“Temperatures on the East Coast this New Year’s Eve are well below normal, with winds kicking up to 30 miles per hour in the New York area…”

I tuned out the rest of the Weather Channel and took a deep breath of fresh ocean air.  My home in Maplewood, NJ might be buried in snow, but I was basking in the glorious Hawaiian sunshine.  Here it was, just before dusk on the last day of the year, and I was sitting out on the deck of my host’s home indulging in a cocktail made with fresh pineapple juice.  I had left all my worries behind me and let the refreshing breezes tickle me.

It was truly a miracle that I was here.  Having spent yet another miserable Christmas at home by myself, I had gotten a call from a new found friend, Olivia Harrison, who had invited me to join her family and friends in Hawaii.  To ring in the New Year with an ex-Beatle in the tropics was an offer only a fool would turn down.  And I nearly did, but Olivia was persistent and the fact that the flight was a free and a private plane to boot pushed me over the edge.

So I had gone from shoveling snow to packing up a summer wardrobe.  There was no more time to bemoan my lonely situation or to be depressed over the fact that I had no family to share the holidays with, as I ran off to Teterboro Airport to meet my plane, and the “friend” of the Harrisons who was kind enough to let me share his flight.

I had just stepped on board and was marveling at the amenities a private plane provided when he stepped out of the lavatory.

“You must be Jennifer,” he said, smiling and offering me his hand.

“Yes,” I said, somewhat stunned, though I shouldn’t have been.  After all, he was a well-known friend of George’s.  “There’s no need to introduce yourself, Mr. Clapton.  I’m quite a fan of your music.”

“Thank you.  I’m afraid I’m going to be a terrible host though.  I’ve been on the road and haven’t had more than three hours sleep over the past couple of days.  I hope you won’t mind if I excuse myself to the bedroom and get some sleep.”

“Of course not.”

And so I spent the first leg of the flight alone.  But I lacked for nothing.  Besides the books that I had packed for myself, there were multitudes of videos to watch, music to listen to and a steward who was glad to provide me with whatever I wanted.  I could have even showered in the bathroom that, while small, was opulent.

We stopped to refuel in California. Eric emerged and the two of us got to know each other over a meal that was like none I’d ever had before – in air or on the ground!  He seemed genuinely interested in what I considered a relatively boring life.  He put me so much at ease, that I was even brave enough to ask to hear him play the guitar, which he did, and by the time we landed, it was as if we were old friends.

“Enjoying the view?” 

I hadn’t heard George come up beside me and I gave a little start.

“Sorry,” George said.

“I was just caught up in the beauty of it all.  I can’t thank you enough for having me here.  I never felt so…serene.”  It was true, I hadn’t truly felt at peace since the death of my son and husband nearly two years ago.  I tried to go on with my life, but there were still times when grief overwhelmed me.

“This is the place to come when your soul needs warming.  And as much as I love Friar Park, there is something about this paradise that I need to refresh myself.  As one sun sets, so another rises.  You can never see too many.  And I know that mine are limited.”

“Aren’t everyone’s?” I asked trying not to sound too maudlin.  Even in the short time that I’d been here, I’d noticed how gaunt he’d become.  I’d heard the rumors, even before I’d met him in November that he was ill.  I hadn’t noticed it much then, but now, just a few weeks later, he seemed thinner and frailer.  And even under the golden tan he was pale.

“Yes, but I know that I have less than 365 left to see.”

“What are you saying?” I asked afraid of the answer and knowing in my heart what he was going to say.

“Before the year is out, odds are that I will be dead.”

“George…” I reached out and took his hand.

He sat down in a chair next to me. “Now Jennifer, I didn’t tell you to get you all upset.  Death is part of life.”

“I’ve had my share of deaths in my life,” I reminded him.

“I know,” he said gently.  “But a new year is upon us, isn’t it time to let your grief go?”

I didn’t realize that I had started to cry, until he took his hand and wiped the tears away.

