Into My Life

Chapter 33

At ten the next morning I was at the motel to pick up Paul for the journey to break the news of our impending wedding to my parents. That was enough to make me tense. Being followed didn't help. A dark Ford had followed us when Sandy and I took Paul to the motel the night before, but this morning a brown Buick had taken its place.

At the motel there were four reporters and a couple dozen fans. I parked the car, watching the Buick glide to the far end of the parking lot. I waited in the car, giving my watcher time to get parked so he or she could clearly see me and know I didn't set foot in Paul's room when I went up to get him. The fans recognized me immediately and surrounded me as I got out of the car. I stopped to talk to them, laughing as one of them said, "Then he really is here? Thank goodness! I would have missed the Beatles cartoons all for nothing!"

"I'll bet he is watching it up in his room," I told them.

"He watches it? What does he think of it?" one of the reporters asked, shoving a tape recorder microphone in my face. He looked so excited by getting this scoop, I started to laugh. It was at least a fairly original question even if I had to lead him into it.

"He just laughs," I responded.

"He thinks it is funny?" the reporter asked, looking more than a little surprised. Obviously this guy had seen the cartoon series.

"Not exactly," I told him, trying to think of how to get out of this without saying anything too disparaging about the show.

"He thinks it is daft," came Paul's voice from above us. "But the music is good!"

The reporter and I laughed but the girls whirled around, squealing out his name. I turned with them and looked up. Paul was standing on the second floor balcony, leaning over the railing watching us. He greeted the girls and started talking to them while I went through the inevitable physical jolt that still hit me the first time I saw him even if we had been apart only a few hours. Today it hit hard. There was something about the motel, the balcony, the smile on his face. Something reminiscent of some photo I had seen of him and the others doing the same thing at some other motel somewhere around the world. I found myself looking up at him and thinking My God, it is Paul McCartney! It was only a fleeting feeling, sort of like deja vu, but it was intense. It took a minute for me to shake it and by then Paul was walking along the balcony to the stairs. Blue jeans, black T shirt, leather jacket over his shoulder. I watched him, caught between worlds. Caught between being the fan in the parking lot and being . . . being . . . It wouldn't come to me for a moment.

The one he is going to marry! In six days! Oh God! If this is a dream, don't let me wake up!

We spent a few minutes signing autographs and answering reporters questions. Apparently they had not gotten wind of the goings on at the school and assumed Paul's visit was just another trip to see me. They didn't seem to question why he was staying at a motel this time, either. Not the brightest or most dedicated of reporters, I concluded. All they wanted to know was "When are you getting married?" and "Are you making wedding plans?"

"Some, but none we want to discuss with you!" Paul said, getting a laugh from everyone. "Now if you will excuse us, we are going to spend the day with my future in-laws." Amid a barrage of questions about how he got along with them, ("They are very nice.") what did they think of him ("They think he is very nice.") etc., we headed for the car.

"Where is our chaperone?" he asked.

"The big brown car down there - right next to the yellow Volkswagen."

The drive went by fast. We had a lot to talk about. I was worried about how safe it was to leave Paul alone at the motel all week and knew he would be bored out of his mind after spending just a couple of days trapped in the room, waiting for me to pick him up after school. We decided that I would pick him up early in the morning school and drop him off at the apartment before I went to school. That way he could spend the morning at the dance studio as he had on other visits, and my attendance record at school would verify that we weren't spending the day frolicking naked in the apartment. We talked about going ahead with leasing the apartment after we were married, but that didn't solve the problem of Paul being stuck there all day while I was at school. It sounded a lot easier just to move into a nice hotel suite and let Paul spend the days at the apartment. We would go to my parents on weekends, spend an occasional evening at the apartment, but most of the time we would just thumb our noses at the Citizens for Decency and Mr. and Mrs. McCartney would dine on room service meal in the privacy of their hotel suite. Alone. All alone.

Paul suggested getting the honeymoon suite at the Radisson for our first weekend. "Kind of back where we started from," he laughed.

Of course there was the wedding to talk about, "Sandy's Wedding" we laughingly referred to it. More precisely, there was discussion of how to tell my parents. Tip-toeing through that minefield of rumors in order to explain to them why we were doing this, and all the while maintaining the illusion that we weren't sleeping together. But the only way they would accept our decision was if they knew how serious the threat was. And it would be tenuous acceptance at best. When the plan had been to throw off reporters by having a legal ceremony before the "real" wedding, Mom had made it clear that "legal" was not acceptable. Now, rather than a week or two between the civil ceremony and the religious, "real" ceremony, it was going to be at least a month, probably two before we got to that Liverpool church.

"Paul," I said, knowing I had to warn him. "I don't know if Mom and Dad will come to the wedding."

He looked at me, and sighed. "It could be that bad, eh?"

The only answer I had was a shrug. I knew they wouldn't like it, wouldn't approve, but how far that would go was beyond me. Nothing like this had ever come up before. Paul asked, "If it comes down to that, do you want to wait?"

Getting married without their "blessing" was not a pleasant thought, but at this point, I didn't feel I had much choice. "No," I said.

