Chapter 26

“John, I can explain about Claude,” I said worriedly.


“Maggie…” he tried to interrupt, but I was bent on trying to convince him he didn’t have anything to worry about.

“He brought me home from the hospital the other night and…”

“Maggie…” John repeated.

“And he just really didn’t want me to be alone. He’s stayed out there on the sofa the whole time, I swear to you, John. And the only reason I didn’t call Christine is because I haven’t felt like…”

“Maggie… It’s all right, love,” he said, pulling his shoes and shirt off and crawling into bed with me. “I’ve spoken to Claude. Everything’s fine. I appreciate that he was here to take care of you.”

“You do?” I asked, catching my breath.

“Yes,” he said, staring into my eyes with deep concern. “Christ, Maggie, I’ve felt awful ever since we spoke on the phone the other day. I couldn’t stand not being able to be here with you. Holding you in my arms. Caring for you. It was all I could do just to keep breathing. I wanted so much to just leave the whole blinking thing behind me. It was bloody killing me.”

“Oh John, it’s been killing me too. The pain of it all is just too much to bear,” I said past the lump that had quickly formed in my throat. “I’ve just been so worried that when you came back you’d be too angry with me to even see me,” I blubbered.

“Are you soft? Why in the hell would I be angry with you? Christ, love, I’ve been so fuckin’ worried about you all this time I could barely function,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

Then we held each other and sobbed. John pulled my head to his chest and ran his hands through my hair. I could feel his tears wetting the top of my head and I cried even harder, my own tears soaking his chest. Eventually I cried myself back to sleep. I woke up sometime later, and reached over to my bedside table, but my bottle of Quaaludes wasn’t there. I climbed out of bed and looked on the floor and underneath my bed to see if maybe it had rolled away somehow, but I didn’t see it anywhere. John coughed and startled me and when I looked at him, I noticed the bottle in his left hand. I walked around to the other side of the bed and slowly slipped the bottle out of his hand only to find it was half gone. How many had he taken? Frightened, I shook him a little to try and wake him up. John’s eyes fluttered open and then closed again.

“John…” I shook him again. “John?”

He opened one eye to look at me, mumbled something incoherent, and then closed it again.

“John, how many of these did you take?” I rattled the bottle in front of him.

He whispered something, barely moving his lips, but I couldn’t understand what he said.

“John? John, how many of these did you take?” I asked again, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it.

“Apparently not e-fucking-nough,” he grumbled, without opening his eyes.

A smart ass even when he was barely conscious. At least I knew he was still alive.

I went to the kitchen and made a pot of tea and some toast. I hadn’t eaten anything in days. I still didn’t feel much like eating, but I figured if I was planning on taking more pills, which I definitely was, I needed at least a little bit of food in my stomach. After I had eaten, I took a couple of Quaaludes and joined John back in bed.

And for the most part, that is how we spent the remainder of July. John at my place, and the two of us getting high in one form or another, to numb the pain we were both feeling. He rarely went home anymore and I didn’t bother trying to talk him into it. I needed him to be with me. Our friends occasionally stopped by and expressed mild worry for our health, some hypocrites even telling us they wished we’d take it easy on the drugs! But neither of us listened to them. We had each other and if our behavior was alienating ourselves from our friends, then so be it. Lydia called several times with new jobs she had secured for me, but I always told her to reschedule. At one point she said if I declined or rescheduled one more job, I’d have to find another agent. The next time she phoned with a new job I told her that her final task for me would be to find me a new agent and then I promptly hung up on her.



Things were very glum indeed and the beginning of August only brought more upset. We were informed that an American publication had gotten hold of Maureen Cleave’s article about John and had reprinted only part of it, taking his comments about Christianity entirely out of context. Some radio announcers then took it upon themselves to call for an organized “Beatles burning.” And a few days later, the rest of the world had caught wind of John’s comments. The Beatles were censored from South African and Spanish airwaves. On Saturday, August 6, a headline in London’s “Evening News” said: A CLAMOUR AGAINST THE BEATLES SPREADS OVER THE U.S. John was beside himself. They were about to start an American tour and this was not the sort of press they needed. Brian told John he was going to have to apologize, but John just couldn’t understand why, as he felt he hadn’t done anything wrong. And I agreed. He shouldn’t have to apologize to the idiots in my country who probably never liked The Beatles in the first place and were just using this as a way to get others to see them in the same way they did: as long-haired troublemakers. John had only stated his opinion and everyone was entitled to their own opinion. The whole thing was complete lunacy. Even so, Brian made it clear to him that some sort of apology would be absolutely necessary, or else it was the end of The Beatles.

The boys were to leave London early in the morning on August 11 for Chicago, Illinois. I wasn’t going to go, but John pleaded with me, so I packed a bag and joined them at the last minute, much to Brian’s chagrin. However, I sat quietly in the back of the plane with Mal and Neil, and let the boys sit alone together up front to work out how they were going to handle the upcoming storm of press agents; though, there wasn’t much talking the entire flight to the States. John and Paul sat quietly together, George and Ringo across the aisle from them. After quite some time, I did hear Paul speak,

“It’ll be alright, you know?”

“Easy for you to say, mate. You’re not the one being bloody crucified,” John replied.

When we arrived in Chicago, there were cameras positioned, even in the corridors of the hotel. Newsmen were absolutely everywhere. I was to sit in a back room and watch the press conference on a television that had been set up. Just before they were supposed to go out, however, Brian came into the room where all The Beatles were, to give John a last-minute briefing about the way things would go and the implications if he went out there and behaved his usual “mouthy” self. He finished off his speech by telling John he feared The Beatles might be assassinated on this tour. To everyone’s surprise, John instantly burst into tears and my heart wrenched for him. I wanted badly to console him, but I knew it wasn’t the time or the place. There was tension, uneasiness, in the room as John sobbed loudly. He had never intended for any of this to happen. He hadn’t meant to cause anyone any trouble.

“I’ll do anything. Whatever you say I should do, I’ll have to say,” John said.

Then, as suddenly as he had become so emotional, he quickly composed himself and the boys left the room, John trailing behind. We shared a kiss and then embraced for what seemed like an eternity.

“I love you,” I whispered into his ear.

“You’re the only reason I’ve the strength to get through this you know?” he said, pulling away to look into my eyes.

“John?” Paul poked his head back into the room.

“Right,” John said, and then he nodded to me and followed Paul out of the room.

I sat down on the sofa, alone in the room and watched the boys enter Tony’s suite where the press was already waiting for them. As I watched John lean into the microphone looking terrified, I wished I could give him strength through the television set. But as the reporters’ repeated the same questions over and over again, I realized that John’s nervousness was wearing off. In fact, I noticed he was “apologizing” without really apologizing at all. It was absolutely brilliant. I couldn’t have been more proud of the way he handled himself. And Paul, luckily for everyone, being the PR man he was, was a great help in putting a spin on what John was saying, just enough to confuse everyone into thinking John had given a full apology. I breathed a sigh of relief. The newsmen liked The Beatles. The Beatles kept them all in business. The press wanted this whole thing to go away as much as Brian and the boys did. And once they had gotten their story, they were satisfied and then turned their questions to music and the boys’ tour.



I toured around the country and up into Canada with them for the rest of the month. John asked me a couple of times, when we had neared my hometown, whether I was going to contact my parents to let them know where I was, but I declined. To be honest, I wasn’t sure when I was ever going to be ready to contact them again. As far as I was concerned it was John and me against the world. A dismal prospect, made all the more depressing when I thought about the fact that it wasn’t even really “John and me.” It was “John and Cynthia.” I wondered if there would ever be a time when it was “John and Maggie,” but as hard as I tried to look into the future, I just couldn’t see it happening. This only served to dishearten me further, which aided in my nearly total retreat into the hazy world that my constant drug-use created. I tried to force ideas about the future out of my head and instead focus on the present. But my current present was utter chaos.

Everywhere we went, the press was constantly hounding the boys about John’s comments on Christianity, they were receiving a steady flow of death threats, and the kids at their shows were completely out of control. John hit the nail on the head when he said they had become like a traveling circus. It was plain to see that none of them were having fun anymore and the quality of their music was suffering miserably. They decided amongst themselves that the end of this tour would be the end of the Beatles’ touring days. Between shows and on rare days off, the drugs flowed freely. Everyone was so high it was a miracle anything got done. Still, they forged on. In mid-August, they played a show in Tennessee where the Ku Klux Klan mounted guard outside. Inside, some foolish teenagers set off a few firecrackers nearly giving me a heart attack. I, like the boys on stage, was sure it had been an assassination attempt, though the boys handled it much better than I did. Stage-side, and under the influence, I became completely hysterical, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. The whole thing was wreaking havoc on my nerves. Neil made a phone call and before I knew it, a doctor was there, giving me a sedative to calm me down.

“This girl’s going to have a nervous breakdown. Her system can’t handle so many drugs. You must send her to a clinic immediately,” I heard the doctor say.

“Thank you for the advice, Doctor. We’ll see to it that’s she’s taken care of as soon as possible. You really have been an enormous help,” Brian said, handing the doctor some money and ushering him out of the room.

After the show, Brian pleaded with John to send me back to London, and I can’t say that I disagreed with him on this particular matter. Newsmen everywhere nagging John about his Jesus statements, me constantly having to dodge photographers to ensure that it didn’t get out that I was traveling with them when Cynthia was not, death threats, and out-of-control teens, all added up to make this one of the worst experiences of my life. I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. But John would have none of it.

“If Maggie leaves, Eppy, then so bloody well do I!”

Brian wanted to keep John as happy as possible under the circumstances and John was in no mood to be reasoned with, even by me, so I stayed. And the tour continued on. Unrelenting. The boys even played in rainy and windy conditions, though one performance in Cincinnati was so wet that they all would surely have been electrocuted if they had gone on. Paul literally became sick at the prospect of going out there under such dangerous circumstances and I couldn’t blame him. But, it was the first time a Beatles performance had been cancelled, and I could see on Brian’s face, that he saw it as the beginning of the end. Finally, they made it to Candlestick Park in San Francisco, the last stop on their tour, and, what everyone pretty much agreed to be, their last concert altogether.

Once it was over and we had all boarded the plane for home, George said pretty much what the others were all feeling,

“Right. That’s it. I’m not a Beatle anymore,” which was followed by total silence.

What did that mean, really? We all wondered. The mood was very somber the rest of the flight home.



A few days later Brian released an announcement that John had taken a role in the new Dick Lester picture that was set to begin filming. Dick had approached John ages ago about the role and John had accepted, but I had completely forgotten about it in the midst of all the commotion. The film was to be shot in Germany and Spain. Cynthia was accompanying John. I was not. Brian was sure to make that very clear to me. John and I spent the last few days together before he left but, as I was in an agitated state, he and I were finding it somewhat difficult to communicate with each other. I didn’t want him to go, but I knew it simply was not plausible to ask him to stay, nor was my tagging along. So, on September 5, John left for West Germany with Brian, Cynthia and Julian set to join him a few days later. I moped around the apartment like a lost soul for several days before finally picking up the telephone and ringing Lydia.

“Oh, the prodigal daughter hath returned, hmmm?” she asked in an uppity tone of voice.

“I need work, Lydia. If you can’t get it for me, I’ll find someone who can,” I said sternly.

“Oh will you?” she scoffed. “Do you know how long it has been since you last worked, deah?”

