Page 9 of Mercury Rising
“Really?”
“Really. Now I’ve got to get changed.”
Mercury watched her rush out of the room and up the stairs.
Would the real Madeline Morrison, one day, please stand up?
He needed to get out of the suit and tie. How did people wear these? Day in and day out?
Mercury made his way up the three flights of stairs. When he had turned thirteen, his mother had arranged for the two small bedrooms at the top of the house to be knocked into one. She recognised he needed some privacy.
His bedroom was a vast space with its own en-suite. When he had been going through his “nobody understands me” phase, it had been his sanctuary. He might spend less time in it these days but he still saw it as the place he went to escape the world.
Throwing off his suit jacket, he kicked his shoes into the corner of the room. Before he could continue the striptease, his phone rang.
“Hey, Lotty.”
“Wait, Bobby and Jeannie are joining.”
“Hello, London.”
Bobby’s unmistakable voice rang out. He and Mercury had met at school. They had one of those friendships where they drove each other mad most of the time yet they remained fiercely loyal. Most of the time.
“Bobby, you’re in Mayfair.”
“How do you know?”
“Because if you were anywhere else, you would have told me.”
“Hi, guys.”
“Hi, Jeannie.”
Jeannie Butler was one of the leading models in the UK. She also lived on Queens Crescent. Although in the house on the corner, which had about half the square footage of those in the middle. A fact Madeline liked to remind people of when Jeannie cropped up in conversation.
He had met Jeannie on the London scene and, beyond miracles, formed a real friendship.
“I saw on the news what you got,” Lotty said. “Bad luck.”
Lotty had been the best thing about his university years. They’d graduated with every intention of taking the media world by storm. Then someone told them about influencing.
“Thanks. It’s not too bad. At least I’m not in a cell.”
“Ooh I don’t know,” Bobby said. “That’s one of my top five fantasies.”
“That you have in the comfort of your own home,” Jeannie said.
“Anyway,” Lotty said. “I can’t talk long. There’s a private screening of that new movie about the singer and the waiter.”
Mercury frowned. Four weeks out of the game and films were being released that he hadn’t even heard of. He had spent most of his adulthood keeping on top of new bars, trends and ways to be cool. His channel lay in tatters after this whole nightmare.
“Please don’t regale me with stories of your social life,” he wailed, flopping onto his bed. “I’m under house arrest, remember.”
“Only at night,” Jeannie said. “How about we do something tomorrow? I’m off.”
“I have to report for duty.”
“Already?” Bobby asked. “Don’t they have to check that you’re not an axe murderer or worse?”
