A Most Curious Place - Chapter Eight (J/P slash fic, Rated R)
Author: Lennonsmuse
Summary: What happens when three ships collide in the night? Read on...the chapter numbered Eight therein...
Chapter Eight: One Pretty Beatle and his Shiny New Friend
Their dinner at Gennaro’s had been a pleasant interlude between the scenic ride in the country and their arrival at the old Pebbles’N’Shots Lounge that evening.
Nicky had tried to keep things as casual as possible; something that proved nearly impossible in light of her male companion for the meal which was served in a setting far too intimate to actually be considered professional. Paul himself was on his best behaviour, however...meaning that he hadn’t put a hand on her save for the one he’d delicately pressed against the small of her back as he’d helped her into the chair situated directly across from his at their table...and he’d said absolutely nothing out of the way.
He’d been charming, hilarious and thoughtful in turn, and had done nothing to make Nicky feel the slightest bit of discomfort.
He’d simply been himself.
Oddly, that in itself had been more than enough to make her uncomfortable...or not. Maybe she’d only been uncomfortable at the fact that she was becoming a little too comfortable in the handsome young musician’s presence when she had a boyfriend waiting patiently for her calls back in the States.
Despite her ‘professional’ reporter-style questions to him, Paul, with his easy laughter and disarming manner had managed to get Nicky to talk a little more about herself than she’d initially intended to; her family, her friends, her musical interests and how she’d first become involved in journalism. During their talk, he’d probed her intensely with his earnest knack for inquiry, all the while smiling sincerely at her musings and holding her hopelessly captive in her chair with a hypnotic smoldering gaze. And when she would turn the questions on him, he displayed a unique sense of humour while relaying very animated stories of The Beatles and the many extraordinary experiences they’d had thus far in their growing popularity as a band.
By the time the meal concluded Nicky felt that she knew slightly more about Paul McCartney, yes....
But nothing that she could write about in any article...not when her own unnerving attraction to him was foremost of what had been revealed to her.
So then it was on to the pub...Pebbles’N’Shots. On the way in, Nicky inquires out loud about the reason for the little establishment’s name as they gaze up at the sign together.
“I once read a little article in the London Evening Post about it shortly after movin’ here. Has to do with how it’s built on a site that used to be some old soldiers’ hold out or somethin’ like that during the war....a lil’ hole in the wall, lit’rally.” Paul explains to her as they walk nearer the entrance of the dimly lit lounge, “Apparently, they used to sit round in a sort of circle thingy with a bottle of whiskey to share between several of ‘em and one shot glass in the center, then they’d take turns bouncin’ pebbles into it. Anyone who landed one inside the glass had to pour it down the ole hatch....”
“I just love the way you know all these little details about the most random things.” Nicky giggles, giving the sleeve of Paul’s long wool overcoat a friendly tug.
“Really?” Paul chuckles along with her, gesturing comically with his hands as he talks, “Impressive, innit?” He then casts his eyes skyward as if seriously contemplating and asks aloud, “Pray tell, Dear Sirs, but how is it that this quite peculiar lad has come to know so much of such subjects of such random randomness, we often ponder?”
“Don’t make fun of it...” Nicky chides playfully as she nudges his arm. “I think it’s great that you do.”
Recovering from his impromptu masquerade, Paul smiles as he opens the door for them to cross the entrance threshold, “Well, I s’pose it may be ‘cause I like to fancy meself a bit of a studious chap, like those at university and that even though I’ve never actually been.”
His admission catches Nicky by surprise, and delights her simultaneously, “Oh, yeah? You wanted to attend college?”
Paul nods earnestly, “Yeah....seriously. I used to have dreams of attendin’ Oxford and bein’ a history or English teacher someday.”
Nicky’s briefly disturbed by the temptation to sigh aloud at the revelation, easily imagining being one of many besotted young female students in Mr. McCartney’s history class, staring dazed and awestruck at his beauty....and not learning a damn thing about anything historical in the process.
“Well, you’re only twenty-one, Paul.” she reminds him, struggling to obliterate her own fantasy about his classroom etiquette. “Still not too old for college if you’d ever decide to go.” she softly reminds him.
He shrugs casually as a hostess leads them to a corner booth in the club and collects their coats for them, “Well, you never know. Maybe someday if this Beatles thing doesn’t carry on, but so far it does look a bit promising, doesn’t it?”
Nicky studies Paul incredulously as he slides into the cozy booth next to her, “You’ve got to be kidding me. A bit promising? I was there in New York, remember....seated in the audience feeling like my eardrums were about to shatter when you guys walked out on Mr. Sullivan’s stage. As far as your band being ‘promising’ I don’t think you have a thing to worry about.”
Paul twists sideways in the booth and gives her a serious look. “Yeah...but still, it’s best not to take anything for granted, y’know. I mean, even if it does look promisin’ right now, doesn’t mean it’ll go on forever, does it? I don’t even know if John and I will be songwritin’ together forever, though I’d like to imagine we might carry on with that for a bit. Who really knows what’ll happen down the road? For the time bein’ we’re just sort of livin’ in the moment.”
In the moment, Nicky ponders that phrase with quiet but wistful envy. If only she could live that way herself....in the moment. Not that she isn’t giving it a good effort at least...what with the sudden trip to England and all. But given her family history, morals and the way she’d been conditioned her whole life, it just wasn’t possible. Her parents were too typically northeastern American...and so was Steven. It was why they were so attracted to him and trusted her future totally to the Harvard graduate.
Steven was the safest option for her parents' hopes for her.
“Don’t your folks get miffed at that?” she asks softly, thinking more about her own situation back home.
Paul’s mouth dissolves into a slightly fragile smile, “Me mum’s gone...died quite a few years back....”
“Oh...” Nicky swallows, thinking that she really should have researched his family background more thoroughly before asking. What kind of reporter was she, anyway? ”...I’m sorry....” she adds quickly.
“S’alright, really. Was a while ago actually. I was only fourteen when we lost her,” Paul explains patiently, and then grins fully again, “....and no, she wouldn’t have been too fond of this whole ‘livin’ in the moment’ bit....not for me or for Mike, I reckon. I s'pose, in a sense, she’s part of the reason I had all those dreams of goin’ to university and bein’ a teacher or whatever. I know that's somethin’ she would’ve approved of. Same with me da really, but he’s a bit more firm in the belief that a man ‘as to do what a man ‘as to, y’know? Guess he sort of sees a bit of himself in me that way....and since I don’t have a family or wife to support or anything just yet...no real responsibility to anyone but meself, he thinks if I’m gonna try this thing out, then now’s likely the best time for it....”
Nicky nods, “He sounds like he's a very supportive yet rational-thinking man.”
Paul chuckles, nudging her arm this time, “You ‘aven’t even met ‘im yet and you’ve described him almost perfectly. Good journalistic instinct goin’ there. Quite impressive that...” he nods to her admirably before quietly thanking the hostess who is placing their drinks on the table in front of them, then looks back at Nicky again, “That’s exactly what he is....the rational and logical-thinking sort a’fella. Guess that’s why he’s not so crazy ‘bout John either. Polar opposites, those two. I’ve had quite the misfortune tryin’ to get them seein’ things eye-to-eye...”
