Don't Talk! (Freddie Mercury / Queen)

17. With A Little Help From My Friends

F.M
6th Avenue, NYC
November, 21st

Hayes strode into the reception of Rolling Stone headquarters, and a few people immediately scattered in an effort to avoid him.

He looked his intimidating and holier-than-thou self once again in his deep navy suit and neatly swept hair. I was almost ready to believe that the Hayes who stayed with me in my flat just two weeks ago, with his dishevelled hair and gentle manner was a dream. That is, until he caught sight of me and offered me my new favourite lopsided grin. A grin that suggested he didn't smile much but this was his attempt at a real one.

I stood up and Hayes minimised the space between us in a few short strides. "Freddie, how are you?" He asked and tentatively clasped my shoulder.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the receptionist's jaw drop. I'm 99% certain it was because of Hayes' friendly manner, and not because she recognised that I was Freddie Mercury. The former really is more alarming so I don't blame her.

"I'm okay," I smiled, "You?"

"Living the high life." Hayes murmured sarcastically before he pulled back. "Are you ready to give me all the dirt on Queen?"

"It'll mostly be about Deaky, but yes."

Hayes chuckled at that, "Rumours are you've split."

"Is that what you are all saying?" I bristled.

"Not me, but yes." Hayes gestured for me to follow him, "Hot Space flopped, you forced the band to go in a direction nobody wanted to go in. You all fell out, and scattered to opposite ends of the globe to pursue solo projects... and we all know how they work out."

Roger has already said I need to sweeten Hayes up before we release our next solo and band records. I honestly think I could achieve world peace quicker.

"That's quite the narrative." I murmured. "And do all ex-band members flop when they go solo?"

Hayes ignored my question, he seemed a little distracted. He swung his office door open and let me walk through first. Rare New York winter sunshine poured through the window, blinding me momentarily.

"Mhm, I assume it's all rubbish." Hayes gestured towards the leather chair tucked into his desk, "Take a seat, I'm just wrapping up here."

"Wrapping up?" I frowned, and heard another voice crackle through the air.

I glanced about the office, but didn't see another soul. The voice started up again, and I finally spotted the black telephone sitting on Hayes' desk, with the phone laying on the table, away from the receiver.  I tried not to listen in, but the speaker function was clearly being used... and I felt like I recognised the voice. Perhaps most importantly, I'm a nosy tart.

Hayes let his jacket fall open as he sat down smoothly. He plucked a cigarette out of the pack languidly as the man continued to rant. I'm sure if the voice wasn't slightly altered by the telephone, I would have recognised it straight away. Hayes tapped his cigarette against the carton before he lit it up and took a slow inhale.

On the exhale, Hayes finally addressed his caller, "I hear you Paul, I really do." He murmured as if he had been listening the entire time.

There was a pause, as if 'Paul' had sensed that Hayes had literally left the room mid call. A silent beat, before there was suddenly a sharp intake of breath. Hayes reared back in his seat, a small mischievous smirk appearing as if he had purposefully wound up the man for a reaction.

A sudden barrage of cursing filled the room, and I wondered if this was the man who had taught Hayes all the foul language he had spouted in Surrey. Every word was laced with a thick Northern accent which became increasingly difficult to understand as time went on. Naturally, this could only mean he was from Liverpool.