Julia

Sal here. If you are confused about Roxie's importance in the first place, I encourage you to check out the two part story entitled "Closing Time". However, if you do not like spoilers and/or do not care one way or the other who Roxie is and why she matters, by all means, ignore what I just said. ;) Now, let us carry on...

I rubbed the back of my neck, watching my boy hightail it out into the drizzly morning. Had I heard correctly?

Did Danny just say Freddie had met Roxie before?

"How does that even work?" I muttered to myself.

Perhaps she attended one of their concerts at the Garden, I wondered. That would have been during the Hot Space tour, though, during their disco fail- uh, I mean, experiment. Besides, she's always been a country lover. I've never heard her say anything about liking Queen, or even bands comparable to them; it's always George Strait, Ronnie Milsap, Kenny Rogers- and that guy who sang "Wildfire". There's no song she listens to that you wouldn't hear at a honky-tonk.

What was more, as my cousin had told me, she had never traveled abroad, unless you counted Canada (her third husband was a native of Quebec). However, Freddie did own a posh, high-rise apartment in New York City during the late seventies and early eighties- about the same time that Roxie was attending NYU, before she was forced to drop out toward the middle of her junior semester. I say forced, because her family was putting up about half the money for her school- but withdrew all assistance as soon as word went round of Roxie's "unspeakable" crime.

All the same, I couldn't quite see how Roxie and Freddie might have crossed paths. She had worked as a bartender for a time in restaurant -a mom and pop place called the Leather Tux, or something, it had closed down in the nineties to make way for an unsuccessful string of upstart boutiques till finally it was bought out and made into a hookah bar- but from what she had told me, Leather Tux was not at all the sort of joint that would attract someone like Freddie, certainly not the crazy party animal he was in those days.

But then, I myself was not exactly the standard Mr. Mercury magnet- and look what happened.

I didn't dwell on the news too long, however. At present, finding out if, and how, Freddie and Roxie actually knew each other was very low on my list of priorities.

For it was official: now John knew about Freddie.

And now that John knew- and believed, it was only a matter of time before word would reach Brian and Roger- assuming that Rubicon had not already been crossed, what with Freddie's radio escapades yesterday. Granted, John and the remaining half of Queen were still no closer to détente than they had ever been, but something as monumental as Freddie's "miraculous return" might just be the push they needed. Or perhaps not; despite his public reticence, Deacy was in truth quite stubborn (which illustrated at least one reason why my family and his got on so well together). Only time would tell.

What I could depend on, however, was Stuart's ire, once he realized how far this fiasco had truly gone. According to K, Freddie had taken social media by absolute storm. Even outlets like the Daily Mail were abuzz with speculation. So much for "Nowadays, everyone thinks he looks like Rami Malek."

Evidently, not enough people had forgotten the face of Queen, that timeless band of the seventies and eighties. Mr. Robot hadn't been convincing enough a stand-in to warp the public's memory of the real Freddie. For as many years as had passed, as much time as even Adam had spent moonlighting as Queen's frontman, nothing compared to he who transcended the generations, he who could not be pegged as anything explicable or mundane- he who on that sweltering July afternoon in 1985, literally held the world in the palm of his hand.

But that, honestly, was no surprise. Freddie couldn't lay low forever. He had no choice but to make a splash, for it was too much a part of him. Avoiding attention was not in his nature, certainly not when he naturally drew eyes from all corners of a room simply by entering it. That had always been a risk, ever since Day One. And since Freddie had made no attempt whatsoever to maintain his anonymity, it was inevitable that people would eventually recognize him- and that even after he was gone, Danny and I would suffer the consequences.

Again.

But I had too much to do today to spend half the morning biting my nails in worry, be it over John or Stuart or Roxie or anyone else. Days off didn't come easy, and I intended to make the most of this one.

So, drawing a much-needed deep breath, I picked up the phone and dialed the university. A few rings, a little navigating through the computerized call center, and at last the receptionist answered.

"May I ask the reason?" she inquired when I told her I was taking the day.

I smiled slyly. "One of my kids is sick, I'm staying home to take care of him."

She paused. "Two kids? Huh. All this time I thought you only had Danny."

"Nope, right now I have two. A nine-year-old, and a thirty-nine-year-old."

