The Elephants Dance, Chapter 43
Jan. 12th, 2014 07:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yes_2dayThe Other Shoe Drops (and its loud!)
I want to put a continuing shout out to gdelghiblueeyes for his assistance on concert ideas and behind the scenes info.
Chapter 43
After West Berlin, John and Paul had performed to equally ecstatic crowds in Munich, Vienna and Zurich. They were now 14 concerts and about 60 days into their tour. They had left Zurich at 1 a.m., and had made it to Rome in less than 2 hours, and not long after that they were pulling up in their limo to the magnificent Grand Hotel de la Minerve in Rome’s old city center. It wasn’t until they checked in that John learned that two suites had been booked in the hotel. As they were going up in the elevator John was glaring at Paul suspiciously. What was going on? He waited for the footman to precede them with the luggage cart into the first suite, and then hissed fiercely in Paul’s ear.
“Why two suites? What’s going on?”
Paul looked uneasy. “I mentioned this a few days ago – Linda and the kids are joining us for the next few days, while we’re here in Rome.”
“I don’t remember you mentioning this!” John had stopped Paul in mid-hall and was insisting that he listen to him. His voice had risen a little, and Paul was shushing him. John hated it when Paul shushed him. This usually only caused him to get louder.
“We were in Vienna,” Paul replied. “You were on the sofa reading a magazine.”
“Asleep more like! You’re a fucking chicken sometimes! Waiting until I’m asleep to tell me!” John whispered furiously.
“You said ‘okay’, so you weren’t asleep. You probably weren’t listening to me, which, by the way, happens quite frequently.” Now Paul’s whisper was getting huffy. “But she’s not arriving until tomorrow, so I thought I’d stay with you tonight. Unless I’m not welcome?”
John shook his head and mumbled something nasty under his breath, but he grabbed Paul’s arm and dragged him down the rest of the hall to his suite. Paul paid the footman a generous tip for delivering the luggage, and then took delivery of the keys. As the footman left the suite, Paul walked over and found the connecting door, and unlocked it. “They’re connecting suites, John,” Paul said softly. “We’ll all be in and out of each other’s rooms so you won’t be off by yourself all alone,” he added apologetically.
John still looked pouty and miserable, so Paul walked over and took John in his arms. Paul’s hand went to the back of John’s head, and gently pushed it down on to his shoulder. Paul said softly to the side of John’s face, “There never would have been a good time to tell you this news, John. I realize that. Ever since what you told me when we were in Paris – I didn’t realize until then that my being with Linda still bothered you so much. I wish there was some way I could make this all easier for you, but I’m all out of ideas. Do you have any?”
John shook his head ‘no’, but didn’t move. He held on to Paul a little longer, and then slowly pushed himself free. “I’m really tired, Paul. Let’s go to bed. We can hash this out in the morning.”
“Ok, but Linda and the kids will be here just before lunchtime,” Paul said warningly.
John nodded in bleak understanding, and began to strip off his clothes. Paul soon followed. That night they didn’t have sex. John was feeling too depressed, Paul was feeling too guilty, and they were both feeling very tried from the night’s concert and air travel. Paul held John all night long in a loving spoon, periodically hugging John tightly to remind John that everything would be okay in the end.
Paul awoke a bit late the next morning, and he sprang up as if he’d been goosed when he realized he was probably oversleeping. He had gotten used to sleeping in while on this tour with John, and his inner alarm clock was a bit rusty. He had a panicked feeling that at any moment Linda would walk in the door of their next-door suite. He grabbed the bedside clock and was a little relieved to find it was only 10:45 a.m. Paul had feared it was much later. His hand grabbed his chest as his breathing slowly went back to normal. He looked over to his right and John was sound asleep, flat on his stomach, his head to the side, mouth open, with the sound of a light snore being emitted from his head area. Paul smiled in spite of himself. John could sleep through a fucking brass band parade. He pushed his covers aside, moved naked to his overnight suitcase, and bent over to get his fresh clothes out in anticipation of his shower.
“That’s a mighty fine show you’re putting on there.”
Paul froze, his hand, clutching fresh underclothes, was stuck in mid-air. He then said, “I’m glad you’re appreciating it,” and wiggled his ass around a little before standing up. “It’s time to get up and get dressed, Johnny. The family will be here any minute now.”
John had sat up when he had first noticed that his favorite sight on earth was on clear display before him, but as Paul reminded him of “the family” he flopped back against his pillow on his back, and groaned loudly.
Paul chuckled. “It’s not that bad, John. We’ll have fun together, like when we’re on holiday.”
“I’m not going three days without sex!” John declared stubbornly. “So you should be using your well known ingenuity to figure out how we’re gonna get it on in the next two days.” His voice brooked no denial, so Paul just smiled, turned his back on John and headed for the shower, letting his ass swish from side to side as he went. He heard an inaudible imprecation behind him, but did not recognize the words. He hadn’t been in the shower for 2 minutes before the door flew open and John burst in – completely starkers – and pushed Paul roughly against the wall. “You don’t get to tease me like that,” John directed the threat directly into Paul’s ear. “You’ll have to pay for that.”
“John, they’re literally going to walk in any minute now,” Paul responded, laughing a little at John’s sudden friskiness.
“You should have thought of that before you wiggled that ass at me. You know what it does to me. It’s like a red flag to a bull.” John was pulling Paul to him, while simultaneously smashing him against the wall, but Paul was struggling to get away.
“John, please,” Paul couldn’t help laughing while he was begging for his freedom.
“Please what? You wanna get drilled?”
An explosive, poorly withheld guffaw escaped Paul’s throat. “As attractive as you make that sound, no…I need to get dressed now.” Paul managed to break free and on his way out of the shower door John gave him a sharp smack on his bum. The slap actually hurt a bit, but Paul had learned a long time ago never to show John Lennon a weakness or he’d capitalize on it endlessly.
John finished his shower, and smiled to himself. He had certainly flustered the poor boy. John had just decided that he wasn’t going to walk around dog-in-the-manger during this Linda visit. He’d decided to find himself some female company for after the concert, so that while Paul was with Linda, he would not be alone in his bed crying his fucking eyes out. Of course, he’d have to rent a room in a different hotel, because he could just imagine James bursting in the next morning shouting, “I’m here!” Wouldn’t want the boy to be exposed to that much naked female pulchritude at his young age. John chuckled at his own witticism, as he remembered how James had coitus interruptus him when he was right on the verge of …Hmmmm. It seemed like he had been subjected to more sexual frustration in the last few months than he’d had in years. And - of course John had thought of this - maybe if John found a girl to be with, Paul might not take him so much for granted?
So, while Paul was readying his family suite for Linda and his children, John was wandering down the halls of a much lower floor looking for the roadies’ room. He finally found it, and banged heavily. Obviously, the roadies were still asleep, because it took several minutes, with lots of thumping sounds and swears before the door opened, to expose one of the roadies, covered to his waist with a sheet, swaying at the door with what appeared to be a gigantic hangover.
“Good-morning, Roger, glad to see you’re up and at ‘em at this late hour,” John said perkily, pushing the roadie back into the room and then following him. The roadie, nonplussed, remembered to close the door. In the double bed room, a hump was covered up in one bed, while another roadie was in the other bed, with a covered up hump next to him, too. “I see we have company,” John commented, leaning down and giving one of the humps a spank on what appeared to be her bottom. He heard a corresponding giggle from under the blankets.
