Days in the Life

Chapter Twenty

It was nearly one o'clock by the time I finally opened my eyes the next day; I'd been totally drained of my energy from the night before, so I'd slept soundly. I expected Paul to be sleeping cozily right next to me in bed with both hands tucked under his pillow and his feet sticking out from underneath the sheet at the edge of the bed like he always slept, but he was nowhere to be seen. I rolled over, propping myself up on my arm and said, "Paul?" just loud enough so he'd hear me if he were in the bathroom or something. No answer.

"Hmm," I said, pulling my robe around me and yawning. I took a nice long shower after I got up, just letting the steam from the hot water fill up the bathroom in a misty haze and fogging up the mirror, then stepped out of the shower stall and combed through my hair. My hair had grown pretty damn fast since I'd gotten it cut to shoulder-length at the beginning of May; it was already back to its original length down to the middle of my shoulder blades. My bangs needed a trim, though; they were getting to the point where they were growing beyond my eyebrows and tickling the very top of my eyelids. I didn't want to chance doing it myself, though if they kept driving me nuts before I could get home and go to Angela's Beauty Box to get them trimmed, I'd be at the point of wanting to grab a pair of gardening shears and hacking them off.

Once I stepped out of the haze-filled bathroom, dressed properly in my pink mini skirt and a sleeveless knit top, I opened the curtains keeping the daylight out of the room and took a peek out the window. Just below me on the patio, I saw John and Paul sitting at one of the picnic tables, a mess of notebook paper strewn into piles all across the table. John had his acoustic guitar with, and he would pluck out a few notes, then scribble something down on the paper in front of him, so I safely assumed that they were working on a song together. After a couple minutes of watching them through the glass pane, I opened the window and listened to them. John shifted in his seat on one of the benches, adjusted one of the strings on the guitar, and began to sing softly.

"Let me take you down, 'cause I'm go-ing to…Straw-ber-ry Fields…Noth-ing is real…and noth-ing to get hung-a-bout…Straw-ber-ry Fie-lds For-ev-ah."

"Not bad at all," Paul said, tapping the ash from the end of his cigarette into the gold ashtray in front of him at the table. "We've got to show these to George when we get back to EMI and see what he can make of 'em."

I smiled, choosing then to alert them to my presence. "Another hit single?" I commented, leaning out of the window with crossed arms. They both looked up at me, startled that they'd had an audience.

"Perhaps," Paul remarked, "though right now I doubt we'd get a penny playing the songs on a street corner. We'll have George Martin wave his magic wand and transform them into something tolerable when we get back home."

"George Martin?" I asked.

"Our producer."

"Oh, that's right," I said. "Hey, I'll be down in a minute, okay? I don't feel like yelling over the rooftops here."

John nodded, and I slid the window closed, locking it securely before heading down the staircase and out the patio doors into the fresh air. Paul was grinding out his cigarette and pocketing the rest before John could snatch one from him as I stepped out the patio doorway.

"He's brilliant," Paul said, continuing straight on with the conversation we'd started earlier when I was shouting like Juliet from her window above. "He's the one that suggested strings for 'Yesterday'…and he played the piano part on 'Hard Day's Night.'"

"So…he's sort of the Fifth Beatle, huh?" I laughed, sitting next to him on the bench.

John nodded, tapping the side of the guitar with the palm of his hand. "In a way, yeah…you know, there were five Beatles at one point. Before Paul picked up the bass, one of me pals from art college, Stu Sutcliffe, played it."

"Not very well, I might add," Paul murmured in a sing-songy voice, avoiding John's gaze as he stacked up the lyric sheets on the table.

John either chose to ignore Paul's little comment or he just didn't hear it, since I didn't see any kind of visible reaction from him.

"What happened to him?" I asked. "Did he quit?"

"He died," John said bluntly. John certainly was never one for subtleties. "He stayed in Hamburg to marry this fab Exi bird-Astrid-that we all knew…but he had a brain hemorrhage and died a day before we came back to Germany for another set of shows in town."

"Oh…I'm sorry."

I glanced over at Paul, who decided to change the subject after finally receiving a dirty look from John. "And then there was Pete Best, our drummer."

"I've heard about him," I remarked. "But why did you guys fire Pete? Wasn't he the most popular member of the group at a time?"

"Aye, well, your little Paulie there got jealous because Pete pulled all the birds and left him with none," John said, making a face at Paul that just said "so-THERE!"

Paul frowned, then rolled his eyes; John stared straight on at him, drumming his fingers loudly on the side of the guitar. "No, that's not the story," Paul continued. "He wasn't a great drummer. George Martin was none too impressed with him at our audition for EMI four years ago, so we ended up giving him the boot and letting Ringo join the band for the recording session."

"Not for that first session," John sniffed, stopping his irritating drumming. "He doesn't play on 'Love Me Do'; that was some bleedin' session drummer that George Martin insisted on having play on the record instead."

Paul was about to reply, but before he could get the words out of his mouth, we heard Ringo shout, "Hey, you all are on Candid Camera!"

Paul and I turned to see Ringo holding a whirring Super-8 camera up, filming us. "Hello, kiddies," he laughed, waving as he made sure to hold the camera steady.

John dropped his cranky attitude within about two seconds and leaped from his seat, standing right in front of Ringo and pulling faces for the camera. Paul giggled, grabbing me by my wrists and pulling me to my feet to start spinning around in an out-of-control version of Ring-around-the-Rosy.

"Hey, Paul!" I shouted as we veered nearer and nearer to the edge of the pool. I looked at the glasslike surface of the still water every half a second as I spun within view of it. Hmm…let's put on a show for the camera! I thought, grinning devilishly. Besides, I still had to get even with him and the others for pulling that stunt the other day where they dumped me into the pool.

