Too Much Rain, Chapter 8
Apr. 24th, 2014 08:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yes_2dayRob works on making a few friends; the jury's still out on one of them. John has second thoughts, but not for long enough. The holiday party breaks up, and go in two separate directions. Paul is at a loose end, and idle hands are the devil's playthings...
Warnings: A tiny bit of hetero sex; nothing too graphic.
THIS IS FICTION
Chapter 8
“Want a drink?” Rob placed the fresh glass of whiskey on the piano, in front of Paul. Paul, surprised by the quiet interruption, looked up and saw a warmly smiling Rob gazing down at him. “Mind if I sit down?” Rob gestured to the piano bench. Paul wordlessly moved over, so that Rob could share it with him.
“Thanks,” Paul said, referring to the whiskey.
“I was listening to what you were playing. I was enjoying it. You’re influenced somewhat by Chopin in this piece, aren’t you?”
Paul laughed deprecatingly. “Somewhat,” he said, jokingly. “That’s as close as I can hope to get.” Paul had started this piece months ago, meant to be a small movement of the Oratorio.
Rob gave Paul a slight frown and said in a firm voice, “Don’t put yourself down. You’re a far more successful composer in your day than Chopin was in his, and I suspect you will be far more successful over time than he was, too.”
Paul felt a little awkward. He wasn’t used to compliments issued so peremptorily, and wasn’t sure how to react to it. “Well, we’ll neither of us be alive to find out the truth of it,” Paul said cheerily, and then lifted his glass to clink it with Rob’s.
“What’s it called?” Rob asked, after swallowing his sip of whiskey. He had chosen Paul’s favorite brand on purpose, as he hoped Paul would notice that he remembered it after all this time.
“Hmm?”
“The piece. What is it called?”
“It hasn’t got a name; right now it is just a few strands of melody in search of a theme.”
“It feels a bit…poignant to me. Are you inspired by what’s going on in your life, or do these melodies just come to you?”
Paul said automatically, “They just come to me.” It had never occurred to him that the music might have been inspired by what was going on in his life. Instead, where the music came from had always been a kind of mystery to him that he was afraid to solve, for fear that once he knew where it came from, it wouldn’t come anymore.
“So the music doesn’t express how you feel tonight?” Rob asked, pressing beyond Paul’s comfort zone a tiny bit more.
Paul felt the pressure, but it didn’t scare him yet. “It’s just what I’m working on now, is why I’m playing it,” he said lamely. Even he didn’t sound too convinced by this explanation. He didn’t know why he was feeling so exposed.
“But it is possible that you are composing it now, and thinking to play it now, because it does express how you feel now.” Rob had leaned in a tiny bit, forcing Paul to meet his eyes. “Isn’t it?”
Paul’s eyes flickered at what he saw in Rob’s eyes - a kind of avuncular wisdom coupled with unsentimental empathy. For a moment he felt the urge to say, “yes” to Rob, but at the last moment he smiled instead.
“Like I said, I never know where the music comes from, or why. It’s just always there.”
Rob leaned back a little to give Paul more space. He had seen that for a brief moment there - barely a second - Paul had felt the pull of his magnetism. Rob had seen the glorious hazel eyes widen just the tiniest bit in recognition of it. That was a start, and he didn’t want to overplay his hand, especially so early in the game. There was no advantage in taking risks at this point, because it was completely unnecessary.
About this time, John noticed that Rob and Paul were almost tete-a-tete on the piano bench. From John’s standpoint, they appeared a little too cozy. He stopped his argument abruptly in the middle of a sentence, and got up and walked over to the piano. When he got there, he saw that Paul was simply playing chords, and Rob was just listening. Rob looked up and smiled cheerfully at John. “Have you three finished fixing the world then?” Rob asked lightly, and then laughed.
“Were we boring you?” John asked in a jocular manner, but underneath he felt a bit anxious for some reason. By then Jason had joined them.
“Paul, play something for us,” Jason asked.
“Oh no, no, I’m not really a good pianist,” Paul said, starting to push away from the piano. “In fact, if you all don’t mind, I think I’ll go up to bed.”
Rob got up. “Of course. And it’s late. I should be on my way.” Despite half-hearted urges to the contrary from Gerry and Jason, Rob insisted upon leaving, and the five men all said goodnight in the large entry hallway.
Paul peeled off as soon as Rob was out the door, calling down the stairs, “See you all in the morning!”
That’s his way of telling me he’s sleeping with Linda tonight, John thought grumpily to himself. He had been feeling so sure of Paul lately, but in one short 10-minute period all that confidence had been sucked out of him. He turned to Jason, who hugged him goodnight, and then soon he was alone in the hallway, and eventually he wandered up to his bedroom. He remembered to leave the light on for the girls, who were still out on the town. They were certainly a gallivanting pair!
I’m not sure I can trust that Rob guy. He’s hard to read. Every time I think I will catch him eyeing Paul, he’ll be doing nothing of the sort. He didn’t even go near Paul tonight, except at the very end, when he got bored with the argument. It is depressing how quickly I can revert to my insecure self. Nothing is different from last night, but tonight feels totally different. Last night Paul was with Linda, and I was writing about how I needed some time and space away from him. Tonight he is with Linda, and I am feeling lost and alone. What the fuck is going on with me? And why can’t I connect with Paul? Have we forgotten how to talk to each other, after such a long time walking on eggshells because of my cancer?
John threw the pencil down, and flopped backwards against the pillow. In that moment he dreadfully missed how it was before the cancer, when he and Paul were careless and at ease with one another. This was going to be a long, lonely night.
It was not a long, lonely night for Linda. When Paul came to bed, he had gently awakened her, and taken her in his arms. He had come to make good on the silent promise he had made to himself at the dinner table. He whispered some soft words in her ear, and she felt his hands slowly tracing their way up her thighs, and butterflies started flapping around in her stomach. It was like making love with a Paul who was 100% with her again, and it had felt like years since Paul had made her feel this way.
Earlier, when Linda had come up to bed, she had begun to regret having spoken of Paul so openly with Rob, who was - in essence - a complete stranger. Linda never did that, because she feared her words would show up in the tabloids later. For whatever reason, she had completely trusted Rob. It was probably because he was friends with Jason and Gerry, and she knew from John and Paul and her own dealings with them, that they were absolute and total vaults when it came to their friendship with the two ex-Beatles. She tried to remember what she had said, and hoped it hadn’t been too intimate, and then promised herself she would be more careful in the future.
She was also upset with herself because she hadn’t shared her concerns with Paul directly. She didn’t know why she hadn’t yet, other than maybe it was because Paul seemed so detached and unwilling to participate in any serious, heart-to-heart conversations. He seemed to have a need to keep everything light and easy right now; it was probably a reaction to the heaviness of the previous 18-month struggle. Linda supposed she would have to play it by ear, and hope that she would see the opening with Paul when it finally appeared.
Consequently, when Paul came in the room an hour or so later, and immediately began some tender foreplay, she felt a tremendous release go through her body. Tonight, at least, she wouldn’t have to keep her feelings bottled up. She could express them physically, and he would know how much she still loved and needed him.
It was a week or so later when Linda accepted Jason’s invitation to go meet Rob for lunch down in the nearby town of Portofino. John had cried off when he heard that Rob would be there, and Paul had said he’d stay to keep an eye on James and his friends. Gerry had preferred to sit on the patio in the sun and read some more about the Roman Empire. A ciascuno il suo.
