Chapter Text
While Rami can afford to take a flight home for the rare weeklong break in production of “Mr. Robot,” it seemed unnecessary. After all, there are only a few more episodes of the season to shoot before he returns home.
The first season’s success was such a surprise, and the awards attention for his acting was even more surprising. Rami’s confident in his abilities but humble enough to be shocked by the accolades after years of small roles and inconsistent income.
It’s all just so new, making any break intolerable. He can’t shake the need to be constantly searching for the next job.
He also can’t shake the feeling he’s being watched at the moment.
Having paparazzi follow him is also a new thing. Privacy is important, sure, and if he lived a more interesting personal life, he’d probably be more annoyed. Instead, Rami finds himself oddly zen about the mundane pictures floating around of him scarfing down his lunch or looking puzzled by a stupid parking meter.
This feeling of being watched is different though. More significant, if that makes sense. Rami can almost feel a weight from it.
He stops walking abruptly and turns completely around. Yep, there’s someone a few feet away who stops just as suddenly as Rami did once he’s noticed. The man is wearing a nice bomber jacket, well-worn jeans, a ball cap and aviators. The perfect stalking outfit, Rami inexplicably muses. The only feature that would make you look twice is the throwback mustache he’s rocking.
The man doesn’t seem flustered one bit by getting caught. Instead, he gives a small, closed-mouth smile and slowly walks toward Rami.
What do I do? Is he a crazy stalker? Don’t be so dramatic! Playing Elliot has made you so paranoid. He probably just wants an autograph or selfie. But why isn’t he saying anything? Jesus, Rami, fight or flight, man! Whoops, too late. He’s close enough to stab you now. Well, at least he smells nice.
Rami swallows the lump in his throat hard. “Can ... can I, uh, h-help you?” He ends the query in a higher pitch than he’d like to believe was possible.
An eyebrow arches above the man’s sunglasses. He takes a long, exaggerated look up and down Rami’s body, returning to look him straight in the face. The small smile is quite big now. “I do believe you can, darling.”
As freaked out as he is, Rami can’t help but take notice of the man’s voice. How can someone make such a short sentence sound so melodic?
Suddenly, the bright smile dims, hiding the man’s unique teeth and closing off any chance to hear more of the lovely voice. The man gives a curt nod to Rami, pulls the brim of his cap lower, puts his hands in his jacket pockets, and walks off without another word.
Rami stares at the diminishing figure until he turns off the sidewalk, out of sight.
||
Lunchtime around the set isn’t usually a solitary time. This Monday felt different though. Rami took off as quickly as possible after the morning table reading to his trailer, away from a public space.
Rami couldn’t shake the odd mix of emotions from his encounter last week with the stranger. The intangible weight from the man’s attention stayed with him despite not having any other incidents.
He nestles into his comfy chair with a can of mixed nuts as his only lunch and starts checking his email when the most insistent knocking he’s had the displeasure of hearing comes from his door.
“Okay! I’m coming,” asshole, Rami adds under his breath.
As soon as he turns the knob, someone cracks the door back and squeezes inside, Rami barely able to back away.
“What the hell!” Before Rami can ask the intruder who he is, the man turns, and shit, it’s mustache stranger. He recoils as far as he can in the small space. “No fucking way, asshole! I will scream for security. You’re insane if you think they won’t immediately storm in here to save the star of a basic cable TV show!”
Despite the threat, the man gives no immediate response. He simply stares at Rami with a bemused, put-upon expression. As if Rami were an adorable kitten who got caught tearing up yet another throw pillow.
“So dramatic, Rami dear,” the man says. “You will do nicely.”
“Do what?!” because, damn it, what is going on?! “Who are you?!”
“Calm down, sweetheart. There’s only room in this trailer for one hysterical queen, and it’s not you … yet.”
“Okay, yeah. I’m getting security.”
The man puts his hands on his hips, thus blocking the door further, and heaves a sigh. He dramatically takes off the aviator sunglasses.
What th-, uh, ohhkay. Rami blinks a few times. Well, that explains the mustache. “Look, Freddie Mercury, I will honest and truly tackle you to get through this door if you don’t start explaining yourself.”
That seems to only please the stranger, an unguarded smile lighting his face. “I want to cast you in my movie.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, I’m not actually making the movie, but it is about me and Queen.”
“There’s a movie about Queen being made?”
“Yes. Has been for quite some time now. It’s at a crossroads at the moment. If the filmmakers don’t find the perfect person to play me, the project might be lost.”
