John sat on the passenger seat of Roger's car, right after he put his bass in the trunk. As soon as he closed the door, Roger drove away from John's street, a cigarette stuck between his two rosy lips, smoking through the opened window. The radio was on, but the sound was so bad that Roger started to kick it as he stopped at traffic lights.

There was a big silence in the car, and it was easy to understand why. It was six thirty in the morning, and they were both exhausted, especially Roger, who had a private party with a lovely girl. He looked like he did not bother taking the time to look at himself in a mirror, as some lipstick remained on his cheekbones and his forehead. John was trying not to laugh, and focused on the city going by the window.

London was slowly waking up; some lights were switched on at some flats, and he could distinguish a few figures behind the windows. People were having a cup of coffee, brushing their hair, getting dressed, reading the newspaper, watching the TV, or sharing a moment with their family. Outside, the only noises that one could hear was the sound of the cars driving in the empty streets, motors roaring, and others shyly purring. Some footsteps sounded on the pavements, mainly those of men wearing suits going to their office to spend a busy day. The sun was already showing, dancing on the water of the River Thames, resting on the buildings walls, lighting up the roads. London had been partying all the night, had a short rest, and now was ready to wake up again, for the hard working people and the children going to school.

John yawned, whilst Roger drove in South Audley Street, not far from Marble Arch. He scratched his dishevelled hair, as he did not have to time to brush it after he woke up. He thought about the day before, which he spent with Taylor. He still could not believe that he sang for her, whereas he could barely sing for himself, even when he was home alone. She liked his song and was sure that Freddie would love it, but could he be sure about that? “Don't worry about that, John Deacon” she said “if you fight for the success of your song, I can bet that Freddie and the others will love it; so don't be afraid, and go ahead!”

If only it could be that simple.

Roger braked at traffic lights and stretched his back, yawning loudly. He turned to his friend with a smirk, keeping his hands on the wheel.

“Not very talkative today, huh?” he said to John.

“You're not either.”

“Right on that point. Goddammit, I didn't have enough sleep!”

“I can see that.”

“What? Do I have black circles under my eyes? Do I look that terrible, today?”

“No. You have lipstick all over your face!”

Roger frowned and took a look at himself in his rear-view mirror. He blenched and immediately wiped the lipstick on his cheekbones with his sleeve, grumbling and making sure that the traffic lights still had not turned to green.

“Shit! Couldn't you tell me about it sooner, Deaky?”

“No. It was too hilarious to be said” John winked, chuckling. “The lights are green.”

Roger stopped washing his face and drove again, going in the streets nearby. He was humming a song he probably wrote, his eyes focused on the road. He scratched his chin quickly and frowned.

“By the way, did you meet this girl again? She had this peculiar name...”

“Taylor Taylor?”

“Yeah, her! Have you met again?”

“We did yesterday. I went to her flat, and we spent the day together. I took her to Paradise, our favourite restaurant for breakfast! She loved it.”

“Did she? That's great! So, is she worthy?”

“What?”

“No, you really didn't do anything with her? I mean, she's quite pretty!”

“I didn't notice.”

Of course he noticed. He had spent the whole night dreaming about her smile and her eyes, the way she blinked and the way she talked. How could her beauty be left unnoticed?

“Yeah, liar” Roger laughed. “You did notice, but once again, you're too shy to ask her anything, like... touching her breasts, or even more...”

“Rog, shut up.”

“What? I'm telling the truth! Anyway. You didn't spend the day at the restaurant, so what happened next?”

“We went to her flat, and she absolutely wanted me to sing a song I wrote.”

“You wrote a song?”

There was a tone of surprise in Roger's voice, which irritated John a bit. He felt like his best friend, his bandmate, never even thought of him as a songwriter. Of course not: he was John Deacon, a wallflower! John tried to calm down, and sighed.

“I did.”

“That's fucking great, mate! When did you write it?”

“Not so long ago.”

“You have to make us listen to it, really. Yesterday, Freddie told me on the phone that we needed more songs for the album we're recording, and he wants to know about every song we start to write. Why don't you give it to Freddie once we get in the studio?”

“That's what Taylor told me. She thinks that the song has 'something'. It's not extraordinary, I mean... It's neither Freddie's songwriting, nor yours, nor Brian's.”

“Did you take the lyrics with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Perfect! I'm sure that your song is great, mate. I'm also sure that you hide to write songs. Perhaps you have a whole ton of sheets under your pillow, do you?”