"What?" he replied as the world around us became a blur as he spun me faster and faster…and we neared the edge of the pool more and more…

"What if I let go…right about-NOW!" I shouted, letting go of his hands at the precise moment his back was to the pool. He flew backwards before he even knew what was happening, sending a splash of water out of the pool that reached my feet even after I'd taken a wide step backwards to avoid any fallout from my actions. Paul kicked his way back to the surface of the water only to find me grinning fiendishly, standing with the toe of my shoes just barely hanging over the edge of the pool. John and Ringo were in hysterics at the other end of the patio; Ringo snapped off the camera and fell to his knees, laughing so hard that I thought he was going to wet his pants!

"You are dead, Lauren Ashley Donaldson!" Paul shouted, half-laughing as he cut across the water with his hand, trying his damnedest to soak me as I backed quickly away from the pool. After a few more futile attempts to soak me as well, he climbed out of the pool dripping wet, and John approached him with a fiendish grin on his face.

"Well, Macca, a cold bath was just the thing you needed…you made Laurie wake up the whole lot of us last night!" John laughed, slapping him on the back.

Paul was trying to squeeze some of the excess water out of his shirtsleeves. "Oh, for hell's sake, John," he muttered, making a face as he walked for the patio door, his soaked tennis shoes making that squishy sloshing noise with each step. He looked up from studying his noisy shoes and saw that Ringo had started filming with the Super-8-then proceeded to make a rather ungentlemanly gesture just out of the camera's range of focus as he passed by into the house. Neil was just on his way outside to join us and nearly ran into Paul as he stormed inside.

"Hey, behave yourself or I'll tell your mother of ya," Neil laughed, then surveyed the path of wet footprints a drenched Paul had left behind. "All right, John; why'd you give him a shove?"

John's eyes went wide. "It wasn't me!" he cried. "Laurie did it!"

Neil made a face, glancing over at me, then back at John. "Come off it; Laurie hasn't the strength to push one of you in."

"Aye, but she did, I tell you," John replied. "She was twirling 'round with Paul and she let go of his hands at just the right second and sploosh! He was in the water."

Neil looked at me sternly; for a minute I thought he was genuinely upset with my actions, but after a moment he broke into a smile and said, "What a thing to do, young lady, when we've got guests coming."

"Guests?" I asked. "Anna isn't due here until-"

"I know that, but there's others coming here as well, you know," Neil said as Ringo handed him back the camera. "Derek Taylor and his wife are due here at any moment."

"Who's Derek Taylor?" I asked John as Neil and Ringo started talking about something to do with the camera not working properly or running out of film or something.

"He used to be an assistant to Brian, but they had their differences and Derek moved here to the States," John replied. "He lives not too far from here and decided to drop in on us and pay a visit while we're here."

"Oh," I said, watching as John picked up his guitar and the song sheets and brought them inside the house. I was left alone on the patio for about two minutes before Paul re-emerged from the house; he'd towel-dried his hair as much as he could and he'd changed into dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt, looking very much as if he'd stepped straight off the movie screen in Help! He didn't have much to say to me right away except, "David Crosby got here while I was inside."

"Huh?" I said. "You mean the David Crosby-the guy from the Byrds?"

Paul nodded. "Yeh…he and Ringo are going to go shoot a game of billiards in the game room," he said nonchalantly. "Want me to go introduce you?"

I nodded, and he held out his hand to me and smiled; I guessed that he'd developed a sense of humor while he'd changed out of his wet clothes and had forgiven me for my actions. I took his hand and followed him into the house and down the hallway to the game room. Sure enough, there were Ringo, John, and David Crosby setting up the balls on the green felt-covered pool table; they all looked up when we stepped into the doorway to watch them.

"Hello, Paul," David said, smiling politely. He looked exactly like he did on TV, with the same haircut the Beatles wore. "And who's this pretty lady you've got with you?"

"This is Laurie Donaldson from Chicago," Paul said. "She's a good friend of ours; we stayed at her house last January…and we decided to return the favor by bringing her with for the tour."

"Oh; it's very nice to meet you, Laurie," David said, shaking my hand. "Care to play pool with us? We can play in teams of three; George is going to join us in a moment."

Paul said, "Sure; sounds great," but I shook my head.

"I haven't played pool in about five years, Paul," I whispered to him. "I used to play it at my Uncle Jack's house until they lost their pool table in a flood a few years back… I'm going to be terrible at it."

Paul crossed his arms and gave me a look. "And what makes you think that John is going to work miracles without his glasses on? You remember how he did on miniature golf by your house…"

I hid a laugh as John stood up straight after making the first shot, barely clipping the ball at the left edge of the triangle formation at the opposite end of the table. "Yeah, I know, I bloody know," he muttered, standing aside. "Your shot, Dave."

While David and Ringo took their shots, I selected one of the cue sticks from the rack on the wall and chalked up the tip of it with one of those messy blue chalk cubes resting on the top of the rack, then rejoined the group, standing next to Paul as he took his shot. He managed to sink one of the striped balls into the corner pocket, then moved around to the other side of the table to take a shot at the blue-striped ball near one of the center pockets. The eight ball was right in the pathway to the blue striped one… but if you could pull off one of those tricks where you hit the ball and made it jump over the eight ball, it just might work.

"Watch this-trick shot," he murmured, lining up the shot. He drew the cue back and-smack! The cue ball went leaping over the eight ball, rolled towards the blue stripe, and tapped it just enough to roll it into the pocket with a thud.

George had reappeared in the room just in time to see Paul's shot. "Showing off in front of your girlfriend again, eh?" he said, opening the bottle of Coke he'd retrieved from the kitchen.

David blinked a few times. "She's your girlfriend?" he asked Paul as George set the Coke bottle down and surveyed the pool table, looking for an easy shot at a solid-colored ball.

Paul nodded, putting a finger against his lips. "Sssh…don't tell anyone," he laughed, whispering just loud enough so we could hear him. He took his second shot at the red-stripe but missed it by a mile.

