The first thing I did the next morning when I woke up was to call my mother.  She didn’t berate me for not calling her sooner, which was one of the reasons why I loved her.  She was anxious to hear about all that had transpired since I had arrived.  I gave her a quick run down, leaving out the more negative bits and pieces.  The conversation was short.  I told her I was expecting Patti Harrison soon and she was duly impressed that I would be spending the day with George’s wife.

I barely had enough time to shower and change into jeans and a sweater before Patti arrived.  Although she was dressed casually and wore very little make up, it was obvious that she was a model.  It was in the way she carried herself.  She was even more beautiful in person than she was in the photos that I had seen.  More importantly, she was down to earth.  She immediately took me under her wing.  Once again I was relieved to have an instant friend.

We drove around London to various little shops and boutiques.  She had a way of finding the perfect blouses, skirts, slacks, shoes – you name it.  And she knew how to get the best price too.  When I told her how bewildered I was about my financial status, she gave me a quick lesson in British currency and I learned that Neil had give me over a hundred dollars in spending money!  At first, when I learned how much I had, I was ready to go and spend, spend, spend!  But then my conservative nature kicked in and I thought better of it.  Yes, Neil had given me quite a bit of money, but I didn’t know how often I would get paid and I still needed to buy groceries.  But with Patti’s help I managed to pick up three blouses, two sweaters, two pairs of slacks,  two mini-skirts, a dress and a pair of boots.  Patti even introduced me to this neat little machine that dried your hair in minutes!  No more sitting under a hair dryer!  The hot air that the machine blew out did it all! And after all of that, I still had half of the money Neil had given me in my purse.

We were so busy shopping that we didn’t stop for a lunch break until nearly 2:30.  Over soup and sandwiches we shared our histories. I was fascinated with her stories of life with the Beatles and the trials she had gone through, first as a Beatle girlfriend and now as a wife.

“So I suppose what’s happened to me really isn’t all that bad,” I said.

“Compared to some of the things that have gone on over the years, no, I suppose not.  I think one of the worst things was when Cyn missed the train.  We were all going up to see the Marharishi, running late for the train and Cyn got caught in the crowd.  I think some security guy held her back, he must have thought she was a fan or something.  So it’s quite ironic that just shortly after that John and Cynthia separated. It’s always been my fear that I’ll get left behind.  So far I’ve been lucky.”

“I still keep hoping that this will all blow over.”

“It will, eventually,” Patti promised.  “Nobody much cares about me any more.  They’re just on you because it’s Paul.  He’s still the eligible one.  Everyone wants to know what’s going on in Prince Charming’s love life.”

“Well don’t ask me, because I don’t have a clue,” I laughed.

“I don’t think Paul does either.  Since he broke up with Jane it’s been a sort of mish mash of women.  I haven’t gotten close to any of them.  I was at least friendly with Jane.  This new one that’s living with him I don’t know anything about.  And it’s not like the two of them are out and about. No one’s quite as social as they used to be.”

“And why is that?” I asked curiously.

Patti looked a bit uneasy. “Things are changing.  The guys are going through some difficulties.  Ever since Brians died.  He might not have been the world’s best manager, but he did manage to keep things together.  Now everyone’s going in different directions.  Different interests. But I suppose everything’s got to run its course.  No one expected the Beatles to last forever.”

“Are you telling me that the Beatles are breaking up?”

“Sshh.” She looked around to make sure that no one had heard us. “I’m not saying that at all.  Although it’s bound to happen sometime.  It’s just that the focus has changed.  George’s interested in Eastern philosophies and music. So am I.  Ringo is exploring movies.  John’s never separated from that Yoko woman.  People grow and change.  That can cause stress among the best of friends.”

“From the little that I’ve been exposed to, even I can tell there’s a lot of stress.  And apparently my appearance on the scene hasn’t made it any easier.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that.  You’ve just got to realize that everything happens for a reason.”

“Yeah, right,” I replied sarcastically.  “And the reason I happened along was to break up the Beatles?  Or at least screw up Paul McCartney’s life?”

“Andrea, this negative attitude is only going to make things worse.  Come on, let’s get back to your flat and I’ll teach you a little bit about meditation.  I’ve got a great book in the car that will help you out too.”

“Okay.  Just one more thing.  Do you mind stopping at a grocery?  I have absolutely no food in the apartment.”

“Sure.  Give the stomach a chance to digest before we get into the meditation bit.”

I paid the bill, over Patti’s protests, and we headed out again.  Patti found a little grocery shop not too far from Apple.  I filled a basket full of food that would keep me going for at least a week.  Now I felt truly independent – I would no longer have to rely on others for meals.

We returned to my apartment, arms loaded.  She helped me unpack my groceries and then we sat cross-legged on the floor as she reviewed the basics of meditation.  It did seem to me that it would help to clear my head if I stuck to it.  My only problem was that my mind kept wandering.  But Patti promised that with time, I would get it down.

She didn’t leave until nearly six in the evening.  We had a wonderful afternoon together, but I was beginning to feel guilty about keeping her away from George so long.  She tried to get me to go out to dinner with them, but I didn’t want to impose.  I finally convinced her that I was still tired from all my traveling.

I crawled into bed early.  I fully intended to get up early and find a nearby church where I could attend services.  A little spiritual uplift was definitely something that I could use.

***

I awoke to the sound of the phone ringing.  Looking at the clock on the bedside table, I saw that it was nearly ten in the morning.  So much for my good intentions to attend church services.  I stumbled out of bed and headed towards the phone.

“Hello?” I croaked, still only half awake.

“Andrea, its Neil.  We’ve got a little situation on our hands here.  Have you seen the morning paper yet?”

“No,” I said, suddenly wide awake.  By the tone of his voice, I knew that this “little situation” meant big trouble.

“All right.  I’ll be over in about twenty minutes.  I’ve already phoned Alistair, Derek and Mal.  They should be there within the hour. And of course, Paul.  He will probably get there before I do.  We can meet in the second floor conference room.  We’ll need lots of coffee and tea.  I’ll pop into the bakery and pick up something there, if anyone feels like eating.”

“Neil, what is going on?”

“You and Paul are in the papers again today.  It appears that someone from Apple is the source of the story.  Needless to say, Paul is not very happy with the situation.”

My head was spinning.  Another newspaper story?  Who at Apple could have been involved with such a thing?  “Neil, I swear, I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“I know you didn’t, Andrea.  We all know you didn’t.  Look, I’ll be there as soon as possible.  If you could just start brewing the tea and coffee...”

“Of course.”

I hung up the phone and rushed to get dressed.  I didn’t bother with hair or make-up.  I just pulled my hair back in a ponytail and ran down the stairs to the kitchenette.  I started the coffee and began to gather up cups to bring to the conference room.

I was arranging things as best I could when there was a loud thud behind me.  I shrieked and whirled around.  Paul was standing there.  He had thrown the Sunday paper onto the conference room table.

“You scared me.”

“If you want to be really scared, take a look at page two.”

