Too Much Rain, Chapter 117
Feb. 13th, 2016 09:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yes_2dayIn this chapter, the family begins to reorganize its ranks to adjust to Linda's absence.
WARNING: A hint of slash, and still more sadness, but not as much as there was in real life. Which reminds me - THIS IS FICTION.
Chapter 117
They were finally alone in the privacy of the bedroom, having left Mike McCartney alone in Paul’s study with the whiskey bottle. Paul was in the bathroom doing his ablutions, and John, who had already finished, was sitting up in bed wondering if he should say anything about Mike’s behavior. Surely some of those bitter remarks must have hit their target, and wouldn’t Paul need to talk about it?
To John’s relief, Paul had finally gotten over the ‘pajamas’ thing, and came into the room unconsciously nude. He climbed into the bed and looked over to where John sat, staring at him. “What?” Paul asked.
John smiled and said, “Just enjoying the scenery.”
Paul winced. “Thank god you have terrible eyesight.”
John laughed. “I have me glasses on, mate.”
“Shall I turn off the light? Or are you going to read?” Paul asked. Sexual interludes had been far and few between since Linda’s death. John suspected that Paul would feel guilty about Linda, and this would deflate his usually amorous nature before they could even get started.
“That your way of saying I’m not getting any tonight?” John joked.
Paul gave John a slow double take. He knew that John was telling him he was letting the side down. It had been hard, ever since Linda was sick, to feel sexual. He had done his best to keep John satisfied, but sometimes it had been an actual effort. He didn’t want to fail to perform and have to answer a bunch of embarrassing questions, so more often than not he had chosen not to initiate sex. It had been two and a half years since Linda’s diagnosis. Two and a half years of living a bit like a nurse or a monk. Or a monk who was a nurse. Now, Paul was stuck in this place where he found it hard to be sexual.
“I’m sorry I’m a disappointment,” Paul said sincerely. “I find it difficult to get in the mood.”
John sighed heavily. “Fuck it, Paul. This is me - John. You don’t have to tiptoe around. If you’re not feeling it, you’re not feeling it. I’ll survive.” John stopped for a moment and then added with a twinkle in his eye, “Of course, I’ll be very grumpy, but I’ll survive.”
Paul chuckled in spite of the anxiety the subject had brought to him. Paul was a perfectionist in sex, as he was in everything else, and he didn’t want to do sex badly. Better he should not do it at all than make a mash of it. But Paul was also a generous lover, and so he forced himself to turn over on to his side and face John.
John took the cue, pushed a few pillows away, and slipped further down under the covers on his side until he was eye to eye with Paul.
“Did you enjoy your party?” John asked flirtatiously.
“I did,” Paul flirted right back with a naughty twinkle.
“I made almost all the food myself,” John said, begging for praise.
Paul’s hand reached up and began stroking John’s hair. “It was awesome,” he responded in a low, throaty voice, aping an American accent.
John felt his nether regions pricking up in interest. Was Paul finally going to seduce him for a change? That never happened anymore! But Paul was surely taking his time about it. John forced himself to be patient and to lie still. He said, “Your brother was saying some pretty crazy shit tonight.”
Paul said, “Ummm...” but he was distracted by the closeness of John, and the smell of John, and the sound of John.
“He’s getting really bitter with age,” John pointed out softly.
“It’s the alcohol speaking,” Paul assured him, allowing his hand to move down John’s arm, to his side, and in the direction of his bum.
“Well then,” John said even more softly, his eyes closed and his mind focused on Paul’s hand, “that alcohol is an asshole.”
Paul chuffed in his throat in amusement, and decided he was sufficiently aroused now to initiate some more vigorous foreplay. He gently pushed John on to his back, and then moved, very slowly, until he was on top of him. John groaned deep in his throat. He threw his head back and just allowed every one of Paul’s touches to echo throughout his body. Paul’s initiating touches felt so...new... after so long a time. He almost couldn’t believe it, but he was actually seeing stars!
Paul looked down into John’s eyes. John’s eyes always looked so naked and vulnerable when he took off his glasses, because of his extreme near-sightedness. Paul loved this about John. For Paul it was like a metaphor for John himself - on the outside a suit of armor, on the inside a quivering mass of insecurity. This thought flitted through Paul’s mind, and then he began to move in earnest.
It was the age-old rhythms again. Thousands of years had gone by and still human beings felt the intense need to rub their bodies together to create that hot, tingling feeling that robbed the mind of its senses for blessed minutes at a time. Soon, the rubbing became more persistent. There was no need for penetration tonight; the pure ecstasy of the rubbing and the rhythm were more than enough to bring the cascades of pleasure that soon followed. It happened in a rush - much quicker than either of them wanted it to. Instead of falling off to the side, Paul remained lying on top of John for a few moments. He was murmuring something in John’s ear, and John strained to make sense of it. He was rewarded when he made out the words,
“I couldn’t go on without you.”
Paul’s actual birthday came, and John had prepared a quiet but refined dinner for just the family. He had persuaded Julian to come too since he was in London briefly to do the press for his latest album release; other than that only Paul and Linda’s children and the three girls' boyfriends were there. As usual, Mary had come over to help John set the table, arrange the flowers, and act as sous chef. The two of them had struck up a relationship much like the one John had shared with Linda, and so John felt that Mary was his substitute Linda; he had begun to treat her as an intimate and equal friend. Every time Mary visited, she and John would cook side by side peacefully, each telling the other what was going on in their lives, repeating little jokes, and discussing their concerns about the rest of the family members. Tonight was no different.
“How’re you holding up little Mary Contrary?” John asked her gently. (He sometimes called her ‘little Mary’ and ‘Mary Contrary’, and had done so in poignant moments since she was young.)
Mary smiled at the childhood nickname John had bestowed upon her. He was the only one allowed to call her that. “Just fine, Johnsy Ponsy,” she retorted with a pert smile. “And you?”
John threw his head back and laughed. “I asked for that,” he admitted. “But I was serious. How are you doing? You always seem so serene.”
“I have a lot of my mother in me,” Mary said honestly. “She was always cool and calm in a crisis. It was one of the truly amazing things about her. I have a little of that, and I’m using this experience to build on it.”
John held a respectful silence.
Mary saw John’s sober profile and added, “How are you doing, John? How’s it going with you and Dad?”
