Roger's P.O.V.
I hit the final cymbal, letting the sound fade out into the silence. With my head fallen back and eyes closed, I waited for my breath to slow down to its natural pace, in the calming peace of the dark, empty stage.
I opened my eyes again, letting my gaze fall down to the audience, which was just in few hours going to turn into a lively crowded place. Now, forty minutes before the bar was opening, no customers, or any of the service were present, except me.
In exchange for some pounds from my salary, I persuaded the owner to always let me in some time earlier than anyone else was allowed to, and let me practice on the drums which were in ownership of the club. I took few music lessons, and learnt how to play when I was younger, back in my hometown. I fell in love with drums so much, that I spent all my money on my own set, playing in the garage every time I had the chance. With few friends we formed an amateur band, not very successful, but still a great and fun experience. However, my friends didn't take it so seriously as I did, and soon we broke up. In addition to that, I went off to college, had to get an apartment and a part-time job to be able to pay the rent. Which, to be honest, was still a bit too expensive for me, but I couldn't find neither a cheaper rent, or a roommate to share with. Taking my drums with me was an idea completely out of the blue- no available transport as I didn't had any van or a even driving license, or any spare time as I was struggling to only zigzag from school to job twenty four seven. For some time, I didn't play at all, but then I got this idea and convinced Mr. Smith, so I got back to it.
It could be a month or so when I picked up drumming again, so I still was recovering from the long break, but I was quickly improving. However, sometimes I wondered that even though it helped me to get all my emotions out, calmed me down and I simply just loved it, I didn't know where is this all going to head to when I'm never going to use all what I've learned properly. I didn't think about actual quitting, but those thoughts still sometimes entered my head and were hard to get rid off.
I got out of the stage, shoveling drum sticks, my only belonging here linked to playing, in my bag. In the dressing room, I changed from my clothes, soaked with sweat, to clean ones,
Afterwards, I quickly prepared the tables a bit, put on some background music and opened the front door, to let my coworkers, and later visitors in.
—————
It was about eleven p.m. and the place was at its peak. One of the bands that took turns on the stage was now performing, crowd on the dance floor jumping to their loud music. People came for shots, beers or so to the bar continuously, so we always had something to do.
I filled a glass after glass, taking money from the people, exchanging it for the precious alcohol. Jealousy for the people who simply just came here to enjoy their Friday afternoon with a drink in their hand, good music, and an acceptable chick afterwards was building up inside me during every single of my shifts all over again. I wished to just take a break, grab a tequila and enjoy some of the concerts too. Just for a single night, have a rest. But I couldn't allow it. I was too short on money for that.
"Hey blondie," Greg, one of my collaborators shouted at me from the other side of the bar. "You have a customer, dumbass."
I ignored his stupid insults, and looked up from the glass I was currently washing. There was a guy, leaning against the counter, with a slight smirk in his face, waiting for me to notice him probably for a long time now. I must have really got away with my thoughts.
I recognized this guy. He came here quite often, always by himself. He didn't even talk much or dance with others, well honestly I wasn't surprised. According to his slightly darker skin tone, he clearly wasn't from Britain and must have immigrated here with his family or something. His figure was skinny, so he could possibly attract girls, but his huge front teeth obviously acted very differently, may have caused that getting to know people was more difficult for him.
He visited the club twice, sometimes three times a week, at weekends for longer time, at working days for just a short visit. He bought a drink and stood by the edge of the room to have a good view at the performing band, and watched it the whole night. Not trying to seem as a stalker, and not meaning to be rude, but when you see someone with such teeth, they do catch your attention, whether you mean it the bad way or not.
"I'm sorry. What can I get for you?" I asked him, putting the glass in my hands away.
"All good dear. A beer will do," he replied, smiling and placing the cash on the desk in front of me. His jaw may be deformed, whatsoever his voice was very strong and full, much more interesting than any other ordinary person's. His addressing 'dear' shocked me for a moment, but eventually I let it go without a comment.
I took the money, returned him the change, landing the beer, taken right out of the freezer, on the counter.
