The apartment seemed so empty that evening without John. Sandy informed me
that she couldn't blame me a bit for getting involved with a married man. I
opened my mouth to protest, but, as usual, Sandy was off and running with
the idea. “John is gorgeous! He is so funny and smart, and when he looks at
you, it's like that line in Gone with the Wind. He knows what you
look like without your clothes!”
“But he's not the one, is he, Terry?” Brenda said.
“No. He's my friend.” I hesitated, then went on. “You guys have been so
great, taking care of me, keeping me going. You even managed to keep John's
visit a secret. I feel bad about not telling you what went on while I was
in England, but ... I made promises.” I had only promised Paul I wouldn't
write about him, but as far as I could see, writing about him and talking
about him would end up the same. If anything leaked out, there would be
reporters snooping around and questions asked that I couldn't answer
honestly without putting Paul in a bad light. Even refusing to discuss him
would make him look bad.
“It's OK,” Sandy said. “I'd give my eye teeth to hear the whole story, but
you made a promise.”
“Besides, we have narrowed it down to two,” Brenda laughed.
“I haven't ruled out John!” Sandy objected.
“Come on, he'd never have shown up here if he was the one!”
“Aha!” Sandy crowed, “Maybe he never knew how Terry felt about him! Maybe
she just kept all the love inside until she couldn't hold it anymore and
had to leave before she confessed her love for him. Or maybe he knew and
felt the same but they agreed that it was wrong because he was married and
they knew they couldn't go on seeing each other day after day without
consummating their love so she came home but he found he missed her so much
and just couldn't stay with Cyn and came after Terry to beg her to come
back to him!”
Brenda and I were in hysterics at Sandy's flood of romance novel mentality.
“Or maybe it was George after all,” Brenda teased, “but Terry knew that
Pattie was mentally unstable and would go berserk and end up in Bedlam if
he left her and she just couldn't do that to a sweet girl like Pattie.”
I couldn't resist contributing to the nonsense. “Or maybe I fell in love
with Ringo but Paul fell in love with me and said if I chose Ringo over
him, he would leave the group and fans all over the world would blame me
for the breakup of the Beatles.”
Sandy countered with a scenario that had me in love with Paul but finding
out that he was my long lost first cousin, the illegitimate son of my Uncle
Mortimer, the family ne'er do well.
Brenda then proposed a situation in which it was Prince Charles I loved but
the Queen forbade the union to someone who was not only a commoner but a
colonist.
I was reassured by their sense of humor about my deep dark secret, and life
returned to normal for us. Near normal at least. Sandy began stepping up
her campaign to get me to go out with someone. For the first time in two
years I could afford not to work every weekend and I had no excuse for
sitting at home, she pointed out. The only way to get over one guy was to
move on to the next. “If you get bucked off, you get right back on,” she
insisted. I am certain the mental image that brought to my mind was not the
one in hers.
“You have to start dating someone,” she badgered me daily for a week. I had
no interest. I resisted because it seemed that if I did start to date, I
would lose my memories of Paul. I didn't want to. I wanted to remember his
voice, his touch. I remembered the way I felt when I had started to massage
John's sore muscles, the flush of heat that signaled the beginning of
wanting. I didn't want to want anyone else! I found myself going to the box
in the back of my closet where I had hidden away all my mementos. I got out
the pictures of Paul that had been too painful to look at and found with
some odd sense of relief that it still was so painful to look at his face.
That wasn't healthy and I knew it.
I sat on the floor of my closet, staring into that box for a long, long
time. When I put the lid back on it, I told myself I was closing the door
to a part of my heart. Maybe the hurt would always be there, but I didn't
have to open the door and look in. I didn't have to see the glow of the
firelight, the bay window, the feather comforter on the bed of that cottage
in Scotland. No, board the door and window shut. Let the fire grow cold.
Let gray dust cover the white sheets and dull the red roses in the rug. Let
cobwebs anchor the suitcase to the chair. Miss Havisham had her room with
the wedding feast molding away. I would have a cottage with a room that
held a premature honeymoon that never should have happened but unlike
Dickens' a crazy old woman, I would not visit that room again.
I got up off the floor, pushed the box up on the shelf, and went to find
Sandy. “Get me a date,” I said.
