Into My Life

Chapter12

When I got back to London, Mal picked me up at the train station and after a little teasing about what sights I had seen, delivered me to John's. I was surprised to find Cyn and her Mother had taken Julian and gone up to Bristol to her sister's and would be back late Sunday. In spite of my resolve to stay out of  any discussion of John and Cyn's marriage, I couldn't help asking "Did you have a fight?"

John just laughed grimly. "Cyn never fights. She puts up with me no matter what. She won't leave me." He didn't say it angrily or as if bragging about his hold on her, just sadly at the mess they were both in. "It is her sister's birthday is all. So how was lunch with the lion? You seem to have come back alive."

I told him our plans and he listened quietly. When I finished he looked at me, smiling a little because it would have taken a bigger cynic than even John Lennon to deny the fact that I was in love. He got up from his chair and came over to where I was sitting and leaned over and kissed me softly on the cheek. "You have my blessings, my child," he said in a mock patriarchal tone.

Dot was there, busy fixing dinner and full of questions about the sightseeing I had done in Scotland. Somehow she hadn't tumbled to the fact that I had gone with Paul and I was glad to find that some privacy was still possible in Beatledom.

After dinner we settled in for a quiet evening in front of the TV. John ended up trying to explain the nuances of British comedy to me. Much of it included references to old comedians and British history that was lost on me, and the rest was either hysterically funny in its absurdity or just too weird for me to find funny. Mostly it was John himself that had me laughing that night as he imitated TV characters and people in the news, commenting on their physical shortcomings in a way that was in outrageously bad taste yet so funny. It was wonderful to feel like I had the real John back, not the moody, unhappy man who had been haunting this house for the past few weeks. At the same time it was an uncomfortable feeling because it was probably because Cyn was gone. It wasn't a matter of John kicking up his heels because she wasn't there -- He wasn't stoned or tripping or in a party mood. He just seemed relieved not to have to play husband.

We sat up until midnight, but by then I was yawning like crazy. I finally had to say goodnight and got up to go up to bed. He was ready to turn in too. As we went through the ritual of locking up the house, turning off lights, I was suddenly very much aware that I was alone with him. The feelings I had experienced in those first few days at the hotel with him had been pushed aside in the tidal wave of feeling for Paul, but tonight they haunted me. For the first time I was uncomfortable being with him. It was the first time we were really alone. Dot had left hours ago. Somehow things felt very different. As corny as it sounds, I was a woman now, not an inexperienced girl, and Paul was clearly delighted with me. There was a temptation to try out my new womanly skills, to show John how good I was, and heaven help me, he hadn't been as appealing to me since we had arrived in England. From a purely sexual standpoint I would have loved to give him a try and the fact that he wasn't projecting that dismal, irritable aura tonight made him a bit of a temptation.

As I headed up the stairs with John close behind me, I was thinking, wondering what it would be like to do it with him. When I stopped at the door to my room, he stopped beside me. He put his hand on my shoulder, then slid it down to the small of my back, and then a little further. All thoughts of showing off fled. The sexual attraction was there and it was strong, but I was Paul's now. I didn't know what to say or how to handle this, but when I looked up at him and saw his smile, I laughed out loud. This was my John, and he was just being wicked, teasing me.

"Sorry, luv. Headache," I said and ducked into my room. I could hear him laughing as he went on to his room.

The next day I caught up on laundry and started to write to my roommates, telling them about Paul, but all the letters ended up in the wastebasket. I wanted to prepare them, but didn't know where to start or how much to say. If writing to them was difficult, what was I going to say to my parents? Paul had offered to fly back to the States with me to meet my parents, but I had asked him to wait. I wanted to go back, get back to school and generally act grown up and responsible before I told them about Paul -- or about my plans to move to England. Dropping it on them all at once would guarantee their resistance. Paul needed a few weeks at least to get things arranged for him to spend time in Minneapolis and that would be more than soon enough to spring this on them. In fact, I didn't really plan to tell them I was going to move to England. They would realize it long before school was out.

