- I've brought you my idea of the record's cover. I want you to give me your opinion.
My eyes just lit up and my eyeballs trembled with emotion when I took a glimpse at Freddie's beautiful drawing, still a sketch.
It was the second time Freddie visited my flat. My plans of having my own fortress, a shelter from all of them to keep the needed distance came tumbling down when I got sick. They weren't taking shifts to nurse me because their lives were enough busy to make them even harder. But they used to make themselves sure I was alright, if not quite well, at least at ease.
The first thing you noticed was his own interpretation of the Phoenix raising from his ashes. It unfolded its huge wings at the foot of a little pyre and each wing touched a lion, one at the right hand and the other at the left (they were depicting John and Roger's zodiacal signs). Just at the centre there was a big Q of Queen above which it was placed a pinky crab (Brian's zodiacal sign) and floating graciously on the lower side were a pair of nimphs depicting Freddie's horoscope, Virgo.
- I want your opinion as a drawing artist -he told me without taking his eyes off me.
I trailed with one finger Freddie's lines in that new version of the logo which he created some years ago. This time around they had decided that in that key record it wouldn't appear one of their session photos as those in Queen II or Sheer heart attack.
- Is this going to be the record's cover?
- I gotta to chew on this but yeah, I would like to show the world our logo. What do you think?
- It's beautiful.
- Only this? You are a bad art critic, you know?
Yes, I was. I admit it. He couldn't understand that that drawing was pure history of the music to me. I have inherited that record from my natural mother and I have watched that drawing a million times trying to imitate it, failing. I couldn't match his rampant lions and his delicate nimphs. It had his unique trademark.
- I love how you draw. It's so original.
- Oh, darling. You should be musical critic. At this stage we would be the fucking Beatles.
Freddie kicked off his clogs and placed his feet languidly over my legs on the sofa, like a playful kitten.
- Won't you come with me to the party? -he proposed.
- Won't Mary attend?
- Hmmm, I'm afraid not this time.
Freddie bit his lower lip and grabbed his cup of tea as though it was his anchor.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
- Is it something wrong?
- Yes, I pointed out to my head and shot. I already killed myself.
In our intimate language that only us knew, that meant just one thing. He had just come out of the closet at last.
