Funny Face | a paul mccartney story

eight | truths

So there we sat, listening to The Sound of Five on the radio, asking each other questions. Simple as it was, it was all I could ask for. And what with the Beatles' schedule jam packed for the rest of the month, it was all Paul and I could do to find time together. So, during their rehearsals for their Christmas special, we found a lull in time to sit with each other and finally learn some truths about each other.

"What's your favourite colour?" I asked, propping my chin up in the palm of my hand.

"Blue." Paul smiled, his doe eyes sparkling in the stagelight. "What's yours?"

"Orange. Like a soft sunset orange."

The longer time goes on, the harder it is for me to remember the little details of our conversations, but I will try my best to share it all with you.

"What's your birthday?"

"The 19th of March."

"What year?"

"Don't start with me."

He chuckled.

"What's yours?"

"The 18th of June, 1942."

I looked at him as soon as he said the year with a playful glare.

My birth year didn't matter here-- as a matter of fact, no part of my former life mattered here. I was 18 as of March 1964; married 30 years as of 1962, and a former time traveller as of that same year. My friend-- well, husband-- and confidant, James Harper, had abandoned me 8 August, 1963 at the steps of EMI Studios, zipping off into another time without me.

But Paul knew all that already.

He also knew that I liked my tea with a lot of honey; and that I was writing a book called Elderflower Sorbet; and that I was a virgin. That fascinated him most.

"How were you married yet never had sex with 'im?" He asked.

"Doesn't matter." I sighed, embarrassed to no end.

"Don't you have to connsumate the marriage? I thought that's how things worked."

"You're one to talk. You knocked up a girl at seventeen with no thoughts of marriage."

"Well..." He trailed off.

"That's what I thought." I smirked, and leant in for a kiss.

Paul leant in, too, but we didn't get to touch each other as George and Ringo had flung the curtain we were hiding behind open, and shouted, "EWWW THEY'RE KISSING!"

Paul sighed and opened his eyes the same time I did.

"We'll continue this later, then?"

"Yea..."

○●○●

As you probably know, The Beatles had absolutely conquered the world by the end of '64. They all had become fabulously wealthy overnight, and, sadly, mechanical in their routines as musicians. What with the touring and constant pressure to be in the studio, they had quickly burnt out.

Nobody came to listen to them play anymore. John began saying, "If they wanna pay money just to scream at us, that's fine by me-" but in reality, he knew it was all rather futile.

I myself began to feel more alone at the beginning of 1965. Even though John, Cynthia, and Julian had settled into their Kenwoood home with me in tow, I locked myself away in my room listening to bossa nova records and reading the newspaper.

Paul seemed to have no time for me anymore, as he was constantly out frolicking the streets with Jane. A highly publicised romance that, I will admit, made me rather jealous.

It was my choice to be hidden away from the public eye, as I was not supposed to be alive in the 1960s, but to constantly read about my lover with another girl made me borderline mental. Press pressure to "name the day" seemed strange to me.

I hated the thought of marriage. My own marriage had been of necessity for survival. I don't think I had ever loved somebody enough to get the government involved.

Ringo had finally proposed to his long-time (and long-distance) girlfriend, Maureen. George had started dating a lovely model named Pattie Boyd (who would become a close friend in later months- perhaps closer than even Cynthia), but right off asked her to marry him. I never understood it.

Paul, though, understood it to the end. He had confessed to me that the first time he tried marijuana, all of life's secrets had suddenly been revealed to him. He admitted that our secret became so apparent to him that he realised that no song was about Jane, but about me.

And I love her. Me.

A world without love. Me.

Woman. Me.

And many more to come.

Valentine's Day, February 1965 rolled around and Paul had come back from holiday with Jane. He said he couldn't take it anymore, and that he wanted to be with me.

"Prove it." I said.

The entire studio fell silent at those words, and Paul held his breath. Gritting his teeth, he gave a firm nod and walked over to his guitar:

"For I have got Another Girl
Another Girl
You're making me say that I've got nobody but you,
But as from today, we'll, I've got somebody that's new
I ain't no fool, and I don't take what I don't want

"For I have got Another Girl
Another Girl

"She's sweeter than all the girls and, I've met quite a few
Nobody in all the world can do what she can do
And so I'm telling you this time you better stop

"For I have got Another Girl
Another Girl
Another Girl who will love me to the end
Through thick and thin she will always be my friend..."