Into My Life

Chapter 25

     Paul was back in England and I was back in school. The apartment was suddenly vast and echoing. At school, the last semester before graduation was hard for everyone. We were keyed up with knowing that we would soon be leaving the protected world of the student for real life, to be on our own without the mantle of "She's astudent" to explain the gaps in our skills. State Boards loomed ahead:. Pass them or your last three years were a waste of time. Now we began to study with Boards, not the upcoming test, in mind. Everyone talked about which hospital, which specialty, they were going to try to get into. Several of the girls were planning June weddings.

     Everyone knew about Paul coming to see me and the response was a little disconcerting.  When I had first returned from England my classmates had bombarded me with excited questions about the Beatles.  They were jealous but thrilled to know "The Girl who Met the Beatles."  When John had shown up, everyone suddenly began treating me differently.  I wasn't just someone who got to meet the Beatles anymore.  I had apparently moved up to a higher plane of existence - "Friend of a Beatle" - and was considered a little less approachable.  In a way that was fine because for the most part they no longer expected me to "tell all," but it did cause me to feel a little isolated at times.   Now, as my status changed from "friend" to "girlfriend", things shifted again.  I was definitely "different" now.   In the daily grind of classes and clinical it was easy for them to fall back into seeing me as the old Terry, a fellow sufferer on the road to becoming a nurse.  But a single comment or stare from an outsider would snap them into an awkward awareness that I was "somebody."  It was not a comfortable feeling and I was grateful for the equalizing effect of being just another student.  It was hard for them to forget for long though.  Nurses, patients and their families, housekeeping staff, cafeteria help - everyone seemed to want to "talk" to me or at least gawk at me.  And when the day was through, reporters waited outside.  They waited not only for me, but for anyone in a student uniform, hoping to get an inside scoop from a fellow student. It was that level of curiousity by the press that actually made things easier for me with my classmates.  Of course some were more than willing to talk about me to the press, but many of them began to see it for the insanity it was.  One by one they came back to treating me more normally.  In a few weeks, the reporters, content with some shots of me in my student nurse get-up, disbanded.

     As a small group of friends reformed around me, the news that I was going to go to England as soon as school was out got a mixed reviews.  They all understood it, were excited for me, but it was clear the idea of starting a job none of us felt ready to handle in a foreign country with a guy whose life was incomprehensible to them sounded scary to them. Most of the time I thought they were right. Then I would hear Paul's voice on the phone and everything would fall back into place.

    I had my pediatric rotation that semester. What rotten timing. Every teenager on the unit discovered within minutes of their admission that one of the nurses was Paul's girlfriend. They were nice, even a lot of fun to talk to, but at times had even less tact than reporters. Every girl eventually asked "Are you going to marry him?" I learned quickly to smile and say, "It's a little soon to decide that. We need to get to know each other better before we know if we want to get married." - and then change the subject quickly. Knowing the Beatles was a great ice-breaker with the kids and they opened up and talked to me. That made being their nurse a lot easier. Dealing with a teenager whose verbal skills seem limited to a sulky "yes" or "no" is really hard.

    Less helpful was the fact that they quickly had friends skipping school to visit them during my shift. And that they objected when another student was assigned to them. I had to make rounds and visit the others every day to keep the peace. The other five students in my clinical group quickly learned to bribe their teens with promises that I would come and talk to them, get them autographs, etc., so they benefitted from my notoriety too. But my clinical instructor was not amused. She pulled me aside after the first week and told me my behavior was unprofessional and I was not to bring my personal life to the hospital with me. I was too shocked to try to reason with her. I never brought up the subject of the Beatles, so all I could do after her warning was try to change the subject. That proved impossible when kids would get out of their beds to roam the halls looking for me.

    By the end of the second week, it was obvious that my clinical instructor had it in for me. She criticized everything I did, left my paperwork hemorrhaging red ink and generally made my life hell. Thankfully, she couldn't do anything about the fact that I got A's on her weekly tests. She couldn't get around a right answer on a multiple choice test. I prayed she wouldn't switch to more subjective essay questions.

    On Friday of the second week, she was cross examining me at the nurses station about my decision to give a patient a pain pill. When she found she couldn't fault the decision to give it in the first place, she said "And I assume you know all the possible side effects of the medication?" When I explained that I had reviewed my drug card first, she began quizzing me about the drug. One of the nurses listening in wrote something on a piece of paper and held it up behind my instructors back for me to see. "Hives, Nausea, low WBC." I added those to my limited list and my instructor ran out of steam and let me go back to work.

    I went back later to thank the nurse only to find out she was the Head Nurse in Pediatrics. She said that all the nurses were aware of what was going on and gave me some advice for dealing with the situation. "It is the same thing I tell every nurse - whenever something happens that you are afraid is going to be misinterpreted, write it down and get witnesses to sign it or add their observations. That helps when you are dealing with a bad supervisor, a doctor who is out of line, or just bad working conditions."

    When I thanked her she said, "I admit, your presence here is disruptive at times, but that is no excuse for what she is doing. Besides, if talking about the Beatles can get a sick kid to eat, it is good nursing!"

    After Paul left I waited day to day to hear from my parents. As curious as I was to know what they were thinking, feeling, planning, I waited for them to call me. If I called them it would come across as asking permission, seeking approval. I was going ahead with my plans regardless so wasn't asking for permission. I wanted approval, but the best I felt I would get would be some degree of understanding. So I waited. Paul called the day he got back to London. ("I have jet lag so bad I don't know if it is day or night here much less what time it is for you, but I needed to hear your voice.") His first question on that call and again the next Wednesday was "How are things with the parents?" When I said they hadn't called he said "That's bad, isn't it?" I wasn't sure. They had been so nice about everything over New Year's, maybe they were adjusting to the idea and didn't feel the need to call me on the carpet. Or maybe the more time they had to think about things the more upset they got and now they were too upset to talk to me.

    "Or they are waiting for the report from the private investigator they hired to check me out," was Paul's suggestion.

     Brenda and Sandy were as concerned as Paul. With Paul gone we could talk freely about everything my being with him meant. The fans, the gossip, the lack of privacy. The other women. Somehow, instinctively I guess, they knew Paul had "been around.' Brenda, straightforward as usual, asked "Do you think he is going to screw around back in England?"

     "I don't know," I sighed. "He said not, but . . . but he is Paul McCartney. He doesn't have to go looking for it - they come after him."

