“Daddy,” said Julia, screwing up her face as she watched her father change little George’s diaper, “How come I don’t have one of those?” He looked at her, amused.

“Why, because yer norra lad,” John replied, fastening the diaper and swinging his son up to rest against his shoulder. “Yer a little lass, an’ a lass is different than a lad.”

“Well, but why?” she pressed. “Why do we hafta be different?”

“That’s a very interestin’ question,” said her father, “An’ I’m not so sure I really understand it all that well meself. Tell ye what; whydontcher go ask yer Mum an’ then come back an’ explain it t’ me.”

“Okay,” she said cheerfully, going off to find Mary.

John sat down and put his feet up, sitting his son up against his thighs so that they were eye to eye.

Little George looked back at his father with a baby’s version of his own trademark level gaze. John felt his heart swell with love for the child. He thought of his older son. It disturbed him that he had missed all this with Julian. He had been all wrapped up in his work and his touring, the band rocketing to world fame and little time to think about much else, when Julian had been this age. He had left the care of his first child to his wife and her mother, seeing him now and then, but never getting to know him in this intimate fashion. Along with his guilt over not taking an active part in his oldest son’s life, John felt a fierce determination not to let the same thing happen this time around. He would be there for this child as he had been there for Julia, and he would know him as well as he knew himself.

He was making some progress in that area with Julian; he had begun to try to make amends during the time he had been with Mary, who encouraged him to invite Julian into their lives as often as he could.. The boy, now ten, had come for several weeks each summer to spend some time with his father and the gentle girl who shared his life, and John had begun to see his son as an individual in his own right, a real person with astonishing maturity and an amazingly creative mind for a ten-year-old boy. He wished that he could see more of him, and he promised himself that he would. But for now, his main concern was the nurturing of the tiny child he now held.

John shifted his son to the crook of his arm, feeling the warmth of the baby against his middle.  He bent his head to breathe in the baby’s scent and wondered what it was about that smell that made his heart feel too big for his chest. He knew that he would do anything for this little boy, just anything.

“Yer Daddy loves ye, yerknow,” he whispered into one tiny, shell-pink ear. “And he really thinks that yer th’ most amazin’ person he’s ever met.”

He took one little pink baby hand in his own long, graceful fingers. The little hand gripped John’s index finger with a strength which amazed the man; it was as though the child’s very life depended upon his father, and the baby knew it. John bent his head forward a bit more and kissed the tiny fingers lightly and lovingly. He felt his heart swell with emotion, and he was astonished as always by how terrible and strong his love for the little boy actually was, just as fresh, bright and new as it had been six months ago when he had first had his son put into his arms at his wife’s hospital bedside. From the very first touch, the very first look into the unfocused little eyes, the first breath of that intoxicating new baby smell, John had known that he would do anything within his power to protect this tiny creature, flesh of his flesh, from any harm. He was just as much in love with this child as he was with Julia...his daughter was adopted, but he had loved her from the start, his heart yearning after her whenever he watched her climb into the car that took her to school and swelling with emotion whenever she favored him with her trusting, adoring smile.

Odd thing, he thought...he had watched Paul playing with Julian when the boy was very young, and he had been astonished and, if the truth be told, more than a little envious at the way his friend had so easily interacted with the child. He had watched silently for a few moments, then asked wonderingly, “How d’ye do that?”

Paul had simply shrugged. “I don’t know,” he’d replied, “I like kids, they’re great. It’s not hard getting along with them. Just get down on his level and let it happen naturally.”

Julian had looked up at his father, and John had looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. “I’d feel soft,” he’d said, getting to his feet and grabbing his guitar. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Thank God he had gotten over his awkwardness where his oldest child was concerned. Now he was comfortable with all of his children, and he found it hard to believe that it had once been so hard for him to relate to his own offspring.

He shook himself out of his reverie and addressed his youngest once more.

“C’mon, son,” he said, holding the baby with one hand and pushing himself off the chair with the other. “Let’s go find yer Mummy so she cn’ nurse ye an’ I cn’ watch!”

*** 

He found Mary in the living room, deep in conversation with Julia.

“So,” their daughter said thoughtfully, “He was really inside of you the whole time, an’ that’s why you got so fat.” She considered the idea and nodded her acceptance. “That makes sense. But, Mummy, how did Daddy plant the seed in there?”

John sat beside his wife and handed her the baby. “I think I did that the day we were outside in th’ garden,” he told Julia, struggling to make his face appear serious. “Remember th’ day Mummy was showin’ us how to plant marigolds? I think a baby seed got mixed inta th’ packet an’ yer Mummy accidentally swallowed it.” He warmed to the story and lifted Julia into his lap. “Yeah,” John went on, “Th’ more I think about it, th’ more sure I am. That’s what happened, all right. I gave her a handful o’ them seeds an’ she swallowed that bloody baby seed. She said t’me that night in bed, she said, ‘John, I think one o’ those seeds you gave me was a baby seed, an’ we will have a baby growin’ soon.’ I told her not t’ blame me, as it was she who ate that seed, an’ she said, ‘No, but you gave me that seed, so yer th’ one as planted it.’“

Mary was trying to keep from laughing, and she unbuttoned her blouse and gave the baby her breast. Julia turned to her mother and said, “You’d better be careful not to do that again, unless you want another baby.  Why did you eat that seed, Mummy?”

“You’d better ask Daddy,” replied Mary. “He seems to have it all reckoned out.”

Julia looked up into John’s face expectantly. “Well, Daddy?” she asked.

“Ah, well, darlin’, yer mummy was always beggin’ me for those seeds, she likes ‘em so much, so I decided t’ favor her with one, an’ wouldn’t ye know, she ate it right up, like. It’s all I cn’ do sometimes, t’ keep her in them seeds...an’ one o’ them just worked out t’ be a baby seed.”

Julia nodded. “An’ instead of growin’ in the garden, George grew inside of Mummy’s tummy,” she said. “Is that right, Daddy?”

“Exactly right,” he told his daughter. “An’ once he was grown enough so that he could come out, we went t’ hospital, an’ the doctor got him out an’ we brought him home t’ live with us.”

“Honey,” Mary said suddenly, “Would you go and get me a clean nappy for your brother?”

“Okay,” she replied, sliding off John’s lap and disappearing down the hall.

“Why’d ye send her away?” asked John, putting his arm around his wife’s shoulders. He kissed her cheek gently and watched their son suckle.

“I was afraid she’d start asking about herself,” Mary told him. “I think she’s too young to understand adoption; I know I’m not ready to explain it to her yet.” She regarded her husband with amusement. “What on earth did you tell her that for, anyway?” she asked. “You’re going to have to explain it to her correctly in a few more years, you know.”

“Nah, I won’t,” he said confidently. “She’s a lass--that’ll be yer job.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks,” she said. “I really do appreciate the way you’ve paved the way for me.”

“Don’t mention it,” said John. “Now, maybe ye’d like a few more o’ them seeds later on, after th’ kids’re down for th’ night.”

“Mmmmm,” said Mary softly. “I think I’d like that a lot, baby. And to think, I didn’t even have to beg.”

***

Later that night, John and Mary sat at the table in the kitchen having coffee together. The children were sleeping, and the house was quiet.

“I like it a lot better here,” declared Mary. “This little house feels nice at night, doesn’t it? Although I do miss the big garden we used to have out in back.”

“Well, do ye wanna move again?” John asked, reaching across the table for her hand. He pressed his lips against his wife’s fingers gently, his eyes on her face. “Anything ye want, ye know ye only have t’ ask, an’ it’s yers, Mary.”

She smiled at him. John loved her smile; it came directly from her heart and spread across her face like sunshine. “No, this is fine,” she assured him. “I was just thinking out loud.”

“Ah,” he replied. “Well, I’m better off not doin’ that. If I told ye out loud what I was thinkin’ just now, ye’d probably slap me face.”

Mary got to her feet and went to him; he pulled her into his lap and kissed her deeply. He explored her mouth hungrily, as though it were the first time, and she responded with equal fervor. At last they paused to breathe, and Mary laid her head against his shoulder. He stroked her hair and Mary closed her eyes, her heart swelling with love for him. He rested his chin on the top of her head and whispered, “Are ye ready t’ turn in yet?”

“Mmmm,” she replied, “That sounds like a nice idea. It’s pretty early to be going to sleep though, don’t you think?” She got up and turned to face him.

“Oh, aye,” he said, hauling himself to his feet and lifting her easily. “Much too early for that, but I have a few other ideas, as you might well imagine.”

He carried her down the hall, pausing at the doors of each child so that they could look in on them. When he reached their bedroom, he closed the door with one foot and placed Mary gently on the bed, stretching himself out beside her and taking her into his arms again.

“We have some beautiful kids, yerknow,” he said softly, kissing her hair. “Ye make me happy, Mary. I don’t know how I’d be able t’ get along without yer. Did I ever tell ye how I knew you were summat special from th’ first day we met? I knew ye liked me too, from that night when I asked ye t’ mend me torn jacket an’ ye turned all red when I touched yer.”

