Chapter 14

That evening I received a phone call from John telling me how badly he wanted to come over, but that Cynthia had made dinner and was begging him to stay there tonight. I told him he should stay with her and spend some time with Julian and he told me he would try to come over the next day because they had the day off from recording their new album. When we hung up the phone I couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed at not getting to see him. But I told myself I would have to either get over it or put an end to whatever it was that was happening between John and I, because that’s just how things were going to be as long as he remained married to Cynthia. After John and I had hung up, I called Christine and told her not to bother asking Paul how John truly felt about me because it didn’t really matter anyway. Things would either progress naturally or they simply wouldn’t. There was no use in fretting upon things I had no control over. I liked being with John and right now, it seemed that he liked being with me. And that was all I needed to know for the moment. Everything else was just added stress that I didn’t need. I don’t know how many times Christine must have asked me if I “was sure” that I didn’t want to know how John felt, before she finally gave up and we began talking about something else. I took her persistence to mean that she had already asked Paul and so she knew the answer about how John felt about me. And that possibly, the answer was a good one. But I wasn’t even sure I knew what answer John could’ve have given that I would consider to be a “good” answer, so I remained convinced that I didn’t want to know. It became late as we talked and I could hear Christine yawning, so we said goodnight and hung up the phone with each other.




The next day, as I got ready for school, the telephone rang and I answered it happily thinking it was probably John. I was surprised to hear Lydia’s voice.

“Hello, dahling,” her deep voice rang out.

“Hello, Lydia, how are you?”

“Absolutely fabulous! Listen, I know this is short notice, dahling, but I’ve gotten you another job.”

“Oh good, I really need the money. But… uh, how short of notice is it?”

“Well, they need you this afternoon at Piccadilly Circus.”

“This afternoon? But I have school.”

“Oh surely you can afford to miss a day of school, Maggie.”

I could, but I knew I shouldn’t. Besides, school wasn’t what I was really worried about. That afternoon was when John was going to try and come over and I didn’t want to miss him. But I couldn’t very well explain that to Lydia.

“Okay. Sure, Lydia. I’ll be there,” I said.



That afternoon I arrived at Piccadilly Circus. It was such a large place and there were so many people roaming everywhere that I wasn’t sure how I would ever find the photographer. But luckily, through the crowd, I noticed the section, around a large fountain, that was roped off. There were a couple of girls in evening gowns being photographed on the stairs in front of the fountain. I wandered over to where the photographer was but one of his assistants, a very tall woman with jet black hair, stepped between us before I was able to speak to him.

“Can I ‘elp you?” she asked in a French accent.

“Oh, um, yes actually. I’m here for the shoot. My name is Maggie Jones.”

“Where is your dress?” the woman asked in a rude tone of voice.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t given a dress or… I was just told to be here at this time.”

“Claude, she ‘as no dress,” the woman said, turning to the photographer.

He looked at me for a split second, then turned back to the girls he was photographing and continued snapping pictures.

“So, send her to wardrobe, Marie, I can’t be bothered with this right now,” the photographer said, in a rather annoyed American accent.

“Wardrobe? This is not my department. I expect these girls to be dressed when they come to me,” she said and then turned and bellowed, “Cynthiaaaaa!”

I cringed just hearing that name. A small, young blond girl hurried over.

“Cynthia, why are these girls keep coming to me and no dress?” the French woman asked in broken English.

“Sorry, Marie,” the girl answered. “Eh, come wif me, ma’am,” she said to me in a British accent.

I followed her into a nearby building where a makeshift dressing studio was set up.

“Change into this an’ then Maurice’ll do ya hair and makeup,” she said, handing me a gorgeous sea-foam-colored evening gown.

The poor girl seemed embarrassed and considerably flustered. I smiled at her, trying to let her that everything was all right, without having to actually say so.

“They forget I’m new on the job,” she said sheepishly, looking down at the floor.

“If you don’t mind,” I said, “how old are you?”

