Thursday, October 4, 2012

Chapter 8

I looked out the door and saw a group of people standing down the street talking intimately to each other. They didn’t seem to have noticed John. In fact, they weren’t even looking in my direction. I wasn’t sure if John had imagined it or if he had just used that as an excuse for me to let him into my apartment. I wondered how he had gotten to my place. There was not a car parked alongside the curb waiting for him like there usually was when he came over. I closed my front door and turned toward him. He looked amazing. He was wearing blue jeans, a navy blue dress shirt, and a light blue jacket. I caught myself staring and quickly looked away.

“How did you get here?” I asked.

“Nevermind,” he said with a mischievous grin. “And just where have you been, then? I been trying to call you for ages. Had me all worried, you know.”

“Oh, I’ve been busy with school,” I hesitated.

“Hmm, I see that. Look at this place. It’s bloody filthy!” he said in a mock disgusted tone.

“Well, what do you expect?” I asked a bit embarrassed, moving around to pick up some trash and throw it in the garbage.

“Now, now, I’m only jokin’,” he giggled.

“I know that. I just haven’t had any time to clean up around here. I’ve been so busy studying,” I said. “You’re up awfully early, aren’t you?”

“Up? I haven’t even been to bed, love,” he smiled. “Mind if I have a lie in, here?”

“Well, I’m going to have a bit of a ‘lie in’ myself, so… I guess not,” I said heading for my bedroom.

John followed closely behind me, almost stepping on my heels as we walked. I could feel him breathing down my neck. And I turned to face him.

“You, Mr. Lennon, can have your lie in on my sofa, thank you,” I giggled, poking him in the chest.

“Spoil sport,” he said. “Why don’t you just invite me to sleep in the bath?”

“Wherever you’re more comfortable,” I said while closing my bedroom door.

I crawled into my bed and tried to go back to sleep but my mind was racing. When had the boys gotten back from Bel Air? Where had John been all night? How did he get to my apartment? Someone had obviously dropped him off, but whom? And why had he come to my place instead of going home? For someone who had been trying hard to avoid him, I was aching to go back out there and see him, or even worse, to invite him into my bed. But I couldn’t do that to him... or to me.

I lay there for quite a while unable to sleep knowing he was in the next room. I was sexually frustrated. John had been the last person I had slept with and that had been about two months ago already. And my only prospect for any action in the foreseeable future was Edward. I was sure he would be more than willing to help me find some relief from the tension that was building in my body but, while Edward was good-looking, he was simply too nice and I just wasn’t attracted to him in that way. Thinking about John lying in the next room was driving me wild and I began to think about our night together in the back of his Rolls Royce. His passionate kisses. His hot breath on my skin. His touch. I began running my hands over my breasts pretending they were his. He had felt so good that night. We had both been like animals desperate for each other. I found my hand traveling, as if it had a mind of its own, down to my panties as I remembered how his hands had felt on my body. How he had known just what to do. Just how to touch me, as if we had been lovers for years. I slipped my fingers beneath my silk panties and began to stroke myself as I imagined how hard he had been that night and how good he felt inside me. Hot and throbbing. Aching for me as much as I was for him. I began to rub myself faster as I felt myself close to climax when there was a soft knock on my bedroom door.

Startled, I pulled my hand out from beneath my panties and the blankets up to cover me, all in one movement.

All I could manage to get out was a shaky, “Yes, John?”

He opened the door a crack and stuck his head in.

“Sorry. Did I wake you?” he asked.

“No… I, um… no,” I said trying to conceal my heavy breathing and my face turned hot with embarrassment.

He entered my bedroom and gave me a bit of a funny look. I was afraid he might have suspected what I had been doing. Surely he was quite familiar with the way a woman looked when she was all hot and bothered, but he didn’t say anything. He was now minus his shoes and jacket, the first few buttons on his navy-blue dress shirt were unbuttoned and I could see his light-toned chest a bit. His shirt was un-tucked and his hair a bit mussed from having been lying down. He looked mouth-watering.

“I can’t sleep,” he said. “Mind if I lie in here with you? I’ll keep my jeans on and I promise I won’t try anything funny,” he said in a deep, comical voice.

The only problem was that I wanted him to. I wanted so badly for him to try something. And if he did, I didn’t think I would be strong enough to fight it. And though given the state I was in it didn’t seem a very bright idea, I couldn’t let the opportunity to lie in bed with John Lennon pass me by.

“Sure,” I said.