“We weren’t expecting you,” Roger managed to stammer.
“No, I see that,” John laughed. “But I’m glad to see you’re making friends with the local talent.” John indicated with his head that they should head for the bathroom, and then walked in first. Roger shared a look with his roommate that was part confusion and part fear. The roommate shrugged, so Roger followed John into the bathroom, tripping over and then dragging his sheet with him.
“Roger, look, I need a woman for tonight.”
Roger was relieved that he wasn’t in trouble, and that John was asking for something that wasn’t strictly illegal. Not that this would have stopped him from doing whatever John wanted. That was part of the “deal” when one was a roadie. You do whatever, no questions asked, no tales told. In fact, Roger was a little surprised that John hadn’t asked for female company at all so far. It had been 2 months, after all. But maybe John had private women he had lined up in the other venues. Paul – well, Paul was a professional married man, and as far as Roger could see, Paul didn’t stray from his wife despite pretty strong temptation on all sides.
“What kind of woman?” Roger asked.
“Well, I like brunettes. I figure there are plenty of them in Rome. Not too young – someone in her late twenties would be best. It would be good if she had some curves, you know? And no English would be good. I don’t want her to repeat anything I might say while I am in the throes of …well, you know…”
Roger chuckled nervously and nodded. “Where do you want her?”
“I’ll tell the tour manager’s assistant to book me a room in a different hotel. He’ll let you know where that is.
“After the show?”
“Precisely. Now, I’ll make myself scarce and you can get back to…business.” John gave him a wide close-mouthed smile, patted him on the back, and left the room.
Paul had gone down to the lobby to greet Linda and his children as they arrived from the airport. John had disappeared, so he’d left him a note to say where he’d gone. John tended to be very territorial about Paul’s whereabouts, and could kick up quite a stir if he didn’t know where Paul was. To avoid such scenes, Paul had taken to taping notes to the bathroom mirror wherever they were if he had to step out for any reason. Another man might find this too constricting, but Paul enjoyed the structure provided by a possessive lover. Linda was the same way as John – you had to tell her where you were all the time, or she’d get worried and think that you were cheating on her. Even after all these years. Somehow, knowing that his lovers cared that much about him gave Paul a sense of security, so he never balked at being monitored like some would.
The limo drew up, and the doors flew open, and soon Paul was visited with the loud, joyous, confusing phenomenon of the McCartney family arriving. Linda popped out and went straight into Paul’s arms. They were on the sidewalk outside the hotel, and the paparazzi got some great shots of Paul greeting his family, and his family showering him with warm affection. Paul and Linda, arm in arm, entered the lobby and the family piled into the elevator. The door to their suite was open, and the room was filled with bright winter light and fresh flowers. There were 3 bedrooms in the McCartney’s suite, so Paul and Linda took one room, Mary and Stella another, and James the third. There was a great deal of rushing about between rooms, and good natured squabbling between the kids, and Paul found himself filled with a sense of well being as his family cavorted around him. He and Linda flopped down on a sofa, and began catching up, repeating to each other all the news since they’d last seen each other a month earlier in London, even thought they had spoken every day on the telephone during that time.
A few moments later, the connecting door flew open and John was standing there with his arms flung out shouting, “Ta da!”
Linda and Paul had a good laugh about that. John came in and pushed his way between the two of them, and then flopped down. He put an arm around each of them and said, “Glad to see me, Lin?”
Linda giggled and shook her head. “That was quite an entrance.”
“I’ve become quite theatrical now that I’m on the stage for a living,” John explained in an exaggerated high brow RADA accent.
Paul was amazed at the transformation in John in the short time they’d been apart. It was as if a completely different man had just strutted in there and announced himself. Paul would have been thrilled by the attitude John was exuding, if not for a deep-seated suspicion, based on years of experience, that made him wonder what the hell John was up to. Linda didn’t seem to be worried, and fell into a gossipy kind of teasing with John. Paul wasn’t sure – he wasn’t at all sure – but was John flirting with Linda? Paul was not terribly jealous about his women, but that was mainly because his ego was such that he didn’t really think another man’s flirting was going to upset him from his catbird seat. He was perhaps a little over-confident about the sexual hold he had over his lovers, but was it over confidence really? No woman had ever out-and-out dumped him after all, at least not because she tired of him sexually (maybe because he had been unfaithful, once or twice). He’d had a few turndowns at the get-go when he wasn’t rich and famous and he was inexperienced, of course, but he had quickly learned after the first few failures how to choose the right women to come on to, and after that even his come-ons were successful. It was this inner voice of certainty that made him shake his head at himself and laugh more freely. John would never seriously flirt with his wife, and Linda would never respond to it even if he did. He laughed again. But then his laugh ran out, and he was left with just a slight twinge of unease. John was definitely up to something, and he had a bad feeling he wasn’t going to like it.
“Buongiorno Roma!”
The crowd went crazy when Paul shouted his greeting after he stood up from the piano, having finished Let It Be. He jumped down to the stage level, and, grabbing his bass, approached the mic while John approached his.
“This is a new song, off our album, Last Year’s Echo,” Paul announced. “You might have heard it – it was a rather big hit!” With that they launched into Free As A Bird. It seemed to John and Paul to be a good song after which they could segue into their old style rock & roll segment.
This song faded directly into I Saw Her Standing There, with Paul shouting out the iconic “one-two-tree-four!” for all he was worth. This was one of John and Paul’s favorite parts of the concert. They had stripped off the dubious white jackets, and were all in black again, banging away at electric instruments, and singing until their voices were raw. In those moments the years fell away, and John and Paul were playing to each other; they were reliving a thousand such nights where they faced each other with sweaty faces and hearts pounding with the relentless rhythm, and it was as if they were young again, unknown, but totally believing in themselves against the world.
They upped the ante with John bursting in with Slow Down as soon as Paul finished singing, and then Paul completed the segment by screaming out:
You tell lies thinking I can't see
You can't cry 'cause you're laughing at me
I'm down (I'm really down)
I'm down (Down on the ground)
I'm down (I'm really down)
How can you laugh, when you know I'm down?
How can you laugh, when you know I'm down?
Man buys ring, woman throws it away
Same old thing happens every day
I'm down (I'm really down)
I'm down (Down on the ground)
I'm down (I'm really down)
How can you laugh, when you know I'm down?
How can you laugh, when you know I'm down?
We're all alone and there's nobody else
She'll still moan, "Keep your hands to yourself"
I'm down (I'm really down)
Ah babe I'm down (Down on the ground)
I'm down
How can you laugh, when you know I'm down?
How can you laugh, when you know I'm down?...
It didn’t escape Paul’s notice as he sang this song that it echoed somewhat the feelings he’d tried to brush away earlier in the day. It was this thought that brought back the sense of disquiet.
As soon as the concert was over, John and Paul met up with Paul’s family in the reception room. There was a lot of whooping and congratulating going on, and in the rumpus John took the moment to slip out. As he left he whispered to the tour manager, Evan Willis, “Tell Paul I’m out for the evening – I’ll see him sometime tomorrow.” (Because Paul’s family was visiting, they were going to spend 2 days relaxing in Rome before heading for their next concert in Madrid.)