Sitting on a piazza under a tomato-red market umbrella in the warm sun was a tonic for Linda, as she enjoyed the parade of people around her and the view of the perfect little harbor. They drank limoncello with their plates of chilled, grilled vegetables mixed with a warm and lightly olive-oiled capellini, garnished with some garlic, parmesan, and fresh ground pepper. Rob had ordered for them, and since he had learned Linda was a vegetarian, he had conspired with the chef to produce something off-menu that would feel meatier than the usual light, primavera kind of vegetarian offering normally available in Italy.
Rob is a guy who is handy to have around, Linda thought, as she savored a perfectly cooked and seasoned artichoke. His Italian was fluent, and his knowledge of the food, the wine, and the Northern Italian coast was wide and deep. (Little did Linda know that Rob’s expertise in French and France, and Spanish and Spain, and Portugal and Portuguese was just as impressive as his knowledge of Italian and Italy.)
“You know, we should all take a wine tasting tour one of these days,” Rob posited. “There are some great vineyards only an hour or so drive east from here. The harvest period just finished, and they should be showcasing their latest vintages. In one of the vineyards, the owner’s son is a client of mine, and I’m sure he would lay on a spread for us if I asked.”
This sounded just perfect to Jason, Gerry and Linda, and they agreed to plan a day trip for the whole crew within the next week, and hire drivers to take them.
The food was inspiring, the conversation was sparkling, and the mood was uplifting, and Linda could not remember having such a wonderful day in a very long time. Paul had told her that Rob was gay, but Linda was having a hard time believing it. There was nothing effeminate about him, and nothing to demark him from all the other elegant straight males she had ever met. In fact, Linda feared she was developing a little bit of an unrequited crush on him.
Linda was also developing a great fondness for Jason. At first, she had found him a little…what was the phrase she was looking for? Ah, that was it - stereotypically gay, in a Manhattan social set kind of way. Linda had met many such men growing up in an upper class family in New York. But Jason’s charm - she had learned through close observation - was backed up by a really fine character, and Linda had begun to fall as much in love with him as John and Paul had done.
Jason was the one who started the conversation about John and Paul. Until then, the conversation had flowed over and around them, but had avoided them entirely. Still, John and Paul were the center of the wheel, and the rest of them were just spokes, so it was inevitable that eventually they would arise as a topic.
“I hesitate to raise the subject, Linda, but have you noticed that something is off about John and Paul?” Jason asked.
By then, the limoncello had long since been smoothly replaced by Rob with a silky pinot grigio, and Linda’s wine glass had been refilled more than once by Rob’s quiet ministrations, so she completely forgot the promise she had made to herself to keep such thoughts to herself. “Yes, I have,” Linda said honestly. “But I’ve been assuming they kind of O.D.’ed on each other during the chemo. They were barely ever apart for 18 months under very trying circumstances, and it seems natural that they need a little breathing room from each other now that it’s over.”
Jason took this in and saw the logic in it. “I hope that’s it. When they are both in good spirits at the same time, they create a euphoria for the rest of us that is impossible to match.” Everyone took a sip of cool wine, and then Jason asked, “Are they working together?”
Linda said, “I don’t think so. During the chemo Paul tried to distract John by urging him to write songs, but John refused. Instead, he started writing in a journal.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that,” Jason interrupted. “I confess that I’m dying to read it. It is probably full of half truths and hyperboles, but I’m betting it is very entertaining.”
Linda laughed out loud. One of the reasons she had grown to admire Jason so much was that he was one of the few people who loved John but who could also see his glaring flaws, and not make excuses for them.
“My point was, though,” Linda continued, “is that when Paul isn’t working he tends to get moody and detached from everyone. Because he refuses to work with him, John has kind of left Paul hanging suspended in mid-air, although I am sure that John doesn’t mean it that way. I think John just wants to hang loose and have no responsibilities for a while, after all he has been through.”
Jason nodded, and eyed Linda with respect. She was really a most instinctive person. She didn’t pretend to read the New Yorker or know much about world politics or what was going on in upper class culture, and she didn’t apologize for it either, but she had an almost unerring ability to zero in on the most salient point in almost any conversation.
Rob heard Linda’s comment and took away the one most-important hidden pearl: Paul needed desperately to work in order to feel connected to life, and yet he was getting no support or help in this regard from John, who appeared to be oblivious to this fact. This insight alone was worth all of the time and effort he had put into planning the afternoon. The fact that he had thoroughly enjoyed himself with Linda and Jason was just icing on the cake, as far as Rob was concerned. He was researching this project as if it was a potential business investment, and thus far he felt he had made significant progress towards his goal.
Back at the villa, John had sought out Paul. He knew that something was wrong there, and he wasn’t sure why or even what it was, but since Paul seemed to be slipping away to “Paul Land” more and more frequently, John supposed it was up to him to reach out and try to pull him back to earth. He also needed to break the news to Paul about his decision. He found Paul reading by the pool, while James and some friends splashed around. John took the chair next to Paul. At first, Paul didn’t seem to notice him.
“What’cha reading?” John asked after a moment, having not yet caught Paul’s attention. Paul seemed to snap out of a fugue state, and he looked a bit confused. He had to look down to the magazine he was holding as if to remind himself what he had been reading.
“It’s an article about wind farms,” Paul finally remembered. He had actually been totally lost in his thoughts again.
“Sounds fascinating,” John said with a smirk.
Paul shut the magazine and threw it aside. “What’s up?” he asked John, in his characteristic breezy manner, crossing his legs and turning a bit in his chair to give more of his attention to John.
“Just checking in with you, mate. You’ve been a bit distant lately.” John studied his fingernails as he said this.
“Have I?” Paul asked. He was a bit surprised. From his perspective, it had seemed as though John was the one who was distant. But of course he didn’t say so.
“Yeah. You’re off in Paul Land most of the time. What’s going on with you?”
“I guess I’m at a bit of a loose end. There was always an agenda, always something to do, when you were on that regime, but now I’ve got to remember what I used to do with myself before.” Paul made his voice sound neutral and in control.
“So, it’s my fault for getting better, is that it?” John responded, but with a smile on his face to show no hard feelings.
“Let’s blame it on the fuckin’ cancer, shall we?” Paul decided with equanimity.
John smiled his agreement, and then remembered that he had brought 2 beers down, and he handed one to Paul and took a huge sip out of the other. “So, where do we go from here, then?” He asked in as casual a voice as he could muster, his eyes looking straight ahead so as to try to leaven the atmosphere a bit.
Nevertheless, Paul was alarmed by the question. It hinted at a direction in the conversation that he might not want to go. But of course he didn’t say so. “Must we go somewhere?” he asked instead, with as light a tone as he could muster.
Paul wasn’t making this easy, John thought. He’s gonna make me spell it out. “I think we’re getting a bit on each other’s nerves, after so much time together, don’t you?”
Paul had noticed it, but of course he didn’t say so.
John waited for a comment, but receiving none, he continued. “Maybe we need a little time apart to get our heads back on straight?”
Paul had not expected that. He had hoped that John would be ready to go back to work. He longed to work with John again. It was like a physical ache. He also sincerely believed that some good, hard work would right what was wrong between them, and remind them of why they wanted to be together. Consequently, it was shocking to hear John say he wanted time apart. But of course he didn’t say so. “Oh,” he finally said. “So you’re not ready to get back to work yet?” That comment was as close as he could get to an expression of his own need and desire.
