Freddie

I opened the door, stepped out a moment as I watched Danny race across the wet sidewalk. Even after he disappeared inside, I kept staring in the same direction, thoughts drifting off into space as the heavy double doors slowly came together again.  

Such a sweet boy, that Mr. Phantom, I said to myself.

True, he was also a nosy little imp who didn't know the first thing about keeping secrets- but a dear imp nonetheless, one that made this trip back to the city so much nicer than it would have been had I gone alone. He really seemed to have taken to me, and consistently at that. It was refreshing to know that he placed as much belief and trust in me as he did, especially since I could not depend on either one from his mother. That woman couldn't bring herself to trust anyone.

No, no, that's not fair, she trusts a lot of people- as long as they're not me, I told myself unhappily. She trusts Gertrude for one; trusts him enough to let him clip her wings, put her in a gilded cage, all for the sake of her child who doesn't even know, doesn't have the first idea what she's gone through- is going through- for him. I would never have clipped her wings, I would never have sought to trap her- I would never have made her live like this, if she'd only-

If she'd only believed in me just a little.

That old, dull ache in my chest, which I'd been feeling for much of the ride already, suddenly grew worse. For I knew that Julia had never really trusted in me, even at our closest point. Fuck, she trusted Danny's mysterious father more than she trusted me- a man who had fucking left her (I was assuming this, true, but from how she had reacted to my questions, it seemed the best explanation). She bore that lucky motherfucker's child, and he LEFT her! And yet not one word of criticism, not one hint of doubt, or anger, or anything.

Were this the day before, I perhaps may have allowed myself to laugh in private scorn at her situation, to crow things like "Karma's a bitch, isn't it, honey?" but now, I just didn't have the heart. The events of this afternoon were too new, the memory of her lips against mine and her body in my arms, too fresh- and the feelings, simmering deep down inside, much too real.

"Nice ride, man!" a bundled-up New Yorker whistled from a short distance away, catching me off guard.

A bit clumsily I turned toward him and nodded. "Thank you."

This turned out to be a stupid move. The man strolled nearer. "What is that, a Lambo?"

"Uh, I don't know," I muttered apprehensively. "Charles, what kind of car is this anyway?"

"Company," he quipped back.

"Darling, that's not what I meant."

Charles might have answered me a bit better, I couldn't really say, for I paid no attention.  The man had drawn quite close by now, still cooing at the beauty of my "ride."  "That's no Lamborghini, it's bigger, Lambos aren't four-door," he murmured.  "Can't even see the tires, it's so low.  That's wild."

I coughed.  "Really?  How splendid, I hadn't even noticed.  Bye bye."  I started to edge a little closer to the open seat.

Then the man looked at me- and his eyes grew wide with astonishment.  "Wait a second, you're that guy!  The guy from the radio!"

I blinked.  "Hm?"

"The guy yesterday- Rick!  Isn't that your name?  The guy who looks like that guy!"

"That's me, dear," I droned, trying not to laugh, "I am the guy."

"You know what I'm talking about, though, right?  You must get it all the time.  Dang it, what's his name- sang for Queen-"

"Who's he?  Oh!  Him.  Yes.  I believe his name was Freddie."

"Yeah, yeah!  Freddie Mercury, that's right, I always get him mixed up with that other guy.  There was a movie about them a few years ago."

I balked at that.  "There was?"

"But anyway, I actually heard you on the air yesterday!" he kept gushing.  "My wife just about lost her mind, she got so excited- wouldn't stop talking about you- could I have your autograph?"

I took another step back, confused.  "My autograph?" 

Already he was reaching frantically into his pockets, looking for a pen and a scrap of paper.  "As proof I met you!  My phone's dead, can't take a selfie."

"What's a selfie again?"

"God, you sound even more like him in person!  You even have the te- uh, the accent, I mean!" 

The man handed me a worn-out little notepad and a blue pen with teeth marks at the top.  Quietly I rolled my eyes, decided to humor him so he would go away.  "What's the name?"

