Too Much Rain, Chapter 123
Apr. 15th, 2016 11:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yes_2dayTwo big events take up the entirety of this chapter: the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame ceremonies, and the birth of a new little Mccartney clan member.
WARNINGS: This is FICTION. It is also SLASH fiction, so not for everybody. :)
Hoep you enjoy it.
Chapter 123
John had finished dressing already, and decided he needed a quick sip of brandy to settle his nerves. He made his way from the master bedroom to the living room, shaking his head with amusement as he passed James’s bedroom. The door was open, and the place looked like a bomb had hit it. He made his way to the liquor cabinet, and found the door open, and everything all jumbled inside, and a bunch of empty bottles. He smiled again. After pouring himself a finger of brandy he made his way to the kitchen, and saw the sink and counters full of dirty glasses and dishes. The McCartney ‘kids’ had had their cousins and friends over again the night before. Out of curiosity he opened the fridge. Yup. It looked as though a plague of locusts had been through it. At this rate the place would be trashed within a week. But still John smiled. He loved to see his apartment full of McCartneys, full of laughter, and full of life. He could get used to this.
“John!” Paul was shouting for him all the way from the master suite. John smiled again. Poor man was utterly helpless. He went back to the bedroom to find a very frustrated Paul about to strangle himself with his bowtie.
“Ok, ok, calm down...” John said, chuckling. “I’ve got you covered.” John figured Linda must have done the bowties. He stood behind Paul to knot the tie.
“Back in the ‘60s, I used to do your ties, and straighten your collars,” Paul said after he had calmed down. “I don’t know what happened to my tie-knotting abilities.”
John smiled fondly at the memory of Paul always fussing with his ties and collars in the early days. Little did Paul know John had pretended to be hopeless at ties, and even loosened his ties and collars sometimes, just so that Paul would be forced to fix them. The thought made him laugh.
“What?” Paul asked suspiciously.
John said, “Nothing. The house is a total mess because of these darn kids,” he joked. Having finished the tie, he patted Paul on both shoulders.
Paul said, “Oh yeah, at their age, we were much more dignified.”
The press and the paparazzi were outside the grand hotel taking pictures of the arriving celebrities as they entered the ballroom. They all knew where the money was tonight: the photos of the arrival of John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Would they come together, not accompanied by dates, and thereby feed in to their editors’ hopes and dreams for tabloid headlines, or would they arrive separately, and surrounded by separate friends and family? It really didn’t matter to them what the truth was about the Lennon/McCartney relationship; it all reduced to dollars and cents.
Meanwhile, the celebrities, producers, record company executives, and nominees were arriving, and the ballroom began to fill up with a quixotically dressed mix of men and women in feathers, leathers, headdresses, and micro-mini-skirts. The ballroom floor looked exotic in golds and blacks. The decor was very rock ‘n roll: tacky and over the top.
George Martin found his place at his own table. Tonight he was going to be inducted into the Hall of Fame too. He was with his wife Judy, and his adult children and their spouses, and a few close friends. It was an exciting night for him.
The evening’s stage performance had been a complicated undertaking for the producer of the show. Among other artists being admitted (including Bruce Springsteen and Billy Joel), Lennon and McCartney were each being inducted as solo artists for their ‘70s work, and then George Martin was being inducted also. He had struggled with how to do it - who would introduce each of them? It would be a little too much of a good thing if Lennon introduced McCartney, and McCartney introduced Lennon, and Lennon & McCartney introduced Martin. Ultimately it was decided that other artists, who had been influenced by the inductees’ work should introduce them. Consequently, Elton John was asked to introduce Lennon, and Neil Young was asked to introduce McCartney. John and Paul were fine with those choices, and the producer had finally been able to heave a great sigh of relief and move on to other issues.
Outside the hotel, a buzz went through the press and the crowd there assembled. Someone heard that someone heard someone say that the fourth car in the queue waiting to pull up to the red carpet had at least John Lennon in it. Someone had said that someone had said that someone had seen Lennon looking out the window. The photographers jumped to their feet and began jostling each other for the best vantage points. Sure enough, when the fourth car pulled up, John Lennon stepped out of the car. With him were his two sons and Julian’s girlfriend, but no Paul McCartney. A literal groan could be heard from the press area. Their freelance fees had just dropped significantly in amount. The crowd, however, went wild to see John Lennon in the flesh.
Julian and his girlfriend had arrived for the event on Sunday, and because John’s apartment had already reached it’s capacity, it was decided they should take over a floor of suites in a New York hotel (although not the Waldorf Astoria, where there would be too many prying eyes). Not only John and Paul and Paul’s kids were there, but so was Sean, and the night of Julian’s arrival had been quite raucous, as they all had dinner together and stayed up late talking and exchanging memories of when they had all vacationed together as if they had been one family. Since there were 8 people in their entourage, they decided to split into 2 cars. It was also thought (by John and Paul) that arriving separately would turn down the speculation meter at least a few degrees. So tonight, as he hit the red carpet, John saw the rabidity of the press and was relieved he and Paul had split their arrivals. He could tell that it would have been too much of a scene if they had arrived together.
Behind him by three cars was Paul, with Heather, Stella and James. Stella giggled quietly to herself over her little secret. She hugged her beautifully tailored black suit jacket tightly. When it fell open, one could see some letters in black on a white t-shirt, but what the letters spelled out could not be seen. She had shown it to her siblings, and they had both thought it was brave of Stella to put the family’s true feelings out there for the whole world to see. Paul, on the other hand, distracted by what he was going to say in his speech, had not noticed Stella’s top at all, and was blissfully ignorant of what was to come. When their car pulled up to the red carpet, Paul got out first, and then helped his daughters and son out. Stella - her jacket buttoned up - was on Paul’s arm, and smiled and waved. She told a reporter, “I’ve got the best date tonight.”
John and his group had found their table and were delighted to see that Lee Eastman and his wife Vanessa, and Jason and Gerry were already seated there. As John’s sons sat down, a steady line of other guests and nominees started coming up to shake John’s hand or get his autograph. He was quite charming and welcoming this night. He had finally learned to turn on the Beatle charm at such events, as Paul had always done - instinctively - since day one of their fame. John had concluded that Paul was right; remaining pleasant and sober was the best way to endure a night being lauded by people in front of cameras. No embarrassing photos or juicy quotes or nasty stories in the next day’s press. Finally able to take his seat, John noticed that a lot of greeting and backslapping was going on behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see the McCartney Clan was arriving. They never went anywhere unless in a phalanx, as if they were clearing the aisles on either side for their father, to protect him from his celebrity. They had stopped briefly at George Martin’s table and were all in the process of hugging and kissing each other. John smiled. That family was an experience; they were so one-for-all and all-for-one that it was a beautiful thing to see.
Paul & co. finally made it to the table and his eyes briefly met John’s. He smiled, but in a questioning way, at what he saw there. John had a wickedly naughty grin on his face, and his eyes were twinkling. Something’s up his sleeve, Paul thought. I hope it’s not too embarrassing. Paul had long since - decades ago - gotten used to John’s misbehavior in public. He had learned not to let it bother him, and to remain pleasant--faced throughout the aftermath so as not to express any outward shock or disapproval of John’s antics in public. Later, in private, he might have a choice word or two for John, but he would never let it show in public. Better suck it up, Paul said to himself with a smirk. He’s in one of his wild and woolly moods, and anything might happen. Little did he know.
