Into My Life

Chapter 23

      As the number of fans outside grew, I expected to soon  find a full brigade of reporters waiting outside, but the local media was being its usual inept self.  I guess celebrity watching just was not a routine in Minneapolis - celebrities were few and far between there. Perhaps they were tired of following up rumors of Beatle sightings in the area. Whatever the reason local reporters weren't on to us, I was glad and hoped that the "big time" reporters wouldn't bother following Paul this far.  Paul was glad too, but I could sense a little surprise and maybe even some disappointment.  

    "Want me to call in an anonymous tip?" I teased him.

    "No!" he said with an embarrassed grin.  "I can survive with mere fan adoration for a week or so."

    He had that. Fans were out in force there, standing in shivering little groups on the sidewalk.   Within a few days, Al was back up to see us, asking awkwardly how long Paul planned to stay. Fans were stealing the light bulbs out of his Christmas lights as souvenirs, ringing his door bell all evening, and the neighbors were complaining about the traffic and cars taking their usual parking areas. Paul quickly offered to get a security guard. His little vacation to a normal life had lasted five days - pretty incredible actually.

    Aside from taking walks, which we did at times when their were few fans outside, Paul had little reason to venture out until the afternoon when it was time to leave to spend Christmas weekend with my parents. We carried suitcases, presents, and cookies to the car and were immediately surrounded by fans. The security guard on duty got out of his car and came over but the kids were not being a real problem. A few were already becoming familiar faces, but there were always new ones making a the pilgrimage to see Paul. As always, he chatted briefly with them, signed a few autographs, and managed to strike just the right balance between being nice and not letting their presence interfere too much with his coming and going.

     The security guard shook hands with Paul. "So you are the cause of all this!" he said with a friendly smile.

     "Yeah. Daft isn't it!" Paul laughed.

     "Well, maybe - but it makes for easy money for me!" the guy said. "Just sit in the car and drink coffee.  No standing around out in the cold.  All I've had to do is get out and walk around now and than and make sure they know I've got my eye on them and they behave. No more Christmas lights have disappeared, but you wouldn't believe how much snow they've carried away!"

     We talked for a couple of minutes, then we set out for my parents. It would take a over an hour to get to my parents so we left about two p.m. I knew Mom would be working until noon and that would give her a little time to get home and rest for a while before we got there. I definitely wanted her rested and in a good mood.

     It was a beautiful day and, as John had, Paul seemed to enjoy getting out of the city and seeing the countryside though there was a level of tension in him that gave way his nervousness about meeting my parents. As we got closer to my home however, I was the one with the bad case of nerves. Oh, I was feeling pretty full of myself, having bagged a Beatle to bring home, but pride and excitement about that still took second place the standard jitters one feels when taking home someone you know your parents are going to have strong reservations about. On top of that, I was wondering what Paul would think of my family. I must have gotten quieter and quieter because Paul asked what was wrong.

     "I'm just a little nervous about this," I admitted.

     "You don't think they will like me?" he asked, and there was real concern in his voice.

     "They are going to like you. They are going to have a lot of reservations about who you are, but they are going to like you. I'm not worried about that. Beside, having met John and been properly horrified, you will look like a knight in shining armor by comparison!"

     That reference to John got a laugh from Paul. "Then what are you worrying about?"

     "I'm not too sure what we should tell them if they ask where you are staying."

     He thought about it for a bit. "You think that if they know I'm staying at your flat they will think we are sleeping together?"

     I shrugged. "I don't know what they will actually think. They won't ask directly and they will worry. They won't like it. It will make things difficult."

     Paul was silent for a while, then said, "Don't airbrush it."

     "What?"

     "Pat Boone had this huge painting made of us for his daughters, but in the photo the artist worked from we had cigarettes in our hands. Pat Boone had the cigarettes removed. Didn't like that part, but it is part of us. There are going to be a lot of things that they aren't going to like about you being with me. We can't start out hiding things. That will make things difficult. I don't mean we have to tell them, but . . . we can't lie about it."

     He was right. They were going to be upset enough when I told them I was going to England with him right after I finished school. They were going to be harassed by reporters, hear all kinds of things about Paul including stories about drugs and women. They needed to know the truth, trust him right from the start or things would only get harder.

     "OK. They will ask where you are staying, and we will tell them. I really don't think they will ask if we are sleeping together, but if they do, they hear the truth." I said.

     He nodded, leaned across and kissed my cheek. "Now relax."

     "One other thing."

     "What?"

     "What if you don't like them?"

     He laughed at me. "What if you don't like my family?"

     "That won't matter! I love you, and that's all that counts!"

     He didn't have to answer. He just laughed at me. Too late to worry about it anyway. We were turning onto the county road and would be there in a couple of minutes.  I had a few minutes to point out the pond where we ice skated in winter, the railroad crossing where we left coins for the train to flatten, and a couple of other childhood hangouts and then we were turning down the long drive to the house.  

    Steve and Janet's car was in front of the house, and as we pulled up, I saw my sisters out in the yard building a snowman with my niece Jenny. I turned the car off, and said to Paul "Well, let's start with the easy ones. They love you already." We got out of the car and approached my sisters. Snowman construction had been halted as we got out of the car. It was time to check out the boyfriend. They recognized him the moment he got out of the car and were immediately as frozen as their snowman.

     As we walked up to them, Jenny, immune to Beatlemania by virtue of her tender years, squealed, "Terry!" and flung her snowsuit bundled body at my knees.  I picked her up, and said, "Paul, I'd like you to meet my sisters." I introduced each of them. Paul extended a hand and shook their cold wet mittens. No one knew exactly what to say besides "Hello!" Jenny looked at Paul with interest, but when I introduced her, she went shy and buried her face in my collar.

    "Pleased to meet you, Jenny," Paul said. "This is going to be a great snowman. Can I help with it?"

     She looked up at him and, like the plain spoken two year old she was, looked him over head to toe, then observed, "You talk funny."

     Paul laughed and told her that was because he was from a funny place called Liverpool, and everybody there talked funny but they made snowmen just like she did.

     "I think he needs a nice red scarf," he told her. "How about this one?"

