As might be expected, the plan-out really didn't take too much time, which was just how Freddie liked it. This gave the seven of us the chance to sit down, face-to-face, and work out how today would transpire. Who was splitting up with whom, by what time did they need to be at the airport (John and Rudy were assigned to plane ticket arranging; seeing as the Starship wasn't going back up in the air, we needed to figure out a more public Plan B), and things to that effect.
"And this time, let's stick to the deadline, shall we, Fred?" Elton said dryly, and Freddie gave him a thumbs up and a wink.
We made an interesting sight there by the poolside- the original Suicide Squad tightly (and just a tad uncomfortably) encircling one of the round tables like some sort of King Arthur parody. We would have made quite a cool-looking album cover: Peter in sunglasses, lounging in his chair, hands behind his head; Elton, smoking, occasionally being interrupted by the smattering of fans who approached him, which he handled gracefully enough; "Randy John" meticulously writing things down so as not to forget; Rudy leaning forward, hands folded on the table, making notes on his own mental notepad; Paul, also dragging on a cigarette, listening intently but not so intently as to stop throwing suspicious glances our way- "our" referring of course to Freddie and myself, slowly drying out in the morning sun, me wishing I'd brought my journal so I could write the plan down myself.
Not that I was really even paying much attention. Freddie kept distracting me in two big ways. The first, obviously, because of how drop-dead gorgeous he looked with his hair curling as it sun-dried, his unshaven face, and the way the water droplets glittered on his tan skin. It took great self-composure not to let my hand touch his chest again, or let my fingers get tangled up in that mess of dark hair.
And apparently, he thought I was worth caressing as well, which brings me to the second distraction.
Whenever Freddie would talk, everything was fine. I could focus, because he was focused. But as soon as Straker or Rudy or somebody besides himself (including me) opened their mouths, a film would slide over Freddie's eyes and he went into auto-pilot. Outwardly, that is. On the inside, he was busy playing a rapidly escalating game of "Can I Help You?"
Within seconds of his eyes going flat, I would feel a hand grip my bare knee. I would clench my teeth, do my best not to visibly react, because that's what he was trying to evoke- a reaction. The first few times he did this, I simply lifted his hand off my knee and put it back in his lap, shooting him an irritated glance. But he learned quickly; when he did it next, he held my hand down over my other knee, so that should I try to stop him again I'd make a scene. So I stopped reacting altogether.
When I sat there like a stone for a few moments, his smooth hand would began rubbing my lower thigh back and forth. My eyes would drift down toward my lap, and I would cross my legs, moving out of his range. It was indeed a reaction, but not the one he was looking for. So, very subtly, he would scoot a little closer and slide his hand under my raised thigh and again rub back and forth, squeezing harder until I could stand it no more and I spouted the magic phrase: "Can I help you?"
But even there, I couldn't win. Not only would I disrupt the group, but Freddie would draw back and look completely oblivious to my outburst. And there was no way could I explain to these guys what was going on, so I would wind up looking like a complete idiot yet again. Mutely, then, I had to endure Freddie's teasing touch.
"Back in the air by eight," Peter mused. "That doesn't give us much time to paint the town, does it?"
"Just means there's very little time to waste, so we'd better make the best of it," Freddie explained.
Elton took a puff, smoke escaping his lungs in little wisps as he spoke. "So tell me about this Zuckerberg fellow."
He asked it so nonchalantly and without a very good segue, so I didn't realize at first that he was addressing me. "Oh! Uh- well, what about him?"
"He's your fiance! Where's he from? What's he do?"
Crap. I didn't think the boys, especially Sharon, would be interested. Now I had to make stuff up. "Well, um- he's Canadian, actually- I met him on a vacation up in Alberta..."
"Alberta?" Freddie repeated, resting his chin in his hand. "How ripping. Never been there, what's it like?"
"It's beautiful," I replied, internally fumbling for a plausible story. "I was on one of the lakes up there, canoeing about and so was he, we crossed paths, and I guess you could say it was love at first sight. As for what Mark does... oh, how do I put this... he's in communications."
Freddie's eyes gleamed. "He's also half-Eskimo, right, darling?"
"Yes, that's right, and- what?"
"Isn't that what you told me?"
The look on his face confirmed that he was simply hell-bent on messing me up today. What did I do to deserve this, Freddie? Is this payback for not telling you about the shaving cream? But once again, I rose to the challenge.
"No," I said. "He's a quarter Eskimo. His mom is half-Inuit, half Canadian, and she married a German Jewish immigrant."
"That's a jumbled gene pool," Rudy remarked, genuinely interested.
"Oh yes. She taught him all the best Eskimo love songs, he's got a great voice. I think you'd like him."
Peter smiled. "Eskimos sing? I thought they just fished and rubbed noses."
