How to Change the World Part 6
Title: How to Change the World
Author: glomerdian
Rating: R?
Warnings: homophobia and language and what not
Summary: "The reporter sat there in shock, watching as Paul took another drag of his cigarette. The 'cute Beatle', Paul McCartney, was a f---ing queer!"
Author notes: Right, should I put a disclaimer that says that this is fiction and didn't happen. Fine, this is fiction and didn't happen.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a very special quest tonight… though, all our guests are quite special. I’d like to welcome here, the Beatle John Lennon!”
The room filled with the sound of claps and cheers, but some people avoided it. There were die hard Beatles fans in that audience and some people who came for the bragging rights of seeing David Frost’s show. The Beatle in question walked out, dressed in a jersey knit turtle neck, another obsession of his along with the old Greek Fisherman’s hat. Lifting his hand to wave at the audience, he proceeded to sit on the interview chair. Perhaps they would spare him tonight.
The interviewer, David Frost, made himself comfortable in the chair next to John. He was very fond of satire, though it would take someone with greater courage than him to try to joke about the recent events. It was still hard to not mention.
“Wow. John Lennon. It is a pleasure to have you here with us today,” Frost gave a genuine smile, “now… now one thing we’ve been rehearsing to talk about is the release of Revolver. Which comes out… in a few days?”
John escaped the thoughts munching on the edges of his brain. He was pulled back into reality, focusing on the question in question.
“Yeah… that’s right,” He said, crossing his legs and resting his attention on the interview.
“So, what do you think about the album? Is it anything new?”
John nodded. Okay, this is a good start, “Well, you know… I think it’ll be just grand, David. We worked hard on this, y’know? We tried to make things new and fresh. Like we tried with the last one.”
“Rubber Soul was it?”
“Yeah, but better.”
David gave a friendly chuckle continuing on, “So, I’ve heard you’ve stopped touring. You think this is a good thing for the group?”
“Well, y’know. We’ll miss this sort of thing, but we can’t very well hear ourselves when we’re playin’. And now I guess we have more time to work in the studio. Y’know experimenting and what not.”
David Frost gave a sympathetic smile before continuing… maybe too sympathetic.
“So, John…” Frost swallowed, trying to make this seem as friendly as possible. The things he does for journalism, “If I may ask... What are yourthoughts on the recent events with Paul?”
The dreaded question.
“What recent events?”
“Uh…”
“Oh right those! Yes, he bought a beautiful estate. It’s lovely!”
The interviewer’s face was now annoyed, he rubbed to anxious fingers on his forehead.
“Yes the estate is quite lovely John, but what do you think about Paul… Paul being a homosexual?”
“Ah,” John rested chin in his hand, “Well, it’s not really my place to have an opinion.”
The audience was silent. Tension soared throughout every member of the crowd. This was supposed to be a lighthearted show.
“I mean… I love him, he’s my best friend. But, what he wants to do with people is none of my business. And… it’s not like he’s open about it, he just didn’t want to live a lie anymore. I guess is what he thought.”
David scanned the situation, then displayed a suspicious smile. He bit his lip as if he were trying to hold back laughter.
“So you sympathize with him?”
Someone from the audience laughed.
~~*~~
Paul watched intently from his home in Cavendish, his eyes set directly on the television. Martha lay resting on his lap, Paul stroking her back.
Okay, so perhaps the whole John hating him thing wasn’t completely true… they were best friends after all. I mean to say that he loved Paul, a homosexual, in front of an interviewer was a pretty good sign wasn’t it? Or maybe it was just something people say when their band mates in the most famous band in the world say that they’re queer. Maybe he was lying.
It didn’t matter. Paul eyed the television; his anxious strokes on Martha’s back became harsher. The dog squirmed away from the pressured man’s grasp.
“So you sympathize with him?”
Fucking hell, someone laughed. Some bunch of groupies actually booed.
“If you’re asking me if I like men, than the answer is no. No way. But… I don’t think… y’know, I don’t think it’s wrong if Paul does, y’know?”
