When I got back to London, Mal picked me up at the train station and after
a little teasing about what sights I had seen, delivered me to John's. I
was surprised to find Cyn and her mother had taken Julian and gone up to
Bristol to her sister's and would be back late Sunday. In spite of my
resolve to stay out of it, I couldn’t help asking “Did you have a fight?”
John just laughed grimly. “Cyn never fights. She puts up with me no matter
what. She won't leave me.” He didn't say it angrily, or as if bragging
about his hold on her, just sad at the mess they were both in. “It is her
sister's birthday is all. So how was lunch with the lion? You seem to have
come back alive.”
I told him about our plans and he listened quietly. When I finished he
looked at me, smiling a little because it would have taken a bigger cynic
than even John Lennon to deny the fact that I was in love. He got up from
his chair and came over to where I was sitting and leaned over and kissed
me softly on the cheek. “You have my blessings, my child,” he said in a
put-on patriarchal tone.
Dot was there, busy fixing dinner and full of questions about the
sightseeing I had done in Scotland. Somehow she hadn't tumbled to the fact
that I had gone with Paul and I was glad to find that some privacy was
still possible in Beatledom.
After dinner, we settled in for a quiet evening in front of the TV. John
ended up trying to explain the nuances of British comedy to me. Much of it
included references to old comedians and British history that was lost on
me, and the rest was either hysterically funny in its absurdity or just too
weird for me to find funny. It was John himself that had me laughing that
night as he imitated TV characters and people in the news, commenting on
their physical shortcomings in a way that was in outrageously bad taste yet
so funny. It was wonderful to feel like I had the real John back, not the
moody, unhappy man who had been haunting this house for the past few weeks.
At the same time, it was an uncomfortable feeling that it probably was
because Cyn was gone. It wasn't a matter of John kicking up his heels
because she wasn't there—he wasn't stoned or tripping. He just seemed
relieved not to have to play husband.
We sat up until midnight, but by then I was yawning like crazy. I finally
had to say goodnight and got up to go up to bed. He was ready to turn in
too. As we went through the ritual of locking up the house, turning off
lights, I was suddenly very much aware that I was alone with him. The
feelings I had experienced in those first few days at the hotel with him
had been pushed aside in the tidal wave of feeling for Paul, but tonight
they haunted me. For the first time, I was uncomfortable being with him. It
was the first time we were alone. Dot had left hours ago. Somehow things
felt very different. As corny as it sounds, I was a woman now, not an
inexperienced girl. Paul was clearly delighted with me so there was a
ridiculous temptation to try out my new womanly skills, to show John how
good I was. Worse, heaven help me, he hadn't been as appealing to me since
we had arrived in England. From a purely sexual standpoint, I would have
loved to give him a try and the fact that he wasn’t projecting that dismal,
irritable aura tonight made him a bit of a temptation.
As I headed up the stairs, John close behind me, I was thinking, wondering
what it would be like to do it with him. When I stopped at the door to my
room, he stopped beside me. He put his hand on my shoulder, then slid it
down to the small of my back, and a little further. All thoughts of showing
off fled. The sexual attraction was there and it was strong, but I was
Paul's now. I didn't know what to say or how to handle this but when I
looked up at him and saw his smile, I laughed out loud. This was my John,
and he was just being wicked, teasing me.
“Sorry, Luv. Headache,” I said and ducked into my room. I could hear him
laughing as he went on to his room.
The next day I caught up on laundry and started to write to my roommates,
telling them about Paul, but all the letters ended up in the wastebasket. I
wanted to prepare them but didn't know where to start or how much to say.
If writing to them was difficult, what was I going to say to my parents?
Paul had offered to fly back to the States with me to meet my parents, but
I had asked him to wait. I wanted to go back, get back to school and
generally act grown-up and responsible before I told them about Paul—or
about my plans to move to England. Dropping it on them all at once would
guarantee their resistance. Paul needed a few weeks at least to get things
arranged for him to spend time in Minneapolis and that would be more than
soon enough to spring this on them. In fact, I didn't plan to tell them I
was going to move to England. They would realize that long before school
was out.