His name was Todd. He was tall, nice looking, and quite nice. Very
intelligent, a pre-med student, but no egg head. He had a good sense of
humor. I had met him before at a party and, at the time, thought he was
interesting, but he was dating someone then, so at least it wasn't a blind
date. We doubled with Sandy and her date because I knew that if left on my
own with him, I would be home by nine. We went bowling and I managed to
have a fairly good time, but it was still the longest evening of my life. I
couldn't seem to concentrate on what he said. I just kept smiling and
nodding like a demented fool. Then we went back to the apartment. When it
was time to say goodnight, he was enthusiastic and I let him kiss me.
Nothing. No spark, no heat, but at least I didn't throw up. I let him keep
on, encouraged him, hoping my faked enthusiasm would turn into something
real. It didn't, not even when he started groping me. I stopped him and
sent him home. That night I dreamed of Paul, more vividly than I had in
weeks and woke up crying so hard I woke Brenda and Sandy.
I was determined, however. I wasn't looking for Mr. Right. All I wanted was
someone who could make me forget Paul, if only for a few hours. I carefully
analyzed the situation trying to figure out why none of the boys I knew
interested me in the least. Boys. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe I
looking should be looking for a man, not a boy. Todd was twenty-two, and
Paul only twenty-four, but in experience, sexual and otherwise, Todd was a
babe in the woods. I couldn't help but laugh. To find a guy around here who
could compare with Paul in experience, I might have to start in a nursing
home!
My next date was with a twenty-five-year-old friend of Sandy's brother. He
wasn't terribly good looking, but he was experienced. Our date went well. I
was on the right track with the idea of looking for a man, not a boy. I
managed to pay attention and enjoyed talking to him. He managed to get me
to let him come upstairs when we got back to the apartment. That was all he
managed. In spite of his smooth moves, all the right words, and nice
kisses, I sent him on his way shortly. Then I went to bed and dreamed about
sex.
This did not seem to be working. I wasn't feeling anything when I was with
them. I had no interest in them emotionally or physically, but I was
dreaming about sex a lot.
Meanwhile, John and I talked on the phone every week. He wasn't at all
thrilled with the movie business. He was regretting agreeing to do the
movie thing and wishing he could go home, but, in spite of the movie being
a drag, he was glad he'd come in one way. He was proving to himself that he
could survive away from the isolated world of being a Beatle. Besides,
partying in Hollywood was a different scene. He was having some good times.
Too good, I feared. The weekends sounded like non-stop drug marathons. Even
so, it sounded as though he was keeping things together thanks to Hans whom
he was now convinced was Mal in disguise. “He keeps me out of real trouble.
He has been getting instructions from the home office. I am not to be
allowed to do anything to tarnish what is left of my lovable mop-top image.
The Christ thing, leaving Cyn—all quite enough for one year!”
John sounded more amused than resentful and I was just plain relieved that
they were keeping an eye on him if only by long distance.
John said he was working on some songs. He hadn't done that at all while I
was in England and I took it as a good sign that the self-pitying slump he
had been in was over. He also reported that Cyn had hired a solicitor: Good
news since it meant she took him seriously about the divorce. Bad news
since she had been told not to talk to him. When he called she refused to
discuss plans, but at least she let him talk to Julian. Julian was fine. He
was used to Daddy being gone.
I told him about my dates, making a big joke of it. He laughed. “We make a
pair. I want out and you want in.”
He was renting costumes for Halloween for both of us, a vampire and his
victim complete with makeup and tips from Hollywood's finest makeup
artists. He wasn't bringing along his security people. He hadn't needed
them at all the last time he was here and just wanted to visit like an
ordinary person. I was horrified at the idea. We argued over that for three
weeks of phone calls. He was pig-headed about it and it was clear he was
thumbing his nose at the controls other people still put on his life. As a
bid for freedom, the movie thing was a failure in his eyes. “I'm less on my
own than ever! I am living on the estate of the director, for Christ's
sake!” I figured he would give in after putting on a show of rebellion but
the weeks went by and he didn't. We finally compromised; he would hire Mark
and whoever Sandy was dating for the weekend. I agreed to that, knowing
that in spite of his off-the-wall personality, Mark would take the job
seriously. The Halloween party we were going to was at another nursing
student's parents' home. That would be a smaller crowd and a lot quieter
group than any of the Halloween get-togethers at local bars or dance halls.
