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Too Much Rain, Chapter 124
In this chapter, the family celebrates the Concert for Linda, John and Paul babysit the child Arthur, and Paul takes a bold step into the future...
Not much in the way of WARNINGS except - THIS IS FICTION, and it is SLASH FICTION, although this is a very tame chapter from a sexual point of view.
Hope you enjoy it anyway. :)
Chapter 124
April 10, 1999
London
For almost a year, Linda’s old friend and fellow animal rights crusader Chrissie Hynde had been working on a memorial concert for Linda to be performed at the Albert Hall. It was scheduled for April 10, 1999, and was an immediate sellout. It would be shown live on the BBC. Paul hadn’t really intended to perform that night, although he knew he would have to make some kind of appearance to dedicate the concert, but Chrissie had urged him to try. Consequently, the few days before the concert they had been rehearsing. John was of course going to be there to back him up, and they had settled on two songs: Lonesome Town (they had just finished recording it for Run Devil Run), and their own All My Loving. There were many other artists, including John and Paul’s friend Elvis Costello, the Pretenders, Marianne Faithful, George Michael (who hadn’t performed in over two years), Tom Jones, Sinead O’Connor, Neil Finn, Ladysmith Black Mambazo, and Johnny Marr of the Smiths. Chrissie would also be playing, and the program would be hosted by Eddie Izzard - a comedian who had always left Linda helpless with laughter. John planned to sing a number on his own - In My Life - in honor of Linda, and he had told Paul he expected him to back him up vocally.
John had been only on the edges of this concert’s planning, propelled as it was by one of Linda’s best female friends. But between the family's cartoon film and her singing album the year before, the Working Classical release of Paul’s, and the upcoming classical music album for Linda (A Garland for Linda) and whatever else Paul had in mind to expiate his grief, John had begun to wonder if the homages would ever end. Just this spring Stella had released a line of haute couture white t-shirts with images of horses on them as homage to her mother. Mary was dedicating herself to the curating of her mother’s photographs, and was setting up exhibitions in cities all over the world. James was busy in Art College, no doubt creating sculptures in his mother’s memory, and Heather - John smiled (he couldn’t help himself) was probably throwing pots as homage.
When these thoughts would assail him, John sometimes wondered why he wasn’t doing something himself. What he could do was write songs, and so in private moments over the last several weeks he had been working on a song to describe the loss of her friendship. He had turned to Fiona, as well. He needed some place to discuss his own feelings of loss, and the less than honorable thoughts he would sometimes have of feeling left out by those he had thought of as family - Paul and the kids. Of all the kids, Mary tried the hardest to remain close to him, although now with a husband and a baby and her mother’s photographs to focus on, she had far less time to spend with him. While this was only natural, it was something that John missed very much. He explained this all to Fiona, who helped him get the hurtful feelings out so he could start to address them in a practical way.
So tonight was the night, and the McCartney and Lennon kids were all going to attend. Mary would bring Arthur in a bassinette, and have the nurse sit with him in a soundproof booth. Mary believed that he needed to be at this concert in honor of his grandmother, who he would never meet. The nice thing about rock concerts is you can wear whatever you want to wear. Paul was dressed in an oversized navy blue suit and a baseball t-shirt on which Stella had silk-screened the image of a sun over an ocean at sunset, along with his trusty old black and white converses. John shook his head as if to say, I can’t take you anywhere, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to tell Paul what to wear at his dead wife’s memorial concert. This was the kind of comfortable thing that Paul wore when he was with Linda, after all. In solidarity with Paul, he wore a black suit (a lot more form-fitting and trendy) and one of Stella’s silk-screened t-shirts, which had a horse with a flowing mane on it. The white converses he wore, though, were brand new and freshly white.
There was a VIP area up at the top of the Albert Hall that had been cordoned off, where the McCartney and Lennon kids and their friends, lovers and associates were to be found. They were all looking forward to the evening’s performances, and were not to be disappointed.
While the strident song, Meat is Murder, started the concert out, the rest of the performances that night were not so in-your-face. When Elvis Costello came out he spoke a few lovely words about Linda and how warm and welcoming she was and then performed the wrenching That Day is Done, a song Costello had written with Paul when he had worked for a few sessions with both John and Paul years earlier. The way he sang the song was gut wrenching, and watching backstage in a dressing room, Paul sat in silence, his face flowing with tears. John sat next to him and softly stroked his back, not caring who would see or what they would say about it. If that weren’t difficult enough to listen to, Elvis than sang Warm and Beautiful, the achingly beautiful melody Paul had written for Linda back in 1972. Sinead O’Connor did a breathtaking version of I Believe in You, the haunting song written by Bob Dylan. The lyrics fit perfectly as a description of how it was for Linda when she first had the temerity to fall in love with a Beatle, to sing in his new band, and to loyally defend him against all comers. As Sinead sang, Paul found he could not listen to it in a room full of people, so he quickly went into a private room and watched it there, sobbing throughout. John, unsure of what to do and not wanting to make a spectacle in front of the people there assembled, stayed with them and tried not to show his open concern for Paul.
Next, Neil Finn was doing a moving version of his song, She Goes On, which seemed as though it had been written especially for Paul and Linda. John had taken the opportunity to slip away from the big room, and join Paul in his private spot. Paul was in tears and John sat next to him. “This is killing me,” Paul said brokenly.
John said, “Tears are always good when they come from music.”
Paul looked at John for a moment and managed a smile. “Sounds like a good line for a song.”
“Songwriters have no souls,” John joked. “Do you think you can go on? I can tell Chrissie it’s no go.”
Paul wiped the tears off his face and said, “No, I owe it to everyone -including Linda - to do this. But promise me - if I get stuck, jump in and sing for me, okay?”
“Of course,” John promised, giving him a hug. “These songs are getting to me, too, you know. Declan and I were out there balling through Sinead’s song.”
Paul leaned his shoulder against John’s and said, “I’m so glad I have you. Not sure what I would do if I had to go through this alone.”
John snorted. “Like you’re ever gonna get to be alone. You know that Presley song - ‘Stuck On You’? That’s your fate mate. I’m stuck on you.” John leered like a drunken Elvis and made Paul laugh.
“Lucky me,” Paul chirped doubtfully.
“Do you think you can join the others, now?” John coaxed. “George Michael is about to sing, and his song is upbeat.”
Paul followed John obediently back to the main room, where he put on a determined Beatle Paul face, and tried not to listen to the song lyrics. Soon, the stage manager leaned in and said, “John Lennon - you’re up!”
“Come on, Paul, you’re gonna do the harmonies. You promised,” John insisted, and they left for the wings to the excited applause of the room’s occupants. Eddie Izzard felt the concert hall suddenly start buzzing, and he could only find a quick few seconds’ quiet enough to yell, “Here he is - John Lennon!” The room went wild, and John strolled out to the microphone carrying his guitar. Behind him the musicians were organizing themselves.
