Too Much Rain, Chapter 40
Sep. 24th, 2014 08:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yes_2dayThis chapter may cause a controversy. I've been sitting on it for awhile, because I wasn't sure I could face the backlash. But this is what came out of me when I was writing, and if I start doubting why my characters do what they do, I might as well stop writing altogether. So I have gathered the requisite courage, and I'm posting this.
WARNINGS: If you don't like to read about anger leading to violence, however limited, then don't read this. Also, this is FICTION, and the characters bear no resemblance to the RL people whose names I've borrowed.
Chapter 40
Linda was back at the hotel lying on the chaise on the balcony. She felt wonderful. It was as if someone had pushed a button and returned her husband to her. “Her” Paul was back again. He was entirely present with her, and she never got the feeling he was biding time until John returned. She didn’t know who or what she had to thank for this; but she was very grateful. When they were all together in L.A., the kids had noticed it too. It wasn’t anything they had said, but it was the looks on their faces, the giddiness of their energy, the pure joy in which they interacted with their parents. Then of course there had been the lovemaking. She and Paul had slept together every night, and although Linda knew that the first night in LA Paul had slipped out of her bed to John’s, he had been attentive enough to slip back to their bed after taking a quick shower so he could wake up with her. This feeling of intense wellbeing was something Linda was loath to lose. Their holiday would be over in two days, and she’d be headed back to London to make sure James went to school. But oh how she wanted to stay with Paul, and never leave him again.
John strolled on to the balcony, interrupting Linda’s warm and wonderful thoughts. She actually felt a little sorry for him. John had held Paul in the palm of his hand, and had taken him for granted, and now it was her gain, John’s loss. She wondered if he had figured it out yet. Privately, she was extremely proud of Paul. He had found the inner strength to stand up and refuse to be treated like a whipping-boy-cum-governess by John. Linda knew Paul was a strong, independent man, and while he had deep insecurities, when the rubber hit the road he always lifted his head up and rammed his way through. She was glad to feel that Paul was rousing himself again.
“’Noon, Linda,” John said. He had spent the morning sleeping in and then having breakfast in his suite before going off in search of Paul. He wanted to spend some quality time with him. “Where’s Paul?”
“He left early for the stadium to handle a problem. Didn’t he mention it to you?” Linda couldn’t help herself. She had to rub it in a little.
“No, we haven’t spoken since last night,” John grumbled.
“No doubt he didn’t want to bother you. Something about a guitarist who is bigger than his britches.” Linda couldn’t resist letting John know she knew what the problem was, while John likely did not.
“Oh, he’s on about Richard’s son again, is he?” John was clearly (and surprisingly to Linda) irritated. John had promised Richard that his son could have the gig, and here was Paul making waves. In John’s mind, since Brandon was John’s pick, Paul ought to have consulted him before doing anything about it. What’s more, Paul was confiding in Linda about the problem - not him - and it wasn’t even any of her business!
Linda didn’t know who Richard was, much less his son, but didn’t want to let on she didn’t know, so she smiled in a noncommittal manner and asked, “Hungry?”
“No, I ate already. I’m gonna go to the stadium and see what the hell is going on. Do you have Timothy’s phone number?”
Linda was at first surprised that John did not know Timothy’s phone number, but then told herself it was typical. Worrying about such boring things was Paul’s job, wasn’t it? She said, “I have the mobile phone number Timothy carries with him when he’s at the venue. It’s attached to the little fridge in the bar area by a magnet.” John wandered off to find it. After he’d left, she cozied herself a bit on the chaise and smiled. She was secretly proud of herself for getting the best of that conversation.
At John’s request, Timothy arranged for a car to deliver him to the stadium in time for sound check. This surprised everyone. John hadn’t been at a sound check in weeks. Paul was pleasantly surprised by John’s surprise appearance until he saw the expression on John’s face. The man was loaded for bear.
“Paul, I want to talk to you. Privately.” John made this loud, angry demand in front of the whole band and crew. This embarrassed almost everyone except Brandon, who was happy to see Paul treated so rudely in public.
Rather than make a scene, Paul unplugged himself from his guitar and handed it to one of the roadies. He then followed John off stage and into their dressing room. Before John could say anything, Paul spoke first.
“Don’t ever do that to me again!” He demanded, his voice low but obviously throbbing with anger.
“Don’t do what?” John shouted back.
“Speak to me like that in front of people who work for us! I won’t tolerate it!”
John was taken aback. In his mind when he was rehearsing this conversation, he had been entirely in charge, and Paul had been meek and compliant. He wasn’t prepared for an enraged, empowered Paul.
“Well, I’m pissed!” John shouted back, helplessly.
“So now I’m pissed too!” Paul retorted. Paul’s hands were on his hips and his face was scowling, although again, John couldn’t help thinking, he still looked like an angry puppy. This thought softened John’s approach a bit. He chuckled.
“Sorry, mate, but I have to find out from Linda that you’re dealing with Brandon without consulting me?” John’s voice was a judicious combination of appeasement and indignation.
Paul was surprised by this pronouncement. “I always deal with these kind of problems, John. You never want to hear about it.”
John internally acknowledged the truth of this comment, and then added in a more conciliatory tone, “Brandon’s different. He’s the son of an old friend of mine. I promised Richard I’d look after him.”
Paul softened too. He regained his composure. “Timothy and I just sat him down and told him he had to change his attitude. He was being unspeakably rude to the other musicians, and we can’t have that on tour.”
“You didn’t fire him?” John asked.
“No, but I did tell him if he didn’t improve his attitude I would fire him. Timothy and Robbie agree with me.” Paul waited a beat while John took that information on board. “And I also told Timothy he could fire Brandon if we have a repeat of the last concert.” Paul’s voice and expression reflected the solidity and immovability of a brick wall, and John knew that this was not something up for debate. But it irked him that Paul would reach a conclusion like that without consulting him. It didn’t occur to him that he had repeatedly abdicated any responsibility for such problems years earlier, and had always expected Paul to deal with them.
“Well, Paul,” John drawled sarcastically. “It’s Lennon & McCartney, not the other way around! You can’t fire anyone without my say-so! Everyone knows I’m the reason we made it, and you shouldn’t forget it! ”
Paul’s eyebrows almost flew off his face. He felt a jolt of anger run through him so powerful that he had to restrain himself from hitting John in the fucking face. But while he could curb his physical impulses, he couldn’t help himself from going “there” verbally. “And we both know how you got your name first, don’t we?” He sneered. “It had nothing to do with merit, and everything to do with you allowing Brian to wank you off!”
John’s breath came out of him as if he’d been hit in the solar plexus. “You…!” John rushed inwards and pushed Paul against a wall, and followed that with a right fist to Paul’s face.
Paul managed to catch John’s wrist before it could do too much damage to his face, and he pushed John off him and the two men were staring at each other, breathing heavily. Paul felt tears fighting to erupt, and forced himself to hold them back. He finally broke his eyes away from John’s and then, pushing himself away, he slammed out of the room, leaving John behind to ponder what had just happened.
