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Chapter 4
Beyond the Reaches of Fame

"You weren't writing anything ignorant child you were simply following the keys as they pressed in because of your musical instinct," she said sarcastically.

"You mean I wasn't playing at all," I asked confused.

"Of coarse you weren't. You didn't think you could play a perfect song you never heard before in your life did you?" she said mockingly.

"Well stranger things have happened and I am a musician," I reminded, "could I hear it again I rather liked that song?"

"Perhaps later but we have more important things to discuss," she retorted.

"What is so important anyways that our whole conversation must be directed around it? Maybe there are things I want to talk about that aren't as life threatening as you make your out to be," I retaliated.

"You have a keen spunk in you. Very well, I shall answer your questions first," she gave in reluctantly.

"Why did you take me here instead of letting the police take me to the hotel where I was staying?" I inquired.

"They would surely have ripped you to shreds like that shirt of yours," she yelled.

"There's no need to raise you voice at me I am not a child so don't treat me like one," I puffed.

" Why am I not there now since I am obviously not in danger anymore? Can't I go home?" I whispered.

"Well at least now I am getting the respect that elders deserve," she smiled, "but I am afraid that taking you back wouldn't quite be as simple as that."

"Why not?" I growled lowly. I wanted to go home why was I being held prisoner. This could be considered kidnap because I was being held against my will, right?

"If you left now then you wouldn't get to meet the real woman behind your rescue," she said clasping her hands in delight.

"But I thought that you saved me from the mob," I examined.

"Well of coarse I did but I was not alone," she laughed, " imagine that an old lady like myself needing help. It is rather hard to fathom don't you think?"

"I bet," I muttered softly, "so who is the other woman I owe my gratitude to?"

"Lisa," she hollered, "our guest seeks your acquaintance."

"Coming madam," she shouted. She rushed down the stairs as elegantly as possible, wanting to avoid her master's strong reprimand or so I assumed and gracefully accompanied us in the piano room. Her hair was hidden by a little charming cap but small strands escaped to shimmer with golden brightness. Her make up was light but sheik and transformed her face into a work of art like the one in the foyer. She was wearing a blain simple black dress with an antique looking apron over it. Her stockings had no holes and her shoes were small flat and plain but flattered her petite feet all the same. Her soulful blue eyes smiled and twinkled with each luminous stare. They unraveled my exterior as I gorged in hers. Love at first site was nothing compared to the feeling of oneness brought by that simple and perfect glance.

"I'm Paul McCartney," I smiled, "I don't believe I introduced myself earlier."

" No you didn't and I am afraid that I wasn't using my manners either because I never gave you mine," the old lady coughed, "you may call me Mrs. Muir."

"Pleased to meet you," I replied, "and who is this enchanting young woman I owe my life to?"

"Ms. Stevens will be more than appropriate thank you," she said icily. Where was all that charm from before, I pondered? She looks hot for me one minute and cold the next. I knew this wasn't going to be an easy fuck. Perhaps she had heard of my reputation or maybe I was being too polite. I began to turn a shade of red as I noticed her delicate hand searching for another to shake. I never blushed before, oh great this one already has me acting different. I wonder what the lads would think if they saw me now. There was nothing to ponder, there a good laugh would be in order if they saw me act like this.

"Please sit down," I offered. She sat down reluctantly across from Mrs. Muir a good distance away from me but I tried not to look offended.

"Well now that we are all together why don't you tell him the story of his spectacular rescue," she said glaring at the helpless and obviously unwilling maid. Did the old coot know she detested me so much? Women, I'll never understand them even when I'm gray and old.

"There's not much to tell I simply carried you above the crowd as they scratched up my new dress," she said sourly in regret.

"I'm so sorry," I said aghast, "I could replace it if you will let me." Her pride seemed thick and unbreakable but the thought of not working to buy another dress sparked a modest excitement in her.

"Surly that won't be necessary," Mrs. Muir defended.

"No I insist it is the least I could do for you Ms. Stevens and if I might also take you out to dinner to show my full gratitude you would make me feel like a king," I retorted charmingly. Yeah nothing, like the old Macca charm to woo 'em over. I could only prayed that she would take me up on my proposal.

"Well you are very generous Mr. McCartney but I don't think it is right for my employees to take charity. They soon come to expect that treatment and I simply wouldn't be able to part with that much money," she explained cheaply. The proud stern features returned to Ms. Stevens face merely at hearing the word charity and the past excitement faded like the setting sun.