We drove in silence, and I thought angry, unchristian thoughts about the people forcing us into this. "Do you think the press will find out if my parents don't come to the wedding?" I asked as that new concern occurred to me.

Paul's response was a muttered curse and a groan. "Probably," he said after a little thought. "I don't know if they will make a big deal out of it. Local press here seems friendly, but if the Daily Mail or News of the World get hold of it, they will print it. Even if they don't, odds are it won't stay our little family secret. It's the kind of thing that shows up in some "unofficial biography" and gets twisted ‘round to something sinister long after you have forgotten about it." He was quiet, chewing worriedly on his lip.

"Do you want to wait?" I asked.

"Because of the press? Hell, no. I just hate the idea of this coming between us and your parents. And I hate pushing you into this when you aren't ready."

"I am ready," I assured him. "And you aren't pushing me. It is the Citizens for Decency that are shoving me around and I hate it!" The thought of them made me so angry, I slammed my fist on the steering wheel. "I hate them!"

Paul said nothing - what could he say? He slid over so he could put his arm around my shoulders and give me a little squeeze and I settled down. I didn't want him to think for a minute I didn't want to go through with this and I tried to explain.

"It is just not how I wanted it to be. It's not just that I always wanted a real wedding - I never gave that a whole lot of thought. Assumed it would happen, I guess. But I knew from the start that it was going to be different if I married you. A Saturday in June at St. Mary's with all the trimmings would be impossible. But I still thought it would be a day that would . . . I don't know . . . make things different. Let us really be together. This way it doesn't change much. I am still in school, still so busy with all that. You have to go back to England to do the press stuff for the album release and I won't be able to go with you. I know it will only be for a week, but it just seems like if we are married we should be able to be together for more than a couple of weeks before we have to be apart again."

I didn't mean to get sidetracked talking about his needing to leave - I was so glad for any time we had together. I stopped and tried to get back to the real point. "We'll be able to have sex without somebody disapproving but we won't be starting our life together. I wanted to be able to marry you and move in with you and make a home with you, be part of your world, be a wife! All we can do here is some . . . some intermediate stage. A temporary arrangement. I guess I am just being greedy. I want it all!"

Paul sighed and didn't answer. He got out a cigarette and lit it up, looking glum. After a couple of drags on the cigarette and a bit of thought, he said, "I see it differently than you do. You feel like we are giving in to the Citizens by doing this, letting them win. I see it as the way for us to win. Take away the biggest weapon they have against us. Like Harry said, the drug thing won't get them anywhere. None of us have been busted for pot and LSD isn't even illegal. All they have is the fact that we aren't married yet. I understand that this isn't the way you want it to be. I want it all too, but this is the best we can do right now and it is enough for me. Just being with you is all I ever wanted. Married or not, I just want to be with you, and if you really want to wait . . . "

That was said with obvious reluctance and yet I knew he meant it. If I wanted to wait, he would go along with it. I felt rotten being so difficult about this when he was right - all that mattered was whether we could be together. I took one hand off the steering wheel to reach for his, kissed his fingers and said, " We are getting married. On Friday."

The Buick had followed us out of town, staying well back, and was still behind us an hour and a half later as we turned off onto the county road to my parents. They stopped at the curve in the long drive that had become the official vantage point from which to do McCartney spotting, but unlike the fans who occasionally showed up there on weekends hoping he would show, our "escort" didn't hang around. I was surprised since they had no way of knowing we wouldn't leave my parents house and head for the nearest motel. I guess they knew that Paul's recognizable face made doing something like that unlikely.

I had called Mom early that morning to let her know we were coming down for the day. She was surprised to hear that Paul was with me - he wasn't supposed to be here until at least next week. But she didn't think to question it. Construction workers had been at the farm all week putting up the new "garage" Dad had been waiting for years to build. The concrete floor was going to be poured this afternoon. When we arrived at the farm, Dad and Greg were busy working on the overhead doors. All three of them. The building was not exactly just a garage. It was a garage with pretensions of being a machine shed. There was room enough for the three cars the family currently drove, a big workshop space for Dad, and more than enough left over to store Dad's fishing boat over the winter. We were given the grand tour and opportunity to ooh and ahh over Dad's pride and joy before I was drafted into helping get lunch ready.

Lunch was rushed because Dad wanted to get the last overhead door in place before the cement trucks arrived. This was not the time to discuss wedding plans. This evening when everyone was sitting around watching the cement set up and feeling mellow would be a better time. Paul went back out to help Dad and after the dishes were done, I went out and found him up in the rafters, holding up one of the door tracks while Dad drilled holes for bolts.

"If he falls, you'll be sorry," I told Dad. "The last time a Beatle got hurt, one of your daughters ended up engaged to one of them!"

"We just thought it would be good if he had a marketable skill in the construction trade," Steve explained. "The Beatles are just a passing fad. Like Hula Hoops."

"Well, if accountants knew what they were doing, I'd never have to do another days work in my life!" Paul countered.

