Part XV

Sad evening out


I held a photograph of my sister to my chest as I cried a little. I had my hair up in a beehive style do, and was wearing more makeup than what I generally did. It was, after all, a big night for the boys. And I knew I had to look my best. I last heard some member of the Royal Family was going to show up at the premiere of the movie, finally titled A Hard Day’s Night. Jess, the true and original Beatlemaniac of the McCormick clan, would have loved to be there… Or maybe not, as she already knew about the movie and still took her own life. The day was a sad mix for me. I decided to take Jesse’s picture with me, and I finally left for the London Palladium. As promised, Brian had sent a car for me, and I hurriedly stepped inside.

The streets were clogged and jammed. Oxford Street had been closed all the way up to Charing Cross. Only cars with invited members and people with tickets were allowed to go through the barricades. I looked around, amazed at the height of beatlemania. I thought that the crowd outside the Ed Sullivan Show had been large, but this went beyond my wildest dream. The Beatles were often branded as being music for teenage girls, but although a large part of the people invading the streets was female, I saw that there were all sorts of people crowded around the theater. Boys, men, women, children, adults… All sorts. I knew then that this band was much more than just a passing fad. They were becoming an institution.

We passed the barricades and were still driving incredibly slow. The car opened its door, and a few screams faltered when I came out all by myself. The Palladium’s front face was covered with a huge banner sporting artwork of the four faces of the band and the lettering of A Hard Day’s Night. Nonetheless, I was blinded by flashes of light, and I knew it was time to start smiling despite the hollow space in my heart at missing my sister, who would have loved being there. I paced through the red carpeting, my invite in my hand, and a couple reporters shoved microphones and recorders in my face.

- Miss McCormick, what is your current connection to the Beatles?

- I’m just a friend of theirs…- I replied with the best smile I had in my smile vault. – I’m also a good friend of Jane Asher, who is also a good friend of theirs…

- What was it like to be on the cover of Vogue? Have you seen the issue? When is it due?

Ah, three questions in one.

- To be perfectly honest, I haven’t even seen the issue or the photographs yet, but I’m really very excited about it.

- Tell our fans about The Beatles. What are they like? – This man had a live TV camera behind him.

I smiled an even bigger smile. –They’re great, they’re lots and lost of fun. I could never get bored around them, especially John. He always has a laugh prepared for all of us.

- What’s your opinion on the rest of the lads?

- Well, Ringo is sweet, funny… Always puts a smile on my face. He’s the kind of guy you’d wish to have for a teddy bear. George is, well…- I bit my lip. -… not so quiet. He’s very direct about his opinions, open, real nice… and Paul…- Ah, if only I could tell the world about Paul! Great kisser, great sex, madly in love with him. – Paul is just so nice, he makes you want to be around him. He always has an interesting subject to talk about, so you always have a great conversation on just about any topic with Paul…

- Do you think you’ll like the movie?

- I’m sure I will… - I spoke as I walked inside, not wanting to answer a single question anymore. I wouldn’t like to blow my cover. Whenever I was spoken to or asked about Paul, I felt naked and unable to disguise the truth. I felt lie people would be able to read it all over my face.

I was led to the place where all Beatle wives and friends would be. I sat by myself, looking at a little booklet with some highlights of the movie, as well as pictures of the boys, the story of the band itself and the main story of the movie.

A few minutes had passed when suddenly there was a loud shrieking sound coming from outside. That’s how I knew that The Beatles had arrived. I was very relieved to be indoors, not having to deal with the loud screeching of the fans as John, Paul, George, Ringo and company exited the cars and after waving a few hellos and answering a few questions, entered the venue. I felt Cyn’s hand on my shoulder as she was shown her seat next to me. –Hello, there!- She kissed me o the cheek. –Aren’t you looking luvely!

- Hi Cyn! - I turned behind me and saw Mo coming in with a sneaky look on her face. –Oh, there’s the heart breaker! - She smiled and sat next to Cyn. – And how are you tonight, luv?

I smiled. –Nice to see you Mo. Great…- I looked behind me. –Where are Pattie and Jane?

Cyn shrugged. –Well, Pattie will be sneaked behind later… She was part of the cast, after all… And I don’t think Jane is coming.

