Days in the Life

Part Two

The telephone rang promptly at five o' clock. I set the issue of People to the side after reading all about Miss Mills and just shook my head. Thirty-two? Thirty-two?! was about all that ran through my head after finishing the glossy photo-and-text spread in the center of the magazine. Amazing…at one point in my life I felt too young for Paul, and now I was been too old for him!

My bitterness lasted about twenty seconds, about the same amount of time it took me to find my room key and purse. Well, if he was happy, then I couldn't be bitter about it. God knows he deserved a little happiness after what he'd been through over the past two years!

I took the elevator down to the ground floor and spotted Pam in the crowded lobby almost immediately once the doors opened up. She was the easiest person for me to find in a crowd. Sometimes it felt like I was looking in a mirror when the two of us were together--more than one person had almost mistaken her for me from a distance and vice-versa! She had the same oddball blonde hair color I'd had all my life, that goofy color that was half-brown and half-blonde all at the same time, and we both had green eyes, the same general face shape…very easily mistaken for one another! Our personalities were another story—sometimes we shared a brain, and at other times we could disagree so fiercely that I thought we’d never speak to each other again. I loved it, both the good and the bad.

She came running up to me dressed in one of her nicer outfits—a very cute pink mini and a white short-sleeved turtleneck--and embraced me, dropping her travel bag alongside her feet. I held her tight. "Thank goodness…I thought I might have had to organize a searching party for you, considering how many damn tourists are packed in this lobby!"

"Nope. We lucked it out," I remarked as she picked up her bag again. "You look lovely…What’s with this mod London look?"

She grinned. "Do you like it? I thought it was cute, kind of ‘60s…and it was cheap, too, considering I’m on such a tight budget and my Mommy wouldn’t send me any money."

"Oh, come on," I said, tapping her arm. "You know very well I thought you would waste it all on that delicious dorm food."

"Ugh," she said, making a face. "Don’t even joke about that! No matter where you go or what country you’re in, dorm food is dorm food."

"I guess so," I laughed. "So…"

"Yeah, I know, I know--where is he?" she said, rolling her eyes. "I knew you'd be curious…He's sitting over there by the phones."

I squinted to get a better look at the blonde guy reclining in one of the plush overstuffed chairs near the pay phones. All I could see at that point was that he had a very short haircut, a little longer than a severe buzz-cut.

"Now, Mom, I don't want you to freak out or anything," she said rather quietly. "This is a very big deal."

"Isn't meeting all of your boyfriends a big deal?" I joked.

"No, really--he's a little…different from the other guys."

"Different how?"

"You'll see…but, please, don't embarrass him or make a fuss," she pleaded. She was really adamant about this…why?

"Pamela, when do I ever do that?"

"Oh, don't even get me started…July 28, 1993--Jeff Mellinger--ring a bell?"

"Honey, I couldn't help that--that was your father's doing."

"Well, you could have stopped him from making a scene!" she pouted.

"Hell, Pam, I agreed with him when he said Jeff was a doped-up headbanger freak," I said plainly.

"Okay, okay…just, please, please, please…"

"I'll behave," I promised.

Pamela stopped at her boyfriend's side and tapped his shoulder. He turned around and stood up, smiling politely at me.

"Mom, this is James…Jamie, this is my mom," Pamela said blankly, as if she wanted to sink into the floor and disappear from the world.

"Hello, Mrs. Carlisle," James said, offering his hand to me. "How d'you do?"

"Fine, thanks," I replied, shaking his hand. Okay…this was bugging me! He had such a familiar face that I just couldn't place it! Hell--maybe one of his parents had been a student of mine at Dominican years ago. Kaylee Porterfield, who was in my fall Poetry class, was the daughter of one of my former students from my first class at Dominican, Shannon O'Brien. It took me about six weeks to figure out exactly who she was, but something about her face just told me I knew her from somewhere--just like with this new guy of Pam's.

"Do you have a last name, James?" I said calmly. I think Pam's face drained chalk-white at the moment I asked that one!

He nodded. "McCartney," he said quietly after a moment.

"Beg pardon?" I said, not believing I'd heard him correctly the first time. Oh, no…no, no, no…it couldn’t be…but there it was, that resemblance. That round face, those big, soulful eyes, the cute smile…everything except the brown hair! My god—this was Paul’s son!

Pam crossed her arms and groaned. "You heard him right, Mom," she said.

