Into My Life

Chapter 14

The phone rang on the first Sunday in October. Sandy answered and I heard her say, "There is no Tess here. You must have the wrong -- Ohhh!"

"Who is it??" I asked, fearing reporters had tracked me down.

"Just a minute," she said into the phone, then covered the receiver with her hand. "It's some guy with an English accent!" she said.

I jumped up and grabbed her arm. "Ask who it is," I whispered, heart pounding, believing it would be Tony, hoping it might be John. Fearing and hoping it might be someone else who called me Tess.

"Um, who is this?" she said into the phone.

She looked puzzled. "He says to tell Theresa it is Winston."

I grabbed the phone out of her hand.

"John!" I said, the ever-ready tears already pooling in my eyes.

"Tess, how are you, luv?"

"Oh, John, I miss you so much!"

He chuckled. "I knew you would change your mind when it was too late!"

I laughed and cried at the same time. "How are you?"

"Making changes. Trying to get on with my life."

Brenda heard the commotion and came out of her room where she had been studying. Sandy eagerly filled her in and they were tuned in to hear the final evidence that would solve the "Who Broke Terry's Heart Mystery." I sat on the kitchen counter and talked to John, ignoring them.

He told me he was in Los Angeles working on a movie. He had decided to take up the offer of a friend of Walter Shenson who was directing a movie. In return for acting in a small part, he was allowed to be the Assistant Director which meant he got to be on the set and watch and learn and get coffee for the director. He was "explorin' the opportunities of the directin' field," as he told the press. The reality, he told me with a laugh, was that he was just killing time. Everyone else had projects they were working on. George was studying Indian music, Paul doing the movie score and Ringo was planning some TV appearances. He had felt stupid sitting around doing nothing and decided that this at least sounded like a worthy pursuit. He reported, in typical Lennon fashion, that the movie industry was full of assholes, but some of them were interesting assholes. And California was great. He had a house on Malibu Beach, partied with the Byrds and Mama's and Papa's and the Beach Boys, and had actually gone surfing with Mike Love and some friends one day.

When I asked about Cyn, there was a moment of silence. "We are separated. I told her I wanted a divorce, but she is going to have to file. I think she will."

"How did she take it?"

"Pretty hard, but as you said, she told me she had been expecting it. I'm not sure, but I think she felt worse when I told her there isn't another woman. Like leaving her for someone else was better than just leaving her. I tried to tell her it wasn't her fault. I don't know if she understood. Hell, I'm not sure if she understands at all. She probably thinks we'll get back together when I get home."

"How are you doing?"

"I feel like a right proper bastard! But I felt that way anyway. At least now I am a bastard who is out of her life."

"Oh, John. I am sorry."

"I know, luv. But if it hadn't been for you, I'd still be there and she'd still be hoping."

I cringed. I didn't want to think I had any part in his decision to leave even though I really believed it was inevitable and probably for the best. "Oh, no!  John, I never meant to--"

"No, Tess. You didn't talk me into leaving. You just said to make up my mind. Either try to put it back together or let her go so she could get on. So we both could. Besides, it wasn't what you said as much as seeing how strong you were. You didn't waste time trying to fix something that wasn't fixable. You just got on with your life."

"I left. I'm not sure I'm getting on," I said with a grim laugh.

"Pretty tough, eh?"

"Oh, yeah. But getting better."

"Have you talked to him?"

"No! Thank God."

"I can't believe he let you go that easily. I really thought . . . Well, he's a fool."

"What did he say about me?" I wasn't sure I wanted to know. I wanted to hear he was miserable when I left and knew that was unlikely or he would have called me. I would settle for hearing that he felt really badly about what he had done, but there was a little nagging fear that he was simply relieved I had ended it so he wouldn't have to.

But John hadn't talked to him about me. After I left, he decided he needed to talk to Cyn about how unhappy he was with his life. Cyn instantly burst into tears and divorce became the topic even though John had not intended to bring that up, at least not yet. It just came out of his mouth, he said. They agreed on a separation and he left to spend some time in Liverpool with Mimi, trying to decide what he should do. That's when he decided to check into the offer to do the film. In the end, he'd left without talking to Paul or anyone, really. He'd been afraid they would try to talk him out of it and it took all the nerve he had to make the decision in the first place.

