Stars in Your Eyes (Queen/Roger Taylor)

45. Roger

"L.A.," she replies. "Medical conference."

"Ah," I reply, taking a sip of my drink. "That sounds very, er, professional."

She looks down at the floor and gives the short hem of her dress a tug, presumably to show less leg, but the result is much more cleavage on display. I do an admirable job of not ogling her as she then pulls up the neckline, only to end up with even more leg showing than before.

"Postage stamp," I mutter, remembering the very same dance she'd done with her towel in the hotel room in that godforsaken town in Scotland so many years ago.

"What?" Skylar looks startled. "I'd have you know that I got this dress from a highly respectable--"

"Oh, I remember this dress," I reply, unable to help myself from winking. "I remember it well."

My mind flashes back to the EMI party so many years ago. My hand brushed against her bare leg. "Let's get out of here," I murmured, and she gave me the same doe-eyed look that she's giving me right now.

"How was Mallorca?" she blurts as if only to change the subject. I'd love to think that we're having the same flashback, but it's highly improbable.

"Mallorca?" My voice rises to be heard over the music. "Why would I be in Mallorca?"

"Oh," she says, blinking. "Freddie said..." she trails off. "Fucking Freddie," she mutters with an eye roll.

"Fred said I was in Mallorca? I've never even thought about going there. Crystal was there last year, and he said..." I chatter on about a place I've never visited, admittedly slow on the uptake. Skylar doesn't reply, and I slowly register that the only reason that she's even here tonight is that she thought that I was hundreds of miles away on a Spanish island.

So that's a little awkward.

"Look, I can go--" I say, running a hand through my hair.

"--no, no--"

"I don't want you to be uncomfortable--"

"--I'm not," she says more forcefully than necessary, perhaps only to shut me up. Her hand reaches tentatively over to touch mine briefly. "Stay."

"Oh," I reply, surprised. "Alright, then."

Skylar gives me a small smile, and we both start to speak simultaneously.

"What?" I ask, cupping my ear. "Sorry, I can't hear a fucking thing-- honestly, I think I'm doing deaf. Let's just--"

I grab her hand and pull her through the crowd, searching for a spot that's slightly more private. Finally, I spot a tiny nook by Fred's kitchen that's remarkably unoccupied. It's not much quieter, but at least we have space to breathe.

"How are you?" I ask once we've situated ourselves. "I feel like we haven't chatted--'

"Without a chaperone?"

"Exactly," I reply with a breathy laugh.

We grab more drinks from a waiter, downing them quickly to make this less awkward. Pretty soon, it's anything but. In fact, it's great. Everything is funnier than it should be, and we're giggling up a storm.

"Do you remember when your roadie moved your stool, and you fell arse-over-tits in the middle of the gig?"

"Oh, God," I groan, "I nearly killed that guy. I actually fantasized about wringing his neck. We sacked him that very night."

"I was thinking about that the other day while I was observing a surgery. I stood up to see more closely, and somehow the chair moved, so when I sat back down, I fell onto the floor, interrupted the surgery, everyone was looking at me-- God, what a nightmare."