“You knew it before I did, then,” she told him.

He laughed gently. “No, ye knew it well enough,” he said confidently. “Ye just hadn’t admitted it t’ yerself yet.”

Mary thought that he was probably right. She remembered the pleasant shock that had run through her body when his arm had accidentally brushed her breast, and how flustered she had been on her drive home. John had always seemed intently aware of the effect he’d had upon her. Even now after six years together, she responded to him as readily as she had in the beginning. His hands ran over her body, effortlessly awakening her hunger for him. She unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it back off his shoulders, and he paused to shrug out of it while Mary pulled her dress over her head and off. John slid his jeans down and kicked them away, then slipped Mary’s underwear off; she raised her hips and allowed him to remove the last barrier between them, reaching for him eagerly.

“Mary,” he whispered, pressing tightly against her. She moved against him, and he moaned softly. He pushed into her, and she caught her breath at the bright shock of pleasure as he entered her body and looked down into her face, passion burning in his eyes. She clung to him, desperately needing him, unaware of anything except the astonishing sensations he was creating within her with every movement, every touch, and every breathless whisper of her name. He took her higher by the moment, both of them caught up in the mad joy, not so much reaching for the finish line as allowing it to reach them, washing over, around and through them like a breaking swell which would ultimately deposit them gently on the warm sand, gradually ebbing away to allow them to return to the world around them.

He was moving quickly now, penetrating her deeply, taking her rapidly over the edge; she cried his name out softly and he lost it, unable to hold back any longer. He came violently with a loud groan, filling her completely, both of them crying out wordlessly as the sensations overtook them before slowly receding...it amazed them both how fresh, strong and new their lovemaking always seemed no matter how many years passed. Mary took her place beside him, settling into the curve of his shoulder, his warm, strong arms around her. Every time she found herself lying in his embrace, Mary felt as though she was exactly where she belonged.

“Are ye happy, Mary, me love?” he asked quietly, kissing the top of her head with a happy sigh.

“More than words can say,” she replied. “And I think you could be right about what you said before.”
“I’m always right,” he told her automatically. “About what?”

About when I started to like you,” she said. “Remember, you said that it was that night you gave me your torn jacket to mend. I think you might be right. It made me mad, though, that you could make me feel the way you did. I felt like you knew what I looked like naked, and that embarrassed me. When you took your jacket off and touched my breast with your arm, it made me want you--well, not me, but my body.”

“Oooh, what a naughty gurrl,” he said, sounding quite delighted. “Who would’ve thought that you were havin’ such base thoughts, Miss Mary. Why dintcher say summat?”

“I wouldn’t have given you the satisfaction,” she replied in an airy tone. “When I went home and took that jacket out to mend it, I could smell you on it, and I sprayed air freshener all over the lining to get rid of your smell. I didn’t want you to be able to give me those...sexual feelings.”

“Sexual feelings, huh.” he said thoughtfully. “Yer sayin’ I turned ye on, then. That’s what I thought. Well, the feelin’ was mutual, me love. Ye had me walkin’ around with a permanent hard on. I thought about ye all the time. I wanted ye desperately, and I couldn’t for th’ life o’ me work it out in me head why ye weren’t throwin’ yerself at me. I finally decided that it must just be that ye were as stubborn as I am. I figgered that if I bided me time, ye’d come around sooner or later. An’ look what happened,” he added happily, “Now yer me wife, an’ we’ll be together for th’ rest of our lives.” He pulled her closer and whispered, “I love ye so much, Mary. I never thought I could be so happy, an’ it’s all because yer mine.”

“I love you more than I ever thought was possible, baby,” she replied. “And I always will.”

***

“How would ye like t’go on a trip, Mary?” John asked one morning a few weeks later. She looked up from where she knelt beside the bathtub; she was bathing the baby, and she hadn’t heard him come into the room.

“A trip? Where would you want to go, love?” she asked, lifting the baby from the water and wrapping him in a soft towel. She handed the child to his father and pulled the drain plug, then dried her hands.

John shifted the baby to his shoulder and followed his wife to George’s nursery. “Well,” he told her, “I was thinkin’ of somewhere warm...how would ye like t’ go t’ California?”

“What, in America? What made you think of going there?” Mary asked, handing John some clothes for the baby.

“Well,” he said slowly, “It seems that Ritchie’s gonna be makin’ a film, an’ he’s rented a big house on th’ beach in Santa Monica. Anyroad, he’s invited us t’ come visit him there, an’ th’ other lads as well, an’ their families.”

“Well, wouldn’t that be something,” replied Mary. “All four of the Beatles together again in one house--and in America, no less.”

“Yeah,” he replied, “Well, I guess it’s pretty isolated; could be that no one would even find out that all of us were there. We’ve all been seein’ one another from time to time, though, an’ we’re gettin’ on; I think it might be fun.”

“If you really want to go, I suppose there’s no reason we can’t,” Mary said, sitting on the rocking chair beside the changing table, where her husband was deftly wrestling the clothes she’d handed him onto their wriggling son.

“Great,” he answered. “I’ll tell him we’ll be there, then.” He handed the baby back to her and she began nursing him.

“When do we leave?” she asked. “I have to arrange things with Julia’s school.”

“I’ll go ring Ritch now,” he said over his shoulder as he left the room. “I’ll let ye know as soon as I find out.”

Mary listened to his footsteps as he went down the hall to their bedroom. In a moment, she heard him speaking into the phone, but she could not quite make out the words. She felt so happy; John was so good to her, and they spent most of their time together, although lately he had begun saying that he might go back into the studio and do another solo album. He had begun spending a few nights at the piano in the living room every week lately, and sometimes he would disappear into the basement, where he had a fully equipped recording studio of his own. He had not worked for nearly a year, and it seemed as though he was ready to begin making music again.

John was coming back up the hall; he came into the room and settled himself on the floor next to Mary’s chair. “Well,” he said, “It’s all set, me love. We leave in two weeks for sunny California. We’ll be stayin’ right on the beach; th’ house has a dozen bedrooms an’ th’ beach is private; th’ whole place is fenced off an’ there’s a stone wall extendin’ right out inta th’ ocean so no one cn’ see in even from th’ beach next door.” He was smiling like a child, delighted at the prospect of a holiday in the sun. Mary shifted the baby to her other breast and smiled down at her husband.

“Is everyone going to be there?” she asked, “Or were there scheduling difficulties?”

“Well, I guess George won’t be there th’ first few days,” he replied. “He’s got a little more work to do on his new album. He’s comin’, though. He thinks it might help th’ problems he’s havin’ at home if he an’ Pattie cn’ get away from home for a bit.”

“I talked to her the other day,” Mary told him. “She isn’t sure if she wants to keep their marriage going or not. She says she loves him, but she has feelings for Eric as well.”

John shook his head. “Poor bugger,” he said sadly, “I never figgered on them havin’ a problem like this. Promise me ye’ll never fancy another man, Mary. I couldn’t take it if ye ever did t’ me what Pattie is doin’ t’ George.”

“You know there could never be anyone else for me, John,” Mary replied, touching his cheek gently. “And as far as George and Pattie are concerned, she isn’t the only one who is to blame. They’ve both hurt each other. I only hope they can manage to make it work.”

“Yeah, me too,” John responded. “I don’t think either of them really wants t’ end things.” he sat silently for a moment, then brightened. “Oh, did I tell ye,” he added, “That Paul’s Linda is expectin’ another baby? Ritchie says Paulie’s over th’ fuckin’ moon over it; he says ye’d think it was him was havin’ th’ child, t’ hear him go on about it.”

“Really? Oh, that’s wonderful. Maybe it’ll be a boy this time.” Mary said. George had finished and was falling asleep; Mary lifted him to her shoulder and patted his back until he burped, then added, “John, would you take the baby from me? It’s hard to get up while I’m holding him. I think we can put him down for a nap for a while.”

John got to his feet and took the baby. kissing the top of his head before laying him in the crib and covering him up. He turned to Mary and caught her up in his arms with a wicked grin.

“Let’s go see if we cn’ make another baby of our own,” he suggested, carrying Mary out of the room.

***

Two weeks later, John, Mary, and their children arrived at the beach house in Santa Monica in a rented car. When they pulled up to the gates, John rolled the window down and flipped the switch on the intercom.

“Ritch, it’s us, open th’ gates, willyer?” he called. The intercom crackled to life and the drummer’s voice came from the speaker.

“I’ll open it now, c’mon in, John,” he replied. “Paul ‘n them are already here.”

The gates swung open slowly to admit the Lennons, and slowly closed behind them.

When they drove up to the house, Ringo came out and bounded down the stairs. The house was enormous. There were dozens of windows and a huge, wraparound deck.

“Wait till you see the place, John,” he said excitedly as he helped John pull the suitcases out of the car. “It’s great; there’s a music studio, a game room...we’ve got a quarter mile of beach to ourselves, and a pool besides.”

Paul came out to help carry the luggage, and Julia flew out of the car and threw herself at him.

