A Most Curious Place - Chapter Five (J/P Slashfic - Rated R)
Author: Lennonsmuse
Summary: But what does Paulie think of all this?
Chapter Five: He Saw Her Standing There; Paul Takes Notice….
I don’t particularly care for the way John’s been leering at Nicky ever since she made that little ‘tit flashing’ remark. S’pose I ought to warn her more thoroughly about him when I get the chance to speak to ‘er alone again.
Because this is the way it often works with John, you see. Lash out at first, then leer at next. One minute he’s practically snapping the poor girl’s head off for suggesting that he’s suggesting some crude goings-on between us--which he was, by the way--and the next, he’s giving her that dirty ole-man smirk of his like he’s suddenly realized the person whose head he's just bitten off is an attractive female one with a set of knockers he'd fancy gettin' hold of.
And the fact she happened to mention that pair of said assets herself...not exactly helping the matter.
Shit. What the Hell is his problem, anyway?
Oh yeah, right…he’s John. That’s his problem. And I’m thinkin’ it’ll be mine as well if he doesn’t manage to put a bit of restraint on his usual lecherousness and starts trying to pull our reporter companion to add to his already impressive list of ‘John-quests’. It’s a little game of his that’s become familiar to me over the years I’ve known him…
Try first to offend them, and if that fails then try gettin' a shag or two out of ‘em.
Seems that If they’re not so easily offended by his tongue-lashing then John starts believin' the ole Lennon tongue might be better used against ‘em in other ways. He’s not always this way with the birds though. I know that for a fact. I’ve seen him pour on the charm a time or two before as well.
Yeah, but then I also find meself remembering how he first approached Cyn, his wife. Or closer to being ‘ex-wife’ now, I reckon.
I seem to recall taunts of “Haughty Miss Hoylake” and “Prim’N’Proper Lil Powell” having been used on her at the time-and all only a matter of days before he seduced her back to that poor excuse of a flat he shared with Stu and ‘fucked her up one wall and down the other, son’ as he bragged to me later, tellin' me how they'd christened everything in that shabby room save the ceilin’, and perhaps left a bit of cum there as well if he could’ve seen clearly enough to recognize it afterward.
“I can’t very well call her Haughty Miss Hoylake anymore, guv.” he boasted, giving me an overly proud slap on the back, “That Cyn bird’s not haughty at all. N’ fact, when she came she fuckin’ yowled like a wild animal, Macca! I think Howlin’ Hoylake might be better suited for her now, y’know, or maybe even Sweet Lil Miss Hooowelllll…” and he accentuated that particular moniker by tossin' his Teddy-Boy-coiffed head back and cuttin’ loose with the loudest wolf-iest shriek he could muster…
Enough of a shriek to make me wonder at the time if John Lennon was, in all actuality, some form of wild animal.
He certainly wasn’t like any other human being I'd ever known…or have since. It’s something I loved and admired about him, y'know…
Still do to this day.
The people I grew up with and were raised by, though not wealthy or upper crust by any stretch of the imagination, were still somewhat refined. Respectable, you know. There are those who are both working-class and well-mannered in existence even though some of the uppity types don’t care admittin’ it. But that’s how me folks were…and our other relations as well. All a bit warm and close with each other, but very considerate, too.
And from what I could tell John’s family was fairly much the same. But John himself…’specially when I first met him? Oh, no…no. He wasn’t about to conform to the rules of society, or family, or what they thought he should be. He was dead-set on opposin' authority in any shape, form or fashion. A rebel by nature. I guess that’s why I came to look up to him so much and even emulate him a bit much to me poor da’s chagrin. I mean, Dad likes John well enough. Always has, you know. But ever since that incident with Bob Wooler at my twenty-first birthday party…
“We’re gathered here this afternoon to see if we can persuade our Dearly Departed Brother Paulie Mac to join us all again in the ‘here and now’…”
“Ah, shush up, you…” I attempt to play off my temporary distraction as I look up at John who’s just rolled his eyes back down from the ceiling following his little impromptu act as a spiritual medium “…I’m just trying to remember those chords I went over a few days ago….you know…for that one lil tune.”
“Ah, thas bloody bollocks and you know it, son. Yer just sittin’ there thinkin’ ‘bout ways to get into that sweet Nicky’s lil knickers…that is, if you haven’t been there already…”
“What’s it to you then?” I snap a bit too defensively.
John doesn’t seem to notice...or care. “Only curious if you’ve done her yet, y'know. That lift back at the American hotel then?” He gives me the deviant eyebrow wiggle.
“Shhh….would you….” I glance self-consciously across the studio to where Nicky is off…thankfully being kept occupied and chatted up by George and Ringo.
“Would I what?” follwed by the infamously innocent Lennon stare.
“Just stop sayin’ things like that, alright? You’ll have her thinkin’ I’m only after one thing.”
“No, I’m thinkin’ you must be after at least three if me pitiful memory of the female anatomy serves correctly.” John’s eyes morph to mere slits of dark goldish-amber as he gazes down at me and giggles, “I can’t really remember, you know. It’s just been too long since I’ve had a right proper shag.”
My fingers halt mid-chord on the piano keys and I gaze back at him incredulously, engaging in a sing-song American cowboy-fied lilt, “And youse a dirty rotten liar, too, Boay….”
The smile disappears. “Not at all. I’m dead serious.”
“Aye…. right. Whatever, John.” I chuckle sarcastically and resume fiddling with chord progressions, trying to act like I don’t remember which ones I really want to use next. Gotta keep playing this little game for the time being, you know. Keep 'im off track.
John doesn’t seem ready to give up on the fact that there’s no way I’m believin’ him. He leans over the top of the piano and smiles down at me again, “Note, I said right proper shag, Macca. Meaning the kind to which ole Johnny’s become accustomed.”
“Accustomed?” I ask thoughtfully, toyin' 'round with a faux proper English. “Are you quite sure, ole chap? Accustomed?”