“I know Olivia and Dhani will grieve for me.  And so will my friends.  But I also want them to move past that and to remember, to celebrate, the times that we’ve had.  I don’t want to spend my days mourning what I won’t have, but enjoying what I do have.  I wanted to share that with you.”

I squeezed his hand.  “Thank you.”

“And Olivia wanted to do a little matchmaking.”

“Me and Eric?”

“Nah, you and me,” he chuckled.  “The two of you have hit it off pretty well.”

“As friends,” I emphasized.  It was true.  In the short time that we had known each other, Eric and I had become good friends.  Just the night before he had declared to me that I was like the little sister he never had, and earlier this morning he had woken me by pounding on my bedroom door and shouting, “Come on, Sis, the day’s wasting.  Let’s you and I go for a swim.”

“Ah yes, not unlike you and Paul.”

“Yes.  Well, I don’t know if you could call the two of us friends, exactly.”  Since meeting Paul McCartney last summer, our “friendship” had been rather volatile.  He was first convinced that I was out to “snag” his son, and then when James and a student of mine started dating, he insisted on me giving him a complete rundown on her background.  In some bizarre way it was as if he was jealous of the friendships I had made with James and Stella.

“What would I call the two of you?”

“Tolerant of each other?”

“When a man sings a song to a woman…”

“George, I don’t know you’re talking about.”  But it was a lie.  During a performance on Saturday Night Live, Paul had sung “Lovely Linda,” changing the lyrics to Jenny during the second verse.  But he had done it during a commercial break, so there was no way that George could have known about it.  Unless Paul had told him.

“Okay,” he shrugged.  “Maybe I’ve got it wrong.”

“Look,” I said, pointing as the very last bit of the sun sank in the distance. 

“Another beautiful sunset.”

“Yes.  Thank you for sharing it with me George.”

“Sunsets are meant to be shared.  Just like our lives are meant to be shared with other people.  Don’t be afraid to find someone to share it with.”

“Spouting your rhetoric again?”  Eric asked, joining us. 

“Just enjoying the sunset.”

“Ah,” He took a seat beside us.  “It is beautiful one.”

“And a perfect way to end the year,” I chimed in.

“Ring out the old, ring in the new?”  Eric asked.

“Ring out the false, ring in the true,” George echoed.

“Ring out the old, ring in the new,” Eric repeated singing the words again.  And before I knew it, the two of them were singing together, harmonizing as the sun went down over the horizon.

*    *    *

The days flew by on the island and by the time I had to leave, I had developed a golden tan.  Spending time in Hawaii, and with the Harrisons, had refreshed my soul.  I had spent many hours sitting out on the deck talking with George; or rather, listening to him talking to me.  For one who was considered the “quiet” Beatle, George had a lot to say.  He was more philosophical than any man I had ever met and I soaked up his teachings, as my skin soaked up the warm rays of the sun.

But by the 3^rd, I had to head back to the mainland with Eric.  He had business in California and I was hitching a ride with him that far and then getting a commercial flight back to New Jersey.

“Thank you again for having me,” I said, embracing Olivia.

“It was our pleasure,” she assured me. 

“And you will call me when you’re back in the New York area, right?”

“Of course.  We may have to be there later in the month to see the doctor.  I’ll be sure to give you a ring.”

“Good bye, George.”  I gave him a hug.  He was so skinny that I could feel his ribs.

“Have a safe journey, Jenny.”  He kissed me on the cheek.  “May Krishna’s blessings follow you.”

I got in the car and George shut the door behind me.  Waving as we pulled away, I saw Dhani, Olivia and George standing there, the perfect picture of a family.  Silently I said a prayer.  If there could be a miracle, let it be for George.

*   *   *

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Eric asked me as we disembarked from the jet that had taken us from Hawaii to California.

“I’ll be fine.  I’ve plenty of time to get to the gate, although I’ll admit that flying with you has definitely spoiled me.  Being cramped back in coach for five hours isn’t going any fun.”

“I wish I could fly you all the way back.”

“Eric, you’ve done more than enough.  I’m going to be fine.  But I’ll miss your company.”

“And I’ll miss yours.  Are you sure I can’t walk you to the gate?”