“Let me guess...” Nicky smirks, already liking the elder McCartney even though she hasn’t met the man yet, “....your father believes that John is a bad influence on you.”
Paul’s eyes widen and he gently slaps the table top in front of him, spouting mock-incredulously, “That’s it, Darlin’! I’m takin’ you back to the ‘Pool to meet the ole man straight away! The two of ye’ll get on fabulously...I just know it! Might even give the beau back ‘ome a run for his money, aye? True, me dad’s a bit too long in the tooth for the likes of a bird only turnin’ twenty-one, but a natural charmer he is. Jus’ warnin’ ya...”
Nicky laughs, raising her drink in a grateful little one-sided toast, “Thanks, but I’ll pass on the May-December romances. I have more than enough men problems already....” Shit, she thinks....but it’s already out of her mouth before she can stop it and she mentally gives herself a swift kick in the ass when she sees the amusement tainting Paul’s expression.
His eyes, dark and sparkling with sudden mischief, catch hers and lock into them, “Ah, is that so then? Do tell, luv...what men problems are these yer speakin’ of precisely?”
“Nothing...just forget it.” she attempts to wave off.
“Noooo......” Paul opposes teasingly through pursed lips, his drink glass poised close to them as though he intends to take a sip “....can’t possibly do that now, can we, Nicooole?” he draws out the long ‘o’ sound in her full name and then continues in a posh mock-psychiatrist’s tone, “So, tell me then....what are these problems with men that you believe yer experiencing? Steven givin’ you a spot of trouble, is he? Just be totally honest about it, alright? Even if you feel compelled to slug back a shot or two before disclosing this extremely delicate information to me. It’s perfectly fine, Dear. We’ve plenty of time, y’know...and I’m a very patient sort of chap...”
“Oh, my God....” Nicky emits an embarrassed giggle into the rim of her glass, eyes closing in reaction to the coldness of the ice as she gulps desperately....as well as to avoid the probing gaze being directed her way. “Why do you insist on knowing? Just forget I even said anything! It slipped....”
Paul bites his bottom lip as he grins at her and leans closer....almost intimately so, “Ah, you may say it slipped, but I think yer really just itchin’ t’confide in me about yer men troubles....on a completely subconscious level, of course. And you really can, y’know. I’m actually a trustworthy sort of fellow you’ll soon find....”
Nicky finally gathers the courage to look at him, and into his eyes...then against her better judgment, her gaze automatically wanders to his lips...and how inviting they look. How moist...and warm...
Time to change the subject. Definitely....
Becoming enchanted and charmed by this gorgeous being quickly proving dangerous territory, Nicky, through her own natural expertise and self-preservation, manages a safe way to steer the conversation another route.
“I’ll have to take you along on some interviews with me sometime.” she tells him, “You’d be one helluva weapon for a reporter to use against a subject they want to break down....if not a damn good reporter yourself.”
“That’s the second time ye’ve mentioned that.” Paul’s eyes widen in mock-exasperation as he reclines easily against the plush leather of the booth seat and reaches up to loosen the knot in his tie with his left hand, “Well, thanks...but no, thank you. I’m too much of a rocker at heart to consider any other venue for the time being, y’see. I’ll just keep on singin’ songs, writin’ ‘em an such, and whenever I meet someone I find truly in’trestin’...think they deserve a little time in print or whatever, I’ll send ‘em by the way of me newest friend, The Boston Globe reporter. How’s ‘at?”
Nicky becomes alarmingly aware of the casual way his left arm, following the tie-loosening, is suddenly slung over the back of the seat behind her shoulders and silently shivers at the warmth she feels emanating from its closeness.
“Your newest friend, huh?” she smirks, clearing her throat in attempt to rid herself of the sudden nervousness.
“Oh, yeah...most definitely.” Paul confirms softly, soulful eyes penetrating her profile as he studies every little nuance about it...from the high cheekbones, to the straight perfection of her nose, the faint shimmer that glints tantalizingly from her full lips in the deep warmth of their new atmosphere...and the way her thick dark waves frame it all beautifully. Like a living, breathing portrait. A masterpiece. “Is that alright with you?”
“Sure...” Nicky nods, trying to draw oxygen into her lungs without it sounding like she’s been holding her breath for the past few seconds...ever since she became aware of his silent gaze.
“Well, fantastic then. Friends it is.” Paul surmises, finally forcing himself to tear his gaze from her and letting it rest upon the other pub patrons he notices are straggling onto the dance floor, seemingly in anticipation of something happening soon.
“Which means, as friends, we can discuss anything, right?” she asks.
“Uh-oh....” he grins lazily, gaze shifting back to her, “...I can feel it comin’....”
“In that case, Paul....tell me more about this Jane girl...” Nicky continues with a devious widening smile, albeit to temporarily serve as a distraction from her own discomforting comfort at his proximity.
“Ack....I bloody knew it! Yer a slick one, aren’t ye?” Paul leans forward, gives her a wink and raises his drink to his lips, taking a sharp swallow. “’Aven’t I told you enough about ‘er already? Still not satisfied?”
“I probably should be, but no...I’m honestly not.”
Paul’s arm slides from behind Nicky and he scoots his body a bit closer to where she’s seated, leaning forward more, his gaze darkening as it grazes her mouth. “What exactly does it take to satisfy you then?”
“Straight answers.” she responds squarely, inwardly struggling to control her own heart racing beneath the front of her ruffled blouse. “I am a reporter, after all.”
Paul nods. “Mmhmm....a professional through and through. Is that it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Only I doubt you keep askin’ about her for strictly professional reasons...”
Nicky feels her breath hitch on the intake. “And why would you doubt that?”
“Because, professionally, the answers I already gave about her should’ve sufficed...yet you insist on inquirin’ further. Now...why is that, luv?”
Nicky gulps what remains in her glass, the depths of her stomach warming as the sweet liquor begins to invade her senses right along with the closeness of the young man sitting next to her. Close enough to catch a distinct whiff of the aftershave again...just like that night on the elevator at The Plaza.
“What is it makes you so int’rested in me personally?” Paul continues, deep curly-lashed eyes probing her fragile sense of security, “I mean, shouldn’t you be askin’ more stuff about the other lads as well? Shouldn’t you be wonderin’ what we have coming up as a band....or about our movie and what sorts of songs we have planned for it? Or about me and John’s musical endeavors or plans for the future....and such things as that? Why this constant in’trest in me love life?”
But just as Nicky finds herself struggling to come up with some sort of intelligent response, a high-pitched voice suddenly squeals from the pub’s gathering crowd, “Oh, my God, it can’t possibly be, can it? Paulie...luv, is that really you?”