The cement truck arrived and Paul and I wandered around trying to stay out of the way. Watching cement being poured and smoothed is not especially fascinating after the first hour. Paul gravitated toward the pasture where the horses were and I knew he was eager to go for a ride. He knew I wouldn't ride and didn't suggest it, but I had ulterior motives and suggested we go.

"I thought you wouldn't ride!" he said.

"I'll risk it just this once," I said, thinking of a secluded spot and soft grass. "Come on, we have to let someone know we are going and I need to go to the bathroom first."

Back in the houseAnne was at the kitchen table moaning over the hassle of writing out graduation invitations. "But I don't want to have a big family thing," she was protesting to Mom. "I never know what to say to the aunts and the uncles just drink beer and act silly!"

"I have shelled out for graduations gifts and shower gifts and wedding gifts and baby gifts and housewarming gifts for your cousins and everyone else's kids. Now it's our turn to collect and you are going to have a graduation party!" Mom said with more than a little heat.

I cringed because she had already had a major hissy fit when she realized I wasn't going to be available for the rounds of wedding showers and loot collection that was part of the wedding process. No, this was not the moment to discuss my plans for next weekend. In fact, it was a good time to disappear. I zipped into the bathroom and stuffed my pockets with Kleenex - if we could find a suitable spot for what I had in mind, I didn't want to come home all sticky.

When I came back to the kitchen, Paul was looking over Anne's graduation invitations with their personalized name cards, and handwritten notes "Reception at the house, Saturday at 7 p.m." Mom was explaining to him the rituals of graduation ceremony and receptions. "Two other cousins are graduating this year," she told him, "One is having a reception on Friday night after the graduation ceremony and the other on Sunday afternoon, so we are going to have ours on Saturday night. That way people can get to them all. With the new garage, we won't have to worry about rain and the men will all want to come to see the garage, so we should have a good turnout."

You could almost hear the cash register ringing up receipts. "And everyone will want to meet Paul," I said, pointing out the biggest reason for a record turnout.

"Well, yes, that would be nice!" Mom was finally seeing an advantage to my relationship to him. But she didn't miss a chance for a little dig, adding, "Everyone will want to see you before you leave for England, Terry. Since there won't be any wedding showers for you."

"Can we come to this, Tess?" Paul asked. Mom looked shocked at the idea that we might not be there, but I knew what he meant.

"I don't know. I don't think reporters will care about covering a graduation but we might have a lot of kids showing up."

"I'll just spread the word around school that you are leaving for England earlier in the week so you won't be here," Anne said, solving that problem easily.

"I think it will be best if everyone thinks that," I told Mom. "Just tell that to anyone who asks if we'll be there. We'll just show up and say we changed our minds and decided to stay an extra couple of days." Before she could object, I said, "Well, we are going to take the horses out for a bit," and hustled Paul out the door.

As we rode away from the house, it felt wonderful to be outside and not feel like we were being watched. Just a beautiful, sunny spring day with leaves bursting out on the trees. We passed the pasture and turned down the long field road that lead to the furthest corner of the farm. Paul spurred his horse to a gallop and thundered ahead. Reno, a bay with quarter horse ancestry but big enough to make it obvious there was more than that in the mix, was always eager to run. If he didn't get ridden every day, he got really hard to handle. He was all brawn and no brains, another indication his quarter horse blood was rather thin, but still a lot of fun to ride. I had no intention of doing the same which was probably a good thing since Snowflake didn't either. Snowflake was white and small and round - that little, part arabian horse we all started out with and outgrew quickly. Not big on speed, Snowflake only broke into a run when she was on the homestretch and the barn in sight. Snowflake was the creative thinker of the two - opening gates and devoting her energy to finding food. Today she was ambling along eyeing the fresh green smorgasbord of the fence row along side of us. I was too, looking not for lunch but for a soft bed and privacy.

There was a woods across the field, but it was thick and brambly along the edges and the tall trees would make it a chilly place. I got Snowflake moving a little faster and when I caught up with Paul at the corner, I led him along the fence row at the far end of the field. The fields rolled in gentle hills and we were soon on the far side of the woods out of sight of the house. The back corner of the field across from the woods ended with a small, lightly wooded ravine that, in the spring at least, had a little creek running through it. We dismounted, tied the horses to the fence where they could browse, and went down to the creek. Paul said nothing as we dismounted, just followed me in silence, knowing exactly why I had changed my mind about riding. He put his arms around me and took advantage of the privacy. We stood there in the leaf-dappled sunshine letting the world slip away. No fans, no reporters, no spies. Just sunshine and warm kisses, slow and gentle, until I just wanted to sink down into last fall's leaves and the spring wild flowers that carpeted the ground in soft blues and violet and white.

When I pulled him to the ground, that immediately cooled the ardor. The ground was damp and chilly. "Oh damn," I said.