When the sound abated somewhat, John said, “I’m gonna need a little help on the harmonies with this one, so I dragged a random person off the street to help me.” He turned dramatically to the wings and said loudly, “Eddie - push him out here!” With that, shaking his head, Paul came out and the place went crazy. John said sotto voce to Paul, but straight into the mike so everyone could hear, “Now, remember, I’m singing lead on this one. You’re always trying to steal the spotlight.”
Everyone laughed and Paul said sheepishly, “I’ll try, John. That’s all I can promise.”
John turned to the audience and said, “I wrote this song as a poem to Paul for his 23rd birthday. It was a heartfelt poem of friendship. He took one look at it and said, ‘this will make a great song!’ I wanted to throttle him.”
Paul said, “He never lets me forget that.”
“Anyway, tonight I want to dedicate this song to my dearly loved friend, my should-have-been-sister, Linda. She helped me get through my cancer, and I wanted to help her get through hers. It was not to be.”
The familiar chords that were the intro into In My Life began, and John began to sing the words. As he sang, he tried to breath new life into them, hearing them as if they were for Linda instead of for Paul. Halfway through, a few tears escaped, but his voice did not fail him. Paul, meanwhile, closed his eyes when John was singing, and only opened them when it was time to sing the harmony parts, so he could watch John carefully to make sure their blend was perfect. The performance - the tableau they presented - was deeply moving. When they finished, John pulled Paul into a hug. He figured everyone watching and everyone in the audience and everyone back stage wanted to give Paul a hug by now, so he might as well do it for them. He whispered in Paul’s ear, “I love you so much” as he did so. Paul fought back tears and allowed the hug to linger longer and grow tighter and did not worry what people thought.
It was Paul’s turn. He stepped up to the mike, and suddenly Chrissie Hynde came flying from the wings to give him a hug. Paul said, “Chrissie asked me if I would sing something tonight, but I’m not sure I can.” Everyone clapped and shouted for him to do it. “So I guess here goes.” The Pretenders remained on the stage as the back up band, and Elvis Costello came out of the wings. He was going to sing back up for Paul, along with John. John gestured for Elvis to join him at his mike, so he did. This was a crazy moment for Elvis, who idolized both of them.
Paul said, “This is a song that Linda and I both loved when we were kids, she in New York, and me in Liverpool. It’s a song by Ricky Nelson, and here it is.” Somehow, with the spotlight on his face, and the musicians at the ready, and John at Elvis at his side, Paul felt that he absolutely could get through the song.
As soon as Lonesome Town was over, Paul launched into All My Loving, with John and Costello singing backup for him. The song was so joyful and bouncy, that soon everyone was on his or her feet dancing along and singing, arms waving in the air. The rest of the performers came out to sing a rousing final chorus, and the BBC show was over. After the television cameras wheeled back, the performers decided to launch into Let It Be, to close out the live concert itself.
John knew that an empty feeling would come over Paul as well as his children once the show was over, so he had quietly invited the performers and their guests over to Cavendish to celebrate into the wee hours. Most of them came, including Elvis Costello and his wife Diana Krall, Chrissie Hynde and her husband and kids, the Pretender musicians and their significant others, even George Michael came for a short while, and then there was Eddie Izzard of course. And Eddie had the place laughing to tears throughout much of the night. All of the kids were there - Mary had taken Arthur up to the master bedroom, and had breastfed him there and then left him there with the nurse sitting by so she could go down and party with the rest. Stella was there with her newest boyfriend, who seemed bewildered by the massive family and their numerous famous friends. He hardly said a word all night, taking it all in.
Elvis and Diana, of course, knew about John and Paul’s “arrangement,” but many of their guests did not - at least not for sure. Stella stepped into the breach and acted as a kind of hostess with the mostess, so that restless minds did not reach private conclusions. No one seemed to suspect anything at all, especially in light of Paul’s obvious grief over Linda’s death. There was a woman there, a friend of one of the musicians, who had her eye on Paul. She saw him standing in the beautiful sitting and dining rooms and she saw all the priceless original paintings, sculptures, and objets d’art. She also got up close to him and saw him with her actual eyes - right there in front of her. And he was gorgeous. There was something fey and otherworldly about him - as if he were an enchanted creature from another planet that made more beautiful people than this one - but he seemed at the same time very approachable. So she approached.
“Hello, I’m Imogen,” she said as she offered her hand. Her voice and her eyes were sultry.
Paul didn’t notice the sultry. He said with Liverpudlian bonhomie, “Hello, Imogen. To whom do you belong?” His eyes danced with warmth.
Imogen was transfixed for a moment. Who am I with? She ran the question through her brain again as if she didn’t know the words. Oh! He was expecting an answer! “I’m a friend of one of the Pretender’s wives,” she managed.
Paul was amused by this answer. One of the Pretenders? They had names, didn’t they? Oh, well, people often had brain farts when they first met him. Sometimes they couldn’t talk at all. “Well, nice to meet you Imogen, friend of one of the Pretender’s wives.” He offered his hand playfully, which she shook. She wasn’t a bad looking woman. Her beautifully coiffed blond hair was piled in an up do, but it managed to look very informal, with tendrils of hair leaking out and kissing her neck and chin. She had more makeup on than necessary for Paul's taste, but it was expertly done. And - (Paul was good at looking without being seen to be looking) - she had an enviable figure, especially her “chest”. Now he caught a flirty look in her eye. Oh. She’s flirting with me. He instinctively started to neutralize his expressions and body language. Twenty-nine years of marriage had taught him how to put up the no trespass sign. Linda will be really mad if... And then Paul stopped that thought. He had actually been thinking of Linda in the present tense, as if she were in the next room. He didn’t have to cut off flirting anymore, at least not for Linda’s sake, Paul realized. But this night and this particular celebration were not the right time or place to flirt. Consequently, he stepped back once, and allowed a kind of distance to fall between them. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Stella struggling with a champagne bottle.
“Oh! I’ve got to give my baby girl a hand,” he said apologetically, and quickly moved over to Stella’s side and took over the champagne bottle.
This little scene had not gone unnoticed by John, who rarely let Paul completely out of his sight in a room full of people, especially women. He had frankly expected this kind of thing to happen sooner and more often. Paul was - in the eyes of the female world - a widower now: a billionaire widower, who was beautiful, famous, talented, charming, smart, and loveable. Sexiness exuded from him, but not in a Stanley Kowalski way. No, Paul’s sexuality was more sensual. And his lovemaking was that way, too. Not that this little piece of tinsel was ever going to learn about that, John swore under his breath.
Imogen was disappointed but she wasn’t giving up. A few minutes later she sidled over to Stella and began to praise her lavishly about her clothes. Stella had Paul’s canniness about extravagant praise. Neither one of them trusted it. But Stella was polite. There wasn’t much that they had in common, so the conversation quickly shut down, and both women went their separate ways. Imogen had to figure out some way to be able to get in touch with him before the party was over. Chrissie Hynde! She thought. She’d get closer to Chrissie Hynde, and maybe that would be her ‘way in’. For that night, though, she had batted a big fat goose egg.
