Spring, 1966

Be careful what you wish for.  Hadn’t her mother always told her that?  Truer words were never spoken. 

For Lee, the New Year brought with it an incredible surprise.  John announced to all at their big holiday bash, that yes, this girl was indeed his girlfriend.  Finally!  She was so proud and happy.  This, finally, after almost two years of hiding herself, remaining anonymous and inconspicuous.  If outsiders ever did notice her with them in public, she was always explained away as a staff member.  Then, after an initial heart-wrenching experience, John had proposed marriage to her, assuring her when they got home from Mimi’s that he had planned to do so all along, and was only waiting for her to lose her ‘baby fat.’

“My what?” she yelled, giving him a shove.

He laughed, putting up his arms for protection, “You know what I mean.  It was for your protection as well as ours.  You were under age, my dear.  Your father would have hung me upside down in the town square like Mussolini.  The day you got here and I found out you were only sixteen, I wanted to punch walls!  Then…it sort of excited me,” he said, giving her a sideways lecherous grin.  He received another shove for his trouble.  “And imagine what would have been said, you here with the four of us.  Ring and I were giving Brian a stroke about you!”

“You were only twenty-three when we met, not so big a difference.  Pretty soon I’ll catch up,” she said, tickling his ribs.  “Was I worth the wait?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said as he pulled her into his arms.  “Great things come to those who wait, but you still weren’t quite ‘legal.’  You were just seventeen,” he sang.  “But if I hadn’t taken you that night, I would’ve had to kill someone.  A man can take just so much.”

For some inexplicable reason, without even discussing it, they hadn’t mentioned the proposal to the boys yet, or anyone, for that matter.  A little giggle they shared.  And with all that was going on in the press and Lee hating all this newfound notoriety, John was very concerned for her safety, and didn’t want to give any nut job fan a reason to cause her any harm.  He was hoping that by the time they did marry, some of this madness would die down and the press and the public would get used to her being in his life.  It would be old news.

It wasn’t long after the party when the first items began to appear in the gossip columns, the tabloid rags and fan magazines.  The first time they left the building together after their stay with Mimi, John held her hand as he led her to the car, and there were several photographers outside the building snapping away.  It seemed that lately they were always out there, much more than in the past.  Before, she would usually go with Neil or Mal and be waiting in the car, which had tinted windows, or if they were all together in the daylight, she would ride in a separate car.   John was torn between wanting to protect her and wanting to make her feel important and an integral part of his life.

The next day, that picture of John holding her hand was on every front page in the country and, of course, wired to America.  She assumed it was just a slow news day but Brian told her no, it was whatever would sell the most papers.  Even though she was well aware that everything they said or did made news, she still could not relate to the fact that now she was the actual news.  While John had been photographed with many girls over the years, it was rarely more than once with the same girl.  John Lennon with a steady girlfriend was big news indeed.

Once the papers got wind of her, her name, where she was from, they were relentless in their pursuit of information about her, including miniscule details like what she ordered at restaurants. What they didn’t know, they made up.  Whereas in the past she came and went from the building as she pleased, now that her face was known they were becoming hard pressed to keep it secret that she lived there with them all.  Wouldn’t that be great fodder? she wondered miserably. 

Unlike Jane and Pattie, who had a certain amount of their own celebrity before latching on to their Beatles, and acceptance, being English and quite beautiful, and Maureen, who was pretty much safely ensconced in the suburbs most of the time, this newfound publicity was deeply disturbing, scary and stressful for Lee, as she was always with them.  The hate mail was staggering, at least in Britain.  While the Paulie girls could be particularly possessive and mean to Jane, girls who were attracted to John tended to be passionate and opinionated.  They especially disliked that he did not choose a nice English girl.  Reaction from the American fans was quite different.  They’d felt left out in their fantasies of catching themselves a Beatle.  According to Brian’s assistants, who sifted through the mail, the Americans cheered Lee on and wished her well.

Recently they were leaving Abbey Road late one night after working on their latest single.  Mal brought the car around, and the five of them stepped out of the door, John and Lee bringing up the rear.

There were some girls outside waiting and George and Ritch gave them a quick wave and got in the car.  Paul stopped to sign some autographs, as he was going to walk home and spend the night at his house.  Jane was waiting for him.  One girl called to John, and he was about to walk over and sign for her, but then she held up a sign reading Get rid of the Yank bitch, John.  With clenched teeth, he pushed Lee protectively and safely into the car, walked up face-to-face with the girl and promptly told her to, “Fuck off, and I don’t ever want to see you out here again!” 

The girl looked close to tears that John would dare speak to her that way and looked to Paul for assistance, but received none.  “You heard ‘im, you mean spirited English bitch.  Get lost.”  The other girls in the group applauded.  John signed autographs for them.

The final straw came one day when Lee decided to leave the flat very early one morning to do some shopping.  Now she found herself having to hide under hats and dark sunglasses.  She took a taxi to Harrods to buy some new outfits for the spring.  John had arranged for an expense account to be set up for her, something she wouldn’t accept in the past, and told her now that the word was out, he wanted to see her in some designer gear.  She really had to dress the part if she expected to be seen with His Beatleness – no more scruffy ‘office girl’ clothes.

“I was never scruffy, you little shit!” she came back at him.  He smiled broadly.

“Well, now you can be scruffy in Mary Quandt or Chanel, or whatever is goin’.”

Neil had told her he had some errands that day and would pick her up in front of the store at 4:00 p.m.    She happily roamed the store with no one noticing her, found some nice new things, and stopped for lunch.  She even picked up a couple of new shirts for John that she thought he might like, and a book she knew he was dying to read. 

Stepping outside the store to wait for Neil in front of a newsstand, she spotted The News of the World with a picture of herself on the cover, the headline reading ‘Lennon Girl Expose`’.  She bought a copy, she couldn’t help herself, frantically turning the pages to the article, and gasped and practically started hyperventilating.  There was a spread of about a dozen different pictures of them over the past two years at various events where she could be seen in the background, far away from John, but with little arrows pointing out where she was.  In some pictures she was talking to Ringo or touching George’s arm, standing off to the side at a press conference, and in one she was emerging from the car with Wendy and Brian in Melbourne.  These photos had gone unnoticed and unused in the past, all quite innocent shots.  Someone had been combing through the archives.   

The totally fabricated story was that they had picked her up in a New York discotheque on their first American visit, and that she had been, in essence, their traveling ‘whore’ ever since, pointing out that wherever they were, she was too.  They didn’t use that word, but the insinuation was there.  Oh, God, Oh God.  She began to cry.  She could just see this story making The National Enquirer in the States.  Her parents, they would be so hurt and upset.

Neil pulled up, sat there looking at her, and waved.  She didn’t notice him, and he honked the horn.  Still no reaction.  Then he noticed her face was red and she was crying, even behind her dark glasses.  He got out of the car and ran to her.

“What’s wrong?  Has someone hurt you?”

“Neil!” She dropped her bags and threw her arms around his neck, sobbing softly.

“What is it?” he asked, holding her.  They were starting to call attention to themselves, and Neil picked up her parcels, threw them into the back seat and guided her quickly into the car.  He drove away and turned the corner and pulled over as soon as he could.

“Right.  Now, talk to me,” he said.  She handed him the paper, and he took it from her, saying, “What’s this nonsense?”  He read it quickly then put his arm around her and she cried again on his shoulder.

“Come on now, you’ve seen enough of these bullshit stories over the years about the boys.  How many illegitimate children and wives do they have stashed away?  We laugh about them.  Anyone with an ounce of intelligence knows this is crap!”

“Okay for you to say,” she sobbed. “That’s not you splattered all over.  I want to go back, Neil, back to the way it was.  I want to be with everyone, and come and go from the building, and not have everyone know about me and John,” she whimpered softly. 

Neil stroked her hair and teased, “It’s what happens when you’re famous.  The vultures start circling.  This too shall pass.”

“I never wanted to be famous, I just wanted to be John’s girl.”

“Same thing, love.”

“I’m never leaving the flat again.  Ever!” she sniffed.

He smiled wryly and drove her home.  When they got to the building, no one was out there.  “Go on,” he said.  “I’ll bring the bags up.”

She hurried quickly into the building and upstairs, shutting herself in her room.  Neil came up with her packages and went straight there as well, knocking and opening the door simultaneously. 

“Oy,” he said, rubbing her shoulder, “you’re making much too much of this.  Anyone looking at those pictures could see they are all perfectly innocent, sometimes tens or hundreds of people in the room.  Only an idiot would believe a bloody word of it.  Even Mal and I are always arsed.  It’s not the same as being a Beatle woman, I know, but they are always wanting something from us – to get near them, meet them, get autographs, business propositions.  I’d like to tell them all to fuck off, and sometimes, I do.”

She laughed, despite her mood.  “I couldn’t get away with that.  It would make John look bad, a girlfriend with a foul mouth.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘fuck’.  C’mon, let’s have one.  It’s a great word.  Very cathartic.” 