"Little Johnny Beatle on his own," he laughed, "and now little Johnny is lonesome and really would like to see his old nursemaid again. I am going to be here another six weeks or so. If I send you plane tickets, will you come and see me?"

"Oh, John. I would be on a plane so fast, but I don't have any break from school until Thanksgiving."

"When is that?"

"End of November."

"Oh. Not even a long weekend?"

"No. I couldn't leave here until a Friday afternoon. And I would have to come back on Sunday. That would only give us one day." I was swearing a blue streak inside.

"Then would you let me come there? I could be on your doorstep when you got out of school, carry your books home, and I wouldn't have to leave until Monday."

"Let you? Would I let you? John, I would love it!"

"Good. My birthday is next weekend. I really don't want to spend it at some phony gala event arranged by the movie biz people for publicity and I don't want to spend it alone."

"Perfect!"

We talked a little longer, making plans. Rather than track down Neil when he left England or ask Mal to be separated from his wife for as long as it would take to do the movie, John had simply hired two men as assistants and security when he got to the States. With them and the fake moustache and goatee he used around L.A when he didn't want to be recognized, he didn't think traveling would be any problem. He gave me his phone number and address, and we said goodbye.

"He is coming here!?!" Brenda said as I hung up.

"Yes, next weekend!"

They shrieked and danced around the kitchen in a frenzy of excitement. When they were reasonably coherent, I put a damper on things by telling them that they could not, under any circumstances, tell anyone. They tried to bargain for "just a few people", then "just one person" but I was already having second thoughts about the wisdom of having John visit. I stayed firm and told them that if I even suspected that they had told anyone, I would call John and cancel. I simply couldn't be responsible for his safety if word got out. They were calmer now, calm enough for Brenda to recognize another problem.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Terry?" she asked, exchanging The Look with Sandy, The Look being a concerned "what are we going to do about Terry?" look usually reserved for the occasions when I got the snivels over a love song.

"You were just beginning to get over him, and this will just tear you apart!"

"So you think it was John?"

"Who else? He was always your favorite," Sandy said.

"Why do you think it was one of them? It could have been any guy."

"Yeah, sure. Terry. We know," Brenda said.

"Or Neil." I said. A little red herring to throw them off track.

"Ooohh! I liked Neil!" Sandy said. "He was so nice and funny and cute."

I had forgotten they had met Neil and Terry both. Terry came to get my suitcase and Neil to get my birth certificate. "You should see him in a swimsuit. And he is a world class kisser too." "Well, you may have kissed him, and I know you went out with Terry, but neither of them is the one," Brenda said.

"So that means it was one of them. And we think he was married and that is why it was so . . . tragic," said romantic Sandy.

"That rules out Paul, and George has only been married a few months, so that seems unlikely," Brenda explained.

"And Ringo would never do such a thing!" Sandy exclaimed, true to her favorite.

I laughed at her. "You are right. Ringo is sweet and kind and caring." I left it at that. I didn't try to explain that no one is married on tour. Or that to some men, especially men who were Beatles, love didn't rule out sex on the side, sex didn't mean love, and love didn't mean what we thought it did.

Friday, October 7. John and his bodyguards (I hated to think of them in those terms. It was easier with Mal and Neil because they did so much else for them, their protective role was not so obvious) were flying in at noon. They would rent a car at the airport, get a hotel room, and planned to be at the apartment by about four. Brenda and Sandy kept the secret. I was afraid Sandy was going to explode before the day came, but somehow she hung on.

As soon as it had sunk in that John was actually going to visit us, sit in our chairs, eat at our table, Brenda and Sandy went into a frenzy of housecleaning and fretting over our simple accommodations. Our apartment was a typical big old house chopped up into apartments in a quiet, tree-lined, residential neighborhood. It was an older neighborhood with little traffic and very few kids of the Beatle fan age. Most of the homes were owned by older retired couples and by a few younger couples who preferred these big, solid old houses to the modern shoeboxes of the suburbs. Our landlords were one such couple. Carol and her husband Al lived downstairs with their two little kids. They rented out the two upstairs apartments. Brenda, Sandy and I had the two bedroom apartment, and a middle aged widow who worked as a bank teller had the other small one bedroom apartment.

