Julia

I rested my back against my chair and folded my hands in my lap.  If nothing else, I had to at least appear composed, even if my heart was now fluttering like a bird with an injured wing.

"Some man?" I repeated.  "Didn't you get his name?"

The receptionist blinked.  "Oh, well- no, I didn't. I'm sorry, he just walked up and said you and he had a 'previous engagement.'  I didn't think to ask him before asking you."

I swallowed a frustrated sigh, tried not to blame her.  She was after all a very new hire, so new I still had trouble remembering her name.  "Can you describe him to me?"

Her brows furrowed.  "Well, he's about this tall," she began, holding her hand up around two inches higher than the top of her head, "average size- in a black coat."

My phone vibrated in my purse, the pulsating LED light in the corner notifying me that it was another text.  Still I waited for her to go on, but she didn't.  

"Is that it?" I asked just a little testily. 

She shrugged.  "That's all I could see."

"About how old would you say he is?"

"Um... he could be in his thirties or forties- although he could be in his twenties too..."

I bit my tongue.  "Well- what color's his hair?"

"I don't know.  He was wearing a hat."

"What about his eyes?  Were they brown?  Or blue?  Or gray or green or purple?  What?"  Come on, lady, give me something to work with.

She shook her head.  "Sunglasses."

This time I let her see me roll my eyes.  "Okay, let me just ask this, and it'll tell me everything: does he have a mustache?"

"Oh, no," the receptionist replied brightly, pleased that she at last had the right answer.  "Nothing like that."

I nodded, my heart sinking in disappointment- a strange reaction, when by all means I should have felt so relieved.  "Okay."

"Do you want me to send him in?  I know it's your lunch hour, so-"

"Hold on, let me check something."  I reached for my phone and checked the two new messages.  The newest had come from Roxie, letting me know she would stop by the house to drop off Danny's finished costume a little later than she had intended.  But there was an older message from Stuart, one that came hours ago.  I opened it, confused; he never texted me during work hours.

I tried, and failed, to ignore the picture Stuart had sent me early that morning- a photo of Freddie decked out in his "I Want to Break Free" costume, grabbing at his falsies, looking either lost in feigned ecstasy or about to double over in side-splitting laughter- complete with Stuart's caption, "So that's how Freddie turns himself off.  XD" 

I took the joke lightly, in the way it was intended; if nothing else, the look on Freddie's face did indeed crack me up. Very funny, Stu. 

What I didn't know that this picture was only the beginning of a morning tradition that I grew to like less and less as the days passed.

On a more serious note, just underneath this photo, I found a brisk, impersonal message that said, "Jules, change of plans.  I can't make lunch today.  Something's come up with Speck.  So sorry about this, I'll make it up to you another time.  Love you.  S."

My stomach rumbled quietly.  Still, I sighed.  Guess I'm working through lunch again.  Walk-ins now welcome.  Very well.

With a shrug, I patted my restless hands against the desk.  "Right.  Go ahead and send him in."  Just before she turned away, though, I added, "By the way, next time someone comes around asking for me, you know you can just dial my extension and let me know from the front desk.  You don't have to come all the way back here."

"I know," she smiled, tapping at the more high-tech FitBit descendant around her wrist, "but I'm trying to take ten thousand steps every day, so I decided I'd just walk back here and tell you myself.  It's healthier."

I grimaced.  "Fair enough."

"I'll go get him," she told me.

"Thanks."

As she disappeared, carefully pacing herself to get the maximum benefit out of every single step, I sent my reply to Roxie first, and hoped I didn't seem too annoyed in tone; after all, she had nothing to do with my being hungry, stood up, and working through my designated break.  Maybe I can call in Jimmy John's or something.  I can't go without food till dinnertime. 

And really, if we were being honest, I much preferred a cold, bland, delivery turkey sandwich to a bowl of pho any day.  But Stuart liked Vietnamese, so I put up with it.

So I pulled up the number to the sandwich place on the desktop and bent my head to send Stuart a standard "I totally understand, stuff happens" kind of message.  Footsteps approached and entered my open office.

"One second, sir, be right with you," I muttered, my finger moving swiftly across the screen.  "Three... two... one.  And it's away."

"That's three seconds," a voice corrected me playfully.