“And you think I’m the perfect person to play you?” Oh, God, Rami can’t believe he’s actually indulging a possible psycho who has him trapped in his trailer.
“No, honestly.”
The blunt response triggers a mental record scratch. “What do you mean no?” Rami crosses his arms in indignation. “I won a freaking Emmy!”
“Oh, shush, darling. I’m not questioning your talent. You’re not perfect for the role, but you definitely have the most potential to become so. From what I’ve observed, you’re hungry for the next big opportunity. The sort of role that will challenge you and almost change you. It needs to be a personality that on the surface seems like your polar opposite, and yet you’ll be able to better understand yourself somehow because there’s a core of humanity and complexity that you share with the person.”
Confident that he has Rami transfixed, the man moves away from the door and sits in the comfy chair Rami had just vacated. “Darling, I have sold an infinite number of records around the world, I have performed to an audience of 1 billion all at once, I have several great loves in my life, and I have essentially accomplished every goal I have ever set for myself. Can you say that you’ve done the same in your personal and professional life?”
Rami doesn’t even have to ponder an answer. “No,” he says, then pauses and adds, “honestly,” echoing “Freddie’s” blunt response to him earlier.
The small, closed-mouth smile returns. “I can help you along with some of that.”
“Really?” he asks, soaking the word in skepticism.
The man leans forward like he’s telling a secret and doesn’t blink when he says, “Sweetheart, I am the role of a lifetime.”
Rami scoffs. That’s it. Enough. “Let’s just get this out of the way. There is no way you are Freddie fucking Mercury.”
The man rolls his eyes and waves a hand dismissively. “Very well. What shall I do to prove that I am indeed Freddie fucking Mercury?”
And the answer’s pretty simple. “Sing.”
The man enthusiastically bounces back up before Rami. “Any requests?” he asks, full of mischief.
Oh, shit. What should he ask for? Rami knows some of Queen's big hits like, of course, “Bohemian Rhapsody,” but that’s too obvious to ask for. Why does he care that it’s obvious? Because, Rami realizes, he’s developing an uneasy, growing need to not insult this man who, sure, is definitely not Freddie Mercury but does a superb impersonation. Why isn’t he trying to get the role? Ugh, focus, Rami. How about “We Will Rock You”? No, then he’ll want to join in with the stomping and clapping, and he’ll embarrass himself. “Somebody to Love”? Nope, too romantic. Definitely not the situation for that. Think, think, think. Just pick something!
“ ‘You’re My Best Friend’!”
The biggest smile splits the man’s face. “Oh, darling. That’s nice of you, but we hardly know each other. You’re moving awfully fast.”
Rami scrunches his face in complete confusion.
“Ha, just joking, of course. You’re laughing on the inside, I’m sure of it. Very nice choice. A Deacy classic.”
“What’s a Deacy?”
“Freddie” gasps. “What’s a Deacy?!” He shakes his head in dismay. “We’ll have to address the glaring holes in your Queen knowledge later. For now, sit and enjoy the free show.”
Rami warily sits back in the comfy chair. He tries not to be in awe already, but it’s a close thing. The guy just looks so much like the legendary singer.
“Freddie” takes in a slow, deep breath.
Ooh you make me live
Whatever this world can give to me …
Without the familiar peppy music, Rami is able to focus on the lyrics better. He had forgotten how much sappy sentiment was in the song.
… Ooh I've been wandering round
But I still come back to you
In rain or shine
You've stood by me girl …
Good grief, It’s so heartfelt and sweet.
… I'm happy at home
You're my best friend
Oh you're my best friend
Ooh you make me live
You're my best friend
What a fucking beautiful song.
And Freddie’s voice was so fluid yet strong. The song wasn’t a true test of his range though. Maybe Rami really should ask Freddie to sing “Bohemian Rhapsody” next. Or “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.” That’d be a fun one and …
“OH MY GOD, YOU REALLY ARE FREDDIE FUCKING MERCURY!!!”
Freddie rolls his eyes at the actor once more. “Of course, darling,” he says, drolly.
“Holy shit, the ghost of Freddie Mercury is in my trailer,” Rami says in amazement.
Freddie chuckles. “Nothing so macabre, my dear.”
“Then how?!” because, again, holy shit!
Freddie, completely straight-faced: “Time travel.”
For some unfathomable reason, Rami finds that explanation harder to believe than ghost.
