HERE I STAND

Freddie posed like a fashion show model with his impressive big eyes piercing everything. Me too. I jumped apart when his eyes fixed on mine, just like the sputtering oil from a pan would spurt out to me. I placed myself behind other reporter's big back wandering around at the hotel hall. I was safe and hiding from those eyes.

In fact it was an irrational impulse which led me to pulling apart that sort of missile. Seeing those eyes well safe at the other side of a TV screen, phone screen, Ipad screen it wasn't the same. It wasn't. Live and in person were amazing.

The truth is he looked at everybody this way. I was aware of it after seeing countless recorded shows. I watched at the shapeless mass of people crowded at Wembley, Mylton Keynes, Olympiahalle and he looked at them as though he would look at his lover before attacking him or her like a tiger. That dark and shining intensity just a few inches of you was shocking. And as it seems having those marvellous eyes made you think you were his goal.

I made an unbridled review through Mr Mercury and Queen's timeline. My mission was about saving Freddie from his infection and judging by his looks we must be in 1984. I kept track of Freddie's looks.

The Works promotion. Slicked back hair, vest tightly around that beautiful chest, his body looked more muscular. He was picture of health, but if I weren't wrong the virus must already be inside his warm body. Shitty and useless calculations. I was sure I'd texted 1977 on its appropriate box. Why should it happened this to me? It was time to dissapearing with the same agility and stealth as I arrived.

- Darling, come with me...

An arm grabbed me firmly but delicately by the shoulder, taking me away the lobby. The reporters weren't around me for a while and I hardly even noticed it. Impressed and lost at my situation and thinking which was the best place to running away.

- What's wrong? -I mumbled as though I was 5 years old and they caught me playing a dirty trick.

- Let's go with all the other journalists.

- I'm not... but...

- We're doing the interviews in the suite. I think you are the last one. Where is your accreditation?

- I've got no... it's just I'm not...

I shouldn't be here in 1984 but a few years back. Do you get it?

- Bah, it doesn't matter. There's no time. I'm telling you the same as everyone else. Short interview, our man is exhausted. Don't be cheeky and tiresome. Today he's irritable. Stay there still, sorry. I'm coming back.

Oh, my God. It cannot be. Why the hell do this things happened to me? Have I do an interview to Mr Mercury? No, please. Doing his makeup, help him to dress up, holding his mirror to look at himself, bring him drinks, towels. Any task would be sufferable no matter how frightful would be. But interview him? No, please.

I made a fast review of how many interviews I'd seen to doing some research. It was unfair finding myself in this situation without a previous training but at least I could ask him some question which didn't annoy him. I couldn't try to compare to his friend Wigg. He didn't have to try hard with him but at least I had to try if I wanted to get out of this trouble with my intact decency. Fuck, what if I take my chance to run away and remake the operation? I need just little quiet, time, silence.

My time here is lost. My Freddie is already sick although nobody could say it. What a skin colour, what a wiry and perfect body. From where does it surge such masculinity out of this specimen of persian gay?

Let's see. The interview "Musical prostitute, my dear" was good. Freddie showed himself ironic, funny, tender, sincere and always appealing. With his little gestures, his laughing suffocated by his hands, he was good enough to eat. But don't forget he started saying Rudy (later on, by the way, director's several Queen videos and great friend and collaborator) he hated talking to people like him. When did it take place? Would be just a few months after? Just a few days? It was also 1984, he looked the same as today.

Or Mary Turner, that interview was the best. My favourite. Freddie was grateful for her intelligent or at least appropriate questions. Relaxed as though he was lying down on his own sofa. It wasn't easy hearing a similar interview.

It's funny how when you are longing the time pass, it flies away. It so happens that it was my turn.

- The journalist without accreditation. Which newspaper are you from?

I had enough time to get ready against the clock my newspaper's name, asking everyone else where did they come from. I got a few weird looks. All of them carried their recorders, their notepads and their cameras. I carried absolutely nothing.

Well, not nothing. A latest technology's smartphone very anachronistic for 1984. But...

- From Sounds.

- Ok. Let's get into, you have fifteen minutes.

So much? That's a lot of time. An eternity when you have your mind completely bloated and blank and you are standing in front of your idol, nothing more, nothing less. I swallowed hard, wiped the sweat from my hands along my trousers and after asking for a pen and paper before some weird eyes, with a deep sigh I got into the suite.

Instantly I noticed flowers and tobacco smell. Funny mix. His assistant led me to his suite's living room door and I cleared my throat.

Freddie stand there in pensive mood, touching the middle of his forehead with his index finger, up and down. Tracing a line all through his frown slowly, reflexive. With his other hand held a cigarette, burning down.

- Good morning, Mr Mercury (it sounded bad. On my lips sounded artificial, forced, absolutely hypocritical. And nevertheless I imagine it was the usual introduction). I'm... Elideth Polley from Sounds.

- Glad to meet you -he reached out his hand to shake mine and I prayed for him not to notice my overreaction.

