Hello

Chef Roger

There's something peaceful about listening to Roger Taylor as he makes breakfast. The way he sings the first verse of Who Can It Be Now before breaking out (and I mean really breaking out) into the chorus and singing the saxophone parts as well. Very loudly.

I was in bed, sore, next to Vivienne. She was here to gossip about Roger's "experience" and play with Henry - who was more than happy to oblige. I sat up against the headboard of our bed. Vivienne laid down with her knees up to support Henry, playing with his hands. Roger and I often get in that position, but that's for another chapter.

Roger turned off the stove top and used the plastic spatula to lift his masterpiece onto the bright pink ceramic plate. It fell to pieces in front of his eyes and, having a reputation for flying off the handle pretty quickly, fought himself to stay calm. He cursed under his breath and covered the mess with a lot of lemon juice and sugar. The walk to the bedroom from the kitchen wasn't as lengthy as before and he made it in lightning speed.

"It's not like how you usually have em." He apologised, sitting the plate on the bedside table and sinking his rear into the bed.

"Oh, baby. It's a spectacular piece of art. Very Picasso. I love it." I kissed him slowly and heard Vivienne groaned her disapproval. I slapped her leg as he kissed me harder out of spite, just to irritate her. Vivienne covered Henry's eyes.

"The 3 month old is to young for your porno kisses."

"As the person who started the conversation with their erotic girl-on-girl escapades of last night in front of said three month old, you got a lot of nerve." I joked, letting Roger go. I took the plate off the table and stabbed a piece with the fork.

"A good chef taste tests his food before he serves it to his customer." I coaxed, rather unnecessarily because he didn't hold back in latching onto the fork. His face morphed from a proud grin to one of horror and disgust. He opened his mouth wide and let the chewed pancake tumble back onto the plate.

"Don't eat that. Definitely don't eat that." He brushed his tongue against the roof of his mouth repeatedly with squinting eyes.

"Toast?" I asked with a pained expression. Roger nodded with an awkward smile and retreated to the kitchen, disastrous breakfast in hand. I watched him leave and turned to Vivienne.

"He'd look so good in ass-less chaps. God." I sighed. She looked at me in her usual sarcastic disgust and returned to entertaining Mini Roger.

By now, Henry had inherited many of Roger's facial features: Bright blue eyes, a cute nose, and blonde hair. All he had of mine was a slightly oversize mouth, but I'm not complaining. He would be gorgeous to me no matter how he looked.

"Peanut butter?" Roger called.

"Marmalade! I'm feeling fruity!" I yelled back, stretching my left leg out flat. Pain shot up my thigh as I immediately lifted my knee up slightly to relieve myself.

"Rough night?" Vivienne asked, cringing for me.

"Henry slept all night. Roger wasn't going to miss out on the opportunity. I think it has something to do with yesterday's experience, but I'm not sure how." I mulled. Vivienne laughed as Roger walked in. His 'Mr Good Lookin is cookin' apron clung to his lanky body like hair to a static-charged trampoline. And I was loving it.

"You should see the one I got for Luce! Very arty, you'll love it." He joked, handing me the same plate but with barely-cooked toast: exactly the way I like it.

"She told me. I have no interest in seeing Lucy or you in it. I can't pick what's worse." Vivienne began to stare at the wall in front of her in near shock.

I rested my head on Roger's shoulder and smiled inwardly. I would never have thought I would be in this situation. It made me feel terribly sentimental.

"Freddie called before. I've gotta duck out for a few hours." He kissed my cheek in apology and bit into one of my pieces of toast.

"What the hell does Freddie want at 8AM?" I asked. Roger shrugged and adjusted the collar of his shirt.

"Dunnah, babe. You know him. He's probably freaking out over nothing again." He joked. I kissed him goodbye and watched him leave once again. Vivienne punched me playfully in the arm, teasing me.

"You are so in love! You two have been together for just over a year and nothing has changed. Well, some things have." She sighed, looking at Henry. He grinned toothlessly at her.

"Keep the fights clean and the sex filthy. Trust me, that advice can work wonders." I told her, biting into my toast.

"Noted."

__________\\__________

"Fuck no."

"Well, why not?" Freddie demanded, sitting back down on his desk chair. Roger inhaled deeply, ready to rant.

"We are not making a disco album. It's not Queen. Queen is every genre except country and disco club music." He muttered, scratching his shoulder under his shirt. He knew how this discussion would go: they would both chuck tantrums and go home, yell about it to their significant others, and then pretend it never happened.

"Fine! We'll ask Lucy. She's the only Taylor-May that understands me." Freddie replied, walking over to the phone. He stabbed in the combination of numbers and impatiently waited for me to answer.

"Taylor residence, this is Lucy!" I chimed the exact same way as I did every time I answered the phone.

"Lucy, it's your favourite person in the world. I need your opinion on something." Freddie informed, switching to loud speaker.

"Hey babe!" Roger yelled from next to the soundboard.

"What's up, hot stuff! Fire away, Freddie."

"John and I want Queen's next album to be more techno-disco oriented but McButthead and Brian here are totally against it. What's your thoughts, oh wise Lucifer?" Freddie questioned.

"I guess it wouldn't kill Queen to do it. I see the hesitation Brian and Rog have. Obviously, electro music is very different to everything Queen has released since the very beginning. You have always been a rock group, no doubt, and there is a risk of losing some fanbase due to its quite extreme differences but things could go uphill. You could gain more listeners and fans by introducing a new genre to your portfolio and sometimes a change in genre is good for a band. You've known there were risks with every record you've made but Queen survives. I have no doubt in my mind that even if it goes belly up, Queen will still kick-ass." I encouraged. I held my breath, waiting for a reply.

"You heard her, motherfuckers! Operation Hot Space is in motion!"