Into My Life

Chapter 29

The meeting the next day was amazingly brief. We assembled this time at Mr. Entwhistle's office. Mr. Entwhistle had contacted the medical laboratory his firm used and a lab technician was waiting for Paul. The necessary blood was drawn. No needle jokes from Paul, just a grim look. Minutes later the technician was on his way to have the blood tested. The German lawyer was precisely on time. Brief, businesslike introductions were made, and then Mr. Entwhistle suggested we get down to business. The German read a statement. Between his accent and the legal "party of the first part" and "pursuant to" nonsense, I interpreted it as saying that Paul was the father of a female child born out of wedlock on Feb. 17, 1962, to a Miss Anna Kaufmann of Hamburg, Germany. She was seeking a sum of German Deutchmarks to be paid for expenses already incurred on behalf of the child as well as a yearly amount, half of all "additional, unpredicted" expenses that might occur, and a lump settlement on the child upon reaching twenty-one. I had no idea of the value of a Deutchmark, but unless it were comparable to a peso, we were talking big bucks here. From the tight look on Paul and Brian's faces, it was no peso.

A copy of the statement was handed to Mr. Entwhistle and another to Paul. Mr. Entwhistle thanked the other lawyer and said, "Prior to any further discussion, it would seem logical to request some evidence that the child in question could be that of my client. Blood tests will be ordered by the court if necessary, but it would certainly save all concerned a great deal of time if the lady in question would agree to them immediately. Indeed, we shall not progress to such discussion without the tests showing us the possibility of paternity exists."

"You are quite correct," the German said briskly. "There is little point in any of us wasting our time until that is done. I have so advised my client and have the results of the blood tests on her and the child available for comparison when Mr. McCartney's are completed."

Paul blanched and my heart sank. Mr. Entwhistle had said that this would indicate she was very sure. Arrangements were made for the German lawyer to deliver the information to the lab that was doing Paul's test and the meeting was over. Mr. Entwhistle escorted the German out of the office. As soon as the door closed behind them, Paul was out of his chair almost knocking it over. I grabbed it and he went to stand looking out the window. Brian's eyes met mine and he sighed and left the room, giving me a little squeeze on the shoulder as he passed me. I gave Paul a few minutes to cool off while I looked over the seven page document the German lawyer had given him. When I got up and walked over to him, he pulled me in front of him. I leaned back against him, and his arms enfolded me. We stood there, looking out over the hazy London skyline.

"I don't want this to be my child" he said miserably.

I tried to think of something to say to comfort him. Reassurance that it probably wasn't his seemed a little hard to come by after this meeting. He held me tighter. "I want you to have my baby," he said softly in my ear. His hand slipped down just below my waist, holding me as though I were already carrying his child. "I just want you and me and a houseful of little brats."

That thought brought a little home movie to my mind. Paul and I at the dining room table, surrounded by little dark haired, big eyed children. A baby in a high chair mastering the art of picking up peas from the tray, a toddler on a booster seat happily feeding her dinner to Martha, a preschooler squirming restlessly in his chair, resisting eating his vegetables. I couldn't hold back a smile.

"You like that idea?" Paul asked.

"Yes. Very much."

"So do I," he said and the seriousness in his tone brought me back to the moment. The thought crossed my mind that he was about to ask me to marry him. His breath was warm on my neck, his lips just brushing me in a ghost of a kiss. I turned to him to look at him, waiting for him to go on, wondering if this could really be it. But his look was thoughtful, even a little distracted.

He kissed me and said, "Let's get a bite to eat and go home."

That afternoon, I was in the kitchen doing laundry and ironing in preparation for the trip to Liverpool the next day when the intercom buzzed. I finished the blouse I was working on, then went out to the living room. As I walked through the dining room, I heard John's voice.