“Eighteen,” she looked up and smiled. “It’s my first real job and it’s like a dream come true. But, sometimes I get so overwhelmed I just want to runaway and hide,” she laughed nervously.

“Well, I was just graduating from high school when I was your age, so you should be very proud of yourself for having such an exciting job. Most teenagers I know work at grocery stores or clothing boutiques! My name’s Maggie,” I said, extending my hand.

“I’m Cynthia,” she smiled and shook my hand eagerly. “But my mates call me Cindy.”

“Well, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll call you that as well,” I smiled.

“No, ma’am, I don’t mind at all,” she grinned happily.

After that, Cindy became a hundred percent more relaxed.

“This dress is gonna look just smashing on ya,” she said, helping me into the, slightly too tight, gown.

I frowned when I looked at myself in the mirror. The length of it swept the floor. It hugged all my curves and it was extremely low cut. I felt practically naked, it was so revealing. Much more so than anything I’d ever worn. I wasn’t used to dressing like that and I wasn’t sure I’d be comfortable walking back outside where there were so many people to see me. Cindy handed me long white gloves and gold bangles and earrings and I put them on to complete the look.

“There. Now you look tops!” Cindy said excitedly.

Then she opened the door and called for Maurice, who came inside to do my hair and makeup. He was a small-built man with a “Beatle haircut” and he was wearing dark black eyeliner. He, like Marie, was French, only Maurice didn’t speak a word of English, which was frankly, just fine with me. I didn’t know what to say to someone who looked like he did anyway. But as nervous as I was about his looks, he made me look fabulous! He used rollers on my hair that made it very tall and puffy. Then for my makeup, instead of eyeliner, he put the longest false eyelashes on me that I had ever seen. And of course, he finished the look off with pale lips. When he was done, Cindy escorted me back outside where Claude and Marie where still photographing the other girls.

“Oh, I forgot!” Cindy exclaimed and ran back inside the building.

She returned with a long, golden cigarette holder and handed it to me. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself. Of course she would bring me a long golden cigarette holder. What else would better complete the ensemble? For some reason I kept thinking how I looked like a character out of a Fellini picture and that caused me to giggle even more.

“Is there a problem?” Marie asked in her thick French accent.

I shook my head.

“Then please, let’s get on with it,” the photographer said. “Go over there with the others, eh… what’s your name, kid?”

“Maggie,” I answered.

“Right. Maggie, great. Now we’re all acquainted. Would you please get over there and model. I’m already losing light.”

“Took long enough to turn ‘er into that,” Marie said under her breath, bur still very audibly.

I looked at her incredulously, my jaw dropping slightly. The nerve of that woman!

“Maggie, baby, you look fantastic. Pay no attention to the witch behind the curtain, you hear? I’m losing daylight, kid. Let’s get on with it, okay? You look fabulous. Breathtaking. All that. Now, move up to that top step, please,” Claude said.

Other than Marie being unbearably obnoxious the entire time, with snide comments and disgusted expressions, the shoot went pretty well. I quite enjoyed working with Claude and got on very well with the other models that were involved. And I was pleased to see that, though we were in the middle of Piccadilly Circus, most people weren’t paying all that much attention to us. And the ones that did only stood for a few minutes, snapping a couple of souvenir photos for themselves, and then continued on past us. When it was over, I headed back to the building where I had changed, so I could put my own clothes back on, but Marie stopped me.

“Do not even bother. It’s yours.”

I could tell by the tone in her voice that this was not an act of good will, so I looked at her suspiciously. What was she up to?

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean it’s yours, like I said. Just take it. It’s so tight on you, we’d ‘ave to cut it off to get it off you anyway,” she said nastily.

“Now listen,” I said. “I’ve been nothing but amiable to you and you’ve been just nasty to me the whole time. I don’t know what your problem is, lady, but I have had just about enough.”

Marie’s eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth to speak just as Cindy came bouncing into the room.

“Great shoot, Maggie, you looked fab out there.”