Paul staggered out to the main hallway, and felt his mouth and jaw aching. He knew his lip and inner mouth were cut, because he could taste the blood and see it on his finger. He could also feel his lower face swelling. He couldn’t believe this had happened. In all their years together, except for that one time in India in 1968, John had not physically attacked him. Paul was incredibly distressed, and did not know where to turn. Luckily for him, Timothy came down the hall at just that moment and saw Paul standing there with a bloody mouth and a shocked look on his face.
“What happened?” Timothy whispered. Paul could only look at him with an expression of intense hurt and confusion before Timothy grabbed him by the arm and led him to the office he’d been assigned for the night. He shut the door, and settled Paul in a chair. “Tell me what happened.” He repeated.
“John hit me!” Paul was clearly in shock, and seemed stunned and on the brink of tears. His voice sounded disbelieving. Timothy didn’t’ hesitate. He called Linda at the hotel immediately.
He whispered into the phone. “John and Paul have had a fight. You need to get here to comfort Paul. I’m afraid we’re going to have to cancel the show.”
Linda was shocked beyond words, and began to regret her ‘winding up’ of John just an hour earlier. “Is Paul okay?”
Her voice was scared and shaky.
Timothy said, “He’s shook up, and he’s got a bloody mouth, but otherwise I think he is okay.”
“A bloody mouth? Do you mean that asshole hit my husband?” Linda’s voice had risen to almost a banshee screech, and Timothy had to hold the phone receiver away from his ear.
“I really don’t know what happened. Paul needs you right now.”
Linda hung up and ran screaming for the driver.
Meanwhile, Timothy went to find an assistant. He told him to bring some towels and ice. The assistant looked surprised, but followed the instructions, thinking what now?
Timothy turned back to Paul, and saw to his horror that the most dignified performer he’d ever met was cradling his head in his hands and sobbing. Timothy’s heart turned over, and then he got a grip. He sat down next to him, and put his arm around Paul’s shoulders. After 10 minutes, the sobbing stopped, and Paul was desperately trying to repair his face. By then the supplies he’d requested had been delivered (with Timothy blocking the door so the curious assistant could not see what was going on), and Timothy quietly handed Paul a damp towel and ice. Gently, he placed the makeshift ice pack over Paul’s mouth. He no longer needed Paul to tell him what happened. For whatever reason, the erratic John Lennon had smacked Paul in the mouth. This was without doubt the worst situation he’d ever found himself in as a tour director.
He was incredibly grateful when the security guard showed Linda into his office. She saw Paul and a cry came out of her that would break the heart of a stone-cold killer. She rushed to Paul, knelt in front of him, and immediately encompassed him in a hug. Paul began to weep again, but softer, less achingly. Linda wept too. Timothy quietly excused himself from the room, and realized he had to go off to see what had become of John.
Sound check had ground to a complete stop, and Wix had told all the musicians to go back to their locker room, and wait for the show. “Have some rest, relax,” he said, but his heart was heavy. The fact that Paul hadn’t come back to finish sound check worried him a lot. Paul was not the type to shirk his responsibilities, and he had seen John angry before, and knew it was not going to be a pretty scene.
Timothy entered John and Paul’s dressing room, and found John on the sofa, with his face buried in the pillows.
“John?” He asked quietly.
John stirred but did not respond.
“John, I need to know if we’re going on. If we’re not, I have to let the press know as soon as possible, so as not to inconvenience the audience.” Timothy’s voice was carefully modulated to ensure that no judgment was in his voice. Although he was firmly in Paul’s camp, John didn’t need to know that.
“What does Paul say?” John asked. His voice sounded weak and afraid.
“I haven’t asked him yet,” Timothy said softly. “Linda is with him now.”
“I hit him,” John said, almost as if he didn’t believe it.
“His mouth is bleeding, and his face is swollen,” Timothy remarked. John needed to know the consequences of his actions.
John groaned loudly, and Timothy could see the tear-streaked cheeks. Timothy had noticed by then that there was a whole lot of intense emotion between these two men. He hadn’t given credence to the rumors about them because they both seemed so masculine, but he did begin to suspect that there was a lot more depth to their relationship than most people understood. He decided not to be angry with John. That was not productive.
“Will you go on, if Paul goes on?” Timothy asked gently.
“Yes,” John whispered. “Is he okay?”
“Why don’t I bring you over to my office, and you can talk to him directly. But no more arguing - that’s my condition,” Timothy said firmly.
John nodded in acquiescence, fatalistically. He then followed Timothy down the fairway to an office door. Timothy knocked and said, “Linda, it’s me and John. We’re coming in.”
Linda wanted to shout ‘no!’, but Paul looked at her in such a pleading, hopeful way that she opened the locked door, and let Timothy and John in.
There was a very awkward silence until Timothy said, “Paul, John is willing to do the show if you are. I need to know if it is going on, because otherwise I have to alert the media immediately.”
Paul was surprised by this question. Of course he was going to go on! He had never considered anything else. “Yes, of course we’ll go on,” Paul said, although his mouth and face hurt when he made himself talk. “But I need the makeup artist before I’m ready.”
John could see the swollen redness of Paul’s jaw, and the swollen lips, with a dark cut in them. He felt horrible. He didn’t want to hurt Paul, but that is all that he seemed able to do. He looked briefly at Linda, and saw that she was regarding him with anger and suspicion. Today he had driven a huge wedge in between himself and Paul and his family. “Paul?” He asked. His voice was an open plea. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”
Linda tightened her arms around Paul. She didn’t trust John not to hurt her husband, and she wanted - by her intense grasp - to remind Paul of John’s treachery.
Paul felt defeated. He had known that the roller coaster was on a downward trend, but he hadn’t expected it to go so low. “Okay, well, let me get myself together, and we’ll do the show, and be done with all this drama.” Paul’s voice sounded empty and resigned. This tore at John’s heart. Paul looked up at John, but didn’t really meet his eyes. Paul’s face was a blank slate, and John couldn’t see through it. Instead, he turned around and headed down the hallway to the dressing room. His heart was extremely heavy. Damn his terrible temper and out of control ego!
The make-up artist was surprised to have to cover up bruises and cuts on Paul’s lower face. “What happened?” she asked.
Linda answered before Paul could think of an answer. “He literally bashed his mouth on the door handle when he bent over to pick something up. Can you believe it?” Her voice was amused and objective, and it convinced the makeup artist that she was telling the truth. Paul felt so grateful to Linda for her quick thinking. Meanwhile, the makeup artist did her best work, and managed to cover up the worst of the swelling. From a distance - which was where the audience sat, after all - the swelling wasn’t obvious. Maybe if the press photographers were allowed too close they would be able to detect the damage, however. Timothy had already thought of that, and told the press they couldn’t come close to the stage. They were pissed of course, but the security guards were intent upon enforcing Timothy’s order.
It was 8:15 p.m., and it was time to go on stage. John had been waiting in the wings for 10 minutes before Paul and Linda joined him. Paul didn’t meet John’s eyes, but he waited calmly until it was the exact second when they needed to go on stage. Paul walked out first - strong and determined. John followed, trying to ape Paul’s confidence. They went directly into Get Back, and then into Come Together.
