The announcement had caused precisely the sort of uproar I had anticipated.  We’d been chatting at the pub, the whole lot of us, when I finally got the nerve to follow through on Paul’s plan.  He’d been so damn sure everything— too damn sure, in my opinion. Such certainty almost surely guaranteed a backfire.

For the moment, however, I was rather enjoying the reaction around the table. Margo was particularly vocal.

“What do you mean, ‘your fella’? Why the hell didn’t any of us know that you had a fella?”

“Oh, er, we only just started going together. Only just last week.”

“And how long have you known each other?”

“About a month, I reckon.”

“Ah ha,” said Cindy with an air of delicious triumph. “So that’s where you were the night I was sick! She was supposed to be gone an hour or two and she finally came sneaking through the door well after midnight!”

Nathan’s expression was unreadable, his deep eyes calm and steady. “Well, go on then,” he said evenly. “Who’s the bloke?”

“You’ll find out at dinner,” I said timidly.  The disinterest on Nathan’s face had thoroughly doused my momentary satisfaction.  “Friday night. At our place.”

“Oy! Speaking of Friday!” Nathan turned and focused squarely on Steve. “Don’t forget, you’re driving me down to Surrey. That Amory bloke? The publisher? He wants to see me again!”

Cindy started in with congratulations, coupled by myself and Margo, and the subject was permanently changed.

And I was worried.

Nathan hadn’t looked or sounded surprised in the least about my announcement, and I was justifiably afraid that I’d just engaged in a losing battle.  I convinced Margo to do the cooking for the dinner because my own cooking was famously bad, and I certainly didn’t want to be responsible for the poisoning of a Beatle.  And, well, since Paul was Paul, I did something that was a complete first: I took my paycheck from Hatchard’s and instead of buying some oils and acrylics that I actually did need… I blew the whole thing on myself.

Before Paul had left me that night, he’d told me to ‘dress smart and… do something with your hair.’  The man certainly knew women, so I obeyed and popped into a beauty salon on Carnaby Street and told the fantastically chic stylist that I gave her permission to do anything she pleased with my hair.  She told me, ‘What is the point of having long beautiful hair if you keep it hidden in a bun all the time? Chop it if you don’t use it!’ Which is what happened: I left the salon with a fringed bob, and hair that was two shades darker, something the stylist called ‘rich burgundy.’  And then there was the dress in a shop window around the corner on Oxford Street.  Sure I wanted to at least look like somewhat of a believable Beatle girlfriend, but more importantly, I wanted something that would possibly make Nathan sit up and notice. 

So I bought the little ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’ black cocktail dress in that shop window, something that, only a year ago, I would never had believed myself capable of pulling off without feeling foolish. And even given how much I’d grown up in the past year, as Friday night rolled around, I found my insecurities were hardly gone.

Margo told me that I looked “terrific”, something I shrugged off since Margo was known to be ever so complimentary. And when Nathan and Steve arrived, I was encouraged by Steve’s very vocal shock at my ‘new do’, but Nathan had to shoot down my spirits by saying, blandly, that it was ‘nice.’

Nice…

Cindy was still primping in the bathroom, so both Nathan and Steve took to drinking the dessert wine to pass the idle minutes.  In addition to their copy of The Doors’ debut album (which Nathan proceeded to play immediately upon arrival) they also brought their customary stash and dove straight into a round of lighting up, and I actually thought about joining right in with them: there was no way that just an ordinary cigarette was going to ease as severe a case of nerves as I had.

But there was other business to concern myself with, and I focused back on helping Margo finish basting the turkey and cutting up the potatoes to roast.

“I cannot believe that you won’t tell me who it is,” she was saying, and I was halfway listening.

Paul will be here in ten minutes… fucking hell, Charley, what are you trying to pull...

 “Especially,” she continued, “when I was totally convinced that you had a secret thing for Nathan.”

I missed the potato completely.

Margo stared at me, her ladle paused over the top of the turkey, and I could see her putting together the pieces in her brain. “Ah! So you did like Nathan! I knew it!”

I couldn’t respond, and my silence only served to confirm her suspicions, and I stole a look over my shoulder, making sure that Nathan was still occupied with his stimulant de choix.

Margo set down her ladle. “Don’t worry. Nathan doesn’t have a clue.”

I nodded and resumed cutting the potatoes.

“But I’m still surprised that you’ve moved on so quickly…” and then she paused again. “You have moved on, haven’t you?”

Damn her!

“Margo… it’s complicated.”

She folded her arms. “Right. That’s it, tell me what the hell is going on. What exactly are you up to?”

You really should tell her… tell someone. And when Paul walks through that door it will be nice to have an ally… but how to tell her?

“You see Margo, I spoke with a friend of mine. He… he… well… it was his idea, this whole thing…”

I could see she was waiting impatiently for the point.

“Dammit Margo, you’re right. I’ve been in love with Nathan since I first met him. And I’ve tried my damndest to keep Cindy’s head on straight, for Nathan’s sake. But… this friend of mine, he says that sometimes a bloke doesn’t know what he has until he doesn’t have it anymore.”

Margo was nodding, and then she let out a gasp. “What, you mean he’s going to pose as your fella? To see if Nathan really does like you and just doesn’t know it yet?”

It sounded horrifically improbable. “I know, I know. It’s awful. How much of a backstabbing bitch can I be…”

“What are you, nuts? That’s a fantastic idea! I love Cindy, but I know perfectly well that Nathan is in love with an illusion.” She stepped closer. “Now just who is this friend of yours? Do I know him?”

I nodded and, like clockwork, the doorbell rang.  My stomach did a triple flip before plunging to the floor.

