Into My Life

Chapter 30

Jim McCartney was a bit of a surprise to me. The only prepping I got from Paul on what to expect was "Call him Mr. McCartney until he tells you otherwise, don't say too much about John - he tolerates him but isn't too keen on him - and be prepared for separate bedrooms. What we do elsewhere is our concern - and I can sneak into your room - but Dad won't have it appear that he approves of such goings on."

I expected Mr. McCartney to be in his early fifties at the oldest. I knew he had remarried a woman with a six year old daughter. Paul had mentioned somewhere along the line that his dad was retired, but he had also said he had arthritis pretty bad. I knew that Paul had bought him the house he was now living in, a race horse, a car, so I had assumed that his early retirement was partly health and partly a matter of not having to work anymore since his son was well off. I hadn't realized that he was forty when Paul was born and was now in his mid- sixties. My parents were only in their forties and it struck me that Jim was old enough to be my grandfather.

As much a surprise as Mr. McCartney was, Mike was the one who shocked me. I guess I had expected a lesser version of Paul. A shadow of his big brother. He didn't look like Paul and was nothing like him in personality either. His sense of humor was more like John's than Paul's -- though his humor was a lot kinder and generally cleaner than John's. But he was a mixer, that one. He teased Paul mercilessly and Paul bossed him around. Mike freely ignored him and Paul just smiled at him with amused affection. And just when you thought Mike was too much to take, out came his affectionate, sentimental side.

We arrived in mid-afternoon, ("No, love. I'll take you sightseeing some other day. Time to go meet the family!") and by early evening there was a steady parade of relatives and friends arriving. I wasn't sure if this was the usual reaction to Paul's visits. Didn't seem likely since they didn't seem unduly impressed with Paul. Lots of comments about his still needing a haircut and so did his dog. And Penny Lane was very nice, but that Strawberry thing! Aunty Gin arrived. She blew into the house, with hugs for Mike and Angela and then descended on Paul, scooping him into a bear hug that he returned enthusiastically. She wasn't even through hugging him when she demanded, "All right, Paulie. Where is the girl?"

"Right here, luv," he said and pulled me over to stand in front of him, on display. Introductions were made, Aunty Gin hugged me and managed to give me head to toe scrutiny at the same time.

"She is lovely," she told him. "And not one of those skinny little bits."

I felt like a moose.

"She looks healthy! She'll stand the years."

A young moose in her prime.

"Aunty Gin ," Paul chided. "Next you'll be checking her teeth!"

"Oh I should think your father already did that, him being the horse fancier!" Everyone laughed and Aunty Gin took my hands in hers. "Sorry, luv. But Paul has talked of nothing but you since the holidays. We were all so eager to meet you."

"He made you sound like Bridget Bardot and Florence Nightingale and Rebecca of Sunnybrook farm all in one," Mike informed me.

"She is," Paul said as he put his arms around me. "You'll see."

I was at a loss for words. I wanted to say "I think I act like Laura Petri and look like Buddy," but doubted they were familiar with American TV, so I just stood there blushing.

"Here now, you are embarrassing the girl with your nonsense," Mr. McCartney intervened. "Gin , go help Angie in the kitchen if you would. She isn't used to having the clan descend on her like this."

"Certainly. And I'll just take Tess with me. No better place to get to know a girl than over a kitchen sink."

"I could argue that," Mike said. Mike and Paul were snickering like schoolboys and Jim was chastising them as Gin led me away. Gin was right, though. As we put together trays of sandwiches and cookies, Gin , Angie and Angela and I talked and got comfortable with each other. Mike's new bride Angela was very shy. That answered the question of why Paul's gatebirds didn't know who she was even though she was there most of the summer. She never would have stopped to talk to them. But she did take a quiet moment to say "Tess, I am really sorry about what happened last summer. I never would have let Paul take me to the Theatre if I had known what was going to happen."

"Oh, Angela! That was all just a big mistake. You couldn't have known that I would be there much less what stupid things I was thinking."

She smiled. "Well, if ever I have reason to stay over at Paul's again, I'll be more careful about where I leave my things lying about! A bathrobe and slippers really are suspicious when they show up in a man's bath!"

Paul's stepmother, Angie, seemed nice but a little nervous and I realized she was still adjusting to this crowd of relatively new in-laws herself. We were laughing over the communication barrier of biscuits versus cookies and dustbin versus garbage can when Mike came after me.

"Tess, Paul sent me to rescue you from the clutches of Aunty Gin . Aunt Millie is here."

"This is not my idea of rescuing, Sir Lancelot," I said as we headed through the dining room to the living room. "If you want to rescue me, sneak me out the backdoor to someplace where there are no more relatives!"

"Paul would have my skin. He wants to show you off."

"I feel like the prize cow at the fair!"

"You haven't the udders, luv," he said with a grin. "Nice, but not prize winners like Cousin Louise!"

I didn't recall a Cousin Louise by name, but by the physical description knew right off who he was talking about. Prize winners indeed! I laughed with him, happily accepting his teasing. In the couple hours we had been here, Mike had been polite but a little distant. He was so outspoken and such a cut up with everyone else that the fact that he was merely polite to me felt like a bit of a cold shoulder. It was pretty obvious he had his reservations about me. This bit of teasing was delivered with the friendliest look I had gotten from him all day and I considered it a very positive step forward.

There was no time for any response to Mike though. I was once again in the clutches of the McCartney Clan. There was Aunt Millie - another Gin but a little less overwhelming. Uncle Albert and cousin Ian and cousin Bett and her husband Michael and more and more and more. Over the next couple of hours, people continued to drop in. Paul's off-hand comment in the car on the way up had been "I told Dad to let people know we were coming and he's told them to stop by this evening. I thought we would be going up a day sooner and you'd have a day to get to know Dad and Angie first but I guess you'll have to get them all the same day."

I expected a few people to stop in but there must have been fifty people in the house and a small army of children! Lucky Martha was allowed to seek shelter in the garage. The best I could manage was a few minutes back in the kitchen now and then. At one point I found myself alone in the kitchen with Paul's stepmother. "Angie, how many hundreds of McCartneys' are there?" I asked in despair. "I've forgotten half the names already. I don't know how many more I can process at one time!"