It sounds to Nicky like her booth companion mutters something along the lines of “....ah bloody hell...” as a group of young musicians take the pub’s stage, and a tangible embodiment of the squealing voice bursts forth from the bowels of the crowd around it, clad in a short form-fitting red skirt, a tight sweater with cleavage spilling from the neckline...and promptly stuffs herself into the booth next to Paul at his other side, engulfing him in a hug that he looks all too reluctant to reciprocate.
“I told Johnny we’d likely run into you sometime this evenin’ and lookie here at what happens!” the girl with the tight outfit interpolates, her bobbed blonde hairdo bouncing around her shoulders as she shifts to lean over the table in front of Paul and eyes Nicky with an instant air of suspicion and disdain, “Replaced me already then, have ye, pretty one? So, who’s the new talent?”
Nicky opens her mouth to retort, but is caught off guard by the gruffness of a taller body she suddenly feels shoving itself into the booth directly beside her opposite Paul, blocking any possible means of escape.
Her heart leaps into her throat in full alert mode as she turns to see who the offending culprit is.
None other than Satan himself....
Donning a sharp black suit and an auburn mop-top.
“Ah, fancy findin’ you out tonight, of all people, Miss Globe-Trotter...” John Lennon quips with a crooked grin creeping across his thin lips. His lecherous gaze leaves Nicky and focuses blindly across the table to Paul. “What ye bring ‘er here for then, aye, mate? Not ‘nuff room at the Ashers for a proper threesome? Or is ‘olesome lil Janie still not up for that sort of thing? Tol’ ye that ye should’a let me help with her initiation into our lil’circle here.”
“Y’know, John...I’ve hated yer bleedin’ guts ever since we first met....” Paul shoots back at his band mate with brows arched and a mocking flutter of the eyelids.
“Sweet-talker, you!” John smiles at his friend before his gaze shifts to Nicky again, “I could jus’ listen to ‘im fer ‘ours. ‘Tis peaceful ‘nough of a voice to fall asleep by, don’t ye think?”
The blonde seated at the other side of Paul pouts out her bottom lip, clearly disturbed by the fact that her own companion for the night already seems to be well acquainted with the rival female at their new table, “John, you know her as well?” she whines. “Who is she then?”
“Ah, stuff it, Murky....” John bites at the annoying blonde.
“Murphy!” the blonde scolds.
“Dora, meet Nicole....” John grudgingly relents and introduces hastily “Nicky...meet Doorjam....”
“’Yer still a cheeky bastard, Lennon!” the blonde curses the auburn-haired Beatle, who doesn’t seem at all fazed by it. She finally smiles at Nicky, though a trifle too tightly, “It’s actually Dora Murphy. ‘Es good meetin’ ya. Hope we didn’t intrude on anything of importance.”
Paul clears his throat, lifting a mock-scolding forefinger, “Well, as a matter of fact....” he begins....
“No, not at all.” Nicky intercedes quickly before he can finish. “Paul and I just stopped in here for a little drink....”
John’s slit eyes slide lazily up from Nicky’s empty liquor glass to her face, “Don’t look so little to me, albeit quite empty now. Ye need another then....” And before Nicky can object, John is waving the hostess over to their table. “G’evenin’, luv...we’ll have more of the same for everyone here...‘cept fer Murky, that is.” His eyes level to the blonde girl at the table directly opposite him, “Unfortunately, she has to leave us.” He leans closer and whispers loudly to the hostess, “One of those embarrassin’ personal itch problem thingies, y’know...”
“Sod off, Johnny....and it’s all fine by me if ye want to play these lit’el games of yers....” Dora scowls, eyes narrowing at John with an expression of disgust, “You blokes always did fancy the Yank birds, anyroad, din’ya? Well, fuckin’ fab...and have at ‘er then!” She slides toward the outside of the booth, gets up and trains her glare on Nicky, “’Ope ye have big fun with this lot t’night, Lassie. Jus’ ye remember....I done ‘em first....and best! Ye’ve a lot to live up to if ye think ye’ll ever make ‘em forget the likes o’ me...”
“I’ve forgotten already....” John gazes blankly at the raging blonde. “You, Paulie?”
“Actually, Ole Boy, I can’t even remember what it is I’m s’posed to be forgettin’...” Paul responds just as airily as his friend had before him. He looks up innocently at an already enraged Dora, “We’ve met before, Miss?”
“Cheeky bastards but bastards jus’ the same....the both o’ye...” Dora sneers, adjusting her red mini before she turns and stalks off on her high heels to get lost in the pub’s crowd as they sway to the beat of some jumpy jazz number that’s being played by the band.
“Haha....that was fun...” John giggles to Paul.
“What did you even bring her here for then?” Paul inquires accusingly.
“Thought I might fancy a bit of comp’ny later on,” John explains with a slight eyebrow wiggle, mainly for Nicky’s benefit, “but she was still on me nerves after the first few drinks, y’know, and I couldn’t possibly fathom drinkin' enough t’make 'er less annoyin' an' still bein' able to get it up, so I just figured it a lost cause ‘n best be rid of....”
“Well, at least the one thing ye got out of it was drunk...” Paul deadpans.
“Am not drunk...” John retorts, turning his head toward Nicky. “Am I?”
“You certainly smell like a drunk.” she tells him pointedly, hoping to be as offensive as possible.
John displays a wide smile, enjoying her instant response. “More talk like that and ye’ll have me quiverin’ inside me kecks, hot stuff....” he coos as he leans closer to her. “You’ve a way with words, y’know. S’no wonder yer such a great reporter. Are all Bostoners as poetic?”
“Bostonians is what we’re called.” Nicky corrects curtly.
“I’m sorry....”
“Common mistake...”
“No, I mean you have me deepest sympathy for bein’ called a Bostonian.”
“Has anyone ever told you what an absolute ass you are, John?”
He nods, “Normally whilst in the throes of passion and bein’ driven mad from unadult’rated lust fer meh.”
“Funny, because I couldn’t imagine lusting after you if you were the last man standing on Earth.”
“Wouldn’t that depend on what part of me was doin’ the standin’ though, luv?”
Nicky rolls her eyes at him, “I wouldn’t be interested, even so.”
“Well, why’s not? Inn’t that how ye usually conduct yer investigative reportin’, after all, Miss Globes?” John asks, batting his eyelashes at her.
Paul’s large doe eyes squint irritably as they shift from his best friend to his ‘date’ and back again. He feels a slight stab of jealousy ache in his chest, but isn’t exactly clear on who he’s most jealous of....or because of....
“Would you two prefer me goin’ elsewhere s’ye can sort this out on yer own?” he asks them.
“No!” Nicky and John declare in desperate synch as their eyes refocus on him.
Paul blinks, a bit taken aback by the absolute lack of subtlety on both their parts, but inwardly pleased, nonetheless. At least he managed to break up the little battle of the wits going on in front of him...
For the time being, anyway.
“I’m sorry, Paul....” Nicky adds with an apologetic smile as she scoots herself away from John’s intruding presence in the booth and trains her full attention on the darker-haired Beatle again. “Maybe we should go someplace else to finish talking...”