Soon the McCartneys had sorted themselves out at the table. They didn’t realize it, but the camera up in the rafters had zoomed in on their table, and was photographing them as they unfolded their napkins and chatted with each other. About that moment, the lights went down and the show began. Springsteen and the E Street Band took the stage to perform a rousing rendition of 10th Avenue Freeze Out and the show began.
George Martin was inducted before the music acts, and he made a very gracious and modest speech. He had shaken his head in amusement at the loud noises coming from the McLen table. Stella was whistling, and they were all cheering loudly. In fact, just before he began to speak and the room had become quiet, the unmistakable voice of John Lennon in heavy scouse mode was heard to shout, “Well go ahead then, Mr. Martin. We’re waiting!” “Mr. Martin” had shown a deadpan expression to the audience and the camera, and had said, somewhat apologetically, “A blast from my past,” to prolonged laughter.
The first musical inductee was John Lennon. Although Jann Wenner had not been able to induct John in an earlier year, he had been determined to induct John as a soloist before Paul McCartney. And he had put Bruce Springsteen before Paul as well. He was a man who could hold a grudge forever, however ill founded. Paul didn’t notice the slight, and wouldn’t have wanted it another way. In his mind, John did deserve to go first. He had always been John’s most ardent fan and admirer, and saw nothing untoward in the order of the presentations. Of course, if John had known that they would insert another artist between him and Paul, he wouldn’t have agreed to take the stage. As he prepared to take the stage, however, he had no idea of the order of presentation. He hadn’t bothered to look at his Program.
First, Elton John came on to make the introduction. He started out with a witty showstopper: “It wasn’t until I tried to write one song with John Lennon that I came to realize that Paul McCartney was a saint!” The camera panned to John Lennon’s faux indignant face, and then to Paul, his hand on his forehead and laughing sheepishly. The audience exploded in laughter. “We barely finished the song - Whatever Gets You Through the Night - and by that time I was taking the song lyrics literally.” Again the ballroom echoed with laughter and hooting. Now John’s face was lit up with delight, his smile beaming. He was enjoying this very much. “Not long after, I first met Paul McCartney at a British music award show. He was with his lovely wife Linda. I was introduced to him, and all I could say was, ‘You’re a saint!’”
The camera showed Paul watching Elton and nodding his head as if to say, yes, I remember.
“Then Paul said to me, ‘well of course Linda and I think I’m a saint, but I’m wondering why you do.’” The audience reacted with hilarity. “So I told him: ‘I wrote one song with John Lennon, and we nearly came to blows. We hardly speak to each other now. And you wrote over 200 songs with him! You’re a saint!’ And do you know, Paul said to me, ‘Well, that’s the difference between one song and 200. You’re almost not speaking to him, and I’m totally not talking to him.’”
Elton paused until the laughter had died down. “I was incredibly honored but petrified to work with John Lennon. The man is a lion in this room full of rock stars. A great songwriter, a charismatic presence in any room, and the wickedest wit I’ve ever encountered. Nowadays whenever I meet John at awards shows like these, I like to sit next to him because he says the naughtiest things. He is also a warm and generous friend.
“But I speak to you tonight of John Lennon’s influence on my own career. I was never a lyricist of any note, but when I search for a lyricist I am always looking for a Lennon-type: a writer who uses words in an unusual way, and who is not seeking to make conventional rhymes...” Elton’s introduction went on for a few more minutes, and then a video was shown briefly discussing Lennon’s career. Then Elton was back again, this time holding a black statuette, saying, “It gives me enormous pleasure to introduce John Lennon.”
The crowd erupted in a standing ovation. John made his way up from his seat directly on to the stage, and the place went crazy. A quick scan by the camera on the McLen table showed Julian and his girlfriend, Sean, and Paul McCartney standing and cheering. John greeted Elton and then turned to the audience, but the audience didn’t seem inclined to stop applauding. He finally said in a mock irritated tone of voice, “Oh, take a load off. It’s only me.” This, of course, only made everyone laugh louder and clap harder. But they finally petered out, and John was left standing there with one hand on the award that was sitting on the podium, and the other holding the base of the microphone stand.
He cleared his throat and began to speak in a hearty British midlander working class accent. “First, I want to thank me wife...err, partner...” A large gasp was heard from the audience and then a roar of laughter, as the camera again panned on Paul, whose forehead was again resting in the palm of his hand. He looked up through his fingers at John on the stage and shook his head back and forth in amusement, obviously chuckling a little. Next to him, Stella was squeezing his arm and laughing.
John then said, reverting to his own voice, “Well, I had to get that nonsense out of the way, didn’t I? So now we can focus on why we’re really here.” Now the audience applauded steadily in support of John’s point: John and Paul were musicians first, celebrities a distant second. This was a room full of musicians, record producers and music executives, and all of them held this same opinion close to their hearts.
Meanwhile, Paul was thinking to himself, I knew he was up to something!
John continued. “Seriously, now, I do have to thank my creative partner and best friend, Paul McCartney, before I say anything else. For a million reasons, one of them being I doubt I would have made it alive through my life if it were not for him. As a kid, I wouldn’t wear my glasses and I’d walk straight out into traffic. I can’t remember how many times he grabbed me by my shirt collar and yanked me back from the maws of death. It is true, but it is also a metaphor. In the mid-sixties, in the middle of the Beatles’ biggest success, I fell into a deep depression. I could hardly function. So Paul functioned for me. Starting in about ’66, he literally dragged me through the various recording sessions like a soldier dragging his wounded buddy across a live battlefield. And in the early ‘70s, when my marriage with Yoko was in jeopardy, and I was doing massive amounts of drugs and making a drunken fool of myself in Los Angeles, Paul appeared out of the blue to talk me into going back to New York and reconciling with Yoko. Had I stayed there much longer, I am certain I would have overdosed and died. The truth is, he would do anything for me and I would do anything for him. This music we made in the Beatles, and the music we made apart from each other during the ‘70s, is all music that we made together, because we are such a part of each other’s songwriting process that we hear each other in our heads even when we’re writing alone...”
John went on to talk about his musical influences, naming Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, the Everly Brothers, Buddy Holly, and Little Richard among a few others. He ended his acceptance speech with a shout-out to his sons - “They were unlucky enough to draw me as their father, but I was lucky enough to draw them as my sons.” Paul had teared up when John said this. He turned to Julian beside him and smiled warmly at him. He saw that Julian was both surprised and touched.
When John returned to the family table, Paul met his gaze across the table and allowed his pride in John to show in his eyes. John felt a little shy about it, strangely, but he accepted his sons’ whispered ‘thanks’ as the next musical act kicked into gear.
It was a half hour later before Neil Young came out on to the stage to induct Paul. He looked like the renegade that he truly was - but an honest one. He had often behaved badly in his life, but he had always owned it, too. He spoke of his being influenced by the Beatles as a high school kid, and then he spoke of being influenced by Paul when he started again after the Beatles broke up. He said he loved Maybe I’m Amazed, and how the whole first solo album was unadorned, with no echo or studio tricks. “He went the complete opposite of what he did with the Beatles. He just stepped out of the shadow of the Beatles, and there was Paul.”