     "OK," she said accepting his offer of his cashmere muffler. She wriggled down out of my arms and dragging a what was probably a $30 scarf - more that what I had paid for my coat -through the snow, she went to finish her snowman.

      Anne spoke up. "So you two straightened everything thing out?" she asked me.

     "It was all a mistake," I told her. "I should have stayed and talked to him."

     "She thought that I . . . ah, well," Paul wasn't sure how much he should say.

     "I thought you were a two timing rat!" I said with a grin.

     Paul laughed. "Right. So she left. But it wasn't true."

     "His brother's fiancé was staying at his house when she had to be in London," I started to explain, but Anne didn't wait. She turned to Paul.

     "So why did it take you all this time to come after her?" she asked, a bold turn in the conversation I hadn't expected from her.

     "Because I was a stupid fool and thought she was a two-timing rat and that was a mistake, too."

     "You thought Terry was interested in someone else?? She was with you and wanted someone else??" She started laughing. "Good grief! Who else could she possibly --" The who else suddenly occurred to her. She looked at me questioningly.

     "None other," I confirmed.

     Paul seemed to be following the conversation with amazing accuracy.  "When John got back to London, he set me straight. I came after her, she finally listened to me, and . . . here we are doing the meet the parents bit."

     Anne grinned. "Looking forward to that, I'll bet!"

    "I've been rehearsing. "We're just good friends." We laughed at his line from A Hard Day's Night and headed back to the house.

    We went in through the little porch on the side of the house, stomped the snow off our feet, and stepped into the kitchen. No one was there, but I could hear the TV on in the living room and Janet laughing. As we put our packages on the table, my brother wandered in.  He stopped, stared, and said, "Jesus H. Christ!"

    "No, That's John. I'm Paul." Paul said, stepping forward and holding out his hand. Steve burst out laughing, and shook his hand.

     Steve promptly turned back to the living room and called "Hey you guys, come and check out Terry's boyfriend!"

     Janet responded immediately, obviously eager to start teasing me. She scurried into the kitchen grinning mischievously. When she saw Paul, the grin froze in amazement. She looked from him to me and then at our hands, locked together, holding tight. "Oh!" she squeaked.

     Steve laughed. "I believed the correct response is "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!"" he said using Mom's favorite exclamation of shock. "And here it comes," he added as Mom appeared with Dad close behind her.  Mom couldn't even manage that. The shy, nervous smile she wore in social situations turned to uncertainty, and then to utter dismay as she recognized him. Behind her, Dad took one look and his face registered disappointment. I remembered his comment a couple of years before. "If one of my daughters ever brings home one of those long haired freaks, I'll turn the shotgun on him and run him off the place." Well, he didn't look like he was going to go for his gun, but he sure looked like someone whose eldest daughter had really let him down. It didn't matter that the long haired freak in question was a very successful, very wealthy, very famous young man. He was still a long haired freak in a father's eyes. But I was prepared for their reaction, and I knew that in spite of their feelings, they would be polite. That was all I needed, because Paul would take care of the rest just by being himself.

     "Mom, Dad, this is Paul McCartney."

     Paul walked toward them and held out his hand. They didn't exactly meet him half way. They moved slowly, but they moved, shook his hand. Mom smiled tightly, Dad managed not to frown. "Pleased to meet you," Paul said. Just the right touch of respect, warmth, openness. When he looked back at me, he looked a little subdued. I felt bad for him, and wished I had better prepared him for this.

     Well," Steve said, heading off what would no doubt become an awkward silence, "So much for the social chit chat. Now let's get to the important stuff! Where are the cookies you were supposed to bring?"

     "In the car. Go fetch." I answered, smiling at him with gratitude.

     "I'll get them," Paul said, and moved back to the door where I was still standing. I looked up at him, trying to relay an apology with a look and getting a funny, exaggerated wincing look in return.

     I smiled up at him as I handed him the keys. "If you decide to run for it, remember to drive on the right hand side of the road," I told him. He grinned and went out the door with Steve right behind him.

     As the door shut, Janet said, "Wow!"

     "Exactly what I thought the first time I met him!" I told her and we laughed. I ignored the fact that Mom and Dad were exchanging parental looks and went to hang up my coat. I took my time, not wanting any further discussion. Steve and Paul came back in carrying suitcases. My sisters and Jenny tagged behind carrying packages, Rose juggling packages in her arms while holding the screen door open for Jenny who was struggling to get her snowsuited little legs up the steps into the porch. Paul went back to give them a hand, lifting Jenny up and in.  Jenny looked up at him, surprised and uncertain whether she wanted this stranger to pick her up. Paul didn't try to carry her, just boosted her up the steps and set her down in the porch.  Once inside everyone milled around pulling off winter coats and boots. Jenny waited patiently for help and when no one else offered she turned to Paul . She looked up at him, still evaluating him and apparently deciding that since he had not overstepped his bounds out there on the porch, he was trustworthy. She wordlessly held up her soggy mittened hands to him.  He peeled them off.  Relieved, she plopped down on the floor and began pulling at her boots. I went to help her and Paul gave his coat to Janet. When I got Jenny's boots off, I picked her up and began trying to unzip her suit. Paul lent a hand and unzipped her while I held her. When he had her unzipped and her hood untied, he reached out and took her from me, peeling her up and out of the suit as I tugged it off. Mom came bustling over, probably to rescue her precious grandchild from the friend of the Anti-Christ. Paul, unaware of my mom behind him, held Jenny up in the air for a moment, looking at her pink cheeks, blue eyes, and blond hair standing out in a static electricity halo. He smiled at her and said softly to me, "She is a Christmas Angel, Tess!"

     The tense look on my mothers face was broken by beaming grand motherly pride. Score one for Paul.

     Shyness and fear of strangers was not Jenny's concern right them. "Potty!" she said, squirming to get down. Everyone laughed as Mom took her from him and they headed to the bathroom.

     With cookies to sample, the need for coffee was obvious, and in a few minutes we were sitting around the table. I got out the tea bags I had brought and made tea for Paul and myself. Mom glared at my choice of beverage as if it symbolized everything she feared about my relationship with Paul. Table talk focused safely on the weather until Steve broke the barrier by asking Paul when he had arrived. Paul told him and my Dad followed up with "And how long will you be staying?"

