I blinked again hoping that it was a horrible dream and the face right before my eyes was merely a figment of my imagination from an evening to good to be true. Unfortunately, such was not the case because there she stood wine glass and all.
"It seems I came at a bad time," she yelled violently and threw her empty wine glass to the floor. The piercing shattering woke Ms. Stevens from that dreamlike state of perfection as our once beautiful romance shattered into pieces along with it. She turned her head to see what all the commotion was about as the grim face finally focused to the shape of Jane Asher.
"What was I thinking?" she cried out loudly to herself, "What possessed me to think you would want to see me when you could be here by yourself fucking all the girls you want to your hearts content?"
"I haven't fucked anyone since I got here," I growled bitterly, "You're gettin overly upset over nothin. Don't you trust me?"
"I hope that was a rhetorical question because if girls ever got wind of some of the shit I put up with they would run away from you in horror," she screamed, "why should I trust you anyway? This isn't the first time I have seen you in the arms of another woman. I'm much to good to be dealing with a selfish egotistical bastard like you."
"Maybe I should leave," Ms Stevens whispered quietly, "it looks like I have caused more than enough problems for one night."
"Gee, she's a real bright one, Paul," Jane said sarcastically, "I mean she can take a hint and everything. Paul mostly goes for the more ditsy brainless blond bombshells that like to fuck. I'm glad that YOU'RE not one of them."
"I don't know exactly what relationship you have to Paul," Ms. Stevens said more assertively, "but if I was him I wouldn't want anything to do with a stuck up bitch like yourself. But I refuse to stoop to your lower class level so I will exit gracefully."
"Typical melodramatic drama queen," Jane laughed snottily, "what you could possibly see in garbage like that I don't know but I am dreadfully sorry for not acting my normal ladylike self."
"Yes you are quiet the lady," I muttered, "but I don't really think this is the sort of place where we should be speakin about our relationship if you know what I mean."
"What did I tell you about that dreadful speaking habit of yours?" she whined in an overly high-pitched angry tone.
"To end words with the proper suffixes like -ing," I repeated like a onogram record, "you can't make a Liverpudlian change that habit over night. I've never spoken that way and I don't plan on changin for you."
"There you go again," she said exasperated, "honestly I don't know how I can even take you in public with that awful hideous accent. Why can't you use a more posh London accent? You'll never get anywhere with my parents if you don't at least TRY to change it."
"I shouldn't have to change who I am just to impress your parents," I said bitterly, "I had to work hard to get to where I am today, it wasn't just handed to me like other people who shall remain nameless."
"I worked to get where I am today too," she said defiantly, "it wasn't just handed to me on a silver platter like you think. What's got you in such a foul mood anyway? I go out of MY way to come visit you and congratulate you on your number one in America and all you do is insult me."
"I'm not goin out of my way to insult you," I commented, "I'm just sayin that things weren't as easy for me as they are for you. Why don't we stop fightin and just enjoy what's left of the party okay? We can yell and rant and rave at each other later but lets try and be civil around our guests."
"Alright," she agreed gathering her composure, "we can talk about things later, but for now I will put on a happy face. Don't think I will forget about it later because I am more angry at you than you can possibly comprehend."
"Did we miss a barnie?" John asked wiggling his eyebrows, "I thought I heard the remnants of a cat fight a brewin. But then our lil' Jane would never do something as unladylike as hitting another woman would she?"
"Of coarse not," Ringo defended playfully, "you must have been IMAGININ it because Jane would NEVER raise her voice in public."
"Knock it off," Jane said unamused by their playful jostling, "Paul, why don't you join me over by the punch bowl so we can be alone?"
"Ooh looks like our lil' Jane wants to give Paul a welcome home gift," George snickered, "by the looks of it Paul is glad to see you too."
"Cheeky," I called out as I walked next to Jane with an arm around her waist. Ms. Stevens was nowhere to be found as I scanned the room intently looking for her beaming face. Jane was the last person I wanted to deal with right now especially since I was truly discovering myself and what I wanted in women. Perhaps I would be ready to commit sooner than I thought if things kept looking up the way they had been the past few
days. Still as I reflect what has happened in the past few days I can't help but feel even more confused than when I was in my meaningless relationship with Jane.
"Why did you pull me aside?" I smiled innocently, pouring her a glass of punch. I steadied my hand as best as possible waiting, waiting, and waiting... for her to explode in my face. I watched the clock on the wall move in slow motion as I stood breathlessly waiting for that first eruption of how my friends didn't treat her like a lady. Moreover, how there were better opportunities for me to become more refined if I would spend less time with them and more with her.