“Well, the kind I’d prefer anyroad….”
“Meanin' the kind that’d preferably last a few hours…or days….” I laugh, dropping the jokey posh accent immediately, knowing of my mate’s notorious stamina and constant cravin' for sexual satisfaction. Not unlike me own, you see. Not a bit unlike it.
Only I haven’t got a wife who can catch me at it with another bird, have I?
That is the reason he’s on his way to being divorced, after all...not that I'm judgin' or anything.
“Also meaning the kind I’m startin’ to wonder if Sweet Lil Miss Nicole over there might be capable of….” he sums up, casting evilly slit eyes in her direction.
Oh, bloody Hell! He's on the verge of givin' our reporter those fucking nicknames of his. Howlin’ Hoylake instantly comes to mind.
“Just leave her be, John.” I hear myself warn him in a low steady voice, feeling a familiar sting of heat begin rising to my cheeks as I continue tinkering on the keys, trying to pretend that his latest half-hidden suggestion isn’t bothering me in the least.
But damned if he doesn’t see straight through me façade, same as always. Bleedin’ bastard.
“Ah..ha…” he gives me a sly little smirk, edging round the side of the piano to sit beside me on the bench, holding the neck of guitar up to avoid hitting the keys with it. “…yer jealous, son! Guess more happened on that lift back in The States than you’d care confessin’, aye?”
“No.”
“Ah, come ‘ead, Mackey. What ya gonna go leavin’ me in the dark about it for? Tell us…” he starts in as I look across at him, then adds with a little girlish head tilt and bat of his eyelashes, “…please?”
“Get on, y’git…” I chuckle at his facial expression, despite not wanting to. “There’s really nothing to tell. The lift was filled with several other people as well, y’know.”
“So? That’s never stopped you before, 'as it, Paulie? Didn’t stop you from messin’ about with me that time, did it?”
Okay. I fully expected it might come to this. Mention of that particular time. That other lift. Of course. How did I know John would be bringing that up again at some point? The time we traveled to Paris together and took a crowded lift to the top of the Eiffel Tower to witness a proper sunset in the City of Love.
But it’s not what you might be thinkin’. Really.
And I didn’t ‘mess about’ with him like he claims. Not like that. I’m not queer, you know. It was just another case of John and me being silly together is all…same as we’d done a thousand times before, only that particular time took things a bit further.
Did pull us some nice birds though, so it wasn’t all bad.
Anyroad, here’s the whole story. You see, there were a couple of pretty girls and they were both all ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’ over this couple of queer blokes who were holding hands together in the lift on the way up, and then shared a little kiss once we’d all reached the top of the tower. So, John and I, typical smart-asses, found ourselves challenged to get the pretty birds to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ over us instead. Win their attention off the queer blokes, you know…
So, after whispering to John for him to follow me lead, we walked to the railing of the tower…near enough the other blokes so the girls could get a good look at us, and then I ever so gently just took his hand and drew it into mine…lacin’ our fingers together…really luvey-duvey-like….
Well, John’s the consummate show-off, you know…even worse than me…and he can act just as convincingly as a fuckin’ theatre professional when it comes to taking the piss out of someone, havin’ ‘em on for a laugh...or tryin' to pull a bird, so he started blushing furiously when I took his hand and then tenderly laid his head over on my shoulder.
As it turns out, that little gesture got the desired reaction from 'em though.
We heard the girls gasp softly in surprise and then one of them whispered, ‘Oh, look over there…at those two…” And the other sighed, “Awww…they’re so in love, aren’t they? It’s a shame that some people can’t just let them be…and live happily together. Just look at them! Why, they’re absolutely adorable!”
Well, needless to say, those remarks were enough to encourage us carryin' that little prank of ours to the limit.
John dramatically whirled round toward the girls, putting on the biggest most sorrowful pair of puppy-eyes he could manage, then drew me over by the hand toward them and said, “Excuse me, luvs…I couldn’t help but overhear your kind and sympathetic words…and you've truly no idea how terrible it’s been to be so deeply in love with me sweet Paulie here for such a long time and 'ave nobody accept us feelin’ this way ‘bout one another. I’ve even been physically abused for it…nearly killed! Me own da, you see…he absolutely hates me for bein’ queer…” He pulled down the neck of his shirt to display the still-reddened cut he’d gotten from a broken bottle during a bar fight in Hamburg and added, “See this here? He did this to me, he did. Tried to snuff me by plungin’ a carving knife this close to me heart. Why, I nearly bled to death!”
Yeah…well, that got the unsuspecting girls to gasp in absolute horror for the atrocity havin' been done to the cute sad-eyed queer boy and fresh tears of sympathy sprang to their eyes while I tried me damnedest to keep a straight face at the whole thing.
“Oh, my God!” one exclaimed while the other covered her shock-gaped mouth with a trembling hand. “How could he do such a terrible thing…and to his own son?”
John, forcing tears into his eyes as well-likely made easier by the fact we’d drank a bit before going up the tower-swiped at them with the back of the hand still clasped in mine and responded solemnly, “I’ll never know, luv, ‘cept the man is pure evil! He told me that if me heart was truly destined for queerdom, then he’d just as soon gouge it from me chest than allow me to live out a long and sinful life bein’ some nasty ole pouf!” he concluded, violently blowin’ out the last word...which startled the girls a bit.
So, in keeping with the prank, I gathered John’s chin into my free hand and cupped it gently whilst he gazed adoringly at me, feigning being near tears meself and whispered affectionately with a little sniffle, “I thought I’d lost you then, luv.” Lookin' back at the girls, I added, “Poor Johnny spent several weeks in hospital after that, so near the brink of death that I dreaded he’d simply pass into the great beyond without so much as another word spoken to me. I was absolutely heartbroken over it and couldn’t bear the thought of losin’ him. And since no one else bothered visitin' him while he was recoverin’, I literally spent every day and night at his bedside…utterly inconsolable, me own heart as shattered as his was wounded.”