She hesitated only a moment, then said, “Fuck off!  Fuck ‘em all, Neil!”

“That’s our girl,” he said, giving her a hug.

***

Neil found the four of them in the music room, enthusiastically planning the next L.P., which was to be the follow-up to Rubber Soul.  It had to be especially good as Rubber Soul was being heralded as a true musical work of art, totally innovative.

“How’d it all go, Nell?  Missions accomplished?” Paul asked.

“Great, until I picked Lee up.” 

John looked up expectantly, in the middle of writing lyrics on a scrap of paper. “She all right?” he asked anxiously.  Neil tossed the open tabloid down in front of him.  They all came around, reading over John’s shoulder.

“Bastards,” John said.  “She doesn’t have a thick enough skin to take all this shit, so bloody emotional, she is.”

“I’d like to get hold of the fucker that wrote this,” Ritch said.  “Break ‘is bloody neck for ‘im.”

“Mo wasn’t bothered too much by this crap, was she, Ritch?” John asked.

“Not that much.  By the time they knew what hit ‘em, we were already a respectable married couple.  Then Zak came, and everyone was sendin’ presents and wishin’ us well.”  John looked very thoughtful. 

Neil said, “John, we need to get ahold of Brian and plan some damage control here.  It seems the British press won’t let go of this ‘American’ thing.  It might be a good idea for you take her away on a holiday for a while.  Keep it low key.”

“Yeah, that’s already been worked on,” John answered.

***

John let himself into her room as she was hanging up all her new clothes.  He carried a plastic folder.  He could tell she’d been crying. 

“Like what I got?” she asked, holding up some of the outfits and trying not to let him see her terrible mood.

“Of course.  Now show me what you bought,” he teased.  That produced a big bright smile.  He was glad.  He hesitated a minute, then said, “I hear you’re that wanton slut floating about here, night after night, being all things to all Beatles.  Must be exhausting!”

“That’s not funny.”

“Yes, it is.  And you’d better start seeing it that way, because this is the happiest time of my life, and I don’t want the bastards ruining our happiness and great times.  We’re all in this together, and we’ll get through it together.”

She dropped what she had in her hands on the bed and walked into his arms.  He held her close, rubbing her back and kissing her head.  Just being at home and in his arms almost made it all go away.  He’s so right, she thought, I can’t let them take away my happiness.  I won’t.  “I brought you something,” she said, handing him the bags. 

He dug in and was delighted with the shirts, most especially the purple one.  “This is great!  The fabric is so soft, I love it,” he exclaimed, discarding the one he was wearing to try it on immediately.

“Yeah, I liked it too.  It’s a cotton-silk blend, felt like something I’d like to grab onto,” she said, grabbing onto him.

“You might want to wait till I get it on, miss.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yeah, ya do,” he laughed as he buttoned it up and unzipped his jeans to tuck it in properly.

“Look what else,” she said, as she dipped into the other bag, holding up his book.

“How did you know?”

“Heard you mention it in passing a while ago.”  She was always looking out for him, so thoughtful and loving.  She was turning them all into a bunch of poofs, and he, for one, loved it.

“I have a little something fer you too,” John said, and handed her the plastic folder.  “Happy anniversary, baby.”

Anniversary?  What anniversary? she wondered.  She opened the folder and saw two plane tickets, London’s Heathrow to Marco Polo Airport, and a hotel confirmation to the Hotel Royal Danieli in Venice.

“Venice?  Venice!” she screamed, jumping him and wrapping her legs around his waist, and throwing him backwards.  He lost his balance.  Good thing the bed was there to catch him.

“You remembered Venice!” she said, then kissed his face everywhere.

“I promised, didn’t I?  I may have a bit of the Blarney in me, but I’m never a Welsher.”  He poked her shoulder.  “But you don’t remember our anniversary, do ya?” he asked, sounding genuinely hurt.

Lee looked very pensive, not remembering anything particularly noteworthy happening on this date, then said, “But today isn’t…”

“Not today,” he said, opening the folder again and holding it under her eyes, and pointing to their departure date.  May 17^th.  Two years to the day that they met, right here in this flat.  The place they had practically all their ‘firsts.’

“I’m so sorry.  I got so excited when I saw Venice that I didn’t take notice of when.  It’s the most important date of my life.  Unless, of course, you count the day I got that picture of the four of you in the mail holding up my letters (kiss), or that incredible day in Melbourne (kiss), or when you ravaged me on the sofa inside for the first time (kiss), or the first time you made love to me (kiss), or the time you asked me to marry you (deep kiss, this time with tongue), and don’t forget the first time I saw you on stage!”

“Enough, woman!”  They both laughed.

“But you’re right,” she said, “it’s the most important and special day of my life.  Thank you for remembering it.  Unusual, for a man.”

“How could I not?  Kept sayin’ to meself, May 17^th, May 17^th, the day I finally get to meet this mystery girl.  I wondered, seriously, how a bird I’d never set eyes on, and up to then I’d been big on busty blondes, could be havin’ this kind of affect on me.”

“I know what you mean,” she said.

“Oh, did you like busty blondes too?” he asked, his look of innocence so genuine and inanely funny.

Lee became hysterical, laughing so hard she had to get up from him as the overwhelming urge to pee herself came upon her, and she crossed her legs, inching her way to the loo.

“And how’re we doing in the busty blonde department?” she asked.

“Ne’er another since May 17^th, 1964, m’lady.  Brunettes only.”

“Good.  Keep it that way,” she said, finally running in and slamming the door.

John got up and smiled, lighting a cigarette, happy that he had made her totally forget that ridiculous article.

***

Brian came over that evening and, over dinner, they all tossed around ideas for a press release he would issue about the ‘John and Lee’ thing.  Up till then, they’d pretty much left it on its own, and whenever a reporter asked, he’d answered yes, he was seeing someone, but wanted to keep it private right now.  Since it had been picked up that she’d been around for two years, they couldn’t fudge on that, but they could put their own slant on it.  John demanded that under no circumstances was it to be admitted that she had lived with them since she was sixteen.

“It will make us out to be pervs, hurt her relationship with her parents, and I won’t have them dragging her through the mud, d’ya  hear, Brian?”

“All right, John, but it has to sound plausible.”

After much back and forth, they all finally agreed – Lee was the niece of an American business associate of Brian’s and had completed her education in London under his tutelage, and they would throw the name of the school in for good measure.  They were sure some tight-ass reporter would check with the school, speak with classmates, find out what she was “really” like.  Truth was, she was there such a short time, just long enough to get her certificate.  She hardly got to know anyone and couldn’t wait to get home every day.  But, being American, she was sure she stood out in some of their memories.  She laughed to herself, wondering how many would now claim to have been her ‘best friend.’

They would continue to go with the story that she had been employed at NEMS for the past two years as a secretary and worked closely with Wendy, with whom she also roomed.  Of late she was working as a production assistant to Brian on the Sunday afternoon shows he put on at the Saville Theatre, which was true enough.  She really did enjoy helping Brian with the shows, and this could be verified, if anyone cared to check.  The stage hands all knew her and the many acts that appeared had become friends and could verify that she indeed worked at the shows.

As for her involvement with The Beatles, they had all become good friends of hers (about as far from a lie as you could get), working as an assistant to Brian on their tours, but as of late she’d caught John’s eye and they started ‘dating’ last fall.

“All this okay with you, young lady?” Brian asked Lee.

“I guess it’ll have to be.  I really hate pretense.”

“Much of it is true, dear, and I always wanted you paid for your help.  You know that,” Brian implored.

“I know, Brian.  Thank you,” she said, kissing his cheek.

Brian went on, “I also think, John, you should let me set up some interviews for you with some fan magazines and let them take some photographs of you and Lee together.  Show her off, show them you have an open and loving relationship, nothing to hide.  You can catch more flies with honey, you know…they’ll eat it up.  If you let them see her, get to know her a bit, they won’t be so quick to put her down.  She’s funny and charming, they’ll love her.  Not to mention it will sell a lot a magazines for them.”

John looked wary.  He didn’t trust anyone lately.

Ringo broke the silence.  “That’s a wonderful idea, Brian, and yer right.  To know her is to love her.”

“I agree,” George said.  “She has a warm, pretty face and a beautiful smile.  All the little screamers will relate to her much better than Pattie or Jane.”

“Me three,” Paul said.

Brian looked to her.  “Lee?”

She didn’t know about all this.  The magazines all ran many photos of Pattie and Jane, one a beautiful model, the other a beautiful actress, and to a much lesser extent, Maureen.

Many of the pictures of Pattie and Jane were color 8 x 10’s of them alone, without George or Paul in the pictures.  Young adolescent girls all aspired to look like them, applied their make-up like them, wore their hair like them.  She couldn’t imagine opening one of these magazines and seeing herself in a similar situation.

“I don’t know, Brian.  Whatever John thinks is best.”  She didn’t want to say yes if she thought it might set him off, or no if he thought it would help.  She was not usually wishy-washy with decisions about herself, but for John this was a career-call and she didn’t want to influence his decision.  She was perfectly happy to go into obscurity if he thought it would help.

