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[1 October 1965] The four Honeybears were secreted in the cluttered dressing room at Chez Vrai, the club they'd called home for the past eleven months. Virtually unknown when they'd started, the girls had spent the better part of a tumultuous year making a name for themselves on the British music scene. They were presently due out on stage to play a short set of songs from their debut LP, aptly entitled The Honeybears First. Their manager, Brian Epstein, had thought it a good idea to launch their premiere album with some live versions of the new songs to an elite audience of high profile friends and well-wishers as well as members of the music press. "For God's sake, you'll be fine," Jamie Ludlow insisted. "Stop being so bloody melodramatic." Brusque and often caustic, the brunette Jamie was the group's rhythm guitarist and self-appointed leader. "Honestly, Annie, there's nothing to be worried about," Jamie's sister, Sandy, said as she patted her best friend's hand in consolation. Small, blonde and generally perky, the Honeybears' bassist could be counted on to always see the positive in any given situation. Annie jerked her hand away. "That's all right for you to say, Sands. You never get stage fright, do you?" At nineteen, the petite honey-blonde drummer was both the youngest and most sensitive member of the group. Sandy tried to hide her dismay and muttered, "I was only trying to help you, you know." "I wish my sister were here." "Why?" asked Jamie testily. "Rory'd only shout at you about being such a bloody pain in the arse. Which you are, you know. If you weren't the only girl drummer we knew, I swear we'd be looking for a replacement." The petite drummer bit her lip and said nothing, doing her best to fight back the tears which threatened to spill from her large blue-green eyes. "Jamie, that wasn't very nice," Sandy said sternly. "It's not true, anyroad." "No, it isn't," the fourth member of their group, lead guitarist Meg Blessing, finally spoke up. Taller than the other three, the willowy Meg was the group's newest member, having joined after Rory Kent's abrupt departure. (Whether or not Rory's exit from the band had been voluntary or not was still a matter of contention amongst the various parties involved.) "C'mon, Annie, everything will be as right as rain as soon as we get out on stage." "For you, perhaps," was the younger girl's frosty reply. "We've been playing here all bloody year and touring all bloody summer. How the hell can you have stage fright now?" Jamie scoffed. "Very easily," Annie said, swallowing hard. "There are," she lowered her voice considerably, "famous people out there." "In case you haven't noticed, you daft cow," Jamie said with a sneer, "we're famous, too! For Christ's sake, you're dating George bleedin' Harrison! It doesn't get much more famous than that!" Annie toyed with an ornate diamond and periodot ring hanging from a chain about her neck. "Engaged." "What?" "I'm not dating George Harrison. I'm engaged to him," she said sotto voce, pointing to the ring as if to remind her. "Same bloody thing." Jamie said, rolling her green eyes in annoyance. "No, it isn't." "Yes, it is!" "No, it isn't!" "Would you two please stop the panto long enough to finish dressing so we can get out on stage? People are waiting for us." Meg interjected. "I couldn't agree with you more, Meg," Sandy said with a disparaging shake of her head. "Thank you, Sandy. It's nice to know there's at least one other reasonable person in this group." "I just hate this constant rowing," Sandy admitted. "I don't understand why we can't just all get on." "Maybe you can't," Annie sniffed, tucking her ring back into the bodice of her dress for safe keeping, "but some of us have our reasons." She cast a dark look at Meg. Meg ignored her, refusing to rise to the bait. "I'll go let them know we'll be ready in a few moments then." She slipped out of the dressing room in time to see the band's personal manager, Michael Ludlow, blocking a slightly irate George Harrison from entering the short corridor to the dressing room. "You know what Mr. Epstein said," Michael was explaining, his voice thick with irritation. "No untoward hints that you and Annie are anything more than just good friends. Not that you've managed to pull that off very effectively lately...." "How's going backstage to wish her luck going to be untoward, eh?" George demanded to know. "'Sides, it's not like it's some great secret that we're a couple anyroad." "Yes, I know, but--" "Just because our engagement's got to be kept from the press--" Michael shook his head and frowned. "She's in the middle of a pre-show wobbler. You'll only make it worse." "I would not!" George tried again to push past him. "My presence is, I dunno, soothing or something." The personal manager stood his ground, looming over the testy guitarist. "Your presence will send her into tears! It would take her half a bleedin' hour to reapply her makeup alone! Honestly!" "Well...." the Beatle conceded, "You have me there." "Just go back to your seat, George," Michael ordered. This only caused George to glare at him. "I certainly don't want you trying to talk her out of her mood." Meg cleared her throat, alerting them to her presence. Both men looked her way. "Actually, the problem at the moment--besides her usual stage fright--seems to be me. As always. Now that I'm out of sight, perhaps Jamie and Sandy will be able to sort her out enough that she'll be able to join us on stage. So, why don't you both sit down out front?" "All right, all right. But only because you've asked me to, Meg," George said, sounding slightly mollified. "See you after the show." He cast another dirty look at Michael before making a big show of retreating. "Thanks, Megan," Michael said. "I meant what I said about sitting down." She pointed toward the stage. "Go on." He gave her a broad grin and a loose salute before returning to the main room
of the club.
