Freddie

Julia glanced up from the dishes and remarked, "Freddie, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were hungry."

I shut the fridge door. "What gave it away?"

"I don't know, might be the fact that you keep on staring into the refrigerator, walking into the pantry, that sort of thing."

"Rum cake only goes so far, darling," I replied. "Just a bit peckish is all, nothing big."

"We have food in the house, stuff to make a sandwich at least, knock yourself out." She waved her yellow gloved hand in the air as she spoke. Clearly she was not catching my drift.

So I shrugged my shoulders, sliding up beside her again. "I suppose I could... but..."

She swept her hair out of her face with her arm, looked at me. "But what?"

I drummed my fingers against the counter, glanced at random about the kitchen, humming innocently to myself. And then she realized.

"Ohhh," she nodded. "You want me to make you a sandwich, is that it?"

"Well, if you're offering..." I trailed off.

I could feel my lips curve in that little smirk she once told me I always wear. Her brow arched playfully- and my heart leapt with excitement. That was the sign, I knew exactly where this was heading. This was the very thing I was shooting for.

Here we go.

"Gimme a minute, okay?" Julia said, her voice dry.

"I need it now."

"Then you do it," she popped back. "That way, it'll be done perfectly."

"Darling, you know I can't be trusted to so much as operate a toaster."

"Don't give me that, Mr. Studio Wizard. Any monkey can use a toaster, now go make your own damn sandwich."

"Or what?"

"Or- I tell Modo to give Vanilla Ice an encore performance!"

(As an aside: may I simply say, regarding that droll little attempt at a tune- although I admittedly took great pleasure in watching Julia rattle off every single horribly stupid line by heart while swinging her hips naughtily to the beat- the man should be in jail. I'm not kidding. He ought to be locked up and never seen again, but according to her, apparently a little while back he was on some reality show, whatever that's supposed to be, and he is still very much a free man, and to me that only proves how sort of broken the justice system is, that someone can so blatantly plagiarize another group's work and have the stolen material become even more popular and thereby sort of graft the two artists -although I really don't believe Mr. Ice is at all deserving of such a title in the first place- together, inseparable, forever connected. It makes me so fucking sick. But anyway, I just wanted to get that off my chest. I'm through bitching now. Carry on.)

I rubbed my hands together, saying slyly, "Ooo, yes, do."

"What?" Julia was confused. "Why?"

"Because if you turn that fucking tripe on but once more, then I shall have to make you a sandwich- with the wall."

She put her gloved hands on her hips. "Is that a threat, Freddie?"

I lifted my chin. "It's a promise. Oh, speaking of which, when is that lap dance going to happen, dear?"

She ignored the question. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"You're the one who said you preferred to work in the kitchen."

"I am in the kitchen!"

"Yes, but the dishes can wait. I can't."

"Good Lord, you're impossible," she sighed, but through a wide smile. "Then, won't you kindly rinse the rest of these, please, so I can feed you?"

"Done," I agreed. "There! Was that so hard?"

Julia moved away from the sink, shaking her head. "Ah, Freddie, you are so endearingly sexist."

"Sexist? Me?"

"You. Most sexist man I've ever met."

"Oh. Oh! Now I understand. You meant, sexiest."

She spluttered, much to my delight, "No, I mean sexi-"

"Sexier even than your dear Samantha?" I cut in. "Well, that is a compliment- and I tell you, I don't take it lightly."

It really had been a nice afternoon. The day's beginning aside, Julia and I had been getting on quite well. I told her all about my time at the station, she told me about the new artists that Benji and the multitudes listening in had suggested (per my request, as I at some point that day asked the audience to give me names of newer musicians that were actually worth the listen), and I took down a few notes where it mattered.

"Samantha," she repeated while breaking out the sliced bread (which I decided I would let slide for today). "I guess you've found a keeper in that one."

"Oh, I'm still shopping round, don't you worry. So many names, so little time." I paused. "Do you think Sarah would suit him?"