But, if she were to admit the truth in her heart of hearts, today’s episode had taken its toll and angered her a lot, and she did want to show the world how much they loved each other, and if they didn’t like it, well, they could all sod off!

She looked to John for his decision and he was staring at her.  He then smiled what she came to think of as his secret ‘I love you’ smile and said, “Make the arrangements, Bri, as soon as possible.  We have a trip to go on.”

***

The interviews and the photo sessions were set up for the 16^th, the day before their trip.  They would just do them and run and then see what they would come back to.  They slipped out of the country, with no one the wiser.

***

Lee was up early and let John sleep as she stepped onto the balcony, getting her first morning view of this glorious place, the sunlight glistening on the Grand Canal and the lagoon.  She’d already showered and dressed, anxious to begin her day.  Here she was, in the most beautiful hotel she could remember seeing (and she’d seen plenty over the past two years), the Royal Danieli, with its three-story lobby all made of marble – the stairways, balustrades, and classic Venetian-style marble archways that overlooked the lobby from the hallways of the second and third floors.  It was all pastel colored marble, everywhere you looked.  She remembered reading somewhere that this incredible palazzo was once the home of some prince or duke, or some such royal.  Imagine this being your home!

They were told when they arrived that the restaurant was on the roof, half indoors and half outdoors.  She couldn’t wait to have an intimate candlelight supper up there with John, overlooking the lagoon in the dark with nothing but the lights from the boats shining on the water, and a full moon above.  It would be absolute heaven.

No one knew they were here, and she was determined that she and John explore this incredible place on foot.  Even though they’d managed to have many chunks of wonderful ‘alone time’, this was their first real extended holiday together.  Alone please, with no Beatle buddies, though she loved them all with her very soul.  New York certainly didn’t count, that was for sure!  John had come to call that trip ‘the eye-tie inquisition’, though she did manage to make their last night there interesting, to say the least.  And that afternoon in the hotel room, she remembered with a smile.  Who was that girl?  The woman John Lennon made, that’s who, she thought wryly, smiling at her double entendre.  The woman he’d asked to marry him five months ago.  The man she would protect with her life. 

They’d arrived in the dark the night before, sneaking in like thieves in a private motor taxi, which in this city was a small speedboat, which pulled up to a side door. They stepped right from the boat directly into the hotel.  On the way, they’d passed some ‘vaporetto’ – those were the buses.

Venice.  The most romantic city in all the world.  Logically, this place should not exist. It should have been swallowed up by the sea ages ago.  She prayed that would never happen.  This place should remain untouched and unchanged throughout the ages, frozen in time.

She wrote John a quick note stating she’d gone out for an early walk and would be back soon.  She placed it next to him on the pillow, along with a rose she took from the arrangement on the table, and quietly closed the door behind her.  She stopped at the front desk and asked that a full English breakfast be brought to their suite at 10:00 a.m. for John.  

She stepped out the front door of the hotel to the brilliant sunlight on her face and a nice warm breeze blowing off the Adriatic.  What an absolutely perfect day, she thought happily as she made a right turn, heading in the direction she knew St. Mark’s Square to be.  The ‘taxi’ driver had pointed it out to them last night on the ride in.  As she crossed over several footbridges, she passed many souvenir stands selling postcards, maps and guidebooks to the city.  When she reached the Bridge of Sighs right at the Doge’s Palace, which she recognized from the many pictures she’d seen of it, she just had to stop and take it all in.  She let out a sigh herself.  It was all too much.  She couldn’t recall being this excited to be anywhere since the day she arrived alone in London.  The day she met them and her life was forever changed.

She turned and walked over to the nearest stand, buying up a bunch of postcards (John was mad for writing cryptic postcards), a map and a guidebook.  Even though she chose several cards with beautiful scenic photos, she knew just which ones John would grab up – the artwork ones with odd-faced people in Shakespearian costumes that he could use to write comic balloon comments coming out of their mouths.  He was too much. 

She rounded the corner to St. Mark’s Square and her breath was literally taken away – the Basilica, the clock tower, the campanile, the sheer enormity of the place.  She couldn’t remember being so totally awed by the beauty of a city.  She couldn’t wait to go back to the hotel for John.

Lee found a café in the Square and sat herself down at one of the tables, spreading out her map and opening her book, and began planning their day.

“Café, Signorina?” a most perfect little rotund bald-headed waiter asked.

“Si, per favore,” Lee answered, “y pannini con marmalade.”

She hoped she asked for some little rolls with jam.  She couldn’t think of the word for strawberry, so she supposed marmalade came close enough.

“Ah, Italiana!  I thinka you maybe Americana?  Inglese?”

“Americana, si.  How do you know?”

“Eh.”  He shrugged in typical Italian fashion, indicating the map and guidebook, clearly written in English.

“Oh,” she said sheepishly.  “Since you understand, can you bring some strawberry jam?”

“I bring-a you tutti fruiti.”

“Grazie.  Come` ti chiame?”  Lee asked his name.

“Enzo,” he answered, and then told Lee she spoke Italian well and asked where her family was from.  Lee thanked him but told him she understood anything said to her but butchered the language terribly, and that her family was from southern Italy, Salerno.

“Ah, e molto bella la!” Enzo said, as he left and said he would return ‘supido.”  Quickly.

Lee thought of Grandpa and wished he could be sitting here with her.  When Enzo returned, he carried a huge tray with a pot of coffee, cream, sugar, cup, basket of rolls and an assortment of little jars of jams in all different flavors.  She was delighted and decided to sample them all.  She was starving.

As she ate, she gave the guidebook the once over and made markings on the map of some possible sights for today’s itinerary – the Rialto Bridge, Lord Byron’s palazzo, the Academia of Fine Arts, the Doge’s Palace.  John would definitely accuse her of trying to wear him out.  Too bad!  Then there was the island of Murano, where they made the glass, and Burano, where they made the lace, and the Lido where the Casino was.  Good thing they were going to be here for a while, or he would kill her.  The Lido also had a beach.  She wondered if the water was warm enough for swimming yet.  Probably not.

Yep, he is definitely going to kill me, she thought happily as she finished her breakfast and breathed in the fresh salt air.

She wished they’d come earlier for Carnival, with everyone rushing through the streets in masks and costumes.  That would have been most interesting and exciting.  She smiled and mused at the possibilities.  Maybe next year they could all come for Carnival.  That would be great fun.

She called Enzo for the check, anxious to get back.  When he came, he asked her if she was here all alone. 

“No, Enzo, I’m here with my…fiancé.”  Well!  That was the first time that came out of her mouth!  How odd to say it.  She blushed.

“Why he no come?  He make such a bella signorina eat alone?”

“Still sleeping.  Domani.  I bring him tomorrow, okay?  Ciao.”

“Ciao, bella.  Do not forget tonight the orchestra will play in the Piazza.  You come!”

“Okay, Enzo, we come.  A domani!”

“Domani,” Enzo replied, and as she walked away he said, “Bellissima.”

***

Lee burst into the suite, all excited and chatty, only to find the chambermaid with her arms around John’s neck as he bent over the table, apparently signing his autograph for her on the hotel stationery.  Good thing he was wearing the hotel robe, or there would have been war.

“Keep it in your pants, buddy!  That is, if you were wearing any,” she said as she passed, her voice dripping sugar.

He smiled.  “Yer getting pretty high and mighty since yev’ become a fiancée in your dotage.”

“I’ll give you dotage,” Lee said as John pried the girl away from him gently.

“There ‘ya go, Constan, sorry, how do you pronounce yer name again?” John asked.

“Constanzia,” the girl replied.

“I’ll just call ‘ya Connie,” John said with a grin.

Lee stared her down, saying, “Thank you” pointedly. “We have enough towels.”  Constanzia quickly picked up her autograph and wheeled the breakfast cart out of the room.

“Oooh! “ John said.  “I love it when you get bitchy.  She’s just a sweet young girl meeting her favorite Beatle.  A little enthusiastic, is all.”

“Favorite Beatle, indeed!  Whichever one of you was here would be her favorite, and before you knew it, she’d be on the phone to the local paper, saying ‘guess who’s in Venice and staying at the Danieli?’”

“Is that the thing with you Italian women?” he asked, thoroughly enjoying this.  “So suspicious?  I promised her a great tip at the end of the stay if she keeps her mouth shut and keeps the others out of here.  The less that know, the better.”

“I only know about this Italian woman.” Lee said as she sat herself on his lap and wiggled her way in a bit.

“Yeah. They’re hot as hell,” he said nuzzling her neck.

“Never mind!  Look what I brought ya,’” she said, fanning out the postcards.

“Great!” he said as he sifted through them, then laughed.  “This one looks like George, don’t ya think?”  It did, actually, and they both cracked up laughing.

“C’mon, get dressed,” she said, shaking his shoulders, then spread out the map with all her circles and X’s penned in.  “I’d like to get at least this, this, this and that in today,” she indicated with her finger. 

