasped.

Josie looked elated. "Oh my G- so he is after all!"

"He's what?" I asked.

"Straight!" She gave her husband a triumphant smirk. "What did I tell you, huh? That'll be five dollars."

I squinted. "What's going on?"

"Her and I, we made a bet," Larry explained. "I bet her five dollars that Freddie's a fairy. She bet that he isn't, that he just pretends."

"And he does!" she declared, putting out her palm. "Five dollars."

Larry waved his hands. "Now, hold on a minute, maybe he's both, you ever think of that?"

"That wasn't the bet. He has a girlfriend, that's proof enough that he's straight. Show me the money."

"Why don't we ask her and find out?" Larry suggested, pointing at me. "She's friends with them, maybe she'll know."

So everyone who cared turned to face me again. "So Eve, is he or isn't he, a fairy?"

I swallowed, trying not to show how uncomfortable the question was making me. "Who? Freddie?"

"Yeah."

"She doesn't know, she's full of it," some skeptic two rows down scoffed. "She doesn't even have an English accent!"

"I can kinda hear it, a little," Josie protested. "So what do you say?"

I hesitated. "Well- it's hard to explain. He's very private, and uh- he's never really gone on at length with me about his sexuality. But- I know he's straight enough."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." I coughed.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

At this point, I didn't see how I had much to lose by simply telling these guys the truth. Not like they'd believe me anyway. "You see, I'm his girlfriend."

Larry's jaw dropped. So did Josie's. But the petulant skeptic was having none of it. "Oh, really! Well, then, if you're so connected to these guys- if he likes you so much, why didn't they get you a better seat?"

"I had a backstage pass, for your information, but I left it behind on accident," I snapped. "It was a mistake, and a pretty dumb one at that. I get it. But if you people are not going to believe my answers after bombarding me with all these questions, I'd prefer it if you all would kindly f--- off and let me alone. Thank you."

No sooner had the words left my lips than I felt like an absolute bitch for uttering them. For I had been too mean to be able to immediately ascribe the remark to my general moodiness. Over the past few months I'd been fairly good about holding my tongue every time a sharp comment settled readily upon it, just not this time. All the same, everyone did back off, return to chattering among themselves, and let me be for the most part.

That is, except for the girl next to me. She had courage and curiosity enough for one more very personal question: "Hey, is Freddie as big as he looks?"

He's bigger, honey, is what I wanted to say- but I didn't. Instead, I only shrugged. No matter how close Freddie and I were, or how often we were physically intimate, somehow it didn't seem appropriate for me to go around advertising the actual size of his c---, much less to total strangers. Last time I checked, my first name is not Phoebe, nor is my last name Hu-

Sorry, I'm getting sidetracked. Ahem. Where was I?

The nosy little lady might have kept on pushing, except just then a huge roar reverberated throughout the crowded Garden. The lights were going down, the billows of smoke on stage growing larger and fuller. On the floor level, hundreds of wavering specks of flame appeared, dotting the darkness below like stars in the night sky. Seconds later, the lit-up Crown, the same under which I had been standing only three hours before, rose higher on its cables. The exciting screaming continued.

And then, from the smoky stage, the sound of a bass kick drum boomed, followed by a cymbal- and somehow the screaming got even louder, underscored by a chorus of stomps and claps.

It's starting, I told myself, involuntarily excited as I automatically joined the audience driven rhythm section. My very first official Queen concert. It's begun.

Moments later, the band itself materialized, coming out of the dry ice fog: demure Brian with his Red Special and respectable white blazer; a partially hidden Roger there in his drummer's nest; sweet, mild-mannered John with his bass hanging idle around his shoulder while he clapped along with the spectators; and Freddie, my prince, majestically ridiculous with his clingy harlequin suit, fluffy dark hair, and ballet slippers- all of which were hard to make out under the spotlight which washed everything out from my perspective- but I knew that strut, and I knew that voice.

"Buddy, you're a boy, make a big noise,
Playing in the street, gonna be a big man some day.
Mud on your face, Big disgrace,
Kicking your can all over the place!"

"WE WILL - WE WILL - ROCK YOU!" everyone sang- or should I say, hollered. Barely even a minute in, and all the people in that huge room, including me, were already jazzed beyond compare.