After a brief video about Paul’s late ‘60s and ‘70s career, Paul was called to the stage. He found himself tearing up. He was not tearing up over the award, but rather because Linda was not there to see it. This would be his first real public appearance since her death, and he found that his legs and hands were shaking. Could he keep it together through this speech? The thought of breaking down in front of all these industry people and a television audience terrified him. Somehow he would have to keep it together. He decided to start by playing off John’s joke...a little.
“I’d like to start by thanking my wife...” he waited a pregnant second, “...Linda.” The audience’s laugher was gentle and so were their claps. Paul’s decision to start that way, they thought, had been both clever and appropriate. “I’m sorry she’s not here. She wanted this for me very much.” He stopped for a moment as the familiar tears started blocking his throat. He wiped the traitorous tear or two from his eyes. With an effort of will, he talked about his “baby”, and only barely managed not to break down sobbing. At one strained point, Stella suddenly appeared out of the wings and snuck up until she was behind her father. She then stepped forward showing her white shirt with the lettering, About Fucking Time! Paul had wrapped his arm around her but when the audience started reacting and clapping he did a double take and read her shirt name for the first time. He brightened up. “She doesn’t give a shit!” He announced. “These young people, they’re not afraid of anything.” A camera panned on John Lennon who was laughing delightedly and clapping.
With Stella there to steady him, Paul was able to finish his speech. “The other person I obviously have to thank - this will sound like a mutual admiration society, which it is I guess - and it is of course my mate John.” The audience clapped, with Stella, still next to her father, joining in enthusiastically. “I may have literally saved his life from assorted buses, lorries, pills, and alcohol, but he saved me from a lifetime of teaching English to disinterested teenagers.” This drew more laughter and applause. “As a teenager, I had the will, I had the desire, I had the focus and drive, and I loved music more than anything, but I also had a fear of disappointing my family’s expectations of me, especially my father’s. But John showed me that if you follow your heart, you could still make your family proud. And for that I will be eternally grateful.”
The show ended, and an impromptu performance was held down at the front, with just the invited guests. It was just for fun. John and Paul both participated a little bit, doing ragged versions of I Saw Her Standing There and From Me to You. It was 1 a.m. before they piled in their limos with their kids and were driven back to their hotel. The top floor of the hotel had four luxury suites and all of the suites had interconnecting doors so one giant suite could be made out of it, and that night the families partied amongst themselves, with champagne and a giant fruit and cheese platter to take the edge off. Jason and Gerry had been persuaded to come along too, although Gerry kept pointing out that it was way past his bedtime.
“I thought I was going to have a heart attack when you made that joke about Paul,” Julian told his father. “I thought, oh my God - not here! Not now!” Everyone laughed and chided John for a while.
Paul said, “I was pissed off about being called ‘the wife’.”
John guffawed heavily at that one. “In other words, babe, you don’t mind me announcing our status, so long as you’re the bloke? Is that it?”
Paul said with exaggerated patience, “No, John, I said if you were going to do that without my advance approval, I’d rather be ‘the husband.’”
John was still chuckling. “So noted,” he responded dangerously, causing Paul to give him a suspicious look.
The kids (other than Heather, who had slipped away to her bed an hour earlier) all had their curiosity aroused by this exchange. James and Sean were curious but didn’t want to know (kind of like people slowing down to stare at a car accident), and the others were just plain curious. But none of them exposed their curiosity to their fathers. They sensed that this was not their business.
Jason said, “It was a nice atmosphere in the room - it had the feel of a professional trade meeting. And I was so excited to meet George Martin.”
“Yeah, the audience in private industry events has a different feel than a concert audience,” Paul agreed.
“I kind of expected more craziness, but it was very businesslike,” Jason continued.
“Except for the way everyone dressed,” Gerry pointed out, causing everyone to laugh. “I thought I was in a costume party at times.”
Soon Jason and Gerry had left, and the rest all made their ways to their various rooms. John and Paul wearily undressed before collapsing in their king-size bed. After a few moments of making smartass remarks to each other, a pleasant silence descended upon them. They were each lying on their backs in the dark, staring at the ceiling. Then Paul’s soft voice, deep and low, broke the silence. “Thanks for the beautiful thing you said about me. I didn’t know you thought I had saved your life.”
“Your mere existence saved my life, Paul. That first time I saw you when we were kids - never had I seen anyone so beautiful, so talented, so charming...That was the moment I knew - you were my future coming to meet me.”
The day started normally. Paul got up first, and headed to the local gym. John awoke about a half hour later, and lazed about downstairs making coffee, reading the paper, and eating cereal. The phone rang jarringly, disturbing John’s peaceful morning. Grumbling to himself, he answered the phone.
On the other end of the line, Alistair Donald was breathing heavily and struggling mightily to make sense. John finally got the drift: Mary was at the hospital; her water had broken. Mary had already made it clear to both her father and John that she didn’t want them to come to the hospital. It would create too much of a hubbub when she just wanted a private moment with her baby and husband. But she had promised them that Alistair would call them when she was admitted, and that as soon as she got home they could come to visit her. She didn’t plan to be in the hospital beyond one night, and if she gave birth easily and early enough, she had wanted to leave the hospital the same day.
Alistair stammered out that the baby had not been born yet, and he would call again after the baby arrived. John suddenly didn’t feel as though he could sit still. He wanted to jump up and go straight to the hospital. He didn’t care about Mary’s preference - damn it! This is my first grandchild! This thought made John stop in his tracks. My first grandchild? He asked himself wryly. This was Paul’s grandchild, not his. But somehow, given his close relationship with Mary, he felt as though he were in loco grand parentis. His insecurity visited him then. He wondered if Mary would treat him like a grandparent, or if he would again be relegated to the role of family-friend-like-an-uncle. With such thoughts looming, John waited impatiently for Paul to get back from the gym and for the phone to ring. He wanted it to happen in that order, so that Paul would be the one to answer the phone and hear the news first.
Paul finally got back at about 11 a.m. John pounced on him as soon as he walked in the door. “Where have you been? You’re usually home by 10:00!”
Paul stood in the door, mouth open, and wondered if he should go out and come back in. Maybe then John would be normal. Instead he said, “I decided to do an extra-long workout today. I felt good.”
John said, “Never mind, get in here, I have news.”
Paul closed the door behind him and removed his coat, hanging it absent-mindedly over the stairwell bannister. Seeing this out of the corner of his eye and without stopping his words, John grabbed the coat and took it to the hall closet, where he hung it up. As he did so he said, “Alistair called. They’re at the hospital. The baby isn’t here yet - he’ll call again. I was worried he would call before you got back.”
That explains his hysteria when I walked in, Paul told himself. He said, “This is exciting! I’ll go shower and change and then we can try to amuse ourselves until we get the call.”
John said, “What if he calls when you’re in the shower?”
“It will take a few hours. This is her first child. It is harder the first time.” Paul spoke like an expert, and in a way, he was.
John was not convinced. “Well hurry up then,” he snarled. Paul jogged up the stairs, and John resumed his pacing and handwringing. A boy or a girl? He wondered. He secretly hoped for a girl. John liked little girls. They were less afraid of him than little boys, and they seemed to understand his teasing better. Again he wondered if Mary would allow him to act like a grandfather. He thought it would be fun to have the kid over and take care of it with Paul. When they’d raised Sean together, they did a pretty good job he thought.
An hour later, Paul had managed to persuade John to sit down and relax. He had put on some Motown music to strike a jaunty mood, and engaged John in conversation. “So what do you think it will be? A boy or a girl?” Paul asked him.
