The meeting the next day was amazingly brief. We assembled this time at Mr.
Entwhistle's office. Mr. Entwhistle had contacted the medical laboratory
his firm used and a lab technician was waiting for Paul. The necessary
blood was drawn with no needle jokes from Paul, just a grim look. Minutes
later the technician was on his way to have the blood tested.
The German lawyer was precisely on time. Brief, businesslike introductions
were made and then Mr. Entwhistle suggested we get down to business. The
German read a statement. Between his accent and the legal “party of the
first part” and “pursuant to” nonsense, I interpreted it as saying that
Paul was the father of a female child born out of wedlock on Feb. 17, 1962,
to a Miss Anna Kaufmann of Hamburg, Germany. She was seeking a sum of
German Deutschmarks to be paid for expenses already incurred on behalf of
the child as well as a yearly amount, half of all “additional, unpredicted”
expenses that might occur, and a lump settlement on the child upon reaching
twenty-one. I had no idea of the value of a Deutschmark, but unless it was
comparable to a peso, we were talking big bucks here. From the tight look
on Paul and Brian's faces, it was no peso.
A copy of the statement was handed to Mr. Entwhistle and another to Paul.
Mr. Entwhistle thanked the other lawyer and said, “Prior to any further
discussion, it would seem logical to request some evidence that the child
in question could be that of my client. Blood tests will be ordered by the
court if necessary, but it would certainly save all concerned a great deal
of time if the lady in question would agree to them immediately. Indeed, we
shall not progress to such discussion without the tests showing us the
possibility of paternity exists.”
“You are quite correct,” the German said briskly. “There is little point in
any of us wasting our time until that is done. I have so advised my client
and have the results of the blood tests on her and the child available for
comparison when Mr. McCartney's are completed.”
Paul blanched and my heart sank. Mr. Entwhistle had said that this would
indicate she was very sure.
Arrangements were made for the German lawyer to deliver the information to
the lab that was doing Paul's test and the meeting was over. Mr. Entwhistle
escorted the German out of the office.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Paul was out of his chair almost
knocking it over. I grabbed it as he went to stand looking out the window.
Brian's eyes met mine and he sighed and left the room, giving me a little
squeeze on the shoulder as he passed me. I gave Paul a few minutes to cool
off while I looked over the seven-page document the German lawyer had given
him. When I got up and walked over to him, he looked down at me and pulled
me in front of him. I leaned back against him, and his arms enfolded me. We
stood there, looking out over the hazy London skyline.
“I don't want this to be my child,” he said miserably.
I tried to think of something to say to comfort him. Reassurance that it
probably wasn't his seemed a little hard to come by after this meeting. He
held me tighter. “I want you to have my baby,” he said softly in my ear.
His hand slipped down just below my waist, holding me as though I were
already carrying his child. “I just want you and me and a houseful of
little brats.”
That thought brought a little home movie to my mind: Paul and I at the
kitchen table, surrounded by dark-haired, big-eyed children; a baby in a
high chair mastering the art of picking up peas from the tray, a toddler on
a booster seat happily feeding her dinner to Martha, a preschooler
squirming restlessly in his chair, resisting eating his vegetables. I
couldn't hold back a smile.
“You like that idea?” Paul asked.
“Yes. Very much.”
“So do I,” he said and the seriousness in his tone brought me back to the
moment. The thought crossed my mind that he was about to ask me to marry
him. His breath was warm on my neck, his lips just brushing me in a ghost
of a kiss. I turned to him to look at him, waiting for him to go on but his
look was merely thoughtful, even a little distracted.
He kissed me and said, “Let's get a bite to eat and go home.”
That afternoon, I was in the kitchen doing laundry and ironing in
preparation for the trip to Liverpool the next day when the intercom
buzzed. I finished the blouse I was working on, then went out to the living
room. As I walked through the dining room, I heard John's voice.
I was aware that Paul was having trouble dealing with the fact that John
and I had been together, and, more to the point, with us remaining friends.
I had spent a lot of time considering how I should respond when I saw him
again. Should I try to act as though nothing had ever happened between us?
