Chapter 22

We were finishing breakfast when Sandy appeared. I braced myself for her wide-eyed romantic enthusiasm and questions, but Sandy had done a little celebrating the night before, helping Chuck finish off the Black Tavern. She was somewhat hungover. Not desperately so, but enough to feel rotten. She plopped into the chair and, holding her head, said “Coffee.”

“And some headache powders,” Paul said, recognizing the problem immediately and smiling sympathetically.

“I don't think that is going to do it,” she groaned.

“Nothing else for it,” he said. “Believe me, I tried enough home remedies in the last few months to know.”

Brenda caught that. “I thought you guys preferred pot to demon rum,” she teased.

He looked at her a little sheepishly. “Yeah. Well, I guess I am an old-fashioned guy. I took the time honored cure for a broken heart. I got stinking drunk. Regularly and thoroughly.”

Sandy responded with her signature line; “Ooh, that is so romantic.”

Paul laughed. “Neil sure didn't think so. The second time I puked up in his car, he called Mike to come and get me. I woke up at Dad's. He didn't think it romantic either. Gave me all kinds of hell. Wouldn't let me out of the house for a week and lectured me on the evils of drink the whole time.”

He was laughing, Brenda and Sandy were laughing, but it was making me feel bad. I got up to put the dirty dishes in the sink as Paul went on. “Then Dad made Mike go back to London with me. 'Keep an eye on our kid,' he said. 'Keep him off the booze 'til he gets his feet back on the ground.' Well, Mike did. I switched to pot and had another great week. Dead stoned, but not drunk!”

Brenda and Sandy were shocked, but couldn't help laughing and neither could I. “Then what happened?” Sandy asked.

“I had to go to work. I had a contract to do a movie score and it was well into October and I hadn't started. So I sent Mike home and got back to business.”

“And inspired by the pain, you wrote music…” Sandy again. We all cracked up at that. This whole situation was putting Sandy's romantic nature on overdrive.

Paul said “Something like that. Pain and sugar cubes. “

Brenda and Sandy didn't get it, but I knew LSD was usually taken on a sugar cube.

Paul turned to look up at me and seeing the look on my face, got up and reached for me. “It's all right, love. It was just a couple of times,” he said as he hugged me.

“It's not just that. I just never thought about what you were going through.” I said with a sniffle.

“I told you, it wasn't all your fault. I should have known you weren't with John.”

There was an audible gasp from both roommates at that comment, but I was too lost in Paul at that moment to explain. He was kissing me, stroking my hair and trying to forestall the tears I was fighting. I swallowed hard and straightened up, managing a weak smile.

He grinned back at me. “And don't be so big headed! It wasn't just you that drove me to drink! I though I'd lost John too, and, bastard that he is, he is my friend.”

I had to smile at that.

“The worst part was plain old self pity. I wondered if I was always going to be alone. I was beginning to think I couldn't hold on to anyone.”

“Well, I'm not going anywhere. Ever again. I love you.” I said and sealed the promise with a kiss.

The fact that we were standing in the middle of the kitchen with my roommates listening to all this, watching us melting into each other, came to our attention abruptly as we heard Sandy say “Ooh, it is so—mmmmph!” We turned to see Brenda with a hand clamped over Sandy's mouth.

“Incurable Romantic!” Brenda solemnly pronounced as we laughed at them.

“That's not so awful,” Paul said. “I get a bit that way myself.”

Sandy, being Sandy, plunged headfirst into it. “At the dance last night when you two were dancing, it was so great! I started crying just watching you. It was so incredibly romantic! Then you left together, not caring what people thought because you needed to be alone together, to make up and you came back here and—” She stopped abruptly, finally embarrassed.

“And cried and yelled and cried some more,” I told her.

“Ohhh! But you made up and he swept you off to bed!” Embarrassment was short lived in someone with Sandy's enthusiasm for romance.

“Something like that,” I assured her.

“You shouldn't have done that though,” she blurted out. I was amazed to hear that but as soon as she saw the look on my face, she hurriedly tried to explain. “No, I just mean you shouldn't have done it here!”

That didn't help and she was flustered as she said, “I mean, your first time, it should be special. I mean a special place. I mean…”

I let her off the hook. “I know what you mean. A heart-shaped bed in the honeymoon suite at Niagara Falls?” I asked, knowing Sandy's often stated honeymoon plans.