“That’s him now…” I instinctively straightened out my dress that was already straight, and ran my fingers through my hair that didn’t need fixing. “Please Margo: do me a favor and just act normal.”

“What do you mean—“

But I was already hurrying towards the front door.  I swung it open and Paul was standing in front of me, looking thoroughly perfect in dark olive trousers and a green and blue silk shirt hidden under his black overcoat. He was the bearer of grinning bright brown eyes and a bouquet of daisies… pink-edged.

He greeted me with a hug that was most welcome, as I was feeling rather incapable of standing on my own legs without help. I pulled him tightly and squeezed his arms, relieved at resting my weight on something solid.

“I… am going to die from nerves.”

“Oh now what a pity that would be, especially when I’ve spent three bob on pink daisies— not in season, you know…” He grinned smugly and then whispered, “It’ll be fine.” 

He drew away from me, and I could distinctly feel his eyes study me. “Bleedin’ hell, Charley, you really clean up good, eh?”

It made me blush, the compliment did, and I took hold of his hand, very aware that my palms were filmy with sweat. 

I stood at the front of the living room and commanded their attentions with a loud cough.

“Everybody, I’d like you to meet Paul! Paul, this is… everybody.”

A wave of silence took hold of the living room, and for a moment it seemed quite possible that no one would ever be able to speak again.

A great swell of pleasure surged within when the stupor was broken by Nathan: his frozen hand had been holding the wine bottle, whose contents were currently flowing over the glass and onto the coffee table.

“Shit,” he said, and sopped up the mess with a napkin.

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that,” said Paul, raising a brown paper bag. “I’ve brought a bottle meself.”

“Shit,” said Nathan again. “You… you’re…”

“Paul,” he said, reaching for Nathan’s hand. “And you are?”

“Paul, this is Nathan Sloane. That’s Steven Harrington, you know Margo already and… I expect you remember Cindy?”

Cindy had emerged from the bathroom in a very sexy black miniskirt and tight sweater, but at the moment she was nothing more than a star struck schoolgirl: mouth open, gawking in the hallway.

“Right,” said Paul. “’Course I do. Hello.”

Cindy let out a low whimper.

Silence resumed and I was trying desperately not to smile too broadly.  As it was, Margo was smiling big enough for all of us.

“Well!” she said with a sigh of delight. “This is a surprise! I hope you’re hungry, Paul, because we’ve made a terrific feast.”

“Yes, Charley here has told me about your cooking.”

“Then I hope you’ve already eaten.”

Margo’s composure eased me considerably, so did the very real smile she granted to Paul. “Here love, give us your coat,” I said.

“Yes,” said Margo, “And take a load off your feet— dinner isn’t quite done yet.”

Paul obeyed, and happily took up residence on the sofa, directly alongside the not quite conscious Nathan. He, Steve and Cindy turned out to be unable to formulate complete sentences. But eventually, Nathan did make a very good go at it.

“Sorry, I’m just a bit surprised that… well… Charley, weren’t we supposed to meet your fella tonight?”

“Ah,” said Paul, “do you did tell ‘em about us!”

Nathan’s wealthy vocabulary was once again robbed of everything except for random monosyllables. “You… how… when?”

Paul’s arm rested around my shoulder and, taking my cue, I rested against his torso. “It’s only been about a fortnight or so.”

“But… how?”

“Paul is a regular at the Indica,” I said. “And when he bought my painting the two of us got to talking.”

Paul laughed and nuzzled my ear with his nose. “I’ll say.”

There was fantastic delight Margo’s voice, and I caught a fleeting mischievous wink from where she stood at the edge of the kitchen. “You’re a lucky girl, Charley.”

Paul put his hand on my exposed knee. “No, I’m the lucky one.”

It really did take all my control not to laugh at something so very cheesy as Paul’s words, but Nathan, Steve and Cindy were still in such shock that they did not even flinch.

“Shit,” Nathan said for the third time in three minutes. Still in a daze, he pulled a joint from out of his pocket, remaining thoroughly unaware of what he was doing until after he lit up.

“Oh!” On impulse, Nathan quickly put his lighter away, but Paul was quick to intrude.

“No worries mate— remember me? I’m the on that’s leading British youth down the dark path of drugs and destruction. How about a light for me, eh?”

And, just like that, in the blink of an eye, Nathan, Steven and Paul were sharing a joint and the ice was beginning to break.  (And, once the grass began to take effect, the ice melted between them altogether.) When the Doors’ album ended, Paul requested an encore presentation of it, particularly Crystal Ship, and the conversation drifted along comfortably and with diminishing tension.

Margo called the lot of us to the dinner table, and we helped ourselves to her considerable spread.

“So I know all about what Charley and Margo do. What about you?”  Paul was staring directly at Nathan. “Are you at University like Charley here?”

“Yeah, same college.”

“Is your subject Art as well?”

“No, English.”

Paul leaned back in his chair, looking genuinely impressed. “Oh, aye? So you want to get into, what, journalism? Or—“

“I started off wanting to do that, funny enough. But now I want to write what I want to write. As a matter of fact,” Nathan set down his cigarette and gave the lot of us a smile. “I saw Mr. Amory down in Surrey today. You remember, the bloke who was interested in my novel? Well… he says that he’s agreeable to a contract, so long as the novel is published in serial form for his magazine.”

I gasped. “The Poetry Society? They’re going to serialize your novel?”

He was beaming, and I wanted to throw my arms around him in congratulations.  But no, that was Cindy’s job… one she did not choose to fulfill, although Nathan had every right to expect it.

“I don’t know what to say, Nathan,” I said, after it became obvious that Cindy was not going to gush over Nathan the way he deserved. (She was too busy gazing dreamily at Paul…)  “I mean… what can someone say when your dream has finally come true?”