Roger and John laughed, and arrived at the studio. The drummer parked the car in an empty space between two other cars, braked, and undid his safety belt. They both got out of the car, and John stretched his back, standing on tip toe. He let his arms fall lazily and bypassed the car to open the trunk and get his bass. Of course, Roger did not need to bring his drumset, it already was in the studio, waiting for him silently.

They slowly walked to the front door of the studio, pushed it and got in. They greeted the secretary, before running up the stairs that led to their studio. Roger knocked on the door and opened it: Freddie and Brian already were there, sitting on two chairs, one facing the other. They turned round and smiled, as their friends got in.

“Late again, you two! As usual!” Freddie chuckled, still half-asleep.

“Sorry” John sighed, “you know Roger, don't you?”

“I'm not always late!” Roger protested. “I'm late only when we have important meetings at the studio!”

The four musicians laughed, and Brian stood up to get them two other chairs. He handed one to Roger, and invited John to sit on the one he sat on before. They sat in a circle, Roger stretching his legs far before him, accidentally kicking Freddie's knee. He crossed his arms and removed the brown cap he was wearing, throwing it behind him.

Freddie cleared his throat, and started to speak.

“Before we start recording, I have to tell you something. Roger already knows, because I told him on the phone yesterday. Our album already has a good shape for now, but we need more songs. We have a small lack of songs to fill a record.”

“But I thought that we already had recorded everything!” Brian said, surprised.

“Nah, the producer told me that we still needed three or four songs. I have one, it's in my pocket” Freddie said, patting his pocket, “but it's still not enough, as you can see. So if any of you wrote a song, of any kind, just show it to the band, and we'll see if we can include it on the album.”

A heavy silence fell in the studio. John was sweating nervously, his right hand buried in his pocket, his fingertips touching the sheet of paper on which he wrote the full lyrics of You're My Best Friend. “Okay” he thought “now I can show it to Freddie.” As he was about to take the sheet out of his pocket, Roger handed one to Freddie.

“I HAVE ONE!” he shouted happily.

“Cool out, Rog! Okay, did you find a title already?”

“Yes!”

Roger smiled widely, sitting up on his chair. He lifted up his chin, as he unfolded the paper. His eyes lowered on it proudly, and he cleared his throat.

“I'm In Love With My Car.”

The three other pairs of eyes widened, and Brian could not refrain from laughing out loud. He almost fell off his chair, being barely able to catch his breath. John hid a smirk behind his hand, and Freddie frowned.

“Are you serious?”

“What? It's a masterpiece that I wrote! Listen to that: When I'm holding your wheel, all I hear is your gear, and my hand on your grease gun, ooh it's like a disease, son!”

Brian's loud laughter sounded again, as he wiped tears from his hazel eyes. His curly hair was bouncing on his shoulders, as he hiccupped.

“No, really, Rog, you know I like you a lot, but this song is... I don't know!” Freddie frowned again, refraining from laughing like Brian.

“It's not about me!”

“Yeah, we all know the truth, Rog, don't we?” Brian winked.

Roger rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, pouting. Freddie sighed, now allowing himself to chuckle, before he became serious again.

“By the way, where have the sound engineers gone?”

“I think they're still at the coffee machine” Brian answered, “they're talking with the secretary, I can bet on that!”

“Anyway. Brian, did you write another song than '39?”

“Not for the moment. That's the song we're recording today, isn't it?”

“Indeed.”

Freddie sighed again, before his eyes slowly met John's. The singer frowned, removing his thick black hair from his face, and stared at John thoughtfully.

“Deaky... Did you write a song?”

John blushed heavily. Of course, Freddie could not have thought about him sooner, as the main songwriter was himself, and Brian too. From time to time, Roger would submit a song, but as they often sounded too much like hard rock, some were refused. But John knew that the drummer had a real talent for songwriting; he absolutely loved the song Modern Times Rock'n'roll on their first album, Queen.

As he was lost in his thoughts, John completely forgot to answer Freddie's question. He unconsciously clenched his fingers on the sheet in his pocket.

“I... I did.”

Freddie's face lit up with a grin, and he winked at his friend.

“Why don't you show it to us?”

John nodded and slowly took out his sheet out of his pocket. With a trembling hand, he handed it to Freddie, who grabbed and unfolded it. His eyes wandered on the lyrics, reading and imagining the sound in his head. John tapped his fingers nervously on his thigh, his cheeks burning. When Freddie's smile turned into a frown, John felt like running out of the studio and never coming back. The singer lifted up his chin and stared at the bass player.

“When did you write it?”