I walked over to the table, picked up the paper and opened it.  There was a photo of Paul and myself from the other night.  Whoever had taken it had snapped it just as he had kissed me on the cheek.  The headline screamed out, “McCartney & The Ugly American:  Lovers That Never Were?”  I sat down in a chair and began to read:

After months of denial, The Mirror, has finally obtained conclusive photographic proof that Paul McCartney and American Andrea Bakker are an item. A  photographer from The Mirror caught this intimate moment last Thursday night just outside the offices of Apple, where Miss Bakker is rumored to be living.

 Paul had his sweetie flown over from America earlier this week and settled her into a cozy flat housed within the Apple building. Paul’s own hideaway in St. John’s Wood is still home to his otherAmerican  paramour, Francine Schwartz, but it appears that Miss Baker now has the upper hand.  Not only has Paul moved her across the Atlantic, he’s also made sure that she has gainful employment, as the assistant to  Apple manager and former Beatle roadie, Neil Aspinall. The word is that Miss Bakker won’t be working at Apple for long – as soon as Miss Schwartz is out, Miss Bakker will be quitting her job at Apple and moving into the St. John’s Wood house to work full time as Paul’s wife!  Christmas nuptials are already in the works.

Miss Bakker’s move from the Apple offices can’t come soon enough for the rest of the staff, who have been complaining from day one about her preferential treatment.  ‘She’s totally incompetent,’ says one staff member, who for obvious reasons chose to remain anonymous for this interview. ‘Her skills are so minimal that all she can do is spend day after day sorting clippings.  Of course that’s when she’s not taking three-hour lunches with the artists who are recording on the Apple label.  The one thing she is good at is socializing with those whom she thinks will further her so-called career.  And she’s done her best to twist the Apple management around her finger.’

Another staff member concurred, but continued to dispel the romance rumors, saying, ‘She just got a lucky break, though how I don’t know. Her looks couldn’t catch a dog.  But she must be doing something right or have a talent somewhere. I’ve heard that she’s  sleeping with Mal (Evans) and Neil (Aspinall), but she’s not sleeping with Paul.  He can’t stand her.  He’s the only oneof the higher-ups who has caught on to her tricks. He had it out with her and Mal the night she arrived.  Everyone knows that he’s going to send her packing soon.  Who can blame him for wanting to get rid of the little tramp?  and now that she’s lost Paul, she’s aiming for George.  What kind of woman does that?’

I couldn’t read any more.  My stomach was churning, my head pounding and I could feel myself starting to shake.  Hot, angry tears began to well in my eyes.  The walls of the room seemed to be closing in on me, making it difficult to take a deep breath.  I felt like I was trapped in a horrible nightmare that I had no way of waking up from.  At that moment, it seemed as if my life was shattering right in front of my eyes and I didn’t know what to do.  In frustration, I dropped the paper on the table and fled.

I pushed past Paul, who was still standing near the doorway.  I ran down the stairs, nearly tripping Neil, who was making his way upstairs with a box of pastries.  I could hear him yell, “Andrea, wait!” as I threw open the front door, but there was no stopping me.

I was not prepared for the gathering of fans waiting outside.  In the few days that I had been there, all had been quiet.  But today there was a small group that had obviously seen the Sunday paper. A few were carrying signs that said “Yankee Go Home!” and “No Worms Allowed At Apple.” When they saw me, they began to shout.  I could barely make out the words as I forced my way past them and ran down the street.  When I looked back, a few had started to follow me, but most hung back.  I ran faster, not caring where I was going.  I needed to get away.

I kept going until I was completely out of breath.  I came to a sudden halt, panting, and looked around..  There was no one following me.  I bent over, put my hands on my knees, and tried to suck in air. My legs were cramping and I knew that it was stupid to run for such a distance and then just stop.  I forced myself to walk slowly, but I had no idea where I was.  I didn’t even know the way back.  And I didn’t want to go back.  I wanted to go home, back to the States.  As childish as I knew it was, I just wanted the comfort of my old room at home.  I wanted to hide away from the world until this mess blew over.  I knew it would be a strain on my mother, but I didn’t know what else to do.

I continued walking until I finally came across a park.  I went in and found a bench under a tree in a relatively secluded spot.  I sat there and tried to work out a plan.  If I could, I would stay there until dusk.  I had no watch, but once the sun was nearly down I figured that most of the girls would go home.  I had no money with me, but hopefully I would be able to find a cab with a sympathetic driver to take me to Apple and wait while I ran upstairs to get my purse. Tomorrow morning I would make arrangements to fly back to the United States, and call my mother and let her know that I would be moving back in.  What would happen after that, I didn’t know.  But I did know that I couldn’t stay here any more.

I sat there, trying to hide from the world.  I watched the birds.  I watched people walking by, and if anyone got too close, I would shift to the left so that they couldn’t see my face.  Thankfully, they left me alone.

The warm sunshine and the quietness of the day must have lulled me to sleep.  I woke up suddenly with a stiff neck and cramped legs.  The sun had moved across the sky and I knew that I had been asleep for at least an hour, if not more.  I stood and stretched. Every muscle was sore.  I ached from head to toe and wished that I could climb into a hot tub and wash my troubles away.

I sat back down and closed my eyes again. I tried to remember some of the relaxation techniques that Patti had talked about the day before, trying to free my mind and let the physical world around me drift away.

It must have worked because I didn’t even hear him come up along side me until he spoke. “Andrea.”

My eyes flew open.  Paul stood there.  There seemed to be a look of concern in his eyes.

“Paul,” I said softly.

He sat down next to me.  “We’ve been looking for you.”

I nodded.  “I wish you hadn’t.”

“We’ve been worried.”

“I’m fine,” I began.  “I think it’s best if you leave now.  It’s not a good idea for you to be seen with me.  I’ll get a ride back after the sun goes down.”

“How are you going to get a ride?  Do you know where you are?  Do you have any money?”

“Someone will take pity on me.  Do you think the crowd will be gone by sun down?”

“There’s no one there now.  Why don’t you come back with me?”

I felt the tears starting up again.  I didn’t want to lose control again.  I shook my head.  “I don’t think we should be seen together.”

“Andrea, this really isn’t necessary.”  He took my hand.

I pulled away.  “Don’t.  We don’t know who might be watching.  I’ve caused enough trouble as it is.  It’s not fair to you.  It’s certainly not fair to me.  I’ve decided to go home.  I’ll make arrangements tomorrow. I’ll take the first available flight.”

“That’s not going to work, Andrea.”

“It’s got to work.  It’s the only solution I can think of.  I’ll move back in with my mother.  I won’t work for a while.  I’ll stay low.  Everyone will forget about me.”

“Andrea, that’s no solution.”

“It’s the only solution I have.  I’m sorry about this mess, Paul.”

He took my hands, this time holding them tightly so that I couldn’t pull away.  “This isn’t your fault.  I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“Sorry about what?”  Despite my best attempts to keep from crying, tears were rolling down my cheeks now.  “It’s my fault.  I lied about having a boyfriend.  I misled people.  And in the process, I screwed up your life as well as mine.”