John wanted to go out, so after lunch we went shopping. I hadn't gotten gifts for everyone at home yet, though I had picked up some things. Les had driven Cyn to Bristol so wasn't around, but John simply called for another chauffeur. (I had this vision of a warehouse of guys in chauffeur costumes, sitting on shelves waiting for the wealthy to need a lift somewhere!)

John popped in and out of bookstores while I hit the boutiques. He spent as much on books in a month as I did for a year of textbooks. We had a lot of fun, though it must have looked odd to have a shopper looking for bargains on souvenirs who then went out and jumped into a chauffeur driven Rolls Royce. When we got home we found Dot fixing an early dinner as she and "the mister" were going out on the town that evening.

"Bingo again?" John teased.

"No. It's coming up on our anniversary and we're going to dinner at the Carlisle in Ainsbury."

"Ooh, swank! You go easy on the champagne, luv. You know how you get when you're tiddly!"

Dot laughed and informed him she'd get tiddly on her anniversary celebration if she'd a mind to. "But never you fear. I'll be round in the morning to get your breakfast."

"You needn't. Take the day off. Spend it in bed with that man of yours," John laughed.

"Now I told Cynthia I would make sure you got meals. I have plans for the afternoon, but I'll have dinner ready to go in the oven before I leave."

"Tess can keep me fed for one day, Dot," he said. "You don't need to give up your whole weekend."

With a little more encouragement Dot gladly accepted the day off and showed me what she had planned for tomorrow's meals. Having successfully cooked for Paul all week, I wasn't worried about feeding John. I just hoped he didn't have plans to go out tonight. Or worse, to bring friends in for an evening of LSD tripping.

After an early dinner, Dot left and I wandered around the house restlessly, missing Paul already, wishing we didn't have to be apart for even these few days of our remaining week together, thinking ahead to having him with me in Minneapolis for a while, and wondering how I would ever get through the time from Christmas until summer. I wondered how Cyn got through the long weeks while John was away. Having Julian would help but this big house would be lonely. It felt that way tonight. John was watching the telly, and even with it on, the house seemed huge without Cyn and Julian. With Dot and Les gone too, the place seemed deserted.

I called one of the student nurses, Peggy, thinking I might take Cyn up on her offer and invite her and the others for lunch one day the next week. Before I could suggest that, however, she invited me to join them on an outing that evening. "A perfect opportunity for a visitor to London," she said. The London Philharmonic Orchestra was to play tonight for the first time in its newly remodeled concert hall. The renovation had taken over a year and was supposed to be a wonderful example of restoration of a historic building. It was to be a boring event for stuffed shirts but there would be some celebrities attending. Elizabeth Taylor, Vanessa Redgrave, Michael Caine, and a few others. Peggy and friends had no plans to attend the concert itself, only to wait out front and watch the celebrities arrive, hoping to catch a glimpse of the biggest name of all -- Prince Charles. (England might be Beatle crazy, but the fairy tale of becoming a princess lived on!) After that they were going to go to a night club and make a night of it. It sounded like fun, and what was a trip to London without a glimpse of one of the Royal Family? I could catch the last bus into London, but would probably have to take a cab home. Even if John offered to get a driver for me, I didn't want to have to explain a Rolls and chauffeur! I made arrangements to meet them at the bus stop nearest the theater and then went to tell John.

I realized then I would be leaving him home all alone and when I asked what his plans for the evening were, he said he was going to watch TV and call Aunt Mimi. Hesitantly, I asked if he minded if I went out and he laughed and said he would enjoy his momentary independence from wife, nurse, and other caretakers. So, I told him what I was going to do.

"I thought you had your Prince, you greedy thing," he teased.

He offered a driver, but I explained why I would rather take a cab and he laughed again. "Yes, being associated with me is such an embarrassment!"

A quick change of clothes into the black dress Paul had bought for me and I was ready. John gave me a ride down to the bus stop. It was my one and only experience of being in a car with John behind the wheel. Pete Shotton's joke about his being a terrible driver was only a slight exaggeration. With one of his arms still in a cast and the other shoulder still sore to move even though no longer requiring the sling, it was an interesting and thankfully short drive.