“Cynthia, I know you are only a assistant, but surely you are no much too stupid to see we are trying to ‘ave a discussion,” Marie snapped.

Cindy looked quite startled.

“She’s not stupid at all,” I told Marie and then turned to Cindy, “It’s all right, Cindy. I was just leaving anyway.”

I grabbed my clothes and left, slamming the door behind me. I was furious. How dare she? Poor Cindy, for having to put up with Marie all the time. And poor me for having to put up with her today! No one had ever criticized my weight to my face like that! It stung. I didn’t consider myself to be overweight by any means; I just wasn’t a complete twig like most of the girls that were modeling those days. She was just nasty. But why? What reason could she possibly have for treating me that way?



I fumed about it the whole way home. But by the time the taxi pulled up to my apartment, my anger had subsided, for the most part. And it melted away completely when I saw John’s Rolls Royce parked outside. I paid the cabdriver and waited for him to drive away before I approached John’s car. His driver was sitting behind the wheel reading the newspaper and he smiled when he saw me. I returned the smile and then I peaked into the backseat where I saw John stretched out fast asleep, with his hat covering his face. I opened the back door and leaned in, moving his hat out of the way and pecking him quickly on the mouth. His eyes fluttered open and then closed again, only to re-open suddenly and very widely.

“What happened to you then?” he asked, sleepily.

“Well you don’t have to sound so surprised,” I said.

He reached out and grabbed me around the waist pulling me into the backseat and on top of him. And then he smothered me with kisses.

“John, no,” I laughed, struggling to get away. “Someone will see.”

I broke free of his clutches and climbed back out of the car and made my way to the door of my apartment, looking around to see if anyone was watching. There was an elderly couple just getting out of their car nearby, but they weren’t paying any attention to me, so I entered my house and moments later, John did the same.

“You could’ve waited a little longer than that before you came in. Did those little old people see you?” I asked.

“No, Secret Agent M. I was careful to see that I wasn’t followed and I’m sure no one knows I’m here. Do you have the package?” he asked in a very official tone of voice.

“Very funny,” I rolled my eyes.

John giggled.

“Right, then. Come here and let’s have a look at you,” he said, extending his hand.

I put my hand in his and he spun me around slowly.

“Hate to tell you this love, but the premiere of Help! happened months ago and not a damn thing’s happened in London worth looking that bloody good for since.”

I felt myself blush.

“Then I take it I’ve passed this little inspection of yours?” I asked.

John gave a mischievous little smile.

“Oh quite the contrary, madam,” he said in a deep comical voice. “You actually failed miserably. Aye. In fact, I think I’ll be sick if I have to look at you in this getup any longer. Come on; let’s get you out of it. Quickly. Quickly, now love,” he said as he began trying to take my dress off of me.

I laughed and wiggled under his touch. Then I ran off trying to get away from him. But he caught me and scooped me up off of the floor. He threw me over his shoulder and carried me to the bedroom.

“Want to do this the hard way then, do you?” he growled.

I giggled as he threw me down onto the bed and pounced on top of me.

“Yes, I think I would like it the hard way,” I teased.

John wiggled his eyebrows playfully and buried his face between my breasts. But I was feeling very playful that night and decided I wanted to be the one in control. I grabbed him and rolled him onto his back, climbing on top of him and pulling the dark brown sweater he had on, up and over his head.

“Where’d this new take-charge attitude come from?” he asked with raised eyebrows and a huge grin on his face.

“Came with the dress,” I teased.

John giggled and pulled my face down to his, covering my mouth with his and plunging his tongue in deeply. I pulled away, sucking on his tongue briefly before I began kissing down his chest and stomach. I wanted to give him pleasure this time. I wanted to pay him back for the incredible way he had made me feel the night before last. With one hand I massaged the quickly hardening bulge in his pants as my other hand worked his belt. When I got it undone I worked his pants and underwear down, taking a moment to run my hands over his strong thighs. I loved those thighs. They were possibly my favorite part of his body. Well, if I was being totally honest, they were probably my second favorite part of his body. Once I had sufficiently admired and caressed his legs, I looked up at John, who was licking his lips seductively. I ran my hand over his hardened flesh and I heard him moan in delight. I traced my finger lightly around the head and then tightened my grasp and slid it down the length of his shaft.