    "But he loves you!" was the predictable response from Sandy.

    "Yeah. But he loves sex, too. And he is used to having it. You heard him - he was fifteen when he started having sex and since the first girl swooned at the Cavern, none of them had to go without."

    "What will you do if you find out he is getting it elsewhere?"

    I sighed. "I won't find out. His friends sure won't tell me. Even John probably wouldn't. And if there are rumors floating around, I can't trust them."

    "So you are just going to close your eyes to whatever happens."

    "I guess so. Until I am there with him - then if stuff is still going on . . . I'll have to face up to it."

    "You'll leave him?"

    "Of course." It was far from that clear cut in my mind. I knew more about the differences between love and sex than they did and I really wasn't sure how I would handle it if I found out he was being unfaithful. A lot would depend on the circumstances. But that was going to stay my secret. My roommates -- and most definitely Paul -- were not going to know that I would definitely forgive him if he occasionally got it elsewhere while we were apart and might even tolerate an isolated incident later on. I didn't like the way I felt. I didn't want him with anyone else, and had I fallen in love with an ordinary guy I would have expected complete faithfulness. But it just seemed unrealistic to expect that in this situation.

     Mom finally called, saying little beyond "We need to talk." I suspected they'd had time to recover from the shock, regroup, and plan their strategy. They were now ready to begin the campaign to change my mind. I dutifully drove down the next Sunday I had off. After a few preliminary greetings, we settled in at the kitchen table. Mom, Dad, big brother. Anne came in and sat down. Dad started to say something to her and I said "I'd like her to stay." When Anne didn't get sent back to the living room, Janet joined us. And so we began.

     "Have you talked to Paul since he left?"Mom asked, politely easing into it. I had half expected her to start off with "Do you really think this man has any intention of marrying you?"

     "Yes, A couple of times," I said. And not feeling like wasting time getting down to the heart of the matter, I went on. "He is really concerned about how you are taking this. He is afraid you are going to make me chose between him and you." Before they could respond, I added, "I've told him I'll be coming to England when school is out no matter what, but he's afraid that you will never forgive me. He doesn't want it to come to that."

     Silence.

     "Then maybe he should just leave you alone," Dad finally said.

     "We tried that. We were both miserable," I said.

     "You mean when you came back from England?" Mom asked.

     "Yeah," I said, but realized that gave a false impression. "But that wasn't the whole reason I came back," I added.

     "You weren't planning to come back??? Dammit, you'd have never gotten on that plane if we had any idea what the hell was going on!!" Dad was horrified and when men feel any strong emotion, it usually comes out first as anger. A woman's first response to that anger is usually to burst into tears, and I nearly did just that. But dealing with John Lennon had taught me a thing or two about angry responses that hid other feelings.

     "I never said that. When I went to England it was exactly as I told you. I was there to take care of John and to earn money for school. Falling in love with Paul . . . it just happened. We both knew from the start that this wasn't going to be easy. I might have stayed if I could have gotten into a nursing school there, but . . ."

     I wasn't sure how much I wanted to tell them, but I could hear Paul's voice saying "Don't air brush it," and went  on.

     ". . . but before we could find out if that was possible, I . . . ah . . .I saw Paul with someone else. A girl who hung around outside his house all the time told me he had been seeing her all along. Living with her, in fact. I felt like the biggest fool in the world. So I left. I came home and tried to forget I had ever met him."

     I heard Janet's shocked "He was living with someone else?!?" but for a moment I was somewhere else back in time. Remembering that awful moment that night at the theater, crying my heart out to John, the plane trip home, and especially the endless days and nights of trying to forget. I heard Anne say "No, he wasn't - it was just a mistake." I tuned back in and, as briefly as I could, told them about seeing Paul with Angie the day he was supposed to be in Liverpool and what the girls at the theatre had said about him living with her. I left out the bit about Francie Schwartz.

     "You didn't stay long enough to ask him what was going on?" Janet asked.

     "No. I just wanted to come home."

     Mom must have been listening between the lines because her next question was right on target. "Then you must have had some other reason for believing what that girl said. You would have given him a chance to explain."

     Zing! Answering that would have meant telling things I didn't want to tell. Jane and Francie, the bathrobe, the makeup, Paul leaving me during the middle of the night. "There were a lot of little things," I answered slowly. "But the biggest thing was that I had trouble believing that he could care about me. I never felt like I could compare to the rest of the girls he knows. Models, actresses. The Beautiful People. I was the Country Mouse . . . So when it looked like suave, debonair bachelor was just leading the simple country girl down the garden path, I found that easier to believe."

     Steve raised an eyebrow. "Tammy And The Big Star?"

     "Laws a' mercy, yes. Xactly like that! I do declare, if you ain't the smartest big brother a girl could ever have!"

     The younger generation laughed. The elder apparently had never suffered through "Tammy Tell Me True" or "Tammy And The Doctor." Mom was still zeroing in on the truth though. She interrupted the laughter to ask abruptly, "So you took the next plane home and he didn't even bother trying to find out why you left?"

     Okay. To explain this part I was going to have to say the "J" word that set Mom's teeth on edge. "No. Because he thought I was with John." Mom predictably gasped in horror and I rushed to explain. "It just happened that the same day I left, John left Cyn. He went to Liverpool for a day or so then to New York and California. He didn't tell anyone his plans and . . . and so it . . . umm, some people thought we had left together."

     "But Paul couldn't have believed that!" Janet said.

     "He wouldn't have, but I left him a note. I said I realized there had been someone else all along so I didn't want to hear from him ever again. And since he wasn't seeing someone else, he thought I meant I was." I hesitated, but decided that, like Paul, they were going to have to accept John as my friend. "He knew John and I were . . . really good friends and he thought that something happened and we realized we loved each other and . . . we took off together. So he didn't try to get in touch with me. And I took that as proof that he really had been just playing games. It wasn't until John got back to London after Thanksgiving that Paul found out I wasn't with him. John wouldn't let Paul get in touch with me until school was out though. He thought I might have a little trouble concentrating on finals when I found out it was all a mistake. But he was there the day school was out."

     "He just showed up on your doorstep?" Janet asked. Something in her expression and voice reminded me of Sandy.

     I did not want to get into the fact that I had been expecting John. Boy, I didn't want to get into that. "Something like that."