I switched buses once and ended up being dropped off just a few blocks from the Royal Theater. After a few anxious moments of wondering if I was at the wrong bus stop, Peggy and the others arrived and we quickly headed for the theater on foot.

We joined the small crowd of onlookers and a reporters gathering at the entrance and managed to work our way fairly close to the front of the crowd just in time to see a limo pull up and Liz Taylor and Richard Burton disembark. They were formally dressed, Burton in a tux and Liz in a sapphire blue dress that was cut low to provide a backdrop for a necklace and earrings that screamed money. They waved regally to the crowd, posed for pictures and then moved inside. Several more cars arrived and delivered distinguished looking people, apparently members of parliament and various blue bloods.

Michael Caine arrived and the group of teenagers in front of us cheered wildly. As he disappeared into the building, I overheard the girl in front of me say, "I wonder if he and Jane are friends? I think Paul was a bit jealous of him because of the love scenes in the movie."

The girl next to her turned to answer her. "Oh, perhaps he was, but he's long over Jane now! In fact, I think he has someone new --"

A third girl interrupted to say with a laugh that Paul always had someone new. "We ought to make up a tally sheet to keep track of them," she said. "We could mark off how often they visit!"

Oh great! All of London to explore and I ended up standing behind a group of Paul's gatebirds! Trying to appear casual, I moved back a step so I could duck behind Peggy if they turned around, and wondered if I should leave. Would the gatebirds recognize me? I had only been to Paul's a couple of times and I doubted they would recognize me from that, but I was sure they had seen pictures of me while John was in the hospital. They'd recognize John's nurse, even though it was unlikely they would identify me as Paul's "someone new."

While I was debating how to handle this, another limo pulled up, the driver got out and went around the car. There was something familiar about him even though I could only see his back as he opened the door.

The gatebirds in front of us squealed excitedly. "There he is! I knew when they delivered the tuxedo this afternoon, he had to be coming here!" one said as Paul got out if the limo.

Mal stood back and Paul turned back to the limo instead of moving on into the theatre. Long legs swung out of the limo door, peeping through the slit of the narrow skirt of an evening gown. Paul reached down to take the gloved hand reaching up to him, and helped a woman out of the car. Dressed more simply than Liz, younger, thinner, less flashy but more appealing for that reason. I stood there bewildered, unable to think. By now the crowd had recognized Paul and girls were screaming and flashbulbs popping. Paul smiled and waved as they moved arm in arm toward the steps of the building. At the bottom of the stairs, he leaned down as she said something in his ear. He smiled down at her, laughed and put his arm around her as they climbed the stairs. It wasn't until they disappeared into the building that I became aware of the gatebirds talking excitedly.

"She's the one we told you about!" one was saying. "She's the one he has been living with off and on all summer!"

My world spun for a minute as bewildered gave way to a dark, awful feeling.

They were going on excitedly. "No, they weren't living together - she just came 'round a lot."

"Yeah - but she always spent the night!"

"Well, she didn't move in!"

"Come on! She was there for days at a time!"

"Do you think they are serious?" another of the girls was asking.

"Well maybe she is, but I think he is seeing someone else, too," the first girl said. "He was in and out all last week and then packed up and went somewhere this week without her. I am afraid he has another Francie Schwartz going and this girl is going to end up like poor Jane."

"Oh, no!"

"How can he do that?"

"Well I don't care. As long as he doesn't marry ANY of them!"

I listened to all this with a roaring sound in my ears and a huge black pit opening under my feet. Prince Charles arrived just then. If he hadn't, I knew the girls I came with would have noticed something was wrong. I had to get out of there. Peggy was excitedly pushing forward, trying to get a picture of Charles, and I tugged at her arm.

"I'm not feeling well -- I am going to catch a cab and head home." I told her. She was immediately concerned and followed me to the back of the crowd.

"You look awful!" she said. "Can you make it home? Shall I come with you? Pehaps you should just come to our place . . ."