"I won't take no for an answer," I echoed smoothly, "her saving my life is a bit more important than you worrying about finances which I might add are totally irrelevant in this matter." Beaten and torn, her complexion faded to the white of my prison chamber. Ms. Stevens stood aghast at my revelation towards her stern unbending employer like a flag once flown in battle. Mrs. Muir on the other hand was red with fury not accustomed to being told no she would never let him win this easy. The animosity was thick in the air and the slightest movement could break out into all of hell's fury.

"If it is all right with you madam I would like to decline on my own behalf," she whispered.

"Very well proceed," she returned.

"Sir, I have already accepted your thanks and I was well aware of the possibility of my dress being torn before I came to your aid. So I should not be given any special treatment for my unorganized behavior," she swallowed. Something in her voice told me there was more she was hiding or perhaps something she was scared to say. In any case, pity stole my body and I reached a comforting arm towards her shoulder. When I had help at my home, I would never beat them into such great submission with fear. She instinctively pressed against my arm in search for a comfort from the cold realities that faced her. A loud cough broke the silence as we parted like the waves on the beach. I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and run out like a sappy movie but I wasn't strong enough to and I was wise enough to know that acting on impulses was never a good idea. Well perhaps I should put it this way I learned the hard way from experience that acting on impulses leads to pain, heartache, and suffering. Anxiety pinched her face as she quietly slipped out the back door seeking the solace of a less hateful room. With her departure, the blackness of the room shone reminding me of my soul or rather lack of one in the recent years. Why did this place renew long forgotten, no long buried secrets of the mind. I needed to get out, no I needed to run away and not just from the house...

"It was lovely chatting with you but I really must go," I rambled, "can't keep the lads waiting too long."

"If you insist but I thought we could chat a little longer," Mrs. Muir hesitated, "I don't get visitors here very often."

"I suppose a little longer, the lads wouldn't mind too much," I blurted. Why was I so instinctively nice to people who got on my nerves. Why had I been so willing to stay? Ms. Stevens that's why I involuntarily agreed to remain in this tomb of death. Nevertheless, she wasn't even here or at least here physically in the room. A strange essence of her spirit waltzed along the dark floorboards.

"So what on earth did all those girls want with you?" she said trying to keep up the conversation.

"I am a musician so it happens quite a bit. But I'm not entirely sure what they want," I lied. There were four basic categories that fans who want to meet us fall under: 1) The typical teenager in bands who considers us their biggest influence and are dying to meet us (their idol). 2) Teenage girls who think we are attractive and want a relationship with us. If you want to get technical you could break that further down into those who are just after a quick shag, those who want to date us, and those who have a fixation on marrying us (the most dangerous and often time delusional of all.). 3) Those who want to mooch off our fame (We aren't world famous yet but they knew as well as the rest of us it was only a matter of time.) 4) Those who want to be friends/part of the Beatles circle.

The smarter fans try to achieve one of these goals through a friend in our Beatle circle such as Mal or Neil. Others try sneaking into our hotel rooms or hiding themselves in our car a more admiral attempt I must say. Others wait outside the venues like earlier today or was it yesterday oh it didn't matter at the moment. Unfortunately, almost all of them had the crazy idea that screaming at us would get our attention or want us to be friends with them. Who would want to be friends with someone who won't treat you like a normal human being. Trust me we could be asses at times but we always got top-notch treatment.

My mind fluttered back into focus as a cold draft sent a stinging chill through my body. I looked up to see Ms. Stevens serving us tea and biscuits. I begged my eyes to look elsewhere but her gorgeous legs and toned but muscles almost made me drool on the floor. Man was she a looker I wouldn't mind having another go at charming her again. I rested my hands in my lap to hide the growing bulge but a quick look at Mrs. Muir brought me back to ease.

"If you aren't to busy with other chores could you join us. I really enjoy your company," I said shyly.

"I would" she began to reply but was quickly cut off by Mrs. Muir.

"You know you're to busy to waist your time around here," her employer said aggressively.

"You know I am fully capable of telling him these things myself, thank you. I do not need you to make a case for me. I am not a child and as an adult demand the right to turn down invitations. I don't need you to do it for me," she huffed and exited dramatically out the parlor.

"That girl has the tongue of a sword. I swear if I could find someone who would work for half of what she does I would replace her instantly," Mrs. Muir remarked.

I slowly sipped the tea and listened to the old record someone put on in the other room. Typical classical, so boring I am surprised that Ms. Stevens had ever gotten a chance to listen to our music in a time bomb like this. Well there was the possibility she truly hadn't heard of us but then why would she have given me the cold shoulder right after hearing my name.

"I have enjoyed your company but I really must move on I don't even know what day it is now that I think about it and we have another concert on the 17th," I tried to excuse myself politely.