I was aware that Paul was having trouble dealing with the fact that John and I had been together, and, more to the point, with us remaining friends. I had spent a lot of time considering how I should respond when I saw him again. Should I try to act as though nothing had ever happened between us? Could I? If he kissed me, how would I feel? Could I forget that I had made love to him? Forget how I felt about him? And worse, would I want him to kiss me? Would I want more? I couldn't imagine it now or in the near future, but if John was close by, available, willing, would there come a day when I would be tempted? Maybe I should simply make it clear he was required to keep his distance. Side step a hug, turn my cheek to a kiss. And avoid him in the future. He and Paul had to work together, but there was no reason I had to see him. He would understand why. Maybe. But . . . I wanted to see him, keep him as a friend. Well, the moment was here and I still had no plan all.

Paul looked at me as I came in and I could almost see him brace himself. Put on the meet the press smile. Cover up whatever he really felt. John turned around and smiled at me and he looked so damn good. He was wearing a rose colored silk shirt with a wild psychedelic scarf around his neck and a black brocade jacket. His hair was still fairly short, and he was still wearing the wire rim glasses, but he had added an old fashioned moustache that framed the sides of his mouth. It transformed the almost boyish look of the shorter, tousled hair into a fascinating look. A magician? A face from an old tintype photo? A Cossack warrior? I couldn't place the look but I loved it.

"Hello, luv," he said as I approached them.

"Hi, John," I answered and knew right then I was going to have to hug him. Wanted to. Needed to. Nothing to do with sex but everything to do with caring about him. I stepped up to him, his arms went around me and we hugged. Warm, familiar arms in a warm hug that felt so good and I let myself give in to it. Big mistake. As his body pressed lightly against mine I flashed back to images of us in bed together. Sensory memories. Looking over his shoulder I saw Paul watching me. Watching what had to be showing on my face. He turned away, pointedly not wanting to see it. John kissed my cheek and I stiffly brushed his cheek with my lips.

"You damned well better be happy, girl," he said softly as he held me.

Was that regret in his voice? Or just concern. I couldn't think about that now. All I could think was that he was holding me too close and too long and it felt too good and safe and familiar and Paul was right there. Leaning back to look in his eyes was a good excuse for breaking away from him. "I am. Thank you, John."

He shrugged. "It was inevitable. He would have sorted things out eventually." He explained that he was here because he knew seeing him again was going to be awkward for me. "Rather not have a scene in front of everyone if you decide that I am truly the man of your dreams after all," he teased.

"You aren't," I reassured him with a smile. "And I wouldn't make a scene anyway."

"It wasn't you I was worried about," he laughed with a meaningful look at Paul. Paul did not smile.

We all sat down and made awkward small talk. Paul was quiet, and John and I gradually began to talk about what Brenda and Sandy were doing. Seemed a safe topic. But then John asked if Sandy was still seeing Chuck, and we got to laughing about Chuck's surfer imitation. John said something about surfing in California and I said something about wishing I could have seen him in action while I was in California. He looked at me, raised an eyebrow and smiled a wicked grin. I blushed and Paul got up abruptly and started to pace the floor, one of the few outward signs he ever gave of agitation.

"John, can I get you something to drink?" I asked.

"I'll have a coke," he said and I escaped to the kitchen.

When I got back, Paul was sitting down again and they were talking about the contract they were about to sign with EMI. John touched my hand as I handed him the glass and I nearly dropped it, afraid to touch him. I retreated to sit on the sofa next to Paul. Things were better between the two of them, but now I was tense, afraid to say much of anything. Finally, John got up to leave. At the door, he slipped an arm around me in a friendly hug. "See you this evening," he said and leaned down to kiss me goodbye. I saw it coming and made sure it landed safely on my cheek. He stopped and looked at me and I couldn't look him in the eyes. I figured he was amused and I didn't want to see the look on his face. And if he was hurt, I sure didn't want to see that.

"Paul, might I have a few minutes alone with Tess?" John asked.

Oh great! Paul was going to love this. I looked at him, but he and John were staring at each other.

"Not bloody likely!" Paul replied.