“Something else I’d like to get in,” he whispered huskily into her ear.

“How many hours since we did it?  Sometimes after an all-nighter, I can barely walk in the morning, mister!”

“Then my work is done, madam.”

“Never done.  I can never get enough of you.”  She grabbed his face and thrust her tongue into his mouth.

“Little strumpet,” he breathed as his tongue traced little figures in her ear.  “I’m quite lucky to have such an insatiable nymph.  Do you know what a rare quality that is in a woman?”

“Then I feel very sorry for the rest.  Their men obviously don’t know what they’re doing.”

“Let’s have another go,” he said, pushing her up and pulling her over into the bedroom.

“Yeah, but if I wanted to stay in bed all day, we could have stayed in London.  Come on, it’s a beautiful day!  This is freakin’ Venice!”

“But you already got me goin’, ya little pricktease.”

“Tell you what,” she cajoled, “if you get dressed right now and take me out, I promise I’ll give you the full treatment in a public place.”

Now that was a proposition, he thought.  “Once a day, every day?”

“I didn’t say that.  Now, that’s a bit much!” she protested.   She was thinking of maybe groping him under the table at lunch, something along those lines.

“Ya seen one canal, ya seen ‘em all,” he said as he slid his hand between her thighs.

“Then I suppose you’ll want nights here too?” she asked in mock annoyance.

“Bet your cute Italian fanny I do.”

“Okay, okay!” she relented.  “But only while doing touristy things.”

“And none of this behind closed doors in lavs sort of thing,” he demanded.  “I want some ‘on the verge of getting caught’ sort of stuff.  Hot and heavy.”

“And you have to initiate every other day,” she threw in.

“Deal.”

The idea intrigued her a lot, but she refused to let on.  They both liked playing that game with each other, he being the letch constantly forcing himself on her and she the sweet protesting virginal good girl.  In actual fact, they both met somewhere in the middle, him wanting her desperately but sweet, loving and considerate most of the time (except when he wasn’t).  She, on the other hand, sometimes came on timid, demure and shy, then turned into an insatiable vixen.  It usually left them both in a constant state of desire, excitement and unpredictability, which was fine with both of them.  They loved alternating the roles and keeping each other off guard.

“All right,” she said triumphantly, “but if you get arrested, I’m going to tell them that I’m twelve.”

“Yeah, they’ll believe that soon enough!” he said, going off to get shaved and dressed.

“I speak Italian very well.  Enzo said so,” she yelled in to him.

“Who the fuck is Enzo?”

That’s for the chamber maid, you dickhead, she smiled to herself as she jumped on the bed to wait for him, arms behind her head.   

***

They rode the vaporetto from place to place, along with the locals and the rest of the tourists, and weren’t noticed at all behind their sunglasses.  All the men had long hair these days anyway, and sidies, including the Italians.  They roamed the pavements and all the pretty footbridges, holding hands, hugging and kissing whenever the mood struck them.  John hadn’t felt so free in years. 

“I love this place, Nellie,” he said.  “It’s incredible.”

“I know.  I was so afraid I would be disappointed, but it’s so much better than I thought it would be.  Kind of like you and that band you’re in,” she laughed.

“Yeah, we’re not bad.”  John got quiet, then took her hand.  “I know we haven’t really discussed this much past the initial part, but about this marriage…  Want to talk about that?” he asked.

“You mean how we want to do it, or when?”

“Both.”

Lee watched his face carefully for reaction, and said, much to his surprise, “I don’t think it should be for a while, John.”

“Really?  Have someone else on the line, do ya?”

She pinched his bum.  “Nooo…It’s just that I know you, and you’re not ready.”

“I asked ya, didn’t I?  Told yer dad ‘n all.”

“That was a huge mistake.  Now that it’s in the papers that we’re an ‘item’, they’re both constantly up my butt with when, when, when?  And you don’t know a thing about Italian mothers planning weddings.  There’ll be no registry office quickie for us.”

“I kind of figured that.  You won’t make it too big, will ya?”

“I’ll try not to, and the best way to do that is to have it in England. That way, we can have your family from the ‘Pool and a few of mine willing to fly in.  Most of my relatives have not entered the twentieth century and are afraid to fly.  If we do it in New York, with invitations going to all my relatives, it will be a media circus frenzy, especially with all the boys there.  You know how things get there.  Bedlam.”

“And when do you see all this happenin’?” he wanted to know.

“As much as I love you, Lennon, I’m in no hurry.”  He looked surprised, and what else was that she saw?  Disappointment?

“It’s just that we’re together, aren’t we?” she asked.  “We have each other and the boys for now.  I know that makes you happy.  Me too.  They’ll all be breaking off eventually, like Ritch.  I’m sure their women, whomever they end up with, will not want to live in a commune.  I know you’re happy right now.  You were so patient with me about sex in the beginning, saying we had all the time in the world for that.  You were so sweet.  We’ll have the rest of our lives to be an old married couple.”

It occurred to John that perhaps she was afraid to get married right now, afraid of the fans, afraid of causing bad publicity or hurting the group’s popularity.  She protected The Beatles like a mother protecting her child.

He stopped and took her in his arms.  “You must be barmy!  Don’t you know I’m a very rich man?  A great catch, actually.”

Rising to the bait, she said, “You’re all right, but you’re looking at an even better one.  No one will ever love you as I do.  Just keep that in mind the next time you’re tempted to whip it out, mister.  Besides, married couples go off and live together, don’t they?  Make babies?  Drive station wagons?”

“Fuck that! I’ve changed me mind.”

“Too late,” she said dismissively.  “Now hold my bag a minute so I could dig out the camera.  I want to get a picture of us in front of this canal as that gondola approaches.”

“What the hell’s in this bag?  Rocks?” he asked as she retrieved her camera from the bag and zipped it up.  She then asked an approaching couple if they would take their picture together and the man happily obliged, gesturing that John should hold her closer.  He did, then after he snapped, John said, “One more, per favore.”  As the man advanced the film, John took her in a clinch and kissed her passionately.

The woman applauded and said, “Beautiful, very nice,” in her Italian accent.

“He’s a romantic mush,” Lee said proudly and she hugged his waist.  She then retrieved her camera and said, “Grazie tanto.”

They continued their walk till they came upon a lovely trattoria with some tables outside.  John said, “Let’s stop for a pizza or something, I’m starving.  Didn’t know you were going to make this a work day – museums, churches, palazzos up the…”

“Mmm…ya know what I could really go for?” she asked.  “Anchovy pizza.  I have a real yen.”

He looked at her funny.  “Yer not keeping anything from me, are ya?”

“No, all’s well on that front.”

“All right then, but just on your half, please.  I like mine plain.”

“Mr. Excitement,” she mumbled.

“Haven’t heard any complaints yet, madam.”

They sat down at an outdoor table and ordered their pizza, along with a bottle of Chianti. When the pizza came, the waiter placed it down with all the anchovies facing John, and he quickly turned it round, making a skittish face.

Lee picked up a slice.  “Have a taste,” she demanded.

“No, thank you!”

“I insist,” she said, determination in her eyes.  He smirked and took a tiny bite, then spit it out into his napkin.

“Now that taste’ll be in me mouth all day.  Ugh!”

“Mmmm,” she chewed on hers, thoroughly enjoying it and making yummy sounds.

“Ball breaker!” he said.  She laughed hysterically.

A young boy came around and started snapping pictures of them eating.

“Damn.  That kid’s taking pictures,” John said, getting upset.  Lee turned and then saw him taking pictures of others seated at the tables as well.

“It’s okay, John.  He’ll be back in five minutes to sell them to us.”

“Oh, that’s okay, then.”  Sure enough, a little while later the boy came back and placed five snaps of them on the table in pretty Venetian scene folders.

“Cuanto?” Lee asked.

“Due mille lire, signorina.”

“How much?” John asked.

“Two thousand.”  She smiled.  “About a pound.”

“A bargain, to have this ‘ere one of you with yer gob wide open and yer tongue stickin’ out!  Think I’ll have it blown up and hang it at home over by the piano.  That way we can all enjoy it,” John said with absolute glee.  He then reached into his pocket and gave the kid a ten thousand lira note.  The kid went into his pocket for change and John put up his hand and said, “Keep it.”

“Grazie, signore!”  The kid’s face lit up like a Christmas tree and he ran off before giving John a chance to figure he tipped way too much.

“Not for anything, John, but if you keep over-tipping like that, you’re going to call too much attention to us.”

“I’d rather do that than see me name in the papers sayin’ ‘John Lennon, cheap bastard.’  They have the negatives and someone may take a closer look, though it’s easier now with everyone walkin’ about lookin’ like us, even here.  We did it to be different, set ourselves apart.  What’ll we have to do next?  Beards and moustaches?”  They both laughed, visualizing Beatle moustaches.  Ridiculous!

“You just can’t admit you’re a generous get, can you?” Lee asked.

