Hi all! Really excited about what's happening next :-) I finally planned the trajectory of the story but I'd welcome all criticism/comments 💓💓 let me know what you think of the story!
Paul had found a new bird. I was thrilled, for two reasons. One, this would dispel awkwardness between me and Paul. Two, she happened to be Dot Rhone, who I knew occurred in Beatles history. This made me feel a little less guilty about possibly disrupting history. If she existed as Paul's girlfriend, that must mean things could still go on the way they did, right? The Beatles could still be exactly the same, right?
I rolled over onto John, who was sleeping on his side, turned towards me. His mouth was slightly open. I kissed his nose and when he didn't do anything I flopped on my back and looked at the ceiling. Mimi was out over Friday night and John and I had taken advantage of it, talking until we both had fallen asleep. A mere eight hours ago John had reached out for me, running his hands through my smooth hair, down my body—
"Cora—" he groaned.
"John, stop, John," I said, slightly panicked as his hands started slipping past my waistline. "I mean it—"
"What you do to me—"
I made an ugly face at him and he stopped; I took the opportunity to move to the side, stepping off the bed. "I'm sorry," I said, my voice breaking at sorry.
"I don't understand, back at Mimi's, that night..." a bitter tone to his voice.
"That was different," I said, unable to elaborate more than that. That night was something out of one of the darker corners of my mind. Although it was nice, and it was definitely something I wanted, I still was sure it was not somewhere I wanted to go. "How was it different?" he asked, a hint of a whine to his voice.
"John, couldn't you feel it?" I felt a desperation, a frustration in my voice.
"Mm." A hiss, letting pent up air be released through his teeth. He abruptly got up to go to the bathroom down the hall, and I heard him distinctly complain, muttering, "You can't start something and not finish it."
I had gotten under the covers and pulled them close to me, swaddled in material that smelled like him, my thoughts in a whirl. He soon came padding back to bed and pulled back the sheets. I had chosen to don a pair of his pajama bottoms and his smallest shirt, which made me look like a mound of jell-o. Pretty sexy. He climbed in next to me and I whispered, "Sorry," unsure of what he would do, but he kissed my forehead and dropped off to sleep. I was left looking at his outline and hoping for something, but I wasn't sure quite what.
John woke up. "Morning," he said gruffly, and I repeated it, smiling at him.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Dot," I told him.
"Dot Rhone? Yeah, Macca's found a new bird." John yawned and stretched his arms behind him, putting them behind his head, revealing a little underarm hair. "How'd they meet again?"
"Why, he came in to her room while she was sleeping, ya know. That's the only surefire way to get yer bird."
"Huh, and all this time I thought he met her at the Casbah club." We both got up and got dressed, with some resistance from John who would have stayed in bed all day if he could. He loved to sleep. I pulled his shirt off and stuck his arms through a t-shirt until he got tired of it and started dressing himself.
"Brekkie?"
"Brekkie. Waffles, milkshake." He snapped his teeth playfully at me and I shrieked in delight.
A week or so had passed since I had gone to Mimi's for dinner. As I swung John's hand back and forth on the walk to the diner, the debate went on in my head if I should try and redeem myself with Mimi, if I should try and show here that there was more to me than being a receptionist.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Mimi," I sighed, my other hand brushing past a bush plant.
"She liked you, you know."
I turned my head to avoid John seeing my incredulous look. She liked me? Maybe she tolerated me, but I didn't think she liked me.
"Mimi just doesn't show it."
"...Okay," I said carefully, not wanting to delve into the topic any more than necessary. My new plan was not to go out of my way to see her, but to be very nice and polite when I did.
***
At the usual cafe after I had put in an order for a plate of waffles and John a milkshake, he reached over the table and took my hand. I smiled across at him. Right then, I was in a Now Moment, where all I had the capacity to focus on was the moment right then and there, and I loved not having to plan, to just be, to just exist with someone sitting opposite form me. The sunlight outside illuminated the napkin holders and the condiments on the edge of the table near the window.
