And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 62: A Solid Nine On The Ritchie Scale, Part 1

We didn't have to work today, which was nice. We were due to start on the thirteenth of July, giving us some time to loaf around. John, Paul, Pete, and George were fine with loafing around. Jim McCartney, however, was not. The whole band save George were in Paul's dining room, practicing, when Paul looked up and we knew it was Jim by the expression on Paul's face. "Hi da."

    "Just wanted to see how you lot are getting along," he said. "I'm actually quite impressed by the music. Doing a fantastic job. You sound much better than before you left for Germany." He took a drag of his fag. "When do you start performing again?"

    "Not until the thirteenth, we'll be playing at St. John's hall in Tuebrook," Paul told him, playing a little riff on his guitar.

    "Well, what will you be doing until then?" Jim asked, a crease appearing on his brow. There was a movement behind him: Mike had gotten up to retrieve a pencil and then was gone.

    "Practicing, da," Paul shrugged and gave him an uncertain smile. All the while John was making scoffing noises, noises which at first were very subtle but soon grew into a quiet laugh. Jim focused his glance on Johne and said sharply, "And you, Lennon, I hope you're finding something useful to do with your time." He and John stared at each other, John with an almost mocking look in his eyes, Jim's jaw set, before he finally exited the dining room and shut the door. It rattled with a bang and John and Paul rounded on each other. "What the hell was that?" Paul asked, angry, red in the face.

    "What the hell was what? Bloody hell, you don't know how to stand up for yourself! Yer a man now Macca, twenty years, and still you sit there and let him kick your ass around!" John shot back, lacing a hand through his hair.

    "My ass—! You sit there and laugh, like that's going to make everything better!"

    Pete and I sat there and avoided looking at anyone. I knew that John had grown up on carefree Alf and Julia and then strict Mimi and then partially on Julia and then Mimi again, bouncing around between parent figures and different personalities, having to adapt every which way. Paul had had Jim, a source of stability in his life. I liked Jim. It pained me whenever John poked fun at Paul for being a "good boy." Paul wasn't even that much of a "good boy," he simply respected his father.

    "Anyways, let's take it from the top," Paul said shortly, tapping his fingers on the wooden chair he was sitting on. Pete led us in with a drum fill and we started. As I played my descending bassline, I could sense both Paul and John driving their frustrated energy into the song as we played onwards. I, too, played onwards, driving my particular frustrations into the song: Ringo's birthday party. I didn't understand why everyone seemed to know about it but me, and I was still irritated with Kathleen and John. But by the time the song ended and practice was over, I felt like a whole new person. It was like the music had driven whatever doubts I had out of my mind. I zipped up my bass and leaned against John.

    "Hey love," he whispered softly and took my hand. "Ye ready for the party tonight?"

    "I can hardly wait," I told him, wanting to sit and marinate in Paul McCartney's yellow dining room forever, playing and playing, just me and the boys.

***

    "What if I show up just in my pants?" John asked, looking into the small glass in the bathroom, wearing nothing but a white t-shirt and a pair of boxers.

    "Then the whole band has to show up in pants to match," I said dryly. "Won't be much of a birthday party then will it." He shook his head, bemused, and reached for his leather jacket and a pair of leather pants, then decided against it, instead going for a lighter pair. The July weather wouldn't be so nice to leather pants.