John wanted to go out, so after lunch, we went shopping. I hadn't gotten
gifts for everyone at home yet, although I had picked up some things. Les
had driven Cyn to Bristol so wasn't around, but John simply called for
another chauffeur. I had this vision of a warehouse of guys in chauffeur
costumes, sitting on shelves waiting for the wealthy to need a lift
somewhere!
John popped in and out of bookstores while I hit the boutiques. He spent as
much on books in a month as I did for a year of textbooks. We had a lot of
fun, though it must have looked odd to have a shopper looking for bargains
on souvenirs who then went out and jumped into a chauffeur-driven Rolls
Royce. When we got home we found Dot fixing an early dinner as she and “the
mister” were going out on the town that evening.
“Bingo again?” John teased.
“No. It's coming up on our anniversary and we're going to dinner at
Carlisle's in Ainsbury.”
“Ooh, swank! You go easy on the champagne, Luv. You know how you get when
you're tiddly!”
Dot laughed and informed him she'd get tiddly on her anniversary
celebration if she'd a mind to. “Never you fear. I'll be round in the
morning to get your breakfast.”
“You needn't. Take the day off. Spend it in bed with that man of yours,”
John laughed.
“Now I told Cynthia I would make sure you got meals. I have plans for the
afternoon, but I'll have dinner ready to go in the oven before I leave.”
“Tess can keep me fed for one day, Dot,” he said. “You don't need to give
up your whole weekend.”
With a little more encouragement Dot gladly accepted the day off and showed
me what she had planned for tomorrow's meals. Having successfully cooked
for Paul all week, I wasn't worried about feeding John. I just hoped he
didn't have plans to go out tonight, or worse, to bring friends in for an
evening of LSD tripping.
After an early dinner, Dot left and I wandered around the house restlessly,
missing Paul already, wishing we didn't have to be apart for even these few
days of our remaining week together, thinking ahead to having him with me
in Minneapolis for a while, and wondering how I would ever get through the
time from Christmas until summer. I wondered how Cyn got through the long
weeks while John was away. Having Julian would help but this big house
would be lonely. It felt that way tonight. John was watching the telly, and
even with it on, the house seemed huge and empty without Cyn and Julian.
With Dot and Les gone too, the place seemed deserted.
I called one of the student nurses, Peggy, thinking I might take Cyn up on
her offer and invite her and the others for lunch one day the next week.
Before I could suggest that, however, she invited me to join them on an
outing that evening. “A perfect opportunity for a visitor to London,” she
said. The London Philharmonic Orchestra was to play tonight for the first
time in its newly remodeled concert hall. The renovation had taken over a
year and was supposed to be a wonderful example of the restoration of a
historic building. It was to be a boring event for stuffed shirts but there
would be some celebrities attending; Elizabeth Taylor, Vanessa Redgrave,
Michael Caine, and a few others. Peggy and friends had no plans to attend
the concert itself, only to wait out front and watch the celebrities
arrive, hoping to catch a glimpse of the biggest name of all—Prince
Charles. England might be Beatle crazy, but the fairy tale of becoming a
princess lived on! After that, they were going to go to a night club and
make a night of it. It sounded like fun, and what was a trip to London
without a glimpse of one of the Royal Family? I could catch the last bus
into London, but would probably have to take a cab home. Even if John
offered to get a driver for me, I didn't want to have to explain a Rolls
and chauffeur! I made arrangements to meet them at the bus stop nearest the
concert hall and then went to tell John.
I realized then I would be leaving him home all alone and when I asked what
his plans for the evening were, he said he was going to watch TV and call
Aunt Mimi. Hesitantly, I asked if he minded if I went out and he laughed
and said he would enjoy his momentary independence from wife, nurse, and
other caretakers. So, I told him what I was going to do.
“I thought you had your Prince, you greedy thing,” he teased.
He offered a driver, but I explained why I would rather take a cab and he
laughed again. “Yeah, being associated with me is such an embarrassment!”
After a quick change of clothes into the black dress Paul had bought for
me, I was ready. John gave me a ride down to the bus stop. It was my one
and only experience of being in a car with John behind the wheel. Pete
Shotton’s joke about his being a terrible driver was only a slight
exaggeration. With one of his arms still in a cast and the other shoulder
still sore to move even though no longer requiring the sling, it was an
interesting and thankfully short drive.
