Missing You...

Chapter Six

Saturday, 29 November 1980

Paul woke with a start. He glanced around the room, confusion swirling around his mind like a hurricane. He didn't know where he was or what was happening. He felt someone gently poking him in the chest. Paul looked upwards and saw a young woman smiling down at him. She was dressed in a neat white blouse and a tight blue skirt, and her blonde hair was scraped up in a bun. Paul didn't recognize her but soon collected that she was a flight attendant. 

"Excuse me, sir?" she said in a soft, soothing voice, "The plane has landed. You have to get off now. We can't fly back to London with you still on board, can we?"

"Oh... right. Yes." Paul mumbled, still a bit dazed. He sat up properly and stretched. Sitting in a tiny airplane seat squashed between two other people wasn't exactly comfy, as you can imagine. The flight attendant helped a very cramped Paul to his feet and escorted him down the aisle. Neither Paul or the flight attendant said a word to each other. When they reached the exit Paul took the flight attendant's gloved hand and kissed it.

"Thank you, madam." he said politely.

"Oh! That's quite all right!" the flight attendant gushed, her face red, "And please, call me Prudence. Or Prue for short."

"All right, Prue. Do you know where the nearest taxi station is?" Paul inquired.

"Just hope off the plane, head for the airport entrance, and there should be a little taxi station right outside the door." Prue smiled warmly. "Shall I help you with your bags, Mr McCartney?"

"How do you know my name?"

"You're a famous celebrity, silly! Everyone knows who you are." Prue giggled, reaching over to pick up Paul's clunky suitcase. "Why are you travelling all the way to New York? Are you touring?"

"No." Paul replied solemnly. "I've come to visit a friend. He lives in the middle of the city."

"Oh, well, I'm glad to hear it." Prue said kindly. "Do you need directions or anything?"

"No, thank you. I'll be fine." Paul took his suitcase from her. "Thanks for waking me up and being so helpful. What can I give you in return?"

"It's my job to help. I don't need anything." Prue insisted, but she looked hopeful.

Paul put his suitcase on the floor, balancing it against his legs. He leaned forward and gave Prue a small kiss on the cheek. The flight attendant blushed to the roots of her hair. She was struck momentarily speechless but found her voice long enough to mutter, "Thank you... sir."

Paul picked up his case and winked at her. "Call me Paul." he said, then walked off into the busy airport lobby. 

* * * *

Once outside of the airport, Paul settled himself on the edge of the curb and stuck up his thumb like a lollipop-lady. A bright yellow cab pulled up. The driver rolled down the window and peered at Paul. His eyes widened in surprise, then he smiled broadly.

"Where to, Mr McCartney?" he asked.

"72nd Street and Central Park West," Paul replied, jumping into the backseat. "I'm visiting a friend."

"I bet I can guess who." said the cabby as he revved up the engine. He glanced at Paul through his rear-view mirror. "Are you planning a special reunion with this friend of yours?"

"Kind of. He knows I'm coming but I'm not entirely sure I'll be welcome."

"Yeah. Mr Lennon has been a bit quiet lately. We haven't heard from him for a while." The cabby laughed suddenly. "Maybe seeing you will change his mind!"

"Maybe." Paul said, staring straight ahead. He hoped that the cabby might be right; not about coming back to the music scene, but about John actually wanting to see him. Paul huddled up in his two-sizes too big coat and sighed heavily. He prayed there in the back seat, desperately wishing to see his friend for at least two minutes. Paul knew they had some serious issues to work out... and some secrets to get off their chests.

* * * *  

Paul had never realised quite how big Manhattan really was. It took nearly an entire hour to get to the center of the city, and Paul was wondering how John could bear to live in a place where the traffic was so terrible. He stared out of the window, marveling the giant skyscrapers reaching up to the bright blue sky. America seemed so much bigger and exotic compared to London. Paul was so enchanted by the city that he didn't realize the taxi had drawn to a halt.

"Here we are, sir." said the cabby, turning to face his passenger.

Paul stared at the driver, his eyes shining. "We're here? This is John's house?"

"You betcha!" the cabby laughed. "Out you hop. Go and make things right."

"Thank you very much." Paul said gratefully, stepping out of the taxi. He reached in his coat pocket for his wallet.

"No charge for you, Mr McCartney." said the cabby. "Hang on to what you've got."

Paul smiled and shook him warmly by the hand. "You're very kind. Thank you."

"No problem. Go and find Mr Lennon. I bet he'll be pleased to see you." The cabby waved jauntily, started up the car, and drove away. Paul waved until the taxi was no more than a little yellow dot on the horizon. He then took a deep breath and picked up his suitcase. He turned around to walk into the huge building that lay behind him, when he felt a large hand grab his shoulder. Paul whipped around, suddenly startled. His eyes met with a pair of squinty brown eyes, masked by small, round glasses. These eyes looked very familiar. 

"John?" Paul whispered, taking a step back.

"Hey, McCartney." John said, smirking a little. 

The two former band mates didn't say anything further. They just stared at each other, unable to believe what was happening. They had found each other again, after ten whole years of being apart. Paul held out his hand, barely realizing what he was doing. John reached out and took his hand, almost mechanically. Neither man spoke, but no words were needed. They knew exactly what the other was thinking.

"I've missed you, wack." they said simultaneously.