     "And they lived happily ever after!" Anne said, but she and I were the only ones who laughed. I guess we were the only ones who believed it would happen. Even Janet looked sideways at my mom. Obviously there had been a great deal of family discussion about the unlikelihood of that. Mom got up and got the coffeepot and refilled cups. I got up and made another cup of tea. Symbolic gesture. No one said anything and when I sat back down, the silence hung on.

     I debated about how to draw this back to what I considered the central question - are you going to try to understand or are you going to be unreasonable, pig headed, and try to forbid it? Obviously not the way to phrase it. While I considered openings, Mom beat me to the punch.

     "Paul seems nice. And we can see how you feel about each other. But . . ." and she couldn't finish. She was fighting tears.

     "Have you really thought about what you are getting into?" Dad asked. Not angry anymore, but as upset as I had ever seen him. "Thousands of miles from home with a guy you can't possibly know that much about. He'll get you over there and God only knows what will happen. And you think we are just going to stand by and let this happen?"

     "No, I don't want you to just stand by and let it happen. I want you to help me! Help me make it work! It isn't going to be easy, and if you chose to make it harder . . . well that won't stop me from trying but it might be enough to make it fall apart no matter how hard I try."

     Silence descended around the table. Stoney look from Dad, Mom looking like she was about to fall apart. I took a breath and tried to sound reasonable and thoughtful, not hysterical. "And yes, I have thought about what I am getting into."

     "I don't think that you are thinking at all!" my dad said. "I think he has already got you so brain-washed you'd do anything he said."

     I saw red. It was one thing to say I wasn't thinking, but to imply that Paul was somehow masterminding a plot to get me away from my family was too much. Dad had spoken rather quietly, not really in anger, but I responded with anger. And just like men have trouble expressing other emotions, women have trouble expressing anger. I was mad but I could feel tears burning my eyes and my voice was wobbly.

      "That is so unfair! He isn't telling me what to do! All he wants is to be with me. He would give anything to have me just quit school and go to England now, but he understands how important school is to me. And he understands how you feel. He is the one who says I shouldn't go to England until I sort this out with you. He's afraid that if I leave here on bad terms with you, I will always regret it. He isn't brainwashing me, he just loves me and doesn't want this to be hard for me. He's not--" "That is so unfair! He isn't telling me what to do! All he wants is to be with me. He is the one who says I shouldn't go to England until I sort this out with you. He's afraid that if I leave here on bad terms with you, I will always regret it. He isn't brainwashing me, he just loves me and doesn't want this to be hard for me. He's not--"

     "Terry, I didn't mean it that way." Dad cut in, and he looked so miserable, I knew he meant it. "I just meant you . . . you're so crazy about him that you can't think straight. You can't see how much trouble you are walking into."

     That brought on the tears that anger hadn't quite been enough to release. Steve handed me the box of Kleenex. I took one and passed the box to Mom. A little nose wiping and a chance to organize my thoughts.

     "I've been to England," I said, calm again. "I've seen how he lives. I think I can see the problems more clearly than you can. It isn't going to be easy, but it isn't going to be the nightmare you think either. I am going to be thousands of miles away from my family, my friends. But I'll have Paul. And if I have problems with Paul, I do have other people to turn to. I made some friends while I was there." I was thinking of George and Pattie and Ringo and Maureen and even Neil and Terry. I was closer to Cyn than to any of them, but in light of what happened between John and I, I couldn't see running to her for help. Even if she didn't know, I would still feel odd about it.

     "And whatever happens, John is there." I couldn't help but laugh a little. "Going to John for help when your life is a mess may be like taking coals to Newcastle, but he is my friend and he will do anything he can to help."

     I had gone this far and they were listening. So I kept on. "I know you worry about the drug stuff, but I know I won't get involved in that."

     Mom responded, "Terry, I know you think that, but when Paul and his friends are using drugs --"

     "Dad and Steve and Sandy and half of my friends smoke. And everybody else seems to drink. But I don't. Why do you think I'll do drugs? Besides, I've worked too hard to get through nursing school. I won't blow my nursing license. I can't say drugs won't be a problem. I worry about Paul getting busted. I worry about what John will try. I worry about Paul's friends thinking I am square. Not just because I won't smoke with them, but . . . just everything. I don't know if I can fit in with those people." I thought about the crowd that had gathered at Paul's the night he threw the party for Marianne Faithful. "They were all nice to me, but they are all into music and art and I don't know anything about that stuff. They are rich, sophisticated. I never know what to say or even what to wear."

     I sighed. "And the reporters. They just keep after you, taking your picture over and over, asking stupid questions. Waiting for you to say something stupid."

     All the scary things I had only talked about in bits in pieces with Paul or Brenda or Sandy were spilling out, one after another. "And the fans. The kids here are a nuisance but they are nice. In England some of them gave me such dirty looks. Like I was stealing Paul away from them personally. Pattie warned me never to go into a bathroom alone when I was out with Paul because they can get so nasty. I can't wait until they find out that I am not just another date. I'm not even British and I am with their Paul."

     Anne interrupted. "The fans will get used to the idea. We got used to Cyn and Maureen and I have even adjusted to the idea of Pattie. Ughh!" I had to laugh at her sour expression. She went on, "And you'll have friends of your own. Normal people. You'll have new roommates (Mom and Dad exchanged a look. Wondering if I really planned to find a roommate other than a certain dark haired guy, no doubt.) and you'll meet all kinds of people at work."

     I appreciated her reassurances, especially since I hadn't expected her to stick her neck out by supporting me. But when she mentioned work, it brought up a whole bunch of other fears. "I am nervous enough about graduating and getting a job as a real nurse. Doing that in England scares the hell out of me. They spell edema with an "o" and call nurses "sisters"! It's not like a really foreign country, but it is different. Even the language. There were times when I couldn't understand what they are saying because of the accent. What will I do if I get patients who talk that way? Or Cockney? Or Scottish?!? I couldn't understand half of what those people said!"

     I couldn't stop. Bogey men were crawling out of all my mental closets. "Half the nurses I work with now are always pestering me about the Beatles. And some of them resent me because they like Paul - or because they don't like him. What if I have to work for someone like the clinical instructor I have now? She gets on me every time someone says something about the Beatles to me. I never mention them, but she acts like it is my fault other people bring it up. She just loves it when I mess up. She'd love to flunk me."

     "She can't do that!" my Mom said, absolutely outraged.. "You have to tell somebody what she's doing."