Even so, I told Sandy she had to go to the party with the biggest,
brawniest guy she knew.
I was worried that John would find my friends and our parties very dull
after London and Hollywood and asked him if he was sure he wanted to go. “I
like your friends,” he said. “Brenda has half a brain and Sandy has great
tits!”
I gasped and was spluttering about for a suitable retort, but he was
laughing. “No, straight up, Tess. It will be a good time 'cause it's me
going out to meet people. Not them after me, wantin' a bit of the big time.
Your friends aren't phony, aren't pretending to be arty college puddin's,
and they aren't smarmy, upper-crust university elite. Brenda's boyfriend
Mark—he's just a workin' class guy getting ahead while he avoids being sent
off to Viet Nam.”
“Well, just so you are forewarned. This won't be an all-night drug
happening or sex orgy like you are used to! We are strictly a beer and
make-out 'til she slaps your face crowd.”
He chuckled. ”That's where I come from. Liverpool. Hamburg was just more of
the same but with birds who didn't get ‘round to the slap!”
Halloween weekend finally arrived. This time Brenda and I were able to
leave class in time to meet John at the airport. Mark went along even
though I didn't expect trouble at the airport. I almost didn't recognize
John when he got off the plane. The sunglasses and beard and mustache were
effective, and having been done by a Hollywood costume and makeup artist,
they were very real looking. I did a classic airport run into his arms and
kissed him, laughing at the scratchy facial hair. We hustled him down to
the baggage claim, grabbed his suitcases and were out of the airport in no
time. He gloated over having made his point, that he could travel alone.
Back at the apartment, we set about making popcorn balls to take to the
party. It was a messy, sticky project and when Sandy got home John made a
sticky mess of her too when he greeted her with a smacking big kiss and
lecherous hands all over her, but she didn't seem to mind. We cleaned up,
grabbed a bite to eat and while Mark went to get his costume, we started
getting dressed.
The costume John brought for me was a Transylvania peasant girl dress with
a full, colorful skirt, a white peasant blouse with a big open neckline
that could be pulled out to the sides and off the shoulders, and black
lace-up bodice. I slipped the blouse on and found to my dismay that it
could not be worn with a bra, but realized that was the purpose of the
bodice. Once I had it on, I went back out into the living room. John looked
at me, grinned, and proceeded to tug the loose neckline of the blouse
further out over my shoulders and then, ignoring the gasps from the
audience, tucked it lower into the corset. I tugged it back up and he
tucked it back down. I had tied the bodice laces loosely. He untied them,
pulled them tight and retied it. I looked down and found that the tight
bodice did for me just what it had done for the tavern girls of Merry Old
England. It pushed my boobs up made them rounded mounds threatening to
spill out of the blouse.
“I can't wear it like this!” I said, feeling my face turn red and untying
as fast as I could. Sandy and Brenda were laughing wildly.
“That's how it is supposed to be!” John protested.
“Just don't bob for apples,” Brenda advised. “You'll confuse everyone!”
“I can't breathe!”
“Neither can I,” said John.
“And that's how it is supposed to be!” Sandy giggled.
I got it undone and headed for the privacy of the bathroom to re-do it to
the level of voluptuousness of my own choosing. Sandy and Brenda headed to
their room to get dressed. John went to my room to change after Brenda
slammed her door in his face.
I adjusted and readjusted the laces, unsure just how daring I wanted to be.
I was laughing a little at myself as I realized that only a couple of
months ago I would have considered the blouse itself to be quite revealing
enough and not even considered tightening the bodice. Now I was mentally
going over a list of who might be at the party that I might want to
impress. Somewhere in recent months, I had crossed a couple of lines. One
was about how to dress. That was easy to understand. I was a lot more
comfortable with how I looked and with the whole sex thing now. The other
line was a little stranger. Since when was I really interested in looking
for someone? The dates I had been on were like a dose of bad-tasting
medicine I took because I knew I needed to, but tonight felt different. I
wanted to be with someone. I wanted someone to want me. Of course, there
was no escaping the thought that maybe the reason for the sudden change was
simply that John was here. His airport hug and kiss were fresh in my mind.