It was a surreal night for John and Paul, each of them performing full out for the audience, but not really connecting with each other. John felt horribly guilty, and Paul felt hurt and estranged from John. Still, he conjured up his Beatle Paul mask, and threw himself 100% into the show. John did his best to respond, hoping against hope that he would meet Paul’s eyes and know that everything was going to be all right. But Paul’s eyes - while outwardly smiling - were inwardly retracted, and John understood that the smiles were not meant for him. They were a part of their presentation to the audience.
That night proved to be the most difficult performance either John or Paul had ever given. First, Paul’s mouth was incredibly sore, and continued to swell even more as the night progressed. Singing, and making sure his tones came out of his mouth correctly, became a 100% focused task for Paul. And John couldn’t bear to look at Paul’s face without being filled with an overflow of guilt. He did his best to show Paul, through his intense performance, harmonies and backup, that he was incredibly sorry for what he had done. In truth, John was terrified that Paul would never forgive him. All he wanted was one true glimpse into Paul’s eyes, but that night Paul denied him that comfort.
The local photographers had been kept back several extra feet away from the stage, much to their frustration, and so they had not been able to take up close and personal photos of Paul’s injuries. In fact, they did not realize that there were any injuries. Timothy felt he was worth his weight in gold at that point. He had protected his charges from public humiliation and exposure. Strangely, he didn’t feel victorious. He felt protective of John and Paul, and knew that by protecting them from the ugliness of public exposure, he was doing what he could for two people he had grown to love against all odds: John and Paul.
The concert was a blistering juggernaut of emotion, with both John and Paul performing their hearts out. The audience was wild with excitement and delight, but had no idea of the deeply buried tension between their two idols. As the last strains of “The End” echoed across the stadium, the audience stood up in silent homage, before bursting out into screaming approval. Paul’s face was frozen in a smile as he departed the stage. He had completed the second encore, and knew that now he could go home, hide in Linda’s arms, and cry his fucking eyes out. John had turned on him in a way that Paul had thought was behind them. It had been the first time since their reconciliation that John had thrown his weight around in front of others and in such an insulting and uncalled for way, and Paul had been shaken to his core by it.
John felt numb as they left the stage. John watched as Paul and Linda, who had waited backstage, climbed into a limo and drove off. A second limo was right behind them, waiting for him. Feeling empty and frightened, John climbed into this second limo, and sat in the back fighting back tears as it headed for the airport. He wondered what he and Paul would say to each other when they met again on the plane for their trip to Dallas.
But Paul and Linda went back to the hotel together. As soon as they arrived, Paul fell into bed and winced as his face hurt as it connected with the pillow. Linda came to him with a damp cloth that had been drenched in lavender oil. She placed the cloth on Paul’s forehead, and then gave him some butterfly kisses on his upper face. “I can’t believe he did that to you,” Linda whispered, as she gently caressed Paul’s bruises.
“Neither can I,” Paul whispered back, his heart broken in a million pieces.
The next morning, Paul was depressed. Linda and his children were scheduled to fly back to England early that day, while he was required to fly on to Dallas for the next concert date with John. Paul did not want Linda to leave, but he didn’t know how to put his selfish desires into words. Linda was holding him in her arms, her heart full of deep empathy, when she whispered in his ear, “Baby, do you want me to stay with you?”
Paul heard this and his eyes filled with tears. “But James…” he whispered.
“I’ve talked to Mary and Stella. They will move into Cavendish for the rest of the tour, and take care of James.” Linda held her breath. She hoped and prayed that Paul was relieved to hear this information.
Paul was tremendously relieved. “If you think it is okay for James…”
“James tells me that he wants me to be here with you,” Linda whispered in response.
“Lin, if you want to be with me, I want to be with you.” Paul stopped talking after that. His eyes were beseeching when he looked at Linda. “I feel like a fool and a failure.”
“Paul, listen. You’re not a failure. John behaved badly towards you, but you got up on your hind legs and went out and wowed the crowd anyway. You’re my hero.” Linda kissed Paul’s face, and his throat, and his chest. “It will all work out in the end,” she added, as she allowed her kisses to wander down towards Paul’s nether regions.
Paul was fully cognizant of Linda’s ministrations, and was also fully grateful for them. But he couldn’t help remembering John’s angry face as he struck out at him. Paul’s eyes closed involuntarily, and he felt his body wince, as he remembered that moment. I shouldn’t have said what I thought about the Brian Epstein manipulation, Paul told himself. That had happened almost - but not quite - 30 years earlier. Paul had even surprised himself when that vitriol came out of him. 30 years of knowing that John had maneuvered Brian into marginalizing Paul’s role in the Beatles. Paul was shocked to discover that he was still enraged by John’s betrayal. If, back in the day, John had come to him privately and asked Paul to have his name go first, Paul would probably have eventually given in and said ‘yes’. But to have it shoved down his throat from behind his back by the new manager - that was far too much. Especially since the decision was made during John’s cozy trip to Barcelona with Brian. What a coincidence. Not.
In fact, Paul had always believed that John had allowed Brian to engage in sexual liberties with him. John had lied to Paul about it, and claimed nothing had happened, but Paul had never believed it. Paul had also felt as though a knife had been thrust into the very bottom of his gut as a result of that betrayal. Paul was beginning to realize that he had never properly healed from that injury. This surprised Paul, who had not thought through this issue before. He had always tended to fly above the fray, and not linger amongst the bitter remains. But now the odor of those bitter remains were forcing themselves upon him, surprising Paul with the strength of their stench. Where had that come from after all those years?
Later that day, Mary, Stella and James boarded a plane and headed back for London. Mary had promised to pack more of her mom’s things and send them to her at one of the later tour destinations. All three of the McCartney children had been shocked by the bruises they’d seen on their father’s face, and although no one had told them exactly what happened, they had gathered that John had done it. In their family no one fought or hit each other or screamed insults at each other. This was so foreign to their upbringing that they couldn’t wrap their minds around it. They had urged their mother to stay with their father, all three of them, and Linda was grateful to them for making it easy for her to agree. After the kids left for the airport, Linda packed Paul’s things and her own, and was preparing for their trip to Dallas.
John had flown to Dallas right after the concert. He had been shocked to discover that Paul wasn’t coming with him, but would arrive the next day. When he discovered this, he was already seated on the private plane. It was too late to refuse to leave, and if he did - what difference would it make? Paul would still not want to see or talk to him. So John stayed on board as the plane took off (in one of the most ridiculously dangerous airports known to modern man) and left Paul behind. For John, this was devastating, and he needed something - anything - to set his mind at ease, which was why, once he got to the suite in Dallas that he was supposed to share with Paul, he scored some pot and stayed up until 4 a.m. toking and drinking whiskey. His brain had turned to mush, which was the kind of relief John felt he needed at the moment.
It was close to 2 p.m. the next day when John awoke. He heard banging around in an adjacent room in the suite. Was that Paul? He awoke hopefully, believing that now he had Paul to himself, so he could apologize properly, and try to put this bad experience behind them. But as he got up and reached for his robe, he could swear he could hear Paul’s voice. Who was he talking to? Perhaps he was on the phone. He finished brushing his teeth and his hair, and then, naked under his robe (and hoping to perhaps use sex as a way to reach the tender side of Paul), he entered the large sitting area of the suite only to find Linda sitting on the sofa and calling to Paul to bring her a fresh cup of coffee. At that moment Paul walked out with a coffee cup and noticed John.