"Ahhh," the receptionist giggled. "The child and the man-child?"

I covered my mouth, tried not to burst out laughing. "You got it. And it's the, um, the man-child who's needing a little help today."

"That wouldn't be the guy who keeps coming to see you, would it? What's his name, Rick?"

"That's the one."

"I see," she smiled audibly. "It all makes sense now."

"Will that be a problem for you guys?"

"Shouldn't be. Antonio and Sasha are already here. Do what you need to. I'll take this down, make sure the others are notified."

"Thanks, dear."

She coughed. "No problem. Hope your husband feels better soon!"

"Thank y-" I cut myself off, did a double take. "What did you say?"

"I said, I hope your husband feels better." A pause. "What? Is he not your husband?"

I almost choked on my answer, I spat it out so fast. "Oh, no! No, no, no. Hardly. He's just an old friend from my college days, and uh- it's kind of a long story."

"Really? I mean, I just kind of assumed you guys were married -or at least, you know, together, in some way, the way you act toward each other-"

"No, we're just old friends, he's not my husband, I'm not his wife. We're not, um, together-"

But she went on, "Oh, and by the way, I didn't tell you this, but yesterday when he was calling to talk to you, he asked for the 'pretty one'."

That took me totally unawares. "He what?"

"I'm serious! That's what he said. He said your name, and then called you 'the pretty one.'"

"He did?" My voice seemed almost too soft there, even to me. Against my instincts, however, I still added, "Well, he's- you know, he's like that, he doesn't have much of a filter when it comes to those sorts of things. But I'll do what I can- and if he feels better in enough time, I will come up and work."

"It's whatever you can do, but I wouldn't stress about it," she replied.

"Thank you so much, Ms.- oh, dear, I'm so sorry, but what's your name again?"

"Brenda."

"Thanks so much, Brenda, have a great day!"

"You too, Jennifer."

Before I could correct her, Brenda the receptionist hung up the phone. But I didn't really mind the mistake; too loudly were those words replaying in my head.

And the silent rationalizing which followed as always, while still rushed, did not bear the same level of cynicism as before: He's not my husband, Brenda. The guy's got a boyfriend, for heaven's sake- and even if he didn't, there's still Mary to consider. She saw him first- after Rosemary, obviously, but Rosemary doesn't count- and Mary is much, much more deserving of him than anyone, and- oh, Freddie, why did you even say that, you silly goof, you don't even know what the other guys look like, why am I the 'pretty one'?

Absently I touched my face to find that my cheeks were burning.

That did it. I'd been foolish enough to miss my happy pill yesterday; going without for over twenty-four hours had weakened all my defenses; thoughts like the last were proof. I couldn't go on this way, growing more vulnerable, more emotional, especially not while alone in the house with Freddie for a whole day without even my son to serve as a buffer. I was starting to sound (and look) like a twitter-pated schoolgirl already. This couldn't continue; it would do no one any good, least of all me.

In the phone call prior, K had been good enough to remind me of Freddie's "meds". He had apparently been slacking off, and since Freddie had skipped them altogether last night, K wanted me to ensure he took both pills at most by eight o'clock this morning, "since it takes about twelve hours for the chemicals in the black pill to dilute to a safe level for the next dose."

It was odd, K still had given no hint what the black pill was meant to do. Not even when I asked, did he offer a single clue. But no matter; I trusted K far more than I trusted C. I didn't need to know K's motivation, for I believed in his intentions.

I checked my phone for the time, found it was half an hour until eight. I really hope I don't have to wake him up just to force a couple of pills down his throat, I told myself, but if I do, so be it. And I will take my happy pill with him, so he doesn't feel like he's being persecuted or something.

I just hoped and prayed Freddie would be at least somewhat good-natured about it. Hangovers were wretched things, I knew from experience. Cousin Roxie had to nurse me through a couple of them herself, the dear angel. Not lately, of course; the past couple of years I had had much better control of both drinking and smoking. Leave it to Freddie to drag my bad habits back to the forefront.

"Doesn't that figure," I said to Farnsworth, who clung to the side of his cage as if asking to be let out. "Stuart gets me out of trouble- and Freddie gets me into it. Ten years, it's been- and it's as though nothing's changed at all."