"Oh," I said, doing my best to keep my cool, and, believe me, it wasn’t easy! "By chance, any relation to--"

James nodded, getting a little embarrassed. "Yes--really close."

Pam had just about had enough. "Um, can I talk to you for a minute?" she said, taking my arm gently. "We'll be right back, Jamie."

She led me over to the side of the room and said, "Oh, god, Mom! What are you doing?"

"What? Pam, I asked him his last name because he looked familiar and I thought maybe he was the kid of one of the kids I've taught--honestly! That's all I meant by it! I didn't know he was, you know, who he is…"

"Okay…but he gets kind of funny about the whole thing when someone starts pestering him about it," she said in a low voice, keeping an eye on him. "It's not an easy thing for him to deal with."

I’ll bet, I thought silently. I know—I’ve seen it before…

"Well, of course not. Fine, then; I won't say another word about it," I promised, folding my arms.

"All right, then…" she said slowly, turning and walking back towards him. "We're going to go to that place down the street for dinner—they serve vegetarian…does that sound okay to you?"

"Sure. I'm starving," I said. "Do you want to drop your bags upstairs first?"

"Well, we can do that when we get back here," she said. "James has all the cases in the trunk of the car in the parking garage…there's really no need to mess with them right now."

"That's fine," I said.

"Everything okay?" James asked once we'd returned to him.

"Mmm-hmm," Pam said a bit more cheerfully, linking arms with him. "Let's go eat--I'm starving."

"You're always starving," he laughed. I walked behind them, keeping a bit of a distance as I contemplated the situation.

"Well, if you had to live on dorm food, you'd pray for decent meals, too," she answered back quickly.

The rain drummed steadily on the covered walkway leading to the parking garage. James' car--a very posh blue Mercedes with the very familiar 900 MPL stenciled in black letters on the license plate--was parked near the doorway leading into the twisting paths of concrete and asphalt. Daddy's car, huh? I thought, stifling a laugh.

James held the back door open for me and closed it once I'd sat down inside. He held the door for Pam and closed it for her, then began walking around to his side of the car.

"He's sweet, Pam…he really is," I remarked quickly.

Pam beamed with gleeful pride. "I know."

"I hate to pry…but have you met his--" I began, but James opened his door just then, so I ended the question.

Pam knew what the question was, though—did I or did I not say that we shared a brain sometimes?—and she shook her head. "No," she said quickly. "Not yet…"

As we made the short drive to the restaurant down the street, I began to seriously wonder if she'd met up with Paul yet! I had no idea how long she'd been going out with James--she'd never mentioned it to me in all the months she'd spent in London--so maybe she had. And if she did…did the two of them realize that they had a common acquaintance, namely myself?

The restaurant, a rather small, dimly lit storefront, wasn't very crowded at that point. Most people were probably staying at home, out of the rain. The hostess seated us near the back of the dining room, which appeared to be a relief for James, who obviously liked to stay out of the public eye just in case anyone recognized him.

The menu, mercifully for me, wasn’t just vegetarian. We ordered our food--a salad for James, a tuna sandwich for myself, and a grilled cheese and fries for Pam--and then James asked, "What time is your flight, Pam?"

"Midnight," she said, folding her hands in front of her. "I just can't believe I've actually spent a whole school year in London and it's over now."

"How long have you two been going out?" I couldn't help but ask. I didn’t think that general questions like that would embarrass him or get Pam upset.

"Since…let me think…end of January," Pam said, mentally counting back the months that had passed. "Yeah…we met at a music store not too far from here. He was looking for sheet music, and, I don't know, we just sort of bumped into each other."

I smiled. "Not a bad beginning," I laughed.

We chatted on about light topics--the weather, movies, school, and work--for the duration of our rather brief meal. When the two of them went off on their own tangent for about a minute or so, I began thinking again if I should mention to them that I had once known James' father…but I kept thinking against it. Why should I ruin her last night with him by bringing up something that would completely unnerve her? The poor kid wouldn't see him again for…god, for how long, if at all? There was a small matter of about three thousand miles between the two of them, a rather titanic barrier for any sort of long-distance romance.

James graciously picked up the bill for the three of us, which was very kind of him. As we walked out of the restaurant, Pam suddenly gasped.

"Oh my god, Jamie…do you know what I just realized?" she said anxiously. "My whole stack of CDs is sitting at your house right now!"

"Which CDs?"