We had odd sized rooms in odd places. We didn't mind the fact that the bathroom was off the kitchen rather than the bedrooms because it was a really big bathroom. Even though the landing at the top of the stairs brought visitors past the bedrooms before the living room, at least you didn't have to walk through the bedrooms as was the setup in a friend's apartment. One bedroom was large with patio doors opening out onto a porch roof. The other was barely big enough for a full sized bed and dresser. We had drawn straws and I got the small one, Brenda and Sandy shared the big one. The living room was small but the kitchen large. It even had a back door. Of course you had to move the refrigerator to use it, but it lead out onto a small screened back porch that served as a handy freezer in cold weather, and on really hot summer nights was a more bearable place to sleep than my bedroom.

I knew darn well that John was not going to notice that there were cigarette burns in the carpet or care that the sofa was an incredibly ugly, indescribable non-color somewhere between grey and brown with a hint of purple. But Sandy and Brenda fussed anyway. New pillows for the sofa, a throw to cover the threadbare chair. We didn't have a doorway with hanging beads, but we did have posters on the walls and even a wax dripped wine bottle on the storage trunk that served as a coffee table. The kitchen table was one of those chrome and pea-green Formica things that are showing up again in today's nostalgia decor. The kitchen 's linoleum flooring was a shade of dark red that Brenda and I had immediately labeled as "blood clot red." The refrigerator was ancient with rounded top and a freezer section inside that was just big enough for one carton of ice cream and one ice cube tray -- assuming it wasn't frosted up with two inches of ice.

Not everything was ancient or second hand, though. We had a big brass and mahogany wall clock shaped kind of like a daisy or sunburst, and (all the rage!) a pole lamp with three cone-shaped plastic lights on it. Brenda had a nice bedroom set, and Sandy contributed our finest furnishing, a colonial maple Magnavox console stereo. Home Sweet Home.

On Friday, Brenda and I both rushed home after our last class. As we pulled up outside the apartment, we saw three guys sitting on the front steps. I flew out of the car and up to the house. I was in John's arms before Brenda could even get out of the car. He picked me up and swung me around, laughing at me. As Brenda came up the walk, he put me down, kissed me solidly on the mouth, then held me back at arms length to look at me.

"You look like hell, Tess. Get out of that uniform now!"

"You look fantastic!" I exclaimed, ignoring him. Wild paisley shirt, bell-bottom blue jeans. "You cut your hair! And those glasses -- You look like a college professor! I almost didn't recognize you!" His hair was shorter than I had ever seen it. Still the Beatle cut on top, but much shorter on the back and sides. The glasses were the wire rimmed, round ones that were to become his trademark.

"For the movie," he said. "But I kind of like it."

"So do I. But you don't look like a Beatle . . ."

"That's the whole point, luv!"

I hugged him again, wanting to squeeze the living daylights out of him. Suddenly I realized what else had changed. No cast, no sling. Both arms were holding me tight. I stepped back, and took his arm. He knew exactly what I was thinking and moved it through full range. Extension, adduction, rotation. Without even a flinch. I grinned at him and he proceeded to demonstrate an impromptu dance routine, whirling me down the sidewalk and back. The knee was fine.

I introduced him to Brenda. She was looking a little surprised. Apparently the way we were acting was not what she had expected and her whole "Who done it" hypothesis was teetering. John introduced us to his "American Mal and Neil" who turned out to be a German named Hans and a California beach boy named Tom. We were still sitting on the steps talking when Sandy got home a little later. I introduced her and Sandy was momentarily mute. A real first and only momentary. We went on upstairs. Brenda and I changed out of our uniforms while Sandy chattered on. When we came back out into the living room, John smiled approvingly at Brenda. Me he frowned at.

"You've lost weight."

"Just a little."

