Don't Talk! (Freddie Mercury / Queen)

41. He Blows Hot and Cold: Pt - II

F.M
New York, USA
October, 26th

No. It wasn't my intention to walk into Rolling Stone that day and give Hayes Griffith head.

Of course when I actually saw him, it reminded me that it was exactly what I always intended to do. If I were be quite honest, I was just doing the man a selfless favour. You see, Hayes looked unbelievably tense, I'm sure that crushing the souls of musicians is a taxing job... someone has to help him unwind every once in a while. Like the compassionate soul that I was, I stepped in.

I also really fucking wanted to ruin the picture perfect persona Hayes had tried to slap on the second I walked into his office. The same persona he had now conjured up again as he chauffeured me about New York in his Aston Martin.

Things were slightly awkward ever since he picked Phoebe and I up from the Waldorf Astoria. It was where I would be staying for the next couple of days before jetting back to Munich. I wasn't stupid enough to assume Hayes would let me take his spare room, or even offer it to me out of his ingrained toff politeness. Especially not when I had just sprung this visit on him— I had actually sprung it on myself too.

Two nights lying alone in my flat in Munich, after two months of intense touring, had spurred me into action. I couldn't take waiting for another sporadic phone call, I needed to see Hayes as soon as possible. It had dawned on me that Hayes and I have not yet have one proper conversation where we thrashed out what went wrong between us. Which is exactly what I set out to do when I caught a flight to New York: talk things out.

I wasn't going to let Hayes put on any more of his Oscar winning acting performances, or distract me with his... wiles. No. We were going to discuss what happened in the past, and see if he could ever move past it so that we could have a future. I had the absolute best intentions, but ten minutes with Hayes and those fucking unintentional wiles had me diving for his trousers.

I cast a sidelong gaze Hayes' way, and immediately felt the urge to do so again. If Phoebe wasn't sitting in the back, I probably would've done it already.

Hayes sensed my stare. "What?"

"Hm?"

A small, impatient exhale, "What's wrong?"

I wasn't about to share my thoughts, "Can't you just let the radio play without switching it every five seconds?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise it was your car."

Hayes who had just let a full ten seconds of Stevie Wonder's current hit 'I Just Called To Say I Love You' play, now slowly reached over to mess with the dial. How that man was even allowed to drive if there was a rainbow of colours dancing about in front of him, I'll never know.

"I didn't realise it was necessary to be a sarcastic twat all the time." I huffed.

Phoebe had just buried his nose further into a book of puzzles and crosswords. I don't think he was enjoying the fact I was bringing him along with me to an exclusive Rolling Stone party. Some people can be just so bloody ungrateful.

"How about the day you drive me around, and I'm your passenger, you can tell me what to do." Hayes reached over and patted my knee in a condescending fashion.

Glancing down at those lovely, slender fingers, I couldn't help but think about how they felt weaving through my hair earlier. I quickly brushed his hand away because I simply could not behave myself around that stupid, pretty, man.