"I can't stop you so just go now or I will get upset," she said with tears swelling in her eyes. Oh no I pitied her once no chance in hell I would do that again.

"Do you think that Ms. Stevens could help me I have a rather difficult time walking especially after they teared at me like animals," I asked.

"Ms. Stevens," she hollered.

"Coming madam," she echoed, "how can I assist you?"

"Help our guest get a taxi and walk to the front with his small belongings," she ordered.

"Right away," she mumbled forcing a smile. I carefully rested my arm on her shoulder but this time I did not have the same warm reception. It was as if they repelled each other or they were drawn to other magnetic charges. I slowly pulled myself up being supported by her weight and headed towards the door and into the red hallway. I stumbled on my feet and without warning fell on top of her. Instead of being angry and violent like I was feeling a classic blush swept my cheeks as I turned my head away in shame.

"Are you alright?" she asked in a motherly tone.

"I don't feel to good at the moment," I sputtered, "I think I might need to lie down." The trap was set but not entirely untruthful at the moment. She carried me into the bedroom a strong fete I must say for a man weighing about 10 stone. She slowly lowered me into the unmade bed and the nightmares flooded back from the previous night. She pushed my bangs out of my eyes and applied a wet cloth on my forehead. Her sentiment almost made me feel guilty about manipulating her when she was so innocent from the likes of vultures such as me.

"I really do need to head back to my hotel," I whispered, "it isn't the 17th is it?"

"No it's the 16th and you are still on your day off so no worries," she reassured me.

"How did you know it was my day off?" I queried

"Well you didn't think we wouldn't call your manager to let him know you're alright do you?" she asked a bit hastily.

"Of coarse not, I'm just not thinking straight that's all," I said easing her doubts, "but if you told them where I am why didn't they some take me back to the hotel?"

"Your manager thought it best that you get some rest and that the hotel might not be the proper environment," she answered fully.

"So then why were you about to send me there?" I inquired.

"Well Brian also said that if you wanted to go back to send you after all we wouldn't want to be rude hostesses and keep you against your will," she explained.

"I think I will stay just cause Brian thinks it's best," I lied.

"Yes I am sure that he has your best intentions at heart as you have mine," she eyed me uncomfortably. Was I that obvious? Usually I was a pretty smooth operator and most women couldn't tell the difference between my lines and lies and my sincerest emotions.

"Well thanks for the compliment," I added quickly. After all a good comeback was essential if I was ever to win her trust.

"How thick do you think I am? I refuse to fall at your beck and call like your other admirers and won't let the evils of fame take me captive like another lamb to slaughter," she yelled harshly. The evil of fame what on earth was this girl talking about. Was she mental; did she belong in an institution? Her instincts on me using her might be valid but there was nothing wrong with a little fame. It's not as if I let it get to my head. Besides, we weren't that famous yet only here in Europe. She's jealous or she had a bad boyfriend who treated her like crap so now "fame" is evil. But I wouldn't let her get to me; in fact, I hadn't let her get to me. She is ignorant not mental I reasoned still interested in her luscious body.

"Why do think I would use you? How shallow do you think I am? Did the thought ever occur to you that I am interested in more than a cheap fuck? I don't know why but I have an attraction to you I can't explain and I don't want this to be over just like that. I don't need to take this shit from anyone," I bellowed louder. Tears ran down my face I couldn't believe that I told her I was attracted to her and couldn't explain why. I felt so vulnerable so lost and for the first time in a long time so honest.

My sincerity turned her heart harder; she turned away angrily fearing compassion or any other form of emotion. The only time I ever had the guts to be honest and I was cast away like a discarded toy too "childish" to play with. The story about "The Boy who Cried Wolf" received a new meaning that night. My body quivered at her harsh glares but the tears ceased to stop at the hopelessness of the situation. The more water dripped from my eyes the more distant and distasteful her stares became. I rested my head against her shoulder trying to cover my bloodshot eyes, waiting, expecting, anticipating, a hard blow to my head and to my pride. My body shifted uncomfortably as her hand rose high above my distraught mind. I readied myself for the impact but only a sweet stroking of my hair followed as comfort set in. Her eyes softened with my sniffling but I feared the moment when her nature would change back into the cold persona/image. Tenderness escaped her fingertips as they rested against my broken body mending the pieces of my disfigured soul. It's now or never I thought to myself as I cautiously gazed into her once stern unforgiving eyes. Passion flooded my brain as I leaned in to kiss her lips only to see my hands guide them towards her cheek instead. She cocked her head slightly and dove into my lips gracefully with intense passion. She quickly jolted back as our lips made their first impact and stormed out into the nearby hall.