I did not like that thought at all. I could not possibly be so shallow,
conceited, so star struck that only a celebrity would do! Tonight I would
disprove that. I would have a great time and dance with every guy I could
and, damn it, I would enjoy it. The end result was a costume compromise
that leaned more to John's version than mine, definitely more tavern wench
than simple country peasant girl. It suited my mood!
I pulled myself together and let Brenda into the bathroom. She was in bell
bottoms and fur vest and tugging a long black wig into place. She needed
the mirror to put on the tons of eye makeup to finish turning her into
Cher. John came in to watch, wearing black trousers and a ruffled white
shirt with an old fashioned black cravat. Sandy was dressed as Tinker Bell,
short, gauzy dress, sparkly wings, wand and all.
When Brenda was done in the bathroom, we all crowded in to watch John
transform himself with the makeup he had brought. We watched as he put his
contact lenses in and started with the disguise. Pale vampire skin, dark
shadows around the eyes, pointed fangs that were big enough to be shocking
when he smiled, but small enough to leave in comfortably, and a little
trickle of fake blood at the corner of the mouth transformed him. He combed
his hair back. He was going to just slick it back like Bella Lugosi, but
somehow it came out more of a D.A. from the fifties.
“A bloodsucking Teddy Boy,” he proclaimed. The transformation was
remarkable. No one would recognize him unless he spoke to them, and then it
would take a few minutes for even a fan to realize who he was.
Then it was my turn. We decided on pale skin, but not the translucent
whiteness of a vampire, just the anemic look of his newest victim. Lots of
eye makeup, red lipstick, and then the final touch of puncture marks and
blood trickling down my neck and I was ready.
“Just right!” Brenda exclaimed.
By then, the doorbell was ringing with trick or treaters and we went down
to help Sandy who was giving out candy. Mark arrived wearing a fur vest and
smirky Sonny Bono smile under a scroungy looking mustache.
“Think short,” John advised him.
Sandy's date arrived. She had done exactly as I had asked. Chuck was huge.
His Peter Pan made Sandy look like a tiny fairy.
“He is perfect, Sandy!” I said.
“All-State Varsity Tackle of the Year his Junior and Senior years,” she
grinned. Of course, poor Chuck didn't have a clue to what I was laughing
about and I had to explain that we needed a bodyguard for John.
“A bodyguard? Why?” asked Chuck who had yet to be introduced to Count
Dracula and didn't recognize him.
“Say something, John,” Mark prompted. “See if he can figure it out.”
Once Chuck stopped pumping John's arm in a painfully enthusiastic
handshake, I went over what we needed him to do. “You have to stay sober
and you have to keep an eye on the crowd and don't let anybody touch him—”
“Here now,” John objected. “Let's not rule out all physical contact!”
“OK,” I laughed, “but be ready to get him out of there if they recognize
him and—”
Chuck took it from there. “Know where your man is at all times and know
where the offense is. Work as a team and always, always have a plan.”
Chuck was going to work just fine.
“If we run into trouble, there is always Sandy's pixie dust,” John laughed.
Sandy wanted photos of all of us and ran upstairs for her camera. John
followed her up and came back wearing a black cape with a Count Dracula
stand up collar and red satin lining. He looked fantastic. We posed for
pictures on the front steps and John grabbed me, tipped me back over his
arm and bared his fangs at my neck. I laughed and struggled as I was
supposed to, but that laughing, theatrical, and posed embrace convinced me.
I needed to find a boyfriend. I wanted, no, craved someone to bite my neck!
We started off the evening by testing John's disguise at a couple of bars.
There were no problems with the disguise, but Mark's rendition of “I Got
You, Babe” nearly got us thrown out of the first place. Hard to believe I
know, but his singing was worse than Sonny's. John informed the bartender
at the second that American beer was a tasteless imitation of the real
thing. This said while the Hamm's Beer bear cavorted on the TV screen over
his head was pure heresy. The bartender told John to drink it or leave.
Mark put an arm around John's shoulders and led him back to the table.
“When in Rome, John. When in Rome.”
We left there, drove to a couple of liquor stores looking for a beer a
little more to John's taste than the usual American brew and finally found
some German import he said would at least be an improvement. Then we set
off to the Halloween party that Sue, one of our classmates, was having. As
we drove down the streets of the housing development where Sue lived, John
looked around at the tract homes around him, all ranch styles, every third
house the same.
“So this is the famous American suburbia?”
