A week later John called me from London. He'd had an uneventful trip back,
but things were not great there. As he expected, Cyn wanted him to come
back home and try again. She had not filed any divorce papers and his
solicitor informed him that he couldn't. He had no cause. He couldn't
accuse her of adultery, abandonment, or cruelty and that is what it took to
have grounds for a divorce. Even if a couple mutually agreed to a divorce,
someone had to take the blame or there could be no divorce.
John was disgusted with the system and angry with Cyn. He understood that
she hoped he would change his mind now that he was back, that she hoped
that he would have had his time off from marriage and be ready to give it
another try. He could deal with all that, but she was giving him trouble
about seeing Julian. He wasn't sure if that was her solicitors' idea or
hers, but it was a way of pressuring him to come back and that made him
mad. They'd had a big fight over the phone, he yelled, she cried, and now
wouldn't take his calls. He was furious with Cyn, her lawyers, his lawyers,
the law in general.
In spite of all that, the fact that Cyn had finally contacted a solicitor
was good news since it showed she was at least considering filing for
divorce. However, the downside of that was that in addition to reporters
snooping around looking for information on the split, they now had lawyers
snooping. Like the reporters, they were interested in any evidence of John
committing adultery but they were also prying for information about his
financial situation, dragging the whole Beatles organization into it. John
knew there was little he could do about the financial end, but he wanted to
leak specific and carefully chosen information about one of his affairs so
she would have the grounds she needed without digging any deeper.
Brian was having fits over the whole situation. He was convinced that even
if John gave them the information needed to sue on a basis of adultery, it
wasn't going to end there. Reporters were buzzing around thicker than ever,
knowing that what had until now just been a rumor about John and Cyn being
separated were confirmed because John was back in London but wasn't going
home at night. They were probing into John's life more diligently than the
lawyers and Brian believed any leak would become a flood. They wouldn't
stop with John's personal life and it would turn into an expose of all the
Beatles and every sex-related thing that had gone on over the years, and it
would ruin them.
The only bright spot seemed to be that the recording sessions were going
well in spite of everything. They had plans for their next album and had
even had laid down tracks for a couple of songs. EMI was pushing for the
release of a single, so it looked as though that would take the songs they
had already worked on, but the idea of doing an album was not as
intimidating as it had been at the dispirited end of the last tour. The
time apart seemed to have been a good idea. All of them had material they
had been working on and a feeling that with time available to them now,
they could turn out a decent follow-up to Revolver.
Even so, they were feeling pressured. Their first release as a non-touring
band would have to be good to keep the Beatles at the top of the charts. To
defuse some of that feeling, Paul was suggesting they go at it pretending
to be another band so they could leave all the Beatle stuff behind, be free
to try new stuff. John thought it was a daft idea, but Paul's enthusiasm
was contagious. Whether or not the others wanted to join Paul in his game,
they were all ready and even eager to go again.
With the subject of Paul open, I asked, “So he is playing nice?” In our
little apartment, private phone calls were difficult and I stretched the
phone cord to its maximum to get into the bathroom and closed the door.
“He barely talks to me but when we are working the music takes over. It is
almost normal at times in the studio.”
“And otherwise?”
John was quiet for a moment before he answered. “It isn't just Paul. None
of them are exactly in my corner here.”
I was startled and John explained that although Paul was the only one
pissed at him, everyone else was cool toward him too. That surprised him
and irritated him. They had known all along that although he had loved Cyn,
he had not really wanted to get married in the first place but felt he had
to do the right thing when she got pregnant. They had known he had never
been faithful to her, so he hadn't expected them to be surprised by a
divorce. “It's none of their bloody business!” he growled.
“Maybe it is just uncomfortable for them,” I suggested. “They don't know
what to say.”
“Bullocks. They are just like Brian, worrying about bad publicity.”
I disagreed with him. “Paul might feel that way, but I am sure that Ringo
cares more about your happiness than publicity and you know darn well that
George doesn't think your private lives are any business of the fans. If
you lose fans over this, he would say 'Good riddance.'”