The dressing room door opened and Jamie all but shoved Annie out of the room. "The sooner we go on, the sooner it's over with," she muttered to the little drummer. Clutching her drumsticks tightly, Annie walked past Meg with a raised but trembling chin. Jamie shrugged apologetically as she passed the auburn-haired guitarist. Meg sighed. Sandy, passing by her on the way to the stage, stopped and gave her a reassuring pat on the arm. "A bit more time and Annie won't be so resentful of you." "That's what you said back in May, when I first joined." "And she's improved since then, hasn't she?" "Well--" "I mean, at least she talks to you now," Sandy said brightly. "She didn't at first." Meg sighed again. "For once-- just once!--I wish we could go on stage without having to endure her histrionics." The younger bassist lowered her voice conspiratorially. "So do I."
Linking her arm with Meg's, she continued, "But we're not going on stage at
all if we're not up in front with the others. Come on." She led Meg to the
other two who waited just inside the service corridor to go on.
After a short but successful set consisting of "(If I could only) Forget You" (with Jamie on vocals), "Once Upon a Love" (Meg), "Each & Ev'ry Day" (Annie) and "Waiting" (Sandy) followed by "Things we said today" (Jamie and Meg) as an encore, the girls retired to their dressing room just long enough to change from performance togs to party frocks. Annie reemerged first, searching the VIP crowd for a most familiar face. Spotting her fiancé, she squeaked through the throngs of famous guests toward him. "There you are," George said as Annie all but vaulted into his arms. "It was a very good performance, that set was." He gave her an enthusiastic kiss to emphasise the point. She hugged him tightly. "Was it? I was so nervous I could hardly tell." "You were smashing," he insisted before kissing her again. "Now, what was all this I heard about a pre-show wobbler, Anna-luv?" The small girl looked down at the floor, suddenly embarrassed. "It was just stage fright. Oh, Quirky, you know how I get... but then Jamie started shouting at me and that made it ever so much worse." George nodded sympathetically. "My poor love. You shouldn't pay her any mind, you know." "I know," she sighed, lacing her fingers in his. "I wish I could just ignore her. It would have been much easier if you'd been there." "Well, I did try, but that tosser, Michael, thought it would just make things worse." "I wish I'd known that." Her lower lip drooped into a fetching pout. "He certainly didn't ask me what I wanted. I always feel so much better when you're around." "Hmmm." He gave her an appreciative once over. "Looks to me as though you came through it unscathed even without my being there. Although," he murmured in her ear, "I might have to double check later in private. Just to make certain, you see." Annie giggled, her mood much lighter now.
