Freddie *on hold*

Drunk and the opera

NEW YEAR'S EVE 1986
I stare into my empty cup. Cigarette in one hand, cup in the other. I am glad to be with my friends. Phoebe sits next to me. I decided to only have my good friends over tonight. We sit in the pool at my home at 1 Logan Place, Kensington. We have a few beers and exchange words. I talk about an interview I just did.
"So the interviewer asked me about things I would like to say to radio stations. So he's asking me about Australia, England and America and then he asks me about Mexico. And I say, I don't give a shit." We all laugh. It's weird how even the worst of jokes or stories are funny when friends are around. As the night drags on we get more drunk and disorderly. Mary gives me a big smooch tipped a bit of wine. I beam showing all teeth. Deaky comes out of the kitchen with a platter of cheese on toast and assorted nuts. I stand up and give my boyfriend, Jim, a kiss. He smiles dazedly. Brian sits in the corner. He's the only one that's sober because he volunteered to drive any of us to the hospital if we drank too much. I laugh the party is small but big at the same time. It's weird having light parties. My sister, Kashmira, drops in to say hi. I walk up a give her a huge bear hug. I squeeze so tight that she has to say mercy three times before I listened.
"Freddie!" she laughs, "Happy New Year."
"Wanna drink?" I slur.
"Uhh... No thanks Freddie."
"Ok." And I slap her on the back.
"How much have you had Freddie?" asks Kashmira.
"I don't know anymore."
"Freddie, can I ask you something in private?"
"Sure!!!!!" I smile broadly and stagger over into another room. Kashmira turns to me.
"What do you think you're doing Freddie!" scolded Kashmira.
"Nothin'" I say and do jazz hands.
"You don't remember do you?"
"What do I need to remember. I am superb."
"Look at yourself you are a train wreck. You're drunk which makes you super cocky-"
She was cut off by Roger with Deaky on his shoulders screaming,
"Did somebody want cocky?!" Then they made chicken noises until Roger tried to get under the doorway but knocked Deaky off his shoulders and onto the polished wood floor.
"Piss off." I say laughing hysterically, "Kash, wants to talk to me in P-RI-VATE." Kashmira sighs and says to me,
"Freddie I'll talk to you tommorow. Maybe the hangover will teach you something." And she walks through the labyrinth of mine that is called a home.

THE NEXT DAY...
The home phone rings. I lay on the couch with a pounding headache and I want to throw up. By the looks of it I did.
"Phoebe, get the phone." I say drowsily. Phoebe doesn't answer. I sigh and get up and walk to the phone.
"Hello?" I say.
"Hi. Can I speak to Freddie?" asks Kashmira
"Speaking."
"Ok Freddie remember what I said last night."
"I don't remember shit from last night."
"Well I said I'd talk to you once you sobered up and had your sense knocked back into you."
"If it's about the thing I don't want to talk about it. If it's about my cats then yes."
"Well um I was going to talk about that first but now you don't want to I'll go the second option."
"What is it. I'm really not in the mood to talk. I need to rest off this hangover."
"Well your friend Peter Straker asked me if I could tell you to meet him at the opera house at nine o'clock Tuesday night a week from now. And Mama Bulsara sends her love and kisses and hopes that you will make more beautiful pieces of music."
"Thanks Kash." I smile.
"Love you Freddie. Please be careful." And she hangs up. I make a few calls. I ring Peter to tell him I'd be going to the opera with him and I would be taking Phoebe. I phone Mary and see how she is coping after last nights party and last but not least my mum. I tell her my worries and fears about the press finding out about my secret personal life. I also speak to her about how 'successful' last night's party was just in case Kashmira had already told mum about how drunk I was. It makes me wonder what really happened last night. I put the phone down and go to bed instead of sleeping on the couch. I close my eyes and fall into a deep slumber.

A WEEK LATER...
I had been excited about seeing the opera live. I loved it. I found it was where the true legends roamed and showed off their incredible voices. Peter told me we were seeing Pavarotti. We entered the opera house and sat in the VIP stands (I can't remember the real name for them). As Pavarotti came on and sang I admired how much strength and training the voice had had. Me and Phoebe stared whilst Peter quietly watched smiling. Once Pavarotti ended a Spanish woman by the name of Montserrat Caballé. Her voice was pure gold. The angels had a voice guiding them and she was it. My jaw dropped the moment she started and right through her display. Her flowing white dress was billowing backwards which made her look like she was gliding softly through the air. She was beautiful. She drove me. She made me rethink myself. Screw Pavarotti, this was pure beauty in a nutshell. I stared at her until the last note and beamed when she finished I leapt up and cheered making sure she could hear it.

As the show came winding down to the end I couldn't stop thinking about Monsterrat Caballé. I needed to meet her. I would kill to meet her. I love her. I look up to her. She drives me. She is my one.