Chapter Ten

TOO MUCH OF SOMETHING IS BAD ENOUGH

'Do you want peanuts, sir?' Peter asked and threw a bag of peanuts in Freddie's lap.

Freddie declined politely, picked the bag up, and gave it back to Peter.

'Well, in that case, sir... I guess I'll just help myself', Peter stated nonchalantly, tore the bag open, took out a handful of salty nuts, and tossed the half-empty package on the night table.

They were laying on the satin-sheeted double bed in Freddie's royal hotel suite watching an episode of a new TV show Fridays. Freddie had no interest in the show whatsoever, but Peter really seemed to liked it; Every now and then he would burst into uncontrollable laughter and Freddie would smile and frown at him simultaneously.

Because Peter was a moron. A dear moron, maybe, but moron nevertheless.

Well, a moron he couldn't have lived without.

'No Phoebe', Freddie groaned, when Peter tried to smuggle some peanuts into his hand. 'I said no.'

'Freddie, dear - I can clearly see you could do with some nuts...'

Freddie scowled at him.

'...in a nice, fresh package, perhaps.'

'Ha, ha. Very funny.'

The younger man's smug grin annoyed Freddie greatly so he decided to tease him a little.

'What a generous offer. I didn't expect that from you', he whispered in his ear and put his hand boldly on Peter's thigh.

Then Freddie watched satisfied how his assistant visibly paled and moved a little bit closer to the edge of the bed.

'Don't worry, darling', he continued in a mock-seductive voice and withdrew his hand. 'I can wait.'

'If Mr. Queen just got his nuts from someplace else', Peter muttered and placed the peanut bag on his belly so that the opening was facing him. 'We do not accept that currency here.'

Freddie pulled a face, then suddenly smiled slyly, grabbed the peanut bag - and emptied it into his mouth.

After the robbery he winked at Peter, who looked absolutely stunned and had already opened his mouth ready to express his disapproval of this kind of behavior, when the door was knocked.

'Eventually!' Peter exclaimed and climbed from the bed.

The back of Freddie's neck stiffened and his heart leaped up as he thought who might be standing behind the door.

But he let out the breath he had been holding as soon as Peter cracked the door open: it was just room service who brought his assistant his daily 24-ounce bottle of Firefly vodka.

'Here you are, sir', Peter said after he had thanked the servant and closed the door. 'You may open it.'

Freddie accepted the offer gratefully and uncorked the bottle, taking a long swig of it.

He let the strong liquid burn his throat and swallowed. He could feel Peter's eyes on him all the way.

'Maybe it's that bad already', he mused sadly and closed his eyes to savor the bitter taste of the drink. 'He sees it, Andy sees it... Everyone sees it. Bloody brilliant.'

'Could you leave me something, please', Peter pleaded, half-serious. 'Calf.'

Freddie sighed and handed the bottle back to him. Then he glanced at the TV screen and saw the final credits of the Fridays rolling across the screen.

'Lets watch the movie now. Put the tape in, Phoebe, I'll go wash my hands.'

He was in the bathroom, wiping his face with a towel when the door was knocked again.

He heard Peter opening the door and talking to someone.

Then the door was closed.

As Freddie exited the bathroom, he accidentally hit Peter with the door and was about apologize, when he noticed his ashen face.

Alarmed, he looked over his shoulder at the door and startled as he saw a dark figure - literally black from head to toe - standing in the hallway, staring at him.

'Is it okay if I come in?' the little voice asked from behind the scarf that covered the figure's face and Freddie - who recognized the voice immediately - nodded bemused.

He watched amazed how Michael stripped off his disguise, layer by layer, until he was only wearing a casul pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt.

He looked absolutely terrified, and Freddie could tell it had taken all his courage just to come here on his own and knock the door.

'Um - you're welcome', Freddie mumbled to break the uncomfortable silence and asked Michael to come inside.

He indeed took a few staggering steps from the doorway, but when Freddie gestured for him to sit down on the bed, next to Peter, he stopped in his tracks and froze.

Peter looked at Freddie questioningly. But Freddie only frowned at him, silently telling him to keep his mouth shut and then turned back to Michael, who had - however - disappeared from his side and sat now curled up in the corner of the coach that stood on the other side of the room.

'I like this suite a lot', he said when he saw both Freddie and Peter were gazing at him. 'Very nice.'

He felt more confident now that he had found himself a sheltered place to sit and looked around in awe.

The interior of the room was very tasteful. Everything was made of expensive materials and smelt new and fresh, like the room had just went through an extensive renovation. Especially Michael liked the golden moulding that ran around the ceiling and reminded him of the palace of the Sun King.

'Thank you', Freddie mumbled.