“In its glory,” Mark said.
“Hate to be here in the offseason,” John said dryly.
We presented ourselves at the door of the home where the party was and were
ushered inside. No one recognized John as I introduced him to our hostess
Sue as “My friend, the Count.” He smiled and nodded to the group in the
kitchen, but didn't say anything. We handed over the contribution of chips
and popcorn balls we brought, kept the beer, and were directed to join the
crowd down in the basement.
As we walked by the living room, John looked in, waved at Sue's parents
sitting there and said, “Lovely suburban home you have. Do you always
entertain in the cellar?” They looked confused, thrown off by the accent
and uncertain of what they had heard. Chuck and I hustled John toward the
basement steps. “You mean we really are going to the cellar?” he asked.
“Yes, to the rec room,” I said.
Mark explained. “Rec as in recreation or as in unwreckable. Home of the
American Wild Party Domesticus.”
Music was blaring and people were dancing. John headed for the stereo,
flipping through the records. We were talking about some of the records he
had never heard when the guy playing dee-jay put on a Beach Boys song. Mark
yelled, “Surfs up!” and jumped up on the coffee table, doing a wild
lip-synch as he surfed his way through the song.
John laughed, opened a beer and took a long drink. I turned back to watch
Mark and a half minute later, I was aware that John was moving past me
through the crowd of dancers, toward Mark. John had his thumb over the top
of the beer bottle, shaking it vigorously as he moved quickly up behind
him. Before I could move, he stepped in front of Mark, hosed him down with
beer and yelled, “Wipe Out!”
The room exploded with cheers and Mark bellowed, “Christ, John, you could
at least use real beer, not that brown crap!”
John laughed and said, “Come 'ead, I'll teach you to drink like a man, none
of that yellow piss!”
The room went from party roar to near silence as they heard the accent, the
voice that was somehow familiar. The excited, disbelieving whispers began.
I braced myself and grabbed Chuck and Sandy. “Get ready. We might have to
get him out of here fast.”
Mark grabbed John's arm and brought him back to me. Around the room, there
were whispers and gasps as they figured out who Dracula was. Chuck stood
like a wall between John and the rest of the guests. I waited tensely as
the sounds of “Satisfaction” poured out of the speakers, but John simply
got a handful of napkins and handed them to Mark. Wide-eyed girls were
closing in, peeking around Chuck. John looked at the nearest one and said
unconcernedly, “Hullo, Luv.”
“Hello John,” she said. “Can I have your autograph?”
“No autographs tonight, please. I am off duty,” he said, smiling. “What's
your name, then?” and that was that. Others quietly crowded around, talking
to him. No screams, no fainting. Mark, Brenda, Sandy, Chuck and I looked at
each other and shrugged.
The party rolled on. Beer flowed and the music got louder. More people
arrived and the room was getting crowded, but there was no trouble. John,
who didn't like to dance (“Unless it's a slow song and I can cop a feel!”)
was more interested in talking to people than dancing. Everyone was
surprised and awed to meet him, but not silly about it although there were
plenty of nearly tongue-tied females when they found themselves face to
face with him. When asked what he was doing here, he told them about being
in California to work with a film director as a holiday—news that was just
now coming out in fan mags—and that he just came up to Minneapolis for a
short visit with a friend. The girls from school were all giving me funny
looks. When John was busy talking to some others, a bunch of them
surrounded me.
“You are dating John Lennon?”
“No! He is just a friend.”
“He's married,” one of them pointed out.
“He and his wife are separated! I read it just last week!” another girl
offered.
That had them awestruck. Now, in their minds, I was not only dating him but
had broken up his marriage. I hadn't thought about how it would look, being
here with him—in matching costumes to boot. I should have brought a date. I
repeated that he was just a friend, but I could see the doubt in their
eyes.
John, without even knowing it, got me off the hook. He came on to half the
girls there. If anyone was paying attention, which all my friends most
certainly were, it became pretty obvious he wasn't “with” me. Some girl
showed up dressed as a playboy bunny. Her date hovered in the background
caught between excitement at meeting John Lennon and growing recognition
that John was interested in his girl. I didn't know the couple, but I hoped
this was not anyone who had been dating long because they were going to
have one hell of a fight over her behavior with John. The girl was as
fascinated with John as he was with her, or at least her cleavage and cute
little bunny tail. Within minutes she had draped herself around John and
left her date standing.