“Oh, fuck, Maggie,” John growled.

As I worked my hand up and down I noticed John tilt his head back, savoring the feeling. I could see his perfect chest rising and falling with his breathing and I could feel my own excitement building. And with my excitement, my hand began to work faster pumping up and down until he was wet with anticipation. And that’s when I closed my mouth around his hardened erection. I licked, flicking the head with my tongue. And I slid my tongue down a vein that was sticking out eagerly.

“Christ that feels good, baby,” John gasped.

I closed my lips around it and sucked taking it in and out of my mouth hungrily. And I looked up at John, who had risen up on his elbows to admire the view. He moved my big puffy hair out of the way so he could watch me better and I heard him groan when he saw me take him in as deep as I could. And his groans increased my own level of excitement and I licked and sucked with more enthusiasm, until I suddenly felt a tug on my hair. I rose up to look at John, whose eyes were ablaze with passion.

“I’ve got to have you,” he said throatily. “Now.”

I climbed off the bed and took a moment to admire his erection, which was reaching for the sky. I did a slow striptease out of my evening gown as John rolled over onto his right side and stroked his erection lazily. Once out of my bra, I flung it at John and then did the same with my panties.

“Christ, Maggie I’m gonna fucking burst right here if you don’t hurry,” he said.

I giggled and climbed on top of him pushing him hard against the bed. We kissed each other passionately, feeling the warmth of our bare skin against the other’s. I felt John trying to move me so he could enter me, but I was on top of him and he was having a bit of difficulty. I laughed at his feeble effort.

“Ah, this time, I’m in control,” I teased.

“Come on, Maggie,” he pleaded.

And it was good to hear him beg. I wanted to torture him like he had tortured me. I flattened myself against him and slid my slick heat up and down against the length of his shaft.

“Bloody hell,” he moaned, his eyes rolling back in his head.

He was so hard. So ready. And I loved putting him through this. Not to mention the fact that just sliding up and down on him was completely turning me on. I let the head of his erection press against my opening as he had done to me, but I wouldn’t let it go in. He thrust his hips up trying to force me to let him enter, but every time he did, I would slam him back down onto the bed.

“Fuck’s sake, girl, let me just shag you!” he giggled.

“Mr. Lennon, I have never let anyone shag me in all my life.”

“All right. Then, let me fuck you!” he laughed, raising his hips to try it again.

This continued for a time as we both laughed at the playful struggle that was going on. Then finally I had had enough. I threw one leg over one of his thighs and then I did the same with the other. And as I straddled him, he entered me slowly. We both gasped in pleasure. I moved up and down on him slowly at first, until I couldn’t stand it anymore and started going faster. John grabbed my hips and helped me, while watching my breasts bouncing up and down. He sat up and took one into his mouth as I continued to move up and down on him. He licked and kissed and sucked driving me completely crazy for him. Then our mouths met and we kissed one another as if our lives depended on it. My speed decreased slightly as we both focused on the kiss. And we rocked slowly together as if we were one unit. But as soon as the kiss ended I began moving faster again. Suddenly I felt John’s body tense and then shudder as he released himself into me, but I wasn’t there yet. I continued moving on him and a moment later waves of ecstasy washed over me as well. John fell back on the bed and I collapsed, sweating, on top of him. My puffy hair was now flattened and stuck to my face.

“That was fantastic, love,” John said, kissing my forehead. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Do what?” I asked, my mind still foggy from the orgasm I just had.

“Suck a cock like you were getting graded on it,” he giggled.

I died laughing. Only John could say a thing like that and it sound funny.

We both fell almost immediately to sleep and some time later I awoke and the room was completely black. I could hear John moving around.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Sorry, Maggie. Can’t stay tonight, love. I have to go home.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t very well ask him to stay. But somehow, he could read my silence and he understood.