WHAT!!?? WHERE THE HELL WAS JANE?

- How come? - I shrugged, trying my best to disguise the fact that I wanted to slaughter the perfect little redhead.

- Well, I believe she had to work… A meeting or something like that.

- Oh…- I nodded.

I was infuriated. How could she miss this? This was Paul’s big night, and she wasn’t there? I knew that despite Paul’s non-chalant behavior, he would be feeling let down and saddened by her absence. I knew now there would be an empty seat at his side. Suddenly the anger dissipated. Mhh. This could work to MY advantage!

The band stepped in and everyone in the hall erupted into wild applause. I had eyes only for Paul, who waved with the others. They were seated all the way up front.

Suddenly, everyone, including The Beatles, stood up and turned to face the seats.

- Come on! - Cyn ushered me. – The princess has entered the room!

Silly American cow. I had no tact or sense of diplomacy whatsoever, especially when it came to the Royal House of England. I hated the thought of Jane doing things with a natural British flair. She wouldn’t have needed to be told to stand as Princess Margaret entered the premises. Then again, Jane was not even there.

The lights went off, and the movie started with a short flick of stills to the sound of the lyrics. "I got every reason on earth to be mad… Cus I just lost the only girl I had…

Seeing their faces on a big screen in black and white seemed unreal. Especially in scenes that involved the boys playing music. It was a bit hard to believe, and for the first time in months I felt like I had to pinch my arm to wake the hell up. Yes, I was a friend of the Beatles, but to come to full realization of that fact was a shock. It had all been so gradual, I really hadn’t stopped to give it serious thought.

I enjoyed the movie as much as the other person. I particularly enjoyed six scenes; One where Paul and John are looking for Paul’s granddad in the train and John decides to play the idiot with a bunch of school girls. His giggle after saying "I’ll bet you can imagine what I was in for" was so contagious, I laughed like that for what remained of the movie. I also had to chuckle when I saw Paul wearing a fake beard, remembering his disguise and the "thingy" Neil had taken out of the trunk. Another scene involved Paul’s supposed grandfather rising up on the stage in the middle of an opera scene in a theater, holding the promo shots of the boys with the forged signatures. The other scene was one where they are all running around in an open field, doing a lot of Beatle-like stupidities that they most likely improvised, knowing them. Another was a part with John inside a bathtub, with his leather cap covered in soap bubbles as he plays with what seemed to be a plastic submarine and a rubber duck as he sings "Rule Britannia", and suddenly gets "torpedoed", and sinks into the tub. Very much John’s sense of humor, I had to admit. And the final scene I adored was Paul’s solo spot singing "And I Love Her". And I loved him, but little did anyone know. Maybe the only other person aside from Paul and myself who knew about it was John.

The movie was basically based on a day in the life of the Fab Four, only taken to great exaggeration. It starts with them running away from a huge crowd of demented fans (boy, I knew what THAT was like!), getting into a train and heading to a theater where they are supposed to play a show. Along the way and during their stay at a hotel and the theater dressing room, they have to deal with different little situations, such as the constant feud between their supposed manager, Norm, and John Lennon who deliberately makes the poor man's life impossible. Like the character says wearily, "this is a battle of nerves between John and me. Sometimes I even think he enjoys seeing me suffer." Not too far from the truth, given John’s uncanny taste for making Brian lose his wits. Another situation is Ringo’s constant moping throughout the film, accentuated by the boy’s constant badgering (also close to the truth, only Ringo was always setting himself up for it, and loved to be the band’s victim, never taking any of the barbs to heart.). The funniest of situations is Paul’s meddling grandfather who loves to stir up trouble and create controversy and feuds between the band and other people. At one point in the film, he makes Ringo "realize" he is not appreciated by his friends, and talks him into going "parading" out in the streets only an hour away from the band’s presentation. To make matters worse, everything goes wrong for Ringo, and he ends up in the police station, held under arrest for causing trouble. The lads run over to the station, and being out of breath they literally steal Ringo away for the show, reassuring him that they love him to death. In the end they all get into a giant helicopter and fly away. It was funny to see that the last thing one could see was Paul’s face through the chopper window as he scolded the old man angrily for being such a huge pain.