"I'll be fine. It's just a headache. I get them sometimes. I'll be fine. I just need to get home."

She still looked concerned and I let her take over and hail a cab for me. That took several minutes and I don't know how I stood there and talked to her, assuring her it was nothing serious, I just needed a good night's sleep. My head was roaring and everything seemed unreal.

The cab pulled up, I got in, said goodnight to Peggy, and gave the driver John's address. The driver eyed me suspiciously and asked to see my money before agreeing to take me all the way out to Weybridge. As he eased through traffic and made his way onto the freeway, I sat outwardly frozen, but inside the shock was wearing off.

My head spun with the images of Paul helping that woman out of the limo, the things the girls had said. He had been living with her! Was she the date he had introduced me to that night at the party? I wasn't sure. Aside from noting that she was pretty, with tawny light brown hair, I had tried not to stare at the girl at the party -- trying to be cool and pretend I wasn't remotely interested in whoever Paul was with -- and I really hadn't gotten a good look at this girl tonight. She had been turned to face Paul, her back to me. Her hair was pulled up in an elaborate beaded net and it was hard to judge the color but it seemed to be light brown or dark blonde. It probably was her, I realized. The gatebirds certainly recognized her.

It all fit. She was the owner of the pink slippers, bathrobe, makeup, the voice on the phone. It all came together. All I could see was that last snapshot image of him smiling down at her as he put his arm around her.

He had been seeing her all along! Living with her? No, that couldn't be, could it? Was he really with her those nights he said he was with the movie producers? Is that why during my period it didn't seem to bother him that we did little more than kiss? He was getting it elsewhere. He could wait for Scotland and the grand prize.

The numbness gave way and I began to cry. I huddled in the corner, curled up in pain, and cried. I couldn't seem to touch bottom, much less push to the surface of the pain inside. I didn't realize we were at John's home until the driver reached over the seat and touched my shoulder. "Miss, please, miss." He was offering me a Kleenex and I took it from him and tried to pull myself together.

"I'm OK now. Thank you," I finally managed to say after wiping my nose and eyes. I had him pull up to the gate. I pushed the bell and John came on.

"Is this Cinderella home from the Ball?"

"John," I said, croaking the words out past a horrible lump in my throat. "I need to go home."

"Tess?"

I was crying, and couldn't answer. The gate swung open and the driver moved through and up to the house. John came out to meet me. I shoved a handful of money at the driver and threw myself into John's arms.

He walked me into the house. Inside, he sat me on the couch and took me again in his arms, awkwardly trying to hold me in spite of his cast and sore shoulder. He just held me and rocked me gently as I cried. Finally I told him what had happened, trying to describe it step by step. The bathrobe and makeup, the phone call, the limo, Mal, the girl, what the gatebird had said about them living together off and on all summer.

He said nothing and eventually his silence penetrated through my misery and opened a new disheartening thought. I pulled away from him slowly. "You didn't know, did you? John, you didn't know all along?"

"No," he said, pulling me back and kissing my cheek. "I didn't know he was seeing anyone else. But I knew he might."

I thought about that for a moment. About his lion fairy tale warning. About the look that had passed between Pattie and Cyn when they said "He is no saint." Paul saying that he had messed up his relationship with Jane. And something else that was said tonight.

"John, who was Francie Schwartz?"

A heavy silence.

"John?"

"Christ, Tess. I wish you hadn't asked me that."

"Who was she?!"

"She was a girl who hung around the office, did a little work for us. She went after Paul. And, of course, she got him."

"And Jane found out?"

"Yeah."

"So that's what Paul meant when he said he had been in love and messed it up."

"It wasn't that simple, Tess. They weren't getting along so well. Jane wanted an acting career and didn't want to get it because she was Mrs. Paul McCartney."

"Good for her!" I said impressed by someone with that kind of determination.

John shrugged. "Well, Paul wanted a wife and kids. Not right away, but eventually. She wasn't sure when she would be ready for that, if ever. That was a problem I guess but the big thing was simply Paul wanted someone at home for him when he wasn't touring. The more he went on about it, the more she resisted. Then she took a part in a touring company that was leaving just as we got back from tour. Paul was really upset . . ."

