Chapter Six

THE PRELUDE

Freddie couldn't deny he was rather nervous as he jumped out of the car in front of Michael's mansion the following day.

Michael had sent a servant - Annie - to welcome them and Freddie shook hands with her while Peter - Freddie's personal assistant - stood behind him crunching his teeth. Freddie hated the sound but at the moment he was too preoccupied with other things to comment on it. Besides, he couldn't forget he didn't come here alone which was actually a good thing.

Annie led them inside. From the first look Freddie knew Michael had a very good taste: Every piece of furniture was chosen carefully to fit into the interior of the house.

There were massive mahogany cupboards, polished ebony tables, and enormous porcelain vases in every corner. The walls were covered with paintings and photographs. Quite simply, the house looked almost exactly like the place where Freddie imagined himself living in five years time.

They were left in what looked like a living room. The gold and platinum album certifications as well as an impressive collection of other diplomas were hung on the walls of the room. Freddie could see Peter's eyes widening in awe and couldn't blame him: he felt quite dizzy himself when he thought that the one who had achieved all this was just 22 years old.

After a minute or so they heard footsteps from the corridor and turned around just in time to see Michael enter the room, wearing a casual red tee and jeans. He had a huge smile on his face and shook hands with both of them.

Freddie noticed Michael was quite excited to have them here - for whatever reason - and became a bit worried he might not live up to his expectations. He definitely didn't come here to record anything. In fact, he was here just out of curiosity.

'Oh, I should tear those down', Michael stated annoyed when he saw what Freddie was looking at.

'What?'

'Those awards, gold albums and stuff. I don't wanna feel like I was accomplished or anything because I'm not.'

'Why you keep them there then?' Freddie inquired, bemused.

'Joseph wants me to', Michael replied abruptly.

'Joseph? Who's Joseph?'

'My father', Michael hissed and pulled a face Freddie had never seen before.

'So you keep them on display because your father tells you to?'

'Exactly.'

Michael looked grim. Fortunately an elder woman happened to walk into the room at that very moment and Michael's face lit up immediately. The woman stopped on her tracks as she noticed the guests and greeted them in a little soft voice that reminded Freddie of his own mother:

'Hello. I'm Katherine Jackson, Michael's mother. Nice to meet you.'

She and Freddie shook hands.

'Freddie Mercury. This is a great pleasure indeed.'

'How are you?'

'Never better. And how about, Mrs. Jackson? I must say you look absolutely charming.

Katherine blushed.

'Mum, don't be so shy. He's right', Michael whispered gently and hugged his mother.

'This is my assistant, Mr. Peter Freestone', Freddie went on.

'Mrs. Jackson, how are you?'

'Oh, very good, thank you.'

'I'm pleased to hear that.'

'Mum, is Jan at home? She should come down here.'

'I'm sorry, sweetheart. She said she wouldn't come back until Wednesday.'

'Oh well, then I'll just show you around', Michael said a bit disappointed and beckoned Freddie and Peter to follow him.

First he took them to the garden. He showed them all of his pets (Freddie was astonished to find out Michael had llamas) including the residents of the swan pond.

'I love Tchaikovsky. You know, The Swan Lake Suite. It's brilliant. I adore those birds, they're so beautiful creatures. Stunning to look at, whoo!'

Freddie chuckled but couldn't but agree.

The tour continued and gradually Freddie grew more and more aware of what this kind of exhaustive presentation on the wonders of the garden meant: Michael really and literally lived within the borders of this estate, voluntarily imprisoned. This was simply his world. And that was something Freddie found hard to understand, because he needed to feel the world around him.

His heart ached when he listened to Michael as he babbled about how the magic of the nature could be found in the flowers and trees and how animals never betrayed him. He felt like he was visiting The Glass Menagerie - for real.

'Now - here's the my home studio.'

Freddie blinked and came back to the present.

He was standing in the middle of a large, soundproof studio room full of all kinds of instruments (mostly different percussion instruments), their cases, music stands, amplifiers, and paper sheets.

Wires crisscrossed the floor. However, some space right in front of the (covered) windows was left empty, apparently so that Michael had room for dancing.

'Here I've done everything.'

'Are you doing now something special?'

'Yeah. A new album. It's going to be better than the last one, I can feel it.'

'Wasn't Off The Wall good enough?'

'No, not at all', Michael stated determinedly. 'I want that new album to be like a brilliant diamond, every side of it must be equally perfect. Off The Wall wasn't perfect. I'm dying of thirst.'

'I'm sorry', Peter interrupted. 'I need to use the toilet.'

'Go help yourself', Freddie muttered and Peter left the studio.

Michael fell silent and in an instant Freddie's palms became sweaty and clammy.

He began to examine the electric guitar that stood in the corner. All the time, he felt Michael's eyes on him, observing his every move with rapt attention.

All of a sudden Freddie realized that the door of the recording studio was locked. If Peter came back he couldn't enter unless they opened the door for him.

He put the guitar carefully back on its stand and turned around. Michael was leaning against the wall a few feet away staring at him. When Freddie cracked a smile, he averted his gaze.

Freddie frowned, decided to leave him alone and instead turned his attention to the grand piano. He walked up to it and stroked the piano lid absent-minded.

'Do you mind if I play something?' he asked after a while.

'No', Michael stated. 'Go ahead.'

Freddie nodded, sat down behind the piano and tentatively played the C Major scale.

It sounded good: the keys were light and responsive. He closed his eyes and to his surprise heard Michael moving toward the empty space.

So he was going to dance.

Freddie composed himself, wondering which piece would fit the situation the best. After a few seconds he got an idea and started.

