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...
Freddie and I walked down the street with our hands in our pockets. We almost had to avoid touching each other, the tension had become so high.
"I'm warning you now, my apartment doubles as a studio space so it's a mess," I said, avoiding eye contact and focusing on the street ahead as we walked.
Freddie let out a breath of a laugh, "don't worry Lily, my flat is run by my cats," he explained, "the furniture is torn, there's hair absolutely everywhere dear," Freddie smirked adoringly. I couldn't help a smile. It was so endearing the way he cared for them.
We were approaching my building and I couldn't help my rising anticipation. There was a million thoughts flying around my head. I felt excitement and nerves, the shame wasn't going anywhere, but none were taking a forefront, I was simply on autopilot.
"This is us," I said simply, opening the first door and then pulling a key from my pocket for the second. Freddie followed me in, putting his hand on my lower back. Just as I was about to open the door I gasped and flipped around to face Fred, "Oh! You have to be so quiet Freddie- my neighbour, well she's like my mother. If she hears us on the way up I won't ever hear the end of it," I explained, putting my hand to his chest with wide eyes, conveying my seriousness.
Freddie laughed, a smile pulling at his cheeks, "quiet as a mouse, dove," he hummed. His eyes flicked down to my lips. I pushed the door open with my butt, pulling the singer through with me. He was chuckling silently as I guided him up the stairs. I doubted Mrs Buffay would be awake, but in the case she was we had to be silent.
When we approached my door and Freddie heard me let out an audible sigh of relief he burst out laughing. I tried to silence him, but it wasn't working so I just hurried to unlock the door. I shoved him inside the apartment and hit his shoulder playfully after closing the door, "Freddie! I told you to be quiet!" I yelled.
He looked at me challenging, "oh and you're being so quiet," he crossed his arms, making me join in his laughter.
"Well make yourself at home, I'm gonna change," I chuckled, throwing my keys on the kitchen counter and then brushing past Freddie.
He was left alone to wander through the living room. The singer was wide eyed as he looked over the unfinished paintings strewn across the floor. Freddie carefully appreciated the various pieces. When I came back from my bedroom, dressed in sleep shorts and an old blue shirt, I found him silently looking over one painting in particular.
"Freddie, what did you find?" I asked, coming up to his side.
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I chuckled as I realized which piece he'd singled out, "this had been sitting around for a month, I just can't manage to sell it. No gallery will even show it," I sighed.
