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Christmastime,
1964 Peg, a first-year teacher, was terrified of having such a massive responsibility placed on her shoulders, but she had somehow weathered the storm and come out in one piece—at least physically. Her mental status, however, was up in the air at that moment, following two insane hours of shouting five-year-olds and dealing with parents who apparently thought that the party was a nice opportunity to have an impromptu conference about their child. Didn’t anyone appreciate anything she did anymore? Apparently not—not one of the parents had thanked her for organizing the party for their children, and McKenning had only managed to utter, “Nice work, Miss Stimming” before he left halfway through the celebration. She knew that teaching was a thankless career when she entered the field, but lately she was feeling unquestionably invisible and isolated in all aspects of her life, not just work. Was she really that worthless? However, she was grateful that her Christmas vacation could officially begin now…two joyous weeks away from Northfield Elementary, which included a week at home with her parents and younger siblings at home in Milwaukee…and especially far, far away from her former boyfriend Jack, who had decided to abruptly call it quits a week earlier. Out of all the ungrateful people in her life at that moment, he certainly took the cake! Right now, she wanted to get rid of her pounding headache before heading into the bitter winter weather outside. Ice pellets had pounded against the conference room windows for the entire duration of the festivities, and the downtown Chicago roads were surely a mess by that point. It would not be a fun drive back to her apartment with blinding pain stabbing through her forehead. As she set the coffee can of crayons into the box of supplies she’d hauled to the hotel to keep the kids entertained, the four students from Northfield High she’d recruited to dress up as Santa and his helpers returned from the lobby washrooms. Each one returned their holiday costumes to her, setting them next to Peg’s box on the table. “Thank you so much for helping out,” she said to the four boys, handing each of them a small box wrapped in shiny red paper before lowering her voice. “Listen…I know this was supposed to be volunteer work, but I figured you four deserved a treat for your generosity. Just do me a favor and don’t open them until you leave the hotel—my boss might still be in the lobby somewhere and I don’t want to get in trouble.” “Thanks, Miss S,” Les, the only senior in the troupe, said as they hid the boxes inside their coats. “Have a Merry Christmas.” “Yes, you too, all of you,” she replied. At least they’d given her a thank-you! “Drive safely—the weather is terrible.” “Yes, ma’am. Goodnight.” Once they were gone, Peg picked up the costumes and set them on top of her box. There was no rush to get them back to the rental store—they weren’t due back until the next afternoon—so she could leave them in her car for the night and drop them off before catching the ten a.m. train for Milwaukee. She reached for her purse, digging through the contents for the bottle of aspirin she always carried with her—required medication for employees of noisy environments, as was the daily climate in her classroom. She had planned on taking the tablets with a glass of punch, but the hotel staff had already taken the punch bowl and cups back to the kitchen, lest the kindergarteners should smash a bit of the precious crystal before leaving the party. She’d have to be content with a Coke from the hotel lounge. So, once her things were relatively organized, she put them into the coat check closet (to which she still had the key) and locked the door before leaving the room. *** Traffic in the Loop was positively horrendous that evening due to the foul weather. The pedestrian traffic also hindered any sort of movement in the intersections. It seemed as if half the city had converged upon the downtown shopping district to complete their Christmas shopping that weekend. Rows of taxis, cars, and CTA buses idled along State Street, waiting for the stray shoppers to get out of the crosswalks even after the traffic lights changed to green. Inside one of the vehicles in the middle of the snarled traffic jam sat four very tired, very jaded visitors from England. They had spent the last week and a half jetting from city to city on their winter tour of America, seeing more snow and icy temperatures than they’d ever experienced in their home country, as well as fans who were already going stir-crazy from their confinement inside their homes due to the cold weather. It was at times like this—when they’d been unceremoniously separated from their manager and the rest of their entourage at the airport and dumped into a limousine for their own safety—when it just wasn’t worth being a Beatle. They felt like sitting ducks in the middle of an open field during hunting season at that moment, fearing any recognition from the masses of people walking along the sidewalks nearby. Ringo examined the tattered remains of his right sleeve cuff. “You would’ve thought they were going for skin and blood this time!” he said, tugging at the scraggly threads left behind by a group of zealous fans who had attacked him and the other Beatles as they had rushed through the terminal at O’Hare. “You’re lucky they didn’t try to scalp us, son,” John said, lighting a cigarette and taking a long puff to calm his nerves. George rolled down the window an inch to get some fresh air into the stuffy car interior. “Now I know what we can get you for Christmas, Ring: some new cufflinks.” “Ah, bugger, I didn’t even think of that! They’re gone, aren’t they?” Ringo said. “At least they weren’t me good ones.” Paul nodded. He’d lost two pairs to frenzied crowds since they’d come to America, not to mention a bit more of his sanity. At least it was almost over—one concert tomorrow there in Chicago, and then it was on to New York for the closing show before heading home for a well-deserved holiday break. The others had their wives and girlfriends meeting them in New York City on the last day of the tour, leaving Paul with no one. The thought of being alone for two days while the others would be occupied with their loved ones bothered him. He hadn’t had a normal evening with a girl in ages. Any girl or woman he met lately knew he was a Beatle from the get-go. In their eyes he was perfect, charming, wealthy—there was no challenge to picking up a bird anymore, now that he automatically won the game the moment he made eye contact with any female. Sure, he’d had a few girls share his bed after some of the shows on that tour, but it wasn’t fun like it had once been. John drummed his fingers on his knee, impatient to get across the remaining road ahead and into the warm hotel lobby. He turned, looking out all the surrounding windows and said, “D’ya think old Eppy’s caught up with us yet?” “Don’t know. He was getting into a car behind us when we left the airport,” said Paul. “Open the window and have a look ‘round if ya really want to know.” John rolled down the nearest window and kneeled on the car seat, sticking his head out and upwards so he could see over the surrounding car tops. “Fuck, it’s cold!” George said as he got pelted with the ice falling through the window. “If ya don’t see him, then close the thing!” Suddenly the all-too-familiar sound of shrieking reverberated through the air, followed by a single shout of, “Oh my God! It’s John!” He turned to see a gaggle of teenage girls leaping off the curb, dodging idling taxicabs in pursuit of the Beatle who had suddenly made an impromptu appearance outside Marshall Field’s. “Now look what you’ve done, you nit!” Ringo said, yanking on John’s coat. “The whole street’s gone crackers!” John retreated inside the car, rolling up the window as fast as he could turn the lever. An onslaught of twill jackets, woolen scarves, and forest green shopping bags slammed against the windowpanes along with a smattering of star struck faces. Paul gave them a wave and as much of a smile as he could muster. “You had to do it, didn’t you, John?” he muttered. The driver beeped the horn loudly as traffic began moving, eager to move the car along the gap that had opened up between the limousine and the taxicab in front of them. Once the girls moved slightly out of the way, the driver stepped on the gas and zoomed through the yellow light ahead, narrowing the distance to the front doors of the hotel. Ringo watched as the attacking fans regrouped on the sidewalks and began another quick approach, this time staying along the sides of the buildings. “Mates, I