“Uncle Paul!” she cried. “I haven’t seen you in so long!” He caught her up, and she kissed his cheek resoundingly.

“So you haven’t,” replied Paul, returning her kiss and giving her a squeeze that made her squeal before setting her back upon her feet. “But I’m here now!”

“Are Heather and Mary and Stella here?” she wanted to know.

“Yes, they are, Chicken, they’re inside with Zak and Jason; they’re just getting ready to go play in the pool--well, all but Stella, of course, she’s too little to go yet. The house is full of kids,” he replied. “Why don’t you go find them, while Uncle Ritchie and I help your daddy carry your cases inside?”

Julia ran up the stairs and into the house, and Paul gave Mary a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, telling her she looked lovely, then turned to John and hugged him hard. He stepped back and said, “It’s good to see you, John. It’s been too long.”

“It has,” he agreed, “But we’re here now, we cn’ catch up. So, I hear yer havin’ another baby.”

“I am,” Paul declared. “Well, that is to say, Linda is...but I did my part.”

John snorted. “Yeright,” he said, clapping his friend on the shoulder, “Good job, Paulie, yer good for somethin’ after all.”

“Come ‘ead,” Ringo called, pulling the last of the suitcases out of the car, “Grab some luggage and get it inta the house—no use just standin’ about; these things aren’t gonna walk up the steps on their own!”

Mary lifted little George out of the back where he had, as Julia had before him, been comfortably settled in a makeshift nest surrounded by the softer luggage. John and Paul grabbed the rest of the bags, and everyone went up into the house.

***

While the women busied themselves with watching the children splashing in the shallow end of the pool and passing the babies around, the men went down to take a look at the in-house recording studio.

“Wow,” said Paul with a low whistle, “You’ve got everything you could ever need here. This is quite a setup.” He fingered the cord of one of the microphones and added, “Y’know, I’ve missed being in the studio with you lads.” He shifted his eyes to John; finding his friend’s face neutral, Paul continued, “Maybe when George gets here, we should fool around with this stuff a bit; seems a shame to let it go to waste.”

“Yeah, well. I brought a coupla guitars, in case I wanted t’do any writin’, y’know--I forgot t’ ask our Richard if there was a piano here,” said John, trying his best to sound casual. If the truth were to be known, he was feeling a little excited by the prospect of working with his friends again. His eyes sparkled in spite of himself.

“I’ve got me drums,” added Ringo, waving a hand in the direction of his beloved equipment. “I’d be willing to do somethin’.”

“Yeah, you and your precious drums,” said Paul, pushing the drummers’ shoulder gently. “You wouldn’t let ‘em out of your sight if you could help it.”

“Well?” Ringo laughed and pushed Paul back. John smiled and his mind began to race; he was warming quickly to the idea.

“Would we do our old material, or would we be writin’ some new stuff?” he asked.

Paul considered. “It might be fun to write together again,” he replied. “Do ya think we still have the knack?”

John snorted. “Like ridin’ a fuckin’ bike,” he replied. “Or swimmin’. Once ye know how it’s done, ye can’t forget.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Paul’s mouth, and he clasped John’s hand briefly.

“We’re back,” he said. “For the moment, at least.”

“I guess we are, that is of course if our young Mr. Harrison is agreed.”

“He will be,” Paul said confidently. “It’ll be good for him; take his mind off things.”

“Let’s go upstairs,” Ringo suggested, “and seal the deal with a pint; anyone with me?”

“Lead the way, son,” John declared. “I’m on board.”

***

The three men were lounging about in the living room with their drinks when the women came back into the house with the chattering, excited children.

“Why don’t you take the other kids upstairs and help them get into dry clothes, honey?” Linda told her oldest daughter. Heather nodded and the girls trooped up the stairs.

“We don’t hafta, do we, Mummy?” asked Zak. “We cn’ do it for ourselves.”

“Yes, you take your brother and change...help him, mind,” replied Maureen.

Mary went to stand behind John, who was sprawled all over a chair in the middle of the room. She rubbed his shoulders and he leaned back into her hands, looking up at her upside down with a lazy smile. He was obviously a little tipsy.

“Mary, me gurrl,” he said a little thickly, “Congratulate us--we’re gonna do some writin’ and recordin’ together while we’re here.”

“Keep up the way you are, and you’ll be lucky if you can hold a pen, let alone a guitar,” she replied, “But congratulations.”

“Yeah, she’s right,” Paul said, pulling the noticeably pregnant Linda into his lap. “We’d better lay off, like.”

“Yerokay,” John replied, “This’ll be th’ last of it.” He emptied his glass and handed it to Mary, who set it onto the coffee table and settled into John’s lap. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her deeply, as though they were all alone.

“All right, lover boy,” she told him when at last he came up for air, “That’s enough of that--we’re not alone, you know.”

John waved his hand towards his friends. “What, them?” he asked. “Not t’ worry; I’ve done a lot more than that with them in th’ same room.”

“That’s disgusting,” Mary told him, “Anyway, not with me, you haven’t.”

He laughed softly and let her go; she got to her feet and told him that she was going into the kitchen to help Maureen fix dinner. Linda struggled to her feet.

“I’ll help too,” she said. “It’ll be fun.”

***

Once dinner was over, the kitchen cleaned, and the kids put to bed, the women settled down to watch an old movie on television. Ringo went to his study to read over his script for the movie, and Paul and John retired to the kitchen table armed with guitars and plenty of paper and pens.

It felt good to John to be with his old friend again, and they settled right back into their old habit; it was as though they had written the last song they’d worked on together just the day before.

“What words rhyme with ‘blessed’, John?” Paul asked, tapping his pen on the table.

John sat back, balancing his chair on the back two legs, and took his pen out of his mouth. He tipped his head back and regarded Paul down his nose, tapping the pen against his teeth.

“Let’s see,” he said slowly, “How about ‘impressed’?”

“Doesn’t really work,” Paul said thoughtfully. “suggest”, maybe?”

“Infest,” John intoned. Paul looked up at him and snickered. “Good one, but I doubt if I can work that in.”

“Undressed!” John cried. “Mae West! Huge breast!”

Paul was laughing helplessly, and he wiped the tears from his eyes.

John fixed him with a calm, level gaze, and said in a serious voice, “I’ve got it, the perfect word. See what ye think o’ this one: molest.”

Paul almost fell off his chair. “All right, John,” he said, still laughing, “I give up. I think I’ll use a different word. We’ll try something other than ‘blessed’.” He sighed and lit a cigarette, offering one to John as well. The two men smoked quietly for a moment.

“I’ve missed this, being with you this way,” Paul told his friend. “Why did we ever stop doing this, anyhow?”

“I can’t remember,” John replied, “And I don’t really want to try to figger it out. Let’s just forget all that an’ go on from here, why don’t we.”

“Good idea,” Paul agreed, picking up his pen once more. “Where were we, now...”

***

The sound of The Five Satins was coming from the radio in the sand.

Mary felt safe wrapped in John’s warm, strong arms as they danced on the beach; it was one of those perfect moments she wished she could hold in the front of her mind forever. Her head rested on his shoulder, and he was singing the song softly into her hair: “In the still of the night, I held you, held you tight; ‘cos I love, love you so, promise I’ll never let you go, in the still of the night...”

When the song ended, they sat on the towels they’d brought and looked out at the ocean for a while as John smoked a cigarette. Mary watched his face as he gazed thoughtfully out across the water in the moonlight. Before long, he crushed out his smoke and turned to look back at the house.

“I don’t see anyone,” he remarked casually, putting his arm around Mary. “Whattayer say we get a little more comfortable, like?”

Mary looked back at the house doubtfully. Most of the lights were out; it did look as if everyone had gone to bed.

“All right,” she finally replied. “But only if we keep a blanket over us. I saw one on a beach chair by the back door.”

“I’ll go fetch it,” said John happily, jumping to his feet.

***

Mary watched him sprinting back towards her, blanket in hand, and she found that as always, the sight of him excited her. He was smiling happily, and he stopped beside her and shook the folds out of the blanket, holding it between Mary and the darkened house, directing her to remove her swimsuit. She did so, smiling at his exaggerated leer as he watched her. He spread the blanket over her and pulled his t-shirt over his head, then slipped out of his swimming trunks and slid under the blanket beside her, gathering her into his arms.

“Mmmm,” he whispered, “This is nice.”

She wrapped her arms about his neck and pressed close to him. “It is,” she said with a sigh. “This trip was a good idea. I’m having a wonderful time, and Julia loves being with all of the other kids all day. You seem to be having a pretty good time, too. I think you’ve really missed working, especially with your friends.”

“Yeah, I guess I really have,” he admitted. “I think it’s gonna be fun, especially once George gets here tomorra. I’m lookin’ forward to it.” He lifted her chin and kissed her gently. “Not as much as I’m lookin’ forward to th’ next hour or so, though, Mrs. Lennon. Enough talkin’; let’s do somethin’.”

“Like what?” she asked innocently.

“Ye know damn good an’ fuckin’ well, woman,” he replied, gathering her closer. “C’mere.”