     "Everybody knows. Even the head nurse. She told me to keep a notebook and write down what really happens every time she calls me on the carpet for something. She says she won't have a leg to stand on if she tries to get me in trouble or gives me an unfair grade."

     "So she doesn't like the Beatles or what?" Steve asked.

     "Or what." I sighed. "I have no idea what her problem is. People don't seem to need a reason to act weird when the Beatles are involved. They just go off the deep end in one direction or the other. It just makes dealing with all of this so hard. Harder than it would be if I fell in love with just any old Englishman. It is scary enough to think of going off to a country where I can't even figure out what the price of something really is, where a pound is money and a stone is pounds and they drive in kilometers on the wrong side of the road is bad enough, but when I think about everything else . . . Just sitting here now, it seems impossible. But when I am with Paul, I can't imagine not doing it. It just feels so right, but maybe I am wrong about that too. What if his family doesn't like me? What if he plays around? He's had girls throwing themselves at him for so long, how long is he going to be content with just me? What if he doesn't want to get married? What if he gets tired of me?" By this point I was well past sniffling and I couldn't go on.

     Janet protested, "What girl ever knows any of that? There isn't any guarantee that any guy will walk down the aisle or be faithful even if he does."

     We all laughed at the aggrieved look Steve gave her, and then Steve said, "And your in-laws will be how many hours away? How far is Liverpool from London?"

     "About six hours by car," I guessed.

     "Six hours away and I could even get along with my in-laws!" That got him a wifely elbow in the ribs, but he was used to that and kept talking. "Besides, these days nobody ever knows where a job is going to take them. You could marry the boy next door and end up living in a really foreign country like California or New York!"

     We all laughed at that. To a Midwesterner, New York and California were populated by the truly bizarre.

     "Or Iowa," said Dad, and we all roared. Every Minnesotan knows that the civilized world ends at the southern border of our state. Iowegians eat catfish, for cryin' out loud!

     Anne pointed out, "Even if you stayed in Minneapolis, you would probably end up working at a different hospital with different people since St. Vincent's isn't hiring."

    "And Brenda will either move back home or marry Mark as soon as school is out," Mom surprised me by adding.

     The oddity of what was happening here suddenly hit all of us. They were supposed to be telling me all the reasons it wouldn't work but everything was in reverse. I was feeling very hopeful but then Dad said, "None of that is quite in the same league as moving to England with a man who . . . with him." Dad didn't seem to know where to begin to list the dangers. I felt like we were back at square one, as if none of the discussion we had just had ever happened, but then Dad added, "You do seem to have been thinking about it, though. You aren't blind to the problems."

     "No, I am not. Maybe there are some I haven't even thought of. And maybe some of the things I am worried about will turn out to be nothing. I don't know. All I know is I have to try. If I know that you . . . I don't know. Understand, I guess. I know I can't expect you to be happy about it, but if you at least are . . . tolerant, then that will be one less problem to deal with. I told Paul that you wouldn't disown me, but you could make it very hard. But I am going to do it."

     Mom and Dad looked at each other. One of those despairing looks of parents who know their kids are getting in over their heads. Mom reached out to touch Dad's arm. I had no idea if that was meant to restrain his answer or encourage it. "And if we tell you that you can't go?" he asked but it was barely a question. Felt like a threat. It was pretty obvious that was number one on their list of solutions to this problem.

     I suppose in other families the response would have included how much I loved them and appreciated how much they had done for me - and some nifty line about how well they had prepared me to strike out on my own. Well, my family was no more demonstrative or talkative about their feelings that they were melodramatic. So I gave them the simple answer. "If I have to go knowing you are angry with me, maybe not even speaking to me, I am still going."

     "Well, we've got six months to change your mind," was Dad's simple response.

     That wasn't good enough for me. "And if I don't?"

     Mom and Dad looked at each other yet again. Dad cleared his throat and avoided looking at me. Mom fidgeted with her Kleenex and avoided looking at me. I looked around the room. Steve was suddenly very busy filling his pipe and Janet got up to fuss at Jenny over nothing in particular. Only Anne would look at me and she just looked as miserable as I felt.

     "Look," I pleaded, "I am not asking for your blessing on this or your persmission. I just want to know that if I write to you and tell you all about my life I will at least get a letter back once in a while. Is that too much to ask for?"

     "No," said Dad emphatically and wonder of wonders there was humor in his voice when he went on. "But I would think your millionaire boyfriend can afford lots of transatlantic calls. I plan to call collect."

     That was all I needed. They would fight it but when I went anyway it wouldn't be stepping over an ultimatum and cutting all ties. I got up and walked around the table and gave my dad a hug. "I think he would even buy you airline tickets now and then," I said.

     "You'll understand if I say I hope it doesn't come to that?"

     "Yeah, I'll understand. I'll even tolerate it . . .Mom, how do you feel about this?"

     "I . . . I guess I go along with your father. I know how you feel about him and he seems nice . . ."

     "But?"

     "But I don't think it will last. People like that go through marriages one after another."

     I didn't have an answer to that. Divorce was getting more common all the time and celebrities certainly led the field. I fell back on humor. "Well, at least you think he'll get around to marrying me. That's a start!"

     Mom and Dad managed at little smile along with the rest of us, but a moment later I caught a look passing between them. I was used to the fact that when it came to dealing with us kids, my parents could convey volumes to each other, reach consensus and plan strategy with a simple look at each other, but something about that look was so fraught with unspoken comment that I knew that particular subject had indeed been discussed at length between them.

     I didn't stay at my parents that night. I was relieved at the way things had gone and didn't want to risk stirring things up with anymore talk. Although we had reached agreement that I wouldn't be disowned, I knew that the issue was far from settled. They would work to change my mind right down to the minute I got on the plane in June. I went back to the apartment and called Paul and told him that Mom and Dad were not going to be a roadblock, just an obstacle course. That much achieved, I settled down to ride out the rest of the winter.

     I missed him, but it was nothing like the constant ache I had lived with all fall because I knew it was temporary. It sounds awful, but at that point I would have to admit that I missed him more in my bed than in my life. I guess that is because even though he was an ocean away, he was in my life. Everything I did, I did with him in my mind. Everything was just a step to take to get back to him. Classes and studying were daily chores, tests were landmarks in progress. Dealing with the fans who still appeared outside at times was training for the future.

