Julia

"Right, that does it," Freddie declared, throwing down his napkin.

I stopped cutting my last spear of asparagus and looked up. "What?"

"We can't be friends anymore," he said bluntly. 

I was terribly confused until a second or two later, when I realized what he meant.  "Seriously?"

"I'm sorry, darling, but that's one difference I just can't overlook."

"You've got to be kidding me," I scoffed.  That's where you draw the line?"

He nodded, faintly smirking.  "A man's got to have some sort of standards, after all.  And those are mine."

As tormented as today was for us both, it had turned out to be a really beautiful evening.  The food was excellent, the conversation warm (if also just a tad superficial), and the jazz band, delightful.  Even better, we saw a light dust of snow begin falling outside the window, adding just a little more enchantment to what had already gone down in my book as the best date ever.

All throughout the last hour, Freddie and I had made valiant efforts to keep the mood bright and cheerful, even as the reality of his imminent departure lurked relentlessly in the back of our minds. Despite all the simmering truths that needed to be told more than ever and unresolved situations that cried out for closure, neither of us wanted to part on negative terms. And as a result, from the time we shared our first champagne toast, we steered intentionally clear of talks of Stuart, Danny's father, Charles's actual identity, my broken promise, and anything else that had the potential to escalate into another emotional war of words just hours before we said our final goodbyes.

Counterproductive? Yes. A waste of this precious second chance? Definitely.

Then again, after all, Freddie wouldn't remember these conversations, no matter how open and soul-searching. There were so many things I wanted to get off my chest, so much I wanted to tell him- but the only one who would recall any of it was me, which sort of defeated the purpose. What was more, he himself hadn't wanted to go over them either, otherwise he would have spoken up. And I honestly understood to an extent. This was after all our first date, as unbelievable as that sounds- and first dates must go over smoothly if nothing else.

Regardless, I was grateful for the night no matter where we were, or what we were talking about, so long as we were together- even if in this moment we were reduced to arguing over something as trivial as whether John Lennon or Paul McCartney was the better Beatle.

"It's not that I don't like him, Freddie," I explained, "I just happen to hold Paul in somewhat higher esteem than I do John."

"By a little, or a lot?" he asked.

I bit my lip. "Kind of a lot, actually."

"My God," he sighed.

"What?" 

"I'm just so disappointed in you, darling."

I folded my arms and sat back.  "Well, the feeling is mutual.  The absolute lack of respect you're showing for Paul right now-"

"No, no!" Freddie cut in, waving his hands. "Don't misunderstand me, Paul's wonderful- but John Lennon was an absolute genius."

"That's fine, I'm not going to argue with you there," I conceded, knowing that if I did, I ran the risk of flat-out insulting one of his heroes and escalating this playful debate into something much more damaging.  "And they made a great team, granted, but- for me, I look at it in terms of the way their solo ventures developed."

"Well, I mean, it's, um- They just took totally different directions, I think.  John just became much more political while Paul focused more on the music.  So really, that's not a sort of valid way to compare the two."

"Yes it is!  I mean- I'll give you 'Instant Karma,' and 'Imagine,' and the one that goes 'I just had to let it go'-"

"'Watching the Wheels'?" 

"Yeah, that.  Those three, and the thing he did with Elton John- but outside of that, I'll take Paul and Wings any day.  Anything from Speed of Sound, Band on the Run-"

"Look, I'll admit, on the music side of things, and the production, yes, Paul's marvelous at that, but I mean- John beats him hands down as far as lyrics are concerned, and uh- really I think it says a lot how, how he could write a simple, something like- well, there you are, 'Imagine'- he could write something as toned-down, and um, as basic as that- and still manage to change the world."

I shrugged.  "Well, I don't know about 'changing the world,' exactly, but I do get what you're saying.  Paul's still better to me, though- if only on the grounds of his style."

Freddie tilted his head back and to the side.  "You just don't like him because you don't like Yoko."

"As if that's not enough reason!" I exclaimed- which made him double over laughing into his hand.  "What? What's so funny?"

He shook his head, still chortling.  "Oh, Julia, darling, you are so predictable."