He looked slightly shocked, but jumped at the opportunity and quickly crawled into bed with me. I suddenly became very aware I was in only my nightgown, a slinky thing because I hated feeling constricted when I slept. I really would have preferred to sleep in the nude, but that was just not possible at the end of September in a drafty apartment in London, England. I would probably have frozen to death.

John gave a funny laugh like a perverted Frenchman when he climbed under the blankets and saw what I had on.

“Shut up,” I said giving him a playful shove on the shoulder. “No messing around, Lennon, I’m trying to sleep,” I lied.

“Don’t you worry, love. I’ll be like an angelic choir boy,” he said batting his eyelashes comically. “I’ll just lie here and watch you sleep,” he added sweetly.

I smiled at him and closed my eyes. And surprisingly, even though the man I had previously just been fantasizing about was now lying right beside me, I drifted right off to sleep. There was something comforting and relaxing about being with him. When I awoke, I was in John’s arms and he was snoring serenely in my ear. I had my back to him and could feel his penis through his jeans pressing against my ass. It was hard. I wanted to rub against it. I wanted to wake him up and make him use it, but instead I tore myself away from him. I got up and slipped into my robe and went to the bathroom to wash my face. Then I made my way to the kitchen and made enough eggs and toast for myself and John, in case he was hungry when he woke up. After I had eaten, John was still asleep, but I quietly slipped into my room to find something to wear. I grabbed a pair of jeans and a sweater and made for the bathroom to shower and change. John was still sleeping when I came out of the bathroom. I sat down at my dining table and decided to study. Beginning Monday I was going to have a test almost every day of the week, so getting some study-time in would be very beneficial. I had been studying for about an hour when John finally wandered out of my bedroom.

“When did I fall asleep?” he asked sleepily, his hair sticking up in all directions.

I laughed and told him there was food on the stove if he was hungry.

“Aw, made me some breakfast, did you?”

“More like a late lunch at this point. I thought you were never going to wake up,” I said.

“Bet you would’ve liked that wouldn’t you? ‘Cause then you could do all sorts of disgusting things to me while I lie unconscious in your bed. Well, you put those thoughts right out of your head, miss. You’d never get away with it anyway. Be all over the papers, it would.”

I giggled. It was somewhat strange to me how easily the two of us could go back to normal after something awkward had happened between us but we had, so far, always seemed to manage it. Pick up right where we left off as if nothing had happened at all. Neither of us mentioned the fight we had had the last time we were together and that was fine with me. It had been a bit stupid anyway.

“What’s that you’re doing?” he asked helping himself to some eggs and toast.

“Studying. I told you I’ve been busy with school,” I said.

“School,” he grunted and sat down to eat his breakfast.

I had so many questions to ask him, but I held them in. The thing with John was that he was very open and honest when he wanted to be. And when he didn’t want to be, he wasn’t. It was as simple as that. He would tell me where he’d been all night and what he had been up to when he was ready. Or not. And me asking him wasn’t going to make any difference. It didn’t matter much anyway. It was relaxing just having him there eating quietly as I studied. When he was done eating, he picked up one of the books I had been assigned to read in my literature class and made his way over to my sofa. He plopped down and began reading. And that is how we spent the rest of the day. We didn’t talk very much. I studied and he read. He seemed very interested in the book. Almost consumed by it. I knew he had never cared much for school, so I was mesmerized how deep in concentration he was reading one of my school books. Later in the evening Neil phoned looking for him.

“Yes, Neil, he’s here, but how did you…?” I drifted off.

Maybe it was Neil who had dropped John at my place? How else did he know John was there?

“Maggie, may I speak to him, please?” Neil asked.

“Oh, yes. Of course,” I said to Neil.

“John, Neil’s on the phone and would like to speak to you,” I said.

John got up from my sofa and went to answer the phone.

“Hullo, whacker,” he said. “Well, I know that, son, but I’m… Yeah, yeah. All right. See you then,” he said hanging up the phone.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“Oh, he’s coming to pick me up to take me somewhere or other. I don’t know, really. Wasn’t paying much attention,” he grinned.

“How did he know you were here?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Suppose he just made a guess,” John replied walking back over to my sofa to continue reading.

“John, how did you get here?” I asked.

I couldn’t help it. I waited for him to offer the information for as long as I could and I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to know.

“I was over some bird’s near here and asked her to drop me off.”

“Oh,” I said.

That was not really what I had wanted to hear. I decided not to ask any follow-up questions as I was sure he’d tell me things I didn’t particularly want to know. And before too long Neil was at my door to pick John up and take him wherever it was he was taking him. I decided not to ask about that either. And they left.

