TURN BACK THE TIME, BABE. BOOK 5. GIVING IT ALL MY SOUL

BARCELONA III

Celebrating my birthday working was the best thing for me to forget I had turn to 28 and Freddie and I couldn't work out our tensions. Putting into practice the twisted spanish language with irregular results in my conversations with the press was a good way to have my brain busy with other things. The delicious olive oil soaking up the most spongy piece of bread I had ever tasted, even disagreed with me. Freddie had drunk all the tea, just to piss me off, I'm sure. And when I woke up there was no trace of him. Maybe it was better.

Where would he go? It was very early to do the soundcheck. Eli, what are you doing worrying as usual? Nina is there to take care of him as it should be, right? If that's what he wants, fine.

The last night gig had been so horrible that it ocurred to me being a little more generous with the press and I suggested the band talking openly about that disappointing first night. That would be very well welcome and would give just the image we were interested to give. Some committed, perfectionist and respectful musicians as well as caring with their beloved audience. Even Freddie had a couple of interviews to give. And I wasn't going to let him get one past me.

- Was the tea good? -I told him minutes before getting on stage while he arranged his Village people cap.

- Oh, I thought you would rather taste the Spanish coffee -he made a grimace and shrugged with my pinch on his perky ass.

- I wish your urinary system could collapse tonight with so much tea and you won't be able to finish a song without excusing yourself to go to the toilet -I whispered at his ear.

- Cunt.

- Have you found out? -Deacon stormed into suddenly with the paper-. Sid Vicious had died of heroin overdose.

- Shit, other musician throwing it all away -Brian lamented.

- He couldn't even play his bass properly, poor lad -John said with half sardonic smile.

- He would have killed himself after killing his girlfriend. She was a drag but being stabbed to death, curling up against the bidet... -Killer said.

- I don't think he killed her -I said, as usual disagreeing with my beloved enemy-. It seems obvious that death was a drug affair. Sid was crazy about Nancy, and even high of sugar wouldn't do her any harm.

- The knife had his fingerprints. Probably the trouble is they didn't have enough drugs to get high and started to attack each other. Seemingly they had been such a while imprisoned at the Chelsea. Probably they were like beasts on a cage.

- He was just 22 years. Damn drugs -Brian was really sorry and seemed the only one Who felt honestly sorry for the early death of the punk musician.

- Guys, to the stage -Paul announced coming up to Freddie who was putting on his makeup alien to the conversation, looking at himself in the mirror.

- Rog, everything's right? -I came up to the drummer-. Have you talked to Dom?

- She doesn't answer the phone.

- You did piss her off. How often did you try? Once?

- Well I don't, know-it-all. Twice.

- Probably she wasn't at home. Keep trying. You should work this out in the heat of the moment.

- Do you want to be the baby's godmother?

- Ohhhh... -I let out a mischievous smile-. I don't think Dom would allow that.

- She doesn't want to hear me. I think I fucked up, Eli.

- Well, you did, you fucked up. But twice, a woman is speaking to you, is not enough.