“He’s so sad,” John said softly. “It is hard sometimes to communicate with him.”
Mary said, “You make him laugh, though. I’ve seen you. He lights up when you’re around.”
“Does he?” John asked, sincerely surprised by this revelation.
“He always has done - as long as you’ve lived with us. I’ve noticed it. And it is especially obvious since Mum died.” Mary had stopped her busy hands, and had turned to face John.
John felt tears flooding into his eyes and he didn’t want to show these tears to Mary. She shouldn’t have to comfort him because her father was grieving for her mother and thus wasn’t as attentive to him - John - as he had been in the past.
Mary didn’t care about any of that. “John - he loves you. Look what he did for you - he brought you into our family. It’s just that he and Mum had a special bond, too. But if I had to be 100% honest, I would have to say that if you were the one to die, Daddy would never recover.”
While this conversation was going on, Julian was lazing on the sofa in the sitting room in his casual but nice clothes, watching a football match on television with James, and Mary’s boyfriend Alistair Donald. Alistair had met James first, and James had introduced him to his sister, so the two were friends. During a boring part in the match, James turned to Julian and said,
“I didn’t get a chance to say more than ‘hi’ to your mum the other day. Even when she came to the dinner after the Memorial Service I didn’t run into her. How is she doing?”
Julian turned to James and was startled by how thoughtful James was to ask about his mother, when his own mother had just died. Julian said, “She’s in fine fettle. She’s just broken up with her fourth husband - ‘the chauffeur’- “ Julian said those last words with heavy sarcasm. “He was a real winner.”
James was shocked by the fact that Julian’s mother had been married four times, but he was much too polite to comment on it. “She looked lovely at the Service,” was all he could think to say. He floundered around for something else to say. He had always been in awe of Julian, and had never been able to broach what he thought was the protective wall around the man in all the years they had known each other. He tried again. “I really love your Dad,” he said sincerely. “He’s such a cool guy.”
Julian looked at James and it suddenly occurred to him that here was another kid who had grown up in a child/father relationship with his dad when he hadn’t. He tried not to feel bitter. Still, he found himself saying to James, “You know him better than I do.”
Having flunked out at trying to make pleasant conversation with Julian, James turned back to the television in a worried silence. He felt confused and sad for Julian: a mother who had brought three stepfathers into his life, and divorced them all, and a father who had apparently neglected him for almost his entire childhood. As unfair as life seemed to James at the moment due to the loss of his mother, he had to admit to himself that Julian had it much worse even though both of his parents were still alive.
In just that moment, John came in to the sitting room and saw the three young men sprawled on the sofa watching sports on telly. He stood with his hands supporting his lower back. “Well, this is a very macho picture,” he announced comically. The three young men looked up and chuckled.
“Come join us,” Julian suggested.
John plopped down right next to Julian and put his arm around Julian’s shoulders. He pulled him a little closer. He said in a low voice, “It’s so good to have you here.”
Julian felt nervous and untrusting. Would his father rip this rug out from under him, too? He said, “It’s good to be here.” His voice sounded a little tentative.
John said, “Why don’t you and I go down to the pub later tonight, after dinner. Just us two? I’d like to find out more about your new album, and your upcoming tour.”
Suspicious, but eager, Julian said, “Sure.” His next thought was to wonder if Paul had put his father up to it.
The family gathered around the glowing candles on the rectangular mahogany dining table, which was covered for the evening in an expensive cream-colored tablecloth. All the leaves were in the table, extending it to its fullest length, and ten adults stood around the table wondering where to sit. Paul sat first, at his usual seat at the head of the table. John began to sit at his usual place but Mary bumped him and said matter-of-factly, “No John, sit at the end.”
John whispered back, “That’s your mother’s seat.”
Mary said out loud, “Not anymore. It’s yours. Right Daddy?” Mary turned to her father for support.
Paul, who had witnessed this exchange in surprise, had absent-mindedly stood up again and said, “Yes, of course.” He had been taken aback by Mary’s taking control of the situation, but as he thought about it, Mary was right. John was his sole life partner now, and he belonged at the other end of the table. John still felt sheepish as he took the seat, but none of the McCartney children seemed upset by this at all. Stella gave him a cheeky grin, and James, who was seated next to him, patted his arm in a comforting way. Even Heather leaned towards him and gave him a beaming smile.
Julian observed all this and felt left out. The McCartney kids had just anointed his father their other parent, and had done so with such gracious unanimity that it hadn’t even felt awkward or strange. Paul calling his name suddenly distracted him:
“Julian, come sit here next to me,” Paul said, patting the seat on his right hand side. “We haven’t really talked in a long time.”
Yep, Julian thought, Paul obviously told Dad to take me out to the pub. He even used much the same words! But Julian sat down and smiled warmly at the man who he - alone and especially compared to all the men who had married his mother - considered to be his father.
“I’m taking Julian out to the pub for a few hours,” John mentioned to Paul, as Paul and Stella were cleaning up the kitchen.
“Oh? That’s great!” Paul said. He turned to the kitchen table and said in a mock serious voice, “Jules, look after your dad. Make sure he doesn’t drink too much and then wander off into traffic or end up in the tabloids.”
From his seat, where he was nursing the last dregs of a glass of red wine, Julian heard this and was amazed. It appeared that the pub visit had been his father’s own idea! Paul hadn’t been put him up to it as he had believed! Julian tried not to allow his hopeful surprise to show. He decided to play along as if this were not a watershed moment in his life and suggested, “Maybe you should be warning Dad to look after me!”
Paul signed theatrically, and said to Stella (but loudly enough for all to hear), "Just what I need - two Lennons!"
Within a half hour John and Julian entered the local pub. It was the one John and Paul had frequented for years. The publican waved at John from the bar, and then came ‘round to settle his star customer in a booth.
“This is my son Julian,” John said very proudly, introducing Julian to the bartender. “He’s just released a new album, and has a hit record off it.” The bartender greeted Julian warmly, took their order, and said he’d have the drinks delivered. “Don’t bother, Ned,” John said with fake indignation. “You know I always collect my own drinks. Just give me the high sign with your bloody bar towel when they’re ready.” Ned chuckled and scurried away. A few moments later, John collected the two bitter ales, and brought them over to the table, where Julian was anxiously waiting.