The next day I went to school and took my first test of the week. Since I had studied more than I usually did for tests, I knew almost every answer and was sure I had aced it. So, when I saw Edward later in the day, I was in a very good mood. He asked if he could call me that night and I told him since I didn’t have to work that it would be all right.

But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered why I didn’t have to work. I hadn’t had to work much at all lately. In fact, they hadn’t scheduled me to come in, in quite a while. So, when I got home after school, I phoned the store where I worked and asked why I hadn’t been scheduled to come in. My boss wasn’t in, so I spoke to the assistant manager, who told me they were cutting back on everyone’s time. This was upsetting because I couldn’t really afford to have my time cut back that much. I had bills to pay. I asked him when the next time I was scheduled to work would be and he told me it wasn’t until the end of next week. And even then, they would only need me for a few hours. I was not happy at all about it, but I told him I would have to find another job where I could work more often. And he said he understood. When I hung up the phone I was in a discouraged state. Where the hell was I going to work now? There was a knock on my door and I distractedly answered it.

“Hullo!” John smiled brightly, then turned and waved for his driver to leave.

“Oh,” I said, a bit surprised to see him.

“Some bloody welcoming that was,” he said.

“I’m sorry, John. I’ve just gotten some bad news and had to quit my job. So I’m a little preoccupied.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, love. There anything I can do?”

“Well, I don’t really see anything, but thank you for the offer,” I said, kissing him sweetly on the cheek.

“Hey, where can I get some more of that?” he asked playfully pulling me close to him.

“John,” I giggled and wiggled free.

“I’ve come to read the rest of your book,” he said, making his way to my sofa.

I pointed to the shelf behind my sofa where he could find the book and sat down at my dining table. He opened the book and plopped down on the sofa. I opened my book bag and began to pull out study materials for my next test. John was so cute, stretched out on my sofa with his nose in my book. He was wearing tan pants, a white turtleneck, and a polka dotted motorcycle cap. He grabbed the bill of the cap and yanked it off his head and tossed it far across the room at me.

“Study!” he giggled.

I was embarrassed that he had noticed that I was looking at him. I didn’t mean to stare, but he was so beautiful. He had muscular thighs, a broad chest and shoulders unlike the other three skinnier Beatles, a strong nose that complimented his face perfectly, and reddish-brown hair. He was damn-near perfect. I buried myself in my studies, consciously forcing myself not to look at him again for fear that he might see me. After a while the telephone rang and I hurried to answer it.

“Hello, Maggie?”

It was Edward!

“Yes, speaking,” I said.

“Yes, this is Edward. How are you?”

“I’m just fine, thank you. Studying at the moment.”

“Oh dear. I am putting my studying off for later. Have I phoned at a bad time? Should I ring you later?”

“Well, I have a test tomorrow is all…” I hesitated. “So, maybe that would be best.”

I would’ve spoken to him, test or no test, had John not been there.

“Oh that’s fine. I understand completely. I’m so tired of all these tests. Anyway, it was nice to hear your voice, even if only for a short time. I’ll see you in class tomorrow then?” Edward asked.

He was so sweet. I felt awful for brushing him off like that, but I could barely concentrate on my homework, let alone talk to Edward, while John was there!

“Yes. See you tomorrow. Goodbye,” I said hanging up the phone.

I turned away from the phone and made my way back to the table, trying not to look at John.

“Who was that then?” John asked.

“Oh, just a friend from school,” I answered, still not looking up.

“I thought Christine was your only friend!” he teased.

“Well, you thought wrong,” I finally looked at him and made a face.

He giggled and went on reading.

John stayed late into the night reading as I studied. We had both taken a break for a bit of dinner, but after we ate, I went right back to studying, and he went back to reading. He just about had it finished when he left that night after midnight. The next day went largely the same way. John came over a little after I had gotten home from school, finished up the book he had been reading, and then started another. He was like a man obsessed. He wanted to read anything he could get his hands on, and he did. He came over every night that week and stayed past midnight every night. At school I kept having to make up reasons as to why Edward couldn’t call me, not necessarily because I didn’t want him to. I just didn’t want him to while John was there.

“I’m not trying to avoid you, Edward, please don’t think that. I’m just very busy this week with tests and I’m trying to find a new job and… it’s just not a good time for me right now.”

I couldn’t very well tell him the real reason: that a Beatle was occupying all of my time. But, Edward was very understanding. He told me there was no need to apologize and asked if we could go out that Saturday night to dinner and a film. I agreed and we left it at that.