“It’s only been a few months, Lydia.”

“Precisely. And a few months is a lifetime in this business. You are a virtual nobody already…”

“Oh, please,” I interrupted.

“It’s true. Twiggy has completely saturated the market. Everyone wants models with figures like pre-pubescent boys.”

“Well, if you’re implying I need to lose weight, Lydia, it’s not happening. I have no desire to look like those models. I like being a woman.”

“Well, dahling, it’s either chop off that long hair and become a twig, or get back in the papers with The Beatles.”

“Oh! As if I haven’t been in the papers enough? No thanks, Lydia.”

“Maggie, I just can’t think of any other options we have at the moment. Still, I’ll see what I can do. But, mind you, dahling, I am no miracle worker,” she said in a caustic tone of voice.

“You do that,” I snapped at her as I slammed down the receiver.

Lydia couldn’t think of any other options, but I suddenly had an idea. I picked up the telephone and began dialing. I hadn’t been in the business long, but I had made some connections. One very important connection.

“Claude?” I asked, as soon as I heard the phone stop ringing.

“Hey, kiddo! Haven’t spoken to you in a few months. Not since… anyway, how’s it going? You okay?”

“Me? Oh… I’m all right. As good as can be, I suppose.”

“You don’t sound so sure,” Claude said, in his familiar American accent. “What’s going on?”

“What? Oh, nothing really,” I said, suddenly becoming very self-conscious. “Um… everyone’s gone and I…”

“Maggie, what’s wrong?”

“I need work, Claude.”

“Well, that’s no reason to be all freaked out, kid. With a face like yours, work is always going to be just around the corner.”

“I’m not so sure about that. I’m afraid I’ve burnt a lot of bridges. Lydia’s not sure she can get me any work. But mostly I think it’s just that she doesn’t want to. I’ve turned down a lot of jobs that she practically handed to me on a platter.”

“You’ve been going through a lot.”

“Yeah… Thanks for everything, by the way. I’m not sure I ever properly thanked you.”

“It was no problem. I’m just glad you’re all right,” he said sincerely. “Now, about work,” he continued, the tone in his voice changing considerably. “I’ll be going to America in a couple of days to take some promotional shots for a new television series that just began there. I think it’s called ‘Star Trek,’ or something. Some sci-fi gig. So, I think we have a few options here. You with me, kid?”

“Yes, I’m listening.”

“Okay. First, I’ll be over there at least a week, so if your need for work is urgent, this option may not be suitable.”

“What option?”

“Well, while I’m there I can see about getting you a gig on that show if that interests you at all. Or, we can see what I have going when I get back here. I’m sure I can find a use for you,” he laughed. “Or, if you prefer, I can call around here and see what I can find for you before then?”

“All of those things sound wonderful. I just need to work, Claude. Everyone’s gone and I need to stay busy or else I’ll go crazy.”

“You said that before, kid, ‘Everyone’s gone.’ What do you mean?” he asked.

“Oh, John, Christine… everyone. They’ve all gone and left me here.”

“Where have they gone?”

“John’s in Germany, Paul and Christine went on vacation. George and Pattie are going to India in a couple of days… just… everyone left. I feel so alone.”

“You want to go to America with me?” Claude asked, surprising me with his suddenness.

“Oh, I don’t… no, I better not... Not this time.”

“All right. Well, can’t blame a guy for trying,” he chuckled.

I tried to force a polite laugh, but it just wasn’t there.

“Hey, kid, you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, why?” I asked.

“Well, I don’t know. You just don’t sound… And you said you’ve turned down a lot of jobs lately. Without sounding too nosy here, why was that?”

“Look, Claude, I have to go. If you hear about any work, let me know,” I said and then hung up the phone.

I didn’t feel like getting into a discussion about my depression, or hearing another lecture about my need to slow down on the drugs.



The next day Lydia miraculously called with work. I took a couple of uppers and headed out the door. By the time I got to the shoot I was bouncing off the walls. I could barely sit still during hair and makeup and I could tell I was really annoying the makeup artist.

“Look, lovvie, if ya can’t sit still, you’re gonna get this eye liner all over your face. Now, I don’t think you want that and I certainly don’t want that ‘cause I’d probably be losing me job over it. Understand?” she asked in a high-pitched Northern English accent.

“Sorry,” I said, trying to consciously control my fidgeting.

The shoot seemed to last forever. The photographer had to take and retake the same shots over and over for one reason or another. I was going completely crazy. I was just about to leave when he finally declared he was done for the night. As I gathered my things, a few of the other models asked if I wanted to go with them to Dolly’s Nightclub on Jermyn Street. I didn’t know the girls, but I was much too wired to go home, so I agreed and we left the studio together. Outside we were stopped by reporters.

“Working on a comeback, Maggie?”

“A comeback?!” I asked incredulously as I pushed my way past the reporters whilst the other girls mugged for the cameras.

The photographers snapped a few photos of the other girls, but followed closely behind me.

“Where are the Beatles tonight, Maggie?” one reporter asked.

“My guess? At home,” I answered without turning to face him.

One of the girls I was with called to me, as she had hailed a taxi and had it waiting. I headed toward her.

“Anything special in the works?” another reporter questioned.

“I’ve got a little part in a movie that’s coming out at the end of the year,” I answered as I got into the cab. And just before closing the door, I added, “Now, do be dears and, fuck off.”

The girls laughed wildly, but I was incredibly annoyed.

“That was brilliant, Maggie,” one model called Tatiana said.

“How did they know you were in the studio anyway? They always follow so closely?” the girl named Rebecca asked.

“My agent’s a ruthless bitch,” was the only response I gave before sinking into a funk.

“I wish my agent got me press like that!” Rebecca exclaimed.

I was in a bad mood for the rest of the night. Why had Lydia tipped off those newsmen as to my whereabouts? She knew I didn’t care a thing about whether I was fading in popularity. I just needed the money. And at the moment, I just needed the work to get my mind off of my loneliness. After drinking, moodily, in the corner of the club for a while, the blonde girl, Alexandria, a virtual Twiggy clone, tugged on my arm and led me to the bathroom where several girls were doing lines of coke. I was hesitant because I had never tried it before and knew it could be pretty dangerous, but I needed something to take my mind off of things. I took the little straw they had fashioned, held it up to my right nostril and snorted the whole line. I could instantly feel it burning the back of my throat. I could taste it. It was horrible. Then, all of a sudden, pure euphoria. It was as if everything bad in my life had suddenly disappeared. Nothing could bring me down. I began to laugh and have a good time. I wasn’t even angry at Lydia anymore. I was in Heaven.

“I have to go,” I suddenly decided, surprising the other girls.

“Oh not yet,” Rebecca moaned.

“It’s too early, Maggie. Stay,” Tatiana said.

“No, really. It’s an emergency.”

“Should we go with you?” Alexandria asked.

“No, no. It’s nothing serious. I just have to get out of here. But first, may I have another?” I asked her.

Alexandria nodded, then, smiling deviously, proceeded to get another line ready for me to snort. She fixed herself another while she was at it, then handed me the straw. I placed it to my left nostril this time, as the other was still burning a little from the first time, snorted the line, and then handed Alexandria the straw. Some girl I didn’t know handed me her glass of chardonnay to wash the taste down and ease my throat a little. I drank it appreciatively, kissed each of them goodbye, and then made my way out of the club. My heart was racing as I exited the club. The effects of the cocaine were almost instant and very similar to that of the uppers I took. But with the cocaine, I also felt very happy and extremely aroused. There were reporters outside the club when I left and they began asking all the usual questions, but I couldn’t care less at that point. I just giggled as I passed them to hail a taxicab.

“Where to, Miss?” the driver asked.

“Just drive,” I responded, turning to give the photographers the bird through the back window.

I began to think of John, off with Cynthia, happily enjoying a family holiday together in Spain. I knew that wasn’t the case, but in my drug-influenced state-of-mind, that’s the way I saw it. I pictured them making love on a beach somewhere and a sudden and completely unfounded fury swept over me. Why had he left me? How dare he go away with another woman? And sleep with her too?! I was more than a little angry, and I suddenly knew where to tell the driver to drop me off. I had to get back at John. I had to make it clear to him that I was not willing to sit at home and be the woman who would always be there whenever he wanted me.

We finally arrived at my destination and I paid the driver and went up to knock on the door. Claude answered with a curious expression on his face.

“Maggie?” he asked. “What brings you here?”

“Hello,” I said, in as throaty and sexy a voice as I could muster, letting the shoulder of my dress fall slightly so it exposed my naked skin and the black strap of my bra. “I was just in the neighborhood and I thought I’d stop by,” I said, pushing my way past him and into his house.

Claude giggled, “Now, come on, kid. That’s almost as corny as one of my lines!”

I put my hand on his chest and slid it down his stomach to the waistband of his pants.

“Maggie, what’re you doing? Are you drunk?”

“Shhh,” I said, unfastening his pants.

“All right! That’s enough,” he said, pulling away from me. “What’s this all about?”

“Sex,” I answered, moving closer to him and planting my lips on his.

Claude put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me away.

“Look, kid, you know there’s nothing I’d love more, but you’re not yourself right now and I can’t take advantage of that no matter how much I’d love to.”

“Oh come on, Claude. You want me. I want you. No one’s taking advantage of anyone. We’re all adults.”

“All?” he repeated. “And just how many of me are you seeing right now, kid?”

“Oh shut up, Claude, and make love to me!” I demanded, whilst trying to remove my dress.

Claude moved closer to me and pulled my dress back up. I shoved his hands off of me and then slapped him hard across the face. For a moment I saw a flash of anger across his face that reminded me of John. He grabbed my hands and tried to restrain me, but I fought hard against him.

“Maggie, why are you doing this? What is wrong with you?” he pleaded.

“Get off of me!” I screamed, breaking free of his clutches. “You bastard!” I yelled, storming out of his place and running down the front steps.

Claude came after me, chasing me down the street, as I run screaming for a taxi. There was a couple who had previously been huddled up together against a wall making out, but when they saw me, they broke apart and stepped in, thinking I was being followed by an attacker.

“All right, Miss?” the young man asked.

“Should we phone the police?” the girl questioned.

“No, just keep him away from me,” I gasped, then, realizing a taxi had stopped for me I quickly thanked the teenagers, hopped in the cab, and rode away.

“The Scotch,” I said to the driver, in no mood to go home to my empty apartment.

When I arrived, I began drinking everything anyone handed to me. It was time to drown my sorrows. John didn’t want me, I had convinced myself in my current state of mind, and neither did Claude. But someone would. And I was determined to find him.



I woke up the next day with a start. My head was pounding and I put my hand to my forehead to apply pressure. Besides being hung-over, I had the most awful feeling. What had happened last night? And more importantly, where was I? I looked around the tiny bedroom, a twin bed against one wall, minus any bed clothes, clothing strewn about the place, a couple posters of Little Richard hanging on the wall and an over-flowing trashcan in one corner. I could hear voices coming from another room. Several. And all male. I felt nauseous and when I started for the bathroom, I suddenly became very aware I was completely naked. I pulled the top sheet off the twin bed I was on and wrapped it around me as I made for the exit. When I opened the door I was unprepared, but after the night I had just had not a bit surprised, to see three unfamiliar faces.

“Excuse me, where is the bathroom?” I asked.