“Don’t bother.” John scowls, feeling a renewed dislike for the Yankbird reporter from Boston...and just when he thought he might be able to get used to her being around...somewhat...even if only because she was fun to spar with. His eyes rivet on Paul’s as he shrugs himself out of the booth and stands with a concealing grin, “I’ll leave you two at it. Being bothersome is such a fuckin’ bore....’specially with this sort,” he declares, eyes cutting briefly in Nicky’s direction before he looks at Paul again, “Have fun. Later, Guv.”
“Oh, John, come ‘ead....ye don’t have t....” Paul begins, but before he knows it he’s talking to the back of his best friend’s quickly retreating form as it’s swallowed up in the midst of other pub patrons.
“Don’t worry about him, Paul.” Nicky tries to comfort her suddenly distraught-looking companion. “I’m sure John can take care of himself. He’ll be alright.”
“Right. You don’t know John...”
“He’s not your responsibility.”
“I know, but he’s already ordered drinks for our table, hasn’he? There’s no reason for ‘im to take off on his own....” Paul starts, and gestures toward the hostess as she places the new drinks in front of him and Nicky “...which speaking of...” He gazes upward at the server, “The fella who ordered these drinks just walked away from here.”
The pretty hostess smiles at him with a knowing nod, “Yeah, he caught me on the way over, took his drink and told me you two are paid for the rest of the night....on him. Wish I had friends like that. Nice lad.”
“Nice?” Nicky asks incredulously with stretched eyes before she can even think to stop herself. Her heart sinks, however, when she notices a quick flash of Paul’s suddenly offended expression.
He nods his head a bit, “Sure, he’s nice, Nicky. You jus’ don’t really know John is all. The two of you got off to a bad start.”
“A bad start, Paul? Seriously? He’s been absolutely horrible to me from the first time I spoke to him this afternoon...” Nicky defends her own assessment of her companion’s poor excuse for a best friend “...and I didn’t provoke any of it. He out and out accused me of trying to seduce you just to get a story for my newspaper and implied, in no uncertain terms, that I’m merely another girl like all those who fawn and fall over you just because you’re a handsome and talented musician who also happens to be in a popular new band.”
“Yeah, but I told you already why he says such things, didn’t I?” Paul offers quietly, taking a sip of his fresh drink, “He’s just a bit jealous, y’see...”
“A bit?” Nicky asks. “He acted worse this afternoon than that Dora girl did this evening. Who was she, anyway? One of the many reasons John’s wife left him, I’m guessing?” She watches as his mouth opens to speak, but nothing comes out immediately, so she brushes it off, “Never mind, Paul...it’s really none of my business. I don’t care who she is. The point is John’s being so possessive of you that he can’t even allow me to do what I came to England for without hassling me...and I’m just not having it, no matter how much you defend him. Why do you do it, anyway?”
“Well...” Paul shrugs, his voice softening sympathetically “...someone has to, don’t they? John doesn’t really have anybody else.”
“No fault of his own, I’m sure.” Nicky surmises with more than a hint of sarcasm.
Paul shakes his head at her, “Ye just don’t understand, Nicky. I mean, John feels like everyone he loves ends up leavin’ ‘im.”
“Well, everyone leaving him just might have something to do with his own abrasive nature, Paul.”
“So yer sayin’ it’s all his fault then?” Paul’s brows arch a bit defensively as he studies her face. No matter how cute this bird is, she just doesn’t get it, he thinks.
“Exactly.”
“Tha’s because you just don’t know....”
“Don’t know what?”
“Lots of things.” Paul frowns at her, but doesn’t feel at liberty to say more about the subject.
Yet Paul inwardly knows and remembers it all too well himself. After all, he’d been the very mate tagging along with John on numerous visits to Julia Stanley’s house after the orphaned boy had first found out that his biological mother was alive and well, and only living a short distance away....finally relishing the chance to spend some time and become acquainted with her.
He also remembered one particular night when he’d visited Mendips, the home John shared with Aunt Mimi...only to climb the stairs to his friend’s room and find him seated on his bed, back to the door...obviously having forgotten that it wasn’t locked or even closed all the way....
Paul would never forget what he saw through the slightly cracked door that night....
What he saw was John, totally stripped of his usual cockiness and bravado...soul laid bare as he was half-doubled over, seated at the edge of his bed, arms hugged around his chest as though in physical agony...head slung low, body shuddering as he sobbed....appearing completely lonely and broken inside.
Paul also remembered his own sense of helplessness at the whole situation....that he couldn’t let John know he’d seen him crying; wouldn’t dare humiliate a fellow Scouser that way, would he? No, he couldn’t have done. He’d simply left Mendips as stealthily as he’d arrived, John never the wiser of his presence...when all Paul had really wanted to do, with every fiber of his being was to go to his best friend and hold him as he cried.
And the next day Paul believed that John himself unknowingly confirmed the reason for his distress the previous night with a snappish as usual, out-of-the-blue, “Was brassed off at fookin’ Mimi yes’teday...tired of ‘er fookin’ bitchin’ an’ all ‘at. Wanted to stay at Julia’s for a coople days, but ‘er and Twitchy wouldn’t ‘ave me. S’alright though....can’t be arsed bein’ ‘round ‘em that much any-fookin’-road either. Jus’ fook ‘em all...fookin’ hate the lot of ‘em....”
Those sorts of incidents were a huge part of why Paul felt the need to protect John...to defend him, even now....to Nicky, a girl he was physically attracted to and would really love the chance to get better acquainted with....
But certainly not at the expense of his best friend, fellow band mate, songwriting partner, brother...
The list could go on, Paul thought. But whatever John was to him...not that it was anybody’s damn business...he wasn’t about to have them putting him down.
“You know, Nicky, he’s really a bit of a cuddly pup beneath all the bite....” Paul finds himself expounding for the American girl, “...not that I want you ever tellin’ him I said that, so don’t. It’s just that y’have to look a bit deeper at some folks than that though, y’know. ‘Sides, that’s what reporters are s’posed t’do, after all, innit?”
“Now you sound just like him.” Nicky remarks quietly, but without malice.
“Well, thas probably ‘cause I know ‘im better than anyone else.” Paul agrees with a disarming sigh. ”You’ll just have to take me word for it is all. Johnny’s not that bad a person, really.”
Nicky nods with a bit of reluctant surrender. “You must love him an awful lot.”
The sudden constriction in Paul’s throat causes him to almost choke mid-swallow on the gulp of drink he’d just taken.
What the bloody hell does she mean by that?
She glances at Paul’s face in time to see the slightest hint of a sweltering blush rising in his boyishly smooth cheeks. “Are you alright?”
“Uh....” Paul nods while clearing his throat “....yeah....fine....” He draws a deep, cleansing breath and places his drink on the table, eyes darting desperately to the pub’s crowd as they start to move to a more up-tempo tune that’s being played by the band. “Let’s dance, alright? You American birds do like dancin’, don’t ya?”
Uncertain of what caused the sudden change in subject, Nicky finds her hand being clasped in Paul’s as he coaxes her out of the booth and onto the dance floor with him.