Julian had noted the pride in his father’s voice and face when he was introducing him to the barkeep. This had meant a great deal to Julian, although he was also confused by it. It was something he was not used to, and so he didn’t know what to make of it.
John settled in and said, “I spoke with your mum a bit at dinner after the Service. She told me she is divorcing again.”
Julian nodded cautiously. His loyalty lay with his mother, and he was very protective of her.
John added, “Were you close to this Christie guy?”
Julian shook his head ‘no.’ “I didn’t really like him or Twist, either. The only one I liked was the first one after you - Roberto Bassanini. But he was only around for three years.”
John was curious why Cynthia had not been able to establish a lasting relationship with someone, but worried that the reason might be that he had damaged her in some way and so she could never love or trust a man fully ever again. He said to his son in a gentle voice, “I was a terrible husband to her. I loved her when I was young, and I needed her too, but I was basically mentally ill when I was younger. I went on to be a horrible husband to Yoko. I couldn’t love anyone properly. You should talk to Paul about that. He got the worst of it.”
Julian was watching his father’s face as this confession came out. He said nothing. John continued.
“I was a terrible father to you. I’ve told you this before. I had no idea how to be a father. You think I was a good father to Sean, but you should talk to him sometime about my temper tantrums, and the time I burst his eardrum with my shouting.”
Julian made an inarticulate sound in shock. “You what?”
“When he was about four, he was fooling around at the table, playing with his food, and I yelled directly in his ear because he wasn’t listening to me, and then Sean was crying out in pain. We took him to the doctor, and were told his eardrum was burst.” John looked very ashamed.
Julian said nothing; he sat in a shocked silence.
“I’m telling you this because it seems to me that you think I was some kind of idyllic parent to Sean and I loved him more than you, but it isn’t true. Sean lived with me for most of his childhood, this is true, but at least until I was back with Paul it wasn’t exactly nirvana for him. To the extent he was fathered consistently, it was by Paul. And as bad as the divorce was between your mother and me, the end of my marriage with Yoko was far worse. This is because your mother had so much class, and Yoko - well - she could give as good as she got.” John stopped for a moment as he took a long sip. “I’m not proud of any of this of course. These are my greatest regrets. I am so very sorry, Julian. I can see that I damaged you in some way. Is there something I can do - anything - to make it up?” John’s eyes were misting with tears. He was still raw from the loss of his dear friend/sister Linda, and so was not fortified against his own regrets.
Julian’s eyes watered up too at the sight of his father’s unshed tears. He smiled ruefully at his dad - the man the rock world idolized more than any other. Julian knew his bitterness came from the fact that he felt the world knew his father and got more of his father’s love and attention than he did. But here was the great John Lennon, fighting back tears, beseeching him to forgive. “I will try to put my bitterness aside,” Julian pledged. “The last time I spoke to Linda, she told me my bitterness would hurt me more than anyone, but maybe not. Maybe it hurts you more.”
John and Julian got back to Cavendish at 11:30 p.m. They had stayed until closing time, and had gotten sloppily drunk. They’d cried, apologized to each other, told each other they loved each other, and more or less had to be poured into a cab by the publican to be driven the mere half-mile to Cavendish. As they staggered in the front door, John remembered with a terrible shock that he had forgotten to give Paul his birthday present from Linda! All the other presents had been unwrapped after dinner, but he had plumb forgot Linda’s. He felt horrible. He staggered up the stairs, pointed Julian in the direction of a spare bedroom, and then entered the guest suite he was sharing with Paul. The bedside light was on, but Paul was snoozing with earphones on his head. He had been listening to his new piece for inspiration when he had nodded off to sleep.
Seeing this, John smiled and went to the master bedroom closet to get the gift. It was a rectangle of about 12 inches by 18 inches, and it appeared to be a portrait or painting underneath the colorful paper that Linda had wrapped. He brought this back to the guest suite, and propped it up next to the bed. He then sat down next to Paul and gently shook one of Paul’s arms.
Paul’s eyes shot open, and he instinctively reached to remove the earphones from his head. “How’d it go?” He asked immediately.
John was obviously a bit drunk, and Paul tried not to smile openly as John struggled to answer in a coherent manner. “He loves me, he told me so!” John managed to say.
“Of course he does,” Paul said, chuckling. He was no longer able to hide his amusement at John’s state.
“I owe you an apology,” John said, suddenly sober in the way only drunks can be suddenly sober.
“Oh?” Paul asked, his eyes dancing.
“I forgot to bring down Linda’s present for you after dinner,” John drawled.
Paul’s face clouded over at the mention of Linda, and then it brightened again. “Where is it?” He asked eagerly.
John turned around, and with great and uncoordinated effort, managed to pull the large present on to the bed, narrowing missing Paul’s head in the process.
Paul sat up eagerly and touched the gift lovingly as if it were one of Linda’s hands. He then pulled the gift towards him and tried to sniff one of the edges, as if he might be able to smell Linda on the paper. He was unsuccessful in that, so he began to carefully remove the wrapping paper to reveal the back of a portrait or painting. Curious now, he turned it over and he was stunned into a shocked silence.
John cried “Ooooh!” very sharply at what he saw.
It was a photograph - landscape shape - that Linda had taken of John and Paul together, when they did not know Linda was watching. They were both on the sofa in the Cavendish sitting room, inches apart, lazing sloppily with their arms identically crossed across their own bodies, but their faces were turned towards each other and they each had the fondest, most adoring smile on his face as he gazed at the other.
“Oh my god,” Paul whispered. He began to weep.
“She was a fuckin’ saint, babe,” John agreed drunkenly, weeping also.
“It’s a good thing we opened it alone,” Paul was finally able to opine, when the tears had finally dried up.
Two days after Paul’s birthday, the McCartney family packed up and headed for New York City. Because Linda’s large and loving family lived in New York, there was to be a second large Memorial Service for Linda in the Riverside Church. It would be for the most part the same ceremony, although different friends and family members were to eulogize Linda. The family had arrived in the early afternoon on that Saturday, and that night a kind of non-religious ‘shiva’ had taken place at John Eastman’s apartment in the City. Linda’s two sisters, and all of the spouses and children were there, along with some of Linda’s cousins and other relatives. For this meeting, Jody, Laura and Louise had agreed there would be absolutely no meat in honor of their beloved sister, and so the spaghetti marinara and the salads and the vegetables were plentiful.