That phony admission won me a sympathetic ‘awwww’ from both birds.
I was quite pleased with meself.
John nuzzled his lips against the hand of mine that'd been holding his face, eased it over, kissed the back of it gently and comically pretended to spit out a hair before respondin', “I had no choice but return to you, me dearest. You are the other half of me, and I just couldn’t leave this world without seein’ yer luvly face at least one last time.” Then he looked at the girls and beamed proudly, “Just get a good gander at him, ladies! Isn’t he the absolute most beautiful thing ye’ve ever seen in yer lives? I’m hopelessly mad about ‘im!”
The girls giggled and awww’d again over our devotion to one another as they agreed with ‘my beau’ about me facial features before John perked up and happily professed, “That’s why we’ve finally run off from home together, you see. We’ve come to the City of Love to be married, after which we plan to devote the rest of our lives to each other by travelin’ from one romantic place to another…initiating each inn and hotel room with remnants of our love…” he then batted his eyes charmingly and smiled “..or more bluntly, we’re going to fuck each other from here to eternity.”
Both birds began gigglin' like mad at that declaration, and shortly thereafter seemed to become quite a bit more interested in the sort of things John and I might actually ‘do’ to one another during our many travels-apparently having completely lost interest in the ‘genuine’ queer blokes they’d been watching in the first place.
So, true to our farce and keeping in character for the entire lift ride back down the tower, John and I made a blatant display of eyeing each other up, holding hands, stealing gentle caresses…and much to our common pleasure, the birds looked on as though they were getting rather randy from it all…as well as the couple of chaps who’d been holding hands and snoggin’ before we’d started doin’ it even better than they did.
And John, just being John, you know, gave me a little kiss and whispered to me that I was getting him all excited with the things I was doin' to him…
Thing is, he was completely serious about that. I felt that 'excitement' of his when he brushed his body against mine. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what to make of that whole thing, you see. ‘Cause I reckon I was feelin' it a bit meself. Excited and that. Really just a randy lad, in general, y’know…bein’ groped and kissed on the Eiffel Tower while two lovely girls were lookin' on…those special hints of desire hidden within their expressions. So, yeah, given those sort of circumstances, I s’pose any sort of intimate touchin’ from someone I feel safe with and close to was a bit welcome…
And I’ve always felt that way about John. Very close to and comfortable with him.
I also knew we were going to get lucky that night, so that in itself was enough to create plenty of enthusiasm for the whole mad scene.
Anyway, the story ended happily enough for us all despite John and me carrying the prank a bit further than we’d initially planned.
We befriended Sarah and Rachel…and talked them into joining us back in our room for a few drinks and some laughs. And once they felt safe and secure enough being in the presence of two fellas who seemed more interested in each other than any bird, we set about convincing them we’d never had sex with girls at all before and wanted to know if they’d indulge us just once before we got married and devoted the rest of our lives solely to each other.
We’ve always been a bit convincing that way, you know…John and I. Very much so individually, but it seems even more so as a pair.
The eternally randy Nerk Twins.
*sigh* So, there you have it. That’s what John’s going on about when he starts takin’ the piss out that I once ‘messed about’ with him on a lift.
“Sod off, you potty little whacker you.” I respond, nudging at him with my elbow, still playing all the while. “I’ll not tell you a bloody thing, y’hear? Whatever happens between me and anyone else is none of your business and if you start spreading rumors that I once molested you in a lift in France, I’ll have you fuckin’ hog-tied and flogged for it!”
John’s smile fades and he looks down his nose at me. “Ah…promises, bloody promises. You constantly threaten such things, you bleedin’ cunt, but you always disappoint.”
I give him a sly wink, “Ah…but not everybody, luv!”
“Especially not in lifts at The Plaza…apparently.” he sighs and then vacates his side of the piano bench shooting a disgusted glare down at me, “Reckon I’ll just have to wait me turn, ye g'damn prick-tease.”
“Aaahhhh'm jus' goin' to pretend I didn’t even hear that…” Ringo jokingly shakes his head as if to ward off some sordid image bein' imposed upon his brain as he strides over and leans against the side of the piano opposite John, looking down at me with his many ringed-fingers casually dangling over its top to glisten in my face. “Anyhow…listen, you two….George wants to know if we’re ready to run through “When I Get Home” once, ‘cause he’d like to put down the final tracks for it come mornin’. So…let’s get a move on, aye? I dunno ‘bout the rest of ya, but I need to get out of here soon as can be, ‘cause tonight I’ve got a date and I really can’t be late…”
“Nor tempt yer twisted fate….‘cause if the lil bird must waaait, she might say ‘screw the date’…” I croon the words in a put-on lounge-singing voice accompanied by a jaunty little tune I begin plunking out on the keys.
“… ‘stead of scdrewin’ our wee maaaate…” John joins with an operatic falsetto delivered in his best screechy soprano “…with his neatly mop-topped paaaate…which I’m suuuuure he’d bloody haaaaaate!!!!” As he concludes our little tune’s finale, he walks out into the middle of the studio floor and gives a proper curtsy to the people looking on from the second level recording booth. “Thank you, thank you, Ladles and Germans! We’ll be ope’nin’ at the luxurious Silver Angel Lounge this cumin’ Sat’day night….”
The mic opens up and our producer, George Martin’s voice comes over it. “And thank you, John. Right now, however, we’d like to do one more run-through recording, boys, and then we’ll pick it up from there tomorrow morning. I’m sure you’ve all got other things to do as well this evening, so even if it’s not absolutely perfect this time around, don’t worry. We can work through it more tomorrow before laying down the new vocal tracks if need be.”
“Well, Ringo apparently has other things to do this evenin’…” John spoke aloud for our record producer “…and I’m assumin’ Paulie as well…” he adds, eyes shifting from the large plate glass to purposefully watch Nicole walk up the steps leading to a door at its left before turning to me “…haven’t you, Macca?”