Summary: What happens when three ships collide in the night? Read on...the chapter numbered Eight therein...
Chapter Eight: One Pretty Beatle and his Shiny New Friend
Their dinner at Gennaro’s had been a pleasant interlude between the scenic ride in the country and their arrival at the old Pebbles’N’Shots Lounge that evening.
Nicky had tried to keep things as casual as possible; something that proved nearly impossible in light of her male companion for the meal which was served in a setting far too intimate to actually be considered professional. Paul himself was on his best behaviour, however...meaning that he hadn’t put a hand on her save for the one he’d delicately pressed against the small of her back as he’d helped her into the chair situated directly across from his at their table...and he’d said absolutely nothing out of the way.
He’d been charming, hilarious and thoughtful in turn, and had done nothing to make Nicky feel the slightest bit of discomfort.
He’d simply been himself.
Oddly, that in itself had been more than enough to make her uncomfortable...or not. Maybe she’d only been uncomfortable at the fact that she was becoming a little too comfortable in the handsome young musician’s presence when she had a boyfriend waiting patiently for her calls back in the States.
Despite her ‘professional’ reporter-style questions to him, Paul, with his easy laughter and disarming manner had managed to get Nicky to talk a little more about herself than she’d initially intended to; her family, her friends, her musical interests and how she’d first become involved in journalism. During their talk, he’d probed her intensely with his earnest knack for inquiry, all the while smiling sincerely at her musings and holding her hopelessly captive in her chair with a hypnotic smoldering gaze. And when she would turn the questions on him, he displayed a unique sense of humour while relaying very animated stories of The Beatles and the many extraordinary experiences they’d had thus far in their growing popularity as a band.
By the time the meal concluded Nicky felt that she knew slightly more about Paul McCartney, yes....
But nothing that she could write about in any article...not when her own unnerving attraction to him was foremost of what had been revealed to her.
So then it was on to the pub...Pebbles’N’Shots. On the way in, Nicky inquires out loud about the reason for the little establishment’s name as they gaze up at the sign together.
“I once read a little article in the London Evening Post about it shortly after movin’ here. Has to do with how it’s built on a site that used to be some old soldiers’ hold out or somethin’ like that during the war....a lil’ hole in the wall, lit’rally.” Paul explains to her as they walk nearer the entrance of the dimly lit lounge, “Apparently, they used to sit round in a sort of circle thingy with a bottle of whiskey to share between several of ‘em and one shot glass in the center, then they’d take turns bouncin’ pebbles into it. Anyone who landed one inside the glass had to pour it down the ole hatch....”
“I just love the way you know all these little details about the most random things.” Nicky giggles, giving the sleeve of Paul’s long wool overcoat a friendly tug.
“Really?” Paul chuckles along with her, gesturing comically with his hands as he talks, “Impressive, innit?” He then casts his eyes skyward as if seriously contemplating and asks aloud, “Pray tell, Dear Sirs, but how is it that this quite peculiar lad has come to know so much of such subjects of such random randomness, we often ponder?”
“Don’t make fun of it...” Nicky chides playfully as she nudges his arm. “I think it’s great that you do.”
Recovering from his impromptu masquerade, Paul smiles as he opens the door for them to cross the entrance threshold, “Well, I s’pose it may be ‘cause I like to fancy meself a bit of a studious chap, like those at university and that even though I’ve never actually been.”
His admission catches Nicky by surprise, and delights her simultaneously, “Oh, yeah? You wanted to attend college?”
Paul nods earnestly, “Yeah....seriously. I used to have dreams of attendin’ Oxford and bein’ a history or English teacher someday.”
Nicky’s briefly disturbed by the temptation to sigh aloud at the revelation, easily imagining being one of many besotted young female students in Mr. McCartney’s history class, staring dazed and awestruck at his beauty....and not learning a damn thing about anything historical in the process.
“Well, you’re only twenty-one, Paul.” she reminds him, struggling to obliterate her own fantasy about his classroom etiquette. “Still not too old for college if you’d ever decide to go.” she softly reminds him.
He shrugs casually as a hostess leads them to a corner booth in the club and collects their coats for them, “Well, you never know. Maybe someday if this Beatles thing doesn’t carry on, but so far it does look a bit promising, doesn’t it?”
Nicky studies Paul incredulously as he slides into the cozy booth next to her, “You’ve got to be kidding me. A bit promising? I was there in New York, remember....seated in the audience feeling like my eardrums were about to shatter when you guys walked out on Mr. Sullivan’s stage. As far as your band being ‘promising’ I don’t think you have a thing to worry about.”
Paul twists sideways in the booth and gives her a serious look. “Yeah...but still, it’s best not to take anything for granted, y’know. I mean, even if it does look promisin’ right now, doesn’t mean it’ll go on forever, does it? I don’t even know if John and I will be songwritin’ together forever, though I’d like to imagine we might carry on with that for a bit. Who really knows what’ll happen down the road? For the time bein’ we’re just sort of livin’ in the moment.”
In the moment, Nicky ponders that phrase with quiet but wistful envy. If only she could live that way herself....in the moment. Not that she isn’t giving it a good effort at least...what with the sudden trip to England and all. But given her family history, morals and the way she’d been conditioned her whole life, it just wasn’t possible. Her parents were too typically northeastern American...and so was Steven. It was why they were so attracted to him and trusted her future totally to the Harvard graduate.
Steven was the safest option for her parents' hopes for her.
“Don’t your folks get miffed at that?” she asks softly, thinking more about her own situation back home.
Paul’s mouth dissolves into a slightly fragile smile, “Me mum’s gone...died quite a few years back....”
“Oh...” Nicky swallows, thinking that she really should have researched his family background more thoroughly before asking. What kind of reporter was she, anyway? ”...I’m sorry....” she adds quickly.
“S’alright, really. Was a while ago actually. I was only fourteen when we lost her,” Paul explains patiently, and then grins fully again, “....and no, she wouldn’t have been too fond of this whole ‘livin’ in the moment’ bit....not for me or for Mike, I reckon. I s'pose, in a sense, she’s part of the reason I had all those dreams of goin’ to university and bein’ a teacher or whatever. I know that's somethin’ she would’ve approved of. Same with me da really, but he’s a bit more firm in the belief that a man ‘as to do what a man ‘as to, y’know? Guess he sort of sees a bit of himself in me that way....and since I don’t have a family or wife to support or anything just yet...no real responsibility to anyone but meself, he thinks if I’m gonna try this thing out, then now’s likely the best time for it....”
Nicky nods, “He sounds like he's a very supportive yet rational-thinking man.”
Paul chuckles, nudging her arm this time, “You ‘aven’t even met ‘im yet and you’ve described him almost perfectly. Good journalistic instinct goin’ there. Quite impressive that...” he nods to her admirably before quietly thanking the hostess who is placing their drinks on the table in front of them, then looks back at Nicky again, “That’s exactly what he is....the rational and logical-thinking sort a’fella. Guess that’s why he’s not so crazy ‘bout John either. Polar opposites, those two. I’ve had quite the misfortune tryin’ to get them seein’ things eye-to-eye...”