“Oh, Andrea,” he said softly.  He released my hands and put his arms around me, holding me close as I cried.  “Don’t blame yourself.  It’s not your fault.  This ‘thing’ just happened.  And I’m sorry for what they printed in the paper.”

He held me and let me cry for a bit, rocking me back and forth a little in an effort to calm me.

After a few minutes I managed to get ahold of myself.  I pulled away and took a deep breath.  “Okay, so what do I do now?  What would you like me to do?”

“Well, I could give you a big engagement ring and we could get married at Christmas, just like the paper said.”

I tried to laugh, but what came out was more of a snort.

“Oh, come on,” he said.  ”Don’t you want to marry me?  Be the envy of millions of girls all around the world?”

I sniffed.  “I already am the envy of millions of girls around the world.”

“Not easy to live up to someone’s fantasy is it?”

“Nightmare is more like it. Why don’t you tell me what you’d like me to do.”

“It’s not what I want.  It’s what you want.  What we both want and what will work for both of us.”

“All right.  What do you think that might be?”

“I’d like you to stay.  Neil would like you to stay.  Mal would like you to stay.  Alistair would like you to stay.  Mary would like you to stay.  George and Patti would like you to stay.”

“And what about Pete Ham?” I joked.

“You mean the guy you’ve been seeing on the sly?  The Sun picked that one up.”

“Oh God, no!  Pete’s got a girlfriend.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand.  Everyone would like you to stay.”

“Oh, believe me, not everyone would like me to stay.”

“The people who count would like you to stay.  Particularly me.”

“You?”

“Yes, me.  I’ve admitted that I misjudged you in the beginning.  And I’ve apologized for it.  I’ve also come to realize that you’re an extraordinary woman.  You’ve been under an incredible amount of pressure and the way you’ve carried yourself through it is pretty amazing.  No wonder the papers linked the two of us together.  You’re the kind of woman that I’ve wanted to get to know, but until now, haven’t.  Stay here and let me get to know you.”

How could I say no to those deep brown eyes?  “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“I’m sure.  Do you think you’re up to it? I’ll do my best to make it a little easier on you.”

“I’d like to stay.  You’re absolutely positive this is what you want?”

He smiled.  “Positive.”  and then he leaned over and he kissed me.

I’ll never forget that kiss.  I’d been kissed before, though not within the past several months.  But I’d never felt anything like the way that kiss made me feel.  It was like a sudden bolt of lightening struck every nerve in my body and I tingled from the top of my head down to my toes. I didn’t know that a single kiss could do that. Suddenly it didn’t matter that a crowd had called me a whore.  Or that I’d been called a tramp in the Sunday paper.  I didn’t matter what anyone thought. At that moment I didn’t care about anything else.  And at that moment, I knew that despite everything, I was staying in London.

He broke the kiss and took my hand again.  "Come on.  Let's get you back to your flat."

***

It took a good twenty minutes to get back to Apple in Paul’s car.  I hadn’t realized how far I had actually gone.  Now I knew why my legs were aching.  I was relieved not to see any fans waiting outside when we pulled up.  Paul jumped out of the car and opened the door for me before I even had a chance to put my hand on the handle.  Ever the gentleman, he offered his hand to help me out of the car.  Then he firmly closed the door, and putting his arm around me, escorted me inside.  Once in the hallway, with the front door closed behind us he called out, “We’re back!”

Mal came bounding down the stairs first, closely followed by Neil.  “Andrea, thank God you’re all right.”  He grabbed me and hugged me.

“I’m fine Mal.  I’m sorry that I ran off like I did.  I hope I didn’t worry you.”

“Just a little,” replied Neil.  “You are okay, aren’t you?”

“Physically, a little sore.  Emotionally, still a little beaten up, but I’ll survive.”

“Andrea,” Mal began.  “I’m very sorry about what happened.  We had no idea that anyone was talking to the papers.”

“Needless to say,” Neil chimed in, “the persons involved will be terminated tomorrow morning.”

“I take it you’ve figured out who’s behind it,” Paul said.

“It’s been taken care of,” Neil assured him.

“Derek drafted a press release,” Mal began.

“Let’s just let it lie for a bit, shall we?” Paul suggested.  “I’m taking Andrea upstairs.  I think she needs a hot shower.  I doubt if she’s eaten all day and I know I’m starving, so if one of you would be good enough to pick up some dinner…”

“I’ll go,” Mal instantly volunteered.

“Great.  Neil, go home.” Paul said shortly.

“Paul…” Neil began.

“Neil, go home. It’s almost six, you’ve spent the whole day here.  Go home and be with your bride.  And Mal, after you’ve picked up the food, you do the same.  I’d go myself, but someone here has to take care of Andrea.”

“I can take care of myself,” I protested.

“I know you can,” Paul replied putting his arm around me again, “but tonight it’s my job.”

Neil raised an eyebrow.  “Am I to assume that...”

“Assuming is what got us into this mess.”

“Well,” said Mal.  “I think I’ll be on my way, since the two of you must be really hungry.”  He gave me a peck on the cheek and whispered in my ear, “I told you it was going to be all right.”

Neil stood there indecisively for a minute more.

“Neil, why don’t you go home?” I suggested.  “You’ve had a long day.”

“So have you.  Are you sure you’re going to be all right?”

“In Paul’s capable hands, I’m sure I’ll be just fine.”

“All right, then,” he said, giving me a smile.  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”  He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving as well.  He was halfway out the door before he turned back and said, “You take good care of her, Paul.”

“I will,” he replied solemnly. Once Neil was gone, he turned to me.  “Okay you.  Upstairs.  Out of those dirty clothes and into a hot shower.  I’ll wait down here for Mal to get back and by the time you’re finished, dinner will be served.”

“Whatever you say.  You’re the one taking care of me tonight.”

“Yes, I am.”  He kissed me on the cheek and then patted me on the backside.  “Now, go upstairs.”

I wearily climbed up the two flights of stairs, my legs protesting with each step.  I mentally cursed myself for running so far and for so long.  Inside the apartment, I quickly shed my clothes while I waited for the water to warm.  I stood under the hot spray and tried to knead the stiffness out of my calves.  It was no use.  I stayed in for as long as I dared.  I had no idea how long it would take Mal to get the food, but knowing his efficiency, it wouldn’t take long.

I reluctantly turned off the tap, wrapped a towel around me and stepped out.  The bathroom was full of steam. Without the aid of a mirror, I combed out my wet hair.  With the towel still carefully wrapped around me, I opened the door and headed for my bedroom to find something to change into.

“It’s about time,” Paul called out. “I was beginning to think you might have drowned.”

“Sorry.”

“Dinner’s here.  You can go change, but a towel’s perfectly acceptable attire if you’d rather.”  He gave me a devilish grin.

“I don’t remember reading that in the etiquette book, so I’ll change.  I promise not to take long.”

“Don’t, ‘cause this food looks delicious.”

The smell was making my mouth water.  “Is that spaghetti?”

