The Luckycharm -A Brian May fanfiction- English

Don't do to other what you don't want to be done to you

            Hotel Royal – Room 112
                Around midnight

BRIAN P.O.

I knew they would win. Tonight I paid attention to almost all the singers competing at the Sanremo Festival so I can say that RodaViva's was the best one surely. The girls were really fantastic and they let all their energy, their skill, their determination shine through though they performed in playback. When the award ceremony took place I too was moved to see Lilibeth's eyes cry with joy, those dark eyes are so beautiful even if they're full of sadness and loneliness.

"But where the hell did I put my shirt...oh, here it is"

Since I didn't want to go out and enjoy the last Dolce Vita-style night like the guys are doing, I thought the best thing was to come back to the hotel to pack my belongings. Tomorrow morning at noon we have the flight to London. Who knows what waits for me when I get home, I don't know if Amalia still wants to talk to me. The things have been settled with Roger fortunately. We clarified this morning at breakfast and he even asked me what I done last night after running away from the restaurant.

Obviously I didn't tell him the truth, I told him I came back to the hotel and that I went to bed without dinner. Colossal lie. I had dinner last night, I had dinner with Lilibeth, my wonderful distraction since I have been here in Sanremo, the distraction that has not escaped to my wife Amalia, as well as all the others distractions I had in the past. She never called me again after the phone call of last night and I , actually didn't have the courage to pick up that damned handset again and dial my home number. I think everything is really over between my wife and me and if it still keeps on it will be only a farce that we would put on for the kids. She got tired of me and she's right, I can't blame her.

"But Elena has not yet tired of Umberto" I think, putting the shirt in my suitcase "The Mr. manager didn't expect me to recognize him"

I smile, I'm really pleased with myself, I have rarely said the right thing at the right time in my life: I'll never forgethis amazed, resentful and defeated face. I didn't think that Umberto Rosati was a forgetful guy. Is it possible that he has already forgotten Queen's after-party concert at the Rainbow Theater on March 31 ten years ago? There were producers, EMI managers and he too was there with a beautiful girl, she was very similar to Lilibeth, same big dark eyes, same body rounded in the right places.I remember thath everyone complimented the guys and me for the performance, everyone except him, everyone except Umberto. I was standing next to the buffet table, I had just grabbed a champagne flute and I was about to take a sip of it when he suddenly approached me. Without even tell me his name, with the same proud look with which he electrocuted me tonight, he said to me: "It's really interesting your way to play the guitar, but...but you can do better, Mr. May"

I was upset by those words, I was shaken, very shaken. I was young, I was inexperienced, I was unable to react to the cruelty and envy that circulate in the world of music. I stood motionless, I stood unable to react to his provocation, he smiled mockingly before he went away and he left me there, alone next to the buffet table, with the champagne flute still full in my fingers, like a stupid, troubled child. I didn't even have the courage to ask him his name, it was Norman Sheffield who explained to me that he was Mr. Umberto Rosati, manager of EMI Italia, and the beautiful girl his side was Elena, his new bride. That arrogant gaze and that ironic smile have remained in my mind for all these years. Last night, when he accidentally bumped into me on the waterfront, I seemed I recognized him, but I wasn't sure about it, there was too little light to lighten my view and my memory. But tonight, tonight it was impossible I didn't recognize him: the same arrogant look, the same ironic smile and, mosto of all, the same annoying, hateful, inflection in pronouncing my surname, "Mrs. May", with all the envy and jealousy of this world. But I've never did anything to him. Oh my God, it's true that I made some particular thoughts about his wife ten years ago, but I didn't know she was his wife. And I've never touched Mrs. Elena Rosati.

"Mrs. Rosati, but not his husband's lover" I think to myself.

I can imagine how he felt when he found his lover in the arms of another man who was not just any man, but none other than the child who didn't had the courage to answer him properly ten years earlier. But I had the courage tonight. It was a big satisfaction for me to see him clench his fist in anger and bow his head like a beaten dog. I'm not a bad man, no, but the only biblical affirmation that I fully agree with, as atheist, is Don't do to other what you don't want to be done to you and I've never said to a young musician such a bad thing. I think Umberto has remembered everything just when my revenge was finally fulfilled coldly, after ten years of maturation in my memory.

"What a story!" I comment sighing and I go to the wardrobe drawer to take another shirt and put it in my suitcase.

The problem is that in all this history made of hatred, jealousies and past revenges, the only one who suffers is her, is Lilibeth. She doesn't feel loved herself, she feels alone, tremendously alone because Umberto dedicates little of his time to her. But Lilibeth is attracted to him, she's so attracted to him that she doesn't have the courage to break up with him, the fear of being alone doesn't give her the right strength to say to him "Goodbye forever, Mr. Rosati"

This is what makes her so impulsive, so emotional and fearful at the same time, in her eyes I can see the fear, the insecurity and the regret, the regret that I am not able to feel for holding her close to me and for whispering her how much I want her. Because I want her, I really want her, in every sense.

"But you will never see her again, you have to resigned Brian" I sigh defeated.

I reach the desk and turn on the lamp by pulling on the brass chain. There are various things that I placed here on the desk and that I have to put in my suitcase as soon as possible before I forget them: the Stereo Realist, the three black tubes with the films I have to develope when I'll come back to London, the vinyls. I snort at the thought that Lilibeth is at the party, at the Victoria, while I'm here doing the housekeeper for myself. That asshole Umberto did everything to keep me away from the party, but once again he has forgotten who I am, he has forgotten I'm Brian May the guitarist of Queen and no one is able to tell me lies, not even the hotel receptionists. When I asked to her if RodaViva were planning some celebration for tonight, she remained i silence for few minutes first, but then she couldn't resist to the charm of my dark curls and my hazel eyes.

"But Mr. May, the invitation is needed, unfortunately. I don't think the bodyguards will let you in without" she explained to me with his usual, hateful flirty voice "I heard that Mr. Rosati has been very clear about the invitation"

Mr. Rosati, obviously. He continues to bother me after ten years, he knows that there's something between Lilibeth and me and he's afraid I'll get her and I'll take her away from him just to get revenge. But what does he think? He thinks that I play with people's lives and feelings like he does? No, I'm not in this way. If something were happened with Lilibeth it would be only for this thin thread that keeps us together, not for revenge. I'm not sp bad, I'm not like him.

"But nothing will happen between Lilibeth and me, I think I'll never see her again" I think to myself again.

Maybe listening to some music will make me feel better, it will make me relax and make me sleepy, which is important since tomorrow I have to travel by plane. I bow my head on the bunch of vinyls and my favorite is already there, it's waiting for me at the top of the pile of records. I grab it, pull it out of the case and I place it gently on the record player, but when I'm about to lower the rod...

Toc, toc...

... someone knocks on the door.

"Who the hell can it be at this hour?" I wonder "Maybe it will be one of the guys, but it's strange that they have already come back to the hotel"

Puzzled and a little intrigued, I quickly reach the door and an amazement, a disconcerting amazement catches me when I see who is looking for me.