Into My Life

Chapter 24

     Everything was quiet back at the apartment. The security guy on duty reported that traffic had been down considerably over the holiday weekend. Sandy came home later that afternoon and Brenda around dinner time. After dinner and a full debriefing on everyone's holiday -- and my parents response to my mystery date -- Sandy asked if they needed to go out for the evening.

     "I suppose after being at your folks all weekend, you two want to . . . um . . . be alone?"

     Being alone again with Paul was appealing but it was getting really bad outside. The temperature was dropping and the wind was blowing hard. We didn't talk about wind chill back then, but you didn't need fancy calculations to tell you it was a miserable night to be out and about. Ignoring Paul's grin at my white lie, I assured her we'd had plenty of time alone before she returned and we settled in for an evening in front of the TV. Paul got up after a while and went into the bedroom. A few minutes later there was a series of protesting screeches from the bedsprings followed by a muffled thud. Sleepily engrossed in the TV, I wondered what he was up to. Then we heard Paul whistling a little tune. Not unusual - he hummed or whistled when he was busy with something and I figured he was emptying the suitcase he had taken over the weekend. Another minute or two passed and there was a metallic, rattling clang. We all looked at each other and headed for the bedroom.

     The mattress was standing against the far wall and Paul was kneeling at the foot of the bed diligently dismantling it! Whistling as if this were something he did regularly, just another bedtime chore. He had one side rail free from the footboard and was working on the other.

     "Geez! You guys broke the bed!" Sandy burst out laughing.

     Paul looked up, grinned and said "No. Actually, it is breaking me." He gave a whack and jerk on the side rail and it came free. "The springs are shot and the mattress is too soft. Very bad for my back." He lowered the foot end of the spring to the floor, got to his feet and leaned the footboard against the dresser.

     "You have a bad back?" Brenda asked.

     "Oh, aye. Terrible bad."

     Now that was news to me. I had seen no evidence of it and he had never mentioned it. I was suspicious even before he looked at me with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.  "It can be a right bothersome thing to deal with. Flares up quite regularly, it does," he went on. "There are times when I am up all night."

     I stifled a laugh.

     "How did you hurt it?" Brenda asked. She sounded a little suspicious too.

     "Hamburg. Fell off the stage. Could have been really hurt but I landed on a waitress. Big Brunhilda of a woman but a lot of fun." He was now removing the headboard. "The only thing for it is to sleep on a soft but firm surface. In fact, Tess's Mum suggested that very thing this weekend. She said if the fold-up bed was uncomfortable to just put the mattress on the floor."

      My dear mother would have a heart attack if she knew Paul was taking her advice for his own purposes, but it was a great idea. I lent him a hand as he jiggled the headboard free. "I'd hate to see it -- ah, you up all night," I said, working hard to keep a straight face.

      Brenda made a choking sound and burst out laughing. Sandy looked puzzled.

     We stashed the bed parts out on the back porch. Sandy didn't catch on until later as we were getting ready for bed. Paul was watching the Tonight show and Brenda in the bathroom. Sandy was standing in the hall talking to me while she waited her turn at the bathroom. I was hanging up some clothes, then went to straighten out the blankets on the mattress, now in its place on the floor. Sandy commented "Well, at least now it won't squeak all--"

     The truth dawned and she started to laugh. "Bad back, my ass!" she whispered conspiratorially to me, unaware Paul had just walked up behind her.

     He leaned back to do an exaggerated survey of the mentioned anatomy and waggled his eyebrows lecherously. "And a loverly one it is!" he said.

     She squawked in surprise and embarrassment and Paul laughed, slipped past her into the bedroom, and shut the door.

     With that inconvenience taken care of, we settled into communal living. Paul fit comfortably into our lives. He delighted in having three girls to wait on him hand and foot and in our unenlightened, unliberated 60's girl ways, we enjoyed doing it. In return, he fixed a leaky faucet ("Dad was always fixin' these things. Wouldn't pay a plumber. Still won't!"), shoveled snow (which the fans outside loved -- I'm sure they prayed for snow every night), and remembered to put the seat down on the toilet.

     Word went out quickly that we were back, and mobs of kids out for Christmas vacation bundled up against the cold and waited for Paul to come out. He greeted them, talked to them, signed autographs if it wasn't too cold to hold a pen and even built a snowman with them. (It disappeared overnight. We speculated that somewhere in Minneapolis a mother and daughter were at odds over what could reasonably be kept in the family freezer!)