I switched buses once and ended up being dropped off just a few blocks from
the Royal Theatre. After a few anxious moments of wondering if I was at the
wrong bus stop, Peggy and the others arrived and we quickly headed to the
theater on foot.
We joined the crowd of onlookers and reporters gathering at the entrance
and managed to work our way fairly close to the front of the crowd just in
time to see a limo pull up and Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton
disembark. They were formally dressed, Burton in a tux and Liz in a
sapphire blue dress that was cut low to provide a backdrop for a necklace
and earrings that screamed money. They waved regally to the crowd, posed
for pictures and then moved inside. Several more cars arrived and delivered
distinguished looking people, apparently members of parliament and various
blue types of blood.
Michael Caine arrived and the group of teenagers in front of us cheered
wildly. As he disappeared into the building, I overheard the girl in front
of me say, “I wonder if he and Jane are friends? I think Paul was a bit
jealous of him because of the love scenes in the movie.”
The girl next to her turned to answer her. “Oh, perhaps he was, but he's
long over Jane now! In fact, I think he has someone new—”
A third girl interrupted, laughing, to say that Paul always had someone
new. “We ought to make up a tally sheet to keep track of them,” she said.
“We could mark off how often they visit!”
Oh great! All of London to explore and I ended up standing behind a group
of Paul's gatebirds! Trying to appear casual, I moved back a step so I
could duck behind Peggy if they turned around, and wondered if I should
leave. Would the gatebirds recognize me? I had only been to Paul's a couple
of times and I doubted they would recognize me from that, but I was sure
they had seen pictures of me while John was in the hospital. They'd
recognize John's nurse, even though it was unlikely they would identify me
as Paul's “someone new.”
While I was debating how to handle this, another limo pulled up, the driver
got out and went around the car. There was something familiar about him
even though I could only see his back as he opened the door.
The gatebirds in front of us squealed excitedly. “There he is! I knew when
they delivered the tuxedo this afternoon, he had to be coming here!” one
said as Paul got out of the limo.
Mal stood back. Long legs swung out of the door, peeping through the slit
of the narrow skirt of an evening gown. Paul reached down to take the
gloved hand reaching up to him and helped a woman out of the car. She was
dressed more simply than Liz, younger, thinner, less flashy but more
appealing for that reason. I stood there bewildered, unable to think. By
now the crowd had recognized Paul and girls were screaming and flashbulbs
popping. Paul smiled and waved as they moved arm in arm toward the steps of
the building. At the bottom of the stairs, he leaned down as she said
something in his ear. He smiled down at her, laughed and put his arm around
her as they climbed the stairs. It wasn't until they disappeared into the
building that I became aware of the gatebirds talking excitedly.
“She's the one we told you about!” one was saying. “She's the one he has
been living with off and on all summer!”
My world spun for a minute as bewildered gave way to a dark, awful feeling.
They were going on excitedly. “No, they weren't living together! She just
came 'round a lot.”
“Yeah, but she always spent the night!”
“But she didn't move in!”
“Come on! She was there for days at a time!”
“Do you think they are serious?” another of the girls was asking.
“Maybe she is, but I think he is seeing someone else, too,” the first girl
said. “He was in and out all last week and then packed up and went
somewhere this week without her. I am afraid he has another Francie
Schwartz going and this girl is going to end up like poor Jane.”
“Oh, no!”
“How can he do that?”
“I don't care as long as he doesn't marry any of them!”
I listened to all this with a roaring sound in my ears and a huge black pit
opening under my feet. Prince Charles arrived just then. If he hadn't, I
knew the girls I came with would have noticed something was wrong. I had to
get out of there. Peggy was excitedly pushing forward, trying to get a
picture of Charles and I tugged at her arm.
“I'm not feeling well. I am going to catch a cab and head home.” I told
her. She was immediately concerned and followed me to the back of the
crowd.
“You look awful!” she said. “Can you make it home? Shall I come with you?
Maybe you should just come to our place."
“I'll be fine. It's just a headache. I get them sometimes. I'll be fine. I
just need to get home.”
She still looked concerned and I let her take over and hail a cab for me.