“I fuckin’ hate it. Please believe me. It kills me to leave you here. It’s just, Cyn… I just have to go tonight…” his voice trailed off into the darkness.

“It’s okay, John. I understand,” I said.

And I did. He had to go home to his wife and son. To his own house. Even if he was miserable when he was there. He couldn’t stay and play house with me.

“Do you? Do you really understand? I’ll be back, love. I swear to Christ I will. And I’ll stay the whole night again. I just can’t tonight, all right?” he said, coming over to me.

I could hear the pain in his voice and as much as it hurt me that he was leaving, I could tell that it somehow hurt him even more. He bent down and gave me a long kiss before he said goodbye and left my apartment. I laid in bed unable to be very upset. It was all too much of a mess to have any one particular feeling about the situation. The whole thing was just so complicated. I laid there wondering how anything was ever going to be right. After quite some time and when I was finally dozing off, the telephone rang.

“Hello?” I answered it half asleep.

“I’m a bastard,” I heard John say in a very quiet voice.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I forgot to tell you that I love you.”

My heart melted.

“I realized I hadn’t said it while I was on the way home. And I would’ve turned round and come back, but I was nearly home, so I figured I’d just save us both a bit of grief and ring you up… so here I am. Now, don’t you have something you’d like to say?”

“Thank you?” I asked teasingly.

“Come on, Maggie, tell me you love me. I can’t go to sleep ‘til I’ve heard you say it.”

“I love you, John,” I said.

John sighed on the other end of the line.

“Do you mean it?” he asked, a boyish innocence in his voice.

“I do.”

“Christ, I love you too,” he said, breathlessly. “So much I think it’s going to fucking kill me. I’ve never felt so confused or so in love.”

“Oh, John,” I sighed.

“You did look ravishing tonight, you know? And you never told me why you were so dressed up.”

“Are you at home?” I asked.

“Yes, why?”

“Where’s Cynthia?”

“Oh she and Julian are fast asleep upstairs,” he said.

“Shouldn’t you…?”

“No,” he answered. “No, I want to talk to you. I have to talk to you. To hear your voice. Besides, at least I’m at home, right; fulfilling me husbandly duties in some way, anyroad. Now, tell me why you were all made up.”

“I took a modeling job,” I said.

“Modeling? When did this happen? Or weren’t you going to tell me?”

“A little while ago I ran into this lady at a café and she told me she wanted to get me set up for some test shots to see if her agency wanted to represent me.”

“Test shots? That’s bloody daft,” John said.

“Exactly. Me? A model? I know I don’t look like the typical model, but I guess they saw something so…”

“No, it’s daft that they would need test shots. I mean, any common spastic could see that you’re a total knockout. What are some bloody photos going to prove that they can’t see with their own eyes? You’re already ten times better than that Twiggy bird everyone’s raving about.”

“You mean you’ve heard of her?” I asked.

“Oh sure. Everyone’s crazy for her. But she’s built like a bloody boy. It’s why they call her Twiggy, you know. She’s no sodding Brigitte Bardot and she’s certainly no Maggie Jones,” he said in an exaggerated tone of voice.

I had to laugh.

“Maggie Jones doesn’t exactly have the same ring to it as Brigitte Bardot, now does it?”

“It’s better,” John said. “You’ll be more famous than all those other models put together. Why, I bet you’ll blow right past Pattie.”

“Oh don’t say that. I love Pattie.”

“Get away,” John giggled. “When you’re famous you’ll forget all about Pattie, and Twiggy, and even Brigitte.”

“No. Honestly John, I don’t even want to be famous. I just want to make some money and have some fun.”

“Well, stick with me, mama and you’ll have loads of fun,” he said in a comical voice. “You can bet your knickers on that!”

I giggled and after we spoke for a few more minutes I told him that we had better hang up. I had to go to school in the morning and it was already getting late.