“It is.  From one of the best restaurants in the city.”

My stomach growled.  “I’ll be right out.”  I ran into the bedroom.  What to wear?  I pulled out a sweatshirt and an old pair of jeans.  If Paul was going to get to know me, he might as well get to know the “real” me.  I didn’t even bother with a bra or shoes.  When I entered the kitchenette, Paul was just uncorking a bottle of wine.

“You seem to know the way around my kitchen better than I do,” I observed.

“I do,” he replied.  “After all I’ve been around here longer than you.  Have a seat.”

I plopped down and hungrily observed the food on the table.  Aside from the spaghetti there was a tossed salad and hot rolls.  I could hardly wait to dig in.

Paul put a glass of wine in front of me and poured a glass for himself.  “I’d like to propose a toast.”

“Is it a quick one?  I’m starving.”

“I’ll make it quick,” he promised.  He raised his glass dramatically.  “Here’s to getting to know each other.”

I clinked my glass to his and took a sip.

“Now,” he said, sitting down, “let’s eat.  I’m going to be honest with you, though.  While you were in the shower, I had a roll.  They’re delicious.”

I quickly grabbed one and bit into it.  He was right.  I took some salad and put it on plate.  For the next few minutes the room was quiet except for the sound of the two of us eagerly eating the delicious food that Mal had brought back.

With his plate and glass nearly empty, Paul poured himself some more wine.  “So Andrea, tell me about yourself.”

“What’s there to know?  You’ve had me researched.”

“Yeah,” he said with a sheepish grin.  “It had to be done, you understand.”

“I understand, but you probably know more about me than I do.”

“Naw, I just know what’s written on pieces of paper.  I want your life history in your own words.”

I rolled my eyes.  “All right.   Let’s see,  I was born a little over 22 years ago in Boston, Massachusetts.  My father was a professor of history at Boston University, so we lived in the city during the school year and rented a house on Cape Cod for most of the summer.  Dad was writing a book, or so my mom told me.  I don’t remember much about that.  What I do remember is how much I loved it there.  Even though I was only a little girl, I can still remember those summers.  I suppose it’s something about the sun, the sand and the ocean that appeals to kids.  We used to build the best sand castles.   Anyway, when I was five my father died and my mother and I went to live with her parents in Brewster, New York.  Mom took care of her parents and worked at the library to make ends meet.  She did a darned good job, if I do say so myself.  Although I didn’t realize it then, it wasn’t an easy task. I graduated high school and went to college in a little rural town in Pennsylvania that no one’s ever heard of.  Worked part time in Dolan’s department store while I went to school.  Worked there full time once I graduated and that’s where the rumor started.  Did I tell you anything you didn’t know?”

“A little,” he said honestly.  “I liked the bit about the beach.  That’s what I really want to know.  All about you, not just facts about your life.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, I dunno.”  He thought for a moment.  “You’ve lived in three different states, which did you like best?”

“I did like Pennsylvania the best, before the Beatle blow up.  Lewisburg is a quiet little college town and I liked that. In the end, that changed and I wasn’t too thrilled about that. Of course my favorite place was really Harwichport.  That’s the town on the Cape where we used to stay.  Childhood memories and all that.”

“See, that’s what I want to know.  The inner workings of you.”

“How about the inner workings of you?” I asked.

“You know my history.”

“I only know what I’ve read,” I teased.  “Give it to me in your own words.  Let me know your inner workings.”

“Using my own words against me.  What kind of woman are you?”

“Just read the papers and find out.”

“No,” he said taking my hand.  “The papers are wrong.  The fans are wrong.”

Again I gazed into those deep brown eyes.  “That really means a lot to me, Paul.  Now, tell me about you.  The real story.”

“The real story...well my brother and I grew up in a very loving household.  My mum died when I was a teen and that was really rough.  Dad did his best to take over all the duties.  Didn’t always work though, but the poor man tried.  And it wasn’t easy with the two of us. I think you can relate to that.  Didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life.  Thought I might be a teacher, but got involved with this music business and, voila!  Here I am.  The rich and famous Paul McCartney.”

“The much adored Paul McCartney.”

“Yeah, well, that goes along with the rich and famous.   You think those birds would be hanging out at my front gate if I were an English professor?”

I smiled.  “They might.  You’re not a bad-looking guy.”  What was I saying?  Was I really flirting with Paul McCartney?

“Gee, thanks.  And I even do dishes.  That is, if you’re finished.”

I looked down at my plate.  I had pretty much cleaned it.  “Ooops, not very ladylike, am I?”

“I like a woman with an appetite.”  He stood and took some dishes off the table.  I did the same.  Soon the two of us were standing side by side washing the dinner dishes.  It was a little surreal.  Here I was with Paul McCartney, and we were doing dishes!  Hardly glamorous, but somehow comfortable.  I felt more at ease at that moment than I had since I’d met him.

When we finished the dishes, we headed into the living room and sat down on the sofa and talked.  He wanted to know more about my writing.  I wanted to know more about his music.  I told him how I’d been keeping notebooks since I was in fifth grade – a diary and then some; full of bad stories.  He told me how he’d done the same; a notebook full of scribblings.  He admitted to going back to them and using them sometimes for song fodder.  I confessed that as bad as some of my writings were, I just couldn’t get rid of them.  I would die if someone picked one up and read it, but I occasionally went through them and re-read my dreams of child and teen years.

Before we knew it, the evening slipped by.  I yawned and Paul looked down at his watch.

“It’s after eleven.  I should be going, you’ve got work tomorrow.”

“Yes,” I said sorrowfully.  “To be honest, I wish I didn’t.  It’s not that I don’t like the work. I do.   I love Neil and Mal.  And Alistair seems nice enough.  But some of the others...well it’s going to be worse now that I’ve hit the papers.  And someone’s going to lose his job because of it.  That’s not going to make me any more popular.”

“You don’t have to work at Apple if you don’t want to,” Paul said sincerely.

“I want to work.  Besides, it wouldn’t matter where I worked, would it?  I’d still be that horrible American that’s using you.  When this started out, my life was disrupted and I didn’t think it could get any worse.  But now that the throngs hate me...” I sighed.

“They don’t hate you.”

“Of course they do, Paul.  I’d hate me too, if I read the papers.  I’m sorry, I’m bitching too much here.  I appreciate all you’ve done for me.  I’ll get through this.”

“I know you will,” he said, giving me a hug.  “You give me a call if it gets too rough though, okay?”

“Sure.”

“That was not very convincing.”  He stood up and went to the kitchen to find a pen and a piece of paper.  He scribbled something down and then handed it to me.  “Here’s my home number, and the number at the studio..  You call me if you need to, okay?  I mean it.”

“I promise, but I’m going to be fine.”

“I know you are.”  He kissed me.  “You get some sleep and I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Right,” I said as soon as I caught my breath.

"Good night, Andrea."  He kissed me again.  And then he was gone.

