No One But You

29. Ray Foster

Roger

"So who exactly is this Ray Foster?" Maddie asks me. The two of us walk into the huge record label building. I open the door for her and she walks in. Paul Prenter, who was waiting at the front door, looks relieved when he sees us walk in.

"He's the executive for EMI labels," I tell Maddie.

"Is Freddie out there?" Paul asks.

I shake my head. "Nope. Should be coming soon though," I tell the man.

Paul huffs. "Ray is waiting up in his office. Floor three, room 304B. Brian and John are already in there. There's a sitting area outside for you, Maddie,"

Neither Maddie and I say anything. We just walk hand-in-hand to the elevator. I press the button calling it down and the both of us step inside when it arrives.

"Are you nervous?" Maddie asks me quietly when the doors shut. The elevator shakes slightly as it ascends.

"Not really," I answer her. "What's he going to do? Fire us?" I laugh. "He wouldn't dare,"

I feel Maddie roll her eyes. "So cocky," she comments. I glance over at her and see a smile on her face.

The doors swing open at the third floor and we take a right out of the elevator. Room 304B is right here and sure enough there's a couch right outside for Maddie to sit in.

"Good luck," Maddie whispers once we're outside the door. She kisses my jaw, causing me to smile before she takes a seat. I give her one last glance before I push open the door. Sure enough Brian and John are sitting on the couch across from Ray Foster, a large man with sunglasses and curly hair.

"Hello Roger," John greets me. I sit in between him and Brian.

"Hello," I greet both him and Brian.

Paul Prenter comes in the room probably ten minutes after I get settled. He must have gotten tired waiting for Freddie. I mean, I would have too. He's bloody late.

"Everything okay?" Jim Beach, our lawyer, asks Paul.

"Yeah, everything's fine," Paul tells him quickly and quietly. I know that's a lie. He's just as annoyed as the rest of us Freddie is late. But Paul won't show it. It's like Freddie is on some kind of pedestal with him.

As if on cue, Freddie barges through the door. Ray sighs.

"Hello," Freddie says, coming in and standing off to the side.

"You're late," John mutters.

"Oh am I?"

"We've saved you a seat," Brian says, gesturing to a chair on the other side of John.

"Lovely," Freddie responds. He comes over and sits besides him in the chair.

"Okay," John Reid says. "So, now that everyone's here. Ray Foster, this is Jim Beach, the band's lawyer," Jim gives a curt nod.

"Oh you must stop calling him that," Freddie complains.

"That's his name,"

"No we cannot keep calling him Jim Beach," Freddie says, placing extra emphasis on Jim's name. "No that's absurd, and not to mention unspeakably boring," Freddie places a finger to his lips and then it looks like a lightbulb goes off in his brain. "Miami,"

Brian, Deaky, and I chuckle, unable to contain it.

"From now on, I dub thee Miami Beach," Freddie continues.

John Reid clears his throat. "Alright, now that everyone has an acceptable name...let's get to it,"

Ray leans forward in his seat, his hands crossed. As I stare at him I can't help but notice how his hair looks exactly the same as that of a poodle. The curls are tight and frizzy. I wonder how long it took him to perm it?

"Look," Ray says. "We just need something special. We need more hits. Like Killer Queen. Only bigger,"

"It's not bloody widgets we're making," I say. "We can't just reproduce Killer Queen,"

"No," Freddie adds, standing up. "We can do better,"

He walks over to the collection of vinyls that Ray Foster has and picks out one to his liking. He puts it in the record player off to the side of the room, and moves the tonearm so the cartridge is on the record. Opera music fills the room and I can't help but laugh.

"It's opera," Ray grumbles.

"Opera!" Brian yells.

"Opera!" I join in. I don't know where Freddie is going with this, but I trust him and I will back him up.

The boys and I chuckle.

"See we don't want to repeat ourselves. The same formula over and over," Freddie continues, turning down the music a little so it's not as overpowering. He moves slightly closer to Ray Foster. "Formulas are a complete and utter waste of time,"

"Formulas work. Let's stick with the formulas. I like formulas," Ray argues.

"We'll call the album...A Night At The Opera," Freddie continues, ignoring Ray. He moves his arms suing hand gestures as he speaks.

"Are you aware that no one actually likes the opera?" Ray asks.

"I like the opera," John Reid pipes up.

"Do you?"

"I do,"

No, don't misunderstand, darling. It's a rock and roll record...with the scale of opera...the pathos of Greek tragedy...the wit of Shakespeare...the unbridled joy of musical theater," Freddie says, pacing the room now. When did he learn to speak so eloquently?

"It's a musical experience," Brian pipes in.

"Yeah," I agree. I kind of see where Freddie is coming from now. It's so much more than opera. "Something for everyone, rather than just another record,"

"We'll mix genres. We'll cross boundaries. We'll speak in bloody tongues if we want to," Freddie says. I'm starting to get more excited about this the more we sit here and talk about it. Let's get to the studio already. "There's no musical ghetto that can contain us,"

"That's it," I add.

"No one knows what Queen means because it doesn't mean one thing," Brian says. Brain with the words of wisdom.

"What do you think John?" Ray asks the quiet man.

"I agree with the band," Deaky says without hesitation. A man with few words but many thoughts.

"How about you..uh.."

"Miami," Jim says. "Fortune favors the bold. Surely a man of your unique taste isn't afraid of taking a little risk,"

Ray huffs. "Don't make me regret this,"