“No, not yet,” John said firmly. “I need to feel inspired, first. Lately, I’ve been writing in my journal, and that has been a godsend. I’m sure one day I will wake up and feel the urge to write songs again, but I’m not there yet. It’s all still too close to me, and I’d rather write about the experience a little less explicitly, and a little more subtly. I’ve already done the Cold Turkey thing. Don’t want to repeat myself.”
Paul heard this statement as if it were one of those dreadful bass drum death knell sets in a funeral procession. His funeral. Paul actually considered, for less than a half-minute, to fight for what he wanted, by trying to persuade John to see it his way, like he did back in the ‘60s. But what he had learned from that experience was that he might be able to guilt and/or harry John back into the studio but it would be like pulling teeth out of John to get any meaningful participation. And afterwards, John would feel nothing but resentment about it. Paul felt impotent and next to useless, but he wasn’t going to fight it this time. It hurt to beg for creative intercourse - much more than it hurt to beg for sex.
“Ok, then,” Paul finally said. “What’s your plan?” Paul realized by then that John already had a plan. John had the plan already when he sat down next to him. In fact, Paul realized, the whole conversation was a pretext for telling Paul about the plan that John had already made.
“I thought when this holiday is over, I’ll go back and stay with Jason and Gerry for a couple of weeks or maybe a few more in New York. You can spend more time with Linda and your family that way. Just long enough for us to be refreshed, and to start missing each other again.” John’s voice was upbeat - forcibly so, to Paul’s ears.
He thinks I’m going to be upset by this, and he wants to avoid a scene. That’s why he is doing this to me in front of my son and his friends. This agonizing thought raced through Paul’s mind in a split second, but the pain it left behind would linger for weeks. “If you think that’s best,” is what Paul said, very subtly moving his body forward again, away from its more intimate connection with John’s body, and looking out to the horizon. Far in the distance, he could just make out the cliff line, and the sparkling Mediterranean below. Funny how it didn’t stir him like it normally did. He just felt dead inside.
John felt Paul’s withdrawal as if it were a cold draft. It pained him, it really did, but this urge to strike out on his own was - at least in this moment - too strong for him to ignore. “It’ll be good for both of us, Pud,” John said beseechingly to the perfectly emotionless profile in front of him. “We will see each other with new eyes when I get back, you’ll see.”
Paul nodded vaguely, and allowed a faint smile to pass across his lips, but John could tell that Paul had shut himself off again. John had known that this conversation was going to be hard, but he hadn’t expected it to be this painful. It would only be just a few weeks to a month apart, after all, and surely their relationship was strong enough to survive such a short separation? Partly because of his magical thinking, and partly because Paul did not share his true feelings with John, John felt sure that Paul would soon see reason, and come to terms with the idea. It would all work out in the end.
It was a few days later that the wine tour was arranged, and two large cars had appeared to escort the large group to their destination. The crowd consisted of Paul, Linda, and their three younger children, along with John, Jason, Gerry and Rob. They were bringing the 13 year-old James along, and he was looking forward to tasting some wine. It wasn’t illegal in Italy for a boy to drink some vino in public when in the company of his parents, so this promised to be an extra-special treat for him. Paul and his family went in one car, and the four other men went in the other. Rob was not pleased with this arrangement, having failed to appreciate the fact that the three McCartney children would be coming as well. He had hoped to spend time in the car with Paul, perhaps with Linda along. Oh, well, there would be plenty of moments during the wine tasting and the dining for Rob to solidify his gains with Paul. He would just have to be creative about it.
After a pleasant hour plus drive into the Venuto Valley, and once at the vineyard, they were seated at a large table overlooking rolling hills lined with grapevines, and the owner’s son himself came out to orchestrate their tasting. A platter of savories were placed on the table, including green olives, shredded hard parmesan cheese, Venuto sopressata salami and of course prosciutto, provolone, and dried tomatos, with rosemary crackers and slices of Italian country bread. The group fell upon the food like ravenous wolves. All except Rob, who felt that food interfered with wine tasting, and Paul, whose appetite was not what it should be. Whenever Paul was depressed, he either ate like a pig or completely lost his appetite. This time, he was not eating.
Rob noticed that Paul was not eating and he misinterpreted this to mean that Paul had the same relationship with wine tasting as he did. He felt this was just another sign that his quest was meant to be successful. He managed to find a seat next to Paul, and while the others were busy oohing and ahhing over the food and the wines, Rob sat back in his chair and waited for an appropriate opening. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Paul quietly swirling the golden wine in his glass, and then slowly bringing the glass up to his nose for a deep inhale. He watched as Paul’s eyebrow went up as he analyzed the smell and then as he took the first taste of the wine, held it on his tongue, and, after the appropriate amount of time, spit it out in to a bucket. Rob smiled. Paul appeared to be the only one at the table, other than Gerry and himself, who really knew how to taste wine.
Paul’s studious approach to the tasting had more to do with the emotional hole he was in, than any real preferences on how to taste wine. He’d done his share of raucous tastings in the past, where he drank everything they gave him, and wound up drunk out of his fucking mind by 3 p.m., and with a massive hangover the next day. It was just that for the past few days - ever since John had dropped his bomb on him - Paul had found himself in quicksand: a slow-acting quicksand that seemed to savor making him suffer as much and as long as possible. His enjoyment in almost everything had been sucked dry, and he had even given up sitting at the piano, because his lack of enthusiasm for it was too painful to bear. Paul could hardly fail to notice that John, on the other hand, had appeared to be set free by having delivered himself of the announcement of his break from Paul, and was a regular bon vivant 24/7. Is that what I do to John - drag him down? This question had occurred to Paul more than once as he watched John become ever more cheerful and alive, the further he - Paul - drifted away. These thoughts were in the forefront of his mind as he sat, outwardly calm and impassive, amongst the ever more rowdy crowd of revelers around him.
“Are you thinking deep thoughts, or are you just exhausted?”
Paul heard the voice as an echo first, and then slowly zeroed in on the here and now. It was Rob who asked the question. He turned politely in Rob’s direction to meet those strangely neutral but empathetic grey eyes and said with a mischievous grin, “I’m having thoughts, but I’m not so sure how deep they are.”
“Most people would pay a penny for them, but I’m willing to pay more if necessary,” Rob said, his voice was low, soothing, almost hypnotic. Rob’s eyes did not waver from Paul’s, not even to blink.
Paul thought to himself, that’s a clever turn of phrase. I have to remember that for a song lyric, and then he said with a self-deprecating laugh, “I doubt that they’re worth even a heypenny.”
Rob indulged himself by allowing his eyes to caress Paul’s face for a few seconds, and then he changed the subject. “So what did you think of this first wine?”
“It’s a bit too floral for my taste,” Paul said honestly. “I like whites to be more on either the crisp or the buttery side. I’m hoping the next one will be drier.”
“If you love buttery wines, you would really appreciate the middle-California coast chardonnays,” Rob said. “And if you love the crisp, citrusy whites, have you tried the new Argentinian Torrontes wines? They’re quite a revelation, full of grapefruit overtones.”
Paul’s face opened up in a reflection of his interest in Rob’s opinions, which managed to be knowledgeable without being patronizing. “You know a lot about it, I see,” Paul said. “I’m afraid I’m not very knowledgeable myself. I usually look around for the bloke in the restaurant who seems to know what he’s doing, and then I tell the sommelier to bring me what that bloke ordered.”