“I hope it’s a girl,” John said honestly.
Paul said, “Alistair told me that in his family they mostly have boy babies. I think it will be a boy.”
“Well, in your family you mostly had girls!” John announced indignantly.
Paul said, “It’s the male who determines the sex of the child, John. And my brother has 3 of each. I had 2 of one and 1 of the other. I don’t think you can get much out of that except maybe we shoot male and female sperm in equal amounts.” Paul was chuckling as he said this, and John smiled at the image of ‘shooting sperm.’ Just then the phone rang.
John had to stop himself from racing Paul to the phone. He forced himself to stay seated and watched Paul closely as he answered the phone. This is what he heard:
“Is Mary alright...And the baby... The statistics please... What’s the plan then...That’s fantastic! What time do you think...Should we bring something...Ok, we’ll wait for your call.” He hung up and grinned at John. “I win,” he said lightly.
“Huh?” John asked.
“It’s a boy! Seven pounds and five ounces, 20” long. And both Mary and the baby are doing great.” Paul was brimming with pride and excitement. His eyes were dancing with joy.
John stopped for a second to appreciate this. What a blessing that this baby should be born just exactly two weeks ahead of the anniversary of Linda’s death. Paul looked more alive in this moment than he had in years.
John said, “When can we visit them?”
“Mary did so well, and it is still so early, that she is going home in a few hours. I’ve booked a baby nurse to take care of Mary for the next few weeks, until she knows the lay of the land.”
John hadn’t known Paul had thought of that. “That was good of you,” he said.
“Well, I knew Mary would never think of it herself. I had hoped she’d stay in the hospital a few days, but since she wanted to come straight home I insisted upon the nurse. So, anyway, once they get home they’ll call us, and then we can go over and visit.”
The phone rang again and Paul answered. It was Stella. She was at Mary’s, putting up ‘welcome home’ signs, and making a comfortable rest station on the sitting room sofa for her sister. She put a sheet over the sofa, and brought blankets and pillows down. She arranged the telephone near to the sofa so it would be within Mary’s reach, and she had brought a pile of magazines for Mary to look through. She had also brought beverages and takeout vegetarian food to lay out for what would be a number of visitors over the next few days. “Dad - when are you coming over?” Stella asked, all business.
“We promised to stay away until we were specifically invited. We tend to bring the paparazzi with us wherever we go.”
Stella said, “Well, that chef you hired for the next month hasn’t arrived yet. Do you have her phone number?”
Paul found the number in his phone and read it off to Stella, and then they hung up. He looked at John and said, “She’s scary when she’s all business.”
John snickered to himself and then said out loud, with exaggerated innocence, “I don’t know anyone like that...”
They had snuck out of the mews, using a decoy car they kept in the garage at John’s house. They were not seen leaving that exit by the lurking paps, and then Paul drove them straight to Mary’s house in Lauderville Mansions South, Maida Vale. Coincidentally, Mary and Alistair had purchased a house (with Paul’s help) only three blocks from the townhouse Paul had once owned with John. They entered the mews, and noticed gratefully that Alistair had saved a parking spot for them so that they could leave again through the private mews.
John had thought ahead, and when they’d been in New York after the Hall of Fame event, he had discreetly visited (with Jason) the swankiest baby boutique in Manhattan. He had visited Mary and Alistair’s nursery, and knew what they were missing along with their color scheme. There he had purchased an exquisite (and exquisitely expensive) handmade quilt, made by Amish women from Pennsylvania, in whites, creams, and yellows with golden thread. They had used satin, silk, and 100% soft cotton squares, and had inserted soft padding inside the squares to make it extra-special soft. The reverse side of the quilt was off-white, with beautifully embroidered tiny daisies, and larger angels and lambs, in gold thread. He and Jason had been like simpering grandmothers, oohing and ahhing over the quilt, and had watched religiously as the elderly lady who ran the shop rolled it and wrapped it in glorious golden paper. John had brought the present home to London, and he had pulled it out of its hiding place to take with them to Mary’s house.
Paul had looked at it and admired the paper. Little knots of what appeared to be white paper daisies dotted the gold paper. Daisies were Mary’s favorites. He looked up at John and smiled. How incredibly thoughtful, Paul thought, just like Lin ... He stopped himself. Yes, Linda had been thoughtful like this, too. But clearly - on his own and left to his own devices - so was John. Paul suddenly realized that he shouldn’t compare the two loves of his life. They were completely unique individuals, each incredibly special in their own ways.
Now they were banging on the back door of the Donalds’ home, and Stella answered. She was in the kitchen putting food trays together. “He’s adorable!” she announced, and then went back to work.
John and Paul could hear the baby before they saw him. He was crying huskily, the way new babies do, as they entered the sitting room. Mary looked gorgeous, her black hair pulled up in an impromptu bun, and her huge, glorious hazel-green eyes were alight with joy. Alistair was flushed and looked both proud and terrified as he ineffectually tried to quiet the baby. All of his attempts to placate the child only made him cry louder.
Mary saw her father and lit up. “Oh good! You’re here! Neither of us have any clue how to calm him down!”
Paul approached Alistair with a “may I?” expression, and Alistair gratefully handed the baby over to Paul, who quickly moved him from a cradled position to one where the baby was upright, looking over Paul’s shoulder. Paul began to move rhythmically from foot to foot, and hummed a melody softly under his breath and he patted the baby’s back. Almost immediately, the baby stopped crying.
John laughed. “It’s so unfair,” he declared to the room. “Babies, animals and old people - not to mention girls - they all love their Paul.” He then came forward with his large golden bundle. “This is from your dad and me,” he said formally.
Mary flushed. “Oh - you have both done so much already! The nurse! The chef! The crib! The trust fund! You really don’t need to do more!”
“Well, I beg to differ,” John said. “Open it.”
Mary oohed and ahhed over the wrapping paper. “Look Alistair! Tiny daisies!” Stella came in to watch. Mary very carefully detached the tape from the paper, and managed not to tear the paper at all. Then the white tissue around the gift was carefully removed. Mary could see it was a blanket, but when she opened it up and saw the gorgeous quilt in the nursery colors (soft pale yellow, cream and white) she cried with joy. “It’s exquisite!” She declared.
Stella cried, “Oh, I want that! It’s gorgeous!”
John felt relieved and proud. He said sheepishly, “It was handmade by some Amish women in Pennsylvania. I thought that was a good back story.”
Mary reached up to give him a hug, as John bent over to accept it. She kissed him on his cheek and whispered in his ear, “You have no idea how much you mean to me!” She patted the seat beside her, “Sit here with me.”
John blushed as he sat down.
Mary then said to her father, “Daddy, let John hold the baby.”
Obediently, Paul delivered the baby to John’s arms. John immediately reached for one of the baby’s tiny hands, holding it between two of his fingers and staring at it as if the little hand was miraculous. It was while he was staring that Mary leaned over and said to her newborn,
“Arthur Alistair Donald, meet one of your three grandfathers - John Winston Lennon.”
WARNINGS: This is FICTION. It is also SLASH fiction, so not for everybody. :)
Hoep you enjoy it.