She relaxed in his arms and gave herself up to his hot, languid kisses, feeling herself go weak inside. She could never get enough of him. His warm tongue explored her mouth lazily at first, then with mounting insistence and urgency. His hands ran over her body, setting little fires wherever they paused, and she moaned softly, needing him desperately. He pushed against her, and she exulted in his hot readiness throbbing relentlessly against her warm, soft skin.

“Mary,” he whispered, his voice harsh with need, “God, gurrl, I want ye so bad--”

She raised her hips and opened to accept him eagerly, and he slipped easily into her, whispering her name again, his lips in her hair. She shivered at his breath so close to her ear, her skin prickling, every nerve in her body focused upon the pleasure he was causing her to feel. The power of the sensations he elicited never ceased to amaze her. He was breathing heavily, and in the moonlight she could see his eyes looking so intently into hers that she could hardly bear to hold his gaze. He was moving quickly and deliberately with long, even strokes; she could feel the tension in the muscles of his shoulders as they moved beneath her hands. His skin was pale in the moonlight, and his hair was tousled. He fought for control and slowed his movements, a low moan escaping him. His head went back, exposing his long, white throat, and Mary could feel that he was as close as she was.

“Yes,” she whispered, “Yes, baby, now, I want you now!”

He let out a deep sound that was nearly a growl and increased his speed, taking Mary with him over the edge she had been teetering on. They cried out together in the ecstasy that enveloped them, the overwhelming power of the pleasure that gripped them both more than they could bear in silence. Once the incredible feeling began to recede and the gentle spasms that followed slowly ebbed away, their breathing slowly returned to normal and the sound of the surf returned to replace the pulse that had been roaring in their ears. The radio played a soft static; the signal had drifted, unnoticed, out of range.

John turned onto his back and found his cigarettes. He lit one and Mary settled against his side, breathing in the clean smell of his salt-washed skin.

“That was bloody amazin’,” he said softly, slipping his free arm around her and drawing her closer still.

“It was wonderful,” she agreed. “It always is, with you.”

He looked down at her and smiled gently. “We’d better get back t’ th’ house,” he told her. “Th’ kids’ll be up soon, an’ we need t’ get at least a little sleep.”

Mary jumped to her feet and wrapped the blanket around herself; John tied one of the towels about his waist, and the two of them walked back to the house together.

***

“That sounded good,” said John, fiddling with the tuning pegs on his old Rickenbacker. “But I think it needs something. We should rent an organ, maybe.”

“You could be right about that,” agreed Paul. “That would be a nice touch.”

“This is kinda fun,” Ringo observed, rummaging in a box behind him for something. “I’ve missed it. I’m glad I rented this place; I thought I was just gonna be practicing on me own down here.”

“Must’ve been meant t’ be,” John replied. “It all just kinda happened, an’ it feels so natural. Whattayer say, Mr. Harrison, are ye havin’ a good time?”

“I am, actually,” answered George. “ I never imagined that I would be doin’ this when I agreed to come here. Funny thing, though-- I was thinking of it as work when I was doin’ me album back in London, and now that I’m here with you lot again, it doesn’t seem like workin’ at all. Thanks for thinkin’ of it, whichever of you was responsible for comin’ up with the idea.”

“That’d be Paul,” John told him, setting his guitar aside and leafing through his notes. “He just mentioned that it was a shame t’ waste all this, an’ that we might wanna fool around with it a bit. Th’ next thing ye know, me an’ Paulie were sittin’ at th’ kitchen table writin’ a few songs t’ record. Just like in th’ early days...who says ye cn’ never go back?”

Paul, who was sitting at the piano, got to his feet and went to the fridge in the corner. He extracted a few beers and tossed one to each of his friends. “Here ya go, John,” he said, “George, Ring...” he grabbed a bottle for himself and looked at the label. “Never heard o’ this brand,” he said, grabbing the opener off the top of the fridge and uncapping his bottle. He tossed the opener to John, who was pretending to remove the cap with his teeth, and took a long pull. “Not bad,” he said, crossing back to the piano and resuming his seat.

John lit a cigarette and took another drink. “I think we should slow down that middle bit just a little,” he observed. “Why don’t we try it that way?”

“Sounds good to me,” George replied, shouldering into his guitar strap again. “Just how slow, do ya think?”

***

Most days passed in this fashion, and on the days when Ringo was scheduled to work on his film, the others spent less time in the basement studio and more time with their wives and children, mostly on the beach.

“Daddy, will you take me out into the water?” Julia wanted to know. She pulled at John’s arm, waking him from his half-asleep state, and he opened one eye to look at her.

“What, now?” he asked. He was pretty comfortable where he was, and he and Mary had been out on the beach again late the night before; he felt that he could really use a nap.

“Yes! Uncle Paul is taking Mary, and Uncle George is taking Jason, an’ I wanna go too, but I need you to take me cos you said I wasn’t to go alone, remember?”

John sighed and hauled himself to his feet. “Where’s yer mum?” he asked, looking about for Mary.

“She went in the house with the rest of the mummies an’ Auntie Pattie. She was cryin’.”

“What, yer mum was cryin’?” asked John, dismayed.

“No, Auntie Pattie was cryin’. Mummy, Auntie Linda, an’ Auntie Mo took her inta th’ house an’ told Uncle George and Uncle Paul t’ mind us. Will you take me out in th’ waves with th’ other kids, though? Please?”

“Yerokay,” he agreed. “Let’s go; just for a little while, though, mind. Yer poor old Dad needs a nap.”

“Okay. But let’s go now!”

John scooped his daughter up and ran down into the water with her in his arms. Paul waved at him and shouted, “I see she got ya movin’, ya lazy sod!”

John waded out and took up a position between his two friends, keeping careful watch over his precious girl as she laughed and played with the other children. An errant breeze blew his hair into his eyes and he pushed it back with one hand.

“So, George,” he said conversationally, turning towards the guitarist, shading his eyes against the sun, “Did summat happen?” He turned towards his daughter, watching her play with her friends.

George shrugged, not really looking at him. “Yeah,” he replied. “I think it’s over. I think she wants ta go with him.”

“An’ just how d’ye feel about that?” John asked, dragging his eyes away from Julia for long enough to search his young friends’ face. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and John knew that this was not too far from being true. George looked back at him, meeting his eyes at last.

“If ya really wanna know, John,” he said in a tired voice, “I’m a little relieved to finally have it decided. Things haven’t been good for a while now.”

“Ah, well, it’s probably for the best, then,” John told him with a sympathetic smile. “Get it over with, like.” He turned his eyes back towards his daughter and added, “So what happens now?”

“She says she’s gonna take some time to be alone an’ sort things out, but I don’t believe her, John. I think she’s already decided that she wants t’ be with Eric an’ she just doesn’t wanna come right out and admit it. I think she means t’ spare me feelings, but it’s not workin’ that way. She’s goin’ back home tonight. She wants to get all her stuff outta the house while I’m here with all of you. I don’t wanna hafta watch her take all her stuff outta th’ house, especially if he’s gonna be helpin’ her move out, ya know?”

“Yeah, I understand,” said John. “Neither would I. Th’ difference is that I’d wanna beat th’ fuckin’ shit outta th’ bastard. He’d not be safe around me.”

George sighed. “I couldn’t do anything like that,” he said softly. “Eric is my friend. It’d be like givin’ you a poundin’.”

John laughed. “Right?” he cried. “Like ye’d have a prayer o’ that; dream on, son!” He gave the guitarist a gentle shove and George pushed back with a grin.

“I’d give ya a run for yer money,” he replied. “Don’t sell me short.”

“Gerronwitcher,” John said mildly. He turned to his friend and seized him in a sudden, brief, fierce hug. “It’ll be alright, mate,” he said gruffly before releasing him, “Ye’ll see.”

George nodded. “I know,” he said. “Thanks, John.”

They turned their full attention back to the children, who were having a fine time using Paul for a diving board. He was on his knees in the water, and he lifted each child off the bottom with his interlaced hands and tossed them a few feet to land screeching into the water. He waved to his friends.

“Quit standin’ about, c’mon!” he called, “Give us a hand or two, here. These kids’re wearin’ me out!”

***

Mary stood at the window; she had been watching John from the time Julia had awakened him. She had seen him hug George, and now all three of the men were taking turns tossing kids into the water, laughing and playing as though they too were children.

Even though he was far away, Mary knew that John was smiling in the way that lit up his whole face. He always looked that way when he was playing with their children. She knew that George would be smiling, too, despite his troubles. It was impossible to be sad around John.

Little George began to cry, signaling that he was awake and ready to be changed and fed, and Mary turned from the window and went to take care of him.

***

Later that night in bed, John asked Mary how Pattie had seemed when she’d left.