Nathan’s eyes held on mine just long enough for me to stir nervously under their gaze, and Paul’s hand reached under the table to squeeze mine as if to say ‘well done’. So, to break the moment I decided to press my luck: I put my arm through Paul’s and leaned close to him. Paul seemed to think this was a good idea, and returned the affection, very happily.

“Is he any good?” asked Paul.

“He’s bloody fabulous,” said Steve.

“Oh aye? What’s your style like?”

Nathan was hesitating, the obvious indication of humility, so I spoke up. “Nathan’s style is in the tradition of… Nathan Sloane.”

Paul seemed to like this. “What’s the book called?”

“The Ebb.”

 “Mmmm,” Paul said, “sounds like something we could’ve sold at the Apple boutique, no doubt,” said Paul. “Or at the Indica.”

“At the art gallery?” I asked.

“No, at the bookshop. See, Miles first opened the Indica as a bookshop over in the West End. It’s still there, actually, it’s just the art gallery gets all the attention these days.”

“You’re joking, I had no idea there was a bookshop too.”

“Yeah,” said Paul. “See, the story goes that Miles was working at a bookshop in the Charing Cross Road, a fantastically groovy place called Better Books that had poetry readings and film screenings in the basement and all that. But he quit when the shop changed owners and sold to Hatchard’s—“

“Did they? That’s where I work!”

Paul stopped in mid sentence and let his large eyes fall onto mine. “The Hatchard’s in the Charing Cross Road?”

“It’s the only one there! Miles used to work there? I don’t believe it—“

“Don’t you remember Better Books? Oh but that’s right, you’re still new to London. Yeah, ask Miles about it on Sunday night: he and some other mates are coming over. And John will be there— I told ‘im about you and he wants to meet you.”

I was certain that Paul was talking about John the Indica owner. “I already know John.”

“No, no, not him. John. You know, me partner?”

Shit.

“John Lennon?” Cindy was still staring at Paul, although now her mouth was gaped open.

Nathan frowned at her, visibly annoyed at her finding it necessary to voice the obvious.

“Yes,” said Paul with purposeful sarcasm. “That’s the one.” And then he hugged me close again. “And he’s gonna be potty over you, I know it.”

Take it easy Paul, ease off on the cheesiness…

Nathan cleared his throat. “So! Er, how about you? Are you working on anything new at the moment?”

“Oh, well we’re always working,” said Paul. “But we’re going to be back in the studio for another album… probably around April or May or something like ‘at. And we’ll be putting out another single in about another month or so.”

“And so what’ll you be doing in the meantime?” asked Margo.

Paul nudged my arm. “That depends on Charley here, doesn’t it.”

Margo cleared her throat, and I fought desperately to keep from laughing. I kicked Paul’s shoe lightly, which he retaliated.

Nathan and Cindy both could have been knocked over with a feather, to be sure. Margo, bless her, very successfully changed the subject entirely. 

The hours passed along pleasantly enough, and it was just before one o’ clock when Paul finally asked for his coat.

He shook hearty hands with Steve and Nathan, who accompanied us to the front door.

“If you’re free Sunday,” Paul said to Nathan, “you and Cindy are more than welcome to come over to me place around nine o clock for a party.”

Nathan looked very genuinely flattered. “Right! Er… cheers, mate. I’m sure we’ve nothing better to do, right Cindy?”

A strained whimper of a ‘right’ managed to escape from her faded red lips.

“Groovy,” he said. “G’night everybody; and ta for the nosh up, Margo.” I put my arm about his waist and we left the room, closing the door firmly behind us.

Back down on the safety of the street below, Paul and I fell into a greatly needed bout of laughter.

“You are mad,” I said through gasping giggles. “I mean you literally must be off your head!”

“That may be, but you didn’t do so badly yourself. You were brilliant.”

“You were the brilliant one,” I said and cleared my throat to imitate Paul’s voice. “’That all depends on Charley here, doesn’t it.’” My laughter was becoming raspy. “I’ll never forget that look on Cindy’s face— she very nearly passed out! So did I, come to that!” 

“She nearly passed out? Did you see the look on Nathan’s face? I thought he was going to reach across the table and strangle me. And when he first shook hands with me, the look he gave me!”

“He was just shocked to see you.”

“Aye, but he was staring at you the whole night. First of all, you turn up with… shall we say… an unexpected boyfriend, the same fella that his girlfriend is potty over. And then to add insult to injury, you show up looking like a fucking goddess. He couldn’t pry his eyes off you!”

I shook my head, the word ‘goddess’ sounding terribly ridiculous and certainly an embellishment on Paul’s part.

But the strangest thing was that somehow, Paul sensed my thoughts because his fingers delicately lifted my chin up so that I was forced to look at him.

“Listen: Cindy may be ‘pretty’, but you, my dear, are lovely. And that makes all the difference in the world.” He winked at me and squeezed my shoulders. “So I’ll see you Sunday?”

“Definitely.”

“Eight o’clock, my place?”

“And not a second later.”

“Good. Ta-ra, then.”

And, for the second time since I’d met him, time slowed.

In just a matter of seconds, it was over, the kiss. And when my eyes finally found the strength to pull open again, the smiling man in front of me was the only thing I cared about.

Paul disappeared into his mini and, in half a breath, the street was quiet once more.

But not empty.

I could feel him still, and the warm wetness of his mouth upon mine was still sweet to the taste.

Something was pulling my attention from their hold on the pavement where he’d been… where he’d kissed me…

My eyes lifted upwards and in the amber warm glow of our living room window was the black silhouette of Nathan’s all too familiar figure: he’d seen the entire thing, no doubt.  