Could I? If he kissed me, how would I feel? Could I forget that I had made
love to him? Forget how I felt about him? Worse, would I want him to kiss
me? Would I want more? I couldn't imagine it now or in the near future, but
if John was close by, available, willing, would there come a day when I
would be tempted? Maybe I should simply make it clear he was required to
keep his distance. Sidestep a hug, turn my cheek to a kiss, and avoid him
in the future. He and Paul had to work together, but there was no reason I
had to see him. He would understand why. Maybe. But I wanted to see him,
keep him as a friend. Well, the moment was here and I still had no plan
all.
Paul looked at me as I came in and I could see him brace himself, put on
the meet the press smile, and cover up whatever he felt. John turned around
and smiled at me and he looked so damn good. He was wearing a rose colored
silk shirt with a wild psychedelic scarf around his neck and a black
brocade jacket. His hair was still fairly short, and he was still wearing
the wire rim glasses, but he had added an old fashioned mustache that
framed the sides of his mouth. It transformed the almost boyish look of the
shorter, tousled hair into a fascinating look. A magician? A face from an
old tintype photo? A Cossack warrior? I couldn't place the look but I loved
it.
“Hello, Luv,” he said as I approached them.
“Hi, John,” I answered and knew right then I was going to have to hug him,
wanted to, needed to. This had nothing to do with sex but everything to do
with caring about him. I stepped up to him, his arms went around me and we
hugged, warm, familiar arms in a warm hug that felt so good and I let
myself give in to it. Big mistake. As his body pressed lightly against mine
I flashed back to images of us in bed together. Whoa! Sensory memories!
Looking over his shoulder I saw Paul watching me, watching what had to be
showing on my face. He turned away, pointedly not wanting to see it. John
kissed my cheek and I stiffly brushed his cheek with my lips.
“You damned well better be happy, girl,” he said softly as he held me.
Was that regret in his voice or just concern? I couldn't think about that
now. All I could think was that he was holding me too close and too long
and it felt too good and safe and familiar and Paul was right there.
Leaning back to look in his eyes was a good excuse for breaking away from
him. “I am. Thank you, John.”
He shrugged. “It was inevitable. He would have sussed things out
eventually.” He explained that he was here because he knew seeing him again
was going to be awkward for me. “Rather not have a scene in front of
everyone if you decide that I am truly the man of your dreams after all,”
he teased.
“You aren't,” I reassured him with a smile, “and I wouldn't make a scene
anyway.”
“It wasn't you I was worried about,” he laughed with a meaningful look at
Paul. Paul did not smile.
We all sat down and made awkward small talk. Paul was quiet, and John and I
gradually began to talk about what Brenda and Sandy were doing. It seemed a
safe topic but then John asked if Sandy was still seeing Chuck, and we got
to laughing about Chuck's surfer imitation. John said something about
surfing in California and I said something about wishing I could have seen
him in action while I was in California. He looked at me, raised an eyebrow
and smiled a wicked grin. I blushed and Paul got up abruptly and started to
pace the floor, one of the few outward signs of agitation he ever gave.
“John, can I get you something to drink?” I asked.
“I'll have a coke,” he said and I escaped to the kitchen.
When I got back, Paul was sitting down again and they were talking about
the contract they were about to sign with EMI. John touched my hand as I
handed him the glass and I nearly dropped it, afraid to touch him. I
retreated to sit on the sofa next to Paul. Things were better between the
two of them, but now I was tense, afraid to say much of anything. Finally,
John got up to leave. At the door, he slipped an arm around me in a
friendly hug. “See you this evening,” he said and leaned down to kiss me
goodbye. I saw it coming and made sure it landed safely on my cheek. He
stopped and looked at me and I couldn't look him in the eyes. I figured he
was amused and I didn't want to see the look on his face, and if he was
hurt, I certainly didn't want to see that.
“Paul, might I have a few minutes alone with Tess?” John asked.
Oh great! Paul was going to love this. I looked at him, but he and John
were staring at each other.