“No…not especially.” I respond, trying to be nonchalant as possible, not about to let John goad me into further discussion of Nicky for his own sick pleasure. It’s clear to me already he’s trying to make both Nicky and I feel uncomfortable about spending time alone together. The good ole ‘divide and conquer’ strategy, you know. But it’s too late. I’ve already asked her out tonight. You know, just for a drink or two…
Professionally.
Or as professionally as one can drink, anyhow. Then we can talk more in-depth about the band and such without distractions…though John is apparently not at all convinced this will be the only thing goin’ on.
He holds up one hand and uses its palm as a makeshift telephone dial, circling his right forefinger upon it before pressing the invisible hand-piece to the side of his face. “Ah, yes…hello Miss Asher? I’m terribly sorry t’ve rung you at such an inconvenient time, Luv, but you’ll be quite in’trested to know that our dear Paulie’s a gone off to ‘ave himself an eve’nin’ shag-a-thon with some sweet lil Yankbird and her absolutely divine Boston Globes…”
Luckily I’ve already gotten close enough to smack him…taking a harsh swipe at hands which instantly drop the imaginary telephone, “Put that down, son, ‘fore I hammer you with it!”
“Hammer me?” John asks quickly, his eyes taking on an excitable glow as I move away from him to get my Hofner off its stand. “Truly this time, Paulie? Tis not yet another empty promise, is it? A tease? Swear to me you’ll do it just like you did it in Paddisss!”
“You chaps are right sick’nin’ you are…” George frowns with mock-disgust as he steps between us to snatch his Epiphone off the amp.
“Not me…it’s him!” I insist, flashing a glare toward John for emphasis as I begin strapping on me Hofner.
“Yeah, but it’s you who encourages ‘im, innit?”
“Get on! I do not.” I protest to George.
“Yes, you do….”
“No, I don’t. He’s just like that naturally, you know…”
“Ah, stop arguin’ over me, boys…” John quips deadpan as he strums his Rickenbacker once before striking a feminine pose, fluffing a make believe up-do with his fret hand. “There’s plenty 'nuff to go round. Quickly! Chains and whips for everybody!”
“You always were a glutton for punishment…” George complains to John as he straps on his own guitar “…beggin’ for beatin’s and all that.”
“A bloody sadomasochist-isist….” I mispronounce purposely. “Sick lil’ fuck. That’s what he is.”
“Ah, but there’s no such thing as a sick one, is there, Macca?” John grins at me. “They’re all good!”
“Includin’ those in Hamburg then?” I ask with a knowing laugh.
“Nothin' that a needle and a few pills can't take care of, son.” John deadpans back.
A trifle self-conscious, for some reason, I take a glance up at the control room glass to see Nicky smiling down at me. She gives a friendly wave and I give one in return, secretly happy that the mics are closed so she can’t hear all the trash talk goin’ on down here.
“She’s a nice bird, that Nicky…” George moves in closer, speaking to me in a low voice. “Got a chance to chat with her for a bit. She plays piano, too…d'you know that?”
“Aye, so she told me.” I nod to him, leaning to adjust the controls on my amp. “I plan on askin’ her for a tune when we’re done today. Was about to ask earlier, but then John came in behavin’ a complete arse with her like usual.”
“Better take care to watch him ‘round her…” George warns with a sly little grin. “’Cause you know John…”
“I’m not worried about it.” I shrug, lying.
“Well, if he was behavin’ an arse it’ll eventually lead to more….you know how he works…”
“Not this time, he won’t. Not if I can help it…”
“Ah….so that means Janie has some competition then, does it?” Geo asks with his grin goin’ all lopsided.
“Nah…” I deny, feeling a familiar warm flush creep onto my cheeks, and then lean over to whisper to George “…’sides, Nicky’s got someone back in the States. Says he’s supposed to be coming over in ‘bout a week or so to join her. They’re apparently very devoted to one another.”
“Yeah, so I heard…” George continues grinning at me, joking “…but he’s also her manager, and those never last, you know. I mean, just look at John and Brian….”
I chuckle a little at his comment despite the fact that John standing only a few feet away from us tuning his guitar gives me a bit of discomfort.
I keep on rememberin’ the incident with Bob Wooler and what my father said about it afterward…directly to me, no less! Just can't get it outta me bleedin' 'ead actually.
“Shhh…he’ll hear ye…” I warn Geo….still giggling.
“I don’t care.” George continues smiling at me, ribbing me with his elbow as he turns away. “Besides…whas he gonna do, anyhow? Bend me over?”
I choke on another giggle and in the midst of it, look over at John whose stare is suddenly boaring holes through us. Bloody and jagged ones I’m guessin’, if he could have his way.
The laughter fades on my lips as I recall John’s mention of how keen his sense of hearing is as it compensates for his severe lack of sight. From the expression on his face I’ve got reason to believe that little declaration might've just been confirmed for me again, but surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything about it. Not yet anyhow.
“You two bints finally ready then?” he asks, dark eyes staring straight through me. “Come ‘ead…”
Shit!
“Yes!” Ringo shouts playfully at us, pounding the pedal with his foot a few times to make it hammer resoundingly against the bass drum. “Remember me date tonight, lads! Hurry, hurry and scatter to it now, damn youse! I need to be gone from here if I’m to make it in at a fairly decent hour tomorrow, you know.”
“Right.” John smiles, his mood shifting much too quickly again as he swings an arm through the air and spins round toward his microphone. “By all means then, let’s get to it for the sake of Richie’s libido!”
“Yeah…yeah!” I join in with an overenthusiastic cheer as I step up to my own mic…eager to push aside what just happened before. “By all means…let’s!”
The microphone from the control room opens again and we hear Mr. Martin say, “By that show of enthusiasm, I’m going to take it that you lads are all ready to run through this number now, correct?”
I flash a satisfactory ‘thumbs up’ to him. “Absolutely. Yes, Sir!”
“Fantastic, because we’re finally prepared up here as well.” he responds to us. “…so, no more hesitation then, boys….When I Get Home…and counting off…one…two…three…four…”
Summary: But what does Paulie think of all this?