“Let me guess...” Nicky smirks, already liking the elder McCartney even though she hasn’t met the man yet, “....your father believes that John is a bad influence on you.”
Paul’s eyes widen and he gently slaps the table top in front of him, spouting mock-incredulously, “That’s it, Darlin’! I’m takin’ you back to the ‘Pool to meet the ole man straight away! The two of ye’ll get on fabulously...I just know it! Might even give the beau back ‘ome a run for his money, aye? True, me dad’s a bit too long in the tooth for the likes of a bird only turnin’ twenty-one, but a natural charmer he is. Jus’ warnin’ ya...”
Nicky laughs, raising her drink in a grateful little one-sided toast, “Thanks, but I’ll pass on the May-December romances. I have more than enough men problems already....” Shit, she thinks....but it’s already out of her mouth before she can stop it and she mentally gives herself a swift kick in the ass when she sees the amusement tainting Paul’s expression.
His eyes, dark and sparkling with sudden mischief, catch hers and lock into them, “Ah, is that so then? Do tell, luv...what men problems are these yer speakin’ of precisely?”
“Nothing...just forget it.” she attempts to wave off.
“Noooo......” Paul opposes teasingly through pursed lips, his drink glass poised close to them as though he intends to take a sip “....can’t possibly do that now, can we, Nicooole?” he draws out the long ‘o’ sound in her full name and then continues in a posh mock-psychiatrist’s tone, “So, tell me then....what are these problems with men that you believe yer experiencing? Steven givin’ you a spot of trouble, is he? Just be totally honest about it, alright? Even if you feel compelled to slug back a shot or two before disclosing this extremely delicate information to me. It’s perfectly fine, Dear. We’ve plenty of time, y’know...and I’m a very patient sort of chap...”
“Oh, my God....” Nicky emits an embarrassed giggle into the rim of her glass, eyes closing in reaction to the coldness of the ice as she gulps desperately....as well as to avoid the probing gaze being directed her way. “Why do you insist on knowing? Just forget I even said anything! It slipped....”
Paul bites his bottom lip as he grins at her and leans closer....almost intimately so, “Ah, you may say it slipped, but I think yer really just itchin’ t’confide in me about yer men troubles....on a completely subconscious level, of course. And you really can, y’know. I’m actually a trustworthy sort of fellow you’ll soon find....”
Nicky finally gathers the courage to look at him, and into his eyes...then against her better judgment, her gaze automatically wanders to his lips...and how inviting they look. How moist...and warm...
Time to change the subject. Definitely....
Becoming enchanted and charmed by this gorgeous being quickly proving dangerous territory, Nicky, through her own natural expertise and self-preservation, manages a safe way to steer the conversation another route.
“I’ll have to take you along on some interviews with me sometime.” she tells him, “You’d be one helluva weapon for a reporter to use against a subject they want to break down....if not a damn good reporter yourself.”
“That’s the second time ye’ve mentioned that.” Paul’s eyes widen in mock-exasperation as he reclines easily against the plush leather of the booth seat and reaches up to loosen the knot in his tie with his left hand, “Well, thanks...but no, thank you. I’m too much of a rocker at heart to consider any other venue for the time being, y’see. I’ll just keep on singin’ songs, writin’ ‘em an such, and whenever I meet someone I find truly in’trestin’...think they deserve a little time in print or whatever, I’ll send ‘em by the way of me newest friend, The Boston Globe reporter. How’s ‘at?”
Nicky becomes alarmingly aware of the casual way his left arm, following the tie-loosening, is suddenly slung over the back of the seat behind her shoulders and silently shivers at the warmth she feels emanating from its closeness.
“Your newest friend, huh?” she smirks, clearing her throat in attempt to rid herself of the sudden nervousness.
“Oh, yeah...most definitely.” Paul confirms softly, soulful eyes penetrating her profile as he studies every little nuance about it...from the high cheekbones, to the straight perfection of her nose, the faint shimmer that glints tantalizingly from her full lips in the deep warmth of their new atmosphere...and the way her thick dark waves frame it all beautifully. Like a living, breathing portrait. A masterpiece. “Is that alright with you?”
“Sure...” Nicky nods, trying to draw oxygen into her lungs without it sounding like she’s been holding her breath for the past few seconds...ever since she became aware of his silent gaze.
“Well, fantastic then. Friends it is.” Paul surmises, finally forcing himself to tear his gaze from her and letting it rest upon the other pub patrons he notices are straggling onto the dance floor, seemingly in anticipation of something happening soon.
“Which means, as friends, we can discuss anything, right?” she asks.
“Uh-oh....” he grins lazily, gaze shifting back to her, “...I can feel it comin’....”
“In that case, Paul....tell me more about this Jane girl...” Nicky continues with a devious widening smile, albeit to temporarily serve as a distraction from her own discomforting comfort at his proximity.
“Ack....I bloody knew it! Yer a slick one, aren’t ye?” Paul leans forward, gives her a wink and raises his drink to his lips, taking a sharp swallow. “’Aven’t I told you enough about ‘er already? Still not satisfied?”
“I probably should be, but no...I’m honestly not.”
Paul’s arm slides from behind Nicky and he scoots his body a bit closer to where she’s seated, leaning forward more, his gaze darkening as it grazes her mouth. “What exactly does it take to satisfy you then?”
“Straight answers.” she responds squarely, inwardly struggling to control her own heart racing beneath the front of her ruffled blouse. “I am a reporter, after all.”
Paul nods. “Mmhmm....a professional through and through. Is that it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Only I doubt you keep askin’ about her for strictly professional reasons...”
Nicky feels her breath hitch on the intake. “And why would you doubt that?”
“Because, professionally, the answers I already gave about her should’ve sufficed...yet you insist on inquirin’ further. Now...why is that, luv?”
Nicky gulps what remains in her glass, the depths of her stomach warming as the sweet liquor begins to invade her senses right along with the closeness of the young man sitting next to her. Close enough to catch a distinct whiff of the aftershave again...just like that night on the elevator at The Plaza.
“What is it makes you so int’rested in me personally?” Paul continues, deep curly-lashed eyes probing her fragile sense of security, “I mean, shouldn’t you be askin’ more stuff about the other lads as well? Shouldn’t you be wonderin’ what we have coming up as a band....or about our movie and what sorts of songs we have planned for it? Or about me and John’s musical endeavors or plans for the future....and such things as that? Why this constant in’trest in me love life?”
But just as Nicky finds herself struggling to come up with some sort of intelligent response, a high-pitched voice suddenly squeals from the pub’s gathering crowd, “Oh, my God, it can’t possibly be, can it? Paulie...luv, is that really you?”