"Hullo there," Paul McCartney gave an enthusiastic thumbs up to the other three Honeybears as they came out into the main room of Chez Vrai. "Groovy, girls. Very groovy indeed." "It wasn't half bad at that," John Lennon mumbled, clutching a scotch and coke. He and Paul lurked near the club bar. Jamie eyed John's drink longingly. "God, I could use one of those." "Better grab it now, while you can. Here comes Eppy, probably wanting you to bore yourself stiff talking to the press." "I'll order up for you, love," Paul said, turning around to talk to the bartender. Brian Epstein stopped in front of the group. "Good set, girls." "Thank you, Mr. Epstein," Meg said. "You'll be glad to know that the single broke the Top 40 in America this week." Sandy smiled. "Really? How high?" "Thirty. Oh, and Paul...?" The handsome bassist passed the scotch to Jamie, then answered, "Yeah, Eppy?" "You're Number One in America this week." "Cor!" John made a face. "And how many Americans went into diabetic shock from the song, eh?" "Look, John, just 'cause you didn't write 'Yesterday' doesn't mean you have to abuse it so." "Have to keep you in your place, son, don't I?" He slammed back his drink and ordered another. Brian gave John a disapproving glare before taking Sandy by the elbow. "Several members of the press have been asking after you, Sandy...." He steered her off to another part of the room. Jamie grimaced. "Why should they be asking after her? I'm the leader of the band." Meg said, "He probably used her as an excuse to get away before Lennon could make any queer jokes." "Me? Wouldn't think of it." John put on a posh accent. "Not my style at all, old thing. Not at all." "If you say so." Meg spotted Michael motioning to her from across the room, holding a pint of Guinness up as an invitation. "Ah, I see my drink's been poured already." She headed toward him. "I guess it's up to me to hold court here, then," Jamie commented. "With two Beatles in tow, you should have 'em flocking to you," Paul assured her, casually slipping an arm behind her. "True enough, the two crown princes of pop--" "Crown eunuchs, more like." Jamie eyed John warily. "Just how many of those have you had so far tonight?" "I dunno. How many songs did you play?" She rolled her eyes and looked to Paul for clarification. "Women troubles, probably. No sign of Cyn anywhere," he explained with a shrug. "Or Patsy for that matter." "Oh, dear. No wife or mistress in sight." She leaned over to John and murmured in his ear. "So nice of you to try to ruin our night with your problems." "Ah, fuck off." John, glaring at them both, staggered out into the crowd. "So much for our chaperone," Paul murmured. "You think we need one, then? You going to do something naughty to me in the middle of the party?" He raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Wouldn't I love to? But you know Eppy. He'd come down with the vapours if anyone from the press got wind that we were seeing each other before he could officially orchestrate it." "You're not going to let him pull that shite with us, are you? I'm not going to go through the same length of hell that Annie and George did." Paul shrugged. "Our George is a wonderful bloke, but he just hasn't got the bottle to stand up to Eppy, know what I mean?" "Does that mean you do?" "If I can be diplomatic about it...." He smiled charmingly. "Look, let's not get our esteemed manager all worried just yet, eh? Why don't you go sit with George and Annie for awhile? I'll make a round or two, then join you lot, and no one will be the wiser. All right, love?" "I suppose that will have to do." Paul gave her a brilliant grin, squeezed her arm lightly, and took his drink
with him as he wandered off.
"Really, Brian," Sandy admonished as she accepted a glass of champagne from her manager, "shouldn't you be taking Jamie around the room to talk to the press? She's the leader. She should be speaking for us, not me." "Jamie doesn't always handle the pressure of the spontaneous interview well." "There is that." "In addition, Meg is too new and Annie is too involved with George to talk about anything else." "I see." She gave a rueful grin. "And here I thought it was my sparkling personality." "That helps, you know." "I was only joking." "I wasn't." Brian caught the eye of several waiting reporters and jerked his head slightly. Three of them came over. Sandy greeted each of them cheerfully, although she couldn't remember their names exactly or which papers they wrote for. Once assured she had started charming them all, Brian drifted off. He joined Michael and Meg in their corner. "Lovely party, Mr. Epstein," Meg observed, discreetly nestling herself against Michael's shoulder. "Then you should be enjoying more of it. Perhaps if you could mingle a bit more? You're still new to the group in many people's eyes. You ought to let them get to know you a bit." "I know, but--it's still difficult for me. I'm used to keeping to myself." "One can't keep to oneself and expect to promote an LP." Brian noted her reluctant expression. "You can bring Michael along, if you want support." Michael said, "That won't be keeping our, erm, relationship very low-key." Brian shrugged. "Most of the people Meg talks to will think you're there because it's your job, not for other reasons. It's not like you're George and Annie. You know how to keep your hands off each other in public." "Not to mention other body parts," Meg threw in. Michael made a face. "That's just disgusting. True, but disgusting." "Unfortunately, I have to agree," Brian said. "Before you two
start circulating, though, I wanted to discuss briefly some ideas for the fall
tour with the Boys...."