"Come 'ead, mate," John teased in a wheedling tone. "For old times sake."

Paul glared at him.

"One for the road?" John pleaded, looking highly amused.

"Goodbye John," Paul growled.

"For Auld Lang Syne?" John asked, bursting into enthusiastic song.

Paul looked exasperated.

"For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne. I'll take a cup o' kindness yet, for auullld laaang syne," John went on with the accent getting thicker, r's more rolled. I wasn't sure what he sang next - it sounded like "An fer an all the mucky brigh and wi' a pot o'tea."

I couldn't help the grin on my face and Paul was starting to smile. I remembered him saying once that no matter how bad things got, John could always make him laugh.

"Oh an ay she's a bonnie lass wi' na a brickle a lang aside thee," John continued. "I'll tek an cunt out o' kindly lad and niver do ye mind!"

I gasped in shock but Paul burst out laughing and punched John on the arm. "I'll niver be leavin' ya wi' her for aow that!" he responded with the same accent.

John laughed and said, "No, not for that" in plain English. "But just give us a minute, mate."

Paul looked at him uncertainly, then at me and gave in. "Very well," he said with reluctance and headed upstairs. I stared after him with my mouth hanging open.

"Wow!" I said when Paul disappeared.

John was laughing. "I expected to be thrown out on my ass."

"You deserve to be! How could you ask him to leave us alone together? This is hard enough for him."

"Because I wanted to do this." He pulled me to him and kissed me. On my mouth. A hard, searching, demanding kiss that had nothing to do with caring and everything to do with sex. I was startled and automatically put my hands on his shoulders to push him away, but he had a good hold on me. I twisted my face away and he went on kissing my cheek, my neck, my ear. Worse, his hand slid down my back to that flat little V at the base of my spine where he knew I liked to be touched. The kiss confused me but the intimacy of this move, the blatant reminder that he KNEW me was staggering and I gasped. He took full advantage of it, tipping my head back and sliding his tongue into my mouth. There is nothing more repulsive than an uninvited, unwanted French kiss. I struggled, furious with him and not caring if this turned into a brawl that would bring Paul back downstairs.

He let me go, holding my wrists only to keep me from hitting him.

"Dammit, John." I spluttered. "Why did you do that?"

"You didn't like it?" he asked.

"Like it!! You about got a knee in the balls, you . . . you . . .jerk!"

"Well there you have it then!" He was laughing at me!

"What?"

"Now you know how you would react if I ever gave you a pull."

"How did you expect me to react?" I asked, not finding anything funny about this and struggling not to yell. "Just leave! I don't need you making this more complicated. I am having enough trouble with Paul over you. Every time your name comes up, he looks at me as if --"

"Paul is doing fine," John interrupted. "He just needs a little time to see it is OK. But he won't see that as long as you aren't sure that it is."

"What? I . . . I . . ."

"You weren't sure," he said more softly. "You were jumping out of your skin every time I touched you - whether he was watching or not. But now you know. You don't want me. As good as it was when we were together, it wasn't what you wanted then and it isn't now. You weren't even tempted when I kissed you. Not even--" He grinned, "Not even just for fun. So . . . it will be a lot easier for you to deal with Paul now."

I shook my head in bewilderment. "That's why you did that? So that I would stop worrying about what might happen between us?"

He shrugged. "For the most part." With a laugh that wasn't quite convincing enough to hide the truth, he added a little sardonically, "Maybe so I could be sure!" Then, in an abrupt change of mood, he went into his leering, pervert routine. "But mayn't I have a feel, then? Just a little tickle, please Ma'am?"

I started to laugh and this time I went into his arms willingly and hugged him tight. "You are impossible," I sighed and leaned against him, head on his shoulder. "And don't ever do that again."

"No promises," he laughed. "Stay away from me when I am drunk."

"Don't get drunk."

"I don't. I get high, I trip out, but I don't get drunk"

I opened my mouth to deliver lecture number twenty seven on being careful with drugs.