Chapter 123
March 15, 1999
John had finished dressing already, and decided he needed a quick sip of brandy to settle his nerves. He made his way from the master bedroom to the living room, shaking his head with amusement as he passed James’s bedroom. The door was open, and the place looked like a bomb had hit it. He made his way to the liquor cabinet, and found the door open, and everything all jumbled inside, and a bunch of empty bottles. He smiled again. After pouring himself a finger of brandy he made his way to the kitchen, and saw the sink and counters full of dirty glasses and dishes. The McCartney ‘kids’ had had their cousins and friends over again the night before. Out of curiosity he opened the fridge. Yup. It looked as though a plague of locusts had been through it. At this rate the place would be trashed within a week. But still John smiled. He loved to see his apartment full of McCartneys, full of laughter, and full of life. He could get used to this.
“John!” Paul was shouting for him all the way from the master suite. John smiled again. Poor man was utterly helpless. He went back to the bedroom to find a very frustrated Paul about to strangle himself with his bowtie.
“Ok, ok, calm down...” John said, chuckling. “I’ve got you covered.” John figured Linda must have done the bowties. He stood behind Paul to knot the tie.
“Back in the ‘60s, I used to do your ties, and straighten your collars,” Paul said after he had calmed down. “I don’t know what happened to my tie-knotting abilities.”
John smiled fondly at the memory of Paul always fussing with his ties and collars in the early days. Little did Paul know John had pretended to be hopeless at ties, and even loosened his ties and collars sometimes, just so that Paul would be forced to fix them. The thought made him laugh.
“What?” Paul asked suspiciously.
John said, “Nothing. The house is a total mess because of these darn kids,” he joked. Having finished the tie, he patted Paul on both shoulders.
Paul said, “Oh yeah, at their age, we were much more dignified.”
*****
The Waldorf Astoria
New York
New York
The press and the paparazzi were outside the grand hotel taking pictures of the arriving celebrities as they entered the ballroom. They all knew where the money was tonight: the photos of the arrival of John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Would they come together, not accompanied by dates, and thereby feed in to their editors’ hopes and dreams for tabloid headlines, or would they arrive separately, and surrounded by separate friends and family? It really didn’t matter to them what the truth was about the Lennon/McCartney relationship; it all reduced to dollars and cents.
Meanwhile, the celebrities, producers, record company executives, and nominees were arriving, and the ballroom began to fill up with a quixotically dressed mix of men and women in feathers, leathers, headdresses, and micro-mini-skirts. The ballroom floor looked exotic in golds and blacks. The decor was very rock ‘n roll: tacky and over the top.
George Martin found his place at his own table. Tonight he was going to be inducted into the Hall of Fame too. He was with his wife Judy, and his adult children and their spouses, and a few close friends. It was an exciting night for him.
The evening’s stage performance had been a complicated undertaking for the producer of the show. Among other artists being admitted (including Bruce Springsteen and Billy Joel), Lennon and McCartney were each being inducted as solo artists for their ‘70s work, and then George Martin was being inducted also. He had struggled with how to do it - who would introduce each of them? It would be a little too much of a good thing if Lennon introduced McCartney, and McCartney introduced Lennon, and Lennon & McCartney introduced Martin. Ultimately it was decided that other artists, who had been influenced by the inductees’ work should introduce them. Consequently, Elton John was asked to introduce Lennon, and Neil Young was asked to introduce McCartney. John and Paul were fine with those choices, and the producer had finally been able to heave a great sigh of relief and move on to other issues.
Outside the hotel, a buzz went through the press and the crowd there assembled. Someone heard that someone heard someone say that the fourth car in the queue waiting to pull up to the red carpet had at least John Lennon in it. Someone had said that someone had said that someone had seen Lennon looking out the window. The photographers jumped to their feet and began jostling each other for the best vantage points. Sure enough, when the fourth car pulled up, John Lennon stepped out of the car. With him were his two sons and Julian’s girlfriend, but no Paul McCartney. A literal groan could be heard from the press area. Their freelance fees had just dropped significantly in amount. The crowd, however, went wild to see John Lennon in the flesh.
Julian and his girlfriend had arrived for the event on Sunday, and because John’s apartment had already reached it’s capacity, it was decided they should take over a floor of suites in a New York hotel (although not the Waldorf Astoria, where there would be too many prying eyes). Not only John and Paul and Paul’s kids were there, but so was Sean, and the night of Julian’s arrival had been quite raucous, as they all had dinner together and stayed up late talking and exchanging memories of when they had all vacationed together as if they had been one family. Since there were 8 people in their entourage, they decided to split into 2 cars. It was also thought (by John and Paul) that arriving separately would turn down the speculation meter at least a few degrees. So tonight, as he hit the red carpet, John saw the rabidity of the press and was relieved he and Paul had split their arrivals. He could tell that it would have been too much of a scene if they had arrived together.
Behind him by three cars was Paul, with Heather, Stella and James. Stella giggled quietly to herself over her little secret. She hugged her beautifully tailored black suit jacket tightly. When it fell open, one could see some letters in black on a white t-shirt, but what the letters spelled out could not be seen. She had shown it to her siblings, and they had both thought it was brave of Stella to put the family’s true feelings out there for the whole world to see. Paul, on the other hand, distracted by what he was going to say in his speech, had not noticed Stella’s top at all, and was blissfully ignorant of what was to come. When their car pulled up to the red carpet, Paul got out first, and then helped his daughters and son out. Stella - her jacket buttoned up - was on Paul’s arm, and smiled and waved. She told a reporter, “I’ve got the best date tonight.”
John and his group had found their table and were delighted to see that Lee Eastman and his wife Vanessa, and Jason and Gerry were already seated there. As John’s sons sat down, a steady line of other guests and nominees started coming up to shake John’s hand or get his autograph. He was quite charming and welcoming this night. He had finally learned to turn on the Beatle charm at such events, as Paul had always done - instinctively - since day one of their fame. John had concluded that Paul was right; remaining pleasant and sober was the best way to endure a night being lauded by people in front of cameras. No embarrassing photos or juicy quotes or nasty stories in the next day’s press. Finally able to take his seat, John noticed that a lot of greeting and backslapping was going on behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see the McCartney Clan was arriving. They never went anywhere unless in a phalanx, as if they were clearing the aisles on either side for their father, to protect him from his celebrity. They had stopped briefly at George Martin’s table and were all in the process of hugging and kissing each other. John smiled. That family was an experience; they were so one-for-all and all-for-one that it was a beautiful thing to see.
Paul & co. finally made it to the table and his eyes briefly met John’s. He smiled, but in a questioning way, at what he saw there. John had a wickedly naughty grin on his face, and his eyes were twinkling. Something’s up his sleeve, Paul thought. I hope it’s not too embarrassing. Paul had long since - decades ago - gotten used to John’s misbehavior in public. He had learned not to let it bother him, and to remain pleasant--faced throughout the aftermath so as not to express any outward shock or disapproval of John’s antics in public. Later, in private, he might have a choice word or two for John, but he would never let it show in public. Better suck it up, Paul said to himself with a smirk. He’s in one of his wild and woolly moods, and anything might happen. Little did he know.
Soon the McCartneys had sorted themselves out at the table. They didn’t realize it, but the camera up in the rafters had zoomed in on their table, and was photographing them as they unfolded their napkins and chatted with each other. About that moment, the lights went down and the show began. Springsteen and the E Street Band took the stage to perform a rousing rendition of 10th Avenue Freeze Out and the show began.