The boys sniggered a little. Then, one of them pointed. Humiliated and sick, I made my way through a tiny living room, probably no larger than the bedroom had been, and past, what I imagine was intended to be the kitchen, though I’m not sure I could see any appliances or even countertops beneath the mountain of dishes, food containers, bottles of alcohol, newspapers, clothing, and stacks of albums. I opened the door the boy had indicated as being that of the bathroom, only to find a half-naked young man whom I recognized, but wasn’t sure from where.

“Ah, you’re up!” he exclaimed, grinning enormously. “Fantastic! You’ve met the lads, I guess?”

“I’m sorry, I’m going to be sick,” I said.

“Say no more. Say no more,” he said, a worried expression on his face as he quickly exited.

And I had been right. Not a minute after he had left was I sick. Afterward, I sat on the bathroom floor with my bare back against the wall, racking my brain for where I knew that boy from. Before too long it came to me. Sometime late last year I had gone to the Marquee Club with John and we had seen this young guy perform. His name was David Jones and he was playing with a group called The Lower Third. The band was okay, but David really stood out. John had even commented on how good he was and afterward he told him so. David was obviously younger than the two of us, but just as obvious was his star power. That was the last time I saw him before last night.

When I thought I had finished being sick, I left the bathroom and made my way back to the bedroom so I could get dressed.

“You all right?” David asked, hurrying over to me and following me into the bedroom.

“Yes, I’m fine, thanks,” I responded.

“Great! That’s good to hear. I really had a wonderful time last night. You were… amazing.”

“Oh yeah, me too,” I agreed, without looking at him. “But, I think I’d better be going now.”

All I could concentrate on was getting the hell out of there. I hadn’t had a one-night stand in ages and I felt just awful.

“Oh,” he said, a dejected tone in his voice. “Maggie…”

“Yes?” I answered, searching the floor for my clothes.

“Do you… Well, I mean, not to sound… But… you don’t even remember my name, do you?”

“I do!” I answered triumphantly.

Thank God I had remembered him from several months ago, because I certainly had no recollection of running into him last night, and especially none of sleeping with him.

“You’re name is David Jones,” I said, looking up at him and into his eyes.

They were crystal blue but one pupil was much larger than the other and, to me, made him look rather demented. Also, his ears stuck out a bit and combined with his delicate facial features, he looked slightly elfish. He wasn’t unattractive, though much thinner than I was used to, but when he smiled I remembered why, on that night when John and I had seen him perform, he had been the member of the band who seemed to stand out the most. His smile was electric. And contagious. I smiled back at him.

“Was,” he said, grinning broadly.

“Hmmm?” I asked.

“My name was David Jones. It’s Bowie now.”

“David Bowie?”

“Yeah. Like the Bowie knife!”

I must’ve had a puzzled look on my face.

“Oh, you must know. You’re the American here, after all!” he laughed. “Jim Bowie. From the Alamo!”



I ended up hanging around David’s apartment longer than I had intended. He was quite engaging and when I talked to him, my hangover somehow went away. He made me feel at ease. He seemed to understand that what had happened had just been a one-night affair, and being a young man, that was just fine with him!

Unfortunately, the headline: HAS MODEL MAGGIE JONES FOUND NEW SQUEEZE? along with a photo of David and I from the night before, told me that the press didn’t share David’s same sensible understanding of what was what. The accompanying article, however, barely even mentioned him. Mostly it was speculating whether or not I still had a career, with small mentions of my recent “erratic” and “offensive” behavior.



“How can this be good for my career?” I shouted at Lydia over the phone.

“As they say, dahling, all press is good press,” she said in her typical patronizing tone of voice.

“That’s bullshit. I look completely wasted. The article basically trashes me and doesn’t even have anything to do with the headline or the photo!”

“Maggie, my love, I have nothing to do with what is printed about you.”

“Oh Lydia, of course you do! You let the press know where I’m going to be so they can follow me around until I’m so irritated I just fly off the handle.”

“Dahling, if you fly off the handle, that is up to you. You create the story, deah. Not I.”

I slammed the phone down and lit up a joint. Christine would be back from vacation in a day or two. She’d know what to do.

Chapter 25

I suddenly felt very lightheaded. I made my way back to my bedroom and threw myself onto the bed. How was John going to react? Should I even tell him? Should I even have the baby? I had never considered abortion; the only other time I had gotten pregnant I decided to have the baby, only to end up having a miscarriage. But how could I give birth to the child of a Beatle? A married Beatle, at that. The more I thought about it, the worse I began to feel. My chest became very tight and suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I sat up on the edge of the bed and hung my head between my legs, taking in deep swallows of air, trying not to panic. Slowly my breathing returned to normal. I lay back on my bed and began to sob. What sort of life could this child possibly have with a mother who was prone to panic attacks when life got the least bit complicated, and a father who wasn’t around half the time? I lay there crying for what seemed like forever. The phone rang several times, but I never answered. It was no doubt John or Christine calling to see why I wasn’t at the NMEP concert. Eventually I had cried myself to sleep and was only awoken when there was a knock at my door, but I didn’t get up to answer it. I could hear the muffled sound of voices in the hallway outside the door to my apartment and then a jingling of keys.


“Maggie?” I heard John’s voice call out to me once they had entered my apartment.

“She’s in here, John,” I heard Christine say. And then, as she neared me, she said to me, “Maggie… are you awake?”

Through my bed linens, I felt her hand on my calf, giving it a little shake as if to check if I was still alive.

“Maggie! What’s the matter?” John asked as he entered my bedroom and rushed around to the side of the bed where I was.

“Is she okay? Should we phone the doctor?” I heard Pattie’s voice in the doorway of my bedroom.

“Christ’s sake, girl! I told you to go see the doctor. You promised me you would!” John said, sounding panicked.

“He’s right you know, Maggie. You don’t look so good, love,” George said, moving around to stand beside John.

“Could everyone just please leave me alone?” I asked.

“George, she’s right. Why don’t we go, hmmm? Let John and Maggie be alone? Chris, you want us to drop you at home?” Pattie said.

“Pattie, she needs to see a doctor,” George said firmly. “She’s all green like. John, I think we should just give the doc a ring right now. This is bloody ridiculous.”

John stared down at me, lying lifeless under the blankets, a worried look on his face.

“Yeah, ring him, won’t you?” John asked. “Then you can head home. We’ll be all right here ‘til he comes.”

“Right. I’ll ring him, mate, but you’re soft if you think I’m going to leave you here alone. Not with her lookin’ like that,” George said. “Come on, Pattie,” he said as they left the room.

“Chris, you mind leaving us too, love?” John asked.

“No, I want to speak to her,” I said.

“Maggie, I think you and I need to talk first.”

“John, please.”

“Right, but the second the doctor gets here, I’m coming back in,” he said, an annoyed tone in his voice.

John left the room, shutting the door behind him and Christine took a seat on the edge of the bed next to me. She smoothed my hair away from my face as she looked down at me with a disappointed expression on her face.

“I told you that you were doing too many drugs, Maggie,” she said, shaking her head. “They’ve made you so sick. This was bound to happen sooner or later. You’re lucky you haven’t died…”

“Oh for God’s sake, Christine it’s not the drugs!” I snapped, slapping her hand away from me and rolling over onto my back.

“Oh no? Then what’s all this about?” she asked, a surprised tone in her voice.

Staring at the ceiling, I answered her, “I’m pregnant.”

Then I covered my face with my hands and started to cry.

“What? What do you mean? I thought you haven’t been to see the doctor yet.”

“I haven’t, Christine. But I haven’t gotten my period in over two months.”

“Two… months? But… but why didn’t you notice? I mean surely…”

“Too busy partying. Too high all the time, I suppose. I don’t know.”

“Well, maybe you’re just…”

“Maybe I’m just, what? This has happened to me before, remember? I’m pregnant, Christine. There’s no doubt about it. My ‘sickness’ from the drugs… morning sickness… God! I don’t know how I could have been so blind!”

“Oh God, Maggie. When did you figure it out?”

“It just hit me like a train a little while earlier. I should be on my period now and I looked back at the calendar and I haven’t gotten it in two months.”

“What are you going to do? You have to tell John. They’ve called the doctor. He’ll be here any minute and then John will find out for himself. You should really…”

“I know I need to tell him. I just don’t know how. How’s he going to react, Christine? I’m so scared.”

“Honestly, Maggie? I don’t know,” Christine said.

I could feel chunks rising in my throat and I quickly threw off the bed clothes and darted out of the bedroom. I barely made it to the toilet before I threw up. Christine followed me in and held my hair back and then she gave me a glass of water.

“You have to get George and Pattie to go home. I don’t want them here when I tell John. Please, Christine. I don’t want anyone else to know,” I said.

“Well, I think that’s going to be a difficult task. You know how close those guys are. If Ringo and Paul knew there was something wrong with you they’d be here to support you and John too. That’s just the way they are,” Christine said as we both made our way back to my bedroom.

“Even so, I’d prefer it if George and Pattie left.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, helping me into bed.

“Christine, I’m not sick you know? Just depressed. I can do this myself.”

“Listen, as close as the boys are with one another, I think you and I have them beat,” she smiled. “I’m here for you, Maggie.”

“I know. Thank you so much, Christine. I could never have found a better friend than you,” I replied. “Could you please send John in?”

“Sure.”

She left the room, closing the door behind her and I sat up in bed, trying to stay as calm as possible. But the longer it took for John to come in, the more time I had to allow all the negative thoughts to re-enter my head. I bent my legs at the knees and rested my head on them trying to remain calm. Just then, the door opened.

“George and Pattie are leaving,” John said. “Chris made some bullshit story up that she forgot she was supposed to meet Paul somewhere and she asked them if they’d go in her place and let him know where she was. We all knew it wasn’t the truth of course, but I figured you must’ve put her up to it, so I asked them to go and they did.”

“Thanks,” I said, trying to force a smile.

“What’s all this about, Maggie? What’s going on with you? You had me so fuckin’ worried earlier, love, not knowing where you were when you were supposed to be at the NMEP gig.”

John sat down on the bed and ran his hand up and down my leg.

“I have to tell you something.”

“Well for Christ sake, just tell me,” he said, trying to sound calm, but I could see right through him; he was on the verge of hysteria.

I began to sob.

“Maggie, what is it?” he asked, his eyes filling with tears.

He stopped stroking my leg and rested his hand on my knee, gripping it as a drowning man would to keep himself afloat.

“Is it serious?” he asked. “Bloody hell, if you tell me you’re fucking dying then that’s it. That’s the end of John Lennon. I’d rather kill meself than go on without you,” his voice cracked as he became choked up.

“John, don’t say that! I’m not dying,” I said trying to pull myself together.

I couldn’t stand torturing him like this. It was killing me. I had to tell him the truth and just deal with the consequences.

“Then, please, love, tell me what’s happening to you. I can’t bloody bear it any longer.”

“John…” I paused, trying to remain calm enough to get the words out properly. “I’m pregnant.”

John’s eyes widened. His hand dropped off my knee and he turned away from me, to stare out the window in silence. My heart started pounding against my chest and I was sure it was loud enough that he could hear it. I felt nauseous, but I choked the sensation back down.

“John… please say something.”

“How? I thought you were on birth control.”

“Jesus, John, I’m taking so many pills these days I don’t even know what I’m taking anymore,” I began to cry.

“So it was an accident?”

“What do you mean?” I asked him, as my tears suddenly stopped falling.