“And be mobbed?  I appreciate the offer, but you’ve got a meeting in a couple of hours and I’m not going to tie you up.”

“All right, then,” he said, kissing the top of my head.  “You take care of yourself, Jenny.”

“You too.”

“I’ll call you when I’m in New York.”

“I bet that’s what you say to all the girls,” I teased.

“Maybe, but with you I mean it.  And that I don’t say to all the girls.”  He pulled me to him and gave me a final hug good-bye.  “You’re a very special lady, Jenny.”

“And you’re a very special man.  And a good friend.”

“You remember that.  Call me if you need me.  Any time.”

“And vice versa.”

One final squeeze and we parted ways, Eric off to a car that would whisk him to the heart of Los Angeles and me with rolling suitcase in one hand, to find the check-in area for my final leg back to New Jersey.

*    *    *

As it turned out, I was wrong.  I didn’t have much time at all to reach my flight.  After checking bags and trying to get to get to the gate, the flight was already boarding by the time I reached the area.  The area seemed unusually crowded to me as I pushed my way past people with boarding pass in hand.

As I got closer I could see that the gate area was filled with photographers.  Making my way past them was no easy task.  My constant, “Excuse me, pardon me,” got me nowhere.

“One more photo, Paul!  One more!” 

I heard someone yell out, but I was so intent on getting to that plane, which would take off in less than five minutes, that I figured the hell with it and plunged into the midst of the madness, determined to get on board.  Zig-zagging my way, I suddenly found myself face to face with Paul McCartney.

“Jennifer?”

“Ooops,” I realized that this crowd was taking photos of him and his latest flame, who was standing by his side with a dazzling white smile.  “Sorry, excuse me.”

“Jen,” he said, grabbing my arm as I tried to reach the attendant at the gate, “are you on this flight too?”

“Yes, sorry to have interrupted.  Just ignore me!”  I shouted to the press.

“Paul,” said the leggy blonde at his side, “we only have time for a few more photos before you have to go.”

“Good to see you, Paul,” I said wriggling out his grip and hurrying forward to get on the plane.  As the attendant took my pass, I glanced back to see the blonde pull him close to her and kiss him.  The flashing from the cameras was blinding.

I hurried down the jetway and boarded the plane.  Finding my seat towards the back of the plane, I smiled apologetically, as I squeezed into the center seat of the row, squishing my carry-on bag under the seat in front of me.

I didn’t see Paul board, but knew that he must have as the flight crew announced that the door had been closed and proceeded with their safety spiel.  I’ll admit I didn’t pay much attention to it.  I was wondering what Paul was doing in California.  And who was that girl?

Cut it out, I thought to myself.  I didn’t have a relationship with Paul.  We were friends at best, and one simple kiss a month ago did not a relationship make.  

I pulled a novel out of my bag and opened it up, determined to focus on Diane Mott Davidson and NOT Paul McCartney.

We had only been in flight for 15 minutes or so, when one of the attendants came over to me and handed me a slip of paper.

My seatmates looked at me curiously, but said nothing.

Jennifer,

What a surprise to see you!  What were you doing in California?

If there was any way I could smuggle you up here, I would.  My seatmate is an annoying bore.  All the seats are filled and the stewardess insists that there is nothing she can do.  Things used to be much simpler. 

I am going to be in Manhattan for a week before returning to London.  Would you like to have dinner some night?

Paul

I folded the paper and put it in my book.  Scrounging through my carry on, I came up with a pen.  Having no paper, I tore off a piece of the air sickness bag and thought for a while before I began to write.

Paul,

It was a surprise seeing you too.

Hope you and your family had a wonderful holiday.

I am fine back here in “cattle” class.

Dinner would be lovely.  I don’t return to classes until the middle of January.

Jennifer

I apologized to the woman sitting on my right and crawled over her and out into the aisle.  I made my way to the back of the plane where I saw the attendant who had brought me the note.

“Excuse me, but would you mind giving this to the gentleman who gave you the note you gave to me before?”

She didn’t look too thrilled, but nodded.