George Martin was inducted before the music acts, and he made a very gracious and modest speech. He had shaken his head in amusement at the loud noises coming from the McLen table. Stella was whistling, and they were all cheering loudly. In fact, just before he began to speak and the room had become quiet, the unmistakable voice of John Lennon in heavy scouse mode was heard to shout, “Well go ahead then, Mr. Martin. We’re waiting!” “Mr. Martin” had shown a deadpan expression to the audience and the camera, and had said, somewhat apologetically, “A blast from my past,” to prolonged laughter.
The first musical inductee was John Lennon. Although Jann Wenner had not been able to induct John in an earlier year, he had been determined to induct John as a soloist before Paul McCartney. And he had put Bruce Springsteen before Paul as well. He was a man who could hold a grudge forever, however ill founded. Paul didn’t notice the slight, and wouldn’t have wanted it another way. In his mind, John did deserve to go first. He had always been John’s most ardent fan and admirer, and saw nothing untoward in the order of the presentations. Of course, if John had known that they would insert another artist between him and Paul, he wouldn’t have agreed to take the stage. As he prepared to take the stage, however, he had no idea of the order of presentation. He hadn’t bothered to look at his Program.
First, Elton John came on to make the introduction. He started out with a witty showstopper: “It wasn’t until I tried to write one song with John Lennon that I came to realize that Paul McCartney was a saint!” The camera panned to John Lennon’s faux indignant face, and then to Paul, his hand on his forehead and laughing sheepishly. The audience exploded in laughter. “We barely finished the song - Whatever Gets You Through the Night - and by that time I was taking the song lyrics literally.” Again the ballroom echoed with laughter and hooting. Now John’s face was lit up with delight, his smile beaming. He was enjoying this very much. “Not long after, I first met Paul McCartney at a British music award show. He was with his lovely wife Linda. I was introduced to him, and all I could say was, ‘You’re a saint!’”
The camera showed Paul watching Elton and nodding his head as if to say, yes, I remember.
“Then Paul said to me, ‘well of course Linda and I think I’m a saint, but I’m wondering why you do.’” The audience reacted with hilarity. “So I told him: ‘I wrote one song with John Lennon, and we nearly came to blows. We hardly speak to each other now. And you wrote over 200 songs with him! You’re a saint!’ And do you know, Paul said to me, ‘Well, that’s the difference between one song and 200. You’re almost not speaking to him, and I’m totally not talking to him.’”
Elton paused until the laughter had died down. “I was incredibly honored but petrified to work with John Lennon. The man is a lion in this room full of rock stars. A great songwriter, a charismatic presence in any room, and the wickedest wit I’ve ever encountered. Nowadays whenever I meet John at awards shows like these, I like to sit next to him because he says the naughtiest things. He is also a warm and generous friend.
“But I speak to you tonight of John Lennon’s influence on my own career. I was never a lyricist of any note, but when I search for a lyricist I am always looking for a Lennon-type: a writer who uses words in an unusual way, and who is not seeking to make conventional rhymes...” Elton’s introduction went on for a few more minutes, and then a video was shown briefly discussing Lennon’s career. Then Elton was back again, this time holding a black statuette, saying, “It gives me enormous pleasure to introduce John Lennon.”
The crowd erupted in a standing ovation. John made his way up from his seat directly on to the stage, and the place went crazy. A quick scan by the camera on the McLen table showed Julian and his girlfriend, Sean, and Paul McCartney standing and cheering. John greeted Elton and then turned to the audience, but the audience didn’t seem inclined to stop applauding. He finally said in a mock irritated tone of voice, “Oh, take a load off. It’s only me.” This, of course, only made everyone laugh louder and clap harder. But they finally petered out, and John was left standing there with one hand on the award that was sitting on the podium, and the other holding the base of the microphone stand.
He cleared his throat and began to speak in a hearty British midlander working class accent. “First, I want to thank me wife...err, partner...” A large gasp was heard from the audience and then a roar of laughter, as the camera again panned on Paul, whose forehead was again resting in the palm of his hand. He looked up through his fingers at John on the stage and shook his head back and forth in amusement, obviously chuckling a little. Next to him, Stella was squeezing his arm and laughing.
John then said, reverting to his own voice, “Well, I had to get that nonsense out of the way, didn’t I? So now we can focus on why we’re really here.” Now the audience applauded steadily in support of John’s point: John and Paul were musicians first, celebrities a distant second. This was a room full of musicians, record producers and music executives, and all of them held this same opinion close to their hearts.
Meanwhile, Paul was thinking to himself, I knew he was up to something!
John continued. “Seriously, now, I do have to thank my creative partner and best friend, Paul McCartney, before I say anything else. For a million reasons, one of them being I doubt I would have made it alive through my life if it were not for him. As a kid, I wouldn’t wear my glasses and I’d walk straight out into traffic. I can’t remember how many times he grabbed me by my shirt collar and yanked me back from the maws of death. It is true, but it is also a metaphor. In the mid-sixties, in the middle of the Beatles’ biggest success, I fell into a deep depression. I could hardly function. So Paul functioned for me. Starting in about ’66, he literally dragged me through the various recording sessions like a soldier dragging his wounded buddy across a live battlefield. And in the early ‘70s, when my marriage with Yoko was in jeopardy, and I was doing massive amounts of drugs and making a drunken fool of myself in Los Angeles, Paul appeared out of the blue to talk me into going back to New York and reconciling with Yoko. Had I stayed there much longer, I am certain I would have overdosed and died. The truth is, he would do anything for me and I would do anything for him. This music we made in the Beatles, and the music we made apart from each other during the ‘70s, is all music that we made together, because we are such a part of each other’s songwriting process that we hear each other in our heads even when we’re writing alone...”
John went on to talk about his musical influences, naming Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, the Everly Brothers, Buddy Holly, and Little Richard among a few others. He ended his acceptance speech with a shout-out to his sons - “They were unlucky enough to draw me as their father, but I was lucky enough to draw them as my sons.” Paul had teared up when John said this. He turned to Julian beside him and smiled warmly at him. He saw that Julian was both surprised and touched.
When John returned to the family table, Paul met his gaze across the table and allowed his pride in John to show in his eyes. John felt a little shy about it, strangely, but he accepted his sons’ whispered ‘thanks’ as the next musical act kicked into gear.
It was a half hour later before Neil Young came out on to the stage to induct Paul. He looked like the renegade that he truly was - but an honest one. He had often behaved badly in his life, but he had always owned it, too. He spoke of his being influenced by the Beatles as a high school kid, and then he spoke of being influenced by Paul when he started again after the Beatles broke up. He said he loved Maybe I’m Amazed, and how the whole first solo album was unadorned, with no echo or studio tricks. “He went the complete opposite of what he did with the Beatles. He just stepped out of the shadow of the Beatles, and there was Paul.”
After a brief video about Paul’s late ‘60s and ‘70s career, Paul was called to the stage. He found himself tearing up. He was not tearing up over the award, but rather because Linda was not there to see it. This would be his first real public appearance since her death, and he found that his legs and hands were shaking. Could he keep it together through this speech? The thought of breaking down in front of all these industry people and a television audience terrified him. Somehow he would have to keep it together. He decided to start by playing off John’s joke...a little.