"My Mozart ones that I bought last week when we went shopping," she said. "I can just see them--they're sitting on the table in the den. I completely forgot to remind you to bring them when you came to pick me up. I think we should get them so you don’t have to spend a million dollars in postage sending them to me overseas."

"It's okay. We'll just drive there and get them," he said.

Pamela turned to me. "Mom, you don't mind if we stop at his…dad's house to get them, do you?"

I shook my head. "I'd enjoy the ride. I think I've seen half of London only from that tour bus they stuck us on for all those hours," I commented.

The rain appeared to be letting up a little bit as we drove out of the crowded city towards the less densely populated suburban area of St. John's Wood. Pam was taking it all in stride, but there I was, breaking into a cold sweat in the back seat, realizing that I was going to the McCartney house, the legendary house that was located a stone's throw from Abbey Road…the house that I very well could have one day been mistress of if things had gone differently…

James slowed the car as we reached a high stone wall with green metal gates at the entrance. He pressed the little remote control box clipped to the sun visor, and the gates swung open. The front yard was little more than a cobblestone-paved courtyard that led all the way up to the front steps of the house. He pulled the car into the two-car garage attached to the left side of the house and shut off the engine. So this was it…the house on Cavendish Avenue that was practically legendary.

"We can go inside for a little while," he said. "I don’t think my dad’s home yet."

Yet?! I thought, terrified. Oh my god—what if he comes walking in the door and we’re all sitting there?

The three of us got out of the car and walked up the stairs leading to the door embedded in the whitewashed ground-floor portion of the building. Pam went running off to find her CDs, and James told me to make myself comfortable while he made a phone call in the other room. I looked around for a moment as I took my coat off.

So this was Paul's house…Just inside those front doors was a smallish living room with some very plain furniture, and the rather simple-looking dining room furniture, looking completely unused, adorned the far corner of the room. A white lace tablecloth covered the table, and an empty crystal bowl was set in the center of the table. The floor was carpeted in a very retro multicolored checkered pattern, and a few abstract framed paintings hung on the beige walls. It was quite different from my house, with all its conservative flower prints and floral couch as far as the eye could see.

I sank down into one of the soft chairs near the front windows and looked outside. The rain had all but ceased at that point, and it almost looked as if the sun was going to come out to illuminate the last few hours of the day. Hopefully Pam would find her things quickly--I really wasn't ready to face Paul again, if there was the slimmest chance that he might show up at the house all of a sudden and I just happened to be sitting there on the living room chair! What sort of reaction would we both have?! And the kids surely wouldn’t have a favorable reaction, either.

Just then, as if my daydreams were coming into reality, I caught sight of the green gates swinging open through the window nearby. In drove a rather flashy-looking dark blue sportscar with a rather familiar personage in the driver's seat. I think my heart just about stopped beating as I watched the car slowly crawl into the garage. Oh my god…it was him…What in the world was I going to do? I did not want to meet up with him again this way, so suddenly, catching him off guard…There was so much I wanted to say to him, so much to tell him…but I just couldn’t come up with the words!

I frantically tried to think of something halfway intelligent to say as I heard the engine being shut off, the garage door rolling closed, and footsteps coming up the walkway to the front door. I knew that I would sound like a complete bumbling idiot the moment he walked through that door! This was worse than meeting him that first time in Pine Lake. I wish I could remember what I said to him when I first met him—ohhh, that’s right: nothing! My mother had distracted all of them with the prospect of a hot cup of tea. This time I didn’t have that way out.

The key turned in the lock and the door swung open. Now, from the way the chair I was sitting in was positioned near the windows, he wouldn't see me right away, so I didn't want to scare the hell out of him. And it turned out that I didn't have to!

James and Pam emerged from the back of the house together as Paul closed the door behind him. "Oh, hello, James," he said, locking it up. He looked wonderfully casual that day, wearing blue jeans, a white collared shirt, and black shoes with a black overcoat. Yes, his hair had gone salt-and-pepper gray ages ago, and time had caught up with his cutie-pie looks just as much as it had caught up with me…but when I looked at him, all I could see was that beautiful, polite gentleman that had come knocking on my door on a cold winter day and set my world into a whirl.

"Dad…this is Pam Carlisle," James said as Paul hung up his coat on the coat rack near the door. "You haven't had a chance to meet her until now."