He put his hands on my shoulders and looked at my chest. "You lost it in the wrong place then. There is nothing left to squeeze, luv."

I heard Brenda gasp. This would confuse her.

"Is so!" I protested to John as I looked down at my boobs in concern. I had lost a few pounds but hadn't thought about specifically where.

But instead of carrying on in the raunchy way I expected, John reached out and put his hand under my chin, tilting my face up to his. "And I can see it in your face," he said gently. "Cor, he did a job on you, our boy --"

"John," I said cutting him off. "They don't know. I haven't told them."

John turned to look at my roommates.

"We don't know who, or exactly how, but we know she came back home an absolute wreck." The anger in Brenda's voice was plain. She wanted him to know that even if he was not the guilty party, he had not taken good care of me.

Sandy jumped in. "She wouldn't eat, cried for weeks, nearly flunked out of school --"

"She is exaggerating, John!"

"No, I'm not! Whoever it was" -- and the way she said "whoever" made it clear he was not above suspicion -- "ought to know what he did."

"I plan to have a word with him when I get back to England," John said.

"No you won't," I said, not wanting to discuss this in front of Brenda and Sandy, much less Tom and Hans. "We'll talk about this later. I want dinner."

We decided to go out for pizza. If things got wild, we could grab the pizza and run. Tom and Hans went in, checked things out, and got a table near the back door. While we went in, Hans moved the car around to the back in case a quick get-a-way was needed. But it was great. No one recognized John as we walked in. The waitress didn't even pick up on the fact that she was waiting on a Beatle. The haircut and glasses were a great disguise. I ordered for all of us, so she didn't hear his voice until much later. She came by to bring another pitcher of beer and John said, "Ta, luv." That was all it took. She did a major double take and nearly dropped the pitcher. John calmly took it out of her hands. "Be a sport and don't tell anyone until I finish eating. I can't do autographs and eat at the same time," he said to her. She nodded and backed away. Amazingly she did as she was asked. So we had a great evening although we did have to leave sooner than we might have. People were catching on, looking at us, trying to get past Tom who was the appointed autograph interrupter. John had us laughing with stories of California, and his version of some of the things I had told them about how we met, the hospital, my trip. He told them I looked so cool and composed that first day at the hotel, he was amazed at how my hands were shaking. That I had tried to strangle the reporter in the Emergency room. He had the guy turning purple and gasping for air as I ruthlessly twisted the camera strap tighter. And he told them about the battle over his having a drink at the after concert party. I had not told them that, and he did edit out the information about how they used uppers to get ready for a performance. I held my breath as he talked about trying to get me to dance with Paul so he could have his drink, but he was careful not to imply anything.

After dinner, we went back to the apartment. Later, as it was getting dark, John and I excused ourselves and went for a long walk, Tom and Hans a block behind us. John talked about the greed and petty power struggles and self-importance of the people he was working with in Hollywood. "Should have found some place else to escape to," he said.

"Escape?" I said with surprise. "I thought you were interested in learning more about directing!"

He shrugged. He was interested in the subject, but it wasn't so much doing the film or looking into a career as a director that made him want to do it, it was as he had told me earlier. He needed to do something with his time. The others had all made plans for projects and it was too awful to just sit at Kenwood and think that maybe it was all over. Beatles as well as his marriage. Deeper than that there was also the idea of doing something, anything, on his own. Independent of Beatles and Brian, away from what was becoming a self imposed isolation at Kenwood.

The fact that the whole idea terrified him somehow made it more important that he do it. He didn't want to end up like Elvis, living in a narrow, artificial world with only his men around him. So, he made a few phone calls and arranged to meet with Walter Shenson's friend in New York. Knowing he would chicken out if he went back to London, and that Brian would try to talk him out of it, he arranged for a couple of security people on his own and flew to New York from Liverpool with only a plane change in London. He had met the guy, agreed to work with him, and decided to spend a little time in Florida while he waited for filming to start. With Sid Bernstein and Capitol Records and hundreds of other businessmen offering him anything he wanted, arranging security and a mansion in Florida was no problem. He got that far in his narrative and then stopped.

