Chapter Eleven

THE SHORTEST DAY OF ALL

Freddie's back was sore when he woke up the following morning.

He looked around with sleepy eyes and found the bed empty. He wasn't surprised though. But even if there wasn't any reason why Michael should have stayed, he couldn't help feeling a bit dejected.

Luckily, right after he had taken a morning shower and was about to go back to sleep Peter dropped in, announcing that the breakfast was to be served in ten minutes time.

'You don't look... your best today', Peter pointed out delicately after they had set the table and begun to eat. 'I reckon you didn't sleep all that well last night?'

Freddie scowled at him.

'May I ask - '

'For salt? Here you are', Freddie snapped and handed him the shaker.

'Sir, I appriciate your concern for my mineral balance but that's not quite what I was driving at.'

'I see', Freddie replied curtly.

'Are you sure you know what you're doing, sir?'

Freddie looked up at Peter, startled.

His assistant's light blue eyes stared steadily back at him.

'I have known you for a good while now and it really seems – don't get me wrong – it really seems to me like you don't realize what kind of trouble you could possibly get into by messing with the wrong people.'

'I was just being friendly.'

'Freddie', Peter said, almost reproachfully. 'Even though I have no idea whatsoever what Mr. Jackson was after last night, I can assure it wasn't your ****.'

Freddie looked absolutely stunned. He tried to strangle Peter, who - however - cut the attempted murder short.

'I say this as a friend – and as your employee. And I won't say it again, not only because you never listen to me but also - '

'I always listen to you. More than I should. I have no options', Freddie hissed icily.

'Just as you say, sir. This is really important though. I can see you like him... A lot', Peter added when he saw Freddie's face. 'And the feeling just might be mutual to some extent. But it shouldn't go any further than that, believe me.'

'What makes you think I would be ready to take it "any further than that"?' Freddie growled back.

'Lets just say that I know you all too well.'

'One could disagree.'

'Freddie, I'm serious here. He is not your type.'

Freddie gave him a lopsided smile.

'Even if he was', Peter went on, unperturbed, 'you should already hear warning bells. First of all, he is Michael Jackson. Secondly, I don't think he's into that kind of... form of closeness. Thirdly: it would destroy your career. So forget about it.'

'You don't know what you're talking about', Freddie said suddenly in a sadly tone. 'It's not that.'

'Then what is it? Because what I saw - '

'You have never felt anything like that, Phoebe. So shut up for good.'

Peter scrutinized him and when he realized that the issue was far more complicated than he initially thought, he gave up.

'Very well. But I must say I still dearly hope you'd leave him alone.'

And with this one last sentence, the issue was concluded.

Freddie called Michael later that day, but was told that he wasn't available at the moment. Although there wasn't anything particularly strange in him not being available - after all, Michael was very much in demand there days - Freddie couldn't make the little voice in the back of his head quiet.

What if he really had already gone too far?

But how Michael expected him to behave, when he crashed into his hotel room at 10 in the evening, just to sing him a song and confess his unfaltering faith in Jehovah?

It was way too wild to be real.

However, when he was asleep (of course Freddie had taken a look) he seemed to be totally in peace with everything that exists. Freddie could almost imagine waking up next to him, after a long night of sweet lovemaking... and that's what should have happened last night.

Absolutely.

He brought the corner of the red silk sheet to his face and breathed in deeply.

Naturally, it smelled of Michael.

'How could I ever have let him leave this bed?' he thought half-serious and rubbed the slippery fabric between his fingers.

'Brooke I need you here – now.'

Michael's voice was pleading. Brooke had never heard him so distraught and was a bit apprehensive about what was to come next.

'What's wrong, Michael?' she asked worried.

'Nothing, nothing... Honey, I need you. Please.'

Michael was literally begging her to come.

And since Brooke didn't have any reason why not to do as asked, she ordered a taxi right after the call and stood behind the door of Michael's room only twenty minutes later.

'What took you so long?' Michael complained when you opened the door and dragged her in.

Then he kicked the door shut in a dramatic motion and threw himself into her arms.

Brooke had to take a step backwards and Michael used her imbalance as his advantage, pulling her even closer. Soon she felt her back press up against the door, as Michael gently but firmly pinned her arms to her sides and started to kiss her demandingly. He didn't open his eyes once nor said a word. Even though Brooke felt slightly threatened by his aggressiveness, she couldn't deny that it was quite flattering to be surprised like this.

It took her a moment to realize, though, that Michael was now steering her toward the mattress. She tensed up for a second, but Michael continued to push her nevertheless. Soon she felt her knees buckle and fell backwards, landing safely on the soft bed covers.

Michael collapsed on top of her.

However, as the kiss went on, Brooke noticed that it was rapidly losing its passion. Finally she broke off and - like she had thought - Michael didn't even object. He rolled to his side panting and his eyes squinting, and Brooke reached out to caress his hair.

They laid like this for a long time, until Michael suddenly threw his eyes open and looked at Brooke, an alarmed expression on his face.