Following through on my resolution to have a good time and find a
boyfriend, I flirted. I felt silly the first time, going up to a guy I
didn't know, introducing myself, smiling, touching his arm, looking into
his eyes, and it seemed to be working. Or maybe it was just that they knew
I was that girl who went to England with the Beatles, the mysterious Tess
Martin that the reporters couldn't seem to find. Anyway, within an hour I
had danced with a lot of guys and had four ask if they could call me
sometime. I also had a few girls a little steamed at me. Unfortunately,
what I didn't have was any desire to dance with anyone anymore, much less
go out with these guys if they did call. Won the battle but still losing
the war.
We had been there just over an hour when I noticed it was getting crowded
in the rec room. A lot of people I didn't know were there. Few of the newer
arrivals were in costumes, but Sue was a local girl so she knew lots of
people so I hadn't been concerned at first. Now, however, new arrivals were
starting to push in on John, wanting autographs and pictures taken with
him. The mood was changing. Mark had noticed the same thing and we realized
what had happened. People were tipping off their friends that John Lennon
was here, and people were crashing the party. It was time for us to leave.
Chuck was standing guard over John who was sitting on the sofa with a girl
on his lap. She was in street clothes, not a costume and I figured she was
one of the party crashers. The uninvited flirted shamelessly with the
undead and I wondered what had happened to his Playboy bunny. We told John
what was going on and he looked a little concerned but still more
interested in the girl on his lap.
“We need to leave, John,” I said.
“Ah, but can we?” he asked. Mark and I looked at each other, realizing John
had a good point. We didn't know what was going on upstairs or outside.
“I'll go—” he started to say but we were interrupted by our hostess.
“Terry, you've got to talk to my Dad,” Sue said. “We've got a little
problem upstairs.” Something in her tone and expression tipped me off. It
was the way nurses communicate dire emergencies to one another when
visitors were in earshot.
“Stay with John,” I told Chuck. Mark and I followed Sue upstairs. The house
was packed with people and Sue's father was steaming mad.
“What the hell is going on?” he asked. “Kids have been standing in line to
use the phone and now all these people are showing up looking for one of
the Beatles! I have a Beatle in my basement?”
I apologized, explaining that it wasn't Sue's fault, she hadn't known I was
bringing John, and that I knew when we decided to come that people would
recognize John at some point, but I hadn't thought about them calling their
friends. “I'll get him out of here right away,” I promised.
“The street is a parking lot,” he said. “You'll never get your car out.” He
turned to his daughter. “The party is over Susie. Go around and tell
everyone to leave so we can get this guy and everyone else out of here.”
Sue started to protest, asking if her friends could stay, but he was firm.
“He is right, Sue,” I said. “The word is out and people are going to keep
showing up. As long as there is any sign of a party going on, they will try
to get in. I am really sorry we ruined your party.”
“Ruined it?” she laughed. “This is the best party I ever had, even if it
has to be the shortest!”
“I'll go see what the situation is outside,” Mark said, but the words were
no sooner out of his mouth when the sound of sirens was heard.
Sue's dad said, “Oh great! The neighbors have called the police on us!”
I was momentarily relieved at the arrival of help, but it was short-lived.
The sirens had stirred the party crashers up and they were milling around,
searching for John knowing they were about to be removed from the premises
and determined to see him before they left.
“Tell the police they are going to have to help me get John out of here,” I
said to Sue's dad, and Mark and I headed back downstairs to John. We
gathered around John to come up with a strategy. Chuck reported that there
was a good sized window in the laundry room we could break and get John
out, but as much as he and Mark and John liked the idea of breaking a
window, we realized that our car would be blocked in. We talked about
moving John into the laundry room where we could barricade the door, but
there didn't seem to be any real danger in the rec room as yet. All we
needed to do was tell those who had already infiltrated to leave and keep
more from coming downstairs.
Mark and Chuck stationed themselves at the top of the stairs to block the
entrance while Sue, delaying her dad's order that everyone had to leave,
began to identify probable party crashers and told them they had to leave.
Most objected until told the police were upstairs, then they went quietly
or were escorted out by a contingent of invited males. When Sue told the
girl who had been sitting on John's lap she had to leave, she turned to
John. “Oh, John, tell her to let me stay!”
