Heaven for Everyone (Queen/Roger Taylor)

38.

September 1993

I didn't mind interviews when we first started out. Alright, fine, I bloody loved that we were a big deal and everyone wanted to hear what I had to say. Who wouldn't? But that attitude got old fast, and now I've come to realize that no one gives a shit what I say unless they can take it out of context and create a mild scandal.

But it doesn't matter; interviews are part of the job. Musicians record music and then go into the world and peddle it, selling tiny slivers of our soul one media appearance at a time. There's no getting out of it and, trust me, I've tried. Specifically, I tried to get out of today's appearance, and, as evidenced by the fact that I'm sitting in a green room at an ungodly early hour of the morning, I failed miserably.

Let's count the reasons why I don't want to be here. Well, for starters, the press has made my life hell over the past two years, and they can all fuck off. Beyond that, I loathe breakfast television programmes: they're a heady melange of soft news, self-promotion, and weather forecasts that invariably get it all wrong. And who wants to wake up at 4am, have makeup on their face by 6, and be answering invasive questions by 7? No one, that's who.

But, deep down, the real reason that I have zero interest in appearing on Good Morning Britain today is that it's Cassie's birthday. She's turning 40--opening the page on a new decade of her life--and I'm not there with her. Instead, I'm here, about to answer the same goddamn questions that I've been answering for the past 20 years. It's bloody depressing.

"You're sure you're ready?" My publicist, Kate, asks for the fourth time since arriving at the studio. I stare at myself in the brightly lit mirror before turning my gaze to her.

"Yeah."

She raises her eyebrows.

"I got it," I affirm. "What, do you think I'm going to break down on national television?"

Still no reply, and I smirk.

"Anyway, what if I said no? I very much am not ready? Would we just say cheers, thanks for having us, and go get an early morning fry up?"

"Just don't put me out of business today," she says lightly. She's half-joking, which means she's also half-serious. At that, I swivel the chair around so that I'm facing her.

"Put you out of business? I've done this same interview a million times, many of which were in this exact studio."

Kate purses her lips and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the movement reminding me of Cassie. Then she straightens up and looks just past me as if she doesn't want to make eye contact.

"It's just-- I can't put my finger on it, but you have this-- there's this undercurrent of something-- did I push too hard for this interview, Rog? I know you were last here just after Freddie died--"

I'd forgotten that interview was here, but now it's all I can think of.

"--Good Morning Britain has always been good exposure for your projects, their target demographic is 67%--"

Kate is interrupted by a brunette producer who sticks her head in the door, her All Access badge softly hitting the door handle. "All set, Mr. Taylor?"

I glance back at Kate, who has a look on her face that I've never seen before. It's as if she knows me better than I know myself, and it's freaking me out. Regardless, since we can't leave for that fry up, I stand and run a hand over my white dress shirt to smooth out any wrinkles.

"Ready as ever," I say to the young woman with what I hope is all confidence and swagger. "Always a pleasure to be on the show."

We walk towards the door and into a long corridor. The set lights blind me temporarily, and I wish it were reasonable to don a pair of shades this early in the morning. Running a hand through my already-tousled hair, I walk into the faux living room that's surrounded by cameras.