"Ah… it was a difficult shot, anyways," Paul said, sitting down on one of the benches surrounding the table. "Your turn, George."

George did quite well, getting the green solid into the corner pocket on an easy shot, then just barely missing a shot at the red solid one. "Who's next?"

John jerked his thumb at me. "Laurie is," he said quickly.

"O-kay…but I'm probably going to mess up the game in one shot," I said, looking at the table. Oh, great; George had left me with practically no shot at anything. I was going to have to make some kind of freak shot at something and pray to God that it get somewhere near my target!

"Come on, Laurie, luv," John said, poking me in the shoulder with the un-chalked end of his pool cue. "We had to play your little golfing game at home-now you try this."

I sighed, leaning over and lining up my shot. I had no choice but to try for the yellow stripe that was all the way across the table from the cue ball; even if I were closer it would still be a difficult shot from the way the ball was angled away from the pocket.

"Oh well…here goes the game," I sighed, drawing the cue back and smacking the cue ball with the tip. The white ball flew across the table, bounced off of the side of the yellow stripe, rolled towards the purple stripe about three feet away from it…and tapped it hard enough to send it rolling into one of the corner pockets. I gasped in total amazement, and Paul clapped his hands lightly for about five seconds as I listened to the ball roll through the little tunnels inside the table and into the tray at the far end of the table.

John threw his hands up, and Ringo said, "Oh-ho! So you're no good at this game, eh, Laurie?"

"She's Minnesota Fats' daughter, Dave," John said. "Maybe we should have told you that before we started the game."

David laughed as I took my next shot at another stripe far across the table. So much for my lucky streak-I missed that one by a mile. Shrugging, I sat next to Paul as John looked for a good shot on the table. "Oh well; it was bound to happen."

Paul frowned and leaned close to my ear to whisper to me, "Cor, luv, you'd better watch how far you're leaning over to make a shot-I could see to high heaven past the edge of your skirt."

My face crimsoned immediately; in my nervous streak I'd forgotten just how to maneuver myself so that nothing past my mid-thigh would show when I moved around. "Oh god…did anyone else-"

He shook his head. "Not that I noticed…unless they just weren't letting on that they saw."

"Eh? Saw what?" John said after making his shot and missing terribly.

"Nothing," Paul said with a wave of his hand.

"Oh, are you talking about how we got a glimpse of her knickers when she took her shot?" John laughed along with George and Ringo.

I gasped, then nearly spun around to smack Paul as he started laughing. "Hey!" I said. "Whatever happened to defending the woman you love?"

"What can I say?" Paul replied, still giggling. "Serves you right for shoving me into the pool."

Before I could give him a very snotty retort, Neil stuck his head into the room and said, "Laurie, your friend Anna is here."

I grinned. "Thanks, Neil," I said, then raced out of the room and headed for the foyer where Anna was waiting patiently, looking at the paintings of birds hanging near the doorway. She looked like she'd just gotten back from a shopping spree on Rodeo Drive; she was wearing a gorgeous light pink A-line dress with a short jacket edged with matching black trim.

"Wow!" I said to her even before greeting her. "I love that dress-where did you find it?"

"At one of the boutiques near my aunt's house," she said, turning around so I could see the whole outfit. "It was my one big splurge today…plus the shoes."

I looked down at her pointy pink Mary Janes. "Ouch! Those things look narrow! Aren't they pinching your feet?"

She shook her head, clutching her black patent-leather purse between her hands. "Nah-I have skinny feet; they're fine…so, how's my George?"

"Perfectly fine," I remarked. "He and the others are playing pool in the other room."

"Well…this is quite a house," Anna said as we started heading slowly towards the game room. "My aunt's house is probably about half the size of this joint."

"Hey, I think we all deserve it after smushing ourselves into hotel rooms for two weeks," I replied. "You wouldn't believe the pile of soaps and shampoos I've collected since we started the tour; we've been to so many hotels…"

"Hmph; must be nice being trapped in a hotel room with those four for three weeks," she smirked evilly, elbowing me in the arm. "Eh, Laur?"

"Oh, knock it off. You're starting to sound more and more like Cheryl," I scoffed, leading her towards the game room where the billiards game had progressed quite a bit during my absence. Paul and George were taking their shots at the eight ball, the only ball left on the table.

"Don't let them con you into playing a game with them," I whispered, grinning. "They're crack shots at this game, believe it or not."

Paul was the first one to look over and greet Anna. "Hello, Anna," he said with a quick wave before looking for his next shot on the table.

"Hi, everyone," Anna said, her voice quavering a little bit. "It's nice to see all of you again."

Anna and I watched the guys finish their game of pool-George ended up making the winning shot-and at that point Anna noticed that David Crosby was another guest of theirs that day. "Laurie, is that who I think it is?" she whispered to me as the others congratulated George.

I nodded. "All sorts of interesting folks coming and going in these parts," I smiled as Paul approached us. He leaned forward and gave me a quick kiss on the forehead before setting the cue stick in the storage rack behind me. Naturally Anna pretty much went wide-eyed and could barely keep herself contained before we had a moment where she could whisper to me without the others hearing.

"What was that?" she said.

I didn't want to start discussing all that right then and there in front of everyone, so I motioned for her to follow me to the hallway, and we quietly slipped out of the room without anyone taking much notice or asking us where we were off to. Once we were far enough down the hallway and heading for the stairs, I said, "I just wanted to get out of there so we don't have to talk in front of them."

We dashed upstairs to the bedroom that Paul and I shared, and I closed the door quickly. Anna had her hands on her hips, giving me a very shocked look. "Well, well, well… I do believe you owe me a semester's worth of college tuition, Miss Donaldson. Remember our little bet?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," I scoffed. "Listen, I don't want you blabbing this to anyone-"

"Laurie, who am I going to tell? Cheryl?" she replied. "Like anyone else would believe me…so, what's the deal?"