“Not bloody likely!” Paul replied.
“Come 'ead, mate,” John teased in a wheedling tone. “For old times sake.”
Paul glared at him.
“One for the road?” John pleaded, looking highly amused.
“Goodbye John,” Paul growled.
“For Auld Lang Syne?” John asked, bursting into enthusiastic song. “For
auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne.”
Paul looked exasperated.
“I'll take a cup o' kindness yet, for auullld laaang syne,” John went on
with the accent getting thicker, r's more rolled. I wasn't sure what he
sang next. It sounded like “An fer an all the mucky brigh and wi' a pot
o'tea.”
I couldn't
help the grin on my face and Paul was starting to smile. I remembered him
saying once that no matter how bad things got, John could always make him
laugh.
“Oh an ay she's a bonnie lass wi' na a brickle a lang aside thee,” John
continued. “I'll tek a cunt out o' kindly lad and niver do ye mind!”
I gasped in shock but Paul burst out laughing and punched John on the arm.
“I'll niver be leavin' ya wi' her for aow that!” he responded with the same
accent.
John laughed and said, “No, not for that,” in plain English, “but just give
us a minute, mate.”
Paul looked at him uncertainly, then at me and gave in. “Very well,” he
said with reluctance and headed upstairs. I stared after him with my mouth
hanging open.
“Wow!” I said when Paul disappeared.
John was laughing. “I expected to be thrown out on my ass.”
“You deserve to be! How could you ask him to leave us alone together? This
is hard enough for him.”
“Because I wanted to do this.” He pulled me to him and kissed me on the
mouth. This was a hard, searching, demanding kiss that had nothing to do
with caring and everything to do with sex. I was startled, and
automatically put my hands on his shoulders to push him away, but he had a
good hold on me. I twisted my face away and he went on kissing my cheek, my
neck, my ear. Worse, his hand slid down my back to that flat little V at
the base of my spine where he knew I liked to be touched. The kiss confused
me but the intimacy of this move, the blatant reminder that he knew me in
that way was staggering and I gasped. He took full advantage of it, tipping
my head back and sliding his tongue into my mouth. There is nothing more
repulsive than an uninvited, unwanted French kiss. I struggled, furious
with him and not caring if this turned into a brawl that would bring Paul
back downstairs.
He let me go, holding my wrists only to keep me from hitting him.
“Dammit, John.” I spluttered. “Why did you do that?”
“You didn't like it?” he asked.
“Like it! You about got a knee in the balls, you ... you…jerk!”
“Well, there you have it then!” He was laughing at me!
“What?”
“Now you know how you would react if I ever gave you a pull.”
“How did you expect me to react?” I asked, not finding anything funny about
this and struggling to keep my voice down to a furious whisper. “Just
leave! I don't need you making this more complicated. I am having enough
trouble with Paul over you. Every time your name comes up, he looks at me
as if—”
”Paul is doing fine,” John interrupted. “He just needs a little time to see
it is OK, but he won't see that as long as you aren't sure that it is.”
“What? I ... I... "
“You weren't sure,” he said more softly. “You were jumping out of your skin
every time I touched you whether he was watching or not. Now you know. You
don't want me. As good as it was when we were together, it wasn't what you
wanted then and it isn't now. You weren't even tempted when I kissed you.
Not even—” He grinned, “Not even just for fun. So it will be a lot easier
for you to deal with Paul now.”
I shook my head in bewilderment. “That's why you did that? So that I would
stop worrying about what might happen between us?”
He shrugged. “For the most part. So Paul would back off too.” With a laugh
that wasn't quite convincing enough to hide the truth, he added a little
sardonically, “Maybe so I could be sure!” Then, in an abrupt change of
mood, he went into his leering, pervert routine. “But mayn't I have a feel,
then? Just a little tickle, please Ma'am?”
I started to laugh and this time I went into his arms willingly and hugged
him tightly. “You are impossible,” I sighed and leaned against him, head on
his shoulder. “Don't ever do that again.”
“No promises,” he laughed. “Stay away from me when I am drunk.”