Paul removed his dark sunglasses and looked at Pam--and, as usual, I think he really did mistake her for me for a moment! I don’t suppose the outfit she was wearing helped the situation any. I suddenly realized that it was almost a carbon copy of the one I’d worn the last time we’d seen each other. He got a far away look on his face as he tried to recall the memory, the name that went with the face…but then he shook it off and recovered.

"It's very nice to meet you, luv," he said, offering his hand to her.

"Same here," Pam answered shakily, overwhelmed by the whole situation. "I have to admit it--I've been a fan of yours for as long as I can remember."

"Well," Paul laughed, "that's always good to hear."

James looked straight over at me. "Pam's from the States, and her mother happened to be here, too," he said, walking over to me.

I quickly rose to my feet, sure I'd gone pale. "Hello," I said, smiling politely.

I think Paul nearly went into shock for a moment. He opened his mouth to blurt out something, but then closed it again as he realized the delicate situation he was in. A smile slowly grew upon Paul's face. "Well…hello, Mrs. Don--er, Carlisle," he said, making the mistake I knew was bound to happen.

From across the room I saw Pam frown for a moment, then she quickly recovered. "Jamie…do you want to play Playstation for a while?" she asked. "I don't have to get on the plane until midnight…"

"Sure," James answered after a moment. He, too, was also aware of the odd energy in the room, and the two of them escaped to the back of the house again, leaving me with Paul.

Paul was still standing in the same spot, barely moving at all as we looked at each other. "My god…Laurie?" he said incredulously. "You are just about the last person I'd expect to see here."

"I know…it's good to see you again," I said slowly as I sat back down. "You look fantastic."

"So do you," he said, crossing his arms. "And Pam is your daughter?"

I laughed. "So I've been told."

"My god…This is too small of a world! I've heard so much about her from my son," Paul said, finally sitting in the chair next to mine. "You and her could be twins. I thought for a moment that it was you with him!"

"No chance at that," I replied. "The ravages of time have hit me since the last time we saw each other."

"What's it been?…Thirty years?"

"Try almost thirty-four," I corrected airily.

He buried his face in one hand for a moment. "Chr-r-ist," he muttered, looking at me again. "I'm just in shock….So, what have you been up to since…then?"

"The usual: family, work," I said. "I have four kids."

"Well, if they're anything like Pam, they all must be wonderful. James is so happy with her."

"It seems that way. We all just went out for dinner, and the two of them together is just…they mesh so well…"

"Kind of like the older McCartney and Donaldson did," he said wistfully.

"Yeah…just like that," I laughed.

"How about your other kids?"

"Well, there's John, my oldest…and Paul, who's twenty-seven…and my baby Michelle is graduating high school in a few weeks," I proudly replied.

"Oh, really? John and Paul?" he grinned. "Wonder where you came up with those names, eh?"

"Oh, give me a break…I know people who named their son Lennon and their daughter Starr," I said. "’John’ and ‘Paul’…it’s a little less obvious."

"God…you and your husband must have your hands full."

"Yes," I replied blankly…not quite ready to tell him the full story of things.

"So, it's Laurie…what?"

"Carlisle," I said. "Laurie Carlisle."

He smiled a little. "I guessed you'd given up 'Donaldson' a long time ago."

"Over thirty years ago," I admitted. "Sixty-eight…my oldest was born the next summer."

"And Pam has been in London at school this year, from what James has said, right?"

"She finished up her final exams today, and we're due to fly home at midnight."

"What's she studying?"

"English literature," I said. "Same as her mother…actually, it frightens me how very much alike she and I are."

"Well, do tell--is she a Beatle fan like her mum?"

I giggled. "You have no idea," I snickered. "She's loved you guys since she was about seven years old. When she was in second grade I came home from work one day to find all my Beatle records missing from the shelf in the living room. They turned up under her bed a week later."

Paul laughed. "Sneaky little devil, eh?"

"Not so much anymore…She's had a bit of a crush on you since she was about eleven."

"Oh, jeez," Paul said, getting embarrassed. "She's way too much like her mother!"

"Seriously! I brought her to your show at Soldier Field in '90--she was starry-eyed for about a week afterwards," I smiled. "You could barely talk to her without interrupting some thought about you…This is a big deal for her, meeting you…even though she might not show it."

"No kidding…I could use a drink. How about you?"

"I would love one, thanks."

Paul rose from his seat. "Scotch and Coke?"

"Lovely."

"Okay; I'll be right back," he said, escaping to the kitchen for a few minutes.

Continue to Part Three