She started laughing. "It's been two years and I haven't sorted them out yet! But don't worry. They don't seem to mind in the least!"

As the hour grew later, relatives of Paul's stopped arriving and old friends began to show up at the door. Someone who apparently had some connections at the Cavern told Paul to stop in between two and four in the afternoon if he wanted to show me around. Once Paul made it clear there was to be no press coverage, it was agreed that we would drop by tomorrow.

By nine the younger relatives were packing up sleepy kids and leaving. By ten the older generation began to leave. By the time Aunty Gin left that night, she knew all about me, my family, my roommates, my plans to move to England. She was even better at getting information than my mother - she simply apologized for being nosey and flat out asked. As she hugged Paul goodbye she said, "Paulie, if she were a Northern girl she would be perfect. As is, she'll do fine. Be good to her and don't mess up."

Uncle Joe simply informed him I was too good for the likes of a Teddy Boy like him.

"And that goes double for you, lad," he said to Mike who was snickering again. "That little girl of yours has more sense in her little finger than you do in your whole head. Couple of little swine you always were and no better for the years!"

"Aw, Uncle Joe," Paul protested. "I haven't chucked a brick through a window in years!"

"Moved on to bigger things, no doubt."

When everyone was gone Paul disappeared into the den with his Dad and Mike. I knew from the look he gave me as he closed the door that he was going to tell them about the paternity suit. I pitched in to help clear up. When the men reappeared, they all looked a little subdued.

When I got a moment alone with Paul I whispered, "Is he really upset?"

He shrugged a little. "He isn't thrilled."

Everyone settled down in front of the TV, but I was exhausted. Angie noticed and encouraged me to go to bed. "They will be up for hours. When Paul comes home they sit up arguing and laughing till all hours. I'm turning in. Come ahead. We'll leave them to their beer and nonsense!"

Gratefully, I agreed. I said goodnight to Paul with the family looking on - a quick little kiss I hoped would be all right. I was sound asleep when I felt Paul slip into bed with me. He kissed me awake and said he couldn't sleep alone, he would sneak back to his room in the morning. I snuggled sleepily into his arms.

"Well, what did you think of the family," he asked.

"Family? I thought that was half of Liverpool!"

He just laughed. "We'll get to them tomorrow. So was it awful for you?"

"I thought you had it bad meeting my family, but at least they didn't call in reinforcements!"

Paul chuckled and cuddled me in his arms. "You charmed the pants off Aunty Gin . They all liked you."

"I'm not so sure about Mike."

"You just leave his pants right where they are!"

"No," I laughed. "I meant I am not sure he is too impressed with me."

"Mike had it bad for Jane. Absolutely tongue-tied around her."

"Tongue-tied? Mike?"

Paul chuckled. "Oh yes. My being a Beatle didn't impress him but bringing home Jane certainly did! . . . He has never forgiven me for messing that up either. He hasn't liked anyone since. Of course there hasn't been anyone that mattered, but, anyway, he is going to take a little time. Just ignore him."

"Your little brother is a bit hard to ignore. He is a riot. You never told me who the real wit in the family is!"

"He didn't say anything . . . awful to you, did he?"

"No! I just catch him looking at me sometimes as though . . . I don't know. As if he isn't sure I am good enough for his big brother. He adores you, you know."

"I don't know about that, but I do know I adore you," he said and started adoring me with his warm mouth and hands.

"No, Paul, we can't. Your Dad--"

"Sleeps like a log. Deaf in one ear to boot. Make love to me, Tess."

"It just doesn't seem like we should do it here . . ." I said, "And I really am tired."

"All right. But don't ask me to leave. I am not giving up a night with you."

Who could argue with that? I curled up against him and fell asleep.

The next morning we lingered nearly until noon over a late breakfast. There was a lot of good natured teasing of Angela, who was eating like an army. She was pregnant (the planned spring wedding had taken place rather abruptly in February) and was just past the morning sickness stage and making up for lost meals. Talk of morning sickness gave way to Mike telling the tale - much to Paul's dismay and his father's disapproval - of Paul upchucking his way all the way from London to Liverpool one night last fall. Mr. McCartney apologized for his sons' manners and disappeared behind his morning paper leaving his boys to be disgusting if they so chose. We were all laughing at the story and at Paul's protests that he had not thrown up in Mike's car.

"By the time Neil turned me over to Mike I was out like a light! I don't remember anything past Neil swearing at me and calling me the most disgusting drunk he'd ever met."

Mike just laughed, and said "OK, it was Neil's car. You didn't start in again until the next morning."

"That part I remember all too well," Paul laughed.

"As do we all," Mr. McCartney intoned from behind his paper. Paul laughed and explained that Dad never did deal well with vomiting kids. Just couldn't stand to be there.

"After Mum died, Paul got the privilege of holding my head and cleaning up whenever I got sick," Mike said. He said it lightly, but the way he was looking at his big brother said a lot more. And then he turned to me. "This was his turn to pay me back. He was a mess, was our boy." His tone was light, but his next words were less so. "You really hurt him," he said.

I realized then that his feelings toward me had nothing to do with having a crush on Jane. I had hurt his brother. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Mr. McCartney had lowered his paper and was looking at me. Waiting to hear my response.

Paul started to say something, but I stopped him with a squeeze of his hand. "I know," I said, meeting Mike's look. "I should have trusted him more, but I just . . . I couldn't believe he could love me. I'm not Bardot or Nightingale or Sweet Rebecca. Or an actress or a model or anything else. Just Terry Martin from Minnesota. It was never a matter of my not loving him. I just couldn't believe he loved me."

"It was just a mistake and the hurting was mutual," Paul said. "Tess just had more sense than to try to drink it away."

"Well, Terry Martin, he does love you," Mike said softly. "And the only question is . . ."

I cringed, afraid of what might be coming.

". . . what on earth do you see in him?"

We all broke up laughing and Paul reached across the table to pour the remains of his orange juice into Mike's lap. Mike threw toast, and Mr. McCartney threatened to send them both to their rooms.

As we began to clear away the breakfast things, Paul stopped me and led me into the hall for a silent hug and a long kiss. When he let me go he said something about making a phone call. He had been checking his watch off and on all morning and I figured he was trying to reach Brian to see if there was any news on the blood test. I went to help with the dishes. Paul was in the den, still on the phone when we finished and I started to join him, but Mike, who was with him, got up and steered me into the living room, closing the door to the den behind him. "Do you mind if I steal Paul for an hour or so? I'd like him to come with me while I . . . take care of a few things."

