Free Queen Unseen by Peter Hince Page A

clemency from others my size. I turned down Fred’s kind offer of his old leotards and codpieces. And Brian’s clogs.
    I did take the offer of a drink in the bar of our hotel from Frank Sinatra (junior). Chatting to Frank at a table in an unremarkable setting, the singer and musician, who was on tour himself, said he really liked Queen but would have already left town when Queen were due to perform. Nice man – and the large, dark-suited gentlemen who hovered close by to Frank at all times gave me a reassuring nod of approval when I smiled nervously at them.
THE BEAUTIFUL SOUTH
    Tour after tour, America continued to excite me, as I saw for real the things that I had previously only witnessed on TV cop shows. The electric excitement of New York and the noise of all those sirens – they really sounded like they did on TV and so did the phone ringing. It was just like in Kojak !
    Touring was one great adventure and I looked forward to everything on the itinerary ahead. All the big cities: LA, Chicago, San Francisco, Dallas, Boston, Detroit, and even the ones I had never heard of with intriguing names like Fort Wayne, Indiana, or Des Moines, Iowa. Everything excited me: checking into a hotel, eating at an interstate truck stop, days off, show days, travel days – every day, as I enjoyed chalking up all the many states we travelled to. In the Deep South, I met a thick-set, crimson-necked man at a truck stop,who told me his job was to scrape the ‘dead critters’ from the freeway – ‘including armadillos’, he proudly stated.
    Texas: the biggest state in the union, home to armadillos and a wild untamed place, where, in 1977, I met the most beautiful girl in the world. Elizabeth Macy was from Dallas, tall and dark, with an exotic hint of Indian (Native American) blood, a stunning figure and the most gorgeous dark eyes you could drown in.
    You could say I fancied her. She was escorted by the Ugly Buddy, who often accompanied attractive girls to make them look even better. The Buddy was blond, round and not unattractive – in a chunky sort of way. She was the type I often ended up with, but not that night.
    We had just endured one of the coldest US winters on record, where walking across the street from the hotel to the bus was enough to make your hair freeze. So the warmth of Texas, followed by the guaranteed heat of Phoenix, Arizona, and a few days off was something to really look forward to. So was Elizabeth. I walked on air for days, life was perfect. When you are maybe not quite the best-looking guy in the crew, with poor chat-up lines, and you still manage to get the greatest-looking girl, and she only wants to be with you, despite attempts by the rustlers to sneak her away – it’s just great! It didn’t last. I don’t think I saw her again.
    During rehearsals in Dallas for the ’78 Jazz tour, I was enjoying an evening with the band in one of their suites in the Hilton, when I got abducted by a gal with an accent that sounded like treacle being poured over gravel. She was so wasted I could barely understand anything she said. Not that it mattered. Her intoxication made little difference to hercapabilities, so we left the hotel in her pick-up truck, complete with mandatory Texas gun racks. She drove with one hand over her eye in order to ‘focus better on the road’. Back in her apartment on the edge of town, we spent a meaningful night together.
    Upon waking, I found I was alone in bed with only a thin white cotton sheet covering me. The morning sun streamed through the window and all was well with my world. I looked around and noticed on a wooden trunk at the bottom of the bed, a tall entity with a domed top, draped by a cloth. I shouted to the kitchen if I could use the phone and she croaked back: ‘Yip and can I git ya sum cawfee?’ Perfect.
    I got on the phone to call a music store where I had tracked down a vintage 1955 Fender bass guitar that John Deacon wanted. I was just confirming the pick up of the