His hand's shook was energetic, it couldn't be any other way. And that hand was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen even today. Only after his big eyes.

- Well, I think I'm the last one...

I was going to say that after my interview he could relax but he stared at me with curiosity and I was on my guard. I had the feeling that his eyes could pierce you effortlessly. I thought also that he could discover me and think, what are you doing here, 2020 creature?

- You don't have any accreditation. Why?

- Oh, I don't know, I must be lost it...

- And did they let you in?

- Well, yes.

- Darling, what if you'd be a terrorist about to kill me?

- Well... you have no choice but trust me.

He stared at me with those impressive eyes and kept my composure like a lion. After a spell raising his majestic chin he seemingly pleased with whatever he saw and heard.

- Hmmmm, maybe not terrorist, but...

Oh, dear. But what? This man...

- But you aren't a journalist either.

He had undressed me, done. Without turning a hair. Completely. And I should be going on with the sham, knowing pretty sure that, that man couldn't imagine I could come from the fucking future. But what did he see in me? That witch with tenor voice

- Mr Mercury...

- Oh, cut out the "Mr" shit. Come on.

- Fine...

I'd made myself a mental map which now it was torn apart. His insight had broken the mould and the few ideas I wrote down to pass the fifteen minutes exam, had faded away like his indolent cigarette in the ashtray. What could I ask him?

- You haven't brought any recorder either, miss journalist.

No, darling. But you'd be surprised the device which I could get into my pocket, able to sending messages, keeping in touch around the world, taking photos and of course, record your beautiful voice. What do you think?

- Did you lost it as your accreditation? You are a little mess, did you know?

He allowed himself one of his mischievous smiles and I felt like I melted down slowly like an ice-cream under the sun. That was unfair to me because he was absolutely right. I wasn't a little mess, but a real big mess.

- I have paper and pen -I claimed pragmatic.

- Oh, ok, my dear. I'll try speak slowly. If you got any question to ask me. Do you have it?

What did he see in me? Did I have poor skills as an actress? I'd failed this mission but I had to deal with it and get out of this. With the utmost profesionalism. I forced a smile caused by my restlessness about his words. It's been a long time since I didn't show my timid trait, I couldn't answer and solved the situation with a smile.

Freddie was self-assured. And nevertheless I was certain that his mechanic gesture of chain smoking was a self defence spring. He needed holding anything to appease his restlessness on his interviews. It was very strange involved in this unsatisfaying situation. From all the other posible junctures, I was going to meet Mr Mercury on his element. I knew he hated interviews with all his heart. And it was a fruitless task on my mission. A shameful waste of time and energy.

Freddie took a drag with his feminine way, his cigarette barely expelling the smoke, he swallowed it. His long and tanned fingers were beautiful. They made me lost my train of thought. Suddenly I gazed at him swiftly and I found his attentive eyes. I jumped.

- Is it everything fine?

The question was appropriate. He didn't know how fine I was. Just like a cat over the coals.

- Yes, sure -I lied with the less sure voice of the universe.

Anyway. Ten minutes and that's it. Go for it! I hoped he chattered away when he answered.

- You call... you didn't tell me.

- Yes, I did. Elideth Polley.

- What a beautiful name. Where does it come from?

- It's greek.

- If I ever have a daughter I'll call her so. What a beautiful name.

I was distracted again. Then I could hear knocking at the door to finish it all. I didn't even turn around but I saw Freddie made a gesture that could mean a lot of things and the person disappeared again closing the door.

Focus on it, Ashlee, shit. Just two little questions. You don't have to impress him. You know the golden rule; keeping a low profile. Cliche boring questions. These were good ones.

- Darling, maybe it'd do you good a glass of water.

- Yes, I think so -I couldn't help saying.

I had my mouth all dried up. I couldn't speak consistently that way. He took himself the glass and filled it up. I tried being restrained and not drink it up but I did.

- Do you feel better?

He puffed and expelled the smoke always nonexistent with eyes narrowed.

- You shouldn't smoke, Freddie.

I didn't know why the hell I told him that nonsense. Of course the unexpected situation was taking its toll in me.

Freddie let it out a caustic little grin with my words.

- How long have you been smoking?

- Is this your first question, honey?

Well yes, that was my first question. Brilliant. The interview musn't certainly go down in history, sure. But I ran the risk it did with my foolishness and my lack of control.

- You shouldn't drink so much either.

While we are at it, to make the most of it, why don't you tell him not fuck without condom?

- You are absolutely right, mummy.

My worries were genuine, but he couldn't know it. Or could he? Anyone knows. Those shining eyes with dilated pupils under the evident influence of coke, seemed to have the power to not only staring and checking but also reading minds. Suddenly the interview stopped to make sense to me.

I peered through his beautiful and wiry body as though I searched in it the first traces of the inevitable sickness which ultimately would sweep him off this world. That's the way Aids worked. For a few years they looked healthy men before all came tumbling down till its destruction.