"Molly.  That's my wife's name.  She's a huge Queen fan."

"Right, then."  Absently, I scribbled my autograph down, just for a moment feeling like I was back home, being accosted by fans on the street.  I'd done this often enough in my time, just never under the guise of a regular bloke the way I was doing now. 

An ironic turn of events, I mused to myself, a small bit of pride warming my cheeks against the brisk wind.  And after all that fuss about me laying low.  Ah, well.  Seems I've no choice but to make a mark.  It's the only way for me- not a bad way at all, I tell you.

"There you are, dear."  I handed him my autograph.  The man grinned, looked at it, then frowned.

"Why'd you sign it like that?" he asked quietly.

I huffed, growing a bit impatient.  I didn't have time for this.  "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing, just..." he trailed off, showing me the pad again.  I peered in at what I had written- and what I saw turned my insides.

To Molly,
Best wishes xoxo
Freddie Mercury

Oh, fuck.

"Uh, that's just a joke," I stammered hastily, "just a little silly thing, because, I, uh, I look like him, ha ha, I'm kidding, that's it."

"Uh-huh," he nodded- but his eyes only grew bigger.  It was clear he wasn't buying it.  Now was my cue to get out, and fast- but then someone else approached me from the other side, this woman holding her phone up in front of her face like a compact mirror.

"Hey, aren't you that Rick?" she asked me.  "The Freddie lookalike guy?"

"Dear, I really must be going, I'm late-"

"Can I take a selfie with you first?"

"What?"

"Is that okay?"

"Uh..."  Before I could answer, suddenly she put her arm around my shoulders and held the device high over our heads, and tapped the screen.

"Awesome," she crooned.  "You look just like him, you know."

"I know," I muttered wearily.

"Look at what he wrote!" The same bloody parka-man shoved the autograph under her nose- and her face went pale. 

"Freddie... Mercury..." she read aloud.  Her eyes drifted up to me again.  "Oh, my God..."

"And here I was, thinking all those people on Facebook were nuts."  The man took a deep breath.  "Man, what are you doing here?  What took you so long?"

I blinked nervously.  "I don't understand you, dear."

"It's true," he murmured in awe.  "Welcome back, Freddie."

Which set me to protest, "I was only kidding!  That's not me!  Freddie Mercury's dead or- or something, right?  I can't be Freddie.  I'm Rick!"

"How come you have the exact same face then?" she demanded.  "Same teeth, same eyes?  Same voice?"

"I- I dunno."  I hadn't expected this to happen, certainly not now.  I was completely out of my element, and clever answers were failing me miserably.  "Call it a freak happening, I suppose, just chance-"

"Do you sing like him too?" the man asked hopefully.

"No, no, I- I can't sing a note, I'm also very late, good bye-"

She obviously had stopped listening, however.  "Oh, come on, won't you show us?  Won't you sing, Freddie- or Rick?  Whoever you are?"

"I'm Rick, for fuck's sake!"

"Then why'd you write Freddie?"

"I was just kidding, now fuck off!"

"Sing for us!"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"  I exploded. 

But that only made things worse.  We were causing such a commotion that even more people were coming closer- and half of them had their phones held up, like they were videotaping me or taking pictures or something, the other half demanding that I either sign something for them, like a CD case or their shirt or one of their tits (at least that's what I heard), or sing them a few lines of "Another One Bites the Dust" or "Somebody to Love" and thereby prove my fucking identity.   Nearer and nearer they drew.  And more and more, I felt so completely helpless, wishing for a mad split second that I could will myself away from this sidewalk and back to Julia's house to hide.

It was at that moment, someone grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the crowd.  Turning my head wildly, I saw it was my dear Charles, hustling me toward the yellow car, shielding me as I clambered inside and shut the door, locking it.  In a trice, he popped the driver door open and floored the gas pedal- or electricity pedal, or whatever the fucking machine ran on.  Still shaking, I started fumbling around my pockets for a cigarette. 