After the hordes had left, and the McCartney and various grown Eastman cousins had gone off to explore New York a little with Sean (who had joined them for dinner), John and Jody Eastman, and John and Paul sat alone in the Eastmans’ sitting room, having aperitifs. John Eastman was also smoking a cigar that smelled faintly of nuts and wood. The smell always reminded him of his father, Lee. The lamps were low, and the golden light emitting from them were reflected in the windows that looked out on the sparkling night-lights of New York City.
Jody said, “The kids seem to be holding up to all this well.”
“They’re strong kids; kids with good hearts. I’m a lucky dad,” Paul said. He stared curiously at the Kentucky bourbon in his glass, it was a much redder shade of gold than Scotch or Irish whiskey and thus appeared more exotic to Paul’s eyes.
“You seem to be holding up pretty well, too,” Jody added with a warm smile, directing her comment to Paul.
Paul looked at John who nodded back in warm acknowledgement. “I’m not, you know,” Paul said honestly, “but John here keeps me from going down the deep end.” He smiled impishly and John made a comical ‘who me?’ face to grace the end of Paul’s sentence.
Both John and Jody Eastman laughed at the John’nPaul act.
“Wait ‘til you see me on Monday. I’ll be a basket case,” Paul added darkly.
“We all will be basket cases,” John Eastman declared firmly. “I find myself crying in the shower, and doing stupid things like locking myself out of the apartment, and standing on the doorstep weeping. At work the other day I was discussing swaps and futures with my associates, and I suddenly burst into tears. They were all looking at me in shock. I don’t often show my emotions publicly, especially at work.”
John said, “I know what you mean. Linda wasn’t my biological sister, but she was more like a sister to me than any of my real half-sisters. She had such a ... a presence about her...” John struggled for words.
Jody said, “It was a kindness, I think. She was never judging you.”
A sound was heard and they all looked over to Paul. His face was in his hands and he was crying again.
The New York Times:
When Linda McCartney died of breast cancer in Tucson on April 17, a spokesman for Paul McCartney, her husband, asked that the family be allowed to grieve privately. For six weeks, that was what the McCartneys did, mostly at the family farm in West Sussex, England.
But yesterday evening, Mr. McCartney, their four children and 400 invited friends and relatives gathered at the Riverside Church to pay tribute to Ms. McCartney and celebrate her as a campaigner for animal rights and vegetarianism, and as a photographer, mother and wife. It was the second such gathering this month. The first was in London on June 8.
Although John Lennon was there, along with his son Sean, neither Ringo Starr nor George Harrison, who attended the London service, were expected last night, and neither was seen.
Mr. McCartney and the children, Heather, Mary, Stella and James, arrived at 8:20, 10 minutes before the memorial was to begin. But apart from the McCartneys, Lennon, Diane Sawyer, Mike Nichols and Ralph Lauren, few celebrities were seen at the church.
Like the London memorial, the tribute yesterday was a private affair, with a guest list of around 400, said Joe Dera, Mr. McCartney's spokesman. Reporters were not allowed.
Also in the service was a brief appearance by a brown and white appaloosa, Ms. McCartney's favorite riding horse, Pay ‘n Go, ridden by equestrienne Pam Fowler Grace. The horse had been brought in from Tucson, Arizona, for the service. Church officials at first objected that bringing a horse into the nave would reduce the sense of sanctity at the church and that congregants would protest when they heard about it. But when Mr. McCartney said the family considered the horse an essential part of the tribute, the church relented, provided that the animal was led in through a side door rather than down the center aisle.
Fans of the McCartneys were also asked to wait outside the church. About 300 were on hand, some from as far away as Michigan and California. A few brought posters that said ''Forever in Our Hearts'' or ''Go Veggie for Linda.'' Others held candles.
For the occasion, several large portraits of Ms. McCartney, 56 when she died, were arrayed across the nave, which was festooned with flowers, said the Rev. Robert G. Gentile, an official at the church.
The program for the memorial, provided by Mr. Dera, listed the singers Chrissie Hynde and Neil Young among the speakers. Ms. Hynde, like Ms. McCartney, has been a vocal proponent of vegetarianism and opponent of using animals for food or scientific testing. Other speakers included the 1960's model Twiggy, as well as Ms. McCartney's brother, John Eastman, and her two sisters, Laura Malcolm and Louise Weed. Mr. McCartney was scheduled to offer his own comments at the end of the evening.
The service began with a lone bagpipe player performing ''Mull of Kintyre,'' a song Mr. McCartney wrote in the early 1970's. The Loma Mar String Quartet played several of the songs Mr. McCartney wrote for his wife, including ''The Lovely Linda,'' ''Somedays,'' ''Maybe I'm Amazed,'' ''Calico Skies'' and ''My Love.''
The Boys Choir of Harlem sang the McCartney song ''Blackbird'' and the gospel hymn ''His Eye is on the Sparrow.'' The choir and congregation were to sing the hymn ''All Things Bright and Beautiful'' and the Beatles song, ''Let It Be.''
The formal dinner after the Services this time was held at a French restaurant in lower Manhattan that was owned by a friend of John and Jody Eastman. There were about 150 guests, and they all enjoyed a fully vegetarian meal (despite the earlier tantrum of the chef when he had found out) and outstanding wines.
Some of the New York guests were surprised to see John Lennon sitting next to Paul McCartney at the head table, acting for all the world as Paul’s spouse. He had his arm permanently arrayed on the back of Paul’s chair, and often leaned in comfortingly whenever Paul looked as though he were choking up. The two men chatted with the other people at the table, but many noticed how much they appeared to be a single unit. It was hard to reconcile with Paul’s obvious distress and ravaged face during the Memorial Service for Linda. While they were glad to see that Paul had such a close friend to help him through the loss of his wife, some were a little uncomfortable with the obvious intimate nature of the relationship. One of those who had this impression happened to mention it to a friend of his, who mentioned it to his friend, who, after a few weeks, mentioned it to her friend - a reporter.
WARNING: A hint of slash, and still more sadness, but not as much as there was in real life. Which reminds me - THIS IS FICTION.