“Linda!” John said. He was very surprised.
“Hello, John,” Linda said. Her face was not warm and inviting. It and her voice were both very formal.
“Hi, John,” Paul said in a subdued voice. “We’ve asked for another suite so it won’t be so awkward, and we’re waiting to find out when one is available for us.”
“You’re not staying here with me?” John asked, looking lost and helpless in Paul’s direction.
Paul did feel a pull toward John in that moment. He didn’t like to see John like this. But he remembered the bruises around his mouth and his sore lip, and decided he couldn’t afford sympathy for John at this particular moment. Paul was trying to find the words to answer John’s question, when Linda took over.
“After what happened, Paul and I think that it is best if we have a little physical distance from you for a while. Until things settle down more.” Linda’s voice was that of a protective mother, and John felt them as patronizing and isolating.
“’You and Paul’ decided this, did you? But this is an issue between Paul and me, having nothing to do with you, and how can we work it out if we’re not left alone to do it?” John had directed his words at Linda, but they were meant equally for Paul. He was trying to shame Paul, who - in John’s mind - was hiding behind Linda’s skirts.
“I’m not ready to talk with you about this, John,” Paul said in Linda’s defense. “I asked Linda to stay with me, and she thankfully agreed. You and I’ve been getting on each other’s nerves, and if this tour is to be a success, I think we need to see a little less of each other when we’re not on stage.”
“Oh you do, do you?” John’s face matched frustration with fear.
“John, think about it,” Paul said in an infuriatingly rational voice, “Before we had this…argument…you were already looking for ways to avoid my presence. Staying out all night, getting drunk. I didn’t get it until we had this…disagreement… how desperate you were for your independence. So, maybe that is something we both need now, and this will give us some time to think about it.”
“’It’? What the fuck is ‘it’?”
“’It’ is thinking about whether we need to spend some time away from each other. Not forever, but just until we know what we really want.”
John was outraged to hear this out of Paul, even though he himself had been making exactly those plans about a new life in New York. It was one thing for John to think they needed some space, but it was an entirely different thing for Paul to say it! “I see. So we have one bad fight and you’re ready to pack up and leave. Is that it?” John’s hands were on his hips as he was glaring at Paul.
Linda was getting angrier by the moment. She jumped up and moved towards John. “Stop it John! How like you to turn this into what you think Paul is doing wrong! Do you forget that you hit him in the face? How the hell did you expect Paul to react to that, for crying out loud? Did you think there would be no consequences?” Linda’s angry voice echoed in the suite for several seconds, and then the phone rang. Paul picked it up, said ‘thanks’, and then hung up.
“It’s our suite, Linda. It’s ready for us. They’re bringing the luggage there now. We’re to meet the concierge.” Paul then turned to John, and his voice and expression became conciliatory. “I said a terrible thing to you, John, and I apologize for that. I shouldn’t have said it, and I guess I understand why you wanted to hit me. But I’m just not ready to talk about all that bad stuff right now. It kind of shakes me up, that I still have those feelings. I really don’t think you are ready to deal with it, either. So let’s go to our separate corners for a few rounds, until we have a better grasp on our emotions. Ok, mate?”
John nodded. He couldn’t speak because he felt sobs aching in his throat. He didn’t want to break down in front of Paul and Linda. Together. Looking like a strong unit. Like he and Paul used to look.
The band was very subdued as they waited for sound check to begin. Paul was late, and that was very unusual. But he did show up, and surprisingly his wife Linda was with him. She made the rounds saying hi to everyone, and then said she was going to hang out backstage. All of the musicians noticed the bruises, but none of them said anything. Paul had acted very normal, and made his little jokes and charming segues, and put everyone at ease almost immediately. No matter what was going on behind the scenes, Paul was obviously not going to drag the dirty linen out in order to get sympathy.
Even Brandon kept his actively insolent face quiet. Paul had shown him something - the professional way he had handled himself the night before, and here he was the next day, leading the sound check. Brandon actually had an errant thought that to be in show business a person might have to be tough, dedicated and determined. McCartney was obviously all three. It had also occurred to him, upon reflection (but mostly after he recounted what happened in his meeting with Paul and Timothy to his father, and his father pointed it out to him) that McCartney had been fair and reasonable with him, and gave him the chance to either choose to stay and make it work or to leave on his own terms. “That was extremely generous and rare in this business, son,” his father had said. So Brandon had behaved himself the night before, and even tried to smile and play off the other musicians a bit more. He found that even that little bit of effort on his part had earned him some approving smiles from Paul, even though the smile had to be made through a split and bruised lip. Robbie, too, had patted him on the back and said, “Thanks for your support tonight, appreciate it,” as they left the stage. Maybe this gig wasn’t as much of a drag as he had thought it would be.
John was back at the hotel, nursing a hang over and crying in his tea. He felt desperately sad about the state of his relationship with Paul. He probably would not have hit Paul if the comment he had made (that he had allowed Brian to wank him off in order to gain influence over Brian) hadn’t been true. But because it was true, a truth that he supposed Paul had always guessed but never said to him before had cut John to the core. As usual, John’s guilt had caused him to act out. He was trying to get up the energy and enthusiasm for going out on stage again. Part of him dreaded seeing Paul again, but the other part couldn’t wait. Finally he pulled himself off the sofa, and rang for the driver. It was time to go - one hour before the show - and he couldn’t put it off any longer.
In the limo John fought with the sadness that threatened to overcome him. Where was his hard outer shell when he really needed it? His whole life was in jeopardy right now, and it had all been his own fault. Why did he self-sabotage like this? He could never be satisfied with what he had; he always had to reach for more. Once he had what he had craved, then he didn’t crave it anymore, and wanted something else. It’s time for me to go back to full time therapy, John thought. As soon as this fuckin’ tour was over, he was going straight back to Fiona, who’d he had stopped seeing months earlier. Maybe he was one of those people who had to go to therapy their whole life to keep themselves on track. He hoped that Paul would see he was seriously working on his anger issues if he went back to full time therapy.
John found Linda in the dressing room, sitting in a chair going through some paperwork, while Paul dressed for the show. He stared at her as if by doing so he could make her disappear. All he wanted was 5 minutes alone with Paul. Linda was like a fucking guard dog protecting Paul from him. Linda finally looked up from her paperwork and met John’s eyes. She didn’t look away. Yup, John thought. A fucking guard dog. Well, here goes.
“Linda, I would like to speak to Paul alone for a few minutes.” John said this with as much calm respect as he could muster under the circumstances. He watched while Linda met Paul’s eyes, and then he saw Paul’s almost imperceptible nod.
She got up and as she passed him on the way out she whispered to him, “Don’t be a dick again.”
After the door closed behind her, Paul stood up and faced John. John had been planning to be calm, rational, sincere, and to explain as objectively as possible what had led up to his outburst, how bad he felt about it, and what he was going to do about it so that it would never happen again. But in the actual moment, no words came to him. But apparently his face was speaking to Paul, because suddenly Paul opened his arms, and John rushed over and hugged back as if his whole life depended upon it.