Before Rami can vocalize his reservations, someone knocks on the trailer. “Rami! 10 minutes!”
“Um, okay, Stephanie!” Rami says quickly enough so she won’t try to come into the trailer for some reason. “Thanks!”
“Are you listening to Queen?” she shout-asks through the trailer walls.
Rami looks at Freddie, who, of course, is smug and completely entertained by the whole situation. “Uh, sure am!”
“Niiice,” Stephanie drawls. “I’m serious, Rami. You got 9 minutes now!”
Rami keeps looking at Freddie, a hard, truth-seeking stare. The singer’s grin dims under the scrutiny, cheeks getting pink. If Rami didn’t know any better, he’d think Freddie was getting self-conscious and bashful from the attention.
“My dear, I believe that was my cue to leave.”
What?! “No, you can’t leave! You just got here! I can tell them I feel sick. Or I have a family emergency. Or I died. I’ll tell them anything. You can’t go. Stay with me.”
Freddie looks very touched by Rami’s earnest pleas (he’s still blushing). “Don’t fret like that. I’ll see you later tonight after you’re done with work.”
“How? Where?”
“If I may be so bold, I’m inviting myself up to your flat.”
“Oh, sure, yeah,” Rami tries not to be flustered with the idea of the dead-but-not-dead legend in his apartment, “let me give you my address.”
“No need, darling. I’ll find you.”
“But-”
Freddie places a finger on Rami’s lips. “No more questions for now. You’re down to 5 minutes to get back to work. Stephanie will be quite put out if you’re late, and I wouldn’t dream of being the cause of her distress.” He puts his aviators back on. “All will be revealed tonight.”
Rami can’t help but fear that he might not see Freddie again. “You promise?”
Freddie opens the door but stays turned toward him. “Oh, Rami dear, you do have much to learn about me before you can portray me. Of course, I promise. Wouldn’t dream of missing a date with a gorgeous gentleman.”
Before Rami has a chance to respond, Freddie ducks just as quickly out of the trailer as he came in. The door shuts with a soft thud.
The sudden silence is heartbreaking.
||
Mondays on TV show sets are pretty predictable with no need usually to be around in the evening, unlike the rest of the week when filming actually takes place and night shoots are a possibility. That meant Rami could split immediately at 6 without hassle.
Not that anyone could have kept Rami from leaving that night. He wasn’t about to keep Freddie Mercury waiting, after all.
He does a clean sweep of his apartment, his kitchen being the part in most need of straightening and spraying down. In the process, Rami realizes he should think about dinner. What do rock legends eat?
Before he can open his fridge to scrutinize its contents, a knock comes from his door. “Who is it?”
“Who do you think, darling?”
Rami opens the entrance immediately. “How did you get up here without checking in at the front?”
Freddie breezes by Rami without waiting for permission to come in. “I could sweet talk my way into the Vatican. Your building’s security was hardly a challenge. Mr. Jacobs is a lovely man. Did you know he just had his third child? Showed me photos on one of those devices I see everyone carrying in this time. She looks like a gargoyle, but, of course, I didn’t tell him that.”
She does look like a gargoyle, Rami silently agrees. “Where did you go this afternoon? Or even this past week, where have you been?”
“What makes you think I’ve only been here a week?” Freddie says, smirking. He throws his coat on the sofa despite his obvious displeasure with the furniture. “Rami dear, why is your living room so … unlived?”
“What does that even mean?”
“Borrring, darling.”
“I just stay here for the TV show.”
“You don’t even have a cat,” Freddie laments. “What kind of home doesn’t have a cat?”
Rami shrugs. He’s not opposed to cats as a concept but never actually considered ownership. A tabby might be sweet to have. Wait, no. He’s getting distracted. “Freddie,” he starts, then deflates when faced with the enormity and multitude of things needing to be addressed. He settles on vague hand gestures at Freddie, then himself, then the cosmos, he supposes.
The singer takes pity. “No sense in putting off your education. Queen: Lesson 1 is in session. Please have a seat on your dull couch, and we can begin.”
Rami sighs and does as he’s told.
“Now, I’ve already informed you of my confidence in your ability to portray me, but you still need a good foundation of knowledge. I can’t guarantee you the job. However, I can guarantee you a foot in the door. The rest will be in your hands. You must absolutely own the role of Freddie Mercury.”
“You can get me a meeting with the producers?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Why do you worry over such unimportant details? Trust me. You will get a call. For now, focus on getting to know me and my band.”
