Sal here.
If you saw what I just did there, kudos. ;)
"Be careful, John."
Those three words keep playing over and over in my head as wait in the queue to check my one bag at Heathrow customs, for they are the words with which my visibly concerned wife bid me farewell a few minutes ago, over by the airport entrance.
I know she thinks I'm mad. I remember how she reacted when I told her I'd made contact with Julia again ten years before. She looked at me like she wanted to rip the phone out of my hands and call for the men in the starched white uniforms to take me away- which was why I knew I had to hold off on revealing that Freddie was responsible for Danny's existence, at least until all that horrible mess with her family happened, and we were all she had left.
Just so we understand each other, though, I still do have my doubts. Very few, granted, but they're there. I trust Julia, and I trust my godson, I don't believe they'd lie to me about something like this. Nonetheless, only the most naive of people would swallow a happening like this without choking once on even a slight misgiving or two. And I will continue to have them, until I come face to face with this man who walks, talks, looks like my old band mate- that complicated peacock of a man who worked with me, encouraged me, and stood up for me so many times during Queen's twenty-year run.
And yes, I meant to say twenty. I said it before, and I'll say it again. Queen without Freddie is basically just a tribute band; just Smile doing covers of Queen songs with the help of some mediocre hack that couldn't even pursue a stable career in music without -
Oh, sorry, there I go again. I do get so very exercised about these things.
Anyway, ever since I sort of lost it there for a bit in the late nineties (well, longer than that, if we're being completely truthful- but anyway), Ron's quietly thought me a little touched. I can't blame her. Maybe I am. But now, so is the rest of the country. Ever since last Wednesday, when "Rick" first burst on the scene, England has been abuzz with hope and skepticism- but this one online article alone, published late last night with the words "QUEEN MANAGER CONFIRMS: NO HOAX" splashed across the top, seems to have thrown the Western world into an absolute Freddie frenzy.
Even here at the airport, which is busy even for the holidays, it's all around me. People cooing over the social media blurbs on their feed, links to the article they've just received- even the man behind me in the customs queue I can tell is watching highlights from the "Rick" live stream a couple of days ago. He has the volume turned all the way up, so I catch quite a bit of the audio over my shoulder, which goes a little something like this:
"Right, well, that was an especially riveting set of music, I tell you- wouldn't you say, Benji? Wake up, dear, I said, wasn't that a riv- yes! Good day, dear, nice to have you with us again. Wasn't that wonderful? Ah. He's nodding- I'd show you darlings Benji, but the camera's sort of stuck in the computer screen and I can't exactly move the thing round, but he's a very lovely man- not as lovely as me, of course, but close. By the way, any word from you-know-who? No? Oh, what a shame. She'll call round eventually, I suppose. Anyway, here's the weather I think, um- right, so, it looks like a lot of clouds all the way through to this evening or something, um- and cold. Very cold. No tank tops today, my dears. Right. Now, I think we understand each other fairly well, so Benji, turn the adverts back on again, I'll be back in two shakes. Oh! And, um- today's weather is, uh- brought to you by... I don't know. Some car insurance company I think. Hm? What? ...Oh, f---, darling, you tell them if it's so important to you, my God. Back in a moment!"
I cover my mouth, shutting my eyes. Good Lord. That voice. How long has it been since I last heard that voice speak? And with such vigor, such trademark cheek- God, it takes me so many years back- and to think, I might get to see him very soon...
I'm still reminiscing when it finally becomes my turn, so I basically am hustled through airport security in an emotional haze. In fact, it's only when someone taps my shoulder as I'm walking toward my designated gate that I fully wake up to reality again.
"Hm?" I turn on my heel, expecting the same four word greeting I get every now and again on the streets of London.
I am not disappointed. "Aren't you John Deacon?" the wide-eyed young man standing there asks.
I nod with a little grunt. Wait for it, wait for it...
"Could I please have your autograph, too?"
"All right," I murmur, taking the felt pen he hands me and the notepad. "What's your name?"
"Uh- Sean."
"A-U or A-W?"
"Neither, it's E-A."
"Right, right," I scribble down my standard autograph line on the pad, and hand it back to him. I look at the boy for a moment, realizing he couldn't possibly have been around at the same time as Queen. "How old are you, Sean?"
"S-seventeen, sir," he stammers. "I, uh- I saw the movie when I was little, been your biggest fan ever since. Fan of Queen, I mean."