     Another reason I didn't miss having him around was that it had seemed so odd to have him here with me in the first place. I was supposed to be in London with him, not vise-versa. Not that he gave that message. He was easygoing, liked my friends, enjoyed just doing ordinary things with us. Unlike someone used to a nine to five job and used to having his hours filled for him, he didn't get bored easily. Time spent on planes and trains and hotel rooms taught him how to keep busy. He always had a book along, read newspapers with a diligence that almost matched John's. He enjoyed watching TV, not because he thought the shows were so great, but because of the variety of shows and channels on American television. He was always listening to music, jotting down ideas for songs on scraps of paper, even doing some drawing. When he picked up his guitar or got near a piano, he got lost. If he had an audience, he could just ding around on it for a long time, playing old favorites, working out something he had just heard on the radio, or just improvising. When he was left uninterrupted, he would spend hours working on songs. He'd actually had a good time at my parents over New Years with a piano, horses, TV, a little kid and a dog to play with. But, as comfortable as he seemed here, he belonged in London. His life was in the studio with the others, his partners in the business of making music, not hanging around an apartment in Minneapolis.

     Unbelievably, the days went by fast. I worked an extra day or two a week to keep busy and tired enough to sleep at night instead of lying awake wanting him. When I missed a call from him because I was at work, Paul tried to persuade me to work less -- he would send money for anything I needed. I told him I wouldn't take his money, that I had enough to get me through until the end of the school year. He said he just wanted to be able to pick up the phone and call me any time. "Oh, so I have to stay home in case you call?" I teased, knowing he didn't mean that at all.

      "No, but I want to be able to ring you up when I get lonely. And I want you to call me. Anytime. I'll pay your telephone bills."

     "No. No paying my bills. But if I do have to call you, I'll reverse the charges, OK?"

     "Then you won't call unless it is some emergency."

     "Yeah. A big emergency. Like I need to hear your voice. Or I want to tell you I love you. Or it snowed again. Those kind of big emergencies."

     So we talked two or three times a week. I got proficient at politely putting off reporters and fans, and turned down more social invitations than I had gotten in my entire life. I thought I was suspiciously popular when I came back from England, but suddenly having me at a party was considered critical to its success.

      I found myself watching what I ate and going for long walks. I had never fussed about how I looked but I had already had my picture taken a hundred times and knew that one of these days a photo was going to end up in "Tiger Beat". I splurged and got my hair trimmed at a beauty salon and started reading all of Sandy's "Glamour" and other fashion magazines. I memorized all the fashion "dont's", including the one about staying away from fad fashions. I wasn't sure how a Beatle girlfriend could dress if not in fad fashions, but, on my budget, it didn't matter anyway. I bought a second full length mirror and then went through my entire closet trying on everything and making sure it looked as good from the back as the front, as good sitting as standing. I got rid of every blouse that tended to gap open in front and rehemmed skirts that didn't hang right. I didn't have much of a wardrobe left when I got through, but at least I knew I wouldn't find myself in a teen mag wearing a skirt that sagged and blouse that didn't fit. It wasn't as much vanity as fear. I didn't want to look like someone who didn't deserve Paul.

     I mentioned something to Paul about going through my clothes, and he offered to send money so I could buy more and once more I turned him down, feeling odd about taking money from him. "But you will let me buy your plane ticket?" he asked. I had to laugh and give in there. There was no way I could afford to fly to England over spring break and no way I was not going!

     Mom called at least twice a week, expressing varying levels of dismay and running the gamut of ways to dissuade me. Subtle comments about the problems I was going to run into, strong hints that now that he was gone I needed to seriously reconsider, a bit of how embarrassing this was to her and Dad, occasional remarks questioning Paul's motives in all this, and always the suggestion that I was just carried away by the glamour of it all and they would be there for me when I came to my senses. One call was teary, another angry, and several were surface acceptance with strong subversive undertows. I counted to ten several times during each call, steered the conversation to safer waters, and tried to be quietly resolute. My game plan was to acknowledge their concerns but refuse to get involved in debating the pros and cons. It was an argument I couldn't win because so much of what they said was true - going to England after graduation in the hope that what Paul and I had would hold up was a risk.  That wasn't cynicism about love in general.  I believed in happy every after just like every girl in love and even believed our love to be something extra strong, extra special, but everything about his life made it more complicated and therefore at higher risk for failure than the average boy meets girl story.   It was going to be difficult, and I was going to be far from home if things went bad. I had no argument to make in return -- all the good feelings I had about Paul and our chances together we just that - feelings. Mom and Dad had facts on their side. Some of them blown out of proportion, but still facts. So I listened, tried not to counter every argument with "But I love him," and tried not to be angry with them. After a month of that, I started cutting off the conversation with excuses about homework to be done. And sometimes I "wasn't home" when the phone rang and it was Mom.

     January flew by and Paul told me that he and the others were constantly being asked if the Beatles were breaking up. The absence of announced plans for any new tour had finally been translated. They would not be touring anymore. When no Christmas album was released, the rumor mill went into full gear. Music critics and others were announcing publicly that the Beatles were finished. The bubble had burst. They had lasted longer than most, but they were, after all, just another fad. Paul and the others repeatedly denied that they were breaking up, explaining that they were going to continue to record but touring was pointless -- they couldn't reproduce the sound on stage. But no one seemed to believe they would stay together.

     And speaking of staying together . . . during a call late in January, Paul said hesitantly, "I don't know how you are going to feel about this, but John went back to Cyn."

     I was silent for a moment, sorting out how I felt. "I am not all that surprised, I guess," I said. "He needs someone. Someone who isn't there for what they can get out of it."

    "She loves him."

    "Yeah. And he does care about her, but not . . ."

    "You don't think it is a good thing, them getting back together?"

    "No. Yes. I mean . . . it is good for John. He needs someone to hold onto, keep him in line a bit, even," I suggested with a little laugh. "But for Cyn . . . I just don't think it will last. I don't know. "

     "Maybe it will. Maybe now that he has had a little vacation from marriage he will see things differently. And if we aren't on tour all the time . . ."

     "Yeah, maybe," I agreed, and changed the subject. I didn't want to discuss what I knew of John's feelings - or lack of feelings for Cyn. It was something he had talked about in California and that was a subject best left undisturbed.