Paul didn’t notice John slip out, because he was so busy interacting with his children. But when they headed for the limo back to the hotel, he looked around and couldn’t see John. Because he had been feeling odd about John since earlier in the day, his face reflected both confusion and concern. Evan Willis noticed this and approached him.
“John said he’ll be out for the night; he’ll meet up with you sometime tomorrow,” he said quietly to Paul. In fact, Willis was relieved to see John going out to sow wild oats. It had been kind of weird that John and Paul would disappear into their suite at night, with no sign of women coming and going. It had begun to make him wonder if those rumors might be true…But here was Linda, and Paul thrilled to see her, and there was John – off on a late night adventure no doubt of the sexual kind, and it renewed his faith in his employers’ masculinity. They were older now, of course, and a slower pace and a bit more decorum were in order, so he had wondered about this needlessly.
Paul heard what Willis had told him, but he couldn’t quite believe it. What did that mean? ‘Out for the night’ and ‘sometime tomorrow’? Was this some kind of punishment John was dealing out because Linda was there? Now Paul was a bit worried and distracted as he accompanied his family back to their hotel suite. He hoped John wouldn’t get up on a stripper stage and end up on the front page. Or get tangled up with a bad sort that would get him started on drugs again. When John was on his own out on the town, he simply didn’t know when to apply the brakes. He didn’t know when to stop drinking, snorting, inhaling, rutting, or making a ridiculous scene. Paul was a bit angry now at the tour manager for letting John go off on his own. What on earth was he thinking? He’d have to give that man a piece of his mind in the morning!
Needless to say, the night had been ruined for Paul by John’s mysterious disappearance. He tried to pay attention to Linda, and be the man of her dreams for the night, but his stupid brain kept wondering and worrying about John. After he’d finally managed to complete an orgasm, and Linda had finally fallen asleep in his arms, Paul laid awake wondering if he should sneak out and check to see if John was back safe in his bed. He didn’t want to wake up Linda, but he was finding it impossible to just lie there worrying, so he got up as quietly as possible, gently disentangling himself from Linda’s limbs, and tiptoed out of the room, as silently as possible closing the door. He then went across the sitting room to the connecting door, and tried it. It was locked from the other side. Where was his key? He didn’t remember where he had put it, and he couldn’t go banging around searching for it at this late hour without disturbing somebody who would wonder what he was up to, so he stood there in the dark for a few moments wondering if the door being locked meant that John was back or that John was still out? In the end, Paul turned back to his bedroom, and climbed back in to bed, his head recycling terrible scenarios. In this state of mind he tried to settle himself down so he could fall asleep. Paul kept talking to himself in aid of this result: John was fucking with him. He’d have it out with John “sometime tomorrow”, whatever the fuck that meant.
That night John got very drunk, but not before he had enjoyed an extremely vigorous fuck session with the gorgeous Italian beauty his roadie had found him. She had come from the audience, and clearly spoke little English, and understood less. This suited John down to the ground. He and the woman proceeded to get drunk together after having sex together, and they had fallen asleep – naked, sweaty, sticky and boozy – tangled in the sheets, and in blissful peace with the world. John had thought, while he was fucking this woman, that this was a whole lot better than crying himself to sleep in the fetal position while hugging pillows.
In the afternoon, however, as he awoke, John’s thoughts weren’t nearly as pleasant. He had awakened with a gigantic hangover, and when he first was waking he thought for a moment it was Paul in his arms. But it was this strange woman, who he barely even recognized as the woman he had fucked earlier that morning. Her hair smelled of some weird oily product which caused it to stick out around her face like a medusa, and her make up was smudged all over her face making her look almost as though she had clown features. And her breath! Of course, John thought immediately, his breath must even be worse. He moved towards the edge of the bed, slowly removing her arms and legs from his, and sat up on the edge. His head fell into his hands, as he nursed his king hell headache. He wondered what Paul was up to. Then he noticed the time on the bedside clock. It was almost 4 p.m. in the afternoon! The day was gone! Paul was going to kill him!
Or maybe not. Maybe Paul hadn’t even noticed he was gone, and was still ensconced in the bosom of his damn family. Or maybe Paul would actually be worried about him, or jealous? One could always hope, but that seemed very unlikely to John. Paul didn’t get jealous about John’s body. He only got jealous about John’s mind. Perhaps this would have been okay for John, if he weren’t madly possessive of Paul’s body and his mind! Well, Paul needed to understand that he could lose John if he didn’t wake up and give him what he needed in the way of verbal acknowledgement. John had realized trying to talk about it with Paul was useless, so he was trying out the theory that a few demonstrations of what could happen if he didn’t get the attention he needed might persuade Paul to open up more and let John in. He got up to a standing position, groaning and moaning all the way, and banged on the connecting door. A roadie immediately answered it, obviously anxious to get back to work, but stuck there babysitting John. “Get rid of her,” John said softly. “Tell her I enjoyed myself immensely.” He then shuffled his way to the bathroom. When he came out the woman was gone, and John felt relieved by that. He slowly dragged on his clothes, and then banged on the neighboring door again. The roadie appeared quickly again. “Let’s get back to the Grand,” John muttered, keeping his voice low so as not to excite his neurons.
Paul awakened abruptly at 7:00 a.m. Linda was in his arms and she was fast asleep. She usually awakened at 6:30 a.m., but she was on holiday and apparently was taking advantage of this fact. Paul got up and threw on some comfortable clothes, and ambled out into the sitting room. James was already up watching a movie on the hotel’s movie channel.
“Hey, did you ask permission to do that, sport?” Paul asked sternly. James looked up from under his bangs with a guilty expression.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” James explained.
“Those movies cost money you know, and you should ask permission before you order them. No more of that James, okay?”
James nodded solemnly. He was used to his father’s thrifty ways. Paul had raised his children to respect money, and he had told them all they would have to work for a living, so they couldn’t expect to sit around on their duffs waiting for mummy and daddy to pay for things.
“Are you hungry, son?”
James nodded enthusiastically.
“Let’s see what you want to eat.” He opened up the room service menu and went over it with James. James wanted the Belgian waffles with strawberries and whipped cream, and, smiling, Paul ordered for him. James wanted to wash it down with coca cola, and Paul decided it was holidays, so why not? Linda would never allow this sacrilege to happen at home, but she would probably be okay with it while in Rome.
James taken care of, Paul then did a search round the place until he found the key to the connecting suite, and while James was stuffing his face and watching the movie, he casually unlocked the door, knocking softly first, and then entered. Empty. The bed had not even been slept in, and the turndown chocolate was still sitting on John’s pillow. Well, he said he wouldn’t be around until “sometime” today, Paul thought, so no point in panicking yet.
The rest of the morning saw the gradual awakenings of Linda, Mary and Stella, and then Paul and the ladies ordered their breakfast together, while James was watching television. They made plans to do some sightseeing. The Panthenon was a short walk away, so they all got dressed in their nice but casual clothes, and left for the brief walk. Rome was beautiful, even in the winter, and the sightseeing tour used up the late morning and early afternoon. They were back in the hotel by 2 p.m., and the kids were hungry again. Paul hoped that John was back in his room, so that he could come to lunch with them at the restaurant recommended by the concierge. But when he knocked on the door and then let himself in, the room was still undisturbed. Paul was quite worried by then. He telephoned the tour manager’s room, but was told he had already flown on to the next venue, Madrid. He tried the roadies’ rooms, but half of them had left for Madrid, and the other half were unaccounted for. He was in a near-spitting rage at this point. John was off on his own in a strange city, and the fucking roadies apparently didn’t give a fuck! It was unusual for Paul to swear so much, even in his thoughts, so this was an indicator of how angry and worried he was.
