All Those Years Ago - Lennison Fan Fiction - Beatles Slash Fan Fiction

Chapter twenty-five, 1973, Lost Arseholes (part A)

In a mansion tucked away in the hills of Los Angeles, the Hollywood 'Elite' of actors, musicians, hanger-ons and everyone in between had gathered to celebrate. The party was already well on its way and nobody remembered what they were supposedly rejoicing about anymore when George arrived in his rented, flashy sport car. 

 He'd come alone, not only to the party but to Los Angeles, leaving his wife behind in England. He knew that Eric Clapton or Ron Wood - the guitarist of the Faces that Pattie was 'dating' after the married couples had swapped partners for the evening - were there, and felt quite certain that at least one of them would come 'round to keep her company while he was gone. He found himself not caring. He was far too preoccupied with thoughts of reuniting with John, far away from home, to give a toss about whom or what Pattie did. 

 George stepped in casually, nodding to the bouncers soberly guarding the door, and was immediately reminded of the mansion he and the lads had shared during one of their tours of the States, with its huge, clear but somewhat empty rooms, luxurious and impersonal. He slowly made his way through the party guests, smiling distractedly to whoever called his name, looking for the bar. 

 He found the living room, which seemed to be the centre of all activity. No one had bothered him yet and he was rather grateful for that. He sometimes felt that people still expected to see him in a suit, with shaggy hair and three other blokes from Liverpool tagging along, still expected him to be the Beatle they'd grown familiar with. 

 He made his way over to the fully stocked bar, a self-serve set up, and poured himself a Scotch and Coke, heavy on the Scotch. He took in the scene, noticing all sorts of debauchery now that he was paying attention, but still feeling rather bored. 

 As attuned to Eastern religion as George felt he'd become over the years, he was still unable to resist the temptation of attending at least some of these wild parties while out in Los Angeles. He usually found himself disappointed though, unsure of what he'd expected to see. He supposed it was a fair payback, still. When you felt that you'd seen and done it all when it came to the party scene, what more was there left to see? 

 His main motivation for coming tonight had nothing to do with the party itself and everything to do with John. He probably would've walked out right after he'd have finished his drink otherwise, but he'd heard John would be here so he decided to stick around, strolling through the various rooms, looking for his mate. 

 After a few minutes of unfruitful searching he leaned against the door of the patio, watching people frolic in the swimming pool (most of them still had their clothes on), only noticing a young woman making a beeline towards him when it was too late. He couldn't be too bothered to be charming or even polite as she tried to make small talk with him, sticking to one-word answers, but she didn't seem to take the hint. Seemingly out of things to bring up to fuel their one-sided chat, she offered him coke. George looked up and nodded, ready to follow her when someone stumbled into him from behind. 

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John was smashed. He was sitting on a couch, surrounded by chattering people and yet blankly staring at the wall in front of him, unable and unwilling to try and make sense of what was happening around him. The party he was at that night was pretty wild, cocktails and drugs being handed all over like candy, people dancing, chatting and raving around him. It was all god-awful. 

John himself had drunk a lot, more than his now slight frame usually allowed him to, and popped a couple of pills a moment before. The man who'd given them to him hadn't been too clear about what they were but they'd made his head swim and his legs feel like jelly. He was hot, too hot, his stomach clenching painfully, making him grunt.