"Well," I began, arranging my hairbrush and mirror into a straight line on the dresser next to me, "I don't know how to begin this."

"Did you sleep with him?" Anna pressed.

Jeez, Anna; thanks for the breathing room! I thought, frowning at her. Talk about anxious for information!

I shrugged, and just from that, she knew what the answer was, for she became absolutely speechless for about twenty seconds. "Are you kidding me?" she said slowly.

I shook my head. "Nuh-uh."

"Ho-ly…shhhit," she sputtered, unable to think of anything intelligble to say. "I… oh, dear…"

"What?" I laughed, trying to make her feel more comfortable. "Has my face gone green or something?"

"No, of course not!" she laughed. "But…why? How?"

"Well, to tell you the truth…it just sort of happened one night. We'd had a couple of really rough days on the tour-that whole deal in Memphis with the Klan, and then the thunderstorms in Cincinnati-and, well, it was just one of those moments when you don't care about anything else or what comes about as a result of your actions…and we sort of just, well, got carried away with ourselves."

Anna had been clinging to every single syllable I'd uttered as if it were the words of some Biblical prophet. "Wow," she remarked, still wide-eyed. "Was it just that one time?"

I bit my lip to keep from laughing, but the giggles got the better of me. "No," I laughed, shaking my head and grinning.

"So, it wasn't just that one time out of pure unadulterated lust, then," she remarked. "My god…is he…is he in love with you?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but I was eerily void of words.

"Laurie?"

I stared at the lamp in the corner of the room, suddenly overwhelmed with a flood of thoughts. Well, he says he does…but…what in God's name am I going to do in five days when the tour is all over with? What is he going to do if he actually does love me as much as he says he does? Hasn't he thought about that? Or maybe…maybe he thinks this is just a fling for him. What if he'd been just leading me on all that time with the tears and the laughter and every little romantic scene we'd had together?

"Laurie?" Anna repeated again. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I said flatly, wanting nothing more than to run out of that room and get away from face-to-face confrontation with her at that point. "We'd better get back downstairs…they're going to be…looking for us…"

Anna shrugged as I hurried back down the stairs to where Paul was standing at the front door, greeting yet another guest. I stood right behind him until Paul finally took notice that I was there and said, "Ladies, come here and I'll introduce you."

I gave him a quick smile, bringing Anna with me as I made my way over to Paul, who was standing there with a man, his wife, and their small son.

"Laurie, Anna, this is Derek Taylor, his wife Joan, and their son Derek Jr.," Paul said. "This is Anna, and this is Laurie Donaldson; she's a very good friend of ours from Chicago."

"Isn't her father the one that let you stay at their house?" Derek said.

Paul nodded. "Yeah, the whole lot of us were snowed in at her home for a couple of days, too," he explained as Derek's son, probably about two years old, started running around the living room, both screaming and laughing at the same time.

Derek turned to look at the child and said, "Now, Derry, be careful! And mind your manners!"

The kid stopped in his tracks for a moment, then began snickering again and ran straight at us, dodging his father's arms and hid behind Paul's legs. Paul turned around and grabbed at Derry's shirt sleeve, but the tot was too quick for him.

"You'd better watch out, Derry, or I'll make you go headfirst into the swimming pool out back!" Paul laughed.

"Don't encourage him, Paul," Derek commented. "He's wound up enough as it is."

Derry kept running around and screeching despite his father's warnings and his mother's constant repetition of "Derry, come here now" until Derek finally shouted "Come here right now! What's gotten into you?"

Paul smiled, signaling us to be quiet as he tiptoed right behind the approaching Derry. With one swift leap, he grabbed the kid around the waist and slung him upside-down over his shoulder.

"Well, now you've done it-you're going in the pool!" Paul laughed, marching him towards the patio doors just across the room from us. All of us followed after him as Derry both screamed and giggled, "Eeeek! No! No! No!"

I couldn't help but smile as I watched Paul get ready to toss Derry into the pool. "O-kay! One…two…three!" he cried, but on the third count, he spun the tot back around and set him on the ground. "Listen, lad, you'd better play it cool or your dad's gonna really throw you in, okay?"

Derry ran off again, quiet this time. You know, you wouldn't think that Paul was so good with kids when you first looked at him-even annoying bratty ones-especially considering he could get just so damn moody at times…but there he was, goofing off and having as much fun as the kid was. After seeing how John felt about fatherhood on the plane the previous night, I'd expected the rest of the group to hold similar sentiments… but apparently I was mistaken. Paul was going to make a wonderful father someday… not too soon, though, mind you!

John had come out of the game room and was watching the scene with us. He had a blank yet somewhat puzzled stare on his face, almost like he was listening to someone lecture to him about calculus in Mandarin Chinese. I watched him for a moment, sadly aware that he had probably never had a chance to play with his son like that…or spend any other quality time with his kid, for that matter. I mean, there was a little kid in front of him, probably about the same age as his own son, and he had no idea how to respond!

We all made our way outside to enjoy the afternoon sunshine and sat down at the picnic table near the pool, and Paul eventually joined us after he'd chased Derry around the pool a few times. Derry crawled into his mother's lap and leaned against her arms, contentedly tired. Joan smiled, stroking her son's light brown hair gently. "Perhaps he will take a nap now," she commented, holding her son with one arm around him. "I could certainly use one."

"Perhaps you should take one," Derek said. "It's not good for you to be getting so worn out in your condition, Jo."

"Are you expecting another one?" Paul asked.

"Yes," Joan said. "This one makes four."

"Is that right?" Paul asked. "Well, congratulations… how old are the other two now?"

"Well, Michael is six, and Shelley will be five in October," she replied, rocking Derry back and forth slowly. The little boy was slowly closing his eyes and nodding off to sleep. "And this next one is due in January."