Charles adjusted the rear view mirror so he could see me.  "You all right back there?"

"Mm," I nodded, taking a long, much-needed drag.  "My God, that was close."  I looked up at his hidden eyes.  "Thank you."

He nodded.  "Still feel up for the radio station thing?"

"Not really," I replied, "but I'm here, might as well."

"You sure?"

"As long as they don't swamp me like that lot did, yeah," I mumbled.  All I knew about this "meeting", was, Wes's boss had arranged for some kind of "interview" (that was my understanding, that is) between me and some other "music men", as he put it- people who I would assume were just more members of the press.  Usually I hated interviews; in fact, why I had agreed to go along with one even this time was beyond me.  Perhaps it was an excuse to get out of the house.  That was probably the sole reason, to be honest. I hate being cooped up all day in one place even more than I hate interviews.  Every occasion I spent too much continuous time in the studio, for example, I would begin to see double.  I have to move.

"What was that all about anyway?"

I coughed.  "Because of that little stunt I pulled yesterday, they, um- they all think I'm Freddie Mercury."

Charles looked back at me.  His face, as always, was unreadable.  "Are you?"

He asked me that so plainly, I felt almost compelled to answer in just as frank and honest a manner.  But I checked myself just the same; it made no sense to completely nullify the last two minutes of swearing on everything but my mum that my name was Rick and not Freddie Mercury.

So I decided to be flip with the answer- and yet, not lie to him at all.  "Of course I am, dear.  I'm an eighty-one year old rock star- one that's apparently dead as well."

"No, you're not," he said vaguely.

I hesitated, unsure whether he believed me, or was simply going along with whatever I said.  I waited for him to go on, explain himself, but he never did.  Charles simply turned back to face the road, kept driving.

Hopefully the fellows at the meeting will be more like Charles, instead of like those people back there, I told myself, shuddering.  Don't get me wrong, I relished being treated like a star, I am certain I don't have to tell all you people about that.  But in this world, aside of Charles and Julia, I really had no protection.  The armed bodyguards, the security, the tight-knit circle of friends and dear ones- all those still awaited me forty-two years ago.

So why was it that in that moment of weakness, I thought of what I had now, instead of then?

Why did I think of her?

Of course, I knew why.  I knew it well.  But to allow such things to stay unspoken and bottled up in my head gave them time to develop and intensify.  I needed to silently pour them out, empty my brain out onto white lined paper, free myself before I could let them ensnare me without hope of a neat, easy escape.  So, I felt around for the notebook to sort of purge yet again.  Certainly after a day like today, I could not afford to let myself be trapped by my own feelings- not if I was supposed to go back tomorrow.

My brows furrowed.  The notebook was nowhere in sight.  Leaning forward, I peered into the front seat, where Danny had been sitting at first, but I saw nothing-

And then I realized. 

Oh, shit.  He's got it.

"Charles, turn around," I commanded.

Charles looked up.  "Why?  You up for Round Two?"

"No, it's - that- That boy ran off with my fucking notes!  I, uh- I need them for the meeting!"

"You'll be late."

"I don't fucking care, let them wait!  Turn around!"

With a passive shrug, Charles obeyed.  "Round Two it is, then."

Flashbacks of being surrounded by the mob danced in my head.  "Hang on!  No.  Fine.  Fuck it.  Let's go- wait.  I don't know."  I rubbed my eyes.

Charles pulled over on the side of the road, cars rolling past us as we idled.  "Okay.  Let me know when you've made up your mind."  With that, he turned the volume back up on the music.

So for the next five seconds, I weighed my choices, considered the consequences- and with a sigh, I did just that.

Sal here.  This chapter is pretty short compared to the ones before it, but I know you guys think I take forever, so I'm trying to break the habit of slowpoke-ness.  This was a decent stopping point anyway; there really aren't enough cliffhangers in the world. ;)