"No, Freddie, leave that name alone. I like Sarah."

I turned off the water (there hadn't been much to finish), came closer. "Oh, you do?"

"It's a pretty name, okay? Don't make it a drag name of his, call him Gertrude for all I care- and I do care, but I know you're not going to stop- just- I draw the line at Sarah."

"Actually, I like Gertrude," I mused. "Has a certain German-ness about it, a bit stodgy, a bit dull- like a Bavarian putzfrau. Why, yes- my God, it's perfect." I clapped my hands. "Gertrude it is!"

"Glad you like it," she murmured, concentrating on the spread.

I hurried toward her then, slipped my arms around her waist, and kissed her cheek. "Wonderful idea, darling. Thank you."

Rolling her eyes, she lifted her head, about to say "you're welcome" (either that or something tart, I couldn't quite say), when "Break on Through" by the Doors ended, and a different song began to play- and her face lit up. I didn't wonder long who was the artist, she announced it as soon as the first bar played.

"BOB!" she cried in ecstasy- and this time, I rolled my eyes. Aside of Bob Dylan, there was only one other person Julia would call Bob and be so fucking happy about it.

"Palmer?" I asked in a bored voice.

She tossed her head. "Aw, yeah."

"Speak of the devil," I sighed.

Frowning, she stopped slicing the tomato and looked back at me. "What? How?"

I scoffed. "Don't you see it?"

"See what?"

"They look just alike."

"Who do?"

"Robert Palmer and Gertrude."

Julia's brows furrowed while she thought it over. "Not really, Stuart looks a lot more like that guy- an actor, he was in Mystery Men, he played Captain Amazing-"

"Maybe- but I think he looks like our dear Mr. Palmer- provided that, of course, like Mr. Palmer, he actually was anything worth looking at in the first place- which he isn't."

"Whatever, dude," she sighed, then went right into singing along with her "sexy Englishman"- then she did a double take. "Hey, wait a minute! Stuart's very good-looking!"

It took her so long to realize I'd insulted him that I burst out laughing.

"Freddie, come on!" she protested, which only made me laugh harder. "Good Lord, you're- look, I know you guys aren't exactly boon companions, but- Freddie, you almost sound jealous!"

Oh, I am, dear, I am, I said to myself- for at this point it was ridiculous to deny it any longer, at least in my own head- but aloud I assured her, "The only thing he has that I could ever possibly want is you."

And only after I said it did I realize how obvious that sounded.

My eyes widened, wishing I could put the words back in my mouth. She didn't say anything a moment, just stood there- but unlike any time before when my tongue got ahead of my brain, I didn't rush to correct myself. I let it sink in to both our heads, untouched.

And then, Julia smiled, saying softly, "That's- very nice of you to say."

"Not really, I'm just being honest," I quipped. "Better communication and all that, remember?"

"Oh, yes, absolutely," she nodded, lips pursing a little- then turned her attention back to the sandwich. I kept looking at her, watching her face muscles move as she absently worked her mouth. Julia had such a sweet mouth, even when it wasn't coated with gloss or lipstick; those well-formed lips were just as lovely and sumptuous bare, as they were dressed.

I know Stuart would agree, I heard myself think.

With a sharp twinge in my stomach, I tried to squash that terrible thought once and for all. But as the Robert Palmer song kept playing, the horrid news of yesterday crept back into my mind- thoughts of the two of them, that cad and my kitten (yes, I'd once more taken to thinking of her as my kitten, what of it? I did it before, and after all, old habits die hard) in the back seat of a Mercedes-Benz; thoughts of his head thrown back and rolling fitfully back and forth against the rest; thoughts of his hand holding her long brown hair out of her face; thoughts of her big eyes shut, those sweet pink lips wrapped round the tip, her tongue swirling, sliding, smothering, while he cried out in that brassy voice for more, more, oh, baby, that's the way, yes-

"Modo, skip," I gasped.

