An Extraordinary Life

I Can't Live With You

Freddie was pacing his back garden, nearly through his entire pack of Silk Cut cigarettes. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, squinting from the sun. His underarms were damp, saturating the white tank top he was wearing.

"Freddie..." Joe Fanelli tried to get his friend's attention again, but this time he made sure to be a lot softer than before, and not joke again about how he was killing grass. "Why don't you cool off, take a shower? I can make you something for lunch while you're at it."

The rockstar threw his cigarette bud to the ground and stomped on it. "Not hungry. And, I still don't know why she can't just stay at Logan Mews, if she really has to be here."

Joe pushed his aviator sunglasses further up his nose, hoping it would hide his expression as best as possible. "She's eleven, Freddie, and likely scared shitless. We can't just stick her in the guest house with me, a creepy old man who she doesn't know from Adam."

Freddie scoffed, his humor manifesting for a moment. "If you're old, darling, I'm positively prehistoric."

Joe pressed his palms to his cheeks and tugged down, making a funny face. "Womp womp womp..."

"But it's fine to stick here in the house with me, right?" Freddie ignored his antics, circling back to the topic of Isabella all too quickly.

Joe muffled a sigh, as this same conversation had been ongoing for weeks. "Being right next to Mary's bedroom, it'll be good for her... all that female energy."

"Female energy my arse," Freddie finally snapped once again. "My life is ruined, and gone is any semblance of privacy I've carved for myself here. So please, could you, for the love of all things holy... go anywhere else but here?"

His next cigarette was already between his teeth.

"You said it," Joe replied more gratefully than he'd hoped he would sound, backing away.

He wanted to womp womp womp again in Freddie's direction, but didn't against his better judgment.

Any excuse to escape the wrath of Freddie lately, the American chef would take. As he opened the back door that led into the kitchen, the posh princess behind him raged:

"I can't light this bloody thing... FUCK IT!" The singer bellowed, and his unlit cigarette and now empty lighter to the ground.

Joe turned to Phoebe, who had spent the morning going in and out of Isabella's new bedroom, trying to make sure everything was perfect.

Unlike Freddie, Phoebe and Joe were excited to have a new guest in the house. Joe, because he thought the house could use another American, especially one from the east coast, and Phoebe, because he loved a challenge. He thought a little person in particular would be a welcomed change, but wasn't about to voice that to Freddie.

"Oh, I do hope he can pull himself together in time," Phoebe worried his lip, glancing over at the grandfather clock in the living room. "They should be here any minute."

"Think she'll be hungry? Tired?" Joe wondered aloud. "I haven't cooked for a kid in like, a year. And my nephews won't eat anything but peanut butter and fluff sandwiches. Not really sure what to expect here."

"Fluff?"

"It's like... like the inside of a marshmallow, but in spreadable form."

"She's almost twelve. I'd hope her taste is a bit more refined than... that," Phoebe scrunched his face, walking over to the couch to anxiously fix the pillows for the third time that day. "But seriously, I'm expecting the poor thing to pass out the moment she enters this home. I myself feel rather sick after a red eye."