It sounds to Nicky like her booth companion mutters something along the lines of “....ah bloody hell...” as a group of young musicians take the pub’s stage, and a tangible embodiment of the squealing voice bursts forth from the bowels of the crowd around it, clad in a short form-fitting red skirt, a tight sweater with cleavage spilling from the neckline...and promptly stuffs herself into the booth next to Paul at his other side, engulfing him in a hug that he looks all too reluctant to reciprocate.
“I told Johnny we’d likely run into you sometime this evenin’ and lookie here at what happens!” the girl with the tight outfit interpolates, her bobbed blonde hairdo bouncing around her shoulders as she shifts to lean over the table in front of Paul and eyes Nicky with an instant air of suspicion and disdain, “Replaced me already then, have ye, pretty one? So, who’s the new talent?”
Nicky opens her mouth to retort, but is caught off guard by the gruffness of a taller body she suddenly feels shoving itself into the booth directly beside her opposite Paul, blocking any possible means of escape.
Her heart leaps into her throat in full alert mode as she turns to see who the offending culprit is.
None other than Satan himself....
Donning a sharp black suit and an auburn mop-top.
“Ah, fancy findin’ you out tonight, of all people, Miss Globe-Trotter...” John Lennon quips with a crooked grin creeping across his thin lips. His lecherous gaze leaves Nicky and focuses blindly across the table to Paul. “What ye bring ‘er here for then, aye, mate? Not ‘nuff room at the Ashers for a proper threesome? Or is ‘olesome lil Janie still not up for that sort of thing? Tol’ ye that ye should’a let me help with her initiation into our lil’circle here.”
“Y’know, John...I’ve hated yer bleedin’ guts ever since we first met....” Paul shoots back at his band mate with brows arched and a mocking flutter of the eyelids.
“Sweet-talker, you!” John smiles at his friend before his gaze shifts to Nicky again, “I could jus’ listen to ‘im fer ‘ours. ‘Tis peaceful ‘nough of a voice to fall asleep by, don’t ye think?”
The blonde seated at the other side of Paul pouts out her bottom lip, clearly disturbed by the fact that her own companion for the night already seems to be well acquainted with the rival female at their new table, “John, you know her as well?” she whines. “Who is she then?”
“Ah, stuff it, Murky....” John bites at the annoying blonde.
“Murphy!” the blonde scolds.
“Dora, meet Nicole....” John grudgingly relents and introduces hastily “Nicky...meet Doorjam....”
“’Yer still a cheeky bastard, Lennon!” the blonde curses the auburn-haired Beatle, who doesn’t seem at all fazed by it. She finally smiles at Nicky, though a trifle too tightly, “It’s actually Dora Murphy. ‘Es good meetin’ ya. Hope we didn’t intrude on anything of importance.”
Paul clears his throat, lifting a mock-scolding forefinger, “Well, as a matter of fact....” he begins....
“No, not at all.” Nicky intercedes quickly before he can finish. “Paul and I just stopped in here for a little drink....”
John’s slit eyes slide lazily up from Nicky’s empty liquor glass to her face, “Don’t look so little to me, albeit quite empty now. Ye need another then....” And before Nicky can object, John is waving the hostess over to their table. “G’evenin’, luv...we’ll have more of the same for everyone here...‘cept fer Murky, that is.” His eyes level to the blonde girl at the table directly opposite him, “Unfortunately, she has to leave us.” He leans closer and whispers loudly to the hostess, “One of those embarrassin’ personal itch problem thingies, y’know...”
“Sod off, Johnny....and it’s all fine by me if ye want to play these lit’el games of yers....” Dora scowls, eyes narrowing at John with an expression of disgust, “You blokes always did fancy the Yank birds, anyroad, din’ya? Well, fuckin’ fab...and have at ‘er then!” She slides toward the outside of the booth, gets up and trains her glare on Nicky, “’Ope ye have big fun with this lot t’night, Lassie. Jus’ ye remember....I done ‘em first....and best! Ye’ve a lot to live up to if ye think ye’ll ever make ‘em forget the likes o’ me...”
“I’ve forgotten already....” John gazes blankly at the raging blonde. “You, Paulie?”
“Actually, Ole Boy, I can’t even remember what it is I’m s’posed to be forgettin’...” Paul responds just as airily as his friend had before him. He looks up innocently at an already enraged Dora, “We’ve met before, Miss?”
“Cheeky bastards but bastards jus’ the same....the both o’ye...” Dora sneers, adjusting her red mini before she turns and stalks off on her high heels to get lost in the pub’s crowd as they sway to the beat of some jumpy jazz number that’s being played by the band.
“Haha....that was fun...” John giggles to Paul.
“What did you even bring her here for then?” Paul inquires accusingly.
“Thought I might fancy a bit of comp’ny later on,” John explains with a slight eyebrow wiggle, mainly for Nicky’s benefit, “but she was still on me nerves after the first few drinks, y’know, and I couldn’t possibly fathom drinkin' enough t’make 'er less annoyin' an' still bein' able to get it up, so I just figured it a lost cause ‘n best be rid of....”
“Well, at least the one thing ye got out of it was drunk...” Paul deadpans.
“Am not drunk...” John retorts, turning his head toward Nicky. “Am I?”
“You certainly smell like a drunk.” she tells him pointedly, hoping to be as offensive as possible.
John displays a wide smile, enjoying her instant response. “More talk like that and ye’ll have me quiverin’ inside me kecks, hot stuff....” he coos as he leans closer to her. “You’ve a way with words, y’know. S’no wonder yer such a great reporter. Are all Bostoners as poetic?”
“Bostonians is what we’re called.” Nicky corrects curtly.
“I’m sorry....”
“Common mistake...”
“No, I mean you have me deepest sympathy for bein’ called a Bostonian.”
“Has anyone ever told you what an absolute ass you are, John?”
He nods, “Normally whilst in the throes of passion and bein’ driven mad from unadult’rated lust fer meh.”
“Funny, because I couldn’t imagine lusting after you if you were the last man standing on Earth.”
“Wouldn’t that depend on what part of me was doin’ the standin’ though, luv?”
Nicky rolls her eyes at him, “I wouldn’t be interested, even so.”
“Well, why’s not? Inn’t that how ye usually conduct yer investigative reportin’, after all, Miss Globes?” John asks, batting his eyelashes at her.
Paul’s large doe eyes squint irritably as they shift from his best friend to his ‘date’ and back again. He feels a slight stab of jealousy ache in his chest, but isn’t exactly clear on who he’s most jealous of....or because of....
“Would you two prefer me goin’ elsewhere s’ye can sort this out on yer own?” he asks them.
“No!” Nicky and John declare in desperate synch as their eyes refocus on him.
Paul blinks, a bit taken aback by the absolute lack of subtlety on both their parts, but inwardly pleased, nonetheless. At least he managed to break up the little battle of the wits going on in front of him...
For the time being, anyway.
“I’m sorry, Paul....” Nicky adds with an apologetic smile as she scoots herself away from John’s intruding presence in the booth and trains her full attention on the darker-haired Beatle again. “Maybe we should go someplace else to finish talking...”