***

The next few days were not as bad as I thought they might be.  Of course, I kept myself pretty much isolated from everyone.  I worked in my office with the door three-quarters shut, and ventured out as infrequently as possible.  Neil and Alistair kept me busy with various projects. I think they purposely handed me tasks that didn’t require any contact with the rest of the office staff. Mal would come by when he could to see that I was all right and to make small talk. Neil and Alistair made a habit of stopping in to check on me a couple of times a day.  Alistair even brought in lunch for me a couple of times, so I wouldn’t have to go out.  When I thanked him, he admitted that there were still groups of girls outside, though he assured me it was nothing like the ugly scene on Sunday.  He tried to avoid that type of conversation, instead reminiscing about the early days of the Beatles.  He told great stories of working with Brian Epstein and the band’s early ventures. The tales he told me made me appreciate the group and their phenomenal success even more.

I didn’t see or hear from Paul until late Friday afternoon.  I was in the middle of some paperwork when he suddenly popped his head into my office.

“Afternoon.”

Engrossed in what I was doing, I gave a little start.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, coming in and shutting the door behind him.

“I didn’t hear you.  You surprised me.”

“A pleasant surprise, I trust.”

“Always.” I smiled at him.  “Having a good week?”

“It’s had its ups and downs.  Trying to finish up on the album.  Put down some tracks for a new song I wrote earlier this week.  I trust everything’s been going all right by you.  You didn’t call.”

“Everything’s been okay.  Neil and Alistair have been watching over me.  I’m trying to grow a thicker skin, but...”

He sat down on my desk.  “I’m glad to see that you’re doing okay.  So what are your plans for this weekend?”

“Don’t have any.  I hadn’t even thought of it.”

“How would you like to go to Scotland with me?”

“Scotland?”

“Yeah.  I have a bit of land up there.  Isolated from the rest of the world.  Not very glamorous, but very peaceful.”

“Does it have indoor plumbing?” I joked.

“Barely,” he confessed.  “It could use a little work.  I just haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Ah, so you’re looking for someone to help you out with the ‘little work,’” I teased.  “I guess you’ve been told of my many skills in the indoor plumbing field.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I was teasing.  But I do have plenty of experience with plungers and have snaked out more than one tub in my life.”

“Wow, I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be.  I wish I didn’t have the experience.  It can be nasty work and I have all the respect in the world for plumbers.  If I could have afforded one at the time, believe me, I wouldn’t have gotten the experience.”

“So do you want to go?”

“Really?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t mean it.”

“Is this all part of the ‘getting to know you better’ scheme?”

“It might be.”

“Okay, then.  When do we go?”

“How long will it take you to pack?”

“I don’t know. What do I need?”

“Clothes.”

I rolled my eyes.  “Thank you so much, Mr. McCartney, for that amazing insight.”

“You don’t want to bring clothes?” he asked innocently.  “I’m all for seeing you naked.”

I could feel myself turning red.  “Believe me,” I joked, “it’s not all that a pleasant a sight.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” he replied seductively, reaching out and stroking my cheek.

My face was getting hotter by the second.  “What kind of clothes do I need to bring?” I asked, trying to get the conversation back on track..

“Warm.  It tends to get pretty cold up there.  It’s also rainy.”

“Warm, waterproof clothes.  I must have something that would fit the bill.”

“Can you be ready in ten minutes?”

“Ten minutes!?”

“Fifteen?”

“I suppose you didn’t notice, but I was working before you came in.”

“I got the teacher’s approval to let you out of class early.”

“You did, did you?”

“Yup, Neil’s all for a weekend retreat for you and me.”

“He is, is he?”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes.  “Andrea, I, Beatle Paul McCartney, am asking you to go with me to Scotland.  Most girls would jump at the chance.  Why aren’t you upstairs packing yet?”

I decided to be coy.  “Wel,l Mr. McCartney, as you should know, I’m not most girls But if you’ll give me five minutes to clean up here and fifteen more to go upstairs to pack God knows what for Scotland, I’ll then be ready for our trek.”

He stood up.  “Twenty minutes then.  I’ll meet you upstairs in your apartment.”

When he left, I tried to finish up what I had been working on, but I couldn’t concentrate.  Instead I cleaned up my desk as best I could and headed upstairs.  I dug around in my closet for the warmest clothes I could find.  If Paul said this getaway could use a little work and wasn’t glamorous, I figured I could go as casual as possible.  I threw two pairs of jeans, some turtlenecks and some sweaters in my bag.  I changed into slacks and a sweater as well.  I tried to gather up as many of my personal necessities as I could and cram it all into one bag. I was doing battle with the bag’s zipper when there was a knock on the door, and then Paul poked his head in.

“You ready?” he asked, glancing at my bag.

“I guess so.  You really don’t give a girl much time.”

“I’ll try to give you more warning next time.”

“If I make it through this time,” I joked. “This rustic living just might do me in.”

“If you can survive the wrath of the fans, you can survive the wilds of Scotland.”

“Actually the wilds of anything is preferable to the wrath of your fans.”

“They’re really not that bad you know, it’s just that...”

“Paul you don’t have to explain it.  I’m a fan too.  I told you, I’d feel the same way if I was on the outside looking in.”

“It’ll get better, I promise.  As a matter of fact, I was going to go out front and make nice.  Neil will take you out the back way and we’ll meet up in a couple of miles.”

“Did I hear my name?” Neil asked, mysteriously appearing.

“You did, sir,” Paul confirmed.  “I’m on my way out now.  Andrea, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”  He kissed me on the cheek and ran down the stairs.

“So,” said Neil, picking up my bag, “you’re headed up to Scotland.”

“I guess so.  Are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”

He shrugged.  “Paul goes up there when he wants a little peace and quiet.  I guess this time he wants some peace, quiet and companionship.”

“There’s more to it, Neil, I know it.”

He sighed and put down my bag.  “It’s the press, Andrea.  They’ve been all over him.  They’d be all over you too, but I’ve been keeping them from you.  I don’t know what to do any more.  I thought it would blow over, things have in the past, but this time...you’d think there was nothing else going on in the world.  Why don’t they go cover the damned war in Vietnam, the civil right atrocities in America, or something?  Who Paul McCartney’s dating is not earth-shattering news.”

“Neil, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Andrea.  It’s not Paul’s fault either.  I wish I knew who to blame, because I’d wring their bloody necks!”  He was quiet for a moment.  “Things just haven’t been that good.  It’s not just this thing.  There’s some problems within the group. Everything’s just coming to a head at once.  Paul just wants to get away from it.  And he wants to take you with him.  That’s the truth.”

“Okay then,” I said taking a deep breath.  “If that’s what the man wants. I just wish there were some way to make this...”

“Easier?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve learned there is no such thing as easy.  Just try and have a good time and forget about what’s going on here.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Come on, then.”  We headed downstairs and out the back way.  Neil had his car parked so that it was hidden from the front of the building.  I took my bag from him and got in, putting my case on my lap.  I figured that this way, I could just jump out of one car and into the other without much fuss.  Neil didn’t drive very far, only about a mile or so.  He pulled onto a side street and parked behind a blue sports car.