     Meanwhile they were hard at work on the new album. Paul said it was really funny because even though they were just getting started, they all had a good feeling about the new album. People were saying it would take forever at the rate they were going, but he said there was no need to hurry. No movie to make, to tour to survive. No more rush jobs to fill up an album or a sound track. They had made the decision to be recording artists, not performers and their job was in the studio. Time to try new things, time to do it right. And it was a good feeling for all of them.  They were still meeting at someone's house, doing very preliminary run-throughs of song ideas, but they were also being given studio time. Paul was excited about that. It was such an unheard of opportunity for a group to be allowed to use high priced studio time for anything but actual recording. They were in the studio several nights a week, recording run-through's, experimenting, layering tracks - and the more ways they heard things, the more ideas they got.

    It was great to hear he was happily occupied. Studio sessions began in the evening and ran until well past midnight so I knew he was staying busy and wasn't out "pulling birds" in the clubs most nights. He didn't say too much about what he did the rest of time, but he did mention at various times that he had been to a movie, to a gallery showing by an artist he liked, to a few parties. He didn't go into any details except to slip in the fact that he had gone with John or Neil or Mike. Some male acquaintance. The idea seemed to be "I went out with the guys and it was OK but it wasn't like I had a great time so don't worry."

     Besides working at the studio, he spent a lot of time at home working on songs. He didn't say too much about what he did the rest of time, but he did mention at various times that he had been to a movie, to a gallery showing by an artist he liked, to a few parties. He didn't go into any details except to slip in the fact that he had gone with John or Neil or Mike. Some male acquaintance. The idea seemed to be "I went out with the guys and it was OK but it wasn't like I had a great time so don't worry."

     I just smiled to myself and edited my social life reports along the same lines. "I went to a party with Sandy and left early because I had to work the next day." It didn't seem necessary or wise to include the fact that some guy had been after me all night and I finally had to sneak out to get away from him. I tried really hard not to wonder what Paul was editing out.

     Aside from the album, taking care of his money seemed to be taking up a lot of his time. He said something about a meeting with some investment advisors who were encouraging him to make real estate investments, and said he would probably have to do it even though being a landlord didn't appeal to him at all. But it was spend it or lose it. He was more interested in buying a couple of paintings. And the Beatles contract with EMI was coming up for renewal. That was going to be a headache. Everything was so complicated now compared to when they had first signed. More to the point, Paul had been talking to Mick Jagger and found out that the Stones were making a lot more money than they were even though they sold a lot fewer records and albums than the Beatles. He was going to hold out for a hell of a lot more than the pennies per record they were getting now. And he wanted a percentage, not a set rate, because the price of records and albums was climbing.

     Then my bank statement arrived with a $500 deposit added. One I certainly hadn't made. The bank told me it came from a London bank. I hadn't heard anything from Tony Barrow about selling my articles to more magazines and doubted that he had - that was all old news now and couldn't possibly have added up to that much anyway. I called Paul and he admitted to having sent it. We spent a long time going around and around about it - on a collect transatlantic call I couldn't have begun to pay for. Paul was reasonable, understanding but downright unmovable on the subject. He didn't want me worrying about money. That was daft when he could afford anything I wanted. I needed to buy clothes for my trip to England as I would be photographed continually there. I should buy new luggage - I couldn't borrow Mom's or my roommates when I left for England in June. Point by point he wore me down and by the time I hung up I had agreed to everything he wanted. And before I could even begin to spend the money, next months statement arrived and with it another deposit. There was no point in arguing with him. Besides, I really loved the leather jacket and boots I bought.

     In between talk of money and music, he told me he loved me. Missed me. Couldn't wait to see me again. He made plans to spend a week around Valentine's Day with me. But as that day came closer, he had to delay it for another week. One of the tracks was going to use a full symphony orchestra and the only time they could get them was that week. He called halfway through that week, bursting with excitement about what they were doing, talking non-stop for several minutes about how he was having trouble explaining to George Martin what he and John wanted, how the musicians themselves reacted, how they planned to put it all together, ideas he had for other songs and how all the people who were saying the Beatles were has-beens were going to have to eat their words when this album came out! When I finally burst out laughing at his monologue, he stopped. "Sorry, love," he laughed. "It is just so crazy here."

     "Well at least you aren't pining away with loneliness."

     "Not when I'm working. But when I go home it's a different story. I can't wait until you are here with me. It's daft - you were hardly at my house at all, but I miss having you there."

     "I know what you mean. Being there with you is all I think about."

     "I come home and wish you were there to have dinner with me. I think about having you with me all evening. Washing up dishes, darning socks while you watch the telly with me."

     "Wait a minute. I think you are missing Mrs. Grady!" I laughed.

     "I don't think about making love to her. Or waking up in the morning with her in my arms. Or soaking in the tub with her. Or undressing her on the sofa in the music room. Wait. I take that back. One day I did think about it!! Playboy centerfolds are getting old. I need you, girl. This is getting desperate!"

     Not desperate enough apparently. When I said "Only another nine days," he left a silence long enough for me to know he wasn't coming.

     "There's a problem, Tess. The album cover. We've got to get a decision made on it. We got some ideas on what we want to do, but we got to find someone to design it. And the EMI people want a preliminary meeting on the new contract. I'm sorry, love. I'm going to have to put it off another week or so."

    "Oh." I was so disappointed it took a few seconds to get out the required "I wish you could come, but if you have put it off for a bit, it's OK."

     "No it isn't. But I have to be here. I am sorry."

     "I understand. Really, Paul. It will only be another week."

     We talked a little longer, and while we talked I pulled my calendar out of my purse to check and see how much rearranging I would need to do with my work schedule. This change in plans would put our week together smack on top of midterms. I was going to have to really study to make sure I didn't need to do any last minute cramming. I was about to put the calendar away when I realized there was another reason that week would be bad.

     "Oh, damn," I said interrupting something Paul was saying.

     "What?"

     "Not that week."

     "What's wrong?"

     "Hang on," I said, stretching the phone cord to its limit to get to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. I got out my little round pill pack and counted out the days. Damn.

     "Don't bother coming until that Wednesday," I told him. "You won't get no satisfaction."

     He started to laugh. "That's not the only reason I want to be with you, sweetheart."

     I pushed the bathroom door shut. "We'll go nuts if we can't do it. I don't want you to be here if I can't make love to you.  Wait a few days."

     "OK. Wednesday then. I'll stay a week and a half if I possibly can."