What I enjoyed the most about the film was the writer’s ability to capture the band’s exact personality. Each time one of them said a line I could picture them doing it for real. It was almost as if it were more of a documentary film rather than a script movie. It was an enjoyable way to pass the time.

When the curtain went down, the Palladium erupted into applause. I could see even from a distance that the boys were proud of themselves. They went on the stage, took a bow, and then I saw them disappear behind the curtain.

- Where are they going? – I asked Cyn as I stood up.

Cyn giggled. –Probably to meet Princess Margaret. John was very unhappy about it.

I gave her a funny stare.

- He’s like that, you know…- She explained. – He was never into the whole glamorous thing in the first place.- She chuckled. –You should ‘ave seen us when we first met. I was dead proper, and he was… well… - She giggled with Mo. –A complete teddy boy! No one wanted to get in his way because he was feisty.

The thought of John in tight pants and an Elvis-like quiff made me giggle. Mo stepped in. –John was not the only one, you know… They all used to look like right little street rubbish. - She nudged Cyn. –Remember the Cavern?

- The Cavern? - I shrugged as I followed them out into the hallway where we would wait for them.

- Yeh, the home of The Beatles. - She enacted. –A smelly old cheese warehouse, turned into a club. All the bands that ere making it big in Liverpool played there… You should ‘ave seen the mess they were! With their black leather jackets and pants… And ‘em God-awful cowboy boots!

- My Lord, they’d all swear and fight and spit and belch like sailors on shore leave!! –Mo smiled at me. –Seeing a show of the Beatles was a guaranteed ‘eadache, luv. But the kiddies luved them…- She giggled as she looked at Cyn. –God knows we did! Do you remember Cyn, when Paul jumped on John and they took to fists?

- John and Paul have fist fought? - I asked bewildered, incapable to believe it.

- Oh, aye! - They both replied.

- They’ve done the most unbelievable things, but they always mend their stuff, you know…- Cyn lit up a cigarette. – Nowadays they have a spat or two, but they don’t fight like cat’s and dogs. But back then they were wild. - She exhaled. – Those two are close enough to make me wonder what would ‘appen if Paul were a woman?

Mo and I laughed heartily.

My mind boggled. Spitting? Punching? Belching and cussing onstage? THE BEATLES? It was a hard thing to imagine seeing them in their flawless suits and their little collarless jackets and at the same time picture them in black leather and colorful cowboy boots. Brian Epstein had really done a good job. But a side of me was curious about the old Beatles, the ones who would jump on each other for laughs. It was an unexplored side of them. I believed it from John, but the thought of Paul with a face distorted with anger and punching the daylight out of his best friend seemed unreal. I also could not picture sweet George stomping around and spitting on the ground. I couldn’t even see him saying the infamous F word, let alone doing all the antics I had just been described!

The Beatles finally came out, flanked and mobbed by the usual reporters, wannabes and industry phonies. As diplomatic as possible, they shook hands, sent them on their way and smiled. It was obvious by now that this was the side of Beatledom that they hated the most. They were a rock n’ roll band, and that’s what they loved to do. Playing, singing, shouting… Maybe even swearing and fighting was in their blood. That was the first time I ever saw beyond them. This was a mask, one that they needed to use, but didn’t completely enjoy. I could just picture John’s face when Brian first told them that their spitting and drinking on stage days were over, and that they had to wear their Parisian little Beatle-suits. It was easy to picture the sneer of disgust on his face. I could also imagine George’s silence being even louder than John’s expression. I could clearly imagine Paul admitting reluctantly that that’s what they needed, because Paul was the only one to have a mind set for more than just the band. Ringo, on the other hand, seemed to go with what the band wanted. If they wore suits, so be it, Ringo would wear one two. If it was time to smile, then he smiled. If it was a frown, then he frowned. But for the most part, and despite the visual enactment of diplomacy, the Beatles were wild men from Liverpool, "working class shit-kickers" in John’s words. He was right.

They were finally able to come close, visibly tired of the mob but happy to be with friends. John put an arm around Cyn’s waist while George searched around for Pattie. Once he zeroed on her, he beckoned her with his arm to join the rest of us. Mo and Ringo immediately began to interchange tender little kisses. Paul looked flat, but hid it well behind his usual expression of aloofness.