"What do you think, Laur?" Paul said, winking at me. "Want four of your own?"

I laughed. "Not yet-I don't think I could handle one right now," I said, giving him a look.

After about five more minutes of idle so-what-have-you-been-up-to gab, Joan said, "Paul, dear, do you know if there's somewhere I can set this little lad down for a nap where he won't be a bother?"

"You could use any of the bedrooms upstairs," he said. "Laurie, could you show her where to go?"

I nodded, getting up from the table. "I'll be right back, Ann," I said to Anna, and she nodded, trying to keep up with the conversation.

Joan walked behind me into the house, carrying Derry in her arms. I led her upstairs to my bedroom-I didn't want any of the others to burst into their rooms and wake up the poor little kid-and opened the door for Joan.

Joan set Derry down on the bed and covered him with the spare blanket that was hanging over the back of the chair in the corner of the room. "Thank you, Laurie," she said quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking her son's hair to soothe him.

"You're welcome," I said.

Joan sighed after a moment, rubbing her lower back. "Oooh…I'll be glad when these nine months are over with again," she said, closing her eyes. "This isn't easy to do four times…"

"Well, good luck," I said, smiling. I sat down in the chair she'd taken the blanket from.

"So…tell me, Miss Laurie, what's the deal with you and Paul?" she asked quietly.

"W-what?"

"You know what I mean. It's not that hard to tell that there's something going between you and him," she said.

"Well, yeah, we're sort of going together," I admitted, then resolved to tell her no more details than that-no need for the whole world to know that Paul and I were lovers!

"We've been trying to keep it quiet…I guess we're just not very good at it."

"Well, I think it's wonderful," Joan smiled. "Even just now, seeing him for ten minutes or so, I can just tell he seems so…changed."

"Really?" I squeaked. "How so?"

Joan sighed, getting up from the bed and pulling the drapes closed enough so there was just enough light to see by. "It's hard to say. I've just never seen him like this, not even when he was dating Jane Asher… Whatever did happen with her?"

"According to what he told me, he and her got into a battle just before he left for the tour and they haven't spoken since he left England," I said. "I don't know all the details."

"Well, whatever happened, it's for the better," Joan said. "Paul the family man…though he always has been very good with children. He and John's son Julian have such fun when they get together, which isn't very often…Well, it won't be much longer for Paul; he's already twenty-four years old. He'll be thinking about a family of his own soon…"

Man, why did everyone have to get onto the topic of Paul having a family? I wished they'd all just shut up about it-I did not need a stroke of bad luck and actually have something like that come true immediately, if you get my drift! But I just simply nodded and said, "I suppose so…"

"Well, just remember that it's not the easiest thing in the world to be involved with a Beatle," Joan said. "It can get quite dangerous at times; why, the others' girlfriends-"

"I know," I interrupted. "We almost had a bit of a crisis on the flight to Seattle; someone mistook me for Jane Asher-god knows how-and there was a whole big rumor going around that he was marrying her that day."

"Well, that's highly unlikely," Joan laughed.

At that point I wanted to get back downstairs; poor Anna was probably feeling very abandoned downstairs with a bunch of strangers! "Well, if you'll excuse me," I said, getting up from my chair.

"Oh, of course," Joan said, turning her attention back to her son.

I closed the bedroom door behind me slowly and hurried back downstairs. I felt bad for ditching Anna like that-she was my guest, after all, not theirs, and there was no reason for them to entertain her. She'll probably be mad at me for weeks for leaving her alone, I thought as I slid the glass doors open and walked out to the patio. Much to my surprise, Anna wasn't at the picnic table with the others. Brian had joined them, however, and had taken her place.

"Where'd Anna go?" I asked Paul as I approached the table.

"She went into the game room," he replied. "I think she was going to challenge them to a game of table tennis."

I smiled. "Uh-oh; they're in trouble now! Anna was the town champ in the all-ages ping-pong intramurals they did at the Pine Lake Recreation Center in 1956, and she hasn't lost any zing."

We chatted on for about another couple of hours or so at the table. I learned just who the hell Derek Taylor was-up until that point, I had no idea how he was involved with the Beatles! He had been Brian's personal assistant as well as the press officer for the Beatles during 1964. However, he and Brian had a bit of a falling-out about something, and Derek moved with his family to the U.S. I also discovered that he was now handling publicity for some other big-name groups-the Beach Boys, the Mamas and the Papas, and the Byrds. I couldn't help but be impressed.

Just as it was getting to the point where the sunlight had all but disappeared from the backyard, Neil poked his head out the patio door and announced that it was time for dinner. The kitchen help had made a wonderful dinner of roast beef, potatoes, broccoli, and cake for dessert; I ate until I just about burst! Anna barely ate anything; she was much more interested in the goings-on at the dinner table. George and David Crosby were going to head out for a drive to visit a few acquaintances, and Anna just about fell out of her chair when George asked her if she'd like to go with them for a while. He promised that he'd drive her back to her grandmother's house later on or arrange a pickup time or whatever Anna wanted to do.

"Oh, I'd love to!" she squeaked, giddy with the fact that her favorite Beatle had asked her to do anything!

Paul and John had decided to go visit the Taylor home, which was not too far from the house we were all staying in, and Paul invited me with as everyone was abandoning the dinner table following the meal.

"What are we going to do there?" I asked.

"Well, Derek's inviting the Beach Boys over," he said. "We won't be there all night, of course, just for a while, just to socialize for a bit."