“Yes! That would be so—” We all grinned. “So perfect!” she amended.

I leaned back against Paul and he put his arms around me. “How about you, Brenda? What is your idea of a romantic spot?” he asked.

“I am not that fussy. Any honeymoon suite anywhere, but the back seat of a Ford Galaxy is looking better all the time!”

Sandy and I laughed, knowing what Mark drove.

Encouraged by her admission that her stance on premarital sex was weakening a bit now that she was in love, I decided it was time to be honest with my roommates about Paul and me.

“Want to hear my dream spot?” I asked, looking up at Paul. He smiled, and kissed my neck. I closed my eyes and described it to Sandy and Brenda. “The coast of Scotland. A country cottage hidden away in a little valley. Thatched roof, climbing roses. In the bedroom, a casement window looking out on the moonlight and heather. A fireplace, four-poster bed with a down comforter and big, soft pillows.”

“Classic!” said Brenda.

“Oh, yes!” breathed Sandy. “Fantastic!”

“It was,” I said.

There was a sharp gasp from Sandy and Brenda said “Aha!”

“You did it last summer?”

“You never told us!”

“I didn't think you would approve,” I said, a little embarrassed because nothing had changed that would make last night more acceptable.

“Approve?” Sandy asked. “Heck, I just want to hear what it is like!”

Paul started laughing. “I think it is time for me to take a little turn about the neighborhood!” he said as he lifted me away from him. “Is it safe for me to go out?”

I went to check the street out front for extra cars, but it was quiet except for a few neighbors shoveling snow. I came back to the kitchen and told him it would be ok.

“Make me sound good, Love!” he said to me in a stage whisper as he left the kitchen.

We laughed, and he went out to the hall closet for his coat. Before he could even get it on, Sandy had pushed me into a chair and taken her place at the table across from me, ready for Sex Education 101 and Brenda was just as eager to hear about it.

Paul came back into the kitchen, bent to give me a quick kiss, and asked,”Would anyone like to hear about my first time?” Without waiting for an answer, he said, “I was fifteen—”

“Fifteen!!” we all said in shock.

“Well, I was shy,” he teased. “Late bloomer. I don't remember much about her, but she had the most impressive set of knockers. She was babysitting and invited me over. She kissed me twice and pulled me down on the sofa. I didn't know what the hell I was doing, but she seemed to know enough to get the job done. Then I ran home, scared she was going to tell her friends how clumsy I was. The next day I bragged to all me mates.”

“That's awful!” we said, laughing anyway.

“No. It was quite nice. To this day I can't look at those lacy thingmabobs on the arm of a sofa without getting a hard on!”

We howled with laughter. He smiled that choirboy smile, wrapped his muffler around his neck, pulled on a hat to minimize the risk of being recognized, and left.

I told them about falling in love with Paul, deciding I wanted him and getting pills from Cyn, the ups and downs of writing the articles, the day of the interview and how we ended up in bed and how it felt, how hard it was to wait until it was safe. I didn't say anything about the range of my sexual education, and they never thought to ask what we did while I waited to get on the Pill. They were focused on hearing about the “Big Event”in Scotland.

I told them about seeing him with Angela and all the clues I had chosen to ignore. I told them about the note I had left and the circumstances that made Paul think I had left with John. I conveniently skipped over Thanksgiving. They were a lot more interested in hearing about sex than following the story anyway, so we ended up giggling over our combined ignorance. I hadn't known about orgasms, but they did. They wanted to know if it hurt the first time. Brenda didn't know that a guy needed time to recuperate before he could do it again and Sandy was amazed to hear that a girl contributed some of the bed squeaking. She thought the guy did all the work. Neither of them knew about the wet spot or how much the woman contributed to the general dampness of the event.

Paul came back and we broke it up and started gathering up laundry. I didn't think a busy Saturday noon Laundromat was a place he would go unnoticed, so he stayed behind, sprawled on the couch watching TV and snoozing off some jet lag. When we got back we found several car loads of kids out front. Word had spread fast through the grapevine that John's visits had established. A quick conference was held as we parked the car, and we decided to lie like crazy. “Paul left early this morning” was going to be our firm response to questions. We got out of the car, but since Paul was not with us, the fans didn't approach us, probably not sure they had the right house.

That afternoon Mark and Chuck arrived with plans to go sledding. That sounded like a great idea, and I explained to Paul that we could get him out the back door to avoid the fans out front.