"Yeah, well, just because I'm predictable, doesn't make you right."  I lifted my empty champagne glass and pretended to toast my own wisdom- which apparently must be some secret restaurant cue, because two seconds later the swift Corey appeared before us.

"More champagne, ma'am?" he offered, taking the nearly-emptied Perignon bottle out of the ice.

"Maybe just a drop," I smiled as I held up my glass, and he poured.  "Don't go away yet, though, we need you."

Corey blinked.  "For what?"

I cleared my throat, spoke in a very businesslike tone.  "It seems we are having a bit of a dispute over who-"

Freddie groaned facetiously, "Oh, dear God-"

"Over who's better, John or Paul," I talked over him.  "What do you think?"

"John or Paul?" The young man repeated.  "You mean, the Beatles?"

"No, Corey, the discip- OOF!" Freddie interrupted his own sarcasm and leaned down to rub his leg, which I had just kicked.

 Ignoring Freddie's annoyed glare, I confirmed, "Yes, the Beatles." 

Corey's eyes suddenly lit up.  "That's easy," he replied in perhaps the most relaxed tone we'd heard him use since we sat down.  "George."

That took me by surprise.  "George Harrison?  The best?"

"To me, yeah.  He's one of my very favorite classic rock guitarists.  Way up there with Eric Clapton, Santana- and Jimi Hendrix."

"Really?"  Freddie straightened up a little- and I couldn't help smiling. For Corey had just uttered the magic words- "Jimi Hendrix"- and it didn't hurt one bit that he rather resembled a polished, more well-groomed version of the psychedelic rocker himself.Now that Freddie knew this about him, his entire demeanor toward Corey seemed to shift. I won't say Freddie had been rude to the young man exactly, but there had existed a definite aloofness whenever he addressed him. But not anymore.

"Do you play guitar yourself?" Freddie asked.

"Yeah, ever since I was eight.  I'm actually in a sort of band myself, I play rhythm and lead."

He coughed.  "You any good?"

"Uh-huh- I mean, yes, sir.  So I'm told anyway."

"What sort of music?  Rock and roll, or-"

"A little of everything, but- yeah, classic rock, seventies and eighties type stuff, definitely my favorite era.  I was raised on that stuff."

Freddie looked him over, the sparks in his eyes revealing how fast the wheels in his head were turning.  "Hm.  I'll keep that in mind."

I cocked my head, confused.  "Keep what in mind?"

Freddie didn't have the chance to answer- or else simply chose not to, one of those.  Either way, Corey reached down a second later and took away our dishes.  As might be expected, Freddie had only half-finished his meal, while I had practically cleaned my plate.  Once the table was cleared, he offered us a look at the dessert tray.  As scrumptious as a dessert sounded, we had baked goodies coming out our ears back home. 

Before I could shake my head, however, Freddie spoke up.  "Sure, let's see it.  Thanks."

"You got it, sir-"

"Rick, please."

"Okay, sorry.  Rick.  Be right back."

I still hadn't stopped grinning when Corey trotted out of earshot, so that when Freddie turned around to face me, he asked, "What?"

"Looks to me like you just made a new friend," I teased.

He shrugged with a little grunt.  "He's certainly nicer than you are, I can say that much."

"What do you mean?" I frowned, a bit taken aback.

Freddie shot me a sidelong glance.  "He doesn't seem like the kind to kick."

I hung my head a little.  "Freddie, I'm sorry, I was only trying to stop you from being so sarcastic to Cor-"

"So you kicked me?"

"And it was not a kick at all anyway, it was more like a nudge- a gentle nudge-"

"Darling, I know what a f---ing kick feels like," he interrupted.  "That was a kick."

"Did I hurt you?"

"Not really," Freddie murmured with a funny little light in his eyes.  "No more than usual anyway."

The remark's full meaning passed me by completely; at least, that's how I wanted it to seem.  "Oh, good.  Am I forgiven?"

"I suppose," he sighed. "You're very lucky I'm such a good sport."

I smiled and nodded, while to myself I agreed, Yes, I know, just like you're very lucky I'd much rather us end our time together on a pleasant note- which is why I haven't said anything to you about the Modos you smashed up just for funsies.