“She wasn’t being reasonable,” Mary replied. “She and George took a walk on the beach, and after they got far enough away so that they couldn’t be heard, they stood facing each other and you could see that they were arguing, you know, even though they were too far away to hear. Suddenly Pattie ran back towards the rest of us and when she got close, we could see that she was crying. George came back too, but walking slowly, and when he reached us he didn’t say anything, just stood there looking at her with those dark, sad eyes. Linda asked Paul to watch the kids and we took her into the house and tried to talk to her, but she was too upset to really listen. We all tried to reason with her, and I think Linda almost got her to stay, but she called a cab and just took off. She was supposed to wait until tonight, but she said she didn’t want to even look at George again. She said that it was killing her to see how hurt he looked. He seems to be bearing up pretty well, though. What did you say to him? I was watching you through the window when you were in the water. You were talking to him, then you gave him a hug and both of you started playing with the kids.”

“I just told him that it was probably for the best, the way things have been goin’ between th’ two of ‘em lately. He said that he was a bit relieved in any case, finally havin’ it decided.”

“You’re probably right,” Mary told him, laying her head on his chest with a sigh. “I feel sorry for them though. Especially George, since he hasn’t got anyone to comfort him. Pattie has Eric, and he’s so alone.”

“He’ll do fine, don’t worry,” John said. “He’s got inner strength, our George. He can take more than you’d realize.”

“It’s good that he’s got the rest of you to help him,” Mary replied. “Especially you. You’re a good friend, John.” She slowly pulled the sheet off him and took him into her mouth. He laughed softly.

“Whist, Mrs. Lennon,” he said, tangling his hands in her hair. “Ye never fail t’ amaze me...are ye tryin’ t’ have yer wicked way with me?” After a few minutes, he was breathing faster, and she released him and moved to her knees, then straddled him and guided him into her body. She moved slowly, teasing him, smiling down at him, and he closed his eyes, enjoying her slow, sensuous motion.

After a few moments of this, he moaned softly and whispered, “Faster, love--”

Mary continued at the same slow speed. John opened his eyes and when he saw her playful smile, he grinned back at her.

“So, that’s how it is, is it?” he asked, placing his hands at her waist. He lifted her easily and flipped her onto her back, covering her with his body. “Ye don’t know me as well as ye think ye do, I see. I say how fast we go, an’ I control things-- now be a good wench an’ let me manage things here. I think ye’ll find that aside from bein’ a good friend, I’m good at a few other things as well.”

He slid back into her and began to move more rapidly; Mary slipped her arms around his neck and clung to him, wrapping her legs about his waist as he took her relentlessly forward. She was unaware of the world around her; he was all that existed for her as he drove her onward and finally over the edge. Mary cried his name out and arched up against him; he thrust into her a few more times, letting out a deep groan when he finished and lowering himself with a happy sigh.

There was a series of sharp raps on the wall behind them.

“Hey, you two,” called Paul softly, “People are tryin’ to sleep; keep it down, willya?”

Mary blushed furiously, and hid her face against John’s shoulder.

“Shurrup, Paulie,” John called, “Just ‘cos yer not gettin’ any tonight’s no reason t’ be a spoilsport!”

“Goodnight, John,” his friend replied, chuckling. “G’night, Mary.”

John smiled down at Mary’s red face and shouted back, “Now ye’ve embarrassed her--I’ll get no more tonight, I hope yer satisfied; I know I am.”

Paul laughed, and Linda’s laughter could be heard as well. John kissed Mary and got down beside her, gathering her close.

“There ye go, love, he’ll say no more. I don’t imagine ye’ll be attackin’ me again tonight, shall we get some sleep?”

She smiled despite herself and he gently kissed her again and reached over to turn out the light.

With a soft sigh of contentment, she settled into the warm circle of his arms and closed her eyes.

***

The guys were in the basement recording studio again a few days later.

“That was a blinder,” declared Paul. “Dead on, lads. I don’t think we’ve ever sounded better.  We should have it pressed an’ release it,” he added. “Nobody would expect it, but I’ll bet it’d sell like mad.”

“I don’t think we wanna start all that up again, Paul,” said George. “It’s just gettin’ to the point where I can go out without bein’ run down by everybody and their grandmother.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I kind of missed it. That’s why I started tourin’ again,” Paul remarked. “It’s nice to get recognition.”
“Recognition’s one thing,” said John, “Bein’ prisoners is another. I’m with George on this one; I’m glad t’ have all that madness behind me.” He sat on the piano bench and stretched his legs out in front of him. “I want me kids t’ have a somewhat normal life, if yer okay with that, Paul.”

“Sure, whatever you say, John, I was just thinkin’ out loud, like. If you’re done with it, you’re done with it, but I want to keep on tourin’. Makes me feel good, lookin’ out over an audience, knowin’ that they’re all there to see me, and the kids are doing fine.”

“Well, enjoy yerself, son, an’ more power to ye,” John replied. “Just leave me out of it.” He lit a cigarette and leaned back against the piano, taking a deep drag. “O’ course,” he added thoughtfully, “that doesn’t mean that we couldn’t release a record just th’ same. We’d just hafta come up with somethin’ else t’ call ourselves, is all.”

“What, do y’mean like an alias?” asked Ringo. He stood up from behind his drums and came over to sit beside John, helping himself to one of his friend’s cigarettes.

John nodded. “Yeah, that’s right,” he said, pointing his cigarette at the drummer, “A fuckin’ alias! That’s exactly what I meant!”

George, who had been waiting for a fight to break out ever since Paul had mentioned releasing the new material, grinned suddenly. He hadn’t expected this turn of events, and he was clearly becoming interested. “Tell us more, then, John,” he said, pulling up a folding chair. He turned it backwards and set it in front of John, straddling it and lowering himself to sit. He rested his elbows on the back of the chair and put his chin in his hands.

“Come on,” he said again, “Tell us. What do ya have in mind, exactly?”

If he were to be honest, he would have admitted that the idea was still forming itself in his mind, but being John, he just picked the ball up and ran with it, so to speak.

“We could make an entire album,” he replied, just kind of letting his mouth say whatever came into his mind as he warmed to the idea. “We’d make it here, on our own. We know what we’re doin’, we don’t need any help from anyone else. We’d make th’ record, see, then we’d release it under a different name. An alias, like Ritchie said. Get someone else t’ pose for th’ cover, just pretend it’s some new band that’s copyin’ our sound, an’ see how it does.”

“So let me get this straight,” said Paul thoughtfully. “Would we ever tell anyone it was really us?”

John considered the question briefly. “We could,” he said slowly, propping his feet up on the bottom rung of George’s chair. “Or we could keep it goin’.”

Ringo went to the fridge and got out some beers; he opened each one and handed them out, a thoughtful look on his face. The guys were uncharacteristically quiet, thinking it over.

“I like the idea,” he said, resuming his seat on the bench beside John. “I think it’s good.”

He took a drink and looked around at his friends, who seemed a little overwhelmed by the idea. Even John seemed surprised by it. It was an intriguing idea, and the best part was that it had never been done before.

He took another drag off his cigarette and began to speak again, just rolling with the idea as it unfolded in his mind as was his wont. “It could be interestin’,” he said thoughtfully. “T’ see how popular we would get with another name an’ another set o’ faces. It’d be a challenge, too, seein’ if we could pull it off without anyone findin’ out it’s really us.” He took a long drink from his beer and added, “D’ye think we’d be able t’fool th’ fans? Would they believe that it was really someone else?”

“I’ll say this, it’s a novel idea,” Paul told him. “It sounds like it could be fun, too. The question is whether everyone who had to be in on the secret could keep their mouths shut.”

“Money talks, mate,” replied John. “Ye pay ‘em enough an’ people will keep their gobs shut; nobody ever spilled about what was goin’ on when we were on tour, even though there was always plenty o’ press about. I think we just might be able t’ do this. Who wants t’ give it a bash?”

After a brief hesitation, Paul nodded his assent. “I’m in,” he said.

“So am I,” George told him. “As long as we can keep it private, like.”

“That makes all of us,” Ringo added, extending his arm and clinking his beer against John’s. The rest followed suit, then they finished their beers and began discussing the finer points of their new plan.

***

John and Mary were in back of the house, sitting on the beach.

“So, you’re going to make an album together, and you seriously think that people won’t know that it’s the Beatles?” she asked him. She shook her head doubtfully. “I don’t know, love, I think people are going to know.”

“They might not. It’s like hidin’ in plain sight,” John replied, handing little George to his wife. “I mean, think on it--we broke up nearly five years ago. Everyone knows that some of us’ve been workin’ on projects of our own, that Paulie’s sprouted Wings, an’ everybody knows that we haven’t all been seen in public together for nearly as long. We’re gonna put a fake group on th’ album cover, an’ we’re gonna give ‘em a new name. I really believe that people will buy this--they may criticize these guys for copyin’ th’ Beatles’ style, make fun of ‘em even. No doubt they’ll ask us what we think of th’ group, an’ we’ve decided not to say anythin’ nice about them.”

“It would be interesting to see what would come of it,” Mary said, seating herself on her towel and opening the front of her dress to feed the baby. John moved closer to her and stroked his son’s silky hair with one finger.

“I think he likes those things as much as I do,” he commented. He fished his cigarettes out of his pocket and extracted one. He lit it and laid the pack aside. “Anyroad, we’re all agreed t’ go ahead with it, so it’s all a go.”