He stomped through the suite, where his family had been patiently waiting for him so they could go to a mid-afternoon meal and then take a siesta. Paul looked as though he had a thundercloud over his head as he stalked past them and tried the connecting door again. He then stomped into the master bedroom and slammed the door.
“What’s wrong with him?” Stella asked, astounded by this display of bad temper from her usually mellow father. She’d seen him stressed out of his mind over album releases, but he rarely slammed doors, even when he was mad.
Linda got up and followed him into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She didn’t have to ask him what was wrong. Paul was out on the balcony staring down on to the street, his face dark with anger. As he saw Linda approaching he returned to the room and said harshly, “That asshole has been out all night, and I can’t find anyone who knows where he is! For all I know he has been kidnapped by those fucking Red Brigades! And the tour manager and roadies – nowhere to be found! Apparently they can’t be bothered to keep an eye on John!”
Linda had known it had to do with John. Only John could get Paul this upset. She knew she had to be careful about how she went about dealing with Paul when he was in this outraged mood. “Perhaps the roadies are with him,” she said in a soft voice. “John isn’t that brave. He’s very tentative about going out in public. I can’t see him going off without at least one of the roadies with him.”
Paul had stopped raving and was concentrating on Linda’s face as she spoke. What she said certainly made sense. John didn’t even enjoy going out and about in London by himself, and usually dragged someone along with him, if for no other reason than to handle all financial transactions and transport arrangements.
“Let’s go eat a light lunch, and I’m sure by the time we get back, John will be here and none the worse for wear,” Linda suggested calmly.
Paul nodded, and with a great deal of self-discipline, forced himself to straighten up and wipe his face clean of his anger. “Let’s go,” he said softly, and held the bedroom door open for Linda. “But I have to leave a note in John’s suite first.” The family filed out of the door, into the elevator, and out into the street. The restaurant was only a few blocks away, and they walked there in a desultory way, each of them remembering Paul’s brief temper tantrum and feeling a bit awkward in his presence as a result. He was quiet and unresponsive through much of lunch, constantly staring at his watch and then looking around the room as if he hoped to see someone approaching him.
Back in the suite by 3:30 p.m., everyone except Paul laid down for a brief nap. Between the walking, eating and jet lag, the kids were zonked, and were sealed off in their rooms. Linda sat with Paul in the sitting room in a show of solidarity, but soon had fallen fast asleep. Paul sat next to her on the sofa, and took turns staring blankly out into space, and then snapping out of it, looking at his watch and pacing past the connecting door. He had left it open so that he would hear and see when John got back.
It was after 4:30 when Paul finally heard the next-door suite door close. He forced himself to sit still and let John come to him. He was of course relieved that John was back. At least he wasn’t being held for ransom in some stone building in Padua. He wouldn’t be seeing John on the telly all beaten up and holding up the day’s newspaper as the demand for ransom was read. A few minutes went by, and Paul’s temper was beginning to simmer again. It soon became apparent that John had gone directly into the bathroom, because Paul – who was straining to hear what he could – did finally recognize the sound of a toilet flushing. A few moments later, John was standing in the open doorway. Paul saw him out of the periphery of his eye but decided to pretend he had been napping. Paul didn’t know what game John was playing, but he refused to be the butt of it.
John casually walked in, noting that both Paul and Linda were dozing. He turned to go back in to his room, and then Paul stirred. “Is that you John?” Linda awoke at the sound of Paul’s voice.
Damn! He’d almost gotten away! Reluctantly, John turned around and put on a pleasant expression. “Yup, this would be me!” he said in a chipper voice.
Linda was thinking, oh crap! Not even a scintilla of guilt on John’s face. Paul’s gonna hit the ceiling!
“You folks have a good day?” John asked cheerfully, sitting down on the arm of an easy chair.
Linda looked nervously at Paul, who seemed to have slipped into his blank face. The one he used when he didn’t want anyone to read him, which was about 60% of the fucking time. Linda smiled and said, “we did some sightseeing, and we had a light lunch down the road. We’re all having a siesta right now.”
Paul remained silent, but had looked up from his hands and was staring at John with an unnerving blank stare. He wants me to ask about where he’d been, and I’m not going to give him the satisfaction, Paul thought. Instead he said, “Are you off on your own for dinner, or will you come with us?” His voice was polite but cold.
He’s really pissed, John thought. Good. Let him suffer for a while. John smiled easily, pretending that he didn’t notice Paul’s cold demeanor. “Dinner with the family sounds great. What time?” John had put the words “the family” in virtual quotation marks when he had said it; Paul would take this as an insult, and that is how John wanted him to take it. John wasn’t really a part of “the family”. He was always standing off to the side, and it would always be that way. It always irked him when Paul spoke as if “the family” was also John’s family.
Linda swallowed hard. This wasn’t good. “Eight o’clock?” she suggested. “I’ll have the concierge book us somewhere good.”
“Excellent!” John announced loudly, getting up and sauntered off towards the connecting door. “See you later then!” The connecting door closed and Paul heard the lock turn.
Paul didn’t know what he felt more strongly: anger, fear, or pain. They all seemed to be vying for control of his emotions. He didn’t realize he had been squeezing Linda’s hand too tightly until she finally whimpered a little. He looked down at his hand as he loosened it, and then looked up and met Linda’s eyes. She saw the pain and fear, but she didn’t see the anger.
“I think he’s having a little ‘declaration of independence’ moment,” she said softly, stroking his hand with hers. “Don’t worry about it. It will all right itself in the end, as it always does.”
Paul wasn’t sure Linda was correct because there had been plenty of times in his life when things had not “righted” themselves. But he wanted her to be correct, so he decided that he would try to face the rest of the evening with that attitude.
I want to put a continuing shout out to gdelghiblueeyes for his assistance on concert ideas and behind the scenes info.
Chapter 43
After West Berlin, John and Paul had performed to equally ecstatic crowds in Munich, Vienna and Zurich. They were now 14 concerts and about 60 days into their tour. They had left Zurich at 1 a.m., and had made it to Rome in less than 2 hours, and not long after that they were pulling up in their limo to the magnificent Grand Hotel de la Minerve in Rome’s old city center. It wasn’t until they checked in that John learned that two suites had been booked in the hotel. As they were going up in the elevator John was glaring at Paul suspiciously. What was going on? He waited for the footman to precede them with the luggage cart into the first suite, and then hissed fiercely in Paul’s ear.
“Why two suites? What’s going on?”
Paul looked uneasy. “I mentioned this a few days ago – Linda and the kids are joining us for the next few days, while we’re here in Rome.”
“I don’t remember you mentioning this!” John had stopped Paul in mid-hall and was insisting that he listen to him. His voice had risen a little, and Paul was shushing him. John hated it when Paul shushed him. This usually only caused him to get louder.
“We were in Vienna,” Paul replied. “You were on the sofa reading a magazine.”
“Asleep more like! You’re a fucking chicken sometimes! Waiting until I’m asleep to tell me!” John whispered furiously.