Finally, everyone had left, even Mary and Stella. Heather had gone to bed much earlier (she was not a party person), and James and Sean decided to visit a nightclub for an hour or so before turning in. Julian and his girlfriend were up in the attic suite. John and Paul were getting ready for bed.
“You got hit on tonight,” John said, keeping his voice and expression light and amused.
Paul looked up confused for a moment until he remembered the woman who was a friend of one of the Pretender’s wives. He chuckled. “I did!” He admitted.
“It looks like you turned her down,” John said, still trying to sound jokey, although he was serious about Paul’s answer.
“It was a pretty tacky place to be flirting - in Linda’s home after her memorial concert,” Paul said.
John winced when he heard the words “Linda’s home” but let that pass. Instead he said, “There will come a time and a place where it isn’t ‘inappropriate’ for a woman to flirt with you. What are you going to do then?”
Paul, who had just flopped down on the bed, suddenly realized the conversation had turned serious on him. John was prying to find out if he had any interest in dating women again. At that moment, Paul could not imagine any woman other than Linda. And he really didn’t think John would be willing to share him again. On top of that, Paul had found ‘sharing’ exhausting. He doubted seriously he ever wanted to do that again. He said, grinning at John in a suggestive manner, “I’ve got my hands full just with you.”
John’s smile looked relieved, but also uncertain. Paul realized that John was very insecure about this issue. He patted the bed beside him. “Come here, John. Let’s hold each other, shall we?”
John was happy to oblige.
John was excited, and bustling around the house. Paul was at the studio, working on some songs for the old time rock ‘n roll memorabilia album John and Paul were doing, Run Devil Run. They had written a few new original songs, but most of the songs were covers of old favorites from the ‘50s. Paul was expected back home in the late afternoon, after which they would be headed over to Mary and Alistair’s home to babysit Arthur for the evening. It would be Mary and Alistair’s first night out at a restaurant since Arthur’s birth. John was excited to spend an evening taking care of a baby with Paul. He didn’t know why this was so exciting, but he suspected it had to do with hopeless fantasies he’d once had of being able to marry and have babies with Paul. He’d known having babies with Paul was an impossibility but when he’d lain on his patio chaises at Kenwood back in the late ‘60s watching Paul playing with young Julian, sometimes his fantasies (drug-fueled, no doubt) took on a life of their own. Well, now, in 1999, there was a baby, and it was going to be entrusted to them for about four hours, and John was excited about it. He had been irked by Paul’s blasé attitude. Of course, Paul had raised four of his own children plus, in a way, two of John’s, and Paul was far more laid back and confident about the babysitting thing than John. It held no mysteries for Paul.
John was also anxious because he was worried that Paul might get delayed at work, in which case he would have to go over to the Donalds’ home by himself, and then he would be left alone with the wee baby. John wasn’t sure he had the ability to do it. He had bragged about being a ‘house husband’ and raising Sean by himself to the interviewers he had spoken to in 1980, but the truth was Sean always had a Japanese nanny, who had literally slept on the floor next to Sean’s bed until he was one year old, and then slept in the room next to him for the years after that. Whenever Sean had become fussy, or needed to be fed, the nanny had stepped in and taken the baby away. Neither John nor Yoko had that much of a nurturing streak in them at that point, addicted as they were to heroin and all. John began to fear that he wouldn’t know what to do with Arthur, his honorary grandson. Arthur. What a grown up name for such a tiny mite!
Of course Paul got home on time, and was bemused a little by John’s amped up behavior. John was urging him to hurry so they could leave. “We’re right on time,” Paul mumbled as he hurried upstairs to change - he figured that there was no point in arguing over such a stupid thing. It was kind of cute, when he thought about it some more: John being so eager to spend time with the baby.
For Paul, the birth of his first grandchild had been a bittersweet experience. Sweet because of Mary’s happiness, the beautiful baby, and John’s enthusiasm about it; bitter because Linda was not there to share in it. Linda would have been an awesome grandmother, and how cruel was fate that she never got the chance? He did not want these feelings to spoil the event for Mary and the rest of his family, so he did what he always did at such times - he buried them. He might have been able to discuss these things with John, but he sensed how hurt John could be when he spoke of how much he missed Linda. Paul didn’t want to hurt John in that way. So here it was again: he was the ‘strong, silent one’, with no one with whom he could share his pain. For this reason, more and more, Paul had considered going to a therapist to work through his loss. An objective third person with specialized training would be able to hear his fears, his emptiness, and even his anger over being left to live the rest of his life without Linda. John Eastman had gotten a few names for him, and the list was burning a hole in Paul’s wallet. The only remaining question Paul had was this: could he actually speak his fear, emptiness and anger out loud? He had rarely done so, and never voluntarily. The few times he’d blurted out his feelings it had been in times of extremis, when he’d been about to burst, and he had always regretted the results. Linda had been the only one who could regularly coax him into revealing his feelings in a way that felt safe to him. But now she was gone, and that outlet for his emotions was lost to him forever.
“Paul!” John was shouting at him up the stairwell. Paul had slowed his motions while he had been thinking these heavy thoughts, but John’s anxious voice forced him to shut down the thoughts, finish dressing, and get downstairs before John exploded.
Mary looked lovely in a navy and white ensemble, and she obviously had already lost most of the baby weight. Alistair looked eager to get out of the house and away from the baby for a few hours. John had stood awkwardly as Mary gave her father a list of instructions while the baby, cradled in his mum's arms, held his arms out to Paul. He wanted Paul to hold him. John smiled softly at the thought of Paul and babies. Paul took the baby expertly and began to ‘speak’ to him with cooing sounds. Now that he was six weeks old, Arthur looked less like a newborn, and more like a little person. He had a fuzz of dark hair on his head, and he’d obviously inherited Paul and Mary’s eyes. The eyes were huge and they were the familiar muddy brownish-green color. John moved over towards Paul, and started making faces at the baby, who was peaking over Paul’s shoulder.
Paul was saying, “You two better get out of here before you lose your reservations,” and urged Mary to stop fussing over the baby. “We’ve got it covered, don’t worry - scat!”
But when the door finally closed behind them, Paul turned around with the baby and said to John with an impish grin, “How foolish of them to leave the two of us in charge of a baby.”
John laughed and said, “Parental malpractice for sure.”
Paul moved towards John, who had sat down on the sofa, and thrust the baby towards him. “It’s your turn. I have to use the loo.”
“You’re not leaving me alone with this baby, are you?” John asked, a little panicked.
Paul said, “I’m sure, in the few minutes I’m gone, that even you will not be able to do anything irreversible.”