“Don’t bother.” John scowls, feeling a renewed dislike for the Yankbird reporter from Boston...and just when he thought he might be able to get used to her being around...somewhat...even if only because she was fun to spar with. His eyes rivet on Paul’s as he shrugs himself out of the booth and stands with a concealing grin, “I’ll leave you two at it. Being bothersome is such a fuckin’ bore....’specially with this sort,” he declares, eyes cutting briefly in Nicky’s direction before he looks at Paul again, “Have fun. Later, Guv.”
“Oh, John, come ‘ead....ye don’t have t....” Paul begins, but before he knows it he’s talking to the back of his best friend’s quickly retreating form as it’s swallowed up in the midst of other pub patrons.
“Don’t worry about him, Paul.” Nicky tries to comfort her suddenly distraught-looking companion. “I’m sure John can take care of himself. He’ll be alright.”
“Right. You don’t know John...”
“He’s not your responsibility.”
“I know, but he’s already ordered drinks for our table, hasn’he? There’s no reason for ‘im to take off on his own....” Paul starts, and gestures toward the hostess as she places the new drinks in front of him and Nicky “...which speaking of...” He gazes upward at the server, “The fella who ordered these drinks just walked away from here.”
The pretty hostess smiles at him with a knowing nod, “Yeah, he caught me on the way over, took his drink and told me you two are paid for the rest of the night....on him. Wish I had friends like that. Nice lad.”
“Nice?” Nicky asks incredulously with stretched eyes before she can even think to stop herself. Her heart sinks, however, when she notices a quick flash of Paul’s suddenly offended expression.
He nods his head a bit, “Sure, he’s nice, Nicky. You jus’ don’t really know John is all. The two of you got off to a bad start.”
“A bad start, Paul? Seriously? He’s been absolutely horrible to me from the first time I spoke to him this afternoon...” Nicky defends her own assessment of her companion’s poor excuse for a best friend “...and I didn’t provoke any of it. He out and out accused me of trying to seduce you just to get a story for my newspaper and implied, in no uncertain terms, that I’m merely another girl like all those who fawn and fall over you just because you’re a handsome and talented musician who also happens to be in a popular new band.”
“Yeah, but I told you already why he says such things, didn’t I?” Paul offers quietly, taking a sip of his fresh drink, “He’s just a bit jealous, y’see...”
“A bit?” Nicky asks. “He acted worse this afternoon than that Dora girl did this evening. Who was she, anyway? One of the many reasons John’s wife left him, I’m guessing?” She watches as his mouth opens to speak, but nothing comes out immediately, so she brushes it off, “Never mind, Paul...it’s really none of my business. I don’t care who she is. The point is John’s being so possessive of you that he can’t even allow me to do what I came to England for without hassling me...and I’m just not having it, no matter how much you defend him. Why do you do it, anyway?”
“Well...” Paul shrugs, his voice softening sympathetically “...someone has to, don’t they? John doesn’t really have anybody else.”
“No fault of his own, I’m sure.” Nicky surmises with more than a hint of sarcasm.
Paul shakes his head at her, “Ye just don’t understand, Nicky. I mean, John feels like everyone he loves ends up leavin’ ‘im.”
“Well, everyone leaving him just might have something to do with his own abrasive nature, Paul.”
“So yer sayin’ it’s all his fault then?” Paul’s brows arch a bit defensively as he studies her face. No matter how cute this bird is, she just doesn’t get it, he thinks.
“Exactly.”
“Tha’s because you just don’t know....”
“Don’t know what?”
“Lots of things.” Paul frowns at her, but doesn’t feel at liberty to say more about the subject.
Yet Paul inwardly knows and remembers it all too well himself. After all, he’d been the very mate tagging along with John on numerous visits to Julia Stanley’s house after the orphaned boy had first found out that his biological mother was alive and well, and only living a short distance away....finally relishing the chance to spend some time and become acquainted with her.
He also remembered one particular night when he’d visited Mendips, the home John shared with Aunt Mimi...only to climb the stairs to his friend’s room and find him seated on his bed, back to the door...obviously having forgotten that it wasn’t locked or even closed all the way....
Paul would never forget what he saw through the slightly cracked door that night....
What he saw was John, totally stripped of his usual cockiness and bravado...soul laid bare as he was half-doubled over, seated at the edge of his bed, arms hugged around his chest as though in physical agony...head slung low, body shuddering as he sobbed....appearing completely lonely and broken inside.
Paul also remembered his own sense of helplessness at the whole situation....that he couldn’t let John know he’d seen him crying; wouldn’t dare humiliate a fellow Scouser that way, would he? No, he couldn’t have done. He’d simply left Mendips as stealthily as he’d arrived, John never the wiser of his presence...when all Paul had really wanted to do, with every fiber of his being was to go to his best friend and hold him as he cried.
And the next day Paul believed that John himself unknowingly confirmed the reason for his distress the previous night with a snappish as usual, out-of-the-blue, “Was brassed off at fookin’ Mimi yes’teday...tired of ‘er fookin’ bitchin’ an’ all ‘at. Wanted to stay at Julia’s for a coople days, but ‘er and Twitchy wouldn’t ‘ave me. S’alright though....can’t be arsed bein’ ‘round ‘em that much any-fookin’-road either. Jus’ fook ‘em all...fookin’ hate the lot of ‘em....”
Those sorts of incidents were a huge part of why Paul felt the need to protect John...to defend him, even now....to Nicky, a girl he was physically attracted to and would really love the chance to get better acquainted with....
But certainly not at the expense of his best friend, fellow band mate, songwriting partner, brother...
The list could go on, Paul thought. But whatever John was to him...not that it was anybody’s damn business...he wasn’t about to have them putting him down.
“You know, Nicky, he’s really a bit of a cuddly pup beneath all the bite....” Paul finds himself expounding for the American girl, “...not that I want you ever tellin’ him I said that, so don’t. It’s just that y’have to look a bit deeper at some folks than that though, y’know. ‘Sides, that’s what reporters are s’posed t’do, after all, innit?”
“Now you sound just like him.” Nicky remarks quietly, but without malice.
“Well, thas probably ‘cause I know ‘im better than anyone else.” Paul agrees with a disarming sigh. ”You’ll just have to take me word for it is all. Johnny’s not that bad a person, really.”
Nicky nods with a bit of reluctant surrender. “You must love him an awful lot.”
The sudden constriction in Paul’s throat causes him to almost choke mid-swallow on the gulp of drink he’d just taken.
What the bloody hell does she mean by that?
She glances at Paul’s face in time to see the slightest hint of a sweltering blush rising in his boyishly smooth cheeks. “Are you alright?”
“Uh....” Paul nods while clearing his throat “....yeah....fine....” He draws a deep, cleansing breath and places his drink on the table, eyes darting desperately to the pub’s crowd as they start to move to a more up-tempo tune that’s being played by the band. “Let’s dance, alright? You American birds do like dancin’, don’t ya?”
Uncertain of what caused the sudden change in subject, Nicky finds her hand being clasped in Paul’s as he coaxes her out of the booth and onto the dance floor with him.