“You said ‘okay’, so you weren’t asleep. You probably weren’t listening to me, which, by the way, happens quite frequently.” Now Paul’s whisper was getting huffy. “But she’s not arriving until tomorrow, so I thought I’d stay with you tonight. Unless I’m not welcome?”
John shook his head and mumbled something nasty under his breath, but he grabbed Paul’s arm and dragged him down the rest of the hall to his suite. Paul paid the footman a generous tip for delivering the luggage, and then took delivery of the keys. As the footman left the suite, Paul walked over and found the connecting door, and unlocked it. “They’re connecting suites, John,” Paul said softly. “We’ll all be in and out of each other’s rooms so you won’t be off by yourself all alone,” he added apologetically.
John still looked pouty and miserable, so Paul walked over and took John in his arms. Paul’s hand went to the back of John’s head, and gently pushed it down on to his shoulder. Paul said softly to the side of John’s face, “There never would have been a good time to tell you this news, John. I realize that. Ever since what you told me when we were in Paris – I didn’t realize until then that my being with Linda still bothered you so much. I wish there was some way I could make this all easier for you, but I’m all out of ideas. Do you have any?”
John shook his head ‘no’, but didn’t move. He held on to Paul a little longer, and then slowly pushed himself free. “I’m really tired, Paul. Let’s go to bed. We can hash this out in the morning.”
“Ok, but Linda and the kids will be here just before lunchtime,” Paul said warningly.
John nodded in bleak understanding, and began to strip off his clothes. Paul soon followed. That night they didn’t have sex. John was feeling too depressed, Paul was feeling too guilty, and they were both feeling very tried from the night’s concert and air travel. Paul held John all night long in a loving spoon, periodically hugging John tightly to remind John that everything would be okay in the end.
*****
Paul awoke a bit late the next morning, and he sprang up as if he’d been goosed when he realized he was probably oversleeping. He had gotten used to sleeping in while on this tour with John, and his inner alarm clock was a bit rusty. He had a panicked feeling that at any moment Linda would walk in the door of their next-door suite. He grabbed the bedside clock and was a little relieved to find it was only 10:45 a.m. Paul had feared it was much later. His hand grabbed his chest as his breathing slowly went back to normal. He looked over to his right and John was sound asleep, flat on his stomach, his head to the side, mouth open, with the sound of a light snore being emitted from his head area. Paul smiled in spite of himself. John could sleep through a fucking brass band parade. He pushed his covers aside, moved naked to his overnight suitcase, and bent over to get his fresh clothes out in anticipation of his shower.
“That’s a mighty fine show you’re putting on there.”
Paul froze, his hand, clutching fresh underclothes, was stuck in mid-air. He then said, “I’m glad you’re appreciating it,” and wiggled his ass around a little before standing up. “It’s time to get up and get dressed, Johnny. The family will be here any minute now.”
John had sat up when he had first noticed that his favorite sight on earth was on clear display before him, but as Paul reminded him of “the family” he flopped back against his pillow on his back, and groaned loudly.
Paul chuckled. “It’s not that bad, John. We’ll have fun together, like when we’re on holiday.”
“I’m not going three days without sex!” John declared stubbornly. “So you should be using your well known ingenuity to figure out how we’re gonna get it on in the next two days.” His voice brooked no denial, so Paul just smiled, turned his back on John and headed for the shower, letting his ass swish from side to side as he went. He heard an inaudible imprecation behind him, but did not recognize the words. He hadn’t been in the shower for 2 minutes before the door flew open and John burst in – completely starkers – and pushed Paul roughly against the wall. “You don’t get to tease me like that,” John directed the threat directly into Paul’s ear. “You’ll have to pay for that.”
“John, they’re literally going to walk in any minute now,” Paul responded, laughing a little at John’s sudden friskiness.
“You should have thought of that before you wiggled that ass at me. You know what it does to me. It’s like a red flag to a bull.” John was pulling Paul to him, while simultaneously smashing him against the wall, but Paul was struggling to get away.
“John, please,” Paul couldn’t help laughing while he was begging for his freedom.
“Please what? You wanna get drilled?”
An explosive, poorly withheld guffaw escaped Paul’s throat. “As attractive as you make that sound, no…I need to get dressed now.” Paul managed to break free and on his way out of the shower door John gave him a sharp smack on his bum. The slap actually hurt a bit, but Paul had learned a long time ago never to show John Lennon a weakness or he’d capitalize on it endlessly.
John finished his shower, and smiled to himself. He had certainly flustered the poor boy. John had just decided that he wasn’t going to walk around dog-in-the-manger during this Linda visit. He’d decided to find himself some female company for after the concert, so that while Paul was with Linda, he would not be alone in his bed crying his fucking eyes out. Of course, he’d have to rent a room in a different hotel, because he could just imagine James bursting in the next morning shouting, “I’m here!” Wouldn’t want the boy to be exposed to that much naked female pulchritude at his young age. John chuckled at his own witticism, as he remembered how James had coitus interruptus him when he was right on the verge of …Hmmmm. It seemed like he had been subjected to more sexual frustration in the last few months than he’d had in years. And - of course John had thought of this - maybe if John found a girl to be with, Paul might not take him so much for granted?
So, while Paul was readying his family suite for Linda and his children, John was wandering down the halls of a much lower floor looking for the roadies’ room. He finally found it, and banged heavily. Obviously, the roadies were still asleep, because it took several minutes, with lots of thumping sounds and swears before the door opened, to expose one of the roadies, covered to his waist with a sheet, swaying at the door with what appeared to be a gigantic hangover.
“Good-morning, Roger, glad to see you’re up and at ‘em at this late hour,” John said perkily, pushing the roadie back into the room and then following him. The roadie, nonplussed, remembered to close the door. In the double bed room, a hump was covered up in one bed, while another roadie was in the other bed, with a covered up hump next to him, too. “I see we have company,” John commented, leaning down and giving one of the humps a spank on what appeared to be her bottom. He heard a corresponding giggle from under the blankets.
“We weren’t expecting you,” Roger managed to stammer.
“No, I see that,” John laughed. “But I’m glad to see you’re making friends with the local talent.” John indicated with his head that they should head for the bathroom, and then walked in first. Roger shared a look with his roommate that was part confusion and part fear. The roommate shrugged, so Roger followed John into the bathroom, tripping over and then dragging his sheet with him.
“Roger, look, I need a woman for tonight.”
Roger was relieved that he wasn’t in trouble, and that John was asking for something that wasn’t strictly illegal. Not that this would have stopped him from doing whatever John wanted. That was part of the “deal” when one was a roadie. You do whatever, no questions asked, no tales told. In fact, Roger was a little surprised that John hadn’t asked for female company at all so far. It had been 2 months, after all. But maybe John had private women he had lined up in the other venues. Paul – well, Paul was a professional married man, and as far as Roger could see, Paul didn’t stray from his wife despite pretty strong temptation on all sides.
“What kind of woman?” Roger asked.
“Well, I like brunettes. I figure there are plenty of them in Rome. Not too young – someone in her late twenties would be best. It would be good if she had some curves, you know? And no English would be good. I don’t want her to repeat anything I might say while I am in the throes of …well, you know…”
Roger chuckled nervously and nodded. “Where do you want her?”
“I’ll tell the tour manager’s assistant to book me a room in a different hotel. He’ll let you know where that is.