Humph was the sound that came out of John’s throat. But then, when Paul was gone, he looked into Arthur’s face. He saw a baby Paul there. His heart melted. He communed quietly but effectively with the baby through facial expressions, and Arthur seemed to want to copy them, but kept falling short. His little face would contort in odd ways, and John was fairly confident that his own face was not doing that!
“So, are you both still alive and in one piece?” Paul asked jauntily as he returned to the room.
“Shurrup,” John muttered, but in good spirits.
Paul sat down next to John, and put his arm along the sofa behind John’s back. He leaned over to look into the baby’s face. "He’s a cutie,” Paul remarked.
“Of course he is,” John responded, “because he looks just like you.”
Paul laughed. “You think?”
“God, yes. Look at these fingers - they are miniatures of yours! And those eyes - and the shape of his mouth. Yeah - he’s your doppelganger.”
“Well, one sad thing’s for sure - his ears are like mine. See how they stick out? They’re shaped like mine.”
“Your ears do not stick out,” John declared loyally.
“They do, you know. I’ve always been a bit self-conscious about it.”
“They aren’t flat against your head, if that’s what you mean, but they’re not exactly handlebars, you know,” John said indignantly. He would defend Paul’s perfect beauty to anyone at anytime - even against Paul himself!
Paul laughed at the handlebar image, and then said thoughtfully, “I suspect we’re always harder on our own looks than anyone else is.”
John knew this to be true because it still utterly shocked him when he heard himself described as “handsome.” He thought his nose was too huge, and his lips were too thin by comparison, and he had always struggled with his weight...
Changing the subject, John asked softly (while still staring at the baby), “How are you doing, Paul? You seem very distant emotionally these days.” Something about the warmth of the baby and the peacefulness he exuded had made John feel safe enough to ask the question.
Paul’s eyes did not leave his grandson’s face as he thought about John’s question. He could lie and say he was just distracted by all that was going on, he could tell a half truth by admitting he was still mourning Linda but it was getting better day by day, or he could tell the full truth and say he was hurting like hell inside as he tried to come to terms with Linda’s death. There was a fourth choice...
“It’s a struggle, I won’t lie,” Paul said finally. “I’m thinking of going to a therapist to help me get through this Linda thing.”
“Really?” John finally looked up from the baby to see Paul’s face. His voice was hopeful and encouraging. “I think that’s a great idea.”
Relieved to have finally said something about it to John, Paul added, “I’ve got some names. I just have to make the calls, and for whatever reason I’ve been putting it off.”
John said carefully, knowing that he was walking on eggshells, “It’s a bit scary, making a decision to deal with your issues in front of another person. But my visits to Fiona are down to once a week now, and neither of us gets fussed if I miss one for any reason, because I am so much better. Haven’t you noticed?”
Paul said, “Yes. Since Linda got sick you’ve been so great.”
John laughed. “You want to say I’m almost unrecognizable, don’t you? But the thing is - therapy can help you get through the little mental tricks you play on yourself that keep you down. But you have to find the right therapist for you. Who are the names on your list?”
Paul pulled the slip of paper out of his pocket and showed John. “I don’t know any of them. Some New York therapists recommended them. Eastman got them for me.”
“Do you want me to ask Fiona about them? Maybe she knows things that will help you to decide which one to pick,” John offered.
Paul remembered how his last session with Fiona had ended so abruptly. He had run away from therapy at the exact moment it was beginning to really hurt him. He had been a coward. And he feared that he would do the same thing if he undertook therapy again. Still, if he limited the therapy to just his grief and sense of loss over Linda, and didn’t open up other parts of his life to the therapist, maybe then he could hack it. He finally answered John’s question. “If it isn’t too much trouble for her, I would appreciate it.”
When Mary and Alistair got back, they walked into their sitting room to see John, Paul and the baby all sound asleep on the sofa. Paul was stretched out, with the baby asleep on his stomach, and John was curled up on the other end of the sofa, with Paul’s feet in his lap. Mary giggled. She whispered to Alistair, “They’re so cute and peaceful. I hate to wake them up.” Instead, she immediately grabbed her camera.
Alistair, who had a less romantic turn of mind, said, “If John sleeps in that position much longer, he is going to wake up very sore.” He moved over to the sofa and shook John’s knee and said, “John, we’re home,” directly into John’s face. John’s eyes flew open and it took him a moment to orient himself. He straightened himself out with some difficulty, as his limbs had gone stiff. He saw Paul and Arthur asleep and smiled. Mary was in the background quietly taking pictures of the scene. He smiled again. How she reminded him of Linda at times. John shook Paul’s foot and gradually Paul’s eyes opened.
Paul found himself being stared at by John, Mary and Alistair. He felt a little compromised. Alistair reached down and carefully extracted the baby, and Paul struggled to sit up.
“It looks like you had a quiet night,” Mary said approvingly. No one looked stressed or harried. That was a good sign.
“Oh, we had a crying jag about two hours ago, but we took turns walking him up and down the room until he settled,” Paul reported honestly.
“Thanks for doing this,” Mary said to them as she took the baby from Alistair.
“It was our pleasure,” John assured her. “We’ll do it anytime you want.”
“We’ll be off now,” Paul said, as he pulled himself to a standing position and then offered his hand to John to help pull him up as well. Soon they were in the car headed back to Cavendish.
John said, “I think I’m in love with that baby already. He has a kind of presence, doesn’t he?”
Paul thought about it and said, “He’s a solid little dude.”
Paul sat in his car in the parking garage for a good 10 minutes. He had gotten there a little early and was now debating with himself whether he should just drive away and give up the whole idea of therapy. But the pain inside him was too strong. He wanted to be able to wake up in the morning with a smile on his face again. He wanted to be able to have an entire conversation with his friends without fighting back tears. Most of all he wanted the darkness that haunted him when he was alone to go away. He could bury himself in music to try to disguise the darkness, like when the sun comes out briefly from behind the clouds, but eventually the clouds took over again. He sighed and told himself he should go in, take the measure of the therapist, and if he didn’t like it he could always never go back. With this compromise in his head, Paul was able to get out of his car, and move towards the elevator banks. He was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. He didn’t want to be recognized going into a therapist’s office. Thankfully he made it all the way to the waiting room without seeing anyone. He wondered if he was supposed to knock, but then he saw a little sign over a red button that said, ‘press when you arrive.’ He remembered that now from Fiona’s office, and he pressed the button before he could talk himself out of it. He meant to sit down and look relaxed, but instead he paced awhile in the waiting room, thinking he still had time to escape.
Then the door opened and Dr. (of psychology) Marc Stevens gestured him in, shaking Paul’s hand as he did so. Paul felt awkward on the inside, but outwardly he was Beatle Paul. Paul had learned to always be easy to meet and laid back when greeting new people. His goal was to put them at ease, and by doing so he was able to relax as well.
From Paul’s perspective, though, this time it was much harder to accomplish because the person he was meeting was going to try to get him to give up his secrets!
