I would have to be a bit more tactful then just yanking her out by her hair or bitching her out in front of our many admirers. No, I needed to do this with a sense of dignity and class associated with Brain's image of "The Beatles." I didn't want anyone to think poorly of my character either so all in all I would have to keep this decent for these sakes alone.
"Why don't we discuss this privately?" I asked humbly, "One scene is more than enough for today."
"What you don't want everyone to see you make an ass of yourself? I guess that would be most appropriate," she sighed regaining her refined persona, "shall we."
Together we gracefully hooked arms and stepped out into the hallway like a royal couple at a banquet. Aside from the giant maroonish, stain on her dress we might have looked like royalty. I quickly buttoned up my shirt as a breeze from the hallway cascaded over my bare chest. The hallway was empty, a good sign and the noise from our room was loud enough that no would probably come after us unless yelled as loud as gunfire. I stepped away from her for a moment to drink in the total affect of her presence. Her black once beehive hair had been straightened out and now reflected that of the mod flip. I began to doubt the reason I stepped out into the hall, my first mistake.
"Who the fuck do you think you are acting all innocent and loving just to get me in your divan?" she whispered loudly.
"Divan?" I asked confused, "Don't you mean bed? I guess it doesn't matter one way or the other because I wasn't actin all cute and polite just to get into your knickers. Perish the thought, I was sweet and polite to get into your heart, I can't help that by default I got into your knickers."
"Sure all you wanted to do was get into my heart so you could manipulate it to hell and then fuck with me," she shot back bitterly, "I warned myself to watch put for your sort. Hell, I even told you flat out and called you on your bullshit."
"But no you pull those damn fake tears on me and I go all weak in the knees," she said disgustedly, "my brain kept telling me he's only using me but my heart wouldn't let me leave without finding out first hand, what heartache feels like."
"I'm a damn idiot for falling for those fake bullshit stories of true love and the lot of that," she said straining her voice, "everyone knows that they aren't real but delude themselves that it can happen to them if they only work for it."
"Why do you have such a big problem trustin people?" I begged, "it's only gonna hurt you in the long run. No one wants to be with a woman who doesn't trust anyone including herself. It's a rather big turn off and it doesn't speak very highly of your intellect."
"It all has to revolve around sex doesn't it?" she yelled sorely, "no I shouldn't change my lack of trust in people to be a better person but to be a more desirable woman with better chances of getting laid or having a boyfriend."
"I was only stating an example of logic," I argued, "Not the bleedin bible of the subject. Why do you get offended by the lil'est things?"
"It's no business of yours," she cried, "or at least for the time being. If the situation changes I'll let you know."
"Oh yeah I forgot you don't trust anyone so you're not about to tell me anythin that could be considered the least bit personal," I cut deeply.
"I'm the bad guy for not telling the man who tore my heart apart, secrets that he can later use to get me back into the sack," she twisted sarcastically, "no I should DEFINITELY tell the man who treats me like another one of his many concubines the deepest most personal constituents of my being."
"You act like I put you in emotional trauma that will haunt you for the rest of your life," I pointed out, "quit bein so damn melodramatic."
"Oh I'm the one going for an academy award when you're the one who fucks with people's mind to get a good lay," she snapped, "considering the shit I'm going through for fucking you I wouldn't consider my actions that melodramatic."
"Woe is me, I was manipulated by a rock star because I let my guard down and acted like a woman for a couple hours," I teased, "damn him and his pretty face. I want to be the big strong girl who acts like a feminist just to get more attention since anorexia didn't work."
"You shouldn't mock feminism," she growled angrily, "you might dig a ditch you can't crawl out of one day."
"I wasn't mockin feminism," I explained, "I was mockin the women who PRETEND to understand the ideals associated with it. You might be intelligent but quite frankly your actions don't scream feminist. I don't know too many feminists who jump at the opportunity to have sex with hundreds of anonymous partners that don't respect their body. Do you?"
"Just because I am more liberal when it comes to my body than most feminist are doesn't mean I don't agree with their other ideals such as equality in the workplace, sexual harassment, and other less popular grievances with our current society," she fired.
"Feminism has come a long ways from World War I and I bet its going to play an even greater impact in our current decade," she daydreamed, "you wait and see it will happen right before your eyes. Women have waited long enough and it's going to happen in our lifetimes, I can just feel it."
"Easy there," I hushed, "the feminist movement has been going on a lot longer than that. Nevertheless, it hasn't actually had much progress until the later two hundred years or so. I think we might have to wait a lil' longer before the world as a whole is ready to accept those kind of radical believes."