Since I was already in the general vicinity, I decided to use the restroom, and when I got out, the attendant was standing there with another note and a pad of paper, obviously from Paul’s office, as it had MPL’s corporate logo on it.  “Here,” she sighed.

I made my way back to my seat, crawled over my seatmate again and once seated opened the note.

Jennifer!  Was that a VOMIT bag that you wrote that note on?  I don’t know whether to be offended or to consider you a genius.  In the spirit of the holidays, I am giving you the gift of notepaper.  Merry Crimble.

P

Paul,

Your generosity knows no bounds.  I will treasure the paper as long as I live (or until the pad runs out which will be before we land at the rate we’re going).  The attendant is going to kill me for asking her to deliver this to you, but since I know better than to “cross the class line” she’s going to have to deal with it.

Jennifer

J,

No need to fear the wrath of Dana (you need to take the time to learn names, my dear), a photo, an autograph and of course, a little cold hard cash goes a long way.  Write away with no fears.  This correspondence is my excuse for not talking to my seatmate, who thankfully has fallen asleep, but is starting to drool my way.

P

Paul,

I’m never going to finish my novel if you keep this up.  Or maybe I should make that start my novel – I haven’t gotten past page 10.  I’m sending you this pocket pack of tissues to save you from the dreaded drool.

Jennifer

Jen,

Many thanks for the tissues.  I am sure they will come to good use.

Paul

Paul,

My pleasure. Most of cattle class is becoming quite intrigued by our note passing.  Perhaps this isn’t such a good idea.

Jennifer

Jen,

I’m tempted to say “sod it”, but I have a recurring nightmare of being trapped on a long flight with a horde of out of control fans.  Go back to your novel and I’ll “see” you when we land.  Next time we’ll have to get seats together.  I haven’t written so many notes since I was 11 and had a crush on Mary Watkins.

Paul

Sadly, the rest of the flight was quiet and long.  I sped through my book, ate a stale sandwich and tried to sleep a bit.  Mostly I kept looking at my watch and counting down the minutes until we would land.

After what seemed like an eternity, the pilot announced that we were starting our decent into Newark.  And Dana appeared with one last note.

Jennifer,

Do you need a ride home? There will be a car waiting for me when we land and we can certainly take a detour to Maplewood for you.

Paul

Paul,

Thanks for the offer, but a car service will be picking me up too.

Jennifer

J,

Any time.

I will call you tomorrow to set up a day/time for dinner.

Truly wish you could have been up here with me.  This has been the flight from hell – or maybe you noticed from my handwriting that I’m getting a cramp from all the “Paul McCartneys” I’ve been signing on cocktail napkins.

Love,

Paul

Being in the back of the plane, I was one of the last ones off when the plane finally landed.  I thought Paul would be long gone by then, so I was surprised when Dana grabbed my arm as I was leaving and brought me behind the still closed curtain that separated the classes.

“Hello Jen.”

“I thought you’d be long gone.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to wait, gives my driver enough time to grab my luggage and then I can make the mad dash to the car.”

“Sounds like you’ve got this to down to a science.”

“Sometimes.  Listen I know I said I’d call you, but I was wondering if next Wednesday night would be all right for you.”

“Sure.  I really don’t have any plans before I go back to school.”

“Great.  Umm…Jen…I know that well…over the past couple of months we haven’t been on the best of terms always…and I was hoping that we could put all that behind us.”

“Sure,” I replied, although I was not sure at all.

“Great.  New Year, new start and all that right?”

“Right.”

“Great.”  He pulled me into his arms and kissed me.

Once again my head was spinning.   Like the first time he kissed me, my knees started to shake and my body started to tingle.  His kiss made me feel things that I had thought long dead.

“All right, then,” he said as he broke the kiss.  “You go on now.  You won’t mind if I call you later to make sure you got home safely.”

“I’d like that,” I said, very aware that my face was a deep shade of red.

“Good.  I’ll talk to you later.”

“Right,” I said taking a deep breath and heading down the ramp way that lead to the terminal.

This was certainly going to be an interesting new year.

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