"Then along came Francie, just when things were bad between him and Jane."

John looked at me sharply, then looked away. "Yeah. Something like that," he mumbled.

"He was already seeing her?!"

He shrugged, unwilling to say more.

I didn't want to hear more anyway. Either he was already seeing her, or she wasn't the first he had cheated on Jane with. And with that revelation came another; I was suddenly aware that I had the whole situation backwards. He hadn't cheated on me. He was cheating on her and I was the sleazy little tart he was cheating with!! That brought a fresh storm of tears. Not just grief but humiliation this time. I was just one in a series of side dishes. Apparently his relationship with this woman was not as long term or steady as with Jane, but still . . . I knew men cheated, but I couldn't believe I had gotten involved in such a cheap mess, much less been the one he had cheated with. Well, it would have been more noble to be the one cheated on, but it couldn't have hurt any worse. She may have been there first, but he lied to me more than he would have had to lie to her. And I had believed his lies. Right down to the last one -- that he loved me and we were going to be together.

John just held me and let me cry.

Through the pain came another memory. Paul kissing my shoulder and saying softly, the doubt plain in his voice, "All I can promise is that I'll try." That was after he talked to Alistair and found out I wouldn't be able to stay. Maybe that was when it started to fall apart. He might have intended to break off with her the night he first said he loved me, but when he'd gone on to Liverpool and had a few hours alone to think about it, to realize that odds were stacked against my being able to stay, he'd had second thoughts. It had been obvious all along that he wasn't looking forward to a transatlantic love affair. A bird in London is worth two in the States.

When I finally was down to hiccoughing, empty sobs, John left me and came back with a washcloth. He wiped my burning face with the cool cloth.

"I can't beat the shit out him right now," he said, "but maybe I could get Neil to do it. Then I'll do it again myself once the cast is off."

I surprised myself with a shaky laugh.

"I could get Terry back from wherever Paul had Brian send him, too. He'd help."

"What do you mean, "wherever Paul had Brian send him?"

"Neil had conveniently arranged a holiday for himself when we got back from the States. Terry had to be reassigned to keep him away from you."

If I had known that at the time I would have been flattered. Now it was a calculating, manipulative thing for Paul to have done. In seconds, I was off the couch, up the stairs, and in my room pulling my suitcases out of the closet in a cold fury. John followed me, and by the time he caught up with me I was grabbing clothes out of the closet and dumping them in a suitcase. I had my hands full of underwear and nylons and nightgowns from the dresser drawer when John awkwardly began taking the clothes out of my hands throwing them back in the drawer, trying to keep up to me with his one good arm.

"Tess, luv, don't" He stopped and reached out and pulled me close.

"Think this over. You can't leave tonight anyway, and maybe you should wait until you talk to him."

"No! He lied to me, John! He said he loved me!" I said, almost yelling. "He said we would be together. That he would to find a way to spend time in the States. . . He said he loved me," I said, dissolving into tears again.

John kept one arm around me and moved me back to sit me down on the side of the bed, pushed the suitcase aside to make room and sat next to me.

"Tess, when did he tell you that?"

I looked at him blankly, sniffling.

"Listen, guys will say things like that if that's what it takes to get a bird into bed. And half believe it at the time."

"But we had already . . . He wasn't trying to talk me into going to bed with him."

"Right after? Guys will say things like that after. Kind of like saying thank you."

"No, not right after."

"Morning after? That is guilt."

"No. Later that night. And every day after. Lots of times. What is that?"

He sat back and looked at me for a moment before answering, then reached out and brushed my hair back out of my eyes. "Probably the truth, luv. . . You need to talk to him. Paul may be capable of some rotten things, but . . . I think he does love you. And he has never mentioned her. She can't be that important to him."

I looked at him, stunned. "And that makes it OK?"

His turn to look surprised. "If she's just another bird, she doesn't matter."

I gave that a moments thought. Maybe she wasn't anyone really special to him. Maybe he was cheating on both of us equally. Or maybe he did care more about me than her. That helped my pride but . . .