“Hang on, love,” Paul said. “I plan to spend a lot of time here in the next few months, and unless I never leave the house, we are going to have to deal with them and with reporters. We can't keep this a secret that long.”

He was right, so we bundled up and headed outside. It took about two seconds for the fans waiting in their cars to realize that one of three guys coming out the door really was Paul, and we were quickly surrounded by a dozen or more girls. Paul greeted them with smiles, signed autographs, and explained that he was here to see me. With his best charming smile, he asked that they keep his visit here a secret “Or there will be such a mob here, we won't have a chance to talk again.” With that we piled into our cars.

“Smooth, but do you think it will do any good?” Mark asked Paul.

“Not a chance actually,” he answered.

With a hat, muffler, and sunglasses on, Paul was not recognized while we were sledding and we had a great time. Two hours and frozen fingers and toes later we came home.

By early evening we had a houseful of people—friends who just happened to stop by to return records that had gotten mixed in with theirs at the party last night, to pick up a dish from last night, to drop off a book they had offered to lend one of us for next semester, etc. All were plausible excuses but not something that had to be done on a Saturday night. Since they were all friends and nobody brought along their cousin or thirteen year old sister, I let them in and we spent the evening watching TV and eating pizza.

It wasn't a matter of being sociable and definitely not a matter of sharing Paul with them. I would have greatly preferred to spend the time alone with him, or at least with him, Sandy and Brenda, but I had an ulterior motive: I needed to get people to work for me. I hadn't agreed to work Christmas and New Year's simply because I knew that this would be my last year to have a choice about working them. Once I graduated and took a real job, I would work at least every other holiday from here to eternity, but I had agreed to work every weekday for the next three weeks. So, every friend from school was welcomed with open arms and the price they ended up paying for admission was working a couple of days for me. Ordinarily, it would have been like pulling teeth to get someone to work, but I simply asked them while Paul was standing next to me, and they immediately agreed to do whatever they could. By the end of the day, I was turning down offers to work the few days I had kept just to make sure I got some kind of paycheck.

At eight o'clock, I was out in the kitchen when Paul came looking for me. Grinning, he took my hand and led me out to the sofa where he pulled me down on his lap. “Bonanza,” he explained. “I want to see if Little Joe still gets to you.”

Little Joe didn't phase me, but sitting on Paul's lap with his arm around me did. I turned to look at him during the first commercial and caught the same grin I had seen those evenings at John's. “Bed. Now,” it plainly said. We both laughed, knowing it was impossible.

When everyone left, Paul asked Brenda and Sandy if we could sit down and talk for a bit. He explained that he had to be back in London right after New Year's and wasn't sure how often he could get back to me. He hoped the new album would be done in a couple of months and then he would be free of obligations for a while. He was going to find a flat here, but it could take a while to find something that would be reasonably fan-proof.

“You are going to move here?” Sandy asked in astonishment.

“No,” I explained, taking the plunge. “He's just going to find a place to stay whenever he visit until June, then I am going to go to England with him.”

Sandy squeaked out an “Oh, boy!” and Brenda said “Remind me not to be around when you lay that one on your folks!”

“I'm seriously considering hiring someone to tell them,” I joked.

We talked for a bit about how my parents would react. Consensus was that they would be really upset. The idea of my taking off for a foreign country would be hard enough to sell, but to do it because of a man… As delicately as they could, they pointed out that the man in question was automatically suspect because he was, oh horrors!, a rock'n'roll star.

“Well, at least he isn't Lutheran!” I said with a laugh. Brenda's family was Lutheran to the core, and they were giving her a hard time because Mark was Catholic, and their resistance was nothing compared to that of Mark's family.

We all laughed and the conversation went on to bemoaning the unreasonableness of parents. Brenda pointed out that they were only doing it because they wanted their kids to be happy and that meant dating guys who not only had good prospects but beliefs, values, background similar to theirs. If you didn't date anyone who fell out of that category, you wouldn't end up married to him and life would be neat and tidy.

Paul had been rather quiet through all this girl talk but now he spoke up. “I know that on the surface, Tess and I seem to be worlds apart but I had a normal childhood, my father did the best he could after Mum died. He's a great father. Tess and I do have similar beliefs and values. I do have good prospects.” That got a big laugh. “The only problem is that I am famous.”