“Sorry. Luv,” he said. “You've a lovely ass, but you'll have to go.”
As she was led away, he sighed. “Tragic. I was in love.”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“Well, for the moment,” he said.
Meanwhile, people were still dancing and having fun, thinking this was one
great blast of a party, unaware they too would be asked to leave soon.
John watched this, and feeling reassured he was in no danger, went after
another beer and came back to sit next to me. “You've run off all me birds!
Looks like I'll just have to make do with you.”
He told me that the playboy bunny had falsies, that her date had finally
gotten fed up and told her he was leaving, and she'd decided she better go
with him. He pointed out a girl who had dragged him into the laundry room
and French kissed him. “Either I swallowed it or she made off with one of
me fangs,” he said.
I was shocked. I told him she was a fellow nursing student with a
reputation for being very quiet and reserved. “I suspect she is a real
moaner and scratcher,” he said. I didn't know whether to believe any of
this. He hadn't wasted any more of his beer and was feeling good.
“You are making that up! She didn't really.”
“Did so. One dance with me and women turn into animals.” As he said that, a
slow song came on. He laughed fiendishly and led me out among the dancers.
As he put his arms around me, I laughed. “I know you too well, John. I am
impervious to your charms.”
“Your loss,” he teased and pulled me close.
So I let him dance with me, let him pull me close and hold me. It felt so
comfortable, so safe to be with someone I knew as well as I knew John,
someone I cared about and I knew cared about me. Safe and comfortable, and
something else I didn't want to think about. Halfway through the song, I
looked up to find John looking down at me, looking right into me with that
look I knew so well. His eyes locked on mine and I knew that he knew
exactly what little fantasy was going on in my head. I felt my face grow
hot, and that wicked smile was on his face as he pulled me closer. I
concentrated on not letting the lower halves of our bodies get any closer.
That made him laugh out loud.
The police made their way down to the rec room just as the music stopped. A
sergeant informed us that the area upstairs had been cleared of guests and
John could—and would—be leaving immediately.
“Just how long do you plan to remain in Minneapolis?” he asked John.
John looked at the policeman long and hard before answering, “Just a couple
of days.” I thought John was about to be encouraged to cut his visit short,
and I held my breath. John had had enough to drink that he wouldn't take
any crap from anyone. I had visions of a trip to the police station, a
panic-stricken call from me to Brian, headlines in the morning paper,
reporters swarming….
To my great relief, the officer simply said that if he would keep the
police department informed of any places he might go where this kind of
thing could happen, they would see to it that officers were available. If
he wanted full security, they could put him in contact with local security
firms. Pleasantly surprised, John thanked him and said he didn't think that
would be necessary. I wasn't sure. It was hard enough for them to go out in
London, but here, where fans had only a once in a lifetime opportunity, it
might get more difficult. Mark and Chuck were fine for everyday security,
but thinking that John's disguise was enough to let us into an open party
was a mistake. We would have to be more careful.
Since everyone left at the party was standing around watching this
interchange with the police, it was as good a time as any to tell them to
leave him alone. As tactfully as I could I announced that anyone who
intended to bring friends or family by the apartment to meet John could
just forget it. We would not be answering the door and if they hung around
outside I would call the police. Sue's dad might be upset with her about
tonight, but our landlord would simply throw us out! Everyone laughed and I
could only hope they would do as I asked.
The policemen escorted us upstairs. John looked around as we headed to the
door and said, “Well, a bit of a mess, but no broken windows or smashed
lamps!” Sue's parents were out on the lawn with a bunch of gawking
neighbors. John waved to them and yelled, “Great party but your cellar is a
rec!” We hustled him to the car.
The police had told the party crashers to leave, and they had, but as we
left the subdivision, Chuck announced, “We are being followed.” Mark was
full of great suggestions to elude the string of cars behind us. Sandy was
driving since she was the one with the biggest car and she cut through
alleys, circled blocks, and made sudden turns. None of it was very
successful since Sandy would not “floor it” or run red lights, or make a
sudden U-turn into traffic as Mark and John were suggesting. We still had a
parade of a half dozen cars behind us. The last thing I wanted was for them
to find out where we lived. Brenda finally saved us.