John started to blink rapidly, it was a habit he acquired when he was nervous. He also said “y’know” a lot when he was under pressure, like during the whole Jesus controversy. Now that he thought about it, he had the same habit as well.
“So you condone this sort of behavior, John?”
The fans in the audience started yelling something, and probably were on the edge of being escorted outside by now.
“Well, if you’re gonna phrase it like an asshole, then yes!”
“Well! Thank you, John, for coming on the show! Now a quick commercial break-”
The camera began to slowly zoom into David, John’s face being cut off. That Lennon bloke realized what was happening… and of course did something about it.
“Hey just wait a minute, son,” John said shoving his way into the shot. The scene cut off, and a commercial for cereal began to play. It was funny… or maybe it shouldn’t have been.
Maybe, maybe John didn’t completely hate him. Maybe John still liked him enough to defend him on national television.
~~*~~
Revolver came out today.
No one’s going to buy it.
Probably because of him.
Especially because of him.
~~*~~
A mountain of blankets surrounded Paul, his world darkness. He didn’t want to get up. He wanted to remain in the solace brought by emptiness. There were no reporters; there were no fans. There was no John.
But he knew only fools spend time in a fantasy world, because the real world leaves them behind.
His buzzer rang, the peace of the blankets fled from him as he stood up walking towards the door. Sluggishly he arrived at his side of the buzzer. He gave himself credit for dressing himself, just opening his eyes in the morning was an incredible chore.
“Who is it?” Paul spoke softly into the speakers, waiting for whomever to answer.
“It’s me,” George’s voice sounded through the intercom.
“Is it just Me or do you have a last name?”
“Shut up, you twat.”
Paul shook his head, clicking the button for the gate to open. In came George’s car, parking into his driveway. He was glad someone could still joke with him.
Walking up to the door, he greeted Paul with his guitar in his right hand, his other hand waving friendly.
“So,” George said walking into the house, “Are you doing okay?”
“Good as ever!” Paul said sarcastically as he sat next to George, who had already made himself comfortable.
“What happened to you front yard, mate? It’s completely wrecked” George continued as he picked at the strings of the instrument.
“Have you been watching the news at all?,” Paul’s voice sounded as if it had the weight of a thousand pounds on it. It was a miracle he could carry those thousand pounds to the couch.
“You okay, mate?” George said as he followed behind, both men now seated on the couch.
“Yeah, just a lot goin’ on y’know.”
“Ahh.”
They sat in silence for a few somewhat awkward moments. Paul had acquired a guitar in his hand. George might as well keep his hand busy with a six string, too.
Maybe George should just cut the crap.
“I visited John a few days ago.”
Paul didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to.
“He’s in pretty bad condition.”
Against his own will, Paul spoke, “Why’s that?”
Both men stared at each other for a few long seconds, trying to read each other’s expression.
George looked somewhat… sheepish.
“George, why is he in bad condition?”
“Because…” George paused, looking at the ground, “Well, I guess you’d know better than me.”
Paul analyzed George, his body displaying an uncomfortable state. What could possibly be behind those dark eyes? He couldn’t possibly know. John couldn’t have told him. No, he wouldn’t do that. But...
“Paul it’s okay. I-I get it.”
“What?”
“I know.”
He knew. He knew. He Knew.
Maybe Paul shouldn’t be so rash, maybe John made up some elaborate lie. It’s just an elaborate lie! That’s all. No one knows. No one will ever know. There is nothing to know.
And then he started laughing. Paul started to laugh!
Ha ha ha ha ha!
God it was too funny! What a fucking idiot he was!
He had to hold himself, he was laughing so hard.
“Paul... Are you okay?” George spoke softly. It was the voice of concern. George had never seen Paul so… fragile.
“Oh, Oh George,” he couldn’t breathe, “What do you know George, huh? Ha! What is it that you think is so secretive, you can’t even directly tell me, hmm?”
“Fuck off, Paul. I was gonna be nice about this, but you don’t have to be such a twat!”
The giggles filled the room, short and sharp. Paul closed his eyes, leaning forward.