“Well, her Mom and Dad have six months to adjust, to get to know you.” Sandy said. “I only just met you and I think you are… well, great, and you aren't even my favorite Beatle!”

We laughed, and Brenda said, “I like you and I am a Rolling Stones fan!”

“She's got it bad for Mick!” we teased.

“It's always the quiet ones,” Paul laughed.

The conversation went back to more immediate needs. Brenda said “It sounds kind of foolish to rent an apartment right away when the most you'll be around is for a week now and then. As far as I am concerned, you are welcome to stay with us until you are going to be here long enough to make an apartment worthwhile.”

Brenda had already surprised me with her acceptance of the situation but this was a step beyond that!

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I didn’t think you would exactly approve of Paul and I… well, of this kind of thing.”

She shrugged. “I guess I never thought I would either, but somehow it doesn’t seem so… well… wrong. You two…I don’t know. You aren’t me, Paul isn’t Mark. It is your decision, not mine. Heck, I wasn’t thinking about all that. It just seems silly to rent an apartment and sign a lease and all that for a week’s visit when he could just stay here.”

“Thank you,” Paul said, “but, the thing is, um, well, I want to sleep with Tess. If you two are uncomfortable with that, I understand. We can wait until I find a place to stay.”

While I pondered whether I could wait, Brenda and Sandy looked at each other, blushing. Sandy stammered “Well, sleeping is fine, but… if you… I mean, well, the doors don't shut tight and ahh, well umm…”

Paul laughed. “I didn't mean sleeping, luv. I'll start looking for some place tomorrow.”

“What about a hotel?” Sandy asked.

He shook his head. “A hotel is out. Reporters are going to find out I am here and they would have a field day if Tess were caught there with me.”

“Well, you can stay here. That's fine with me,” Sandy said. “I just thought a hotel would be more—”

“Romantic!” we all chimed in.

“Soundproof!” she protested, turning bright red.

When we finished laughing at Sandy, Brenda said in her usual no nonsense tone, “So if we give you time here alone once in a while, will we be spared the sound effects? Terry's bed squeaks something awful!”

“How often?” Paul asked and even Brenda blushed.

“What seems reasonable?” she asked. I knew she had no idea how often most couples did it.

“Twice a day?” Paul asked.

Sandy and Brenda's eyes met and their expressions made Paul and I both burst out laughing. Apparently they expected to hear “Two or three times a week.” When we started to laugh, they did too thinking Paul had been joking. Little did they know! Maybe if we ever had more than a week together at a stretch, two or three times a week would be enough, but if our time in Scotland was any measure, twice a day really was more like it.

“Whenever it isn't inconvenient for you,” Paul amended. “I'll pay for dinner or movies or whatever will get you out of the house.”

“That's a deal!” they both agreed.

“I love to eat out,” Sandy warned him. “You'll end up broke and worn out!”

“Not bloody likely, that!” Paul replied.

Paul and I slipped into bed together that night, and after having already exceeded our twice a day limit in the last twenty four hours, were reasonably content to just hold each other and talk quietly until we drifted off to sleep.

The phone rang around noon the next day. Mom wanted to know when I was coming home for Christmas. Paul had already made it clear he wanted to meet my parents so that was no problem. I just didn't want to give up any more nights with him than I had to. I told her I wouldn't be down until Friday. Since she was working all week, it really didn't matter. Paul was helping Sandy and Brenda wrap gifts in the living room, and he looked up at me, grinning, when I announced to Mom that I was bringing someone home with me for Christmas. There was a long pause on the line, then “A boy?”

“Yes, a guy.” I could not think of Paul as a boy, angel face or not.

“It isn't that John person, is it?”

“No, Mom. He went back to England ages ago.” Paul raised an eyebrow at that.

“So, who is it?”

“Well, someone I dated for a while last summer, and just sort of got back together recently. You will really like him, Mom.”

Something in my voice hit her finely tuned maternal antennae. “Is this serious?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my. Well, what does he do?”

“You can find out all about him over Christmas!” I said, evading the issue.

She began to fuss about what she needed to do if company would be there. I assured she didn't need to fuss. He could sleep on the roll-away bed in the living room, (another grin from Paul), he was not a fussy eater, liked dogs and didn't mind a little dog fur on his clothes. I reminded her I was bringing cookies and that was a big help. She just didn't have time to bake. She wanted me to try to find a red sweater for my youngest sister. She couldn't find one and had been in all the stores in Mankato.