"You can see the dust in the air," I observed, speaking through my fingers which were covering my mouth. "Look at all the particles floating."
"Men think... highly of those who rise rapidly in the world, whereas nothing rises quicker than dust, straw, and feathers," John quoted.
"Lord Byron," I smiled gently. "From dust you have risen, and to dust you shall return. Genesis."
"Not too soon, you, don't you dare leave me too soon," John said, his lips barely moving, and I thought at that moment his eyes stared straight into the bare bones of my soul. But, like many of these similar times, he bounced back suddenly to an opposite disposition. "I've got a proposition for you, love."
"For me?" I asked, a smirk forming on the outer corner of my mouth. "What could it possibly be? A year's supply of quotes about death?"
"If you do want to hear them from me, you can, because..." he trailed to a stop as the waiter came by and the near prospect of food filled his interest: the clank of heavy porcelain on a wooden table, a glass tall and thick with chocolate delight placed next to it, syrup, which wobbled dangerously, precariously about to fall over in its metal cup. "Enjoy."
We thanked him; he gave us a smile and carried the empty tray away under his arm. John plucked a strawberry off my waffle. "Because I've found a place for us to live, my dear."
My waffle filled fork stopped its trajectory towards my open mouth. "What?"
"It's just a few blocks down from where you work, and..." he trailed off when he noticed I wasn't smiling. "What is it?"
"No, no it's great..." I attempted to piece together my thoughts, the now moment shattering as most moments do when life gets in your way. "I just... this is just so unexpected."
"What's the problem with it, Cora?" he asked, sounding genuinely confused.
"I-I don't know. I guess I haven't even thought about something like this." I put my fork into my mouth, chewing over my thoughts and the waffle.
"I was just trying to help, you know." John took a short sip of his milkshake and sat back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest, looking defensive.
"I know." I put my head in my hands. "I know, love. I think it's the prospect of, well this may sound foreign to you, the prospect of living together before we, uh..." I didn't want to say the m word, but John interpreted it differently. "Before shagging?"
My hands came off my face to reveal a slightly disgusted face. "Don't say it that way. It sounds so juvenile."
"And I suppose you think it's so beneath you. People shag!" His hands slammed the table, probably harder than he intended. "That's life!"
"I didn't mean that," I frowned. He continued, bitingly, "Maybe that's why it hasn't happened yet. You think you're above all that."
"Don't judge me before knowing the whole story," I snapped back at him, taking a swig of water.
"I think I can guess pretty well from the past few months."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
We both realized conversation around us had ground to a halt amongst our rising voices, and we quieted. "Well, what is it supposed to mean?" I asked again and shoved a bite of food into my mouth.
"You don't want me," he said, looking off out of the window as he repeated the words like they were a bitter fruit. "You don't want me."
"Of course I want you," I said, feeling emotions thick and heavy rise again, emotions which were buried and only had risen several months ago, when we first got to Hamburg. "I love you. I just want to wait. What's so hard to understand about that?"
He suddenly got up, the chair dragging across the wooden floor with an ugly grinding sound. I too rose, grabbing him by the arm. He attempted to shake me off, but I persisted, and he broke off with a bitter, "What's wrong with you?"
I stood there in the middle of the restaurant and watched him leave, the storefront bell ringing like a lighthearted laugh as he disappeared in the morning sun. It was like a guitar with only one string completely out of tune, against the backdrop of the sunny blue skies of that day. I sat back down, ignoring the stares from fellow breakfasters, noticing my trembling hands as I balled them into fists, frustrated, sitting up straight and slowly finishing our breakfast with a small streak of pride that I had managed to articulate what I wanted.
***
"I just don't understand her." John paced the floor in Paul's room, his shoes tracing the same path on the carpet as he walked in circles, throwing his hands up in the air, a similar frustration in his eyes. The sounds of a television program leaked through the closed door, Mike downstairs curled up on the couch watching Wagon Train. John had walked past Jim and Mike with a quick "hullo" before heading upstairs to speak with his best friend.