Not much in the way of WARNINGS except - THIS IS FICTION, and it is SLASH FICTION, although this is a very tame chapter from a sexual point of view.
Hope you enjoy it anyway. :)
Chapter 124
April 10, 1999
London
For almost a year, Linda’s old friend and fellow animal rights crusader Chrissie Hynde had been working on a memorial concert for Linda to be performed at the Albert Hall. It was scheduled for April 10, 1999, and was an immediate sellout. It would be shown live on the BBC. Paul hadn’t really intended to perform that night, although he knew he would have to make some kind of appearance to dedicate the concert, but Chrissie had urged him to try. Consequently, the few days before the concert they had been rehearsing. John was of course going to be there to back him up, and they had settled on two songs: Lonesome Town (they had just finished recording it for Run Devil Run), and their own All My Loving. There were many other artists, including John and Paul’s friend Elvis Costello, the Pretenders, Marianne Faithful, George Michael (who hadn’t performed in over two years), Tom Jones, Sinead O’Connor, Neil Finn, Ladysmith Black Mambazo, and Johnny Marr of the Smiths. Chrissie would also be playing, and the program would be hosted by Eddie Izzard - a comedian who had always left Linda helpless with laughter. John planned to sing a number on his own - In My Life - in honor of Linda, and he had told Paul he expected him to back him up vocally.
John had been only on the edges of this concert’s planning, propelled as it was by one of Linda’s best female friends. But between the family's cartoon film and her singing album the year before, the Working Classical release of Paul’s, and the upcoming classical music album for Linda (A Garland for Linda) and whatever else Paul had in mind to expiate his grief, John had begun to wonder if the homages would ever end. Just this spring Stella had released a line of haute couture white t-shirts with images of horses on them as homage to her mother. Mary was dedicating herself to the curating of her mother’s photographs, and was setting up exhibitions in cities all over the world. James was busy in Art College, no doubt creating sculptures in his mother’s memory, and Heather - John smiled (he couldn’t help himself) was probably throwing pots as homage.
When these thoughts would assail him, John sometimes wondered why he wasn’t doing something himself. What he could do was write songs, and so in private moments over the last several weeks he had been working on a song to describe the loss of her friendship. He had turned to Fiona, as well. He needed some place to discuss his own feelings of loss, and the less than honorable thoughts he would sometimes have of feeling left out by those he had thought of as family - Paul and the kids. Of all the kids, Mary tried the hardest to remain close to him, although now with a husband and a baby and her mother’s photographs to focus on, she had far less time to spend with him. While this was only natural, it was something that John missed very much. He explained this all to Fiona, who helped him get the hurtful feelings out so he could start to address them in a practical way.
So tonight was the night, and the McCartney and Lennon kids were all going to attend. Mary would bring Arthur in a bassinette, and have the nurse sit with him in a soundproof booth. Mary believed that he needed to be at this concert in honor of his grandmother, who he would never meet. The nice thing about rock concerts is you can wear whatever you want to wear. Paul was dressed in an oversized navy blue suit and a baseball t-shirt on which Stella had silk-screened the image of a sun over an ocean at sunset, along with his trusty old black and white converses. John shook his head as if to say, I can’t take you anywhere, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to tell Paul what to wear at his dead wife’s memorial concert. This was the kind of comfortable thing that Paul wore when he was with Linda, after all. In solidarity with Paul, he wore a black suit (a lot more form-fitting and trendy) and one of Stella’s silk-screened t-shirts, which had a horse with a flowing mane on it. The white converses he wore, though, were brand new and freshly white.
There was a VIP area up at the top of the Albert Hall that had been cordoned off, where the McCartney and Lennon kids and their friends, lovers and associates were to be found. They were all looking forward to the evening’s performances, and were not to be disappointed.
While the strident song, Meat is Murder, started the concert out, the rest of the performances that night were not so in-your-face. When Elvis Costello came out he spoke a few lovely words about Linda and how warm and welcoming she was and then performed the wrenching That Day is Done, a song Costello had written with Paul when he had worked for a few sessions with both John and Paul years earlier. The way he sang the song was gut wrenching, and watching backstage in a dressing room, Paul sat in silence, his face flowing with tears. John sat next to him and softly stroked his back, not caring who would see or what they would say about it. If that weren’t difficult enough to listen to, Elvis than sang Warm and Beautiful, the achingly beautiful melody Paul had written for Linda back in 1972. Sinead O’Connor did a breathtaking version of I Believe in You, the haunting song written by Bob Dylan. The lyrics fit perfectly as a description of how it was for Linda when she first had the temerity to fall in love with a Beatle, to sing in his new band, and to loyally defend him against all comers. As Sinead sang, Paul found he could not listen to it in a room full of people, so he quickly went into a private room and watched it there, sobbing throughout. John, unsure of what to do and not wanting to make a spectacle in front of the people there assembled, stayed with them and tried not to show his open concern for Paul.
Next, Neil Finn was doing a moving version of his song, She Goes On, which seemed as though it had been written especially for Paul and Linda. John had taken the opportunity to slip away from the big room, and join Paul in his private spot. Paul was in tears and John sat next to him. “This is killing me,” Paul said brokenly.
John said, “Tears are always good when they come from music.”
Paul looked at John for a moment and managed a smile. “Sounds like a good line for a song.”
“Songwriters have no souls,” John joked. “Do you think you can go on? I can tell Chrissie it’s no go.”
Paul wiped the tears off his face and said, “No, I owe it to everyone -including Linda - to do this. But promise me - if I get stuck, jump in and sing for me, okay?”
“Of course,” John promised, giving him a hug. “These songs are getting to me, too, you know. Declan and I were out there balling through Sinead’s song.”
Paul leaned his shoulder against John’s and said, “I’m so glad I have you. Not sure what I would do if I had to go through this alone.”
John snorted. “Like you’re ever gonna get to be alone. You know that Presley song - ‘Stuck On You’? That’s your fate mate. I’m stuck on you.” John leered like a drunken Elvis and made Paul laugh.
“Lucky me,” Paul chirped doubtfully.
“Do you think you can join the others, now?” John coaxed. “George Michael is about to sing, and his song is upbeat.”
Paul followed John obediently back to the main room, where he put on a determined Beatle Paul face, and tried not to listen to the song lyrics. Soon, the stage manager leaned in and said, “John Lennon - you’re up!”
“Come on, Paul, you’re gonna do the harmonies. You promised,” John insisted, and they left for the wings to the excited applause of the room’s occupants. Eddie Izzard felt the concert hall suddenly start buzzing, and he could only find a quick few seconds’ quiet enough to yell, “Here he is - John Lennon!” The room went wild, and John strolled out to the microphone carrying his guitar. Behind him the musicians were organizing themselves.