When both version of "We Will Rock You" ended, Freddie took a moment to greet the hyped audience in that booming voice he used exclusively during his performances. I wish I could have understood what all he said, but it was terribly garbled, thanks to all the people screaming over him. Even he seemed a little surprised how loud they all were, from the way he actually tried to quiet them down some with a "Listen! Listen!" before introducing "Brighton Rock". If there had been any hope in my heart that he might be able to hear me from all the way across the Garden, it faltered. There was no chance. Not with this kind of crowd.

All the same, from what I could tell, Freddie didn't appear to be bummed out that I hadn't shown up. He was just as energetic and magnetic as ever, doing his job as professionally, and yet as provocatively, as I had learned to expect from him. Maybe it was for the best I hadn't come around after all; God knew the others, especially Brian, considered me a terrible distraction. If my absence allowed him to focus better, so be it. Again, there was nothing worse for a superstar group like Queen than for some Yoko-type figure to come in and mess with the frontman's head.

But then "The Millionaire Waltz" began, somewhere close to the halfway mark. With a little polite "Thank you" when the audience again lost their minds with applause, Freddie stalked over toward the piano, handing his mike to the roadie standing by.

As soon as that three-quarter time piano intro began, I smiled. This was one of my very favorite songs that Freddie had written. I loved its very baroque, old-fashioned feel at the beginning, and the sudden descent into hard rock madness in the middle that seemed to come out of nowhere. This live version cut the second verse out entirely, skipped straight past the line, "Feel like a millionaire" and jumped right into the heavy section.

On instinct I launched right into song, as I had with every other tune I knew by heart, "Come back to me, oh, my lo-"

But then I stopped, frowned, and listened closer. Those weren't the words Freddie was singing. He had changed them.

Instead of the original lines, he belted out, "Where are you, Eve, oh, my loooove? You told me you would co-o-ome, you would come back and siiiing..."

No one else seemed to notice, but I did. I bit my fingernails, worrying that maybe he wasn't as content with my absence as I had hoped.

Two songs later, the answer to that became clearer than crystal. At the end of "Spread Your Wings," Freddie stood from the piano again, took back his bottomless mike, stepped toward the very edge of the stage.

"Hey, I just, ah," he boomed, loftily waving his right hand in the air, "I just- want to say you're a lovely audience, and, ah, thank you all so much for coming to rock with us tonight!"

He paused, let the crowd cheer for a few seconds, and then continued, "This next song is, ah- rather fitting for this very evening actually- and fitting for a certain person- What? Who?" Freddie put his hand to his ear. "You want to know who? Ah, no, it won't do to mention their name. They know who they are, I tell you. But this next song, this next song is titled with a word that's even better, it says what they are- a little song we call, 'LIAR!'"

As the crowd screamed with excitement and Roger started in on the rhythm, my insides turned. And I knew right then and there, I had upset him. Considerably.

Freddie thinks I blew him off, I thought in a panic, dabbing nervously at my perspiring forehead. He thinks I just left him hanging out of spite! Sweetheart, I'm here! I'm right here, you just can't see me!

I couldn't stand it. I swept my coat back up into my arms, wormed my way toward the edge of the row as a couple of people around me looked on, baffled.

"Where you going?" Larry asked as I slid (or tried to slide) past him.

"I've got to get to him," I babbled. "He doesn't know I'm here, I've got to tell him!"

"How?"

"I'll run up the aisle, stand as close to the stage as I can-"

"How do you plan to do that? Do you see that mass of people down in front?"

"I'll ram my way through them if I have to, he has to know I'm here!"

Josie shook her head. "You can't ram your way in, you're pregnant!"

"I'll ram anybody I want, now please get out of my way."

With that, I stumbled out of the row, hustled as fast as I could toward the gate exit, and started down the stairs. Unfortunately, I was about halfway down the first flight when a cramp attacked my calf. With a little scream of surprise, my knees buckled- and I most certainly would have fallen down the hard, concrete steps and put an end to the poor little baby, perhaps myself as well, had I not grabbed the railing in the very nick of time.