"Be careful, mate," Paul said slowly.
"Sorry," John responded quickly, forgetting history for a split second. "'S all right if you don't want to talk about it."
"It was a mistake," the other said with a hint of bitterness.
"She's a lot."
Paul declined to comment, standing next to his friend, tracing his socked toe over a hole in the rug. "Mm."
"She is but I love her. I—I suppose I'm not used to this kind of authority from a bird. She could practically pass for Mimi." Both boys let a small giggle loose, trying to merge together the two women. "But Paul," John continued, complaining, "You know a man's got his needs."
"Yeah I know." Paul threw himself on the bed, staring at the ceiling, willing himself not to look at John. Just affirm what he was saying. But why not make him squirm a bit? "Dot is pretty boss in the bed ye know." He slid a glance at John's direction; John looked Paul back with a peeved expression. "See that's what I mean. Look, she does everything you say. You tell her to wear this kind of makeup and she does it, she bloody bleached her hair for you. Cora doesn't do that. She won't do it because of all that 'I'm my own person' bullshit."
"But you must admit, you like the 'I'm my own person' bullshit." Paul crossed his legs, leaning them against the wall, his long legs stretching over the Brigitte Bardot poster on the wall.
"Well I—" John shook his head. "The whole thing would certainly be sexier with, you know, the sex."
"Are you that bad in bed, mate? Is that why she won't—"
John threw the first thing on the ground at Paul; a pair of shorts caught the bass player's foot and hung off his left foot loosely. "We haven't even tried. She doesn't want to."
"That's half the birds here. It's normal."
"But with her it's different." John threw something else at Paul's foot; a t-shirt joined his left foot. "Good god, I could stare at her all day. I could talk to her all day or sit in silence with her all day. Just to know she's mine, she's my bird, and I'm happy. She's bloody beautiful. That's all I need." His words faded into the air.
"Cute," muttered Paul, whose relationship with Dot was fairly new that he couldn't relate. John groaned through his fingers, "Macca, how can I make her see?"
"Why do you have to make her see?" was what came next out of Paul's mouth unintentionally. "Why can't you try and see the way she does?"
"What does that even—" John stopped himself and the pacing stopped too as he stood in one spot on the rug. "How does that kind of thinking even make any sense?"
"She's from the future, mate," Paul said from the bed, still contemplating the ceiling patterns. The door opened; Paul sat straight up and the t-shirt and shorts fell onto his face. "Who's from the future?"
"Girl on TV, Mike," John said wearily. "Space movie."
"Oh." Mike's eyes travelled from John to his brother lying on the bed.
"Mike, go watch TV, please," Paul told his little brother, in the tone of voice which meant he meant business. Retreating footsteps; the smaller McCartney had left. John moved to shut the door, thinking out loud. "I left her in the cafe, right in the middle of the meal. Saturday breakfast..."
"You just left her? Bit rough, mate," Paul commented snidely.
"Yeah. 'M feeling a little bad about it. I ought to go round and apologize." Pause. "But doesn't it seem normal for you? To move in with yer bird? Everyone's doing it. And... you know." His hand rubbed his nose uncomfortably. "Shagging."
Paul shifted his position on the bed. "Mm." A thought came to him. "Doesn't this mean no shagging or breaking up? Is that what it's come down to?"
John sank into a seating position on the rug. "I bloody well hope not. I'm never leaving her. Never."
"Even if it means—"
"Yes."
There was a considerable silence. Paul opened and closed his mouth several times, with each new time bringing a different thought. "Well, I guess that's that. Ye still trying to make her see though?"
"We'll talk about it, then." Such was a new thought, a new idea. Cora made him think. John laughed suddenly, thinking of how she pushed him. She was like Mimi, in that sense. Cora with her new ideas and stubbornness and novelty and charm. "Thanks for the advice, Macca."
"No problem," Paul mumbled before shaking his head and sitting upright. "C'mon, Lennon. Let's go write a song."