     The reporters finally found us. They were a heck of a lot harder to satisfy than the fans. Light bulbs flashed every time we went out, and Paul was asked repeatedly why he was here and replied he was "visiting a friend." They wanted him to pose for pictures, but he just smiled, waved, and we kept on going. They wanted interviews and he just smiled and said "Sorry, I'm on holidays." Dave Moore had to make do with that kind of footage when he did his follow up report on confirmed Beatle sightings in Minneapolis.

     I watched the news that night, feeling like I was watching someone else on the screen. Someone else coming out the door, down the steps, holding Paul's hand, smiling at the fans, looking up at Paul as he told the reporter for the fifth time why he was in town and he wasn't giving interviews. That couldn't be me! Paul's new girl! (Who really needed to buy a new winter coat -- I looked like a roly-poly fur trimmed ball.)

     I expected a call from Mom but she didn't call on Tuesday night. I had to work Wednesday evening and when I got home at midnight there was a note on the pillow. "Needed a piano. Carol said I could go down to the dance school. Don't wait up, I have a key. Love, Paul." I thought about going down to join him, but I knew if he was really in the middle of working on something I would just interrupt him, so I went to bed. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, he came home. He undressed silently in the dark and slipped into bed with me. He felt cold and I wrapped myself around him. "So warm, so sweet," he whispered with a gentle kiss and we made love quietly and gently and I fell asleep thinking that this was a scene that would be repeated many times in the years to come.

     The phone rang on Thursday evening while we were fixing supper. Brenda answered and after a moment of exchanging holiday greetings and with the caller, she turned to me. "It's your Mom," she said. Supper was forgotten. Sandy and Brenda knew how worried Paul was about my parents reaction. Sandy turned to Paul and gave him a quick hug while Brenda handed me the phone.

     "Hi, Mom," I said, trying to sound relaxed. Mom made small talk for a while, talking about the weather, asking if the clothes she had gotten me for Christmas fit, reporting that she had just talked to Steve and Jenny had a fever. She finally got down to business. She wanted to know if we planned to come down for the New Year's weekend.

     Paul and I had talked about it. He felt we should, even though he sounded like he would rather do just about anything else. But it needed doing. Like a trip to the dentist. I hated the idea of possibly subjecting Paul to another Inquisition but agreed that it was something we had to do.

     "Well, we thought we would come down Friday evening. We don't have any plans for New Year's Eve so we thought we would stay until Sunday." Even if we had wanted to go out, there weren't too many places to go on New Years Eve that would be safe. I didn't want a repeat of the Halloween party.

     "Oh. That would be . . . nice. We would like to spend more time with Paul and get to know him."

     "You do?" That sounded promising.

     "I think we better." I didn't know how to take that. Did it mean they were resigned to the idea? That didn't seem likely. Or did they want to have more ammo to build a case against him? There was a long silence while I thought it over. I finally simply asked, "What did you think of him, Mom?" Paul had been literally pacing the floor and at this he stopped. Brenda slipped an arm around him.

     "That's the problem, Terry. We don't know what to think. He seemed so nice and . . . normal. But all that stuff with drugs and girls."

     I ignored the last part and concentrated on the fact that they really had liked him. And Paul was right - we really needed to spend time with them. "OK, Mom," I said, turning to give a big smile to Paul. We'll come down on Friday. And you'll see you were right - he is nice and he is normal!"

     Paul grinned and shook his head at the "normal" while the girls stifled laughter.

     "Oh, Terry," Mom said, with mom-like dismay. "He might be perfectly nice, but we just can't let you just take off with him. Everyone will think . . . Well. You just can't do that. And he admits he is into drugs. Once he got you over there, there is no telling what he might get you involved in. I know it looks glamorous, and he certainly is good looking in spite of that hair, but . . ."

     My heart sank and I turned away so Paul couldn't see my face. "Mom," I interrupted, trying not to sound like I was giving an ultimatum. "this isn't about deciding whether I go to England with him. You just need to decide what kind of relationship you want to have with us and before you do that, you need to get to know him . . . to give him a chance. But, Mom, whether or not I should be with him in the first place is my decision."

     Long, long silence. "You've already decided."

     "I love him."

     Another long silence followed by words that conveyed exasperation, worry, and regret. "I don't know about this weekend. I'll have to discuss this with your Dad. I'll call you later."

