09/23/2025
Image by Peter Freestone on the shores of Lake Lemann in Montreux, Switzerland.
There were two wooden boards and a pile of stones above the tank containing the boa constrictor staring at Peter Freestone and his boss, Freddie Mercury, from behind a mattress located on the floor of Michael Jackson's room.
The afternoon had been memorable. Jackson had taken his guests on a tour of the grounds of Neverland, and introduced them to his collection of ducks, geese, sheep and flames. "Soon, we were in the room, and Michael was telling us how he liked to sleep on the floor because he felt more comfortable being close to the ground," recalls Freestone. "Freddie could not contain himself, and replied that, if that was the case, Michael had to move his room downstairs."
It's been 42 years since then, but Freestone remembers that day well. As well as he remembers the first time he laid his eyes on the lead singer of Queen. I was sitting having tea in the Rainbow Room restaurant in Biba, an iconic London department store from the 1960s. “For some reason, all glances were directed toward a specific point,” Freestone says. "I looked up and there was Freddie: long hair, foxskin jacket and painted nails from black It was impossible not to look at it."
It was a short encounter, and Freestone really wasn't dazzled: he had already become accustomed to meeting big stars at the Royal Opera House, where he was working at the time, and anyway, he liked classical music more.
Six years later, the paths crossed again. Mercury had just performed a concert with the Royal Ballet and was introduced to Freestone at the after party. The two started talking and Mercury asked exactly what Freestone's job was. "I explained to him that I was in charge of costumes," Freestone says, "and that was it." A week later, out of nowhere, someone from Queen called him. "I was asked if I would be available to take care of the band's locker room for a six-week tour."
After the first tour, Freestone came out of the dressing room to become Freddie's personal assistant and quickly became one of his closest friends. This is how he spent the next twelve years by his side.
"We understood each other well without knowing it at first," explains Freestone. "We had a similar upbringing, both of us were sent to boarding schools in India when we were young." The two were so in tune that, according to him, Freddie didn't even have to talk when he wanted something; it all became intuitive. If Freddie needed a glass of water, a cigarette, or an ear to whine from a reporter after a press conference, Freestone was always there.
Freddie was known for his hedonistic happenings, and wherever in the world the band was, Freestone was in charge of making sure the party ingredients were available. "He's a rock and roll legend, but at parties there were never dwarfs with bowls full of co***ne in their heads," Freestone laughs. Still, it was no secret that his boss was a drug addict. "The police in Kensington knew Freddie was using co***ne, but they had no problem with it," Freestone tells me. "He never did it blatantly, he never did it in public, nor did he draw attention."
Finding co***ne wasn't a challenge in London, but doing it while on tour had its complications: "In New York, you had to go to a business." You were going to a place, there was a line. You were forming and a door opened, it was the only way in and out. When you walked in, there was a table and metal furniture with drawers that open. Every one was full of drugs. "I got what Freddie wanted and paid for."
Freestone is quick to make it clear that Freddie's drug use was not an addiction, suggesting the singer was always in control. "It wasn't every day. Maybe four days a week,” he says, “and Freddie was one of those people who always saves a little for the next day. It wasn't all over and then I went looking for more."
The relationship was both personal and professional, which meant seeing another side of his boss: the man plagued with vulnerabilities and insecurities. Freestone talks about two Freddie Mercurys: the one we all know on stage at Live Aid concerts with the world in the palm of his hand, and the other, a man who couldn't walk alone into a room full of strangers, as he lacked enough confidence to introduce himself.
The Garden Lodge residence in Kensington was almost empty on a quiet May morning in 1987. Freddie had made sure of that. He and Freestone were standing in the kitchen, alone, when the singer, who was just 40 then, told his friend he had been diagnosed with AIDS. "I felt my heart come out of my chest," says Freestone. "We both knew it was a death sentence, and from that moment on I knew that anything I did for him wouldn't help him survive." He said from that moment on we would never talk about it again. "From Freddie's perspective, he had the rest of his life to live."
Freddie finally decided when it was time to die. On November 10, 1991, he stopped taking the drug that kept him alive. Like several men who slept with men at the highest point of the epidemic, AIDS had stripped Mercury of all autonomy. By choosing to stop taking her pills, she was taking back control. For the last week of his life, there was always someone next to his bed. Three of his friends took twelve-hour shifts each to make sure he was never alone.
"He was tense at the start of the week," Freestone recalls, but that changed when, at eight p.m. on Friday, November 22, 1991, Freddie confirmed in a press release that he had AIDS.
“That’s exactly where I started my twelve hours with him,” Freestone tells me, vividly describing Mercury in his room: rugs and cream-colored satin wallpaper; beautiful custom-made furniture. "I hadn't seen Freddie this relaxed in years." There were no more secrets; he was no longer hiding. "I knew I had to release the statement, otherwise, it would appear that I thought AIDS was a dirty thing I had to hide under the rug."
The couple laughed and talked about the good times. At some times, Freestone just sat on the bed silently, holding his friend's hand.
“And then eight o’clock on Saturday morning,” Freestone says, in his slightly shaky voice. "And I got up to leave. Freddie took my hand and we made eye contact. He said, 'Thank you'. I don't know if I had already decided that it was time to leave and I knew that I'd never see me again, and for that he was thanking me for the twelve years together, or if he was just thanking me for those twelve hours. I will never know. That was the last time we talked."
After an hour of conversation, I asked Freestone my ultimate question: Is it hard to accept that your entire life is defined by your relationship with someone else? Is living in the shadow of Mercury something you'd like to get rid of someday?.
"It took me a long time to accept it," he replies, smiling. "I worked for him for twelve years, but I worked with him by my side for another twenty eight years." At first, Freestone says, he didn't understand why people wanted to shake his hand or take pictures of him. But little by little, as she started to accept it, everything started to make sense. "For the fans, I'm one of the last physical presences that was there with him. They give me a handshake, even though I tell them I've washed them several times since then. "And I know better than anyone else the great star that he was."