WARNINGS: If you don't like to read about anger leading to violence, however limited, then don't read this. Also, this is FICTION, and the characters bear no resemblance to the RL people whose names I've borrowed.
Chapter 40
Linda was back at the hotel lying on the chaise on the balcony. She felt wonderful. It was as if someone had pushed a button and returned her husband to her. “Her” Paul was back again. He was entirely present with her, and she never got the feeling he was biding time until John returned. She didn’t know who or what she had to thank for this; but she was very grateful. When they were all together in L.A., the kids had noticed it too. It wasn’t anything they had said, but it was the looks on their faces, the giddiness of their energy, the pure joy in which they interacted with their parents. Then of course there had been the lovemaking. She and Paul had slept together every night, and although Linda knew that the first night in LA Paul had slipped out of her bed to John’s, he had been attentive enough to slip back to their bed after taking a quick shower so he could wake up with her. This feeling of intense wellbeing was something Linda was loath to lose. Their holiday would be over in two days, and she’d be headed back to London to make sure James went to school. But oh how she wanted to stay with Paul, and never leave him again.
John strolled on to the balcony, interrupting Linda’s warm and wonderful thoughts. She actually felt a little sorry for him. John had held Paul in the palm of his hand, and had taken him for granted, and now it was her gain, John’s loss. She wondered if he had figured it out yet. Privately, she was extremely proud of Paul. He had found the inner strength to stand up and refuse to be treated like a whipping-boy-cum-governess by John. Linda knew Paul was a strong, independent man, and while he had deep insecurities, when the rubber hit the road he always lifted his head up and rammed his way through. She was glad to feel that Paul was rousing himself again.
“’Noon, Linda,” John said. He had spent the morning sleeping in and then having breakfast in his suite before going off in search of Paul. He wanted to spend some quality time with him. “Where’s Paul?”
“He left early for the stadium to handle a problem. Didn’t he mention it to you?” Linda couldn’t help herself. She had to rub it in a little.
“No, we haven’t spoken since last night,” John grumbled.
“No doubt he didn’t want to bother you. Something about a guitarist who is bigger than his britches.” Linda couldn’t resist letting John know she knew what the problem was, while John likely did not.
“Oh, he’s on about Richard’s son again, is he?” John was clearly (and surprisingly to Linda) irritated. John had promised Richard that his son could have the gig, and here was Paul making waves. In John’s mind, since Brandon was John’s pick, Paul ought to have consulted him before doing anything about it. What’s more, Paul was confiding in Linda about the problem - not him - and it wasn’t even any of her business!
Linda didn’t know who Richard was, much less his son, but didn’t want to let on she didn’t know, so she smiled in a noncommittal manner and asked, “Hungry?”
“No, I ate already. I’m gonna go to the stadium and see what the hell is going on. Do you have Timothy’s phone number?”
Linda was at first surprised that John did not know Timothy’s phone number, but then told herself it was typical. Worrying about such boring things was Paul’s job, wasn’t it? She said, “I have the mobile phone number Timothy carries with him when he’s at the venue. It’s attached to the little fridge in the bar area by a magnet.” John wandered off to find it. After he’d left, she cozied herself a bit on the chaise and smiled. She was secretly proud of herself for getting the best of that conversation.
*****
At John’s request, Timothy arranged for a car to deliver him to the stadium in time for sound check. This surprised everyone. John hadn’t been at a sound check in weeks. Paul was pleasantly surprised by John’s surprise appearance until he saw the expression on John’s face. The man was loaded for bear.
“Paul, I want to talk to you. Privately.” John made this loud, angry demand in front of the whole band and crew. This embarrassed almost everyone except Brandon, who was happy to see Paul treated so rudely in public.
Rather than make a scene, Paul unplugged himself from his guitar and handed it to one of the roadies. He then followed John off stage and into their dressing room. Before John could say anything, Paul spoke first.
“Don’t ever do that to me again!” He demanded, his voice low but obviously throbbing with anger.
“Don’t do what?” John shouted back.
“Speak to me like that in front of people who work for us! I won’t tolerate it!”
John was taken aback. In his mind when he was rehearsing this conversation, he had been entirely in charge, and Paul had been meek and compliant. He wasn’t prepared for an enraged, empowered Paul.
“Well, I’m pissed!” John shouted back, helplessly.
“So now I’m pissed too!” Paul retorted. Paul’s hands were on his hips and his face was scowling, although again, John couldn’t help thinking, he still looked like an angry puppy. This thought softened John’s approach a bit. He chuckled.
“Sorry, mate, but I have to find out from Linda that you’re dealing with Brandon without consulting me?” John’s voice was a judicious combination of appeasement and indignation.
Paul was surprised by this pronouncement. “I always deal with these kind of problems, John. You never want to hear about it.”
John internally acknowledged the truth of this comment, and then added in a more conciliatory tone, “Brandon’s different. He’s the son of an old friend of mine. I promised Richard I’d look after him.”
Paul softened too. He regained his composure. “Timothy and I just sat him down and told him he had to change his attitude. He was being unspeakably rude to the other musicians, and we can’t have that on tour.”
“You didn’t fire him?” John asked.
“No, but I did tell him if he didn’t improve his attitude I would fire him. Timothy and Robbie agree with me.” Paul waited a beat while John took that information on board. “And I also told Timothy he could fire Brandon if we have a repeat of the last concert.” Paul’s voice and expression reflected the solidity and immovability of a brick wall, and John knew that this was not something up for debate. But it irked him that Paul would reach a conclusion like that without consulting him. It didn’t occur to him that he had repeatedly abdicated any responsibility for such problems years earlier, and had always expected Paul to deal with them.
“Well, Paul,” John drawled sarcastically. “It’s Lennon & McCartney, not the other way around! You can’t fire anyone without my say-so! Everyone knows I’m the reason we made it, and you shouldn’t forget it! ”
Paul’s eyebrows almost flew off his face. He felt a jolt of anger run through him so powerful that he had to restrain himself from hitting John in the fucking face. But while he could curb his physical impulses, he couldn’t help himself from going “there” verbally. “And we both know how you got your name first, don’t we?” He sneered. “It had nothing to do with merit, and everything to do with you allowing Brian to wank you off!”
John’s breath came out of him as if he’d been hit in the solar plexus. “You…!” John rushed inwards and pushed Paul against a wall, and followed that with a right fist to Paul’s face.
Paul managed to catch John’s wrist before it could do too much damage to his face, and he pushed John off him and the two men were staring at each other, breathing heavily. Paul felt tears fighting to erupt, and forced himself to hold them back. He finally broke his eyes away from John’s and then, pushing himself away, he slammed out of the room, leaving John behind to ponder what had just happened.
*****
Paul staggered out to the main hallway, and felt his mouth and jaw aching. He knew his lip and inner mouth were cut, because he could taste the blood and see it on his finger. He could also feel his lower face swelling. He couldn’t believe this had happened. In all their years together, except for that one time in India in 1968, John had not physically attacked him. Paul was incredibly distressed, and did not know where to turn. Luckily for him, Timothy came down the hall at just that moment and saw Paul standing there with a bloody mouth and a shocked look on his face.