"You know, it's just that kind of stereotyping prejudice that makes life so hard for the igloo people," I said dryly.
"Oh, dear me, I don't want to offend the man. Don't tell him I said that, I'm used to my chest without a harpoon scar."
Freddie just grinned and shook his head.
"When's he going to meet you?" Peter asked.
"At six," I said spontaneously.
"I'll be collecting him for her actually," Freddie said. "I'll be his personal escort. Imagine the surprise on his face when he sees this scruffy-looking tart coming his way-"
"I'd like to come along," I offered. "I haven't seen him in forever."
"We've already discussed this, angel," Freddie said just a tad impatiently. "You're picking up the license. Besides, don't you know it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?"
"That's true," I hummed. "Just don't want you to get too sidetracked. Are you going alone?"
"I am. Don't worry. I'm tougher than I look."
"That's hardly like you," Elton quipped. "It couldn't be you've got yet another bird in the hand waiting round the corner?"
"I smell trouble," Peter laughed. "Remember, Freddie, he's her fiance!"
"Right, that's good, that's enough," Freddie waved his hands.
"That reminds me," Paul muttered quietly. "I think it's rather odd, you not bringing David, knowing how close you said you two were-"
"David is off on holiday," Freddie said dismissively, "rather like we are now. Anyway, so-"
"Or Liza," Paul continued, then gave me something I thought I'd never witness in my lifetime: an intentional smile. "Have you met his Liza, Miss Dubroc?"
"Liza? Who's she?" I asked.
And everyone started laughing- everyone except Freddie.
"She?" Peter chuckled, "Dear Eves, Liza's a-"
Freddie's eyes hardened. "Could we save this for later, darlings?"
"Why? I'm interested, who's Liza?" I tried to look as doe-eyed and innocent as possible. But the name Liza did ring a bell. It was clearly another nickname; Freddie was indeed so fond of giving people nicknames. But for whom?
"We're getting off topic. We'll never get anywhere if we don't iron this out." To Elton he said, "So what's your plan of action, Sharon?"
I thought maybe the "Liza scare" would have cooled Freddie's jets, but it seemed to only ignite them again- and hotter. As Elton took his turn, Freddie put his hand gently on my bare waist and let it rove across my belly button around to the other side. How is he doing this without the others noticing?
I felt my very flesh crawl at his touch, his fingertips leaving trails of heat behind. He sighed quietly- as did I, unwittingly, but not so quietly as he. Taking that as a cue to progress even further, Freddie took my hand and slowly pulled it toward his lap-
"NO," I wanted to yell indignantly, but it came out as more of a breathless squeak. But I did jerk away violently, drawing more unwanted attention to myself.
"What's wrong?" John Holmes asked.
"I -uh- I saw a bee," I muttered. "Stinging things, you know. Hate them."
"Oh," he nodded.
I was feeling a little shaky. "Could you guys excuse me, please?" I said, pushing in my chair and running for my towel. "I need to get dressed anyway, don't want to make anyone wait, see you in a minute."
I knew by getting up and going back to our room, I ran the risk of Freddie following me. But I wrapped myself in my towel and made for the dressing room to put my cover-up back on, ignoring the occasional stranger's stare as I passed. Gadzooks. What a stupid idea, letting pride take hold again. I really should have gone the other way, bought the black one-piece that would have disappointed Freddie but protected me from being squeezed and caressed under the table.
As I had expected, Freddie glided along just behind me; I knew his step by heart. I whirled on him as soon as we were out of earshot and demanded, "What was that back there?"
Freddie shook his head. "Evie, you don't want to hear about Liza, and I don't want to talk about hi-"
"Forget Liza! I'm talking about you and those big paws of yours."
"Paws?" Freddie scoffed with a little sarcastic smile. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Elton's right, can you cool it for five minutes? Despite what you think, I don't want-"
"Oh, yes, you do want."
"And you decided that, how?"
"Look at what you're f---ing wearing, Eve! Tease, tease, tease! Every chance you get, you just- I mean, you and that towel a few days ago, you in this thing now, you letting it all hang out and I'm supposed to stand there with my hands tied? What would the Boss say?"
Never mind the Boss, what would my parents say? They raised me better than this.
"Whatever happened before was unintentional- and this, this is me taking you up on a challenge."
"Challenge?"
"You were practically daring me to-"
"Really, darling, are we that immature? Are we still in the age of 'double-dog dares'? I thought angels were bigger than that."
My eyes narrowed, my teeth grinding in frustration. "All right," I managed, "you tell me how I should have handled the situation, and I'll tell you what you would have done."
"You should've -uh, I don't know, just skipped the whole thing and bought nothing at all, if that's-"
"Bought nothing at all? How well would that have gone over?" I then acted out his response, intentionally overdoing the accent, "Evie, darling, I said, go buy a bathing suit, and there you are, just standing in those street clothes, com-plete-ly ignored me, that's so rude. Oh, but then perhaps you couldn't decide? That must be it. Oh my dear, you're such a helpless little thing, aren't you!"