Chapter 117
June 15, 1998
Just after midnight
Cavendish
Just after midnight
Cavendish
They were finally alone in the privacy of the bedroom, having left Mike McCartney alone in Paul’s study with the whiskey bottle. Paul was in the bathroom doing his ablutions, and John, who had already finished, was sitting up in bed wondering if he should say anything about Mike’s behavior. Surely some of those bitter remarks must have hit their target, and wouldn’t Paul need to talk about it?
To John’s relief, Paul had finally gotten over the ‘pajamas’ thing, and came into the room unconsciously nude. He climbed into the bed and looked over to where John sat, staring at him. “What?” Paul asked.
John smiled and said, “Just enjoying the scenery.”
Paul winced. “Thank god you have terrible eyesight.”
John laughed. “I have me glasses on, mate.”
“Shall I turn off the light? Or are you going to read?” Paul asked. Sexual interludes had been far and few between since Linda’s death. John suspected that Paul would feel guilty about Linda, and this would deflate his usually amorous nature before they could even get started.
“That your way of saying I’m not getting any tonight?” John joked.
Paul gave John a slow double take. He knew that John was telling him he was letting the side down. It had been hard, ever since Linda was sick, to feel sexual. He had done his best to keep John satisfied, but sometimes it had been an actual effort. He didn’t want to fail to perform and have to answer a bunch of embarrassing questions, so more often than not he had chosen not to initiate sex. It had been two and a half years since Linda’s diagnosis. Two and a half years of living a bit like a nurse or a monk. Or a monk who was a nurse. Now, Paul was stuck in this place where he found it hard to be sexual.
“I’m sorry I’m a disappointment,” Paul said sincerely. “I find it difficult to get in the mood.”
John sighed heavily. “Fuck it, Paul. This is me - John. You don’t have to tiptoe around. If you’re not feeling it, you’re not feeling it. I’ll survive.” John stopped for a moment and then added with a twinkle in his eye, “Of course, I’ll be very grumpy, but I’ll survive.”
Paul chuckled in spite of the anxiety the subject had brought to him. Paul was a perfectionist in sex, as he was in everything else, and he didn’t want to do sex badly. Better he should not do it at all than make a mash of it. But Paul was also a generous lover, and so he forced himself to turn over on to his side and face John.
John took the cue, pushed a few pillows away, and slipped further down under the covers on his side until he was eye to eye with Paul.
“Did you enjoy your party?” John asked flirtatiously.
“I did,” Paul flirted right back with a naughty twinkle.
“I made almost all the food myself,” John said, begging for praise.
Paul’s hand reached up and began stroking John’s hair. “It was awesome,” he responded in a low, throaty voice, aping an American accent.
John felt his nether regions pricking up in interest. Was Paul finally going to seduce him for a change? That never happened anymore! But Paul was surely taking his time about it. John forced himself to be patient and to lie still. He said, “Your brother was saying some pretty crazy shit tonight.”
Paul said, “Ummm...” but he was distracted by the closeness of John, and the smell of John, and the sound of John.
“He’s getting really bitter with age,” John pointed out softly.
“It’s the alcohol speaking,” Paul assured him, allowing his hand to move down John’s arm, to his side, and in the direction of his bum.
“Well then,” John said even more softly, his eyes closed and his mind focused on Paul’s hand, “that alcohol is an asshole.”
Paul chuffed in his throat in amusement, and decided he was sufficiently aroused now to initiate some more vigorous foreplay. He gently pushed John on to his back, and then moved, very slowly, until he was on top of him. John groaned deep in his throat. He threw his head back and just allowed every one of Paul’s touches to echo throughout his body. Paul’s initiating touches felt so...new... after so long a time. He almost couldn’t believe it, but he was actually seeing stars!
Paul looked down into John’s eyes. John’s eyes always looked so naked and vulnerable when he took off his glasses, because of his extreme near-sightedness. Paul loved this about John. For Paul it was like a metaphor for John himself - on the outside a suit of armor, on the inside a quivering mass of insecurity. This thought flitted through Paul’s mind, and then he began to move in earnest.
It was the age-old rhythms again. Thousands of years had gone by and still human beings felt the intense need to rub their bodies together to create that hot, tingling feeling that robbed the mind of its senses for blessed minutes at a time. Soon, the rubbing became more persistent. There was no need for penetration tonight; the pure ecstasy of the rubbing and the rhythm were more than enough to bring the cascades of pleasure that soon followed. It happened in a rush - much quicker than either of them wanted it to. Instead of falling off to the side, Paul remained lying on top of John for a few moments. He was murmuring something in John’s ear, and John strained to make sense of it. He was rewarded when he made out the words,
“I couldn’t go on without you.”
*****
June 18, 1998
Cavendish
June 18, 1998
Cavendish
Paul’s actual birthday came, and John had prepared a quiet but refined dinner for just the family. He had persuaded Julian to come too since he was in London briefly to do the press for his latest album release; other than that only Paul and Linda’s children and the three girls' boyfriends were there. As usual, Mary had come over to help John set the table, arrange the flowers, and act as sous chef. The two of them had struck up a relationship much like the one John had shared with Linda, and so John felt that Mary was his substitute Linda; he had begun to treat her as an intimate and equal friend. Every time Mary visited, she and John would cook side by side peacefully, each telling the other what was going on in their lives, repeating little jokes, and discussing their concerns about the rest of the family members. Tonight was no different.
“How’re you holding up little Mary Contrary?” John asked her gently. (He sometimes called her ‘little Mary’ and ‘Mary Contrary’, and had done so in poignant moments since she was young.)
Mary smiled at the childhood nickname John had bestowed upon her. He was the only one allowed to call her that. “Just fine, Johnsy Ponsy,” she retorted with a pert smile. “And you?”
John threw his head back and laughed. “I asked for that,” he admitted. “But I was serious. How are you doing? You always seem so serene.”
“I have a lot of my mother in me,” Mary said honestly. “She was always cool and calm in a crisis. It was one of the truly amazing things about her. I have a little of that, and I’m using this experience to build on it.”
John held a respectful silence.
Mary saw John’s sober profile and added, “How are you doing, John? How’s it going with you and Dad?”
“He’s so sad,” John said softly. “It is hard sometimes to communicate with him.”
Mary said, “You make him laugh, though. I’ve seen you. He lights up when you’re around.”
“Does he?” John asked, sincerely surprised by this revelation.