Rob laughed. He surprised himself. It was a genuine laugh. His attempts to flatter Paul by pointing out what Rob thought were Paul’s refined tastes always ended up with Paul voluntarily taking a cheerful pratfall off his pedestal facedown in to the mud. Rob had not expected this kind of humility from a man as successful, rich, beautiful and famous as Paul McCartney. It was a strange twang that Rob felt in what he supposed was the “heart” region of his brain. There was something very compelling and irresistible about this man, and while of course pursing Paul was a fun challenge, Rob wondered - perhaps seriously for the first time - whether he was getting in over his head. There was a depth to this man, not just the obvious creative genius he must possess, but also what Rob began to believe were hidden pools of exquisitely refined emotion never before seen by another human being, deep inside this man. Perhaps the man had not even seen them himself. Rob actually allowed himself to consider - for a moment - whether (a) he was worthy of such a man, and (b) would he end up the one squirming on the end of the hook, rather than Paul? Certainly, if he was not careful, Rob knew he could easily fall deeply in love this time. That would not be fun at all. Love always ended up being hurtful to at least one of the participants.
Paul didn’t divine all these things going through Rob’s mind. What he sensed was a deep simpatico with Rob, just as he’d felt when he’d first met him in - yes, it was in Argentina -not quite 2 years ago now! Rob was good company, had many similar interests to his, and there was nothing mundane or quotidian about Rob’s thought processes or conversation. He seemed to approach all subjects from a very interesting, if slightly erudite, direction. Yet he never made Paul feel inferior or stupid for not sharing that level of erudition. Paul told himself that he could use a good friend right now, and maybe that is why fate had thrown Rob back into his path. For that reason, he was quite content to spend most of his time with Rob that day, as they compared the various wines, and ate a languorous meal. Out of respect for Paul and Linda and their children, Rob ate the vegetarian offering, while John, Gerry and Jason dove into the meat with gusto. Paul noted this and was both pleased and flattered. It was a kind gesture, since vegetarianism was a moral choice for Paul and his family - not a dietary preference. If his taste buds’ preferences were to control, and the ethics of eating animals was not an issue, Paul would probably have chosen meat, as well. It was a sacrifice to live as he believed, and most of his friends tolerated it, but he could feel them raising their eyebrows and rolling their eyes and making little jokes about it when his back was turned. Rob, however, seemed to have a graceful respect for his choice, and didn’t seem to miss the meat at all.
As Rob sat in the car as they all headed back in the direction of Portofino, he was quiet. He stared out the window in a thoughtful haze. John and Jason, and to a much lesser extent Gerry, were full of chatter and nonsensical opinions about the wines they had tried. Rob was not interested in their prattle. His mind was entranced by the memory of a face that danced with expressions - never the same one for long - and a low, slow, sexy and musical voice. He knew he was in trouble now. He was in terrible trouble. In the previous interactions with Paul - two years ago - Paul had been happy, content in his relationship with Lennon, and this tantalizing unavailability paired with Paul’s irresistible sexuality had been a challenge to Rob. But today was different. Today, he could actually see what quality time spent with Paul alone would be like, and he had realized too late that he’d been hoist on his own petard.
The holiday had come to an end, and the crazed process of packing a large and querulous family’s suitcases was in its death throes. Linda was grateful for this, because sometimes it felt like Paul and she were herding feral cats when it came time to getting the kids packed and out the door. The house party was heading in two different directions. The McCartneys were flying back to London, and John, Jason and Gerry were flying to New York. Paul had long since fortified his “brave face” and had conjured up a carefree insouciance for the last few minutes he’d spent with John, before they were parted in the airport VIP lounge at Rome. The New York flight left first, and Paul and John hugged awkwardly, before John progressed through hugging the rest of the McCartneys, and Paul progressed through hugging Jason and Gerry. And then they were gone.
Paul’s cheerful affect collapsed almost as soon as John disappeared, and Linda could not help but notice it. Paul had told her that he and John had decided to spend a few weeks apart, but he hadn’t told her how he felt about it. He was going to be a Stoic, Linda realized, and this made it all the more difficult for her to deal with it. Paul was now moving forward like an automaton as they prepared to board their flight, helping James with his carry-on gear, face forward, emotions withheld. She sat next to him in first class, and because she had always preferred the aisle due to a touch of claustrophobia, Paul had taken the window seat and spent much of the flight staring listlessly out of it. This was not good. At this point Linda had started to feel very angry with John. It was all well and good for John to stretch his wings after a painful bout with illness, but to do so with no regard whatsoever for the friend who had gotten John through it at great expense to himself was inexcusable! Now that John didn’t need him anymore, he was kicking him to the curb? What a tool! She wondered what she could do to reach Paul, and to pull him back towards the light. He needed to be involved in his family again, and his music - the things that had gotten him through his last split with John. But it appeared as though Paul was struggling to even show the tiniest speck of interest in those things. It was almost as if he had given up trying to reconnect with life.
The first few days back in London were heavy sledding for Linda, because Paul’s moodiness had turned dark on more than one occasion. It usually happened at night, after he’d stayed up late drinking too much whiskey. He was never abusive to her, but on such occasions he was completely uncommunicative and deeply depressed. Not this again, she said to herself over and over in those few days. It had become a kind of unwanted mantra. So it was with a huge breath of surprised relief that she greeted Rob Sheridan, who showed up on the Cavendish doorstep one late afternoon. He brought with him another armful of beautiful wildflowers, and a few bottles of chilled Argentinian white wine.
“I’m sorry to barge in unexpectedly,” Rob said, “but I’m here in London on business, and I thought I’d see if by any chance you were free. Jason gave me the address. I hope you don’t mind.”
Linda laughed. “Everyone in the bloody world knows this address! There’s a constant pilgrimage of fans passing by day in and day out!” She was delighted to see him. She hoped Rob might cheer up Paul a bit, who had confided in her after the wine trip that he had quite enjoyed Rob’s company that day. “Let me drag Paul down from his music room. Go make yourself at home in the kitchen - down this hall and to the left.”
Rob followed the directions, and found himself in a homely but warm kitchen, with a few dogs sniffing at his trouser cuffs. He searched for wine glasses and a wine opener in vain for a few minutes, until Paul and Linda joined him. Soon the wine was poured, and Linda got up to putter around, making something for them all to eat. She was pleased by the way in which Paul had perked up in Rob’s company. Rob was regaling them with his final days in Italy, his brief business trip to Brussels (“the ugliest town in Europe, with some of the nicest people”), and the business projects that would keep him in London for the next few weeks.
“You know, Paul, one of my clients who lives here in London owns one of the world’s best private modern art collections of original and early German Expressionism. I know that you are a lover of modern art from that school. I thought perhaps you’d enjoy accompanying me for a private viewing of his collection?”
Paul hadn’t been out of the house in days. Linda held her breath, pretending not to have heard the invitation. She was praying Paul would accept it.
“Sure,” Paul finally said, “that sounds very interesting.” He clinked his glass of Torrontes wine with Rob’s glass and took a taste. He considered the wine for a portentous moment. He then met Rob’s eyes, and allowed his interest in and affection for Rob to show in them. “You’re right about this wine, Rob,” Paul said playfully, followed by a wink. “It really is a revelation!”
Rob felt the butterflies let loose in his stomach when he saw that breathtaking intimate smile aimed at him. What’s more, Paul had remembered the exact word he had used to describe this wine: “revelation”! Two months ago, Rob would have considered this a strategic victory. But on this late October afternoon, all Rob felt was a melting sensation in his stomach and an urge to weep. Crap. It was love after all.