“Hey, if I have it, they can have it.  If I don’t, fuck it!”

She smiled at him adoringly and picked up her bag.  “I need to use the loo.  Be right back.”

She went into the toilet and opened her bag, pulling out a black, sleeveless, low-cut blouse and changed quickly.  She then replaced her comfortable walking sandals with black, strappy, high-heeled shoes.  Working as quickly as she could, she pinned her hair up in a French twist and applied thick cat-style eyeliner, a` la Sophia Loren.  She didn’t own a red lipstick, but she rouged her lips as best she could, and stepped back to view the effect. 

Not bad, she thought.  She put a stick of gum in her mouth to get rid of the anchovy taste and smell.

She saw him sitting there as she walked though the restaurant, smoking and looking nervous and impatient.  She smiled.  Since becoming a famous man, being on his own gave John the willies.

“Scusi` signore`.  Is this seat taken?” she asked, chomping on the gum.

His eyes went from her legs on up, then did a double take.  Stifling a smile and jumping right in, he looked around warily.

“Well, I don’t know,” he said, looking around again.  “I was here with someone, but she seems to have gotten lost.”

“Oh, well, if you’re with someone…”

“No, no,” he jumped up and held out the chair.  “Please, have a seat.”

“Thanks.  You’re English!”

“Last time I looked,” he said, and looked down at his crotch.

“You’re funny too!  I like a sense of humor in a man.  Don’t find that much in Indiana.  That’s where I’m from.  Betty Bonner,” Lee said, giving him her hand.

“Hornsby.  Jack Hornsby of the Manchester Hornsbys.”

“Pleased to meet ya, Jack.”

Lee took a cigarette from John’s pack and waved it in front of her face.  Not used to doing that for her, he said, “Oh, sorry,” and struck his lighter for her.  She lit up and immediately had a coughing fit.  His amusement was barely contained.

“Sorry,” she said, “I gave it up a while ago, but being in the company of such an attractive man is making me a little nervous, Jack.  I need something to do with my hands.”

He gave her the ‘John look.’  “I’m sure we’ll be able to find something if we put our heads together, Betty Bonner,” he said.

She gave him a smoldering look.  “I’m sure you’re right,” she said, never breaking eye contact, then taking another drag on the cigarette.  This time she almost coughed up a lung.

He reached over, grabbing the cigarette away from her and immediately crushed it out in the ashtray.  Daft girl.  “Why don’t you have a glass of wine instead?”

He picked up the bottle and made an attempt to pour her some, but she moved the glass immediately.

“Isn’t that her glass?”

“You’re right.  Tell you what.  Why don’t you drink from mine instead?” he asked suggestively.

“Oh, you move right along, don’t you, Jack?” she said, then downed the whole glass in one swig, while running her foot along his inner thigh.

“Life is too short, Betty.  Gotta grab the bull by the balls.”

“Horns!” she corrected.

John just stared her down, then got up, threw some cash on the table and said, “Let’s take a walk, Miss Betty.”

They walked the short distance toward Saint Mark’s Square, and she exclaimed, “Isn’t that the Dog’s Palace?”  She snapped her gum.

“Doge’s,” he corrected.  “It means Duke’s.  Care to have a look see?”

“Oh, yes.  You Englishmen are all so smart, aren’t you?  College man?”

“Of course.  I’ve a degree in Multi Coital Practices of Ancient Civilizations.”

“That sounds so impressive, Jack.”

“I’m glad you think so, Betty.  All my female professors gave me A’s in every course,” he said as he put his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

“That wouldn’t surprise me in the least, Jack.”

They entered the impressive building, paying the few lire entrance fee.  They were among the last group admitted for the day, as it was already late in the afternoon.  They wandered from room to room, admiring the frescoes, the inlaid marble floors, the gold leaf and gilt everywhere.  She kept hold of John’s arm, pulling him back, letting the rest of the tourists get ahead of them, till they found themselves alone in a huge room that afforded very little privacy.  There were large square columns throughout the center of the room.

Lee took John’s shoulders and pushed him back against one of the columns and said, “I can’t remember the last time I was so attracted to a man, Jack.  You make me want to do naughty things.”  She stroked his crotch, but he was way ahead of her, already hard.

“Oh Jack,” she said kissing him hard and pressing herself against him, “You feel so good, so incredibly huge!” She quickly fumbled at his zipper and undid his jeans, her hand taking him and doing unmentionable things to him. 

They heard footsteps and a security guard slowly strolled by the entranceway of the room.  Lee pulled John around the other side of the column as the guard passed, and when she was sure he was gone, she got down on her knees and took him with her mouth.

“Oh Christ,” he moaned, as he rolled his head against the column.  The excitement was so much for him, he grabbed her hair and pulled her up, throwing her against the column, lifting her skirt and yanking down her knickers quickly, she maneuvering one high-heeled foot out, and he took her leg and wrapped it around his waist.  His hand reached down, stroked her hard, his fingers performing magic.  She was so caught up in it, the pleasure so intense, that she had a fleeting thought that she didn’t even care if they got caught.  It would be so worth it.

He bent his knees and pulled her up and entered her hard, slamming himself and her against the column repeatedly, slowly at first, then faster and harder.  He heard slow footsteps again, sounding like the security guard making a return trip.  She whispered in his ear through clenched teeth, “Don’t you dare stop.  Don’t you dare!  I’m almost there.”

“Don’t you dare come without me, d’ya hear?  Slutty pickup bitch!”

“You love it, don’t you, Jack.  Don’t you?  I feel how hard you are.”

That was it for both of them.  They exploded within seconds of each other, holding each other tight, both gasping for air.  If the security guard passed and heard them or even saw them, they didn’t know and cared even less.  John pressed his forehead against hers then took her mouth sweetly, kissing her so tenderly, holding her tight.

“I love you, Betty.”

“I love you more, Jack.”

“Christ, do I need a smoke, Betty.  Let’s get out of here.”

***

After heading back to the hotel for a nap and a change, they did have a romantic supper on the roof, overlooking the lagoon.  They then took a leisurely stroll back to Saint Mark’s Square and listened to the orchestra play Mozart and sipped Camparé under the stars.  Lee was really enjoying John’s demonstrativeness.  He was so openly affectionate, constantly taking her hand across the table. 

It was sunny and warm the next day when they woke, which was quite late, and John suggested they take a ride to Lido and laze in the sun, work on a bit of a tan.  Lee readily agreed.  They took a cabana and set their towels down on the sand and lay side by side.  It was perfect whether, clear and sunny but with a lovely breeze so it was not blisteringly hot, perfect for getting a bit of color.

“Well, since you won’t marry me, let’s make this a proper honeymoon.  A practice run,” John suggested.

“Honeymoon, take one?” She laughed.

“Right.”

“Like the last single?  Keep doin’ it till we get it right?” she kidded.  John knew all too well what she was referring to.

“We always get it right, darlin’.  And speakin’ of Mr. Paperback Writer, he’s really startin’ to get on my dick, with all ‘is five thousand takes.  Saps the fuckin’ joy out of everything lately. You know how bored I get repeatin’ the same shit over and over, even me own stuff.  Sometimes it’s better to leave it alone for a while, come back to it later, but no, he keeps pushin’.”

“Well, tell him.  Nicely.”

“It’s funny really.  It’s gettin’ hard to talk to each other like we used to.”

“Why, for heavens’ sake?”

“I’m not sure.  Maybe reading about superstar Macca one too many times in the papers.  I know George is feeling it too.  We both had a moan about it.  Ritch has too much class to complain yet, but he will eventually.  Talks down to ‘im a little too much in the studio, haven’t you noticed?”

“Yeah, I did,” Lee agreed quietly.  “Even when a song is your ‘baby’ you have to allow the others a bit of creative input, otherwise, you cease to be a group.  Just a front guy with studio musicians that you bark orders to.”

“I know!  I left Ritch alone on ‘Rain’ and he did a superb job.”

“I was so proud of you when you complimented him.  You didn’t see it ‘cause your back was turned, but you should have seen his face.  I thought he would burst his buttons.”  Lee took his hand, gave it a squeeze.

John sat up and lit a cigarette, staring out at the sea.  “This group is MY fuckin’ ‘baby’ and I’m startin’ to feel like I’m losin’ control.”

“We won’t let that happen,” she assured him.

“All right, so he’s a fuckin’ genius.  What can I say?”

“No more than you are,” Lee said emphatically.  “And George is getting better too, John.  You have to let him grow.”

“How much fuckin’ room is there for three geniuses on one fuckin’ album?”  He said the word ‘geniuses’ mockingly.

“You’ll work it out, squeeze more songs on somehow.  You always make the right choices.  A wise woman once told me that.”

“About me?” he asked.  “Gypsy fortune teller, or Mimi?  Never mind, same thing.”  They both laughed.

John looked down at her, so happy to have someone by his side that knew everything going on in his life.  He could actually speak to her about anything that was on his mind and she would always be there for him, even setting him straight if she had to.  He bent down and kissed her lips lightly, then lay down and continued sunning himself.