Freddie blinked. "Is that how I sound to you?"
"Not really. Sort of. A little. Not that that's a bad thing-"
"My God, you make me sound like the- the meddling, pushy mother-in-law in all the old Hollywood films."
I shrugged. "Well...sometimes..."
"I get it," he growled, running a hand restlessly through his hair. "F---."
Is it just me, or are these mini temper tantrums happening more often the longer I'm here?
"But that's not how you always are! Good Lord, that's only one side of you- and it's kind of cute anyway, so there."
"Cute," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "You at least give me that. I'm cute. Well, thank you so very much, my dear." Freddie turned, mumbling something else that I didn't catch.
"Say what?"
"I said, you're nicer when you're strung out."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're more generous with your feelings- assuming you actually even have any." Freddie slung his towel across his shoulders and stalked away.
"Where are you going?"
"Back to the other old ladies, naturally," he said. "I won't be too far behind, so hurry it up."
"It's only nine-thirty, we've got all d-"
"Just go put some clothes on," he called over his shoulder. "And try not to be so f---ing sexy while you're at it. We have Mark to consider, after all."
I couldn't help the grin and blush. "I'll put on the most non-sexy thing I can find."
"Good luck," he mumbled.
"What was that?"
"I didn't say anything, now off with you, my dear ice sculpture."
So I was off with me back to the hotel room, my head now aflurry with speculation as to what Freddie meant about me being generous with my feelings. What had I said to him at the club? What had I done?
And what did he mean, I didn't have feelings? I did! I was just very careful about what I chose to show, especially to him. Could it be I was too careful?
One can never be too careful when it comes to Freddie Mercury, I said to myself. Besides, what does he care how I feel about him? He may want me, and I may want him, but only in a physical sense. Every time Freddie touches me, another little piece of my brain turns to mush. Was it only four days ago I didn't even let him kiss me? Four days, just four days, and now look at him, putting his hands all over me and I'm just sitting there and taking it. Of course, I can't mention any of this to him, I'll just get the same old "You need it" routine. I need to start searching for a new path- and for now, if anything, I should be more careful.
Anyway, what about last night? He saw me break down and openly weep. Did ice sculptures cry? They melted, perhaps, but did they cry? Such an inconsistent little man I was living with. It was enough to drive someone out of their head.
"Mark Zuckerberg, my Part-Eskimo Canadian fiance," I muttered to myself, dashing into the bathroom to dress in case Freddie should barge in at the wrong time. "You can't make this stuff up." I need to update the journal, haven't written anything since yesterday afternoon.
Once I had my proper underclothes back on, I pulled on my blue jeans from 2017, but I'd again forgotten to grab a top. On the suitcase just outside the bathroom door lay the red t-shirt Freddie had been wearing last night; I grabbed that and, after lifting it to my nose to inhale that delicious scent (still licorice, but a little muskier than usual after all the running around we did yesterday), put it on for the time being until I could don something else. It was rather tight on him, but hung a little more loosely on me. Add that to my messy damp hair, and you had the definition of "non-sexy."
We would be checking out as soon as Freddie came back and got himself together, so I started repacking. I jackknifed over the comfy chair in the corner, reaching for my Android. Maybe we could do a little roulette or slot machine action before I fraudulently obtained marriage license.
I was drying my hair and still in his shirt when Freddie came back.
"Hallo!" I called.
Freddie poked his head into the bathroom, and I smiled. He said something that I couldn't hear over the roar of the blow dryer.
I turned it off. "What?"
"Eve, what did I say?"
"I don't know, that's why I turned this off-"
"No, that's what I said."
"What?"
"What did I say?"
"I don't know!"
Freddie looked at me as if he didn't know whether to get huffy yet again or give up. "My God, it's like talking to a chair sometimes."
"Um... okay..." I looked blank.
With a sigh, Freddie took his towel and rubbed his head vigorously. "My point was, what are you doing in my clothes?"
"It was the first thing I saw."
"What did I say about the sexy connotations?"
I stared at him. "You cannot possibly be aroused by this get-up."
"No, not aroused. I'm interested. You'd know if I was aroused."
I rolled my eyes, and with a little wince of disgust (although deep down, the image now forming in my head I found anything but revolting) was about to turn the dryer back on when Freddie gently took it out of my hand.
"That's not what I meant," Freddie said. "I mean, you haven't seen me aroused, really aroused, yet."
"Last night-"
"My dear, that wasn't arousal. That was interest."
"And this morning?"
"Again, that was mere interest. But we were on our way to arousal. There's levels to, um- my process, shall we say."
"Oh, really?" I said, but I felt myself shaking again. I hope he isn't planning on a demonstration. Good grief, why does it keep coming back to this?