"Maybe you can live that way, but I can't," I said miserably.

"Come on, Tess. It is just sex."

"No it's not," I said, angry with male reasoning. "Not for me. Not for Cyn. Not for any woman who loves someone."

"That's the problem with women. They take it all so seriously. If they love someone, they think everything matters. And they think it is forever. The won't give up even when there is no point in going on."

"Then why don't you just leave?"

He looked at me. I realized what I had just said and cringed. But his look wasn't angry. He looked away and slowly got up off the bed. He bent to pick up a bra that had landed on the floor. I knew he was deep in thought when he tossed it back in the drawer without comment. When he turned back to look at me, he sighed and leaned back, half sitting on the dresser.

"Because Cyn has never done anything but love me. She hasn't done anything wrong. How can I hurt her like that just because I don't know what the fuck I want?"

"And the way you live doesn't hurt her? You are either with other women or drunk or high. And when you are home you aren't really with her."

A long silence this time, then, "There is no place to go. No one to go to."

You didn't have to be Sigmund Freud to figure out why John would have a hang up about being alone. His father went to sea before he was born, came back for a week and asked a five year old boy to chose whether he wanted to be with Mummy or Daddy, then disappeared again when John chose his mother. His mother then handed him over to an aunt to raise and started a new family. His uncle died when he was eleven and his mom when he was seventeen, just as he was beginning to feel close to her. His father ended his fifteen year disappearance only when he smelled money. That was enough rejection and loss and feeling emotionally alone for a lifetime.

"I'm sorry," I said. Sorry for him, sorry for not minding my own business. He could take his pick.

Another silence as John stared at the floor. When he looked up at me, he said in irritation, "Since when are we discussing me? You are the one who is in tears here."

"I'd say we are both miserable. I just got there faster than you."

He laughed at that and came back to sit next to me, arm around me, chin resting on my head. "So what are you going to do, Tess?"

"Go home," I answered, hugging him and he hugged back.

He hugged me hard, and for a moment I forgot about Paul. Funny, exasperating, warm and loving, cold and sarcastic.  That was John, and in spite of his distant, unhappy attitude since we had been back in England, I loved this man too. The sounds of Revolver had been so woven through the last few weeks and now another line played in my head as John held me. "When your bird is broken, will it bring you down? You may feel awoken. I'll be ‘round, I'll be ‘round." Well, whatever the song meant, I felt like my most prized possession, my love for Paul, was broken and John was around when I needed him. I reached up and touched his face. "I'll never see you again," I said, whipping up a fresh batch of tears for this new loss.

"Don't be daft. Think I'll just let you disappear out of my life? You are the only good thing that has come out of this whole bleedin' summer. I'll call you, and you know my number."

"Will you be here?"

"Till I find a reason to go."

"Maybe you should leave for Cyn's sake." I blurted that out stupidly. It was not something I had ever planned to discuss with him, but I guess the events of the last couple of hours had scrambled my brains.

"What?"

Well, I had started it and now I had to explain without betraying Cyn's confidences. "As long as you stay, she thinks it might get better. That you will love her again. That you'll be happy together. Maybe have another baby. She wants a real family."

"Oh bloody fucking hell. She can't really believe that will happen."

"No, she doesn't believe it. She hopes. She knows you will leave and it is just a matter of time, but you keep dangling hope in front of her."

"I can't leave Julian. I may not be much of a father, but he won't grow up like I did, never seeing my father, knowing he didn't give a shit about me."

"It doesn't have to be that way. It wouldn't be easy, but you could be close to him without living with him."

"Christ, Tess. You don't let people hide, do you? Little miss fix-it!"

"It just seems like you are going to have to decide. Make it better or get it over with. Everyone is hurting."

He sat with his arm around me for a long time, then kissed the top of my head. "I'll see about getting you on a flight tomorrow if that is what you really want."

I just nodded. He said goodnight, and then I was alone. After a while, I got up and began packing, neatly this time. I left John's white shirt hanging in the closet.