“What will the new name be?” asked Mary. “Have you decided yet?”

“No, but I’m thinkin’ on it,” he replied, leaning back and closing his eyes. “I’ll come up with summat.”

“Oh, I have no doubt that you will,” she told him, “You could never be accused of having no imagination, my love.”

“Ye’ll never guess what Paulie wants t’ call th’ group,” he said, squinting up at Mary with a grin.

“What?”

“The Love Machine,” he replied. “Soft, innit? I told him t’ bugger that.”

Mary laughed and draped a towel over her bosom. “Hush,” she said softly. “Here he comes now.”

 “Lyin’ down on th’ job, are ya, John?” asked Paul, dropping into the sand beside his friend and helping himself to one of his cigarettes. “You’ve got it dead easy, don’tcha.”

“I’m on me fuckin’ vacation, Paulie,” he responded. “Yet think on it--I’ve done more work this past week and a half than in th’ whole year before it.”

“Well, then, it’s about time ya got off yer arse, innit?” Paul remarked, lighting his smoke and taking a drag. “You’ll atrophy.”

John snorted. “Atrophy,” he repeated. “That’s a five-bob word. How long’ve ye been waitin’ t’ fit that one inta conversation?”

“Sod off,” Paul replied mildly, flicking the ash off his cigarette into the sand beside him. “I know a lot of words.” He pulled his knees up to his chest and put his arms around them, the cigarette dangling from his lips, looking out over the Pacific. “So,” he went on, “Have ya been thinkin’ about a name for our new group?”

“I was just about t’ start thinkin’ on it,” said John. “How about goin’ back t’ th’ house for a drink, an’ we’ll both try t’ reckon it out?”

“Good deal,” Paul said, getting to his feet.

John jumped up and bent to kiss the top of his wife’s head. “Sorry t’ desert ye, love,” he told her, “But duty calls.”

“You go ahead. I’ll catch up with you later,” she replied. “Good luck!”

“Luck,” John repeated with a wry chuckle. “Right? Ye forget who yer talkin’ to... we’re fuckin’ Lennon and McCartney!”

Paul slung an arm about his friend’s shoulders and the pair walked back to the house, heads together.

Mary watched after them, shaking her head and smiling to herself.

***

“Blue Algae Skyline?” asked Mary, rubbing John’s back gently. He was face down on the bed, and she was straddling him, massaging the kinks out of his muscles with warm oil. “What does it mean?”

He shrugged as well as he could with a woman sitting astride his back. “Nothin’.” he replied. his voice muffled by the pillow. He turned his head sideways and sighed, enjoying the feeling of Mary’s hands kneading the tension out of his shoulders. “None of th’ new band’s names mean anythin’. We’ll fit right in.”

“What made you think of it?” she asked. “Or was it Paul’s idea?”

“Both, really. It was a toss up between that and my personal favorite, ‘Joe’s Pancreas’.”

“Well, I guess I don’t want to know what made you dream that up,” Mary told him doubtfully.

“I read an article in an old magazine,” he said, closing his eyes, enjoying the feel of her hands caressing him. “ ‘I Am Joe’s Pancreas.’ I just liked the sound of it. Paul didn’t, but he liked ‘Skyline Quarry’--he got it outta th’ phone book--and I liked ‘Blue Algae’, which I saw in a pool cleaning ad, so we kinda combined th’ two of ‘em...’Blue Algae Skyline’. Simple as that.”

Mary climbed off of him and picked up her hairbrush off the nightstand. She began to brush her long, dark hair, and John turned over and got himself a cigarette. He lay there quietly, smoking and watching his wife brushing out her hair. He felt the familiar stirring in his belly and he marveled at how strong his desire for her was after all the time they had been together. If anyone had told him before Mary came into his life that he would ever able to be satisfied by and with only one woman, he would never have believed them. He would have told them that they were daft, and he would have been wrong...the shy, gentle girl had completely captured his heart, and she was the other half of him. He could hardly believe he was so happy; he had never dared to hope that he would ever feel the way he felt now.

Mary laid the brush aside and shook her hair back over her shoulders, and John crushed his cigarette out, sat up, and pulled her back down with him.He lifted her hair and kissed the nape of her neck gently, and she shivered at the touch of his warm lips, turning to face him. John took her into his arms; she was always ready for him with a hunger that matched his own, and she pressed close, eager for him as usual. She reached down and caressed his rapidly rising erection, and he pushed her robe from her shoulders.

“Are th’ kids asleep?” he asked. He was now achingly hard.

Mary released him. “An hour ago,” she told him, “And Paul and Linda are out for the evening. Ritchie and Maureen are out by the pool, and George-well, the ceiling could cave in and he wouldn’t wake up.” She bent to take him into her mouth, and he drew his breath in sharply, shocked as always by the pleasure the warmth and pressure of her soft lips gave him when she did that. His hands automatically entangled themselves in her hair and he closed his eyes, giving himself up to her touch, willing to relinquish himself to her for now. Mary worked on him slowly, deliberately, drawing it out for as long as she could before he decided that he could take no more and took over. When he reached that point, he reached down and gently lifted her up, then pushed her back and mounted her quickly.

She opened herself to him without hesitation, and he entered her quickly and smoothly. Her arms tightened around him and she gasped with pleasure when his entire length filled her.

They fit together perfectly, as though they had been designed for one another. He let out a deep groan and began to move within her with long, slow strokes. Mary caught his rhythm and moved with him, giving a slight, circular twist to her hips on each upswing in the way she knew he loved. She realized that he was well aware of what he was doing to her, knew that he exulted in the control he had over her body and in his ability to cloud her mind with passion. Right now he was looking down at her, his eyes intense with concentration.

“D’ye need me, Mary?” he managed to ask. His breathing was harsh and he was obviously struggling to keep control of himself. “Tell me ye want me, gurrl.”

She moaned softly, wordlessly. He pounded into her--hard--a few times, pausing between each forward thrust to say, “Tell me!”

“Yes!” she cried, pushing up against him to get more of him, desperate to have him fill her completely. “Yes, oh baby, please--” Her eyes were wide and dark with passion, her breasts heaving. She writhed beneath him, and he smiled triumphantly down at her. She closed her eyes and arched against him again; he had stopped moving and was holding himself so that he was barely inside of her. She wanted more of him, needed all of him.

“Open yer eyes, woman,” he told her. His voice was tight, he needed her badly but was unwilling to proceed until she looked at him. She opened her eyes and the naked desire in them almost made him lose control. He thought that if she moved he would spill into her immediately; the pressure of her body enclosing him was almost doing it as it was. Holding himself perfectly still, he gazed into her eyes.

“Look at me,” he whispered. “Tell me ye want me. Don’t move yet.”

Mary was beside herself; she knew that once he allowed it, her release would be exquisite, but it was so hard to wait!

“I want you,” she managed to say. “So badly, baby, please-- I need you--now, please, John--”

He kept his gaze riveted upon her, and the naked pleading in her eyes was almost more than he could bear. He pushed into her, slowly and deeply. She caught her breath and thrust upwards to meet him. He paused again, holding himself deep inside of her.

“Are ye ready, love?” he asked in a tight voice. She was trembling all over. Jesus, he thought, the way she’s shaking is almost enough.

“Yesss,” she sighed. “Oh, God, yes!”

“Right,” he breathed. “Go for it, then.” He almost withdrew, then drove himself deeply home. He did this several times, and Mary felt her mind begin to slip away as her body took over completely, reaching desperately for the reward he’d withheld until now. He gave up, needing to finish at least as badly as she did, driving himself violently into her several more times before he finally came, the sudden rush of sensation overwhelming him. He cried out incoherently, letting out a full-throated groan vaguely resembling her name and buried himself deeply as he filled her. Mary arched up against him, clinging to him, indescribable pleasure washing through her and slowly ebbing. She pushed her hips insistently forward and the muscles inside of her alternately clutched and released him until he was completely drained. He relaxed and held her gently, covering her face and neck with kisses, murmuring her name, telling her he loved her, and she did the same.

Letting go of one another for just long enough to settle into the middle of the bed and pull the blanket up over themselves, John and Mary wrapped their arms around one another again and settled down to sleep.

***

“I keep tellin’ ye, it’s not the bloody Beatles!” John snapped. He eyed the reporter as though he were a particularly loathsome insect. “We broke it off almost five years ago; why th’ fuck can’t ye just let it rest? I dunno who th’ fuck they are, an’ I don’t care. If ye wanna know th’ truth, I think they fuckin’ stink! They don’t sound like us at all, we were much better.”

“Sorry,” the reporter said, backing away from him. “I see your point. Thanks anyhow.”

As soon as the man had hurried away, John grinned to himself. Blue Algae Skyline’s album was climbing the charts, and the four former Beatles were being constantly asked what they thought of the new band. He could hardly wait to get home; all of them were scheduled to meet in his basement tonight, and he was looking forward to hearing what the rest had to say about their newfound success. He climbed into the back of the car and told Max to drop him off at home and take the car home with him.

