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...
"No no, wear your hair up with that blouse dear, it's much more sophisticated," Mrs Buffay chastised. The woman had busied herself trying to tidy up my horrible mess while I readied myself for the auction. I groaned, "we both know you're not going to take my advice either way," she laughed as I rushed back into my room.
The older woman was helping me decided my outfit, though perhaps she hadn't been the best candidate for the job. We had a comfortable routine on auction nights; she'd come over for coffee and I'd bumble around anxiously trying to dress myself while she cleaned, she would wish me luck but refused to come along as the commute was too long, and then when I returned home my apartment was tidied, occasionally with a note of well wishes on the refrigerator.
I fumbled through my dresser aimlessly, "but I still need your input," I shouted back. I had no place to put my anxiety, so I turned my conquest for a decent outfit into an outlet.
Just as I was beginning to get frustrated, something caught my eye. There was an iridescent black playsuit tucked in the back of my drawer.
My inspiration was sparked.
I began building an outfit. Pulling the playsuit on and of course grabbing one of my nicest sued blazers. I grabbed a handful of necklaces to throw on, a chunky belt and of course a beret. The hat was a little cliche but it topped off the outfit nicely.
Popping out of the room, I was still clipping my final necklace when I caught Mrs Buffay's eye.
She gasped, "only you would be so bold," the woman chuckled, clapping with approval, "you look gorgeous dear," she added.
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"Thank you," I squealed. I rushed the woman with a hug, her plump body hiccuping with laughter. I pulled back, holding her wrinkled forearms, "you're sure you can't come tonight?" I asked hopefully. I knew she wouldn't agree, but my anxiety was high.
"You'll be fine dear," she smiled sweetly, eyes creasing at the corners, where the skin was thin.
I nodded, looking excitedly into her pale eyes once more, "coffee tomorrow?", I asked, beaming with a smile I couldn't contain as I walked to the door.
With a nod and a quick exchange of parting words, I left the apartment itching in anticipation.
There was a breeze in the air that I hadn't planned for, my skin pimpled in the cold. I held my purse closely as I strutted down the street. My heels clicked rhythmically, the beat subtly reminding me of Killer Queen.
Beginning to regret my outburst, I had to shake the band from my mind. Though I knew my feelings were valid, I wished I'd gotten one more night with Freddie.