I tried to go to sleep, but the minute I was in bed, the tears started again. Silent, miserable tears. Every moment, every word of our time together went through my mind as I tried to understand, tried to find a reason, a way out, tried to believe in Paul again and only found more reasons not to. Memories turned into lies . . . We spent very little time at his place . . . Was she living there or just likely to show up unannounced? She was why he wanted to go to Scotland! But wait -- that first night we were together at his house, he had suggested my moving in with him! He wouldn't have done that if he had something going with her!  . . . No, he'd said that only after I said I wouldn't even spend the night with him. He knew I wouldn't move in. He didn't take me to Liverpool to meet his dad because he wasn't going to Liverpool. I remembered how easily he had agreed it was best if we weren't seen around town together. We never went to a club, seldom ate out in London. We sneaked in and out of the movies the one time we had gone. It may have been my intention to keep things quiet, but he made it a secret.

His whispered "I don't know if I can do this," his promise to "try", the look that came over his face when he changed the subject away from the time we would be apart, all haunted me. At the time I had thought he was just as concerned as I was about our ability to make it work when we were apart for so long. I had thought he was wondering how he could possibly go without sex for weeks at a time but now I realized he was not concerned about going without, only with how he could manage to keep getting it without my finding out.

The pathetic part of that was that I suspected that had we talked about it, I would have found myself telling him I would overlook the occasional physical encounter. From anyone else, I would have expected fidelity, but once again, who he was had me making allowances.

Oh, yeah, all the clues were there. I had been blind not to see them.

No. That wasn't quite true. The awful truth was that he was so good this game. With that realization, hurt and humiliation moved over and made room for anger. Good old black rage that cut through the aching fog in my mind. I hadn't asked for anything but a chance to be with him. His "other" life was his own business. I'd have gone to bed with him anyway, I didn't need to know the rest, didn't want to know, didn't have any real right to know after the way I threw myself at him. But when he told me he loved me, it became my business. I could forgive everything but that one lie. All the rest I had asked for, but not that lie. He had no right to do that, to make me feel I was special, to tell me we had a chance at a future together! Saying "I love you" was beyond dishonest, it was . . . it was just . . . I never found the word I was searching for because in spite of the case I was building against him, that was the one thing I couldn't turn into a lie. I couldn't help believing that when he said he loved me he really meant it. It was so hard for him to say it, it had to be true. The way he had said it, the way he had carried me back to the bed and taken me as he said it over and over, it had to be true.

That memory cut through me and I doubled up, face buried in the pillows not wanting John to hear these sobs that bordered on howls of pain. I remembered that moment of hesitation when Paul was telling me why he held back so long from saying he loved me. Was he thinking of her? Wondering if he should tell me about her? But I just couldn't believe it was a lie when he said he loved me. No one could lie that well. Could they?

Anger was burned out and all that was left was regret and loss. It was hours before I fell into an exhausted sleep. In my dreams I was dancing again with a man whose face I couldn't see. But this time, there was no music. Without music, the movements of the dance were meaningless.

I was up early. Eyes puffy and red. Head splitting. "The day breaks, your mind aches . ." I sat looking out the window for a while, stomach in knots, wondering again if I was making a mistake by leaving. I was willing to overlook the fact that he had been seeing her all along. He didn't have any obligation to stop seeing her or tell me about her until that night in Scotland. The minute he said he loved me it should have been the end with her. I tried so hard to think of an excuse for him a reason for him to be with her last night. The best him I could come up with was that he had promised to be her escort and couldn't back out on her. But he could have told me that he was taking someone else out that night because it had been set up weeks ago. I wouldn't have objected much less questioned that. There was the problem - He hadn't needed to lie but he did. Had he been playing these games with lovers for so long that lies came easier than truth? Every instinct I had still told me that Paul hadn't lied about loving me. Yes, that was the real problem. He loved me but he had lied to me anyway. Was that the best love he was capable of? If he had never told me he loved me I would have held out more hope for us. I could have stayed and given him more time, hoping that when he finally said he loved me it would be a love I could trust in. But this . . . if this was his idea of loving it was crazy to stay.