"Wait," he said, and went back up to where the horses waited. Snowflake nickered her approval when he loosened her girth strap and lifted the saddle off her. He did the same with his horse and came back with the saddle blankets and spread them on the grass and that was all we needed. The ravine would be a cool haven in mid-summer but today it was warmed by the sun and protected from the soft but chilly spring breeze. The early leaves on the trees overhead provided a soft sense of shelter without blocking the sun. Spring wildflowers added a sweet scent to the rich, earthy smell of the damp ground. Birds provided a musical backdrop but aside from them, the only sound was the occasional stirring of a breeze and the faint sounds it carried from the work going on at home and a neighboring farmer's tractor as he did his spring planting somewhere out of sight. No one would bother us here. It was a spot beyond privacy. It was like an antidote to the world, its eager fans, curious reporters and prying eyes

Paul was kneeling on the blankets, sitting back on his heels, hands on his thighs, waiting for me to come to him. I stayed where I was and unbuttoned my blouse, slipped it off and tossed it on the wildflowers. He smiled. I took everything off and stood in the sunshine, letting him look until he simply held out his hand to me. I went to him and let him take me down on the blanket, feeling the warm sunshine and his warm hands all as one. I sighed with pleasure and the sound blended with the breeze-stirred murmurings of the branches overhead.

Paul had a real knack for getting me out of my clothes while retaining his own, but not today. I undressed him, tossing his clothes aside with mine and made love to every inch of his body. Sun-warmed skin touching sun-warmed skin. Yesterday had been urgent need, today was slow pleasure. We made love slowly, intently, holding and feeling every touch, every movement, every kiss to the fullest. Then, comforted, sated, half asleep, we held each other, only distantly aware of the sound of the horses chomping grass, the birds chirping, the wind stirring the branches over us.

"I love you," I whispered, waking to the tickle of a wild flower being trailed across my breast.

"You are beautiful," he said. "I am going to buy us a place in the country where I can make love to you in the sunshine whenever I want."

"Weather permitting," I laughed. "And English weather doesn't permit much."

"There's that," he conceded. "Then I'll buy a place on the Riviera. Or the Bahamas. Or an Italian villa. I just like you out of doors and naked!"

"Ummm, I like you anywhere, anytime, dressed or not!"

"Anywhere, anytime - I like that!"

The afternoon slipped away quickly and the sun's warmth faded. We reluctantly got dressed and headed home. Back at the barn, Steve wandered over as we unsaddled the horses. "Gee, old Snowflake must be in great shape. A two hour ride and she didn't even break a sweat," he observed with a knowing grin.

I helped Mom fix supper, fending off questions about how things were going at school with a "fine, fine" and a change of subject. Knowing that no one would finish their meal once Paul and I dropped our bombshell on them, I waited until dinner was well underway. I didn't want to wait until after we ate because everyone would adjourn to the living room except my sisters who would be doing dishes -- and I needed their young ears present to forestall questions about exactly what rumors the school had heard. I supposed that they could easily be ordered to leave the table if Mom or Dad wanted that information, but I couldn't do anything about that. This was the only plan I had.

So, over the meat loaf and potatoes, I told them. Leading off with "Remember that teacher I told you about, the one who was trying to make trouble for me?" I led them through the highlights of the week, mentioning only the most far out rumors about how I had slept with all of the Beatles and was on drugs. "Paul got an advisor in to help me." I didn't want to use the word lawyer, but when they didn't react with the required degree of panic I needed them to feel if they were going to accept an immediate wedding, I added it.

"He is a lawyer from Chicago," I rephrased it, "and he did some investigating and dealt with the school for me at the hearing." The Perry Mason image that conjured up got their attention. Everyone was as horrified as I had expected, and, also as expected, Mom and Dad refrained from asking about the specifics of the rumors. I let them go on for a bit, expressing their anger about how unfair all that was. When I had them all at a nice level of indignation, I explained that even though we had won the first round, I was on probation. If anything new came up, they could still block my graduation. And even after school was out, they might go to the State Board of Nursing to prevent me from taking my licensing exam.

"Wait a minute," Dad said. "How can that teacher do that. After school is out, she has no control over you."

"Dad, it wasn't just Mrs.Berghoff like I thought at first. Apparently it is a bigger group. And they have been watching my apartment and following us everywhere we go."

That brought real indignation. "Spying on you?! Who the hell are these people?"

"A group called "Citizens for Decency"

Mom gasped and looked really dismayed.

"You've heard of them?" I asked in surprise.

"Yes. We have a group at our church! It is a Catholic organization!" Mom said as if the group I described had to be from some other religion.

There was total silence.

Mom and Dad looked at each other, and I could see the incredulousness on their faces. The Church was behind what they had just pronounced as an unfair, ridiculous persecution of their daughter. My parents were not the most rabid Catholics around by any means, but they had always quietly supported the church, followed the rules, and trusted the church to determine what was right and wrong. And now a church sponsored group was holding their daughter up as a shining example of wrong. As much as they might agree that the youth of the country was going to hell in a hand basket, that kids today were losing their morals, I was still their little girl. Making a mistake maybe, but not the epitome of sin. The church had just come smack up against parental love at the dinner table.

The silence hung on, and I looked at Paul. He simply looked grim. Then Mom said in a loud pronouncement, "Well, I guess we'll have cake for desert." And she got up, went over to the refrigerator, got down the cake pan from the top of it, and brought back to the table. Slammed it down. I thought she had lost it. Finally gone over the edge. I looked at Dad and saw he thought the same. As she picked up a knife and began slashing the cake into pieces, we all sat there, looking at each other in amazement and wondering what to do. A straight jacket was at the top of my list.