"I would hardly consider being treated equal as radical," she gasped, "why are men so stubborn when it comes to loosing power."
"I merely said that the ideas were radical because for centuries men have had absolute power and the tides are starting to shift," I noted, "you can't change hundreds of years of thinking in one day. Hell, you can't do it in five years so I wouldn't plan on gettin my hopes to high."
"I can't see you thinkin highly of feminism if you want to keep your monopoly on easy women who do what they're told," she commented, "just doesn't seem to fit your image, I guess."
"Why do all women think alike?" I muttered, "You think they would get tired of askin the same questions or concludin the same things."
"What you got asked the same question twice today so now ALL women think alike?" she snickered, "I wonder what's wrong with that logic."
"No it isn't just today," I started, "they all instantly think the worst of men and wait for an outcome so they can move their judgment from there. What ever happened to the benefit of the doubt or optimism?"
"They disappeared with the Great Bank robbery of 1906," she smiled, "optimism is a thing of the past in a society where you have two choices; kill or be killed."
"Those are pretty bad choices if you ask me," I commented, "when did we become such a fast paced society?"
"Thank heavens we're in Europe and not in America they take fast paced livin to the extreme," she said to herself, "I bet in about twenty years they'll have the most heart-attacks from all the stress they create for themselves."
"I don't even want to think about that," I shuddered, "I suppose I like my carefree image of America too much to let reality alter it."
"Well reality is bound to catch up with you sooner or later," she pointed out, "I would hate to be in your shoes when it does."
"Well it's arranged for half past eight so you better get movin," I teased, "oh you're too late. The horror, the horror, nothin in life's worth livin now that I know the HORRIBLE truth." Somehow, I couldn't remember why I was angry any more. The hall lights dimmed as one of the bulbs lost its last spark to the decaying night. Annabel moved into my arms eager to feel our bodies caressed together. I suppose the hall chill seemed more intense with the darker surroundings. The white off her dress shimmered in the black as we swayed to the music barely audible from the deserted hallway. Her breath staggered against my neck as we made direct eye contact. We didn't drift apart or lean in like the typical movie scenarios. We just stood there frozen in time and the moment surrounding it. The daze was plastered to our faces like the statues of Greek mythology. Stone without feeling or sense of the outside world around us; reality did not exist because we did not search for it. It never ends because it is always remembered and the memory of things passed is the only truth known.
Most people can't recollect what happens to them when they stand still for any length of time. I however, am beyond those who can't feel time the incident lasted a full six minutes and seven seconds. Our hearts beat in unison approximately three hundred and seventy times. We connected mentally, emotionally, and physically through our eyes but mostly though the steady beat that sank us in sublime rhythm. What caused me to care of these pointless details I know not. Only that I was impressed to count them to reflect on in the future.
A single kiss flamed our pent up passion from the first encounter, or rather my first memory of France. Like a single rose whose impact is greater than that of a dozen because it stands alone, a sole comforter to the person in need.
"We should go back to the party," she whispered backing away into the frame behind her until the white blended in, camouflaging in the background, as I stood there confused. All that was left of the conversation was a small red circle that faded as she disappeared into the crowd. I didn't chase her but calmly walked into the room as if I had never left. There were more important things to take care of like finding Ms. Stevens. I quickly turned into the room where my quest last ended prior to my infatuation in the hallway. Her laugh, her laugh echoed in the distance but also in the nearness of my heart. Her smile, her smiled shone in every inch of the room but it was reserved for only me. I stopped gaping as best I could and composed myself to enter her company. Only a few feet away but a good, entrance is essential.
"Hello," I squeaked out before coughing and sinking into a more suitable voice, "I haven't seen you in a while."
"Well I have been the life of the party," she teased, "why don't you come sit down over here with me?"
"Well if you insist," I grinned, "looks like I'll be crampin your style though. Guess you don't get much of a choice."
"There you go turning my charity into your advantage," she smiled, "I shouldn't be surprised. If you didn't do anything for yourself than you wouldn't be a Beatle would you?"
"Or a man," I said seriously, "no, I just like twistin what people say. Then again I don't make it into the sport Lennon does."
"John's mastered the art of shrewd sarcastic perverseness," she commented, "no one will ever come close. He must have been born without a soul, or at least a conscience."
"John can be a bit of a prick," I agreed, "but he's a nice guy under all that bullshit. Trust me you have to dig pretty deep to find it but when you do John becomes a totally different much more complex person with HUMAN feelings."