***

On day three they took the vaporetto to the Murano glass factory, and watched the fascinating demonstrations of how they made all the lovely glass.  Lee had absolutely no idea that glass was made from sand and was totally blown away by that idea.  They bought many lovely things and had them shipped home to London.  Lee’s favorite was a large pink glass elephant.

Over lunch, she said, “I think it’s about time you took me for a ride in one of those romantic gondola things.”

“Do I have to?”

“You do, and more than once.  We’ll be here a while.”

“The things I have to do to get rid of a throbber!” he complained.

“I think your down time has been considerably less than your up time this trip.”

“And?”

“Nothing.  Just an observation, not a complaint.”  He nodded his head smugly. 

***

They came out of the front door of the hotel at sunset, John looking resplendent in a beautifully tailored navy blue suit, his white shirt with two buttons undone, which he knew drove her crazy.  She wore a pretty beige cotton lace dress that had a satin lining.  She wanted their first gondola ride to be romantic and special.

The gondolas were lined up outside waiting for fares, just like a taxi stand.  The parallels in this city were extremely funny sometimes.  The police boats were black and white, just like London and New York, fire truck boats were red.  They’d even seen a Venetian funeral procession – one gondola lined up behind the other, all behind the ‘hearse’ gondola, which was glass enclosed, all so very beautiful.

John and Lee hopped into the first available one.  “Si signoré?” the gondolier asked.

“Take us for a ride,” John said.

“Dové?  Where?” he corrected himself.

“The best place to watch the sunset,” Lee said, and the gondolier shoved off, taking them far out into the lagoon.  John put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close as they settled back against the cushion, and as the water rippled by, Lee thought she’d never felt anything so peaceful, or seen a setting more beautiful.

After the sun went down they doubled back into the city, the gondola weaving in and out of narrow canals, and making some interesting intricate turns.  It didn’t take long after it got dark that John’s little kisses became more demanding and his hands more exploring.

“John,” Lee said, grabbing his wrist and nodding toward the goldolier, who at this point was up in front of them.

“ey, Sergio?  Mind keepin’ yer eyes on the road for a bit?  I have some pressing business.”

“Sure, signore`.  This is Venice.  Citta di amore.”

John looked to Lee.  “City of love,” she translated.

“Good man,” John said, nodding as he gently pressed her down onto the quite large, surprisingly comfortable cushion.

“I didn’t hear him say his name was Sergio,” Lee said.

“It is now.”

She laughed and his tongue claimed hers and he quickly and urgently undid his trousers and quite expertly got at her and entered her slowly.

“Oh, Giovanni,” she blurted, “oooh, it hurts so bad!  But you promised we’d wait until our wedding night.  What will I tell Papa?”

The gondolier’s ears pricked up and he turned his head to one side, trying to take it all in.

“Shhh,” John laughed, covering her mouth with his hand.  “Tell Papa his little girl is a nervy little brat with a mouth on her!”

“Maybe I should tell him what you’ve been doing to his little girl for the past couple of years.”

“I guess you don’t care to live to see your wedding day.”

“Would that be you killing me, or him?”

“Take your pick, signorina.”

“I pick you, then.  With you I have a fighting chance of tempting you with other urges.”

“Every fuckin’ time.  I like a sweet young thing with a bit of the tart in her.”

“I really must be a tart. When I think of that sweet sixteen-year-old girl traveling alone on that plane to London, scared to death…now here I am, giving it up to John Lennon in a boat.”

“It really is time to shut up, woman!” he said, as he started moving within her again.  She smiled up at him, her fingers tangled in his hair, feeling the soothing movement of the gondola, coupled with his thrusts coming harder and harder, the stars drifting by in the black sky, the buildings on both sides visible through the narrow canal.

“Oh John, so good, it’s so good.  My sweet baby.”

“I love you, girl, with my life.  Tell me you know that,” he demanded as he thrust within her, his fingers doing exquisite things to her. 

“I know,” she whispered softly in his year, and cried out with the intensity of it.  A man on a balcony yelled out “Bravo,” just as John exploded into her.

John laughed breathlessly and said, “If he waits, he can catch the encore on the way back.”  They both giggled and she held his face in her hands as they kissed lovingly.

“Oh John, look at this!” she said, moving him to lie on the seat along side her.  He took her in his arms and looked up at the stars and the passing buildings as they passed under the Bridge of Sighs and came out onto the Grand Canal, and they were able to see a beautiful crescent moon.

“Fantastic!” he marveled.

“Thank you for taking me here.  Other than being in your arms anywhere, it’s my favorite place in the whole world.  It’s a fairytale.”

***

As the night wore on they made several stops at places the gondolier thought they might enjoy, including an open-air festival honoring some local patron Saint.  They played some games and sampled some of the local delicacies.  A lot of the dishes were fish.

“Sorry, can’t eat any fish that doesn’t come out of a soggy newspaper,” John said.

“You ought to broaden your horizons,” Lee said, stuffing a shrimp into his mouth that had been dipped in flour, fried and sprinkled with lemon juice.

“Mmmm,” he said, taking the plate from her “give it here.”  He handed her some cash and said, “Get another one.”

“We should call home tonight,” Lee suggested.

“What for?”

“Just to see how everyone is.  I do miss them.”

“We’re on our honeymoon.  No calls.”

“You’re right,” she laughed.  “No calls.”

***

‘Sergio’ brought the gondola to a stop.  “Piazza San Marco, Signore`”

“Thanks, Sergio.  You will wait here for us?”

“All night if-a you like.  Give me a little push if I sleep.”

“You got it, mate,” John said as he helped Lee out of the gondola.  She was still feeling the aftermath of having been with him earlier, both the emotional as well as the physical, and could still practically feel him inside her – that delicious soreness.  She clung to his arm and kissed his hand.

“And to what do I owe that?” he asked smugly.

“If you need a reason, it’s for giving your woman a good one.”

“No shortage of those,” he answered, a bit embarrassed at his own prowess.

The guidebook was right, she thought.  At least once every day everyone ends up at Piazza San Marco.  They’d never approached it from the dock before and Lee looked down an alleyway to her left and saw in neon lights, “Harry’s Bar.”

“Oh John, look, Harry’s Bar!  It’s famous, it’s in movies and everything.  C’mon, I’ll treat you to a pint.”

“Do the eye-ties serve lager ‘n lime?”

“Won’t know till we ask,” she answered, pulling him along.

It was much smaller a place than she expected, but packed, smoke-filled, loud, noisy, and full of ambiance.  It took a while to get a place near the bar and John did indeed get his lager ‘n lime.  Lee had one as well.  As they were talking, Lee suddenly gave a little yelp and lurched forward, as the man that was standing behind her quickly moved away.

“Did that bastard just grab you?” John asked, his face tightening up.

“Calm down,” she said, grabbing his wrists.  “It’s insulting to a woman to come to Italy and not have her bottom pinched.  It’s part of the culture.”

“Is that right?  Well, there’s a lot to be said for good old fashioned English reserve if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” she said, hugging him.  “If it will make you feel any better, I give you permission to pinch one bottom, providing she looks like the dog-faced boy.”

“Thanks.  I’ll pass.”

“Oh, like you never grabbed a girl in a club, ever!”

“Not just randomly from behind.  There’s always the eye contact, the come on.”

She pressed herself against him, which went totally unnoticed as it was so crowded in there.  “Well, come on,” she goaded, making him smile despite his annoyance.

No sooner were the words out of her mouth that she jumped from another grabber.  The bar was so crowded they couldn’t even tell who it was.

John got furious. “Is that why you brought me here?  To get your ass groped and make me fuckin’ nuts?  Don’t they have eyes?  Can’t they see you’re with someone?”

“It’s a great pick-up ground for the locals and the tourist trade, it would seem,” she laughed.

“Well we’re gettin’ out of here before they have to cart me away in one of those cute little police boats.”  He grabbed her arm and pulled her along.

“But I didn’t finish my drink,” she protested between laughs.

“Fuck it!”

***

It was quite late when they came out of Harry’s, and the streets had emptied out considerably.  Thank goodness it wasn’t quite summer yet, or the party would be all night.  They came into the Piazza and strolled hand in hand, stopping to look in all the shop windows, which were all closed.  The Piazza was empty except for a few stragglers who would walk through on their way home from work, or a tourist or two heading back to their hotel rooms.  Lee loved having the place almost all to themselves.  She pulled John into the middle of the Square and spun and danced him around.

“Oh John, isn’t it fantastic?”  He laughed and hugged her tight as she glanced upwards at the stars.  When she looked down and met his eyes, she saw that he was looking at her really seriously.

“Marry me,” he said.

She laughed.  “Getting senile?  We already covered this,” she said, giving his hair a little tug.

“No, I know.  Marry me now.  Here.  Tonight.”

“And you didn’t even have that much to drink!”

“Lee, I’m serious.  I want to get married now.”