"Hey!" she exclaimed. "I like that song."

"Oh, you did? Sorry, I couldn't- didn't know," I stammered. I had made a promise to never speak to that dreadful robot-ball, but I just couldn't take it. My imagination was running wild, and the sound of Stuart's twin only fanned the flames.

In a trice, what I suppose was called something like "Might as Well Face It, You're Addicted to Love" (the nice thing about Robert Palmer is there is never any question what the fucking song is called, he says it over and over again and leaves no doubt) cut short.

Luckily, she forgot to stay annoyed as soon as the next song began.

"Ohh, don't skip this one, Freddie," she cooed, eyes turning hazy. "I used to sing this to Danny when he was little."

That caught my attention. Curiosity replaced horror as I listened a little closer. It turned out to be another David Bowie track - "Kooks," to be exact.

I remember when that album Hunky Dory first was released. We as Queen had all been together (and that's including John, mind you) for close to a year, working like dogs to get some record company interested in taking us on. We had come a long way since then, to be sure; we all of us had a great deal to be proud of. But I wasn't looking back at those days at the moment, wasn't even really thinking about Queen. I was too hung up on what Julia had just said.

"You sang this for him?" I asked.

"Oh, sure," she sighed wistfully. "I sang to him all the time when he was a baby. This was one of my favorites."

I coughed. "I think Bowie wrote this for his, um- his little boy, didn't he?"

"That's true, he did. So, I guess it all just fit together- and it's such a sweet little song too."

"Mm," I nodded. "What else would you sing him?" Odd, that it mattered, wasn't it; odd, that I cared to know something so immaterial as what Julia used to sing to her son.

She shrugged. "All sorts of stuff. Bowie obviously, and Beatles, Michael Jackson- the occasional Bruno Mars song-"

"Who? Oh, right, right, I heard about him yesterday. Who else?"

"Prince- maybe too much Prince," she laughed, laying the top slice of bread atop the rest of the sandwich- and then she snapped her fingers. "And there was this one song, also, called 'Short People,' it's a Randy Newman song- and we had almost a whole dance worked up to that."

I had to smile. "A dance?"

Julia giggled. "It was just a little dumb dance we would do, but Danny thought it was the funniest thing ever. See, it would sort of coincide with the lyrics, because they talk about parts of the body and when Danny was small and he was learning all those basic things, it actually really helped. The song would go, 'They got little hands,' and he and I would grab each other's hands- 'little eyes,' and we'd point at each other's eyes- once he got a little too carried away and poked me right in the eye, but that only happened once- but usually, no one would get hurt, and we'd just sort of play it out, till the end when I'd snatch him up and tickle him, and I think that was the best part for him, because he'd just laugh and laugh- he had the most contagious little bubbly laugh back then..."

She trailed off, and looked at me. I hadn't said anything, and I don't believe I was making any peculiar faces, but all of a sudden she must have decided (and erroneously, I might add) that I was bored now, because she concluded, rather nervously, "Anyway, it was just a little kid's dance, you know- it wasn't Liza Minnelli or anything. Nothing you'd- just silly stuff."

"What a shame," I murmured.

"Why?"

"No, I just- I would have loved to have been there to see that." There it was again, that dull ache in my chest.

"It was fun," she agreed softly. "They were sweet moments during a very -strange time in our lives."

"How do you mean?"

But Julia dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. "Nothing. It's a long story."

I didn't feel like pushing- not on this, anyway. For it again had occurred to me. "So- you showed him all this music and all these wonderful things..."

"Of course- it beats what's out there now."

"Naturally," I drummed my fingertips against the counter. "No Queen, though, right?"

She blinked. "Actually, Freddie-"

"I mean, it's really no skin off my nose, but- did you really not tell him anything about- you know, making that trip, being in another year- another world, almost?"

In other words, being with me? I added silently.

Julia just looked at me. "It works both ways, Freddie. Did you talk about me to anyone after I was gone?"

I cleared my throat. "That's different."