That took several minutes and I don't know how I stood there and talked to
her, assuring her it was nothing serious, I just needed a good night's
sleep. My head was roaring and everything seemed unreal.
The cab pulled up, I got in, said goodnight to Peggy, and gave the driver
John's address. The driver eyed me suspiciously and asked to see my money
before agreeing to take me all the way out to Weybridge. As he eased
through traffic and made his way onto the freeway, I sat outwardly frozen,
but inside the shock was wearing off.
My head spun with the sight of Paul helping her out of the car, the things
the girls had said. He had been living with her! Was she the girl he had
introduced me to that night at the party? I wasn't sure. Aside from noting
that she was pretty, with tawny blond hair, I had tried not to stare at the
girl at the party—trying to be cool and pretend I wasn't remotely
interested in whoever Paul was with—and I hadn't gotten a good look at this
girl tonight. She had been turned to face Paul, her back to me. Her hair
was pulled up in an elaborately beaded net and it was hard to judge the
color but it seemed to be light brown or dark blond.
It all fit. She was the owner of the pink slippers, bathrobe, makeup, the
voice on the phone. It all came together. All I could see was that last
snapshot image of him smiling down at her as he put his arm around her.
He had been seeing her all along! Living with her? No, that couldn't be,
could it? Was he really with her those nights he said he was with the movie
producers? Is that why during my period it didn't seem to bother him that
we did little more than kiss? He was getting it elsewhere? He could wait
for Scotland and the grand prize.
The numbness gave way and I began to cry. I huddled in the corner, curled
up in pain, and cried. I couldn't seem to touch bottom, much less push to
the surface of the pain inside. I didn't realize we were at John's home
until the driver reached over the seat and touched my shoulder. “Miss,
please, miss.” He was offering me a Kleenex and I took it from him and
tried to pull myself together.
“I'm OK now. Thank you,” I finally managed to say after wiping my nose and
eyes. I had him pull up to the gate. I pushed the bell and John came on.
“Is this Cinderella home from the Ball?”
“John,” I said, croaking the words out past a horrible lump in my throat.
“I need to go home.”
“Tess?”
I was crying, and couldn't answer. The gate swung open and the driver moved
through and up to the house. John came out to meet me. I shoved a handful
of money at the driver and threw myself into John's arms.
He walked me into the house. Inside, he sat me on the couch and took me
awkwardly in his arms, trying to hold me in spite of his cast and sore
shoulder. He just held me and rocked me gently as I cried. Finally, I told
him what had happened, trying to describe it step by step; the bathrobe and
makeup, the phone call, the limo, Mal, the girl, what the gatebird had said
about them living together off and on all summer.
He said nothing and eventually his silence penetrated through my misery and
opened a new disheartening thought. I pulled away from him slowly. “You
didn't know, did you? John, you didn't know all along?”
“No,” he said, pulling me back and kissing my cheek. “I didn't know he was
seeing anyone else, but ... I knew he might.”
I thought about that for a moment, about his lion fairy tale warning, and
about the look that had passed between Pattie and Cyn when they said “He is
no saint,” and about Paul saying that he had messed up his relationship
with Jane, and something else that was said tonight.
“John, who was Francie Schwartz?”
A heavy silence.
“John?”
“Christ. I wish you hadn't asked me that.”
“Who was she?!”
“She was a girl who hung around the office, did a little work for us. She
went after Paul and, of course, she got him.”
“And Jane found out?”
“Yeah.”
“So that's what Paul meant when he said he had been in love and messed it
up.”
“It wasn't that simple, Tess. They weren't getting along so well. Jane
wanted an acting career and didn't want to get it because she was Mrs. Paul
McCartney.”
“Good for her!” I said impressed by someone with that kind of
determination.
John shrugged. “Paul wanted a wife and kids. Not right away, but
eventually. She wasn't sure when she would be ready for that, if ever. That
was a problem I guess but the big thing was simply Paul wanted her at home
when he wasn’t touring. The more he went on about it, the more she
resisted. Then she took a part in a touring company that was leaving just
as we got back from tour. Paul was really upset—"
“Then along came Francie, just when things were bad between him and Jane.”
John looked at me sharply, then looked away. “Yeah. Something like that,”
he mumbled.