"I knew what you meant," I nod. Ah, yes, Bohemian Rhapsody, that biopic from years ago. "Too much fantasy, not enough real life," I had quipped the day after seeing it; for even though the film misrepresented Freddie and the rest of us in more ways than one, I cannot honestly say that my eyes were dry by the movie's end. It took me at least a whole night to collect myself again; so much of my life was devoted to that music and those men, it was only natural I should be at least a little moved.
"Thanks, Mr. Deacon," he says politely. "I'd, uh- better get going, I don't want to miss them." He hustles back the way I came, toward security.
"Miss who?"
"The others."
I blink. Suddenly it occurs to me, he didn't just ask for my autograph, he asked for mine, "too." "Others, you say?"
"Yeah! Did you not see Brian's tweet?"
I gulp. "You mean- Brian May?"
"Who else?"
Social media wise, the only accounts I have are Facebook and Instagram, and of those two the only one I really use is the former- so, naturally I shake my head. But deep down my stomach churns at the sound of the guitarist's name. I fear the worst.
And Sean explains, though breathlessly, "He sent out a tweet saying he was heading to New York."
I blink. Oh, bollocks. "Did- did he say why?"
"To see what Miami saw, I guess. To see if he's right or something, see whether or not the fuss over there is all it's cracked up to be."
I pretend to be oblivious. The fewer people who know what I too am about, the better. "Fuss? What fuss?"
"You know. Rick! The Freddie lookalike!"
"Oh, right, the Freddie fuss," I nod. "I don't believe it myself."
That's why I'm standing here at Heathrow International clutching a last-minute one-way ticket to the States with arrangements for a car to await me at JFK so I can immediately floor it to New Jersey and catch "Rick" before he slips away. No, I don't believe it. That would be silly.
"Huh. Well, Brian does; that's why he's here."
"Brian's here? Now?" I gasp.
"He's on his way, I think. He tweeted a picture of himself in his car heading this way about fifteen minutes ago."
That sounds about right. According to my kids, the man can't so much as take a shit without notifying his followers.
Wait a tic. Sean said "the others." As in plural. That meant Brian wasn't coming across the pond alone.
Maybe he's dragging Anita over as well. Maybe that's it. Oh, God, I hope that's it, I am really not in the mood for any uncomfortable reconnecting at present. I didn't refuse to talk to one yesterday simply so I could get them both this morning.
"I'd better go," Sean murmurs, "want to be there when he arrives. See him up close, you know? Thanks again, uh- Deacy? Is it all right if I call you-"
"It's fine," I manage through gritted teeth, for these days, the only person I let call me Deacy anymore is Julia- although for "Rick" I know I'll make a happy exception.
"Oh, good! Anyway, bye. I love 'Spread Your Wings,' by the way!"
Sean runs, flipping to a new fresh page as he does so. It's right about now that I wish I could literally spread my wings and fly away to America by myself, and ditch this whole foolish idea of riding an airplane where I can be spotted by two people in particular and questioned accordingly.
I just hope they're not taking the same plane as me.
It's about forty-five minutes before we can start boarding the plane, so I'm forced to wait out in the open where people can see me, get to me with the same kind of ease as Sean did. And there's a chance that he might go and spread the word that I, too, am flying across the ocean for a better look at the uncanny "impersonator", to the point where people might decide for themselves while Brian takes him time in arriving, that maybe this odd happening will bring us together for a long-overdue reunion- which, I will tell you right now, would be next to impossible.
Nevertheless, for forty-five minutes, I'm a sitting duck- or rather, as Freddie playfully branded me in the late seventies, a sitting "ostrich."
So I hurry over to one of the hard, plastic chairs and sit down, burying my head in the sand- I mean, magazine, holding it up over my face, making it seem as though I am too deeply interested in the same old stories about celebrities that died too soon to possibly carry on a conversation with anyone. And for most of the wait, this strategy works beautifully.
So beautifully, in fact, that I relax enough to pull out my cell phone and send a text to Julia, saying, "I'm about to board the plane, heading your way."
I know Veronica has called Julia to warn her that I'm coming, but it's anyone's guess whether she in turn has notified "Rick" or even Danny. It's unlikely that she has. She hasn't told them anything else that's bloody well important for them to know, why would she tell them that?
It's our fault, too, though, I sigh to myself. It's that damned pact. She went from one extreme to the other- from too much to none at all. And that's part of the reason why things are as they are today. We didn't know this would happen. She was on the brink of absolute despair. I only wanted to protect them- protect her, save her from herself. And then this happens. Of course it does.
To my surprise, the response is practically instantaneous. "Sounds good, please be careful!"
I roll my eyes. Everybody tells me to be careful. My kids, my wife, Julia- it's like they're all afraid I'm going to hurt myself at any moment. I'm really not that fragile, people! I may look it, but I'm not.