I shrugged absently.  "Yeah, but who's cou-"  Then I froze, the velvety accent finally registering.  I looked up- and my jaw dropped, along with my stomach. 

He was here.

Freddie lowered my aviators - or rather, his aviators, as he had basically adopted them by this point, he wore them so often- and winked.  "Surprise."

I didn't say anything right away.  I just sat there, staring at him in disbelief while he tucked the shades into his collar, removed the hat, immediately smoothed the dark hair underneath that had fallen out of place.  Here we stayed until finally one of his legs started jerking back and forth impatiently, as if keeping time with music only he could hear.

"Well, I'm here," he announced, flailing his hands around.   "Say something!"

So I did.

I stood up, and with a grin I exclaimed,  "What did you do to your face? "

Freddie was clean-shaven, with no trace remaining of the distinctive mustache, leaving his full lips completely visible- as well as his teeth, which he promptly covered when his mouth curved into a bashful little smile.  Gone was the slick post-Live Aid look he had been sporting thus far; in its place was that chiseled, androgynous beauty that had so entranced me ten years ago.  Strange, but somehow, without the mustache, his expression seemed a little more open, more vulnerable, more approachable; the eyes seemed softer, his smile more genuine. 

Or perhaps it was merely that I was now looking into the eyes not of the man who fronted Queen, but rather the man who was Danny's father- the man who once loved me...

Uh-uh.  Get a grip, I told myself, resurrecting that very helpful picture of Freddie that Stuart had texted me.  This guy isn't staying, so what if he's handsome? Stu is my guy and he's every bit as good-looking- and with a heck of a better set of abs, I might add.  No point in salivating over what may be gone for good tomorrow.

That didn't keep my heart from thumping harder by the second.

"You did say you wanted a disguise," he shrugged.

"Yeah, but I didn't mean to that extreme!"

"What can I say, my dear. Extremes are my speciality."

"I'll say." I came closer, cooing, "Look at you! Wow!"

"Wow, what?"

"Now you look the way I remember you," I explained.

Freddie's brows rose.  "Do I?"

I nodded.  "Shorter hair now, perhaps, but... yes."

He didn't respond, not right away.  For a couple of seconds Freddie just stared at me, lips twitching over his teeth.  There were words trapped in his throat, I could see that- and it was all I could do not to draw attention to it.  I was through trying to understand him, but I still wanted to hear what he had to say.

Finally he broke the silence.  "So... are we doing the, um, driving thing or aren't we?"

"You sure you're still up for it?"

He sighed impatiently.  "Darling, why else would I be here?"

Why, indeed. Funny, but that almost smarted. 

"An excellent point," I agreed.  "Let me get my stuff." 

Putting his hat and shades back on, Freddie followed me out of my office toward the door.  My car was parked in the garage below; we would have to take the elevator down.  What with talking to John, and this whole convoluted messed-up situation in general, to be honest, I didn't consider myself in the best state of mind to be playing driving instructor, especially to Freddie, someone who had a history of screwing with my head anyway.  If he felt so strongly about learning, why didn't he do it before?  Why couldn't someone else teach him?

And why did I have to be so flip and suggest it in the first place?

The receptionist noticed us walking out together, and waved.  "Heading off for lunch, Julia?"

"You might say that," I replied.  "Be back at one o'clock."

She nodded, and to Freddie she called, "Have a nice day, Mr. Rick."

"You as well, dear," he waved back.

I just smiled.  And I thought you didn't like the name Richard Dubroc, Freddie.  My goodness, how the tune doth change.

"Where's your lunchbox?" Freddie teased gently, once we were out of earshot.  "Couldn't wait till noon to eat, hm?"

"I didn't pack one today.  Stuart was supposed to take me out, but, uh- something came up."  So saying, I went ahead ahead pressed the button on the parking garage elevator, knowing we'd have to wait at least another thirty seconds before the doors would slide open. The gears must have been coated with molasses, they moved so slowly.

He stopped smiling.  "Oh, my dear.  You must be absolutely famished, then."

"I'll survive." 

Freddie shook his head.  "Not if you're teaching me to drive, you won't.  I remember.  Why don't we go and stop somewhere, feed you before you hurt yourself-"

"Aren't you sweet," I groaned.

"And then, once we've gotten a little food in you- perhaps some alcohol, ["You wish," I popped back] THEN we can play driving school."

"Fine, fine," I sighed.  "We'll do that."