And I couldn’t have cared less if he’d seen it or not. The only thing I cared about was the wonderful reality of it all: I’d just been kissed for the first time in my life… 

Paul had kissed me.

How could my heart possibly find room to care about anything else but him? There was nothing else that mattered… nothing else that possibly could ever matter aside from him…

They were waiting for me upstairs.

I’d barely closed the door behind me when I was assaulted with a barrage of shouting accusations.

“YOU ARE GOING OUT WITH PAUL MCCARTNEY?” Cindy could hardly breathe. “BUT YOU DON’T EVEN—YOU DON’T EVEN LIKE HIM!”

“Nonsense, Cindy. I’ve liked him ever since he bought my painting.”

It was true, after all.

“BUT I’VE LIKED HIM EVER SINCE I FIRST LAID EYES ON HIM!”

“What, so he’s off limits to everyone else?”

“IT’S NOT BLOODY FAIR THAT YOU SHOULD GET TO HAVE HIM WHEN THERE’S A BILLION OTHER GIRLS WHO LOVE HIM MORE THAN YOU EVER WILL!”

Cindy had crossed the line, and I frowned severely at her words. “Cindy, don’t think for a second that I’m not just as surprised about all this as you are. God knows I didn’t set out to like him, unlike some people…” I paused, my manner softening when I once again remembered the touch of his lips on mine. “It… just happened.”

“I dunno Charley,” said Nathan. “I… I… don’t mean to be… well… I’m glad you’re happy, but… shit, Charley, he’s not just any bloke, now is he?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning… you should be careful, that’s all.  Everyone knows how he is with birds. I’m just… concerned.”

“And I’m grateful to you for that,” I said, beginning stand straighter with a strange confidence. “But the both of us know exactly what we’re doing.”

“I’ll say,” said Margo.

“Charley…” Cindy was obviously trying to restrain herself. “Listen: it just doesn’t make sense… how… how could Paul McCartney be in love with someone like you?”

I snapped out of my dreamy repose and again sharpened my voice to match Cindy’s disposition.

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Cindy folded her arms, and her nose rose slightly into the air. “Oh come on now: he one of the most famous people on the face of the entire planet. Glamarous, rich, powerful and—“

“And still a regular bloke.” I don’t know where it came from, but suddenly I was speaking in a seriousness that scared even myself. “If you’d get over that silly schoolgirl crush of yours, and take him down off that gilded pedestal, you’d realize that he’s just like anyone of us: just an everyday living, breathing, laughing regular bloke, and it just so happens that…” I paused before finishing my sentence. 

The words I was about to speak weren’t just lines… they were the truth.

“I’m… I’m in love with him.”

The silence was expected, of course. And I had no reservations about keeping my gaze solid upon Cindy, who was at a very apparent loss of words.

“Right,” said Nathan, quietly. “Right, Charley… I just hope that the feeling is mutual.” He gave a nod to Steve. “Look, it’s late and we’d better go.” He turned back around to me, just before stepping out the door. “And… I guess we’ll all see you on Sunday.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, we’ve been invited to a party at P-P-“ he paused. “At his house.”

That’s right… that was a part of the plan… but who cared about plans anymore.  You can’t plan life, Charley. No more than you can plan love…

“Oh? Fab,” I said, suddenly wanting nothing more than to cuddle up in bed with my pillow and dream. “It’ll be a gas.”

“Yeah,” said Nathan and then promptly followed Steve out of the flat: leaving just Margo, Cindy and me alone in the living room.

I stood silently, giving Cindy every opportunity to make the first move at reconciliation.

“I didn’t mean to come off so strong,” said Cindy, finally. “But… well… Jesus Christ, Charley, when you walked in with Paul McCartney, how the hell was I supposed to react?”

“It was surprising to say the least,” said Margo flatly. “But, after looking at you the whole night, I think the two of you look terrific together. And it’s very obvious you get along frightfully well.” And then she turned to Cindy and upped the wattage on her smile. “I think you and I should be glad that Charley’s finally found a bloke that she cares about as much as you care about Nathan, eh?”

Cindy stared blankly at Margo, for several seconds longer than she’d surely intended, and finally nodded. Wordlessly.

“But,” Cindy said quietly, “it’s still… strange.”

“You’ll get used to the idea,” I said breezily. “And the more you’re around us, the more comfortable you’ll get. You’ll see, you’ll have a fab time at the party on Sunday.”

 “Right… well… sorry girls, but I’m off to bed. Bloody shattered.” Cindy’s eyes were strangely placid as she turned towards the hallway. “See you in the morning, Charley.”

“G’night, Cindy.” I smiled at Margo. “And don’t you worry about the kitchen, Margo, I’ve got it under control.”

Margo nodded and yawned. “Good… because I’m knackered.”  She pulled on her overcoat and paused at the door.

“I’m telling you, I think you’ve taken a solid five years off my lifespan the way you shocked me so having Paul in on this thing! Really, you couldn’t have picked anyone better to play the role of your boyfriend.”

“Why exactly do you say that?”

“Well think about it!  Paul is the one fella that Nathan just can’t compete with because of Cindy’s obsession. And now Paul shows up in the flesh, and what happens? Paul’s hands are all over one of Nathan’s closest mates!” She winked at me. “And by the way, that was an Oscar-worthy performance the two of you turned in. In fact… I wonder if at least one of you two isn’t acting.” 

The surprise on my face was very genuine, but before I could say another word, she’d kissed me on the cheek and closed the door behind her.

Margo was, without a doubt, the smartest girl I’d ever met.

***

Right, so it’s pretty much been established that Paul was the most aesthetically beautiful man that I’d ever seen in my life. That being the case… you can imagine my surprise at discovering him sitting next to the sexiest creature I’d ever beheld.