He thought I had gotten pregnant on purpose?

“Of course it was an accident! Oh my God, John! Do you honestly think I would purposefully try and get pregnant with your child? Jesus Christ. Yeah, John, that’s just gotten storybook-ending written all over it,” I huffed.

I couldn’t believe his nerve. Here I was so upset over the whole thing and he thought I’d actually bring this kind of misery on myself and everyone else involved on purpose!

“Christ, I’m sorry. I’m in a bit of fuckin’ shock here. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. That was a thick thing of me to say, okay? Forgive me?”

“I just… I’ve been thinking about how to tell you all day. And all the different reactions you might have. And that just… it just was not a reaction I ever could have imagined.”

Just then, there came a knock on my bedroom door.

“The doctor’s here,” Christine said, poking her head in the room.

“Tell him to wait out there,” John said. “We’re busy at the moment.”

Christine nodded and closed the door.

“All right. You think you’re pregnant, but you haven’t seen the doctor yet, so how can you be sure?”

“I’m sure, John. I haven’t had my period in months and I’ve been getting morning sickness.”

John hung his head low and laughed darkly, “Morning sickness. That’s why you been spewing up all over the city.”

“Yes…” I said, quietly.

“Well, I don’t see that there’s much more for us to discuss ‘til you’ve had an examination. I’m going to send the doctor in an we’ll talk about this when he’s finished with you,” he said, standing up and going over to open the bedroom door.

“John, I am pregnant. The doctor will only confirm that. And we will have to deal with this eventually.”

“Right, well, why don’t we let the doctor have a look at you,” he said, leaving the room.

John’s reaction told me all I needed to know. He was hoping the doctor would negate my pregnancy theory and instead say it was the drugs that were making me sick. And I knew it was his fear of my having his child that caused him to think that way. And to be honest, there is nothing I would love more than for that very scenario to play out. I didn’t want to have John’s baby. Not now. Maybe not ever. But, I knew I didn’t have much choice in the matter. Because I was certain I was pregnant. The doctor entered the room, asked several questions and then performed a full physical.

“Well, young lady,” he said, in a German accent, “The only zing I found to be wrong with you, is that you are pregnant. About two months along, I would say.”

I thanked him and he left the room so I could get dressed. Soon after he had left, John came back into my bedroom.

“Ah good, you’re still here. Was a little afraid maybe that kraut had led you to the gas showers,” he forced a joke.

“You spoke to him, I take it?” I asked, buttoning my pants at the hip.

John nodded.

“And Chris left. Look… I’m sorry, love. I was wrong for the things I said...”

“I’m not going to keep it, John,” I said flatly.

“What?” he asked.

“You heard me.”

“Yeah, I heard you. But I’ve got news for you, Maggie, you’re not giving our baby up for adoption.”

“No, I’m not,” I said, making eye contact with him.

“What? You mean… you’re talking about… abortion?”

I looked away.

“It’s the only solution, John.”

“The fuckin’ hell it is!”

“Then what do you propose?” I asked, feeling oddly calm.

Seeing John’s reaction earlier when I had told him I was pregnant, had given me the solution to this problem and this was it. I was sure about it. And I felt calm in being confident that it was the right thing to do.

“Propose is just what I’ll do!” he exclaimed, a sudden giddy expression on his face.

“What?” I asked, confused, by his seesaw of emotions.

“Don’t you see? It’s the bleeding perfect solution! I’ll divorce Cyn and then you and I can finally be together! No more sneaking round. And we can have a beautiful family together. Oh, we’ll have such a beautiful family, Maggie!”

“Are you insane?” I asked, aghast. “Do you honestly think that you can just leave Cynthia and then you and I will ride off into the sunset together like some ridiculous Western movie? It’s not going to be like that, John.”

“Maggie, you can’t have an abortion, okay? I want this baby. I want this baby more than I’ve ever wanted anything in me whole life,” his voice suddenly cracked with emotion.

I could feel tears burning my eyes.

“No you don’t. You made that pretty clear earlier. And the thing is, I knew you weren’t going to want it. You didn’t even want the first child you had…”

“This is different and you bloody well know it,” he interrupted.

“Oh really? How so?”

“Because I love you. I love you, Maggie, and I want to be with you forever. I know I acted like a bastard earlier, but that’s only because I am one,” he smiled a half crooked smile.

My mind was reeling. Could he be serious? I had never been so confused in my life.

“I was in shock when you told me and I’m sorry, love. But in the short time that I was out there with Chris, while the doctor was examining you, I thought it over. And it didn’t take me long to realize how much I want this. You, me, and a baby… How wonderful? And I think I’m finally ready for it. I’m ready to be a father now. And I’ll try my blinking hardest to be a good one this time round. I swear to you, love.”

I could feel the tears trickling down my cheeks. He seemed sincere and it was breaking my heart because it was such a complicated situation.

“But, John, even if we did keep the baby, it wouldn’t be as simple as you leaving Cynthia for me. Brian will give you hell. You know that.”

“Oh, sod Brian.”

“And… do you know what it would do to The Beatles’ reputation? I mean, you guys have this image of the happy-go-lucky silly, squeaky-clean Beatles and something like this could really…”

“Fuck the image. We’ve never been squeaky clean. That was all Brian’s doing. Ever since he put us in those bloody suits.”

“Even so, the world only knows what the press has shown them. And the way Brian’s presented you all to them. And for ‘Beatle John’ to leave his wife for some… mistress he knocked up?! The whole group would be ruined.”

“I don’t give a shite, Maggie. I only care about you and that baby now. I’ve had fame and it’s all been real lovely. But I got along just fine before it and I’ll get along just fine after it. I’m sick to fuckin’ death of the whole thing anyway. Besides, I don’t know how much longer we’ll last: the bloody screaming girls; no one can even hear us; all the newspapers and their load of daft questions; Paul, still fucking refusing to have a trip with me and George and Rich. Sometimes it feels like we could just fall apart at any second and it can get pretty fucking depressing at times. But then I remember I have you, and that’s all I need. You really are the only thing I need to survive, Maggie.”

“You’re all I need to survive too, John. But John, you may not care if the band falls apart, but I think the others would. And that’s not very fair to them,” I said.



John and I discussed our predicament all through the night and we finally decided that it would be best if I didn’t have an abortion. I wasn’t sure it was the brightest idea, but at the same time, I admit I was very glad about it. We decided that we weren’t going to tell anyone else about me being pregnant until I started showing. That is, no one but Neil Aspinall, who, unbeknownst to him, was about to become the ‘father’ of my baby. John and I decided that he and I would have to be very careful about being seen together anywhere where there might be photographers. We also decided that I should start going around with Neil to various public places, to fool the press into thinking that me and him were seeing each other. And then, when I started to show, they would assume it was Neil’s baby. As for John and Cynthia, I talked John into sticking it out with her for a little while longer. I didn’t want to be the woman who broke up a Beatle’s marriage. That was something that would surely haunt a woman for the rest of her life. In the meantime, since George and Pattie had already spread it around the Beatle camp that I had been sick and that the doctor had come to see me, Christine helped me get the word out that the doctor hadn’t found anything wrong and that now I was just fine.



May passed quickly and throughout, I steered clear of Abbey Road studios and John steered clear of my apartment. When we wanted to see each other, we met at Neil’s or at Christine’s. Everything went about as planned. I had even seen shots in a couple of magazines of Neil and myself arriving together at The Scotch. Toward the end of May, I was in the film studio finishing up a small part I had in a movie set to come out later in the year called “Blowup.” I was rather proud of the fact that I was in this picture, though my part was largely insignificant, because it was sure to be one for the books, as it was the first time full frontal nudity would be shown on film. During the shooting I also met The Yardbirds. I had heard from the guys that The Yardbirds were no good since Eric Clapton had left them, but I heard them play and they seemed alright to me. They were all very nice fellows and one of them, Jeff Beck, even asked me out! But, as flattered as I was, I politely turned him down. At the end of the month Bob Dylan had come to London to play and I was ecstatic about the possibility of meeting him. We all gathered at the Mayfair Hotel, where he was staying, and sat around having a laugh. They were all smoking pot and drinking, but I, being pregnant, opted not to.

“C’mon, Maggie, what’s the problem? How’re you in with these guys if you’re totally straight?” Bob asked. “It’s herbal. It ain’t gonna hurt ya, man.”

I wasn’t sure how to reply. You didn’t turn Bob Dylan down when he offered you pot.

“All right, now Bobby, just leave the girl alone. She’s said no and that’s that,” John stepped in. Then, putting his hand at the side of his mouth, as if he was about to tell Bob a secret, he added in a stage whisper, “Got a wee bit of an addiction, our Maggie. Barely been on the wagon a day. Just as addicted to sex, mind you, but we don’t see that as a problem now do we, mates?”

“Not at all” the other Beatles answered in unison, causing the room to erupt with laughter.

Sometimes they really were like a parody of themselves.



All through June the boys continued recording their new album. One day we were all out at George and Pattie’s, John was there with Cynthia and I was alone like I always was lately, unless I was in public, in which case I was with Neil. As strange as it was to hang around with Cynthia, knowing I was pregnant with her husband’s child, I took some comfort in believing that I was somehow saving her a little embarrassment, by not allowing him to divorce her right now. Cynthia got up and left us to go care for Julian and while she was away the guys started trying to come up with a name for the album. Because The Rolling Stones had just released their new album, “Aftermath,” Ringo suggested The Beatles title their new album, “After Geography.” Though we all had a good laugh about that, someone then suggested “Revolver” and it was agreed upon right then and there that that would be the title of their new album. On the 17th of June I got a phone call from Paul. He had just bought a new farm in Scotland and he and Christine were ecstatic about it.

“One of these days maybe you and John can get a place somewhere nearby and our children can ride horses together,” Paul said.

I wasn’t sure if that meant that he knew I was pregnant, or if he was just excited about his new purchase and was dreaming about what the future may hold.

“Yes, maybe, Paul,” I said, trying to maintain an aura of ambivalence.

“Oh come on, you’d love that wouldn’t you? Bunch of little Johns and Maggies running round like chicken with their heads cut off?” Paul chuckled.

“Oh, Paul, give me the phone, will you?” I heard Maggie say in the background. Then she said excitedly into the phone, “Isn’t it wild, Maggie? Oh, you and John should come up and visit us someday. It’ll be just marvelous!”

I wondered if mine and John’s futures really held such happiness. And I couldn’t help the sinking feeling I had in the pit of my stomach. How could our story have a happy ending?

By the end of June, The Beatles had set out on a new tour that would take them to Germany, Japan and the Philippines. And I had a string of modeling jobs set up. Since I was nearly five months pregnant, I figured I had better get a lot of working done before I really started to show. To my utter horror, Lydia had booked me a job with Twiggy. I had, up to that point, been able to somehow completely avoid the phenomenon that was Twiggy, but now I’d be working directly with her and was, needless to say, terrified. I spent the whole morning looking for the perfect outfit to wear to the shoot. I knew it didn’t matter in the long run what I wore down there, but in case she looked fabulous, I wanted to at least give her a little competition. When I arrived at the shoot, however, I was told that Miss Lesley “Twiggy” Hornby had cancelled and I was then introduced to Kim McLagan, who I would be working with instead. Cancelled? How unprofessional! I boosted my own ego by telling myself it was because she was threatened by me.