Warnings: A tiny bit of hetero sex; nothing too graphic.
THIS IS FICTION
Chapter 8
“Want a drink?” Rob placed the fresh glass of whiskey on the piano, in front of Paul. Paul, surprised by the quiet interruption, looked up and saw a warmly smiling Rob gazing down at him. “Mind if I sit down?” Rob gestured to the piano bench. Paul wordlessly moved over, so that Rob could share it with him.
“Thanks,” Paul said, referring to the whiskey.
“I was listening to what you were playing. I was enjoying it. You’re influenced somewhat by Chopin in this piece, aren’t you?”
Paul laughed deprecatingly. “Somewhat,” he said, jokingly. “That’s as close as I can hope to get.” Paul had started this piece months ago, meant to be a small movement of the Oratorio.
Rob gave Paul a slight frown and said in a firm voice, “Don’t put yourself down. You’re a far more successful composer in your day than Chopin was in his, and I suspect you will be far more successful over time than he was, too.”
Paul felt a little awkward. He wasn’t used to compliments issued so peremptorily, and wasn’t sure how to react to it. “Well, we’ll neither of us be alive to find out the truth of it,” Paul said cheerily, and then lifted his glass to clink it with Rob’s.
“What’s it called?” Rob asked, after swallowing his sip of whiskey. He had chosen Paul’s favorite brand on purpose, as he hoped Paul would notice that he remembered it after all this time.
“Hmm?”
“The piece. What is it called?”
“It hasn’t got a name; right now it is just a few strands of melody in search of a theme.”
“It feels a bit…poignant to me. Are you inspired by what’s going on in your life, or do these melodies just come to you?”
Paul said automatically, “They just come to me.” It had never occurred to him that the music might have been inspired by what was going on in his life. Instead, where the music came from had always been a kind of mystery to him that he was afraid to solve, for fear that once he knew where it came from, it wouldn’t come anymore.
“So the music doesn’t express how you feel tonight?” Rob asked, pressing beyond Paul’s comfort zone a tiny bit more.
Paul felt the pressure, but it didn’t scare him yet. “It’s just what I’m working on now, is why I’m playing it,” he said lamely. Even he didn’t sound too convinced by this explanation. He didn’t know why he was feeling so exposed.
“But it is possible that you are composing it now, and thinking to play it now, because it does express how you feel now.” Rob had leaned in a tiny bit, forcing Paul to meet his eyes. “Isn’t it?”
Paul’s eyes flickered at what he saw in Rob’s eyes - a kind of avuncular wisdom coupled with unsentimental empathy. For a moment he felt the urge to say, “yes” to Rob, but at the last moment he smiled instead.
“Like I said, I never know where the music comes from, or why. It’s just always there.”
Rob leaned back a little to give Paul more space. He had seen that for a brief moment there - barely a second - Paul had felt the pull of his magnetism. Rob had seen the glorious hazel eyes widen just the tiniest bit in recognition of it. That was a start, and he didn’t want to overplay his hand, especially so early in the game. There was no advantage in taking risks at this point, because it was completely unnecessary.
About this time, John noticed that Rob and Paul were almost tete-a-tete on the piano bench. From John’s standpoint, they appeared a little too cozy. He stopped his argument abruptly in the middle of a sentence, and got up and walked over to the piano. When he got there, he saw that Paul was simply playing chords, and Rob was just listening. Rob looked up and smiled cheerfully at John. “Have you three finished fixing the world then?” Rob asked lightly, and then laughed.
“Were we boring you?” John asked in a jocular manner, but underneath he felt a bit anxious for some reason. By then Jason had joined them.
“Paul, play something for us,” Jason asked.
“Oh no, no, I’m not really a good pianist,” Paul said, starting to push away from the piano. “In fact, if you all don’t mind, I think I’ll go up to bed.”
Rob got up. “Of course. And it’s late. I should be on my way.” Despite half-hearted urges to the contrary from Gerry and Jason, Rob insisted upon leaving, and the five men all said goodnight in the large entry hallway.
Paul peeled off as soon as Rob was out the door, calling down the stairs, “See you all in the morning!”
That’s his way of telling me he’s sleeping with Linda tonight, John thought grumpily to himself. He had been feeling so sure of Paul lately, but in one short 10-minute period all that confidence had been sucked out of him. He turned to Jason, who hugged him goodnight, and then soon he was alone in the hallway, and eventually he wandered up to his bedroom. He remembered to leave the light on for the girls, who were still out on the town. They were certainly a gallivanting pair!
*****
I’m not sure I can trust that Rob guy. He’s hard to read. Every time I think I will catch him eyeing Paul, he’ll be doing nothing of the sort. He didn’t even go near Paul tonight, except at the very end, when he got bored with the argument. It is depressing how quickly I can revert to my insecure self. Nothing is different from last night, but tonight feels totally different. Last night Paul was with Linda, and I was writing about how I needed some time and space away from him. Tonight he is with Linda, and I am feeling lost and alone. What the fuck is going on with me? And why can’t I connect with Paul? Have we forgotten how to talk to each other, after such a long time walking on eggshells because of my cancer?
John threw the pencil down, and flopped backwards against the pillow. In that moment he dreadfully missed how it was before the cancer, when he and Paul were careless and at ease with one another. This was going to be a long, lonely night.
*****
It was not a long, lonely night for Linda. When Paul came to bed, he had gently awakened her, and taken her in his arms. He had come to make good on the silent promise he had made to himself at the dinner table. He whispered some soft words in her ear, and she felt his hands slowly tracing their way up her thighs, and butterflies started flapping around in her stomach. It was like making love with a Paul who was 100% with her again, and it had felt like years since Paul had made her feel this way.
Earlier, when Linda had come up to bed, she had begun to regret having spoken of Paul so openly with Rob, who was - in essence - a complete stranger. Linda never did that, because she feared her words would show up in the tabloids later. For whatever reason, she had completely trusted Rob. It was probably because he was friends with Jason and Gerry, and she knew from John and Paul and her own dealings with them, that they were absolute and total vaults when it came to their friendship with the two ex-Beatles. She tried to remember what she had said, and hoped it hadn’t been too intimate, and then promised herself she would be more careful in the future.
She was also upset with herself because she hadn’t shared her concerns with Paul directly. She didn’t know why she hadn’t yet, other than maybe it was because Paul seemed so detached and unwilling to participate in any serious, heart-to-heart conversations. He seemed to have a need to keep everything light and easy right now; it was probably a reaction to the heaviness of the previous 18-month struggle. Linda supposed she would have to play it by ear, and hope that she would see the opening with Paul when it finally appeared.
Consequently, when Paul came in the room an hour or so later, and immediately began some tender foreplay, she felt a tremendous release go through her body. Tonight, at least, she wouldn’t have to keep her feelings bottled up. She could express them physically, and he would know how much she still loved and needed him.
*****
It was a week or so later when Linda accepted Jason’s invitation to go meet Rob for lunch down in the nearby town of Portofino. John had cried off when he heard that Rob would be there, and Paul had said he’d stay to keep an eye on James and his friends. Gerry had preferred to sit on the patio in the sun and read some more about the Roman Empire. A ciascuno il suo.