“I’d like to start by thanking my wife...” he waited a pregnant second, “...Linda.” The audience’s laugher was gentle and so were their claps. Paul’s decision to start that way, they thought, had been both clever and appropriate. “I’m sorry she’s not here. She wanted this for me very much.” He stopped for a moment as the familiar tears started blocking his throat. He wiped the traitorous tear or two from his eyes. With an effort of will, he talked about his “baby”, and only barely managed not to break down sobbing. At one strained point, Stella suddenly appeared out of the wings and snuck up until she was behind her father. She then stepped forward showing her white shirt with the lettering, About Fucking Time! Paul had wrapped his arm around her but when the audience started reacting and clapping he did a double take and read her shirt name for the first time. He brightened up. “She doesn’t give a shit!” He announced. “These young people, they’re not afraid of anything.” A camera panned on John Lennon who was laughing delightedly and clapping.
With Stella there to steady him, Paul was able to finish his speech. “The other person I obviously have to thank - this will sound like a mutual admiration society, which it is I guess - and it is of course my mate John.” The audience clapped, with Stella, still next to her father, joining in enthusiastically. “I may have literally saved his life from assorted buses, lorries, pills, and alcohol, but he saved me from a lifetime of teaching English to disinterested teenagers.” This drew more laughter and applause. “As a teenager, I had the will, I had the desire, I had the focus and drive, and I loved music more than anything, but I also had a fear of disappointing my family’s expectations of me, especially my father’s. But John showed me that if you follow your heart, you could still make your family proud. And for that I will be eternally grateful.”
*****
The show ended, and an impromptu performance was held down at the front, with just the invited guests. It was just for fun. John and Paul both participated a little bit, doing ragged versions of I Saw Her Standing There and From Me to You. It was 1 a.m. before they piled in their limos with their kids and were driven back to their hotel. The top floor of the hotel had four luxury suites and all of the suites had interconnecting doors so one giant suite could be made out of it, and that night the families partied amongst themselves, with champagne and a giant fruit and cheese platter to take the edge off. Jason and Gerry had been persuaded to come along too, although Gerry kept pointing out that it was way past his bedtime.
“I thought I was going to have a heart attack when you made that joke about Paul,” Julian told his father. “I thought, oh my God - not here! Not now!” Everyone laughed and chided John for a while.
Paul said, “I was pissed off about being called ‘the wife’.”
John guffawed heavily at that one. “In other words, babe, you don’t mind me announcing our status, so long as you’re the bloke? Is that it?”
Paul said with exaggerated patience, “No, John, I said if you were going to do that without my advance approval, I’d rather be ‘the husband.’”
John was still chuckling. “So noted,” he responded dangerously, causing Paul to give him a suspicious look.
The kids (other than Heather, who had slipped away to her bed an hour earlier) all had their curiosity aroused by this exchange. James and Sean were curious but didn’t want to know (kind of like people slowing down to stare at a car accident), and the others were just plain curious. But none of them exposed their curiosity to their fathers. They sensed that this was not their business.
Jason said, “It was a nice atmosphere in the room - it had the feel of a professional trade meeting. And I was so excited to meet George Martin.”
“Yeah, the audience in private industry events has a different feel than a concert audience,” Paul agreed.
“I kind of expected more craziness, but it was very businesslike,” Jason continued.
“Except for the way everyone dressed,” Gerry pointed out, causing everyone to laugh. “I thought I was in a costume party at times.”
Soon Jason and Gerry had left, and the rest all made their ways to their various rooms. John and Paul wearily undressed before collapsing in their king-size bed. After a few moments of making smartass remarks to each other, a pleasant silence descended upon them. They were each lying on their backs in the dark, staring at the ceiling. Then Paul’s soft voice, deep and low, broke the silence. “Thanks for the beautiful thing you said about me. I didn’t know you thought I had saved your life.”
“Your mere existence saved my life, Paul. That first time I saw you when we were kids - never had I seen anyone so beautiful, so talented, so charming...That was the moment I knew - you were my future coming to meet me.”
*****
Cavendish
April 3, 1999
April 3, 1999
The day started normally. Paul got up first, and headed to the local gym. John awoke about a half hour later, and lazed about downstairs making coffee, reading the paper, and eating cereal. The phone rang jarringly, disturbing John’s peaceful morning. Grumbling to himself, he answered the phone.
On the other end of the line, Alistair Donald was breathing heavily and struggling mightily to make sense. John finally got the drift: Mary was at the hospital; her water had broken. Mary had already made it clear to both her father and John that she didn’t want them to come to the hospital. It would create too much of a hubbub when she just wanted a private moment with her baby and husband. But she had promised them that Alistair would call them when she was admitted, and that as soon as she got home they could come to visit her. She didn’t plan to be in the hospital beyond one night, and if she gave birth easily and early enough, she had wanted to leave the hospital the same day.
Alistair stammered out that the baby had not been born yet, and he would call again after the baby arrived. John suddenly didn’t feel as though he could sit still. He wanted to jump up and go straight to the hospital. He didn’t care about Mary’s preference - damn it! This is my first grandchild! This thought made John stop in his tracks. My first grandchild? He asked himself wryly. This was Paul’s grandchild, not his. But somehow, given his close relationship with Mary, he felt as though he were in loco grand parentis. His insecurity visited him then. He wondered if Mary would treat him like a grandparent, or if he would again be relegated to the role of family-friend-like-an-uncle. With such thoughts looming, John waited impatiently for Paul to get back from the gym and for the phone to ring. He wanted it to happen in that order, so that Paul would be the one to answer the phone and hear the news first.
Paul finally got back at about 11 a.m. John pounced on him as soon as he walked in the door. “Where have you been? You’re usually home by 10:00!”
Paul stood in the door, mouth open, and wondered if he should go out and come back in. Maybe then John would be normal. Instead he said, “I decided to do an extra-long workout today. I felt good.”
John said, “Never mind, get in here, I have news.”
Paul closed the door behind him and removed his coat, hanging it absent-mindedly over the stairwell bannister. Seeing this out of the corner of his eye and without stopping his words, John grabbed the coat and took it to the hall closet, where he hung it up. As he did so he said, “Alistair called. They’re at the hospital. The baby isn’t here yet - he’ll call again. I was worried he would call before you got back.”
That explains his hysteria when I walked in, Paul told himself. He said, “This is exciting! I’ll go shower and change and then we can try to amuse ourselves until we get the call.”
John said, “What if he calls when you’re in the shower?”
“It will take a few hours. This is her first child. It is harder the first time.” Paul spoke like an expert, and in a way, he was.
John was not convinced. “Well hurry up then,” he snarled. Paul jogged up the stairs, and John resumed his pacing and handwringing. A boy or a girl? He wondered. He secretly hoped for a girl. John liked little girls. They were less afraid of him than little boys, and they seemed to understand his teasing better. Again he wondered if Mary would allow him to act like a grandfather. He thought it would be fun to have the kid over and take care of it with Paul. When they’d raised Sean together, they did a pretty good job he thought.
An hour later, Paul had managed to persuade John to sit down and relax. He had put on some Motown music to strike a jaunty mood, and engaged John in conversation. “So what do you think it will be? A boy or a girl?” Paul asked him.
“I hope it’s a girl,” John said honestly.
Paul said, “Alistair told me that in his family they mostly have boy babies. I think it will be a boy.”
“Well, in your family you mostly had girls!” John announced indignantly.