Wow; now I'd be meeting the Beach Boys?! What a night-all these famous people coming and going! The Beach Boys had probably been my number-one favorite group before the Beatles came along, though I didn't really have any crushes on any of them. Most of the guys I'd had crushes on had been around during my junior-high and high school days-starting with Elvis Presley when I was twelve. By the time I was fifteen, I could've died to meet Frankie Avalon or Fabian; I would be glued to the television set whenever they were on American Bandstand or the Ed Sullivan Show. After that, there really wasn't anyone that I fell hard for through the next four years or so, until the Beatles hit the scene. It was a little strange, a freshman in college getting such a big crush on the guys-but I couldn't help it. Hell, my mother liked Frank Sinatra a whole lot up until the time she and my dad got married in '44… and she was in her early twenties at that point, so I suppose eighteen years old wasn't too bad for one last teenage crush before college life set in.

George and David were leaving almost immediately for their drive around town, so I had to say goodbye to Anna in a hurry. We hugged each other after she'd found her purse and jacket and waited by the front door for her two companions for the evening.

"Well, I guess this is ta-ta for a while," I said.

"Thank you so much for pulling some strings so I could come over today, Laurie," Anna said. "I'll remember today forever."

"And the night is still young," I remarked. "Who knows what kind of fun adventures you're going to have tonight?"

She grinned. "Well, probably not as much fun as you or Paul have been having at night…"

I rolled my eyes. "You know, you are just as bad as Cheryl," I muttered. "God…"

"So…when will I see you again at home?"

"I don't know; when are you going home?"

"We're leaving on the red-eye flight home on Sunday night," Anna said, "so I'll probably want to catch up on my sleep on Monday. Any time after that is fine, though; I'll have to start getting ready for school again."

"Senior year," I remarked, smiling. "I can't believe we're almost through with college."

"Tell me about it-my dad's checkbook can recover now," she joked. "When are you due back in Pine Lake?"

"Sometime on Tuesday," I said. "Their last show is Monday night in San Francisco, and they're going to spend the night here and leave in the morning."

"O-kay," she remarked, watching as David collected the keys to his silver Porsche waiting in the driveway. "Are we leaving, George?"

George nodded, and Anna pulled her purse strap over her shoulder. "Well, I'll be seeing you soon, Laurie," she smiled.

I grinned. "Of course; have a nice vacation, Anna."

"Bye-bye," she said, waving behind her as she followed her two companions outside to the car. I closed the door after them, then retreated to the living room, where John and Paul were messing with those darn songs again.

"Don't you two have anything better to do than work on those things?" I laughed. "You're supposed to be enjoying a break."

"Our breaks are the only time we have to work on stuff," Paul remarked, tuning his guitar. "It isn't easy writing stuff while you're on tour or doing promotions."

I sat on the couch and watched them for a little while. Neither of them were in an avid writing mood; Paul spent more time tuning his guitar than writing any of the songs that night. At last, he set the guitar down and said, "We'd better get going, John."

John nodded, and they cleaned up their mess before we headed out into the cool darkness of Los Angeles courtesy of the Cadillacs Brian had rented out for us. Paul nominated himself as driver, to which John had no objections, so I slid next to Paul in the front seat and John stretched out in the back seat. He rolled down both windows on either side of him and just let the wind blow against his face as Paul sped down the curvy roads of the area we were in.

Well, now, I thought. This is something new-driving with a Beatle…even though he's going to get us killed if he doesn't slow down a little bit more! After sliding into the door as he pulled a sharp turn, I'd just about had it.

"Paul, would you mind slowing down from ninety-million miles an hour to something a little closer to the limit?" I shouted, hanging onto the door for balance. "I think my parents want me home in one piece."

"Listen, luv, I know what I'm doing," he said.

"My arse you know what you're doing," John scoffed. "That's how you know so damn much about driving-that's how you got your license revoked for a year."

"Uh-oh," I laughed. "Now, how did that happen, Mr. Perfect?"

"Ah, they caught me for speeding three times in twelve months and took me licence away," Paul said, lighting up a cigarette as we stopped at a stop sign. He replaced the cigarette lighter in the dashboard, took a drag, then said in a puff of smoke, "It was three years ago-I've been licenced since then."

"I should hope so," I muttered as he pushed the accelerator and the car gained speed smoothly again. We drove for about another ten minutes before arriving at the Taylor home, a house very much in the same design style as the one we were staying at. Joan welcomed us at the door, and Derek was right behind her.

The rest of the visit was pretty cool-within a minute of walking in the doors I met Brian and Carl Wilson from the Beach Boys. They were sitting in Derek's living room on the couch near the windows drinking Cokes. Honestly, if it had been three years earlier, I would've been begging for autographs the moment I walked in the door, but I played it cool now-you kind of had to if you wanted to hang out with the Beatles! Derek introduced everyone to everyone else in the party, and they were chatting away within a few minutes-nothing highly in-depth, just sort of shy, polite conversation.

Joan came into the room to offer anyone else some drinks, and just then the cry of, "Mommy!" came from the kitchen. She rolled her eyes and said, "I'll be there in a minute, dears!"

"Do you need any help in the kitchen, Joan?" I asked, a little bored with the general conversations going on in the room.

"It would be a tremendous help," Joan said tiredly, nodding. "I have three little ones in there that should be on their way to bed…whether or not they're going to do it is another question…"

I left Paul and the others in the living room and followed Joan into the back of the house. That house had the biggest kitchen I've ever seen-lots of counter space and cabinets at floor-level and on the walls, all done in Southwest motif. There was a brand-new double-doored refridgerator in the corner, as well as a matching six-burner stove across the room. Joan's three children were seated at the round oak table-Derry was in a high chair-and all of them were eating their chocolate ice cream desserts. They were already dressed in their pajamas for bedtime.

"Mom! Derry won't stop dropping his spoon!" Shelley protested, pointing at her little brother with her spoon. Derry was smiling mischeviously, busily licking every bit of chocolate flavoring off the spoon in his hand after scooping up a big chunk of ice cream from his dish.