Heart pounding, I pulled myself back up, sat down on the stairs a minute while my leg and back throbbed. I hope you realize how much I love you, my prince; otherwise I wouldn't be in a world of pain right now, I told him silently, punctuating this thought with a reworded line from the Rolling Stones' "Angie":

"Freddie, Fred-die, you can't say I never tried."

While I massaged my calf enough that I could drag myself back up to safety, I heard Larry's voice calling, "Eve, that you down there?"

Why did he follow me? Why is this any of his business? I asked myself. "Yeah?"

"Was that you who screamed?"

Oh, okay, he's checking on me. That's nice. "I'm okay."

"Just making sure," he said. "And look, I'm just saying, they're probably not gonna let you through the crowd if you're all by yourself, screaming that you're his girlfriend. You'll look like a loon."

"No, you're right, Larry, you're right," I sighed, putting my face in my hands. This was definitely not my day.

Larry took a few steps closer. "Are you really Freddie's girlfriend, Eve?"

I nodded wearily.

He swallowed, his tone turning somewhat awkward. "So- does that mean, uh- you know..." Gingerly he pointed at my belly.

With a heavy sigh, I hesitated- then nodded a second time, even more slowly. "It's his. As absurd as that sounds, it's true. I have a picture in my wallet if you really want proof-"

"It's okay, I believe you."

I lifted my head. "You do?"

"Sure. I just don't get why you'd get stuck up here with us Johnny-come-latelys. If you're his girlfriend, I'd think you'd be getting, you know, the royal-"

"Yeah, well, there's folks in the Queen camp who don't think much of me. And one of them has a penchant for sabotage- just like I have a penchant for being a bubble-head."

Larry frowned. "Sabotage?"

"It's kind of complicated."

"I'm listening."

So, with another little sigh, I told him about Freddie's scheme for us to duet "My Melancholy Blues," my backstage pass oversight, and Paul's pettiness. "...So Freddie thinks I just didn't show up because I didn't want to sing with him tonight, even after I promised."

Needless to say, Larry was astounded. "So- wait, you're the broad on the album? The one who sang that last jazz thing with him?"

"Yup. That's me."

"And you're singing with him tonight?"

"I should be, except I ca-"

Larry snapped his fingers. "Well, why didn't you say so? Here, don't move, I'm getting Josie."

"Hang on, what? What for?"

"One person's got no chance against the mob; two people, it's a million to one. But three? Three people, well, they've got more than just a prayer."

Oh, my God, they're going to help me. I don't know what they're going to do, but they're going to try. That's sweet enough. "But- you'll miss a great song!"

"Eh. I don't really like that 'Liar' thing anyway. It's kinda, uh- boring."

Unable to help the grin, I put my finger to my lips and mouthed, "I agree."

The cab driver winked. "Sit tight, Eve. We're gonna get you to Freddie." Before I knew it, my new best friends Larry and Josie Schwartz were on either side of me, partially propping me up as we fumbled our way down to the stage level.

By the time we emerged through the right gate and started for the very front, Freddie and Brian were halfway through their trademark, acoustic rendition of "Love of My Life," and everyone was singing along. The Garden echoed with the sound of a thousand voices, singing as one, "Love of my life, can't you see? Bring it back, bring it back, don't take it away from me, because you don't know, what it means to me..."

The three of us still stood pretty far back from the stage; it seemed everyone who had a floor seat had had the same idea of pressing as close against the stage as humanly possible. Had we forcibly tried to insinuate ourselves, we might have been crushed. But now, I could see my lovely prince, oh, so much better. And he was beautiful. Mad at me, maybe, but beautiful just the same.

What could I do but smile.

"When I grow older," Freddie crooned, "I will be there at your side to remind you, how I still love you, I still love you..."

There was a brief moment of silence, utter silence, following that line as Freddie hopped off the stool and walked away for Brian to take over a while. Here was my opportunity.

I screamed at the top of my lungs, "FREDDIE!"

But it was too late. Without even glancing behind him, Freddie disappeared into the shadows. I doubt he heard me at all.

Everyone else did, however- and at first, they were not pleased. "Hey, do you mind?" some guy snarled. "I'm trying to watch a concert here."

"Lay off, man, she's his girlfriend," Larry popped back.

"Whose girlfriend?"

"Freddie's!"

Someone else gasped. "Freddie's got a girlfriend?"

