In 1974, Calia West, an on the rise New York artist meets Queen, a newly popular band, on their first tour of the USA. After becoming quick friends with each of the dashing frontmen, Calia finds herself growing attached to a certain bold-faced sing...
My head was pounding and as a ray of light peeked through my window, I flipped over to hide my face in the pillows. I groaned loudly.
I hated hangovers.
I was grateful to at least have an empty schedule, I'd be able to shut the drapes and sleep all-
"Shit!" I gasped, practically flying out of bed. I fumbled and stumbled to stand up and hoped to wake myself in the process.
I had completely forgotten about the boys concert. Despite the fact that I was still angry with Freddie, I was invested in this so called Queen and was very interested to see their show.
I had no idea what type of music they would play, but considering Roger's unitard comment, I assumed some sort of rock.
I had a long while before the concert, but I needed to be up. Mentally preparing myself for one of Freddie Mercury's temper tantrums took some time and I didn't want to be late. To say the least, I was far from the most organized woman in all of New York.
I'd grown rather fond of Brian and John in our time together. I understood why Queen worked so well together, they were quite balanced.
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As a dramatic artist myself I knew the type it took to ground me, and Brian was one of those people. Brian was down to earth and very aware of his privilege. Such a thoughtful guy was destined for greatness, I wasn't surprised he'd succeed at whatever he'd put his mind to.
Freddie was glamour and decadence, he was rich and had many complex notes.
My head was aching incessantly and as I walked to the bathroom, a wave of nausea hit me like a ton of bricks. Though, I doubted bricks would have caused me to projectile vomit all over the toilet, so maybe being hit would have been preferred.
My gut wretched and my hand slammed down onto the counter to support myself as I heaved into the toilet.
Gross.
My head was swimming as I tried to collect myself. My eyes were trained on the white porcelain lid as I struggled to keep any remaining stomach contents down.
The room was spinning.
Taking in deep, wavering breaths, I felt weak to a point of worry. Standing on shaky legs, I tried to focus my attention on not falling over.
Finally feeling somewhat better, while groaning obnoxiously, I decided to deal with the mess later.
Flushing the toilet, I turned to the shower and switched on the hottest water I felt I could handle.