Rami gives a shy smile. “I’d like that.”
“All right, let’s start with the mothership. Queen is Freddie Mercury, Brian May, Roger Taylor, and John Deacon, and they play rock ’n’ roll.”
“You don’t say,” he says, full of sass.
“Hush now. Be useful and turn on your computer.”
Rami opens his laptop and jabs the keys a few times to get it out of sleep mode. “Freddie, you said you time traveled here. What time are you from?”
“1987. A few short months after our biggest, most glorious tour yet. But you’re making me get ahead of things.”
“I’m just curious because you seem quite blasé about the technology of today.” Rami waves at his laptop and iPhone, as if to say, “For example.”
“Only because it’s all so unexceptional. Oh, computers and cellular phones are smaller now? How grand,” Freddie says, dry as a desert. “Where are the flying cars or teleporters?”
“True,” Rami concedes.
“I bet John’s having a grand ol’ time these days. He was the electronics wizard.” Freddie claps his hands together. “Which directs me back to our lesson. Look up John Deacon, dear.”
Rami does as told, a search returning photos of an affable-looking man whose hairstyles seem to go all over the place.
Freddie takes a look at the screen and smiles brightly. “That, my dear Rami, is a Deacy. John plays bass guitar superbly and is the secret weapon of Queen. The writer of such hits as ‘You’re My Best Friend,’ ‘Another One Bites the Dust,’ and ‘I Want to Break Free.’ A sensitive soul who can tear up a dance floor. Not to be trifled with and should be shown great respect, always. He is a legend.”
Rami nods solemnly. “Got it. A geeky, dancing legend.”
Freddie looks ready to argue his oversimplified description of John. On second thought, “I suppose that’s fairly accurate,” he concedes.
“So, quick question. Kind of a follow-up on the whole time-travel thing.” Rami pauses to get the wording for his question just right. He takes in a deep breath. “Uh, how?”
“Look up Brian May.”
Rami does so without delay, assuming Freddie is blowing off his question.
“Now, I know your first thoughts are going to be, ‘Tall, curly hair, plays guitar.’ But you’d be wrong. Brian is the scariest human being to ever walk this planet.”
That can’t be right. One picture in particular of him joyously holding a hedgehog directly contradicts that statement.
“He created the device that allowed me to travel here.”
“He did that? The guitarist?”
“Darling, along with being one of the most amazing guitarists of all time and writer of the most heartbreaking, challenging, and life-affirming lyrics I’ve ever had the pleasure of singing, the man is an astrophysicist.”
“Fuck.” That’s all Rami can eloquently say to that.
“Fuck, indeed!” Freddie’s always been so proud of Brian. “Scary smart, a super genius, but luckily not an evil one. Infinitely kind.”
Rami can see that. Oh, look, Brian’s holding a wombat in this other picture. He’s tempted to do a “Brian May holding animals” search. “I’d love to talk with him.”
“You will! I’m absolutely certain of it. And I can’t wait for you to meet Roger, the biggest member of them all — in his mind, at least.”
Rami goes ahead and searches for Roger Taylor without prompting. “Wow.”
“Gorgeous, isn’t he? And he knows it. Has the temperament of some mythical beast and plays the drums just as ferociously. Has the falsetto of angels.”
“Sounds like a fun guy.”
“That’s an understatement, darling. I’ve never had more fun with anyone else. Oh, the naughty things!”
“Got any details, you know, stuff that would help me get the part?” Rami asks, all false innocence.
Freddie doesn’t bite. “Perhaps another time.” He sits down next to Rami on the couch. “If you’re serious about really getting this role, then look up Farrokh Bulsara.”
Freddie types the name in for Rami. The results? All pictures of Freddie Mercury. It doesn’t take too long for Rami to equate everything.
“You’re not originally from England, are you?”
“No.” On the singer’s face is a small, sad smile. “I was born in Zanzibar, an island off the east coast of Africa. My family is Parsi. Spent much of my time growing up in India before I made it to England.” He looks the actor directly in his eyes, scrutinizes but not in his familiar flirty way. He seems to be assessing something. “Might I ask a bit of your family history, Mr. Rami Malek?”
Rami gives a crooked smile, understanding what Freddie’s trying to address. “My parents are from Egypt. I was born in Los Angeles. I’m Egyptian-American.”
It’s a simple, straight-forward answer, yet Freddie seems most pleased. “Excellent!” He excitedly gets up, dragging Rami with him. “Oh, Rami dear, I am so happy to have discovered you. Now, we must address other talents. Can you sing?”