Jamie lubricated herself with another drink and attempted to make small talk with George and Annie, trying hard not to make any pointed comments about Annie's pre-show jitters or her current state of being entwined around the quirky guitarist. The two of them were notorious for shutting out the rest of the world when together, but pointing that out to them only seemed to make the situation worse. The three of them eventually drifted quiet, preferring to observe the crowds rather than force conversation. "Your sister's here, you know," George said to Annie, finally offering her another glass of red wine. "She is?" Annie's eyes widened in surprise while Jamie, overhearing the comment, looked up in anger. "Yeah. I saw her come in with Mick before. Didn't get a chance to speak to her, though, cos I was too worried about you." "What the fuck is she doing here?" Jamie asked hotly. "Who the hell invited her, anyroad?" "I did," was Annie's defensive response, "though I didn't expect her to actually show up considering everything." "Well, the Stones were also on the guest list," George added, "and she and Mick only come as a matched set these days." "That seems to be mandatory for all members of the Kent family, now doesn't it?" Jamie replied snidely. "That's hardly fair," Annie said petulantly. "Quirky and I weren't even allowed to admit we were dating for the first 4 months we were together and it's still a state secret that we're... well, you know." She pointed surreptitiously to her left ring finger. "Rory and Mick have been public from the first moment they met. Well, nearly. Besides, it's not her fault you haven't got a boyfriend, now is it?" "Who says I haven't?" said Jamie all too smugly. George cocked an eyebrow in curiosity. "That's a new one on us if you have." "As if I report to the pair of you about anything." "So, are you going to tell us the name of your new bloke or what?" "Oh, I dunno," she replied with a smirk. "I think I'll leave you guessing for just a bit longer." She signaled for another scotch and coke. "She's mad, you know," George whispered in Annie's ear. "I'm betting her boyfriend has a long handle and not much else." "Quirky!" Annie squealed, trying not to look guilty as Jamie shot them a dirty look. "Well," George continued, pulling Annie closer, trying to make it look as if he was nuzzling her ear, "All she ever does is boss one about and complain! No self-respecting bloke would tolerate that." The little drummer could only nod in agreement. "Aw, fuck," Jamie groaned suddenly, rolling her eyes and slouching in her chair. George looked up, noting the approach of a tall, slender black-haired girl with a male companion in tow. "And speaking of the devil herself...." "There you are, little sister." Rory gave Annie a quick squeeze and then planted a kiss on George's cheek, pointedly ignoring Jamie's presence all the while. "I've been looking all over for you two." "Hello, all," Her boyfriend, Mick Jagger, gave them an amiable wave. He held up two empty glasses and motioned to the barman for a refill. "You haven't tried too hard, I should think," George said dryly. "Anna and I have been over here for most of the evening." "Well, who can see her over the crowd? She's so bleedin' small!" Rory teased, pretending not to notice her sister's annoyed expression. "I dunno...." George stole a kiss from Annie. "I think she's just the right size." Rory looked at him in disgust. "Mind the treacle, if you please. We just ate." His only response was a two-fingered salute. "So why are you hiding out over here?" Mick inquired. "Trying to avoid the journos, were you?" George pulled a face. "Can you blame us?" "I'm so very tired of having to answer the same old questions over and over again," Annie sighed. "Especially...." "Is it true you two are getting married?" her three companions said in unison. "Exactly." Her older sister laughed, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. "Well, are you?" "Oh, don't you start as well," the younger girl pleaded. "Besides," George said with a conspiratorial wink, "you lot know the real answer to that." "Well, we know if but not when." He twisted his mouth into a lopsided grin. "And that's all you're gonna know until right before it actually happens. We don't want our wedding ruined by nosy reporters, you see." "Please make sure it's not until at least December. We're on tour until then, you know," Rory reminded them. "I ain't flying back from America just for that." "Aw, you're just the opening act," George commented. "It's not like all those surging American Stones fans would miss your presence for a show or two." Rory blew him a kiss. "I love you, too, George." Mick snickered and shook his head. "If you're smart, mate, the wedding won't happen at all." "Of course it will." Rory let out a chuckle. "That's the only way George is going to ever get any." "Rory!" Annie blushed down to the roots of her fair hair. "Well, it's true, you know," George conceded, giving Annie another quick kiss. Rory glanced over to Jamie