Stars in Your Eyes (Queen/Roger Taylor)

31. Skylar

February 1975

"You hang up."

"No, you hang up," Roger huffs into the phone.

I smile into the receiver, the first real smile in weeks. Peeking down at my watch, I see that my lunch break ended five minutes earlier and, right about now, someone is realizing that I'm not where I'm supposed to be.

"I actually have to hang up because I've gotta go earn my keep," I say as I inelegantly shovel the rest of the turkey curry sandwich into my mouth.

"But we were bantering!" Roger protests. "And I'm in--" I hear a shuffling of papers in the background. "--Madison, Wisconsin, and don't know when I can ring again."

In response, I make a series of sounds that are one-third loud chewing and two-thirds vowels squished together.

"Elephant juice? Did you just say 'elephant juice'?"

"I love you," I say as soon as I've swallowed the final bite, enunciating each word.

"Oh," Roger replies. "I love you too, silly."

"Call me from Kalamazoo?"

"That can't be a real place... is that a real place?"

"Bye, Rog. Call me when you can."

"You still have to hang up first," he says stubbornly. "I refuse."

I roll my eyes playfully and am about to do just that when I hear voices in the background. A man's voice, probably Fred or Brian, or their new PA. And then, in a moment that wipes the smile off my face, a woman's voice saying Roger's name in a manner that can only be described as coquettish.

And then, just like that, the line goes dead.

I sit in the telephone booth for a moment, the receiver sitting in my hand. My stomach suddenly feels off, and I feel unexpectedly jittery. It's as if my body is reacting to something that my mind hasn't yet processed.

And then I do what I do best: Compartmentalize. 

Wiping the crumbs off my lap, I slowly stand up and replace the receiver on the hook. I close my eyes, take a deep breath--1, 2, 3, 4--and then walk back into the pediatric unit. The rest of the afternoon is a blur: medically-speaking, it's a shitshow. Too many cases, not enough staff, we're even running low on surgical masks.

At half six, I finally leave the hospital. The bitterly cold air hits my face. Fucking hell, it's begun to snow. A harsh wind swirls, creating a twister effect with the snowflakes, making it difficult to see where I'm going.

As I very gingerly make my way down the steep staircase towards the sidewalk, I hear my name. Squinting through the snowflakes, I struggle to see much of anything, especially the person attempting to get my attention. 

Finally, after a few seconds of searching, I see Mary Austin standing halfway down the staircase, slumped against the railing. She shifts uncomfortably and gives me a small wave.

"Mary!" I say, surprised. "What're you doing in this corner of the world?"

"Oh, you know," she replies with a little laugh. "I just popped out to the shops..." she trails off, perhaps realizing that there are no shops in the vicinity that are even remotely worth popping into. I blink, wondering why Mary is standing in the freezing cold waiting for me.

"Well, it's good to see you," I finally reply, walking over to stand next to her. "You must be freezing. Should we grab a cup of tea across the way?"

She nods gratefully, and we walk companionably across the wet street into the warmth of the tearoom where Roger had waited for me so long ago.

"I talked to Roger today," I say as we wait for the waitress to bring us our tea. Mary's hair has somehow survived the weather intact, the blonde waves falling gently over her shoulders. As always, she's dressed fashionably and looks cooly in control. I, on the other hand, resemble a drowned rat.