In the background, Paul. Brenda, and Sandy had started singing along with Christmas carols on the radio. Paul was singing “White Christmas” and Mom said “Oh, who is that? Is that him?”

“Yeah. He is helping us wrap presents.”

“He has a very nice voice!” she said. “Well, see you Friday then. Bye!”

“Bye, Mom,” I managed to say, stifling a laugh. That very nice voice was a key element in the songs she and Dad had dismissed as caterwauling and I couldn’t count the nights Anne and I had been told to “Turn off that noise and go to sleep!”.

I joined the others in wrapping. Paul asked if my parents had met John and I told them about the evening he had gone to dinner with us. “Steve and Jan thought he was great, Dad was quietly dismayed, and Mom was horrified,” I concluded.

“John has that effect on people,” he chuckled.

When the phone rang again a little later Sandy got it. “It's John!” she laughed. “He wants to know if you are still speaking to him!”

I took the phone from her. “John?”

“Hullo, luv. Did my gift arrive?”

“Oh, yes. Thank you, John!”

“Thought you might like it.”

“I love it, and I love you for sending him.”

“I had no choice, really. He was so miserable, he was about worthless in the studio. I had to do something or we'd never get another album out!”

“How did you find out it was Angela?”

“I didn't. Not until after I had already decided you two needed to talk.”

“You didn't know?”

“Well, not exactly. Paul and I had a bit of a go round one day—”

“The day he punched you?”

“Yeah. The twit. Ringo and George tried to talk to me after, but when they said everyone thought that you and I had taken off together, I was so pissed off, I just walked out. The next day Paul kept asking me why you left. You would have been proud of me, love. I didn't smash him. I was trying to figure out whether I should tell Paul you had seen him that night or just let him twist in the wind. I decided to let him be miserable! Well, we weren't accomplishing anything that session. Paul was so out of it. We finally just gave it up and as I was leaving, he cornered me. He was so…”

“Pathetic?”

John laughed. “Yeah. He was just lost. He kept going over and over all these crazy ideas why you might have left, how much he loved you. Then he said something like, 'I was doing it right this time. No screwin' around. No birds on the side.' Well, I had to believe him. He was damn near bawlin' by then. I wasn't sure what had really happened but I knew it had to be some kind of mistake. I just decided to get out of it, let you two sort it out. I said all along you needed to talk to him, so… well, I set this up. It was a day or so later before I saw Mal and asked who she was. I had no intention of telling him—I rather liked him in his current state of misery. Humble he was, as never before!”

I had to laugh at John's gloating, but couldn't resist asking. “What if she had been… someone else?”

John didn't even hesitate. “Couldn't have. At least no one he'd been shaggin'. I know him and he was tellin' the truth when he said he wasn't screwin' around.”

“Thank you. I can't believe I ever let him go. If you hadn't…” I was sniveling again.

“Hey, girl. It's all right now. I thought it would be. I knew once you saw him again… Hell, you would have taken him back even if he admitted to screwing the whole St. Mark's Girl's choir, but I knew he was telling the truth. He loved you and never meant to hurt you. I wouldn't have let him near you if I thought otherwise.”

“John, I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said softly. “Tess, I told him about us.”

“I know. We talked about it.”

“I didn't know what to do. I bloody hell hadn't planned to tell him. Didn't want to, but… I figured you would think you had to tell him. The more I thought about it, well, I wasn't about to let him give you a bad time over it. If he was going to go spare over it, I might as well save you the whole bit of having him turn up on your doorstep and turn you inside out again. I wouldn't let him put you through it. Hell,” John laughed, “I didn't even have the balls to tell 'im to his face. Rang him up and told him, then waited half the night for 'im to break my door down!”

I laughed with him, then said, “I'm glad you did. It was hard enough… and it is still a bit touchy, I think.” Even now, Paul was standing in the doorway, listening to my end of the conversation, watching my face as I talked to John. “He is going to have to understand,” I went on, looking Paul in the eye, “you and I are going to stay friends. I won't pretend I don't care about you.”

“Tess, honey, don't push it. Give him time,” John was saying as Paul came to me and gathered me in his arms and held me tight. John's voice in my ear went on, “Hell,” he was saying with a little laugh, “I'm having a little trouble with this and I knew all along that you weren't mine. Now, let me talk to Paul.”

