In his dreams he visits the house at Prinsengracht and thinks he can smell her body in the walls. When he wakes she is there beside him in bed, still in the white dress with her hair pinned to one side, smiling. She plays his guitar and he listens with his head in her lap, threading his fingers in the folds of her skirts. "I'm so glad I brought you along," she says, her fingers like rivets all along his shoulders. She presses down, hard, against his chest, leaving indentations there like the gaunt circles under her eyes; he plucks the rose from her brain and swallows her, forever.
It’s what Freddy would have wanted, they tell themselves as the generators begin to whir and the lights go on all over Madison Square Gardens. They aren’t aged, just aging. The show must go on.