Abruptly, with a snorted explosion, Anne started to laugh. If Mom had shocked us, Anne's laughter absolutely floored us. I started to get up, thinking that Anne was going to get a cake in her face momentarily, when Mom started laughing with her and collapsed in her chair in a fit of helpless laughter. It was absolutely unexpected, unbelievable, and inexplicable. It was also highly contagious. Soon everyone was fighting a losing battle with the giggles with still no idea of what was so funny. Finally Mom was able to say, "I made it for a bake sale at church tomorrow," before she dissolved in laughter again.

Anne finally straightened us out. "A fund raiser for the Citizens for Decency!" she howled, and we all fell apart. I laughed until tears were running down my face, Dad laughed himself into a coughing fit, Steve pounded on his back, Janet ran for the bathroom since giggling went straight to her bladder, and Rose and Kay tried hard to look dignified as they wheezed and held their sides. Jenny shrieked with glee and the dog barked frantically. Paul was laughing at us - and probably wondering if he was about to marry into a family with serious mental health problems. We passed around a box of Kleenex as we tried to pull ourselves together. Jenny kept us going for several more minutes by bursting out in laughter every time it looked as though we were calming down. The fact that her laughter was totally faked in an effort to keep the entertainment going made it even funnier.

After all that, it was a bit difficult to get the conversation back on track.

"Well, I don't know if they are financing their surveillance program with bake sales," I said, "but they are serious about this. I thought once they lost the battle to kick me out of school, they would stop, but they can still make big trouble for me." I took a deep breath and plunged into the heart of the matter, "As long as they are out to make trouble, I can't go to England with Paul as soon as school is out," I explained.

"Well, it is only a couple more months until you take your State Boards," Mom said, lightly, unable to hide the fact that she was glad for the delay. Probably saw it as divine intervention.

"I'm not sure but what they can cause trouble even after that," I said. "They might be able to get my license revoked. Or make enough trouble that I can't get my certificate to practice in England. There is only one way to get them off my back . . ."

Mom and Dad knew what was coming and that sobered them up quickly.

"So you want to get married," Dad concluded.

"Yes. Right away." I took a quick breath. "Friday," I said.

Their eyes moved immediately to Paul.

"I know," he said. "This isn't at all what I had promised you. But it seems to be the only way to stop these people. Once we are married, they can't accuse her of . . . immoral behavior."

"But you can't get married that quickly," Mom protested. "You have to post the banns and --"

"Mom, you're right. There isn't time for a church wedding. That will have to wait until we get to England. This will just be at the court house."

Her face was registering dismay and I hastened to add, "It will be just like we planned before except we'll have the civil ceremony here. After we get to England, we can have a priest do it over."

There was a long silence before Mom said, "But you won't really be married all that time . . ."

I tried to answer the question as gently as possible. "Not as far as the church is concerned. And that means not as far as the Citizens for Decency are concerned. But we will be legally married and that is what the Board of Nursing will look at -- and the Citizens know that."

More silence. Mom's face was losing that wounded, worried look she had worn for months. In its place was resolve and a stubborn set to her jaw that spelled trouble. This was pushing it too far.

"Mom, it is the only way I can go to England with Paul when school is out. We have to get married before I go."

"You don't have to go right away. You can stay here until after your state boards."

"We have been too far apart for too long already," I said firmly. I was going.

Steve stepped in to try to negotiate. "Why not wait until right before you leave? Then you could have a church wedding right away in England."

"I . . ." I couldn't say we didn't want to because they were keeping us from sleeping together.

Paul answered for me. "Yes, we could wait. But until we are married, they are going to be watching Tess. They have been all week. They are outside the apartment day and night, follow her wherever she goes. They even followed us here today. I know what it is like to have fans and reporters on you every minute. It gets to you, makes you feel like you have no life, much less privacy. But this is worse. These people aren't reporters or fans looking for a picture or autograph. They are out to get Tess. They want to destroy her nursing career."

He gave that a moment to sink in before he finished. "This week has been hell for her and it won't get better as long as they are after her." He shook his head. "It just isn't necessary to put her through that. If we are married they will back off."

When that didn't produce the positive response I had hoped for, I waded into the silence. "Look, Mom, no matter how or when we do it, we are going to have to have a legal ceremony first. Whether it is to throw off the reporters and fans or to keep the Citizens for Decency off my back we are going to be married outside of the Church first."

The stubborn look didn't leave Mom's face and she did not answer. Dad stepped into the silence to smooth things over a bit.  "Terry, I guess we just always thought that we would have a big we dding for our oldest daughter. Walk you down the aisle in a white dress."

"You can come to England. We can do it then."

"That is not the point!" Mom spoke up, angry and not trying to hide it. "You will be living together for months before you are really married!" Mom said, finally getting down to it. "Everyone will know it! You can't do that."

