Don't Talk! (Freddie Mercury / Queen)

25. Unoffically Offical?

H.G
London, U.K
May, 20th.

I wearily eyed the photographers that littered the conference room of the Claridges hotel. Surely they were a fire hazard just squished in the walkways like that. I wouldn't be surprised to find a few of them foaming at the mouth, ready to all capture the exact same photo of the one celebrity who would be joining us shortly.

I was about to skulk over towards the wall when my name was suddenly shouted in a thick Yorkshire accent. "Hayes Griffith! Where d'ya think you're going mate?"

There was murmuring at the mention of my name, and I had to force down my groan. Look, don't bloody laugh, but I'm somewhat of a big deal in journalism circles. Yes, it is fairly fucking embarrassing, and it does not fill me with pride. One of the only perks is that I can show up late and get a seat anywhere I want.

There was seventy four journalists already in that room, my arrival had made it seventy five. I was rather late, but thankfully the talent never shows up on time either. I think Mr Bowie was jetting in from Australia so I doubt he would be in any sort of delightful mood.

"James." I forced a grin and managed to chat my way into the second row. I didn't like being in the front, but I certainly didn't want to be too far back.

"Must be a big deal if they're sending out the big guns." James Clarke of Melody Maker chuckled as he patted the seat beside him.

"Oh," I sighed and undid my coat, "I wouldn't say that."

"It's a cracking deal for Bowie." James took a drag of his cigarette, "Would you at least say that?"

David Bowie had recently signed a jolly huge deal with E.M.I after his time at R.C.A came to an end. According to reports, he had been signed for a crazy $17.5 million. Apparently it started by covering his latest release Let's Dance, which was doing a bomb in the charts and in sales.

"I would say that." I agreed, "You know he and his manager also own the recording copyrights? Clever sods."

A glass of champagne was placed in my hand and a tray of hors d'oeuvre was thrust in front of me. E.M.I really do love to flash the cash. I carefully plucked up a blini with gravlax and took as delicate a bite as I could manage. It only dawned on me then, that I couldn't remember the last time I had ate. Between my busy work and travel schedule, I don't know when I last made time to eat.

"Clever?" James repeated, "You're mellowing."

"Hm," I chuckled halfheartedly.

Ajay Singh from News of the World leant over the back of my seat, "Bowie's Moonlight tour seems to be a big operation."

"Be that as it may, watch the most common question at the conference be 'David, why aren't you playing in my city'." I scoffed, "I can't bloody stand it, he doesn't plan the tour himself."

"Surely not," Ajay frowned, "Not when the tour has already been spoken about."

"I could put any amount of money on it." I stretched my legs out and crossed them at the ankles.

I turned slightly, "Any exciting questions lined up Singh?"

"The boss wants me to focus on his film career rather than the music." He said as if it were such a fresh angle.