“Oh all right, then. You go ahead and be the proper little school girl.”

“Goodnight, John,” I said.

“G’night… I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.”



The next few days passed in a blur of me attending classes, taking on a couple more modeling jobs, talking on the phone with John all night almost every night, and helping Christine move into her new house. John hadn’t come over in several days, as they had been so busy working on their new album which, from the bits he had played for me, sounded like it was going to be the Beatles’ best one yet. It was new and fresh and unlike the songs they’d done before. I could tell he was very proud of it by the way he talked so enthusiastically about all the technical aspects involved. I had no idea what he was talking about most of the time, but I listened to anything he wanted to tell me. His most favorite song was one that he had written. And it was both beautiful and haunting. It was a song titled “In My Life” and he played it for me one night over the phone. I sat alone in my apartment listening to him quietly sing:

“…With lovers and friends I still can recall

Some are dead and some are living

In my life I've loved them all…

George Martin’s got a marvelous piano bit in here,” he interjected. “And then it goes,

But of all these friends and lovers

There is no one compares with you

And these memories lose their meaning

When I think of love as something new

Though I know I'll never lose affection

For people and things that went before

I know I'll often stop and think about them

In my life I love you more…”



I swallowed hard listening to him sing those words.

Who did he love more? He had to have been thinking about Cynthia when he wrote this song, right? This was a song about his life and he’s known her for such a long time. But… was there a chance that he was talking about me?

I hated myself for even wondering. There was absolutely no reason the song should be about me and I sure as hell was not going to ask him if it was. Still, I couldn’t help but remember how a couple of months ago he had told me that he had written a song about me. Could this be it? Surely not. The conversation we had had that night replayed in my head:

“I wrote a song about you,” John had said.

“What?” I asked, hoping I had misunderstood him.

“You heard me.”

“You didn’t?”

“It’s not one of my best, mind you, but it’s a nice little tune. Paul helped me finish it.”

I sat silent, not really sure what he had expected me to say.

“I won’t tell you which song it is if that’ll make you less uncomfortable,” he said. “But when our new LP comes out, I’m sure you’ll be able to guess.”

He had said that I would be able to guess which one it was. If that was true, then “In my Life” couldn’t be the right song, because it certainly didn’t make much sense to be about me. But if that wasn’t the song he wrote, which song was it? I wanted to hear it, but I was afraid to ask him about it. Maybe he had changed his mind. Maybe they decided not to use the song he wrote about me on this album. Maybe they weren’t going to use it ever. Or maybe he had been lying? And then, as if he could read my mind, he said,

“Remember I told you I loosely wrote a song about you? It’s been quite a while ago now, but… Well, you wanna hear it?”

“Sure,” I said, trying to disguise my enthusiasm.

“Now keep in mind it was a quick little song Paul and I hammered out in no time and you and I hadn’t really built a relationship then, all right?”

Why he felt he needed to give me a disclaimer before he began to play the song for me frightened me a bit. Did that mean he thought I might not like it?

“Is there anybody gone to listen to my story,” he began to sing.

“All about the girl who came to stay?

She's the kind of girl you want so much

It makes you sorry;

Still, you don't regret a single day…”

So far so good. It hurt a little to hear that he was “sorry” that he wanted me, but I understood perfectly what he meant by that. In a way, I felt that very same way.

“Ah girl! Girl!…” he continued.

In between the repeated word, ‘Girl,” John made an intense sucking sound that caused me to gasp in surprise. But I quickly covered my mouth with my hand, hoping he hadn’t heard me. What was that sound supposed to mean?

“She's the kind of girl who puts you down

When friends are there, you feel a fool.

When you say she's looking good

She acts as if it's understood.

She's cool, cool, cool, cool,

Girl! Girl!

When I think of all the times I've tried to leave her

She will turn to me and start to cry;

And she promises the earth to me

And I believe her.

After all these times I don't know why.

Ah, girl! Girl!

Was she told when she was young that fame

Would lead to pleasure?

