THERE'S NO ONE BUT MYSELF TO BLAME

- Darling, I'm pushing apart the vodka, ok?

My God, I wanna die, I wanna die here instantly. God, send a flash of lightning over me and slaughter this useless person.

- Are you ok?

- No, I need to puke... now...

- Phoebeeeee.

His new and urgent Phoebeee nailed to my temples.

- Take her to bathroom before she spoils me my Luis XV sofa.

His words so acidly unsupportive hurt me and had to refrain myself to not get my fingers into my throat and bring up my filth on his beautiful upholstery. Phoebe throw his arms around me with his paternal bear arms taking me to the bathroom fast. My stomach was turning round but vomiting was always a hard task to me. I held my face burning on the cold marble from the washbin and closed my eyes. I noticed Phoebe's trusting and good nature figure by my side, holding delicately but firmly my waist. As though my knees were going to bend. I opened up my eyes slowly and spoke up my thoughts without figuring out he was there.

- I gotta get out of here come what may. I gotta dissapear.

- I'll tell Freddie if we can take you home.

- No, no.

- No?

- I mean, I'm going alone.

- Darling, don't talk nonsense. You can't even walk straight. Terry are coming along and he'll take you. Don't worry.

Terry, other huge man f almost 6 feet tall, blond and easy-going. Freddie's driver. Where is he taking me? My house was 36 years away.

- Try to vomit, honey.

As it was easy. When Phoebe stayed away I slid slowly to the floor and rested again my face against the fresh mosaic. Suddenly I noticed like a sort of feather on my nose, tickling me all the time. Struggling to open up my eyes I saw an orange cat. Big head and beautiful as the devil. It had green amazing eyes. Seeing it close up it was a chubby cat, beautiful. Its soft hair and his fatness gave hint of a comfortable life. Its soft tail rubbed insistent against my nose.

- Oscar, darling, what the hell are you doing? He didn't attack you, did he? -Freddie said taking quickly in his arms.

Again his singsong voice and his camp manners. How could I miss him so much without finding the way to run away?

- I guess he was saying hello.

- Did you vomit?

I shook my head trying to stand up and upright. I failed.

- Hold on tight, you're falling. Phoebeee, take her to the guest bedroom. Tonight she'll sleep it off here.

I mumbled something while Phoebe lifted in his arms as though I was a blade of Grass. I felt safe and comfortable cuddle up against his huge and soft body. I didn't have the strenght to resist, everything turned and turned and decided let myself go. The sheets were soft and smelled like recently ironed and I breathed a sigh of relieve. I noticed how Phoebe took off my shoes and covered my body. I had my eyes closed since a little while completely exhausted, refusing more extra effort to my brain. I sighed once or twice and as though I dance inside a maze of spirals, I fell asleep.

Gradually I came back to reality. It took time waking up and being aware it was daylight, I wasn't in my own bed, I was starving and I found myself in fucking 1984. Oh, gosh. I jumped when I heard again his beautiful voice. Freddie was sitting on an armchair by the bed. He was glancing a magazine which he drew apart when he saw I was stretching myself. Oh, fuck. That's a fucking hangover. Oh, yeah.

- How is my drunken princess doing? -he smiled with his shining eyes.

How did he do it? He had drunk so much as me and he looked breathtaking. A world badly divided. Although well, he looked always handsome.

- I'm not feeling well. I'll never drink vodka again. Never.

- Bah, it's not as bad as all that.

- What are you doing there? Watching in case I vomit your precious thread count sheets?

- I've been here quite a long time. I thought you should waking up with a recognizable face.

Ohhhh, that was so beautiful and he meant it. With no ounce of his usual sharply irony. But quickly it came to my mind my unlucky sentence about Body Language and his moans and my reliefs and without thinking I covered my head underneath the sheets.

- Hey, am I look so awful?

I noticed how Freddie jumped inside the bed with me and I showed again my face to the surface, incredulous. What did he do it? Luckily the only thing that I didn't wear was my shoes. I had my clothes on. Each one of my clothes. It was a relief.

- No, you aren't -I said blushing when I felt him nearer as never before.

- You know? You speak in dreams like an old magpie.

- Really? Don't tell what I said.

- Something like, I gotta get back or take me back. All your eagerness was getting back, returning. Running away from here.

- Freddie, I shouldn't be here.

- Are your husband waiting for you?

- I don't have any husband.

- Boyfriend?

- Not at the moment.

- Hmmmm. Someone who taking care?

- I'm not a single mother and my parents don't depend on me. Taking care of myself is enough for me. Doesn't sound like enough?

- It sounds me like a great task because you sure get into troubles all the time -he touched the tip of my nose with a wink.

Then without a respite Freddie did something amazing. He stared at my neck as though I had a wart and looked down his shameless eyes. I wasn't aware of my neckline. I had my blouse three buttons open. The right number to show my tits in a very coy way to not being scandalous and the most revealing way to show their roundness and size. It's bad to say but my breasts maybe are the most aesthetic part of my body. I was aware how Freddie liked men, that was clear. Women issue remained an enigma. There is a red-hot and never concluding debate about his evident bisexuality among the members of Queen Hotzone.

While he stared at me without bothering to pretend, I recalled the picture in which Freddie stared Barbara Valentin's generous breasts, threatening with blow open her bra, stuck in between Freddie's legs. It was obvious that he liked that landscape and also he admired it in due lust. To him it was a piece of art so precious as any other unique piece in his furniture. The gay man who loved staring at feminine necklines.

After being trapped in his eyes which I could hardly move, to my surprise he again with determination and sweetness did up the devilish buttons which showed my charms. He just did up one, but that way my two protuberances were covered, letting still all my neck well exposed. Then he adjusted the collar of my blouse as though he was my mother making sure I was going out the street perfectly fine. All his gestures seemed making sense although he must admit the situation wasn't ordinary. Taking home a journalist, get her drunk and let her sleep it off in one of his rooms. He must think about the unusual of it all. But sure, he didn't show up. He's the great and outrageus Freddie Mercury. He had seen it all.

I thought I was starving and Freddie jumped off the bed just now and opening the door a little shouted again Phoebe.

- Phoebeeee, could you cook a big breakfast to the young lady journalist, please.

This man had powers. Or else common sense. I haven't eaten anything since hours. Two pieces of sponge cake were an anecdote.

- How is your stomach, darling? Want you face to a hangover breakfast at least?

- How is a hangover breakfast? -I asked smiling, relaxed at last.

- Well, a little bit of everything avoiding the sausages.

- I love sausages -I beamed.

- Alright... let's eat sausages.