Before the Glitter: 1971

A Case of the Giggles

"Oh, I'm full of surprises! But what about the sketch!? What do you think of the sketch?" he insisted. She shook her head.

"I like it. I...I think it's very good, Freddie." She paused in her comments and stared at him for a moment. "I think you're quite talented and you really need to just...just put yourself out there." Mary shook her head. Freddie's expression became very serious.

"Really?" he said, with a certain degree of indecision in his voice.

"Yes. Yes, I'm quite serious. I think you need to take it...like...as far as you want it, Freddie." She reiterated. "I mean. I don't know you that well so I don't what your intention is with your band or...all these sketches you have." Mary shrugged and smiled at him. "Take what you love and turn it into something." She said, watching his serious expression study her. It was all part of getting to know what each other was about and tonight would be a night such as that which would include friends, conversation and...eggrolls.

There was more giggling, and even worse inebriated conversation going on that evening as well. Roger and I had been listening to records for at least a couple hours. We were now lying at opposite ends of the couch, a cigarette between our fingers and higher than the minute hand at 12:00 on Big Ben. I'm fairly certain I was so high that I had forgotten how...not...well...okay, Roger's flat was not good. It had cracks in the ceilin', cracks in the sheetrock, the windowpanes were dirty, the floor had ash in places from where he had spilt ashtrays and failed to clean it all up entirely. There was laundry piled up apparently to be washed but busting at the seams of the laundry bag. He had this...this drum set that I didn't quite understand and looked like clutter to me. Ironically, his bath and lavatory was so bloody clean that you could practically eat off the floor in there...but the rest of his flat? Well, it was on the verge of a disaster. This was the first time I had ever been to his flat and I won't lie. When he opened the door, I gasped slightly to myself. I couldn't believe it was one room; a spacious one but one room flat and a bath.

I felt as if I were going to get a disease in sitting on his dingy, mustard colored couch. There was a hand-knitted brown, cream and orange blanket that he kept near the end where I half-laid, half-sat. The reason he kept it there? It was the hide the stain of what appeared to be the remnant of an entire bottle of wine that had been spilt there at some point. Yep, I was definitely going to catch something from this god-forsaken couch. The very worst part was the way it smelled. This couch smelled...awful. I couldn't describe it. Whatever the hell this couch smelled like, the cigarette smoke would not cover it. I felt like this smell was all over me and I would never be able to scrub it off despite the twelve showers and half-bottle of perfume I had intended to use the very moment I got home.

I half-laid there on this terrible couch laughin' like a hyena at something Roger had said. I couldn't even remember what it was...I was too high to remember stuff. Something I couldn't understand was how Roger managed to smell as if he had climbed right out of an ad for a men's cologne from the latest Vogue and yet his couch smell like it needed to be set on fire.

He and I had been together all afternoon. I had been seeing him for two weeks. By "seeing" him, I mean that I was still sleeping with and doin' coke with Sebastian and was trying to figure out why Roger wanted me to go see bands with him and why he was kind enough to make me a sandwich between classes at the university. I didn't understand any of this and I didn't eat the sandwich...it looked funny. At any rate, here we were listening to the Moody Blues, burning away at our cigarettes and thinking about food only to remember that Roger had no food in his pantry. Fuck. He had stopped laughing momentarily to talk exactly of what he was craving.

"Lydia...Lydia...Lydia. I want...I want something to eat and the thing I want to eat, I don't have!" he said stupidly before laughing again.

"Like....like what? What could you possibly want that you don't have?" I asked as my head spun slightly.

"I'm thinkin'...a pizza. Yeah, we should order one of those. HEY!" he began excitedly, "I have a telephone number for a pizza place that will deliver in that back of that phone directory." He said, pointing across the room. I laughed at him again and rolled off the couch. I would do anything to get up from this dumpster of a piece of furniture. I couldn't exactly walk a straight line but I made it to his small, piled up, kitchenette table to get his telephone directory. "Where did you say the number was?" I asked, searching through the phone book. He laughed and reminded me to look in the back of the directory on the last page. I did exactly that and read the first couple digits to him. And then, he insisted...rather slurred...that I call and order this thing.

"You...you want me to order your pizza?" I double checked with him before picking up the telephone from a pile of what I had noticed had been payment due notices. I screamed as his wallet came flying at me from the couch of diseases. "Oh my god!? Are you mad!?" I asked, both laughing and fearing for my consciousness at this item that had flown at me.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry about that." He said, rolling over on the couch.

"Ugh..." I said out loud, making a face and watching him roll around on that terrible thing. I watched him closely, too closely. In fact, I was examining him in the same manner as I had when I met him about two weeks ago. His shirt stuck to the fabric of the couch as he squirmed on it. I looked at his belt in the loops of his jeans and the elastic edge of his briefs as it snuck above the denim. I watched him roll over toward me, taking in the way the exposed skin on his side teasingly peaked from the edge of his shirt.

"Did you order it? When will they deliver? Did you tell them where I live?" he mumbled, having rolled back away from me with his face buried in the pillow. I tried to pull myself together as I dialed the number. Putting the phone against my ear, I glanced cautiously at Roger as I took the liberty to go through his wallet.

"Hello! I'd like to place a delivery order please!" I said, far too enthusiastically. I glanced over at Roger as I opened up the side only to see that he had no money at all. I panicked when the man on the phone asked my Roger's address, quickly covering the receiver and asking him to tell me where the hell I was. I continued talking to the man on the phone and nosing around. A bus pass that was nearly used up, a student library card, two pieces of paper with phone numbers written on them, and carefully tucked away to the back were two condoms. Still talking to the man on the phone and making certain Roger didn't turn around; I pulled them out and examined them. They were fresh, probably not a week old. I paused, nearly forgetting what the man on the other end asked me. I dug haphazardly in my purse and pulled out the two condoms I had, lying them on the table beside the ones I had pulled from the back of his wallet. The same. We were carrying the same damn thing. I had finally finished my conversation, hastily shoving everything back into it's proper place in Roger's wallet and pulling a ten pound note from my handbag only to slip it into the bill slot of his wallet. I don't know why I did it. My mum had always warned me to never give a man money less they turn into a freeloader. But Roger was flat broke and this drug-induced pizza he wanted so badly was kind of my fault. He wouldn't have had any cash to pay for it anyway.

"twenty-five minutes." I said, pitching his wallet back at him only to realize I was going to have to make peace with the couch again. I carefully attempted to sit in the exact place that I had gotten up from. However, that plan had failed miserably because Roger wanted to show me something in a music publication and he was leaning over against me. I watched him more than the article. I don't even know what he said or what ultimately caused him to pitch the magazine on the table. He stared at me for a moment as the Moody Blues played softly for us. I didn't have a moment to react before out cigarette-soaked lips had collided. His lips were soft, his touch very gentle; but I was internally screaming as I felt myself being laid back onto this couch. He smelled so perfect. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't bring myself to sleep with this guy....at least not here. His kiss was experienced and tender and his hands careful. As lost in this moment, the fog of smoke, and the Moody Blues as I was; I couldn't wait for this pizza to arrive so we could sit at the kitchen table.