“Good bye, John. I'll see you this summer! Merry Christmas and I love you”

I handed the phone to Paul. They spoke only briefly before Paul said “Oh, bloody hell! What happened?” He listened, then said, “No. Nothing on the telly here or in the papers. Maybe the New York papers.”

Silence for a moment, and then Paul sighed, “God, what a waste. What, twenty one or so?” Then, “No. Mike will go. He was pretty good mates with him.”

I already suspected that someone they knew was dead and when Paul said something about sending flowers, he confirmed it. They talked a bit longer, and when he hung up, Paul told me that Tara Browne had been killed that morning in a car accident. It was in all the British papers but little was really known. Apparently he had simply lost control and hit a parked car. His girlfriend had not been injured badly but he died at the scene. I didn't really know how close Paul had been to Tara but he looked upset. We went for a walk, he talked a little about Tara, but what can you say but “What a shame.”

“I have to ring up Mike,” he said when we got back. I hugged him and left him to make the call in what little privacy our little apartment afforded.

Monday flew by with Brenda rushing around all morning to get stuff ready so she could leave for her parents. Sandy was at work, and at noon, Paul helped Brenda carry stuff to her car, then literally picked me up and carried me off to bed.

We took it slowly this time, eager but not desperate and luxuriating in the thought of the hours and days of privacy ahead of us and taking the time to play and laugh and talk as we made love. There was so much I needed to tell him, how much I liked the way he made love to me, how warm his mouth was, how I loved to feel him grow hard in my hand and to feel the tension in his body when he held back and the power when he let go. Afterward I told him I loved him over and over, told him how I had missed him, his touch, his body.

Paul laughed softly. “Listen to you! You were always so quiet in bed. No, let me rephrase that! You never used to talk so much,” he teased.

That embarrassed me. It was true. I had never known quite what to say and now all of a sudden I was full of words.

“I'm sorry,” I said, really embarrassed now.

“Don't apologize, honeypie! I like it!” He wrapped himself around me. “I like it a lot, even if…”

“If what?”

“If I have John to thank for this,” he said. He didn't sound really angry, but still, it was like walking into a door in the dark. I wondered how many times was this going to happen, this running into John unexpectedly. I rolled away from him and lay there, heart pounding, knowing this was the moment I had been dreading.

“He's always going to be between us, isn't he?” I said softly.

“No!” He sounded surprised, but I rolled over, propped myself on one elbow and looked down at him. I looked him in the eyes and he looked away.

“I just can't help thinking of you with him,” he said softly.

There was a lot more we needed to say on the subject of John. “I think we better just get it over with,” I said.

A long silence. “All right.”

“What do you want to know?”

Another pause. “I'm not sure.”

“When, where, why or how. Pick one.”

“John told me when, and I can imagine where. Everywhere. John does girls backstage, in elevators, anywhere.”

I didn't say anything, thinking about the beach, floor, etc.

“Why?” he asked finally.

“Because I couldn't get over you. John was the only one who knew about us. Almost the only one. I told my sister about everything except that I slept with you. I didn't tell Sandy and Brenda. I just didn't want anyone to know. I felt like such a fool. John was the only one I could talk to. When I decided that the only way to get over you was to find someone else, he was the only one I could even begin to want and the only one who would understand.”

“He didn't… start it?”

“Neither of us started it. It just happened. I said I wished I could want somebody again, and he… offered and I took him up on it.” I was wishing I had left this alone. I didn't want to talk about this after all.

With difficulty, as if he was wishing the same, Paul said, “John and I shared rooms, beds, girls,” he said. “I know his… ahh… abilities. He is incredible. We used to make bets on how many times he could do it in one night. Did you…” His voice trailed off and I wasn't sure what the question was.

“Did we what?”

“No. Did you…” Whatever the question, Paul was having a hard time with it, and he finally just blurted it out. “Was it better with him?”

I almost laughed with relief. I had thought he was going to want a full accounting of every time, place, position, variation and climax. “It is the old quantity versus quality situation,” I told him.

“So it really wasn't good?” The delight in his voice was obvious.

I couldn't say John wasn't good. He could be very good. Like the first time when his patience with me was so necessary and other times. “It was different. Let's just say his enthusiasm was contagious, but what we did was have sex, good sex and lots of it, but it was never, never what I had with you. With you it wasn't having sex, it was making love.”