***

“Anybody call?” he asked, kissing Mary’s cheek and tossing his guitar cases onto the couch. “Where are the kids?”

They’re eating supper in the kitchen,” she replied. “At least Julia is. George is mostly smearing potatoes all over his face and squeezing them between his fingers.”

“Sounds like fun,” he remarked, putting his arm around her shoulders and walking to the kitchen with her. He released her and opened the kitchen door for her to pass by him, following her in.

“Daddy!” cried Julia, sliding off her chair and throwing herself at him.

“Hi, Puss,” he said, sweeping her up and kissing her. He deposited her back on her chair and ruffled the baby’s hair.

George looked up at him, his face covered with mashed potatoes, and smiled. “Dada,” he commented, reaching up to be held. Mary whisked him out of his high chair and cleaned him up a bit, then handed him to his father.

“Get any o’ them potatoes inside of ye?” John asked him, kissing him and lifting him to his shoulder. The baby laughed and grabbed for John’s glasses, which he removed and dropped into his pocket out of harm’s way.

“Get him undressed for me, will you, love?” asked Mary, heading down the hall. “I’m going to bathe him and get him into bed before everyone gets here.”

John carried his son into the nursery and stripped off his jumper, removed his diaper and dropped it into the designated soak bucket, put the lid back on and looked down at the baby, who seemed delighted to be rid of his clothing. He was grinning happily, trying to get his socks off, which were now all he was wearing. John plucked the socks off the child’s little feet and lifted him again, carrying him back down the hall to the bath.

“Here ye go, Mummy,” he told Mary, handing the baby to her. “I’m gonna go shower, if yer done runnin’ th’ water in here. I wanna change before th’ lads get here, an’ they’re due to begin arrivin’ in half an hour or so.”

***

As he soaped himself up and washed his hair, John thought about what had happened so far.

During their time in California, the Beatles had regrouped and put together a new album, calling themselves Blue Algae Skyline. They had gotten four guys from a modeling agency in America to pose for the cover shot and a few publicity photos. Once the record had been released, it was immediately suspected that one or all of the former Beatles had been involved in the project. The gossip columnists, the trade rags and the disc jockeys were going crazy trying to figure out who B.A.S. was and where they had come from. Any ex-Beatle who was asked replied with contempt that the new group was no more or less than a “bunch of pathetic copycats,” as Paul phrased it. It all seemed to have taken on a life of its own, and John wondered if perhaps it might be beginning to get out of control. The suits hired to handle the business end of the B.A.S. phenomenon were being inundated with calls for personal appearances and interviews, and they were beginning to wonder if they could deal with the flood of public demand for much longer. John told them that if they wanted to keep on collecting their share of the cash, they would “bloody well deal with it and not complain.”

John turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He dried himself off and rubbed his hair with a fresh towel, wrapping the damp one around his waist and heading into the bedroom. He was almost dressed when Mary came back into the room, their freshly washed son in her arms.

“Mmmm, you look good,” she told him, and he smiled wickedly.

“Ye say that now, ‘cos ye know yer safe,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Just wait till th’ lads’ve gone home an’ yer not holdin’ a baby.”

“Like I’d ever refuse you,” she replied with a smile. “I look forward to it.”

“Really,” he told her, regarding her thoughtfully. “Hmmm. Well, I’m gonna keep ye t’ that, me gurrl. Just hold that thought.” The doorbell rang and John went to answer it, buttoning his shirt as he went.

“I’m going to nurse the baby and put him to bed, then I’ll be along to see if you need anything,” called Mary.

Julia came out of her room, fresh from the bath herself, dressed in her nightgown, her cat at her heels. “Who’s here, Daddy?” she asked. “Can I come see?”

“Sure,” he replied, “It’s probably yer Uncle Paul, he’s usually the earliest. C’mon, Puss.” John swung her up into his arms and carried her into the living room. He opened the door and Paul entered quickly.

“Did anybody see ye?” asked John.

“I don’t think so, and I had Linda drop me off. She’ll be by later to get me; she’s going to see her friend Sharon, she’s just had a baby.”

“Uncle Paul!” exclaimed Julia, reaching for him. He took her from her father and gave her a hug, then set her down. “Where are the kids?” she asked, looking through the window on the door.

“They’re home with a sitter, Chicken,” he replied. “You’ll see them this weekend, though, never fear. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I have to go as soon as Mummy gets done feeding George,” she told him. “I wanna stay up and be with you and Daddy, but she says no.” Julia sighed. “I hafta go to school tomorrow, so I have to get my sleep, she says.”

“Well, and right she is,” replied Paul. “Your Mummy always knows best, doesn’t she, John.”

“She does,” he agreed. “Now, off ye go, Miss Julia. Give us a kiss an’ go along an’ find yer Mum.”

She kissed him obediently and ran off down the hall towards the nursery.

“So, Paul, what’ve they been askin’ ye?” asked John, taking Paul’s jacket from him and tossing it over a chair. He lit a cigarette and offered one to Paul, who accepted it.

“Thanks,” said Paul, leaning forward for John to light it for him. “Probably pretty much the same stuff they’ve been asking the rest of you; what do I think of them, do I agree that they sound an awful lot like the Beatles, have I met them, you know, stuff like that. Oh, and some woman asked me if I thought that their “cute one,” Jackie, is as good looking as I am.”

“What’d ye say?” asked John, sitting on the arm of the couch.

“I asked her what she thought, and she just giggled and turned all colors,” he replied.

The doorbell rang again; this time it was George. John opened the door and he came in; his car was nowhere in sight.

“Where’s yer pride an’ joy, George?” asked John, looking up and down the drive. “I didn’t hear ye pull in.”

“‘Course ya didn’t; I’ve just tuned the engine. It’s around back; I parked it out of sight by the pool,” he replied, dropping onto the couch and stretching his legs out in front of him. “Have I missed anything?” he asked.

“Not really, we’re more or less waitin’ for everyone t’ get here before we really get started,” replied John. “Ritchie’s a few minutes late, but he should be along any minute now.”

As if on cue, Ringo’s car pulled into the drive, and the drummer bounded up the front steps.

“Well.” said John, closing the door after admitting him, “Here we all are again...shall we go on down t’ me little dungeon?”

***

Ten minutes later, all four of them were settled into chairs in the basement game room with drinks, comparing notes with one another concerning the Blue Algae Skyline phenomenon.

“They’re goin’ potty,” said John with an evil cackle. “They can’t reckon it out at all. I keep tellin’ the press that they stink an’ tellin’ ‘em t’ leave me the fuck alone about it all.”

George grinned. “I told one bloke that I was thinkin’ of takin’ up a lawsuit against ‘em,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “I said that I was sick of bein’ asked about ‘em.”

“So, John,” Paul said, leaning forward in his seat, “What do you see happening next? Do we let it go, or do we do it again?”

“I think we should keep it goin’,” replied John, leaning back in his chair. He steepled his fingers and looked around at his old friends; every pair of eyes was on him. He hauled himself to his feet and went to make another drink as they watched him. He added ice to his glass and looked around again.

“Anyone else for another?” he asked.

“Another drink or another album?” asked Paul. “If you mean another drink, then sure. If you mean another album, I’m game if you are, but we’d need to put it off until next month. I have a tour on for the next two weeks. I leave the day after tomorrow.”

“Next month sounds fine to me,” John told him, handing him a fresh drink. “George? Ritch?”

“What’ve we got to lose?” asked Ringo. “Sounds all right to me, and I’ll have another drink as well.”

“Comin’ right up,” said John, taking his place behind the bar again. “George? Are ye in?”

George hesitated, then flashed his wolfish grin. “Yeah,” he replied. “I’m in. Let’s do it.”

“Then it’s settled,” John said happily, handing drinks to the others. “We’ll meet again next month. If none of the rest o’ ye have anything goin’ for th’ next few weeks, I’ll get Mary t’ help me figure out a schedule tomorrow. Once that’s done, I’ll call everyone an’ make sure we all know what’s goin’ on. Now, who wants t’ toss a few arrers? I’m feelin’ lucky.”

***

By the time Mary came down the stairs with a tray of sandwiches, the four men were in the middle of their impromptu darts tournament. They were all hungry, and Mary received a round of thanks and kisses before going back upstairs with an empty tray in her hands and the laughter of the group of old friends in her ears. She left the door to the basement rumpus room open while she assembled another tray of sandwiches.

Paul: “You’re over the line, John, step back.”

John: “Am not.”

Paul: “You were, I saw you--wasn’t he, Ritch?”

Ringo: “I wasn’t watchin’ his feet, I was watchin’ the face he was makin’.”

Paul: “Yeah, he was doing that so ya wouldn’t notice he was stepping over the line.”

George: “Where’s Mary with those sandwiches?”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” she called. “I’m almost done.”

***

After the last one of his friends had left, John turned off the light in the living room, led Mary over to the couch and sat down, pulling her down into his lap. “Still think I look good?” he asked, nuzzling her neck. “I haven’t forgotten about ye, y’know.”