Rolling my eyes (but secretly relieved; it was true, I made my greatest, most humiliating mistakes when I was hungry), I stood there quietly beside him, my words drifting back to me: "That and more."  We still hadn't established what such entailed.  Perhaps we ought to clear the air on what that means before we do this.  I won't be caught flat-footed, not if I can possibly help it.

I looked Freddie over as he twitched his lips over his teeth and ran two restless fingers over his top lip.  Clearly he was missing the mustache.

"You look fine," I assured him. 

He glanced at me with a little grateful smile, staying quiet.

  Very casually, then, I asked, "So... when would you like the kiss?"

Freddie turned to me, frowning.  "Kiss?"

I blinked, taken aback.  "Well, yeah."

"A kiss?  Just A kiss?"

I was genuinely becoming confused.  "I thought we'd already discussed this-"

"We did, true."

"And yes, I said, 'That and more,'" I said.  "But the more is a surprise, and it's not a kiss- the kiss to which you are indeed entitled-"

Freddie shook his head vehemently.  "No, dear, you're mixing yourself up.  That's not at all what I agreed to."

He folded his arms, struck a sulky pose.  Before I could ask what he was talking about, the doors finally slid open.  Both of us marched in, waited, and ten seconds later the clunky elevator dragged itself closed again, and slowly began its descent to the third underground floor. 

"So what did you agree to?" I sighed.  "Enlighten me."

Freddie snapped out of the pout and went straight to it.  "Right.  As I recall, you said something about wanting to make this as painless as possible, so, um- I think, the best way to go about that is, to just basically-" he paused, thought about what he intended to say, then stated, "It's like this, really: one kiss for one week simply isn't going to cut it, darling."

Huh?

I began, "What are you say-"

But here, the doors again slid open, and someone stepped onto the elevator, looking a little sheepish. 

"My car's a level lower; whoopsie," she explained, as if we cared. 

So now Freddie and I were whispering.

"What are you saying?" I hissed.  "Isn't it enough I'm sleeping with you?"

"Look.  It's different- and really it's not at all personal," he hissed back.  "I just, you know, have these needs that must be met, and, uh- You see- usually I get quite a few kisses from quite a few people throughout the day, and it's something I've just grown accustomed to- and since I don't have those people round, what I've sort of lost as far as, you know, quantity is concerned, we'll have to make up for in quality."

I swallowed, my heart suddenly picking up the pace.  "Freddie, like I said, no one's stopping you from going out and-"

"Very true, very true, but- either way, I still owe for that one you gave in Munich, so I still end up kissing you more than once."

I squinted.  "What?"  He was confusing me so fast- and he knew I was hungry!  This was on purpose!  Oh, how low could he go?

But Freddie kept whispering, "Oh, don't worry, dear, it's not a pass I'd be making. I just want to keep the balance from tipping. Besides, Stanley can't be the only one who k-"

The elevator doors open, and the nervous little woman bid us goodbye, a smile that hadn't been there before crossing her face as she walked out.  She probably heard every word.

This time Freddie didn't wait for the doors to close.  "I said, Stanley can't be the only one who kisses y- The man does kiss you, doesn't he?"

I scoffed, "Of course he does."

Freddie looked flabbergasted.  "Really?"

"Yes!  What kind of question is that, anyway?"

He shrugged, his tone bored. "Nothing, he just strikes me as an extremely undersexed individual, that's all. But anyway-"

"He is NOT undersexed!"

This I yelled loud enough for that same woman to hear; she turned around, but with what expression I could not make out before the doors shut.  Freddie rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, hands in his pockets, looking quite pleased with himself, while I stood there in silence, cheeks burning, feeling like a clumsy, loudmouthed idiot for letting this -this fey charlatan get under my skin so easily.  Had I learned nothing?  Was I not a counselor?  Didn't I train for this kind of thing? 

"I'll take your word for it, dear, that he isn't," Freddie remarked softly.  "I just was saying that's how he strikes me."

I shrugged, not even favoring him with a sideways glance.  Very quietly he put his arm around my shoulders.  Once more I chose not to react.

"For example," he murmured, "he certainly doesn't seem like- to me- like the kind of chap who, say- would do something like this."

"Like what?" I asked.

The word puffed from his throat so softly I almost didn't hear it.  "This."