"I've told you time and time again how John is absolutely distasteful and vulgar and how you shouldn't spend time with him outside your job," she steamed, "don't you listen to me? And I also think it would be in your best interest to spend more time with me than your friends who seem to be finding more than their share of it."
"Is that some kind of threat?" I asked indignantly, "because if you plan on ultimatuming this relationship with you or my friends you will find yourself very much alone. They will always take first place no matter who the woman is at my side so I wouldn't be expecting special treatment."
"Oh look whose being all high and mighty about their job and friends being there main priority but then has absolutely no respect for mine," she snarled, "but then it's perfectly alright that you be a hypocrite on the issue because you're a man and men can do whatever they please. Why don't you tell me to stay at home and pump out babies for the next ten years while you're at it? Never mind you would rather fuck a hundred groupies every day for the next ten years and then when your handsome looks are failing you; you can settle down and have your family. Well if you keep treating me like this I might not stick around long enough to let that happen."
"When did I say that your friends aren't important," I erupted, "I only said that I didn't plan on leaving mine for a woman. I never said you had to be at my beck and call. Besides, what's so bloody awful about stayin home long enough to actually have a relationship. Between my tours and your plays, we hardly even see each other. Eventually one of us is going to have to step out of the lime light and let me be the first to tell you I'm not budgin one inch."
"I thought that's what you'd say," she cut bitterly, "you only look after yourself McCartney. Heaven forbid that my career means ANYTHING to you since you have your "band." You might be the greatest thing now but music changes faster than the flick of a switch so I wouldn't expect it to last any length of time."
"So now the truth comes out about what you think of MY career, huh," I snapped angrily, "well don't think that actresses aren't flavors of the month either because if you don't than you are blind to the world around you. Those good looks won't last forever and when they see what a horrible actress you really are than you'll be lucky to get a job as a waitress because no one will want to hire a hack like you."
"I can't believe that's what you think of me," she said sounding completely shocked, "you think that I'm only a good body so that's why people hire me? Well I'll have you know that I have more talent in acting right now than you'll ever have in a lifetime with music."
"I'm an ACTREESS and you my egomaniac boyfriend are eye-candy," she breathed in deeply, "for a band whose sole purpose is to exploit with cheesy merchandise in the new American market now that you're number one. Well congratulations Paul I wish you the best of success throwing yourself at a bunch of helpless teenagers that just want a piece of the money and fame associated with the fad known as the Beatles. I hope you're happy when all is said and done because I am the best that you're ever going to get."
"Let's stop beatin around the bush here and say what we really mean," I yelled, "what you really want to say is we're fuckin over and I couldn't possibly agree more. Datin you couldn't be more awkward or a waist of time so why don't we end it all now. Just move our separate ways and see who the real asshole is."
"You want it to be over? Good," she shouted back, "I couldn't be happier than to get rid of a slob like you. Now I won't have anyone holding back my career so I can become an even more serious actress. You'll come crawling back in a matter of weeks and then I'll have the luxury of throwing it back in your face."
"The only one whose goin to crawl back is you so I wouldn't gloat so much over somethin that isn't goin to happen," I returned slightly louder, "I bet you won't even last one week without me."
"Well be surprised when no one takes back your calls because I'm not the easy pushover you make me out to be," she lashed out holding back the tears welling in her eyes. She walked out of the room with her head erect as if the conversation had never happened and the many spectators were simply imaginary figments in her tortured mind. All their eyes were focused on an invisible stain one the right side of my shirt as I quietly shut the door to the outside ledge.
The anger that has once consumed me rushed out as quickly as it had begun as I looked out into the night sky. Now that Ms. Stevens was not there to compare the stars with they appeared brighter, almost cheery in my darkening soul. The circus might have been over for the time being but I had a strange intuition we would be a "happy" couple again in a matter of hours. This wasn't the first time we had blown up at each other after a few minutes of insults flying back and forth after only a few minutes. A picture almost identical to this one happened three days before New Years Eve of 1963. She had some crazy idea about wanting to come and surprise me at one of our Christmas shows. Well when she walked into the room backstage and saw me with my arms wrapped around another woman she was more than mortified. I can see it all vividly still but the sound vanishes with time, as do the consequences involved with the memory.