Sitting on a piazza under a tomato-red market umbrella in the warm sun was a tonic for Linda, as she enjoyed the parade of people around her and the view of the perfect little harbor. They drank limoncello with their plates of chilled, grilled vegetables mixed with a warm and lightly olive-oiled capellini, garnished with some garlic, parmesan, and fresh ground pepper. Rob had ordered for them, and since he had learned Linda was a vegetarian, he had conspired with the chef to produce something off-menu that would feel meatier than the usual light, primavera kind of vegetarian offering normally available in Italy.
Rob is a guy who is handy to have around, Linda thought, as she savored a perfectly cooked and seasoned artichoke. His Italian was fluent, and his knowledge of the food, the wine, and the Northern Italian coast was wide and deep. (Little did Linda know that Rob’s expertise in French and France, and Spanish and Spain, and Portugal and Portuguese was just as impressive as his knowledge of Italian and Italy.)
“You know, we should all take a wine tasting tour one of these days,” Rob posited. “There are some great vineyards only an hour or so drive east from here. The harvest period just finished, and they should be showcasing their latest vintages. In one of the vineyards, the owner’s son is a client of mine, and I’m sure he would lay on a spread for us if I asked.”
This sounded just perfect to Jason, Gerry and Linda, and they agreed to plan a day trip for the whole crew within the next week, and hire drivers to take them.
The food was inspiring, the conversation was sparkling, and the mood was uplifting, and Linda could not remember having such a wonderful day in a very long time. Paul had told her that Rob was gay, but Linda was having a hard time believing it. There was nothing effeminate about him, and nothing to demark him from all the other elegant straight males she had ever met. In fact, Linda feared she was developing a little bit of an unrequited crush on him.
Linda was also developing a great fondness for Jason. At first, she had found him a little…what was the phrase she was looking for? Ah, that was it - stereotypically gay, in a Manhattan social set kind of way. Linda had met many such men growing up in an upper class family in New York. But Jason’s charm - she had learned through close observation - was backed up by a really fine character, and Linda had begun to fall as much in love with him as John and Paul had done.
Jason was the one who started the conversation about John and Paul. Until then, the conversation had flowed over and around them, but had avoided them entirely. Still, John and Paul were the center of the wheel, and the rest of them were just spokes, so it was inevitable that eventually they would arise as a topic.
“I hesitate to raise the subject, Linda, but have you noticed that something is off about John and Paul?” Jason asked.
By then, the limoncello had long since been smoothly replaced by Rob with a silky pinot grigio, and Linda’s wine glass had been refilled more than once by Rob’s quiet ministrations, so she completely forgot the promise she had made to herself to keep such thoughts to herself. “Yes, I have,” Linda said honestly. “But I’ve been assuming they kind of O.D.’ed on each other during the chemo. They were barely ever apart for 18 months under very trying circumstances, and it seems natural that they need a little breathing room from each other now that it’s over.”
Jason took this in and saw the logic in it. “I hope that’s it. When they are both in good spirits at the same time, they create a euphoria for the rest of us that is impossible to match.” Everyone took a sip of cool wine, and then Jason asked, “Are they working together?”
Linda said, “I don’t think so. During the chemo Paul tried to distract John by urging him to write songs, but John refused. Instead, he started writing in a journal.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that,” Jason interrupted. “I confess that I’m dying to read it. It is probably full of half truths and hyperboles, but I’m betting it is very entertaining.”
Linda laughed out loud. One of the reasons she had grown to admire Jason so much was that he was one of the few people who loved John but who could also see his glaring flaws, and not make excuses for them.
“My point was, though,” Linda continued, “is that when Paul isn’t working he tends to get moody and detached from everyone. Because he refuses to work with him, John has kind of left Paul hanging suspended in mid-air, although I am sure that John doesn’t mean it that way. I think John just wants to hang loose and have no responsibilities for a while, after all he has been through.”
Jason nodded, and eyed Linda with respect. She was really a most instinctive person. She didn’t pretend to read the New Yorker or know much about world politics or what was going on in upper class culture, and she didn’t apologize for it either, but she had an almost unerring ability to zero in on the most salient point in almost any conversation.
Rob heard Linda’s comment and took away the one most-important hidden pearl: Paul needed desperately to work in order to feel connected to life, and yet he was getting no support or help in this regard from John, who appeared to be oblivious to this fact. This insight alone was worth all of the time and effort he had put into planning the afternoon. The fact that he had thoroughly enjoyed himself with Linda and Jason was just icing on the cake, as far as Rob was concerned. He was researching this project as if it was a potential business investment, and thus far he felt he had made significant progress towards his goal.
*****
Back at the villa, John had sought out Paul. He knew that something was wrong there, and he wasn’t sure why or even what it was, but since Paul seemed to be slipping away to “Paul Land” more and more frequently, John supposed it was up to him to reach out and try to pull him back to earth. He also needed to break the news to Paul about his decision. He found Paul reading by the pool, while James and some friends splashed around. John took the chair next to Paul. At first, Paul didn’t seem to notice him.
“What’cha reading?” John asked after a moment, having not yet caught Paul’s attention. Paul seemed to snap out of a fugue state, and he looked a bit confused. He had to look down to the magazine he was holding as if to remind himself what he had been reading.
“It’s an article about wind farms,” Paul finally remembered. He had actually been totally lost in his thoughts again.
“Sounds fascinating,” John said with a smirk.
Paul shut the magazine and threw it aside. “What’s up?” he asked John, in his characteristic breezy manner, crossing his legs and turning a bit in his chair to give more of his attention to John.
“Just checking in with you, mate. You’ve been a bit distant lately.” John studied his fingernails as he said this.
“Have I?” Paul asked. He was a bit surprised. From his perspective, it had seemed as though John was the one who was distant. But of course he didn’t say so.
“Yeah. You’re off in Paul Land most of the time. What’s going on with you?”
“I guess I’m at a bit of a loose end. There was always an agenda, always something to do, when you were on that regime, but now I’ve got to remember what I used to do with myself before.” Paul made his voice sound neutral and in control.
“So, it’s my fault for getting better, is that it?” John responded, but with a smile on his face to show no hard feelings.
“Let’s blame it on the fuckin’ cancer, shall we?” Paul decided with equanimity.
John smiled his agreement, and then remembered that he had brought 2 beers down, and he handed one to Paul and took a huge sip out of the other. “So, where do we go from here, then?” He asked in as casual a voice as he could muster, his eyes looking straight ahead so as to try to leaven the atmosphere a bit.
Nevertheless, Paul was alarmed by the question. It hinted at a direction in the conversation that he might not want to go. But of course he didn’t say so. “Must we go somewhere?” he asked instead, with as light a tone as he could muster.
Paul wasn’t making this easy, John thought. He’s gonna make me spell it out. “I think we’re getting a bit on each other’s nerves, after so much time together, don’t you?”
Paul had noticed it, but of course he didn’t say so.
John waited for a comment, but receiving none, he continued. “Maybe we need a little time apart to get our heads back on straight?”
Paul had not expected that. He had hoped that John would be ready to go back to work. He longed to work with John again. It was like a physical ache. He also sincerely believed that some good, hard work would right what was wrong between them, and remind them of why they wanted to be together. Consequently, it was shocking to hear John say he wanted time apart. But of course he didn’t say so. “Oh,” he finally said. “So you’re not ready to get back to work yet?” That comment was as close as he could get to an expression of his own need and desire.