“Don't get drunk.”
“I don't. I get high, I trip out, but I don't get drunk.”
I opened my mouth to deliver lecture number twenty-seven on being careful
with drugs.
“Don't start in on me, woman,” he warned. “I don't need the advice of some
Middle American farmer's daughter, bourgeoisie goody-two-shoes!” John and I
were back to normal.
I grinned at him, hugged him one more time and pulled away. “I'd better go.
Paul is probably pacing the floor up there. See you tonight.”
“Do I kiss you?”
“If you can restrain yourself to a nice brotherly kiss, yes.”
He gave me an example of such a kiss and reached for the doorknob. He
hesitated then turned back to me. “You know, I never thought a guy could
just be friends with a bird. It's always about sex and it always ends up in
bed and then when it is over... ”
“They're not friends anymore?”
“Yeah. Maybe I was wrong.” John didn't admit to being wrong any easier than
he apologized, and having said it, he was out the door.
Paul was upstairs in the music room at the piano. He watched me walk into
the room, eyes searching my face for a clue to what had gone on downstairs.
He apparently couldn't read my face—thank goodness—and went back to playing
the same bit of a melody. I sat down next to him on the piano bench with my
back to the keyboard so I could see his face better.
“Thanks,” I said.
He made a little sound signifying acceptance of the thank you. “May I ask
what he wanted?”
“He was worried about how we were doing. He sensed it upset you that he
came over here. He doesn't want to cause trouble.”
“Bollocks. John loves to piss people off.”
True enough, but not in this situation. “He wants us to be happy,” I said,
equal parts argument and pleading.
His answer was all irritation. “If that is so, then he should keep the hell
away from you!”
Paul was being unreasonable and I was getting angry. “Look, we are going to
have to see each other from time to time. Even if you two hadn't been
friends for so long, you couldn't just cut him out of your personal life
and expect to go on working together. Anyway, he is my friend too and I
don't plan on changing that.”
Paul stopped playing the piano and looked at me. “Not even if I ask you
to?”
At least he hadn't said, “tell you to.” That was something. I sighed. “I
just want you to give it some time. You'll see that you don't have anything
to worry about. It will be the way it was before—” I stopped abruptly. I
didn't want to say “before I slept with him.”
But Paul had no reservations about saying it. “Before you let him fuck—”
“Stop it!”
He stopped, even looked contrite for having pushed it so far. Heavy silence
filled the room and I got up and walked away from him. I couldn't sit that
close to him and not touch him, not try to end this by making him hold me.
I was too angry for that. He started tapping out the melody again and I sat
on the arm of the sofa, waiting, wondering what to do. I wasn't going to
let this go without him recognizing that he was being unreasonable. It
wasn't often I felt sure enough of my stand to argue with anybody, but John
had just shown me that I was right. John was no threat to Paul, never
really had been from the first time Paul kissed me.
Finally, he stopped playing and without turning to look at me said quietly,
“I just don't know how you can expect me to sit back and watch the two of
you talking and laughing, see him touch you and even kiss you and not think
about the fact that you made love to him.”
I got up and walked around the piano so I could face him. “Think for a
minute how I was feeling then. I never expected to see you again. I felt no
interest in anyone else I met. I needed some comfort. I wanted some
assurance that I wasn't going to feel so dead, so empty for the rest of my
life. I wanted to feel something again. Even though I knew I didn't have
any future with John, I trusted him as someone who sincerely cared for me.”
“So you went to bed with him.”
I sighed. Paul was focused on the sex, not on the reasons. “Paul, I told
you. It just wasn't the same. It was not making love the way it is with
you. It was... " I had to swallow hard to finish. What I was about to say
was a horrible oversimplification, but it was the only way I could describe
my time with John in a way that would show Paul the difference from being
with him. “ ... just sex.”
Sacrificing those sweet memories of John and belittling my feelings for him
was all for nothing. It didn't work. Paul was not reassured nor ready to
back off.
“Yeah? It wasn't exactly a one night stand now, was it?”