“Not so long ago. I finished it yesterday.”

Freddie took a look again at the lyrics, before handing them silently at Brian. The guitarist read them and pouted with widened eyes. Then, Roger got the paper and read the lyrics, turning immediately to John. But he did not speak, he let Freddie doing it.

“John, this song is absolutely great!”

John's heart leapt in his chest. His whole body was shivering.

“Wh... What? Really?”

“Of course it is!” Roger exclaimed. “I can already hear my drums on it!”

“Rog and Freddie are right, Deaky, this song is great.”

John's lips stretched into a wide smile, his eyes wandering between his three friends. He shook his head, burying his fingers in his hair.

“Oh my... I didn't think it even had a potential!”

“It has! You've got something!”

You've got something. This was what Taylor said to him after he sang it for her. So, she was right. “Next time I see her, I think I'm going to open a bottle of champagne!” he thought happily.

Freddie handed him his sheet back, and spoke again.

“Sing it for us, so we can have an idea of what it'll sound like. I want this song on the record!”

“Sing?”

Oops. John shivered again, though he had succeeded in calming himself down. His cheeks turned red, and he stuttered.

“B-but... I c-can't sing!”

“Of course you can, Deaky! Come on! I know you can do it!” Brian encouraged him.

John nervously looked at the paper, which caught his eyes. He felt like he could not look up from it. He took a deep, deep breath and sighed loudly, clearing his throat and holding his paper firmly. “Just imagine Taylor sitting in front of you” a voice in his head whispered.

“Oh, you make me live, whatever this world can give to me. It's you, you're all I see, ooh you make me live now, honey, ooh you make me live! Oh, you're the best friend that I ever had, I've been with you such a long time, you're my sunshine, and I want you to know that my feelings are true, I really love you, oh, you're my best friend!”

John eventually met the others' eyes, and kept singing, though his voice was trembling a bit. When he finished the song, Brian applauded him loudly, soon followed by the two others. They were smiling at him widely, winking and nodding.

“This sounds pretty good! After we record '39, we're going to find the right chords for the song, Roger will show us how he imagines the drums, and once it'll be found, we'll write all that down. If we have some time left, we'll record some demos, and tomorrow, we'll record it. If it takes longer than just that, it's not a problem. It will be on the album, John.”

“Why, thank you. I really didn't think it would please you, I mean... You wrote that masterpiece recently!”

“What masterpiece?” Freddie frowned.

“Bohemian Rhapsody!”

“Oh, that! I'm quite proud of it. But I thought you didn't like it. I saw your face when I sang the opera part, the first time, and it wasn't glorious!”

Freddie laughed heartily and they talked about Bohemian Rhapsody quickly, until the sound engineers rushed into the room, followed by their producer. The four musicians stood up, John pressing his bass against his chest. The producer clapped his hands together and looked at them all.

“It's time to record, boys! Roger, did you bring your tambourine?”

“Was I supposed to bring my tambourine?”

Roger looked terribly annoyed. He had not been told to bring his tambourine with him at the studio, how could he know? Now, the band would work way slower than expected, and he simply could not stand this fact. He sighed loudly and rolled his eyes, turning to Freddie.

“Why didn't you tell me I was supposed to bring it?”

“I had no idea!”

Freddie turned to the producer, his hands resting on his hips.

“Why would he bring a tambourine? We did not expect a tambourine in '39! Did we? Unless Bri changed his mind. Bri?”

“I talked with him this morning” Brian replied, pointing at the producer, “and we thought that maybe Rog wouldn't need to play on his drumset. Perhaps he could hit his bass drum, while playing the tambourine.”

“Alright, alright, good idea, really!” Roger sighed in annoyance. “But how could I guess that I would need this damn tambourine?”

“Calm down, Roger” the producer said, tapping his shoulder. “I'm going to take a look at the other studios in the corridor and ask the other bands if they have a free tambourine. Don't move.”

Then, the producer left the room, closing the door behind him, leaving Freddie, Brian, John and Roger with the sound engineers. Brian walked up to Roger and apologised. Knowing that the producer would take a lot of time visiting the other studios, they decided that they would work on the new songs. Roger sat behind his drumkit, holding his drumsticks on which his name was written in black letters; Brian grabbed his Red Special, tuning it quietly; John removed his bass from its case and tuned it too, plugging it to his special amp; Freddie stood up behind his microphone, adjusting headphones over his ears. He was holding a glass of water, drank one gulp and started to gargle and warm up his voice by singing random words. Behind the glass of the recording room, the sound engineers were sitting at the control board, checking the sound and turning on the machines. Through the microphone, one of them spoke to the band.