“This is it. Paul’s waiting for you.”

“In that little car?”

He laughed.  “That little car cost...well, a lot of money.  I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Sure.  Thanks for the ride.”  I got out and walked up to the other car.  Sure enough, Paul was sitting behind the wheel, waiting.  I opened the door and got in.  “Hello, stranger.”

“Hello, luv.”  He kissed me on the cheek once again.  “Do you want to put your bag in the boot?”

“Sure,” I said taking a key from his hand and getting out of the car.  I unlocked the trunk and put my bag in the tiny space.  There wasn’t much room to start with, but Paul had filled it with his own bag, two bags of groceries and a guitar case.  Seeing the guitar case made me realize that I really was going away for the weekend with a Beatle.  He hadn’t been Beatle Paul to me when I had gotten in the car, but just seeing the case brought on overwhelming thought of spending time with an actual Beatle. I stood there for a moment before I came to my senses and climbed back into the car.

“Did I leave you enough room?”

“You’ve got that trunk packed.  But I don’t think you bought this car for its trunk space.”

“Definitely not.  But wait till you see how she flies on the road.”  And with that he pulled away from the curb.

It didn’t take long to get out of the city and onto the highways. Neither of us spoke, and  the rhythm of the car lulled me sleep.

When I woke it was dusk.  “Are we there yet?” I asked like a child.

He gave me a quick glance.  “Hardly.  You’ve been out for a while though.”

I looked down at my watch.  It was after six.  “I did doze off.  Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.  You must have been tired.”

I yawned.  “Guess I was.  Car trips do that to me.  So, how long is it going to take to get to your Scottish retreat?”

“Another three or four hours”

“That’s quite a drive.”

“But it’s worth it to get away.”

“Don’t you get tired driving all that way?”

“I like it.  I like the freedom.”

“You’ll like the freedom till you get pulled over for speeding,” I teased.

“Naw, that’s only happened twice.”

“And you didn’t get a ticket, did you?  They let you off for being a Beatle, didn’t they.”

“Come to think of it, they did.  Guess there is an upside to being a Beatle after all.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that.  I’d never heard him talk about the downside of fame.  Of course, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that we hadn’t talked all that much about the Beatles, period. I didn’t say anything, just simply watched the scenery go by.

Another half hour or so went by before he said anything again.  “I’m going to need to fill up with petrol soon.  Would you like to stop and get something to eat as well?”

“Isn’t that going to be a problem?  I mean, I thought we were trying to get away from the crowds.”

“There’s a place I usually stop when I need a break in driving.  It’s a quiet little town, and I haven’t been bothered there yet.  I don’t want to stay long.  Would like to get to the house before midnight, if possible.”

“It would be nice to have a chance to stretch my legs and get some dinner.”

A couple of minutes later, he pulled off of the main road.    He pulled into a filling station and got out of the car.  I followed suit.  The man who ran the station seemed to know him.  They chatted for a bit and then Paul came over to me and put his arm around me.

“Come on.”

We didn’t walk far.  There was a small restaurant/pub just down the road.  When we walked in there was hardly anyone there. 

“’Ey there, Paul!” a stocky man called out from behind the bar.

“Evening, Ian.  The kitchen open?”

The man came out from behind the bar and slapped Paul on the back.  “For you, mate, any time.  Who’s this pretty lassie that you’ve brought along with you?”

“Ian, this is my friend Andrea. Andrea this is Ian McGregor.”

“Sit down, my dear,” he said, leading us to a table.  “What’ll be your pleasure tonight? I suppose you’ll be wanting something quick and easy.  You’re heading up to the farm?”

Paul nodded.  “You know me too well, Ian.”  He looked at me for approval.  “Would sandwiches be all right?”

“Sure.”

“Sandwiches it is,” replied Ian, disappearing into the kitchen.

While we waited for the food, a few of the local men who were in the pub came up and talked to Paul.  They treated him as if he were an old friend.  They greeted me with open arms. It was easy to feel at home with the group. They told stories and had us laughing till the tears were running our faces.

When Ian returned with the sandwiches he shooed them away.  “Go on.  These two need some time to themselves.”  The men grumbled, but left us alone. 

“That wasn’t necessary, Ian,” Paul chided.

“They’d be chewing your ear off all night if you let them.  You’ll never get to the farm this evening if you let them hang on.”

“You’re right, as always.  Buy them a round for me, though.”

“Whatever you say, mate.”  He walked back to the bar and shouted.  “Next round’s on Paul!”

There was a roar of approval, but the men kept their distance.

“Nice group here,” I observed.

“Yeah,” replied Paul, taking a sandwich from the platter that Ian had left.  “It’s nice to be treated like one of the fellas.”

“Is that why you bought a farm up this way?”

“The farm is at least another two hours away.  The nearest neighbor is probably five miles up the road.  The nearest town...I dunno.  But it is nice here.”

We didn’t speak as we ate, but the room was full of noise.  People talking, people laughing.  Somehow it was comforting.  I suddenly realized how “unreal” the Beatle world really was.  Yet here, it didn’t exist.

There were still a few sandwiches left on the platter when Paul stood and stretched.  He looked at his watch.  “We’d better get on our way.”

I stood too.  “Just let me freshen up and I’ll be ready.”  I went over to the bar, but before I said a word to Ian, he pointed me in the right direction.  When I returned, he and Paul were laughing over something.

“The lady’s ready to go,” he observed.

“I am.  It was a pleasure meeting you, Ian.”

“You too, lass.”  He gave me a quick hug.  “You take care now.  And watch after Paul.  Don’t let him get into too much trouble.”

“I won’t,” I promised.

Paul waved good-bye to the regulars and we walked back to the car, hand in hand.

***

We didn’t arrive at the farm until nearly midnight.  I was amazed that Paul had been able to find the place in the darkness.  We had long left the motorway, traveling on uneven roads.  We eventually left even the paved streets and headed down a dirt road.  With only his headlights and the stars and moon to guide him, I was certain that we were lost.  But I said nothing and was glad I did, when we finally pulled up in front of a small house.

“Here we are,” Paul announced, cutting the engine.

I got out of the car first, glad to be able to get out and stretch again.  It was noticeably colder here than it had been when we had stopped for dinner. 

Paul took our bags and the guitar out of the car’s trunk.   “I’ll get the rest in the morning,” he said with a slight yawn.  He opened the front door of the house and I was surprised that it hadn’t been locked. 

When I got inside, I understood why.  No one in his right mind would break in! To say that it was sparsely decorated would be an understatement.  In the main room was a  sofa, a low table and three chairs.  Against the wall there was a fireplace that looked like it hadn’t been used in a decade or so. Off of the room was a kitchen area with a sink, a stove and a tiny icebox, reminiscent of the one my grandmother used to have. I followed Paul to the “bedroom,” which consisted solely of a mattress on the floor and a few boxes stacked in the corner.  I was beginning to remember why I hated Girl Scout camp so much.