“What happened?” Timothy whispered. Paul could only look at him with an expression of intense hurt and confusion before Timothy grabbed him by the arm and led him to the office he’d been assigned for the night. He shut the door, and settled Paul in a chair. “Tell me what happened.” He repeated.
“John hit me!” Paul was clearly in shock, and seemed stunned and on the brink of tears. His voice sounded disbelieving. Timothy didn’t’ hesitate. He called Linda at the hotel immediately.
He whispered into the phone. “John and Paul have had a fight. You need to get here to comfort Paul. I’m afraid we’re going to have to cancel the show.”
Linda was shocked beyond words, and began to regret her ‘winding up’ of John just an hour earlier. “Is Paul okay?”
Her voice was scared and shaky.
Timothy said, “He’s shook up, and he’s got a bloody mouth, but otherwise I think he is okay.”
“A bloody mouth? Do you mean that asshole hit my husband?” Linda’s voice had risen to almost a banshee screech, and Timothy had to hold the phone receiver away from his ear.
“I really don’t know what happened. Paul needs you right now.”
Linda hung up and ran screaming for the driver.
Meanwhile, Timothy went to find an assistant. He told him to bring some towels and ice. The assistant looked surprised, but followed the instructions, thinking what now?
Timothy turned back to Paul, and saw to his horror that the most dignified performer he’d ever met was cradling his head in his hands and sobbing. Timothy’s heart turned over, and then he got a grip. He sat down next to him, and put his arm around Paul’s shoulders. After 10 minutes, the sobbing stopped, and Paul was desperately trying to repair his face. By then the supplies he’d requested had been delivered (with Timothy blocking the door so the curious assistant could not see what was going on), and Timothy quietly handed Paul a damp towel and ice. Gently, he placed the makeshift ice pack over Paul’s mouth. He no longer needed Paul to tell him what happened. For whatever reason, the erratic John Lennon had smacked Paul in the mouth. This was without doubt the worst situation he’d ever found himself in as a tour director.
He was incredibly grateful when the security guard showed Linda into his office. She saw Paul and a cry came out of her that would break the heart of a stone-cold killer. She rushed to Paul, knelt in front of him, and immediately encompassed him in a hug. Paul began to weep again, but softer, less achingly. Linda wept too. Timothy quietly excused himself from the room, and realized he had to go off to see what had become of John.
Sound check had ground to a complete stop, and Wix had told all the musicians to go back to their locker room, and wait for the show. “Have some rest, relax,” he said, but his heart was heavy. The fact that Paul hadn’t come back to finish sound check worried him a lot. Paul was not the type to shirk his responsibilities, and he had seen John angry before, and knew it was not going to be a pretty scene.
Timothy entered John and Paul’s dressing room, and found John on the sofa, with his face buried in the pillows.
“John?” He asked quietly.
John stirred but did not respond.
“John, I need to know if we’re going on. If we’re not, I have to let the press know as soon as possible, so as not to inconvenience the audience.” Timothy’s voice was carefully modulated to ensure that no judgment was in his voice. Although he was firmly in Paul’s camp, John didn’t need to know that.
“What does Paul say?” John asked. His voice sounded weak and afraid.
“I haven’t asked him yet,” Timothy said softly. “Linda is with him now.”
“I hit him,” John said, almost as if he didn’t believe it.
“His mouth is bleeding, and his face is swollen,” Timothy remarked. John needed to know the consequences of his actions.
John groaned loudly, and Timothy could see the tear-streaked cheeks. Timothy had noticed by then that there was a whole lot of intense emotion between these two men. He hadn’t given credence to the rumors about them because they both seemed so masculine, but he did begin to suspect that there was a lot more depth to their relationship than most people understood. He decided not to be angry with John. That was not productive.
“Will you go on, if Paul goes on?” Timothy asked gently.
“Yes,” John whispered. “Is he okay?”
“Why don’t I bring you over to my office, and you can talk to him directly. But no more arguing - that’s my condition,” Timothy said firmly.
John nodded in acquiescence, fatalistically. He then followed Timothy down the fairway to an office door. Timothy knocked and said, “Linda, it’s me and John. We’re coming in.”
Linda wanted to shout ‘no!’, but Paul looked at her in such a pleading, hopeful way that she opened the locked door, and let Timothy and John in.
There was a very awkward silence until Timothy said, “Paul, John is willing to do the show if you are. I need to know if it is going on, because otherwise I have to alert the media immediately.”
Paul was surprised by this question. Of course he was going to go on! He had never considered anything else. “Yes, of course we’ll go on,” Paul said, although his mouth and face hurt when he made himself talk. “But I need the makeup artist before I’m ready.”
John could see the swollen redness of Paul’s jaw, and the swollen lips, with a dark cut in them. He felt horrible. He didn’t want to hurt Paul, but that is all that he seemed able to do. He looked briefly at Linda, and saw that she was regarding him with anger and suspicion. Today he had driven a huge wedge in between himself and Paul and his family. “Paul?” He asked. His voice was an open plea. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”
Linda tightened her arms around Paul. She didn’t trust John not to hurt her husband, and she wanted - by her intense grasp - to remind Paul of John’s treachery.
Paul felt defeated. He had known that the roller coaster was on a downward trend, but he hadn’t expected it to go so low. “Okay, well, let me get myself together, and we’ll do the show, and be done with all this drama.” Paul’s voice sounded empty and resigned. This tore at John’s heart. Paul looked up at John, but didn’t really meet his eyes. Paul’s face was a blank slate, and John couldn’t see through it. Instead, he turned around and headed down the hallway to the dressing room. His heart was extremely heavy. Damn his terrible temper and out of control ego!
*****
The make-up artist was surprised to have to cover up bruises and cuts on Paul’s lower face. “What happened?” she asked.
Linda answered before Paul could think of an answer. “He literally bashed his mouth on the door handle when he bent over to pick something up. Can you believe it?” Her voice was amused and objective, and it convinced the makeup artist that she was telling the truth. Paul felt so grateful to Linda for her quick thinking. Meanwhile, the makeup artist did her best work, and managed to cover up the worst of the swelling. From a distance - which was where the audience sat, after all - the swelling wasn’t obvious. Maybe if the press photographers were allowed too close they would be able to detect the damage, however. Timothy had already thought of that, and told the press they couldn’t come close to the stage. They were pissed of course, but the security guards were intent upon enforcing Timothy’s order.
It was 8:15 p.m., and it was time to go on stage. John had been waiting in the wings for 10 minutes before Paul and Linda joined him. Paul didn’t meet John’s eyes, but he waited calmly until it was the exact second when they needed to go on stage. Paul walked out first - strong and determined. John followed, trying to ape Paul’s confidence. They went directly into Get Back, and then into Come Together.
It was a surreal night for John and Paul, each of them performing full out for the audience, but not really connecting with each other. John felt horribly guilty, and Paul felt hurt and estranged from John. Still, he conjured up his Beatle Paul mask, and threw himself 100% into the show. John did his best to respond, hoping against hope that he would meet Paul’s eyes and know that everything was going to be all right. But Paul’s eyes - while outwardly smiling - were inwardly retracted, and John understood that the smiles were not meant for him. They were a part of their presentation to the audience.