“No.”
“You answered much too quickly. You work in the arts. There must have been some vocal training along the way.”
“Not much, honestly. The only opportunities I get to sing are in the shower.”
“Then let’s go into the shower, and you can show me all your talents.”
Freddie grabs a hand and starts tugging Rami. “What?! Freddie, no! We’re not going into the shower!”
The singer chuckles at Rami’s distress. “Oh, darling. I just want you to be comfortable enough to sing for me.”
Freddie keeps chuckling, and Rami realizes he’s not serious about the shower. “You’re having a great time, aren’t you?”
“I really am! You know, for someone who claims to not be able to sing, you certainly act like a diva. Just sing a little something. Don’t worry so much about my opinion. You’ll find the worst critics are often ourselves.”
Rami ponders what to sing. “Do you mind if I sing ‘Love of My Life’?”
“Excellent choice, darling. Most times, the song gets sung to me at concerts anyway.”
“Okay, just that first part because that’s all I really know.” Rami clears his throat.
Love of my life, you've hurt me
You've broken my heart and now you leave me
Love of my life, can't you see?
Bring it back, bring it back
Don't take it away from me, because you don't know
What it means to me
Freddie has his palms laid against his chest, head slightly tilted, looking at Rami in a way that only could be interpreted as: “Well, an attempt was made.”
The singer rolls his eyes. “That is not what I’m thinking, dear.”
Crap, Rami said that out loud. “Crap, I said that out loud?”
“Yes, darling, you did. And you’re wrong to be so dismissive of your abilities. You have a charming, husky tenor voice. You do, however, need to work on your range.”
“Can I still play you?”
“Of course! The filmmakers wouldn’t make you sing with your voice. It has to be my singing for my music.”
“Then why did you have me sing?”
“I want you to be comfortable with the idea of being a performer of my caliber. I want you to feel capable of doing such things as singing.”
Okay, that makes sense. But, really, “I wasn’t that bad?”
Freddie chuckles again. “Your need for affirmation is adorable. Not bad at all, my dear.”
Rami releases a breath in relief and smiles big.
“Now, let’s see you dance.”
The smile completely disappears.
“Oh, my goodness, darling. Your face looks exactly how Roger’s did when I said ‘I’m In Love With My Car’ shouldn’t be the ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ B-side.”
Rami starts shaking a little.
“Darling, you mustn’t get so nervous about these things. You’re an actor! Pretending to know dance should be easy. I did it my whole career.”
“What do you mean?”
“I managed to convince a professional ballet company that I was a trained dancer. They just carried me around the stage when they realized the truth. I’m the great pretender when it comes to my moves onstage. I do what my body feels like doing with whatever I’m singing.”
Rami considers the scenario. “So, no real dancing?”
“No,” Freddie dryly assures, “but we’ll still need some music: ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’.”
“… I’m not,” Rami responds, confused.
“The song!” Freddie’s entirely too amused by the mistake. “Play the song.”
“Oh, right! I remember that one.” Rami pulls up the music video on YouTube.
“Now, this one doesn’t need anything fancy. Just bounce, clap, get into it, sing along.”
Freddie starts singing to his voice, basically serenading Rami before the faster rhythm kicks in.
Tonight, I'm gonna have myself a real good time
I feel alive and the world I'll turn it inside out, yeah
And floating around in ecstasy
So don't stop me now don't stop me
'Cause I'm having a good time, having a good time …
The singer starts bouncing and moving, spinning around Rami, who hasn’t worked up the nerve yet to join in.
When Freddie starts singing, “I wanna make a supersonic man out of you,” he points directly at Rami and grabs his hand.
They run around the apartment, singing at the top of their lungs. Freddie grabs a Swiffer broom and uses it as his half-mic stand, sharing the “mic” occasionally with Rami.
… Don't stop me, don't stop me
Don't stop me, hey, hey, hey
Don't stop me, don't stop me
Ooh ooh ooh, I like it …
At some point, Freddie arches so far back Rami genuinely worries for his spine. While Rami can’t quite manage that move yet, he shuffles and practically pirouettes a couple times, Freddie breaking lyrics with an acknowledging “Yeah!”
As the song nears its end, Rami and Freddie jump on the couch belting “I DON’T WANT TO STOP AT ALLLLL!!!”
They flop down to sitting positions and let Music Video Freddie take over the remaining “La da da da daah”s that finish up the song.