I felt like crying as I slumped my head in my hands and thought of how perfect the night had been until that episode. I felt so alive, so invigorated, so in love I thought I would bust like a balloon over inflated. A hand pressed down on my shoulder as tears slipped down my pale cheek. The other hand offered a silk handkerchief with embroidered daisies along the edges. I nodded my thanks because I did not have the strength to muster any words. I stared at the delicate pattern and realized that whoever had handed me this token of appreciation was obviously female. Still I did not have the courage to look them in the eye and blew my nose trying to avoid the inevitable confrontation. My hand began to shake with the cold night air so I dug it into my empty pockets.
"I do hope you're feeling better," whispered the soft, sweet feminine voice. "Can I have my hanky back now, please?" I turned to look up at my comforter but I can't express how shocked I was to see her standing there like a shadow only two feet away; Helga. I was a bit skeptical on why she was being so pleasant towards me when George seemed wrapped up with her only a few hours ago. I suppose he had gotten tired of her so she was trying her luck with the other lads. If she were playing her cards right she would have went for John first. John doesn't turn down many offers... especially those involved with cheap, easy sex.
"You look like you saw a ghost," Helga said tenderly, "and you're ghastly pale too. Why don't you come inside and put your problems behind you for a while?"
"No, I am quite good out here," I defended while blowing my nose one last time. "The fresh air is really helpin to sooth my soul. Besides, I couldn't possibly go in there after the scene I caused only a few minutes ago. That's practically suicide and I don't feel that worthless, or at least for the time bein. Walkin in there right now would reopen all that
anger, hate, sorrow, and depression and once is more than enough for a lifetime. "
"Well you shouldn't seclude yourself just because you're EMBARASSED by what happened," she explained. "Then you would be admitting your guilt and every one would treat you strangely. It's all a mental thing really, just act like you did before it happened and no one will even notice."
"For an almost legal adult you're rather intelligent," I smiled sarcastically. "Oh I'm sorry you're nineteen, right. Yes I feel so silly sayin your almost legal when the TRUE circumstances are so much clearer."
"Shame on you for mocking me," she said flabbergasted, "but if you can keep a secret I will tell you my real age. I think I can trust you and you're a smart man so I know you won't do anything stupid if I did."
"Of coarse not," I said insultedly, "what on earth would I do if I knew your age? I certainly wouldn't tell anyone. Especially if I wanted you to keep my secret about sheadin a few tears of loneliness out on the balcony."
"So it's all about you, huh," she asked rhetorically, "men are so selfish. But you can't live with them and you can't live without them."
"Here, here," I laughed, "and the same applies to women if we're being brutally honest. You never said how old you were but let's stop the small talk and move on to more interesting things."
"Well I did promise," she replied stubbornly, "and what kind of woman would I be if I didn't keep my promise? On second thought, you had better not answer that I might be offended if I knew the REAL truth. My real age is seventeen so I only added those two years for good measure."
"Techniquely now that I know your real age I can't do anything, love," I pouted. "Unless I'm absolutely positive your parents aren't goin to have me locked up in some French prison. I can see it now Paul McCartney beheaded for havin sex with a minor. What a way to go, eh?"
"I'm sure you would think so if you gave me a chance to show you," she whispered seducingly, "who said I wanted to have sex with you anyways? You said you wanted to move onto more interesting things, not quite the same. But who knows maybe I will have sex with you if I feel like it, besides you can't get in any trouble with my parents if I'm an orphan."
"I'm deeply sorry for your loss," I said sympathetically, "but at the same time rather relieved that we can move forward without any legal confrontation, that is if you want to."
"Well, I'm not to sure if I want to NOW," she emphasized teasingly, "but a few minutes ago I began to have some doubts. So why don't you be a good boy and make me change my mind again?"
"How's this for starters," I said shoving my tongue gently down her throat. She seemed surprised by it, I suppose she was expecting a witty romantic comeback but I always felt action was more appropriate at a time like this. It was the animal instincts inside me I guess or as Sigmund Freud called it the id.
Anyways I engulfed her with several slightly wet kisses before my hands traveled down her long spine. As they made their way back up, they gently breezed against her brazier, which only increased our passion. I unhooked her bra as if it was an art form, one thing I had rather good skill at come to think about it. Yes, I could manipulate the best of them and have their bra off in a matter of five minutes. No woman could resist the McCartney charm, or as the lads like to refer to it, the McCartney lies.
At first glance that might appear egotistical and in part I suppose it is, but I have never met a woman I couldn't seduce. So do I really have an ego problem if what I am saying is the truth? I pulled back dramatically slow as her lips sucked the night air to compensate for the lack of breathing during the whole experience.
"You have my permission to take me to your chambers," she said exhaustedly, "but you're going to have to carry me if we kiss like that again."