      "I have to be back right after New Years. We will be working on an album for a few months, so it is going to be hard to get back here, but once that is done I'll be able to spend more time with Tess. Ah, Terry."

     "I see," said my dad. And they did see. Mom and Dad looked at each other, fears confirmed. Paul looked at me, worried that he might have said too much too soon. I just smiled and reached for his hand, sliding my hand under his on the table top. In plain view.

     "Well," said my brother watching that and probably applying Freudian principles to the position. He wasn't an especially observant guy nor into psychology, but he did have a dirty mind! "This could be an interesting New Year."

     Jenny circumvented an awkward pause in the conversation by piping up to ask how much longer until Santa came. A little later Mom managed to slide in a question about Paul's family by asking when they opened Christmas gifts. He answered "Christmas morning" and added that it was probably going to be more fun now that he had a little stepsister. That was an open invitation to Mom to ask about his family. Paul said his dad had remarried earlier that year, and that he had a brother who was engaged, and an army of aunts, uncles, and cousins that he had to make the rounds of at Christmas.

     "So your father is remarried," Mom said. "Your mother. . .?"

     "Mom died ten years ago." The startled look on Mom's face made it clear she had expected to hear about a divorce. "Took Dad a long time to get over it," Paul went on easily, "but he . . . Angi has really been great for him and we all are happy about it."

     "What does your father do?" Dad asked.

     "He's retired now," Paul answered and went on to explain about his dad's job at the cotton exchange and early days as a musician. That led to questions about whether his dad had encouraged his musical career. (Interesting to see the look on Dad's face when Janet asked that - he did not consider rock and roll to be music.)

     "Let's just say he encouraged my interest in music and tolerated the way it went. If Mom had been alive, she wouldn't have been so easy to get round. She'd have never allowed me to go off on tour with the group instead of studying for my O levels. I would probably be a school master in some boy's school up north!"

     That was another opening for Mom and she asked about his educational background. Paul explained the English system of education and his place in it. ("Good student but doesn't apply himself as well as he might" he quoted from a report card.) Mom responded with "Well, do you think you will go on with your plans to become a teacher when the Beatles go out of style?"

     Paul grinned at my sisters protests about the very idea that the Beatles were not here to stay, but answered Mom anyway. "No. I won't go back to that. I am a musician and I'll be involved with the music world in some way. If I don't go on performing, I'll be writing and producing. I imagine I'll gradually move into the business end. I don't reckon doing rock and roll at forty."

     We were all laughing at the idea of ancient rock stars - Mick Jagger with a cane, John wheezing as he played the harmonica. Mom shooed us out of the kitchen, saying she had to get started on dinner. I offered to help but she said, "No, I just need to put the hotdish in the oven, it is all ready. Rose can set the table." Rose made a face at me and the rest of us adjourned to the living room. We were just settling down to the five o'clock news when Mom popped in to remind us that confessions were at seven tonight and two tomorrow. "If anyone is planning on going."

      "Thanks, Mom," I said, declining to answer directly. From the Church's viewpoint I never needed the Sacrament of Penance more than I had since this summer, but I had no desire to go. I did feel a little bad about the lies I had told or mistruths I let people believe about what went on between Paul and I. And John. But absolution required that the penitent be sorry for the transgression. Sorry as in "If I had it to do over, I wouldn't" and "I'll never do it again." I was no where near that state of mind.

     "I was thinking I might go to Midnight Mass this year if anyone would go with me," Mom added.

     "I can never stay awake through it," Anne said, and then Paul said, "If you want to go, that might be better for us, Tess. Under cover of darkness. I think I could go with you then."

     "Oh," said Mom, heavy on the innocent surprise at the opportunity to ask the question -- as if she hadn't brought up the subject for that specific reason. "Are you Catholic?"

     "Well, Mum was. Had us baptized and all. But after she died, Dad kind of let things go. He wasn't a church man. I'm a bit fallen away, I guess."

     "Were you an altar boy? Et cum spiritu, pax vobiscum and all that?" asked my brother, one fallen away Catholic to another.

     "No, didn't even make choir boy."

     Anne and I went into a giggling fit. The idea of Paul not qualifying as a choir boy was funny enough in light of his career, but how many times had we heard that term used to describe Paul's angelic face? Everyone, including Paul, looked at us as if we were nuts, and we couldn't begin to explain why it was so funny.

     Mom headed back to the kitchen and once she was safely out of hearing, my brother said, "That has to be a world record. You have been here . . .," He stopped to check his watch, ". . .One hour and ten minutes and she managed to get the reason for your visit, do a check of family background, evaluate your scholastic aptitude, determine your career plans and establish religious preference!!"

     Even Dad had to laugh at that. "She did miss financial status, though," Steve added. "But we all know what that is."

     Paul grinned ruefully. "Then you are all one up on me. I haven't a clear picture of that myself! Dozens of bankers and accountants and none of them can give us a straight answer. Bloody suits!"

     I poked him and said in a stage whisper "Steve is an accountant, careful what you say!"

     "Really? Perhaps you could take a look and tell me something besides "Don't worry, lad. We have your situation well in hand."

     "You really don't know how much you have?" Janet asked. "I thought you were all millionaires."

     Paul smiled. "On paper, I guess I may be getting close to that. But I never see the money. I just walk into a shop and they send the bills to the bank."

     "Nobody ever tells you how much you've spent? Wow! That's like a credit card with no monthly bill!"

     "Oh, we get paper. Reams of it. But it is all in capital investments and "undivested market shares" and "Unreduced expenditures." The only thing you can really see is the 95 % the government gets."

     "95 %?!?" they all echoed.

     "You pay 95% tax?!?" Steve was really impressed, Dad looked horrified.

     "Here's one for you, nineteen for me!" Anne quoted.

     "Right!," Paul said. "The accountants come round every month to report on where they have put our money so it won't all go to taxes. We have to invest it or lose it. In fact, if we invest it and lose it, that is good too. Can't just spend it."

     "But what if you want to buy a house or a car or something?" Janet asked, appalled at the thought of money disappearing.

     "A big house is a good investment. So is a Rolls Royce. They encourage us to buy that kind of stuff. But how many cars can you drive?"