John Lennon… well… fuck.

He didn’t believe in personal space, for a kickoff, and if he talked to you, he’d press his face right up into yours and force you to make a choice between backing down or standing up to match his intensity.

The man was more than funny, to the point of tears. And he drowned, positively drowned, in raw sexuality. An innate sensuality that, I will not hesitate to report, the beautiful Paul McCartney and poetically good-looking Nathan Sloane lacked.

Maybe it was because he was so very, very cool: round wire-rimmed glasses, parted moustache and long sideboards. And god, the man wore pink trousers with a white jumper. Thoroughly unbelievable… pink trousers! And he positively radiated sexuality in them!

He sat beside Paul and myself and was surprisingly impressed that I was familiar with—

“The Indica Gallery?”

I nodded.

“You were a part of their last show, then?”

I pointed to the wall behind us. “That’s mine, actually.”

John craned his neck around and peered over the top of his glasses. He was silent just long enough for me to really start getting anxious.

“Mmm,” he said finally. “’Bit pushy, isn’t it?”

“Er… sorry?”

“I mean you’re obviously determined to make your point heard, aren’t you? Doesn’t give much choice for the viewers to make up their own minds.”

I thought for a minute. “You always have the choice of whether you agree or not.”

John paused, and then nodded. “Aye, that is the truth. Any road, congratulations. And to have such a distinguished patron as well.”

Paul laughed. “All I did was buy it because I liked it, I didn’t get her into the show. Actually Nathan here is the one that told Barry Miles about her work.”

“You an artist too?” John asked. His almond chestnut eyes were intense in their hold on Nathan.

“Not a painter. I’m a writer.”

“Published?”

“Yes. I mean… I’m just now getting a contract with the Poetry Society, but I’ve had some stories in a couple anthologies. But nothing well known.”

“Try us,” said Paul.

“Just underground things, really. One in a journal called The Hearth, and the other in an anthology called The Mummingbird.”

“Get on! I’ve got that book!” Paul hopped up from the sofa and selected a book from his shelf near the fireplace.  “Go on then,” he said, handing the book to Nathan. “Impress us.” 

Margo and Steven gave him encouraging ‘go on’s, while Cindy sat looking thoroughly unaffected.  Nathan was blushing so brightly and looked reluctant indeed, so I decided to spare him his embarrassment of reading his own material by doing it for him. I reached across the table and snatched the book from his fingertips.

“If I may,” I said, not waiting for his permission. I’d remembered one of his poems in particular that he’d read it aloud to us at the Queen’s Head pub. At the time I’d considered Nathan to be the single most magnificent man on the face of the planet…

God. How strange life can be.  That could well have been another lifetime altogether for all I knew, and for all I cared. 

I cleared my throat. “The poem is called HE, and it goes:

He likes to speak in acronyms that only he understands
      to attentions forced by uninvited arrogance.
           Words dripping with profound observations,
            and yet drowning in their own ambiguity.
              On the horizon of brilliance… perhaps.
    But his pride trips him and he instead plunges headlong
  down… down… down
 into that torrential sea of mediocrity.
 For the vanities of men are in the end,
  but shackles to greatnesses
That could have been.”

I finished and the room lingered in thoughtful silence.

“No wonder you’re potty over him,” Paul whispered into my ear.

They were smiling at me, those languorously dreamy brown eyes, and I found that I could not respond to them. It was not possible to lie to them…

“Not too bad,” John said diplomatically.

Nathan laughter was soft and scratchy. “Thank you— that actually really does mean something to me. See, I’m always afraid of my work sounding forced. I wished that I could sound as natural as your poetry does.”

John’s laughter cackled and his voice rose an octave in his enthusiasm. “My poetry? What you mean: ‘Today will be Muggy, followed by Tuggy Wuggy, Thurggy and Friggy?’”

Paul nearly wheezed in response. “Jesus Christ, John! I haven’t heard that since, fuck, since secondary school!”

Nathan was laughing too. “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of ‘ignorance and hate they mourn the dead.’” He paused, but still held a smile. “I bloody hated you for being able to think something like that up.”

“You have nothing to be jealous of,” I said. “Your work is excellent.”

“Ah, but there’s always someone better,” he said.

“And that’s just tough bollocks,” I said flatly. “It’s life. We make do with the cards we’ve been dealt.”

“Aye,” said John. “And sometimes you find a hidden ace up the sleeve… when you’re lucky.”

The guests didn’t start to leave until well after two in the morning.  I seem to remember that the music had been a fantastic, eclectic parade of everything from Indian to experimental avant-garde, to The Stones, to The Mindbenders.  When the last record ended, Margo had to wake up Cindy who’d fallen asleep against her body.  Nathan, Paul, John and I had been chatting nearly nonstop: I was not a pot smoker by any means.  But my quiet refusals had grown in vain as the evening progressed and I began to find just how extraordinarily beautiful a simple experience such as talking could become.

It’s Getting Harder ended and I wanted to cry as the turntable slowed to a stop. It meant having to rise from my snug little niche against Paul’s reclining body— which meant leaving him. It was cold outside, so very cold outside, and there was no warmer place I could think of being that under Paul’s arm.

And that’s when the realization began to really kick in that my feelings were surely well clear of anything Paul was thinking.  To Paul, this was still the game he’d been most keen on playing.  He stroked my hair like he would Martha, and would occasionally nuzzle my ear with his lips because he was acting. 

But my responses to it were anything but.

In such a short period of time I’d fallen so deeply in love with the man, that I was quite willing to take any bit of his heart I could get— even if it was only temporary…

Where have I heard this before—

“What do you think, Charley?”