They’re laughing and catching their breaths. Rami is looking at the laptop screen as YouTube counts down to the next video to autoplay: “These Are the Days of Our Lives.” He quickly recalls the video from his childhood and knows immediately that Freddie absolutely cannot see it.
He slams shut his laptop, startling Freddie. “My dear, what’s wrong?”
Rami is trying his hardest not to panic. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes deep breaths.
Freddie clasps his hand. “Darling, you’re scaring me. We were having a lovely time. What’s happened?”
He finally works up the courage to open his eyes. Freddie Mercury is here in his apartment, holding his hand, looking at him with concern. This is real, Rami knows that.
Rami also knows what else is, unfortunately, still a reality.
“Freddie,” he swallows hard, “do you know why I thought you were a ghost at first?”
Freddie sucks in a breath, then opens his mouth as if to begin protesting. He thinks better of it though. “Yes, my dear. I have an idea.”
Freddie sits back fully on the couch. Rami lays his head on the singer’s shoulder. They’re still holding hands.
They sit like that for a while, quiet with their thoughts. Rami can hear Freddie’s heartbeat. You’re real, so real, stay here, here now with me.
“Rami dear, you’re saying things aloud again when you don’t mean to.”
He snuggles in closer. “I meant to say them that time.”
Freddie sighs, resigned. “I can’t stay.”
“Why not?” He holds Freddie’s hand tighter.
The singer looks down at Rami; the actor won’t look back up at him. “I need to live out the rest of my life. I need to see it through.”
Rami can’t hold back his tears anymore, can’t help the sniffle that’s heard.
Freddie nudges him. “Come now, darling.” Rami turns fully against Freddie, allowing the singer to embrace him properly.
“I have to go now,” Freddie whispers after several minutes of indulging in the closeness.
“What? No, you just got here. You have so much more to teach me.”
Freddie looks deep into Rami’s large eyes, red from crying over him, pleading with him for so many things. “You’re too much, Rami. I’m too tempted to do whatever you ask of me.” He lifts the man’s hand to his lips, kissing the back in the most gentlemanly way. “And that means I have to go sooner than later, because I am not one for denying temptation.”
He gets up from the couch, pulling Rami up with him. He puts on his jacket and walks to the front door with Rami close in tow.
Freddie turns to look at Rami one more time. “You are a truly talented actor, darling. You are going to inspire and dazzle with your performance. If there’s anything to take away from this night, it’s that I’ll be with you every step on this journey — in my own way.” He smirks and winks at the other man.
Rami is trying to stubbornly stay sad, but he can’t help the amused huff his releases.
“Goodbye, my dear.”
“Goodbye, Freddie.”
Freddie quickly exits, not allowing Rami to make any last-ditch efforts in prolonging his stay.
Rami is left standing helplessly staring at the empty space where once a legend occupied. The emptiness is awful. He has to try; one more glance at Freddie. That’s all he wants.
He whips open his door and rushes into the hallway. He looks down in the direction of the elevators but doesn’t see anyone. He looks in the other direction. Hell, he even looks up at the ceiling for any sign that Freddie Mercury is still here.
But he’s gone.
||
Rami thought he’d have trouble sleeping that night. Instead, the emotional drain and heartbreak had left him exhausted. He barely was able to wake up and prepare for the work day ahead.
Fuck, he didn’t want to go anywhere.
The actor’s a damn professional, however, so here he is at the studio as scheduled, memorizing this week’s episode script and rehearsing as if everything was business as usual.
On with the show, he bitterly tells himself.
When lunch is called, he tries to split as quickly as possible to his trailer so he can have an hour to sulk in peace. Then he hears Stephanie screaming for him from somewhere.
She’s running toward him while frantically waving her phone. “Rami! You have a call!”
Damn it, he doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now. “Steph, take a message. I’m going to my trailer.”
“Rami, you’re going to fucking take this call right now!” She slams the phone against his chest.
“What is so important?”
“Answer. It. Now. Ass. Hole.”
Goddamn, Stephanie’s scary. He hits the unmute button. “Rami Malek speaking.”
“Mr. Malek! I’m so glad I could reach you. Graham King here. I want to speak to you about a possible role in a little biopic I’ve been working on. Are you at all familiar with the music of Queen?”
Rami turns his face up to the heavens, hoping Freddie can somehow see his blinding smile. “I’m quite familiar with Queen, actually. I love Freddie Mercury.”