“He was already seeing her?”
He shrugged, unwilling to say more.
I didn't want to hear more anyway. Either he was already seeing her, or she
wasn't the first he had cheated on Jane with. With that revelation came
another. I had the whole situation backward. He hadn't cheated on me. He
was cheating on her and I was the sleazy little tart he was cheating with!
That brought a fresh storm of tears, not just grief, but humiliation this
time. I was just one in a series of side dishes. Apparently, his
relationship with her was not as long term or steady as with Jane, but
still ... I knew men cheated, but I couldn't believe I had gotten involved
in such a cheap mess, much less been the one he had cheated with. It would
have been nobler to be the one cheated on, but it couldn't have hurt any
worse. She may have been there first, but he lied to me more than he would
have had to lie to her, and I had believed his lies, right down to the last
one—that he loved me and we were going to be together.
John just held me and let me cry.
Through the pain came another memory, the memory of Paul kissing my
shoulder and saying softly, the doubt plain in his voice, “All I can
promise is that I'll try.” That was after he talked to Alistair and found
out I wouldn't be able to stay. Maybe that was when it started to fall
apart. He might have intended to break off with her the night he first said
he loved me, but when he had time alone to think about it, to realize that
odds were stacked against my being able to stay, he'd had second thoughts.
It had been obvious all along that he wasn't looking forward to a
transatlantic love affair. A bird in London is worth two in the States.
When I finally was down to hiccuping, empty sobs, John left me and came
back with a washcloth. He wiped my burning face with the cool cloth.
“I can't beat the shit out him right now,” he said, “but maybe I could get
Neil to do it. Then I'll do it again meself once the cast is off.”
I surprised myself with a shaky laugh.
“I could get Terry back from wherever Paul had Brian send him, too,” John
said. “He'd help.”
“What do you mean, 'wherever Paul had Brian send him'?”
“Well, Neil had conveniently arranged a holiday for himself when we got
back from the States so he was out of the way. Terry had to be reassigned
to keep him away from you.”
If I had known that at the time I would have been flattered. Now it was a
calculating, manipulative thing for Paul to have done. In seconds, I was
off the couch, up the stairs, and in my room pulling my suitcases out of
the closet in a cold fury. John followed me, and by the time he caught up
with me, I was grabbing clothes out of the closet and dumping them in a
suitcase. I had my hands full of underwear and nylons and nightgowns from
the dresser drawer when John awkwardly began taking the clothes out of my
hands throwing them back in the drawer, trying to keep up to me with his
one good arm.
“Luv, don't.” He stopped and reached out and pulled me close. “Think this
over. You can't leave tonight anyway, and maybe you should wait until you
talk to him.”
“No! He lied to me! He said he loved me!” I said, almost yelling. “He said
we would be together. That he would find a way to spend time in the States.
He said he loved me,” I said, dissolving into tears again.
John kept one arm around me and moved me back to sit me down on the side of
the bed, pushed the suitcase aside to make room and sat next to me.
“Tess, when did he tell you that?”
I looked at him blankly, sniffling.
“Listen, guys will say things like that if that's what it takes to get a
bird into bed and half believe it at the time.”
“But we had already. He wasn't trying to talk me into going to bed with
him.”
“Right after? Guys will say things like that after. Kind of like saying
thank you.”
“No, not right after.”
“Morning after? That is guilt.”
“No. Later that night and every day after. Lots of times. What is that?”
He sat back and looked at me for a moment before answering, then reached
out and brushed my hair back out of my eyes. “Probably the truth, Luv. You
need to talk to him. Paul may be capable of some rotten things, but I think
he does love you. He has never mentioned her. She can't be that important
to him.”
I looked at him, stunned. “And that makes it OK?”
His turn to look surprised. “If she's just another bird, she doesn't
matter.”
I gave that a moment's thought. Maybe she wasn't anyone special to him.
Maybe he was cheating on both of us equally. Or maybe he did care more
about me than her. That helped my pride but... “Maybe you can live that
way, but I can't,” I said miserably.
“Come off it, ya twit. It is just sex.”
“No, it's not,” I said, angry with male reasoning. “Not for me. Not for
Cyn. Not for any woman who loves someone.”