“No, not yet,” John said firmly. “I need to feel inspired, first. Lately, I’ve been writing in my journal, and that has been a godsend. I’m sure one day I will wake up and feel the urge to write songs again, but I’m not there yet. It’s all still too close to me, and I’d rather write about the experience a little less explicitly, and a little more subtly. I’ve already done the Cold Turkey thing. Don’t want to repeat myself.”
Paul heard this statement as if it were one of those dreadful bass drum death knell sets in a funeral procession. His funeral. Paul actually considered, for less than a half-minute, to fight for what he wanted, by trying to persuade John to see it his way, like he did back in the ‘60s. But what he had learned from that experience was that he might be able to guilt and/or harry John back into the studio but it would be like pulling teeth out of John to get any meaningful participation. And afterwards, John would feel nothing but resentment about it. Paul felt impotent and next to useless, but he wasn’t going to fight it this time. It hurt to beg for creative intercourse - much more than it hurt to beg for sex.
“Ok, then,” Paul finally said. “What’s your plan?” Paul realized by then that John already had a plan. John had the plan already when he sat down next to him. In fact, Paul realized, the whole conversation was a pretext for telling Paul about the plan that John had already made.
“I thought when this holiday is over, I’ll go back and stay with Jason and Gerry for a couple of weeks or maybe a few more in New York. You can spend more time with Linda and your family that way. Just long enough for us to be refreshed, and to start missing each other again.” John’s voice was upbeat - forcibly so, to Paul’s ears.
He thinks I’m going to be upset by this, and he wants to avoid a scene. That’s why he is doing this to me in front of my son and his friends. This agonizing thought raced through Paul’s mind in a split second, but the pain it left behind would linger for weeks. “If you think that’s best,” is what Paul said, very subtly moving his body forward again, away from its more intimate connection with John’s body, and looking out to the horizon. Far in the distance, he could just make out the cliff line, and the sparkling Mediterranean below. Funny how it didn’t stir him like it normally did. He just felt dead inside.
John felt Paul’s withdrawal as if it were a cold draft. It pained him, it really did, but this urge to strike out on his own was - at least in this moment - too strong for him to ignore. “It’ll be good for both of us, Pud,” John said beseechingly to the perfectly emotionless profile in front of him. “We will see each other with new eyes when I get back, you’ll see.”
Paul nodded vaguely, and allowed a faint smile to pass across his lips, but John could tell that Paul had shut himself off again. John had known that this conversation was going to be hard, but he hadn’t expected it to be this painful. It would only be just a few weeks to a month apart, after all, and surely their relationship was strong enough to survive such a short separation? Partly because of his magical thinking, and partly because Paul did not share his true feelings with John, John felt sure that Paul would soon see reason, and come to terms with the idea. It would all work out in the end.
*****
It was a few days later that the wine tour was arranged, and two large cars had appeared to escort the large group to their destination. The crowd consisted of Paul, Linda, and their three younger children, along with John, Jason, Gerry and Rob. They were bringing the 13 year-old James along, and he was looking forward to tasting some wine. It wasn’t illegal in Italy for a boy to drink some vino in public when in the company of his parents, so this promised to be an extra-special treat for him. Paul and his family went in one car, and the four other men went in the other. Rob was not pleased with this arrangement, having failed to appreciate the fact that the three McCartney children would be coming as well. He had hoped to spend time in the car with Paul, perhaps with Linda along. Oh, well, there would be plenty of moments during the wine tasting and the dining for Rob to solidify his gains with Paul. He would just have to be creative about it.
After a pleasant hour plus drive into the Venuto Valley, and once at the vineyard, they were seated at a large table overlooking rolling hills lined with grapevines, and the owner’s son himself came out to orchestrate their tasting. A platter of savories were placed on the table, including green olives, shredded hard parmesan cheese, Venuto sopressata salami and of course prosciutto, provolone, and dried tomatos, with rosemary crackers and slices of Italian country bread. The group fell upon the food like ravenous wolves. All except Rob, who felt that food interfered with wine tasting, and Paul, whose appetite was not what it should be. Whenever Paul was depressed, he either ate like a pig or completely lost his appetite. This time, he was not eating.
Rob noticed that Paul was not eating and he misinterpreted this to mean that Paul had the same relationship with wine tasting as he did. He felt this was just another sign that his quest was meant to be successful. He managed to find a seat next to Paul, and while the others were busy oohing and ahhing over the food and the wines, Rob sat back in his chair and waited for an appropriate opening. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Paul quietly swirling the golden wine in his glass, and then slowly bringing the glass up to his nose for a deep inhale. He watched as Paul’s eyebrow went up as he analyzed the smell and then as he took the first taste of the wine, held it on his tongue, and, after the appropriate amount of time, spit it out in to a bucket. Rob smiled. Paul appeared to be the only one at the table, other than Gerry and himself, who really knew how to taste wine.
Paul’s studious approach to the tasting had more to do with the emotional hole he was in, than any real preferences on how to taste wine. He’d done his share of raucous tastings in the past, where he drank everything they gave him, and wound up drunk out of his fucking mind by 3 p.m., and with a massive hangover the next day. It was just that for the past few days - ever since John had dropped his bomb on him - Paul had found himself in quicksand: a slow-acting quicksand that seemed to savor making him suffer as much and as long as possible. His enjoyment in almost everything had been sucked dry, and he had even given up sitting at the piano, because his lack of enthusiasm for it was too painful to bear. Paul could hardly fail to notice that John, on the other hand, had appeared to be set free by having delivered himself of the announcement of his break from Paul, and was a regular bon vivant 24/7. Is that what I do to John - drag him down? This question had occurred to Paul more than once as he watched John become ever more cheerful and alive, the further he - Paul - drifted away. These thoughts were in the forefront of his mind as he sat, outwardly calm and impassive, amongst the ever more rowdy crowd of revelers around him.
“Are you thinking deep thoughts, or are you just exhausted?”
Paul heard the voice as an echo first, and then slowly zeroed in on the here and now. It was Rob who asked the question. He turned politely in Rob’s direction to meet those strangely neutral but empathetic grey eyes and said with a mischievous grin, “I’m having thoughts, but I’m not so sure how deep they are.”
“Most people would pay a penny for them, but I’m willing to pay more if necessary,” Rob said, his voice was low, soothing, almost hypnotic. Rob’s eyes did not waver from Paul’s, not even to blink.
Paul thought to himself, that’s a clever turn of phrase. I have to remember that for a song lyric, and then he said with a self-deprecating laugh, “I doubt that they’re worth even a heypenny.”
Rob indulged himself by allowing his eyes to caress Paul’s face for a few seconds, and then he changed the subject. “So what did you think of this first wine?”
“It’s a bit too floral for my taste,” Paul said honestly. “I like whites to be more on either the crisp or the buttery side. I’m hoping the next one will be drier.”
“If you love buttery wines, you would really appreciate the middle-California coast chardonnays,” Rob said. “And if you love the crisp, citrusy whites, have you tried the new Argentinian Torrontes wines? They’re quite a revelation, full of grapefruit overtones.”
Paul’s face opened up in a reflection of his interest in Rob’s opinions, which managed to be knowledgeable without being patronizing. “You know a lot about it, I see,” Paul said. “I’m afraid I’m not very knowledgeable myself. I usually look around for the bloke in the restaurant who seems to know what he’s doing, and then I tell the sommelier to bring me what that bloke ordered.”