That sounded a little evasive, but I figured they just wanted some time alone. "No, I don't mind," I said. "And Mike, the answer to your other question is "everything"."

Mike took a second to figure out what question I was talking about, then smiled. "Good. Else this could get a bit awkward for our kid."

"What could?" I asked him, unsure what he was referring to.

"Why, bringing you home to meet the family luv!" he said. "It seems he's told us you are madly in love with him, you see."

"Well, it seems I am," I laughed. "Against my better judgement sometimes, but I am!"

After I said it, I realized that kind of comment could be interpreted wrongly, but Mike seemed to understand.

"Yes, falling for our boy comes with a few . . . ah . . . complications, doesn't it. So were you a fan before you became infatuated with the great man himself?"

Laughing at Mike's irreverence for Paul's fame, I said, "A little to old to be screaming at airports or swooning at concerts, but yes, I was a Beatles fan. Want to hear a deep, dark secret, though? John was my favorite!"

Mike loved that bit of news. "Well, John-fan, I promise I'll have Paul back in time to get you to the Cavern this afternoon. You can see firsthand the Birthplace of Beatlemania. And I can even show you the john where the lads used to puke up when they had a bit too much."

"You have an emesis fixation!"

"A what?"

While I was explaining that emesis was the medical term for throwing up, Paul reappeared. The two of them took off shortly on some unspecified business. I spent the next couple of hours with Mr. McCartney - now "Jim" at his request - looking at photo albums, laughing at pictures of the boys as babies, as school boys, as teenagers. Hearing Jim's versions of the stories Paul had told me. And finding out that the quiet, reserved image I had seen so far was a very thin cover for a warm, gentle man with a witty sense of humor who loved to poke fun at convention. In spite of trying to raise his boys "properly," Jim took great delight in their rambunctious rule breaking.

At one point Jim went to take a phone call. When he came back he looked at me very seriously. "That was Mr. Epstein," he said.

I caught my breath.

"All is well. She doesn't have a claim on him."

I exhaled in a whoosh of relief.

Jim grinned and for the first time I saw a little family resemblance to Paul. "That is exactly what I said."

When Paul and Mike got back, Jim gave me a little nod as if to say "You tell him," and disappeared with Mike in tow.

"Paul, Brian called," I said, and I knew I didn't have to say more. I couldn't help the big smile on my face. He smiled, though a little wanly, and reached for me. I hugged him tight and he just stood there with his cheek against mine for a long time.

When he let go, he said "I wish I could promise you that this won't ever happen again."

I smiled. "Just promise me your wild oats days are over!"

He laughed. "Are you prepared to tend the fields all by yourself?"

"Yes. It is a big job, but it is the kind of work I love!"

"Then the job is yours, love. But you have to be available to start tonight!"

No one had noticed that Paul slept in my room last night, and it seemed a little silly to draw a line at having sex. "All right. But I expect all holidays and weekends off and I want four weeks vacation a year."

"I'd never agree to those ridiculous terms for anyone else, but you . . . ohhh you." He was nibbling on my neck, tickling my ear.

"Forget the terms," I said. "I don't want any time off, ever."

It was already past two o'clock so we headed out to see the Cavern. Angie had never been there, so she and Jim came along for the visit to what Mike continued to refer to in pompous tones as "The Shrine." When we arrived I was struck by the shabbiness of the neighborhood. It was no entertainment center. Just a club tucked under a six story block of warehouses in a neighborhood of light industry. Nearby small shops leaned toward shoe repair and pawn shops rather than boutiques and gift shops. The entrance to the Cavern proudly proclaimed itself the "Birthplace of the Beatles" and the narrow stone staircase leading down to the club was full of framed and autographed shots of the Fab Four on stage here. Most were of them in black leather with slicked back hair and included Pete Best at the drums. Paul barely glanced at the pictures, but I was fascinated. His dad remarked that he was still a Teddy Boy at heart, since he still preferred black leather to decent clothing. Paul laughed, and, indicating the lining of the black leather jacket he had on, said, "But now I can afford the best black leather, Dad!"

Downstairs, we were met by the current owner of the club, Harry Wilson, and what appeared to be every member of his staff. No press, as agreed, but every employee seemed to be working on a weekday afternoon. Mr. Wilson had never met any of the Beatles and was obviously thrilled to have Paul stop in. "It has changed a bit," Paul said.

"Smells better!," Mike put in and we all laughed as he described how the smell of rotting fruit from the warehouse above combined with the scent of urine from the toilets and the sweat of the crowd to create an unforgettable stench.

"We remodeled a few years ago," Mr. Wilson explained. "We improved the ventilation as best we could. It was always damp down here."

"I'll say," Paul put in. "Even in winter, the ceiling would get to the point of dripping with condensation. We were sopping wet with sweat and dripping water by the end of the night. Mike's job was to keep the floor of the stage mopped up so we wouldn't get electrocuted."

"I was expendable as I couldn't play," Mike explained.

"You were not expendable!" Paul assured him. "We never would have made it if you hadn't been about to run for Cokes!"

"There you have it folks," Mike proclaimed. "I was the driving force behind Beatlemania!"

Mr. Wilson explained how the remodeling had been done to enlarge the space by opening up to an adjoining basement. That allowed them to add a recording studio. He took us on a tour of the area, explaining they did a lot of demo tapes and converted tapes to records. Paul seemed interested in looking at the studio, but I wandered back out to the Cavern Club. The space was larger than I expected, but I wasn't sure if that was the result of the remodeling. The ceiling was quite low and the walls were still the old bricks. A wooden dance floor covered the area in front of the stage and tables and chairs the rest of the room. I went to look at more pictures on one of the walls and tried to pick out what had changed during the remodeling. The stage was totally different. The one in the pictures was in an alcove. It had a wine cellar appearance with its rounded arch and ceiling. The alcoves were still there but opened up more. I walked across the dimly lit space and found that one of them still had the small stage and was immediately recognizable as the spot where most of the photos had been taken. I sat on the edge of the stage, imagining Paul and John and George up there. Black leather and slicked back hair. Laughing and clowning around while they filled the cellar with rock n roll. Stu with his back to audience struggling to get the chords right. Pete, unsmiling, at the drums. The room full of kids, packed full as the pictures showed. Girls lining the edge of the stage. The beginning. I shivered and felt goose bumps break out on my arms as I thought of the power and the promise that must have radiated from the stage.