I opened the cage, setting my finger under his bright belly. "Tell me, Farnsie, why didn't I listen to Stu and leave him down there with the lab rats? None of this would be happening, life would have gone back to normal, but no. I couldn't let it go. Why couldn't I just let it go?"

Farnsie hopped on my finger, crawled up my sleeve, and perched himself comfortably on my shoulder. "Bird," he chirped.

"You're right, little guy," I sighed. "I am still certifiable. That's all there is to it."

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

At eight o'clock I looked over the tray I had assembled, then shook my head. We had tea, a buttered crumpet (in case he needed something on his stomach before swallowing the pills), a glass of orange juice, some water, some aspirin, and of course, his special meds. But our setup was still missing something.

One glance at the kitchen table offered the answer. I found a tiny vase in one of the cupboards, filled it with water, and placed the freshest-looking yellow flower into it.

I smiled. Perfect.

In vain I tried peeling Farnsie off of me, set him on the counter by the ready and waiting Bloody Mary ingredients, but he wouldn't let go. In the end, I gave up. So, with my little green conure still hiding in my hair, I lifted the tray and moved toward the shut bedroom door.

"Okey-dokey," I whispered to nobody. "Let's do this."

Very gently I knocked at the door. "Freddie? Can I come in?"

Silence.

"Are you awake?"

More silence.

I took a deep breath and swallowed hard. "Well, whether you are or you aren't now, you're about to be," I muttered.

With that, I entered the bedroom.

It was still rather dark, save for the open blinds of one window- Danny's doing, most likely. Freddie lay motionless under the covers, except for the rising and falling of his chest as he breathed peacefully. Farnsworth burbled in contentment from his hiding place in my hair.

"Good morning, my bonnie man-child," I whispered. Playfully I hissed to the bird, "Get him, Farnsie."

And just like that, the little birdbrain started sidestepping down my arm toward the bed. My eyes bugged. "Farnsie, no, I didn't mean it! Hold on!"

That bird, who up until this moment had avoided Freddie like the plague, fluttered down and landed on the duvet, walking as casually as anything toward his arm which was hiding his face at the moment. I struggled to catch him, but both my hands were full with the tray and there was no place nearby to lay it. As quickly as I could manage, I set the tray down on the vanity- but I still wasn't fast enough.

When I turned around, I watched as Farnsworth climbed up onto Freddie, his sharp talons gently digging into his skin. I nabbed the little feathered troublemaker, but not before Freddie stirred and rolled over onto his back with a soft, semi-irritated moan. Fortunately, he wasn't fully roused; perhaps he merely assumed it was one of the kitties back home. I set the bird down on the table across from the bed.

"All right, you blockhead, stay here," I told him. Farnsworth beeped once, very softly, but he stayed put. Now I could fully attend to Freddie. Very gingerly I sat down at his bedside.

How do I wake him without making him mad?

I leaned forward, so close that the faint, familiar scent of licorice wafted up into my nose and made it that much more difficult to concentrate. "Freddie?" I whispered. "Freddie, wake up for a minute, please."

The eyelids twitched a little, but he remained asleep.

"Come on, Freddie," I said, still speaking softly but raising the volume just a tad. "You can go right back to sleep after this, I just- it's important. Please wake up."

That coaxed a soft "mm" from his throat, but not much else.

Then, as something of a joke, I leaned very close in toward his ear, and murmured two words in a low, velvety, seductive voice:

"Sun City."

The response blew my expectations to dust.

He sprang almost fully upright and blurted, "F--- off, it was one bloody show-" But then Freddie's eyes half-opened and met mine. And I found it very hard not to burst out laughing. Defensive much, my friend?

"Good morning," I whispered.

He blinked slowly. "Oh."

Freddie might have said more, but just then his body seemed to remember how much alcohol (and whatever else) he had poured into it the night before. With a wince, he laid back down, holding his head like it throbbed unbearably.

"Easy now," I cooed. "You're okay, this isn't a press conference."

"Mmph," he hummed irritably. "I suppose you think you're very clever, don't you?"

I shrugged. "It worked, so...yes, I do, actually."

Freddie blinked again, but this time with a wry little smirk about his lips. "Good morning, you f---ing sadist." He said something else, but it was completely unintelligible thanks to his hands rubbing his face, muffling the sound.