- Well, then! - Ringo spoke aloud. –Who else thinks that tha’ was just about the most gear thing you’ve ever seen?

- It was fab, luv. –Mo kissed his cheek.

- And they say we can’t do other stuff, hey?- Paul smiled as he non-chalantly took me by the waist. Immediately realizing we were surrounded by the media, he released me and just gave me a friendly but wry smile.

- Let’s go get sloshed, then! - George laughed, not caring if the world saw him holding Pattie. – The party’s on, mates! - He gave me a look. –You are cuming, hey?

I nodded silently as I grinned at them. It was clearly visible that I wasn’t completely myself. I was sad, missing Jesse. I was bewildered at the thought of popular Beatle misery hidden behind a publicity mask. I was annoyed at the media for not allowing Paul to hold me like we both wished to. I was mad at Paul for caring so much about the public opinion, and I was furious at Jane Asher for not being there. I would have just loved to be in her shoes, stepping out of a car with my man, being there for him on this, that big day of his first movie premiere. But, in usual Jane Asher mode, she chose her career over Paul’s need.

John sighed, looking at my sad face. Without any previous warning, he let go off Cyn and put an arm around me. –There luv… She’s ‘ere with us right now…

I looked at him, surprised. It was almost as if john had a complete report of what I was feeling. He knew it all, I could see that in his eyes.

Fighting to hold back a tear, I hugged him back. –I miss her, John. I miss her so much…

- We all do…

The party remained silent for a few seconds; A silent way to try and comfort me. George once again broke the mood, trying to cheer us up. –Well, I dunno about you saps, but I will get pissed beyond any possible return! Who’s with me, then?

The smiles came back, including mine. Life does go on. Paul nodded, but I could see his grin was even faker than mine. I cloud see in his eyes that he too, was angry and saddened at not seeing Jane there. He then turned and looked at me. His look softened, and he grinned a much warmer and real grin. I knew he was thanking me for being there. Score: Rita, one; Jane, Nil. At least that was the situation that night.

I was going back to my car, the one Brian had assigned for me, but I felt Paul grab my arm. – No. Yer cuming with us.

That was the sign I had been waiting for. No Jane, enter Rita. Jane should have gotten into that car with Paul. Even Neil, Mal, John’s friend Pete Shotton and a few other Liverpool and London friends and family members, including Paul’s father and brother, were in separate cars, but here I was, with Paul, headed for the big car. I didn’t care if the newspapers made a fuzz.

The moment we came out, hell broke loose, and the screaming reached a height my ears had never conceived.

Brian walked up to Paul. –Paul, I think Rita will have to ride in the other car.

- She won’t, you know. - Paul replied as he smiled and waved at the fans.

- Paul, I seriously believe that…

- Do I care, mate? - He kept on smiling as he waved. John shook his hand up and down and gritted his teeth, in a childish expression that said "Uh-oh, he’s gone and done it!" as he walked next to Cyn, who was holding a finger to her right ear while her right hand was firmly gripped in John’s.

I realized I was causing trouble. I turned to Paul. –Paul, it’s ok, I can ride in the other car….

Paul’s smile disappeared and he looked at me, looking somewhat disappointed. – Is tha’ what you want?

I bit my lip. No, I didn’t. I wanted to ride with him in the car, sit with him through dinner, have crazy, uninhibited sex for the duration of an entire night, have his children and read old bedtime stories at the age of seventy. I wanted to be seen or unseen with Paul, it didn’t matter.

I tried to be rational, but when I turned to the car and saw John and George beckoning me with smiles from the car, I suddenly didn’t care much about Jane, or the press of the Beatles’ good reputation. I didn’t care who he was or what he did, or whether the fans would hate me for being close to the man of their dreams. And I especially forgot to care about what Brian thought.

- No, Paul. I don’t want that…

- It’s settled, then. – He grinned and put his hands on my shoulders. He turned to Brian. –She’s cuming with us, Eppy. See to it that she’s left alone, hey? She’s me date fer tonight.

Brian frowned. It was the first time I had seen him seriously upset over something. All the times that John had kissed Paul had bothered him to some extent, but this was visibly worse; Paul was deliberately endangering the Beatle image.

- Jane and the fans will be quite a bit upset about this…- He muttered under his breath.