A shadow falls across my lap while I read it, absently tapping a halfhearted thumbs-up emoji into the space. I don't notice it, though, till after I've pressed the "send" button- and I hear a distinctly familiar voice speak my name.
"John?"
I don't look up right away. I don't have to. I know who it is.
He speaks again. "John, is that you?"
The voice is raspy, a bit on the high side, and still pretty young-sounding even though its owner is a couple of years my senior.
I'm not excited. But I'm also not a complete boor, so, very slowly, I lift my head and force a smile. "Yes." I stand up, and put out my hand to him. "Good morning, Roger."
"Good Lord, John, it's been a long f---ing time," he rasps, pumping my hand up and down. "How- how have you, um- I mean-"
"I'm all right."
"Good. and, uh- the family?"
"Fine. And yours?"
"Oh, they're great. Wild as ever, but, still- great."
"That's good."
"Yeah."
"Mm."
We just stand there looking at each other, things turning a bit awkward the longer this goes on. Thirty years since I've seen this man, and I have absolutely nothing to say to him.
Roger's not alone, he's got security people with him. I abandoned that little luxury when I retired- and I didn't regret it, save when the mobs would swamp me every now and again.
"What are you doing here?" he finally asks.
And I don't lie. "I'm- I'm going to the States, to see my godson."
"Really. Very nice."
"Yeah, nice kid. So is his mum."
"Where are they? New York?"
"Jersey, actually."
"Funny, that's where I'm heading too." Roger's mouth twitches in a knowing little smile. "I'm sure you can guess why."
I blink. "I- no, not really. Why?"
"Oh, come on, John, certainly you've seen the headlines lately. That's all anyone's talking about. The Christmas Miracle? Rick? Any of this ringing a bell?"
"Oh, that," I chuckle. "You don't mean to say you actually buy into all that, do you?"
"That's what Brian said too," he grumbles. "But, I still got him to come with me. He's on his way to the gate, should be here any minute."
Figures, Brian should put on the facade of skepticism while still getting to the airport as fast as humanly possible. Anything to keep a good face. "I know. He tweeted it or posted it, or something, so I'm told."
"Yeah."
Another pause while some fan accosts us both and gets our autographs. Then finally Roger asks, "Honestly, though, John- do you know anything about it?"
"What?"
"Rick. Do you- have any clues, et cetera? You know."
I only shrug. I'm not at all ready to dish out any precious details, or reveal that I actually know everything there is to know about Rick, where he is, and why he's here. I'm not here for a photo op. They are.
Fortunately, I'm saved from any more prying questions. We are now permitted to board our plane. With another little shrug, I pick up my carry-on bag. "Hope Brian's not too late," I say.
"He won't be," Roger murmurs, then adds with a check of his watch, "At least, I don't think..."
"Anyway, I'll be off, then," I mutter. "Nice to see you, Roger."
"John, hold on," he tries to stop me, "why don't you wait for Brian as well?"
"I'll see him on the plane, that's enough for me." After all, to be honest, Brian's the one I especially want to avoid. Why? It's a long story, and maybe someday I'll tell it.
"Right, then, I'll, uh- see you in a bit?" Roger calls.
I don't answer, instead just file my way down the tarmac along with the other giggling holiday travelers. If I had it in my power, I'd change flights right this minute just so I wouldn't have to share eight or so hours with two men I've severed nearly all ties with, save where royalties and business affairs are concerned. But time is of the essence- and Freddie means too much. I'm going no matter what.
I find my seat in first class, put my carry-on in the bin overhead, and buckle in, staring out the window.
Someone else comes to sit beside me, setting down his things before crossing his long legs comfortably and opening up a sleek laptop. Somehow, the tittering around the plane grows louder. I simply fold my hands in my lap, patiently awaiting the screens to drop down and tell us where all the emergency exits are.
And from out of nowhere, my neighbor speaks: "You too, eh, John?"
I swallow. And turn, very slowly, to face the gently smiling man sitting there at my left.
"Hello, Brian."
He nods. "Been a long time, what's it been, thirty years?"
"Mm."
"You look good."
"Thanks. So do you."
"Thank you."
Roger leans forward in his seat across the aisle and grins at us- and I realize I'm cornered. Checkmate. Game over. There's no getting away from these guys for at least eight hours.
And it's all because "Rick" couldn't keep from laying low.
But it's too late now. I'm committed. I can't turn back. Even if that means awkward conversation with Brian and Roger while a million smartphones record our every expression- I'll take it. I have to. For Freddie, and for Julia, and for Danny.
Just don't give them away, whatever you do.