“John, can you check the volume of your amp? Brian, can you plug your guitar? Roger, can you hit the drums and play something randomly? Don't forget the bass drum!”

The three nodded and did what they were told. John moved the buttons of his amp, hitting the thick strings of his bass, until one of the sound engineers raised his thumb and nodded. Brian plugged his Red Special and checked the volume too, playing some chords on it. As for Roger, he made his drumsticks spin around his fingers and played his drum part in Modern Times Rock'n'Roll to warm his wrists up. The sound engineers were satisfied, and finally spoke to Freddie.

“Is your voice ready, Freddie?”

“Ready Freddie!” the latter laughed through the microphone. “Do you want me to sing in the mic, just to check the sound?”

“Please.”

Freddie nodded and sang some syllables, close to the microphone, and far from it, to make sure that his voice could still be heard. When everything was ready, Brian adjusted headphones on his mass of curly hair, and leant in to speak in his microphone.

“Do you have some free tapes up there? While the producer's looking for a tambourine, we'd like to train for a new song, just to have an idea of what it can sound like.”

“Sure, Brian. Tell us when it's okay.”

John looked all around the room and noticed a pen, lying around in the middle of nowhere. He picked it up and grabbed his sheet of paper. He put his bass aside and gathered his bandmates around a small table.

“I have some chords already.”

With the pen, he scribbled the chords he wanted under each line of the song, and Brian attentively looked at them, nodding and trying to remember them. He stepped back and took his Red Special, taking a look at the paper.

“Does it sound like that?”

He started to play the chords written on the sheet, remembering the rhythm that John used when he sang the song before. John listened to him attentively, and nodded.

“Perfect! But I think that the guitar won't be needed for the whole song. I imagine an intro with a keyboard, and we could hear it throughout the whole track, you see? Maybe you could play it, or even Freddie.”

“When would you like the guitar to appear?”

“Mmh... Towards the middle of the song. Right there, we would have a sort of bridge...”

“We could play the short bridge with drums!” Roger said.

“Yes, yes, we can! It could sound really well. Freddie sings 'Ooh you make me live', and right here, Brian, you play this chord, when he starts the line. Let's try that.”

John reminded Freddie about the chords for singing. Freddie showed him, and John would tell if he liked it or not, and so would the others. Once they found the right tone, Roger imitated the sound of drums, Freddie sang, and Brian played the chord John told him about. They rehearsed like this until the end of the song, John letting Freddie improvise. Once they were done, John clapped his hands.

“That's perfect! Roger, can you show us the drum part you were thinking of?”

Roger nodded and stepped back, running to his drumset. He sat on the stool behind it and warmed up his wrists quickly, before hitting his drums. From time to time, he would stop and say things like “And for the bridge, I thought about that” before playing what was on his mind. The three others helped him work on the drum part, each of them sharing suggestions. Then, Brian and John grabbed their instrument, Freddie stood behind the microphone with the headphones covering his hair.

“Alright, guys, tell us when it starts recording!”

“Okay! Five, four, three, two... You go!”

Freddie got closer to the microphone, singing the lyrics he was holding in his hands. Roger played like they decided he would, and John hit his strings, sitting on a chair. When Freddie sang the chorus, Brian had an idea and sang harmonies in his microphone. The others smiled, pleased with this idea, and kept playing. They were focused on the song so much that they did not see the producer coming back to the studio, a tambourine in hand. He frowned and whispered to an engineer.

“What are they doing? What's that?”

“They're rehearsing for a new song that they wrote. They wanted us to record the demos with the free tapes. Do you want me to ask them to stop?”

“No, no, no. It's quite good!”

The producer crossed his arms, watching the band play and sing. He saw Brian taking his guitar and playing a few chords, Roger's cymbals bouncing, and John's fingers dancing on the neck of his bass. Freddie was still looking at the paper, though he would often close his eyes and sing with his mouth wide open, as he hit higher notes. Roger hit the last moments of the song, when Freddie said:

“And we're done!”

The sound engineer stopped the tape and turned on his microphone.

“We have it.”

The producer bypassed the control panel and opened the door leading to the recording room. The band jumped and spun round. He threw the tambourine to Roger, who caught it well.

“Here's the tambourine, Roger. Studio 9.”

“Thanks.”

“What's that you're playing? I've never heard this song before!”

“It's a song John wrote” Freddie said, wrapping an arm around his blushing friend's shoulders. “We wanted to rehearse for it, because we want it to figure on the track list.”