- Well, tough luck, hey? Jane didn’t show up, did she? - Paul stood aside as I stepped into the car, and then got in himself.

- Cum on in, Eppy! - John smiled annoyingly. - You’ll catch a cold out there, mate!

If looks could kill John would have been a dead man. Paul deliberately ignored Brian’s stares, and put his arm around me. The others didn’t seem to mind at all. Cyn and Mo were always happy to have someone female as part of the entourage. Just then, Brian zeroed on George as he emerged from a huge kiss with Pattie.

- Good God! Where did she come from!?- Brian shouted, horrified. –What on earth is possessing you boys tonight? - This time, he made no attempt at disguising his anger. – I mean no offense against you, Rita, but…- He turned to Paul. –Are you out of your bloody mind, McCartney?? Half of the London press will have your face and hers on the front page tomorrow!!

- So? - Paul shrugged.

- What about Jane? - Brian asked him, wide-eyed. –The papers will expect to see Jane!

Paul sat up and pointed a finger at Brian. –You produce ‘er out of a hat, Brian, see if you can do tha’! - He spoke aloud, not quite angry but obviously fed up. – Jane didn’t cum tonight, all right, mate? So I chose another date.

Brian huffed angrily and looked out the window, also trying to avoid George and Pattie, who had just gone right back to sucking face.

- Aw, Eppy! - John began to moan.

- John, be quiet. I’m not in the mood for any of your jokes…- Brian took a clenched fist to his mouth as the car slowly drove away from the huge crowds.

- Control yerself, you’ll spurt! – John quoted his own line from the movie we had just seen. That brought a couple of giggles along. –It’s no big bloody deal, Brian. You thought the world ‘ad cum to a bleeding end when the word was out that Cyn and I were married, and ‘ere, nuthing ‘appened, did it?

Brian turned to John, and after sighing, pointed a hand at Paul. –You’re not the one who has to handle the media, are you John? Tomorrow the papers will come out with this picture and…- He turned back around and took his clenched hand to his mouth again and addressed Paul. –Do you really want the whole world to think that you’re a slag, Paul?

- But ‘e is a slag! - Ringo offered.

The drummer’s poignant comment brought insane laugher, even to my mouth. Brian then sat up straight and pulled out a piece of paper. –Yes, THAT he is! And this last thing was just what we needed for more bad publicity! Here! - He handed the paper over to Paul. –Read this. Let’s see if being a slut is so funny after all!

As Paul smile slowly disappeared into a frown, the others began to look concerned. With his eyes fixed on the small sheet of paper, Paul mumbled.

– Where did you get this?

Brian looked at all of them in an I-told-you way. -There was a man handing them out to fans and audience… This one came from Neil, who allegedly received it from some poor teenage fan with teary eyes screaming "Is this true?" as she shook the paper in his face. So, Paul… - He leaned back, staring at Paul daringly. –Feel happy with the SLAG tag now?

Paul looked not only angry, but also terrified. He handed the paper over to the others, who read it in silence.

- Not ‘er again! - John sneered as he wrinkled the paper and put it in his pocket. – Hadn’t she taken a settlement?

- This was a man handing out the leaflets, John.- Brian replied calmly this time. – Probably a member of the family.

For some strange reason, I suddenly felt the burden of guilt land heavy on my shoulders. I hadn’t read the paper and didn’t have the foggiest idea of what could be in it, but from the looks on their faces it had to be bad.

When we arrived at the gala welcoming. Paul was once again back to his old form, the diplomat, saying hello to more than half the people there, waving and smiling for the camera. But I could tell he was mad, very mad.

He was very quiet during dinner. When asked by someone what the problem was, he’d turn around and smile. –Nuthing, just enjoying the food, tha’s all…

The other three were not as courteous as Paul was. John’s face reflected bitterness, Ringo’s depicted sadness and George just seemed plain shocked.

At some point during the dinner, Paul stood up and went outside for a smoke. I followed him and saw him standing outside, his right hand stuck in his tux jacket.

I walked up to him and stood by his side. –Ok, Paul… what’s wrong?

Without looking at me, he exhaled smoke. –I’m sorry I got you involved with me… Really…

His words hit me like a hot poke iron. – What ?- I whispered, fighting back tears.