That night proved to be the most difficult performance either John or Paul had ever given. First, Paul’s mouth was incredibly sore, and continued to swell even more as the night progressed. Singing, and making sure his tones came out of his mouth correctly, became a 100% focused task for Paul. And John couldn’t bear to look at Paul’s face without being filled with an overflow of guilt. He did his best to show Paul, through his intense performance, harmonies and backup, that he was incredibly sorry for what he had done. In truth, John was terrified that Paul would never forgive him. All he wanted was one true glimpse into Paul’s eyes, but that night Paul denied him that comfort.
The local photographers had been kept back several extra feet away from the stage, much to their frustration, and so they had not been able to take up close and personal photos of Paul’s injuries. In fact, they did not realize that there were any injuries. Timothy felt he was worth his weight in gold at that point. He had protected his charges from public humiliation and exposure. Strangely, he didn’t feel victorious. He felt protective of John and Paul, and knew that by protecting them from the ugliness of public exposure, he was doing what he could for two people he had grown to love against all odds: John and Paul.
The concert was a blistering juggernaut of emotion, with both John and Paul performing their hearts out. The audience was wild with excitement and delight, but had no idea of the deeply buried tension between their two idols. As the last strains of “The End” echoed across the stadium, the audience stood up in silent homage, before bursting out into screaming approval. Paul’s face was frozen in a smile as he departed the stage. He had completed the second encore, and knew that now he could go home, hide in Linda’s arms, and cry his fucking eyes out. John had turned on him in a way that Paul had thought was behind them. It had been the first time since their reconciliation that John had thrown his weight around in front of others and in such an insulting and uncalled for way, and Paul had been shaken to his core by it.
John felt numb as they left the stage. John watched as Paul and Linda, who had waited backstage, climbed into a limo and drove off. A second limo was right behind them, waiting for him. Feeling empty and frightened, John climbed into this second limo, and sat in the back fighting back tears as it headed for the airport. He wondered what he and Paul would say to each other when they met again on the plane for their trip to Dallas.
But Paul and Linda went back to the hotel together. As soon as they arrived, Paul fell into bed and winced as his face hurt as it connected with the pillow. Linda came to him with a damp cloth that had been drenched in lavender oil. She placed the cloth on Paul’s forehead, and then gave him some butterfly kisses on his upper face. “I can’t believe he did that to you,” Linda whispered, as she gently caressed Paul’s bruises.
“Neither can I,” Paul whispered back, his heart broken in a million pieces.
*****
The next morning, Paul was depressed. Linda and his children were scheduled to fly back to England early that day, while he was required to fly on to Dallas for the next concert date with John. Paul did not want Linda to leave, but he didn’t know how to put his selfish desires into words. Linda was holding him in her arms, her heart full of deep empathy, when she whispered in his ear, “Baby, do you want me to stay with you?”
Paul heard this and his eyes filled with tears. “But James…” he whispered.
“I’ve talked to Mary and Stella. They will move into Cavendish for the rest of the tour, and take care of James.” Linda held her breath. She hoped and prayed that Paul was relieved to hear this information.
Paul was tremendously relieved. “If you think it is okay for James…”
“James tells me that he wants me to be here with you,” Linda whispered in response.
“Lin, if you want to be with me, I want to be with you.” Paul stopped talking after that. His eyes were beseeching when he looked at Linda. “I feel like a fool and a failure.”
“Paul, listen. You’re not a failure. John behaved badly towards you, but you got up on your hind legs and went out and wowed the crowd anyway. You’re my hero.” Linda kissed Paul’s face, and his throat, and his chest. “It will all work out in the end,” she added, as she allowed her kisses to wander down towards Paul’s nether regions.
Paul was fully cognizant of Linda’s ministrations, and was also fully grateful for them. But he couldn’t help remembering John’s angry face as he struck out at him. Paul’s eyes closed involuntarily, and he felt his body wince, as he remembered that moment. I shouldn’t have said what I thought about the Brian Epstein manipulation, Paul told himself. That had happened almost - but not quite - 30 years earlier. Paul had even surprised himself when that vitriol came out of him. 30 years of knowing that John had maneuvered Brian into marginalizing Paul’s role in the Beatles. Paul was shocked to discover that he was still enraged by John’s betrayal. If, back in the day, John had come to him privately and asked Paul to have his name go first, Paul would probably have eventually given in and said ‘yes’. But to have it shoved down his throat from behind his back by the new manager - that was far too much. Especially since the decision was made during John’s cozy trip to Barcelona with Brian. What a coincidence. Not.
In fact, Paul had always believed that John had allowed Brian to engage in sexual liberties with him. John had lied to Paul about it, and claimed nothing had happened, but Paul had never believed it. Paul had also felt as though a knife had been thrust into the very bottom of his gut as a result of that betrayal. Paul was beginning to realize that he had never properly healed from that injury. This surprised Paul, who had not thought through this issue before. He had always tended to fly above the fray, and not linger amongst the bitter remains. But now the odor of those bitter remains were forcing themselves upon him, surprising Paul with the strength of their stench. Where had that come from after all those years?
*****
Later that day, Mary, Stella and James boarded a plane and headed back for London. Mary had promised to pack more of her mom’s things and send them to her at one of the later tour destinations. All three of the McCartney children had been shocked by the bruises they’d seen on their father’s face, and although no one had told them exactly what happened, they had gathered that John had done it. In their family no one fought or hit each other or screamed insults at each other. This was so foreign to their upbringing that they couldn’t wrap their minds around it. They had urged their mother to stay with their father, all three of them, and Linda was grateful to them for making it easy for her to agree. After the kids left for the airport, Linda packed Paul’s things and her own, and was preparing for their trip to Dallas.
John had flown to Dallas right after the concert. He had been shocked to discover that Paul wasn’t coming with him, but would arrive the next day. When he discovered this, he was already seated on the private plane. It was too late to refuse to leave, and if he did - what difference would it make? Paul would still not want to see or talk to him. So John stayed on board as the plane took off (in one of the most ridiculously dangerous airports known to modern man) and left Paul behind. For John, this was devastating, and he needed something - anything - to set his mind at ease, which was why, once he got to the suite in Dallas that he was supposed to share with Paul, he scored some pot and stayed up until 4 a.m. toking and drinking whiskey. His brain had turned to mush, which was the kind of relief John felt he needed at the moment.
It was close to 2 p.m. the next day when John awoke. He heard banging around in an adjacent room in the suite. Was that Paul? He awoke hopefully, believing that now he had Paul to himself, so he could apologize properly, and try to put this bad experience behind them. But as he got up and reached for his robe, he could swear he could hear Paul’s voice. Who was he talking to? Perhaps he was on the phone. He finished brushing his teeth and his hair, and then, naked under his robe (and hoping to perhaps use sex as a way to reach the tender side of Paul), he entered the large sitting area of the suite only to find Linda sitting on the sofa and calling to Paul to bring her a fresh cup of coffee. At that moment Paul walked out with a coffee cup and noticed John.