The others returned from their tour and Paul joined me. "Found it, eh?"

I just nodded, feeling more than a little overwhelmed. Mike got up on the small stage. There was a microphone there and he flipped it on, deafening us all with feedback. He fiddled with it, got it under control, and then announced to the assembled group, "And now ladies and gentlemen, a few words from your fave, your rave, Paul McCartney!!"

We cheered, clapped, and whistled and Paul obligingly got up on the stage. Mike "interviewed" him with questions like "Is it true that it was your brother Michael that kept you going when it seemed like the Beatles were never going to be anything but a mediocre skiffle group?"

"We were a rock n roll group and Mike always said we were a bum group. The only thing that kept us going was reluctance to get a real job!"

They kept it up for several minutes and I was just in some kind of time warp. Seeing him up there on stage in the Cavern. In black leather and belting out the opening line from Long Tall Sally. A different person yet the same Paul I was in love with. Mind bending!

Somewhere along the line, Paul put his hands in his jacket pockets. He looked down at me where I was sitting on the edge of the stage and smiled. He answered Mike's next question - something about how he was busy these days promoting a new comedy group called The Scaffold - then took the microphone away from Mike. "I'd like to say a few things," he said, and his tone was suddenly different. Everyone recognized the change and the room hushed.

"The Cavern is where it all started. We played here before Hamburg and nobody really listened. But when we came back from Hamburg we were as ready as we ever would be. This time the kids here listened, decided we had something, and took us to the top. It has been a real trip. We made it bigger than we ever dreamed. And somehow it keeps on going." He paused, looking thoughtful, and then shook his head as if bewildered by it all. "I don't know why it happened, but it has been incredible." He hesitated again. I thought he was trying to come up with a good ending to this little monologue, but then he turned and looked at me. "The Cavern was the start of something great for me once. Let's see if the magic is still here."

He handed the microphone to Mike and stepped forward, jumping off the edge of the stage, and stood looking down at me. I felt a shiver up my spine and I think I knew what he was up to even before he dropped down on one knee in front of me.

"Tess, I love you," he said softly as he took my hand in his. With the other he reached into his pocket and took out a small velvet jewelry box. He opened it and held it up to me, the diamond sparkling even in dim lighting of the Cavern. "Will you marry me?" he asked.

I shouldn't have been surprised. He had told me he was going to ask me. And that it wasn't going to be years from now. But I never dreamed it would be so soon - nor so public! Paul just didn't do things like this! But here he was, looking up at me, so serious, so intent, as if there no were one in the room except the two of us. My mind was rushing. For all the times I had imagined this moment, I hadn't expected this, not yet. Not until I had moved to England, settled in, proven I could handle his life as well as my new life. And I planned to say yes. But this was too soon. The reasonable, prudent, rational thing to do would be to wait until fall to take this step.

I took a breath. "Yes," I said. Reasonable, prudent, rational be damned! I knew this was what I wanted.

He smiled, and I leaned down to kiss him as the small crowd burst into applause. He got up and sat beside me and I took the ring out of the box. He took it from me and slipped it on my finger. "You are shaking!" I said with amazement.

"You took a split second too long to answer! Scared the bloody hell out of me!"

"I had my answer ready months ago. I was just surprised that you asked me so soon. I wasn't expecting it yet."

"So soon? Oh, Tess," he said with a rueful laugh. "I have wanted to ask you so many times. I am amazed I held out this long. If I hadn't--" He stopped and looked flustered and suddenly aware of the people around us.

"Hadn't what?"

"I'll tell you later," he said and I settled for another kiss.

While the Cavern's employees hung back politely, I collected hugs and kisses from his family. We hung around for a bit longer with Paul signing autographs for the staff. There were awkward, almost begrudging congratulations for me and lots of oohing and ahhing over the ring. They didn't seem to know what to say to me until one of the girls said "And here I thought I was jealous of you when I was reading your stories about being John's nurse!" Being reminded of how I had gotten to meet Paul, suddenly it didn't seem so bad that I was now engaged to him. They knew me and knew I was one of them. The one who had gotten what they always dreamed of. They were full of questions about what I had thought of Paul when we first met.

"I thought he was even better looking than in pictures," I said. "I just wanted to touch him. I didn't care if he turned out to be rude, obnoxious, stupid, or anything else. I just kept wanting to put my arms around him!"

"Don't we all!" one of the girls laughed. "So when did you fall in love?"

"That is a little harder to say. I think probably the first time I sat down and talked to him, but I just kept denying it to myself for the longest time. I was so confused - I kept thinking that this really couldn't be happening to me. After all, he was a Beatle!"

They all seemed able to relate to that, and one of them said, "You have to write another story for the magazine and this time tell all!"

"Sorry, my journalism days are over!"

They groaned and Mike spoke up. "Oh, do write another Tess! Tell you what --I'll come along on the honeymoon and take pictures and you can write about it. We'll have a great pictorial essay. Pulitzer prize material, I guarantee it!"

Paul gave Mike a brotherly hug around the neck, cutting off his oxygen. "It's been great meeting you all," he said to the staff, "We've got to run." We thanked everyone and made our way back up the stairs to the street.

As we were getting into our cars, Ruth started to get into Paul's car. She and Jim and Angie had ridden over with us. "Perhaps you had better ride back with us, Dad," Mike said. "Give the happy couple a few minutes alone. Tess probably wants to give the ring back. I am sure she said yes only to avoid embarrassing Paul in front of everyone."

Paul looked absolutely stricken. He turned to me, "Tess, I never thought --"

"When are you going to stop listening to Mike?" I asked him. "I've only known him twenty four hours and even I know he is a nut case. Ignore him!"

Everyone laughed and Paul looked sheepish as he hugged me. "Get in the car, Dad," he said.