suggest we get out here and make a run for it,” he said quickly, reaching for the door handle. “They’re gonna catch us and we’ll never make it inside in one piece.” “Right,” Paul said, also eyeing the oncoming onslaught of onlookers. He shouted to the driver, “We’re getting out here. Thanks for the lift!” Both rear doors on the limo burst open, and four men in fear of their safety bolted across the right lane of traffic to the sidewalk. They hustled past weary shoppers and through the rotating glass doors of the Lakeview. The doorman watched the scene in stunned silence until Ringo, the last one past him, said, “Whatever you do…lock the doors and don’t let ‘em in!” “Let who in?” the doorman said, then took notice of the mass hysteria in female forms careening towards him on flying feet. “Oh…them!” The lads managed to regroup themselves amidst stares and whispers from the older holiday travelers in the hotel lobby. The screams outside escalated to a certain point, then lost some intensity as the rather brave doorman instructed the crowd to back off. “I suppose we’d better check ourselves in,” Paul said after looking around for any familiar faces—Brian, Mal, Neil, anyone—to no avail. “One doorman can’t keep the screaming masses at bay for long.” Ringo and John sat on one of the couches in the waiting area, and Paul and George went to the main desk. The lady behind the counter handed a set of keys to the couple in front of them after signaling the bellboy, then turned her attention to the two awaiting Beatles. “Yes, can I help you?” she said, eyeing them with slight suspicion. “Yes…We’re uh, the Beatles,” Paul said, jerking his thumb at George, “and…well…we’re here.” The lady raised an eyebrow, frowning. “And?” she said impatiently, waiting for further explanation. “And we’d like our room now?” Paul said, just as confused as she appeared to be. Typically any hotel they stayed at would plan for their visit weeks in advance—staff would be alerted, extra security would be hired—so this was definitely a change from what he was accustomed to. “I beg your pardon, sir. We require reservations at least one day in advance. You can’t just walk in here and demand a room like this!” “We do have reservations—check the register,” George piped up. “It’s B-e-a—“ The lady glanced at her paperwork on the counter. “Sir, there is nothing here under that name.” “There has to be. Our manager said so. I was there when he confirmed them yesterday!” Paul interjected, leaning over the counter to see the book—which the lady did not appreciate one bit. “Sir, please don’t cross this counter! Now, could you kindly step aside so I can check in the other guests?” “Is this or is this not the Lakeview Hotel?” Paul said, not budging an inch. “Sir, I’m going to call the guard if you—“ George stepped up and handed her the hotel business card Brian had given him before they all split up at the airport earlier that day. “They sent us this in the mail.” The lady took the card, read it, and then sighed. “You two are at the wrong hotel,” she said. “What?” they both said. “This is the Lakeview East. You have reservations at the Lakeview North,” she explained, tapping the card with her pen. “You’ll have to take a taxi to get there. It’s at…” Paul went wide-eyed. “Look, ma’am, we can’t leave this place! There’s a dozen fans out there—they’ll tear us to pieces if we set foot outside.” “I don’t care if you’re the President’s personal advisors—you can’t stay here,” she said firmly. “We’re booked solid for the weekend.” George sighed. “D’ya think it’d be too much of a bother to ring up the other building and ask them, or does your job description only include harassing customers?” She narrowed her eyes, picking up the receiver and dialing a number quickly. “Yes, this is Grace from East. I have a question,” she said, then turned her back to the line of guests so she could finish her conversation discreetly. George turned and leaned against the counter. “I could use a drink,” he said, watching John and Ringo wave at the fans through the front doors. “Go to the lounge, then,” Paul said, not exactly overjoyed that he’d been nominated as the group spokesman once again, “and tell those two mixers to stop it straightaway before they cause a riot. I’ll follow you there in a bit.” *** The scene in the Windy City Lounge was rather subdued for a Saturday evening. Not counting the elderly bartender, the souls in the dimly lit room numbered four—three longhaired Scousers gathered at a corner table and an older gentleman watching the Blackhawks game on a flickering old Zenith above the bar. Ringo watched the bluish light from the TV glint off his glass of Coke and Jack Daniels, and then checked his watch. “He’s been out there for nearly half an hour. What’s he doing?” “Hopefully he’s givin’ Eppy a piece of his mind, if he can spare it,” John said. “Bah, I don’t care if he’s re-negotiatin’ our contract, so long as we get out of this place,” George muttered. “I could fall asleep here, I could.” A few minutes later, Paul entered the lounge, rubbing his forehead. “Well, then?” Ringo inquired as their spokesman joined them in their corner booth. “Brian’s going to page us on the house phone when he arranges a car,” he reported, lighting a cigarette. “He’s got to work out something with the coppers to get the crowds away from the doors. Word’s gotten out that we’re at this hotel, and the place is surrounded.” “Fuck, I ain’t afraid of a few little girls,” John scoffed. “’A few?’” Paul repeated, laughing. “Try a over a hundred—at each entrance. That poor bloke at the front door nearly got crushed. He’s in the lobby right now with an icebag on his head.” George shook his head. “I wouldn’t care sittin’ ‘round here if there was something to do or someone to talk to.” “Yeah. Leave it to Brian to book us into a place that’s so posh the check-in girl probably makes more money than we do,” Ringo remarked. “Speakin’ of her, did she untwist that knot in her knickers yet?” John laughed. Paul shook his head as he tore up one of the red drink napkins on the table, then flicked the pieces at the unlit candleholder, trying to knock one in. “Well, whoever was on the other end of the line put Brian on, then I talked to him while she began annoying the other people in line. She—“ George elbowed Paul quickly and pointed to the lounge entrance. “Ow!” Paul cried out, rubbing his arm. “Christ, what?” A young lady marched into the room, sliding onto the first bar stool and setting a dollar on the counter. She appeared to be around their age. Perhaps she wasn’t as stunning as some of those beauty queen contestants they’d met at practically every city they’d visited, but this one had a pretty, natural-looking way about her. “Hi there,” the bartender said. “What can I get for you?” “A Coke, please,” she said tiredly. She took a paperback book from her purse and began reading it as she waited for her drink. Squinting, Paul could read the title: The Eve of St. Agnes and Other Works by Keats. Ah, a mix of beauty and brains—how refreshing, he thought. “I think you’re in over your head,” John said to Paul, who had yet to take his eyes off the girl. “She’ll run mental circles around you, you college puddin’.” Paul looked at his three comrades and grinned. “Not bad, is she?” he remarked. They all watched her for a moment as she subtly straightened out one of her stockings under the bar, pulling up her skirt to mid-thigh so she could give the silk a tug, unaware that she was being blatantly eyeballed by a group of complete strangers. “You gonna pull her?” John asked. “It’s a certainty,” Paul smirked, setting his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. “If there’s one thing I like better than a cute bird, it’s a cute bird with brains and legs like that.” “What ya gonna tell her?” “That I’d like to fill her stocking for Christmas,” he said nonchalantly, looking around and grabbing a piece of the plastic holly decoration from the window ledge. John burst into laughter, and George and Ringo stifled giggles. “Hey, if nothin’ else, I’m at least getting a kiss with this mistletoe,” he said in a low voice, pinching the holly sprig between his fingers. “It’s holly, you git,” Ringo said. “Ah, who cares—it’s green, it’s leafy, it’ll do,” Paul said, getting up. “Watch and learn, son.” *** Peg checked her watch. Okay…if she could just get some peace and quiet for twenty minutes or so, the headache would be gone. She had half a mind to rent a room upstairs and lie down for a few hours rather than breathe in the smoke from the old man at the opposite end of the bar lighting up a cigarette every two minutes. Of course, what choice did she have? She was in a bar, for God’s sake, not exactly