     "Four days and I'll have you begging to be allowed to leave."

     "Promise?"

     "Oh yeah."

     "Maybe I should just take the next plane."

     "Better yet."

     The conversation deteriorated from there. Transatlantic phone sex. Maybe guys enjoy that, but all it did was make me miserably, achingly uncomfortable.

     Valentine's Day arrived. Paul sent roses and called that evening to apologize one more time for not being there. John called. I hadn't talked to him since he had called at Christmas time. He sounded hesitant, as if he wasn't sure I wanted to hear from him, but I was thrilled and we were quickly back to harassing each other. "Do you always call other women on Valentine's Day?" I asked him.

     "Only the special ones," he said, sweetly. "And the ones who still lust after me even when they have Paul!"

     "I do not!"

     "He says you weren't thrilled to hear Cyn and I were back together."

     "Out of sympathy for poor Cyn! She put in her years keeping you in line. Someone else should get stuck with you next!"

     He laughed at that and we talked, catching up. It was great to talk to him again, but by the time he rang off, I knew I was right about the reasons he had gone back to Cyn and just as right about the chances of it lasting. He talked about hating living in a flat on his own and how he hated waking up alone in the middle of the night. Hating the women who came after him with one eye on his Rolls Royce and the other on the lookout for a reporter to charm. Julian acting shy when he saw him, as if he were a stranger. And he mentioned Tara's death a couple of times. I didn't think he was terribly close to him, but it seemed to have upset him. I wondered if somehow it hadn't contributed to his decision to go back to Cyn.

     Brenda went out with Mark and came home with a diamond ring on her finger. She woke Sandy and I up to show us, and we all cried and laughed and toasted her with orange juice. She gave all the details of how he had taken her out for dinner at a fancy restaurant and then got down on one knee right there in the restaurant. Sweating and stuttering, he proposed, she said yes and the other diners applauded. The waiter brought champagne and everyone toasted them. It was romantic enough even for Sandy.

     They were going to be married in the Lutheran church. He knew his parents were going to have a fit, but he didn't really care that much himself so it didn't make sense to have Brenda change churches. She was willing to join the Catholic Church if that was absolutely the only way, but, if asked, she would have to admit that it would be in name only. She really didn't believe she would ever "feel" Catholic. But, tonight in the rush of excitement, none of that mattered. There was a wedding to plan. They had decided on a September wedding. By then they both would have had a chance to get started in their new jobs. Mark was interviewing with IBM and Honeywell, so she would find something in the cities. Her sister would be maid of honor, Sandy and I and Mark's sister would be bridesmaids. Beyond that, she wasn't sure of anything, but in no time Sandy had helped her decide what kind of dress she wanted and that the bridesmaids would wear blue. The cake would be heart shaped, the reception and dance at the country club, her aunt would make the mints, and she would carry white roses with blue ribbons.

     While she and Sandy made plans, I realized I might not be able to be at her wedding. Once I got a job, it would be hard to get a week off to fly home for the wedding, and I couldn't imagine making the trip in less than a week. I hated to spoil her mood, but it was better to talk about it now than after she had the whole wedding planned in her head. I suggested that maybe she had better not plan on me. I'd be there if at all possible, but it would be best to select another bridesmaid. She was adamant. I would go through the whole process of getting a dress before I left for England. If it turned out that I couldn't come back, then there would simply be one less brides's maid. That would mean cutting a groomsman too, but if they knew ahead of time that might happen, they would understand. Guys hated being in weddings in the first place so they would probably fight over who got to drop out.

     That settled, we sat up way too late talking about the wedding. When we got around to what Sandy and I wanted for our weddings. Sandy - of course - already had a June wedding planned, right down to the music to be played. All that needed to be filled in was the groom's name and related variables. When they asked me, I said I had no idea. If Paul and I got married someday, a big wedding would be impossible with family on both sides of the Atlantic. It would be a nightmare with the fans and the press if the Beatles were still big news by then.

     Brenda and Sandy were looking at me with dismay. I assumed it was because I couldn't have a big wedding, but Sandy blurted out, "What do you mean, "if"? You said he wanted to get married and have kids."

     "He does, someday. And we really haven't spent that much time together. I mean it's been six months since I met him but we have only spent about six weeks together."

      "Gee," Sandy said, looking at me uncertainly. "I thought you guys had talked about it. I mean, after all, you are sleeping with him and you are going to England. I didn't think you would do that unless . . ." she stopped, embarrassed.

     "I know. Pretty far out. I never thought I'd do this either. But it just seems right."

     "But you haven't talked about getting married?"

     "Sort of."

     "How do you sort of talk about getting married?" Sandy asked.

     Brenda laughed and answered for me. "It is weird, but you do. You talk about the future and find yourself saying "we". You never say the "M" word, but somehow you know it is on his mind. Right, Terry?"

     "Exactly."

     Sandy looked bewildered.

     "You just kind of talk around it because it just isn't time yet.," I said.

     "You need time to get to know him better but you want to let him know that you are thinking about it even if you aren't ready to really discuss it."

     Brenda said, "It's gets harder once you feel sure you want to marry him because you want to let him know you want him to pop the question, but you don't want to push him. And you still want it to be kind of a surprise when he does."

    "It's really amazing how many times you can tell each other "I love you" without talking about the future," I said with a laugh. "When I was in England, Paul and I were even talking about fixing it so I could stay but we never seemed to talk about getting married. Just "being together. We still don't. It is always "Once we are together."

     Brenda and Sandy looked at each other. There was an awkward silence before Brenda said, "Terry, are you sure . . . Are you sure he is thinking along the same lines you are? Maybe he is just talking about living together indefinitely."

     "Yes, I'm pretty sure," I said. "The first night he was here he said his intentions were honorable. That I knew what he wanted - and I do know. He told me when I interviewed him that he wanted to be married and raising a family five years from now."

    "Ooooh --" Sandy began winding up but I cut her off.

     "The way he said it, the way he looked at me. . . I knew what he meant. He was trying to tell me he hoped it would work out and if it did he would ask me to marry him." I shrugged and sighed. "I'd marry him tomorrow if he asked, but I'm not sure he is ready. He wants to be sure. He was engaged before and that fell apart . . . He needs to take time. And I guess I should, too. You can't marry somebody just because you love them. It isn't that easy."