     "OK, Mom."

     I hung up the phone and turned to Paul. He looked at me, question in his eyes. "She's going to talk to Dad. She'll call back when they decide . . . if they want to see us."

     I hadn't expected the possibility of being un-invited. Tears stung my eyes and Paul's arms were around me. I was shocked and hurt but I was worried about Paul. I could feel his heart pounding. This was what he had feared. I pulled myself together, bolstered by the knowledge that this changed things between me and my parents, not between Paul and I. I hugged him, kissed him, looked him squarely in the eyes and said firmly, "Well, looks like I'll be doing my own packing this summer."

     He hugged me so hard it hurt. "I'll make it up to you somehow, Tess," he said quietly, and his kiss was so sweet nothing else mattered.

     "Ahem," said Brenda.

     We pulled apart to look at her.

     "Are we going to eat, or should Sandy and I go to a movie?"

     We all laughed and went on about the business of getting supper on the table.

     Dad called back an hour later. "So are you coming down this weekend?" he asked without any preliminaries.

     "We would like to."

     Dad said. "You can always come home, Terry, no matter what you decide to do. And he is welcome here, at least for now."

     That last bit didn't sound promising, but I would take what I could get. The only thing that could change their attitude was getting to know Paul. "We'll be down Friday evening. Tell Mom we'll eat before we come so she won't have to worry about dinner." She would be tired after work and if she had to feed "company" (and friend or foe, Paul would be company) she would be all in a dither.

     Thursday and Friday flew by, and our time together was slipping away fast. We didn't talk about it much - there wasn't much to say - but Friday afternoon as I was working through a basket of ironing, I promised I would try to write at least once a week.

     "No need to do that," he said. "I'll be talking to you before we could get letters across."

     I must have looked disappointed.

     "What?"

     "I was hoping you would write to me."

     "I'll ring you more often if you like."

     "No, that's not it. I . . . Well, I've never gotten a love letter and I would like to."

     "Ah, get off. You've a bureau drawer full of them! All tied in a pink ribbon."

     "No, I've never gotten one. I wrote to Gary a few times while he was in the service and he wrote to me, but they weren't love letters. We broke up when I moved up here. That was months before he went in, but we were still friends and so I wrote to him. I knew the boys over there really like getting letters from home."

     "So you weren't in love with him?"

     That was kind of off the topic and it startled me. I turned from the ironing board to look at him. "No," I said. His expression was thoughtful as he absent-mindedly fiddled with his tea bag. I waited, but he said nothing more so I went back to ironing. He got up to make another cup of tea. Without looking at me he asked softly, "You have never been in love before?"

      "No," I reported. "I thought you knew that. I told you about my skimpy love life."

      That got a little grin. "You told me about your sex life, love. I asked if you've ever been in love."

      I had to laugh a little at the memory that evoked. "When Gary said he loved me I was appalled, horrified, scared, embarrassed. Everything but in love with him."

     "He said he loved you??" I don't think Paul heard anything I had said except that Gary had said he loved me.

     "Well, not exactly," I said, wondering what Paul was trying to figure out. "We were making out in the back seat. Maybe he just wanted to see how far he could get. Thought saying that might get him a little more. What he said was "I think I love you.' I was not expecting thatat all. I didn't even have to think about whether I was falling in love with him. I wasn't. He was nice and I liked having someone to go out with and . . . everything, but I knew this wasn't it. I even felt bad about keeping on dating him when I knew it would never get serious."

     "And how did you handle it then?"

     I grimaced, embarrassed by the memory. "I was so surprised I just blurted out the first thing that came into my head. I said, "Don't say that!"

     Paul groaned theatrically, put his hands over his heart and staggered backward to a chair as if mortally wounded. "Oh, God. That poor lout. Took all the nerve he had to tell you that and you just blew him away. Clobbered him, you did!"

     "I know," I said, laughing at his ongoing act of suffering. "I told him I just wasn't ready to hear that. I wanted to be free to have fun."

     "So then you went off to school where you lived like a cloistered nun."

     "Right!"

     Sandy came into the kitchen to check on the spaghetti sauce she had simmering. We tasted, debating on whether it needed more salt. "Paul, taste this and see what you think," Sandy said. Paul didn't answer and when we turned around he was staring distractedly into space.

     "Hey dreamer, taste this," Sandy said taking a spoonful of sauce to him.