“Go to the hospital,” she ordered Sandy. None of the guys agreed with that,
but I agreed with Brenda when I saw her pull her parking card out of her
purse. We pulled up to the security booth at the entrance to the hospital
parking lot, Sandy showed the parking permit to the attendant, and he
raised the gate. We went on in, leaving our pursuers to try to convince the
parking attendant to let them in. Fat chance of that, Brenda and I knew. We
had both parked blocks away and hiked in on occasions when we forgot our
cards. While they were learning the futility of trying to talk their way
in, we cut across the parking lot, exited by another gate, and zipped home
free and clear.
We ended the night with carry-out pizza and beer at the apartment. Chuck
had to work the next day so he left first. Mark stayed to watch the late
movie with us, not that he and Brenda seemed to be paying much attention to
it. After the movie, Mark got up to go and Brenda went downstairs to say
goodnight to him. I pulled the sofa bed out and made it up for John while
he went into the bathroom. Some old Loretta Young movie came on. By the
time John got back, Sandy and I were sitting on his bed, hooked on the
movie. We scooted over and he joined us on the bed.
Loretta plays a woman who, after years of sacrificing her own life to care
for her dying mother, takes a sea cruise to Europe to escape the emptiness
she faces when her mother dies. Of course, she meets a guy on board. He is
handsome, kind, but somewhat mysterious. She falls madly in love and so
does he, or so we think, but we are not sure.
By this point, Brenda was back, stretched out across the foot of the bed.
Loretta dances with her man, takes a romantic moonlit walk on the deck, and
they kiss. As she admits to him that she is in love with him, he tells her
they must part when the boat docks. He cannot tell her why, but she “must
understand, it is better this way. I love you, I love you passionately and
would give anything to be with you, but I cannot. Please don't ask me to
explain.”
Loretta retreats to her lonely cabin for a good cry and resolves to stay
away from him and does, right up until the big storm at sea. He comes to
make sure she is safe and, predictably, the ship lurches and she falls into
his arms. The moment ends in passionate kisses and, in old movie fashion,
the rest is left to the viewer's imagination as the scene moves to one of
the ship tossing helplessly on the towering waves.
John started laughing as the scene faded. “No symbolism left unturned,” he
commented. “Wild sea, wild sex. I especially liked the pounding waves and
throbbing of the ship's engines. He nailed her good!”
Sandy walloped John with a pillow. “It isn't about sex. It is about love!”
“It looked like sex to me. She wanted it bad!”
“She was in love!”
“She was in heat!”
We all protested and he just laughed at us.
“How come you men have to make everything just a matter of sex?” Brenda
demanded.
“Because it is,” he said. “It is no more than a basic urge to guarantee
survival of the species—and a hell of a lot of fun to boot!”
We never got back into the movie. We argued about sex instead. John
insisted it was no more than another instinctive behavior that should not
be blown out of proportion. We all eat when we are hungry, scratch when we
itch, and we don't insist that someone be in love and have legal permission
to do those things.
“But how can you do that with someone you aren't in love with?” Sandy
asked.
“Spoken like a true virgin,” John teased. “Once you've done it, you know it
is physical, not emotional.”
Sandy blushed, but Brenda protested. “Well, it can't possibly be as good
with someone you don't love!”
“Sure it can. Better in fact. Pure physical pleasure with no demands, no
promises you can't keep.”
“Spoken like a man!” I answered. “It is more than that for a woman.”
“Only in a culture that tells her it is more. There have been and are
societies where sex is separate from love.”
“For the man, sure. They have harems and mistresses and that is OK, but the
woman cannot do that,” Brenda said.
“Those days are over," John said. “Women have had to trade sexual freedom
for protection because they are the ones who get pregnant. Now women have
the pill so there is no need for them to insist on a legal contract before
they have sex. When they realize that, society is going to change. It is
changing already. ‘Free Love' is here. For the first time in history,
fucking can be as much fun for women as it has been for men.”
We just looked at each other and shook our heads. The feminist movement was
several years away and we were focused on romance, not equality. We argued
on, and even though John couldn't convince us that love and marriage would
become obsolete, he did make us think about the fact that modern medicine
would change society. The pill and penicillin. No reason not to “do it”
except beliefs that were as outdated as mustard plasters and leeches.
I dreamed about having sex that night, and I'll bet Sandy and Brenda did
too. For once, I wasn't dreaming about Paul.