'Are you okay?' he asked, anxious and clearly ashamed of what he had been about to do.

Brooke nodded and gave him a little smile.

'I'm so sorry.'

'It's okay, Michael.'

'No it's not.'

'Michael, it wasn't that bad. At all. In fact: I liked it. It was just totally unexpected, you know.'

Michael blinked bemused.

'I would've asked you to stop if I hadn't wanted that to happen. But I didn't stop you now because I wouldn't want this but because I got the feeling that you don't.'

'I really thought I did', Michael muttered very quietly.

'Well, I don't think so', Brooke stated determinedly and pecked him softly on the mouth. 'Be honest to yourself. You're not ready yet.'

Michael rubbed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. Then he hugged Brooke, trying to make every part of his body to touch her.

Her body heat warmed him sweetly.

'Brooke', he began timidly, still holding her tight and enjoying the moment.

Brooke only hummed in response, snuggling against his pillowy hair.

'Could you sleep with me tonight? I mean – just sleep, nothing more?'

'Of course. If you promise you won't snore, that is.'

Michael chuckled.

'I never snore', he assured, smiling. 'I swear.'

Brooke twisted and turned in her sheets, trying to catch sleep, but nothing helped.

Her beautiful light brown curls were glued to her cheeks and Michael, who was laying on her side blissfully asleep, totally compensated the chilling effect of the open window with his body heat.

It wasn't that it was unpleasant to sleep with Michael: it was that Brooke wasn't used to sharing a bed with anyone. And even though Michael didn't snore – just like he promised – he breathed quite heavily and in the silent room it sounded like a chainsaw revving up.

So – after another sleepless hour – Brooke finally got up, tiptoed to Michael's private bathroom and locked the door after her.

She turned on the lights and had to blink for a few seconds before her eyes adjusted to the bright light.

But as soon as she could see again, she glanced in the mirror... and could do nothing but laugh: her hair was totally messed up and with bulging bags under her eyes she looked like a certain late movie director.

Brooke ended up making some silly faces at the mirror to entertain herself, but got bored soon and tried to think up something else to do.

She couldn't take a shower in the middle of night – but she could pluck her eyebrows: The irritating operation had to be done once in a while, and now she had the perfect opportunity.

But when she pulled open the doors of Michael's mirror cabinet, she was encountered by such an impressive collection of perfume bottles, facial cream, lotion tubes, and cotton pads that she couldn't have found a proper pair of tweezers had she spent the rest of night hunting for them.

Thus, she gave up the idea and chose to clip her nails instead as she found a pair of nail scissors by the sink.

After she was done with her fingers, she sat down on the toilet seat to clip her toenails - and that's when something colorful in the corner of her eye caught her attention.

She leaned against the wall and glanced down and right there - squeezed between the wall and giant, shiny black make-up case - was a thin stack of crumpled magazine papers.

'Aren't those... men's magazines?' Brooke thought puzzled. 'Maybe I should leave them right there.'

However, soon her curiosity took over her and she stooped down to pull the papers out.

Brooke chuckled at her own silliness.

'So this is Michael's dirty secret', she mused, examining the discolored front page of Rolling Stone magazine. 'Porn my ass.'

But she hadn't even finished the thought when something dropped into her lap.

'What's this?' she muttered and picked up the clipping.

It was a picture of Freddie Mercury.

Brooke raised her eyebrows in surprise and put the Rolling Stone aside, taking a look at the magazine under it.

It was a Japanese Music Life with Queen on the front cover.

As Brooke leafed through the magazine, more clippings and photographs fell from between the pages, all featuring Freddie: They were either his interviews, concert reviews, or just simply photos of him dancing, singing, sitting, standing, talking...

And as if this wasn't strange enough, Brooke found a tiny notebook inside the third magazine, full of handwritten notes, lyrics, and sketches - all inspired by the lead singer of Queen.

Brooke blinked. Well, this wasn't something she would have expected to find in Michael's private bathroom.

He clearly admired Freddie.

A lot.

'So that's why he got so upset. But why didn't he tell me?' she wondered, staring at the photos in front of her. 'It's not like it was something to be ashamed of... Hmm?'

She had flipped open the last page of the notebook and noticed a short poem on the bottom of the page.

It was written in a tiny, almost indecipherable script so that Brooke had to squint her eyes and bring the notebook closer to read it:

'Always follow your heart', You said,
'And you will never be led astray.'
But who am I to follow now
that I have lost my guide?She stared at the words for a few seconds.

Now this didn't make sense, did it.

'Am I just imagining something here, or is he...'

Suddenly she felt a sting of guilt for invading Michael's privacy. Very quickly, she slipped all the clippings in between the pages of the Rolling Stone and put the magazines very carefully back to where she found them.

'It's nothing', she assured herself. 'Nothing at all.'

She stood up, exited the bathroom, and crawled back onto the mattress, where Michael slept ever so peacefully.

'I love you', she whispered and kissed him on the forehead.

Then she nestled closer to him and closed her eyes.

Soon after she fell asleep.