Thursday night John was at my place again, reading quietly on my sofa as I studied at my table. It was nice having him there and I imagined it to be like that being married to him; just quietly enjoying an evening together. Then I was faced with reality. He was married. And I began to wonder about Cynthia.

“John, can I ask you something?” I asked looking up from my studies.

“What is it, love?” he replied laying the book open on his chest.

“Where does Cynthia think you go every night? I mean, where does she think you are right now?”

“Don’t know. She never asks,” he answered truthfully.

“Never?” I couldn’t believe it.

“Never,” he repeated.

“Do you think she… Do you think she knows you sleep with other women?” I asked bluntly.

If he didn’t like it, it was too bad. I wanted to know. But he had no visible reaction to my question.

“Well now, I can’t be sure, but… no, I don’t think does.”

“But how can that be? I think everyone else knows,” I said.

“I think it’s because she doesn’t want to believe that I do,” he said.

“So then you think she must at least suspect it?”

“Well, I don’t know, you know. It’s not something we talk about. She’s never asked me,” he giggled.

But I couldn’t see that anything was funny. Would he really tell her if she’d only asked? In a strange way, I think he would. He would probably list every woman he had ever slept with in chronological order for her if she would only inquire into the subject.

“A bit like your mum, I’d say.”

And I understood. It didn’t exist if they didn’t talk about it. Dealing with things that way made problems much easier than actually having to deal with them. I let the subject drop. I had gotten my answer and suddenly felt I also had a better understanding of Cynthia.

“Listen, you want to go to the Ad Lib Friday night?” he asked.

“Sure,” I smiled.

I was glad for the change of subject.

John had been particularly sweet that entire week, so when he arrived on Friday night to pick me up, with no one to “chaperone” other than his driver, I didn’t mind too much. He had been at my house every day and hadn’t tried anything. I was proud of him. And I was excited that maybe our attempts at being friends were finally going to work. He looked very sexy in blue jeans, a white dress shirt, a dark brown and white pinstriped jacket, and dark sunglasses.

“Always wearing sunglasses when there’s no sun. You’re not the brightest one, are you?” I asked.

“Ah, but I am. Hence the shades,” he pointed at his glasses.

“Har, har, har,” I made fun of his corny joke.

He pulled a face.

“And what’s this you’ve got on anyway? Why, you look nearly like a grown-up,” he teased. “Where’ve you hidden the school girl?” he asked, trying to lift my skirt up a bit.

I wore a white coat and beneath it, a very tight tan-colored turtle neck, a dark red mini skirt, stockings, and matching red heels. My long dark hair was loose and the only makeup I wore was mascara and a touch of lipstick.

“Watch your hands, Lennon!” I slapped him away.

I could tell he had been smoking pot. I could smell it on him a mile away. He giggled as we got into the car.

“You remember Maggie?” he asked the driver.

I hoped he didn’t remember me, but I feared he did. I certainly remembered him from the last time I rode in that car alone with John. I looked at John horrified and felt my face grow hot with embarrassment.

“Evening, ma’am,” the driver said, expressionless, as we pulled off.

John giggled and I shot daggers at him with my eyes. As we drove to the club I realized that not only had John been smoking, but he had been drinking as well. He kept running his hand up and down my leg even though I kept removing it and telling him to behave himself.

“Come on, Maggie,” he said, insistently.

“John, you’ve been drinking,” I said, grabbing his wrist tightly and removing his hand, which was sliding up under my skirt.

He sighed frustrated, and then giggled a little.

“Okay, okay,” he said.

“I swear to you, I will go home if you don’t behave,” I said meaning it, but not really wanting to. I wanted to stay, to be with him, but I couldn’t let anything happen. I had to protect myself from getting hurt.

“Fuck that,” he said. “You won’t.”

“Try something again and see,” I warned.

And the look in his eyes told me he understood I wasn’t joking. He didn’t try anything again for the rest of the night. Still, he seemed to want me near him all night. Wherever in the club he went, he dragged me along closely. He kept his arm around my shoulder as if to tell everyone I was his property. I hate to admit it, but I loved every second. I wanted him so badly I could barely stand it any longer. To feel his touch. To enjoy the talent he had for kissing. Even so, I felt a bit uneasy being alone with him in public. I was worried what everyone might think. But, as we sat in a dark corner of the club and people came over to speak to John, no one acted at all like it was peculiar that he was there with me rather than being there with his wife. It was obvious that John found my being uncomfortable very entertaining, and as more people came over to say hello, his introductions became increasingly exaggerated. At first, he introduced me to them as his “friend, Maggie,” which was fine with me, because it was the truth. But as the night went on I soon became Mildred, his “long lost cousin” and Muriel, “an old school mate.” By the time I was introduced as Margot, a “runaway from France,” I began to play along, doing my best French accent and thoroughly amusing John. And then when I introduced myself to some people as Minnie, “a struggling actress willing to do anything to get to the top,” John was practically on the floor in hysterics.