"Don't start in on me, woman," he warned. "I don't need the advice of some Middle American farmer's daughter, bourgeoisie goody two-shoes!" John and I were back to normal.

I grinned at him, hugged him one more time and pulled away. "I'd better go. Paul is probably pacing the floor up there. See you tonight."

"Do I kiss you?'

"If you can restrain yourself to a nice brotherly kiss, yes."

He gave me an example of such a kiss and reached for the door knob. He hesitated then turned back to me. "You know, I never thought a guy could just be friends with a bird. It's always about sex and it always ends up in bed and then when it is over . . . "

"They're not friends anymore?"

"Yeah. Maybe I was wrong." John didn't admit to being wrong any easier than he apologized, and having said it, he was out the door.

Paul was upstairs in the music room at the piano. He watched me walk into the room, eyes searching my face for a clue to what had gone on downstairs. He apparently couldn't read my face - thank goodness - and went back to playing the same bit of a melody. I sat down next to him on the piano bench with my back to the keyboard so I could see his face better.

"Thanks," I said.

He made a little sound signifying acceptance of the thank you. "May I ask what he wanted?"

"He was worried about how, uhmm, well . . . upset you seemed to be that he came over here. He doesn't want to cause trouble."

"Bullocks. John loves to piss people off."

Well, true enough, but not in this situation. "He wants us to be happy," I said, equal parts argument and pleading.

His answer was all irritation. "If that is so, then he should keep the hell away from you!"

Paul was being unreasonable and I was getting angry. "Look, we are going to have to see each other from time to time. Even if you two hadn't been friends for so long, you couldn't just cut him out of your personal life and expect to go on working together. But he is my friend too and I don't plan on changing that."

Paul stopped playing the piano and looked at me. "Not even if I ask you to?"

Well, he hadn't said "tell you to." That was something. I sighed. "I just want you to give it some time. You'll see that you don't have anything to worry about. It will be the way it was before --" I stopped abruptly. I didn't want to say "before I slept with him."

But Paul had no reservations about saying it. "Before you let him fuck--"

"Stop it!"

He stopped, even looked contrite for having pushed it so far. Heavy silence filled the room and I got up and walked away from him. I couldn't sit that close to him and not touch him, not try to end this by making him hold me, and I was too angry for that. He started tapping out the melody again and I sat on the arm of the sofa, waiting, wondering what to do. I wasn't going to let this go without him recognizing that he was being unreasonable. It wasn't often I felt sure enough of my stand to argue with anybody, but John had just shown me that I was right. John was no threat to Paul, never really had been from the first time Paul kissed me.

Finally he stopped playing and without turning to look at me said quietly, "I just don't know how you can expect me to sit back and watch the two of you talking and laughing, see him touch you and even kiss you and not think about the fact that you made love to him."

I got up and walked around the piano so I could face him. "Think for a minute how I was feeling then, Paul. I never expected to see you again. I felt no interest in anyone else I met. I needed some comfort. I wanted to feel something again. I wanted some assurance that I wasn't going to feel so dead, so empty for the rest of my life. Even though I knew I didn't have any future with John, I trusted him as someone who sincerely cared for me."

"So you went to bed with him."

I sighed. Paul was focused on the sex, not on the reasons. "Paul, I told you. It just wasn't the same It was not making love like it is with you. It was . . ." I had to swallow hard to finish. What I was about to say was a horrible oversimplification, but it was the only way I could describe my time with John in a way that would show Paul the difference from being with him. ". . . just sex."

It didn't work.

"Yeah? Well it wasn't exactly a one night stand now, was it?"

I had no answer for that, and he went on. "Maybe you weren't head over heels in love with him, but it sure as hell was a lot more than "just sex"!"

Yes, it was. And that made me angry. I had been honest with Paul all along about my feelings for John and that hadn't been enough. Now he had pushed me into downplaying, denying, somehow betraying what John and I had been to each other and it still wasn't enough. I dug in my heels.