"The way you describe it you almost seem sarcastic," she confessed, "I would hate to think what you say about me behind my back."
"Me and John tease each other all the time," I explained, "It's all in fun and games. Both of us know the other is only kiddin."
"How does that make me exempt from your rude hurtful remarks?" she reminded, "just cause you and John have a teasing relationship doesn't mean that I'm not an ugly old bat who forces you to be seen with her."
"You don't force me to be seen with you," I said in earnest, "Mr. Muir does."
"You can be a real bastard you know that," she said teasingly, "and to think I thought you were a gentlemen under that visage of bullshit you feed everyone. Oh well, even I make mistakes once in a while."
"All these false accusations are going to make me cry myself to sleep if you don't stop," I whined, "when will the rudeness end. When will I receive the pleasure of escorting the life of the party onto the crystal dance floor so I can dream about it every night for the rest of eternity..."
"If you shut up now I might consider it," she grinned, "for about two seconds. No I like both my feet so I'm gonna have to decline."
"For shame accusing me of steppin on your beautiful feet," I argued, "It just so happens that I'm the suavest dancer this side of Liverpool."
"That's not a bit of an understatement," she laughed sarcastically, "well I wouldn't want to pass up an opportunity like that. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did."
"You won't regret it," I paused, "or at least until two in the mornin when the blisters on your feet start to kick in."
"Why, cause you stepped on them so much," she snickered, "or is it because you plan on dropping me in the middle of the Tango?"
"Sticks and stones can break my bones but word will never hurt me," I chanted, "they will only scar me emotionally for the rest of my life causin me to be a depressed bitter twisted individual who will go on a killin spree."
"Can't wait to read that one in the papers," she said dreamingly, "Beatle goes on killing spree after conversation with anonymous woman. I can taste the hate mail already."
"And to think it all could have been prevented if you only danced one measly lil dance for two minutes of your life," I said solemnly.
"Well looking at my options..." she dwindled, "I guess you better steal those two minutes of my life away. But I'm warning you I'm probably gonna want them back so you better be able to make up for them."
"Of coarse my lady," I teased, "I will take two minutes off my life and give them to you but I don't know why you'd want them personally."
She slipped her delicate palm into my perspiring hand as Nat King Cole melted into a beautiful slow song. Just looking at her makes me forget everything except she is in MY arms, dancing a slow song with ME. Jealous eyes wandered around the room at US, the budding couple. Each step I leaned in closer, closer, closer, until her breath hissed at the back of my neck. She became the air I breathed, her arms became the ropes that bound me, and her smile became my saving grace, my happy escape from the blissful reality around me. I didn't want the moment to end as sappy as that might sound but the memory of it will be one to cherish on the many road trips ahead. As soon as the final chord rang from the speakers, she jumped back like a deer from a moving car.
"I guess you weren't fibbing about being a good dancer," she said waveringly, "why don't we go sit back at the table."
"Sure," I agreed not wanting to cause her any displeasure, "Looks like Lennon's invaded it though." John smiled ignoring us and continued talking
"There is a man who has three girlfriends, but he does not know which one to marry," John explained, "So he decides to give each one £1000 and see how each of them spends it."
The first one goes out and gets a total make over with the money. She gets new clothes, a new hairdo, manicure, pedicure, the works, and tells the man, "I spent the money so I could look pretty for you because I love you so much."
The second one went out, bought new golf clubs, a record player, a tellie, and other fab electronics, and gave them to the man. She says, "I bought these gifts for you with the money because I love you so much."
The third one takes the £1000 and invests it in the stock market, doubles her investment, returns the £1000 to the man and reinvests the rest. She says, "I am investing the rest of the money for our future because I love you so much."
"So which one does he marry?" John smiled cleverly.
"I think he marries the one who gave him his money back by investing it in stock," Ms Stevens argued, "She's smart and obviously rich."
"No I disagree," George coughed, "I think he married the one who bought him the tellie. That a woman who will buy things for him and not herself in the future."
"I think he marries the one who got the makeover," Ringo pointed out, "she is obviously the one who looks the hottest."
"So which one does he marry," I pressed curious myself to see how the end of this riddle went.
"The one with the big tits," John said nonchalantly. A smile crept up on my face as the rest of the table burst out into laughter.
"That's terrible," Ms. Stevens said with a look of distaste on her face, "but I suppose it fits your personality."
"Aren't you bein a lil' harsh on me?" John said giving the most innocent face, he could muster.
"Yeah you can't change a lifetime of perversion in one swoop," George laughed, "gettin John to behave is like getting a nun to commit adultery with a married man."