George stood up from the couch angrily, his guitar in some corner now. “I know you and John fucked like rabbits, okay? I don’t give a shit anymore. This group hasn’t been the same since whatever the hell happened between you!”
The laughter stopped. Paul stopped leaning over the couch, his eyes were open. This time he listened. His mask of giggles broke apart.
“I’m sorry, mate. It’s just that… I don’t want to see you guys fall apart. Y’know?”
Instead of the mask, Paul stood silent. He looked as if he were contemplating something, staring into nothing.
“I love him.” Those words weren’t intentional. They were fabricated into him.
“What…?”
“I loved- love him. I had him. I had him for a second, then I lost him. It’s like I just… I barley grazed him…. And it was the best feeling in the world. It… it was the world. And it all fell apart in a second.”
Paul searched for George’s sympathetic gaze.
“Is this my life now? I can’t even be with a person, because they’re a bloke? Of all the things that I could’ve been…” Paul couldn’t finish his sentence. The water grazing his cheeks took him by surprise. George, one of his final friends stood above him, almost shocked.
“Paul… Oh god.”
Paul’s back was comforted by the stable palm of George Harrison on his back.
At least someone didn’t think he was a monster.
~~*~~
John’s vision was darkness. Only one ray of light beamed through, yet it wasn’t welcomed by the melancholy band member.
“And John Lennon’s appearance on David Frost…”
“Oh shut the fuck up!” John yelled at no one in particular while he stood up to shut off the television.
The blankets he had wrapped around himself were now scattered on the floor. His only fortress of solitude now destroyed. It’s funny how something could be destroyed so easily.
Maybe playing a bit would ease him a little. Or maybe some writing? At least he was dressed.
He was just about to go write something down when mysterious knocks came from the door.
“The hell?”
After a brief walk over to the front door, he found his band mate standing at the door, waiting for entrance.
“Oh. Are you lost mister?”
George brushed past John’s shoulder, ignoring his comments. He sat down on the lone chair in the living room.
“So… where’s everyone?”
“Fuck if I know.”
“Oi, what’s wrong, brother?”
John followed George’s actions, taking a seat on the couch that was too large for just him. But it wasn’t just him, his friend blanket was there. Damn he could use a cigarette right now.
“Why’re you here, again?”
“ ‘Cause I haven’t heard from any of you in about three days!”
John’s hand reached for the box of cigarettes in his coat pocket. The lighter from the coffee table supplied to fuel, and John fell silent, puffing smoke from his mouth.
“Well??!” George said, annoyed with John’s uncooperative attitude.
“Shit’s been going on okay?! We’ve just got an album out and Paul’s fucking doing whatever he’s doing and half the world hates us and half of it loves us and… and…”
John’s eyebrows furrowed into one sad expression. He butted out his fag prematurely, as he settled into the couch. Looking into the distance, he crossed his arms, once again hurting in silence.
“John, I don’t understand what’s going on. Are you and Paul okay?”
One look from John, and George knew. Sure, he didn’t know the story, or the cause of his pain. But underneath all that is John Lennon, he caught a glimpse of someone torn. Someone who’s been ripped to shreds. Because for a moment, John let himself look scared.
“We’re not okay… because we’ve ruined this whole thing.”
“I’m not sure I understand how-”
“I like him, George. I like him so much that now I’m a fuckin’ wreck.”
“What are you-”
“I’m saying, you shit, is that me and Paul are a bunch of fairies! Y’know, queers, poofters, assfuckers?!”
George stood silent for a moment in his chair. Of all the moments to be the quiet one…
“So you’re a…” George trailed off, “too?”
“No… I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think so. I just… I like Paul. And ever since the time we spent in my house here I don’t know what to do…”
The quiet one swallowed the lump in his throat, “Do you love him?”
“I don’t know.”
“D-does Cynthia know?”
“Do you see her in this house?”
A sort of shock overcame George as he stood up, not exactly knowing where he was going.
“Well… um…” he said, as he slowly walked around the living room.
“You don’t have to be my therapist, George. Just let me wallow a little while.”
George regrettably respected his wishes and left.