"Derry, you're going straight to bed after you're done with that spoonful," Joan said, taking the halfway-empty bowl from him. She let him finish his last spoonful before taking the spoon, wiping his face with his bib, and scooped him out of his high chair. "You're done, little lad," she said, heading up the staircase in the corner of the room to the second floor. I guess Derry didn't want to go to bed just yet, for I could hear him screeching all the way up the stairs until a door closed and I assumed Joan had put him in his room.

Shelley rolled her eyes, then turned to me. "Derry never wants to go to bed," she commented in a delicate mix of a British and American accent before taking a mouthful of ice cream.

"I'll bet," I commented. "I have a little sister, and she always used to fight my mother when she had to go to bed."

Michael, the eldest child, had finished his ice cream and was heading for the sink to drop his dish into. He walked towards the table, and, instead of taking his seat in the same spot again, he stood right next to me and was examining my right hand. "That's a cool ring," he commented, taking my hand and getting a closer look at my class ring from Rosary. It really was a nice model-genuine gold with a blue stone in the center-sort of the scaled-down version of a guy's class ring.

"Thanks," I said, pulling it off my finger and handing it to him. "You can look at it if you want."

Shelley was curious to see the ring as well; she quickly finished the rest of her ice cream and deposited the bowl in the sink as well, then raced back over to her brother's side. "Lemme see, too," she said, and Michael handed her the ring.

Joan came back downstairs just then. "Okay, you two-upstairs right now," she said as Shelley handed the ring back to me. "Brush your teeth and get straight into bed."

"Why can't we go sit with Daddy's visitors?" Shelley asked, slowly trudging for the staircase. "They always come here too late and we have to go to bed."

"You two have Betty Ann's birthday party tomorrow, remember?" Joan said, wiping up the mess that Derry had made on the high chair tray. "Now, it's already well past nine-thirty, so get going."

"Can we have a story?" Michael asked. He had a bit more of a British accent than his younger sister.

"Not tonight; by the time I get upstairs, it'll be too late," Joan said.

"Um, I could read to them," I offered, getting up out of my chair.

"Oh, Laurie, you don't have to," Joan said, shaking her head. "I don't expect you to do that-you're a guest."

"Really, I don't mind," I said. "I don't mind helping out; you've got your hands full."

Joan thought it over for a moment before jumping at the idea of having even twenty minutes of quiet to herself. "Okay…Laurie will read to you two-"

"All right!" Michael cheered, and Shelley grinned.

"But then that's it-right to sleep!" Joan said, rinsing off her rag in the sink. "Laurie, their books are in Michael's bookcase in his room."

"Okay," I said, following the kids up the narrow staircase to the second floor. There were four bedrooms upstairs-really nice, spacious ones-each with its own private bathroom. Must be nice, I thought as Michael flipped on the light in his room and ran over to his bookcase to search for a title.

"So…when your mom has the baby, whose room is the baby going to have to share with?" I asked as Michael reached for a book on the top shelf.

"Derry's!" both of them answered quickly, and Shelley added, "No more babies breaking my stuff! Derry broke my Barbie doll!"

Michael brought me three books from the shelf: Where the Wild Things Are, Penny the Parrot, and a book with a collection of fairy tales. "Read the monster one!" he said, leaping onto his bed and sprawling out onto his stomach. Shelley sat next to him, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed.

I opened Where the Wild Things Are and started reading to the kids, keeping half my attention on them and half my attention on the sounds coming from downstairs. Someone downstairs had turned on the radio and was listening to a station with some pop music playing.

I read through the parrot book next, then two of the fairy tales in the thick book-Sleeping Beauty and Jack and the Beanstalk. At that point I was yawning myself, and Shelley's eyes were drooping tiredly.

"I think we'd better end it now," I said, closing the book after reaching the last page of Sleeping Beauty.

"Oh-h-h," Michael groaned, turning himself around and making himself comfortable on his pillow before kicking his slippers off. "It's not fair…I'm not even tired!"

"Well, the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner it'll be morning, and then you can get up and play," I said, replacing the three books on the shelf where Michael had pulled them from. "Come on, Shelley; let's go to bed."

Michael pulled his feet underneath the covers and said, "Goodnight, Laurie," as I shut the light off.

"Do you leave your door open or closed?" I asked him before leaving the room; Shelley was already racing down the hall to her room closest to the stairs.

"Closed-it's noisy down there," Michael said, yawning.

I nodded, closing the door behind me. Shelley was climbing into her bed when I reached her room. I couldn't help but notice that she had a copy of the Beatles' Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow next to her little Fisher-Price record player on her bookshelf.

"Do you listen to the Beatles?" I asked as she pulled her quilt over herself and laid down.

"Yeah-and I love Paul!" she said, grinning. "I'm gonna marry him someday!"

I couldn't help but laugh at her remarks. "Oh, really?" I said, hiding my amusement as best I could.

"Yes; he's my boyfriend and I love him," she chattered, toying with her rag doll's red hair as she closed her eyes. "My friend Nina loves him too-Nina babysits for me and Michael."

"Oh," I said. "How old is Nina?"

"Fifteen," Shelley answered, yawning. "She wants to marry him too."

Oh, if only this little girl knew that her idol was sitting downstairs in the living room! She'd never go to sleep that night!

"Well, I'm sure you two will be very happy together," I said. "When are you going to marry him?"

"When I'm five. Then I'll be a big girl and I can get married and drive a car."

"Don't you have to go to school first?" I asked her.

"I went to school last year," she said. "I don't want to go no more-icky Ben Robbins makes fun of me."

"He does?"

"Yeah, and he pushed me into the sandbox at school," she said, pouting. "I'm not going there anymore-I'm gonna marry Paul and then he's going to go beat up Ben and all the other bad guys at school just like in Help!"

I had to bite my lip from giggling. Four-year-olds are so funny! It's funny to see how they think!

"Did you ever get to meet Paul?" I said.

"No…but he's my boyfriend; I said so!" Shelley protested, getting up out of bed and heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" I asked her as she turned the doorknob.