"What is your name?" He asked, sipping from his drink, after he took a seat at one of the bar stalls.
"Roger. Roger Taylor," I answered, confused by his question.
"I'm Freddie Bulsara," came from him before I could ask myself.
"I've seen you here before. You come here quite often, do you?"
"I do," he shrugged his shoulders a bit. "You seem to be here quite often too," he chuckled, turning his bottle upside down, taking a drink.
"Well I can't escape," I smirked.
"Tell me Roger," Freddie brought his arms on the desk, supporting his chin with one of his fists, looking at me. "Why aren't you up there?" He motioned his eyes towards the stage.
"What?" I scowled in confusion, shocked by this question, as much as by all of his from before. This guy seemed to be a really interesting person.
"I heard you playing. You slayed it, you should be up there."
My heart started beating fast and face went red from embarrassment. My palms went sweaty as I stared at him with wide eyes for a split second, unable to find the appropriate words to answer.
"Y-you did?" I chuckled nervously, hoping that he was only just joking, extremely uncomfortable with the possibility that he could have really heard me.
"Sure I did darling. And it was glorious," he nodded and laughed over my reaction.
"Oh shit..." I mumbled, taking my face in hand. "I never meant anyone to hear it, I was just practicing and-"
I started explaining rapidly, with my embarrassment nearly visible in the air, suddenly stopped.
"Wait, how the hell did you even get in here?" I frowned, watching him suspiciously.
He just smiled, leaning backwards in his chair, waving his hands dramatically in the air.
"Easily. I simply persuaded the owner," he revealed.
"What?!" I couldn't believe my ears. It couldn't be so easy for him to convince that guy. He was as a bloody brick wall!
"How much did it cost?!"
"Nothing," he giggled, shaking his head.
"What?! That's fucking unfair! It cost me nearly half of my salary!" I exclaimed.
"Well, I can achieve anything I want if I try hard enough. And I wanted to see if it's possible to practice here when the club is empty, and if it's acceptable. The echo, electricity and everything," he explained mindlessly.
"You have a band?"
"Well, you could say that."
"Really? That's cool. Where can I see you performing?"
"Nowhere," he grinned.
"How come?" I asked, not understanding what he meant by all of that.
"My band mates doesn't really know yet that they are my bandmates."
I blinked at him few times in disbelief, then bursted out into laughter. This guy really was a someone.
"Well, alright. Good luck with that then."
He chuckled back a little, grasping his beer and getting down from his chair.
"Thanks dear," he leaned towards me once more. "Sure I'll try. Enjoy the night as well as is possible for you," he said as he turned around and started disappearing into the dark.
"You too," i muffled after him, grinning secretly while returning to washing glasses, over this extraordinary weird experience. Freddie really seemed as having a passion for music, and really willing to do what he could to get a band. Maybe he will. Maybe he will get a great band, write many hits, record many albums and become the most famous rock legend in the whole world. Maybe. Or maybe he will just get kicked out of every band he'd try to recruit, and end up as a sassy librarian. Who knows.
I shook my head and let all the thoughts about this Bulsara boy out of my head as I moved to another customer, a girl with her two friends, already seeming drunk as hell.
"Hey ladies, what will make you pleased?" I asked them, a wave of hysterical laughter coming as an answer to me.
"Hey, Taylor," a shout suddenly mentioned my name. I looked up to reveal Freddie, about a step away from the counter, with a leather jacket he wasn't wearing before. Clearly, he was leaving by now.
"Yeah?" I yelled back.
"Just so you know dear, you're one of them," he screamed through all the noise the music and the crowd made.
"Tomorrow at six p.m., make sure you'll be here," he yelled, not waiting for my answer, as he swung the door open and let them fall shut behind me.
I mean- is he fucking shitting me.
Hey guys,
I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. It needed a bit of the backstory, I hope it didn't put u to sleep
Just to get started- it's a completely made up maylor fanfic
Plus, I'm not an English speaker, so if there may be grammatical mistakes n I'm sorry for that
Enjoy (^з^)-☆