Did she understand it when they said

That a man must break his back to earn

His day of leisure?

Will she still believe it when he's dead?

Ah, girl! Girl! Girl!”

I was horrified. This was the song he wrote about me? How? Why? …What?… There were too many questions piling up, one on top of the other, in my head. I didn’t know where to begin. I put him down? I make him feel a fool? I promise him the earth? I was dumbfounded. I couldn’t see how this song sounded like me at all. And as for that that sucking sound… Well, I sure hoped that was not just thrown in as a nod to the night we had recently spent together, but knowing him, that’s exactly what it was.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked.

“I’m speechless,” I said, meaning it very literally.

How was I supposed to respond after hearing something like that? I didn’t want to be negative, but somewhere deep inside me, I expected to hear a simple love song. Not this song that appeared to be a semi-vulgar, quasi love story about a girl who treats her man like shit. I was thoroughly confused.

“Well, Paul threw in a couple of the more obscure phrases. He’s always so vague, you know, whereas I’m more literal. More in-your-face with what I say. Most of the time anyway.”

The whole song seemed obscure to me.

“I’m just,” I began, unsure how to word my confusion, or concern, whichever it was. “I’m just not sure I understand exactly what it’s about,” I said as delicately as possible.

“What’s not to understand? It’s about you. It’s about me dream girl,” he said.

“Oh. It’s about a dream girl?” I repeated, rather thickly.

“Sure! What else?”

I didn’t know how to answer. The girl in the song didn’t sound like a dream girl to me at all, but he was the writer, so he should know, right? I mean, he was half of the genius, “Lennon-McCartney song writing team,” so if he says that the song is about a dream girl, then I suppose it was. I certainly couldn’t see it. And I couldn’t help but wish “In My Life” was the song he had written about me. Nevertheless, I thanked him for the song and then changed the subject as quickly as possible. At least one thing was comforting: Any worries I had about people realizing John had written a song about me flew out the window. No one would ever suspect that song was about me!



The next Tuesday, Christine asked me to skip a few classes and tag along with her to Manchester. She wanted to go and watch the boys’ last day of shooting a television special that was to be called, “The Music of Lennon and McCartney.” It was a show that John and Paul were hosting, that celebrated all the cover-versions of their songs. When we arrived, Christine explained to security at the Granada Television Studios exactly who she was and luckily, they had seen her in magazines, so they knew she wasn’t lying. They let us right in and when we entered, we saw that everyone was taking a break from shooting. It was obvious the boys had no idea we were coming, as all four of them were looking very cozy with four girls in matching dresses, who were obviously part of the show. Ringo was the first to see us. He shot up out of his chair and headed over.

“Oh look, the girls are here! Well… your girls, lads, my girl’s home with Zak. What’re you two doing here?” he asked with a goofy grin on his face.

“Just wanted to stop by and see how things were going,” Christine answered.

“Looks like they’re going well,” I raised my eyebrows at Ringo and he smiled a bit awkwardly.

By this time, the other three had shooed the girls away and were making their way over to us as well.

“Hey, Chris, you didn’t tell me you were comin’ today,” Paul said.

“Need proper warning first, do you?” Christine asked, mild annoyance in her voice.

“Aw, you know that’s not what I mean, love,” Paul said, laying the charm on as thick as possible.

“Yes, those girls were just asking us for directions,” George said dryly.

“On how to improve their performance,” Ringo added.

“Yes, and I told mine that it would help to remove the spinach from her teeth for a kickoff,” John said.

The boys giggled.

“Yours, huh?” I asked him with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, being that she was the one that was speaking to me personally,” he grinned.

I rolled my eyes and giggled. And he leaned in to kiss me.

“John,” I said, putting my hand on his chest to push him away.

The others tried to pretend they hadn’t seen.

“Uh, so anyway, love, why don’t we get you a seat? I think they’re going to be ready to start shooting again soon,” Paul said, frantically trying to take the attention off of John and me.