I was getting angry too. The last week had been awful and I was tired of being pushed around. "Yes we can!" I responded. "I'm twenty one and I don't need your permission--" I could hear Paul saying "Tess, don't --" but I was on a roll. My voice got louder. "And I don't need the Pope's approval either! We are getting married. We'll have a church wedding later if you want, but it is the Church who is making it impossible for us to wait! Don't you think I'd like it to be an old-fashioned church wedding? A real wedding with bridesmaids and organ music and a priest to make everyone happy? But we can't do that. I'd love to have all the bridal showers and a reception with Polka music and Uncle Larry getting tipsy and all my friends there, but that isn't going to happen either! We are getting married Friday whether you -- "

I hadn't realized I had gotten to my feet until Paul grabbed my arm and pulled me back down into my chair. "Enough," he said, half command, half plea. I looked at him and he put an arm around me and pulled close. "That's enough, love," he said more softly. "This isn't helping."

Predictably, I started to cry. I didn't seem to have any control left.

"Oh, bloody hell," Paul sighed and put both arms around me. The only sound in the room was my sniveling until Jenny started to cry, frightened by the fact that the grownups in her world had just gone nuts. Janet pulled her onto her lap, cuddling her, but Mom was in tears too. She got up and left the room. So did Dad, only he grabbed his coat and went outside. My sisters dematerialized promptly. Steve started clearing the table. Dinner was over.

"Oh bloody fuckin' hell" I heard Paul mutter under his breath.

"Sorry," I said, pulling myself together. "I guess I blew that."

"Oh, love," he said. "This is crazy. All I want is to love you and make you happy and all I have done is make you miserable. I am the one who is sorry."

"I'm not miserable," I protested with one final sniffle. "I am happy. And I am going to marry you and then we'll really be happy!"

That brought a little smile to his worried face. "Oh, honey, if you get any happier I'll never have a dry shirt!"

I started to laugh. The hell with the rest of the world. All I needed was his smile and his arms around me.

Paul groaned and leaned back in his chair. "What do we do now?"

"We leave. And get married as planned on Friday."

"If that is what you want, love."

"It is. But I have to apologize to Mom before we go."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "Don't worry," I said. "I am through yelling. And I am through trying to explain. I am just going to apologize, tell them we are going ahead with our plans, and then we'll leave."

He still looked skeptical. "Perhaps I should talk to her. You aren't your usual tactful self tonight."

"She brings out the best in me," I said with a degree of sarcasm George would have been proud of.

Paul grinned. "I think I'll step out for a smoke!"

I laughed at him. "Go ahead. I'll be out in a minute."

Relieved not to have to attend yet another scene, he got up, grabbed his jacket, kissed me quickly and headed outside.

I stalled for a couple of minutes, carrying the last few dishes from the table. Steve looked at me, shook his head, and went back to washing dishes. No help from big brother. I went looking for Mom and found her in the laundry room folding clothes with a vengeance.

"Mom, I am sorry I got so angry. This has been a terrible week. I thought sure they were going to throw me out of school. If we don't get married--"

"Are you pregnant?" she asked abruptly.

I was startled by the question and my response was a surprised and emphatic "No!"

"We don't have to get married - not like that." I explained. "I just don't know what else to do! They are watching us, Mom. It is so . . . creepy! It scares me that people can hate someone so much when they don't even know them."

That seemed to sink in and she slowed down her abuse of the towels. Encouraged, I went on. "I can't go to England with Paul and he can't hang around here for months. I don't want to be half a world away from him anymore. I know a church wedding is important to you, but I can't take this. We are going to get married and get on with our lives. I don't expect you to like it - I don't like it this way either - but I want you to be there."

Silence. The washing machine stopped, I took the clothes out and began tossing them in the dryer.

"A legal ceremony the week before to fool the reporters -- people would understand that," she said. "But this . . . I can't go along with it. It isn't a marriage in the eyes of God, and I won't be a part of it." Calm and firm and regretful. And final.

I guess I finally recognized then that she wasn't being obstructive or unreasonable just to be difficult. She was simply following the dictates of her religion and conscience. She wouldn't be at the wedding. I could feel last nights headache revving up. How it would look, what the press might do with the news that my parents had refused to attend the wedding was secondary to the simple fact that I wanted them there. This wedding was not going to be the wedding I had hoped for as it was. Without my parents it was going to be a miserable excuse for a real wedding. Worse, her refusal to attend was a line I didn't want to step over. But when it came down to it, I would. My parents were the past and Paul was the future.

I finished loading the dryer, closed the door, and set the timer. "All right," I said quietly. "I am sorry you won't be there. Will you let the girls come if they want to?"

"I don't know," she said. I waited a moment, trying to think of something else to say, but I was teetering between anger and tears. I left the room.

I picked up my jacket and purse and went out to find Paul. To my surprise, he and Dad were together, sitting on the tailgate of Dad's truck, cigarettes in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. The fresh air felt good and the sight of the two of them talking over a beer, apparently on the mellow side of peaceful coexistence, eased my heart a little. I went to them, and gave Dad a grateful hug.