who was keenly focused on yet another drink. "At least there's some chance of shagging for you two... which is more than I can say for certain people at any rate." "I don't know.... I'd give her a go," Mick said with a leer. "You'd give anyone a go, my darling." Rory elbowed him in the ribs. "Well, nearly anyone." "You know, Annie, I was quite impressed with the show tonight. You girls are shaping up quite nicely considering everything." "I was a bit worried about your response." Rory shrugged. "Nuffink to worry about, little sister. I think Meg's doing a top job on lead." Annie grimaced and said stalwartly, "She's not as good as you are." "She's just got a different sound, that's all. Stop being so bleedin' sulky about it. Although I should add you're still having problems with the rhythm guitar bit. Six months later and it's still pants. You'd have thought that considering the palava that went on about how my playing was dragging you down, it'd be all better by now." "Maybe if you weren't both tone deaf and stupid, you'd be able to tell the difference, you cow," Jamie said between clenched teeth. "Did I hear something?" Rory asked. "Is there a mule braying somewhere?" "Oh no...." Annie buried her head in her hands. "I don't know about a mule but there's certainly a jackass in the vicinity," Jamie sneered. "I think it's time for us to go face the press," George said hastily, helping Annie down from her seat. "It'll certainly be safer than being caught in this crossfire, you see. We'll see you lot later." "You're not leaving me alone with this mess, are you?" Mick called after them. "Sorry, squire, you're on your own!" George shouted back before disappearing into the crowd. "Like rats deserting a sinking ship," he muttered miserably. "I don't know why you bother staying around her, Mick," Jamie said acidly. "She'll only throw you over for someone else as soon as she finds a more suitable bloke. She's got absolutely no sense of loyalty whatsoever." "As if you'd know anything about that," Rory hissed. "You're on such a bleedin' power trip, you're lucky you ain't exploded yet." Jamie slid down off her chair, making a great show of looking for someone. "What's the matter, darlin'? Can't take the heat?" "No, I'm just looking for a bus boy--someone needs to take out the rubbish around here." "Bitch!" Before Mick could stop her, Rory picked up her glass and tossed the contents of in Jamie's face. Jamie shook the stinging liquid out of her eyes and wiped her face off with the back of her hand. "I'm not stooping to your level, you cheap tart." "The gutter's not your style, love," Paul added, joining the fracas as he used his back to block most of the room's view of what was going on. "Much more Rory's sort of place." "You really know how to ruin a good cat fight," Mick commented. "Stay out of it, McCartney," Rory spat, slamming the now empty glass onto the bar. "It's none of your fuckin' business." "Ah, but it is. I take exception when people start picking on my best girl, you see." "Your girl?" Rory burst out into laughter. "You really are desperate, aren't you? And as for you, Jamie-- you never could do better than my sloppy seconds, could you?" Jamie's hands curled into fists. Before she could say or do anything, though,
Paul said, "Sloppy seconds? I'll give you sloppy!" He pulled Jamie to
him and planted a passionate kiss on her lips... a kiss that he lengthened and
deepened much to Jamie's enjoyment and Rory's disgust.
Brian blanched suddenly, his skin turning a sickening white. Michael followed the direction of his gaze, upper lip curling in annoyance upon spotting Paul snogging Jamie. "Christ!" "Michael, do something," Brian implored. "Me? McCartney's not going to listen to me. You're his manager, you do something." "But she's your sister--as well as your charge. I've never been able to control Paul." "It's not like I can control Jamie." "It's the Honeybears' reputation that's on the line here, not the Boys." Michael sighed heavily. "Yes, Mr. Epstein." Brian checked his watch. "Erm, ah, I have an appointment, actually. Best of luck, Michael, I've got to call for my car...." He hurried out of the room. "I think my life has just flashed before my eyes," Michael said. Meg shook her head. "You'll do fine, sweetie." "Facing down both Jamie and Rory? I might as well shoot myself now and have done with it. How am I going to pass off that snogging as a friendly kiss? I can't bloody well have him kiss all of you like that." "Why not?" "Well, Harrison would kill me, first off. And I don't want McCartney doing that to Sandy--or to you, for that matter." "Do you have any other ideas?" "No. Unfortunately." "Don't worry, I promise not to enjoy it." "Promise?" "Well, if you help get the taste out of my mouth later in private...." "That's tempting. Sandy's so vulnerable, though...." "Paul knows better than to get fresh with Sandy with you breathing down his neck." She pushed him toward the snogging couple. "But you've got to act now." "I hate it when you're right sometimes."
