Daron's Guitar Chronicles Volume 12

912 DANGEROUS

DANGEROUS

It was full-on rush hour when we got to the New York metro area, and getting down to Ziggy's place in lower Manhattan took over an hour. When the limo dropped us off at last, I was feeling slightly car sick and I just wanted to lie down.

I did that while Ziggy made some phone calls. He took the phone into the office and closed the door, I guess so he wouldn't disturb me? Or maybe so he could talk about me. I don't know. For an otherwise uneventful five-hour car ride, given how little we had spoken, it had felt like an emotional rollercoaster. I didn't even know how I felt: up, down, or turned around.

Lying down wasn't helping. I got out a frosted strawberry Pop Tart and turned on MTV. I stood in front of the TV screen while eating it.

The Freddie news was all over MTV, of course. That was when I learned the details: he'd announced he had AIDS the other night, the night Ziggy and I were busy having a fight (and making up). And then 24 hours later–while we were talking to Colin–he'd passed. Freddie and Queen had kept his illness a secret–or at least out of the media.

I felt strangely exposed by hearing Kurt Loder say the word "gay" aloud, on television. It wasn't a word you heard on TV much at that time. He also said Freddie was infamous for holding multi-day long "parties." He didn't use the word "orgies" but you could hear it unspoken, you know?

My mind was full of questions. Had the band known about Freddie's illness or had it been hidden from them, too? For that matter, how had they handled Freddie being so very flamboyant for all those years? I couldn't wrap my mind around it. Did the press not ask about it or did they get tired of asking about it after a while? Or was it just that once upon a time they didn't bother to ask about that kind of thing, but in the age of AIDS they most certainly would? Was it different in Britain?

A Queen video came on after the report. I stood there, thinking.

By then I wasn't as naïve as I had once been. By then I knew there were plenty of gay rock musicians, that I wasn't alone, and that it wasn't something new. But I still didn't know how people handled it. I tried to imagine. If I was straight, how would I have handled my lead singer holding infamous orgies?

Ziggy's actual tour orgies seemed suddenly rather tame.

And the emotional upset I'd been feeling had been swept away by my thoughts. Someone dying was a hell of a lot bigger problem than my lover being snarky at me. I didn't own a single Queen album but thinking about Freddie being gone–gone–was extremely sobering.

Ziggy came out to hang up the phone and then brushed the Pop Tart crumbs off my flannel shirt. "Are you going to go dressed like that?"

"Shouldn't I?"

"I guess it is in fashion now," he said with a sigh. "Bernard's coming over to do my hair and makeup. We should go as soon as we're ready."

"Okay."

When Bernard arrived, he took one look at me and said, "Oh my god, you look so much better."

"Better than what?"

"Than you did two months ago, darling. Well, except for this." He held up the ends of my hair, which were long and split. "You want a trim?"

"Hey," Ziggy protested. "You're here for me, Bern."

Bernard made an indignant noise in the back of his throat. "Don't worry, Little Miss Impatient. I haven't forgotten you."

They soon started the process to bleach out a stripe of Ziggy's hair. While the chemicals were setting in Ziggy's hair, Bernard spritzed mine and combed it out in preparation for trimming the ends. "You want some fresh extensions? I've still got the red ones, you know..."