In between visitors the two of us sat quietly in the corner of the club talking and laughing about any and everything. And as we sat, though he smoked cigarette after cigarette, he didn’t have another drop to drink. And I could tell the buzz he had going when he arrived at my house to pick me up had worn off.

“Listen, love, I’m sorry ‘about…”

“Forget it,” I said.

“Christ, Maggie, I don’t apologize very often… or ever, really… so let me fuckin’ do it, will you?” he asked.

I was silent and he went on, “You know I don’t like getting all serious like, but I’m sorry about what happened on the way over here, okay? And that’s all I’ll say about it. I just wanted you to know that… I am.”

I smiled. I had to be one of the very few people John Lennon had ever allowed to see past his rough exterior into the person that he really was. And I was glad he felt like he could let his guard down around me.

“Thank you,” was my only response.

I knew he wouldn’t want to hear anything more. He would have felt like he had been weak to apologize, if I had said anything else, so without speaking, I reached over and stroked his hand. He swallowed hard and looked over his dark sunglasses, staring deep into my eyes. I could tell he had deep feelings for me and it scared the hell out of me because the more time we spent together, the stronger my feelings for him also became. Our silent moment together was thankfully interrupted when Brian suddenly appeared and I removed my hand from atop John’s.

“Hello, John,” Brian said.

“Hullo, Eppy! Say hello to Maggie won’t you?” John replied with a smile.

“Yes, of course. Hello, Maggie,” he forced a smile.

And I smiled back.

“What are you doing here, then? Not exactly your type of place is it?” John raised his eyebrows cheekily at Brian.

“Never you mind. Just heard you were here and thought I’d come over to say hello,” Brian answered.

“Well, you’ve said it. What now? Want to join us, do you?” John asked.

“Oh no, that’s quite all right. I’m just stopping by… On my way elsewhere,” Brian said.

“Sure,” John giggled.

“Eh, John, do you have a moment before I go?”

“Not for what you have in mind,” John said in a comical voice.

Brian blushed a little.

“Good to see you, Maggie,” he said signaling for John to follow him.

And John stood obediently, “I’ll be back, all right, love?”

I nodded and the two of them disappeared into the crowd of the smoky club. After they had been gone a few minutes I started feeling eyes on me. I looked around and noticed people were looking at me and whispering to each other. And I hoped it was because I was sitting there alone, like a social reject, rather than because I was out with John Lennon. I decided to try and avoid the stares and whispers by getting up to duck into the restroom while John was away. But as I passed by the men’s room, I heard familiar voices.

“John, I just think that perhaps you should try and stay away from Maggie,” I heard Brian say as delicately as possible.

“I won’t. I bloody won’t,” John said, annoyed.

Under normal circumstances, I would not have stood and eavesdropped, but they were talking about me, so in my opinion, their conversation was every bit as much my business as theirs. I strained hard to hear them through the noise of the club.

“John, if anyone were to take a photograph of the two of you…”

“Let ‘em take their fucking pictures. I don’t care.”

“But you’re married, John,” Brian said. “It just doesn’t look…”

“Oh Christ, Brian, I don’t give a damn about how it looks! She’s me bloody mate and I won’t pretend she isn’t!” John raised his voice.

“John, it is no secret to me your feelings for her, and they are more than friendly.”

My heart jumped into my throat when I heard Brian say that. And then, when I heard the momentary silence that followed before John spoke, somehow my heart did a nosedive past the location where it belongs in my chest and into the pit of my stomach causing a sick, sinking feeling. Why the pause? How was John going to respond? Had he told Brian something about his feelings towards me or did Brian just guess? And if Brian could guess, couldn’t everyone else? Cynthia, for example? My brain was working overtime as I tried to fix all of my attention on the conversation going on behind that door; waiting for John’s response.

“Brian do you have a point to all this or are you just giving me a bollocking for your own kicks?”