"Fuck, Tess," he said softly. "I thought I was going out into the world. All I did was exchange one zookeeper for another. Brian and Neil and Mal for other guys who make all the arrangements for where I go, what I do, what I eat for breakfast. I am still a trained flea, just a solo one for a while."

There was nothing I could say so I fell back on humor. "Well, coming to Minnesota doesn't sound like the act of a trained flea. You've moved up to trained seal level at least!"

He laughed and grabbed the back of my neck and shook me. "Chimpanzee! You could have at least brought me up to primate!"

I punched at him to get free and we tussled a bit. I was just realizing that the change in John was more than the absence of the sling and cast. He was so much more PHYSICAL than I had seen in England! He moved quickly, dancing away from me, laughing and taking a boxers stance. His energy level was contagious and adding that to his quick humor and sharp mind, he was more awesome to me than ever. That and the fact that he was wearing the brown suede jacket from the cover of "Rubber Soul" was giving me palpitations!

We walked on and he started grilling me about how I was really doing. Finally I convinced him I was all right. I was doing well in school, thanks to the extra money from Tony. I told him I had more of a social life now than I'd had for two years. My connection to the Beatles assured that! He wanted to know if I was dating anyone. I just laughed. "Maybe one of these days, but right now . . . I think I would throw up if anyone tried to kiss me."

He laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Oh, a bird or two. No one special. I am not looking for anyone special, she just has to be willing. That is what you need. Quit looking for Mr. Right and enjoy yourself."

"I will . . . when I can feel anything again. Right now I just want to be left alone."

He looked down at me, saying nothing as we walked on. After a minute he took his hand out of his jacket pocket and put his arm around my shoulders. "I think I'll kill the bloody bastard when I see him."

"Wait 'til the next album is done," I requested. "I still love his music."

That lead to a discussion of future plans for the group. He said he had only talked to Brian who was in a real state over his leaving England. Brian feared that the group was splitting up and had at first pleaded frantically, angrily, even tearfully with John to come back. John told him they all just needed a long vacation from each other. When he got back they would start another album. When Brian calmed down a bit, he was upset because they wouldn't have the next album done in time for a Christmas release as they had always done. He was working with E.M.I. on a deal to release a collection of their songs that had been released as singles but had never been on an album. That could be done in time for a Christmas release, but it would only be marketed in England. In cutting their albums down to ten or so songs, Capitol had extra songs left over, but they had been grouping them and releasing them along with the singles as albums, so now there was nothing "left over" for Capitol to put out for Christmas. Capitol execs weren't happy. ("Fuck them. We have been working our asses off and we need a break!") But Revolver was doing great and everyone raved about the change in the music. Other groups were already following their lead.

Back at the apartment, Brenda and Sandy were waiting. We watched Johnny Carson, laughing and having a good time getting to know Tom and Hans. Tom was a lot of fun, Hans more quiet, fitting the part of bodyguard perfectly. He and Tom made frequent checks outside to make sure that a mob was not forming, and seemed amazed that we had been able to keep John's visit a secret. "Well, the cat will be out of the bag by tomorrow," Tom said. "Someone will spot him at the motel and that will be that."

John made a face, clearly not happy with the idea of a mob outside his door for the rest of his stay.

"Why don't you just stay here John?" I asked. "The sofa folds out into a bed. It isn't too uncomfortable and this is a quiet neighborhood. Nobody will see you coming and going."

John looked at me with the leer I expected. "Do I have to sleep on the sofa?"

"You can have my bed if you want," I said sweetly. "I don't mind sleeping on the couch."

"Sounds good to me anyway," John laughed and looked over at Hans.

Hans thought about it, and agreed somewhat reluctantly that was worth a try. He figured that within 24 hours both our apartment and the motel would be targeted. "The fewer contacts you have the better," he said. It was obvious that Hans took his job very seriously. He tended to pace the perimeter just like Mal.

That decided, and assured that John would not leave the apartment again tonight, Tom and Hans left to go back to the hotel for the night. I made up the sofa bed for John and we said goodnight with Brenda and Sandy watching closely. They had not ruled John out, and my inviting him to stay at the apartment raised their suspicions.