I opened my mouth to ask once more what he was talking about, when his hand lifted to my cheek, gently turned my face up towards his, so close that those soft lips were hovering a finger's width away from my own.  My heart beat faster while I conjured up whatever images of Stuart I could muster, even as I wondered why Freddie's eyes were flashing so dangerously.

And then, from my purse, Glen Campbell started warbling: "Southern nights/ Have you ev-er felt a Southern night-"

Ah, that's Roxie, I told myself, struggling to think, and reached frantically for my phone.  "Hold that thought," I managed, pulling away from Freddie.

I don't remember what Cousin Roxie was calling about, because I honestly didn't hear a word she said.  I just kept saying "Uh-huh" and "Thank you" and "Absolutely" over and over again, hoping I wasn't agreeing to anything outlandish, thanking her for things I would regret later.  Thankfully Freddie didn't try and interfere with the short conversation; in fact, the moment I said Roxie's name, he seemed to grow very quiet, much as he had a couple of days ago.

Not that I cared why, I was simply grateful for the cease-fire.  For my mind was too busy trying to get itself back together.  This wasn't a fair fight.  Freddie liked to tease me, yes, and I could handle that, even tease him back- but he was playing too rough today. 

By the time we had reached my car, Roxie and I were wrapping it up.  "See you tonight," I managed, ending the call.  I unlocked the car so Freddie could climb in, but he stayed right by my side.

"I think you ought to know," Freddie murmured, "that my driver is actually going to be, um- trailing us to the place where we'll be, uh... practicing."

I blinked.  "Your driver?"

"Mm.  He's waiting for us above."  He pointed at the flat white lamplight overhead.  "So if you see a yellow car behind us the whole way, not to worry, that's just Charles."

"Charles?" I nodded, thinking to myself, That's such a great name.  "So is he an Uber driver?"

Freddie didn't seem to understand the question.  "I mean, he's good, but he's not Terry," he replied.

"Or Rudy?" I smiled gently.

"Hm?"

"Rudy Barnes.  Your first driver-assistant-type thing."

"Oh, yes."  Freddie shrugged, looking down.  "You know, I don't remember very much about him, it's been so long."

"What happened to him, Freddie?" I asked.

The response was brief and untrue: "He quit."

"Oh."  I nodded, then said after another uncomfortable moment, "Well, if we're doing this, we'd better get going-"

"Julia, may I kiss you?"

It wasn't the question that startled me so much as his tone.  He sounded so shy- almost, dare I say it, innocent, much like he had when he convinced me to be his strictly platonic bedfellow.  This was a far cry from his psychological warfare only minutes ago.  This was honest.

Softly I asked him, "Why?"

A little smile curved his mouth.  "I need it."

And a small part of me actually believed him- but it wasn't so small that when my better judgment rallied loudly in support of Stuart, I couldn't hear its plaintive pleas.

So I shrugged.  "It's only fair," I smiled.  "Go ahead."

Freddie didn't seem to accept it at first- perhaps because I had played my part as the cold fish a little too well (but I had my reasons, I assure you)- but he didn't stay incredulous for long.  A smile spread itself across his face, as he held my face in his hands, nuzzled the tip of my nose to his- and let go. 

Freddie walked around to the other side of the Jetta and got inside.  And once again, I was confused. 

I slid in as well, shutting the door, and looked at him.  "Did I miss something, Freddie?"

He shook his head.  "No, I just wanted your permission," he replied.  "And now I have it."

That's all? was my exasperated, silent reply- one I was careful not to let slip.  "Fair enough," I said. 

Freddie studied my expression.  "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, I just-"

"What?"

"Nothing."  I just don't like being toyed with, or strung along, I finished to myself.  "So you wanted to eat first?"

"Uh, ahem, yeah.  Lunch first."

"Right on."  I started the car.  "Charles won't mind?"

"I don't think so."

"That's good."

I coughed uncomfortably, put the car in reverse, told Freddie to keep an eye on everything I was doing.  And as I turned my head to look behind while backing out of the parking space, without warning Freddie put his hand on the back of my neck, leaned forward, and before I could do anything about it he pressed those soft, sweet lips against mine.

My eyes closed, and my nails dug into the steering wheel so hard they left marks in the leather.

Okay, Freddie.  You won that one.

But hey.  At least now, we were even.