Stars in Your Eyes (Queen/Roger Taylor)

44. Freddie

"Listen, darling, I don't mean to interrupt, but I wanted to invite you to a little thing at my flat tonight."

It's not a little do. It's a fabulously enormous party, but Skylar will never say yes to that.

"Oh, I'd love to, but--" she starts to say before I cut her off.

"Roger won't be there. He's in Mallorca."

That's also a lie. My bandmate is most assuredly in London and most definitely attending tonight. But, again, there's no way Skylar would come if she knew he'd be there.

"And I hope you'll bring your friend," I continue, flashing a smile at Peter. His eyes widen, and he looks a bit dizzy.

"The thing is--"

"It's my birthday party," I add.

It's not. My birthday was months ago.

Skylar's eyes narrow. "Freddie, your birthday was in September."

I shrug good-naturedly. "True, true. However, I did invite you to my actual birthday party in Munich, which you declined--"

"I--"

"So this is my London birthday party, as it were. Honestly, it's rather bitchy of you if you can't be bothered to come to either of my birthday parties."

"Freddie--"

"--Besides, Paul McCartney will be there."

This part, at least, is true.

"Oh, well--" Skylar stammers, looking flustered as I gaze at her expectantly from above, and Peter looks at her pleadingly across the table.

"Fantastic," I say. "It'll all be starting around ten. See you then!"

And, with that, I'm striding back across the room before she can come up with an excuse. I feel triumphant, as if, after far too long, I'm finally putting an end to a great wrong.

**

It's nearly 11 when Skylar and her friend slip through the front door. She's changed into a sequined mini dress, perhaps guessing that I don't really do small parties.

"You made it, darling!" I yell to compete with Blondie, who is blaring from the speakers.

Skylar grins, accepting the glass of champagne that I put in her hands. I grab another from a passing waiter, thrusting it towards her friend. "A few extra people showed up," I say. "And you know me, the more the-- oh, fuck."

I look in horror behind me as someone--one of McCartney's guests, the tosser--is sick all over the carpet. "Phoebe!" I call out, rushing towards the scene of the crime and leaving Skylar and Peter to their own devices.

It's at least a half-hour later when, out of the corner of my eye, I see Roger walk through the door. His hair is perfectly mussed and I wager that he spent an hour on it.

"Hey, hey, hey!" he calls out to Brian and Chrissie, who are standing by the entrance. He whips off his sunglasses excitedly, as if to announce that he really and truly has arrived.

My eyes dart to Skylar, who sees Roger and immediately tenses up. Her head swivels around the room, seeking me out. As we make eye contact--her eyes boring into mine accusingly--I give her an exaggerated and, I hope, innocent-looking shrug.

The room is packed, so it takes them a while to finally bump into each other. She goes in for a half-hug, while he goes in to peck her cheek but ends up just awkwardly patting her back. Peter is long-gone, flirting heavily with one of Joe's mates in the corner.

"Mallorca?" I hear Roger shout to be heard over the din. "Why would I be in Mallorca?"

I can't hear Skylar's response, but, glancing up quickly, I see Roger's furrowed brow as he looks down at his ex. The new single by The Specials comes on, and I'm pulled away by Joe.

It's a crazy night, and I fear that we'll run out of liquor. Everyone is blitzed out of their minds, and things are getting blurrier by the moment.

"Did you plan this?"

Deaks suddenly appears by my side, a gin & tonic in his hand. His cheeks are rosy, a sure sign that he's as fucked up as the rest of us.

"I did plan the party," I reply. "Obviously."

"Not the party, you fucker, that." He gestures to the other side of the room, where Skylar and Roger are huddled up in a nook by the kitchen. His head is bent so he can hear whatever she's saying, and they look a lot friendlier than I've seen them in ages.

"Oh, Skylar is here!" I say brightly, refusing to meet John's eyes. "Jolly good of her to come."

John raises one eyebrow at me as he takes a rather large gulp of his drink.

"Well done, you," Veronica says from beside me, poking me lightly in the ribs. Good fucking Lord, where had she come from? These Deacons can sneak up on you with all the stealth of panthers.

We stand there for a moment, watching Rog and Sky. They're laughing at something, their eyes bright and their movements loose. He leans down to whisper something in her ear, and she looks around as if to see if anyone is watching. Not wanting to be caught, the three of us immediately dive into a frantic conversation.

Me:  "I should see what Joe is up to--"

John: "Was that Paul's mate who--"

And, aptly, Veronica:  "If only your loyal fans knew that this is what you lot get up to in your spare time."

Someone passes me another drink, and the room starts to whirl a bit, and by the time I look back to the nook, Skylar and Roger are gone.