Oh, but if he promised . . .? No. I was young and naive but I knew that our future together would be a downward spiral of broken promises. I had to leave. Just walk away now. There was no point in staying. I wanted a love that would last, not a life of forgiving only to be hurt again.

I took a shower and some aspirin then went down to the kitchen and sat down to try to write a note for Cyn. I ended up just thanking her for her hospitality, her friendship, and wishing her happiness. John would have to explain the whole mess to her. When I sat down, I did not intend to leave any message for Paul, but as I finished the note to Cyn, I knew I had to. I had to say goodbye - for my sake, not for his. I didn't want to hear from him again. There was a good chance I would listen to his lies or his apologies or his promises and be foolish enough to believe.

I couldn't even decide on how to start a letter. Dear Paul. Dearest Paul. My Darling. Or maybe, You Bastard. And after several false starts I wrote:

When John came downstairs, he noted the letters on the table. "You're leaving then?"

I nodded. "The next flight out if I can."

"You need to talk to him first."

"No." Tears sprang up at the thought of talking to him again.

"Tess . . ."

"John, you may be right. Paul may really . . . care about me. I think he does. I can't believe it was all a lie." My voice was shaky but John thought I was over-reacting and I needed to try to explain. "I don't think he meant to hurt me. He is just . . . He is used to a life that is so different. I should have realized that. The first time he kissed me, his date was waiting in the house! I don't know . . ."

"I do. Paul is used to getting his way. It's as simple as that. He wants you and he wants his other birds on the side. Thinks he can get away with it just because he wants it. You need to call him on it, tell him he has to choose."

"Maybe it is as simple as that," I sighed. "Or maybe the way you have lived, the whole Beatle craziness has made it impossible for any of you to live ordinary lives. Or love the way I think love should be. Well, whatever it is, I can't play the game. I'm not as strong as Cyn -- or as weak, whichever it is. I won't spend years trying. I am going to walk away and try to forget."

John took that commentary about both him and Paul quietly, thought it over as he put the water on for tea, then said quietly, "Perhaps you are right. I'll call about a flight."

"Thank you."

John made a couple of phone calls and in no time someone called back saying it was all arranged. The flight left at 1:30, just a couple of hours away and a cab would be sent to take me to the airport. As simply as that, it was all ending. I fixed breakfast for John and he sat down with the morning paper. Suddenly confusion flooded my mind. The reporters! Paul would have known he would be seen and photographed at the Theater! I wasn't sure what that meant or how that fit into the picture, but I grabbed the paper from John and raced through it looking for the story.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

"I need to find the story about the opening last night. Paul couldn't have thought I wouldn't find out! There were reporters there! Why would he . . ."

I had found the little article. A photo of Prince Charles. No mention of Paul. I stared at it for a long time, not sure what I had hoped to see there.

"Tess . . ." John was easing the newspaper out of my hand. He tossed it on the table and pulled me down to sit next to him. He looked at me with undisguised pity.

"How did he know that he wouldn't be plastered all over the front page this morning?" I asked, bewildered.

John shrugged. "Someone might mention him, but that is a high brow event. The photographers will just sell their shots of him to fan mags. It will be a few weeks before they hit the streets."

"And I would have been in the States by then. He thought that if I ever saw the pictures I wouldn't have known just when they were taken." Paul would have known that. Hope died another death there at the breakfast table.

John offered to ride with me to the airport but I couldn't face saying a final goodbye to him in public. The cab arrived and John walked out with me. While the driver put my luggage in the boot, we said goodbye. I reached for him, clinging to him, knowing I'd never see him again.

"It's not too late to change your mind," he said.

"I can't stay."

"No, I meant about letting me in your knickers."

I started laughing even though tears were still on my face. "I should have run off to the south of Spain with you!"

He kissed me gently on the cheek, the way he had the first time I had said goodbye to him, then tipped my chin up and kissed me just as gently on my mouth. "Live and learn little girl," he said. "Now go. I'll ring you in a few weeks."

**************

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