“He always has done - as long as you’ve lived with us. I’ve noticed it. And it is especially obvious since Mum died.” Mary had stopped her busy hands, and had turned to face John.
John felt tears flooding into his eyes and he didn’t want to show these tears to Mary. She shouldn’t have to comfort him because her father was grieving for her mother and thus wasn’t as attentive to him - John - as he had been in the past.
Mary didn’t care about any of that. “John - he loves you. Look what he did for you - he brought you into our family. It’s just that he and Mum had a special bond, too. But if I had to be 100% honest, I would have to say that if you were the one to die, Daddy would never recover.”
*****
While this conversation was going on, Julian was lazing on the sofa in the sitting room in his casual but nice clothes, watching a football match on television with James, and Mary’s boyfriend Alistair Donald. Alistair had met James first, and James had introduced him to his sister, so the two were friends. During a boring part in the match, James turned to Julian and said,
“I didn’t get a chance to say more than ‘hi’ to your mum the other day. Even when she came to the dinner after the Memorial Service I didn’t run into her. How is she doing?”
Julian turned to James and was startled by how thoughtful James was to ask about his mother, when his own mother had just died. Julian said, “She’s in fine fettle. She’s just broken up with her fourth husband - ‘the chauffeur’- “ Julian said those last words with heavy sarcasm. “He was a real winner.”
James was shocked by the fact that Julian’s mother had been married four times, but he was much too polite to comment on it. “She looked lovely at the Service,” was all he could think to say. He floundered around for something else to say. He had always been in awe of Julian, and had never been able to broach what he thought was the protective wall around the man in all the years they had known each other. He tried again. “I really love your Dad,” he said sincerely. “He’s such a cool guy.”
Julian looked at James and it suddenly occurred to him that here was another kid who had grown up in a child/father relationship with his dad when he hadn’t. He tried not to feel bitter. Still, he found himself saying to James, “You know him better than I do.”
Having flunked out at trying to make pleasant conversation with Julian, James turned back to the television in a worried silence. He felt confused and sad for Julian: a mother who had brought three stepfathers into his life, and divorced them all, and a father who had apparently neglected him for almost his entire childhood. As unfair as life seemed to James at the moment due to the loss of his mother, he had to admit to himself that Julian had it much worse even though both of his parents were still alive.
In just that moment, John came in to the sitting room and saw the three young men sprawled on the sofa watching sports on telly. He stood with his hands supporting his lower back. “Well, this is a very macho picture,” he announced comically. The three young men looked up and chuckled.
“Come join us,” Julian suggested.
John plopped down right next to Julian and put his arm around Julian’s shoulders. He pulled him a little closer. He said in a low voice, “It’s so good to have you here.”
Julian felt nervous and untrusting. Would his father rip this rug out from under him, too? He said, “It’s good to be here.” His voice sounded a little tentative.
John said, “Why don’t you and I go down to the pub later tonight, after dinner. Just us two? I’d like to find out more about your new album, and your upcoming tour.”
Suspicious, but eager, Julian said, “Sure.” His next thought was to wonder if Paul had put his father up to it.
*****
The family gathered around the glowing candles on the rectangular mahogany dining table, which was covered for the evening in an expensive cream-colored tablecloth. All the leaves were in the table, extending it to its fullest length, and ten adults stood around the table wondering where to sit. Paul sat first, at his usual seat at the head of the table. John began to sit at his usual place but Mary bumped him and said matter-of-factly, “No John, sit at the end.”
John whispered back, “That’s your mother’s seat.”
Mary said out loud, “Not anymore. It’s yours. Right Daddy?” Mary turned to her father for support.
Paul, who had witnessed this exchange in surprise, had absent-mindedly stood up again and said, “Yes, of course.” He had been taken aback by Mary’s taking control of the situation, but as he thought about it, Mary was right. John was his sole life partner now, and he belonged at the other end of the table. John still felt sheepish as he took the seat, but none of the McCartney children seemed upset by this at all. Stella gave him a cheeky grin, and James, who was seated next to him, patted his arm in a comforting way. Even Heather leaned towards him and gave him a beaming smile.
Julian observed all this and felt left out. The McCartney kids had just anointed his father their other parent, and had done so with such gracious unanimity that it hadn’t even felt awkward or strange. Paul calling his name suddenly distracted him:
“Julian, come sit here next to me,” Paul said, patting the seat on his right hand side. “We haven’t really talked in a long time.”
Yep, Julian thought, Paul obviously told Dad to take me out to the pub. He even used much the same words! But Julian sat down and smiled warmly at the man who he - alone and especially compared to all the men who had married his mother - considered to be his father.
*****
Later That Night
Later That Night
“I’m taking Julian out to the pub for a few hours,” John mentioned to Paul, as Paul and Stella were cleaning up the kitchen.
“Oh? That’s great!” Paul said. He turned to the kitchen table and said in a mock serious voice, “Jules, look after your dad. Make sure he doesn’t drink too much and then wander off into traffic or end up in the tabloids.”
From his seat, where he was nursing the last dregs of a glass of red wine, Julian heard this and was amazed. It appeared that the pub visit had been his father’s own idea! Paul hadn’t been put him up to it as he had believed! Julian tried not to allow his hopeful surprise to show. He decided to play along as if this were not a watershed moment in his life and suggested, “Maybe you should be warning Dad to look after me!”
Paul signed theatrically, and said to Stella (but loudly enough for all to hear), "Just what I need - two Lennons!"
Within a half hour John and Julian entered the local pub. It was the one John and Paul had frequented for years. The publican waved at John from the bar, and then came ‘round to settle his star customer in a booth.
“This is my son Julian,” John said very proudly, introducing Julian to the bartender. “He’s just released a new album, and has a hit record off it.” The bartender greeted Julian warmly, took their order, and said he’d have the drinks delivered. “Don’t bother, Ned,” John said with fake indignation. “You know I always collect my own drinks. Just give me the high sign with your bloody bar towel when they’re ready.” Ned chuckled and scurried away. A few moments later, John collected the two bitter ales, and brought them over to the table, where Julian was anxiously waiting.
Julian had noted the pride in his father’s voice and face when he was introducing him to the barkeep. This had meant a great deal to Julian, although he was also confused by it. It was something he was not used to, and so he didn’t know what to make of it.