the healthiest locale on the premises. She chose to finish reading her book and resign all thoughts of that bastard Jack for the evening, as well as the rest of the week. That damn hypocrite…He’d spent weeks throughout the early fall cajoling her into bed, and, once she realized that sex was more wonderful than she’d imagined -- and had taken it upon herself to initiate such intimate pleasures more often than he did -- he had the audacious nerve to call her a not-so-nice name, mentally devastating her, and in front of her friends, too. What she really wanted to do right now was drown her sorrows in vodka and orange juice, but she had to refrain from that since she would be behind the wheel of a car shortly. She was sipping the last few drops of Coke in the bottle when she heard a voice say in a cheerful British accent, “Hello there, luv! How are ya?” Setting down the bottle, she closed her book and turned to look at the complete stranger who had attempted to strike up a conversation. There he was, someone about her own age…longish hair, nice suit…gorgeous eyes, very nice smile. However, she didn’t want someone hitting on her when all she wanted was to be left alone to wallow in her own misery. “Hi,” she said disinterestedly. He waved over the bartender. “Scotch and Coke,” he said, then asked Peg, “What can I buy you?” Peg rolled her eyes. “Nothing, thanks. I’m fine.” The guy sat next to her and waited for his drink. The bartender returned with the scotch and Coke and another bottle for Peg. “So, what are you in town for? Visiting someone?” he said after sipping his drink. “No, I live in Chicago…and if you don’t mind, I really don’t feel like having a chat right now,” she murmured, taking a long drink. Something about the way he looked at her gave her a fuzzy feeling inside. “Now that can’t happen—I won’t stand for it. I never let a smashing girl sit alone in misery,” he said, his eyes going wide as she imbibed half her drink in a few gulps. “Bit thirsty, then, are we?” “Yes,” she answered flatly. “Thirsty and tired. It’s been a long day with work and all the other problems in my life.” “Well, let’s hear it, then,” he pressed, leaning closer to her. “A boyfriend?” She shook her head, giving her stomach a moment to recover from the carbonated mixture making its way down her esophagus. Good lord, this was the kind of good-looking guy she wouldn’t mind spending the night with. On a better day, she just might have considered…no, no, she mentally scolded herself. Don’t let your hormones get the better of you…even though he’s quite fine indeed. “No. Don’t have one.” “No lad, then, eh? Would you—“ “And, no, I’m not interested,” she said, placing her second empty bottle on top of the dollar bills she’d laid out earlier and picking up her purse. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get going. Good evening.” She got to her feet and was about to step away when he stepped in front of her. Now this she didn’t like -- being pestered when she was trying her best to drag herself away from him and keep her libido in check. “I’m sorry -- I can’t let you go in this state.” “You damn well better or I’ll call the cops,” she said, clenching her teeth. He was quick to reply, though. Holding a sprig of the decorative holly above his head, he said, “Oh, come ‘ead, luv --let’s at least have a holiday kiss.” She frowned. “That’s holly, not mistletoe,” she said. “Yeah, but it’s close enough!” he laughed. In a flash he leaned forward and pecked her lips, at which he was promptly rewarded with a sharp slap across the cheek. The three gentlemen at the corner table -- companions of his, evident by their similar appearance -- burst into laughter. Peg immediately felt horrible. She had never slapped anyone across the face, no matter how rude they were to her or how frustrated she became with them. And now that a few seconds had passed, she saw she’d left a conspicuous red handprint emblazoned across the left side of his face. “Oh my God…I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to—“ “Nah, ‘s alright,” he replied, reaching for his drink and holding the glass against his cheek to stop the stinging sensation on his skin. “I’ve been slapped lots of times by lots of birds.” Peg couldn’t help but snicker. “Well, if you’re trying to meet girls with those horrible pick-up lines, it’s no wonder they’re beating you up,” she said, sliding sideways back to her bar stool. “You might want to talk to a lady as if she’s a human being.” “Well, then,” he said, holding out a hand, and she shook it after a moment’s hesitation. “I’m Peg.” “It’s lovely to meet you, Peg,” he said, giving her a smile that almost immediately made up for his earlier rude remarks. They both sat down at the bar again. “Paul.” “And are those friends of yours?” she said, nodding at the crowd at the corner table. “Yes, they are, as a matter of fact. We’re all in from London.” “Oh? On business?” “Eh, you could say that,” he said, turning to the bartender. “Another scotch and Coke—with lots of ice this time…and another drink for the lady.” Peg put a hand on his arm to get his attention. “Just orange juice and club soda this time,” she whispered to Paul. “Juice and soda water,” Paul repeated to the bartender, and then turned back to her. “You said you had a job—what do you do?” “I’m a kindergarten teacher,” she said, then they waited for a moment as the bartender brought them their drinks. They both took a sip, watching the bartender answer the house phone ringing on the other end of the room, then she asked, “What do you do?” He was about to answer when the bartender said loudly, “Any of you gentlemen answer to the name of McCartney?” After a moment, Paul turned and shook his head. “Not me,” he said quickly, then turned back to his conversation with Peg as the bartender immediately hung up the phone after no one in the room responded to him. A shrill whistle from the corner table interrupted him as he tried to talk to her a second time. Peg frowned as Paul turned away from her and said to his friends, “What?” The one with a very thick accent waved at him and said, “We’d like to leave, Paul, but we need to settle the bill.” “Yeah, hang on a mo’,” Paul said. “Peg, can you wait here for a sec?” “Sure,” she said. “Take your time.” *** Paul approached the table, where his three friends were fuming. “What the fuck are you doin’, Macca?” Ringo said in a quiet voice. “Drop the bird and let’s get out of here! Why didn’t you take the phone call?” “Oh, sure—don’t even give me a chance to chat her up,” Paul said. “I finally get her talkin’, and now you want me to quit?” “Well, if you have that mind of yours set on gettin’ some tonight, you should have taken the damn call and found out what room we’ve got at the other hotel so you could tell her where to meet ya,” John replied. “Better yet, we could have just gotten out of here and found some other birds at the other hotel.” “Yeah, Paul, what are we supposed to do now?” George said. “You know Brian—he’s probably going crazy right now, thinking we’ve been kidnapped or something.” The three dissenters collected their coats and got to their feet. “Now, wait, where d’ya think you’re going?” Paul said as they put their coats on. “We’re gonna have to get a taxi or something, now that you’ve fucked up,” John replied. “You want to stay here and chat her up about Shakespeare or whatever she’s readin’, fine, but we’re going.” “But—“ Paul began as they headed for the lounge exit. “Hey!” the bartender called out. “Who’s paying the tab, fellas?” George jerked his thumb at Paul. “He is.” Paul rolled his eyes and took his wallet out of his pocket. As he counted out a few dollar bills, he saw John approach Peg. Oh dear…this was not good. “Listen, luv, you might as well…” he heard John say before the noise was obscured by the hockey commentator announcing a goal on the TV. A few seconds later, Peg gave Paul a dirty look, grabbed her purse, and stormed out of the lounge. “Peg!” he shouted, but she was out of earshot by then. John smirked, crossing his arms as Paul walked up to him. “You’d better shell out a few more dollars to pay for her drinks,” John said. “She’s off.” “What did you say to her, dammit?” Paul said after settling everyone’s tab with the bartender. “I told her what your dirty plan was—that you wanted to take her out back and get into her knickers,” John said. “Come on—she’s just a bird.” “You’re a right bastard, Lennon. There was no reason to get her cheesed off like that—she didn’t do anything wrong. She’s a nice girl, John—we don’t meet many of those nowadays.” “Eh, forget her, son,” John said, messing up Paul’s hair. “Time to go.” Paul reluctantly followed his band mates out of the lounge. No sooner