"Well I wouldn't know about that!" I said with equal heat, "I don't have anything to compare it to except making love to you. I haven't fucked my way around the world like you have!"

His eyes widened with surprise but I wasn't too sure what surprised him most. My anger, my sarcastic comment on his behavior, or simply the fact that I had said "fuck". Spending time with John had shown me many creative ways to use the word, but other than as a muttered hiss under my breath when sorely tried, I had never used the term before. But it was precisely the word I needed to convey my feelings right now and it felt good to say it.

Perfect or not, shocking or not, it didn't keep Paul from responding. "Those girls didn't mean anything to me. It was nothing like you and John!"

"Maybe not. But I think a thousand one night stands in hotel rooms and quickies in the back of a limo and blow jobs in back hallways more than balances out a the few days I spent with someone I cared about!"

He ignored the mathematical logic. "That's the whole point! You cared about him!"

"Yes, I did! But I was never engaged to him!!!"

"Leave Jane out of this! That was before I ever met you!"

"And John was after I thought it was over between us!"

Paul glared at me and I glared back. He looked away first and I actually thought for a minute that I had gotten the last word. But it was a short minute. He stared at the piano in front of him for a bit, then slammed his hands down on the keyboard in a crash of angry sound that out-yelled anything he had said so far. I jumped.

He got up and began to pace the room, running his fingers through his hair in a gesture that said he was more frustrated than angry. He stood for a moment with his back to me, then turned to speak to me. He wasn't yelling now, but the tone of his voice said he wasn't through arguing and wouldn't be until I saw things his way. "But he is still around. You don't see Jane or any of those other girls popping in for visits!"

He was so damned tenacious when he thought he was right. But he wasn't right about this. Maybe he didn't keep old lovers as friends, but they were still around.

"No, they don't pop in," I said hotly. "They send their lawyers!"

That got to him. He looked like I had just hit him below the belt and I guess I had. I knew how awful he felt about the whole paternity case and throwing that at him was pretty low. But damn it, it was true.

"I'm sorry," I said, bringing the volume down. More quietly spoken, but still not as apologetic sounding as the words implied. "It just isn't fair that you have this . . . this history, yet you make an issue of the only other person I have ever had. Will EVER have. And what either of us has done in the past shouldn't count. It's a matter of trust, Paul. I am telling you there is nothing but friendship between John and me now. If you can't deal with that . . ." I ran out of words and out of steam. Anger was all gone. And what was I going to do if he couldn't deal with it? I knew perfectly well that I would give in and stay away from John completely if that is what it took. With the anger gone, tears were threatening to take over and if I cried now, I might as well admit defeat. I turned and walked out of the room.

I headed for the bathroom, anticipating the need for a private place to cry, but as I sat on the edge of the tub platform, I realized that the argument we just had was probably inevitable. Now we had gotten it out in the open and we could go on. Negotiate if necessary. Set rules if we had to. But we would get it out of the way so we could move on. I felt a little shaky, but still I felt OK. Safe. I was right, but if he couldn't handle it then John would go. Either way, we would be all right. No need for tears. If Paul didn't come looking for me in a few minutes, I would take the first step and go to him. But not right away. That wasn't the message I wanted to give.

I got up and went back out to the bedroom and busied myself deciding on what to wear to Ringo's that evening. I took one dress out of the closet, then had second thoughts about wearing it. I pulled out another dress and laid them both on the bed, debating. Well, whichever I wore I needed my other shoes. I went to get them out of the closet and couldn't find them. I had one of those panicky "oh crap, didn't I pack those?" moments and then saw the toe of one at the back of the closet behind my suitcase. I was crouched down fishing blindly for it when Paul came into the room.