"How?"

I didn't explain. "I mean, you didn't even show him our music, we might as well have never existed as far as Danny's concerned-"

"Freddie, just because Danny doesn't remember hearing Queen doesn't mean he never heard Queen," she cut in. "As it so happens, from even before he was born to about the age of four, we showed him so much of your music that was almost all he heard back then."

"We?" I repeated. "You mean, you and his father?"

A pause, then, she nodded slowly, eyes on the floor. "Mm-hm. You see- Danny's father was- pretty big into Queen himself."

Her tone seemed strained; this was dangerous territory I was trespassing, I knew, a place I had no right to venture, but still I asked, "Did he sing to Danny, too?"

Julia looked up. Her eyes weren't misty, and her cheeks weren't flushed; but she waited a long minute before she finally answered.

"Oh, yes," she smiled. "All the time."

Outside, the thunder rolled, but we scarcely noticed. The air seemed to thicken, as was becoming a sort of habit during our conversations- but thankfully, Julia snapped out of it before the tension could become stifling.

"Well, bon appetit," she sighed cheerfully, sliding the plate my way. "It's about three now, and the cake is cooling, the kids should be back pretty soon." She patted her face, looked at her casual jumper and still very windblown hair. "I'd better get out of these crappy clothes. You poor man, having to look at me like this all day."

"Oh, don't even start," I groaned. "I'm not exactly presentable myself, does that make you, um-"

"Freddie, you're a beautiful man no matter what you do; me, I'm lucky Stuart thinks I'm acceptable- and that's only with at least a layer or two of makeup."

As any time before, I felt bolts of anger surge through me at the sound of his name- but I forced myself to be calm as I asked, through gritted teeth, "Did he- say that to you?"

"No! Of course not, I've just always taken great care never to let him see what I look like without mascara and lipstick. I don't want to take any chances." She winked- but I was far from amused myself.

"But that's ridiculous, I've seen you like that- in fact, I've seen you in even less than that- and you-"

"Yes, well," she interrupted me hastily, "that was a long time ago, I'm gonna get dressed, now eat your sandwich, I worked too hard on it for it to be ignored now."

And with that, she disappeared into the bedroom, leaving me to my thoughts. And I had plenty.

I hate Stuart, I seethed, I fucking hate him. He's dirt. He's dirt under her feet and yet she does what she does, but why? She could do so much better, she deserves so much better, why him? She used to have standards! She used to care about these things! Why does she give him the time of day?

I took small bites, chewing slowly. Perhaps she had never slept with Stuart (although she indulged him in other areas), but Julia had obviously been with other men; hence, Mr. Phantom. And why wouldn't she? Julia was the sort of woman any man would want. I remembered how flabbergasted I'd been eight years before, upon learning that prior to me, there had been no official romantic relationships in her life. Clearly that had changed- which was only natural. It really was. After all, I too moved to bigger, better things; neither of us wallowed in the past, we shook off the memories and carried on. It's what you do.

So I didn't understand how I could feel this way- certainly not when by comparison I had been serially promiscuous in the years following our two weeks together.

Two weeks. From the first of July to the fourteenth, in the year 1977. That's all. No more, no less. So why did the thought of her being with other men curdle my blood so? Wasn't that a bit hypocritical? Hadn't I kept partner upon partner, searching everywhere and everyone for love? True love? Did such a thing even exist? Even now, with Jim, I still felt something lacking. Perhaps it was just me; I simply couldn't be satisfied.

Except I was, once. Wasn't I?

All the same, I still burned to find out about this other man- not Stuart, but the other man, the man she gave Danny. It was quite clear now he hadn't been some random "one-night stand," as I had begun to suspect; not if he was in Danny's life long enough to sing to him, even if only as a baby. So many questions whirled in my head. I knew I wouldn't remember the answers- but while I could still ask these questions, I wanted to ask them. Now.