"Careful; your nose," I reminded him. "What did you say?"

He huffed. "I said, I could have sworn I'd been sent back... that's what it was like... yesterday, I mean, for just a moment... thought I was back..."

"Back where?"

"Munich."

I smiled apologetically. "Well, I'm afraid you're still here with us for the time being. Sorry. We're still working on it."

Freddie looked me over, eyes still dopey, but didn't answer. I cleared my throat and continued, "I've only awakened you because K wants me to make sure you take these-"

"Good Lord, those things again?" he groaned.

"Always," I sighed. "I know. But look, you have to take them- why is beyond me, but you do." I stood, brought the tray to him. "Do you need to eat something first, before you take them?"

"I can stomach a couple of pills, dear," he murmured dryly.

So I placed them in his palm, watched him gulp them down without a single complaint. "There," he sighed. "Anything else I'm supposed to do?"

"Not that I know of. Would you like some tea- or aspirin?"

"In a bit, I'm- still a bit groggy," he yawned. "Am I allowed to sleep a little longer, or-?"

"Of course," I whispered. "Best medicine for a hangover is time. Sleep as long as you need."

"Oh, thank you very much," he hummed almost sarcastically. "Thank you so very, very much, darling, where would I be without you."

I folded my arms. "You know, you sure have an attitude for a guy who even can't sit up straight."

"Oh, my dear, I'm just getting started," he quipped back, stretching luxuriously. "Stick around, won't you, and I'll prove it."

"Nah, I've got my own pills to take." I rose from the bed. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go do just that- unless you need anything first."

He hesitated, then answered, his voice much less acerbic this time, "One thing, actually."

"What?"

The look in Freddie's eyes changed, I could see even in the half-light. How, I don't know- but there was a definite difference. He reached out his hand and crooked his finger. I leaned in close again, so my face was hovering just inches away from his.

"That's better," he sighed.

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You were too far away, I couldn't see you very well," he explained innocently.

I arched my brow, then chuckled. He was a silly man, and sleepiness made him even sillier. Unable to help myself, I pressed my lips against his cheek, and then his forehead, letting my fingers trail through his hair for a second. These were things I never would have attempted were he fully awake, and completely himself- but I felt safe enough to do them now.

Freddie was utterly silent as I drew back, his eyes open and trained on mine. The wry little smirk had vanished. He didn't say anything else, he simply stared at me, lips sealed.

Finally I broke the silence. "I'll be right here," I whispered. 'You need anything, holler. Okay?"

He didn't so much as nod- but still I assumed he understood. Very slowly I got back to my feet, hustled in and out of the bathroom with my happy pills in hand. I picked up the tray and Farnsworth, who was now nibbling ferociously on the untouched English muffin, when Freddie's voice stopped me one last time.

"Julia, tell me something," he murmured.

I turned toward him. "Sure."

A pause. Then, very quietly: "Why aren't you married?"

The question took me by surprise. "Did you- just ask me why I'm not married?"

"Mm," he replied. "There's got to be a good reason."

"What does this have to do with anything?"

"I dunno, you just- you always seemed like the sort of person who'd, you know, want to be. Married, I mean."

You're not wrong, my friend, I answered him inwardly- but aloud, I shrugged it off.

"I'm just not, I guess," I said simply, then with a self-deprecating giggle, I added, "Besides, who in their right mind would honestly have someone like me?"

I smiled, thinking that was the end of it. Balancing the tray on my thigh, I opened the door, started on out when Freddie, once more, made sure he had the last word.

And what a word.

I froze. A myriad of clever comebacks and downplaying remarks shot through my mind, but my tongue found none of them worthy of use. All I did in response was tremble.

It took me much longer than it should have to traipse all the way out and shut the door.

For at least the next half hour I immersed myself in catch-up chores and rationalized to myself that he was hungover, he was tired, he didn't know what he was saying, and other things to that effect. So involved was I in self-distraction that I once more neglected my happy pills, which sat unloved, and unseen, on the kitchen counter. Eventually I worked myself through the feelings, fought back the darkness, restored normality- but the one thing I couldn't disregard was the one thing, the one word, he said before I walked out:

"Me."