The World Spinning Round (Beatles/Paul McCartney)

Interlude: A View from Rolling Stone

November 1968
San Francisco

Theo Dormer's sister was hopeless when it came to calculating time zones. Either she thought California was six hours behind London, or perhaps that Theo lived in New York City. Regardless of the reason, she routinely rang him well before the sun rose, always cheerfully assuming that she was calling at an appropriate time.

This was one of those days.

"Did you see it?" she asked breathlessly, not even bothering to say hello. "It's everywhere here, in every single newspaper. Everyone's gone absolutely mad with either envy or relief. And, I have to say, the photograph makes her arse look a bit on the large side."

It had only been three hours since Theo had fallen asleep, and it seemed like his eyes had gone on strike and were refusing to open at such an ungodly early time. He rubbed them as he replied in a raspy voice thick with sleep.

"Whose arse?"

There was a pause. "So you haven't seen it."

Finally, one eye managed to unstick, and he looked up at the ceiling, which was the faintest shade of blue. He forced the other eye open to look at the clock, which, as expected, showed that it was 5:12am. Or, in Penny's mind, 8:12am.

"It's 5 in the morning, Pen... I've no idea what you're on about."

"...I thought for sure I'd gotten it right this time... you're not six hours behind?"

Theo shook his head tiredly even though she couldn't see him. "I'm nine hours behind London. Nine."

"Nine," she repeated. "I'll write it down so I'll remember next time."

He'd heard this promise before, but the results had never materialized.

"Well," she continued more brightly. "Ring me once you've had a chance to see it. Feel free to reverse the charges since you're an impoverished writer now! Ciao, darling."

The line went dead, and Theo went back to sleep for several hours, forgetting all about whose arse was large and what he was supposed to see. It wasn't until he was drinking a cup of English Breakfast tea and staring at the front page of the San Francisco Chronicle that he saw it.

Beneath the headlines about Nixon's recent election and a proposed tax relief bill was a black-and-white photograph of one of the most famous faces in the world and an attractive brunette, neither of whom was looking at the camera. The girl was clasping the guy's hand rather tightly, but the expression on her face was calm, as if the situation wasn't her cup of tea but it also wasn't her first rodeo. Theo squinted at the tiny print below.

Rumor has it that Beatle Paul McCartney and socialite-turned-magnate Alice Edwards have rekindled their romance. The star-crossed lovers were spotted leaving Dizzy's in London hand-in-hand, looking blissfully in love. However, the question on everyone's mind: will it last? And are Paul's fans around the world rejoicing or in mourning?

Theo scoffed and tossed the newspaper aside, debating whether to ring up his friend who worked at the Chronicle to complain about how valuable front-page real estate was wasted on this drivel. How had Paul and Alice managed to keep it out of the papers for this long, anyway? At least three people had told Theo separately that the pair were back together, and each time, it failed to surprise him. They didn't have a Shakespearean, star-crossed romance. They were just two idiots in love with each other, for better or for worse.

After a hurried shower, Theo left his house on a tiny street in the quickly-gentrifying Marina District. Pocketing the keys, he turned onto the much busier Cervantes Boulevard, relishing the hustle and bustle that came with living in America. It was brilliant, really. These people actually got up every morning and thought, boy-oh-boy, today's a new day and something exciting is going to happen! Depending on his mood, Theo found the unabashed optimism either endearing or disgusting, mostly the latter.