Setting down the half-eaten sandwich, I pushed the ajar bedroom door all the way open. It had been long enough, surely she was dressed by this point.

No sooner had I walked in than Julia emerged from the bathroom- and her eyes bugged. Needless to say, she was not fully clothed yet.

"Knocking's good!" she cried. Her hands flew- not to cover her breasts (she was wearing a black bra anyway, so it really wouldn't have mattered) but to hide something hanging on the end of a chain round her neck. She yanked it off and clenched it in her fist before I could get a good look, dashing it into the nightstand drawer.

But I couldn't have cared less what she did with the necklace. I was far too occupied with the rest of her to care, from the slim waist to the bare arms to the tight black leggings that accentuated her every curve.

Surprisingly, Julia didn't dart out of sight straight away. In fact, after she took off the chain, she didn't move at all, and just stared right back at me while I took her all in.

It was she who broke the silence. "What's wrong?"

My eyes roved up and down her figure. "Absolutely nothing," I whispered.

She pushed her wild hair back out of her face- a gesture that did not in any way, shape, or form help me. "Oh come on, Freddie. You've seen me in less than this."

"Not in eight years, I haven't," I murmured.

Julia blinked, and pursed her lips. As the seconds passed I found myself much less interested in the questions- and far more in getting a better look.

"Well, it's me," she sighed, visibly trying to play it cool, "and I'll be dressed in a minute, so if you wouldn't mind-"

"Mind what?" I murmured. "Mind coming closer? Certainly."

"Not quite," she laughed- words I chose not to hear. I stuffed my hands in my jean pockets and strode casually her way. The closer I drew, the more her smile faltered. All of a sudden she decided to be self-conscious about her half-naked state and crossed her arms tightly in front of her chest.

"That's close enough," she quipped- as much as anyone I suppose can quip whose voice is shivering.

I shook my head. "No."

"Yes, it is-"

"I'll stop when I'm ready, dear, but thank you." Despite how I was feeling, I was putting true effort into keeping my voice light, giving Julia plenty of room to explain my behavior away. I remembered, I knew how her head worked. Perhaps I knew her even better than she knew me- and she knew everything about me, which was why she should have known that I was only half-pretending. If even that.

Finally I stopped, standing about two feet apart from her. "That's better," I murmured, "except now I feel terribly overdressed."

"Was there something you wanted, Freddie?" she asked as loudly and clearly as she could without shouting.

"You mean, besides you?" I crooned, leaning forward.

Julia took a step backward, forcing a laugh. "Right. Besides me."

"I just- had a few questions to ask you," I drawled.

She coughed. "Can they wait till after I'm dressed?"

"I suppose they could," I shrugged, "unless you want me to meet you halfway." I began to take off my own shirt.

Julia grabbed my arms, tried to walk me back toward the exit. "NOT necessary, but thank you."

"Oh, I think it is-"

"Oh, but I don't. Please cease and desist for the moment, won't you- and let me put my clothes on in peace?"

"I'm sure you'd let Gertrude watch," I grumbled childishly as she pushed me all the way out.

"I actually wouldn't, he gets plenty as it is," she sighed. "And at such a conveniently low price, too."

That last struck an odd chord. "What's that mean?"

"Use your imagination. Now, two seconds..."

Click.

I stood there at the door, waiting for her to come back out, those last words about a "conveniently low price" still ringing in my head. For the first time, it occurred to me, there may have been more going on here than just a simple case of attraction- if that even was what was going on at all. God, so many things I wanted to know- so many things I would soon forget, but it meant something to me nonetheless. What was the girl hiding? Or rather- what wasn't she hiding?

"What questions?" Julia called through the door.

"Hurry up and come out," I replied. "You'll see."

"Only if I get to ask you things too."

"What for?"

"Because that's fair. No one way streets allowed."

"Oh, very well. Just come out- and quick, before I cut into this other cake."

A gasp. "You wouldn't!"

I snickered. "You wanna bet?"

Funny, how quickly she dressed after I said that.