Well, Capitol Records had thrown a bang-up party, George thought, feeling slightly disgruntled and a little annoyed at his current predicament. Too many fuckin’ people, too much fuckin’ noise, and he’d had enough, preferring solitude over the mad crush of people. About the only thing that had interested him about the party had been that woman standing by the piano in the main lounge, swaying to the music. God, she was gorgeous in that flowing white dress, sequined and backless, dark hair piled up on her head in an old-fashioned style. She was a little overdressed for the party, he thought, but she’d looked incredible, and he’d walked over to try and have a chat. His first glimpse of her had started a dull ache in his groin, and he hadn’t had that kind of instant reaction to a woman in a while. She’d disappeared somehow when he turned to answer Paul’s question about something or other, and he hadn’t caught sight of her again, although he’d been looking for her since then.

Finally, he’d left Paul and Linda behind, as well as the rest of the Wings band, and had struck out on his own, intent on doing a little exploring while he got away from the crowd. This old ship was really incredible, a floating hotel, and he wanted to see a little more of its beauty. Aside from that, he was already sick and tired of the party.

Unfortunately, he’d gotten lost in the process of exploring. George sighed, wondering which turn he should take. He was somewhere in the depths of the ship, but exactly where was another matter. He took a right turn and found himself in a dead end. Backtracking and stepping past the watertight door, George wondered what do to next. This was embarrassing. He walked a little further, and found himself near the pool, stopping and closing his eyes as he tried to remember the map. The pools had been in the back end of the boat. ‘Ship’, he reminded himself, and ‘aft’. So all he had to do was go up and forward. He started walking.

George shortly found himself in another dead end corridor and swore briefly and violently. This was past embarrassing, this was bloody frustrating! He looked down the alley and saw a brief glimpse of a white dress and he called out, "Hullo, anybody there?" He quickly walked down the alley, ducking through the watertight doors and stepping over cables and other shit in the alley. Must be an unused part of the ship, he thought as he hurried to the end of the corridor. Nothing. Shit! He looked both ways, and saw her standing in the distance, watching him. He smiled as he started towards her, but she turned and walked down another corridor. He lost his smile as he followed her.

"Wait, miss, I’m kinda lost, errr, can you. . .?" He’d reached the end of the corridor and there was no sight of her. He gave an explosive sigh, wondering where he was and how to find his way out. And how to find her, because seeing her again had given him a hard-on! He turned around at his crossroads, checking all four directions, and he saw her standing in an open doorway. She turned and walked into the room and George smiled as he followed her.

For a deserted part of the ship, it was a beautiful room, he thought as he entered it. Warm wood paneling covered the walls of the suite, soft lighting came from lamps hung from the ceiling, oil paintings accented the paneling. And there was a bed, he noted immediately. A big bed, a very attractive bed, made even more attractive by the lady reclining on it. He smiled at her and then shut the door behind him.

It was a night of passion he could never quite remember and never quite forget, no matter how hard he tried. Her touch inflamed him, as did the sweet taste of her on his lips. His senses were filled by the whisper of the white silk as she removed her dress and lay beside him, by the light weight of her as she rode him to completion not once but multiple times, and by the feel of her body underneath him as he drove into her over and over again, pinning her to the bed with his thrusts. It was the most erotic night he’d ever experienced.

He must have dozed off, because when he opened his eyes, she was gone. He checked the other rooms in the suite, but there was no sign of her. He dressed quickly and left the room, intent on finding her again. Somehow, after stumbling around for what seemed like hours, he found himself back on the Promenade Deck, and from there, was able to make his way back to the party. Paul greeted him effusively, obviously having partaken of quite a few of the party treats and drinks while George had been gone.

"Where ya been, ‘ari? Ya missed it!" Paul put an arm around George’s shoulders, holding himself upright with the contact.

"Missed what?" George asked, craning his neck to look around the still-crowded lounge.

"The Lady in White!" Paul crowed happily.

George gave Paul his full attention. "Where’d she go?" he asked.

"Oh, she just disappeared, she does that ya know." Paul blinked owlishly and George had to shake him.

"Where’d she disappear to? I gotta find ‘er!" he growled, frustrated with Paul’s drunkenness.

"Ya can’t find ‘er, ‘ari, she only shows up when she wants ta! But a bunch o’ us saw ‘er tonight!"

"Who is she? Where’s she live?" George asked, shaking Paul again, trying to get some sense out of him.

"Huh? She’s a spirit, man! She lives ‘ere on the Queen Mary, I guess. It was so freakin’ weird ta see ‘er disappear like that, poof, right into thin air. Fuckin’ freaky, man!" Paul paused for a moment, peering closely at George. "Wha’sa matter, ‘ari? Ya look like ya seen a ghost!" Paul laughed drunkenly at his own joke as George pulled away from him and went to the bar for a drink.

The Legend

From: A Guide to The Haunted Queen Mary: "Although there is no historical documentation available about the Lady in White, she is frequently seen in spirit aboard ship. She appears to have haunted the Main Lounge. . . and was seen from time to time waltzing into the Lounge wearing a backless, white evening gown. As the stories went, she either strolled over to the grand piano as if listening to a ghostly rendition on the keys, or danced by herself for a few moments before vanishing into thin air in front of startled witnesses."

Cheryl Mortensen has been a Beatle fanatic since the 1960s, but somehow went on to other things in the late 1960s, only rediscovering her passion for "all things Beatle" in the late 1990s (and on into the new century).  She is a computer programmer and an avid photographer. (Concert photos of bands and performers is her favorite area -- ask her about her Ringo pictures!!)  Cheryl lives with her husband of 18 years (Mike), her German Shepherd (Sorsha), and a bunch of fish in the tank and the pond that they've never bothered to name.