John settled in and said, “I spoke with your mum a bit at dinner after the Service. She told me she is divorcing again.”
Julian nodded cautiously. His loyalty lay with his mother, and he was very protective of her.
John added, “Were you close to this Christie guy?”
Julian shook his head ‘no.’ “I didn’t really like him or Twist, either. The only one I liked was the first one after you - Roberto Bassanini. But he was only around for three years.”
John was curious why Cynthia had not been able to establish a lasting relationship with someone, but worried that the reason might be that he had damaged her in some way and so she could never love or trust a man fully ever again. He said to his son in a gentle voice, “I was a terrible husband to her. I loved her when I was young, and I needed her too, but I was basically mentally ill when I was younger. I went on to be a horrible husband to Yoko. I couldn’t love anyone properly. You should talk to Paul about that. He got the worst of it.”
Julian was watching his father’s face as this confession came out. He said nothing. John continued.
“I was a terrible father to you. I’ve told you this before. I had no idea how to be a father. You think I was a good father to Sean, but you should talk to him sometime about my temper tantrums, and the time I burst his eardrum with my shouting.”
Julian made an inarticulate sound in shock. “You what?”
“When he was about four, he was fooling around at the table, playing with his food, and I yelled directly in his ear because he wasn’t listening to me, and then Sean was crying out in pain. We took him to the doctor, and were told his eardrum was burst.” John looked very ashamed.
Julian said nothing; he sat in a shocked silence.
“I’m telling you this because it seems to me that you think I was some kind of idyllic parent to Sean and I loved him more than you, but it isn’t true. Sean lived with me for most of his childhood, this is true, but at least until I was back with Paul it wasn’t exactly nirvana for him. To the extent he was fathered consistently, it was by Paul. And as bad as the divorce was between your mother and me, the end of my marriage with Yoko was far worse. This is because your mother had so much class, and Yoko - well - she could give as good as she got.” John stopped for a moment as he took a long sip. “I’m not proud of any of this of course. These are my greatest regrets. I am so very sorry, Julian. I can see that I damaged you in some way. Is there something I can do - anything - to make it up?” John’s eyes were misting with tears. He was still raw from the loss of his dear friend/sister Linda, and so was not fortified against his own regrets.
Julian’s eyes watered up too at the sight of his father’s unshed tears. He smiled ruefully at his dad - the man the rock world idolized more than any other. Julian knew his bitterness came from the fact that he felt the world knew his father and got more of his father’s love and attention than he did. But here was the great John Lennon, fighting back tears, beseeching him to forgive. “I will try to put my bitterness aside,” Julian pledged. “The last time I spoke to Linda, she told me my bitterness would hurt me more than anyone, but maybe not. Maybe it hurts you more.”
*****
John and Julian got back to Cavendish at 11:30 p.m. They had stayed until closing time, and had gotten sloppily drunk. They’d cried, apologized to each other, told each other they loved each other, and more or less had to be poured into a cab by the publican to be driven the mere half-mile to Cavendish. As they staggered in the front door, John remembered with a terrible shock that he had forgotten to give Paul his birthday present from Linda! All the other presents had been unwrapped after dinner, but he had plumb forgot Linda’s. He felt horrible. He staggered up the stairs, pointed Julian in the direction of a spare bedroom, and then entered the guest suite he was sharing with Paul. The bedside light was on, but Paul was snoozing with earphones on his head. He had been listening to his new piece for inspiration when he had nodded off to sleep.
Seeing this, John smiled and went to the master bedroom closet to get the gift. It was a rectangle of about 12 inches by 18 inches, and it appeared to be a portrait or painting underneath the colorful paper that Linda had wrapped. He brought this back to the guest suite, and propped it up next to the bed. He then sat down next to Paul and gently shook one of Paul’s arms.
Paul’s eyes shot open, and he instinctively reached to remove the earphones from his head. “How’d it go?” He asked immediately.
John was obviously a bit drunk, and Paul tried not to smile openly as John struggled to answer in a coherent manner. “He loves me, he told me so!” John managed to say.
“Of course he does,” Paul said, chuckling. He was no longer able to hide his amusement at John’s state.
“I owe you an apology,” John said, suddenly sober in the way only drunks can be suddenly sober.
“Oh?” Paul asked, his eyes dancing.
“I forgot to bring down Linda’s present for you after dinner,” John drawled.
Paul’s face clouded over at the mention of Linda, and then it brightened again. “Where is it?” He asked eagerly.
John turned around, and with great and uncoordinated effort, managed to pull the large present on to the bed, narrowing missing Paul’s head in the process.
Paul sat up eagerly and touched the gift lovingly as if it were one of Linda’s hands. He then pulled the gift towards him and tried to sniff one of the edges, as if he might be able to smell Linda on the paper. He was unsuccessful in that, so he began to carefully remove the wrapping paper to reveal the back of a portrait or painting. Curious now, he turned it over and he was stunned into a shocked silence.
John cried “Ooooh!” very sharply at what he saw.
It was a photograph - landscape shape - that Linda had taken of John and Paul together, when they did not know Linda was watching. They were both on the sofa in the Cavendish sitting room, inches apart, lazing sloppily with their arms identically crossed across their own bodies, but their faces were turned towards each other and they each had the fondest, most adoring smile on his face as he gazed at the other.
“Oh my god,” Paul whispered. He began to weep.
“She was a fuckin’ saint, babe,” John agreed drunkenly, weeping also.
“It’s a good thing we opened it alone,” Paul was finally able to opine, when the tears had finally dried up.
*****
June 20, 1998
New York City
June 20, 1998
New York City
Two days after Paul’s birthday, the McCartney family packed up and headed for New York City. Because Linda’s large and loving family lived in New York, there was to be a second large Memorial Service for Linda in the Riverside Church. It would be for the most part the same ceremony, although different friends and family members were to eulogize Linda. The family had arrived in the early afternoon on that Saturday, and that night a kind of non-religious ‘shiva’ had taken place at John Eastman’s apartment in the City. Linda’s two sisters, and all of the spouses and children were there, along with some of Linda’s cousins and other relatives. For this meeting, Jody, Laura and Louise had agreed there would be absolutely no meat in honor of their beloved sister, and so the spaghetti marinara and the salads and the vegetables were plentiful.