He sighed, “All I know is things are a mess.”
I felt so bad for him, but just didn't know what to say except “I'm sorry.”
“Wish you were here with me, Luv. I could use a friend.”
“I would come if I could,” I told him.
“No, I wouldn't let you. You could end up being named the correspondent in
the divorce.”
I took a minute for that to register. I could be named as “the other
woman.”
“Oh my God!” I gasped.
“It's OK, Tess. Cyn doesn't know about us, and her solicitors are not going
to have to look far for the evidence they need. Hell, I'll give them names
and dates. There are plenty of women out there who would love to tell the
world they slept with me. Or, I may ask someone to move in with me. That
will keep them off you and keep the “Sex on Tour” story quiet.”
“Oh, John!” I was shaking.
“Tess, I swear, I never thought of this. I wouldn't have let you risk this
if I had. No one here knows and no one will. I'll go back to Cyn before I
let them drag you into this.”
“John, you can't do that!”
“I will if I have to. I'll stay awhile, screw around very publicly. Cyn
won't tolerate that, and it will be over fast.”
“Oh, shit. This is a mess.”
“Don't worry about it. No one knows. I won't let them drag you into it. I
promise you that.”
“I know.” He would take care of things. I relaxed and we talked for a while
longer. He promised to call again soon and we hung up.
I suppose I should have worried about myself, but I knew he would do his
best to keep me out of it. All I worried about was how he was. With
everyone giving him the cold shoulder, he would be alone and that was
something he could not tolerate. It was what made him come to Minnesota to
see me in the first place. He didn't have anyone in California who cared
about him and he needed someone. If things didn't improve, I knew he would
go back to Cyn rather than be alone, but he would be miserable just like
before. He was into drugs already, on a quest for some philosophical Holy
Grail. I was afraid the quest would become a way to escape. Poor Cyn. He
wouldn't stay and it would just make it harder for her to believe he
wouldn't come back again the next time. So much for getting on with her
life.
Just a few days later, he called back. He sounded happy and said things
were going great. He told me that Cyn's solicitors were recommending that
she simply wait until six months had passed and file for divorce on grounds
of abandonment. They realized that digging up dirt on John was killing the
goose that laid the golden egg. If they caused bad publicity and the money
machine was affected, Cyn wouldn't get as much of a settlement and
therefore neither would they. John and most definitely Cyn were relieved
and more than willing to wait a few more months to end it quietly. Then,
laughing a little, he said he'd had a little discussion with the others and
straightened out a few things. He wouldn't explain that. Instead, he
changed the subject.
“So, are you dating anyone yet?” he asked. It was the same question he
always asked.
I gave him my standard answer. “Prince Charming hasn't shown up yet!”
This time, instead of laughing or making fun of my belief in True Love, he
said, “Good. I have to make a quick trip back to the States sometime before
Christmas and I want to see you again. I need to see you.”
I was speechless. It wasn't just the words, it was the way he said them,
determined, almost demanding.
“Tess?”
“Oh, John. I don't think... "
“Roomies listening?”
“No.” Brenda was in her room studying with the door closed and Sandy was in
the bathroom shaving her legs and had the radio with her blaring away. For
once the coast was clear and that wasn't the reason for my hesitation.
“I don't think that is wise. The divorce... "
“I told you, she is filing on abandonment.”
“She could change her mind.”
“She won't. I don't think she would even have agreed to file if she had to
use the adultery bit. All that dirt and publicity, she couldn't deal with
that. This way it is halfway civilized. The solicitors are telling her this
is best.”
“People are going to talk about us anyway if you come here.”
There were several seconds of transatlantic silence before John's voice
came again, a soft question, a note in his voice that was as scary as the
thought of him showing up here again. “You don't want to see me?”
“You know better than that!”
“Good. When do you start your Christmas Holidays?”
I was torn between the idea of being with him again after I had thought I
would never see him again and the knowledge that any publicity would be
nasty.