"There's interest, which you know about," Freddie went on. "Had we gotten any more involved this morning, yes, I would have been aroused. And when I'm aroused," he placed the tip of his finger on my bottom lip, "let's just say you can't stop me. Nothing can."
"I guess you've made a study of this?" I asked this as I realized how much closer Freddie had come to me.
"And the further it goes," he ignored me, his tone deceptively clinical, "you can't stop yourself, either- even if you wanted to."
I just looked up at him, wondering if he was going to attempt a reprise of this morning. Good boy, indeed. I don't think he heard a word I said. Oh, Freddie, what will we do with you...
"But anyway," he said with a shrug, leaning back. "You probably should put on something else. Unless, of course, we're playing opposites today, and you're wearing my clothes and I'm wearing yours. There's that one dress of yours I think might fit me-"
"How well do you think you can win over a guy to pretend to get married if you're running around wearing a dress?"
"You underestimate me, darling," he said. "Although I dare say you're much sexier in my t-shirt than I could ever be in a dress. You naughty thing, taking advantage of my weaknesses."
"I wouldn't have put this on if I had known it would get you all desirous again," I answered, my American accent momentarily sliding south into a Texas drawl; I pronounced "desirous" as "dezar-uss". "It's just a t-shirt, for crying-"
"What was that?" Freddie's brows rose. "Dezarruss?"
Oh, great. "I meant, des-eye-russ!"
"Yeah, but I heard a very distinct dez-arrrr-uss," Freddie stretched out the word to last three full seconds.
"I meant to say-"
"Well, honey chile, of course I knew what you're tryin' t'say," Freddie purred in the worst Southern accent I'd ever heard- even worse than Alan Rickman's in Die Hard. "What kinda little ol' fool do you take me for, sugar-baby?"
He could play the piano, he could sing, he wrote songs, he could paint, he could draw, he had designed his own costumes, and he was a wizard with the Scrabble board- but the man couldn't do accents.
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, well, you talk like a British version of Marvin the Martian, so I'll take the Steel Magnolia thing, thanks."
"Good God, heaven help the man who does have to put his hand to that license and sign 'Mark Zuckerberg.'" Freddie rummaged around in the suitcase, found a change of clothes and pushed me out of the bathroom to get dressed. "We haven't much time, put on some real clothes or something!"
So I did. Once I was ready I tiptoed back toward the closed bathroom, where Freddie had begun humming to himself. To myself I smiled. It was once more the melody for "Jealousy." Rather early for him to be cooking that song up, I thought; "Jealousy" was a song featured on Jazz, the album following News of the World.
I called through the door, "How am I supposed to get the license again?"
"We've gone over this, darling," Freddie said in an impatient singsong voice.
"You didn't explain it very clearly."
"Use your imagination!"
"I'd really rather you be there to help-"
"You won't be alone! Straker will be with you. He volunteered! Two heads are better than one, I always say."
"Freddie, where are you really going? Is it to see Liza?"
"Liza doesn't live here! They're back in London."
"Then what are you playing at, man?"
"I have a few things to do- not the least of which finding a guy who will fit the description of a big, tough, Canadian German Eskimo that can sing."
"Seriously?"
"Would I lie to you, angel?"
"You're crazy," I muttered.
"I'll do it, though," Freddie declared.
"There aren't many Eskimos in Vegas, I don't think-"
"It'll all work out." Freddie opened the door a crack and peered out. "Trust me. I'll have our Mr. Z by six in the restaurant down below, the one with the Moroccan decor and such. You won't make us wait, will you?"
"Of course not, I'm dying to see who you get." Meet-up by six, "marriage" by seven, all seven of us in the air by eight. This would be close.
"Well, whoever our mystery Mark is, he's already earned my envy," Freddie said, poking his head out a little further. He touched my cheek.
"How's that?" I said.
"He gets to kiss you, and you'd basically be his pseudo-wife for a certain number of days until the annulment papers come in from the mail and everything goes poof."
"It won't be a real marriage, Freddie. You know that. There won't be anything consummated, there won't be anything promised. Eve isn't even my real name. It's like we're getting married just so he can get his green card or something."
"You'll still have to say 'I do,'" Freddie pointed out. 'You can do that much, right?"
Before I could reply, he placed his hand under my chin, smiled, and pulled my face forward to his.
But I said, raising a hand to touch his mouth, "Ah, ah, ah. We have Mark- and Liza- to consider, after all."
When I said "Liza," Freddie eyes narrowed and he shut the door in my face. "What a f---ing wonderful world."
There was nothing to do but roll my eyes. "I can't win with you," I sang, bopping my head to a variation of one of several Queen songs I wasn't all that crazy about, yet fit in this moment.
To myself I finished the line, subconsciously, but I can't win without you...