He turned to me, seemingly untouched. –Brian’s right. You should NOT have been in the car. It was my fault for leading you on. - He looked down and shook his head. –I know what you’re thinking… I’m a bastard… Well…- He looked back up at me. –Yeh, I am a bastard… And it’s the truth; I am a slut. A big one, too. You’d best stay away from me, or we’ll both end up in a corner, or yer mum or dad will cum around ‘anding flyers to the fans. - He saw the hurt in my eyes, and sighed. He leaned forward and gave me a kiss on the cheek. –I’m so sorry, luv…- He gave me one last pitiful look and he walked back in.

I stood there, shocked, transfixed, and sobbing. I was just another Beatle sex toy, then? All those things that happened were just because he was a slut? Sad excuses to behave like a prick, I thought. I wiped my tears, and flashed down a taxi, headed home.

I lay on the bed in the half-decorated studio apartment, sobbing like a teenager. The truth was that I was broken hearted. I had believed the stupid thought that Paul maybe loved me. Ha! Stupid little girl! Why had he asked me into the car? Simply because Jane was there. Just a comfortable and suitable replacement for a moment of angst. I hated myself for not having listened to Jess. On her letter, her farewell letter she had clearly written do not interfere with the things life has not planned for you. And what had clever Rita done? She had gone and done just that!

Three hours after arriving home, the downstairs buzzer rang. I feared it would be Paul, but I also feared it wouldn’t be. When I looked out the window, I saw John standing there. My buddy, good ol’ reliable Johnny Lennon. I smiled and buzzed the door open. I heard his steps coming up, and I waited for him with the door open.

I received him with a smile. – Come to see Rapunzel, have you, prince charming?

- Don’t get yer hopes too high, luv. I’m saving me body fer yer American friends…- He smiled back.

He then opened his arms and took me in a hug. –You disappeared, we were all worried… - He looked at me. –I ‘ave yer purse and coat downstairs, luv. Remind me to bring them up, hey?

The unavoidable tears welled n my eyes. –Oh, John…- I sobbed, putting my hand on my mouth.

- Eah, cum ‘ead, sit down. – He came indoors, closed the door with his foot and sat me down on my new couch. He sat in front of me and pulled his bow tie loose with his right hand. –Tell us. What ‘appened?

I went on to explain what Paul had said and done. He listened attently. I don’t believe anyone had ever paid such close attention to me in my life. My nose was red and the makeup was runny, but I sobbed and cried with every word.

- He himself said it, John…- I wept. –He was leading me on…

- The stupid bastard…. - John shook his head.

- Yeah, he said that too…- I managed to smile.

John sighed and shook his head. –Poor daft little idiot Paul. – He looked to the floor. – He let it get to ‘im, ‘e did…

I gave him a puzzled look. He immediately understood. –You didn’t see the paper?

I shook my head as John reached for his pocket, and pulled it out. –‘Ere. Take a look. This may be of use.

The paper was printed with the face of a child, a young child. It had a header that said THIS WAS WHAT HAPPENED WHEN A MAN PROMISED LOVE. I continued to read a small poem, probably parodying a Beatles tune. I read aloud.

My name is Mark Paul Doyle

I’m just a little boy

In spite of all her loving, we have no thanks for him.

It seems he loved my mother just long enough to sin.

Besides his lust, she took his money to compensate a lie.

But Mister Paul McCartney, dad, you’ve made my mother cry.


I glanced up at John, demanding an explanation. John frowned and took his coat off. He stood up, walked to the bathroom and brought out a long strand of toilet paper. –‘Ere, clean up yer clock, hey? – I knew by now that the gob was a mouth and a clock was a face. He sat down while I wiped the thick lines of run down makeup, and began to talk after a long sigh.

- There was this woman, about a year ago…- He pulled out his cigs, and as usual, lit one up for me and one for himself. – ‘Ere…- He gave it to me and leaned back on the chair. –Alice bloody Doyle. Claimed she ‘ad Paul’s baby. Paul ‘as ‘ad so many birds since we met, that there’s always a chance it may be, I dunno… Thing is, we ‘ad Eppy working over time to get to a settlement, but apparently, the money was just not enough. But the bloody idiot is rarely careful how he does it… I’m just guessing he doesn’t want you to get into that state…

- Which state? - I snorted mildly.