Rob laughed. He surprised himself. It was a genuine laugh. His attempts to flatter Paul by pointing out what Rob thought were Paul’s refined tastes always ended up with Paul voluntarily taking a cheerful pratfall off his pedestal facedown in to the mud. Rob had not expected this kind of humility from a man as successful, rich, beautiful and famous as Paul McCartney. It was a strange twang that Rob felt in what he supposed was the “heart” region of his brain. There was something very compelling and irresistible about this man, and while of course pursing Paul was a fun challenge, Rob wondered - perhaps seriously for the first time - whether he was getting in over his head. There was a depth to this man, not just the obvious creative genius he must possess, but also what Rob began to believe were hidden pools of exquisitely refined emotion never before seen by another human being, deep inside this man. Perhaps the man had not even seen them himself. Rob actually allowed himself to consider - for a moment - whether (a) he was worthy of such a man, and (b) would he end up the one squirming on the end of the hook, rather than Paul? Certainly, if he was not careful, Rob knew he could easily fall deeply in love this time. That would not be fun at all. Love always ended up being hurtful to at least one of the participants.
Paul didn’t divine all these things going through Rob’s mind. What he sensed was a deep simpatico with Rob, just as he’d felt when he’d first met him in - yes, it was in Argentina -not quite 2 years ago now! Rob was good company, had many similar interests to his, and there was nothing mundane or quotidian about Rob’s thought processes or conversation. He seemed to approach all subjects from a very interesting, if slightly erudite, direction. Yet he never made Paul feel inferior or stupid for not sharing that level of erudition. Paul told himself that he could use a good friend right now, and maybe that is why fate had thrown Rob back into his path. For that reason, he was quite content to spend most of his time with Rob that day, as they compared the various wines, and ate a languorous meal. Out of respect for Paul and Linda and their children, Rob ate the vegetarian offering, while John, Gerry and Jason dove into the meat with gusto. Paul noted this and was both pleased and flattered. It was a kind gesture, since vegetarianism was a moral choice for Paul and his family - not a dietary preference. If his taste buds’ preferences were to control, and the ethics of eating animals was not an issue, Paul would probably have chosen meat, as well. It was a sacrifice to live as he believed, and most of his friends tolerated it, but he could feel them raising their eyebrows and rolling their eyes and making little jokes about it when his back was turned. Rob, however, seemed to have a graceful respect for his choice, and didn’t seem to miss the meat at all.
As Rob sat in the car as they all headed back in the direction of Portofino, he was quiet. He stared out the window in a thoughtful haze. John and Jason, and to a much lesser extent Gerry, were full of chatter and nonsensical opinions about the wines they had tried. Rob was not interested in their prattle. His mind was entranced by the memory of a face that danced with expressions - never the same one for long - and a low, slow, sexy and musical voice. He knew he was in trouble now. He was in terrible trouble. In the previous interactions with Paul - two years ago - Paul had been happy, content in his relationship with Lennon, and this tantalizing unavailability paired with Paul’s irresistible sexuality had been a challenge to Rob. But today was different. Today, he could actually see what quality time spent with Paul alone would be like, and he had realized too late that he’d been hoist on his own petard.
*****
The holiday had come to an end, and the crazed process of packing a large and querulous family’s suitcases was in its death throes. Linda was grateful for this, because sometimes it felt like Paul and she were herding feral cats when it came time to getting the kids packed and out the door. The house party was heading in two different directions. The McCartneys were flying back to London, and John, Jason and Gerry were flying to New York. Paul had long since fortified his “brave face” and had conjured up a carefree insouciance for the last few minutes he’d spent with John, before they were parted in the airport VIP lounge at Rome. The New York flight left first, and Paul and John hugged awkwardly, before John progressed through hugging the rest of the McCartneys, and Paul progressed through hugging Jason and Gerry. And then they were gone.
Paul’s cheerful affect collapsed almost as soon as John disappeared, and Linda could not help but notice it. Paul had told her that he and John had decided to spend a few weeks apart, but he hadn’t told her how he felt about it. He was going to be a Stoic, Linda realized, and this made it all the more difficult for her to deal with it. Paul was now moving forward like an automaton as they prepared to board their flight, helping James with his carry-on gear, face forward, emotions withheld. She sat next to him in first class, and because she had always preferred the aisle due to a touch of claustrophobia, Paul had taken the window seat and spent much of the flight staring listlessly out of it. This was not good. At this point Linda had started to feel very angry with John. It was all well and good for John to stretch his wings after a painful bout with illness, but to do so with no regard whatsoever for the friend who had gotten John through it at great expense to himself was inexcusable! Now that John didn’t need him anymore, he was kicking him to the curb? What a tool! She wondered what she could do to reach Paul, and to pull him back towards the light. He needed to be involved in his family again, and his music - the things that had gotten him through his last split with John. But it appeared as though Paul was struggling to even show the tiniest speck of interest in those things. It was almost as if he had given up trying to reconnect with life.
The first few days back in London were heavy sledding for Linda, because Paul’s moodiness had turned dark on more than one occasion. It usually happened at night, after he’d stayed up late drinking too much whiskey. He was never abusive to her, but on such occasions he was completely uncommunicative and deeply depressed. Not this again, she said to herself over and over in those few days. It had become a kind of unwanted mantra. So it was with a huge breath of surprised relief that she greeted Rob Sheridan, who showed up on the Cavendish doorstep one late afternoon. He brought with him another armful of beautiful wildflowers, and a few bottles of chilled Argentinian white wine.
“I’m sorry to barge in unexpectedly,” Rob said, “but I’m here in London on business, and I thought I’d see if by any chance you were free. Jason gave me the address. I hope you don’t mind.”
Linda laughed. “Everyone in the bloody world knows this address! There’s a constant pilgrimage of fans passing by day in and day out!” She was delighted to see him. She hoped Rob might cheer up Paul a bit, who had confided in her after the wine trip that he had quite enjoyed Rob’s company that day. “Let me drag Paul down from his music room. Go make yourself at home in the kitchen - down this hall and to the left.”
Rob followed the directions, and found himself in a homely but warm kitchen, with a few dogs sniffing at his trouser cuffs. He searched for wine glasses and a wine opener in vain for a few minutes, until Paul and Linda joined him. Soon the wine was poured, and Linda got up to putter around, making something for them all to eat. She was pleased by the way in which Paul had perked up in Rob’s company. Rob was regaling them with his final days in Italy, his brief business trip to Brussels (“the ugliest town in Europe, with some of the nicest people”), and the business projects that would keep him in London for the next few weeks.
“You know, Paul, one of my clients who lives here in London owns one of the world’s best private modern art collections of original and early German Expressionism. I know that you are a lover of modern art from that school. I thought perhaps you’d enjoy accompanying me for a private viewing of his collection?”
Paul hadn’t been out of the house in days. Linda held her breath, pretending not to have heard the invitation. She was praying Paul would accept it.
“Sure,” Paul finally said, “that sounds very interesting.” He clinked his glass of Torrontes wine with Rob’s glass and took a taste. He considered the wine for a portentous moment. He then met Rob’s eyes, and allowed his interest in and affection for Rob to show in them. “You’re right about this wine, Rob,” Paul said playfully, followed by a wink. “It really is a revelation!”
Rob felt the butterflies let loose in his stomach when he saw that breathtaking intimate smile aimed at him. What’s more, Paul had remembered the exact word he had used to describe this wine: “revelation”! Two months ago, Rob would have considered this a strategic victory. But on this late October afternoon, all Rob felt was a melting sensation in his stomach and an urge to weep. Crap. It was love after all.