"Well by the looks of it you're not that heavy so I'll have to risk it," I said before lunging a second time on the more expecting victim. The passion began to heat up the cold air as she stumbled onto the lawn chair out on the balcony. As her face looked back up at me, I had to blink twice before I noticed that I was kissing Helga and not Ms. Stevens. I felt ridiculous kissing this teenager in the winter moonlight when there was a woman I wanted much more, no, no, no, a woman I NEEDED more. Somewhere along the line my mind must have been so focused on Ms. Stevens, I must have forgotten whom I was flirting with. I looked at the web I spun around myself and prayed that I could make it out in one piece.
"Why don't we go inside for a while?" I asked nervously after abruptly pulling away from her, "it's gettin rather cold out here don't you think?"
"Sure, whatever you say," she replied before trying to plant more kisses on my lips. I however kept my distance from her as we walked into the bustling room. I quickly sat down with the other Beatles hoping for strength in numbers at what I was about to say to her. I was a nervous wreck, fidgeting like a twelve year old whose friends told him they found one of their father's Playboys and planned to look at it after school. Still no one paid much attention to my continual twitching as Helga came over to make her presence known.
"There you are," she smiled wrapping an arm around me possessively, "I'm ready for you to show me your bed chambers, Mr. McCartney, that is if you're man enough. Don't be foolish like George here you turned down a perfectly good chance to get laid over some stupid bet thing he mumbled about all night."
"You git," John yelled at George, "you gave up a perfectly good opportunity to fuck her so you could win our bet. Why didn't you just lay her and then work on the bet afterwards? So far the closest anyone's gotten to bein alone with her was Paul on the balcony, but that blew up in his face right after Jane crashed the party."
"I didn't think of that," George admitted begrudgingly, "but even if I did how was I to know that McCartney would strike out? It would definitely have been a risk any way you look at it. I'm a risk taker not an idiot."
"Ahh but the spoils go to those who take chances in life," John stated superiorly, "that would be a good philosophical statement for a bumper sticker or something. Anyone got a pen so I can write it down?"
"I do," said a gorgeous red head who pushed her way through the crowd at the opportunity to be near her idols, "sorry I don't have a piece of paper you can write it down on."
"Well then just take your dirty pen and go," John shouted, "what good is a pen without paper, huh? What kind of fan supplies only a pen and no bloody paper. Get out of my site this instant before I have you escorted out of the buildin permanently."
"What John means to say is thank you," Ringo said sternly hitting John on the shoulder, "he was only teasin with you about the paper. John can be a real dick sometimes, can't you John?"
"Sometimes," he said pretending to be hurt, "and I thought you knew me. Well the hell with what I thought I knew about you Richard Starkey. I guess you're just like the rest of them after all."
"I hate to interrupt this lovely conversation but I need an answer sometime in the next two minutes or I may not be in the mood anymore," Helga disrupted; "so when you make up your mind I'll be waiting at the bar."
"If our lil' Macca isn't interested in showin you to the bedroom than I would be more than obliged," John offered, "I wouldn't want any girl to be deprived of seeing the place where the magic happens. The lot of them are fools if they turned you down."
"Looks like you don't need me after all," I said relieved, "John, now you take good care of her. I wouldn't want you to be givin her any false hopes about how good you are in the sack."
"I'm doin you a favor so you better be grateful or I'll throw you back at the wolves," John pointed while running his hand across his neck, "we wouldn't want that would we?"
"Thanks," I mouthed as the estranged couple walked into our room. So I had managed to make it out alive this time... I needed to be more careful in the future though or John's motioning of a slit throat might not be to far from accurate. The party had died down for the most part and the guests started to slowly say their goodbyes as the clock struck 3:45 AM. Several drunken patrons were strewn around the floor, passed out for hours or so it seemed. Others slightly more sober were making out or having sex on various couches in various rooms. I couldn't seek refuge anywhere from these low-end, high-society climbing bottom dwellers that only wanted to take advantage of a free party on the French Riviera.
Therefore, I went to my only refuge in this foreign country, the balcony. No matter how bad things got it was always there, ready to lend an uplifting view of France. One hundred faces pushed past those busy streets, couples sitting at cafés speaking romantic poetry while drowning all of life's troubles with a glass of wine. Tourist gawking at the local sites only a modern Frenchman can interpret correctly. It was the perfect painting of love, which ties the universe together. I vowed I would visit the Eiffel Tower and find the loving encouragement I needed to be a faithful boyfriend and even husband in the future. My eyes gently dropped like feathers to the ground as sleep took hold of my weary body.