had they stepped into the lobby did they hear a loud bang near the street doors, and, somehow, nearly a dozen fans pushed their way through the rotating doors and broke loose into the lobby. They went crazy with screaming the moment they spotted the Beatles in plain sight, mere feet away from where they were standing. “Run!” George cried, and they all took off, running back down the hallway that led to the bar, the elevators, and the conference rooms. The sound of snowboot-clad feet pounded against the floor not far behind them. There was no way they could summon an elevator to the lobby in time to save their necks, and the bar was certainly no place to hide, either. Their only escape was through the open conference room doors ahead, so, sprinting those last few feet, they entered the room and slammed the doors closed. Paul shoved the bar locks into place, and all four of the Beatles braced themselves against the door as if the fans would use a battering ram to bust their way through. *** A familiar figure stood at the windows at the opposite side of the room as the foursome banged their way into the room and barred themselves inside. Peg, watching the shoppers outside the window, turned to see Paul and the others locking themselves into the room. She quickly sniffled and wiped her tears from her eyes, recovering her wits that she had completely lost as she’d left the lounge. She couldn’t let them see that they’d hurt her in the worst way. “What are you doing?!” she cried, running towards them. “Get out!” “We can’t leave!” George exhaled, listening as the rush of footsteps came closer and closer to the door. Peg rolled her eyes. “What is it with you four?” she said. “Did you rob a bank or something? Are the cops after you?” “I only wish the cops were here!” Ringo whispered fiercely. “They might be able to get us out of this mess.” “Who’s chasing you, then?” Peg said, crossing her arms. “Our fans,” John said as the running sounds stopped in front of the door. “Your fans?” Peg said…then slowly realized that she’d seen the four of them on television before. How she didn’t realize who it was earlier baffled her—the eight grade girls at her school talked of nothing but the Beatles at any opportunity that arose. “Ohh…you guys wouldn’t happen to be, um—“ Paul nodded. “That’s us, luv,” he whispered in a barely audible voice. “Oh, I see,” Peg replied, tiptoeing next to them. “I didn’t realize…Do you think they know we’re in here?” Her answer came in the form of a sharp bang on the door. “We know you’re in there—let us in!” they heard a young female voice shout. “Guess that answers my question,” she murmured. “What the hell are we going to do?” Ringo whispered to the others. Peg tapped Paul on the shoulder. “Move it; I’ll get rid of them,” she said. Why exactly she was doing him a favor was beyond her comprehension. However…despite what his friend had told her, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that he was such a creep. Her first impressions about people were usually right on the money, and her impression of him had been very positive, as evidenced by the way she couldn’t take her eyes away from his when he looked at her. “How?” he said as another set of fists began banging on the other side of the door. Peg pointed to a door on the other side of the room. “That’s the coat check room…and I have the key for it,” she said, reaching into her skirt pocket and retrieving the small brass key. The lads backed away from the door, the bar locks successfully keeping the intruders out of the room. “And you’ll fend them off?” George asked her. “Yes, I will. I know how to yell at kids, believe me,” she said, twirling the key around her finger twice before tossing it to Ringo, the first one at the coatroom door. “And what exactly are you gonna do?” Paul said. “Oh, you’ll see,” she said firmly, reaching over and giving him a shove towards the coatroom. “Just go.” “But what—“ he began, pausing at the door while his friends rushed inside. “What is this? Custer’s Last Stand? Get in there!” she said as the pounding on the door got louder and louder. Paul gave her a look, and then followed the others in before Peg quickly closed the door and turned the key. She smiled, dropping the key into her pocket and sauntering to the conference room door. She was kind of glad that Paul had chased after her. Maybe she wasn’t as worthless as she’d felt she was over the past week. Without a second thought, she unlocked the door and swung it open, catching the teenage girls on the other side by surprise. “Are they in here? Are they? Where’d they go?” they all shouted at her, ready to push their way into the room. Peg feigned confusion. “Where did who go?” “They’ve gotta be in here! They couldn’t have run all the way down the hall and out the back exit that fast!” one girl exhaled loudly as Peg blocked the doorway with her arm. “I’m sorry—there’s only been a bunch of kindergarteners and hotel staff coming and going out of here,” she said firmly. If only they knew that she had the key to heaven safely hidden in her pocket… “Our Christmas party just ended, and I have to finish cleaning up. If you’ll excuse me…” The Beatlemaniacs frowned as she closed the door and re-secured the locks. She remained quiet for a moment, listening to the troupe exit the hallway amidst shouts from the hotel security guards who had finally gained control over the situation. After a moment, she rapped gently on the coat room door and said, “They’re gone for now…but I don’t know how you plan to get out of this hotel in one piece. They seem pretty vicious.” She unlocked the door for them, and they stepped back out, their eyes readjusting to the bright lights in the conference room. “There were at least twenty girls out there that wanted to get in here and rip your clothes off,” she laughed, pulling her supply box out of the closet. Much to her chagrin, her thoughts drifted off on a brief tangent, and she imagined what it would actually be like to do such a thing to Paul herself! She glanced at the now nearly dark scene outside the window. The sidewalks now included a bevy of teenage girls, their gazes all aimed down the street at the revolving front doors, as if their idols would suddenly come spinning through the glass panes in their escape from the hotel. “Do ya see any coppers?” Ringo asked her, and she shooed him away from the window quickly. “No, none…and I’d suggest staying away from the windows,” she said, closing the heavy velvet curtains. “It’s like anarchy out there,” Paul said, moving one of the closed drapes slightly to take a peek. “They had no idea what they were in for when we arrived. I don’t know how we’re supposed to leave, now. Surely there’s no car being sent for us—“ “And you only have yourself to blame for that one,” George interrupted. “Aw, shurrup…But we do have to get out of here before our manager loses his mind with nerves,” Paul said, biting his thumbnail. “He doesn’t know where we’re at, or maybe he thinks we’ve left the hotel on our own.” Peg put on her overcoat, reaching into her pocket to find her rolled-up scarf. “I’d let you stay in here, but I’m responsible for locking up the room and turning in the key,” she said. “Not that I don’t trust you…” She shot a look at Paul. “Well, you, maybe not…” “Now what’s that supposed to mean?” Paul said. Peg narrowed her eyes. Could she trust him? He seemed nice enough…but even if this was indeed going to end up as a one-nighter with him, she certainly didn’t want to spend time with someone who would only reject her afterwards. “They told me about your little scheme,” she said, folding her arms after she tied her scarf over her hair. “And here I was, just starting to think that you were a halfway decent guy, and I discover it was just a ploy.” Paul approached her. He could see that her eyes were misted over, no matter how hard she was trying to fight it. “What’s all this, then?” he said quietly. “This is about more than just that scene in the lounge, isn’t it?” She shook her head, biting her lip as she squeezed her eyes shut tightly. “I don’t want to talk about it right now,” she whispered. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine, really.” He gave her a look, as if he’d seen right through her paper-thin façade and knew precisely what had gone wrong with her life. In a moment of irrational horror, she knew she didn’t want him to blab to the other company present in the room, so she had to pacify him somehow. “All right…I’m going to be a very nice person since it’s Christmas,” she sighed, turning towards the others. “I will drive you four to the other hotel. It’s about a fifteen-minute trip from here.” “Really?” Ringo said. She nodded. “Yes.” “That’s wonderful of you, luv. Thanks,” Ringo answered. “But we still don’t know how we’re going to get out of the building.” “Well…” she said slowly, eyeing the four items from the costume rental store. “I do have an idea for that…if you guys are willing to try it…” *** “All right, time’s up,” Peg said as she knocked on the coatroom door. “I’m leaving in five minutes, so I hope you’re ready.” “Yeah, almost,” one of them answered in a muffled voice amidst the shuffling around inside the coatroom. “Hey, what should we do with our suits?” “Fold them up and I can squeeze them into this box with my kids’ arts and craft stuff,” she said. The door opened, and “Santa” emerged in full red-and-white glory. “So…will this do for Father Christmas?” the costumed gentleman said. With a grin, Peg replied, “Absolutely! You look great…um…I’m sorry—which one are you?” she said, looking into the blue eyes beyond the wire-rimmed Santa spectacles. “Ringo,” he answered, pulling down the beard for a moment so she could see his entire face. “Ringo, you make a great Santa,” she laughed, adjusting the padding on his belly. “If there’s any kids on the street, they’ll probably stop you and ask to take a picture with you.” “Those cameras better not be aimin’ at us!” John remarked as he and George emerged from the coatroom wearing the two reindeer costumes. George frowned, looking at his reflection in the mirror. The costume covered him head-to-toe in a stifling furry brown material, with a small circular opening on for his face on the hood. The antlers on the hood were enormous—they must have weighed five pounds! “God help us if word ever gets out about this,” he muttered. “I know we have to masquerade in these things to get out of here…but still…” “Well, look at it this way,” Peg said. “I really don’t think your fans will give you a second glance in that thing. They’re not going to recognize you four without the hairdos.” “Aye, probably not,” John said. “Hey, where’s the elf?” The coatroom door slammed shut with the last occupant still inside. “I’ve changed me mind. I think you can manage with Dasher, Dancer, and Father Christmas just fine, thank you very much,” Paul’s muffled voice said through the door. George and John started laughing so hard they had to sit down. “I don’t think he’s pleased with his costume,” George said. Peg rolled her eyes, marching to the door. “Come on, Paul—a deal’s a deal. Your friends are all okay with this.” “They’re not wearin’ green stockin’s, that’s why!” he squeaked, holding fast to the doorknob as Peg tried to rattle it open. “Paul, I’m sure it looks fine. It’s just a costume,” she said calmly. “Then you wear it,” he muttered. “I can’t. You can’t walk out the front door free as a bird—they’ll kill us all, and I don’t want these costumes destroyed. They’re rentals,” she said, tracing her finger along the edge of the knob. “Please come out. We really have to get out of here. I was supposed to have the key back at the desk fifteen minutes ago.” The door slowly swung open, and out stepped Paul—in green tights and a red-and-green elf outfit complete with a matching felt hat. Peg gasped—with that cherubic face and long hair of his, he made a quintessential elf, despite the stormy look that came over his face as his three comrades collapsed on the floor in a fit of giggles. “Forget it!” he shouted, crossing his arms and stomping back into the coatroom. “I’ll hitchhike to the other hotel.” They stood behind the door, out of sight from the others, and she reached up to straighten out his hat. “Really, it’s fine,” she said. “Consider this payback for that really bad line about the mistletoe in the lounge.” Paul rolled his eyes. “I think I’d rather be down on my knees begging for your forgiveness,” he muttered. “Well, we can always arrange that, too,” Peg laughed. “It takes a brave man to wear tights.” “You’re telling me,” he said, grabbing his coat from the floor of the coatroom. “Where exactly is your car at?” “It’s in the parking lot around the corner,” she said, peeking through the window. “My God, it looks like there’s even more people out there now. Did all your fans from Chicago happen to be Christmas shopping downtown tonight?” “How do you suggest we get to the carpark, then?” John asked, adjusting his antlers. Peg collected their suits and placed them into her box. There had to be an alternate entrance to the hotel…as a matter of fact… “I think there’s a side door to this place just down the hall. Your squadron of fans mentioned it earlier,” she said, locking the coatroom door. “I just hope there’s not too many people at that one…but anything has to be better than the front entrance at this point.” George tossed his overcoat across his arm. “Should we go, then?” “I suppose so,” Peg replied, holding her car keys in one hand as she curled her other arm beneath the cardboard box. “Wait…take those scarves off your coats and put them around your necks and face. It’ll be nearly impossible for anyone to recognize you like that.” Her companions followed suit, and they exited the room. Peg sprinted to the front desk to sign the key back in, then returned to the hallway. They all crept silently past the entrance to the swimming pool and the hotel restaurant, stopping in front of the glass side doors. Peg peeked through the window and saw a handful of girls sitting along the side of the building. None of them were intently watching the entrance, thank goodness. “They’re not looking,” she whispered, afraid her words would carry straight through the thick glass. “Let’s go—just walk past and don’t look back.” “Aye, aye, Captain,” John said, saluting her. Peg pushed the door open, turned to the left, and walked briskly down the sidewalk, praying her companions were following her lead. Though she kept her sights firmly set on the glowing “Park Here” sign less than a block away, she gauged the girls’ reactions to them in the corner of her eye. The girls glanced up disinterestedly at the passers-by, yet they made no attempt at leaping to their feet in recognition of the boys. Some of them, however, stared daggers at Peg, since she was the one who had brought an abrupt end to their pursuit of their idols, though it was through no fault of her own. So far, so good… They passed the length of the hotel building, and Peg heaved a sigh of relief. “I think we made it,” she laughed. “Bet that’s the closest you’ve been to your fans without them going into hysterics.” “Pretty much, yes,” Paul replied, quickening his pace. Suddenly they heard a cry of, “Hey, wait a minute! Stop that moose!” behind them. “Moose?!” Peg squeaked, turning around. The girls by the hotel were gasping as they realized their horrible oversight, scrambling to their feet to begin the pursuit again. “Which car is yours?” Ringo said frantically as they dashed through the small gate surrounding the parking lot. “The white one all the way in the corner—the one with the convertible top,” she said, slamming the gate closed as the thunder of footsteps came nearer. “I’m right behind you!” The group ducked down low in the ocean of cars, somewhat concealing themselves behind the barriers of steel and glass as they approached Peg’s car. She knelt on the ground and unlocked the car door, her knees immediately frozen the moment they made contact with they unforgiving glaze of ice on the asphalt. “In, quick,” she ordered, which they did hastily. She started the car and pulled out of the spot, keeping her eyes sharply peeled for anyone that might leap in front of the car in a frenzied bid to stop the vehicle through any means, even if it meant getting run over. Luckily the icy glaze on the gate latch was proving difficult for the girls to get past, and Peg quickly turned the car out of the exit on the far end of the lot, spilling half the contents of her supply box across the passenger floor and onto Paul’s feet. “Sorry, sorry,” she apologized, trying her best to right the box but abandoning her actions as the car slid on the slippery street. Putting both hands back on the wheel, she calmed her nerves and said, “Okay…I think we take this street north and we should go right past the front door of the Lakeview North.” “I wonder if they’ll have someone as pleasant as Lady Grace there to welcome us,” George said as he unraveled the scarf from around his face. Peg laughed, “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to see two Christmas ‘moose’ walk into their hotel,” she said. “’Stop that moose’...sheesh…” *** The car came to a stop at the back entrance of the Lakeview North ten minutes later. “Well…this is the end of the line,” she said, turning around to speak to the trio in the back seat. “I do need those costumes back, though.” “Well, we can’t