Now she watched his face for the telltale sign, the little smirk, the indication that he was only having her on.  There was none.  Now she laughed uncomfortably.

“You are serious.  John, I couldn’t do that to my family.  It would break my mother’s heart not seeing my father walking me down the aisle properly in a church, my face covered in my virginal white veil.”

“Look,” he pressed, “it could be our little secret.  We won’t even tell the boys.  We’ll do it here.  Then we’ll do it again properly later on for anyone else you like.  We’ll piss ourselves with this, us bein’ the only ones knowin’.  It’ll be great!”

“I don’t know if you’ve looked in the mirror lately,” she interrupted him, “but you’re a very famous man.  Can’t pick up a newspaper or a magazine for the past three years without seein’ that gorgeous mug, even here.  What makes you think we could pull this off?”

It was as if he didn’t even hear her.  “Look, there’s a church right there.”

“Saint Mark’s Basilica?”

“Aren’t priests bound by secrecy?” he asked, dead serious.

“Only in the confessional.  You’ll have to tell him your sins,” she said, in a half-hearted effort to make him admit that he was only kidding.

“If I do that, he won’t let me marry you.”

She tried one last time.  “You’re not serious, John.”

“I am, though.  I’ve only known two things for absolute certain in me whole life – that I could never be a nine to five guy, gettin’ old before me time, and had to make it out of that hellhole…”  He took her face in his hands and smoothed back her hair.  “…and the other thing, that I love you and want you with me always.”

Her heart melted and broke and danced, all at the same time.  “I’m here, John.  It’s us,” she said squeezing his waist and resting her head on his chest.

“Then commit to me.”

“I have, ages ago.  You know that.”

He pulled away and reached into his pocket and removed a small plastic bag with two crumpled pieces of tissue paper, which he unwrapped.  He then placed the two plain gold bands in the palm of his hand and held them under her gaze.

“Where did these come from?”

“London.”

She put her hand up to her mouth.  “You… did that?  You really are serious.”

“Never more.  I couldn’t think of a more romantic place to do this.  Look, there’s a church right there.”

“No thinking small for you, is there?   It’s three o’clock in the morning.  You expect to just walk into Saint Mark’s Basilica and…”

“Church is church, innit?” he said, so enthusiastically and seriously that Lee knew enough to stop making light of it.  She also knew a thing or two about the Church, the red tape.  They wouldn’t be able to just walk in and get… married.

“Okay.” she stated simply.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.  Let’s do it.”

He threw his arm around her, pulling her to him tightly, and walked her quickly toward the beautiful edifice, like he was trying to get her there quickly before she changed her mind.  When they reached the doors, of course, they were all locked.

“Where’s the place where the priests live?  You know…”

“The rectory?”  Lee asked.  “Probably somewhere round back.”

They had to do a bit of walking and reading signs in the dark before they came upon it.  The huge intimidating door had both a small lit up doorbell and a huge brass knocker.  John used both.  After waiting a decent interval, which for John was about thirty seconds, he tried again.  And again.  And yet again.

“C’mon, John,” Lee said tugging at his arm.  “We’ll come back later, when it’s daylight, when normal people are up and about.”

Just then they heard the sound of a woman’s voice coming from the other side of the door.  Lights went on behind stained glass windows.  She did not sound thrilled.  They heard the sound of about three locks being unbolted and the door opened a few inches.

“Que che?” the woman asked, sounding justifiably annoyed.

“Scusi`” Lee apologized.  “Oh, dear,” she mumbled, while trying to formulate all the right Italian words.  “Is it possible for us to see a priest?” she asked.

“A quest` hora?”  At this hour?

Lee turned to John.  “She’s annoyed at the hour, John.  I don’t blame her, let’s come back…”

“Please,” John interrupted.  “It’s very important.”

The woman looked at his face and her expression changed.  Lee was sure she recognized him.  The door opened wide and the woman gestured with her hand.  “Come,” she said.  They walked into a beautiful (all marble again, of course) foyer, with beautifully upholstered chairs in purple velvet. 

The woman indicated the seats with her hand and said, “Please.”  They sat down and both said ‘grazie’ at the same time.  She walked off and closed a door behind her, in her robe and slippers.  She looked to be about forty and not entirely bad looking, considering that they’d just gotten her out of her nice comfortable bed.

John nudged Lee with his elbow. “I wonder what she does when the lights go out?”

Lee punched his thigh.  “Shhh” she said, and they both giggled nervously.  He took her hand, rubbing the top of it over and over with his thumb.

About fifteen minutes later (an eternity in John time) the door opened again and the woman emerged, indicating that they should follow her down a long corridor to a door with a brass plate on it which Lee did not get a chance to read, where they were shown to some chairs in front of a huge ornate desk in a most impressive office.  The woman disappeared again. 

More waiting.  Nerves jumping, stomach churning.  Whatever were they thinking? Lee wondered.  Getting married!!  She was already formulating the story she would tell the boys when they get home, about how they were thrown out of the cathedral in the middle of the night.

The door finally opened again and the woman announced, “Eminenza,” and left them.  A tall, strikingly handsome priest of about sixty entered.  He wore black trousers and a black “priest” shirt with the white collar.  The top button was undone; he had obviously put it on in haste.  He had a very grand presence, and they both stood up immediately. 

“Good evening.  Or should I say good morning?” he said in perfect English.

Lee blushed profusely.  “We’re so sorry, Father.”  Then it hit her.  The woman said ‘eminenza’, a title usually reserved for Cardinals.  “Eminenza?  Did she say eminenza?”

“Marcello Antonelli, Archbishop of Venice.” He held out his hand.  “And you are, young woman?”

“I’m sorry.  Lena Mauro.  We really apologize for disturbing you at this ungodly hour.”

She realized her faux pas and covered her mouth with her hand.  “Oops, sorry.”

He laughed and shook her hand.  “You may be right.  But priests are a bit like doctors, always on call.  You are Italian.  Pleased to meet you.”  He turned to John and extended his hand.  “And what might I do for you, Mr. Lennon?”

“Oh,” John said resignedly, “I apologize too.  She needn’t have bothered you.  Any priest would have done just fine.”

“Well, I am the only one in residence tonight, so you are, how you say, ‘stuck’ with me.”

They all laughed, John and Lee nervously, but the Archbishop looked genuinely amused.

“Sit, please,” he said.  “So?”

“So,” John repeated. “We would like to get married, please.  We love each other and your city and want it to be right here, right now.”

The Archbishop regarded him with amusement.  “I see you are used to getting what you want ‘right now’.  Marriage is a very serious business which too many people rush into in the heat of a romantic moment, never stopping to think about what real commitment means.”

“We have thought about it, and we will get married, here or not here,” John said, already starting to get defensive.

“How long have you two known each other?”

“Two years, but longer really.  Seems like forever,” John said earnestly.

“I know you are in your mid-twenties, Mr. Lennon.”

“Call me John,” he interrupted.

“John.  And you, Lena, how old are you?”

She felt suddenly afraid to tell him.  She took a deep breath.  “Eighteen.”

“Really?  I would have guessed a bit older.  Not to worry.  Eighteen in a woman is about the equivalent of thirty in man years, so you are older than your friend.”

Lee smiled and said, “I’ve been trying to tell him that!”  John reached over and took her hand protectively.

“Lena,” the priest asked, “is this an urgent matter…are you…”

“No Father, I definitely am not,” Lee answered sincerely.

“If I would venture a guess, John, I would guess that your line of work would afford you a lot of opportunities to stray from this lovely young girl.  Have you had your fill yet?”

“You don’t beat about the bush, do ya?  I’m sure priests get plenty of opportunities too.”

“You’re quite right.  Vulnerable women often fall under the control of powerful men, men in authority.  Priests are men.”

John looked up in surprise.  He didn’t expect an admission of that sort.  All the priests he remembered from his youth held themselves up to be fucking saints.

 “Yes, I’ve had more than my share,” John admitted.  “But this one is mine.”

“But more importantly, are you hers?”

Lee looked to John and he answered, “Absolutely.”  His mouth was tight with determination and she saw tears in his eyes.  She wanted to hold him and kiss him but knew that was inappropriate, so she stroked his face with her hand. 

“Lena?”

“I’d lay my life down for him, Eminence.”

He sat back in his chair and regarded them for a minute, then opened the desk drawer and pulled out a long parchment-like paper. 

“Fill in all the information, the dates as close as you can.  It’s in Italian…”

“I can handle it, Father,” Lee said.

“Good.  I will be right back,” he said, handing them pens.

This is not happening, Lee thought to herself.

The paper had two columns, one for the ‘husband” the other for the “wife.”  Since John couldn’t understand it, he watched her and then repeated the same information on his side of the form – Lena Joan Mauro, John Winston Lennon.

“Joan?” he smiled.  “I didn’t know your middle name was Joan.  That’s the feminine of John.”

“It’s not an official middle name.  It’s the one I took at Confirmation.  My parents didn’t give me a middle name.”

“And you chose Joan?”  She nodded. 

“Good omen,” he said.