Rory took a defiant stance as Michael approached. "Your turn to have Paul's tongue down your throat, is it? I've already had him and I can tell you he's a bloody great disappointment." Michael barely even acknowledge her presence. "Mick, take your trained bitch for a walk. She obviously needs the exercise." "Look, you pompous bastard, you don't talk to my girl like that," said the wiry singer, jumping to his feet. "Oh, Mick, shut up." Rory glared at Michael, her expression one of utter contempt. "And as for you, you wanker, let your sister fight her own fucking battles. The only thing you can do is bore me to death anyway." "Just go." "Oh, bloody hell, Michael. I want to witness you hosing 'em down. I suspect the only way to separate 'em at this point is to throw some cold water on 'em." Mick, who was getting bored with all the in-fighting anyway, tugged at Rory's hand. "Come on, 'Rora, we've got better things to do, right?" "Indeed." Without a goodbye or even another glance, Rory strode towards the door, Mick dogging at her heels. Glad to be rid of one problem, Michael began to work on the next one by prying his sister from Paul's clutches. "Michael!" Jamie began, indignant. "Your sister's a grown woman, she doesn't need you rescuing her from things she doesn't want to be rescued from," Paul added, scowling. "You can't be inspecting each other's tonsils in public like that. Not and preserve your reputations, that is." "Eppy sent you to do his dirty work, then?" Paul asked. Looking around the room, he added, "Where is the old pouf, anyroad?" "He bolted." "Typical." "Leave us alone, Michael," Jamie threw in. "We're not going to bend to Epstein's dictates about when and how we can date. We refuse to be like George and Annie... living a lie all those months... not able to announce their engagement... it's not right." "Look we can have this out later. We need to cover some tracks right now." "How's that?" Paul wondered. "We don't want any improper rumours starting. Not until your album hits the charts, certainly." "So?" "So you've got to kiss the other three, Paul." "Like I kissed Jamie?" Paul seemed to warm to the concept immediately. "Erm... at least to all intents and appearances." "You sure?" "I'm not happy about this, mind you-- but it's the best I can think of on such short notice." "I'll do my best, old chap--but you'd better explain things to Our George, all right?" "All right." "You'd best not enjoy it too much," Jamie warned. "Of course I won't, love--the other girls aren't you."
Paul spotted Meg talking to a photographer. "I'm off to make the
rounds," he said, struggling to keep an anticipatory grin off his face.
"No. No. No. Absolutely fucking not," George insisted with a scowl. "I am not letting him get within ten feet of my Anna." "Come on, George. It's not like it's going to mean anything. I just need to clear up the mess he and Jamie made before tongues start wagging." "That's just what I'm fucking afraid of-- tongues wagging! He can kiss Sandy and Meg all he likes. He can shag them on top of the cake for all I care-- but he's not getting near Annie." "Don't I get a say in any of this?" Annie finally spoke up. "It is my mouth he's potentially kissing, now, isn't it?" George put a protective arm around his fiancée. "Not if I can help it, it's not." "It's not as if I want to kiss Paul... but if it's for the sake of all of us, I s'pose we ought to let him." "But what will people say if they catch sight of my girl snogging someone else in public? Especially when we're gonna be," he indicated his left ring finger, "you know in a few months." "People don't know about that, now do they?" Michael argued. "So what is the problem?" "That's even worse then, isn't it, mate? People will think that we had to or something. I don't want anyone thinking badly of Anna." "Well, what do you think they'll think of Jamie considering Paul just split with Jane Asher a scant few weeks ago?" George gave a diffident shrug. "To be perfectly honest, I don't give a toss. That's 'er problem, not ours." Michael let out a frustrated sigh. "Can we compromise on a long hug then?" "Oh, all right," said George, throwing up his arms in concession. "Paul can kiss me on the cheek if he'd like," Annie said, suppressing a grin. "Actually, he can kiss me anywhere he wants as long as there are no tongues involved." "He can kiss you anywhere above the neck, you mean," George added, "and he can keep his hands to himself." Michael rolled his eyes. "Fine."
Paul ambled up to Meg. "Hey, Meg... good performance tonight." He winked broadly. "Thought you might like proper congratulations." "And what would constitute that?" "Ah, don't lark about." He nudged the photographer in the ribs. "She just doesn't want to admit she's dying for a smooch from me." "Isn't everyone?" the photographer asked, inching closer. Paul eyed the stocky, balding man, and put an arm around Meg. "I've already congratulated Jamie." "Is that what you call it?" Meg asked, her dark eyes twinkling with amusement. "At the moment, yeah." Paul leaned in towards her, lips pursed. She tilted her head up, and he planted a kiss on her, working on it for several moments with tongue probing until a flashbulb popped, preserving the moment for posterity. "Ta, love." Paul turned to the photographer. "Come along, you, you might as well get the exclusive on me kissing the other birds, too." He pulled him off across the room, where Sandy seemed to be holding court with Lionel Bart and several other of Brian's theatrical friends. Meg waited until he had gone away before wiping her mouth off. "Yech," she muttered as Michael approached. "That bad, was it?" "Quite sloppy, really. I suppose I've gotten used to, well, firmer mouths." "Firmer mouths like--?" "Like yours, silly." Michael blushed. "I, er, should go supervise him with Sandy." "He's already there." "What--" He tried to turn to see, but Meg grabbed him and pulled his face down to hers. "Erm...." "Shush, Michael." She distracted him quite nicely with her lips.