“Is there indoor plumbing in this place?” I asked tentatively.

“Of course,” he said, putting our things down on the bedroom floor. I followed him closely.  Off of the kitchen, there was a bathroom only slightly larger than a closet.  There was an oversized bathtub, a toilet, a sink with an old mirror hanging over it and a small hot water heater that took up a corner of the room. 

Although it was quite dark in the room, he must have seen the look of disappointment on my face.  “It’s not the Hilton,” he said.

“I didn’t expect it to be,” I said, putting on a brave face.  “I’m just a little tired.  Just want to brush my teeth and curl into bed.”  And then I remembered the lone mattress.  “It’s a little cold.  Do you have some sheets and blankets?”

“In one of the boxes.  Tell you what, why don’t you go unpack your toothbrush and get ready for bed.  I’ll get the bed set up.”

“Great,” I said trying to smile.

We went back to the bedroom.  I searched through my bag and found my bag of toiletries.  I had thrown a nightgown in as well.  I pulled that out along with a sweatshirt.  The house was cold and I didn’t know if it would get any warmer.  I carried my things back to the bathroom.  My eyes had started to adjust to the darkness and I found a pull cord for a light that hung over the sink.  I turned on the tap and after a couple of seconds, some ice cold but clear water came out.  I quickly brushed my teeth, washed my face and changed my clothes.

When I returned to the bedroom Paul had “made” the bed.  At least there was a sheet that covered the mattress and two blankets on top of it.  They looked old, but clean.  Somewhere he had found two pillows and had put pillowcases on them that didn’t match the sheet on the mattress.

“Tired?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, putting my things back in my suitcase and then sitting down on the mattress.

He pulled back the blankets.  “Let’s get you tucked in them.”

I crawled under the blankets and lay down yawning. “I don’t know why I’m so tired.  I slept in the car and you didn’t.  You’re the one who should be tired.”

“I am, a little,” he confessed, pulling the blankets up and around me.  “But I’m not ready to go to sleep yet.  Would you mind if I played a little?”

I hadn’t noticed the open guitar case on the floor until he had brought it up.  “Of course not.”  This time, I took the initiative; I propped myself up on my elbow and kissed him.

He smiled.  “That was nice.  Now, lay back down and get to sleep.”

***

When I woke up the next morning, Paul was in the bed, curled up against me, with his arm thrown over me. He was bare-chested, but wearing pajama bottoms.  It all seemed very natural and normal.  I gently pulled myself out from under his arm and slid out of bed.  With no covers and bare feet, I quickly realized how cold it had gotten.  I rummaged around in my bag trying to find socks and warm clothes.

“Morning,” came a sleepy voice from the bed.

I pulled out a lone sock.  “Did I wake you?”

“No,” he said, yawning.  “What are you up to?”

“Trying to find the partner to this sock.  My feet are freezing.”

“Come on over here.  I’ll warm you up.”

“Very funny,” I said, finally pulling out the other sock.  I padded back to the “bed,” sat down and started to put them on.

“I wasn’t kidding,” he replied, nuzzling up against me.

I could tell he wasn’t, but I wasn’t sure what to do.  The rational part of my mind told me that I hadn’t known this guy for very long, yet here I was alone with him in his secluded getaway.  I shouldn’t let myself get carried away.  On the other hand, here I was, alone with Paul McCartney, the “cute” Beatle, and he was really interested in me.  He’d invited me up to his Scottish retreat, when he could have invited any other girl in the world.

I decided to be practical, as I always had been.  “Doesn’t this place have any heat?  I don’t mean to be rude, but...”

He didn’t let me finish.  With a swift move, he pulled me down on the bed and kissed me.

The rational side of me disappeared.  His lips on mine made me forget any promises I had made to myself to be “good.”  His kisses lit something inside of me and all I wanted was more.  His body was pressed close to mine and I knew that this was not going to be a simple “petting” session.  In the past, when I had been involved in similar situations (as if anything could even compare), I had pushed the guy away.  Now instead I found myself clinging to him.  Moving up against him, to be even closer.

He pushed my sweatshirt up and it was off before the blink of an eye.  His lips trailed downward to my breasts.  I had rarely let a date touch them, yet without a second thought, I let him push the material of my nightgown down and kiss my right breast.  I stiffened underneath him as he gently licked and sucked at it.  The sensations I was experiencing were totally new to me.  Sparks were going off inside of me as he moved his mouth over to my left breast while putting his hand on my right and gently caressing it.

Finally, something inside of me told me that I must speak up.  As wonderful as I was feeling, I couldn’t let this go on.  “Paul,” I tried to say sternly, but somehow it came out in a breathy moan.

“Yes?”  He moved back up and kissed my face.  His bare chest was pressed closely against my breasts.  He rubbed up against me and I could feel how aroused he was.  It was scary, and yet exciting.  I had never been this close to a man before.  It was obvious that at that moment, Paul McCartney wanted me, and I knew that this was going too far.

“Paul…” I began again.

His mouth covered mine, so I could say no more.  As he explored my mouth, his hands caressed my body.  Gently stroking my shoulders, my arms, my breasts. Every spot that he touched tingled.  He stroked my thighs through the thin material of my nightgown and I felt as if my body was on fire.  He gently pushed it up, so that his hands touched my bare skin.  His touch was gentle and soft, and I never wanted him to stop.  But as his hands moved to the inside of my thighs and I felt his erection pushing harder against my leg, I tensed and my brain finally overrode what my body was feeling.  I pushed him away, but he continued to kiss me.  I pushed harder and rolled to the right, so that his body no longer covered mine.  And so that he couldn’t see my face. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

I tried to catch my breath.  “Paul, I think....”

He reached out and lightly touched my shoulder.  “Andrea, relax.  It’s been a stressful week.”  He kissed my upper arm.  “I need to get rid of some tension.  I’m sure you need to as well.”  He began kissing the back of my neck.

I moved away and sat up, still not looking at him.  “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Behind me, I could feel himpush himself up.  He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on the side of the neck.  “Come on, Andrea.  Don’t tell me that you’re just a tease…”

“A tease?” I pushed his arms off of me and stood up.

“Come on, luv.  I didn’t mean...”

“A tease?!” I walked over to my bag and pulled out the first clothes that I could find.  Then I headed for the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.  I looked at myself in the mirror.  I was all flushed.  What had I been thinking?  Going away for the weekend with him wasn’t just some camp out.  Just what the hell was I doing?  Paul was a man of the world.  He’d probably had hundreds of women.  In his mind, there was nothing wrong with casual sex.  Intellectually I could understand that, but it wasn’t something that I thought I could do.  In my mind, it was love, marriage, and then sex.  As much as my body seemed to want it, my mind wasn’t going to let me get away with having a one night stand with Paul McCartney.

I tore off my nightgown and quickly put on a bra, sweater and jeans. I needed to brush my teeth, but I hadn’t grabbed my toothbrush.  The best I could do was to splash some cold water on my face. I looked splotchy and awful.  I could really have used a hot shower, but that wasn’t an option around here.  I would have settled for a hot bath, but the tap seemed to only run cold.  The hot water heater in the corner didn’t seem to be working,but if I had time, I knew I could figure out how to get it running.  I went over to take a look at it when Paul knocked on the door.