     "Well, I wouldn't know," Sandy said "Seems like I am always "falling in love" with some new guy, but it never goes from "falling" to "being." It just seems like if I could get past that it would have to be right to get married. How can you be in love and not want to get married?"

     Sandy and Brenda went on talking about whether being in love was enough to get married on. Part of me was listening but another part had slid away to a weekend in California. To John. As soon as I had said the words ". . . just because you love them," he was suddenly in my heart. I realized then how much I had loved him. Still loved him. The difference between what I felt for him and what I felt for Paul was in knowing I couldn't make a life with him. It was what had kept me from letting go and loving him the way I loved Paul. It was what had made it sex and not passion. Friendship and regret, not love and a future. My heart had known instinctively which man was right for me and said goodbye to John the night Paul came back into my life.

     "Terry?" Brenda was calling me back, looking at me with concern.

     I pushed John out my mind and reached out to give Sandy a hug. "You'll find a guy one of these days, fall head over heels in love and you'll know it is right -- and I'll be coming back for another wedding."

    The rest of February crawled by and it was cold and miserable outside and in my heart. I missed Paul so much and worried that something would come up again and delay his visit one more time. Sandy had met a new guy and was busy trying to fall in love yet again. Brenda was making wedding plans. John and Cyn were back together. And I had a voice on the phone. My nights were punctuated with dreams that Paul was calling saying he had to delay his visit again and again, and the excuses got weaker and weaker. Mrs. Berghoff continued to darken my days. Mom continued to call and bring a spot of gloom to my evenings.

     Anne showed up on my doorstep one Friday evening. I was astonished when I answered the door. She was not allowed to drive to Minneapolis by herself, but there she was. "I have something I thought you should see, so I told Mom and Dad she was spending the night at Monica's," she said. "Here, carry this up. I have to get the screen out of the car." She handed me Steve's movie projector.

     She had brought the movies Steve had taken over Christmas. I was happy to get a chance to see them without having to go to Mom and Dad's, but still a little puzzled as to why Anne placed so much importance on them. She had never shown any signs of telepathy, so I didn't think it was a matter of knowing how much I was missing Paul and bringing me the movies so I could see the film of us together. We hurriedly made popcorn and set up the projector so that Sandy and Brenda could see the movies before they left on their dates. Anne threaded the film and there we were at the Martin Family Christmas, 1966. The tree, the presents, Jenny eating Christmas cookies at the table. Then a shot of Paul at the piano with Jenny. For a moment I had an odd sensation of seeing Beatle Paul on the screen and waiting for Ringo or one of the others to join him. Paul on film was automatically the famous Paul McCartney, Beatle. It took a moment to make the transition from Beatle to my Paul. Then the film moved on to Mom and I making the pumpkin pie, Paul putting together the jigsaw puzzle with my sisters, all of us opening gifts, Paul "admiring" Jenny's Barbie doll, and so on.

     I sat through the short film, aching for Paul, wanting to wind back time instead of film so I could to touch him, hear his voice. At the end of it, I started to thank Anne for bringing it. "I've been missing him so much --" I started to say.

     "Hold on, we haven't got to the good stuff yet." She put the second reel of film into the projector and hit the switch. The Martin Family and guest were sitting down to Christmas Dinner. The camera scanned the table, set with the good china and silver and loaded with food, then moved around the table giving each person an opportunity to cringe for the camera. Jenny hammed it up, Mom scurried out to get some missing bit of the feast, Kay just looked like she wished the camera would move on, and Paul, used to being on camera, simply smiled for the camera and went back to his conversation with Dad. There were several more minutes of Christmas dinner, including the dog waiting patiently at Jenny's side for handouts, but had it not been for Paul's presence this little bit of film would be doomed to be consigned to the attic along with a million other Christmas dinner home movies. Then suddenly the scene changed to outdoors.

     I hadn't realized Steve had done any filming outside on Christmas Day. In those days, filming involved the glare of a huge, hot spotlight assuring that there was no such thing as sneaking up on someone, but with the brightness of the sun on the snow the spotlight wasn't necessary and Paul and I never knew Steve was filming. Paul and I had gone out with my sisters to look at the horses. We had walked down to the pasture and were leaning on the fence feeding an apple to one of them when Steve came up behind us and started filming. Paul and I weren't doing anything but talking and so Steve panned over to Rose who was getting up on the other horse with a helping hand from Anne. A few minutes of them also not doing anything film-worthy and Steve came back to Paul and I just in time to catch Paul smiling down at me as I said something. It wasn't a close up and you really couldn't see much of our faces since Steve was filming from behind us, but you could see Paul reach up and touch my face with the back of his fingers, just brushing my cheek. Then he put his arm around my shoulders and hugged me to him, dropping a kiss on the top of my head. He held that position for a moment, making it somehow so much more than a kiss, then relaxed his arm and turned away again to look at the horses. The film ended there, the screen flickering and then going white as the film wap-wapped on the reel.  Anne shut off the projector.  

     "Oooohhh," said Sandy.

     "Aaaahhh," said Brenda.

     I sniffled, missing Paul so bad I wanted to cry.

     "And that is when things got interesting," Anne said.

     I looked at her in bewilderment. I didn't recall anything of interest happening after that.

     "What happened?" Sandy asked.

     "Nothing," I said. "We walked back to the house and had some of the pie we had been too full to eat earlier."

     "That's what happened on Christmas Day. The interesting stuff happened last weekend when Steve brought the movies down for Mom and Dad to see. Mom watched that part and started to cry."

     "Oh, geez," I said.

     "It gets better," Anne said. "Then Mom said "See! I told you he loves her. It's as plain as day when he looks at her!" And Dad said. "I know! I know. That is what is making this so hard! They do love each other, but that doesn't mean this is a good thing! And Mom said, "Well, you can't tell her that. She has to figure it out for herself. I just hope she does it before she takes off for England with him." Dad said "She won't. She is in love. All we can do is hope he loves her enough to keep away from the drugs and be a decent husband." And that's when Mom said "That's it then? We just let this happen?" and Dad said, "I guess so." Maybe them "letting it happen" isn't quite what you hoped for Terry, but if you had been around to hear the crazy ideas about making you move back home and forbidding you to see him, locking you in your room, sending you off to live with relatives so he couldn't find you . . . well . . . this is a big improvement!"

It was nearly 2 a.m. in London and Paul had just gone to bed when I called. He didn't mind at all.