strip off here, luv,” Paul laughed as the others opened the back doors. “Will you come inside with us?” She shook her head, watching as the others locked the back doors before slamming them closed. “You’ve all had a busy day, I’m sure. I don’t want to impose,” she said. “You’re not imposing at all. You’ve gotta get these clothes back, right? There’s no reason to sit here freezing in the car waiting for us.” “Are you sure?” “Oh yeah,” he nodded with a smile. “I’d also like to finish chatting with ya, since we were interrupted earlier. I want to hear what your dirty little secret is.” “What dirty secret?” she said. “Well, you had this look on your face earlier—looked like you’d murdered someone or something,” he explained, buttoning his overcoat as she shut off the heater. “Usually when a bird gets a look like that, she’s pissed off about some bloke.” “It might have been.” “It was, wasn’t it? What did he do?” “This is such a cheerful topic to bring up,” she muttered, attempting to elude the subject. “If you don’t tell me, I’m going to pester you until you finally spill it,” he laughed, stretching his arm across the back of the car seat, his fingertips almost reaching her shoulder. “All right—you really want to hear this?” she said, pocketing her car keys. “Absolutely.” “Okay. In a nutshell, my ex-boyfriend is an asshole.” He got a smile on his face and shook his head. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” she muttered, turning away from him. “I don’t—I’m sorry,” he apologized. “What did he do? Did he hurt you?” “Physically? No, no, nothing like that. He…well, we slept together and he threw it back in my face afterwards.” “Why would he do something like that?” “Beats me. I don’t know what he expected of me. It was as if our entire relationship was a big puzzle. I didn’t know from moment to moment what he wanted from me. He made me feel bad until I was finally ready to do it… and then after I realized that it was fun, he made me feel bad that I did do it. He called me a whore in front of my friends…like it was wrong to enjoy it or something.” “Well, then, the guy’s an idiot. You’re better off without him,” Paul replied immediately. “He shouldn’t make you feel bad about something like that. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying it, you know.” “I know.” “Is that why I got the brush-off earlier?” She nodded. “We’re not all cads, luv.” “I know.” “And I’m not trying to take advantage of you, honest. When I saw you earlier, I just figured, hey, here’s a pretty bird who might be up for an evening together—I didn’t plan to cause you any harm. So…what do you think?” She shrugged. “Peg, what else are you gonna do tonight? Go home to an empty flat and watch the snow hit your window?” “That’s what I planned, actually.” He made an exaggerated snoring noise. “Booooring,” he sang in a squeaky voice, and she proceeded to slap his hand. “Well?” She put her hands on the steering wheel, as if she had to brace herself as her thoughts ran at a million miles a minute. Oh…what the hell… “All right, Mr. Wonderful,” she said. “Let’s go, then.” He gave her a big grin, then leaned over and planted an absolutely splendid kiss upon her mouth. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and he, likewise, didn’t move his lips from hers for a solid minute. When he finally leaned away from her, she kept her eyes closed for another moment, the tip of her tongue discreetly running along her bottom lip. “Now that was…something,” he whispered once she looked at him again. “Um, yes…That was really something,” she said, her lips still warm. Good God, she’d never had a kiss sink into her soul like that! “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go find the others.” *** The lounge at the Lakeview North was just as empty as its counterpart Peg had frequented earlier that evening. After they had phoned their manager from the front desk, Paul left Peg at a table while he and the others retreated to their suite on the top floor so they could get out of their Christmas attire. While she waited, she ordered a rum and Coke, assuming she would be at the hotel for a while and wouldn’t be driving home until much later that evening. Her nerves slowly numbed under the influence of the alcohol in the drink. She wondered if all four of the Beatles would come back downstairs to sit with her, or if it would just be Paul sharing her company for the rest of the night. She didn’t mind the other three—they all seemed okay—but she was dying to spend more time with Paul. That positively electrical kiss they’d shared earlier had to be an indication of things to come that evening. Something about him made her feel so at ease…so wonderful, like she actually deserved some recognition for the kind deed she’d performed. About fifteen minutes later, three of the four Beatles—minus Paul—entered the lounge. John tapped Peg’s shoulder, and, as she looked up at him, he said, “Macca’s upstairs with the costumes. He wants to talk to you up there—Room 1510.” “Oh,” she said, pushing her drink glass aside. “Okay…I guess I’ll see you guys later.” “Yeah. Thanks for all your help, Peg. We appreciate it,” George said. “You’re welcome,” she smiled. They took over the table as Peg gathered up her coat and purse. She slowly made her way out of the lounge and to the elevator, where she stood waiting for a good five minutes before the metal box finally arrived from one of the highest floors. Three other passengers dressed in heavy winter coats shared the zooming ride skyward with her until the eighth floor, where they got off with their Christmas shopping parcels. Peg exited the elevator at the top floor, and Room 1510 was just a few steps away. She knocked on the door, and from within heard Paul’s voice. “Hang on a moment!” “It’s Peg…Okay.” The door swung open a few seconds later, and Paul, once again in his normal traveling suit, held his arm out, indicating for her to come into the room. Peg saw that all the costumes had been placed back in the plastic bags and hung inside the small wardrobe in the corner of the room. “Glad to get out of those?” she laughed, pointing at the elf costume as Paul locked the door behind her. “God, yes,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. She set her coat and purse on the edge of the double bed and sat down. “John said you wanted to talk?” He shook his head, shutting off the ceiling light, leaving on only the little bedside lamp. “I never said ‘talk’ to him,” he said quietly, sitting next to her. “You didn’t say ‘talk’?” “Not talking,” he said. His fingers ran along the edge of her knee, against her silk stocking, and it sent chills directly up her spine. She knew what he had in mind… “Oh God,” she said, jerking away from him. Now that the moment had finally arrived, she didn’t know if she was willing to actually go through with it! “What?” he said, immediately stopping his advances. “N-nothing,” she exhaled slowly, relaxing so his touch wouldn’t tickle her, then leaned over to kiss him, giving up and letting her hormones beat out her reasoning. Within seconds his arms were around her, holding her against him. Her mouth opened willingly as he deepened the kiss, and she felt as if she was spiraling backwards into some dark unknown. With care, he guided her onto her back, so only her legs remained hanging over the edge of the mattress. He leaned on his elbows, still kissing her, and he felt her hands slide up the nape of his neck and into his long hair. With his eyes closed, his other four senses went into overdrive, detecting her soft moans every time his tongue passed beyond her lips, and his lungs filling with her scent—a cross between lavender and…rum? He stopped their kiss and looked at her. She had a far-away look in her eyes. “Peg…is this you or the drink?” he asked her. “It’s me,” she murmured, her fingers still threaded through his hair, her eyes losing that stunned, glazed look. “You’re sure?” “Well, I only had one drink,” she said. “It’d take at least three for me to feel anything.” “Okay,” he laughed, resuming his overtures. His hands began exploring her further, his fingertips dancing over the silk blouse still covering her breasts. He brushed his thumbs back and forth over the smooth material, hardening the peaks of her breasts until he could feel them even through two layers of clothing. Peg, meanwhile, had wriggled her feet out of her shoes and had entwined her legs into a crazy twist with Paul’s. When he shifted his weight so he could work at her blouse buttons, his knee jabbed against her ankle and she cried out in pain. “Sorry! Sorry,” he laughed. “This isn’t working,” she said, struggling to sit up again. Now he had easier access to her clothes, and