"I'm sorry I got so mad. Mom won't come to the wedding on Friday," I said. "Will you?"

He hesitated and I knew the answer. Dad was not as religious as Mom, but he wouldn't come without her. "I can't do that," he said.

I nodded.

From an upstairs window, Anne called down to me, "Terry don't leave yet! Come up here!"

I sighed. She was going to want to come to the wedding and, as much as I wanted her there, I didn't know if I dared encourage her to go against Mom and Dad.

I looked at Paul apologetically. "I'll just be a minute."

"Quite all right,'"he said, reaching behind him and replacing his empty bottle with another beer. Dad had a six pack in the bed of the truck. "I could use a few more of these anyway."

Dad agreed. "I'll drink to that." He reached for another for himself and the bottle opener. "Sorry I can't offer you anything stronger."

Paul shook his head. "I don't do well with anything stronger! Three of four drinks and I'm anybody's!"

Dad replied dryly but with humor, "Well, I don't have any of that loco weed either."

Paul chuckled. "It would take a joint the size of a Havana cigar to put this to rights," Paul informed him.

That got a chuckle out of Dad and I left them watching the sun go down as they started on another beer.

Mom was in the kitchen, but I slipped past and went up to the room that I used to share with Anne. All three of my sisters were there, and as soon as I was inside, the door was shut behind me.

"We have an idea!" they all said at once.

"Would you be willing to wait until school is out to get married if it meant you could have a real wedding?" Anne asked.

"Guy's," I said wearily. "When we get to England, Paul's family will give us a big reception, but the whole wedding thing . . . there is no way---"

"Yes there is!"

"It doesn't have to be in a crummy old court house!"

"And you can wear a bridal gown and Uncle Larry can dance the polka!"

"And you can have a priest do it!"

They were all talking at once and none of it was making much sense until Anne finished up triumphantly "And I won't have everyone staring at me once they realize that they are here for a wedding!"

The light dawned. They wanted to turn Anne's graduation party into a surprise wedding.

"All the relatives will be here!"

"And we can decorate the new garage!"

"Nobody will be expecting it!"

"They won't even know Paul is going to be here!"

"You don't need invitations -- they will get invitations to the graduation party!"

"All you need to do is get a cake!"

"And you can go to England with Paul just like you planned in the first place!

"And his family can still have a big reception for you once you get there!"

"And Mom will be happy!"

"And it is only a few weeks!"

"Please?!?"

I sat down on the bed, my mind whirling. How would Mom and Dad feel about it? Better than our current plan for sure, but still . . . Sandy would be thrilled to plan something closer to a real wedding. Could we get a priest to do it this way? Would Mom let us do it if we didn't? Could we really pull this off without anyone knowing there was to be a wedding? And the really big question -- would we have to play polka music at the reception?

It was a great idea and really tempting, but the Citizens for Decency would be out there, waiting for a slip. Was it worth the risk? Did I want to wait four, no, five weeks? Paul certainly had made it clear that he didn't want to. But he also said he would if that is what I wanted. Was it worth it asking him to wait, making him stay alone at the hotel for weeks in order to have something that would feel like a wedding, like the beginning of a marriage?

An image of myself in a wedding gown settled in my mind and my heart. How right it would feel to stand in front of family and friends and say "I do"!

I looked at my sisters' eager faces, not certain what to say. It was a great idea in many ways. A way to gain Mom's cooperation, have a family wedding instead of a courthouse procedure, and a perfect cover to give us the privacy we needed. But it also meant letting the Citizens control my life for five more weeks. Making Paul stay alone at the hotel. Never being alone with him. And asking him to accept that on top of all the other trouble I had put him through so we could be together. As appealing as the idea was in many ways, I just didn't want to ask Paul to do it. We had finally agreed to be married Friday and I didn't want to sound like I had changed my mind again. I tried to explain again to my sisters why we didn't want to wait.

"We can't wait that long," I said. "They are watching me all the time just waiting for something to use against me. Besides, Paul came all this way so we could be together. Until we are married he'll end up spending most of his time in a hotel room . . . "

Anne protested, "Then he should have some say in it. You have to at least talk to him about it!"

She had me there. The stupidest thing I had ever done was not talk something out with Paul. "OK," I said. "We'll see what Paul says." I opened the window. Paul and Dad were still there. Steve had joined them.

"Paul, could you come up here for a minute?"

He looked up. "Ah, fair Juliet, thou hast but to beckon and I am there. Forsooth, thy beauty in the dying of the day maketh a foolish knave of me."

"So do a couple of beers!" I called down to him.

I heard a comment about The Taming of the Shrew from Steve and a laugh from Paul as he got up from the tailgate and moved toward the house.

We let Paul into the bedroom and he looked around and spotted the assortment of Beatles pictures on the wall over the dresser. He walked over to look at them with an amused smile on his face.

"Oh geez, this is weird!" Anne said in a hushed voice.

"Weird?" I asked. "I'll show you something even weirder! Watch." I got up from the bed and stepped over next to Paul. He looked at me questioningly. I moved closer. He wasn't sure what I was doing, but his arm automatically went around my waist and he pulled me lightly against him.