I was absently pulling on my overcoat, suddenly aware of four pairs of eyes looking right at me.

“Er… sorry?”

“Well,” Paul said, “have you seen ‘Wait Until Dark’ yet?”

“The new Audrey Hepburn film? No.”

“Fab— let’s all go, then. Wednesday.”

“Wednesday it is,” said Nathan. He turned his entire body so that his face was inches from mine, and his back was on Cindy. “Good night, Charley.”

“G’night.”

Nathan kept his stare on me… to the point where, even from within my cloudy haze I could feel the awkwardness of it.  Nathan nodded and, finally, called for Steven to leave.

Paul followed myself, Margo and Cindy out of the house and into the cold, foggy early morning.

“You’re winning,” he said, quietly. “He didn’t so much as look at anyone else all night.”

“Didn’t he,” I managed to say. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Ah, go on, be modest,” said Paul, and a spark managed to surface in his otherwise very tired eyes. “And I think that you’re playing the ‘indifference’ game very well— great strategy, that is. Even John told me that we’d almost convinced him we were actually together: which is no small feat.”

He was waiting for me to say something. “At least that part is working.”

He laughed and, not possibly knowing how painful it would be for me, he buried me into an embrace. My face was pressed against his chest and his arms pulled my body tight against his… it took every ounce of self-restraint not to react as I so dearly wanted to… and needed to…

“Don’t you worry any, dearie-la. Leave everything to me: you couldn’t be in better hands.”

He could say that again.

***

Three days later, I was getting dressed for the cinema with extreme care. School had been a blur of unimportant minutes, and work a vague collection of idle hours. Wednesday afternoon I’d broken the dull drone by doing a bit of shopping: I bought a tight-fitting short periwinkle dress with long peasant sleeves and, a first for Charlotte Gooding: white go-go boots.  I wanted to look as attractive as Paul made me feel, and didn’t care if it cost me twenty-five quid to get there.

You’re just wasting your time, Charley.  He doesn’t take any of this seriously. You’re his friend and he’ll never see you the way you do him. The charade is going to end and soon too…

Oh, but how marvelous it is while it lasts…

You’re setting yourself up for a terrible, painful fall…

But… all pains incurred must surely be worth even one precious moment of bliss.

It was to be just the four of us that evening: Margo had to care for the Prices, and Steven was… well, no one really knew what he was getting into.  The ratio of 2:2 made it a double date— and I was thankful to have Paul nearly to myself without a great crowd of people around. He told us all to meet at my flat and he’d pick us all up there.

Nathan showed up relatively early while Cindy was still choosing her outfit.  He looked ill at ease and almost certainly full of a million things he wanted to say but couldn’t quite voice.

“Charley, I wanted to ask you how… how everything is going.”

“Everything is going good. Great.”

“I meant with P—“

“I know what you meant. And the answer is ‘great.’”

Nathan lit up a cigarette and inhaled very, very slowly. “I… I can see how much you care about him. About Paul.”

“I’m that obvious, huh?”

A shadow of a smile passed over his face, and then disappeared almost as quickly. “As a bloke, I can tell you... how bloody incredible it is to have a bird care so much for you. Paul is damn lucky and, I might add, not nearly good enough for you.”

I laughed. “If Paul McCartney isn’t good enough for me, than who is?”

Nathan’s ghostly smile returned, but his words were perfectly serious. “No one is.”

I shook my head and hurried to the window to check if Paul’s Mini had pulled up or not.  “Actually,” I called from over my shoulder, “I have to pinch myself every minute of the day because the way I feel is so… well… before I get too soppy, suffice to say it’s like nothing I’ve ever known.”

Nathan’s voice was clear behind me. “Like I said, he doesn’t how lucky he is— to be loved like that.”

I would have asked him what he truly meant by that, because the tension in his voice was more than audible. But a stunning blue Aston-Martin swerved up to the curbside, and out stepped Paul, in the middle of buttoning up a charcoal overcoat.

“Jesus Christ,” I breathed. Of course it was Paul McCartney, and he could afford things like an Aston-Martin, but that didn’t make the fact he showed up in one any less impressive.

The doorbell rang and I threw open the door. He stepped inside and I did not hesitate to throw my entire body onto his into a terrific bear hug.

He felt wonderful, he smelled wonderful and he looked perfect.

“Oof,” he said with a giggle, and I could feel his laughter warm against my face as he spun me in a circle before setting me down. “I take it you’re happy to see me!”

“Three days! I’ve been dying!”

“Thank goodness I got here when I did, then.” His grin was making his eyes slant into a smile. I kept my lips close to his face, hoping to God that he’d take the hint, which he did, and he kissed me.  I could not help my tightening grip on his arm anymore than I could help the irregular beating in my heart.

He had to gasp for air when I finally let him go, and he looked understandably surprised.

“Maybe I should stay away more often if it does that to you!” He turned around. “All right there, Nathan? Cindy?”

“All right,” said Nathan, and Cindy merely nodded a polite hello. They stood with at least five feet difference between them and made no signs of wanting to move closer.

“Everybody ready?” he asked. “If it’s all right with you lot, I figure we’d get a bite at the Ivy in Leicester Square since we’ll be there for the film anyway.”

Down on the street, Nathan had a host of expletives to express his surprise at Paul’s car— which he voiced again once we slid into the plush leather interior.

Paul seemed dead chuffed. “I know, it is rather nice, isn’t it! And listen to this!” He flipped on the radio. “Stereo! Isn’t it a gas?” He slipped the car into drive and it burst open the quiet February evening with its growling engine.

Paul held my hand tightly when we pulled up in front of The Ivy. “There’ll be a lot of stares,” he said as he helped me out of the car. “It’s a posh spot, you know.” And then he paused. “Do you know… Charley, you… you truly do look fantastic tonight.”