When the sound abated somewhat, John said, “I’m gonna need a little help on the harmonies with this one, so I dragged a random person off the street to help me.” He turned dramatically to the wings and said loudly, “Eddie - push him out here!” With that, shaking his head, Paul came out and the place went crazy. John said sotto voce to Paul, but straight into the mike so everyone could hear, “Now, remember, I’m singing lead on this one. You’re always trying to steal the spotlight.”
Everyone laughed and Paul said sheepishly, “I’ll try, John. That’s all I can promise.”
John turned to the audience and said, “I wrote this song as a poem to Paul for his 23rd birthday. It was a heartfelt poem of friendship. He took one look at it and said, ‘this will make a great song!’ I wanted to throttle him.”
Paul said, “He never lets me forget that.”
“Anyway, tonight I want to dedicate this song to my dearly loved friend, my should-have-been-sister, Linda. She helped me get through my cancer, and I wanted to help her get through hers. It was not to be.”
The familiar chords that were the intro into In My Life began, and John began to sing the words. As he sang, he tried to breath new life into them, hearing them as if they were for Linda instead of for Paul. Halfway through, a few tears escaped, but his voice did not fail him. Paul, meanwhile, closed his eyes when John was singing, and only opened them when it was time to sing the harmony parts, so he could watch John carefully to make sure their blend was perfect. The performance - the tableau they presented - was deeply moving. When they finished, John pulled Paul into a hug. He figured everyone watching and everyone in the audience and everyone back stage wanted to give Paul a hug by now, so he might as well do it for them. He whispered in Paul’s ear, “I love you so much” as he did so. Paul fought back tears and allowed the hug to linger longer and grow tighter and did not worry what people thought.
It was Paul’s turn. He stepped up to the mike, and suddenly Chrissie Hynde came flying from the wings to give him a hug. Paul said, “Chrissie asked me if I would sing something tonight, but I’m not sure I can.” Everyone clapped and shouted for him to do it. “So I guess here goes.” The Pretenders remained on the stage as the back up band, and Elvis Costello came out of the wings. He was going to sing back up for Paul, along with John. John gestured for Elvis to join him at his mike, so he did. This was a crazy moment for Elvis, who idolized both of them.
Paul said, “This is a song that Linda and I both loved when we were kids, she in New York, and me in Liverpool. It’s a song by Ricky Nelson, and here it is.” Somehow, with the spotlight on his face, and the musicians at the ready, and John at Elvis at his side, Paul felt that he absolutely could get through the song.
As soon as Lonesome Town was over, Paul launched into All My Loving, with John and Costello singing backup for him. The song was so joyful and bouncy, that soon everyone was on his or her feet dancing along and singing, arms waving in the air. The rest of the performers came out to sing a rousing final chorus, and the BBC show was over. After the television cameras wheeled back, the performers decided to launch into Let It Be, to close out the live concert itself.
John knew that an empty feeling would come over Paul as well as his children once the show was over, so he had quietly invited the performers and their guests over to Cavendish to celebrate into the wee hours. Most of them came, including Elvis Costello and his wife Diana Krall, Chrissie Hynde and her husband and kids, the Pretender musicians and their significant others, even George Michael came for a short while, and then there was Eddie Izzard of course. And Eddie had the place laughing to tears throughout much of the night. All of the kids were there - Mary had taken Arthur up to the master bedroom, and had breastfed him there and then left him there with the nurse sitting by so she could go down and party with the rest. Stella was there with her newest boyfriend, who seemed bewildered by the massive family and their numerous famous friends. He hardly said a word all night, taking it all in.
Elvis and Diana, of course, knew about John and Paul’s “arrangement,” but many of their guests did not - at least not for sure. Stella stepped into the breach and acted as a kind of hostess with the mostess, so that restless minds did not reach private conclusions. No one seemed to suspect anything at all, especially in light of Paul’s obvious grief over Linda’s death. There was a woman there, a friend of one of the musicians, who had her eye on Paul. She saw him standing in the beautiful sitting and dining rooms and she saw all the priceless original paintings, sculptures, and objets d’art. She also got up close to him and saw him with her actual eyes - right there in front of her. And he was gorgeous. There was something fey and otherworldly about him - as if he were an enchanted creature from another planet that made more beautiful people than this one - but he seemed at the same time very approachable. So she approached.
“Hello, I’m Imogen,” she said as she offered her hand. Her voice and her eyes were sultry.
Paul didn’t notice the sultry. He said with Liverpudlian bonhomie, “Hello, Imogen. To whom do you belong?” His eyes danced with warmth.
Imogen was transfixed for a moment. Who am I with? She ran the question through her brain again as if she didn’t know the words. Oh! He was expecting an answer! “I’m a friend of one of the Pretender’s wives,” she managed.
Paul was amused by this answer. One of the Pretenders? They had names, didn’t they? Oh, well, people often had brain farts when they first met him. Sometimes they couldn’t talk at all. “Well, nice to meet you Imogen, friend of one of the Pretender’s wives.” He offered his hand playfully, which she shook. She wasn’t a bad looking woman. Her beautifully coiffed blond hair was piled in an up do, but it managed to look very informal, with tendrils of hair leaking out and kissing her neck and chin. She had more makeup on than necessary for Paul's taste, but it was expertly done. And - (Paul was good at looking without being seen to be looking) - she had an enviable figure, especially her “chest”. Now he caught a flirty look in her eye. Oh. She’s flirting with me. He instinctively started to neutralize his expressions and body language. Twenty-nine years of marriage had taught him how to put up the no trespass sign. Linda will be really mad if... And then Paul stopped that thought. He had actually been thinking of Linda in the present tense, as if she were in the next room. He didn’t have to cut off flirting anymore, at least not for Linda’s sake, Paul realized. But this night and this particular celebration were not the right time or place to flirt. Consequently, he stepped back once, and allowed a kind of distance to fall between them. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Stella struggling with a champagne bottle.
“Oh! I’ve got to give my baby girl a hand,” he said apologetically, and quickly moved over to Stella’s side and took over the champagne bottle.
This little scene had not gone unnoticed by John, who rarely let Paul completely out of his sight in a room full of people, especially women. He had frankly expected this kind of thing to happen sooner and more often. Paul was - in the eyes of the female world - a widower now: a billionaire widower, who was beautiful, famous, talented, charming, smart, and loveable. Sexiness exuded from him, but not in a Stanley Kowalski way. No, Paul’s sexuality was more sensual. And his lovemaking was that way, too. Not that this little piece of tinsel was ever going to learn about that, John swore under his breath.
Imogen was disappointed but she wasn’t giving up. A few minutes later she sidled over to Stella and began to praise her lavishly about her clothes. Stella had Paul’s canniness about extravagant praise. Neither one of them trusted it. But Stella was polite. There wasn’t much that they had in common, so the conversation quickly shut down, and both women went their separate ways. Imogen had to figure out some way to be able to get in touch with him before the party was over. Chrissie Hynde! She thought. She’d get closer to Chrissie Hynde, and maybe that would be her ‘way in’. For that night, though, she had batted a big fat goose egg.