A job Lydia had secured for me on Monday, July 4, had me working with Claude again. That morning I woke up a bit late and was rushing around in a tizzy. My back was killing me, so I popped an aspirin and made my way out the door. I hadn’t seen or spoken to Claude in quite a while and I found the whole situation a bit stressful. But the moment I arrived at the studio, his familiar, “Hey kid,” brought a smile to my face. It had been a while since I had been called that. It felt so belittling, yet somehow, it felt strangely nice. Hearing it immediately set my mind back to our time together in Paris. It had been such a wonderful time full of parties and sight-seeing. But remembering the time we spent in Paris also brought back other, more painful memories. I remembered the party I had taken Claude to when we got back to London. That had been the night John had beaten him up. John had almost hit me that night as well. At that time, I thought there was no way that he could have ever really done it. But since then, sadly, I had been proven wrong. It troubled me to think about it and luckily I was forced back into the present when Claude asked,

“How’ve you been, Maggie?”

I smiled at him.

“I’ve been all right,” I answered.

“Excuse me, you’ve been all right?” he asked. “I’m a bit confused. Did I not just see you in that Michael Cain picture, ‘Alfie’?”

“Oh, you saw that?” I asked, blushing a little.

“Well, how could I not go see it after I saw in all the gossip rags how stunning you looked at the premiere? I went to lunch with Mary Quant a couple of days later and you were all she could talk about. Said she couldn’t count the number of orders she got for dresses like the one you had on after those pictures of you were published. She wants you to model more pieces in her line.”

“Does she?” I asked, mildly uninterested.

“I’m surprised she hasn’t discussed it with Lydia,” he said.

“Oh, she probably has. Lydia doesn’t really let me know what’s going on until just before it’s about to happen,” I chuckled.

“Well, Mary’s very fond of you, kid. And I can’t say that I blame her,” the tone in his voice suddenly took on a dreamy quality. “Ahem…” he cleared his throat. “Said she wished you’d cut your hair though,” he laughed nervously.

“Ah well, don’t they all?” I smiled, running my fingers through my hair. “But I didn’t let Vidal Sassoon talk me into it, so I’m certainly not going to let little old Mary Quant have her way. My hair’s my thing.”

“Is it now?”

“Oh yes. Some would try and have you believe it was the mini skirts and dresses that I’m famous for, but I think people like me because of my hair. What do you think?” I winked at him.

Claude stared at me with only the faint hint of a smile on his lips, making me quite uncomfortable.

“So… um… should we get started?” I asked.

And this time I was the one doing the nervous laughing.

“It’s good to see you. I’ve missed you,” he said, placing his hand on my shoulder and running it down my arm and then back up it again.

“Claude,” I said, looking at his hand on my arm and then into his eyes.

“Still seeing Lennon?”

I looked away from him.

“Guess that’s a yes,” he said, removing his hand from my arm. Then, abruptly changing the tone in his voice he added, “Right well, we’re gonna be working right over here,” he led me to an area where a park-like scenery had been set up. “You can head on into the john and Cynthia will get you all painted up and dressed and when you’re ready you’ll come out and we’ll get started.”

I looked around the room at other models stripping down and being painted right there in front of everyone and wondered why he suggested I go to the bathroom to have it done. I figured he just didn’t want either of us to be uncomfortable by my being naked in front of him again, since we had slept together in the past. As I headed toward the restroom I suddenly felt an awful pain in my stomach. I stopped walking, hunched over; putting both my hands on my belly, and the pain quickly subsided.

“You all right, kid?” Claude called out to me.

I turned around and nodded at him, forcing a little smile.

I thought the sudden pain was a bit strange, but decided it had merely been the result of having taken an aspirin earlier, to relieve my back pain, on an empty stomach. I probably just needed to eat something. I went into the bathroom and had a mini-reunion with Cindy. It had been a little while since I had seen her, but not as long as it had been since I last saw Claude. Cindy was now working freelance and moved around from photographer to photographer. As I stripped down and Cindy brought the body paint over, I decided it was a good time to ask her exactly what was in store during this photo shoot. As she began to brush gray paint onto my body, she told me that we models were going to act as statues in the park set and that a man dressed in a Saville Row-tailored suit would be posing with us. As Cindy brushed on the paint I suddenly got another pain in my stomach. But this time it lasted much longer than the previous one. I gripped her shoulder to keep myself from falling over. As I was hunched over, I suddenly became aware of a bit of blood on the floor between my feet. Cindy noticed it too.

“Maggie… you all right?” she asked, a deep concern in her voice.

The pain in my gut dissipated and was replaced with a new sensation of terror that filled my entire being. Why was I bleeding? Something was terribly wrong. Another blinding cramp in my abdomen struck and without warning, the room began to spin. My knees buckled beneath me and I heard Cindy call for help just before I blacked out.



I awoke some time later lying in a hospital bed. I looked around the room, but no one was there. Just then the door opened and in came Claude, holding a hot cup of coffee.

“Hey, you’re awake. How you feeling?” he asked.

“Like I’ve been hit by a very large, very angry… train,” I attempted to joke.

Claude smiled.

“Had a pretty hard fall, I think. Got some bruising,” he said. “We didn’t really know who to call, so I just decided to come with you and see that you were okay. I had to tell them I was your husband so they’d let me in to see you. I hope you don’t mind. You gave us all a bit of a scare, kid.”

“Claude, please. Can I see the doctor?”

“Sure, sure. I’ll go find him and send him in,” he said, leaving the room.

I was in a private room, which I had heard was unusual on the NHS, but figured Claude must have requested it. Within seconds a tall, thin, rather elderly doctor with a high forehead and long, slicked-back white hair entered the room closely studying a chart. He looked up and noticed me staring at him. He raised his eyebrows at me and tilted his head slightly in a manner as if to question the expression on my face.

“I… I’m sorry, doctor, it’s just that… well, you bear a striking resemblance to that ‘Doctor Who’ fellow on television,” I said.

“Ah, American,” the doctor smiled, then returned to his chart. “Yes, I do get that from time to time,” he said without looking up. “Never seen the show, to be quite honest. Television rots the brain, you know? Now, I presume you’d like information regarding your condition? Am I right?”

“My…” my voice suddenly got caught in my throat. “… yes, sir,” I swallowed hard. “Please. Is the baby, all right?”

“Maggie,” the doctor sighed. “I’m sorry to tell you this, dear…” he paused as trying to find the strength to carry on.

But I already knew what he was going to say. My eyes filled with tears and I could feel my bottom lip begin to quiver.

“You miscarried,” he finished. “I’m so sorry. It had already happened before you arrived here. There was nothing we could do. We do have someone on staff that you can talk to; a specialist in this… area. Only if you’d like to, of course. Maggie, difficult as it may be right now, do understand that these things just happen sometimes.”

I was all too aware that these things just happen sometimes. The real question was why did they happen to me? Why was, as many women as I had known who had gotten pregnant, I the only one out of all of them who didn’t get to have the baby? It didn’t seem fair. Especially not when I was just becoming so excited about having this baby, with the only man I’ve ever really loved. Still, since I had had a miscarriage before, I should have been taking extra care to make sure everything was all right this time. I should have known something might be wrong this time too.

“My back was hurting this morning,” I managed to force out, in a raspy whisper. “I took an Aspirin.”

“Well, you can never be 100% positive, but back pain can sometimes be an early warning sign of a miscarriage, yes.”

I nodded my head at the doctor and then looked away as tears began to roll down my cheeks.

“There, there, you’ll be just fine, dear,” the doctor said, reaching down and patting my foot through the sheet that covered my legs. “You couldn’t have known this was going to happen. You did nothing wrong. Perfect bill of health, you have. In fact, you’re free to go just as soon as you’re ready. No need to keep you overnight. The bumps and bruises you suffered when you fainted will heal in time. Would you like me to send your husband back in now?”

“My hus…?” I started, having forgotten all about Claude. “Oh, no I’m fine. Thank you.”



It was late by the time Claude drove me home. I was in complete and utter shock over the whole thing and hadn’t even noticed Claude too had gotten out of the car when we arrived at my apartment building. Even though the only physical pain I had came from the bruises I had sustained when I hit the ground after I fainted, Claude still took it upon himself to help me up to my apartment. I was certain the doctor had told Claude I had lost the baby, which would mean that he now knew John had gotten me pregnant, but Claude never asked me a thing about it. And for that I was grateful. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t even want to think about it. I had left my apartment that morning with a life growing inside me. And now I just felt so empty.

“Who can I call to get them to come over and stay with you?” Claude asked, as he helped me into my bedroom.

“No one. I’d rather be alone for a while,” I said, robotically.

“Like hell, Maggie. I’m not leaving you here alone. No way. No how.”

“Thank you, but I’m fine, Claude. Please, go home. You’ve done enough already.”

“Well, you’d do the same for me, right?” he smiled.

I returned his smile as I climbed onto my bed.

“Oh Claude, what happened to your shoot today?” I asked, trying to turn the attention away from myself for a moment.

“What? Oh… I, uh… shut it down for the day.”

“No! Why?” I asked, knowing fully well it was because of me.

I had a mental image of five waif-like models, all painted gray, standing around in their matching gray a-line mini-dresses, seething because they had dragged themselves out of bed and come to work today only to be dismissed without being paid.

“Well, I thought about letting Cindy take over, but that would have meant the shoot would’ve gone on without you and I didn’t want that. You’re my star,” he said

I frowned at him and shook my head.

“Were the girls terribly angry?”

“Not at all. They were all very worried about you,” he said.

“Claude…” I sighed, “I’ve already caused you so much trouble. I can’t ask you to stay here and bother with me any longer. I’m fine. Just a little sore is all,” I lied.

I wasn’t fine. I was absolutely grief stricken. But there was nothing Claude or anyone else could do to help me with that.

“Hey, I’ll give you all the space you need, kid, but I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right out there on your sofa if you need me. Even if it’s just to talk.”

He left me in my bedroom closing the door behind him. And suddenly I felt very alone. How was I going to tell John? Should I call him in Manila or wait until he came home? I tried to decide which I would prefer if the situation was reversed. That was easy. I’d be angry if John kept something like that from me until I came home. I picked up the phone and dialed out. When the boys had arrived in Manila, Paul called Christine with the number where we could reach them. The number went directly to Mal. Since I hadn’t spoken to John since he’d been in the Philippines I had no idea what the time difference was.

“‘Lo?” I finally heard Mal say after what seemed like an eternity.

“Sorry to bother you, Mal, but may I please speak to John?” I asked.

“Maggie?” he asked, sounding more than a little out of it.

“Yes. Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Mmhmm… it’s all right, love. It’s a bit early. About 5:30 just now. But I’m sure John won’t mind being woken up by you. Being woken up by me’s a different story though innit?” He chuckled. “Hang on, all right, love?”

“All right, Mal,” I said.

I suddenly became very nervous. My stomach began to flip-flop and my chest began to heave as my breathing became very heavy. I felt like I might have a heart attack. Then, John answered the phone.

“Maggie?” he asked.

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“You there, love? Is everything all right?” he asked in his raspy morning voice.

“John…” I finally managed in a whisper.

“Maggie, what’s the matter?”

“John, I have terrible news,” I squeaked past the lump that had formed in my throat.

“Maggie…?” John asked in a frightened tone. “Please talk to me, love. What’s happened? Is the baby all right?”