Suddenly Michael remembered where he was and what he had come here for and shuddered.

'Uhm, I just wanted to come - I wanted to - uhm, what were you guys up to before I came?' he asked nervously, chickening out.

'Watching TV', Peter blurted before Freddie could stop him. 'And we were about to watch a movie.'

'Oh, I love movies', Michael said and smiled shyly. 'What movie were you going to watch?'

'Psycho.'

Michael's eyes widened.

'But it's so scary!' he said apprehensively. 'I've only watched the first fifteen minutes and they scared the hell out of me.'

Freddie laughed.

'That's the very point of it, Michael', he sneered. 'It's a horror movie, alright.'

'I do love horror movies.'

'Yeah, looks like it', Freddie mocked.

'Okay, lets watch it then', Michael threw back boastfully. 'I'll show ya.'

Freddie was slightly taken aback by this response, but gave Michael an approving smile nevertheless. Peter - who had been waiting impatiently for the conversation to end - pressed the "play" button of the VHS player and turned off the lights.

Michael shivered.

'Oh God', he thought, already regretting his outburst. 'What made me say that? I'm just gonna embarrass myself.'

But - it was too late to turn back.

In the beginning, everything went quite well though. Michael almost felt how he was sucked into the story and the sinister atmosphere intensified all the time, making his stomach tighten in excitement.

Then the infamous shower scene kicked in.

Instinctively Michael covered his eyes - which was a mistake, because he could still hear the disturbing background music. When it faded away, just for a moment, he risked a peek at the screen through his parted ringers - only to see the shadow of the murderer creeping up behind the woman.

Suddenly a cold hand landed on his shoulder and he almost spat his heart out, screaming in unison with the dying woman.

He twirled around, bewildered.

And there was Freddie Mercury sitting behind him on the couch, laughing mercilessly at his distress.

'You devil!' Michael screeched and punched the older man in the chest. 'That was not a nice thing to do. Not funny.'

'I'm sorry!' Freddie said, but didn't look sorry at all. 'You just didn't look scared enough.'

'Oh, I didn't?' Michael asked, not sure if he should believe him or not. 'How come?'

'You didn't even scream.'

'Well, I was too terrified to make any kind of noise', he joked and cracked a little smile which Freddie returned.

Then both broke into laughter.

'Could you please focus on the movie, guys?' Peter - totally unfazed by the superstardom of either of his companions - asked annoyed. 'I can't hear a thing.'

Michael cheeks tinted a bright red. Quickly, he averted his eyes from Freddie and continued to watch the movie - although he still felt Freddie's presence on his side.

It was comforting and unsettling at the same time. Comforting, because he knew Freddie was a good person and felt close to him, but unsettling because he knew what Freddie was... and wasn't sure if Freddie knew what he was not.

When the movie eventually ended, Peter got up and turned the lights back on, announcing that it was time for him to call it a night (he knew Freddie didn't like to have him around asking stupid questions when he had guests) and left as discreetly as he could.

'Was it that scary after all?' Freddie asked Michael playfully and without thinking further rested his arm casually on the back of the couch.

Michael tensed up as Freddie's fingers accidentally brushed his neck. It was like something really dangerous was happening.

'Maybe it's just the after-affect of the movie', he thought nervously, but just to be on the safe side, shifted slightly away from Freddie.

'No, it wasn't', he replied quietly, still staring at the black screen.

'So', Freddie began, standing up. 'Do you want something? Are you thirsty?'

He nodded his head toward the table on which was a rather impressive collection of wines and liquors - all the finest quality.

'No thank you. I don't drink', Michael replied dryly and rubbed his eyes.

He knew that this was the moment he had come here for - now he was alone with Freddie.

But suddenly everything he wanted to say seemed pointless and stupid.

He followed Freddie with his eyes, watching how he poured himself a glass of vodka, how he carried himself when he walked back to the couch, how his knees bent as sat down next to him, how his soft lips pressed against the surface of the glass when he drank... He could have went on for hours just observing him. Everything that Freddie did fascinated him for some reason.

Freddie himself didn't feel too comfortable being scrutinized in such a way. He squirmed in his seat, avoided Michael's smoldering eyes, and downed the drink as fast as he could.

After finishing it to the very last drop, he carefully placed the glass on the night table and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

'Erm, so... Do you have something in mind already?' he asked in a husky voice and forced himself to look at Michael.

'I do', Michael said slowly. 'I do... I do have a song.'

'A song? For us?'

'Yes.'

'Well... Could you sing a me a line of two so that I could get the idea...?'

Michael blushed and the knot in Freddie's chest loosened a little.

A sign of humanity, at last.

'Could you look away, please?'