“You weren't in love with him?”

Only a totally honest answer would do here. Paul would hear the lie if I brushed off my feelings for John too lightly. “No, not really,” I said. “If hadn't been in love with you, I might have thought that what I felt for him was… something more, but I knew what that kind of love felt like and I didn't feel that for him. I wasn't in love with him. I do love him, but not like that.”

Paul listened and thought it over. I didn't know what else I could possibly say that would help, so I waited and finally he pulled me down into his arms and kissed me.

“He could never love you like I do. Never.”

“I know,” I said and thought of John's note. “He said the same thing.” He had known all along I was meant to be with Paul.

Paul sighed. “I guess it shouldn't have hit me so hard. Up until the week before, I believed you were with him, but… it did. I spent the whole day trying to sort out how I felt. He was right. If I couldn't deal with it, I needn't bother coming here. In the end it just came down to the fact that you thought it was quits between us. There was no reason you shouldn't find someone else. God knows I tried to!”

“Spare me the details, please!”

“Gladly. Now tell me again what a great lover I am.”

“First you'll have to show me again,” I said and he did.

When Sandy got home that afternoon, she promptly offered to go to a movie that evening so we could be alone. I assured her that wasn't necessary and later when Paul was out of ear shot, she said “Well, I'll go out tomorrow evening. I am sure Paul will want to… you know…”

“Sandy, you don't need to go out. Paul and I have the whole day together for that.”

Her eyes got big as saucers. “In the daytime!?!” she squeaked.

“It can be done anytime of day,” I said trying not to laugh too hard at her.

“I know that!” she said. “I mean, I know you can do it, but how can you take off your clothes in broad daylight—in front of a guy?”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “That takes a little getting used to, but when he undresses you, you aren't thinking about that. The bad part is afterward when you realize you are going to have to get out of bed and he'll see you!”

We had a giggling bit of girl talk over that, interrupted when Paul wandered in to see what we were laughing about. Later, over dinner, Sandy offered to go to her parents for the week and commute to work from there. “You two only have a couple of weeks together, and I feel like I am intruding.”

“I'd love to be alone with him,” I admitted, “but I need you here. There are more fans outside everyday and one of these days there are going to be reporters. We need a chaperon.”

It was her turn to laugh at me. “Oh, sure! As long as she goes to work all day!”

We had a good laugh about how silly the whole thing was and Sandy agreed with me that as long as weren't alone here over night, the world would for some crazy reason assume we were behaving ourselves.

“No, that's not quite right,” Paul said. “They know the score perfectly well, but as long as we are not alone at night, we are playing the game, keeping up appearances, and they will look the other way. It is only when you are honest about it that it becomes wrong.”

“You know, until I saw you two together, I thought it was wrong too,” Sandy admitted, “but the other night at the dance, watching you two, it just seemed so… necessary. I think I would have been so disappointed if I had come home and found Paul on the couch!”

“Not half as disappointed as I!” Paul laughed.

“I don't think ‘disappointed' is exactly the right word for what you would have been feeling!” Sandy teased.

By Tuesday word was out among the fans that there was a Beatle in residence and things were starting to get a little crazy at the apartment. With schools out for Christmas break, more and more fans were free to hang around the apartment for hours at a time, hoping for a glimpse of Paul. Al and Carol, recognizing the signs of a Beatle in residence came up to say hello to John, having met him on his second visit, and got to meet their second Beatle instead.

Paul and I spent the next few days just talking, watching TV, baking cookies, reading, going for long walks. We took Carol's kids sledding, went with Sandy and Chuck for dinner and a movie, and, with Paul's hair slicked back and dark glasses on, we even slipped into a couple of stores for some quick shopping. Shoppers were too frantic with last minute shopping and clerks were too tired and frazzled to notice who was walking past.

I needed to get a Christmas gift for Paul and was stumped. Not only was it a case of what do you get for the man who has everything, but what do you get when you can't afford the kind of stuff he was used to, and what do you get when you want it to say “I love you.” I thought about more old records as I had gotten John, but we had spent so little time at Paul's, I had no idea what he already had. Besides, the last thing I needed to do was give him the same thing as I had John. That would be just a little too symbolic.