“All right, John,” Brian exhaled calmly, a stark contrast to John’s tone of voice. “I can see we’re just going around in circles, so may I suggest a compromise? Do you think you could possibly try and avoid seeing her as often in public at least? That is, any place where it may seem… odd that you are there with Maggie rather than being there with Cyn?”

There was another brief silence and I decided I didn’t want to know the answer. If John agreed to that, it was his business and I would have to respect it. I hurried into the ladies’ room and then back to our corner of the club. When John returned, he looked less than pleased and asked if I was ready to go. I agreed and we left the Ad Lib.

The only words he spoke to me by the time we arrived at my apartment was, “G’night, love,” as I got out of the car.

That night I couldn’t sleep, wondering what John’s answer was to the compromise Brian had suggested. And I suppose John couldn’t sleep either, as my phone rang at about 4:45 in the morning and it was him. From the second I heard his voice I just knew he was calling to give me the bad news. He may have had feelings for me, but John knew what he needed to do to stay at the top with the Beatles. And that did not include a public scandal that would cause his fans to be turned off of him due to his infidelity. If anything ever did come out, why should anyone believe that our relationship was anything less than an affair? The answer was that they shouldn’t. And I didn’t expect them to, so it was no surprise to me that John would call and end our friendship in order to avoid public gossip.

“Hullo, Maggie love,” he said sweetly.

“Hi John,” I said.

“Did I wake you?” he asked.

“Not really.”

“I’m sorry for being… I dunno… distant before I left you tonight,” he said.

“It’s all right. I could tell something was bothering you, but I didn’t want to ask.”

“Yeah, it was. I had a sort of a row with Brian.”


“Over me cutting you loose,” he said flatly.

“Oh?” I asked trying to sound surprised.

“Is that all you’ve got to say? ‘Oh?’ Aren’t you any more curious about it than that?”

“Well, what did you say?” I didn’t really need to ask anything else. I had already heard the rest of their conversation.

“Told him to fuck off, of course,” John said.

I was shocked. It was not at all what I had expected. A range of emotions flooded over me. I was glad that he had done it, but at the same time I almost wished he would have agreed to “cutting me loose.” Being forced to stay away from each other would be difficult at first, but would make things so much easier in the long run. I couldn’t help but wonder what his decision might do to his and Brian’s relationship. He was more than the Beatles manager. He was their friend. Particularly, he was John’s friend. Would Brian be very angry with me? What if he was right and someone did snap a photo of John and I out somewhere together? John was married after all. What might happen to him? To the Beatles?

“Well, what exactly was his reasoning behind telling you that?” I pretended I didn’t already know the answer.

“Oh, just some bullshit about photographers taking pictures and then making up a story about you and me sleepin’ together or something. Which, if they ever did do that, mind you, would give you and I no reason to go on not sleepin’ together, so I don’t see the downside really,” he giggled.

“But John, maybe he’s right,” I said.

“Christ, Maggie, he’s not! He’s not fuckin’ right at all. Look at all the birds I’ve shagged over the years, and none of them have ever had that happen to them. I don’t really know what makes him think it would happen to you, and even if it does, so bloody what?”

“So I could be seen as a home wrecker!”

“But you would be a home wrecker, you saucy little thing.”

“I’m not joking, John. Things could get really bad.”

“For you, you mean?” he asked.

“No. For you as well. You could lose fans, John.”

“Come off it,” he said.

“No, really. Especially your fans in Middle America: The ‘Bible Belt.’ If they thought you were an adulterer, they may not listen to the Beatles music anymore.”

“Ah, but there’s where your theory falls apart, love. You see, I am an adulterer and they still listen! Anyway, so what if I lose a few fans in Texas or wherever the hell? Odds are, they’ll still like Paul enough to keep ‘em listening!” he laughed.

And I laughed as well. There was no arguing with that statement. Everyone saw Paul as the innocent, loveable, “Cute One,” even if I knew stories that proved him to be otherwise. And if John ever did do something to ruin his own reputation, the Beatles probably wouldn’t lose too many fans as a result. They would still want to buy the records to listen to Paul, George, and Ringo; they just might skip over the songs that John sang.

“And secretly they’ll all be turned on ‘cause they’ll think maybe now they have a chance with me since they know I have a wandering eye,” he said the last part in a comical voice.

And I couldn’t help but giggle again. That was probably also true.

“Well, I’m sorry you had a fight with Brian,” I said.

“Aw, he’ll get over it. Brian loves me, you know.”

“Everyone does, John,” I said sarcastically.

“Oi, it’s the truth you know.”

“I know. Goodnight, John.”

“G’night, love.”

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