“Alright. Do you have other songs?”

“Roger suggested one, but I'm not so sure about it.”

“Show it to me, Roger.”

Roger smiled and stood up from his drumset, leaving the tambourine on his stool, and walked to the producer, handing him the lyrics for I'm In Love with My Car. He read it attentively, and could not help but laugh.

“You're kidding, aren't you, Rog?”

“That's what we told him!” Brian sneered.

“Okay, I got it, I'll throw this song in the trash!”

“Don't. Even though the lyrics are... special, musically speaking it can be great. Keep it aside for the moment.”

Roger shouted happily and pulled his tongue out to Brian. Freddie laughed and nodded.

“Alright, it will be on the album, but only if we can have an interesting musical part on it!”

“Not another Bohemian Rhapsody, please!” Roger complained, though everybody understood he was joking. “Anyway, it's time to record '39!”

“Do you have an extra bass drum?” the producer asked Roger.

“What the fuck do you all have against me today, huh? First, you don't tell me about the tambourine, you laugh at me for my song, and now the extra bass drum! Well, you know what? I have one in this case, right there!”

John laughed and helped Roger taking his bass drum out of its case, before settling it in the middle of the recording room with a microphone. Brian took him aside and showed him how he should play the tambourine for the song. They rehearsed quickly after Roger took the tambourine on the stool. Then, they all got ready: Brian took his twelve strings acoustic guitar, sat on a high stool, while Roger adjusted a microphone for himself. They waited for the engineers' signal, and started to play. The drummer sang high-pitched notes, closing his eyes and moving his head back so the sound would not be too bad. Then, he hit the bass drum with his foot, keeping a regular rhythm, and hit the tambourine like Brian showed him. The latter sang the lyrics he wrote, accompanied by Freddie's harmonies in the choruses. John was watching his friends playing and singing, while he let his fingers play the right bass notes. Three minutes after, they stopped playing, and the engineers stopeed the tape.

“We have it. Listen to the tape.”

They listened to it, as the song played in the speakers located in the ceiling, though it also played in their headphones. They nodded, frowning, until Brian shook his head.

“This part isn't right. We should record it again.”

They spent the rest of the morning recording the song, until the band was fully satisfied with it. They got out of the recording room, leaving their instruments in it. They walked out of the studio to get some drinks. At the coffee machine, they all got tea and chatted, pressing their back against the wall. Freddie took John apart from the other and rested his hands on the bass player's shoulders.

“John, this song you gave to us is absolutely wonderful!”

“The lyrics are quite simple, you know, nothing extraordinary either.”

“Bullshit. You have a great talent for songwriting, and I can feel it through this song! This only song! So, let me give you a friendly piece of advice, mmh?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

“Write more. Don't be afraid of writing songs, because I know it will be great. Moreover, you will learn to improve your writing. I want you to come to me every time you write something, even when it's only a line. Alright?”

“Alright.”

“Oh, and the way you took care of every detail concerning the instrumental parts was absolutely brilliant! I love this side of yours!”

Freddie winked at his friend and pulled him into a warm hug. The two young men patted each other's back, before joining their bandmates, who were quietly chatting about their work.

“I'm quite proud of our work today” Brian smiled. “'39 sounds better than I expected.”

“I like it a lot!” Roger said. “And you were right, the bass drum and the tambourine were great.”

“Mmh, by the way, Freddie, you said you had a song too, but you didn't show it to us!”

“Oh, for the moment I'm not too sure about it, I haven't finished it yet, but we can work on it together. I found a title, but we can change it. It's Seaside Rendezvous.”

He showed the lyrics to the others, who gathered around John. They sang the lyrics with grins, dancing a bit.

“It can be really nice” Brian said, “it sounds like a funny song. The audience will love the French words in it.”

“Isn't it très charmant, my dear?” Freddie laughed. “We'll work on it later. First, we have to get You're My Best Friend ready, with I'm In Love With My Car.”

“Then?”

“Then, I think the album will be full.”

The musicians smiled and nodded, finishing their paper cups. They threw them in a bin next to the machine, and Freddie stretched his back, pulling a face. He patted Roger's back.

“Come on, darlings! We have an album to work on!”

The four members of Queen walked back to the studio, now ready to record You're My Best Friend. As they got into the recording room again, John had only one thing in mind: he was completely impatient to tell Taylor about the song, and its success. He thought about what she said once again: for the success of his song, he did not even need to fight. That was the only time that she was wrong.