“That's the problem with women. They take it all so seriously. If they love
someone, they think everything matters and they think it is forever. They
won't give up even when there is no point in going on.”
“Then why don't you just leave?”
He looked at me. I realized what I had just said and cringed. His look
wasn't angry though. He looked away and slowly got up off the bed. He bent
to pick up a bra that had landed on the floor. I knew he was deep in
thought when he tossed it back in the drawer without comment. When he
turned back to look at me, he sighed and leaned back, half sitting on the
dresser.
“Because Cyn has never done anything but love me. She hasn't done anything
wrong. How can I hurt her like that just because I don't know what the fuck
I want?”
“The way you live doesn't hurt her? You are either with other women or
drunk or high.”
A long silence this time, then he said, “There is no place to go. No one to
go to.”
You didn't have to be Sigmund Freud to figure out why John would have a
hang-up about being alone. His father went to sea before he was born, came
back for a week and asked a five-year-old boy to chose whether he wanted to
be with Mummy or Daddy, then disappeared again when John chose his mother.
His mother then handed him over to an aunt to raise and started a new
family. His uncle died when he was eleven and his mom when he was
seventeen, just as he was beginning to feel close to her. His father ended
his fifteen-year disappearance only when he smelled money. That was enough
rejection and loss and feeling emotionally alone for a lifetime.
“I'm sorry,” I said. Sorry for him, sorry for not minding my own business.
He could take his pick.
John stared at the floor. When he looked up at me, he said in mock
irritation, “Since when are we discussing me? You are the one who is in
tears here.”
“I'd say we are both miserable. I just got there faster than you.”
He laughed at that and came back to sit next to me, arm around me, chin
resting on my head. “So what are you going to do?”
“Go home,” I answered, hugging him.
He hugged me hard, and for a moment I forgot about Paul. Funny,
exasperating, warm and loving, cold and sarcastic, and in spite of his
distant, unhappy attitude since we had been back in England, I loved this
man too. The sounds of Revolver had been so woven through the last
few weeks and now another line played in my head as John held me. “When
your bird is broken, will it bring you down? You may feel awoken. I'll be
‘round, I'll be ‘round.” Whatever the song meant, I felt like my most
prized possession, my love for Paul, was broken and John was around when I
needed him. I reached up and touched his face. “I'll never see you again,”
I said, whipping up a fresh batch of tears for this new loss.
“Don't be daft. Think I'll just let you disappear out of my life? You are
the only good thing that has come out of this whole bleedin' summer. I'll
call you, and you know my number.”
“Will you be here?”
“Until I find a reason to go.”
“Maybe you should leave for Cyn's sake.” I blurted that out stupidly. It
was not something I had ever planned to discuss with him, but I guess the
events of the last couple of hours had scrambled my brains.
“What?”
I had started it and now I had to explain without betraying Cyn's
confidences. “As long as you stay, she thinks it might get better. That you
will love her again. That you'll be happy together. Maybe have another
baby. She wants a real family.”
“Oh bloody fucking hell. She can't really believe that will happen.”
“No, she doesn't believe it. She hopes. She knows you will leave and it is
just a matter of time, but you keep dangling hope in front of her.”
“I can't leave Julian. I may not be much of a father, but he won't grow up
like I did, never seeing my father, knowing he didn't give a shit about
me.”
“It doesn't have to be that way. It wouldn't be easy, but you could be
close to him without living with him.”
“Christ, Tess. You don't let people hide, do you? Little miss fix-it!”
“It just seems like you are going to have to decide. Make it better or get
it over with. Everyone is hurting.”
He sat with his arm around me for a long time, then kissed the top of my
head. “I'll see about getting you on a flight tomorrow if that is what you
really want.”
I just nodded. He said goodnight, and then I was alone. After a while, I
got up and began packing, neatly this time. I left John's white shirt
hanging in the closet.
I tried to go to sleep, but the minute I was in bed, the tears started
again. Silent, miserable tears. Every moment, every word of our time
together went through my mind as I tried to understand, tried to find a
reason, a way out, tried to believe in Paul again and only found more
reasons not to.