Finally, everyone had left, even Mary and Stella. Heather had gone to bed much earlier (she was not a party person), and James and Sean decided to visit a nightclub for an hour or so before turning in. Julian and his girlfriend were up in the attic suite. John and Paul were getting ready for bed.
“You got hit on tonight,” John said, keeping his voice and expression light and amused.
Paul looked up confused for a moment until he remembered the woman who was a friend of one of the Pretender’s wives. He chuckled. “I did!” He admitted.
“It looks like you turned her down,” John said, still trying to sound jokey, although he was serious about Paul’s answer.
“It was a pretty tacky place to be flirting - in Linda’s home after her memorial concert,” Paul said.
John winced when he heard the words “Linda’s home” but let that pass. Instead he said, “There will come a time and a place where it isn’t ‘inappropriate’ for a woman to flirt with you. What are you going to do then?”
Paul, who had just flopped down on the bed, suddenly realized the conversation had turned serious on him. John was prying to find out if he had any interest in dating women again. At that moment, Paul could not imagine any woman other than Linda. And he really didn’t think John would be willing to share him again. On top of that, Paul had found ‘sharing’ exhausting. He doubted seriously he ever wanted to do that again. He said, grinning at John in a suggestive manner, “I’ve got my hands full just with you.”
John’s smile looked relieved, but also uncertain. Paul realized that John was very insecure about this issue. He patted the bed beside him. “Come here, John. Let’s hold each other, shall we?”
John was happy to oblige.
*****
Cavendish
Mid-May 1999
Mid-May 1999
John was excited, and bustling around the house. Paul was at the studio, working on some songs for the old time rock ‘n roll memorabilia album John and Paul were doing, Run Devil Run. They had written a few new original songs, but most of the songs were covers of old favorites from the ‘50s. Paul was expected back home in the late afternoon, after which they would be headed over to Mary and Alistair’s home to babysit Arthur for the evening. It would be Mary and Alistair’s first night out at a restaurant since Arthur’s birth. John was excited to spend an evening taking care of a baby with Paul. He didn’t know why this was so exciting, but he suspected it had to do with hopeless fantasies he’d once had of being able to marry and have babies with Paul. He’d known having babies with Paul was an impossibility but when he’d lain on his patio chaises at Kenwood back in the late ‘60s watching Paul playing with young Julian, sometimes his fantasies (drug-fueled, no doubt) took on a life of their own. Well, now, in 1999, there was a baby, and it was going to be entrusted to them for about four hours, and John was excited about it. He had been irked by Paul’s blasé attitude. Of course, Paul had raised four of his own children plus, in a way, two of John’s, and Paul was far more laid back and confident about the babysitting thing than John. It held no mysteries for Paul.
John was also anxious because he was worried that Paul might get delayed at work, in which case he would have to go over to the Donalds’ home by himself, and then he would be left alone with the wee baby. John wasn’t sure he had the ability to do it. He had bragged about being a ‘house husband’ and raising Sean by himself to the interviewers he had spoken to in 1980, but the truth was Sean always had a Japanese nanny, who had literally slept on the floor next to Sean’s bed until he was one year old, and then slept in the room next to him for the years after that. Whenever Sean had become fussy, or needed to be fed, the nanny had stepped in and taken the baby away. Neither John nor Yoko had that much of a nurturing streak in them at that point, addicted as they were to heroin and all. John began to fear that he wouldn’t know what to do with Arthur, his honorary grandson. Arthur. What a grown up name for such a tiny mite!
Of course Paul got home on time, and was bemused a little by John’s amped up behavior. John was urging him to hurry so they could leave. “We’re right on time,” Paul mumbled as he hurried upstairs to change - he figured that there was no point in arguing over such a stupid thing. It was kind of cute, when he thought about it some more: John being so eager to spend time with the baby.
For Paul, the birth of his first grandchild had been a bittersweet experience. Sweet because of Mary’s happiness, the beautiful baby, and John’s enthusiasm about it; bitter because Linda was not there to share in it. Linda would have been an awesome grandmother, and how cruel was fate that she never got the chance? He did not want these feelings to spoil the event for Mary and the rest of his family, so he did what he always did at such times - he buried them. He might have been able to discuss these things with John, but he sensed how hurt John could be when he spoke of how much he missed Linda. Paul didn’t want to hurt John in that way. So here it was again: he was the ‘strong, silent one’, with no one with whom he could share his pain. For this reason, more and more, Paul had considered going to a therapist to work through his loss. An objective third person with specialized training would be able to hear his fears, his emptiness, and even his anger over being left to live the rest of his life without Linda. John Eastman had gotten a few names for him, and the list was burning a hole in Paul’s wallet. The only remaining question Paul had was this: could he actually speak his fear, emptiness and anger out loud? He had rarely done so, and never voluntarily. The few times he’d blurted out his feelings it had been in times of extremis, when he’d been about to burst, and he had always regretted the results. Linda had been the only one who could regularly coax him into revealing his feelings in a way that felt safe to him. But now she was gone, and that outlet for his emotions was lost to him forever.
“Paul!” John was shouting at him up the stairwell. Paul had slowed his motions while he had been thinking these heavy thoughts, but John’s anxious voice forced him to shut down the thoughts, finish dressing, and get downstairs before John exploded.
*****
Mary looked lovely in a navy and white ensemble, and she obviously had already lost most of the baby weight. Alistair looked eager to get out of the house and away from the baby for a few hours. John had stood awkwardly as Mary gave her father a list of instructions while the baby, cradled in his mum's arms, held his arms out to Paul. He wanted Paul to hold him. John smiled softly at the thought of Paul and babies. Paul took the baby expertly and began to ‘speak’ to him with cooing sounds. Now that he was six weeks old, Arthur looked less like a newborn, and more like a little person. He had a fuzz of dark hair on his head, and he’d obviously inherited Paul and Mary’s eyes. The eyes were huge and they were the familiar muddy brownish-green color. John moved over towards Paul, and started making faces at the baby, who was peaking over Paul’s shoulder.
Paul was saying, “You two better get out of here before you lose your reservations,” and urged Mary to stop fussing over the baby. “We’ve got it covered, don’t worry - scat!”
But when the door finally closed behind them, Paul turned around with the baby and said to John with an impish grin, “How foolish of them to leave the two of us in charge of a baby.”
John laughed and said, “Parental malpractice for sure.”
Paul moved towards John, who had sat down on the sofa, and thrust the baby towards him. “It’s your turn. I have to use the loo.”
“You’re not leaving me alone with this baby, are you?” John asked, a little panicked.
Paul said, “I’m sure, in the few minutes I’m gone, that even you will not be able to do anything irreversible.”