I blushed and held onto his arm.

Cindy and Nathan were at our side and the Maitre D’ showed us in to what was, apparently, Paul’s usual table: a booth in the darker corners of the back.

Paul had been right about the stares, but I couldn’t have cared less.  I was safe on his arm.  I was confident and strong and a real woman and… anything in life felt thoroughly possible with Paul on my arm.

We had in all about three visitors to the table during the course of a dinner I had no appetite to even touch.  Two were friends of Paul’s from God knows where— they looked fresh off the bus from Haight-Ashbury, and therefore were awe-worthy.  The third was a pretty blond bird— sexy but sloshed, and after Paul kindly turned down her invitation to a dinner at her place, we were left to enjoy dinner alone.

Well, at least Paul and I enjoyed dinner.  The distance between Cindy and Nathan was becoming terribly obvious, and the both of them made a point of talking either to Paul or myself, but never to each other.

“Eh, Paul,” I asked as we were getting up to leave, “just how are you going to get into a movie theater with getting… well…”

Paul laughed. “Oh, I’ve got a special arrangement with the management so I can go in the back way after the lights have dimmed. No problems that way, you see.”

We did just that.  An usher opened up a side entrance to the theater and we followed him up a damp stairwell and then into the blackness of the cinema auditorium: we were in a nearly empty balcony and the credits were only just beginning to start.

How fabulous: not only was I in a darkened cinema next to Paul, but watching a mystery film to boot.  Plenty of excuses to reach for Paul’s sleeve and tug on it.  And since the film turned out to have quite a hefty plot (a fantastic international drug scheme that an unwitting blind woman ends up mixed into) Paul and I began to whisper to each other about where we thought it was going.

Only I guess our whispering wasn’t very discreet, because a woman in front of us turned around and said, quite caustically, “I paid to hear the actors, and not you two!”

She snapped back around and I stuck my tongue out at her, eliciting a snigger from Nathan.

Paul leaned over and whispered, “That’s tellin’ her, Charley.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Aye, I’d best do, otherwise you might stick your tongue out at me.”

Nathan’s snigger burst into a giggle that didn’t seem to be able to stop. Cindy leaned forward, frowning. “Now look what you’ve done, you’ve set him off giggling!”

The woman spun around again. “If you think this is so funny, I’ll call the usher over and—“

“Now calm down,” said Paul casually, “we’re sorry Ma’am, we’ll behave.”

She grimaced and whipped around again.

It was more than difficult, but we did manage to maintain our composure. The difficulty was that I could feel both Paul and Nathan on either side of me ready to fall into stitches.

They must have had a quick smoke before we got into the theater, because the giggles were definitely persistent. And that would explain Paul’s eagerness to appease the disgruntled viewer in front of us. Somehow the headline Beatle Busted for Pot Possession at Cinema didn’t sound too attractive.

In fact, the next noise any of us made was a very real scream when the plot made a frightening leap forward, and on the screen a man jumped from the shadows to attack the cornered Audrey Hepburn.  My scream was certainly the loudest in the theater and, heart beating clear out of my chest, I buried my head into Paul’s arm.

Both Paul and Nathan fell into bellicose laughter at my reaction, although I was sure it was to gloss over the fact that they’d jumped in their seats too. 

The woman in front of us had had enough.  “That’s it. I am calling the management!”

She rose to her feet and scooted her way down the aisle.

Paul groaned and whispered urgently to us. “Nathan, are you carrying?”

“Yeah, are you?

“Shit, yeah! Come on you lot,” Paul said and took hold of my arm. “Let’s go!”

We hopped up and, as we scurried from the aisle, I called out to the lady that I hoped she’d write the Lord Mayor about it.

We fell into Paul’s Aston-Martin and he pushed the pedal to floor, sending us speeding off ahead into London’s electric nighttime fairyland of light.  The Westway, a stretch of road that connected Western Avenue to the Marylebone Road, had only just been completed, and it was a sleek winding open road that was slick from freshly fallen night rain. The sexy, curvaceous road must have been designed for Paul’s car specifically, as the two felt so very right together.

I blasted the radio so that I Can See For Miles pounded on our skulls. And as we approached the stomach-flipping plunge in the Westway as Marylebone neared, Paul’s car accelerated right along with my pulse, and he let go of an almost cowboy-like shout that made me throw my head back in laughter.

The road leveled out eventually, but not our adrenaline. “Drinks at my place,” Paul said, and I applauded the idea.  It was only just after midnight and I knew full well that such a night could only just be starting.

Cindy, however, had other ideas.  “Actually, if you could drop me home, I’d really appreciate it.

“Oh, but Cindy!”

“I’m very tired,” she said. “I don’t mean to throw a spanner in the works, but I’m just not up to it.”

Nathan was expressionless. He silently shook his head and turned his attentions to the passing buildings outside his window.

“What about you, Nathan?” asked Paul. “Want to trip the light fantastic with us?”

Nathan pulled his gaze from the window, and gave a very cold frown to Cindy before saying to Paul and me: “I’d love to.”

Cindy slammed the car door shut when we let her off at the flat and she stormed off up into the building.

“Cor, what’s up with her?” asked Paul.

Nathan shook his head. “Don’t ask. See, when Cindy wants her way she’ll make a scene like that if she doesn’t get it. She wanted me to cut the night short just because she was tired.” He paused. “I’m bloody tired of those little power kicks of hers.”

Paul raised his brow and gave me a sideways smile. I promptly focused on the road straight ahead, knowing full well his smile meant something I did not want it to.  He was still playing the game: I’d stopped long ago.

