Momma's Little Girl

Chapter 3

After looking through her dresser, she returned to the kitchen with a joint in hand.  Her back against the wall, she stood beside the phone deep in though about nothing in particular as she inhaled.  Linda stared at the burnt yellow wallpaper until her vision became blurry.  Her realization that she was daydreaming ended, what seemed to be, a pause in time.  The apartment’s silence dawned on her—it felt lonely without Heather.

‘Just call’ Linda told herself.  Her right hand slightly trembled as she dialed ‘0’.  She read Paul’s number to the operator and soon heard a pulsated ring, indicating that she had been directed overseas.  In her semi-intoxicated state, her heart pounded as the phone rang four times…five times…

Suddenly, the ringing stopped.  “Hello?” asked Paul.  Annoyed, he took a long drag from his cigarette.  These days, he seemed increasingly irritated and confused at the band’s lack of comradery, especially after having gotten along so well in India.  Usually, when he came home from the studio, it was with a heavy heart.  He, John, George and Ringo had matured like brothers, slept on top of one another for warmth, chipped in for prellies together when they needed the money in Hamburg.  It seemed increasingly unlikely that it was just a phase.  For the first time in the band’s existence, going to work felt like a chore instead of a joy.  Often, after he got home, he would lie on his bed and cry.  Rum and marijuana aided in repressing his doleful feelings.

“Hello?” he asked again, this time more angrily.

“Hi Paul, I got your message,” she spoke.  Though Linda was quite experienced at dating some of the most famous men in the world—Mick Jagger, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Warren Beatty—she had butterflies in her stomach and her heart.

Paul’s pout turned into a grin as his heart leapt.  ‘Linda’, he thought as he closed his eyes with joy.  Her American accent had such an inviting and sunny tone.  Laying down on the bed again, he said, in his Liverpool lilt, “hello, love.  I’m glad you got my message.”  Turning on the charm he added, “it’s nice to hear from you, Lin.”  Paul savored the tobacco and took another drag to calm his nerves.  “How’ve you been, love?”

Linda bent at the knees with excitement, trying to muffle her giggling.  His voice was calmly charming with a hint of rugged gruffness from cigarette smoke.  How could just one person’s voice in her ear send her entire body into a frenzy?

“I’ve been…good.  I’m still taking a lot of photographs.  I get to go to concerts.  Such a scene!  I just took some of The Animals yesterday night at the Fillmore East,” she said, then giggled.  Yesterday night was one of the few vestiges of the photography world she still enjoyed.  Linda had just started the mission of interviewing agents to help her manage her growing workload.  Currently, she had to manage her own jobs and deals.  Now that she had the front cover of “Rolling Stone”, her phone was ringing off the hook.  That was a double-edged sword—while it meant more money, it also meant that she would need an agent to help her manage her work.  Every interview left her cold and discouraged—the business she loved had become too commercial.  Before, it was just her and the artist at the photo shoot; now, PR men started to interfere.  Linda was wondering what else she could take pictures of.  She had thought about taking pictures of athletes but people told her that was worse than the music business.

“Do you think you got lots of great shots?”

“The film will tell me when I develop it tomorrow.  Photos never lie, you know,” she told him in jest, then laughed.  Hungry, she began to rummage through the pantry.  “How’ve you been, Paul?”

Seeing that that cigarette had quickly reached its filter, he stamped it out in the ashtray beside his bed.  “I’ve um…things have been good.  Staying busy, y’know.”  Nervous, Paul lit another.