It was here that Corey reappeared with a rolling cart heavy laden with a truly mouth-watering spread of desserts that ranged from key lime pie to strawberry shortcake.  By the time he had finished describing each of the sinfully sweet temptations, my jaw hung slack and my eyes popped so wide that Freddie laughed.

"Might I also add, your dessert's on the house," Corey winked in conclusion. 

"Well, go on, pick something," Freddie urged.  "Anything you like."

We have rum cake on the counter, gingerbread men in the pantry- and I don't even know how much chocolate, I reminded myself- and shook my head.  "I don't think so, thank you."

Freddie was stunned.  "Nothing?"

"I'm good.  There's sugary stuff galore at home."

"Forget what's at home.  Right now, you're here.  Choose."

I sighed.  "If I do, you have to promise me you'll have at least one bite."

At that Freddie leaned over, and whispered earnestly, "Darling, to be honest, I don't care if you so much as take one bite.  Just pick one."

I didn't understand, but it didn't seem wise to keep arguing either.  It wasn't as though we would be paying for it anyway.  So I looked again at the desserts, and chose the lightest one I saw.  "Uh- the crème brûlée please."

"And the check," Freddie added quietly. 

The waiter's brow arched.  "The check?"

Freddie nodded.  "It's time."

Corey tossed a quick glance to the front of the room, where the jazz band had just wrapped up an inspired rendition of "Winter Wonderland" and were now dispersing to take a short break- and nodded knowingly.  "You got it.  I'll be right back."

As he rolled the cart away, I turned to Freddie again.  "What's going on?" I asked.

Freddie pretended not to know what I was talking about.  "Is there something going on?"

"Seems like it."

"Well," he sighed, "you're not wrong."

I cocked my head to the side.  "So what's the story?"

His lips twitched, eyes on the tablecloth.  "Before I go much further, I want you to know this was not at all what I wanted to- to have to do."

"I'm listening."

Freddie cleared his throat.  "It's, um- it's got to do with how we're even here tonight, in fact, how we're sitting here in this place at this time."

"I just figured you made a reservation."

"I did.  Well- yes and no."

"I don't follow you."

"I'm going to explain, darling- but only if you'll let me finish," he replied almost testily.

I covered my mouth. "Sorry. Go ahead."

Freddie went on to tell me that he had received some little gift from the radio station- a reservation for a night of his choice here at the Tavern on the Green- but by the time he had dialed the number, he had apparently missed his window of opportunity for using the reservation on that same day.

"It seemed that I should have called before noon or something, and I called at around half-past three," he said. 

"So what did you do?" I asked.

Freddie coughed.  "Well, um- I sort of - told him who I was-"

I gulped.  "You didn't- tell him your real name, did you?"

"No, I didn't, I said my name was Rick Dubroc- but I tell you, I might as well have told him the truth after all.  He did a complete turnabout, said the table was mine, whatever time I wanted, we could just walk in and sit down- but there was a catch."

I frowned.  "Yeah?"

"You're not going to like it," Freddie warned.

"Just tell me."

With a sigh, Freddie shrugged.  "They want me to sing."

I sat there, blinking incredulously.  "Sing?"

"Mm."

"Like- sing with the band?"  I nodded at the platform where the instruments lay silently waiting.

"I'm afraid so.  Three songs' worth, they want.  And I'm not sure what to do about it."

I nodded, trying not to think about what the lab rats might do to me if any footage of this upcoming "concert" found its way onto the Internet, let alone the rest of Queen.  "When is this supposed to happen?"

"Probably as soon as they come back from their break- which should be in another ten minutes, I'd say."

"Okay, but- what's all that got to do with me getting a dessert?"

"It's just a means to stall.  If we have something else we're sort of pecking at, they won't be as likely to come badger me about getting up there and singing." 

"Well, we can't stall for very long, Danny's rehearsal is supposed to end in about half an hour."

"I know, it's just- to be honest, I'm not wild about performing or sort of drawing any attention to myself at the moment, so I'm taking my time about it, as it were." 