“After the show?”
“Precisely. Now, I’ll make myself scarce and you can get back to…business.” John gave him a wide close-mouthed smile, patted him on the back, and left the room.
*****
Paul had gone down to the lobby to greet Linda and his children as they arrived from the airport. John had disappeared, so he’d left him a note to say where he’d gone. John tended to be very territorial about Paul’s whereabouts, and could kick up quite a stir if he didn’t know where Paul was. To avoid such scenes, Paul had taken to taping notes to the bathroom mirror wherever they were if he had to step out for any reason. Another man might find this too constricting, but Paul enjoyed the structure provided by a possessive lover. Linda was the same way as John – you had to tell her where you were all the time, or she’d get worried and think that you were cheating on her. Even after all these years. Somehow, knowing that his lovers cared that much about him gave Paul a sense of security, so he never balked at being monitored like some would.
The limo drew up, and the doors flew open, and soon Paul was visited with the loud, joyous, confusing phenomenon of the McCartney family arriving. Linda popped out and went straight into Paul’s arms. They were on the sidewalk outside the hotel, and the paparazzi got some great shots of Paul greeting his family, and his family showering him with warm affection. Paul and Linda, arm in arm, entered the lobby and the family piled into the elevator. The door to their suite was open, and the room was filled with bright winter light and fresh flowers. There were 3 bedrooms in the McCartney’s suite, so Paul and Linda took one room, Mary and Stella another, and James the third. There was a great deal of rushing about between rooms, and good natured squabbling between the kids, and Paul found himself filled with a sense of well being as his family cavorted around him. He and Linda flopped down on a sofa, and began catching up, repeating to each other all the news since they’d last seen each other a month earlier in London, even thought they had spoken every day on the telephone during that time.
A few moments later, the connecting door flew open and John was standing there with his arms flung out shouting, “Ta da!”
Linda and Paul had a good laugh about that. John came in and pushed his way between the two of them, and then flopped down. He put an arm around each of them and said, “Glad to see me, Lin?”
Linda giggled and shook her head. “That was quite an entrance.”
“I’ve become quite theatrical now that I’m on the stage for a living,” John explained in an exaggerated high brow RADA accent.
Paul was amazed at the transformation in John in the short time they’d been apart. It was as if a completely different man had just strutted in there and announced himself. Paul would have been thrilled by the attitude John was exuding, if not for a deep-seated suspicion, based on years of experience, that made him wonder what the hell John was up to. Linda didn’t seem to be worried, and fell into a gossipy kind of teasing with John. Paul wasn’t sure – he wasn’t at all sure – but was John flirting with Linda? Paul was not terribly jealous about his women, but that was mainly because his ego was such that he didn’t really think another man’s flirting was going to upset him from his catbird seat. He was perhaps a little over-confident about the sexual hold he had over his lovers, but was it over confidence really? No woman had ever out-and-out dumped him after all, at least not because she tired of him sexually (maybe because he had been unfaithful, once or twice). He’d had a few turndowns at the get-go when he wasn’t rich and famous and he was inexperienced, of course, but he had quickly learned after the first few failures how to choose the right women to come on to, and after that even his come-ons were successful. It was this inner voice of certainty that made him shake his head at himself and laugh more freely. John would never seriously flirt with his wife, and Linda would never respond to it even if he did. He laughed again. But then his laugh ran out, and he was left with just a slight twinge of unease. John was definitely up to something, and he had a bad feeling he wasn’t going to like it.
*****
“Buongiorno Roma!”
The crowd went crazy when Paul shouted his greeting after he stood up from the piano, having finished Let It Be. He jumped down to the stage level, and, grabbing his bass, approached the mic while John approached his.
“This is a new song, off our album, Last Year’s Echo,” Paul announced. “You might have heard it – it was a rather big hit!” With that they launched into Free As A Bird. It seemed to John and Paul to be a good song after which they could segue into their old style rock & roll segment.
Free as a bird
It's the next best thing to be
Free as a bird
Home, home and dry
Like a homing bird I'll fly
As a bird on wings
Whatever happened to
The life that we once knew?
Can we really live without each other?
Where did we lose the touch
That seemed to mean so much?
It always made me feel so
Free as a bird
Like the next best thing to be
Free as a bird
Home, home and dry
Like a homing bird I'll fly
As a bird on wings
Whatever happened to
The life that we once knew?
Always made me feel so free
Free as a bird
It's the next best thing to be
Free as a bird
Free as a bird
Free as a bird
Free
As soon as the melody wafted into the night air, the lead guitar, base and drum burst straight into action, and soon John was shouting,It's the next best thing to be
Free as a bird
Home, home and dry
Like a homing bird I'll fly
As a bird on wings
Whatever happened to
The life that we once knew?
Can we really live without each other?
Where did we lose the touch
That seemed to mean so much?
It always made me feel so
Free as a bird
Like the next best thing to be
Free as a bird
Home, home and dry
Like a homing bird I'll fly
As a bird on wings
Whatever happened to
The life that we once knew?
Always made me feel so free
Free as a bird
It's the next best thing to be
Free as a bird
Free as a bird
Free as a bird
Free
Well shake it up baby now!
Twist and shout!
Twist and shout!
This song faded directly into I Saw Her Standing There, with Paul shouting out the iconic “one-two-tree-four!” for all he was worth. This was one of John and Paul’s favorite parts of the concert. They had stripped off the dubious white jackets, and were all in black again, banging away at electric instruments, and singing until their voices were raw. In those moments the years fell away, and John and Paul were playing to each other; they were reliving a thousand such nights where they faced each other with sweaty faces and hearts pounding with the relentless rhythm, and it was as if they were young again, unknown, but totally believing in themselves against the world.
They upped the ante with John bursting in with Slow Down as soon as Paul finished singing, and then Paul completed the segment by screaming out:
You tell lies thinking I can't see
You can't cry 'cause you're laughing at me
I'm down (I'm really down)
I'm down (Down on the ground)
I'm down (I'm really down)
How can you laugh, when you know I'm down?
How can you laugh, when you know I'm down?
Man buys ring, woman throws it away
Same old thing happens every day
I'm down (I'm really down)
I'm down (Down on the ground)
I'm down (I'm really down)
How can you laugh, when you know I'm down?
How can you laugh, when you know I'm down?
We're all alone and there's nobody else
She'll still moan, "Keep your hands to yourself"
I'm down (I'm really down)
Ah babe I'm down (Down on the ground)
I'm down
How can you laugh, when you know I'm down?
How can you laugh, when you know I'm down?...
*****
As soon as the concert was over, John and Paul met up with Paul’s family in the reception room. There was a lot of whooping and congratulating going on, and in the rumpus John took the moment to slip out. As he left he whispered to the tour manager, Evan Willis, “Tell Paul I’m out for the evening – I’ll see him sometime tomorrow.” (Because Paul’s family was visiting, they were going to spend 2 days relaxing in Rome before heading for their next concert in Madrid.)
Paul didn’t notice John slip out, because he was so busy interacting with his children. But when they headed for the limo back to the hotel, he looked around and couldn’t see John. Because he had been feeling odd about John since earlier in the day, his face reflected both confusion and concern. Evan Willis noticed this and approached him.