"Yeah! Right here. This is Eve."

I waved.

"I don't recognize her," a third voice sniffed.

"She's his secret girlfriend," Josie chimed in- and I realized, maybe a few minutes too late, that there would be no living incognito any longer, regardless of this venture's success. Not after this.

While an oblivious Brian strummed away like the virtuoso he was, filling the air with his dulcet art, word of "Freddie's secret girlfriend" began to spread through the crowd. If I had felt under interrogation up there in the two hundreds, it was even worse now. Everybody within earshot wanted to know everything. Freddie's shoe size, his favorite color, his preferred sexual position. I wish I was kidding, but I'm not.

"I'd love to tell you all about him," I kept trying to brush them off, "but please, you've got to let me through!"

"She's gonna sing with him," Larry added. "Aren't you, Eve?"

I sighed in frustration. "I guess- but I can't if he doesn't see me! Please, everyone, let me get closer so he can see me!"

Right around now, Freddie had come back on stage to finish out the song, sounding much more pensive somehow, now that I could see him up close. "Back, hurry back, don't take it away from me, because you don't know-"

Wildly I waved my arms around. "I'm here! Freddie! Hey!" I tried yelling again, but everyone was singing too loudly- and despite everyone's assurance that they believed me, no one was parting to let me in.

And then a miracle happened.

All of a sudden I couldn't feel the floor under my feet. I seemed to flatten out on my back, levitating over everyone's heads- no, wait, not levitating. There was something underneath me, just not the ground. I was being supported, held up, by an invisible army of hands and shoulders that was pushing me closer to the band like some living conveyor belt.

My God, I'm crowd-surfing, I realized.

I tossed one glance back at Larry and Josie, who only gave me two big thumbs up and a wave. I wish I could have thanked them properly, but after this I never saw them again. Just the same, I'll never cease to be grateful.

In the moment, however, I was more concerned with getting Freddie's attention- and by this time, I'd gotten it. And then some. He watched in disbelief as I made my way closer and closer, calling his name. I know he was surprised- I could tell by how slack his jaw hung for a few moments- but he recovered pretty quickly.

"Well, well! That's what I call an entrance!" Freddie laughed into the microphone, taking my hand and pulling me up to stand beside him as naturally as if he had been planning on this the entire time. "And now, ah, we will go on to the next song- which Brian is going to sing for you-"

Brian turned around and squinted as if to say, "I am?"

But Freddie wasn't paying any attention. "He'll sing that lovely song of his off 'A Night at the Opera,' won't you, dear?"

Before anyone, especially Brian, could protest, Freddie grabbed my wrist and led me into the wings to the strains of a somewhat flustered rendition of "'39." Once we were out of sight, Freddie roughly seized my upper arms and shook me around with every frazzled word.

"Where the f--- have you been?" he thundered. "You were supposed to be back hours ago!"

His eyes were scaring me; I seemed to shrink under their dark gaze. "I'm sorry, Fre-"

Before I could finish my apology, Freddie threw his arms around me, holding me against his warm, taut chest. "I was so worried, I thought something might have happened to you- or you just didn't want to come, or-"

"But I did! I'm here!" I kissed his cheek. "We wouldn't have missed it for the world."

"What happened to your pass?"

I swallowed. "I left it here on accident."

Freddie pulled away a little, stared at me like I had less than half a brain. "You little airhead."

"That's me all over. And I am sorry. But, I still made it, I didn't blow you off, and I'm not a liar."

"I see that now," he whispered, visibly relaxing as he touched my lips. "All this has done, really, is prove to me you really do need someone to watch over you, lead you round by the nose at all times."

I rolled my eyes. "Freddie, this was a one-time thing, and it's partly because of the baby anyway-"

"Don't you dare blame this on the little yam. Fact is, you- both of you- do need to be looked after. Period."

I folded my arms. "You telling me you don't?"

"Not at all." His gentle eyes glowed in the half-light. "I would never say that."

Something in his soft tone seemed to suggest there was more to be discussed- but it was here that "'39" drew to an end. Freddie wasted no time. Grabbing my hand, he led us back out on stage as Brian did everyone a favor and introduced each member of the band, and their respective instruments. If the guitarist had been thrown off by Freddie's and my antics before, he had already worked past it.