     "Sorry," he said and obediently sampled the sauce and rendered an opinion. Sandy went back to "As the World Turns," I went back to ironing, and Paul drifted off into his own thoughts again. Of course, wild, paranoid thoughts were flitting through my mind. I had said something, done something. But everything that had happened, everything Paul had said and done in the last two weeks told me he loved me, and the paranoia couldn't find a foothold. Maybe I didn't feel one hundred percent trusting when it came to his being physically faithful, but I trusted in his love.

     I finished ironing the last piece, switched off the iron and looked up to find Paul looking at me very soberly. He looked away quickly and got up to put his cup in the sink. I went to him and, as always, found myself drawn against him. It was impossible for us to simply stand next to each other. As soon as we got within a certain distance, we were pulled together. Brenda said we were like beads of mercury from a broken thermometer.

     "What's wrong?" I asked.

     Paul hesitated, started to say something and then stopped and laughed in embarrassment. "I think we are about to have one of those bloody-awful what's wrong' -- nothing' conversations," he said.

     "I know what you mean. One person isn't ready to discuss it and the other feels shut out."

     "Or the first person is an idiot and it isn't deserving of discussion anyway."

     "Ah, but you know the rules," I reminded him. "Once started the game has to be played out to the finish. Spill it."

     He sighed. "Sorry, honey. I just . . . You make me feel so . . . old. Not in age, just experience."

     I couldn't help laughing. "I have thought the same thing so many times - You make me feel so young and naive. But I am still willing to take you on in spite of the fact that you are jaded and decadent," I teased.

     He laughed at me, but when he went on, he was dead serious. "Tess, one of the things I like best about you is that you are so . . . I don't know . . . innocent - but not at all a child. You are so sure of yourself, what you want. You make decisions, you don't just go with whatever feels good and hope it will be OK. I guess I forget how young you are. How inexperienced."

     I didn't like the sound of this. "I'm twenty-one, you won't get in trouble for being with me," I said, more pleading than objecting.

     Paul pulled me tight. "No, it's not that. God, I'm making a mess of this." He hugged me for a moment, then held me back so he could see my face. "When I was seventeen I thought I was in love. And again when I was nineteen. But when I met Jane, it was so different . . . it was the first time I was really in love. I was sitting here listening to you say you've never been in love before, and all of a sudden your being so young, so inexperienced didn't seem so wonderful. Not at all. What if you are making the same mistake I did? What if this isn't really it for you? I mean, I can see how you could get carried away. I've got girls outside my door thinking they are in love with me without any encouragement from me."

     The relief I felt was pure gold. I knew this wasn't a problem. I'd looked at my feelings for him from every possible side. "Falling in love with love," I said softly to myself, remembering sleepless nights at John's.  Paul looked puzzled. "I've been through all of this," I explained. "I thought I was in love with the idea of being in love. Or mistaking sex for love. Or infatuated with a Beatle."

     His relief that I seemed to understand his concern was visible. "And?" he asked.

     "I didn't want to fall in love with you. It was crazy, ridiculous to think that you would love me. I didn't want to love someone who lived eight thousand miles away. And when I left England I sure as hell didn't want to go on loving you, it hurt so bad. But I did. So much for the idea of falling in love with love."

     He listened the way he always did, giving me time to get the words together, letting me finish before he spoke. "And sex?," I went on, "If I didn't already know, John proved that what I felt for you was more than the thrill of great sex."

     Paul flinched. I should have left out the "great", but it had seemed important to make my point. I took a breath and plunged on. "As far as being infatuated with a big star. . . Do you have any idea how many times I wished you were Neil or Terry or anybody but one of the Beatles? How much easier it would be? I don't love you because of who you are. I love you in spite of it."

     That made him flinch again and all I could do is hug him tightly. "I can't change who I am, Tess," he said miserably.

     "I don't want you to. I was just trying to explain that I'm more sure of how much I love you, of how real it is, than I've ever been of anything in my whole life."

     "Grown-up love?" I could hear a note of teasing in his voice.

     "Yes."

     "Forever love?"

     "Yes."

     "Forgive-me-for-being-an-idiot love?"

     "Yes," I laughed and kissed him. "Through thick and thin, happy ever after, true blue, endless love."

     "I think it is time to change the subject before I get in anymore trouble," Paul murmured and escalated the kiss.

     "What are you talking about?" I interrupted him to ask.