By the time we got back to the house it was after four p.m. That meant school was out for the day, and the fans had assembled at the gate. We eased the cars through the crowd and Paul waited in the car until the gate was closed before getting out. He surprised me a bit by going back to the gate to talk to the girls, sign autographs. I hung back, but after a few minutes he turned around and motioned for me to join him. The look on the faces on the other side of the gate was more curious than hostile, a big improvement over London's group.

"Girls, this is Tess Martin," he said as I stepped up to his side, my hand hidden in my coat pocket. He put his arm around me and smiled at me. A few girls shyly greeted me, the rest stood in awkward silence.

"You are the one from the States," one said. Somehow it sounded like an accusation.

"Yes," I said. "I met Paul last summer. I was John's nurse when he got hurt. Did any of you read the articles I wrote for the fan club magazine?" That had broken the ice with the girls at the cavern, and I hoped it would do the same here.

It worked. They had all read them and they told me how much they enjoyed them and started asking questions about things I had said in the articles. I breathed a sigh of relief, relaxed and started enjoying talking with them. Then one of the girls said, "Well, I would say you left out some very important information. You never said anything about you and Paul."

She sounded upset, as if I had lied to them. Someone tried to hush her, but the good feeling was gone.

Once again, I heard myself explaining how confused I was at first about my feelings for Paul. Love or infatuation. A fairy tale or the real thing. "It wasn't until I had finished the article that I . . . he . . . we . . .--"

Paul came to my rescue. "That we stopped trying to avoid it and fell in love." Ooohs and aaahs from the group. "Took a bit for us to get things together. She went back to the States and I have been back and forth, and now . . ." he smiled at me, gave me a little kiss -- caught by a girl with a camera and lightning quick reflexes -- and said to me, "It will be all over the papers by tomorrow, so shall we tell them?"

He looked so happy, bursting to tell them, and he was right. Someone from the Cavern had no doubt tipped off the press by now. I smiled at him and nodded.

"I asked Tess to marry me just a bit ago, and she said yes. I know you won't see that as good news, but . . . I want a wife, I want a family. I want Tess. I hope you will be happy for me."

Girls were crying before he even finished, but they obediently congratulated us and when they wished us well, it sounded sincere. He signed a few more autographs and we headed back to the house.

For the rest of day, I discussed our plans with everyone except Paul! While he was out in the back garden with Ruth, Martha, and the puppy, Angie and Angela asked if we had discussed a date, and I had to explain that I hadn't even expected a proposal for months yet. I had no idea about when we would be married. Maybe this fall. Or maybe next spring. We talked about whether a "real" wedding would be possible, whether it should be in the States or in England, London or Liverpool. Jim wanted to know how my family was going to react to the news. I answered honestly. "They aren't sure about any of this. They haven't had much time to get to know Paul, but I think they are past being horrified at the idea of a rock n roll star. He is a real person to him now at least. Not just "one of the Beatles." They are still trying to get used to the idea that I am moving to England. I would think that they will feel a little better knowing we are engaged."

Angie told me to feel free to call them and tell them but a look at the clock told me I was free from that awesome duty until tomorrow. It was nearly midnight back home and too late to call.

Aunty Gin came flying in. She had just gotten a phone call from the hysterical daughter of a friend. "Is it true?" the girl had sobbed and Aunty Gin had to backtrack to find out what she was asking about. The girl had just gotten a phone call from a friend who had heard from another friend -- who had heard from someone who worked at the Cavern that Paul was engaged. The grapevine was humming. Gin told the girl that it hadn't been true as of ten p.m. the night before, but she "wouldn't be a bit surprised." Then she came right over to find out for herself. Over tea, Gin and I had the same conversation about non-existent wedding plans. When I said I wasn't sure how we would ever have a real wedding, she was sympathetic.

"It doesn't have to be a grand affair to be a real wedding," she said. "Just immediate family." I knew darn well she considered herself immediate.'

"That's another problem. Do we get married here or in the States? One of us isn't going to have our family there."

"A wedding is the bride's show," Gin declared. "You get married there with your family around you and your mother there to cry and act like a mother. We'll have a reception for you here when you get back from the honeymoon."

I was relieved to hear her common sense solution, but . . . "I don't think we will get married really soon, and I'll be living here once school is out. I think we'll end up getting married here."

Gin patted my hand. "Then I'll be there to cry and carry on, luv."

Mike had wandered in and heard the discussion. "Rent the Queen Mary, give the whole family - both sides - a sea cruise and get married in the middle of the Atlantic," was his suggestion. Paul came in just in time to hear that and grinned. "Good idea. We can throw any reporters overboard."

"And the sharks will keep the number of fans down to a manageable number," Mike added.

Too bad there were no sharks outside. The crowd was growing and reporters had joined the fans. Plans were made to go out for dinner to celebrate - and to give the Liverpool press their first glimpse at the future Mrs. McCartney. I desperately wanted a little time alone with Paul, but it was to be hours before we were finally alone together.

The street in front of the house was mobbed. We couldn't leave the house until the police department sent a bunch of officers to clear the street. Reporters were almost frantic in their efforts to get pictures. They followed us into the restaurant where the haughty Maitre d' stopped them. "No reservations? I'm sorry but we have no tables." The fact that Paul had no reservations was never mentioned. We had an elaborate meal and toasted our engagement with champagne. Leaving the restaurant meant running the gauntlet of reporters who had set up camp in the lobby. We stopped and gave them the photo session they wanted and answered questions.

They wanted to know when and where we were getting married. "We haven't decided on that," Paul said.

"Will we get invitations?" asked one reporter jokingly.

"Not bloody likely!" Paul laughed.

"Is it true you popped the question at the Cavern today?"

"Yes."

"Why there?"

He shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Having second thoughts?" someone teased.

"No!"

"Miss Martin, were you surprised?"

"A little, yes. I didn't expect it so soon."

"So you had talked about it?"

"Yes, thanks to you fellows," Paul said. "A reporter really put me on the spot once, asking if I was thinking about marrying her right in front of her! I told him we might end up married someday, but I didn't want to leave her thinking I wasn't serious about her so we had to talk about it."

"Miss Martin, how do your parents feel about it?"

The logical answer would have been "You'll have to ask them," but I didn't want Mom and Dad asked that question. They might answer honestly.

"I haven't spoken to them yet, but they like Paul and I think they'll be happy for me. And please, call me Tess."

"What about the fans? Will they be happy for you, Paul?"