he quickly removed her blouse and reached around her back to unclasp her bra. Once the constrictive items were discarded onto the floor, he took in the sight of her upper body in the soft lamplight. “Lovely,” he whispered as they both moved again so they were kneeling face-to-face on the bed. He shifted his attention to her lower half, one hand against those shapely stockinged thighs he’d had only a glimpse of earlier as his other hand continued stroking her breasts. Peg’s breath caught at the top of her throat as she felt his mouth drift past her neck and shoulders and lower still to her breasts. A squeal escaped her lips as his teeth momentarily brushed against the already-sensitive peak of one, then had only a moment to regain her thoughts as he pushed her skirt up to her waist. As he drew her closer, his legs pushing her thighs apart until she was straddling him, she pulled at the buttons on his tailored shirt, then started laughing. “What?” he said, smiling. “I’m glad I wore my nice underwear,” she giggled as his thumbs ran along the lace edges on her hips. “Lucky for one,” he said, taking his hands from her so she could finish with his shirt. He started madly kissing her again, and he held her so close she nearly fell backwards. She stretched out her legs before wrapping them around his hips. The feeling of her against him struck a chord within his body, and he grew hard as he imagined making love to her in that position…or any position, for that matter! She moved away from him a little so she could easily access the front of his trousers, quickly unzipping them and entwined her limbs around his body again. That ex-boyfriend of hers… he’d never been as accommodating as Paul was. With Jack, things were over and done with in a matter of minutes. But Paul…oh, the kissing, all the touching… This time he was more comfortable once he had her on her back and they’d thrown off the rest of their clothes. She kept her eyes closed, simply feeling as Paul’s hands explored the rest of her body. He rhythmically worked her into a near frantic frenzy, moving his fingers against her and then slipped them inside her. Peg stretched her arms above her head and reached for one of the pillows, digging her fingernails into the down feathers as it felt like every part of her body was on fire. He quickened his pace and brought her to such an intense climax she thought for certain she had lost her mind. As she caught her breath, she looked up at him, and he breathed, “Christ, luv… do you think you can go again?” “N-no, not yet. My head’s still spinning,” she whispered as she came back down to earth. He groaned, and she knew exactly what he was upset about. Once she shook off some of the mind-numbing euphoria, she pulled him close and whispered, “Lay down on your back.” “What?” “Just lay down,” she said, which he did, and she danced her fingers down his stomach and lower still until she began giving him as much pleasure as he’d given to her. After a few minutes, he said, “Peg…would you…use your mouth?” “Yes,” she said quickly, slowing her pace a bit as she leaned over and took him into her mouth. His reaction was almost immediate—he emitted a satisfied moan as she continued the motions until he gasped, “Stop…stop, stop…” She did so, and he sat up, pulling her on top of him again. “Are you ready now?” he whispered, teasing her breasts with one fingertip. “God, yes,” she laughed, and before she knew it, he turned her around and flipped her onto her back. He slipped his hands under her backside and plunged himself into her warmth quite slowly, procuring a lengthy vocal reaction from her. “Oh, Paul,” she breathed as he moved in and out of her, pressing her into the soft mattress with each movement. She was glad he was patient, taking his time, building her euphoria back up with each sensual thrust. Not much time passed before she cried out, digging her nails into his shoulders, as she reached her peak. It felt as if her body melted with his, wave after wave of pleasure contracting within her, and then he likewise reached orgasm deep inside her body. Slowly, slowly, things went back to normal around them as he looked down at her. She brushed back his sweaty hair from his forehead. “Did…do the others know what we’re doing?” she asked. Paul nodded. “I didn’t say it outright…but they know. Does it matter?” “No. I was just curious.” They rested in silence for a while, and once the chill in the room finally got to them, they got comfortable beneath the sheets and blankets, and Paul shut off the lamp. Peg snuggled against him, and he put his arm around her. Things felt so calm to her in that hotel room, far above the din of the busy city, that she fell asleep. She awoke some time later when she thought she heard voices in the hallway and a series of doors banging. After a minute or so, all was quiet again. Paul must have heard her stir, for he whispered, “You all right?” “Yeah…What time is it?” she asked. She heard him fumble for around for his watch on the nightstand. “It’s…hang on a sec,” he said, turning on the lamp. “It’s half past eleven.” Peg shielded her eyes from the bright light as he wound his watch. “I didn’t think we’d be asleep that long.” “Neither did I. That was probably the most sleep I’ve had in a few days,” he said, propping himself up with a pillow. She peered at him with one eye. “I should probably leave,” she said quietly. “Nah,” he said. “There’s no rush…Do you think that’s all I wanted you for, then throw you out? It’s not, you know.” Peg relaxed, leaning against his shoulder. She thought she should feel bad or ashamed or something…but she didn’t. Likewise, she wasn’t wholly upset that they’d only have one night together like this. Something told her that their time together wasn’t meant to go beyond that hotel room door. Paul yawned, shifting around so he leaned against one elbow, looking at her. “I didn’t ask you to stay for the evening just for a quick one. Christ, I could get that any time of the day if I wanted it. I figured you’re a bit more mature then most birds and you’d be more into this.” “Well it was nice,” she giggled, opening both her eyes. “You’re really…amazing…at least from what I’ve experienced.” “Oh, well, thank you,” he said in a funny accent, reaching beneath the covers and pinching her thigh. “I couldn’t have done it without you, though.” She giggled as his hand slid up her inner thigh. “Now, now…don’t press your luck,” she said as he got closer and closer to where she knew he wanted his hand to end up. “I’m not gonna press me luck. I’m just gonna press your buttons,” he whispered, and she closed her eyes and let the tidal wave of pleasure slowly build within her. “Paul,” she gasped, gulping in a breath of air as his fingers moved inside her. She laughed as he suddenly ducked his head beneath the bedcovers and continued his sensual exploration of her. After a while, he tossed the covers aside, sitting up and pulling her atop his lap. She loved the feeling of his hands against her bare hips as she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him feverishly. He sensed exactly when she wanted him to take the next step, and he slowly guided himself into her. He loved it when his earlier thoughts became reality, making love to her this way. Her soft breathing became more rapid, and he watched her face tense up as their lovemaking really took effect on her. To really please her, he had to have her on her back again, so he guided her down to one of the stray pillows in the middle of the bed and continued on. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she gasped, grabbing his backside, trying to push him deeper inside her. “Oh my God…” He kissed her again, and amid her fervent cries pushed back inside her. Their movements together became so intense that Peg’s head and shoulders began sliding over the edge of the bed. They both lost their balance and fell to the floor, laughing. Luckily they had both sensed their oncoming plunge and had braced themselves so neither would hurt themselves. Peg burst into giggles as she realized how trapped she was in the tangled mess of bed sheets around them. He silenced her with another kiss as he continued the task of what would surely bring her to an intense climax. His hands swept across her sweat-dampened skin, teasing her beautiful breasts, sending shivering-cold tingles through her body. He looked down at her again—her eyes were closed again, her face flushed pink, her hair a pool of light brown waves across the dark red carpet, and her breath soft against his shoulder each time he moved. “You do like this, don’t you?” he murmured, half out of breath himself as he went into her as far and as hard as he could. God, she was wonderful! Her teeth were biting into her lower lip, and she opened her mouth long enough to gasp, “Oh God, yes! I’ve never…felt…oh, do it again…” Their excitement was cyclical—the more intense he made love to her, the greater her reaction, which excited him even more. He would tease her every so often—either slowing down or completely stopping when he sensed that she was almost at her breaking point, letting her think for a moment that her normal sense of existence might come back—and then resuming his motions relentlessly, building her back up again. After a few episodes of this, she whimpered tiredly, “Paul, please…” “Okay, okay,” he said, unable to hold himself back much longer, either, so he intensified his actions until he felt her begin to shudder. This time the culmination of all their proceedings was absolutely incredible—he made her cry out so intensely it startled him for a moment. It took a moment for his mind to stop spinning and for his heart to stop beating so rapidly as they both came down from their sense of rapture. Neither of them wanted to say anything, or to even move from their spot on the floor, except for a momentary movement so he could shut off the lamp shining above them. She sighed gently as he put his arms around her, and he waited until she was asleep before he let go of her. The evening had gone far too quickly for him, and he knew that she’d have to leave him in the morning. Of all the birds he’d attained carnal knowledge of lately, Peg was different. She hadn’t cared a bit that he was one of the most recognized people on the face of the planet—they’d had such a physical and mental connection with each other in the brief time they’d known each other, something that hadn’t happened to him in a very long time. It would actually break his heart to see Peg off the next morning, and he fell asleep rather uncomfortably with that thought in his mind. *** Peg awoke at a pre-dawn six o’clock the next morning out of habit, and it took her a few moment to orientate herself to her surroundings and to whose arms she was resting in. Oh yes…Paul. She grinned, remembering how wonderful the night before had been, how he’d made her feel so good. She heard the sound of water running through pipes in the wall near her head, the sound of which soon awoke Paul as well. They began to untangle themselves from the muddle of bed sheets twisted around their bodies, attempting to pick themselves up off the floor. “The maid’s going to wonder what in God’s name went on in here,” Peg laughed, retrieving her clothes from under the bed. Paul, likewise, found his robe on top of his suitcase and pulled it on. “Did you want to wash up?” he asked her, sitting on the bed. “Yes, actually, if you don’t mind,” she said. “Eech, I wish I had a fresh change of clothes.” “Well, how were you to know you’d be spending the night here?” “I didn’t know,” she said, smiling as she went into the bathroom. She showered quickly and dressed in her day-old clothes, feeling like a worn-out rag doll in her wrinkled attire. When she emerged from the bathroom, she found that Paul had already gotten dressed and was just coming back into the room from the hallway. “Where’d you go?” she said, unwinding the towel from around her wet hair. “Had to ask John something,” he said. “If you want, we can ring up the kitchen and get breakfast before I walk you down to your car and see you off.” “No, thanks. To be honest, I’d just like to get home,” she said, sighing. “Oh, sure, I see how it is,” he said, pinching her. “Love ‘em and leave ‘em, is it?” She snapped the wet towel at him, and he dodged it quickly. “Shut up,” she laughed as he escaped into the bathroom. As she combed out her tangled hair, she listened to him humming a random tune in the shower. Perhaps in another very different world, she wouldn’t mind having someone like him as a boyfriend. It had felt so right waking up in his arms that morning after such a tumultuous evening together. In this world, however, it was nearly impossible to even consider such a thing. He was a music star jetting about the world, and she was a teacher bound by her chosen profession to be a responsible adult and care for a class of twenty-nine children. Peg went to return her comb to her purse when she heard something hit the floor by the bed. She looked behind her and saw a red and green box lying on the carpet—she knew it hadn’t been there the night before. She picked it up and was looking it over when Paul came out of the bathroom and gasped. “Aw, dammit, you ruined the surprise!” he laughed. “What surprise?” she asked. “This?” “Yeah, we got ya a Christmas prezzie. That’s what I left the room to fetch. We sent one of our assistants out to buy it for you last night once we got here. You might as well open it, seeing that you’ve found it.” She untied the ribbon and removed the cover. Inside was a Christmas star pendant on a gold necklace. In the center of the star gleamed a diamond-like gem. “Oh my…this isn’t a real diamond, is it?” “Real gold, real diamond,” he said. Her jaw dropped. “No, no…I can’t possibly accept this.” “Yes, you can,” he said, refusing to take back the box as she held it out to him. “You saved our arses yesterday, luv. We’d still be stuck with Mary Poppins’ evil twin sister at that check-in desk at the other hotel if it weren’t for you.” “Paul, a simple thank-you would suffice. I can’t take a diamond from you.” He pulled it out of the box. “This is a simple thank-you,” he said, unclasping it carefully. “We could have gone all out—hold your hair up, luv—and bought you a new house if we had the time.” He reached around the back of her neck, encircling her neck with the chain and struggling to re-attach the clasp. His face was inches from hers as he fumbled with the jewelry, at last catching the two ends of the chain together and letting the necklace rest against her chest. Before he could move away, she leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose. “Thank you,” she whispered, looking away. He rested his hands on her shoulders. “What’s wrong?” “This is…probably the first time in a very long time that anyone’s done anything nice for me,” she said, sniffling. “I haven’t heard a ‘thank you’ from anyone in a very long time. This means more to me than you’ll ever know.” “Well, you deserve this doubly, then. It’ll make me feel better about leaving ya if you accept it,” he said, holding the star between two fingers. “Merry Christmas, Peg.” He tugged gently on the chain, bringing her face closer so he could kiss her one last time in privacy before he walked her to her car and out of his plane of existence. *** The telephone on the hall table was ringing shrilly as Peg unlocked her apartment door. She slammed the door closed and flung the keys onto the couch, diving for the phone. “Hello?” “Peggy, it’s your mother. Where in the world have you been? I tried calling you last night—I know you said you had that party for the kids after school, but—“ “I was tired, and I stayed with a friend last night so I didn’t have to drive home,” she said, quickly skirting around the subject. “Oh, okay. We just got worried about you, that’s all.” “I know.” “Listen, are you still taking today’s ten o’clock train to come home? Your father will be downtown and he can pick you up when you get there.” “Yes, that’s what I planned to do,” she replied, checking the clock on the wall. Eight o’clock…she had about an hour to fix herself up and pack a suitcase with a week’s worth of clothes. “Tell him to meet me by the ticket counters.” “That’s fine, dear. We’ll see you in a few hours.” “Okay, Mom. Bye.” “Bye-bye, Peggy.” She hung up the phone and toyed with her necklace for a moment, mentally racing through the list of tasks she had to do before leaving. Fix her hair…pack her clothes…return those damn costumes…oh, pack up the Christmas gifts for her family… After she pulled off her clothes and slipped into her bathrobe, she unclasped the necklace and dug the gift box from the bottom of her purse. When she opened the box this time, she noticed that she hadn’t even bothered to read the gift card enclosed the first time she opened it: To Peg—For
leading us out of the fray and back to Shangri-La— And
for an evening to remember— A gift
in sincere appreciation, and A
Thousand Thanks!!! Love, Dasher,
Dancer, Father Christmas, and Yours always XOX |
|
Tina Kukla has been writing since she was 8
years old. Besides filling up a filing cabinet with short stories and
historical novels over the years, she is also the author of the Beatles fan
fics "Live at 12 Cold Creek Street" and "Days in the
Life," featured on her website, Beatlegirl's
World. |
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