“Linda!” John said. He was very surprised.
“Hello, John,” Linda said. Her face was not warm and inviting. It and her voice were both very formal.
“Hi, John,” Paul said in a subdued voice. “We’ve asked for another suite so it won’t be so awkward, and we’re waiting to find out when one is available for us.”
“You’re not staying here with me?” John asked, looking lost and helpless in Paul’s direction.
Paul did feel a pull toward John in that moment. He didn’t like to see John like this. But he remembered the bruises around his mouth and his sore lip, and decided he couldn’t afford sympathy for John at this particular moment. Paul was trying to find the words to answer John’s question, when Linda took over.
“After what happened, Paul and I think that it is best if we have a little physical distance from you for a while. Until things settle down more.” Linda’s voice was that of a protective mother, and John felt them as patronizing and isolating.
“’You and Paul’ decided this, did you? But this is an issue between Paul and me, having nothing to do with you, and how can we work it out if we’re not left alone to do it?” John had directed his words at Linda, but they were meant equally for Paul. He was trying to shame Paul, who - in John’s mind - was hiding behind Linda’s skirts.
“I’m not ready to talk with you about this, John,” Paul said in Linda’s defense. “I asked Linda to stay with me, and she thankfully agreed. You and I’ve been getting on each other’s nerves, and if this tour is to be a success, I think we need to see a little less of each other when we’re not on stage.”
“Oh you do, do you?” John’s face matched frustration with fear.
“John, think about it,” Paul said in an infuriatingly rational voice, “Before we had this…argument…you were already looking for ways to avoid my presence. Staying out all night, getting drunk. I didn’t get it until we had this…disagreement… how desperate you were for your independence. So, maybe that is something we both need now, and this will give us some time to think about it.”
“’It’? What the fuck is ‘it’?”
“’It’ is thinking about whether we need to spend some time away from each other. Not forever, but just until we know what we really want.”
John was outraged to hear this out of Paul, even though he himself had been making exactly those plans about a new life in New York. It was one thing for John to think they needed some space, but it was an entirely different thing for Paul to say it! “I see. So we have one bad fight and you’re ready to pack up and leave. Is that it?” John’s hands were on his hips as he was glaring at Paul.
Linda was getting angrier by the moment. She jumped up and moved towards John. “Stop it John! How like you to turn this into what you think Paul is doing wrong! Do you forget that you hit him in the face? How the hell did you expect Paul to react to that, for crying out loud? Did you think there would be no consequences?” Linda’s angry voice echoed in the suite for several seconds, and then the phone rang. Paul picked it up, said ‘thanks’, and then hung up.
“It’s our suite, Linda. It’s ready for us. They’re bringing the luggage there now. We’re to meet the concierge.” Paul then turned to John, and his voice and expression became conciliatory. “I said a terrible thing to you, John, and I apologize for that. I shouldn’t have said it, and I guess I understand why you wanted to hit me. But I’m just not ready to talk about all that bad stuff right now. It kind of shakes me up, that I still have those feelings. I really don’t think you are ready to deal with it, either. So let’s go to our separate corners for a few rounds, until we have a better grasp on our emotions. Ok, mate?”
John nodded. He couldn’t speak because he felt sobs aching in his throat. He didn’t want to break down in front of Paul and Linda. Together. Looking like a strong unit. Like he and Paul used to look.
*****
The band was very subdued as they waited for sound check to begin. Paul was late, and that was very unusual. But he did show up, and surprisingly his wife Linda was with him. She made the rounds saying hi to everyone, and then said she was going to hang out backstage. All of the musicians noticed the bruises, but none of them said anything. Paul had acted very normal, and made his little jokes and charming segues, and put everyone at ease almost immediately. No matter what was going on behind the scenes, Paul was obviously not going to drag the dirty linen out in order to get sympathy.
Even Brandon kept his actively insolent face quiet. Paul had shown him something - the professional way he had handled himself the night before, and here he was the next day, leading the sound check. Brandon actually had an errant thought that to be in show business a person might have to be tough, dedicated and determined. McCartney was obviously all three. It had also occurred to him, upon reflection (but mostly after he recounted what happened in his meeting with Paul and Timothy to his father, and his father pointed it out to him) that McCartney had been fair and reasonable with him, and gave him the chance to either choose to stay and make it work or to leave on his own terms. “That was extremely generous and rare in this business, son,” his father had said. So Brandon had behaved himself the night before, and even tried to smile and play off the other musicians a bit more. He found that even that little bit of effort on his part had earned him some approving smiles from Paul, even though the smile had to be made through a split and bruised lip. Robbie, too, had patted him on the back and said, “Thanks for your support tonight, appreciate it,” as they left the stage. Maybe this gig wasn’t as much of a drag as he had thought it would be.
John was back at the hotel, nursing a hang over and crying in his tea. He felt desperately sad about the state of his relationship with Paul. He probably would not have hit Paul if the comment he had made (that he had allowed Brian to wank him off in order to gain influence over Brian) hadn’t been true. But because it was true, a truth that he supposed Paul had always guessed but never said to him before had cut John to the core. As usual, John’s guilt had caused him to act out. He was trying to get up the energy and enthusiasm for going out on stage again. Part of him dreaded seeing Paul again, but the other part couldn’t wait. Finally he pulled himself off the sofa, and rang for the driver. It was time to go - one hour before the show - and he couldn’t put it off any longer.
In the limo John fought with the sadness that threatened to overcome him. Where was his hard outer shell when he really needed it? His whole life was in jeopardy right now, and it had all been his own fault. Why did he self-sabotage like this? He could never be satisfied with what he had; he always had to reach for more. Once he had what he had craved, then he didn’t crave it anymore, and wanted something else. It’s time for me to go back to full time therapy, John thought. As soon as this fuckin’ tour was over, he was going straight back to Fiona, who’d he had stopped seeing months earlier. Maybe he was one of those people who had to go to therapy their whole life to keep themselves on track. He hoped that Paul would see he was seriously working on his anger issues if he went back to full time therapy.
John found Linda in the dressing room, sitting in a chair going through some paperwork, while Paul dressed for the show. He stared at her as if by doing so he could make her disappear. All he wanted was 5 minutes alone with Paul. Linda was like a fucking guard dog protecting Paul from him. Linda finally looked up from her paperwork and met John’s eyes. She didn’t look away. Yup, John thought. A fucking guard dog. Well, here goes.
“Linda, I would like to speak to Paul alone for a few minutes.” John said this with as much calm respect as he could muster under the circumstances. He watched while Linda met Paul’s eyes, and then he saw Paul’s almost imperceptible nod.
She got up and as she passed him on the way out she whispered to him, “Don’t be a dick again.”
After the door closed behind her, Paul stood up and faced John. John had been planning to be calm, rational, sincere, and to explain as objectively as possible what had led up to his outburst, how bad he felt about it, and what he was going to do about it so that it would never happen again. But in the actual moment, no words came to him. But apparently his face was speaking to Paul, because suddenly Paul opened his arms, and John rushed over and hugged back as if his whole life depended upon it.