     "Shut up and kiss me," he said and I did and promptly forgot my question.

     We hadn't been at my parents for more than two minutes that evening before I suspected that it had been a mistake to come. My sisters were busy doing supper dishes when we arrived. No music on the radio, no laughing, no bickering over who was supposed to take out the trash. Good behavior among siblings is a bad sign. The smiles they had for Paul showed they were thrilled he was there, but greetings and laughter died abruptly as Dad came into the kitchen, Mom following. Dad greeted us with the usual questions about how the roads were, was it snowing in Minneapolis. He was neither warm nor cool. Forced neutrality. Mom said little, but one look told me how the week had gone at the Martin household. She looked awful. Today we would say stressed out, but stress was not the term used in the 60's. People didn't discover that they were stressed until the 80's. Back then we said someone was worried sick, and that was exactly the right way to describe Mom. She was pale, had dark circles under her eyes, moved slowly, and every smile threatened to collapse into tears. She looked as fragile as I had ever seen her. But she was trying. She double checked to make sure we had eaten, offered us coffee, amended it quickly to tea, and desert.

     It was an awkward evening. My younger sisters followed their animal instincts and disappeared as soon as the dishes were done. Anne hung in there, but the conversation was full of awkward silences. It was another hour before Steve and Janet showed up with Jenny, a little mood lightener in bunny jammies. Her presence gave Mom something to think about besides the self destructive plans of her eldest daughter, and Steve and Janet got the conversation going. Rose and Kay came out of hiding to join us, and the evening ended much better than it began. Mom went to bed at nine, exhausted, and Dad followed an hour later.

     "Mom looks like hell," Steve said to me. I wished he hadn't said it in front of Paul, but there wasn't much point in pretending everything was fine.

     I nodded. "She is really upset." I tried to smile at Paul. "Mom gets really worked up over stuff. She was an absolute wreck when I moved into the apartment. She thought for sure I was going to run amuck if I was on my own."

     With a little smile he responded, "And here you are, proving her right!"

      "Oh no," Steve said. "Running amuck would be staying up late and going out on week nights. This situation falls into the "going to hell in a hand basket" category!"

      We all laughed, and then I said to my sisters, "I am sorry about all this. You guys are the ones who have to live with Mom and Dad and I bet it hasn't been pleasant around here."

      "We are all just keeping a low profile," Anne said.

      "I think I would shoot for invisible!" Steve said.

      When I woke up the next morning, I looked at the clock and saw it was a little before seven. I turned over and planned to catch another hour of sleep, but something was nagging at me, telling me there was some reason I should get up. It took a minute, but then I remembered the last morning we were here and how I had found Paul in the kitchen with Mom and Dad. I wasn't about to leave him to deal with them alone again, especially now that they'd had to time to get over the shock of him and settle on the side of "Over my dead body!" I scrambled out of bed and hurried downstairs. Only Mom and Jenny were up, and Mom was getting Jenny's breakfast. Paul was still sleeping on the rollaway bed in the living room so I went back upstairs for a quick shower and got dressed. When I got back downstairs, Dad was up and Mom was fixing his breakfast.

      I joined them and we talked quietly about school, Uncle Joe's heart trouble, the weather forecast. The closest we got to talking about Paul was a discussion of why we weren't going out on New Year's Eve. I explained that Brenda and Sandy were both going to a big party one of Mark's college friends was throwing. A party involving U. of M. students got wild enough ordinarily and it really didn't sound like a safe place to try to take Paul. So we had brought a supply of party food - including champagne and caviar - and would toast the New Year here with Mom, Dad, and my sisters.

     About then we noticed that Jenny had disappeared. She had been sitting on the floor feeding the dog Cheerios. Amazing how long a dog will sit still just to get one Cheerio at a time. Mitzi was a little poodle-mutt mix with cute little face that included bristly, standup eybrows that gave her a look of perpetual surprise. She was well trained enough not to actively beg for food at the table but that didn't stop her from sitting at your feet salivating and staring at every morsel you put in your mouth. She loved Jenny because Jenny was always good for a handout whenever no one was looking.

      Now both Jenny and her dedicated little follower were gone. Mom got up to go check on her, knowing only too well what an unsupervised two year old can get into. Jenny wasn't in the downstairs bathroom or the utility room so Mom started upstairs. She glanced into the living room as she headed upstairs, stopped, and stood watching for a minute, then put a finger to her lips and beckoned us over to look.