Sandy's parents were closing up their lake cottage for the winter, and it seemed like a safe place for a Beatle since no would ever expect to find one there, so that is where we headed on Saturday afternoon. Sandy, after realizing that neither Tom nor Hans were married, had decided quickly not to invite the boy she had planned to ask along, but Brenda was bringing Mark. He was a U. of M. student she had met while I was in England, and they were now "going steady." Being a private person she hadn't said too much but it was pretty clear that there was something special, something with a promise of permanence between them. And in spite of her belief that sex should be saved for marriage, she sure came home looking tousled!

Mark was stunned when they walked in and saw John sitting at our kitchen table. Brenda had not told even him, though she had hinted at a surprise for him. We gave him the ground rules: he could not tell anyone he was here, bring anyone else over as long as John was here, "and no autographs, please" John added with a grin. Mark, after a few minutes of repeating "Holy shit!", much to our amusement since Mark was never at a loss for words, settled down and we loaded up the cars and headed out.

It was a beautiful fall day. Yellow and gold and red leaves, bright sunshine. It was too late in the year to even think of swimming, but we had canoes. John had never been in a canoe before and nearly tipped us over several times and rammed the dock twice before he got the hang of it, but he was loving it. He was laughing like crazy and barking orders to me. "Man the jib, woman!" "Raise the mizzelmats!" and "Barnacle the vast ahoy!"

We paddled out toward a small island in the lake. I looked back at him, laughing as he splashed water at Brenda, his hair shining, the sun brightening the red highlights. I had never seen him so relaxed and happy. He made me smile, and for the first time since I left England, the sunshine and warmth reached all the way into my heart.

We sat in the sun on the little island for a while before heading back. Being out on the island finally seemed secure enough for Hans whose dedication to his job was like something out of a James Bond movie. I could imagine John saying "Get rid of them" and Hans dispassionately dispensing with a couple of autograph seekers with a machine gun.

Back at the cabin, Sandy's older brother and his wife and baby had arrived, and the people from the cabin next door were there. Like Sandy's parents who had no idea that John was going to be with us, they all had a moment of surprise -- shock in the case of Sandy's sister in law. Hans watched carefully but stayed mellow, recognizing that Sandy's sister-in-law, the only one reacting to John like a traditional fan, was not threat. John was on guard too.  He hung back, standing off to the side looking as if he regretted all these people had arrived to put an end to what had been such a carefree afternoon.

"Come on, " I said.  "It'll be OK."

He looked down at me, a grin breaking through.  "Oh , I'm not worried about this lot. Hans will break them into bits if they encroach upon me person."

I laughed and he added with an affectionate hug, "And you are here to protect my delicate psyche should they be hostile to foreigners!"  

But they were all down-to-earth people and it was clear within minutes that nothing was expected of him except that he have a good time.  We set out into the woods to find firewood for a campfire. No wood, no supper. We hiked into the woods, collected wood, shoved leaves down each others shirts, and generally goofed around. When we got back we got the fire going and roasted hot dogs to go with the rest of the food Sandy's mom had ready.

After dinner I brought out the birthday cake we had made and smuggled up with us. Instead of candles, Sandy's mom put on twenty six Fourth of July sparklers. Everyone sang "Haddy Birdday," having been properly coached in Lennon Speak beforehand. Stuffed with food, we sat around the campfire. It was so good to see John having fun. He was upbeat, every bit as hysterically funny as I had ever seen him. The hard edge and self absorption that I had seen in England was gone. Not that he pulled any punches. He said what he believed. When the subject of Vietnam came up, as it always did in those days, John said that the war was wrong. I could see the reaction from the group. Sandy's dad had been in the navy, Sandy's brother Rick had served in Vietnam, Mark had a brother in Vietnam, and we all knew boys who had died there. Rick informed John that "Vietnam is no business of the English. They ought to see to the mess in Ireland before they stuck their nose in where it doesn't belong."