“You girls can watch me pretend to play the drums,” Ringo said, and then pretended he was holding his drum sticks as he drummed in the air. “I’m really quite good.”

“Anybody can beat the air,” George said.

“Yeah, well I’m sure I could pretend to play the guitar just as well as you too, George! I am the better actor, you know. Everyone says so,” Ringo said with exaggerated haughtiness.

“Not hard to be better than rubbish actors like us, though is it, Rich?” George thumped Ringo’s chest playfully.

“Now boys, am I going to have to separate you two?” Christine asked in a motherly tone.

“No, ma’am,” Ringo said.

“We’re awfully sorry, miss, please don’t cane us,” George said, looking down at the floor like a scolded puppy.

Everyone giggled. And as Paul began to lead us off to an area where we could sit and watch the taping, John grabbed my hand and held me back. The others walked off leaving the two of us behind.

“Christ I missed you,” he said quietly. “I want to kiss you so fucking badly.”

Feeling exactly the same way, I looked around to see if anyone was watching, but there were way too many people in the room for us to steal even a quick kiss from each other. Then I spotted the restroom.

“Meet me in the restroom,” I whispered.

A huge smile stretched out across John’s face as I left him. And not a minute after I had entered the restroom, did the door burst open and John charged toward me. He grabbed my face in his hands and covered my mouth with his, for one of the most passionate kisses we had shared to date. When our lips finally left one another’s we were both panting as we tried to take in big swallows of air.

“Oh bloody fantastic,” John said.

“What?”

“Now I have to go back out there and you made my prick all hard with that kiss!”

“I made it?!” I laughed.

“Yeah, you did it!” he grinned.

Then he grabbed my hand and placed it on the bulge in his pants.

“See? See what you do to me, Maggie?”

He was right. He was as hard as a rock. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, it had been a good kiss, but to be that turned on from a kiss completely amazed me.

“Want to take care of it real quick?” he asked, moving my hand up and down on his bulge.

“John!” I laughed, pulling my hand away. “We’re in a public restroom!”

“What the hell does that matter?” he asked, very seriously.

I blinked at him incredulously, my jaw slightly gaped.

“Go shoot your show. I’ll see you when you’re done,” I shook my head in awe at his lack of inhibitions.

“Oh fine, you bloody spoil sport. But if I attack one of those birds out there you can’t blame me. It’ll be entirely your fault!” he giggled.

And I couldn’t help but laugh at his ridiculousness. We staggered our exit from the restroom, but it didn’t help. When I reached the place where Christine was seated, she had a funny expression on her face.

“What?” I asked.

“Quickie?” she raised her eyebrows.

“No!” I laughed. “We just wanted to kiss and we can’t very well do that in public, can we?”

“Hmmm…” she said, suspicion in her voice.

“Besides, once I get started with him, I want it to last forever. I don’t think we could ever have a ‘quickie’!” I said, lowering my voice so as not to be overheard.

Christine furrowed her brow, “A little more information than I wanted to know, but at least I believe you now!”

The two of us sat giggling together watching the boys as they ran through their lines. And then they mimed their song, “We Can Work it Out.” I caught Ringo’s eye during their mock performance and gave him the thumbs up signal, causing his face to turn beet red. And when Christine and I saw the other three notice we all began to laugh. When taping finally ended, we waited around as they got their things together and said their goodbyes to everyone on the television crew. I noticed Brian coming down some stairs and watched as he went over to them and relayed some sort of instructions. He pointed to the exit and the boys nodded in accord, but instead of waiting and leaving with them, Brian grabbed his coat and went out ahead. The boys signed a few autographs and stood for a couple of photos and then finally made their way over to where Christine and I were standing and waiting patiently for them. We all exited through the back door of the studio, the one Brian had pointed to, and sure enough there were fans and reporters waiting around outside. I became a bit uncomfortable as I thought about the fact that they were taking pictures and I was walking beside John. I saw Brian clearing a path through the people so a couple of cars could pull alongside the curb and our eyes met. There was an expression on his face like I had never before seen. He was furious.