     I started laughing. "John hardly ever drives and he has two Rolls Royces, a Jaguar and the Aston that Cyn drives."

    "He buys and sells them just to have the bankers on. They told him once he needed to cut expenses so he sold his Rolls. Next day they wanted him to buy a chain of shoe stores. So he bought back the Rolls and got another to go with it."

     We were laughing about that when the television caught our attention. Minneapolis anchorman Dave Moore opened the five o'clock news with "Christmas is just two days away and it seems that while tots in the Twin Cities are queuing up to talk to Santa and making plans to stay up all night tomorrow night to catch a glimpse of the man in the red suit, teens are hoping for a glimpse of someone else. Yes, it is happening again. Once more the Twin Cities are flooded with rumors of sightings of one of the Beatles. If you remember, the group was here for a concert last summer. Crazed fans broke through the barricades, injuring John Lennon. That resulted in an extended stay here and mob scenes at the hospital. We've been subjected to these bouts of Beatlemania several times since then, with John Lennon sighted at various places around town. A University of Minnesota psychologist tells us it is no doubt a response to feelings of guilt over injuring their idol and a need to have him here, fit and healthy. But this time there is a little twist. It seems that this time the Beatle in question is Paul McCartney instead of Lennon. We sent someone out to the address fans are assembling at this afternoon and were not at all surprised to find lots of fans but no Beatle. The fans insist that he has been there, some even claiming to have talked to him. But as usual, no proof is available. No one was at home at that address, and Beatles headquarters in London gives us "No comment" when asked the whereabouts of the four mop tops. So, to all you Beatlemaniacs out there, "Yes, Virginia, there are four Beatles, but none of them are in Minneapolis."

     "But Martians have landed and are taking over," was Paul laughing comment.

     "But as long as they don't act up, the security guard won't have to get out of his car!" I chuckled.

     Dad was startled by that. "A guard? You need guards?" He sounded absolutely appalled. His idea of the danger I was letting myself in for extended only to drugs and wild living. Now I had just added the spector of crazed fans storming the apartment.   We hurriedly explained that it was just to keep the kids from taking everything that wasn't nailed down and I quickly changed the subject before we could get into the fact that Paul was staying at the apartment.

      The evening went by quickly with Mom and Dad taking my sisters off to church to seek forgiveness for their petty sins and the rest of us enjoying a quiet night in front of the television. By eleven, Paul was bedded down on the roll-away bed in the living room and I was in my old bedroom sharing secrets with Anne while "Meet the Beatles" played. Just like old times, but, as a fellow Minnesotan had said, "The times they are a changin.'"

      Saturday flew by. Mom and I were busy in the kitchen trying to get a head start on Christmas dinner, ironing the table cloth, polishing the silver, doing last minute secret wrapping, and trying to keep everyone fed in the meantime. Paul wandered in and out for tea, and for hugs and kisses if Mom was out of sight. He put together a puzzle with my sisters and there was a lot of laughing going on. Dad and I found time for a game of Scrabble which brought a big smile to Paul's face. I made a face at him and Dad looked at me questioningly.

     "He cheats," I explained.

     "Not I!" Paul protested. "It was John!"

     "With the rest of you swearing his words were legal!"

     Paul shrugged. "She was too good. Had to get past her somehow," he explained to Dad.

     "Oh, she can hold her own, all right, but she can't keep up with her old Dad!" my father said as he began turning tiles over.

     Steve got out his camera and he and Paul were soon deep in a discussion of lenses and F-stops and such. And, predictably, Paul ended up at the piano. Dad and I were deep in our game when Jenny started banging away at it. A few minutes later Paul was playing Jingle Bells for her. Mom, the pianist in the family, had to go check this out. "I thought you played a guitar," she said in amazement.

     "I've picked up a bit of piano," he said.

     "There are some music books in the piano seat," Mom offered.

     "Can't read music," Paul said with a grin. "Just write it," and proceeded to play "Yesterday."

     Jenny, having decided that Paul was more than just OK, was sitting on Paul's lap and she wanted more Jingle Bells,. They went back to that, but soon he was doing bits of old rock and roll standards. "Can you play "I Got Chew, Babe?" Dad asked.

     "I've never tried, but I'll have a bash if I can remember how it goes."

     We all started laughing and had to explain to Paul that Dad hated the song.  

    "How about this - my Dad likes it," Paul said and launched into a song none of us had heard before, singing it with a total lack of self consciousness. "When I'm Sixty-four".

     "Not bad," was Dad's response.

     It was finally time for the opening of gifts. Jingle bells were heard outside and everyone rushed to the windows (except Anne who had strangely disappeared). Steve had the movie camera running as bag of presents was discovered on the front steps. No one caught a glimpse of Santa or his sleigh but Jenny was in a state of wide eyed wonder. We settled in to open gifts with Rose and kay playing Santa's elves and handing them out. Jenny was in a frenzy of package tearing delight. She opened one package, grinning from ear to ear at her first Barbie doll.  She promptly undressed her then decided to show her new toy to everyone. Luckily this was in the days of Super 8 movies, no sound, because Paul eyed the naked eleven inch goddess and observed quietly to me "That's enough to make a boy want to play with dolls!" only to look up and realize Steve's camera was focused on him. He smiled for the camera, all innocence, but Steve made a remark on Barbie's poor flexibility that cracked Paul up.

     "What's going on," Mom asked from across the room.

     "Just hamming it up for the camera," I said.

     Rose handed Paul the gift I had gotten him. He was totally surprised.

     "When did you do this?" he asked.

     "When I went to the laundromat."

     "A bit small for soap flakes."

     He opened it, and everyone was craning their neck to see what it was. He took it out of the box to put it on. "Turn it over," I said quietly. He did and read the inscription. He looked up at me, smiled and touched my face.

     "Right," he said, and leaned over to give me a gentle kiss on the cheek.

     "Wait!" my brother yelled. "I didn't get that, my flash is charging! Dave Moore would pay a fortune for that!"