"See?" I said. "The cute one has his arm around me!"

My sisters burst out laughing and agreed that it was even weirder than just having one of them standing in our bedroom. Paul just shook his head at us and went to sit on the bed.

"What are you girls on about?" he asked.

"They have an idea," I began. I sat him down on the bed and laid the idea out for him, carefully trying to present it neutrally. Pro's and con's. "It is just one possibility we didn't discuss," I said.

He listened quietly, and when I finished with "What do you think," he just smiled agreeably and said "If that is what you want to do."

Paul was generally easy going but this was a bit much. "How many beers have you had?" I asked, laughing at him.

He held the bottle in his hand up to the light. "One and . . . ahh . . . three fifths. How many times do you plan on getting married in your life?"

"Once!"

"Well, love, then I think you had better make the most of your one and only wedding."

It occurred to me about then that I had really put him on the spot here. How could he say "No" and not come off sounding as if he was more concerned about the inconvenience to him than any other aspect of the situation? Was he holding back his real feelings in order not to seem the bad guy here?

"Hold on," I said to him. "This is more complicated than that. You don't want to wait for another month, and neither do I, not with the Citizens breathing down my neck. I know I have been dragging my feet, but I still think we should go ahead and get married Friday like we planned."

"That was before we knew your parents won't attend," Paul pointed out.

There was a group "Oh, no!" from my sisters who hadn't been around to hear this final part of the discussion with Mom.

"Then we can't be there either!" Rose said.

Paul went on very seriously. "Love, you're the one taking the risk by waiting. It is your nursing career so it's your decision. Besides, if there is a chance for a compromise with your Mum, you have to consider it. All I want is to end up married to you."

I sat down next to him on the bed, thinking hard. Was it worth waiting in order to have a big family wedding and my parents blessing? That was a big consideration, but so was worrying about what the Citizens for Decency might do and never being alone with Paul. Nevertheless, the nasty reality was that getting married only removed the issue of current and ongoing sex with Paul. There was still the possibility they would learn of our unchaperoned trip to Scotland. And John. And if all that fell through for them, they could always go back and try the drug association stuff. I was no where near as sure as Paul and Harry that wouldn't work. Even after I got my license, a drug bust would get it revoked. Paul had promised there would be no drugs at the house, and he wouldn't drop acid again, but he had not said he would stop smoking pot. Drugs, sex, and rock and roll. My nursing license was going to be in jeopardy anyway. I sighed. "Why does this have to be so complicated?   I just want to get married like any other girl."

"If you want this, then I want it for you," Paul said.

I looked at him, unable to make a decision even with his willingness to go along with whatever I wanted.

He put the beer down on the floor, turned to face me, and took my hands in his. "Look Tess . . . I guess I always thought that whoever I married was going to be one lucky girl," he went on quietly. "Marrying a Beatle, and all. But with everything that has happened to us, I see it differently now. I can give you the fancy life, but the price is high. For me being famous is pretty much worth it. I like what I do. But for you, it has been nothing but trouble. At school, now this with your parents. So, I want to give you the house in the country, the villa, a Jaguar or Rolls, whatever you want. Including a perfect wedding."

I put my arms around him. "Oh, Paul, you don't have to do any of that. Just love me, that's all I want!"

"You got that. I just want to make you as happy as you make me."

I kissed him - a reserved kiss because of our audience, but I had to do it.

"Remember the first time you kissed me?" I asked.

"Of course. Moonlight and roses."

"It was perfect," I said and he nodded in agreement

"And Scotland?" I asked.

"Oh yes!" he said. If Anne still wondered if we had been having sex, now she knew not only the answer but the time frame and location.

"And the day you asked me to marry you, the way you asked. It was --"

"Perfect?" he finished for me with a smile.

"Yes. So I don't need a perfect wedding. I've got all that and you."

"Are you sure, love? It is the only wedding you'll ever have. And you and Sandy are right. We shouldn't do it because of them, we should do it for us. They way we want it."

Two images fought in my mind. A dingy government office and Paul and I in street clothes. Mike - if he could make it, Brenda and Mark and Sandy. Steve and Janet would come, but not Mom and Dad and they probably wouldn't allow my sisters to be there. That scene competed with the big new garage full of flowers, music, and family. Bridesmaids, a priest, real vows. Mom and Dad looking happy in front of the guests no matter what misgivings they still might have. Waiting meant being watched, risking more trouble, sneaking away for sex or going without it. But sitting here tonight, sated with the afternoon' s lovemaking, it didn't sound so awful. We could live without sex for a few days and when we needed to be alone we would find a way. Paul could still spend his days at the apartment as he had the last week - he wouldn't be stuck in the motel all the time. I was hurting inside over the fight with Mom and afraid of what walls might go up forever if we went ahead with the civil ceremony. And it all might be for nothing. My nursing career might be short anyway. It really wasn't a hard decision after all. "I want a wedding," I said.

My sisters cheered and Paul was rewarded with a four sister hug which he tried his manly best to return.

We trooped downstairs, reassembled the family in the living room and presented the idea.