"They've adjusted to Ringo and George getting married. They know we couldn't stay lads forever. Everyone wants someone special to share their life with, to have a family and all that."

"But you are the last single Beatle. Will this mark the end of Beatlemania?"

"We'll still be here, making music and all. If the music is good enough there will always be fans."

After answering basically the same questions at least two more times, we made our escape. In spite of it being a cold drizzly night, there was still a sizeable gathering of fans outside both the restaurant and the house.

Back at the house, Paul said, "I'd better try again to get Brian. He won't appreciate being the last to know." And right on cue, the phone rang. "Yes, it is true, Brian," Paul laughed.

They talked for a little bit about how the fans were taking the news, should Brian arrange a press conference ("No!" I signaled frantically to Paul, much to his amusement.) Paul gave the phone to me. Brian expressed his happiness for me and wished us the best, sounding rather emotional at first then laughing at himself. "Listen to me! You'll think me a silly old mother hen. But Paul is the last of my boys to get married. An event worth marking, I'd say." He laughed, "When I first took on the scruffy lot of them they were just boys - hard to see them becoming old married men. Pillars of society and all."

"Well, I don't know that any of them will ever quite make it as pillars of society, but I think this one is going to be a good husband."

He laughed and rang off and when I hung up and turned around, everyone else had disappeared, leaving Paul and me alone for the first time since early morning. I went to him, put my arms around him and just held on.

"Are you alright?" he asked after a moment.

"I am so alright I can't think of words to tell you." So I kissed him instead. We settled in on the sofa, waiting for the rest of the household to go to bed so we could.

"Do you like the ring?" he asked.

"Yes! It is beautiful." It was simple design. A Marquis cut diamond flanked by a three smaller ones clustered on either side and set on a gold band. It was big. Not huge and gaudy by any means, but a sizeable chunk of rock.

He chuckled. "It is a good thing I took Mike along. I was looking at sapphires and rubies and he reminded me that Americans require diamond engagement rings."

"It wouldn't have mattered to me - though I might have been a little confused when I first saw the ring! I was so surprised!"

"Not as surprised as you would have been had I asked you the first time it occurred to me that I wanted to marry you!"

"When was that?"

"That morning in the hotel. When you were standing there in John's shirt."

"What!?!" I was totally shocked.

"Well, not exactly," he laughed. "But I do remember looking at you, standing there telling John he had scared the hell out of you and giving him hell."

"I didn't! Did I?"

"Oh yes! I thought Neil was going to choke on his toast, he was trying so hard not to laugh. And Brian looked absolutely envious. And then you turned and looked at me. I remember thinking maybe someday I would find someone like you -- but I hoped I wouldn't have to fracture myself to do it!"

I started laughing. "I thought you didn't recognize me. I thought you were just trying to figure out who I was and what I was doing in John's room. You barely noticed me before that."

"Oh, I noticed. But I was so worried about John at first, then the whole mess with ending the tour . . ." He laughed. "I would have pushed John off a balcony long before if I had known it would bring you into my life."

"So when . . .?"

"I don't know exactly. From the very first, I knew you were the kind of girl I wanted to marry, it just took a while to admit to myself that I was in love with you and I didn't want a girl like you, I wanted you. It seemed impossible at first, then in Scotland I began to believe it could happen."

"But then . . . I left."

"Yeah. But when I got on the plane before Christmas, I knew that if I could straighten things out with you - and I wasn't leaving until I did - I knew I was going to ask you to marry me. I had to. Just had to."

"I know. When you showed up, I knew I had to have you. No matter what."

I felt the tears stinging my eyes. Happy tears or not, I didn't want to cry now. "So what took you so long?" I teased.

He just laughed, but looked a little flustered.

"Well?"

"Ah, well, it seems I promised your parents I would wait."

"What?! When? Why??"

He took a minute to kiss me and pull me more comfortably into his arms. "Christmas. That morning before you were up. Your father asked me what the hell I thought I was doing and I told him I loved you, told him how important you were to me. I knew I wasn't going to be there when they tried to change your mind and I wanted them to know where I stood. So I told them that I wanted to marry you. Had known that almost from the beginning."

I caught my breath, but he put a finger on my lips before I could say interrupt. "But I told them I couldn't ask you, wouldn't ask you yet because you needed time," he explained. "It wasn't hard for me. I didn't have to turn my life inside out to marry you. But there was so much you had to learn about me, put up with, and so many things that would be so hard for you. You needed time."

I shook my head, but he said the words before my befuddled mind could get them out. "I know. You would have said yes if I had asked you then."

I nodded and whispered, "Yes, I would have." Time out for another long, gentle kiss.

"That's what I told your parents. And I told them that I just wouldn't do that, rush you into anything. I wanted you to really think about what it meant, what the problems would be. I told them I wouldn't ask you until this summer. After you had been in England long enough to be sure."

"Umm, I hate to mention this," I said, "and I am not letting you take it back, but sweetheart, it is only April."

"I know, I know." he laughed. "But I barely made it this long. I wanted to ask you that day we made love in the cemetery. When you said you felt so safe with me. And that day when I got crazy over you being too young to know for sure you loved me and you told me you loved me every way from Sunday. And New Year's Eve and the day I left the States and the day I came back. And that night the reporter wanted us to announce our engagement. And during every phone call and every time I made love to you and every time I woke up alone wanting you."

I was half laughing, half crying. "I never knew. Until that night with the reporter I thought getting married was a "maybe someday" kind of thing."

"It was never that, girl. Not with you."

I listened to this astonishing revelation in a lightheaded daze. "Oh, Paul," was all I could say. We had to stop for a kiss. And another two or three. He held me tightly and went on. "When you walked into my house last weekend, I knew I never wanted you to leave. And then all week long . . . I put you through all kinds of hell. The paternity suit, all that stuff over John, the gatebirds, meeting the family. You came through it all without thinking for one minute that we might not make it. And at every turn I nearly did it. Nearly asked you. In the solicitors office, after that fight over John. So today I called your parents and told them I wasn't waiting.

"What did they say?"