Chapter Five: He Saw Her Standing There; Paul Takes Notice….
I don’t particularly care for the way John’s been leering at Nicky ever since she made that little ‘tit flashing’ remark. S’pose I ought to warn her more thoroughly about him when I get the chance to speak to ‘er alone again.
Because this is the way it often works with John, you see. Lash out at first, then leer at next. One minute he’s practically snapping the poor girl’s head off for suggesting that he’s suggesting some crude goings-on between us--which he was, by the way--and the next, he’s giving her that dirty ole-man smirk of his like he’s suddenly realized the person whose head he's just bitten off is an attractive female one with a set of knockers he'd fancy gettin' hold of.
And the fact she happened to mention that pair of said assets herself...not exactly helping the matter.
Shit. What the Hell is his problem, anyway?
Oh yeah, right…he’s John. That’s his problem. And I’m thinkin’ it’ll be mine as well if he doesn’t manage to put a bit of restraint on his usual lecherousness and starts trying to pull our reporter companion to add to his already impressive list of ‘John-quests’. It’s a little game of his that’s become familiar to me over the years I’ve known him…
Try first to offend them, and if that fails then try gettin' a shag or two out of ‘em.
Seems that If they’re not so easily offended by his tongue-lashing then John starts believin' the ole Lennon tongue might be better used against ‘em in other ways. He’s not always this way with the birds though. I know that for a fact. I’ve seen him pour on the charm a time or two before as well.
Yeah, but then I also find meself remembering how he first approached Cyn, his wife. Or closer to being ‘ex-wife’ now, I reckon.
I seem to recall taunts of “Haughty Miss Hoylake” and “Prim’N’Proper Lil Powell” having been used on her at the time-and all only a matter of days before he seduced her back to that poor excuse of a flat he shared with Stu and ‘fucked her up one wall and down the other, son’ as he bragged to me later, tellin' me how they'd christened everything in that shabby room save the ceilin’, and perhaps left a bit of cum there as well if he could’ve seen clearly enough to recognize it afterward.
“I can’t very well call her Haughty Miss Hoylake anymore, guv.” he boasted, giving me an overly proud slap on the back, “That Cyn bird’s not haughty at all. N’ fact, when she came she fuckin’ yowled like a wild animal, Macca! I think Howlin’ Hoylake might be better suited for her now, y’know, or maybe even Sweet Lil Miss Hooowelllll…” and he accentuated that particular moniker by tossin' his Teddy-Boy-coiffed head back and cuttin’ loose with the loudest wolf-iest shriek he could muster…
Enough of a shriek to make me wonder at the time if John Lennon was, in all actuality, some form of wild animal.
He certainly wasn’t like any other human being I'd ever known…or have since. It’s something I loved and admired about him, y'know…
Still do to this day.
The people I grew up with and were raised by, though not wealthy or upper crust by any stretch of the imagination, were still somewhat refined. Respectable, you know. There are those who are both working-class and well-mannered in existence even though some of the uppity types don’t care admittin’ it. But that’s how me folks were…and our other relations as well. All a bit warm and close with each other, but very considerate, too.
And from what I could tell John’s family was fairly much the same. But John himself…’specially when I first met him? Oh, no…no. He wasn’t about to conform to the rules of society, or family, or what they thought he should be. He was dead-set on opposin' authority in any shape, form or fashion. A rebel by nature. I guess that’s why I came to look up to him so much and even emulate him a bit much to me poor da’s chagrin. I mean, Dad likes John well enough. Always has, you know. But ever since that incident with Bob Wooler at my twenty-first birthday party…
“We’re gathered here this afternoon to see if we can persuade our Dearly Departed Brother Paulie Mac to join us all again in the ‘here and now’…”
“Ah, shush up, you…” I attempt to play off my temporary distraction as I look up at John who’s just rolled his eyes back down from the ceiling following his little impromptu act as a spiritual medium “…I’m just trying to remember those chords I went over a few days ago….you know…for that one lil tune.”
“Ah, thas bloody bollocks and you know it, son. Yer just sittin’ there thinkin’ ‘bout ways to get into that sweet Nicky’s lil knickers…that is, if you haven’t been there already…”
“What’s it to you then?” I snap a bit too defensively.
John doesn’t seem to notice...or care. “Only curious if you’ve done her yet, y'know. That lift back at the American hotel then?” He gives me the deviant eyebrow wiggle.
“Shhh….would you….” I glance self-consciously across the studio to where Nicky is off…thankfully being kept occupied and chatted up by George and Ringo.
“Would I what?” follwed by the infamously innocent Lennon stare.
“Just stop sayin’ things like that, alright? You’ll have her thinkin’ I’m only after one thing.”
“No, I’m thinkin’ you must be after at least three if me pitiful memory of the female anatomy serves correctly.” John’s eyes morph to mere slits of dark goldish-amber as he gazes down at me and giggles, “I can’t really remember, you know. It’s just been too long since I’ve had a right proper shag.”
My fingers halt mid-chord on the piano keys and I gaze back at him incredulously, engaging in a sing-song American cowboy-fied lilt, “And youse a dirty rotten liar, too, Boay….”
The smile disappears. “Not at all. I’m dead serious.”
“Aye…. right. Whatever, John.” I chuckle sarcastically and resume fiddling with chord progressions, trying to act like I don’t remember which ones I really want to use next. Gotta keep playing this little game for the time being, you know. Keep 'im off track.
John doesn’t seem ready to give up on the fact that there’s no way I’m believin’ him. He leans over the top of the piano and smiles down at me again, “Note, I said right proper shag, Macca. Meaning the kind to which ole Johnny’s become accustomed.”
“Accustomed?” I ask thoughtfully, toyin' 'round with a faux proper English. “Are you quite sure, ole chap? Accustomed?”
“Well, the kind I’d prefer anyroad….”