“Come 'ead, love,” John coaxed when I didn't answer. “This is important. I
want to see you again. I need to talk to you and not over the phone.”
“Oh, John. How could we keep everyone from knowing?”
“This trip is a financial, legal thing. There won't be any publicity about
it. I'll get the movie people to meet me in... Where is the nearest big
city?”
I almost laughed. Minneapolis was the big city to me, but his slighting of
it was right. No one would buy the story of a Beatle on a business trip to
Minneapolis. “Chicago. It is an hour away by plane.”
“Yeah. Chicago. We will just put it out that I had a few days between
meetings and being so close, I just decided to visit you.”
I was wavering. How would it look? Because so many people had met him at
the Halloween party, the press had to give some credence to the rumors that
he had been in town then even if they had discounted the rumor that he had
been here before that. Thankfully they knew nothing of the trip to
California. One or two visits in four months simply out of friendship
wasn't unbelievable, was it? I felt like a kid sneaking cookies from the
cookie jar just one at a time so no one would notice, but unable to resist
going back again and again knowing damn well someone was going to notice
soon.
“I need to see you, Tess,” he said.
Looking back on it, I have to wonder what I was thinking when I answered
him. Seeing him again was asking for trouble, trouble from the media,
family, friends, fans. For what? Love? No, I had convinced myself that was
not what John and I were about. As that thought entered my mind so did
another. I had worked so hard at being with Paul, worried and cared so much
about how it would work out, and look at what all that had gotten me. Maybe
it was time to just let go and let life happen, stop convincing myself of
anything, stop trying so hard and worrying so much and enjoy the present.
“All right,” I said. “December 16.” I knew the date exactly because Brenda
and I were throwing an End of Semester/Christmas Party that day, the last
day of school.
“I'll be there,” he said, and then with a quick mood change, laughingly
added, “I have got a Christmas present for you I think you will like!”
I laughed. From the leering note in his voice, it wasn't hard to guess what
kind of present he was talking about. I wondered where and how we could be
alone together. “One problem, John. Brenda and I are putting on a Christmas
party that night. I have to go for at least a little while, but maybe you
shouldn't. The less you go out... "
I was thinking of safety as well as secrecy, but John focused on secrecy.
“It is going to get 'round that I was there anyway and that will only make
it look worse. Like we are trying to hide something. So we'll go to the
party. You won't be dancing long though, Luv. I promise you that. And you
won't need mistletoe.”
I was once again struck by the change in his tone. There was no teasing, no
sexual innuendo. He sounded serious.
After I hung up, I had the definite feeling that this visit was going to
change things between John and me. That scared me. If he wanted to change
our relationship... No, he was just in such a turmoil over the divorce. He
had been distracted and distant from the whole divorce mess while in the
States. Going back to England had dropped him right into the middle of it.
He was feeling lost and alone and needed someone to help him through it.
That was all it meant. Stop worrying and analyzing and just enjoy being
with him!
Brenda and Sandy were shocked and then strangely quiet when I told them he
was coming. I hadn't seen The Look for a long time, but suddenly there it
was. They looked at each other, sending little “I don't know, what do you
think?” messages. Nothing was said for several days, but when I came home
one day and put a Beatles album on, Brenda spoke up.
“You seem really happy these days.”
“Yeah, things are going great at school and, for once, I have money for
Christmas.”
“And John is coming to see you again.”
I tried to compose my face before I turned to look at her.
“Yes. I'm looking forward to seeing him again.”
“Terry,” she said hesitantly, “Are you sure you should be doing this? “
I wasn't sure what she meant by “this” and didn't want to know. I already
had an ample supply of “this's” I was not sure I should be doing, thinking,
or feeling. I didn't need hers.
“He needs a friend right now,” I said. End of conversation. Once again, I
felt bad about shutting my friends out, especially since I had a feeling I
might need all the friends I could get soon. If John wanted to go on seeing
me, we were not going to be able to keep our relationship from my
roommates. We would be lucky, really lucky to keep it out of the press for
even a little while. Once again I shoved those considerations out of my
mind.