I had no answer for that, and he went on. “Maybe you weren't head over
heels in love with him, but it sure as hell was a lot more than ‘just
sex'!”
Yes, it was, and that made me angry. I had been honest with Paul all along
about my feelings for John and that hadn't been enough. Now he had pushed
me into downplaying, denying, somehow betraying what John and I had been to
each other and it still wasn't enough. I dug in my heels.
“I wouldn't know about that!” I said with equal heat, “I don't have
anything to compare it to except making love to you. I haven't fucked my
way around the world like you have!”
His eyes widened with surprise but I wasn't too sure what surprised him
most, my anger, my sarcastic comment on his behavior, or simply the fact
that I had said “fuck.” Spending time with John had shown me many creative
ways to use the word, but other than as an inaudible hiss under my breath
when sorely tried, I had rarely used the term before. It was precisely the
word I needed to convey my feelings right now though and it felt good to
say it.
Perfect or not, shocking or not, it didn't keep Paul from responding.
“Those girls didn't mean anything to me. It was nothing like you and John!”
“Maybe not, but I think a thousand one night stands in hotel rooms and
quickies in the back of a limo and blow jobs in back hallways more than
balances out the few days I spent with someone I cared about!”
He ignored the mathematical logic. “That's the whole point! You cared about
him!”
“Yes, I did, but I was never engaged to him!”
“Leave Jane out of this! That was before I ever met you!”
“And John was after
I thought it was over between us!”
Paul glared at me and I glared back. He looked away first and I thought for
a minute that I had gotten the last word. It was a short minute, however.
He stared at the piano in front of him for a count of five, then slammed
his hands down on the keyboard in a crash of angry sound that out-yelled
anything he had said so far. I jumped.
He got up and began to pace the room, running his fingers through his hair
in a gesture that said he was more frustrated than angry. He stood for a
moment with his back to me, then turned to speak to me. He wasn't yelling
now, but the tone of his voice said he wasn't through arguing and wouldn't
be until I saw things his way.
“He is still around. You don't see Jane or any of those other girls popping
in for visits!”
He was so damned tenacious when he thought he was right but he wasn't right
about this. Maybe he didn't keep old lovers as friends, but they were still
around.
“No, they don't pop in,” I said hotly. “They send their lawyers!”
That got to him. He looked like I had just hit him below the belt and I
guess I had. I knew how awful he felt about the whole paternity case and
throwing that at him was pretty low, but damn it, it was true.
“I'm sorry,” I said, bringing the volume down. I was more quietly spoken,
but still not as apologetic sounding as the words implied. “It just isn't
fair that you have this ... this history, yet you make an issue of the only
other person I have ever had. Will ever have. What either of us has done in
the past shouldn't count. It's a matter of trust, Paul. I am telling you
there is nothing but friendship between John and me now. If you can't deal
with that... "
I ran out of words and out of steam. Anger was all gone. What was I going
to do if he couldn't deal with it anyway? I knew perfectly well that I
would give in and stay away from John completely if that is what it took.
With the anger gone, tears were threatening to take over and if I cried
now, I might as well admit defeat. I turned and walked out of the room.
I headed for the bathroom, anticipating the need for a private place to
cry, but as I sat on the edge of the tub platform, I realized that the
argument we just had was probably inevitable. Now we had gotten it out in
the open and we could go on, negotiate if necessary, set rules if we had
to, but we would get it out of the way so we could move on. I felt a little
shaky, but I felt OK. Safe. I was right, but if he couldn't handle it then
John would go. Either way, we would be all right. No need for tears. If
Paul didn't come looking for me in a few minutes, I would take the first
step and go to him, but not right away. That wasn't the message I wanted to
give.
I got up and went back out to the bedroom and busied myself deciding on
what to wear to Ringo's that evening. I took one dress out of the closet,
then had second thoughts about wearing it. I pulled out another dress and
laid them both on the bed, debating. Well, whichever I wore I needed my
other shoes. I went to get them out of the closet and couldn't find them. I
had one of those panicky “Oh crap, didn't I pack those?” moments and then
saw the toe of one at the back of the closet behind my suitcase. I was
pulling the suitcase out to get to the shoe when Paul came into the room.