“Andrea, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I called back.

“Could you come out?  I’d like to talk.”

Was there any alternative?  I couldn’t stay locked in the bathroom for the weekend.  I snatched my nightgown from the bathroom floor and opened the door.

He had put on a sweater and jeans as well.  “Hi there,” he said softly, looking at me with his deep brown eyes.

I couldn’t let myself melt into those eyes. My brain was telling me that I had to be strong.  Yet just looking into his eyes was making me feel things that I had never felt or even imagined before.

I took a deep breath and tried to focus.  “Paul, I thought we had decided that we were going to be just friends.”

“You’re right.  We did say that.  But after last Sunday, I thought we’d become more than just friends.”

He was right, which left me in a bind.  “You’re right.  So I guess I should be the one apologizing.  I want to be friends.  But I’m not one for free love, or casual sex, or whatever you want to call it.  I guess I’m a little slow on the uptake.  I wasn’t thinking that a trip to Scotland would be anything more than just two friends spending a weekend together. I didn’t realize that you’d want it to be something more.”

“You don’t have to apologize.  We’re just on different wavelengths, I guess.  Maybe I’m getting caught up in the publicity too.  I have one idea of you that’s based on what I’ve heard over the past month, and another from meeting the ‘real’ you.”

I gave a tiny laugh.  “The ‘real’ me versus the ‘publicity’ me.  Sounds as if I’m as famous as the Beatles.”

He smiled and laughed to.  “In a way you are.”  He reached out and stroked my cheek.  “Why don’t you tell me what you want.”

“To wash my hair and take a hot bath.  But your hot water heater doesn’t seem to be working.”

He pushed past me into the tiny bathroom.  “You need to turn it on first.”  He flipped a switch and stuck his head out.  “Give it some time to kick in.  Then you can wash your hair and have a hot bath.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling incredibly dim.

“So what do you want to do while you wait for the water?  We could go for a walk.  Make breakfast.  Have sex…”

“Paul!”

“I was just joking.  You’ve already informed me that casual sex is out.  How would you feel about formal sex?”

“Did you bring your tuxedo?”

“Of course.”  He had a grin that could melt an iceberg.  “Can’t have formal sex without one.”

“Well I didn’t bring my ball gown, so I guess formal sex is out of the question.”

“But you did bring a very pretty nightgown.  That might do.”  He put his arms around me, pulled me close to him and kissed me again.

Oh God, his kisses were intoxicating.  Once he started, I felt all control fall away.  My arms went around his neck. The kisses became more intense, and I swear that my knees started to go weak.  His hands moved down my back and rested on my backside.  He grabbed me there and pulled me in tighter to him.  I’d never been held that way before, and I found it strangely exciting.  He moved his hips against me and I could feel him growing harder underneath his jeans.  Once again warning signals started to go off in my head and I broke the kiss and pulled away.

“Sorry,” he said, but the look on his face said differently.

“Paul, this has got to stop,” I insisted.

“Why?” he asked in a boyish tone.  “Oh, that’s right,” he teased, “you don’t believe in free love.”

“I just don’t think it’s right for me.  Though it’s obviously right for you.”

“And just what makes you say that?” he asked.

“Well, you like sex, right?”

“Sure I do.  And you don’t?”

“That’s not the point,” I said, changing the subject, not wishing to admit that I was totally inexperienced with the topic.  “The point is that you like sex just for sex.  And I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with that, but I’m a woman, and at least for me I don’t just want sex for its own sake.  I want something more.”

“Like an emotional commitment?”

“You’ve had this conversation with other women before, I suppose.”

“Indeed I have, Miss Bakker.”  He took a piece of my hair and twirled it around his finger.

“So you understand?”

“Nope.  Never did.  I just wanted a quick roll in the hay before.”

“So what happened?”

“I usually got my way.”  He pulled me tight and rubbed against me suggestively, but I could tell by the glint in his eyes that he was only teasing.

“Paul!”  I pulled away once more and smacked his hand.

“I can’t help it,” he protested.  “If you didn’t look so Goddamned sexy maybe I could keep my hands off of you.”

I rolled my eyes.  “Give me a break.”

“Okay.”  He took my hands in his own.  “What if I told you that I didn’t just want to have a fling with you?  What if I told you I didn’t want to just be friends with you either?  What if I told you that I wanted to try and make that ‘emotional commitment’ that you women talk about?”

I pulled my hands out from his.  “Paul, stop teasing me.”

He clasped them again.  “I’m being perfectly serious.  There’s something about you, Andrea.  I can’t put my finger on it, and I can’t put it into words, but there’s just something that clicks when I’m with you.  I’m comfortable with you.  Like we’ve been friends for a long time.  And believe it or not, I didn’t invite you up here just so that we could spend the entire weekend in bed.  Although the idea is certainly appealing.”

“Paul, we hardly know each other,” I protested.

“Yes and no.  Besides I’m not asking you to marry me, no matter what the papers might say.  What I am saying is that I’d like to try to have a serious relationship with you.  You know, be your steady fellow.”

I giggled.  I hadn’t heard that term in a long time.  “So you want to go steady?  Aren’t you going to give me your letterman sweater?  Or your school ring, so that I can wear it on a chain around my neck?”

“Is that what they do over in America, then?”

“It’s what they used to do.  If you were really cool, you wore your boyfriend’s jacket.”

“Well, I don’t have a school ring.  And I don’t have a jacket either.”

“I can live without that. Are you really sure that this is what you want?”

“I think so.  I can always change my mind though can’t I?”

“Sure, and break my heart.”

“Or you could break mine.  It has happened, you know.  Even the famous Paul McCartney has had his heart broken.”

“All right,” I said, still trying to be logical.  “I guess we’re going steady then.”

“Can I get a kiss to seal the deal?” he asked.

“Only if you promise to behave yourself,” I replied, shaking a finger at him.

“I’ll give it a go.”  He softly pressed his lips to mine.  It was a tender kiss, but it was enough to make my knees go weak.  Luckily, Paul held true to his word and we parted after a few seconds.  “Now I know I made the right decision.”

I thought I might cry right there and then.  His kiss, his words – he had touched something deep inside of me.  For the first time I thought this might be what it felt like to be in love.  Really in love.

“You want to give that hot bath a go now?” he asked softly.

“Sure.”  My voice came out almost as a whisper.

“All right, then.  I’ll go see what I can do about the heat in this place and make us some breakfast.  How’s that sound?”

“Fabulous.”  I went back into the bathroom and shut the door behind me.  It was wonderful.  I felt as if I didn’t have a care in the world.  He made me forget all of the craziness.  He made me feel warm.  He made me feel...loved.  I looked at myself in the mirror again.  My face smiled back at me. “I think you’re in love with him,” I whispered to my reflection.

Go Read Part Four!