The next two weeks were a hectic race to get ready for finals, organize the
Christmas party, and get my Christmas shopping done. Another check had
arrived from Tony so for the first Christmas in a long time, I had some
money to spend. I got John some records, old Chuck Berry and Fats Domino
45's from a music store that specialized in hard to find oldies. I also
bought myself a new dress for the party. It was red, short, and low cut. It
was everything John liked in a dress, barely within Midwestern bounds of
good taste.
Unfortunately, another package arrived from Tony with a big envelope
containing the fan mag that had my interview story. Just remembering the
whole mess behind my agreeing to write that story, much less what started
the day I interviewed Paul was bad enough, but as a bonus, my article
followed one of “Fab new photos of the Beatles.” The photo of Paul was one
taken that night at the Royal Theatre, his date on his arm and happy smile
on his face. The ever-present “Paul's new love?” caption was expanded on
with an accompanying comment that she was an “unidentified friend who has
been seen at 7 Cavendish Avenue quite frequently in recent months.” Paul
was reported to have laughed when asked who she was and said, “ We're just
good friends!” I knew it was a joke, his line from a Hard Days Night, and
perhaps a bit of game playing with the reporters, refusing to make it easy
for them to intrude on his private life, but even so, that response set my
teeth on edge. The arrogant bastard! It was all just a game to him! If my
story hadn't begun on the back of that picture I would have torn it to
shreds.
Journalistic pride won out and I shoved the magazine into the box on the
floor of my closet and, in a gesture of finality, moved the box up to the
top back corner of the closet shelf. I cried a few more bitter tears, this
time more in anger and frustration with myself for still caring at all than
in regret, then went out and bought black lacy underwear to wear with my
new red dress. For John.
Sandy and Brenda asked me if I was going to ask anyone to the dance. Aside
from high school Sadie Hawkins dances, the only opportunity a girl had to
ask a boy out was if she was the one having the party, but the last thing I
wanted that night was a date to ditch! I did the acting job of my life.
I sighed, looked perplexed and said, “I don't know. I don't want John to
feel like a fifth wheel and I just can't think of anyone I want to go
with.”
Sandy came up with several suggestions and I managed to find a fatal flaw
in each of those perfectly acceptable young men.
“Maybe I could ask Alan. You know, the blond guy that hangs around with Tim
and Duane,” I said to show I really was thinking about it. “He seems nice
and I think he'd go out with me.”
“I hear that he is going with Barbara,” Brenda said. I even managed a
little hint of disappointment at hearing something I already knew perfectly
well.
“Well,” I said with a carefree laugh. “I'll just have to pretend John is my
date.”
“Hmmm,” said Brenda with a speculative look.
Brenda and I had organized the unofficial class Christmas party together
the first year of school while we were living in the dorm. When we moved
into the apartment, we upgraded it from an all-girl after-hours bash at the
dorm to a real party thanks to our landlady. Carol and her husband ran a
Music and Dance School for children and every year they put on a Christmas
pageant. It was a huge project for the small school, and Carol was always
on the lookout for extra hands to help out. Brenda, Sandy, and I were
quickly recruited to help. We decorated, put up chairs, helped dress
nervous little angels and elves, seated parents, and whispered backstage
directions and lines to tots with stage fright. In return, we were allowed
to use the building for our party the next weekend.
It was a great party spot with a big room and dance floor, mirrors all
along one wall, and Christmas decorations from the pageant. Last year's
party had been a huge success and this, our “Third Annual” and “Final”
party was something we were all excited about.
No one was supposed to know that John would be there, but to be safe, we
decided on a closed-door policy. No one would get in unless they were
expected, and if anyone wanted to leave, they would be told they would not
be let back in. High schools were doing this to prevent kids from sneaking
out to their cars to drink and then rejoining the party, and it would work
for other purposes. The door to the office where the phone was would be
locked. Once inside, no one could let the rest of Minneapolis know John was
there. Best of all, I would have the key to the building for the weekend.