      Paul was still in bed, but he was getting breakfast. Jenny was sitting on Paul's chest, solemnly feeding him Cheerios one by one from her little blue cup while Mitzi stood, paws on the edge of the bed, watching her snack disappear, circle by circle.

      "Eat!" Jenny instructed Paul as she fished out another Cheerio and held it to his mouth. He obediently did so, biting her fingers and making her giggle.

      "No biting!" she told him with the next one.

      "But I am so hungry and I really like fingers for breakfast," he said.

      More giggles. "No fingers!" Another Cheerio into Paul's mouth.

      "Are you saving them for lunch then? I like fingers for lunch, too!"

      That really got her giggling. "No!"

      "Toes. I'll eat toes if you like."

      Jenny giggled, took a moment to feed a Cheerio to Mitzi, then with her little dog-slurped fingers, fed an unresisting Paul another.

     We tiptoed away, leaving the precious grandchild at the mercy of the wicked rock'n'roll drug fiend and friend of the anti-Christ.

     The rest of the day went fine with Paul watching the Beatles cartoon with Rose and Kay, playing an endless game of fetch with Mitzi, shoveling snow with Dad, playing the piano for Jenny, and, much to his enjoyment, taking the horses out for a ride with Anne. Steve and Janet went out for the evening and invited us to go along, but Paul quickly declined the offer. I knew he didn't want to spend the evening meeting a lot of new people and being "a celebrity". So we sat around in front of the TV with my family. Jenny fell asleep before ten and we put her to bed and got out the party food. We tasted the caviar and decided we preferred potato chips and dip. Mom didn't think she could stay awake until midnight and wanted her annual glass of Mogan David wine early, so Paul popped the cork on the champagne so we could all toast the New Year. My sisters talked Mom and Dad into letting them have "a taste" and quickly got the giggles on the one small glass of champagne they were allowed. Soon we were all laughing at every silly thing they said.

     A psychic was a guest on the New Year's Eve program and we were arguing over the feasibility of her predictions for the New Year when she surprised us by saying "And by the end of the year, the Beatles breakup will be fact, even though no announcement will be made."

     My sisters all went silent and snuck glances at Paul as Joey Bishop, host of the event, said, "That doesn't take a psychic to predict!"

     "I've a prediction," Paul announced. "She won't be back on next years show! Not only are we not breaking up, but this next album is going to be better than ever." And it wasn't said with bravado, just quiet confidence.

      The countdown at Times square went on, the ball dropped, the crowd roared, and Paul kissed me. "Happy New Year, Tess."

     "The happiest," I said and he smiled in agreement.

      Mom and Dad turned before the New Year was more than a few minutes old, and after a half hour or so, my sisters left us alone to begin 1967 curled up on the sofa together, finishing off the champagne and, when the house was silent and we were both tipsy enough not to worry about getting caught, we finished each other off on the narrow rollaway bed. Thankfully, I wasn't drunk enough to fall asleep there, and morning found me waking up a little wuzzy-headed but in my own bed.

     Church that morning was a bit of an effort, but we were in a lot better shape than Steve and Janet who didn't even try to get up in time. This time we got caught sneaking out at communion time by a bunch of other crafty communion skippers. Autographs were signed on a couple of church bulletins and we made our getaway with no fuss.

     New Year's not being the inviolate Family Holiday that Christmas is, the afternoon brought the first carload of Beatle fans out to the farm. It was funny to watch as they passed the neighboring farm and realized that our farm was the last on the road. They stopped. It would have been pretty bold to just drive right up to the house uninvited, but two football fields distance away was too far to get a look at him should he appear outside. They ended up compromising, inching their way to a curve in the road halfway to the house. Within the hour they were joined by two more cars, all observing the invisible distance barrier.

      Paul was eager to go riding again that afternoon and wanted me to go along. Two years of being only too aware that a broken arm would put me a full year behind in school made me refuse. He went out with my sisters, no doubt making the fans go nuts even if they couldn't be certain that that guy in the winter parka (borrowed from Dad) was who they hoped it was. Paul came back later talking enthusiastically about buying a place outside of London so he could keep some horses. He was enjoying this visit!

     As it started to get dark around five, the fans at "The Outpost" as my brother had dubbed the spot, left. Only one managed to get stuck trying to back up the drive to the neighbors to turn around. An impossible number of kids piled out of the car, pushed it out and piled back in.