I held my breath. I knew from sitting through the evening news with John that he thought the war was wrong, stupid, immoral because it was being fought for economic and political reasons, not for freedom. And he would tell that to anyone with conviction -- and tell it with very little tact. But today he nodded. "You are right on with that, mate," he said quietly. "Ireland is a national disgrace and a disgrace to Catholics and Protestants."

Oh God. Politics AND religion.

"But any war is wrong. Haven't we come far enough that we can see that? We can look back through history and see that war is not over freedom. It is politics and money or religion. And the world is not a bunch of isolated countries, Rick. We may be citizens of one country but we know what is going on in the world. And if we know, we have a responsibility."

"You are entitled to your opinion." Rick said stiffly.

"And that is all it is," John said, laughing. "The considered opinion of a bloke who's last opinion alienated half the world!"

Rick laughed and said, "Well, the man who is bigger than Christ ought to be listened to!"

As it grew dark, ghost stories were shared, and someone just had to start singing camp songs. John got his harmonica out of his pocket and started to play along. Tom brought a battered old guitar out of the cabin and the two of them rambled on through snatches of songs.

It was getting cold and the firewood was running out, so finally we had to call it a night. Shivering, we packed up the cars and headed back to town. I drove my car and while John fiddled with the radio, Sandy and Tom whispered and giggled in the back seat. I marveled that Hans had entrusted John to Tom since Tom's mind was obviously not on his work. John glanced back at them, looked at me and grinned. "Don't look back."

I took a quick peak in the rear view mirror. Lip lock. Yes, our little Sandy was fast piece of baggage, but she was also, unintentionally, a terrible tease. She was so eager to fall in love that she would kiss a boy into a frenzy -- then be appalled at his wanting more.

"Make you feel like throwing up?" John asked.

"No. But it does make me feel like I am the only aardvark on Noah's ark. Everyone paired up two by two except me."

John said, "You'll find the Prince Charming of aardvarks one day."

I was surprised. "I can't believe you said that. You don't believe in love except as some kind of impersonal cosmic force. "Say the word and you'll be free" love."

He laughed at my sarcasm. "I never said I don't believe in love. I just don't believe in all the hearts and flowers and happy ever after crap. But you do. And people find what they are looking for."

I thought about that for a minute. "What are you looking for?"

It was a long time before he answered. Quietly, a little grimly, he said. "John Lennon."

Brenda was up first the next morning. She never missed church on Sunday. I had gotten out of the habit since starting school. Working weekends often made it difficult, if not impossible. I heard her talking to John, so I got up, put on my bathrobe and joined them. John was still in bed on the fold-out couch. Brenda went to make coffee. I sat on the bed and John sat up and stretched. "Oh, ow. Lord, I am sore."

"Some seaman you are. One day at the oars and you are done for." I scooted up to the head of the bed and knelt behind him, massaging his shoulders and making him groan. It was nice to see him without bruises or tape burns. He had gotten a bit of a tan from the California sun, and was warm from sleep. It felt good to touch a man again. Too good. The feel of his skin and the addition of his sound effects had stirred me up. My heart might not be ready to feel anything, but other parts of my body were waking up. I stopped abruptly and pulled my hands away. "I'll help with the coffee," I said and escaped into the kitchen. John followed a moment later, jeans on, pulling a T shirt over his head. He moved to stand close to me, and I glanced up to see an amused gleam in his eyes. Once again I felt that old connection to him. He somehow knew that he had gotten to me.

"You are impossible!" I hissed at him in a whisper. He laughed happily.

Tom and Hans arrived, Brenda left for church, and Sandy, the real cook in the house, was soon turning out waffles. By the time we finished breakfast, Brenda was back with the Sunday paper and we sat around the table reading and swapping sections. John spotted the movie listings and asked if we could go see "Thunderball", the latest James Bond movie. Based our successful pizza outing, Hans figured it would be safe. Tom, Brenda and Sandy could go in and save seats and he would bring John in after the lights went down and get him out the second the movie ended. That brought back painful memories of going to the movies with Paul. John saw the look on my face and squeezed my hand. Brenda and Sandy saw that and exchanged a look, still not ready to rule him out as a suspect.