- Preggers…

- Preggers? - I sneered. That scouse lingo was a bit over my head.

- Yeh! Pregnant, silly!

Damn! Damn, damn, damn! I had never thought about that. The two times we had… oops!

John smiled. – Give the poor geezer a chance, hey?- John pleaded for Paul. –‘E may ‘ave been a daft prick, but ‘es a good lad, really. He’ll cum around, you’ll see… He put his hand on my shoulder. –I know ‘e does care a whole lot about you, luv, ‘es just a bit messed up now. I’ll ‘ave a word with ‘im, yeh?

- He made it pretty clear, John. - I shook my head. – He should not have gotten me involved with him. And what IF I was pregnant, huh? I looked at him daringly. –What then?

John glared at me. –Are you, now?

I shook my head. – I don’t know, I hadn’t even thought about it!

John leaned forward. – Been taking care?

I shook my head. John stared at me for a couple of seconds and then went whiter than he already was. If someone had entered the room right then, he would have believed I was telling John I was pregnant and that he was the father. Such was his reaction.

- Well, if ‘e ‘as at all knocked you up, ‘es really gone and done it. – He looked at me, and then smiled. – But I don’t doubt for a single second ‘e would ’ave you and marry you…

- And Jane?

John shook his head and smiled an even bigger smile. –Now, luv, we’ve ‘ad tha’ talk before, ‘aven’t we, then?

I sighed and looked down. – I wouldn’t want that…

- What?

- You know what you told me, John? About you and Cyn? - I paused. He stared at me in silence, knowing exactly what I was referring to. – I don’t want to marry a guy because he HAS to marry me, or it will be... You know…

- Bloody fucking awkward…- He nodded. –Yeh, yer right. I should know. But then, Paul’s the one who luvs the family life and all that crap.

- Despite what we have talked about, Milord Lennon…- I smiled touching his cheek. -…that family you refer to is what he wants with Jane. Not me. I’m just…- I sighed and looked down. -…An appetizer. He said he was sorry he had gotten me involved. - I sniffed again. –And I was an idiot for letting it happen. I should have seen it. I’m a lousy friend and a stupid, one time floosie...

- Hey, no! - John took me by the shoulders. –Take tha’ back, hey? You’re worth yer weight in gold. If one bloody idiot can’t see that… well…- He stared at me, and before I could even protest he was kissing me strong, hard and willingly. After he pulled away from me, he held me to him and caressed my head. –I’d just luv to ‘ave a great start over, you know, but I can’t. I would ‘ave picked you from a mile away, but I can’t, not anymore…- He looked into my eyes. –You’re NO floosie, all right?

I stared at him in silence. I had no clue what was coming over me, but John’s warmth was inviting. Silently, we kissed. Truth was I didn’t love John, not like I loved Paul anyway, but what he had to offer, no one else had. Our kiss lasted a long while, and when we were through, I felt better already. – There, see? - He smiled at me as he cleared the hair out of my face. –You look better already.

He stood up and walked to the door. – Cum on. Yer not spending the night alone in this pissing joint. I’m taking you ‘ome. I told Cyn I might do that, so we ‘ave a room waiting fer ya… -He raised his hand suddenly. –Won’t ‘ear no fer an answer. Go on, get yer toothbrush and yer naughty nightie, hey?

I smiled. It was just what I needed. – Quit calling my home a pissing joint, John Lennon.

The drive there was silent. John’s chauffeur Les was visibly grumpy and just wanted to get to bed.

Once we reached his place, Cyn was waiting by the door. No welcoming commitee this time around, no sister to cry for me, and no Paul to tell me he was worried sick; Just Mrs. Lennon. I grimaced and walked up to her.

Cyn was already wearing a nightgown and had a hairbrush in her hand. Just one look at my face and she knew something was eating me. She offered me a gentle hug, and led me into the house.

Whatever happened that night was a blur. The only things I remembered were the feeling of heaviness in my head as I lay it on a soft white pillow and John’s voice over the phone. –What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, you daft, stupid fuckin’ little pissant?

Obviously talking to Paul. Great! Maybe Jesse had not missed such a great thing after all.


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