In the Year of the Cat (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

31. All Up In The Air

Day 8: Well, how do I put this. I guess bluntly is the only way. I woke up in bed next to Freddie, but he promised me (whatever that means) we didn't do "it". Apparently he made a bet with Mr. Roger Taylor to see which of the two could get to me first, so he and I are not on very good terms, he just doesn't know it yet. I'm on a private jet plane called the Starship. Freddie's decided we need to go to Las Vegas because I made the mistake of saying I was something I'm not. We've been on the plane for about five hours now, three more to go until we stop at New York.

This jet has everything. There's a kitchen in which the stewardesses, Lucy and Belinda (but who are currently going by Lulu and Belle because someone, I think either Straker or John Holmes, Elton's PA- yes, I said Elton, and I do mean Elton John, and no, I'm not high, not right now- told them those names suited them better), have prepared some very nice munchies for us. Lulu's the one I like; she's a little more strait-laced than her partner, and she's a good old-fashioned American.  Who'd have thought. 

But more about the plane.  There's a shower room, a bedroom, a TV, a fully stocked bar, and an electric Hammond organ right next to it (makes things very convenient for our musical party people). And there's a fireplace. I don't know why a plane needs a fireplace, but we have a fireplace. Whatever.

Rudy's actually not flying the plane by himself, he was just joshing around (I didn't know he had it in him to josh). Our pilot's name is Kelly. Rudy does have a pilot's license, though, so he's acting as copilot. I guess it's Captain Kelly and First Officer Barnes. They've just switched now; Rudy's taken over for -

From behind the cockpit door I heard another one of Peter's loud cackles. Even over the grinding of the engines, he was audible. I was sitting behind the two flyboys, Rudy and the captain. I'd been going back and forth between the passenger area and the cockpit, finding refuge with Freddie's silent driver whenever things in the back started becoming a little odd. Keep in mind what was stocked aboard the Starship, add in the alcohol, cocaine (courtesy of Paul and Jack Kristenhoffer, Peter's friend), two very able and willing floozy stewardesses, and the wild passengers themselves- and I'll let you decide what "odd" means.

Right now, though, the passengers had relatively settled down. The three divas- Peter, Elton, and Freddie- had been tipsily caterwauling at the Hammond organ for the last half hour, each trying to outdo the other two. I hadn't minded for the first fifteen minutes, in fact enjoyed the star-studded serenade. Several times Elton waved his hand, taking requests on a first come, first serve basis. Which, since Lulu was in and out of her station and Belle was in the back bedroom "serving" Kristenhoffer and Paul was keeping an unwavering eye on Freddie, meant I monopolized the market.

"O-Bla-Di!" I would request, and Elton would crash right into it, and laughingly the boys would sing the Beatles' story of Desmond and Molly. It was so contagious, I had to sing along. I once tried sidling up next to the trio to at least be closer to the action. But Pudding Face rose from his seat almost immediately and wormed between me and the rest of them. I don't know why he saw me as such a threat to Freddie, even then when I was anything but his biggest fan.

And then there was the matter of that darn Straker. Don't get me wrong, Peter had a beautiful, rich tenor voice. A true, underappreciated talent. The only problem was, he seemed convinced that he was a flat first soprano. He started freestyle warbling in his falsetto; then, not to be outshone, Freddie let rip, turning his own higher notes on full blast; and Elton decided to throw both of them for a loop and did his best bullfrog bass before joining them in the screech fest. Peter Straker did not equal Montserrat Caballe- but rather than tell him that, I just slipped off to the cockpit for the seventh time, and caught up on my journal. I had already written what I remembered from yesterday, now I simply had to catch up on today's happenings and a few NFOs for the flavor.