Our trip to the movie went fine, and we spent the rest of the afternoon and evening watching TV and talking. When Tom and Hans left to get cigarettes, Brenda, never one to mince words, asked John point blank if the Beatles were into drugs. John, never one to ignore an opportunity to express an opinion, or to shock or brag, said, "Yeah. We all smoke pot quite a bit. We use uppers sometimes when we need to keep going when we are really buggered. Richie likes plain old scotch, and Paul sticks to marijuana, but George and I have tried a few other things. LSD is incredible!"

So we argued about drugs for a long time. John didn't change the subject when his security people returned. They'd been with John through many a California party and there were no secrets there. John said drugs could be the way to a higher level of thought, a new reality, God, whatever. We said they were a way to addiction and overdose.

"LSD isn't illegal or addictive. You can have a bad trip, so it isn't something you should do alone, but it isn't dangerous," he said. Even so, he didn't think the whole world should go around stoned or high or tripping all the time. Drugs, especially LSD weren't so much for relaxation as mind expansion, for creativity and a new look at the world. "LSD isn't something just for rock'n'roll." It had started with scientific researchers, was picked up by the more bohemian of the literary crowd -- Aldous Huxley had been using it for more than ten years -- and was just now getting attention of the general public because it had become popular among young musical people. As for pot, well that was a joke! Marijuana was no worse than tobacco, less addictive, and it didn't cause near the problems alcohol did, much less the hangover!

We argued but it was hard for us to argue with someone who had first hand knowledge and didn't appear to be any the worse for the experience. Someone who was, in fact, was the most interesting person we had ever met. I wasn't worried about the pot. Marijuana had been used for centuries and didn't seem to cause problems, but LSD was another story. No one knew what it would do.

"People jump out of windows because they think they can fly," we pointed out.

"You don't trip alone and you learn how to control your trips. You can take just a small hit and at first it hits you with colors. It comes on strong and just dominates your senses at first. But then after a while you begin to get back in control. You can decide what happens next. You can think of something and that becomes the theme of the next part of the trip. You can look at a thing and let it turn into a door to another world. Or look and a person and turn him into something else. Or look inside of something and see what it really is."

"But what about the uncontrollable flash-backs," we challenged.

"Free trips," he laughed. "Enjoy them. They only last a couple minutes"

"Genetic damage!"

"No proof of that. No thalidomide babies. No psychedelic brain damaged babies."

As I listened to the arguments, all I could think was that maybe LSD is the door to God, maybe not. But I wished he would leave to others to find out. I didn't want him to be the guinea pig.

The next day was a school and work day for us and John's flight was to leave at 9:30 so we had to turn in fairly early. As we made up the sofa bed for John, he thanked us for the weekend. "I had a great time. L.A. has more stars, more action, but not nicer people. This is the best weekend I have had for a long time." He hugged both Sandy and Brenda and then turned to me.

I put my arms around him and held on to him. "I am getting really tired of saying goodbye to you," I said. "Why don't you promise you'll come back again before you go back to England? Then I can skip it for now."

"Thought you would never ask, luv. When can I come back?"

"Halloween!" Sandy blurted out. "You could wear a costume and mask and we could go anywhere! Someone will be having a party!"

It was a great idea and immediately agreed upon. We talked a little longer then turned in. When the alarm went off in the morning, I rolled out of bed and started the morning ritual. John was up and had coffee ready for us by the time we were dressed. We all voted to keep him on permanently if he would do laundry. Hans and Tom were there bright and early. Sandy who had a little more time in the morning than Brenda and I, fixed breakfast for them while we went through the usual Monday morning rush and hunt for papers and car keys. I had only a moment to say goodbye to John and no privacy for it. I was smiling as I hugged him, knowing I would see him again in a few weeks.

"Well, that's a start," he commented.

I looked up at him, startled.

"You are smiling. Really smiling. Now find yourself a nice guy and get laid. Then you'll be over him."

"John, you are impossible!"

"I love it when you say that," he laughed. He kissed me, a quick but warm kiss on the lips that was just enough to make me wonder what it would have been like had we had a moment alone, and I rushed after Brenda.

**********