A Man For All Seasons (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

How the Other Half Lives: A Change in Lineup, Part One

"I'm sorry, Mr. Taylor, but we have no registered guests coming up under Larry Lurex."

"Then try- try Alfred Mason," Roger suggested. "And if that doesn't work, then Melina Mercouri."

A few keyboard strokes later, the manager shook her head. "Nothing for either. Are you sure it was the Hard Rock in Biloxi?"

That's what it says on his fucking key! Roger wanted to scream, then reminded himself that it was too early to lose his cool just yet. So instead he smiled, answering in his warmest, most genteel rasp, "I'm quite sure, actually. I've got some very good friends staying here. You would recognize them right off if I told you their names, I just - don't remember at the moment what pseudonyms they registered under."

He paused and took a deep breath as he bruised his brain for those old secret names Queen would use for their hotel rooms when on tour. He could scarcely remember the rubbish he came up with for his own lodging, let alone John's or even Brian's. Funny, wasn't it, that he remembered Freddie's fake names better than any of the others.

Maybe they put themselves down under the woman, Roger guessed. What was her name again? I think it was something starting with J. Hm. Jean? No. Jane, Jenny, Julie- Julia! That's right.

"Give Julia Samso- no, Samuels, yes, give Julia Samuels a go," Roger declared with renewed confidence, only to have his hopes crushed seconds later when the results again came back negative.

Meanwhile, news of Roger Taylor's presence in the hotel lobby had spread throughout the building. Wide-eyed folks drifted in from the casino and poured out of the elevators, buzzing with excitement. His security team maintained a sturdy barrier, establishing a respectable fifteen foot radius of empty space between him and the masses, but that didn't stop them from shouting his name, begging for a selfie, for an autograph, for some kind of acknowledgement from Queen's drummer to give their lives validation.

"How was the rendezvous, Roger?" one called eagerly, his face hidden by the smart phone he held in front of it.

With a subtle roll of his eyes, Roger replied without turning his head, "It was very enlightening."

"Did you guys play any songs together?" asked another fan.

"We were just there to talk," the drummer droned. "So, no."

A third, less tactful inquisitor demanded, "So are you gonna tour with him now instead of Adam?"

For fuck's sake, people, Roger scoffed inwardly, refusing to so much as acknowledge such a stupid question.

"Where's Brian?" cried someone else.

Roger pretended he didn't hear that one either. It wasn't a question he could accurately answer anyhow, as he had no earthly idea. All he knew was that Brian decided to ply Dr. Preus with questions rather than take matters into his own hands and search for Freddie- and that was at least two hours ago.

With effort, Roger tuned out the dull cacophony that enveloped him and concentrated. I'll try one more code name- and if that doesn't work, I will have to figure something else out.

There was only one of John Deacon's code names he could recall, thanks to its enduring presence in pop culture. A real long-shot, it was, but Roger had reached his wit's end.

"Give Judge Dredd a go," he said.

The manager looked blank. "Dredd, as in D-R-E-A-"

"No, D-R-E-D-D, like the character, Stallone played him in a-"

"Oh, yeah! Yeah, let's see." She tapped a frantic sequence of keys. Roger held his breath.

After scanning the results on her monitor, the manager drew a heavy sigh. "Okay, still nothing. We do have a few people waiting to check in behind you, so- maybe you could call your friend, find out the exact name, and then come back?"