"Tess? I --" He stopped abruptly. I had my hand on the shoe and pulled it out. I straightened up and turned around to see Paul staring not at me but at the suitcase half out of the closet. He turned his head to look at the clothes on the bed and back to look at me. The look on his face was not anger, surprise, or dismay. It went way beyond that. The only time I had seen anything like it was the day I had been at the bedside when the doctor told a forty-three year old man that nothing they had tried was working. They couldn't save his leg. They would have to amputate. That was the look I was seeing now. Disbelief, pain, loss of something you couldn't imagine living without.

I dropped the shoe and went to him, catching him in my arms and holding him tight. "I wasn't packing up to go," I said. "Just deciding what to wear tonight." I could feel him go limp with relief.

"Oh God, Tess," he said in a voice that barely worked.

"Oh Paul, I wouldn't do that. I left you once and it was the worst mistake I ever made. I wouldn't leave like that."

He didn't say anything. He just held on so tight I couldn't breathe. When he let go enough to kiss me, I could feel him trembling. By the time the kiss ended, silent tears were sliding down my face.

"Ahh, sweetheart, I am so sorry!," he said when he saw the tears. "I do trust you. I never really thought for a moment that you would . . ." He didn't even want to put the idea of my being unfaithful to him into words. He just drew a shuddering breath and said, "Not with John. Not with anybody. Hell, when it comes down to it, I trust John. I just . . . I got crazy and I am sorry."

That was nice to hear but had nothing to do with the tears. I shook my head. "No, that's not it."

"Then what's wrong?" he asked.

"I never knew how much you loved me," I whispered.

He looked bewildered.

"The look on your face when you thought I was leaving, the way it hit you. I never knew a man could love like that. I thought for them it was more sex and wanting someone. To . . . to claim someone. Make them his. Not the way a woman loves. Needing someone. Not being able to imagine going on without them. Needing someone because they are part of you." It was a poor explanation but it was the best I could do.

"I need you Tess. I've tried to tell you . . ."

"I know, I know. I just never quite understood."

I kissed him and led him over to the bed and made love to him. It was all for him this time. Every touch, every move intended for his pleasure. Turn him on, take him to the top, to the edge and hold him there. Don't let him stop you, don't let him distract you by making love to you. Don't let him do anything except feel what you are doing to him. Don't make him come and don't let him go until pleasure is all he feels and he is further up than he has ever been. Then . . . give it to him. Let him take it and ride it to the end. To an explosion almost painful in its intensity.

When it was over and he was lying there, too spent to move, still shuddering from after-shocks, I held him and kissed him so gently. He groaned. "What the hell was that?" he asked in a voice both ragged with exhaustion and mellow with satisfaction.

"This time I made love to you," I said.

"Oh, God. Don't ever do that again. For another day or two at least. I'll die and you'll have to explain it to the bobby."

I rolled off of him and pulled the blankets up over us and watched him fall asleep. While he slept, I lay next to him feeling loved as I had never felt before. I drifted off to sleep and awoke to his gentle touch and soft whisper. "Your turn."

I let him do it. Just let him make love to me without trying to take him with me. And, like him, I lay in his arms exhausted afterwards. I could barely say the words. "I love you."

"And I love you, Tess. I never loved anyone the way I do you." I never realized how much I needed to hear those words until he said them. Words that moved me from being the second woman he had loved to being the only one he truly loved. Tears again. He wiped them away gently and said, "I don't know how other men love. Maybe you are right, that it is mostly sex and possession. With Jane it was kind of that way. She was . . . one more thing I had accomplished. Something to show off. A way to show I had it all. I loved her and I wanted to marry her so we could have a family. But she was . . . outside of me. Not part of me. Not like you. You are my life. I have never needed anyone like I need you. These last few months . . . the only time I felt like myself was when I was working. In the studio, with the music. But everywhere else . . . I just couldn't get started without you. It's like my whole life has been on hold waiting to be with you. To see you again. To have you here with me. To fill the empty places in my life and have it make sense, have it ready to go somewhere besides to the top of the charts and on tour and all that. You're the other half of my life."

The words of some song came into my mind. "I was half, now I'm whole."