“Mmmm,neither have I,” she whispered. “And I’m not holding the baby now, either. I’m completely helpless and at your mercy.”

“Are ye?” he asked. “Well, c’mon then...get yerself outta that dress an’ let’s have ye.”

“Don’t you want to go to the bedroom first?” she asked, smiling at how he was already tugging his shirttail out of his jeans.

“No,” he told her, opening two buttons and pulling the shirt off over his head, “I don’t wanna wait. I want ye right here, right now.”

Hearing him say this coupled with the intensity of his eyes made her go weak inside, and Mary shed her clothes almost as quickly as John did. He usually moved rather languidly, but when he deemed it necessary, he could move quickly enough. Once he’d kicked his jeans away, he seized her as though he hadn’t been near a woman in weeks. He pushed her back and mounted her eagerly, and she lifted her hips and opened herself to his demanding insistence. He slipped into her smoothly and easily with a deep sigh, and she shivered at the pleasure of being filled by him. In a few seconds, she caught his rhythm and held onto him tightly, moving with him with the same anxious hunger that he himself obviously felt. There was no sound in the room except for their breathless whispers and soft, desperate moans. The rest of the world might as well have not even existed, and they moved in concert together, flesh to flesh, the eyes of each focused upon the face of the other, until Mary reached the point at which she knew that she was about to be overtaken. He was holding back, controlling himself, but just barely; as soon as he saw her eyes close and heard her soft, wordless cry, he gave up his control and allowed himself to finish, a low growl escaping him as he poured his love into her with enthusiastic joy.

Afterwards, John rolled reluctantly away from Mary and lit a cigarette.

“We’re gonna make another record,” he told her, placing an arm around her and pulling her close. “Next month. As soon as Paulie gets a chance to recover from his tour.” He didn’t say anything else right away, but after a few moments he remarked, “I wonder just what it is we’re really doin’. It was kind of a joke at first, but we really seem t’ be makin’ a success of this new group. What are we gonna do when Blue Algae Skyline is expected t’ make some promotional appearances? Th’ suits are clamorin’ for it; they say that someone has t’ go on all these daytime and late night variety programs, an’ soon. What d’ye s’pose we cn’ do t’ shut ‘em up, Mary? Any ideas?”

“Well, the fellows who posed for the album cover and publicity pictures are actors, aren’t they?” she asked. She looked at him and smiled. “Let them go on for you. Let them act, it’s what they want to do with their lives, so give them the chance to really act. Let them do the promotional tour.”

“Yerknow, that might just work,” he replied. “Yer only right; they are actors, supposedly, though no one’s ever heard of any of ‘em...this is their big chance, innit? I’ll ring that fat bastard Lester Faraday in the mornin’ an’ have him set it up. Ye may have just solved a huge problem for me, Mary, me gurrl. Maybe I’ll take ye t’ bed an’ show me appreciation in some fashion.”

He got to his feet and pulled her up and into his arms. The feel of his skin against hers made her tremble, and she hugged him hard and kissed his neck.

“I’ll pick up these clothes and meet you there as soon as you lock up,” she said, bending to retrieve his jeans. “Don’t be long!”

John gave her bottom a playful pinch. “I’ll be there before ye know it,” he replied.

***

All of the former Beatles were sitting in John’s living room, their attention focused on the television.

“So, Jackie,” the television show host was saying, “what do you say to people who tell you how much you guys sound like the Beatles?”

“Man, I wish they’d all just give that a rest,” Jackie replied. “Those guys are yesterday’s news. Sure, they were good, but they were mostly lucky; they were just in the right place at the right time.”

“Yeah, they definitely influenced us, but they’re irrelevant now,” added Jeff, who played the part of the group’s drummer. “They’re in the past, man. We’re what’s happening now.”

“You certainly are,” the host agreed. “Now we have to take a break, folks, but as soon as we come back, Blue Algae Skyline will be playing a number from their album.”

“Those guys are yesterday’s news,” said Paul in his best American accent. He took a drag off his cigarette and grinned at John. “Jesus, John, they’re doing a great job. I almost believed he was serious myself!”

“Yeah, I’d say this publicity tour is going great,” added Ringo. “They really seem to be pullin’ it off. Even got their bloody families convinced that they’re actually a bunch o’ musicians.”

“They’ve got a lot more shows to do on th’ talk show circuit,” John said, nodding towards the television, upon which a bunch of teenagers were extolling the virtues of a facial cleanser. “Monday they start t’ do the American shows. Too bad none of ‘em’ll air here.” He draped his arm across the back of the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table. “I’d like t’ see more of their interviews.”

“They’re not as good as ours were,” George remarked, leaning forward to grab another sandwich from the tray on the table. “In fact, that interview was disappointingly dull, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, but the music’s great, innit?” John told him. “They can’t fuck that up, at least, even if they’re not the greatest conversationalists about.”

“Anybody want some tea or coffee?” asked Mary as she came in from the kitchen with the baby on her hip and the cat at her heels.

“Ah, looks like yer pretty busy, darlin’,” John said sympathetically. “I’ll just take th’lads down t’ th’ dungeon for drinks after th’ musical segment o’ this program. It’s just startin’ now; c’mere an’ sit by me, whydontcher.”

“Yeah, Mary, go on and take a break,” Paul added. “Give the little lad here and sit down.”

Mary handed the baby to Paul and settled herself beside John, who drew her close. She put her head on his shoulder and they all turned their attention to the television, upon which the actors who represented the group were lip-synching their way through one of the songs from their album.

“Look at the way that ‘Dave’ fella plods along on them bloody drums,” said Ringo scornfully. “He’s not such a great actor if ya ask me. That’d sound fuckin’ awful if he was actually touchin’ ‘em.”

“Yeah, well our Jerry seems to have made up an entirely new chord,” George said with a grin. “We’d better get someone to teach ‘em a bit about finger positioning, or stuff like that is gonna be noticed.”

“Yer right,” John agreed. “That’s just th’ sort o’ thing that some o’ these suspicious types’d notice. I’ll call Faraday an’ tell ‘im t’ take care o’ that before they do any o’ them American shows.”

“You all really would like to be performing those songs yourselves, wouldn’t you,” said Mary, nibbling on a sandwich. “I’ll bet you’d love it if that could be you up there on that stage.”

“I would,” Paul answered, “But I don’t know about the rest of the lads.”

“I miss that part of it sometimes,” George said quietly. “It was fun, back in the old days, when we were doin’ the small venues, the clubs and such. But those stadium shows were just awful, and not havin’ a life was even worse.”

“Yeah,” John added. “Not bein’ able to go out in th’ street without bein’ run down an’ bein’ stuck in all those fuckin’ hotel rooms was bloody rotten. It just stopped bein’ fun, once we got really big. Now it’s finally died down a bit, an’ we cn’ relax an’ just make our music alone in th’ studio without all that pressure. I never liked bein’ on display, like. I used t’ puke me guts out before goin’ onstage at those big shows; it was so fuckin’ nerve wrackin’.”

“I miss playin’ for an audience sometimes,” Ringo said. “I’ve been thinkin’ about doin’ a tour meself, you know, assemblin’ a band an’ takin’ ‘em on the road.”

“It’s too bad you couldn’t do what you really want to do,” Mary said sympathetically. “When you all were playing at our wedding, you seemed so happy, like you were really enjoying yourselves.”

“We were,” George said sadly. “That was great. But it’s really true; you can’t go back again. That’s all gone forever, now. But there’s our studio work; that’s become fun again, at least.”

The show was over, and John gave Mary’s shoulders a squeeze, kissed her cheek, and released her.

“Come ‘ead, lads,” he said , hauling himself off of the couch. “Let’s go downstairs an’ I’ll make us some drinks. Enough o’ this sad talk. Let’s play snooker or toss some arrers, whattayer say?”

“Sounds good to me,” Paul replied, handing the baby back to Mary and following the rest of them down to the basement.

***

A few months later, John and Mary were in the car on their way back from Ringo and Maureen’s house. Mary looked into the back seat; both of the children were sleeping, tired out from a hard day of playing.

“Looks like we’ll each have a baby to carry into the house,” she said, moving closer to him and laying her head on his shoulder.

“Okay, which one do ye wanna carry?” he asked.

“Well, why don’t you carry Julia,” she replied softly, “And I’ll carry the other two.”

He didn’t react right away, then suddenly he swerved to the side of the road and stopped.

“What’d ye say, Mary?” he asked, taking hold of her shoulders and facing her.

“I said I would carry the other two,” she said again. Her eyes were dancing, and John felt a flutter in his stomach.

“That’s what I thought ye said,” he told her, pulling her close and kissing her fervently. He pulled back again and looked into her face. He placed a hand gently on her belly. “When?” he asked.

“Seven more months,” she answered, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Now let’s go home.”

He started the car once more and pulled back out into the quiet street. “How long have ye known, anyroad, gurrl?” he wanted to know.

“A few weeks,” she replied, “And I was going to wait and tell you on your birthday next week, but it just felt like the right moment.”

Tell Angel Godiva what you thought of her story!