It was probably around four in the morning when we’d all had our final cocktails and martinis.  Nathan was using Martha as a welcome pillow on the floor of Paul’s living room, and Paul was (thankfully) my human pillow on the sofa listening to his record of Love is Blue play endlessly.

“Eh, Mate,” Nathan was saying as he stared intensely at his hand, “I don’t think I can feel my fingers…”

I put my hand to my forehead. “Yeah… what essactly ya put in that lasht Martini?”  I was literally having trouble feeling my teeth! “My… my numbs are gum!”

Paul’s laughter was tired and scratchy, and his stomach was rising and falling beneath my head as he giggled. “Your ‘numbs are gum’, are they? You mean your gums are numb?”

I smiled. “Yeah. That too.”

“Right,” he said, “No more to drink for you.”

So, it was decided that we would simply sleep it off right there at Paul’s.  I don’t remember much (obviously) only that when I finally regained consciousness again it was to an obnoxiously bright morning, tucked away in a guest bedroom.

Paul looked bright and chipper and had most certainly already been up for awhile when he leaned against the doorframe, smiling down at me. “I’m never letting you touch alcohol again. How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

“I thought as much.” He handed me a mug of black coffee.

“Thanks.” Its potency did much to wake me. “What time is it?”

“I reckon just before ten.”

“Ten!” I bolted upright. “No! I’ve got an exam to take in Psychology!” I flung the sheets from over me and stood straight up. “Where’s the bathroom—oh dear.”

My head spun and I fell back down onto the bed.

“Careful there,” said Paul. “You’ll get to class sooner if you don’t kill yourself first.  The bathroom is just there.”

The cold water on my face worked much better than the black coffee, and Paul appeared with an unopened toothbrush package.

“Thanks,” I said. “Where’s Nathan?” I asked between brushes.

“He left an hour ago— I think he had an exam to take too.  You know… he had a lot of fun last night.”

“So did I. Thank you for everything, it was… unbelievable. I think.”

Paul laughed. “Yeah, it was fun, wasn’t it… and… I’ve been thinking. Don’t you agree that now would be the perfect time to make a move on Nathan?  I mean, Charley, I am positive that the reason he wanted to stay last night was just to be around you. He’s obviously enraptured with you.”

“Is he?” I said blandly.

“Come off it, you know he is. And the little lover’s spat he had with Cindy? Seems to me like perfect timing.”

My stomach was churning sourly now, and it wasn’t from the alcohol.  What the hell was I supposed to do?  Any more of this conversation and I was going to be in serious, serious trouble.

So I pulled on my overcoat and began the search for my purse. “Yes, Paul, it does seem that way. Say, where is the tube from here?”

“The tube? Oh, just down the road on the left. Here, I’ll take you—“

“No. No… I need the fresh air.” And I needed to get away from him before he could probe any more questions. I grabbed my purse and gave a yawning Martha a goodbye scratch. “I’m sorry Paul, but I have to run. See you later!”

I could almost taste the freedom: I was right at Paul’s gate, pulling the side entrance open when he shouted after me to stop.

Dammit!

I stopped and watched Paul come jogging after me. “Charley? Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m all right,” I said, beginning to get all too aware that I sounded thoroughly unconvincing.

“I mean, aren’t you happy at all? About Nathan? This is what we wanted, isn’t it? This is what we’ve both been working for!”

And now my gaze was dropping from his wide, expectant eyes. I found intrigue in the cracks in the pavement beneath my shoes.

I’d known that the charade would end… only I hadn’t counted on it being so very soon. I simply wasn’t prepared and hadn’t the faintest idea on what to do about it.

“You’re right,” I said with a weak voice that was flirting on the edge of tremulousness. “It’s… it’s exactly what we set out to do…”

“Yeah,” said Paul, his voice gaining momentum, “but, call me crazy, this isn’t the behavior of someone who is excited about it.”

Oh God, no… please can we not have this conversation? Not now, not after such a wonderful evening… I’m not going to make it through without crying…

“Charley, please look at me.”

It would be suicide to look at him. He would know the truth in an instant.

His fingers softly traced the side of my cheek, and a surge of painful pleasure coursed through my body. His hand slowly lifted my chin until my head was raised, but my eyes still stubbornly staring downward.

My willpower was crumbling all around me. His hands on my face was too much for me to handle, him being so close was too much for me to bear… and he wanted me to look at him?

“It’s okay,” he was saying, and his voice sounded like everything I loved about him: smooth and soft and honest. “You can tell me anything, Charley.”

His free hand wiped the stray strands of hair from my face, and with its touch, I surrendered to the battle entirely and raised my eyes to his.

Sod it all.

I tightly took hold of his hands into mine, and stood up onto my tip-toes, placing my lips firmly against his as I wanted and needed to so very desperately. I abandoned everything and, when he let me in, I could not help the sigh that escaped from within myself. I lost myself in the kiss, wishing I could crawl inside of him and drown, wishing that hot breath of his mouth around mine and the wetness of his lips would stay as it was, in suspended beautiful torture, always.

And then my senses returned in a wild, painful rush. I broke away from him, putting my hand to my mouth at the realization of what I’d really just done.  The tears were instant and fell like a torrent. 

Paul had been stunned into silence.

I had to say something.

I could scarcely think, let alone breathe, but I managed between my gasping sobs to tell him the absolute truth of the whole matter.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for it to happen…” I was backing away from him. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you.”

I spun around on my heel and burst into run. His voice was behind me, calling my name, yelling for me to come back, but there was no way I was turning around. Not after what I’d done.

I passed the tube entirely, and kept running. I had only one destination in mind: my bedroom where I was going to lock myself in and never step foot out of again.

Part Five Coming Soon!