“Meanin' the kind that’d preferably last a few hours…or days….” I laugh, dropping the jokey posh accent immediately, knowing of my mate’s notorious stamina and constant cravin' for sexual satisfaction. Not unlike me own, you see. Not a bit unlike it.
Only I haven’t got a wife who can catch me at it with another bird, have I?
That is the reason he’s on his way to being divorced, after all...not that I'm judgin' or anything.
“Also meaning the kind I’m startin’ to wonder if Sweet Lil Miss Nicole over there might be capable of….” he sums up, casting evilly slit eyes in her direction.
Oh, bloody Hell! He's on the verge of givin' our reporter those fucking nicknames of his. Howlin’ Hoylake instantly comes to mind.
“Just leave her be, John.” I hear myself warn him in a low steady voice, feeling a familiar sting of heat begin rising to my cheeks as I continue tinkering on the keys, trying to pretend that his latest half-hidden suggestion isn’t bothering me in the least.
But damned if he doesn’t see straight through me façade, same as always. Bleedin’ bastard.
“Ah..ha…” he gives me a sly little smirk, edging round the side of the piano to sit beside me on the bench, holding the neck of guitar up to avoid hitting the keys with it. “…yer jealous, son! Guess more happened on that lift back in The States than you’d care confessin’, aye?”
“No.”
“Ah, come ‘ead, Mackey. What ya gonna go leavin’ me in the dark about it for? Tell us…” he starts in as I look across at him, then adds with a little girlish head tilt and bat of his eyelashes, “…please?”
“Get on, y’git…” I chuckle at his facial expression, despite not wanting to. “There’s really nothing to tell. The lift was filled with several other people as well, y’know.”
“So? That’s never stopped you before, 'as it, Paulie? Didn’t stop you from messin’ about with me that time, did it?”
Okay. I fully expected it might come to this. Mention of that particular time. That other lift. Of course. How did I know John would be bringing that up again at some point? The time we traveled to Paris together and took a crowded lift to the top of the Eiffel Tower to witness a proper sunset in the City of Love.
But it’s not what you might be thinkin’. Really.
And I didn’t ‘mess about’ with him like he claims. Not like that. I’m not queer, you know. It was just another case of John and me being silly together is all…same as we’d done a thousand times before, only that particular time took things a bit further.
Did pull us some nice birds though, so it wasn’t all bad.
Anyroad, here’s the whole story. You see, there were a couple of pretty girls and they were both all ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’ over this couple of queer blokes who were holding hands together in the lift on the way up, and then shared a little kiss once we’d all reached the top of the tower. So, John and I, typical smart-asses, found ourselves challenged to get the pretty birds to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ over us instead. Win their attention off the queer blokes, you know…
So, after whispering to John for him to follow me lead, we walked to the railing of the tower…near enough the other blokes so the girls could get a good look at us, and then I ever so gently just took his hand and drew it into mine…lacin’ our fingers together…really luvey-duvey-like….
Well, John’s the consummate show-off, you know…even worse than me…and he can act just as convincingly as a fuckin’ theatre professional when it comes to taking the piss out of someone, havin’ ‘em on for a laugh...or tryin' to pull a bird, so he started blushing furiously when I took his hand and then tenderly laid his head over on my shoulder.
As it turns out, that little gesture got the desired reaction from 'em though.
We heard the girls gasp softly in surprise and then one of them whispered, ‘Oh, look over there…at those two…” And the other sighed, “Awww…they’re so in love, aren’t they? It’s a shame that some people can’t just let them be…and live happily together. Just look at them! Why, they’re absolutely adorable!”
Well, needless to say, those remarks were enough to encourage us carryin' that little prank of ours to the limit.
John dramatically whirled round toward the girls, putting on the biggest most sorrowful pair of puppy-eyes he could manage, then drew me over by the hand toward them and said, “Excuse me, luvs…I couldn’t help but overhear your kind and sympathetic words…and you've truly no idea how terrible it’s been to be so deeply in love with me sweet Paulie here for such a long time and 'ave nobody accept us feelin’ this way ‘bout one another. I’ve even been physically abused for it…nearly killed! Me own da, you see…he absolutely hates me for bein’ queer…” He pulled down the neck of his shirt to display the still-reddened cut he’d gotten from a broken bottle during a bar fight in Hamburg and added, “See this here? He did this to me, he did. Tried to snuff me by plungin’ a carving knife this close to me heart. Why, I nearly bled to death!”
Yeah…well, that got the unsuspecting girls to gasp in absolute horror for the atrocity havin' been done to the cute sad-eyed queer boy and fresh tears of sympathy sprang to their eyes while I tried me damnedest to keep a straight face at the whole thing.
“Oh, my God!” one exclaimed while the other covered her shock-gaped mouth with a trembling hand. “How could he do such a terrible thing…and to his own son?”
John, forcing tears into his eyes as well-likely made easier by the fact we’d drank a bit before going up the tower-swiped at them with the back of the hand still clasped in mine and responded solemnly, “I’ll never know, luv, ‘cept the man is pure evil! He told me that if me heart was truly destined for queerdom, then he’d just as soon gouge it from me chest than allow me to live out a long and sinful life bein’ some nasty ole pouf!” he concluded, violently blowin’ out the last word...which startled the girls a bit.
So, in keeping with the prank, I gathered John’s chin into my free hand and cupped it gently whilst he gazed adoringly at me, feigning being near tears meself and whispered affectionately with a little sniffle, “I thought I’d lost you then, luv.” Lookin' back at the girls, I added, “Poor Johnny spent several weeks in hospital after that, so near the brink of death that I dreaded he’d simply pass into the great beyond without so much as another word spoken to me. I was absolutely heartbroken over it and couldn’t bear the thought of losin’ him. And since no one else bothered visitin' him while he was recoverin’, I literally spent every day and night at his bedside…utterly inconsolable, me own heart as shattered as his was wounded.”
That phony admission won me a sympathetic ‘awwww’ from both birds.