     I just laughed at him and helped Paul fasten the clasp on the ID band. As attention moved on to the next gift opener, Paul got up and left the room. A minute later he was back and put a small package into my hands as he sat back down next to me. It was about six inches square, two inches thick and wrapped in very expensive paper. "Before you open it, I need to explain something," he said quietly. "I had about two weeks before I came over to think about what to get you. I kept remembering how you said I wasn't real, just a fairy tale you were afraid to believe in. So I wanted to get you something that was real. Something that was me, not Paul the Beatle. Something Beatle money couldn't buy . . . So I. . .Well, go ahead, open it."

     It took a bit for me to pull away from his face, the look in his eyes. When I did, I realized everyone was watching us and listening. I slipped the ribbon off, opened the wrappings and took out a box. Inside was a velvet jewelry box. I opened it and saw earrings and matching necklace. The earrings were a delicate gold filigree with a tiny ruby in each, and the necklace copied the shape and design of the earrings but had several rubies set off by diamonds. The design was a timeless classic and I was stunned.

     "They are beautiful," I said.

     "The earrings were my mothers," he was saying. "Dad got them for her on their tenth anniversary."

     I looked at him in shock. "Oh, Paul!"

     He went on. "After I decided to give them to you, I realized they weren't the whole story. I am the kid from Liverpool, but I am a Beatle, too. You don't get one without the other. So. . ." he grinned at me. "I went out and paid a fortune to have a jeweler reset a diamond necklace to match."

     Half laughing, half in tears, I hugged him, too aware of everyone watching to kiss him the way I wanted to. He tolerated that for a moment then tilted my chin up for a kiss. Just a brief, suitable for viewing by children and parents kind of kiss, but the look in his eyes as he pulled away said it all. I handed the jewelry box to Janet who was craning her neck to see, and leaned back into the circle of Paul's arm, stealing another quick kiss as everyone focused on the jewelry. "I love you," I whispered in his ear. He smiled down at me. "This time forever," he said. I wished my whole family would just disappear. But there they were. Looking at us. Mom and Dad were exchanging more meaningful, - and despairing - parental looks.

     We went to midnight mass. Paul and I waited out in the car until mass had started, then slipped into the pew at the back of the church where they had saved room for us. It was interesting to watch as the people around us slowly became aware of their fellow worshiper. A puzzled stare, the startled look of recognition, a whispered comment to a husband or wife, furtive glances and the following "No it isn't" "Yes it is" conversation complete with more neck craning peeks. Since it was a church, only a few were bold enough to just poke the person in front of them and pass on the information. The rest remained kneeling when the row in front of them sat down, then whispered to the friend or sister in-law in front of them. I watched the wave move forward in a subdued manner befitting the location. There was a long pause during the sermon when forward movement was halted, then a rash of head swivelings as the news hit a new section. There weren't many teenagers present, but they were in agony trying to see but being repeatedly reprimanded by their parents. Paul seemed oblivious to the process, but did lean down and say "Best we don't wait ‘til the last minute before we leave, it appears."

     Christmas Day passed quietly, with the exception of a lot of unprecedented phone calls from relatives and friends wishing my parents a Merry Christmas. "Yes, it was quite a surprise" Mom told them when they got down to the real point of the call. Other than those reminders of the unusualness of the situation, it was a typical "eat too much, do dishes for an hour, then try to stay awake" Christmas Day. Mom and Dad were over the initial shock and were beginning to carry on normal conversations with Paul.

     I woke up early Monday morning. Since Christmas fell on Sunday, everyone had Monday off and, after listening for a minute, I decided everyone must be sleeping in. The opportunity to spend a few minutes alone with Paul got me out of my warm bed and into my bathrobe. I tiptoed to the top of the stairs but as I started down I heard the clink of a spoon in a coffee cup and Paul saying quietly, "So, it won't be until summer -- if Tess is still interested!!"

     My mother's voice was a little shaky when she answered. "Well. This is all a big surprise to us. We had no idea . . . She never said anything."

     "She thought it was over between us until I showed up last week. But now we are together and . . . unless she changes her mind --"

     I knew I had better make my presence known. Paul was being grilled about my moving to England and was probably sweating bullets. I hurried the rest of the way downstairs and found Mom, Dad, and Paul sitting at the table. "I won't be changing my mind," I announced as I took the chair next to Paul. "As soon as school is out, I'll be going to England. I'll have to come back here to take my State Board exams in July, but I want to be with Paul."

     The gentleman in question was not exactly sweating bullets. In fact, he was grinning at me. He put his arm around me, gave me a quick kiss, and said, "Good morning!"

     "Good morning," I said. "I'm sorry - I should have told them my plans sooner. You shouldn't have had to."

     He just smiled. "No, it was quite all right. We had a nice chat."

     "A very interesting chat," my mother said, exchanging an odd look with my Dad.  Dad just looked from me to Paul and back again, shaking his head. "Well, I guess you are both pretty clear on what you want." He looked at Paul and I had the feeling I had missed something. "But I'm sure you can understand if we aren't too crazy about this."

      Paul nodded. "Yeah, I can understand it," he answered "but I hope that by this summer you'll feel better about it."

     Everyone was silent for a minute, then Paul said "There is something else we need to talk about." Mom and Dad looked tense and I looked at Paul wondering where he was going with this. "Things are going to get a little . . . ah . . . crazy," he said.

      "What do you mean?" Mom asked.

      "Reporters and fans," I explained.

      Mom and Dad looked amazed. "They won't come out here. We don't have anything to say!"

     While Mom and I served breakfast, Paul went over what to expect and how to handle it. From "No comment" to "No interviews," to keeping the doors locked at all times. Dad grumbled that a large mean dog sounded like the solution.

     "Acceptable for reporters, but not allowed with fans," Paul laughed.

     As my sisters and Steve and Janet wandered down for breakfast, we went over it with them, explaining how anything they said would not only be reported, but blown out of proportion. How they would find they had a lot of new "friends," how people would take great delight in telling them lurid tales of what they "knew" about the Beatles.

     Paul looked my dad straight in the eye and said "Not that there won't be some truth to some of it. I have done a lot of things you probably wouldn't approve of and a few I wish I hadn't, but probably nothing near what you will hear about me. If you hear something that bothers you, ask me and I'll tell you straight up."

     "In that case, let's discuss a few things," my Dad replied. He turned to my sisters. "You girls go on upstairs."