"Hello, Sandra," Paul said amiably, pretending not to notice the photographer by his side. "Hello, everybody. Nice to see you again." He gave a polite nod to her assorted guests. "Hello," Sandy said with a smile. For some reason, even after all this time, being around Paul still made her feel slightly jumbled up inside. And for him to have actively sought her out well, that jumbled her up more. "I was quite taken with your set tonight--best show I've ever seen you do, really." "Thank you." Her grin widened, and she inwardly reproached herself. She knew it was silly to react that way, but there was something about him that made her positively giddy whenever he complimented anything she did. "It's quite exciting about the album, too. I feel a bit responsible, you know." "Do you?" "Well, you know, if it hadn't been for us lads talking to Brian, you
might still be playing here at Chez Vrai in search of a contract and all that.
But we got all that fixed as right as rain, now didn't we?" "I'm glad we're able to celebrate together, though," he said with a rakish smile. "It makes me dead chuffed to see you girls happy, you know." "Well...." Sandy blushed prettily. "Anyway, I think congratulations are in order for all your hard work and all that." "Oh?" "Indeed." With that, he slid an arm around her waist and caught her up in an enthusiastic kiss amidst the flash of the camera. At first, she didn't respond, too surprised to react to his lips touching hers. Once the initial shock wore off, though, she decided she liked it, and started returning the pressure. His tongue probed the opening of her mouth; Sandy allowed it as far as her teeth. After a moment or two of mutual enjoyment, he released her, pleased to see a slightly dazed expression as her response. "Ah, you liked that, didn't you?" "Umm hmm." She wasn't able to find actual words in her head at the moment. "Well... I'll have to have seconds. Be back in a bit." He brushed his lips against her forehead and motioned for the photographer to follow him. Sandy watched him retreat, a dreamy expression lingering on her face.
"Uh oh, here he comes," George said with a frown. "I'm going to have to set him straight before he lays a finger on you." "Quirky, don't worry. I'm not going to run off and leave you for Paul --no matter how good a kisser he is." Annie couldn't help but be pleased that George was exhibiting signs of jealousy, even if they were unfounded. "Not that anyone could possibly be better than you." "Well...." He grinned and pulled her close. "I'd like to think you wouldn't want to be with a bloke like him, anyroad." "Of course I don't." She stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his lips. "I should hope you know I've got better taste than that." He let out a lascivious chuckle, a roguish grin playing on his lips. "I most certainly do." Annie's cheeks flushed an attractive pink. "George, do behave." "I'm on my best behaviour," he insisted with feigned innocence. "Annie. George." Paul sauntered over to the pair. "You know, I was quite impressed with...." "Oh, just shirrup and get on with it, would you?" George grumbled. "Keep your tongue in yer head or I'll cripple ya." "I'll be quick," he said lightly. Annie started to giggle. "I've heard that's the only way you can be." George was relieved to see she wasn't taking the situation very seriously. Paul, however, glowered at her. "I can just imagine where you got that idea from." His aggravated expression just caused her to giggle harder. "Well, you know people do talk." "It's not true. None of it," he protested. "Save your protests for yer girlfriends." John had joined the little group, a full scotch and coke in hand, and at least several more on his breath. "What's all this, then, with you snogging all the Honeybears, Paulie?" "Erm... my way of congratulating them for a fine LP and performance and all that." "Where's mine, then?" "You'll have to wait in line," George quipped. "I think I'm next, aren't I?" "For Fannie or for Paul?" "Either or." The lanky guitarist said nonchalantly. "It doesn't matter much to me." "So the truth finally comes out about you, you bloody Sphinx," John chuckled. "But I get bagsies cos I'm the oldest. Come on, give us a kiss, Paulie." "Just piss off, John." The guitarist shrugged. "All right, then. Jamie looks unoccupied at the moment...." He staggered off in search of her. Realising there was still a waiting photographer in their midst, Paul gave
Annie a quick peck on the cheek and then stormed off after his band mate.