I was quite pleased with meself.
John nuzzled his lips against the hand of mine that'd been holding his face, eased it over, kissed the back of it gently and comically pretended to spit out a hair before respondin', “I had no choice but return to you, me dearest. You are the other half of me, and I just couldn’t leave this world without seein’ yer luvly face at least one last time.” Then he looked at the girls and beamed proudly, “Just get a good gander at him, ladies! Isn’t he the absolute most beautiful thing ye’ve ever seen in yer lives? I’m hopelessly mad about ‘im!”
The girls giggled and awww’d again over our devotion to one another as they agreed with ‘my beau’ about me facial features before John perked up and happily professed, “That’s why we’ve finally run off from home together, you see. We’ve come to the City of Love to be married, after which we plan to devote the rest of our lives to each other by travelin’ from one romantic place to another…initiating each inn and hotel room with remnants of our love…” he then batted his eyes charmingly and smiled “..or more bluntly, we’re going to fuck each other from here to eternity.”
Both birds began gigglin' like mad at that declaration, and shortly thereafter seemed to become quite a bit more interested in the sort of things John and I might actually ‘do’ to one another during our many travels-apparently having completely lost interest in the ‘genuine’ queer blokes they’d been watching in the first place.
So, true to our farce and keeping in character for the entire lift ride back down the tower, John and I made a blatant display of eyeing each other up, holding hands, stealing gentle caresses…and much to our common pleasure, the birds looked on as though they were getting rather randy from it all…as well as the couple of chaps who’d been holding hands and snoggin’ before we’d started doin’ it even better than they did.
And John, just being John, you know, gave me a little kiss and whispered to me that I was getting him all excited with the things I was doin' to him…
Thing is, he was completely serious about that. I felt that 'excitement' of his when he brushed his body against mine. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what to make of that whole thing, you see. ‘Cause I reckon I was feelin' it a bit meself. Excited and that. Really just a randy lad, in general, y’know…bein’ groped and kissed on the Eiffel Tower while two lovely girls were lookin' on…those special hints of desire hidden within their expressions. So, yeah, given those sort of circumstances, I s’pose any sort of intimate touchin’ from someone I feel safe with and close to was a bit welcome…
And I’ve always felt that way about John. Very close to and comfortable with him.
I also knew we were going to get lucky that night, so that in itself was enough to create plenty of enthusiasm for the whole mad scene.
Anyway, the story ended happily enough for us all despite John and me carrying the prank a bit further than we’d initially planned.
We befriended Sarah and Rachel…and talked them into joining us back in our room for a few drinks and some laughs. And once they felt safe and secure enough being in the presence of two fellas who seemed more interested in each other than any bird, we set about convincing them we’d never had sex with girls at all before and wanted to know if they’d indulge us just once before we got married and devoted the rest of our lives solely to each other.
We’ve always been a bit convincing that way, you know…John and I. Very much so individually, but it seems even more so as a pair.
The eternally randy Nerk Twins.
*sigh* So, there you have it. That’s what John’s going on about when he starts takin’ the piss out that I once ‘messed about’ with him on a lift.
“Sod off, you potty little whacker you.” I respond, nudging at him with my elbow, still playing all the while. “I’ll not tell you a bloody thing, y’hear? Whatever happens between me and anyone else is none of your business and if you start spreading rumors that I once molested you in a lift in France, I’ll have you fuckin’ hog-tied and flogged for it!”
John’s smile fades and he looks down his nose at me. “Ah…promises, bloody promises. You constantly threaten such things, you bleedin’ cunt, but you always disappoint.”
I give him a sly wink, “Ah…but not everybody, luv!”
“Especially not in lifts at The Plaza…apparently.” he sighs and then vacates his side of the piano bench shooting a disgusted glare down at me, “Reckon I’ll just have to wait me turn, ye g'damn prick-tease.”
“Aaahhhh'm jus' goin' to pretend I didn’t even hear that…” Ringo jokingly shakes his head as if to ward off some sordid image bein' imposed upon his brain as he strides over and leans against the side of the piano opposite John, looking down at me with his many ringed-fingers casually dangling over its top to glisten in my face. “Anyhow…listen, you two….George wants to know if we’re ready to run through “When I Get Home” once, ‘cause he’d like to put down the final tracks for it come mornin’. So…let’s get a move on, aye? I dunno ‘bout the rest of ya, but I need to get out of here soon as can be, ‘cause tonight I’ve got a date and I really can’t be late…”
“Nor tempt yer twisted fate….‘cause if the lil bird must waaait, she might say ‘screw the date’…” I croon the words in a put-on lounge-singing voice accompanied by a jaunty little tune I begin plunking out on the keys.
“… ‘stead of scdrewin’ our wee maaaate…” John joins with an operatic falsetto delivered in his best screechy soprano “…with his neatly mop-topped paaaate…which I’m suuuuure he’d bloody haaaaaate!!!!” As he concludes our little tune’s finale, he walks out into the middle of the studio floor and gives a proper curtsy to the people looking on from the second level recording booth. “Thank you, thank you, Ladles and Germans! We’ll be ope’nin’ at the luxurious Silver Angel Lounge this cumin’ Sat’day night….”
The mic opens up and our producer, George Martin’s voice comes over it. “And thank you, John. Right now, however, we’d like to do one more run-through recording, boys, and then we’ll pick it up from there tomorrow morning. I’m sure you’ve all got other things to do as well this evening, so even if it’s not absolutely perfect this time around, don’t worry. We can work through it more tomorrow before laying down the new vocal tracks if need be.”
“Well, Ringo apparently has other things to do this evenin’…” John spoke aloud for our record producer “…and I’m assumin’ Paulie as well…” he adds, eyes shifting from the large plate glass to purposefully watch Nicole walk up the steps leading to a door at its left before turning to me “…haven’t you, Macca?”