Paul said, “It’s the male who determines the sex of the child, John. And my brother has 3 of each. I had 2 of one and 1 of the other. I don’t think you can get much out of that except maybe we shoot male and female sperm in equal amounts.” Paul was chuckling as he said this, and John smiled at the image of ‘shooting sperm.’ Just then the phone rang.
John had to stop himself from racing Paul to the phone. He forced himself to stay seated and watched Paul closely as he answered the phone. This is what he heard:
“Is Mary alright...And the baby... The statistics please... What’s the plan then...That’s fantastic! What time do you think...Should we bring something...Ok, we’ll wait for your call.” He hung up and grinned at John. “I win,” he said lightly.
“Huh?” John asked.
“It’s a boy! Seven pounds and five ounces, 20” long. And both Mary and the baby are doing great.” Paul was brimming with pride and excitement. His eyes were dancing with joy.
John stopped for a second to appreciate this. What a blessing that this baby should be born just exactly two weeks ahead of the anniversary of Linda’s death. Paul looked more alive in this moment than he had in years.
John said, “When can we visit them?”
“Mary did so well, and it is still so early, that she is going home in a few hours. I’ve booked a baby nurse to take care of Mary for the next few weeks, until she knows the lay of the land.”
John hadn’t known Paul had thought of that. “That was good of you,” he said.
“Well, I knew Mary would never think of it herself. I had hoped she’d stay in the hospital a few days, but since she wanted to come straight home I insisted upon the nurse. So, anyway, once they get home they’ll call us, and then we can go over and visit.”
The phone rang again and Paul answered. It was Stella. She was at Mary’s, putting up ‘welcome home’ signs, and making a comfortable rest station on the sitting room sofa for her sister. She put a sheet over the sofa, and brought blankets and pillows down. She arranged the telephone near to the sofa so it would be within Mary’s reach, and she had brought a pile of magazines for Mary to look through. She had also brought beverages and takeout vegetarian food to lay out for what would be a number of visitors over the next few days. “Dad - when are you coming over?” Stella asked, all business.
“We promised to stay away until we were specifically invited. We tend to bring the paparazzi with us wherever we go.”
Stella said, “Well, that chef you hired for the next month hasn’t arrived yet. Do you have her phone number?”
Paul found the number in his phone and read it off to Stella, and then they hung up. He looked at John and said, “She’s scary when she’s all business.”
John snickered to himself and then said out loud, with exaggerated innocence, “I don’t know anyone like that...”
*****
They had snuck out of the mews, using a decoy car they kept in the garage at John’s house. They were not seen leaving that exit by the lurking paps, and then Paul drove them straight to Mary’s house in Lauderville Mansions South, Maida Vale. Coincidentally, Mary and Alistair had purchased a house (with Paul’s help) only three blocks from the townhouse Paul had once owned with John. They entered the mews, and noticed gratefully that Alistair had saved a parking spot for them so that they could leave again through the private mews.
John had thought ahead, and when they’d been in New York after the Hall of Fame event, he had discreetly visited (with Jason) the swankiest baby boutique in Manhattan. He had visited Mary and Alistair’s nursery, and knew what they were missing along with their color scheme. There he had purchased an exquisite (and exquisitely expensive) handmade quilt, made by Amish women from Pennsylvania, in whites, creams, and yellows with golden thread. They had used satin, silk, and 100% soft cotton squares, and had inserted soft padding inside the squares to make it extra-special soft. The reverse side of the quilt was off-white, with beautifully embroidered tiny daisies, and larger angels and lambs, in gold thread. He and Jason had been like simpering grandmothers, oohing and ahhing over the quilt, and had watched religiously as the elderly lady who ran the shop rolled it and wrapped it in glorious golden paper. John had brought the present home to London, and he had pulled it out of its hiding place to take with them to Mary’s house.
Paul had looked at it and admired the paper. Little knots of what appeared to be white paper daisies dotted the gold paper. Daisies were Mary’s favorites. He looked up at John and smiled. How incredibly thoughtful, Paul thought, just like Lin ... He stopped himself. Yes, Linda had been thoughtful like this, too. But clearly - on his own and left to his own devices - so was John. Paul suddenly realized that he shouldn’t compare the two loves of his life. They were completely unique individuals, each incredibly special in their own ways.
Now they were banging on the back door of the Donalds’ home, and Stella answered. She was in the kitchen putting food trays together. “He’s adorable!” she announced, and then went back to work.
John and Paul could hear the baby before they saw him. He was crying huskily, the way new babies do, as they entered the sitting room. Mary looked gorgeous, her black hair pulled up in an impromptu bun, and her huge, glorious hazel-green eyes were alight with joy. Alistair was flushed and looked both proud and terrified as he ineffectually tried to quiet the baby. All of his attempts to placate the child only made him cry louder.
Mary saw her father and lit up. “Oh good! You’re here! Neither of us have any clue how to calm him down!”
Paul approached Alistair with a “may I?” expression, and Alistair gratefully handed the baby over to Paul, who quickly moved him from a cradled position to one where the baby was upright, looking over Paul’s shoulder. Paul began to move rhythmically from foot to foot, and hummed a melody softly under his breath and he patted the baby’s back. Almost immediately, the baby stopped crying.
John laughed. “It’s so unfair,” he declared to the room. “Babies, animals and old people - not to mention girls - they all love their Paul.” He then came forward with his large golden bundle. “This is from your dad and me,” he said formally.
Mary flushed. “Oh - you have both done so much already! The nurse! The chef! The crib! The trust fund! You really don’t need to do more!”
“Well, I beg to differ,” John said. “Open it.”
Mary oohed and ahhed over the wrapping paper. “Look Alistair! Tiny daisies!” Stella came in to watch. Mary very carefully detached the tape from the paper, and managed not to tear the paper at all. Then the white tissue around the gift was carefully removed. Mary could see it was a blanket, but when she opened it up and saw the gorgeous quilt in the nursery colors (soft pale yellow, cream and white) she cried with joy. “It’s exquisite!” She declared.
Stella cried, “Oh, I want that! It’s gorgeous!”
John felt relieved and proud. He said sheepishly, “It was handmade by some Amish women in Pennsylvania. I thought that was a good back story.”
Mary reached up to give him a hug, as John bent over to accept it. She kissed him on his cheek and whispered in his ear, “You have no idea how much you mean to me!” She patted the seat beside her, “Sit here with me.”
John blushed as he sat down.
Mary then said to her father, “Daddy, let John hold the baby.”
Obediently, Paul delivered the baby to John’s arms. John immediately reached for one of the baby’s tiny hands, holding it between two of his fingers and staring at it as if the little hand was miraculous. It was while he was staring that Mary leaned over and said to her newborn,
“Arthur Alistair Donald, meet one of your three grandfathers - John Winston Lennon.”
*****
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Great chapter
Date: 2016-04-17 12:36 pm (UTC)Re: Great chapter
Date: 2016-04-17 04:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-20 09:21 am (UTC)I can't believe that I read all your "serial" fanfiction from Wednesday Evening Salons to The Elephants Dance and now Too Much Rain
Yupp.. Exactly, I'm a big fan of yours.
I'll be crying in the corner when you decide to end this fanficPlease keep continue, I'm looking forward to the next chapter!!
Love,
Pia
no subject
Date: 2016-04-22 02:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-22 01:58 am (UTC)And of course the end - grandpappy John - what a wonderful moment :)
no subject
Date: 2016-04-22 02:37 am (UTC)I'm glad you enjoyed it.