As soon as I heard him speak those last few words I began to sob. “Is the baby all right?” He really had wanted the baby. If there had ever been any doubt in my mind, John had just proved how wrong I had been. And that made what I had to tell him all the more difficult.

“No, John; the baby’s not all right,” my voice shook as I spoke those words.

There was silence on the other end.

“John?” I asked.

“Oh Christ,” I heard him say away from the phone. And then he asked, “What happened?” in a tone that was almost inaudible.

“They’re not sure,” I whimpered. “All they know is that I miscarried… Oh God, John, I’m sorry,” I sobbed loudly into the receiver.

“Maggie, no,” John howled into the phone. “It can’t be true. It just can’t…” he went into a whisper.

“I’m so sorry,” I sobbed.

Then, only the sounds of our mutual weeping could be heard.

After some time, John finally spoke.

“I was going to be a good father this time,” he said in a low, hoarse tone.

“I’m so sorry, John,” I managed, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Jesus Christ, Maggie, please stop saying that. You did nothing wrong. Nothing. All right?”

“All right,” I managed to whisper. “When are you coming home, John? I feel so alone here now.”

“We leave this afternoon,” he said, his voice slowly going back to normal. “But with the time difference and a stop in New Delhi, we won’t be there ‘til Friday morning. How are you, love?”

“Terrible… but I’ll be… okay.”

“I feel a right fuckin’ bastard for not being there, Maggie.”

“John, no. No one could have predicted that something like this was going to happen.”

“I’ll get there as soon as possible. ‘Til then, I want you to go over and stay with Chris. I don’t want you to be there alone.”

He gave me a perfect opportunity to tell him how Claude had been caring for me all day, but I didn’t think it was the best time, so I opted not to.

“I’ll call her in the morning,” I said.

John and I had a long discussion about what exactly had happened that afternoon. He wanted to know every detail, so I told him about my back pain and then about the cramping and bleeding I had experienced and how the pain was so much I had passed out. I could sense he was very worried about me, so I tried to lighten the mood a little by telling him how the doctor had looked exactly like Doctor Who. John laughed for a moment at that and it felt good to hear. But then he went straight back to asking me questions. He wanted to hear all about my first miscarriage, so I told him that the first time there hadn’t been any warning signs like there had during this miscarriage. I had just gone to the doctor one day and he told me I wasn’t pregnant any longer. Talking about the, now two, miscarriages I had suffered, I began to become even more depressed. I wondered if I was ever going to be able to have healthy children. Though John too was feeling absolutely wretched, he was able to sense my misery in carrying on this conversation, so he tried to shift the subject to a slightly happier one. He began telling me all about the Beatles tour. He said how wonderful it had been to be back in Hamburg and to see some of their old friends. And how funny it was when he and Neil had snuck out of their hotel room while they were in Tokyo. And he joked about how scared they all had been that they were going to get caught bringing pot into the country, when they had gotten separated from their luggage in Manila. But the few happy stories he told were greatly outweighed by stories of all the infuriating incidents that occurred at every stop along the way. In Germany, the reporters were unrelenting with their never-ending supply of inane questions like, “Do you wear long pants in the winter?” John had finally had enough of their nonsense when they began asking Ringo about his complexion, and he ended up yelling at all the reporters in the room. In Tokyo, there were mass demonstrations protesting The Beatles’ performance at the sacred Budokan Hall. And as if that wasn’t enough, the boys were extremely put off by the restrictions put on them and everyone who attended the concerts they held there. And in Manila, there had been a huge uproar because The Beatles had not attended a reception held by Imelda Marcos. The whole tour sounded like a huge disappointment and I could tell John had had enough. He was ready to come home and I was more than ready to be back in his arms. After a while I told John I had better go, because we were running up a very large phone bill by being on the phone for so long, but he refused to let me off the phone. I could tell he was concerned about me. He started talking about all the things we’d do together when he got back. It felt comforting to be making plans for the future with John. I felt safe lying there in the darkness of my bedroom, listening to him speak. And before I knew it, I had drifted off to sleep.

I didn’t call Christine the next day. I couldn’t bear to. I knew I’d have to talk about it with her eventually, but I wasn’t in a stable enough frame of mind to have the conversation just yet. Instead, I took a couple of Quaaludes and stayed in bed all day, sleeping. And when I woke up, I took a couple more and did the same all over again. Claude never left. He refused to. He had someone bring him some clothes from his place and he had food delivered. He tried bringing some in to me in my bedroom, but I never ate it. I couldn’t. I just didn’t have an appetite. He was good about leaving me alone, but I could hear him in the living room watching television and I couldn’t help but wonder why he cared so much. He came in to check on me every once in a while, but he never pried. He never tried to get me to talk about it. And I appreciated that. The next couple of days passed in much the same way. I tried several times to get Claude to go home, but he just wouldn’t.

“Not until I know you’re all right. And you, laying there like that, in no way proves to me that you’re all right, kid,” he said. “You want me gone, personally? Fine. You phone up a little chickie friend of yours and I’ll be gone the second she arrives. But I’m not leaving you here alone, ya dig?”

“I’d prefer it if no one was here, Claude. Honestly, there’s nothing anyone can do for me. It’ll all work itself out in time,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

“Uh-huh, and when it does, I’ll go. Until then, I’ll be in there if you need me.”

His perseverance made me smile, but the truth was that I was becoming a little annoyed. I wanted to wallow in my misery completely alone. Why wouldn’t he let me be? Did I really look that awful? What was we afraid would happen, that I’d commit suicide? I was depressed, but I wasn’t that depressed.

Friday morning I was awoken awfully early by the sound of voices in the front room. Who was Claude talking to? For a moment the volume of the voices rose and took on an angry tone, but were quickly lowered again and then gone altogether. I strained to hear if Claude’s visitor had left, but from the confines of my bedroom, I couldn’t be sure. Before I knew it, my bedroom door slowly creaked open and through it, John appeared. I suddenly felt very sick. It was John who had been talking to Claude. How was I ever going to explain to him why I hadn’t gone to Christine’s like he had told me? And how would I explain why, instead of Christine, Claude was there; and at that hour of the morning, nonetheless?

Chapter 24

I didn’t hear from back from Christine that night. In fact, the only person that called me all day was Lydia, and that had been a total surprise, as I hadn’t heard from her in quite some time. I was just sure that she and I were through after the way we had spoken to one another during our last conversation. But apparently, that wasn’t the case at all, as she didn’t so much as mention our last phone call. I wasn’t too interested in speaking to her, but the second she proposed a new modeling job, it was clear what I had to do.




Several days passed and over the course of them John and I had gotten together a few more times and taken acid: once at a party, once with George and Pattie, and once at The Scotch. It was such a welcomed escape from reality. Especially when the papers had come out with pictures of John and I during our night out with P.J. Proby splashed all over their pages. Brian wasn’t even speaking to me anymore and I can’t say that I blamed him. The reporters were relentless and the fans were just plain nasty. Acid seemed to be the only thing that helped numb the pain. In fact, I was almost happy when I was on LSD. And for that reason, I liked it very much. Well, that reason along with the fact that it seemed to bring John and I even closer together.

One of John’s and my new favorite things to do was to visit art galleries while we were on acid. I had always been an avid art fan, but viewing art was just so much more intense on acid. The art really came to life. It was sensory overload and John and I loved it. John was a fantastic artist. I could see it in his doodles and even in the way he thought. He was a natural. But he really hated the pretentiousness of the “art world.” I, on the other hand, had always been an admirer, especially of the whole avant-garde scene. In fact, since Christine wasn’t really into art, I had often accompanied Paul to art shows and gallery-openings, as he too was quite the aficionado, as well as a very talented artist himself, though I’m not sure he’d ever admit it. Lately though, I didn’t have to wait on Paul to invite me to a show or an opening because I had been able to talk John into going with me. In fact, I believe he had begun to quite enjoy going to shows.



On that next Thursday, John went on vacation with Cynthia, Ringo and Maureen to the Trinidad Islands. I hated being away from him, but I had to keep in mind that he was married. Anyway, the break was a good time for me to get some necessary things accomplished. While John was away, I started back to school, took the modeling job Lydia had offered me, my biggest photo session up to that point, and made a load of cash. With that money, I took a new apartment in a building on Bayswater Road. It was vastly different from the apartment I had moved from. My new apartment was larger, and was in a nicer building with a doorman. I was up on the fourth floor to boot, or the third if you asked an Englishman. I wouldn’t have to worry about fans and reporters camping around outside my door anymore. Bayswater was much too busy a street for anyone to wait around on. And if they did try to wait outside of the building, or even across the street at the park, the doorman would threaten to call the police for harassment. I was just crazy about my new place and couldn’t wait for John to see. Christine had already given me the okay to move into her house, but when I saw how much I was being paid for my newest modeling job, I told her I could afford to get a place of my own, so she helped me look for one. I was so proud of myself too. I felt like such an adult. That is, until I went shopping with Christine and Pattie for some new things for my apartment and George gave us a bundle of cash and said,

“You girls, help Pattie find some new things for our place, and pick yourself some things up as well.”

What was wrong with all those Beatles? Their egos caused them to hand money over like they had an endless supply. They did of course, but they had no business doing that, especially not with me. I didn’t need to be “taken care of.” I had a job. I was going to school. I was perfectly capable of caring for myself, yet all four of them wouldn’t hear of it. If I went out with Paul and Christine, Paul was constantly buying me things. No matter how many times I went to dinner with Ringo and Maureen, Ringo picked up the tab, never letting me pay for my own meal. George was always picking up the bill if Pattie and I went to the hair salon or the nail parlor. And John, well he was just going to be furious that I got my new apartment all on my own. But I didn’t care. I hated feeling like I owed somebody something, even though I know John would never dream of asking me to pay him back.



Another week passed and that next Friday George and Pattie were married in a big to-do ceremony. I didn’t go, much to the disappointment of Pattie. But it simply would have been too awkward. A handful of reporters were in attendance and, though they were “inside” the Beatle camp so to speak, they would have loved the opportunity to snap a shot of me and question me about John. I would have been a sitting duck. And the thought of taking any of the attention off of George and Pattie made my stomach churn.

A few days later John came back into town. And to my utter surprise, he was wild about my new apartment. In fact he was insistent on dropping acid and then making love in every room.

“Purely for the sole reason of christening them, of course, madam,” he had joked.

Though he had been fine about the scant amount of furnishings when they might have gotten in the way of foreplay, once sex was no longer on the agenda, he immediately wanted to take me shopping so we could pick out some new pieces. But I told him the furniture I already had would work just fine until I made enough money to buy some more things for myself. Besides, I had already picked up a few things, all I could afford on my budget. I had given Pattie the money George gave me and told her to buy some nice things to wear on their honeymoon. I didn’t feel right spending George’s money.