“No…not especially.” I respond, trying to be nonchalant as possible, not about to let John goad me into further discussion of Nicky for his own sick pleasure. It’s clear to me already he’s trying to make both Nicky and I feel uncomfortable about spending time alone together. The good ole ‘divide and conquer’ strategy, you know. But it’s too late. I’ve already asked her out tonight. You know, just for a drink or two…
Professionally.
Or as professionally as one can drink, anyhow. Then we can talk more in-depth about the band and such without distractions…though John is apparently not at all convinced this will be the only thing goin’ on.
He holds up one hand and uses its palm as a makeshift telephone dial, circling his right forefinger upon it before pressing the invisible hand-piece to the side of his face. “Ah, yes…hello Miss Asher? I’m terribly sorry t’ve rung you at such an inconvenient time, Luv, but you’ll be quite in’trested to know that our dear Paulie’s a gone off to ‘ave himself an eve’nin’ shag-a-thon with some sweet lil Yankbird and her absolutely divine Boston Globes…”
Luckily I’ve already gotten close enough to smack him…taking a harsh swipe at hands which instantly drop the imaginary telephone, “Put that down, son, ‘fore I hammer you with it!”
“Hammer me?” John asks quickly, his eyes taking on an excitable glow as I move away from him to get my Hofner off its stand. “Truly this time, Paulie? Tis not yet another empty promise, is it? A tease? Swear to me you’ll do it just like you did it in Paddisss!”
“You chaps are right sick’nin’ you are…” George frowns with mock-disgust as he steps between us to snatch his Epiphone off the amp.
“Not me…it’s him!” I insist, flashing a glare toward John for emphasis as I begin strapping on me Hofner.
“Yeah, but it’s you who encourages ‘im, innit?”
“Get on! I do not.” I protest to George.
“Yes, you do….”
“No, I don’t. He’s just like that naturally, you know…”
“Ah, stop arguin’ over me, boys…” John quips deadpan as he strums his Rickenbacker once before striking a feminine pose, fluffing a make believe up-do with his fret hand. “There’s plenty 'nuff to go round. Quickly! Chains and whips for everybody!”
“You always were a glutton for punishment…” George complains to John as he straps on his own guitar “…beggin’ for beatin’s and all that.”
“A bloody sadomasochist-isist….” I mispronounce purposely. “Sick lil’ fuck. That’s what he is.”
“Ah, but there’s no such thing as a sick one, is there, Macca?” John grins at me. “They’re all good!”
“Includin’ those in Hamburg then?” I ask with a knowing laugh.
“Nothin' that a needle and a few pills can't take care of, son.” John deadpans back.
A trifle self-conscious, for some reason, I take a glance up at the control room glass to see Nicky smiling down at me. She gives a friendly wave and I give one in return, secretly happy that the mics are closed so she can’t hear all the trash talk goin’ on down here.
“She’s a nice bird, that Nicky…” George moves in closer, speaking to me in a low voice. “Got a chance to chat with her for a bit. She plays piano, too…d'you know that?”
“Aye, so she told me.” I nod to him, leaning to adjust the controls on my amp. “I plan on askin’ her for a tune when we’re done today. Was about to ask earlier, but then John came in behavin’ a complete arse with her like usual.”
“Better take care to watch him ‘round her…” George warns with a sly little grin. “’Cause you know John…”
“I’m not worried about it.” I shrug, lying.
“Well, if he was behavin’ an arse it’ll eventually lead to more….you know how he works…”
“Not this time, he won’t. Not if I can help it…”
“Ah….so that means Janie has some competition then, does it?” Geo asks with his grin goin’ all lopsided.
“Nah…” I deny, feeling a familiar warm flush creep onto my cheeks, and then lean over to whisper to George “…’sides, Nicky’s got someone back in the States. Says he’s supposed to be coming over in ‘bout a week or so to join her. They’re apparently very devoted to one another.”
“Yeah, so I heard…” George continues grinning at me, joking “…but he’s also her manager, and those never last, you know. I mean, just look at John and Brian….”
I chuckle a little at his comment despite the fact that John standing only a few feet away from us tuning his guitar gives me a bit of discomfort.
I keep on rememberin’ the incident with Bob Wooler and what my father said about it afterward…directly to me, no less! Just can't get it outta me bleedin' 'ead actually.
“Shhh…he’ll hear ye…” I warn Geo….still giggling.
“I don’t care.” George continues smiling at me, ribbing me with his elbow as he turns away. “Besides…whas he gonna do, anyhow? Bend me over?”
I choke on another giggle and in the midst of it, look over at John whose stare is suddenly boaring holes through us. Bloody and jagged ones I’m guessin’, if he could have his way.
The laughter fades on my lips as I recall John’s mention of how keen his sense of hearing is as it compensates for his severe lack of sight. From the expression on his face I’ve got reason to believe that little declaration might've just been confirmed for me again, but surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything about it. Not yet anyhow.
“You two bints finally ready then?” he asks, dark eyes staring straight through me. “Come ‘ead…”
Shit!
“Yes!” Ringo shouts playfully at us, pounding the pedal with his foot a few times to make it hammer resoundingly against the bass drum. “Remember me date tonight, lads! Hurry, hurry and scatter to it now, damn youse! I need to be gone from here if I’m to make it in at a fairly decent hour tomorrow, you know.”
“Right.” John smiles, his mood shifting much too quickly again as he swings an arm through the air and spins round toward his microphone. “By all means then, let’s get to it for the sake of Richie’s libido!”
“Yeah…yeah!” I join in with an overenthusiastic cheer as I step up to my own mic…eager to push aside what just happened before. “By all means…let’s!”
The microphone from the control room opens again and we hear Mr. Martin say, “By that show of enthusiasm, I’m going to take it that you lads are all ready to run through this number now, correct?”
I flash a satisfactory ‘thumbs up’ to him. “Absolutely. Yes, Sir!”
“Fantastic, because we’re finally prepared up here as well.” he responds to us. “…so, no more hesitation then, boys….When I Get Home…and counting off…one…two…three…four…”