“Tess, I—” He stopped abruptly.
I had my hand on the shoe and pulled it out. I straightened up and turned
around to see Paul staring not at me, but at the suitcase half out of the
closet. He turned his head to look at the clothes on the bed and back to
look at me. The look on his face was not anger, surprise, or dismay. It
went way beyond that. The only time I had seen anything like it was the day
I had been at the bedside when the doctor told a forty-three-year-old man
that nothing they had tried was working. They couldn't save his leg. They
would have to amputate. That was the look I was seeing now. Disbelief,
pain, loss of something you couldn't imagine living without.
I dropped the shoe and went to him, catching him in my arms and holding him
tight. “I wasn't packing up to go,” I said, “just deciding what to wear
tonight.” I could feel him go limp with relief.
“Oh God, Tess,” he said in a voice that barely worked.
“Paul, I wouldn't do that. I left you once and it was the worst mistake I
ever made. I wouldn't leave like that.”
He didn't say anything. He just held on so tight I couldn't breathe. When
he let go enough to kiss me, I could feel him trembling. By the time the
kiss ended, silent tears were sliding down my face.
“Ahh, sweetheart, I am so sorry! ” he said when he saw the tears. “I do
trust you. I never really thought for a moment that you would... " He
didn't even want to put the idea of my being unfaithful to him into words.
He just drew a shuddering breath and said, “Not with John. Not with
anybody. Hell, when it comes down to it, I trust John. I just got crazy and
I am sorry.”
That was nice to hear but had nothing to do with the tears. I shook my
head. “No, that's not it.”
“Then what's wrong?” he asked.
“I never knew how much you loved me,” I whispered.
He looked bewildered.
“The look on your face when you thought I was leaving, the way it hit you.
I never knew a man could love like that. I thought for men it was more sex
and wanting to claim someone. Make them his. Not the way a woman loves.
Needing someone. Not being able to imagine going on without them. Needing
someone because they are part of you.” It was a poor explanation but it was
the best I could do.
“I need you. I've tried to tell you!"
“I know, I know. I just never quite understood.”
I kissed him and led him over to the bed and made love to him. It was all
for him this time. Every touch, every move was intended solely for his
pleasure, to turn him on, take him to the top, to the edge and hold him
there.
When it was over and he was lying there, too spent to move, still
shuddering from after-shocks, I held him and kissed him so gently. He
groaned. “What the hell was that?” he asked in a voice both ragged with
exhaustion and mellow with satisfaction.
“This time I made love to you,” I said.
“Oh, God. Don't ever do that again. For another day or two at least. I'll
die and you'll have to explain it to the bobby.”
I rolled off of him and pulled the blankets up over us and watched him fall
asleep. While he slept, I lay next to him feeling loved as I had never felt
before. I drifted off to sleep and awoke to his gentle touch and soft
whisper. “Your turn.”
I let him do it, let him make love to me without trying to take him with
me. Like him, I lay in his arms exhausted afterward. I could barely say the
words. “I love you.”
“I love you, Tess. I never loved anyone the way I do you.”
I never realized how much I needed to hear those words until he said them.
Those words moved me from being the second woman he had loved to being the
only one he truly loved.
“I don't know how other men love,” he said. “Maybe you are right, that it
is mostly sex and possession. With Jane, it was kind of that way. She was
one more thing I had accomplished. Something to show off, a way to show I
had it all. I loved her and I wanted to marry her so we could have a
family, but she was ... outside of me. Not part of me. Not like you. You
are my life. I have never needed anyone the way I need you. These last few
months the only time I felt like myself was when I was working, in the
studio, with the music. Everywhere else ... I just couldn't get started
without you. It's like my whole life has been on hold waiting to see you
again, to have you here with me. You fill the empty places in my life and
have it make sense, have it ready to go somewhere besides to the top of the
charts and on tour and all that. You're the other half of my life.”
The words of some song came into my mind. “I was half, now I'm whole.”