Though my new apartment was in a busier area, the newsmen were relentless, especially since my modeling career was really exploding as of late. In fact, Lydia had even gotten me some small parts in a few movies. I had never considered acting, but when the opportunity presented itself, I couldn’t see how I could turn it down. The first few gigs she had gotten me were just small non-speaking roles, but recently she had secured a small speaking part for me in the new Michael Cain movie titled, “Alfie.” I was going to play one of his many girlfriends. And suddenly, I found that my face was everywhere. I was on the cover of magazines, plastered on posters on the train and in shops I frequented. I couldn’t escape myself. I was hardly attending school anymore because I was so busy with work or because I was simply too exhausted to bother with it after I had been out all night partying with the Beatles. I took care of as much school work as possible from the comfort of my own apartment so I didn’t have to deal with the looks my classmates shot at me, or the whispers coming from girls in the restroom. I didn’t attend school regularly; however I did make sure I was there on test days. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to even make it to class on those days as there was always something going on. The pressure from the guys to “sag off” school everyday didn’t help matters much either. I could tell that my teachers were becoming less and less patient at the informal arrangements I had made to attend class so irregularly. It wasn’t fair to the other students. But, I wasn’t like the other students, was I? Certainly not. And being invited to a party at Mick Jagger’s in the middle of February proved it.



I had already told John I couldn’t go. I had a big test on Monday and I needed to study all weekend for it because I didn’t know the material at all. His answer:

“For fuck’s sake, Maggie, who the bleeding hell gives a shite about a test? Sag off school. We’ll party on Monday!”

Apparently Cynthia was out of town with a couple of friends and she had taken Julian with her. Still, John and I had been seeing each other enough lately that I felt okay about turning him down this one time. I had really been neglecting my studies. I needed to stay home. But when that Friday rolled around, I sat alone on my sofa trying to concentrate on the book I was reading, frequently glancing over at the clock, wondering what everyone at the party might be doing at any given minute. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to get over there.

I arrived at the party at 1:30 AM in a yellow cashmere sweater dress, purple tights, white heels with a big buckle across the front, and a purple and white striped scarf in my hair. I had taken a couple of uppers before I left my apartment to make sure I was wide awake and would be able to keep up with the other party-goers. And the minute I walked in the door, someone shoved a martini in my hand which I think I may have drunk down in one swallow. I said a few “hellos,” and looked around a bit for John, but didn’t see him anywhere. Before I had time to really ask anyone if they had seen John, I became engaged in conversation with Marianne Faithful, whom I had met several times before and got along with swimmingly. We shared a joint as she introduced me to several people I had never met before. After getting caught up in conversation with Brian Jones and Anita Pallenberg for a little while, I remembered I had come to surprise John. I excused myself from the conversation and started asking random people if they had seen him. Some of them said they had seen him earlier, but didn’t know where he had gotten off to, while others said they hadn’t seen him at all. I entered into the foyer and heard a door close from overhead. I looked up and there, coming out of one of Mick’s many bedrooms, was John. And right beside him, running her hand up and down his arm, was Maureen Cleave. I had seen her before, but I had never picked up on anything between the two of them. This, however, was crystal clear. Drunk and drugged, my inhibitions were out the window.

“You fucking bastard!” I yelled up the stairs.

John’s eyes went wide and he grabbed Maureen’s hand and threw it off his arm.

“Maggie!” he exclaimed, running down the stairs toward me.

“Fuck you, John. We’re through,” I said, turning to make toward the door.

John, probably as high, if not more so, than me, and never one to avoid making a scene, grabbed my arm hard, spun me around to face him and begged,

“Maggie, no! Please, love. I’m out me soddin’ head. I’m fucked up. Please, love, believe me. I love you so much. I’m sorry. Christ! I’m so fucking sorry, Maggie. Please, you’ve got to believe me.”

“Oh so you’re not even going to try and deny something happened between you two tonight? You’re not even going to attempt to make up some big story about how you two were just talking or how she came onto you first? Wow…”

“Maggie…”

“Oh, but maybe I should be glad about that? I mean, at least you’re being honest with me, right? Unlike you are with Cynthia. Is that it, John? Is that the reason I should forgive you? Because I caught you, and you owned up to it? Well, what if I hadn’t caught you? I mean, you probably do this every time I’m not with you, is that what it is?”

“For Christ’s sake, you know that’s not fucking true!” he yelled, angry at my accusations.

I scoffed at my own stupidity, “I don’t even know why I’m surprised. I mean, I’m sure I’m just one of… how many women, John? Ten? Twenty? Hmmm? You’ve probably got at least a couple in every city.”

I could see his eyes becoming wild with anger. Was he angry because I was making a scene? Or was it because he’d been caught and now I was calling him out? I continued screaming at him, all the while knowing how I was pressing my luck in regards to his ability to control his own temper.

“I don’t know why I ever thought that all those times you said you loved me, you actually meant it.”

That was all it took. John went into an instant rage and suddenly I felt the rough surface of the back of his hand across my face. He gripped my shoulders and slammed me up against a wall. I felt the sting from his slap burning my cheek and I could hear gasps from the party-goers.

“Don’t you ever fucking doubt my love for you!” John yelled through gritted teeth, his fingers digging into my shoulders.

I began to sob and he shook me roughly.

“You bleeding hear me, Maggie?” he asked.

Through my tearful, blurry vision I could see a couple of men on either side of him trying to pull him away from me.

“Don’t you dare… ever… fuckin’ say that to me again,” John said, his voice breaking a little and going into a whisper.

I could tell he too was on the verge of tears as the men pulled him off me and escorted him away. A hush had fallen over the party and whispers filled the space where there was once laughter and loud conversation. James Brown’s 1963 album, Live at the Apollo, was playing in the background and I could see people standing around staring at me. I tried, in vain, to regain my composure, but the instant I felt a hand on my shoulder and saw Marianne’s face I began to sob again. She walked outside with me and tried to offer some comfort, but I didn’t feel much like talking. She asked if I wanted a taxi and I could only nod. Anita had come out to join us and offered me a joint to help calm me down, which I accepted willingly. Several minutes later a cab pulled up and I thanked both of them for waiting with me and I left the party in a daze. By the time I had gotten home, I had already forgotten what had happened at the party because I was so wasted. The dull pain emanating from the small bump on the back of my head, which I had received as a result of being slammed against the wall, was the only reminder I had of the much deeper pain that had been caused from seeing John with Maureen.

I stayed in bed for about a week after that. When John called, I hung up. Paul and Christine came over a few times just to check on me and I told them to tell John to stop calling me. I wasn’t ready to speak to him.

“Look, Maggie, be realistic here, love. He’s not in love with sodding Maureen Cleave. He was bloody drunk. He didn’t know what he was doing,” Paul reasoned.

“Well, that’s not a very good excuse if you ask me,” Christine said.

“Paul, I know I’m expecting too much out of this relationship. I mean, he is married after all. It’s not like the man is known for his fidelity,” I said.

“Maggie, that doesn’t matter. He told you he loved you. He should have honored that,” Christine said.

“Oh, Christine, don’t be so naïve. He told Cynthia he loved her too. I made too much out of this…”

“You most certainly did not. You don’t deserve to be treated like this and you know it. Don’t let him off the hook that easily,” Christine interrupted.

“…but it still hurts,” I finished.

“Exactly,” Christine said.

“Aw, love, I know it hurts now. But if you’d take his calls, maybe he could explain it to you. You two really are meant for each other. More so than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“Ahem,” Christine raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh. Right. Except for us, of course,” he giggled.

“Yes well, meant for each other or not meant for each other, he still slapped her. And there is never an excuse for that.”

I looked away from the two of them. I agreed with that part. I loved John so much that I think I was willing to overlook his infidelities, especially considering the fact that his and my relationship was his biggest infidelity of all. But I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to overlook his hitting me. I know he was high or drunk and I was testing his temper with the things I was saying, but even so, if he really loved me, was there any way he could raise his hand to me, sober or inebriated?



Because I wasn’t sure the answer to that question, I continued to distance myself from John, though it was very difficult. He phoned every night and because of my modeling and acting career, our paths did cross occasionally, though I always made for the exit the second I saw him. He came to my apartment several times, but I never let him in. One night he even slept on the landing outside my door all night hoping I’d give in and let him inside. It almost worked. It broke my heart to know he was willing to go those lengths and I cried all night long knowing he was out there. On March 4, the Evening Standard published a long article by Maureen Cleave about a day she spent with John. And I couldn’t help but wonder if it was the day I had seen them together.

The days passed, each one running seamlessly into the next. I was in such a drug-induced stupor most of the time that I had no sense of time anymore, yet somehow I still managed to make it to school on the rare occasion and to various shoots that Lydia had booked for me. Although I was always late and only half aware of the instructions I was being given. I had been taking uppers to wake up and Quaaludes to help me sleep, smoking pot all day long, and dropping acid at night and on the weekends. After a while I became sick. I was constantly nauseous. I figured it had to do with the drugs, so I tried to ease up for a little while. But doing that only seemed to make me feel even worse. I thought I should probably go to the doctor, but I dreaded what he might say to me about my drug use, so I put it off, telling myself I’d go if my health got any worse. A couple more weeks passed and I didn’t feel any better, but I definitely didn’t feel worse. I knew it had to do with the combination of drugs I was on, but I couldn’t figure out how to completely wean myself off them. I decided I was either going to have to quit cold turkey or live with my new habit of vomiting occasionally. At the moment I needed the drugs to help me ease the pain, so I decided being sick should just be seen as an unfortunate side effect.



Eventually the world premiere of my first real role in a movie, however small it may be, rolled around. Pattie and Christine had gone with me to see Mary Quant, who was outfitting me, herself, for the premiere of “Alfie.” She dressed me in a mid-length deep-plum colored jacket and matching plum mini dress with a large belt around the hips that had a huge gold buckle.

“Is this really appropriate for the premiere of a movie?” I asked the girls once Mary had left the room.

“Oh sure,” Pattie smiled. “You look gear, Maggie. Just fab!”

“Well, you’re sort of known for your mini dresses and mini skirts now, Maggie. I mean, that’s what you tend to wear in most of your photo sessions. So, I think you’re probably expected to show up in something like this,” Christine added.

“I just don’t…” I started, but was interrupted by Mary coming back into the room.

She was carrying a pair of gold ankle boots with a funky buckle around the top. I looked worriedly at the girls, but I could see in their eyes that they thought the look was to die for. Pattie’s mouth was practically watering!

“Now, you’ll wear the sheer nylons, with no seam, mind you, and your hair should be up since this jacket has a high collar. These gold earrings,” she said, handing me a pair of big gold dangly earrings in a geometric shape. “And this gold handbag,” she handed me a small metallic purse with a short handle. “Dark eye makeup, but absolutely no other makeup. I want all the focus to be on this jacket and dress. You got it?”

I nodded. I needed a joint, badly.

I left the place in the clothes I came in and went over to Christine’s to get ready. She and Paul were going to the premiere with me. Christine was wearing a dark green, knee-length satin dress that hugged all her curves and looked perfect for the occasion. She looked like she was the one who was in the movie. Not me. I felt like shit. I wanted so badly to take some acid, but I knew Christine and Paul weren’t into it, so I decided I would wait. Instead we all smoked a joint together and then left the house. We arrived at The Plaza Cinema and were all feeling very silly and giggly. The mere sight of all the fans lined up along the sides of the street and the entrance inexplicably caused the three of us to howl with laughter. But for me, things stopped being funny when I saw that John and Cynthia, Ringo and Maureen, and George and Pattie were all in attendance as well.

“Why didn’t you tell me everyone was going to be here?” I hissed at Paul. Or you could have at least told me that John would be here!”

“Well you wouldn’t have come would you?” Paul asked, his doe eyes looking so innocent.

I huffed and got out of the car, slamming the door hard. Lydia met up with me almost instantly and grabbed me by the arm slowing the pace I was walking.