"Well, I called early to make sure I got them before they left for work. It was only about six there and I woke them up. Once we got it sorted out that I wasn't calling because there had been some awful accident, or to tell them we were already married, I think they were so relieved, an engagement sounded like a minor disaster. I didn't ask their opinion -- hell, I am not sure what I said, I just blathered on -- but right before I rang off, your Mum got on the line and said, "Tell Terry we love her and tell her to hug my future son-in-law for me." She didn't sound like she was being sarcastic or anything . . ."

"She wasn't. Mom doesn't have a sarcastic bone in her body." I snuggled against him, feeling so happy that I thought I might explode or float away but for his arms around me. A funny thought came to me and I started to giggle.

"What is so funny?"

"I am so glad you waited until today to ask me!"

"Why?"

"Imagine someday when our daughter asks "Mummy, how did Daddy propose to you?" I'd have to say "Well, we were making love in this cemetery . . ." Or "Well we were at the solicitors for a paternity suit . . ."

"Or Daddy and I had just had this silly fight and I had him on the bed driving him wild and making him think he was going to die before I let him fuck me --"

"Paul! Shhh! Oh, God!" I started laughing and trying to keep it down because I could hear his dad and Mike saying goodnight out in the hall. But Paul wouldn't quit.

"Well that is more romantic than "Daddy got tired of waking up with a hard on and wanking off in the loo with a picture of the playmate of the month, so he rang me up one day and asked me to marry him."

I lost it and buried my face in a throw pillow to stifle the laughter. I heard footsteps and looked up to see Mike in the doorway.

"Oh," he said pleasantly, "Hysterical laughter on your engagement night, Tess? Has our boy just now got round to letting you see his Beatle peedle? Should have waited 'til after the nuptials lad!"

Paul winged a pillow at him and he ducked out of sight.

We stayed up a while longer, listening to the sounds of the house settling down for the night. Paul told me that popping the question at the Cavern was just a spur of the moment thing that came to him when he put his hand in his pocket and felt the jewelers box. He had originally planned to wait until now, after everyone was in bed to ask me.

"So when do you want to get married?" he asked.

"Oh, wow. I don't know! Tomorrow?"

He laughed. I don't think we can get the license in time, love."

I sat back to discuss it seriously. "Not until school is out - that would be too complicated. And not until after State boards - I want those over and done with so I can relax and enjoy my wedding. Maybe in the fall - but I'll be just getting started with a new job." I didn't want to sound pushy if he wasn't in any hurry. "Or we could wait until spring. What do you want to do?"

He just smiled, "Whatever you want."

We talked a bit about the complication of having families on opposite sides of the Atlantic and of trying to keep plans from reporters and fans.

"It was a bit difficult for Ringo and for George, but if we keep it small and private --"

My face must have given it away. I didn't want a wedding limited to a few people. I wanted to stand up in front of the whole world and say "I do!" I knew it was unreasonable given the circumstances and I was fully prepared to do whatever needed to be done, but still, the regret broke through for a moment.

He gathered me into his arms. "It is OK," I said. "I'll get married by proxy if that's what it takes!"

"We'll work it out. We may not be able to have a big wedding but we will have one hell of a party if you want. We could get married at the magistrates, announce it, and let the reporters think it was all over. Then have the big do with flowers and cake and all a few days later."

We kissed and I was putting aside wedding thoughts in favor of more immediate pleasures when another thought occurred to me. "Paul, there is another problem . . ."

He waited.

"I know you don't consider yourself a Catholic, and it isn't all that important to me, but my parents will simply not tolerate anything but a Catholic wedding. If we want to stay on their good side . . ."

He sighed. "I don't reckon on getting all religious here. I don't hate the Church. I just don't believe it has the answers. I am not sure there are any answers. I have said for years that I am agnostic and I won't go back on that. But if a priest will agree to do the honors in spite of that, then I don't have a problem with it. In fact, I would like it. It is what my mom would want too."

"I don't think that priests ask much about your beliefs. They ask if you were baptized."

"I was."

"And they ask if you will have your kids baptized."

Paul grinned. "I said I am agnostic. That means I don't know if there is a God, not that I flat out don't believe in him. So I am not adverse to a little insurance policy for my kids in case it turns out He does exist and He requires baptism."

"And they ask if you will raise your kids as Catholics."

That was the stopper, I could see it on his face. But he turned the tables on me. "What are you going to say, Tess?"

If I were marrying a true Catholic, it would have been easy to say yes. To go along with it because the whole matter was something I was basically more indifferent to than against. If it were left to me alone, I would probably raise them as Catholic just to keep peace with my mother. The whole religion issue was totally unimportant to me in and of itself but was a huge issue when it came to my dealings with my parents. If anything, Paul was more interested in religion than I was. More curious about the meaning of life and all that. But committing to raise our kids as Catholic was a bit much.

Well, kids were a couple of years down the line and, aside from the Baptism, it would be many more years before Mom would be expecting First Communion and Confirmation kind of things. And Mom was going to be half a world away. It didn't seem particularly important right now. Right now the goal was to get Mom to accept our getting married and that was going to be difficult enough even with the required Catholic wedding. I groaned and admitted the truth. " I will lie and say yes. Just to keep Mom happy and get through the wedding without her having hysterics over that."

He consoled me. "Maybe they won't ask you that."

I shrugged. "Maybe not. But I think they will ask you."

He surprised me with a very wicked grin. "And I shall say that I will follow my wife's wishes in the matter."

As the subtle sneakiness of his response hit me, I burst out laughing. He wouldn't have to lie but I might have to!

"You are so . . . so . . ."

"Smooth?"

"Devious!"

"Not at all!" he protested. "I just have a way with people. You can thank John for it."

"John?! He pisses people off all the time!"

"Exactly. Speaks his mind, he does. Never mind the consequences. It is usually the truth mind you, but there I am, trying to sort out the mess, smooth things over. So I have gotten good at saying what people want to hear without resorting to flat out lying."

I laughed at him. "Well, it is a skill that is going to come in handy. Dear Boy, you are about to acquire a Mother-in-Law!"

"If that is what it takes to acquire you . . ." he said.

"All you need to acquire me is to kiss me and take me to bed," I told him and didn't give him any choice in the matter.

The remaining two days of my time with Paul were crazy. The phone was ringing all morning with an endless stream of well-wishers and the press was lined up outside waiting for a few words and pictures. Alistair Taylor called wanting to arrange a meeting with the press and a couple of interviews. Paul asked if I wanted to do it and of course I didn't but didn't think I could refuse if Alistair thought I should do it. Paul, his hand over the phone, laughed. "Luv, he works for me, not the other way ‘round. You don't have to do it."