As for me, I was scared stiff.

"And now, darlings," Freddie cooed, "we have, ah, something very special indeed for you tonight." He lifted my hand up. "May I introduce to you the lovely Miss Eve, who shall join me now in a song off the new album, called 'My Melancholy-' oh, look, poor thing's petrified. Give her a round of applause, would you? That's it! Yeah!"

As the crowd cheered politely, Freddie sat down at the piano bench. Obediently I joined him at his right. I watched, spellbound, as he slipped into the music zone once more, those big hands flying over the keys. It was warm under the lights, but I could stand it now. I was with Freddie, I could handle anything when I was by his side.

We had sung this song together in the studio, in the quiet of his flat, and during sound check. But I have to say, this version left them all behind. My voice was stronger this time, and relaxed, and he of course sounded as impeccable as ever. We didn't sing the second verse in the interest of time, but we harmonized where appropriate- and the crowd just ate it up.

It's almost over, half a minute more, and I'm going back and laying down somewhere, I said to myself. This is fun and all, but my back hurts and so does my leg, and-

I stopped mid-thought. My brain literally ceased to function in any other way except to take in what was happening before my bugged, wondering eyes.

Freddie had taken his hands off the keys, keeping his foot on the pedal and sustaining a B flat seven chord, filling the Garden with an unresolved tone. Not to say his hands were idle, because they weren't. He held a small black box within them, his gaze transfixed on me.

Without a word, he lifted the lid- and I gasped. Inside sparkled the most beautiful gold ring I had ever seen. An oval-cut ruby was set in the very middle, with a small white pearl on either side.

Oh, my God, what is happening? What is he doing? Freddie, what in God's name-

"Angel," he murmured, just loud enough for the mike to pick and scatter all over Madison Square Garden, "Will you- marry me?"

I don't have to tell you how hysterical the crowd became when they heard that. The rest of the boys themselves were dumbfounded; I suppose Freddie hadn't told them his proposal plans either. But I wasn't thinking about that at the moment, any more than I was thinking about how he and I being together could no longer be a secret anywhere in the world. I was too close to tears, my heart overflowing with too many emotions to count. I covered my mouth.

When I didn't answer right away, Freddie coaxed, more than a little nervously, "W-well? Will you?"

I blinked, remembered myself, realized I actually had to give some kind of response. So I did, whispering the only word I could muster: "Yes."

Freddie's cheeks flushed, his eyes growing wide with excitement. "...Yes?"

"Yes, my prince!" I whispered again, then repeated, louder for the rest to hear, "YES!"

"She said yes!" He cried, overjoyed- and everyone cheered while with big, shaking hands he slid the ring onto my finger and kissed me. He might have said a few other things to me, like an "I love you so much" which I probably returned, but I don't remember for sure. The world spun too wildly, my head in such a daze that I think one of the roadies actually had to help me get backstage again, leading me to the dressing room. All I could do was stare at the ring on my hand, trying to convince myself I wasn't dreaming.

We're engaged, I told myself. Freddie wants to marry me, and the entire world knows.

As much as I had wanted to keep "us" a secret, for fear that we weren't meant to become as serious as I had hoped, tonight changed everything. Freddie loved me, and he proved it by making sure everyone knew he intended to marry me, instead of keeping it under wraps to prevent any prying eyes in case he should wish to back out some time later. Privacy meant everything to him, I knew. But he had thrown away his own safety net, just to show how much he loved me, and wanted to be with me, always.

I stood, though slowly, and headed for the stage right entrance. The show was about half over, forty-five minutes remaining. But I couldn't miss any more than I already had. I didn't want to miss a single thing he did. After all, he needed looking after, too.

"My sweet prince," I whispered aloud. "God, I love you."

As soon as the words left my lips, I felt the strangest fluttering sensation in my middle- one I had never felt before. On instinct, I put my hand on the bump, throat tightening. I'd read enough books and talked to the doctor enough to know what that meant.

The baby was moving.

I was engaged to be married, and the baby was "kicking"- all in the same night.

"It's about time, you little diva," I giggled. "Got to have that big entrance, I guess. You're a Mercury, all right."

Wait till I tell my fiance.