A strange sentiment, coming from a man with a face and a voice like his- a man who had already caused quite a bit of kerfuffle around the world, enough to frighten his manager and summon all three of the other band members to the States (Why hasn't John texted me, incidentally?  It's been hours since his plane should have landed). To add to the fun, he was dressed in an immaculate white blazer, royal blue button down, and black trousers, making him look like something out of Casablanca.  Suffice it to say, no other man in the restaurant was decked out anything as conspicuous- and yet classic- as Freddie. 

"Did I hear you right?" I teased gently.  "You... don't want the attention?"

"No, as a matter of fact," he confirmed, not nearly so jokingly as I. "It's a nice change, not being swamped by hordes of people everywhere I go.  It still happens, naturally, but that's partly because of all the things that, um- But I mean, it's still not as prevalent as it is back home.  I mean, for example, not one person since we sat down has come up and asked for my autograph or anything."

"Does that really happen a lot?" I asked.  "I mean, I remember it happening some when I was there, is it worse now?"

"My God.  Darling, I can barely even walk down the street alone without drawing a crowd."  Freddie's voice seemed to shrink somewhat while he told me this.  Clearly the fame he had so craved in his earlier days possessed a limited charm, and a good deal of it had seemingly worn off.

"Is that a good thing?" I asked.

"Sometimes, yes," he replied.  "Sometimes.  Other times, I find myself, um- really, just- wishing I was somewhere else- being someone else.  But most of the time, you know, it's a lot of fun."

"Never a lonesome moment, I'm sure," I said a bit carelessly.  I had meant to say "dull," but "lonesome" came out instead- and I didn't bother to correct it.

Freddie paused a second before answering, his eyes and tone going impossibly flat.  "I didn't say that."

Before he could go on, or I could ask him to, Corey laid the crème brûlée along with two spoons down in front of us, and set the checkbook near Freddie's elbow.  Just barely I reached for the check, only for Freddie to snatch it up and lay it quietly in his lap where he peered discreetly at the total. 

"Hey," I protested lamely, "I thought we were going to split the-"

"Well, you thought wrong, didn't you, darling," Freddie popped back coolly, not even looking up at me as he counted out the bills and handed Corey his money.  "Keep the change."

"Thank you, Rick.  By the way, are you about ready to get up and sing?" he asked. "The manager was wondering."

"Well, I mean," Freddie stammered, "yes, perhaps, but-"

"Great!  I'll tell him, and when the band is ready, he'll make an announcement and introduce you." 

He gave him a taut little smile.  "Thank you, dear."

As soon as Corey fluttered away again, he bent down and lifted the hem of my floor-length skirt a little.  With a small squeal of surprise, I pulled his hands away.  "Freddie, what are you doing?"

He sat back upright, shaking his head.  "Shit."

"What?"

"We can't run for it- not with you in those shoes."

I laughed.  "Easy.  I'll just kick them off, and go barefoot."  So saying, I slid my feet out of my high heels so that now I had nothing between me and the floor except a thin polyester stocking.  "There!  Now I can run."

Freddie rolled his eyes.  "That won't be necessary.  Put your shoes back on, we'll walk out like civilized people, come along-"

"We are not going anywhere until you have a bite of this," I said decisively, holding out a spoon toward him.

"Darling, don't be ridiculous-"

"No, sir. This was your great big master plan, you got yourself into this, you're not leaving until you get your just desserts."

Freddie looked like he wanted to laugh a little at my incredibly stupid pun, but he fought it back down just the same. Instead, he ended up doing something even more childish.  Without a word, he stole both the spoons right out of my hands, and threw them into the bucket full of watered down ice before folding his arms and leaning back, looking quite satisfied.

With a sigh, I put my hand into the bucket only for Freddie to brush it away and reach into the icy water himself to retrieve the spoons, drying them with his napkin and handing one to me. 

"Would you mind telling what the point of that was?" I asked, too confused to be irritated.

Freddie thought it over.  "You know, I'm not sure I had one."

"You are impossible," I murmured softly.

All he did was smile- but it was a different smile than what he had been showing me on occasion throughout dinner.  It was a real smile, true, there was nothing fake about his expression; it was simply very sad as well, as though all the things we both had tried so hard to avoid talking about thus far had suddenly struck him squarely between the eyes.

"So I'm told," he replied.

TO BE CONTINUED...