     In spite of the miserable start, the weekend went better than I expected. By the time we left at six, Dad was explaining the finer points of American football to Paul, and Mom looked 100% better than she had when we arrived. I could understand fully. My plans for being with Paul seemed crazy, impossible, unthinkable, a disaster in the making when he wasn't around, but when he was his easy going manner, sense of humor, and down to earth practicality made me forget all the problems of Beatlemania. I went back to Minneapolis feeling as I had from the beginning - all they needed was time to get to know him.

     The morning Paul was to leave, he woke me by pulling me up tight against him and saying unhappily, "God, I hate sleeping alone."

     "So sleep with Martha," I suggested.

     "She snores, chases rabbits and whines in her sleep," he answered. "You snuggle."

     "Because you hog the blankets and its the only way I can keep warm."

     "So you won't miss me?" he teased, but all of a sudden I didn't feel like kidding around.

     "I haven't gotten over missing you all fall. I can't bear to think about missing you again."

     "Then come with me!" he said with sudden heat. It was a discussion that had simmered on the back burner for the last two weeks. He hadn't asked me again since meeting my parents. It was pretty obvious that my plan to finish school was one of the few things that kept them from thinking I had totally lost my mind. But that didn't stop him from whispering "I want us to be together" and "I don't want to leave you here" when he made love to me. He hadn't really given up. I was almost angry with him now for bringing it up again. He KNEW how I felt, he knew how my parents were reacting. He was just being stubborn and . . . well . . . selfish.  My heart sank.  He was going to ruin our last day together because this was going to lead to a fight.

     "This is crazy!" he said now. "We don't need to be apart! I want you with me. I want to come home to you at night and wake up with you in the morning. I want to know you are there whenever I need you. I know it is selfish, but, God . . . Tess, my life gets so . . . so unreal sometimes. I just want someone with me who is sane and quiet and sweet and easy. Someone who loves me and doesn't want anything from me. Someone who won't treat me different, expect more from me. Or less from me. Or . . ." He broke off with a groan. "Christ, Tess, I just need someone I can count on. I want you with me."

     The note of petulant anger in his voice had long since given way to desperation, and my anger with him melted just as quickly. I felt awful. I knew what he meant - I had seen the way people fawned on the Beatles, used them.  How hard it could be for them to walk out the door in the morning and face the madness.  How hard it was to have a normal life even behind closed doors. But I couldn't do what he wanted. My parents . . . no, that wasn't the reason, at least not the whole reason.

     "Don't," I said, putting my finger on his lips. "Please don't. I can't hold out if you keep asking and asking. I love you, I'd do anything you ask, but I want to finish school. Please don't ask me to give that up."    

   Paul was silent for a long time weighing that, then said miserably and apologetically, "I know, love, I know. And I really don't want you to come until your parents get used to the idea. I don't want you to have to chose between them and me. You would be miserable if you had to do that."

     I could only nod and fight back the tears. He pulled me closer, tucking my head under his chin, his arms wrapped around me, legs tangled in mine as if trying to wrap me into him, into something that couldn't be separated from him even as he said the words of surrender. Softly, with aching sweetness, he admitted, "That's enough, just knowing you would come to me if I asked it."

     We held each other and told each other it would only be a month or so until we could spend a few days together. It felt like it might as well be a year, but, having watched several of my friends send boyfriends off to Viet Nam and attended the funerals of two who came home early, I knew I had no right to get all upset.

     The worst part of saying goodbye was the drive to the airport. He held my hand and we looked at each saying nothing, saying everything. In no time we were parking the car. We kissed and I held on to him tightly, feeling sudden panic at the thought of his leaving. "Promise me you are coming back!" I demanded.

      He looked surprised and even offended at that. "How can you even think I wouldn't?"

      "Because sometimes I think I am dreaming -- Nobody gets to be this happy in real life. The last time I felt this way, it all fell apart. You took me to the train station and . . ."

      "No! Stop that!" he said fiercely, then after a pause went on more softly. "Believe me. . . Believe in us. This is real and nothing like that will ever happen again. I won't let you go that easily."

      One more sweet kiss and he put on his disguise and we went inside. We walked down the concourse to his gate, he checked in and the airline agent who, from the look on her face knew exactly who was under that mustache and glasses, informed him he could board immediately. He held me just long enough to say "I love you," and kiss me .

      "I love you," I said and he was gone.