Freddie smiled but turned away obediently.

He closed his eyes and heard Michael breathing evenly somewhere in the darkness.

And then he began to sing.

Freddie had never heard him singing acapella, and the beautiful timbre in his voice along with the way he used his voice as a percussion instrument gave him goosebumps... But what took him most by surprise were the lyrics of the song.

'So this is our duet', he though agitated as Michael arrived at the bridge of the song and his voice gained more strength. 'He'll be singing this to me?'

'I'm very intrigued. It's great. Very impressive', he commented when Michael stopped singing. 'Who wrote it?'

'Me and Randy Hansen', Michael replied blankly.

'The guitarist Randy Hansen?'

'Him.'

'And who wrote the lyrics?'

Michael blushed and looked down at his lap.

'I did', he whispered in a hardly audible voice.

'It's a very good song', Freddie said encouragingly. 'Absolutely. When are we going to start working on it?'

'Freddie, I didn't come here because of that song.'

Freddie blinked.

'I beg your pardon?'

'I didn't come here to talk about music, you know.'

Freddie blinked again.

'What - uh - what did you come here for then?' he asked, his heart jumping painfully in his chest.

Michael squinted his eyes.

'To tell you... that I'm a Jehovah's Witness, Freddie.'

Of all the things Freddie had expected to hear this was probably the last one on his list.

'A Jehovah's Witness, huh?' he repeated, dumbstruck.

'Yes', Michael said confidently.

'Well, thank you for telling me', Freddie stated, still stunned by the unexpected turn of events. 'But I don't really get it. Did you come here to preach me or what?'

Freddie saw Michael's jaw tighten as he fought keep his composure and frowned.

What was wrong with the boy?

'I came here because - because I wanted to help you.'

'Help me? That's very nice of you, Michael, but you don't have to. Really.'

'But you - you - '

'I don't need your help, Mike', Freddie assured.

Michael's lips began to tremble and tears welled up in his eyes.

Then they started to stream down his face.

Once again, Freddie was at a loss of what to do. First of all, he had no idea whatsoever what kind of help Michael was offering him. What on Earth could be so important - so urgent - that he came here, all the way from his home without security guards (or so Freddie presumed), literally risking his life in the process?

'Freddie... You have no idea of what it's like to be me', Michael sobbed and buried his face into his hands. 'Every day, every night, so much pain, I can't tell ya.'

Freddie didn't know what to say so he decided just to listen.

'So lonely, every day, every night. Sometimes I go out, and walk around the neighborhood at night, just trying to find someone to talk to. But I never find anyone, Freddie.'

Michael Jackson walking in the streets of Los Angels, at nighttime?

Alone?

'Don't you have any friends then?'

'Yes I do, but not real friends. They can't understand, because... They just can't understand how it feels like.'

'What makes you think I could understand you any better?'

Michael raised his head and looked Freddie straight in the eye, trying to come up with some reason.

'I don't know', he finally admitted and sighed. 'I shouldn't be here', he added sadly.

'Well, you are', Freddie stated matter-of-factly and put his hand on Michael's shoulder.

Michael looked at it with mixed emotions but let it stay there.

'I was about 22 when I wrote Bohemian Rhapsody and Somebody To Love. Lets not go deeper into that sh*t, but I just want to say that - so that you know. You're not alone.'

Freddie rubbed Michael's shoulder gently.

'Everyone feels a bit empty from time to time.'

Michael shook his head.

'But I feel like that all the time', he whispered quietly. 'It won't stop.'

The tear trails glistened on his cheeks.

'Not all sadness is bad, darling', Freddie stated after a while and pulled Michael into an awkward hug.

Michael stiffened at first but then let himself to melt into the embrace.

It felt good, just like he remembered. Freddie's chest was warm and solid. His strong arms held him tight and his hot breath blew across his neck. He felt his own hands moving on their own accord, caressing Freddie's back.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that this was more than a hug between two friends.

But he didn't think about it. He didn't think about Brooke or God or what he had seen in the alley.

He didn't think at all actually: Everything was blissfully blank.

'Are you feeling any better?' Freddie asked quietly.

Michael nodded, sighing.

Then he slowly let go of him.

'I should leave', he muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

'It's late. You can stay over', Freddie suggested. 'I can sleep on the couch.'

Michael eyed him suspiciously. Suddenly he remembered everything, the lust, the impurity... it made him shiver.

'But there must be more to him than that', he thought desperately. 'There has to be.'

'Okay', he agreed.

He didn't know the time, but Freddie was right - it was too late to go home.

'Great', Freddie said, smiling. 'The bed is yours.'

Michael yawned deliciously and crawled into the bed, without even taking off his clothes.