I was at the shopping center one day, doing laundry, and while I waited, I decided to see if there was anything even remotely affordable in the jewelry store a few doors down. Maybe cuff links. When the salesperson asked if she could help, I said I was looking for a gift for my boyfriend. I had never used that term to refer to Paul, and somehow, it just wasn't right. He was so much more. I had an impulse to rephrase that to “my lover.” More accurate in a way, but still not nearly enough and way too shocking for general use. I was mentally wandering in search of the right word as the saleslady showed me cuff links and tie tacs. They were solid gold, inset with diamonds and way out of my price range. When I told her I was looking for something a little more within my budget, she said, “Well, we have a great selection of men's identification bracelets. They are very popular this year, and come in a wide price range. The engraving is free, and, if you wish, we can add a personal message on the back.”

I could have hugged her. I had asked Paul once if he ever wore the ID band he had worn in A Hard Day's Night and he had said he had lost it. "I thought about buying another but the clerk had given me such a look when I bought that one. Seems it is poor form to buy one and have it engraved with your own name!"

In a matter of minutes I had selected one only moderately more expensive than I could afford. When she asked whether I wanted his name or just his initials on it, I opted for initials rather than tell her his full name. I had this vision of the look she would give me if she recognized the name. “Tsk tsk, what a pity. The girl is so far gone as to pretend she is dating one of the Beatles.”

The inscription for the back came to me easily; “This time… forever.” A promise or a prayer? Things were still complicated.

One night as we got into bed, Paul asked me again to go back to England with him right after Christmas. I swallowed hard, recognizing that his bringing it up again meant he was not prepared to take no for an answer on this.

“Paul, we talked about this…”

He shook his head impatiently. “Not enough. Hear me out. You can finish school there if you want, but Tess, you don't have to work. I'll take care of you. It will be easier if you aren't tied down to school or a job. I want to take you places. Now that we aren't touring it would be fun to travel, really see some of the world.”

He went on, talking enthusiastically about places we could go, but I wasn't really hearing him. All the pro's and con's of nursing school versus Paul that I had struggled with while in England flooded back in and the issue was no clearer now than it had been then. The only thing that had changed was that I was now twenty-one and could go without my parents permission. Doing so would be awful. They would be so hurt, so angry, so frightened for me, but I was twenty one now. Was that the only change? I loved Paul more than ever and was more determined to be with him, more hopeful that someday we would be married… There was the hangup. The “m” word.

I was in no rush to get married, but this kind of talk pushed the issue prematurely into consideration. Nursing or Paul? Paul, definitely Paul. Even so, as much as I loved him, as rose-colored as my glasses were, I could still see that giving up school on the hopes that we would be married someday was a risk. He had implied that marriage was in the future, but five years… A lot could happen in five years. Besides, I just couldn't see myself living off his money in the meantime even if things did work out between us.

I realized that Paul had stopped talking and looked up at him. He saw the answer on my face.

“No? “ he asked, hoping he was wrong.

I shook my head. “No. I can't do that.”

He sighed. “You understand it isn't just about being apart for a few more months, don't you? There are so many things—what if we want to make another movie? We have to do another, it is part of a contract, and I'll have to be gone for weeks at a time… You won't need to work. I can take care of you. I know nursing means a lot to you—”

I couldn't let that go by. “Not as much as you do!” I interrupted and was rewarded with a smile. “But I can't take your money. I can't just let you set me up in an apartment and be your—” I stopped. I didn't want to say mistress but that was the right word, wasn't it?

Paul knew the word on the tip of my tongue and was instantly contrite. “Aw, baby, it wouldn't be like that. I don't want you off in some apartment anyway. I want you with me. I want us to be together, and if it works out…”

His words trailed off and I almost burst out laughing. The “m” word was as hard for him to mention as it was for me. It was just too soon to be talking about it. “You'll make an honest woman of me?” I asked with a grin.

“You are honest, that's the problem!” he laughed. “But yes, I would consider doing just that.”

“Well, that is a consideration that is a ways down the road. Do you realize we have really only known each other for a few weeks? And, buddy boy, you come with a lot of complications to consider!”

“Yes,” he laughingly agreed, “but I am rich!”

“That is supposed to make up for the fact that you have despicable habits and deplorable friends and a dog who is barely housebroken?” I teased.

“Only for the habits and friends,” he replied. “The fact that I am incredible lover makes up for the dog.”

“Oh really?” I asked and having successfully steered away from deep waters, we settled in for another night of holding each other.