Lost and upset I started to weep again like a woman crushed by her first love. Did I do this to every woman I slept with. No, no of coarse not they didn't LOVE me. No, they never felt like this, no one could feel like this. I waited eagerly for her to brighten the room with her perfect smile. On the other hand, she might tell me she only treated me cruelly because she was madly in love with me and was afraid of being hurt. I forced myself to ignore that notion because I knew well enough who the true owner of those thoughts were. Why was she so hot and cold? Just like John, they were two of a kind I mused. I always seemed to have the same taste in people I choose as soul mates or friends who will have a drastic impact in my life.

"The car has arrived," Mrs. Muir announced.

I leaned up eager to have Ms. Stevens assist me even if it was only her call of duty from that nasty employer of hers. To my dismay, Mal entered the room and heaved me over his shoulder.

"Thanks once again ladies for saving his life we are forever in your debt," he added in solemn gratitude.

"It was a pleasure being in your company Ms. Stevens. I only hope that you will take me up on my offer," I smiled.

"The answer is still no and have a safe trip back home to your friends," she cut bitterly.

Mal ignored her nasty comment and never brought it up to embarrass me as I expected him to. Odd I thought I always gave him hell to pay when he was turned down. He knew I was only kidding but sometimes I wondered how seriously he takes me. As the hotel came into view, a nauseating feeling manifested the domains of my stomach.

"Mal pull over, I think I'm going to" I started but quickly threw the door open as vomit fled my lips across the old paved road. Mal quickly moved to the side of the road parking his car and waving to the angry pedestrians and bystanders who were first hand victims of my sick stomach. I was so embarrassed I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. The traffic had stopped, the pedestrians closest to my 'accident' had vile on there shoes, and I was a royal mess. To make matters worse a police officer was assisting the loyal citizens with their complaints as Mal carefully explained the situation. Honking horns, loud cussing, and the foul smells of Paris were taking their toll as I passed out from exhaustion.

"I'm sorry Mr. McCartney but your son died in a car crash along with your wife," the doctor said in a melancholy tone. The older McCartney in question walks in disbelief to the funeral home and puts a red rose over the closed coffin. A single tear falls onto the rose as it dies and becomes a dreadful black dust.

"Dearly beloved we are gathered here today to mourn the loss of these two saints from our everyday lives. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, may we one day meet again in heaven. Amen," prayed the preacher.

A small child rushed to the coffin before it could be lowered and clung to it for dear life. She wailed endlessly and no matter how hard anyone tried; they could not pry her away from it. The older McCartney patted her head softly pulling her into his arms and buried his face in her shoulder unable to watch his once beautiful wife and angelic child be parted from him. Then he threw her to the ground in anger as men dragged her away in a little black car. The older McCartney walked aimlessly until he reached a dark secluded ally. He reached for a knife to end his life, and then he would be reunited with the only ones he had ever loved. Before he could slit his wrist, a gentle hand stroked his shoulder and he dropped the knife to the floor weeping uncontrollably as the woman slashed her throat and offered the weapon to him. The streaming blood seemed to change his mind about taking his life as he tried to cover her gashing wound. Her eyes glazed as he moved into the bustling crowd, he was no longer an individual, but a part of the people as a whole. I turned violently as a hand brushed angrily across my sweating face.

"Stop movin so much mate or you'll fall off the bed," John comforted, "is it just me or have you been havin a ruff time sleeping lately?"

"Yeah I was havin a nightmare but I should be alrigh' once I relax in a more familiar setting," I mumbled, "I must admit though this is the weirdest one yet.

"They're usually centered around this one woman but I didn't see her once in that whole dream. I didn't see anyone's faces so she could have been there," I reasoned.

"Is that the same lady who walks on the beach with you?" John snickered.

"Who else would it be and what's so funny about that?" I shot back.

"Nothing," John Smiled mischievously, "except that the closest you'll ever get to a woman is in your dreams. I threw a pillow at him and prayed for better dreams. I remembered those pleasant nights on the beach each dream identical in its magic and happiness. I feared the change greatly because the more they changed the worse they got. Change isn't always evil I smiled, as I looked into my glorious future. If there weren't change than I would never get to be famous so I guess change is all right in my book. But what if Ms. Stevens was on to something I couldn't see? No how on earth could fame be bad. If it were bad than people like Elvis would have quit a long time ago. No one who was famous ever complained so why would we be the first. I rested assuredly on that thought as I awaited a much-needed blissful slumber but I feared that I would not be so blessed.