Memories turned into lies. We had spent very little time at his place. Was
she living there or just likely to show up unannounced? That was why he
needed to take me to Scotland! Wait—that first night we were together at
his house, he had suggested my moving in with him! He wouldn't have done
that if he had something going with her! No, he’d said that only after I
said I wouldn't even spend the night with him. He knew I wouldn't move in.
He didn't take me to Liverpool to meet his dad because he wasn't going to
Liverpool. I remembered how easily he had agreed it was best if we weren't
seen around town together. We never went to a club, seldom ate out in
London. We sneaked in and out of the movies the one time we had gone. It
may have been my intention to keep things quiet, but he made it a secret.
His whispered “I don't know if I can do this,” his promise to “try”, the
look that came over his face as he changed the subject away from the time
we would be apart, all haunted me. At the time I had thought he was just as
concerned as I was about our ability to make it work when we were apart for
so long. I had thought he was wondering how he could go without sex for
weeks at a time but now I realized he was not concerned about going
without, only with how he could manage to keep getting it without my
finding out.
The pathetic part of that was that I suspected that had we talked about it,
I would have found myself telling him I would overlook the occasional
physical encounter. From anyone else, I would have expected fidelity, but
once again, who he has had me making allowances.
Oh, yeah, all the clues were there. I had been blind not to see them.
No. That wasn't quite true. The awful truth was that he was so good at this
game. With that realization, hurt and humiliation moved over and made room
for anger, good old black rage that cut through the aching fog in my mind.
I hadn't asked for anything but a chance to be with him. His “other” life
was his own business. I'd have gone to bed with him anyway, I didn't need
to know the rest, didn't want to know, didn't have any real right to know
after the way I threw myself at him. After he told me he loved me, then it
became my business though. I could forgive everything but that one lie. All
the rest I had asked for, but not that lie. He had no right to do that, to
make me feel I was special, to tell me we had a chance of a future
together! Saying “I love you” was beyond dishonest, it was just ... what? I
never found the word I was searching for because, in spite of the case I
was building against him, that was the one thing I couldn't turn into a
lie. I couldn't help believing that when he said he loved me he really
meant it. It was so hard for him to say it, it had to be true. The way he
had said it, the way he had carried me back to the bed and taken me as he
said it over and over, it had to be true.
That memory cut through me and I doubled up, face buried in the pillows not
wanting John to hear these sobs that bordered on howls of pain. I
remembered that moment of hesitation when Paul was telling me why he held
back so long from saying he loved me. Was he thinking of her? Wondering if
he should tell me about her? Regardless, I just couldn't believe it was a
lie when he said he loved me. No one could lie that well. Could they?
Anger was burned out and all that was left was regret and loss. It was
hours before I fell into an exhausted sleep. In my dreams, I was dancing
again with a man whose face I couldn't see, but this time, there was no
music. Without music, the movements of the dance were meaningless.
I was up early, with eyes puffy and red, and my head splitting. “The day
breaks, your mind aches . .” I sat looking out the window for a while,
stomach in knots, wondering again if I was making a mistake by leaving. I
was willing to overlook the fact that he had been seeing her all along. He
didn't have any obligation to stop seeing her or tell me about her until
that night in Scotland, but the minute he said he loved me it should have
been the end with her. I tried so hard to think of an excuse for him, a
reason for him to be with her last night. The best I could come up with was
that he had promised to be her escort and couldn't back out on her. Hell,
he could have told me that he was taking someone else out that night
because it had been set up weeks ago. I wouldn't have objected much less
questioned that. There was the problem. He hadn't needed to lie but he did.
Had he been playing these games with lovers for so long that lies came
easier than truth? Every instinct I had still told me that Paul hadn't lied
about loving me. Yes, that was the real problem. He loved me but he had
lied to me anyway. Was that the best love he was capable of? If he had
never told me he loved me I would have held out more hope for us. I could
have stayed and given him more time, hoping that when he finally said he
loved me it would be a love I could trust in. But if this was his idea of
love it was crazy to stay.
Oh, but if he promised ... ? No. I was young and naive but I knew that our
future together would be a downward spiral of broken promises. I had to
leave. Just walk away now. There was no point in staying. I wanted a love
that would last, not a life of forgiving only to be hurt again.