"There you are, Jamie-bell," John caught up with her in mid-conversation with Keith Richard. "Hullo, Keith." "John," Keith nodded to him, running a hand through his unruly thatch of black hair. "Good to see you, man." "You too." John turned his attention back to Jamie. "So, what's all this I hear about you kissing Our Paul, then?" John demanded, draping an arm around her shoulders. "Oh. That." Jamie didn't know whether she ought to tell him the truth or not, especially after the dressing down she'd received from her brother earlier. "Just a bit of celebratory cheer. Nothing to write home about, really." "Ah. So does that mean you kiss all the boys like that?" "Could be. Why? You asking?" "Could be. You offering?" Jamie smiled at him coyly. "Perhaps." John grabbed her, catching her up in a rough kiss. "I'll, erm, I'll catch you cats later." Keith saw this as a grand opportunity to leave. The other two guitarists hardly even noticed his departure. "So, how do I measure up?" John asked finally. "Hmmm. I don't know.... Perhaps we ought to try once more to be on the safe side. It's really difficult to measure these things, you know." He grinned drunkenly. "Wouldn't want you forming opinions with faulty observations, now would we?" "Of course not. That would just be wrong in so many different ways." John kissed her again, this time a little harder. "Now what do you think, Jamie-bell?" "Once more please. Just to make certain." "All right, that's enough," Paul demanded, grabbing John by the shoulder. "That's my girl you're manhandling, thank you." "Your girl, is it? And what's she got to say about it?" Jamie looked slightly uncomfortable. "Well, now that you mention it...." "Oh ho, really now, Jamie... you're quite the minx, ain't ya?" John cackled. "Didn't know you had it in ya, Paul." "It's supposed to be a secret," Paul replied huffily. "So shut your gob about it." "A secret from who? Jane?" "Jane's history. Jamie's my best girl now. But Eppy doesn't want it getting out right now. So mum's the word, eh?" "Bugger all. Now I've heard everything. What do you want him for, then?" "And what's wrong with Paul?" "Have you got a few hours to spare? I could probably talk your ear off, love." "Listen, John, you've already nicked one of my girlfriends. You're not having this one, do you hear me?" Paul reprimanded him with a wag of his finger. "Speaking of which, where is Patsy tonight? Or have you lost her again?" "How the fuck do I know? She's not speaking to me at the moment." Paul smirked. "Well, isn't that typical?" "Does it really matter?" asked Jamie testily. "I just wish she and Rory Kent would just bugger off together...." "Let's just us bugger off together, then, eh?" John suggested. "Providing Paulie can count to three." "Aw, fuck, John--" "Exactly." He grinned broadly at Paul's annoyed expression. "Unless you don't think you're up to it, that is." He burst into song. "Suddenly, I'm not half the man I used to be. Now my name is Paul McCaa-aaartneeeeeeeeeey" "Right. I think we've heard quite enough out of you. Come along, Jamie." Paul grabbed her by the arm and started to lead her away. "Hey, what about my kiss, then?" she protested. "You've already gotten way too much attention from that drunken sot." John's only response was to leer. "But he owes me one more...." "Jamie!" "Well, I thought the whole bloody point of this was to allay everyone's suspicions about us. So if I'm seen kissing someone else, then they'll never know it's you who's my boyfriend, now will they?" Paul's brow furrowed in anger. "Well, I don't see how repeatedly kissing a married man in public is going to make things look any better!" "All right, you two, what's going on now?" Michael asked, arriving at their side, looking rather put upon. "What's all this rowing about?" "Your sister was kissing him when she ought to have been kissing me," said Paul with a pout. "She's my girlfriend after all." "I was just trying to help," John offered with a shrug. Michael gave a derisive snort. "Right, son. Pull the other one. And as for you," he turned to Jamie, "you shouldn't be kissing anyone in public without Mr. Epstein's permission." "Yeah, James. I mean, honestly!" John shook his head in mock disapproval. "Mustn't do anything without that pervy old bastard being involved." Jamie tried not to laugh. "I'll remember that for next time." "If you can't behave, there won't be any next time, Jamie Abigail Ludlow. And you wonder why Mr. Epstein asks Sandy to talk to the press instead of you... she knows how to comport herself in public." His sister's smug expression faded rapidly. "There you go, taking Sandy's side as usual." "It's got nothing to do with Sandy and everything to do with you. For someone who was always on about the way Rory handled herself, you're not doing much better, are you? Honestly, I feel like a full-time nanny around you...." "Hey, can I look up your skirt then, nanny?" said John as he tugged on Michael's coat sleeve. "Why don't you go find someone else to slobber on?" He threw his arms around the tall manager's neck and said campily, "Take me gently, darling. I'm fragile." Paul and Jamie burst into laughter at Michael's mortified expression. "Right. It's time to get you home, I think. Let your wife deal with you for once --providing she can remember who you are." "Oh, bloody hell. You are cruel, aren't you?" John moaned as Michael dragged him towards the door and to a waiting car. Back to indexSweet Sweet Music and the original characters and concepts ©1978-2002 Jan Fennick and Jennifer Adams Kelley |
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