“Slow down and wave like a good girl, dahling. And for God’s sake, wipe that scowl off your face. The photographs they’re taking now will be published all around the world. Especially since you’ve arrived with a Beatle,” her deep voice rang out through a very forced smile.

I did as I was told. Mary would have my head if the outfit she dressed me in didn’t show up in the papers.

“Now go over there for a quick photo op with your Beatles, deah,” Lydia instructed me.

She pointed to where the Beatles were all standing together being photographed. Their wives had already gone inside and only Cilla Black and Brian were standing with them. I cringed at the thought of joining them.

“Oi, Maggie, come over here,” Ringo called out, motioning for me to join them.

“Even better!” Lydia squealed with glee.

“Yes, Maggie. Do join us, won’t you?” Brian asked, to my surprise.

“Splendid! They’re beckoning. Now, run along!” Lydia said, giving me a little push from behind.

As shocked as I am sure that I looked at Brian’s sudden change of heart toward me, I slowly walked over to the group. The second I reached them, I was blinded by the amount of flashes that went off. Reporters were shouting questions, but I couldn’t make them out through all the racket. George pulled me between him and Paul and Paul put his arm around me. The boys were joking around and being the silly Beatles they’re known for being, but I felt like I could just be sick. I wanted so badly to get away from them. The lights dimmed letting everyone outside know the show was about to begin and I felt a sense of relief wash over me. Brian ushered the boys inside and I followed a ways behind them, Lydia on my heels. I told her I had to stop in the ladies room before I found my seat and she went on ahead of me. Once in, I rushed into a stall and kneeled over the toilet as I felt the chunks rising in my throat. After it was over, I went to the sink and gulped down some water. Then I opened my gold clutch and retrieved the uppers I had brought along. I popped a couple of them in my mouth and then washed them down with some water. Then I checked my makeup and went back out, only to find John standing there waiting for me.

“Everything come out all right, then?” he attempted to make a joke, but I didn’t laugh.

“Yes, thank you. Excuse me,” I said, trying to push past him.

He grabbed my arm.

“Let go of my arm, John Lennon, or I swear to you I’ll scream,” I threatened.

“Do it. This night could stand for a little more bloody excitement.”

I stared at him.

“You’ve got to talk to me, Maggie,” he sighed.

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Maggie, you haven’t spoken to me in over a month. I’m fucking dying here. Please, love,” he pleaded.

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes and I blinked them back several times. I missed him so much. I jerked my arm away from him and went back into the ladies room. John followed me in.

“Talk fast. The movie’s going to start,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed on the ground.

“Maggie, you have to know there’s nothing going on between me and Maureen,” he said. “I don’t love her. You must…” his voice trailed off. “Christ, Maggie, please look at me?”

I slowly raised my eyes from the bathroom floor, on which they were fixed, to meet his gaze.

“You must know I don’t love her?”

I could feel the tears building up again as I saw the sincerity in his eyes. I did know he didn’t love her. But it still hurt.

“I love you. I’ve never in me life loved anyone the way I love you. You must know that? Please tell me you know that,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion, his eyes searching mine for the answer.

“I thought I knew that,” I somehow managed to whisper past the lump in my throat.

“You… thought,” he said slowly, his eyes becoming filled with tears.

“Yes, John. I somehow made myself think that you really loved me. And I suppose it’s possible you do, as much as you’re able to. But I’m not sure that’s enough for me. I need to be loved fully.”

“Christ, Maggie, I do love you fully. I’ve never loved someone so completely.”

“Then how were you able to sleep with Maureen?” I blurted out.

“Maggie, I was so bleedin’ pissed that night. I know it’s no excuse, love, but it’s the truth. I had no idea what I was doing.”

“So you don’t remember hitting me?”

“Jesus, love, I’m sorry…”

“You don’t remember slamming me into the wall? Or shaking me? I had bruises on my arms and a bump on my head, John.”

Tears started to roll down his cheeks.

“Fuck!” he yelled, spinning around and punching the wall.

I winced at the sound of his fist banging into the wall.

“I’m sorry, Maggie,” he sobbed. “They told me I did that, but I swear to you I barely remember it. I’m a violent fucking bastard sometimes and I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I been beating myself up over it ever since it happened. But I swear to Christ it’ll never happen again, Maggie. You’ve just got to take me back, love. You just got to.”

His face was red and tears streamed down his cheeks. A woman who must have been in her forties entered the restroom and John yelled at her to leave us alone. When she had gone, I just stood there, silent. I didn’t know what to say. I felt so awful for him. And for myself. John had sunk down onto the floor where he was trying to compose himself. He had a towel he had dampened under the faucet and was wiping his face with it.

“I don’t know where to go from here,” I broke the silence. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust you again.”

“I’m not asking you to, love. I’ll have to regain your trust. I know that. But I do want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. And I would never. And it’ll never happen again. Ever.”

Tears began to spill out of my eyes as I tried in vain to stop them. John got up and walked slowly over to me.

“I love you, Maggie,” he said, gently placing his arms around me.

I still wasn’t sure it was what I wanted, but at that moment it felt wonderful to be back in his arms. To feel the warmth of his body against mine. We stayed like that for several minutes before I finally decided we had better get into the movie.

“Can I come over later?” he asked.

“Not tonight, John.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” I answered.

“All right, love.”

He kissed me softly on the lips and then left me alone in the bathroom. I quickly fixed my makeup in the bathroom mirror and then joined everyone in the theater, where the movie had already started.

“Where in God’s name have you been?” Lydia whispered to me when I sat down.

“None of your business,” I answered flatly.

“Well,” she huffed.

We sat through the rest of the movie in silence and I didn’t go to any parties afterward, as I wasn’t feeling up to it. It hadn’t even been that thrilling to see myself speaking on the big screen. I had more important things to concern myself with. I smoked a joint on the way home and because the uppers were still in my system, the two cancelled each other out, so I only felt numb. Which was more than fine by me.

About 2:30 in the morning a knock came on my door and I instantly knew who it was. There was only one person the doorman would let up at that time without advance notice to be expecting someone. I had just taken some Quaaludes to help me fall asleep and I knew it wouldn’t be long before they kicked in, so I didn’t feel much like seeing him.

“Who is it?” I asked through the door, knowing fully well who it was.

“It’s Winston,” the voice from the other side said.

I smiled to myself. I had told him he couldn’t come over that night, but I should have known that wasn’t about to stop him.

“Let me in, it’s bloody freezing out here!” he called.

“Uh huh. That doesn’t work at this apartment, Winston. You’re indoors here!” I said. “Besides, I told you, you couldn’t come over tonight!”

“Aw, still angry, love? Well, let me in so you can have a bash at me. I deserve it, I know.”

I opened the door.

“Well, that’s all the incentive you needed, eh? Should’ve offered to let you have a go at me a month ago I suppose,” he said as he came in.



We sat down on the sofa and began to have an in-depth discussion about our relationship. It was going pretty well and I felt like we were really understanding where the other was coming from. John and I did understand each other. I always knew that. It’s just that the circumstances were so extraordinary that things became very complicated very easily. I suddenly felt that I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer and I said so to John, who was visibly wired, but who also wanted to go to sleep.

“Go ahead and sleep. I’ll be here in the morning and we can finish this discussion then.”

“The way you look, you’ll still be sitting there wide awake in the morning,” I said, leaving him alone on the sofa while I went into the bathroom to retrieve a couple of pills for him.

“Got any Ludes, then?” he called to me.

“Here,” I said, handing them to him, once I had returned.

“Read my mind, love,” he smiled.

“I’m going to sleep.”

“Give us a kiss,” he said in his “Hard Day’s Night” way.

I rolled my eyes at him and he pulled a spastic face, which caused me to laugh. Then I leaned over him and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” I replied, quickly aware that it was the first time I had said that to him in over a month.

I suddenly felt slightly awkward and I closed my robe around me and went to my bedroom.

“Sleep well,” I called out to him before I shut my door.



The next morning I awoke to John nuzzled up behind me, his arms around me, his lips on the back of my neck. I rolled over to face him and forced one eye open so I could see him. He smiled serenely at me and removed his arms so he could turn over. He turned back toward me with two pills and a glass of water.

“Brekkies?” he asked.

I took the pills and slowly put them in my mouth and then I washed them down with the water he had given me. And then I promptly fell back to sleep. I awoke again about 45 minutes later and John was gone. I could hear him talking lowly in the other room and figured he must have been on the telephone. I looked at the clock on my wall and it read 3:25 PM. I had missed just about the entire school day, but I couldn’t have cared less. I hadn’t been to school in a while. I yawned loudly and stretched across my bed as John came back into the room.

“Well, look who’s finally decided to join us. Morning, love,” he smiled, climbing on the bed to kiss me.

“Were you on the phone?” I asked.

“Yeah. Cyn.”

“Oh.”

“Look, love, I’m sorry about…”

“John, I’m sick of talking. We’re okay now, you and me,” I said.

“But… are you sure?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Now, please make love to me.”

And he did. And it was slow and passionate. Just wonderful. I had missed him so much. We spent the next few days in bed together. The phone rang, but I didn’t answer it. And neither of us mentioned Maureen Cleave, or Cynthia, or any other girl for that matter. It was like there was no one left in the world but us. We took acid a couple of times and tripped together there, alone in my apartment. And John worked on a couple of songs. The next two weeks were much of the same. John spent most of his time at my place and I didn’t even bother asking where Cynthia thought he was. I didn’t care. I was just glad he was with me. The rest of the gang had come over several times during those weeks or I had joined them all at Ringo’s or George’s and we all had a great time just being together. It was just like it had been; only now there were even more drugs being passed around. And I was missing much more school. In fact, I was attending so infrequently I received a letter from the university saying I had to attend a certain number of classes for them to consider me still enrolled, otherwise they would regard me as having formally dropped out and my visa would no longer be any good; meaning I’d have to leave the country. But I was having much too good a time to be concerned about that. Besides, Lydia had taken out a work visa for me, which was good for quite a while. So, if my school visa expired or was revoked, I was still allowed to be in England as long as I was working.

The first Wednesday in April the guys had begun to record their new album. And since they said they didn’t mind, I often sat in with them observing their process. It was absolutely fascinating. They really were geniuses. It was going to be their best album yet! One day, while observing the boys, one of my sick spells suddenly came over me and I had to jump up and rush to the bathroom. John followed close behind me.

“Maggie, you have to see a doctor, love,” he said once I was done vomiting.

“I can’t. It’s the drugs, John. What would a doctor say?”

“I don’t know what the bloody doctor will say, but you need to have yourself checked out. It’s not right that you’re sick like this all the time. I’m taking all the same sodding things you are and you don’t see me getting sick. Just promise me you’ll go?”

“I will. I’ll go,” I said.

April passed in a blur and before I knew it, the first of May had arrived. Unfortunately, my menstrual cycle had not. I was supposed to attend the guys’ NMEP concert that night, but I was much too busy having a nervous breakdown. I checked the calendar and sure enough I hadn’t had my period in March or April. Two months? How could I not have realized I hadn’t had my period in two months? Suddenly, the sickening feeling that I had become so used to over the last several weeks washed over me. But this time, I knew it wasn’t the drugs that had caused it. And suddenly I realized it hadn’t been the drugs at all. I rushed to the toilet to vomit. And after I washed my face in the sink and rinsed my mouth out, I stared at myself in the mirror. How could I not have known?

I was pregnant.