     His tone of voice made it clear their would be no argument, and they reluctantly disappeared. Dad turned back to Paul and said bluntly, "Drugs." It wasn't as much a question as an accusation.

      Paul hesitated only a second. "OK . . . I've used uppers - amphetamines - at times. It started in Hamburg when we had to keep playing for hours on end. One of the women who worked there gave us some pills one night when we were all exhausted. After that we used them whenever we needed a boost. Once we hit it big, we didn't need to play long sets and we only used them to keep going when jet lag had us dead on our feet or we were so sick of the tour we didn't want to do anything but go home. I never used them outside of touring. Just don't need them when I'm home."

      Everyone was listening quietly and I couldn't tell what my parents were thinking. Paul's answer, as prompt as it was, was spoken slowly, searching for the right words and obviously unrehearsed. He hesitated, looked at me, and when I reached for his hand, he squeezed it hard and went on. "I smoke marijuana fairly often. I prefer it to alcohol - a few drinks and I am anybody's. If I smoke I have a good time, don't make a fool of myself, and don't get a hangover." He grinned a little and added "I used to think it helped me write songs, but I found I was writing the same songs over and over!"

     I laughed, Janet laughed, my brother smiled, Mom gave a wan imitation of a smile that showed acknowledgment of the joke but no appreciation for it. Dad waited.

     Paul looked at me again, then went on. "I don't think it should be illegal. In fact I don't think any non-addictive drug should be illegal. I have tried LSD" (audible gasp from Janet and a funny look between Mom and Dad that made me wonder if they had ever heard of LSD) "and it is incredible. But . . . I dunno. It's not addictive or anything, but it's not something I am big on anyway. It's pretty heavy - not something I would want to feel all the time. I have never used heroin. That is a one way street to the morgue. Next question?"

     It was deadly quiet for a long time. I was now holding Paul's hand with both of mine. Then my dad spoke up and this question was a little harder to phrase. "Is it true that you . . . you have young girls in your hotel rooms?" I recalled Mom and Dad's disgust during last year's U.S. tour over the story about police finding a teenager waiting outside their hotel at 2 AM for her girlfriend. I doubted my parents recalled that Paul was the Beatle named as the one she was ‘visiting', but they certainly recalled the negative publicity of that event.

     As before, Paul's answer was delayed only a moment. "When we are on tour we can't leave the hotel so we have our people bring people in for parties. If a girl makes herself look eighteen or so, she could get in. We don't check ID's. As for what goes on . . . If anything happens it is nothing that the girl isn't more than willing to do. I have never even tried to talk a girl into anything, much less forced her. When I am at home, I go out with birds my age. Tess - ah, Terry can tell you that there are fans outside my house every night. That is where they stay. Outside. Even though they make it clear that they would do anything I want."

     More silence. My dad shook his head a little as he thought. Mom just looked distressed and then blurted out "Weren't you engaged to someone?"

     Paul sighed and said. "Yes, I was engaged for a short time."

     I saw the obvious question forming on her lips and cut her off. "Mom, you have a right to be concerned about some of the stuff you've heard, but what happened between him and Jane is personal. It's not like the drugs and stuff. But Paul and I have talked about it and . . . well, I don't think everyone else needs to know the details."

     Mom looked a little put out, Dad looked grim, Paul's hand was sweating, and my stomach hurt. I wondered if being in love usually causes ulcers and waited for someone to say something.

     Steve cleared his throat and said "Well, Mom and Dad now know more about Paul's evil ways than they do about mine. I say we give it a rest."

     Paul and I both looked at him with gratitude and Janet starting pumping Steve to hear what secrets he was hiding. Steve, Janet, Paul and I were soon laughing at tales of outhouse tipping, firecrackers that did a little more damage to mailboxes than anticipated, and other high-school pranks. Dad got up and wordlessly put his coat on and went outside, and Mom went about clearing the breakfast things in silence. My sisters heard us laughing and ventured back downstairs. When Mom disappeared back upstairs and Janet was busy with Jenny, I pulled Paul into the laundry room and into my arms. Under the covering sound of the washer and dryer we could talk.

      "Oh, God. I blew it," he groaned, sagging into my arms. "I should have lied. I never use drugs and I'm a virgin. All my money goes to orphanages. I'm an altar boy. I spend weekends rolling bandages for the Red Cross."

      "No, it's OK. It doesn't matter," I laughed as I kissed him. "They'll come around. It was just a bit much for one weekend. I should have told them right away about going to England."

     "And I should have kept my mouth shut about the rest."

     "No! No, they needed to hear it from you. When they have a little time to think about it, they'll appreciate your honesty."

     He just groaned.

     "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I should have known they would be up early. What did they ask you before I got there?"

     He sighed. "Your father asked the typical father question. But he didn't ask if my intentions were honorable -- he asked what the hell I thought I was doing with you!"

     It was my turn to groan. "Oh no. What did you say?"

     Paul was smiling. "That was the easy part. I told them I am in love with you. I told them you are the first thing that has made sense in my life in a long time. I told them I need you with me."

     That was as far as we got. He was kissing me and we were both feeling the effects of three days of celibacy. "Oh, baby . . . How do you do that?" he sighed after a few minutes.

     "Do what?"

     "You kiss me and the next thing I know you somehow give yourself to me. I can feel it. Your whole body just . . . just dissolves into mine. You don't have to tell me you are mine, I can feel it."

     It was an odd conversation for a laundry room but I was undone anyway. "Ohhh, Paul," was all I could say - until the dryer cycle finished and we were jolted apart by the irritable screech-beep-buzz it emitted. We both started laughing.

     "Let's go home," I said.

     I got dressed hurriedly and packed up our suitcases, Mom reappeared and surprised me by fussing over a package of cookies to send back with us. "I've been eating cookies for three weeks!" I protested.

     "I doubt Paul gets homemade cookies very often," she said. "He really likes the gingerbread." I shut my mouth and let her fuss. Jenny realized we were leaving and dragged Paul back out to the piano for one more song.

     Dad came back in and saw the suitcases by the door. "You are leaving already?" he asked.