If I couldn't get Brenda and Sandy out of the apartment, there was a couch
in the little lobby and a grand piano in the music room. It was going to be
a grand weekend!
On Tuesday, John called to give me his flight number. With Brenda in the
room, I couldn't say much, but he did. He said he was looking forward to
seeing me again and he was glad I had agreed to let him come—and that he
loved me and I wouldn't regret seeing him again. Once again there was
something so serious in his voice that I was thrilled and scared all at
once. Although being with John would be asking for the wrath of my parents
and a firestorm of bad press and fan reaction, the thought still made my
heart pound.
My mind tried to consider this change. If he said he loved me, really loved
me, what then? I had spent the last couple of months telling myself not to
think of a future with him in it, and my mind still skittered away from any
contemplation of that. Paul had taught me well; Take it one step at a time.
Be careful. Well, my mind might have erected walls separating present and
future, love and friendship, but my heart observed no such barriers. It
kept asking me if I was ready to fall in love again. In spite of all my
cool-headed thoughts about the differences between us and the repercussions
of daring to love John, I knew it would be really hard to turn him away if
he wanted more than friendship. Worse, the question I had asked myself
after that first night with John was looming larger and larger in my mind.
Was I was selling us short? Maybe the closeness, the trust I felt with John
was what love was really about, what it needed to last. Such thoughts were
not allowed to linger. Every time I found myself on that mental
merry-go-round, I pulled myself away abruptly with my resolution not to
think, worry, plan, analyze so much.
On the last day of class, Brenda and I finished our last final at noon and
Sandy took off work early to help get ready for the party. We rushed home,
changed into blue jeans and sweaters, and fried a ton of hamburger for
Sloppy Joes. I sliced pickles until my fingers puckered, and then it was
time to meet John at the airport. It was a bright winter day with several
inches of snow on the ground, but the roads were clear. Snow was predicted
for later that night and we hoped it wouldn't keep people from coming to
the party.
We got to the airport, parked the car, and headed inside. After checking to
see which gate John's flight would be arriving at, we trekked down to it,
full of high spirits, vacation mood, Holiday good cheer, and, in my case,
sexual anticipation mixed with a fluttering in my heart. The terminal was
busier than usual with holiday travelers and I was a little worried about
getting John out safely, but he had said he would have a couple of security
people along with him this time. A trip from London was a bit more complex
than a six-hour flight from California. Airport security was available if
we needed it as well. Nothing was going to go wrong tonight.
We joined the group of people waiting for the flight, occupying the rows of
plastic seats. As the plane taxied up and the skyway moved into place, we
moved as close as we could to the entry. John had always flown first-class
to have some degree of privacy and would be one of the first off the plane.
As the first people started coming off the plane, I overheard one excited
female passenger telling the couple who met her that there was a Beatle on
the plane. That didn't worry me. People sitting close to John could very
likely recognize him and if he talked to anyone his voice gave him away
immediately. We still wouldn't have any trouble getting him out of the
terminal. A second passenger was talking about getting his autograph as he
and his family walked by us.
People streamed out of the plane and still no John. I said to Brenda and
Sandy, “Maybe he couldn't get first-class tickets because of the holiday
season. That would explain why so many people know he was on board.” It was
obvious the passengers knew. As they met their families, several were
excitedly telling them something and they all turned back to look
expectantly at the entrance, all waiting.
Brenda, Sandy and I all realized at the same time that this was not good
even if John had some security people with him. It was time to get some
help. We headed for the ticket counter behind us and told the attendant.
“You need to get airport security over here right away!”
She barely glanced at me and continued dialing the phone a little
frantically. “They should have been here the minute the plane landed,” she
said. “Maybe we should just keep him on the plane until they get here.”
Well, she knew who was on the plane. The pilot must have radioed in the
news when he found out that the passenger listed as Arnie Arneson (John's
idea of being anonymous in the Scandinavian heritage of Minnesota) was John
Lennon. I started to say, “Yes, you need to do that,” but just then I heard
Brenda say in a funny voice, “That is one hell of a disguise!”