He didn't play Queen but something totally unexpected. Michael's breath was taken away by the first, anxious notes that rang out in E minor. They made him move restlessly and painfully. He dragged his feet heavily along the floor, like he had suddenly lost all his vital energy.

The music painted his world black, adding some dirty hues of green here and there.

It was like poison.

Toward the end he got more and more carried away by the strong feeling he had tried to suppress all too long. Now it took control over him, completely, and possessing him.

Finally he just couldn't take it no more and collapsed to the floor.

Freddie stopped playing immediately and knelt down next to him.

'I'm sorry', he breathed.

Michael was sobbing. He attempted to wipe the tears off but to no avail. The crying simply wouldn't stop.

Freddie watched him alarmed, and put a hand on his shoulder.

Michael looked up at him, his eyes wide and teary.

'I'm sorry', Freddie repeated.

'What piece was that?', Michael whispered weakly.

'It was a prelude by Chopin. In E minor.'

Michael shook his head.

'How can anyone compose a piece like that?' he moaned. 'It's so sad, it hurt so bad...'

Michael trembled.

Freddie automatically wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. Michael didn't resist but even pressed his face against his chest and grabbed the back of his shirt like he feared Freddie would leave him any minute.

But Freddie wasn't going anywhere.

He was shaking too, not only because of Michael's emotional turmoil but also because the scent of Michael filled his nostrils, his senses, his mind... and the body the younger man snuggled against him. His heart began to beat faster when his hand accidentally touched the bare skin on Michael's back, right where his shirt ended. Michael breathed heavily against his chest and Freddie breathed with him.

Michael's body oozed heat. His strong hands clutched his shirt... His beautifully curved eyebrows, long lashes, fluffy hair, the way he leaned on his chest...

Freddie couldn't hold back anymore.

Very carefully, he started to caress Michael's lower back, brushing his fingertips against the warm skin, massaging him gently.

Michael grunted slightly and nestled further into his embrace.

Freddie sniffed his hair and imagined...

'No', a voice in his head snapped. 'You are not going to do that.'

Freddie believed the voice. Hence he just rested his chin on the top of Michael's head and pulled him closer.

Then Michael sighed, squirmed a little and opened his eyes.

For a moment they looked at each other, frozen in place. Freddie was still holding Michael and their faces were only inches away. Both gulped and quivered.

This was something entirely new, and suddenly the intimacy of the situation started to bother Michael. He shook himself back to his senses, pulled away from Freddie and looked around - and realized that the red light above the doorway was flashing.

He stood up and dusted his clothes.

'Peter's back', he muttered and strode to the office to let Peter in.

'Were you recording already?' Peter - who had waited behind the door for some time - asked flatly.

'No, not yet', Freddie snapped.

'Not yet? Oh bother...'

'Peter', Freddie warned.

He felt a headache coming on and Peter's sharp voice irritated him even more than usually.

'I'm sorry. But Freddie - we should leave soon.'

'What's the time?'

'Seven o'clock.'

'Oh, damn. Phoebe darling, could you please go and call a taxi for us?'

'No, Dean will drive you to the hotel', Michael broke in. 'I go tell him to get ready.'

Freddie gave him a stern look.

'Thanks for your concern, Michael, but I can actually afford a taxi drive.'

'You're my guest. Please.'

Freddie smiled.

'Okay then. Phoebe, you go.'

'I can go', Michael offered.

'No, Phoebe - '

He gave Peter a look and he nodded. Michael told him where the garages were and then he disappeared into the corridor.

'Are you okay?' Freddie asked Michael when Peter was gone.

'Yeah, I'm okay', Michael answered. 'I'm so sorry for... that.'

'No, no, no. It's alright. It didn't bother me at all. Besides, that's your gift, Michael. You should be proud of it. That's why people love you... because, because you are like that.'

'Like what?' Michael laughed. 'Oh yes, I'm so sensitive.'

'No, I mean that you feel the music. When you dance, you're like a force of nature, I've never seen anything quite like that.'

'Michael's got the Force!'

'I was serious.'

Michael continued to giggle. Freddie tried to be angry at him but couldn't help chuckling at his silliness.

'We should get out of here', Freddie suggested.

The white sterile walls made him feel slightly claustrophobic.

'You want go out? A great idea', Michael agreed and they moved into the garden.

Michael sat down at the edge of the fountain and washed his hands in the bright water. Freddie watched him mesmerized.

Michael's smooth, dark skin shone beautifully and light patterns danced on it.

There was something very rare in him, like he had lived for thousands of years.

And still he was merely a child...

'I was just wondering... if you would like to... to duet with me some day', Michael blurted all of a sudden. 'Or your band and me.'

Michael dried his hands on his jeans.

'A duet?' Freddie questioned, disappointed. 'Well... I guess.'

'That would be great', Michael triumphed and smiled mysteriously.

Freddie felt uncomfortable.

So this was it.

A duet.

Of course he wanted to duet with Michael but - somehow he didn't want to think about his career, or Queen, or even Michael Jackson as a performer at the moment... That was his work. Now he wasn't the lead singer ofQueen but Freddie Mercury.

Rather, Farrokh Bulsara.

He was relieved when Peter appeared in the doorway, mouthing that the car was already waiting for them in front of the garages.

'I should leave now', Freddie stated.

'So soon? Are you sure?' Michael asked sadly. His eyes dimmed and Freddie could almost see how the iron curtain fell between them.

'Well, I'll call ya later', Michael promised when Freddie stood up.

Freddie took a long last look at Michael before he followed Peter inside.

Michael didn't even raise his eyes from the water.

Five minutes later Annie - a servant - came up to him to inform the guests had left.