"Why is everyone pickin on me all of the sudden," John cut angrily, "I resent that remark."
"More like represent that remark," Ringo snickered, "didn't you fuck that nun down in Glasgow not to long ago?"
"I guess he can behave after all," I added, "or at least he did once in his life. You know after you fuck a nun that you're pretty much damned to hell."
"I'm way ahead of you on that one," John replied, "I already got me a one way ticket for some of the shit I did as a teenager. But who believes in hell anyway."
"What did I tell you about offending people and being blasphemous in public?" Mal hinted, as John looked him in the eyes.
"To keep it to meself," John sighed, "but no one heard me so I don't think that they'll get offended by what I said."
"Doesn't matter if they heard you or not you can't do it in public," Neil agreed looking at John with equally as much fire in his eyes.
"Yeah God can hear me even if others can't," John said sarcastically, "please don't strike me dead I was lead astray. I'm a good boy I am just easily manipulated."
"Well if that wasn't the biggest lie I ever heard," Ms. Stevens smiled, "just be glad you're not Pinocchio or your nose would be bigger than Ringo's."
"Since when did everyone change from picking on John to picking on me?" Ringo asked roughly.
"Yeah there's no sport in pickin on Ring it's to easy," George said clearing his throat, "like shootin fish in a barrel."
"I can tell when I'm not appreciated," Ringo said snootily throwing his nose in the air, "I say we mutiny on their asses and make them feel bad about themselves. What do you think John?"
"Yeah cause it's not nice to make fun of people," John echoed, "You stupid bloody nipple with the biggest honker I've ever seen. Oh wait I'm on your side today. I feel so strange, so naked."
"Well as long as it's not one of those nightmares where you're naked I doubt that'll be much of a problem mate," George assured.
"I dream about bein naked all the time," John proclaimed, "except I'm usually in the middle of some kinky foreplay or other sexual activities."
"Here we go again down the smut train," Mal sighed, "it's a wonder I can take you out anywhere with those manners. It's all about sex when it comes to the four of you."
"It's not all about sex," Ringo defended, "you couldn't possible forget alcohol, ciggies, and gamblin."
"Oh I don't want to get into your other various character flaws," Mal said exhaustedly, "I would turn forty before I got done with John."
"Hey," John yelled, "It would take a whole lot fuckin longer than forty just to talk about me troubled childhood. I don't think you give me enough credit for how bloody malicious I am."
"Evil is sort of an understatement for what you are. Don't you think?" I pointed out teasingly.
"Yeah well when they some up with a stronger adjective I will be more than obliged to use it but for now I am stuck with this one," John growled.
"Well when you die the new adjective for extreme wickedness will be John but until then we're kinda fucked," Ringo blurted.
A girl nearby gasped, "How can you use language like that? I bet even a sailor would blush if he heard such things."
"Yeah Ring," John hollered, "watch your fuckin language you bloody bastard. To think he kisses his fuckin mother with all that crap flyin out of his damn mouth."
"Well not the way you used to snog yours Lennon," George snickered at John's intended sarcasm directed at that uptight bitch.
"No one can top that I'm afraid," Ring coughed, "but then again we should probably stop cause we wouldn't want to open up any wounds, as easy as that might be?"
"Real sensitive Rich," John shot back, "I mean I was totally feelin the deep feminine roots from within. When did you get so sensitive and deep?"
"It all began when I was seven and I was at the hospital at the time I think..." Ringo started.
"I was only kiddin. You don't have to take me so seriously all the time you know," John replied.
"For someone who was only kiddin you can't seem to take a hint when someone is playin along with you," Ringo snarled.
"You know I can dish it out but I can't take it," John squealed before burying his face in his hands with fake moans like crying.
"There, there John," Ringo said sarcastically resting a hand on his shoulder, "everything is going to be alright."
"One day at a time Ringo, one day at a time," he said with an exaggerated sniffle. I slowly felt myself tuning the lads out and daydreaming about Ms. Stevens. I had been calling her Ms. Stevens so long I couldn't remember what her real name was. I think it was the only thing hazy about that first encounter even though I distinctly remember hearing Mrs. Muir call her it as she dashed down the stairs. I suppose it shouldn't be on my list of number one concerns at the moment since she didn't want me to call her by it but it still haunts me that I don't know. To think I was in England only four days ago but so much had happened around me I felt like I was spinning in circles on a plane right before you crash. My love life was only that much worse but I usually just let those thoughts drop to the back of my mind. They had good company with Jane I suppose but then again she was my girlfriend a major factor of my love life.