And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 69: Two Almost-Kisses and a Front Page Feature

"Supper, anyone?" Paul asked, taking the liberty to make sure we were all in the same room, no stragglers carrying drum heads and guitar cases down the hallway between Neil's van and the inside of the Cavern Club.

    "I'm beat," George said wearily, looking over the empty room. I nodded. ""M probably going to head to Whitechapel and then off to the pub."

     Practice had become limited over the next few days because the gigs had become practice. Shorter time was spent in Paul's dining room. In fact, after the July 14th practice I hadn't stepped foot in Paul's yellow dining room since. We spent most of our time at the Cavern Club playing both lunchtime and evening slots. Presently, it seemed like we were on top of the world, but I knew that within the next few months John and Paul would get restless and want more.

    Amongst all the rising excitement sometimes I liked to go off and drink alone on the rare days like today where we just played lunchtime gigs and got the evening off. I would head down to the local pub and order one glass of red wine and sit there at the bar, sipping at it slowly, thinking and thinking until all my thoughts blended together like one of Louise's homemade soups. On this particular day I pushed open the wooden door to the drinking establishment to see a familiar guitar case, and then a familiar figure sitting at the bar, a large beer in front of him.

    I almost left but didn't, choosing instead to sit in the farthest barstool away from him, leaning my bass against the wall and ordering my usual in a quiet voice. The bar that night was humming with a low buzz, less customers than normal. The waiter with the beard and long, stringy gray hair in a ponytail was gone tonight, just the barman whom I had ordered from.

    I glanced to my left and saw the guitarist looking at me. I suddenly felt an unrest in the tension of my hairclip and a curtain of hair fell to my left, separating my view of him.

    There was a plonk of glass against wood in front of me—my wine had arrived. I picked it up and took a tentative sip, letting the liquid move around in my mouth, surrounding my tongue until I let it slip down my throat. I glanced over at him but he was gazing into his beer. I felt conflicted. I was angry, of course, over Kathleen, but his revelation in St. John's garden had made me think about why he did it. But that didn't excuse it.

    The thoughts bounced around in my mind like a ping-pong match, every bounce getting stronger and stronger until I slowed it with a sip of wine. I could hear movement—he had gotten off of his seat—and was walking over towards me. I would have expected the usual swagger of confidence in his walk, but he seemed like didn't know what to think since our last interaction. I brought my glass to my lips and held it there; he stopped in front of me and started to say something but stopped out of what was probably embarrassment. In spite of the moment, I smiled slightly. He was never at a loss for words and seeing him like that, I thought with a cold smile, was amusing.

    "Long sip you're taking," he finally commented feebly. I put the glass down. "I don't want to see you, John."

    He looked despondent, silently standing there for a minute before responding gruffly, "Yeah. S'all right." His right hand moved to unbutton and rebutton a pocket on Uncle George's coat.

    So much had happened since that fateful July 7th night. It felt like a month. A whole month, an ache in my chest that only seemed to grow more and more. I reached up to reclip my hair, my repeated request for him to leave never making its way out of my mouth.

    "It's been thirteen days without you," he suddenly said. "I can't stand it. I'm going out of my mind. If I had known—even if I hadn't known—I would take it all back. I don't know why I did it. But I don't blame you for chucking me." This was said in the quietest of voices, both hands on the glass of his beer. "I want you back, love, and if I do get you back again, I swear you'll be the queen of my universe. Forever. It will never, ever, happen again. You have my word." He stopped, and then hurriedly said, "You surely must feel something. What we had—"