Baptism.  She knew John was a baptized Catholic.  He wrote November, 1940.

Confirmation.  Uh-oh.  She didn’t ever hear him mention he was confirmed.  That would be it.  The Church wouldn’t marry you if you weren’t confirmed.  She promptly wrote her date of Confirmation down next to the Italian word for it, which John would definitely understand, it was almost the same as English.  She gasped when she saw him write, May, 1953, Saint Peter’s Church, Woolton, Liverpool.

“You were confirmed?” she asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” he answered matter-of-factly, “when I was twelve.”

“You never mentioned it.  You always tease me about my Catholic guilt, and here you are, all confirmed!”

“Mimi.”

She still wasn’t buying it.  “What name did you choose?” she asked.

“George.”

She was about to hit him when she remembered. “Uncle George!”

“See, you can learn a lot from marriage applications.”  He gave her a quick kiss.

To the next question she just wrote, “No.”

He looked at her sardonically and asked, “Translation please?”

“It says ‘Have you ever been married before?’”

He sat there pensively, rolling his eyes at the ceiling.  This time she did hit him.  They laughed and both signed at the bottom, and dated it May 21, 1966.  Their new Anniversary date, it would seem.  Pinch me, Lee thought.  This is not happening.

The Archbishop returned wearing simple vestments and looked down the paper, saying, “Well, this makes it easier, all sacraments received by both parties.  All of this information will, of course, be verified with the various churches before we register the marriage civilly.  In the event that some information is false the Church marriage will be annulled.”

“Father,” Lee asked, “we are doing this secretly right now and would appreciate the world not knowing for a while.  But if we want to marry again in the Church for our families, will that be okay?”

“As you know, my dear, Marriage is a sacrament and can only be done once in the Church, unless, of course, you are widowed or in the case of an annulment.  I trust there are no grounds for that.”

“No, but I will have to marry again for my parents’ sake, in a church,” Lee said, getting upset.

“Then, you will do a blessing ceremony, a renewal of vows.  I’m sure you can work something out with your local priest.  But as far as your actual marriage, this is it, my dear.  Still ready?”

She looked at John.  “Yes,” she said with conviction.  She could not remember seeing him happier.

“One last order of business, this is a sacrament and must be entered into in the state of grace.  I will hear both your confessions.  Who would like to go first?”

“Oh Christ,” John blurted.  “Sorry, Father.”

“I will,” Lee said. “He needs a lot more time to think than I do.” She laughed.

“John, would you mind stepping outside?”

Lee started the usual ritual once John had gone. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned, it’s been two and half years since my last confession…and I really only have two things to confess, but only one that I am truly sorry for.  Can you still give me absolution if I am not sorry?”

“Well, we’ll see what you have and discuss it.  Perhaps it’s not really a sin.”

“Oh no, Father, I’m quite sure the Church thinks of it as a sin.”

“Well, let me hear it.”

“Well, first, I’ve been away from Mass for two years and I’m truly sorry about that, I could have sometimes made the time, and didn’t, and for that I am sorry.  But I never pass a church without stopping in to say a prayer and light a candle.  But I have been away from Mass and Communion for two years.”

“Okay.  Next?”

This was not so easy.  She fidgeted with her nails for a couple of seconds and a tear dripped from her eye, which she quickly wiped away.  “John and I have had pre-marital sex.  He restrained himself for a long time, but Father, we love each other very much, and I wanted him as much as he wanted me.  It’s too hard to expect people in love not to….I love him and I’m not sorry.  I think there are worse sins you can commit against people than loving them!  I’ve only been with him.   I know, now you think I’m a terrible girl…”

A slight smile curled his lips, and that tear was enough for him.  “You put that very well,” he said, as he began the Latin Rite of Absolution.  “Ego te absolvo…Say three Our Fathers, Three Hail Marys, and send him in.”

She felt so relieved and cleansed, just like when she was a kid.  She got up and gave the Archbishop a hug.  “Thank you, Father.”

John was in with him for twenty minutes.  When the door finally opened, the Archbishop smiled at her and said to them both, “Let’s go,” as he walked out shaking his head and laughing.  He must have been treated to a Lennon lashing, Lee thought.  She gave John the “eyes”.

“What?” he demanded.  “We’re buddies.”

The priest yelled, “Caterina, vene.”

The woman who had let them in was now dressed, and followed them through the intricate passageways into the Basilica itself, where she turned on just the overhead lights to the magnificent main altar.    It was so quiet that their footsteps and voices echoed.

“Caterina will be the official witness.  I’m sorry there is no music or something more ceremonial, but at five in the morning, you can’t expect much.”  They all laughed.  “Do you have a ring?” he asked John.

“Yes, Father,” John said, and produced them both from his pocket. 

The Archbishop took them and placed them on a crystal plate at the altar, then said to John and Lee, “Why don’t you both go around the communion railing and come up the middle stairs together?  I will wait here.”

They did just that and when they got to the bottom step, John turned to Lee and smiled.

“Ready, Miss Mauro?”  His face beamed, and she couldn’t remember a moment when he looked more beautiful to her.

“Ready,” she answered, and hoped she looked as beautiful to him and that he would remember this moment always.  He offered her his arm and they came up the stairs together. 

As Lee continued to hold John’s arm when they reached the altar, she could feel him shaking.  She was so touched and found it so endearing that he could be so affected, the great and mighty John Lennon, standing there before the altar of God, shaking at his wedding.  She squeezed his arm reassuringly and he covered her hand with his. 

Things became a blur after that for Lee as the priest made the Sign of the Cross and began the marriage ceremony rite.  It was as if her life thus far with John was passing before her eyes, all their wonderful times in the past, and she began to wonder what the future would hold for them.  They then were sprinkled with holy water from the wand and the rings were blessed before the taking of the vows. 

She repeated everything she was told to repeat automatically, without thinking, hoping she wasn’t leaving anything out.  The one vow that stood out most to her was, and I pledge thee my fidelity…She especially liked that one.  There would be no others, ever.  She placed the ring on John’s finger.  She had a fleeting recollection of John once mentioning that men that wore wedding rings were “pussies.”  Yet he came prepared with two.  She was holding back the tears.

John was repeating the vows.  “I, John Winston Lennon…  She waited for it, “and I pledge thee my fidelity,” he said, as he looked into her eyes.  The tears did slide down her cheeks as he placed the ring on her finger.  Some more prayers were said and the Sign of the Cross was made above them.  They continued to stare into each other’s eyes as they clung to each other, and she still felt him shaking.

“John,” the priest said, “you are married.  Kiss your wife.”

“Really?” John asked.

“Really,” the priest assured him.

John wiped the tears from Lee’s cheeks as he pulled her face to him and kissed her tenderly.  He then enfolded her in his arms and whispered in her ear, “I love you, girl.”

Before Lee could say anything, Father Antonelli said, “You must come back to the office with me and sign the certificates and the official registry of this Church.”

They all four signed a beautiful ornate parchment Marriage Certificate with the official Church seal, which was John’s and Lee’s to take with them.  Another certificate would later be filed with the Italian government registry, which they all also signed.  Finally, an entry was made in a huge leather bound book, signed by all.

“Well, all done,” the priest said happily.  “I would like to wish you both a long, happy life together, many beautiful children.”

“Thanks so much for doing this for us, Father,” John said, shaking the priest’s hand.

“You are very welcome.  Treat her well, you have a good one.”

John nodded and Lee embraced the priest.  “Father,” she said, “would you please have dinner with us one night?  A celebration?”

“I would like that very much.  Call my secretary to make the arrangements, at not such an ungodly hour,” he laughed.

“Thank you, Caterina,” Lee said, hugging the woman, and John kissed her cheek.

***

They found their way back into the Piazza.  John held the large envelope with their Marriage Certificate under one arm and his new wife under the other.  As they slowly approached the dock, they could see the beginnings of the sunrise, and it brought to mind the night they spent on the beach in the Bahamas.  They got to the gondola, which was bobbing away in the water, and, sure enough, there was “Sergio”, slumped over, asleep.  John kicked the boat.

“’ey, Serge.  Wakey, wakey.”

“Oh, Signore, I was-a beginning to wonder if you come back?”

“We’re back,” John said, jumping into the boat.  “Take us back to the Danieli.”

John turned to Lee and held out his arms. “Mrs. Lennon?” he said.  He took her by the waist and lifted her into the gondola.

More Stories Coming Soon!

Lena King a New York State Supreme Court Clerk, and she loves her job.  In a prior incarnation she worked as a secretary and married quite young (twenty) to a Beatle person (twenty-one), a match made in Beatle heaven, or so she thought.  Would you believe his birthday was July 7th?  Typically, he had is mid-life crisis at thirty.  He got his new trollop and she got their beautiful daughter, who ironically, is now twenty years old.  She knows almost as much about the Fabs as her mother does, whether she likes it or not.  (She does.)  "How did they get outside the train mommy?" she giggled at four.  She's been spoon fed the stuff ever since.

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