“John said he’ll be out for the night; he’ll meet up with you sometime tomorrow,” he said quietly to Paul. In fact, Willis was relieved to see John going out to sow wild oats. It had been kind of weird that John and Paul would disappear into their suite at night, with no sign of women coming and going. It had begun to make him wonder if those rumors might be true…But here was Linda, and Paul thrilled to see her, and there was John – off on a late night adventure no doubt of the sexual kind, and it renewed his faith in his employers’ masculinity. They were older now, of course, and a slower pace and a bit more decorum were in order, so he had wondered about this needlessly.
Paul heard what Willis had told him, but he couldn’t quite believe it. What did that mean? ‘Out for the night’ and ‘sometime tomorrow’? Was this some kind of punishment John was dealing out because Linda was there? Now Paul was a bit worried and distracted as he accompanied his family back to their hotel suite. He hoped John wouldn’t get up on a stripper stage and end up on the front page. Or get tangled up with a bad sort that would get him started on drugs again. When John was on his own out on the town, he simply didn’t know when to apply the brakes. He didn’t know when to stop drinking, snorting, inhaling, rutting, or making a ridiculous scene. Paul was a bit angry now at the tour manager for letting John go off on his own. What on earth was he thinking? He’d have to give that man a piece of his mind in the morning!
Needless to say, the night had been ruined for Paul by John’s mysterious disappearance. He tried to pay attention to Linda, and be the man of her dreams for the night, but his stupid brain kept wondering and worrying about John. After he’d finally managed to complete an orgasm, and Linda had finally fallen asleep in his arms, Paul laid awake wondering if he should sneak out and check to see if John was back safe in his bed. He didn’t want to wake up Linda, but he was finding it impossible to just lie there worrying, so he got up as quietly as possible, gently disentangling himself from Linda’s limbs, and tiptoed out of the room, as silently as possible closing the door. He then went across the sitting room to the connecting door, and tried it. It was locked from the other side. Where was his key? He didn’t remember where he had put it, and he couldn’t go banging around searching for it at this late hour without disturbing somebody who would wonder what he was up to, so he stood there in the dark for a few moments wondering if the door being locked meant that John was back or that John was still out? In the end, Paul turned back to his bedroom, and climbed back in to bed, his head recycling terrible scenarios. In this state of mind he tried to settle himself down so he could fall asleep. Paul kept talking to himself in aid of this result: John was fucking with him. He’d have it out with John “sometime tomorrow”, whatever the fuck that meant.
*****
That night John got very drunk, but not before he had enjoyed an extremely vigorous fuck session with the gorgeous Italian beauty his roadie had found him. She had come from the audience, and clearly spoke little English, and understood less. This suited John down to the ground. He and the woman proceeded to get drunk together after having sex together, and they had fallen asleep – naked, sweaty, sticky and boozy – tangled in the sheets, and in blissful peace with the world. John had thought, while he was fucking this woman, that this was a whole lot better than crying himself to sleep in the fetal position while hugging pillows.
In the afternoon, however, as he awoke, John’s thoughts weren’t nearly as pleasant. He had awakened with a gigantic hangover, and when he first was waking he thought for a moment it was Paul in his arms. But it was this strange woman, who he barely even recognized as the woman he had fucked earlier that morning. Her hair smelled of some weird oily product which caused it to stick out around her face like a medusa, and her make up was smudged all over her face making her look almost as though she had clown features. And her breath! Of course, John thought immediately, his breath must even be worse. He moved towards the edge of the bed, slowly removing her arms and legs from his, and sat up on the edge. His head fell into his hands, as he nursed his king hell headache. He wondered what Paul was up to. Then he noticed the time on the bedside clock. It was almost 4 p.m. in the afternoon! The day was gone! Paul was going to kill him!
Or maybe not. Maybe Paul hadn’t even noticed he was gone, and was still ensconced in the bosom of his damn family. Or maybe Paul would actually be worried about him, or jealous? One could always hope, but that seemed very unlikely to John. Paul didn’t get jealous about John’s body. He only got jealous about John’s mind. Perhaps this would have been okay for John, if he weren’t madly possessive of Paul’s body and his mind! Well, Paul needed to understand that he could lose John if he didn’t wake up and give him what he needed in the way of verbal acknowledgement. John had realized trying to talk about it with Paul was useless, so he was trying out the theory that a few demonstrations of what could happen if he didn’t get the attention he needed might persuade Paul to open up more and let John in. He got up to a standing position, groaning and moaning all the way, and banged on the connecting door. A roadie immediately answered it, obviously anxious to get back to work, but stuck there babysitting John. “Get rid of her,” John said softly. “Tell her I enjoyed myself immensely.” He then shuffled his way to the bathroom. When he came out the woman was gone, and John felt relieved by that. He slowly dragged on his clothes, and then banged on the neighboring door again. The roadie appeared quickly again. “Let’s get back to the Grand,” John muttered, keeping his voice low so as not to excite his neurons.
*****
Paul awakened abruptly at 7:00 a.m. Linda was in his arms and she was fast asleep. She usually awakened at 6:30 a.m., but she was on holiday and apparently was taking advantage of this fact. Paul got up and threw on some comfortable clothes, and ambled out into the sitting room. James was already up watching a movie on the hotel’s movie channel.
“Hey, did you ask permission to do that, sport?” Paul asked sternly. James looked up from under his bangs with a guilty expression.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” James explained.
“Those movies cost money you know, and you should ask permission before you order them. No more of that James, okay?”
James nodded solemnly. He was used to his father’s thrifty ways. Paul had raised his children to respect money, and he had told them all they would have to work for a living, so they couldn’t expect to sit around on their duffs waiting for mummy and daddy to pay for things.
“Are you hungry, son?”
James nodded enthusiastically.
“Let’s see what you want to eat.” He opened up the room service menu and went over it with James. James wanted the Belgian waffles with strawberries and whipped cream, and, smiling, Paul ordered for him. James wanted to wash it down with coca cola, and Paul decided it was holidays, so why not? Linda would never allow this sacrilege to happen at home, but she would probably be okay with it while in Rome.
James taken care of, Paul then did a search round the place until he found the key to the connecting suite, and while James was stuffing his face and watching the movie, he casually unlocked the door, knocking softly first, and then entered. Empty. The bed had not even been slept in, and the turndown chocolate was still sitting on John’s pillow. Well, he said he wouldn’t be around until “sometime” today, Paul thought, so no point in panicking yet.
The rest of the morning saw the gradual awakenings of Linda, Mary and Stella, and then Paul and the ladies ordered their breakfast together, while James was watching television. They made plans to do some sightseeing. The Panthenon was a short walk away, so they all got dressed in their nice but casual clothes, and left for the brief walk. Rome was beautiful, even in the winter, and the sightseeing tour used up the late morning and early afternoon. They were back in the hotel by 2 p.m., and the kids were hungry again. Paul hoped that John was back in his room, so that he could come to lunch with them at the restaurant recommended by the concierge. But when he knocked on the door and then let himself in, the room was still undisturbed. Paul was quite worried by then. He telephoned the tour manager’s room, but was told he had already flown on to the next venue, Madrid. He tried the roadies’ rooms, but half of them had left for Madrid, and the other half were unaccounted for. He was in a near-spitting rage at this point. John was off on his own in a strange city, and the fucking roadies apparently didn’t give a fuck! It was unusual for Paul to swear so much, even in his thoughts, so this was an indicator of how angry and worried he was.