"Drink of water," she replied, heading into the hallway. I followed her just in case she was going to try sneaking downstairs or something-four-years-old can be tricky if they want to!

Just then, who should be coming up the stairs from the living room end of the house but Shelley's boyfriend himself! "Oh, hello, Laurie," he said. "I was wonderin' where you'd gone off to."

Shelley stopped dead in her tracks, then dashed behind me and hid behind my legs, very shy all of a sudden. She peered out from behind me just a little bit with a funny look on her face.

"I was reading to the kids," I explained, turning my head and looking at Shelley. "Shelley, I thought you said he was your boyfriend."

Shelley looked up at me, then again at Paul, then buried her face in the side of my skirt. "Tell him to go away," she said. "He's not my boyfriend no more!"

Paul laughed. "Apparently she doesn't remember me at all," he commented. "The last time I saw her she was about two years old."

"Oh, but, Paul!" I laughed. "She said she's going to marry you!"

"Oh, she did, did she?" he said, amused by the whole thing. He kneeled down next to me and tapped Shelley's shoulder. "Come 'ead, luv; I don't bite."

Shelley turned her head and looked at him with one eye, then shyed away again.

"I'll tell you what," Paul said to her. "I won't give away your secret if you don't want me to."

She turned to face him and said, "Will you read me a story so I can go to bed?"

"No, no," I said. "I just read you and your brother four of them, and your mother wants you to go to sleep now."

Shelley stamped her slippered foot and pouted, crossing her arms. "No!"

"How about a song before you go to sleep?" Paul offered.

You should have seen Shelley's face light up when she heard that! "Yeah! Yeah!" she cried, running back to her room and leaping into bed.

"All right," Paul said once we both got back to her room. "What song would you like to hear, Shelley?"

Shelley thought for a minute. Well, I hope she doesn't pick a screamer like "Long Tall Sally" or "I'm Down", I thought.

"I know!" she said, grinning. "I know! I got one!"

"Which one?" I asked her. It was going to be interesting to see which Beatles song she'd pick.

"The song from Sleeping Beauty!" she said, grinning. Apparently I'd gotten her onto a Sleeping Beauty kick by reading her that fairy tale.

Paul frowned. "I'm sorry; I don't know that one, luv."

"Yeah, you do," Shelley protested. "It goes, 'I know you an' walked with you once uponna dream-'"

Paul shook his head. "Sorry, Shelley; I can't sing that one," he apologized.

"Boy, are you in trouble now, Paul!" I laughed. "You don't know how the song goes!"

"What about 'Five Little Monkeys'?" Shelley asked.

"I don't know that-" Paul started to say, but I poked him in the side and said, "Oh, I know that one; I can teach it to him."

Paul turned to me. "Oh, really? Well, this is the first time I get to see the legendary Lauren Ashley Donaldson in concert…go ahead, chickie."

I cleared my throat, then held up my hand with my five fingers stretched out. "It's not really much of a song; it's more like a chant…okay; here goes…Five lit-tle monk-eys jump-in' on the bed….one fell off and bumped his head…Ma-ma called the doc-tor and the doc-tor said…'No more mon-keys jump-in on the bed!'…and then you use four fingers, see…"

Paul nodded. "Okay..here goes," he said, stretching out four fingers and folding his thumb against his palm. "Four lit-tle monkeys jump-in' on the bed…"

I had to keep my hand firmly pressed over my mouth and even had to turn away a few times as Paul sang the song to Shelley to keep from bursting out laughing! Of all the oddly surreal moments I'd seen, this had to be the wackiest-Paul singing nursery rhymes to a four-year-old! Shelley was loving every minute of it, though; she even started singing along with him on the third verse.

When Paul reached the end of the song, I applauded the both of them. "Wonderful job, Shelley," I said. "You're a great singer!"

"Thank you," she said, crawling beneath her quilt again, quite content with her brief encounter with Paul. "Okay…I'm tired now; I want to go to bed."

"Okay, luv," Paul said, tucking the comforter around her before he left her bedside. "Goodnight, Shelley."

"'Night, Paul; 'night, Laurie," she said before turning over and closing her eyes.

I shut off the light and closed the door behind Paul and me as we walked back down the hallway towards the living room stairs. "Did anyone ever tell you how really, really great you are with kids?" I said, smiling at him.

"The little ones are a giggle; I don't mind playing along with their games," he replied. "Shelley's always been a sweetie…nothing like her little brother is."

I snorted. "Tell me about it," I said. "He'd run me into a tizzy if I ever had to babysit for him."

We ended up getting home around midnight that evening, courtesy of a very smushed ride in David Crosby's silver Porsche (he had stopped by the Taylor's house after dropping Anna off across town around eleven o'clock). It must have looked like a circus clown act as we all practically fell out of the car when we reached the driveway of the house on Curson Terrace. After saying goodnight to David, we went into the house and Paul and I headed directly up to our room; John and George stayed downstairs for a quick drink or smoke or something.

Paul changed out of his jeans and shirt and crawled into bed, rubbing his eyes. "I can't believe how tired I am," he remarked. "I'm usually still going strong at midnight."

I was busy shimmying into my old white nightgown; there was little need for the sexy pink number, considering there was no way I would fool around with Paul if we didn't have any protection-the box of our provisions was empty. "It's those kids-they wore you out!" I remarked, pulling my ring off my finger and setting it right on top of my vanity case like I always did. "And you said you wanted to be a teacher…no energy level, mister…Hey, what's going on for tomorrow?"

Paul frowned for a moment, thinking, then said, "Nothing that I can think of…last day off of the tour…we'll just see what's going on…okay?"

"Okay," I replied, shutting off the light and crawling into bed next to him. Actually, I was on the tired side, too, and dozed off within twenty minutes of hitting the pillow, dreamily thinking about things to do on the last day off of the tour.

Continue to Chapter Twenty-One...