Queen's personal manager Paul enjoyed coordinating more than just the day to day activities for the band. Yes, he liked setting up interviews, transport, and making the United States a Mount Everest to conquer.... But admittedly, he enjoyed pinning himself closer to Freddie even more.
"I didn't know you guys were coming," Paul welcomed Tony Bastin to their entourage's section of the nightclub with open arms as if he owned the place. "Didn't know you'd be here! You're welcome to join us if you like,"
There he was again. With that same winning smile he remembered from, after the show at one of Brighton's nightspots, where they'd done a little more than just meet.
Tony met his eyes and it all came back to him. He remembered how addicted he'd become to the way Freddie exchanged adrenaline with his audience. His desire to know everything about that man on stage, fueled by the wild and spontaneous taste of their night together still in his mouth. He wanted more. And had no problem letting him know, almost taunting him with sly coquettish glances as he closed the distance between him and Freddie.
"So we meet again." Tony started. He took a seat, his hand brushing up against Freddie's leg, just like he had their last night together. "I'm certainly glad to see you again."
"Helps I'm not a sight for sore eyes." Freddie met his gaze, but only briefly.
"Can we get another bottle? A fresh one?" To stop the waiter, Tony waved his arm, drunkenness dimming his seductive grace when he accidentally wasted wine on Freddie's shirt. "Oh no—" Quickly, he dabbed the singer's shirt with a nearby napkin. "Can we get some seltzer water over here??"
"Take my eyes but not the shirt." Freddie laughed it off. "Against all odds I think you've improved it actually."
"Oh really?" Tony smiled. "I'll claim my design award"
Brimming with envy, while Paul watched both of them like a hawk. Sipping one of his many drinks, Tony ran his fingers through his hair, searching for Freddie's eyes, but frowning when the singer looked away. He could read it all over him. "You're still in love with her aren't you?"
"He is," Roger joined the entourage by answering for him. "Any white left?" he held his glass out for a refill of white wine, turning to Freddie and hanging his arm on his shoulder. "Who's Charles?"
Freddie raised a brow, attention piqued at the mention of Princess Diana's butler. "Why??"
"He left a message saying," Roger began to mimic the tidiness of his accent, "That Miss Lucy's flight is approaching landing," laughing at his own subpar impersonation of Charles. "We should go to Houston in a month and meet them."
"Oh yeah?? When'd you get on board with all this?" Taken aback, Freddie smiled. "Them?"
"Yeah. Them." Roger scratched the back of his head. "Lucy and Violet."
Far more interested in this news, Freddie rose from his seat. "Well let's clean up nicely for them then."
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