     "I think you'll want some time for a family pow-wow before Steve has to leave. We'll clear out and you can discuss this catastrophe in private," I said with a laugh. He didn't smile and I hugged him. "I love him, Dad. It is no more complicated than that."

     I put the box of cookies with the rest of our things piled by the door. Steve offered to carry stuff out to the car so we loaded up and took out the first load. As we put the suitcases in the trunk, I asked, "So what do you think?"

     "Ohhh boy. You really surprised us. Who'd have thought Terrible Terry the Tit-less Teeny Bopper would bring home a Beatle?"

      For the millionth time, I punched my big brother. "Well, I now have tits and you still can't grow enough hair on your lip to cause even a 5 AM shadow!"

      We laughed at the memory of our favorite teenage taunts. "Actually, Terry, I wasn't too impressed. He was just too smooth. Too nice!"

     "He is nice!" I protested.

     "Down, girl," he commanded. "I just meant he comes off as kind of . . . slick. I thought you were being taken in by a smooth operator."

      I realized then he was talking in past tense. "And what do you think now?"

     "Nobody can be that nice all the time! But what he did this morning took guts. There was nothing phony about that. And that's all I'm going to say for now. I need to get to know him better. Besides, I'm not supposed to like your boyfriends, so don't ask my opinion." Having said his piece, he grabbed a handful of snow, shoved it down my back and ran for the house.

     I went back in to rescue Paul. We said our final goodbyes, Paul thanked my mom for her hospitality, peeled Jenny off his leg and handed her over to Janet, and we escaped.

     Once safely in the car and out of sight of the house, Paul leaned his head back and sighed, "Well . . . Jenny liked me!"

     "Jenny adored you! And my sisters think you are fantastic. Rose and Kay actually talked to you. That is a near miracle. They usually disappear when company comes. And Anne said "Well, he's no George, but he is really great."

     That got a big laugh from Paul.

     "Steve said he wasn't supposed to like any of my boyfriends, but you really impressed him this morning. And Janet said something yesterday that . . . well . . . It wasn't typical of our relationship. We get along fine and everything, but we aren't real close. She said she was going to ask me if you were as good as you looked, but after spending time with you, she knew you were even better and she hoped everything worked out for us."

     He reached over and squeezed my thigh. "That's nice, but, Tess, your parents--"

     "They just need time. This was a big shock. They'll come around." He looked so worried I tried to lighten things up. "Hey, C'mon. Mom already likes you well enough to send cookies for you and my dad didn't throw you out. That says something."

     He sat up and turned sideways to face me. "Honey, I'm not worried about how well they like me. If they don't, I can live with that. There are a number of people who don't think I'm cute or nice and I tend to agree with them at times. What worries me is that they are going to make this so hard for you and I won't be here to . . . to help you. They'll try to stop you from coming to England, they'll try to convince you I'm not right for you."

     "They can't stop me. I'm twenty one. And they won't be able to talk me out of --"

     "I know Tess." He slid over and put his arm around me, kissed my cheek. "I'm not worried about you changing your mind. Well, not too much," he amended honestly. "I just meant they are going to try. They are going to make it so hard for you. They could put a lot of pressure on you and this could change things between you and your parents forever. And I don't know how to keep that from happening. I don't want you to be hurt and I don't want you to have to choose between them and me."

     I held his hand tightly and tried to keep at least half my thoughts on driving while I considered what he had said. It was true, they could make things tough if they wanted to. But I still had total faith in my belief that once they got to know him, they would like him. They had liked him. I had seen that all weekend. Mom took a while to thaw out but when she forgot who he was for a few minutes, she smiled at him with something besides that "I don't like this but I have to be polite" smile she used the rest of the time. It was a little harder to say with Dad, but he did sit down and talked with Paul. If Dad hadn't been willing to at least get to know him, he would have spent his time in his chair watching TV and pointedly ignoring us.

     And as far as making me choose between them and Paul, I couldn't believe that would happen. "If you are worried that they will disown me, cut me off, disinherit me, scratch my name out of the family bible," I said to Paul, "well, my family simply doesn't have that kind of flair for the dramatic. The worst that can possibly happen is that Mom will keep trying to "reason" with me and Dad will get all upset and leave the house whenever the subject comes up. But there won't be any ultimatums. Maybe they won't exactly help me pack, but they won't stop taking my phone calls and they won't stop my sisters from coming to England to visit me. And gradually, they will get used to the idea and things will be fine between us. And all it will take is --" I stopped abruptly. I had almost said "a grandchild."

     "What?" Paul prompted.

     "Time," I substituted.

     "I hope so," he said softly and kissed me again before he settled back to his side of the car.

     I breathed a sigh of relief at not having blurted out something stupid. Well, maybe not that stupid. The first night we were back together, Paul had alluded to marriage when he said I knew what he wanted "professionally and personally", so it wasn't some pipe dream. I hadn't had much time to think about it since he came back into my life, but if pressed, I would have said that I believed someday we would be married. But he certainly hadn't even come close to asking me. I took his words that night not as a promise but a possibility. If all went well between us, if I fit in with his life, if I liked living in England. And I thought it would go well, I would do whatever I could to fit in, (Within reason. His marijuana and my nursing license were not going to be able to live together!) and I would live anywhere to be with him. So, in time, he would propose, I would accept, there would be babies - little boys who looked just like him!

     But I would not bring up the subject of marriage. In the 60's, girls did not initiate the first kiss -- though we knew how to give all kinds of signals to encourage it. We waited for the guy to say "I love you" first, and then waited again for him to propose. I had held back from saying "I love you" and found that if I had said it sooner, I could have saved myself a lot of time wondering how he felt, but did I learn from that? No. Paul was going to have to be the first to talk about marriage. It would sure make it easier if he did so soon -- The minute he headed back to England, Mom was going to nail me with "And do you think this man plans to MARRY you???" As things stood, all I could say was "Yes, though we haven't really discussed it." But I really didn't expect him to bring the subject up. It was way too soon - we really hadn't known each other long. He had dated Jane for years before they got engaged. Brenda and Mark had been dating for eight months and if anyone appeared destined for the altar, they did. But when we asked Brenda if she might be getting a ring for Christmas, she said they had never talked about marriage.