Relieved, I let Paul decline for us but an hour later Brian was on the phone urging Paul to do it. He and Alistair both felt that a "press conference" with the two of us now would be easier for me than being back in the States on my own and hounded by reporters until they got enough to satisfy them. I gave in quickly, worrying that I would get on the bad side of the press if I played hard to get. Then, Alistair called back suggesting that he be allowed to set up a formal photo session. He wanted to assure that there was an ample supply of good pictures of me available to avoid having magazines publishing bad ones. I read between the lines a little and surmised that he wanted to present me at my best to make me a little more palatable to the fans. This I agreed to with more enthusiasm. I would rather not see myself staring back from a newspaper or magazine with lumpy hair, closed eyes, open mouth or any of the other things candid shots are prone to.

After lunch I called my parents. Having been forewarned by Paul, they were over whatever surprise they had felt at the engagement and Mom had leaped ahead to worrying about wedding plans. I assured her there was plenty of time for sorting all that out and we would talk when I got home. When I asked what Paul had said when he called, Mom just laughed. "Well, he talked to your Dad. He said he apologized about six times for not waiting like he said he would but he just couldn't let you leave again without a ring on your finger. I don't know what else he said but your dad couldn't get a word in edgewise. He finally put his hand over the receiver and told me what was going on. He said, "It's Paul and he says he's gonna propose today because . . . well, some nonsense about the other half of his life. What do I tell him?" That's when I made him give me the phone!"

We left Liverpool mid-afternoon and drove back to London. Those hours alone in the back of the Limo were precious. Back in London we were met by a mob of reporters and gatebirds waiting outside the house. Police were on hand and it was no problem getting safely inside, but it was weird knowing they were out there all evening. The phone rang constantly here, too. Each of the other Beatles called to congratulate us, as did a hundred other people. The next day was crammed with the photo session and press interviews.

The interviews were actually the easy part - there were no new or original questions. The morning photo session was the nerve-wracking part of the day. I didn't know what to wear and Paul's shrugged "We just wear whatever we are wearing," was no help at all. At the last minute I called Pattie for suggestions. She came to my rescue, saying she would meet us at the photographers and suggesting I bring several changes of clothes along. She showed up with all the equipment needed for hair styling and a huge make-up kit. Amused, Paul sat down next to her as she prepared to transform a simple country girl into a mod member of London's swinging set. I went along with it right up until she started to paste on a set of false eyelashes. They were so thick and long and sweeping, I wondered if I would even be able to lift my eyelids under the weight!

"Pattie," I said hesitant to offend her yet determined not to wear them, "This just isn't me! Can we just skip these?"

"How about these instead?" she asked, rummaging through her kit and coming up with a pair that was only the size of a Texas tarantula.

I turned to Paul, hoping for support. He had a big grin on his face. "Don't look at me!" he protested. "I like you dripping wet, fresh from the shower, remember?"

That was all I needed. "OK, Pattie. No false eyelashes. We'll stick with mascara." I knew without that, my eyes would just disappear in the photos.

Pattie looked dubious. "Perhaps with lots of eyeliner --"

"A little eyeliner. A touch of shadow. And no white lipstick!"

I must have sat for a hundred poses and learned how to twist myself into a photographic pretzel. "Chin up, lovie. Right shoulder forward, left elbow back, and lean into it. Good! Good! Now cross your left leg over the right and arch your back just a bit! Now give me a deep, mysterious look."

Paul watched, laughing, from the sidelines. Finally the photographer called a tea break but followed Paul and I around with the camera all through it. We went back for more posed shots, this time with Paul and I together, and finally we were done. We had lunch with Brian and Alistair and then it was off to meet the press.

That went well and finally Paul and I were back at home, alone, bracing ourselves for the goodbye that would come at six a.m. when I got on my plane, and fortifying ourselves against the next separation.

How long that would be was dependent on how quickly the Sgt. Pepper album was wrapped up. Paul admitted he was having a hard time rushing it even though it meant we would be apart.

After once again turning him down on the issue of moving in with him when I did move to London, I went to take a shower. I was glad to scrub off the makeup and wash out the ton of hair spray. When I stepped out into the bedroom, Paul was waiting with a camera. "Now these are the photos I want!" he said, snapping away.

"You can't take pictures of me in this!" I protested. I was wearing a filmy, nearly see-though, red baby-doll nightie. "You can't take them in to have them developed -- there will be copies made for sure!"

"I'll do them meself. Mike has a darkroom. Now lie down on the bed, turn on your right side, look over your shoulder, wet your lips and give me a sultry look, lovie!"

Laughing at his imitation of the photographer, I made a grab for the camera and we ended up wrestling on the bed. Paul was definitely winning. He managed to pull my gown up and take what I hoped would be a dreadfully out of focus shot of my left breast. I shrieked and pounded at him while he laughed and held the camera at arms length, snapping picture after picture.

"You are wasting film," I told him. None of that is going to come out anyway!"

"You are right," he said. "Hold on while I get the flash attachment."

"No! You can't take these kind of pictures!"

"Why not? They are just for me. I can at least have a picture if I can't have you here!"

Thinking it would make him stop and think and realize the potential danger of having these kind of pictures around for someone else to get hold of, I said, "Then I want pictures of you!"

He laughed, rolled off me, got up, and stripped naked. "Too bad I can't develop my own movie film!"

I gasped and he said "I'll set the timer and put the camera on the dresser. Take off your nightgown, love. Let's do this right."

"Absolutely not!" I said as he prepared the camera. "No way in hell!" I said as he came back to the bed. "You can't be serious!" I said as he tried to undress me.

"Oh, but I am that," he said, trying to persuade me with kisses and roaming hands. "But, alas, I am also a lousy photographer."

Something in his voice tipped me off. I pushed him back so I could see his face and sure enough, he was grinning like a schoolboy.

"I sometimes forget to take the lens cap off," he said as his hands slipped up under my gown. "And I sometimes even forget to put film in the camera," he said as he tipped me down on the bed. Then he pulled the blanket over us blocking out the empty camera and the whole prying world.