I took a shower and some aspirin then went down to the kitchen and sat down
to try to write a note for Cyn. I ended up just thanking her for her
hospitality, her friendship, and wishing her happiness. John would have to
explain the whole mess to her. When I sat down, I did not intend to leave
any message for Paul, but as I finished the note to Cyn, I knew I had to. I
had to say goodbye—for my sake, not for his—because I didn't want to hear
from him again. There was a good chance I would listen to his lies or his
apologies or his promises and be foolish enough to believe. I couldn't even
decide on how to start a letter. Dear Paul. Dearest Paul. My Darling. Or
maybe, You Bastard. After several false starts I wrote:
Dear Paul,
By the time you read this, I will be on a plane on my way back home. I
know now that there was someone else all along. Please don't
call or write. I want my memories of you to be memories of moonlight
and roses and those beautiful days in Scotland. If we talk again, all I
will remember are words that hurt.
I will never forget you. Part of my heart will always be yours. Please
believe that in spite of everything, all I want for you is happiness.
Goodbye,
Tess
When John came downstairs, he noted the letters on the table. “You're
leaving then?”
I nodded. “The next flight out if I can.”
“You need to talk to him first.”
“No.” Tears sprang up at the thought of talking to him again.
“Tess—"
“John, you may be right. Paul may really care about me. I think he does. I
can't believe it was all a lie.” My voice was shaky but John thought I was
over-reacting and I needed to try to explain. “I don't think he meant to
hurt me. He is just ... he is used to a life that is so different. I should
have realized that. The first time he kissed me, his date was waiting in
the house! I don't know—"
“I do. Paul is used to getting his way. It's as simple as that. He wants
you and he wants his other birds on the side. Thinks he can get away with
it just because he wants it. You need to call him on it, tell him he has to
choose.”
“Maybe it is as simple as that,” I sighed. “Or maybe the way you have
lived, the whole Beatle craziness has made it impossible for any of you to
live ordinary lives. Or love the way I think love should be. Whatever it
is, I can't play the game. I'm not as strong as Cyn, or as weak, whichever
it is. I won't spend years trying. I am going to walk away and try to
forget.”
John took that commentary about both him and Paul quietly, thought it over
as he put the water on for tea, then said quietly, “Perhaps you are right.
I'll call about a flight.”
“Thank you.”
John made a couple of phone calls and in no time someone called back saying
it was all arranged. The flight would leave at 1:30, just a couple of hours
away, and a cab would be sent to take me to the airport. As simply as that,
it was all ending. I fixed breakfast for John and he sat down with the
morning paper. Suddenly confusion flooded my mind. The reporters! Paul
would have known he would be seen and photographed at the Royal Theatre! I
wasn't sure what that meant or how that fit into the picture, but I grabbed
the paper from John and raced through it looking for the story.
“What are you doin'?” John asked.
“I need to find the story about the opening last night. Paul couldn't have
thought I wouldn't find out! There were reporters there! Why would he... "
I had found the little article. A photo of Prince Charles. No mention of
Paul. I stared at it for a long time, not sure what I had hoped to see
there.
John was easing the newspaper out of my hand. He tossed it on the table and
pulled me down to sit next to him. He looked at me with undisguised pity.
“How did he know that he wouldn't be plastered all over the front page this
morning?” I asked, bewildered.
John shrugged. “Someone might mention him, but that was a highbrow event.
The photographers will just sell their shots of him to fan mags. It will be
a few weeks before they hit the streets.”
“I would have been in the States by then. He thought that if I ever saw the
pictures I wouldn't have known just when they were taken.” Hope died
another death there at the breakfast table.
John offered to ride with me to the airport but I couldn't face saying a
final goodbye to him in public. The cab arrived and John walked out with
me. While the driver put my luggage in the boot, we said goodbye. I reached
for him, clinging to him, knowing I'd never see him again.
“It's not too late to change your mind,” he said.
“I can't stay.”
“No, I meant about letting me in your knickers.”
I started laughing even though tears were still on my face. “I should have
run off to the south of Spain with you!”
He kissed me gently on the cheek, the way he had the first time I had said
goodbye to him, then tipped my chin up and kissed me just as gently on my
mouth. “Live and learn, little girl,” he said. “Now go. I'll ring you in a
few weeks.”