     I was so lost in my considerations of how people got around to getting married, that I didn't realize Paul was talking to me until he reached over and squeezed my knee. "Hey, Sweet Dreamer, where are you?"

     "Just thinking about getting you home. Into bed," I fibbed.

     He laughed. "Oh yeah!!" His hand slid up my thigh and between my legs. "I have this animal urge to mate. To re-establish my claim to my female."

     "Oh, how disgusting!" I said.

     "OK, how about this? I want you. I want to hold you and show you that I love you and that I'll be there for you no matter how hard this gets. I want you to be mine again."

     I don't know if it was his words, the love in his eyes, or the touch of his hand, but I wanted him. Now. I looked at him and smiled. "That's exactly what I want," I said. An idea came to me. I wasn't sure I had the nerve to really carry out my plan, but I turned off the highway.

     Paul rode in silence for a minute before he asked, "Are we taking a different route?"

     "A shortcut," I explained.

     I drove a couple of miles then turned off onto a small side road and into a cemetery. Paul looked at me, eyebrow lifted in a suspicious but hopeful grin. I smiled at him and carefully drove up the hill, making sure we weren't going to end up stuck in the snow. I stopped the car on a section of road that wound through the hills of the sprawling, tree filled cemetery.

     "Are we going to visit more relatives?" he asked.

     "No. I don't think any of my relatives are buried here. I wouldn't do this in front of Grandma," I replied as I slid over to him.

     "Do what?"

     "OK, city boy. This is a country custom known as parking. A secluded spot with reasonable assurance of privacy, a car - large back seat preferred, sorry about that - and this." I kissed him long and deep, and slid my arms around him, under his coat.

     "Is this the same girl who wouldn't let me make love to her on the moor at Edmonton Castle?"

     "The heather was itchy," I said as I unbuttoned his shirt and began kissing his neck. A few more kisses and I decided I did indeed have the nerve to do it here in broad daylight. Wanting had escalated quickly to needing. Like the difference between "Gee, a big glass of cold water would be good right now," and "Water! I need water!!" Yes indeed, this was going to be fun.

     Then Paul murmured in my ear, "Looks like you did learn a thing or two from John."

     I froze. God, he was partly right. Cars and back roads were associated with making out and with doing it long before John, but John's example of doing it wherever you were when the mood hit was what had given me the nerve to come to the cemetery. I never should have done this. I had been so careful to keep John's name well separated from any conversation about sex all week and now I had brought us smack up against him again. I lifted my eyes to look at him and instead of the stony look I expected, he was smiling. He saw the fear in my face and laughed gently.

     "No, it's all right, Tess," he said as he pulled me closer. "In fact . . ." He stopped for a kiss that generated heat all through me. He reached for my hand and guided it down to feel him. "This is fantastic," he said with that husky sound in his voice that I loved.  That and the evidence under my hand was all the encouragement I needed. The next few minutes were full of heavy breathing - inspired by kisses that we couldn't seem to wait for and by the struggle to get out of our coats in a car that was entirely too small. Once out of my coat, I clamored onto his lap, straddling him and trying to get his jeans unzipped.

    "Slide down." I said.

    "Lift up."

    "Wait. . . Here, let me."

    "Oh, baby. . ."

    "Oh, Paul!"

    "Now yours."

    "OK . . . Oh, yes! Ooohh!"

    "Already?!?!"

    "Oh, yes - Hurry!"

    "Lord, if I had known what this does to you, I'd have hired a limo for the day!"

    "But then we would have the driver watching every -- oooh, ohhh, oh Paul, ohhh."

    "You are going to have to take your jeans off, baby. We can't do it like this."

    "OK . . . Here . . . OW!! My knee!"

    "Here, turn round and slide them off."

    "Damn, I have to take my shoes off!"

    "Take everything off."

    "I can't do that!! Someone might drive through here. What if they want to say Merry Christmas to Melvin Hockstetler?"

    "Who??"

    "The guy who's planted just outside your door."

    "Forget Uncle Mel. God, you feel so good."

    "Oh, Paul. I love you . . .Ouch! Scoot over just a little - the door knob."

    "Better?"

    "Yeah. Oh, yeah!"

    "Oh Tess, oh baby, I love you."

    "No, don't - I can't take my blouse off!"

    "Here, put my coat on instead. I want to be able to touch you all over."

    "OK . . . Hey, how come I'm the only one getting naked??"

    "Because I don't need to. Men's clothes are properly designed for this eventuality. If you were a proper lady and wore a skirt --"

     "If I were a proper lady I sure as hell wouldn't be doing this!"

     "Then I am glad you are a tart. A sweet, warm, wet little tart! Oh yes. Ohhh yessss. Ohhhhh."

     "Wait, lift up."

     "OK?"

     "More than OK. Perfect, just . . . oooooh, baby."

     And after all that work, it was over in minutes. The shock absorbers held, no one came to see Melvin, and it was fantastic.

    "Swear you are coming to England," he gasped as I fell into his arms, breathless and spent. "No matter what they say."

    "I swear, baby. I swear," I said. "I have to. I can't live without you. Not ever again."

    "You won't have to. I won't let us be apart. We'll get through the next few months somehow, and then, love, . . . this time forever."

    We stayed there in the snowy cemetery, holding each other, reclaiming each other just like he had said. I put my panties and jeans back on and turned sideways and lay back in his arms, still wearing his coat. His hand was inside the coat gently playing with my breasts, his arm strong around me, and the talk was of the future. He would call me every Sunday and every Wednesday at 9 p.m. He would come back and spend at least a week with me every month. I would have to go to school but we would spend every possible minute together. During Spring Break I would fly to England and we would go up to Liverpool and meet his family. By the end of March, he hoped he'd able to come back for longer stretches, perhaps even stay most of April and May with me. And the day after graduation we would go back to England. Together.

     "You know, it's funny," I said softly.

     "What?"

     "Mom and Dad and Steve and Janet are probably sitting there around the kitchen table. Mom and Dad are all upset, thinking I am making an awful mistake. Thinking you want to take me off to a life of wild living and drugs and orgies and they are scared to death for me. But here I am, in your arms and thinking I have never felt this safe, this loved."

    He lifted me up to bury his face in my neck and just held me tight for a long, long time.