“Yes. Like that,” he said and then we just held each other until the
darkening room reminded us that we had other plans for the evening.
I was nervous about going to Ringo's but having had a chance to connect
with John ahead of time helped. Going through a big crowd of hostile gate
birds didn't. There were catcalls as I got into the car. The “Yankee go
home” sign had been replaced with one that said, “Get out of Vietnam AND
LONDON.” As we rolled through the gate, a teary-eyed girl tapped on Paul's
window and sobbed, “Don't do this Paul, please. She isn't right for you!”
He ignored her and kept on going. Once out on the street, he reached over
and squeezed my hand. “They will get over it, sweetheart.”
“I guess so,” I said.
Everyone was already at Ringo's when we arrived. I got lots of hugs, and an
exaggeratedly careful brotherly kiss and an amused grin from John that got
a genuine laugh from Paul. His worries about John and I seemed to have
burned out in the afternoon's fight.
Cyn was at John's side and I braced myself to face her, wondering if she
suspected. She gave me a big hug and a happy smile. “Tess, I am so happy
things worked out for you two!”
“And I am glad they are working out for you two,” I said, pretending I had
no doubts about how long this reconciliation would last.
“Loving these guys is never easy,” she laughed, “but what's a girl to do?
They are irresistible!”
I cringed a little at that and struggled to keep a happy smile on my face
as I replayed her words in my head. Was that remark intended to tell me she
knew? If she did, there was not a bit of cattiness in the way she said it.
Pattie and Maureen both had to comment on the irresistibility of their
husbands. “Not all the time!” they both said.
Brian and Neil were both there. Neil had a big hug for me and pointed out
that this was but another example of the terrible working conditions he had
to endure, forced to stand by and watch as his boss took the girl of his
dreams away from him. We all laughed and then there was an awkward silence.
Pattie took care of it.
“Here now,” she said. “We're all feeling a bit the fool. That's why we
wanted to all get together. None of us wanted to face you alone. We are all
so sorry for giving even a moment's consideration to thinking that you had
run off with John. It was so obvious that you were in love with Paul, I
can't think why we ever got turned around into believing you would give
John the time of day!”
“Wait just a bloody minute!” John interjected. “Is it so far fetched to
think she might have been a bit taken with me? I am not the cute one, but I
do have my moments!”
“I've heard that you do,” Maureen responded with a twinkle in her eye, “but
most birds like it to last more than a count of three!”
Everyone burst out laughing and John patted Maureen's pregnant belly. “And
some birds won't leave it alone until they've gone and gotten preggers.”
“And some not even then,” Ringo said hugging his blushing wife while
everyone laughed.
There was a bit of a reunion atmosphere that evening. Maureen pointed out
that “The guys have been together working on the album for months now but
we haven't gotten everyone together since before you left, Tess. Remember?
It was right before you and Paul left for Scotland. It seems after that
everyone just went their separate ways.”
“That's true,” Pattie said. “We went to India and you went to Greece and
when we got back John was off to the States and Paul was ... well, Paul
was... " She couldn't seem to come up with where Paul was.
“Drunk,” Ringo offered.
“High,” George amended.
“Trippin',” John said. “Finally!”
They all laughed and Paul said “I was around. Busy working on the movie
score.”
“Oh, that you were. Eventually,” said Ringo, “but mostly you were trying to
forget Tess. You should have seen ‘im, Luv,” he said to me. “He was a mess,
pining away for you!”
“Here now,” Paul chided. “She doesn't want to hear all the sordid details!”
“Of course she does!” Pattie laughed. “Every woman wants a man to destroy
himself over losing her!”
Laughing with us, Paul said “Well, I've told Tess all the detail she needs
to hear. Now could we please change the subject before Neil starts telling
tales of drunken debauchery and other things that didn't happen?”
“Oh, they happened, all right,” Neil chuckled. “You just don't remember
doin' them!”
It was a great evening. For all my worries about adapting to life in
England, feeling like an outsider with the other Beatles and their wives
was not one of them. Being with them was the one place I felt at home.