After the hordes had left, and the McCartney and various grown Eastman cousins had gone off to explore New York a little with Sean (who had joined them for dinner), John and Jody Eastman, and John and Paul sat alone in the Eastmans’ sitting room, having aperitifs. John Eastman was also smoking a cigar that smelled faintly of nuts and wood. The smell always reminded him of his father, Lee. The lamps were low, and the golden light emitting from them were reflected in the windows that looked out on the sparkling night-lights of New York City.
Jody said, “The kids seem to be holding up to all this well.”
“They’re strong kids; kids with good hearts. I’m a lucky dad,” Paul said. He stared curiously at the Kentucky bourbon in his glass, it was a much redder shade of gold than Scotch or Irish whiskey and thus appeared more exotic to Paul’s eyes.
“You seem to be holding up pretty well, too,” Jody added with a warm smile, directing her comment to Paul.
Paul looked at John who nodded back in warm acknowledgement. “I’m not, you know,” Paul said honestly, “but John here keeps me from going down the deep end.” He smiled impishly and John made a comical ‘who me?’ face to grace the end of Paul’s sentence.
Both John and Jody Eastman laughed at the John’nPaul act.
“Wait ‘til you see me on Monday. I’ll be a basket case,” Paul added darkly.
“We all will be basket cases,” John Eastman declared firmly. “I find myself crying in the shower, and doing stupid things like locking myself out of the apartment, and standing on the doorstep weeping. At work the other day I was discussing swaps and futures with my associates, and I suddenly burst into tears. They were all looking at me in shock. I don’t often show my emotions publicly, especially at work.”
John said, “I know what you mean. Linda wasn’t my biological sister, but she was more like a sister to me than any of my real half-sisters. She had such a ... a presence about her...” John struggled for words.
Jody said, “It was a kindness, I think. She was never judging you.”
A sound was heard and they all looked over to Paul. His face was in his hands and he was crying again.
*****
June 22, 1998
June 22, 1998
The New York Times:
When Linda McCartney died of breast cancer in Tucson on April 17, a spokesman for Paul McCartney, her husband, asked that the family be allowed to grieve privately. For six weeks, that was what the McCartneys did, mostly at the family farm in West Sussex, England.
But yesterday evening, Mr. McCartney, their four children and 400 invited friends and relatives gathered at the Riverside Church to pay tribute to Ms. McCartney and celebrate her as a campaigner for animal rights and vegetarianism, and as a photographer, mother and wife. It was the second such gathering this month. The first was in London on June 8.
Although John Lennon was there, along with his son Sean, neither Ringo Starr nor George Harrison, who attended the London service, were expected last night, and neither was seen.
Mr. McCartney and the children, Heather, Mary, Stella and James, arrived at 8:20, 10 minutes before the memorial was to begin. But apart from the McCartneys, Lennon, Diane Sawyer, Mike Nichols and Ralph Lauren, few celebrities were seen at the church.
Like the London memorial, the tribute yesterday was a private affair, with a guest list of around 400, said Joe Dera, Mr. McCartney's spokesman. Reporters were not allowed.
Also in the service was a brief appearance by a brown and white appaloosa, Ms. McCartney's favorite riding horse, Pay ‘n Go, ridden by equestrienne Pam Fowler Grace. The horse had been brought in from Tucson, Arizona, for the service. Church officials at first objected that bringing a horse into the nave would reduce the sense of sanctity at the church and that congregants would protest when they heard about it. But when Mr. McCartney said the family considered the horse an essential part of the tribute, the church relented, provided that the animal was led in through a side door rather than down the center aisle.
Fans of the McCartneys were also asked to wait outside the church. About 300 were on hand, some from as far away as Michigan and California. A few brought posters that said ''Forever in Our Hearts'' or ''Go Veggie for Linda.'' Others held candles.
For the occasion, several large portraits of Ms. McCartney, 56 when she died, were arrayed across the nave, which was festooned with flowers, said the Rev. Robert G. Gentile, an official at the church.
The program for the memorial, provided by Mr. Dera, listed the singers Chrissie Hynde and Neil Young among the speakers. Ms. Hynde, like Ms. McCartney, has been a vocal proponent of vegetarianism and opponent of using animals for food or scientific testing. Other speakers included the 1960's model Twiggy, as well as Ms. McCartney's brother, John Eastman, and her two sisters, Laura Malcolm and Louise Weed. Mr. McCartney was scheduled to offer his own comments at the end of the evening.
The service began with a lone bagpipe player performing ''Mull of Kintyre,'' a song Mr. McCartney wrote in the early 1970's. The Loma Mar String Quartet played several of the songs Mr. McCartney wrote for his wife, including ''The Lovely Linda,'' ''Somedays,'' ''Maybe I'm Amazed,'' ''Calico Skies'' and ''My Love.''
The Boys Choir of Harlem sang the McCartney song ''Blackbird'' and the gospel hymn ''His Eye is on the Sparrow.'' The choir and congregation were to sing the hymn ''All Things Bright and Beautiful'' and the Beatles song, ''Let It Be.''
*****
The formal dinner after the Services this time was held at a French restaurant in lower Manhattan that was owned by a friend of John and Jody Eastman. There were about 150 guests, and they all enjoyed a fully vegetarian meal (despite the earlier tantrum of the chef when he had found out) and outstanding wines.
Some of the New York guests were surprised to see John Lennon sitting next to Paul McCartney at the head table, acting for all the world as Paul’s spouse. He had his arm permanently arrayed on the back of Paul’s chair, and often leaned in comfortingly whenever Paul looked as though he were choking up. The two men chatted with the other people at the table, but many noticed how much they appeared to be a single unit. It was hard to reconcile with Paul’s obvious distress and ravaged face during the Memorial Service for Linda. While they were glad to see that Paul had such a close friend to help him through the loss of his wife, some were a little uncomfortable with the obvious intimate nature of the relationship. One of those who had this impression happened to mention it to a friend of his, who mentioned it to his friend, who, after a few weeks, mentioned it to her friend - a reporter.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Awesome
Date: 2016-02-13 11:50 pm (UTC)Re: Awesome
Date: 2016-02-19 04:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-02-27 09:49 pm (UTC)I'm so wrapped up in this AU that I forgot RL John died.
no subject
Date: 2016-02-28 12:54 am (UTC)