Humph was the sound that came out of John’s throat. But then, when Paul was gone, he looked into Arthur’s face. He saw a baby Paul there. His heart melted. He communed quietly but effectively with the baby through facial expressions, and Arthur seemed to want to copy them, but kept falling short. His little face would contort in odd ways, and John was fairly confident that his own face was not doing that!
“So, are you both still alive and in one piece?” Paul asked jauntily as he returned to the room.
“Shurrup,” John muttered, but in good spirits.
Paul sat down next to John, and put his arm along the sofa behind John’s back. He leaned over to look into the baby’s face. "He’s a cutie,” Paul remarked.
“Of course he is,” John responded, “because he looks just like you.”
Paul laughed. “You think?”
“God, yes. Look at these fingers - they are miniatures of yours! And those eyes - and the shape of his mouth. Yeah - he’s your doppelganger.”
“Well, one sad thing’s for sure - his ears are like mine. See how they stick out? They’re shaped like mine.”
“Your ears do not stick out,” John declared loyally.
“They do, you know. I’ve always been a bit self-conscious about it.”
“They aren’t flat against your head, if that’s what you mean, but they’re not exactly handlebars, you know,” John said indignantly. He would defend Paul’s perfect beauty to anyone at anytime - even against Paul himself!
Paul laughed at the handlebar image, and then said thoughtfully, “I suspect we’re always harder on our own looks than anyone else is.”
John knew this to be true because it still utterly shocked him when he heard himself described as “handsome.” He thought his nose was too huge, and his lips were too thin by comparison, and he had always struggled with his weight...
Changing the subject, John asked softly (while still staring at the baby), “How are you doing, Paul? You seem very distant emotionally these days.” Something about the warmth of the baby and the peacefulness he exuded had made John feel safe enough to ask the question.
Paul’s eyes did not leave his grandson’s face as he thought about John’s question. He could lie and say he was just distracted by all that was going on, he could tell a half truth by admitting he was still mourning Linda but it was getting better day by day, or he could tell the full truth and say he was hurting like hell inside as he tried to come to terms with Linda’s death. There was a fourth choice...
“It’s a struggle, I won’t lie,” Paul said finally. “I’m thinking of going to a therapist to help me get through this Linda thing.”
“Really?” John finally looked up from the baby to see Paul’s face. His voice was hopeful and encouraging. “I think that’s a great idea.”
Relieved to have finally said something about it to John, Paul added, “I’ve got some names. I just have to make the calls, and for whatever reason I’ve been putting it off.”
John said carefully, knowing that he was walking on eggshells, “It’s a bit scary, making a decision to deal with your issues in front of another person. But my visits to Fiona are down to once a week now, and neither of us gets fussed if I miss one for any reason, because I am so much better. Haven’t you noticed?”
Paul said, “Yes. Since Linda got sick you’ve been so great.”
John laughed. “You want to say I’m almost unrecognizable, don’t you? But the thing is - therapy can help you get through the little mental tricks you play on yourself that keep you down. But you have to find the right therapist for you. Who are the names on your list?”
Paul pulled the slip of paper out of his pocket and showed John. “I don’t know any of them. Some New York therapists recommended them. Eastman got them for me.”
“Do you want me to ask Fiona about them? Maybe she knows things that will help you to decide which one to pick,” John offered.
Paul remembered how his last session with Fiona had ended so abruptly. He had run away from therapy at the exact moment it was beginning to really hurt him. He had been a coward. And he feared that he would do the same thing if he undertook therapy again. Still, if he limited the therapy to just his grief and sense of loss over Linda, and didn’t open up other parts of his life to the therapist, maybe then he could hack it. He finally answered John’s question. “If it isn’t too much trouble for her, I would appreciate it.”
*****
When Mary and Alistair got back, they walked into their sitting room to see John, Paul and the baby all sound asleep on the sofa. Paul was stretched out, with the baby asleep on his stomach, and John was curled up on the other end of the sofa, with Paul’s feet in his lap. Mary giggled. She whispered to Alistair, “They’re so cute and peaceful. I hate to wake them up.” Instead, she immediately grabbed her camera.
Alistair, who had a less romantic turn of mind, said, “If John sleeps in that position much longer, he is going to wake up very sore.” He moved over to the sofa and shook John’s knee and said, “John, we’re home,” directly into John’s face. John’s eyes flew open and it took him a moment to orient himself. He straightened himself out with some difficulty, as his limbs had gone stiff. He saw Paul and Arthur asleep and smiled. Mary was in the background quietly taking pictures of the scene. He smiled again. How she reminded him of Linda at times. John shook Paul’s foot and gradually Paul’s eyes opened.
Paul found himself being stared at by John, Mary and Alistair. He felt a little compromised. Alistair reached down and carefully extracted the baby, and Paul struggled to sit up.
“It looks like you had a quiet night,” Mary said approvingly. No one looked stressed or harried. That was a good sign.
“Oh, we had a crying jag about two hours ago, but we took turns walking him up and down the room until he settled,” Paul reported honestly.
“Thanks for doing this,” Mary said to them as she took the baby from Alistair.
“It was our pleasure,” John assured her. “We’ll do it anytime you want.”
“We’ll be off now,” Paul said, as he pulled himself to a standing position and then offered his hand to John to help pull him up as well. Soon they were in the car headed back to Cavendish.
John said, “I think I’m in love with that baby already. He has a kind of presence, doesn’t he?”
Paul thought about it and said, “He’s a solid little dude.”
*****
Paul sat in his car in the parking garage for a good 10 minutes. He had gotten there a little early and was now debating with himself whether he should just drive away and give up the whole idea of therapy. But the pain inside him was too strong. He wanted to be able to wake up in the morning with a smile on his face again. He wanted to be able to have an entire conversation with his friends without fighting back tears. Most of all he wanted the darkness that haunted him when he was alone to go away. He could bury himself in music to try to disguise the darkness, like when the sun comes out briefly from behind the clouds, but eventually the clouds took over again. He sighed and told himself he should go in, take the measure of the therapist, and if he didn’t like it he could always never go back. With this compromise in his head, Paul was able to get out of his car, and move towards the elevator banks. He was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. He didn’t want to be recognized going into a therapist’s office. Thankfully he made it all the way to the waiting room without seeing anyone. He wondered if he was supposed to knock, but then he saw a little sign over a red button that said, ‘press when you arrive.’ He remembered that now from Fiona’s office, and he pressed the button before he could talk himself out of it. He meant to sit down and look relaxed, but instead he paced awhile in the waiting room, thinking he still had time to escape.
Then the door opened and Dr. (of psychology) Marc Stevens gestured him in, shaking Paul’s hand as he did so. Paul felt awkward on the inside, but outwardly he was Beatle Paul. Paul had learned to always be easy to meet and laid back when greeting new people. His goal was to put them at ease, and by doing so he was able to relax as well.
From Paul’s perspective, though, this time it was much harder to accomplish because the person he was meeting was going to try to get him to give up his secrets!
*****