He stomped through the suite, where his family had been patiently waiting for him so they could go to a mid-afternoon meal and then take a siesta. Paul looked as though he had a thundercloud over his head as he stalked past them and tried the connecting door again. He then stomped into the master bedroom and slammed the door.
“What’s wrong with him?” Stella asked, astounded by this display of bad temper from her usually mellow father. She’d seen him stressed out of his mind over album releases, but he rarely slammed doors, even when he was mad.
Linda got up and followed him into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She didn’t have to ask him what was wrong. Paul was out on the balcony staring down on to the street, his face dark with anger. As he saw Linda approaching he returned to the room and said harshly, “That asshole has been out all night, and I can’t find anyone who knows where he is! For all I know he has been kidnapped by those fucking Red Brigades! And the tour manager and roadies – nowhere to be found! Apparently they can’t be bothered to keep an eye on John!”
Linda had known it had to do with John. Only John could get Paul this upset. She knew she had to be careful about how she went about dealing with Paul when he was in this outraged mood. “Perhaps the roadies are with him,” she said in a soft voice. “John isn’t that brave. He’s very tentative about going out in public. I can’t see him going off without at least one of the roadies with him.”
Paul had stopped raving and was concentrating on Linda’s face as she spoke. What she said certainly made sense. John didn’t even enjoy going out and about in London by himself, and usually dragged someone along with him, if for no other reason than to handle all financial transactions and transport arrangements.
“Let’s go eat a light lunch, and I’m sure by the time we get back, John will be here and none the worse for wear,” Linda suggested calmly.
Paul nodded, and with a great deal of self-discipline, forced himself to straighten up and wipe his face clean of his anger. “Let’s go,” he said softly, and held the bedroom door open for Linda. “But I have to leave a note in John’s suite first.” The family filed out of the door, into the elevator, and out into the street. The restaurant was only a few blocks away, and they walked there in a desultory way, each of them remembering Paul’s brief temper tantrum and feeling a bit awkward in his presence as a result. He was quiet and unresponsive through much of lunch, constantly staring at his watch and then looking around the room as if he hoped to see someone approaching him.
Back in the suite by 3:30 p.m., everyone except Paul laid down for a brief nap. Between the walking, eating and jet lag, the kids were zonked, and were sealed off in their rooms. Linda sat with Paul in the sitting room in a show of solidarity, but soon had fallen fast asleep. Paul sat next to her on the sofa, and took turns staring blankly out into space, and then snapping out of it, looking at his watch and pacing past the connecting door. He had left it open so that he would hear and see when John got back.
It was after 4:30 when Paul finally heard the next-door suite door close. He forced himself to sit still and let John come to him. He was of course relieved that John was back. At least he wasn’t being held for ransom in some stone building in Padua. He wouldn’t be seeing John on the telly all beaten up and holding up the day’s newspaper as the demand for ransom was read. A few minutes went by, and Paul’s temper was beginning to simmer again. It soon became apparent that John had gone directly into the bathroom, because Paul – who was straining to hear what he could – did finally recognize the sound of a toilet flushing. A few moments later, John was standing in the open doorway. Paul saw him out of the periphery of his eye but decided to pretend he had been napping. Paul didn’t know what game John was playing, but he refused to be the butt of it.
John casually walked in, noting that both Paul and Linda were dozing. He turned to go back in to his room, and then Paul stirred. “Is that you John?” Linda awoke at the sound of Paul’s voice.
Damn! He’d almost gotten away! Reluctantly, John turned around and put on a pleasant expression. “Yup, this would be me!” he said in a chipper voice.
Linda was thinking, oh crap! Not even a scintilla of guilt on John’s face. Paul’s gonna hit the ceiling!
“You folks have a good day?” John asked cheerfully, sitting down on the arm of an easy chair.
Linda looked nervously at Paul, who seemed to have slipped into his blank face. The one he used when he didn’t want anyone to read him, which was about 60% of the fucking time. Linda smiled and said, “we did some sightseeing, and we had a light lunch down the road. We’re all having a siesta right now.”
Paul remained silent, but had looked up from his hands and was staring at John with an unnerving blank stare. He wants me to ask about where he’d been, and I’m not going to give him the satisfaction, Paul thought. Instead he said, “Are you off on your own for dinner, or will you come with us?” His voice was polite but cold.
He’s really pissed, John thought. Good. Let him suffer for a while. John smiled easily, pretending that he didn’t notice Paul’s cold demeanor. “Dinner with the family sounds great. What time?” John had put the words “the family” in virtual quotation marks when he had said it; Paul would take this as an insult, and that is how John wanted him to take it. John wasn’t really a part of “the family”. He was always standing off to the side, and it would always be that way. It always irked him when Paul spoke as if “the family” was also John’s family.
Linda swallowed hard. This wasn’t good. “Eight o’clock?” she suggested. “I’ll have the concierge book us somewhere good.”
“Excellent!” John announced loudly, getting up and sauntered off towards the connecting door. “See you later then!” The connecting door closed and Paul heard the lock turn.
Paul didn’t know what he felt more strongly: anger, fear, or pain. They all seemed to be vying for control of his emotions. He didn’t realize he had been squeezing Linda’s hand too tightly until she finally whimpered a little. He looked down at his hand as he loosened it, and then looked up and met Linda’s eyes. She saw the pain and fear, but she didn’t see the anger.
“I think he’s having a little ‘declaration of independence’ moment,” she said softly, stroking his hand with hers. “Don’t worry about it. It will all right itself in the end, as it always does.”
Paul wasn’t sure Linda was correct because there had been plenty of times in his life when things had not “righted” themselves. But he wanted her to be correct, so he decided that he would try to face the rest of the evening with that attitude.
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Date: 2014-01-13 11:25 am (UTC)Why do I suspect this is not going to work? Although, really...John in this chapter did the best thing he could have done, minus the fact that he maybe should have told Paul himself that he was going out and would be back the next day. Definitely better than crying on his own in the next room, and he even respected the 'not in our house' rule in modified form by taking it elsewhere, rather than rubbing it in Paul's face by doing it in the next suite. He hasn't done anything forbidden, he's left Paul and Linda to themselves, and I love him flirting with Linda a little. It's a shame Paul reacted so badly, because otherwise I'm sure Linda and the kids would have enjoyed having Paul entirely to themselves for a bit of sightseeing etc. Paul's suspicions are of course not entirely unfounded -- John is trying to get a reaction -- but on the other hand, taking himself away from a situation that makes him unhappy is very healthy, even if it has an ulterior motive. He's tried talking to Paul about the verbal acknowledgement thing, which was also the sensible healthy approach, but that went nowhere. So...hmm.
P.S. I think you had a brain-slip there with the Parthenon -- that would be rather a long walk, since it's in Athens. ;)
no subject
Date: 2014-01-14 07:12 am (UTC)You always have an interesting viewpoint, that I look forward to hearing. You feel John was the lesser evil in this chapter. While I understand John ends, I rarely understand his means. This fic is no exception. On the other hand, what I'm hoping is that people are noticing that Paul is actually emotionally attached deeply and is reacting the way a normal jealous spouse would behave. I thought that was actually a step in the right direction for him!
We'll see, though, because I rarely have control over what these troublesome characters do.
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Date: 2014-01-14 09:15 am (UTC)