"Yes. Like that," he said and then we just held each other until the darkening room reminded us that we had other plans for the evening.

I was nervous about going to Ringo's but having had a chance to connect with John ahead of time helped. Going through a big crowd of hostile gate birds didn't. There were cat calls as I got into the car, the "Yankee go home" sign had been replaced with one that said "Get out of Vietnam AND LONDON," and as we rolled through the gate, a teary eyed girl tapped on Paul's window and sobbed, "Don't do this Paul, please. She isn't right for you!"

He ignored her and kept on going. Once out on the street, he reached over and squeezed my hand. "They will get over it, sweetheart."

"I guess so," I said.

Everyone was already at Ringo's when we arrived. Lots of hugs. An exaggeratedly careful brotherly kiss and an amused grin from John that got a genuine laugh from Paul. All his his worries about John and I seemed to have burned out in the afternoon's fight or in the lovemaking after.

Cyn was at John's side and I braced myself to face her wondering if she suspected. She gave me a big hug and genuinely happy smile. "Tess, I am so happy things worked out for you two!"

"And I am glad they are working out for you two," I said, pretending I had no doubts about how long this reconciliation would last.

"Loving these guys is never easy," she laughed. "But what's a girl to do? They are irresistible!"

I cringed a little at that and struggled to keep a happy smile on my face as I replayed her words in my head. Was that remark intended to tell me she knew? Well, if she did, there was not a bit of cattiness in the way she said it.

Pattie and Maureen both had to comment on the irresistibility of their husbands. "Not all the time!" they both said.

Brian and Neil were both there. Neil had a big hug for me and pointed out that this was but another example of the terrible working conditions he had to endure. Forced to stand by and watch while his boss took the girl of his dreams away from him. We all laughed and then there was an awkward silence. Pattie took care of it.

"Here now," she said. "We're all feeling a bit the fool. That's why we wanted to all get together. None of us wanted to face you alone. We are all so sorry for giving even a moment's consideration to thinking that you had run off with John. It was so obvious that you were in love with Paul, I can't think why we ever got turned around into believing you would give John the time of day!"

"Wait just a bloody minute!" John interjected. "Is it so far fetched to think she might have been a bit taken with me? I am not the cute one, but I do have my moments!"

"I've heard that you do," Maureen responded with a twinkle in her eye, "But most birds like it to last more than a count of three!"

Everyone burst out laughing and John patted Maureen's pregnant belly. "And some birds won't leave it alone until they've gone and gotten preggers."

"And some not even then," Ringo said hugging his blushing wife while everyone laughed.

There was a bit of a reunion atmosphere that evening. Maureen pointed out that "the guys have been together working on the album for months now but we've never gotten everyone together since before you left, Tess. Remember? It was right before you and Paul left for Scotland. Seems after that everyone just went their separate ways for while."

"That's true," Pattie said. "We went to India and you went to Greece and when we got back John was off to the States and Paul was . . . well Paul was . . ." She couldn't seem to come up with where Paul was.

"Drunk," Ringo offered.

"High," John amended.

"Trippin'," George said. "Finally!"

They all laughed and Paul said "I was around. Busy working on the movie score."

"Oh, that you were. Eventually," said Ringo. "But mostly you were trying to forget Tess. You should have seen ‘im, luv," he said to me. "He was a mess, pining away for you!"

"Here now," Paul chided. "She doesn't want to hear all the sordid details!"

"Of course she does!" Pattie laughed. "Every woman wants a man to destroy himself over losing her!"

Laughing with us, Paul said "Well, I've told Tess all the detail she needs to hear. Now could we please change the subject before Neil starts telling tales of drunken debauchery and other things that didn't happen?"

"Oh, they happened, all right," Neil chuckled. "You just don't remember doin' them!"

It was a great evening. For all my worries about adapting to life in England, feeling like an outsider with the other Beatles and their wives was not one of them. In fact, being with them was the one place I felt at home.