Got To Be Good-looking ('cause he's so hard to see)

~39~

John

So, I got eight blocks of chocolate, that should be enough. I hope she likes dark cause the only other was fruit and nut and that would have been just gross.

I decided to go out to McCartney's just for the fun of it, have a bash on the piano, play some rock n roll, and kick back. Turns out Paul had the same idea, with Linda off shopping he was bored and I'm pretty sure his eye's lit up when I appeared on the horizon to save him from the goats that followed him to the gate of the house-yard.

"John" Paul only has to say one word and I'm back in '58, '59 weird but nice, safe, and before all the hype and hotel rooms. We were just boys- John, Paul and George, Rings bless him joined on the cusp and fell right into place, the last piece of the puzzle. "Cuppa?"

"Nah I bought a bottle" I waved the scotch and he grabbed it walking toward the studio, I grabbed my guitar and jogged after him. He was dishevelled but happy, three-day growth and tatty shirt, too long pants and a jacket that looked like it had been trampled by a herd of cattle. "Hang about, bit of a hurry is ya?"

"No, just Linda's been on my case for the drinks and I thought, you know, have a few then stop 'fore she gets 'ome" Maybe I was bringing bad habits with me here, Paul poured two glasses and handed one over "To old friends and long lives"

"Cheers to that" We sat in reflection, smiling, then thinking quietly, then a random smile appeared again. That's it, enough of that " So, I thought some rock n roll, Chuck, bit of Great Balls of Fire" I banged out the notes on the piano making Paul push me up one end of the stool and he nicked the other, the music loud yet soothing and rocking out at the same time.

"So, how's the little white cottage going?" Paul asked innocently enough but his eyes held and then scooted off toward the guitar case, suddenly so interesting. "Cosy?..."

"How did you know it was white"

Paul gulped then recovered "Well one- aren't all cottages by the sea white and two- Linda booked the bloody thing and told me"

"I, umm, it's been grand. That storm broke windows and let water in though"

"That's no good, do you need to come out and stay here, there's room" Paul's fingers found their way around the piano in front of me Let It Be falling over us, memories flooding.

"Not my place the other cottage, hurt herself the lass, big arse lump of glass in her foot, she's staying at mine at the moment"

The eyes sharpened and he did his best not to seem too interested but Paul was smelling the start of a good tale so he sat a little straighter, lighting a smoke he swirled it and nodded slightly for me to go on.

"The baker"

"Muffins, right?" He confirmed, dragging on the cigarette as I perched one in my lips and worked over the ebony and ivory.

"Hmmm... Clare" I smiled around the fag, we had made music and finally I felt like we could be semi nice for one another.

The difference between Clare and my music, was of course, pretty awesome sex.

Paul's face suddenly tumbled and he was pretty pasty looking "Nice name"

"Yeah, we are pretty friendly... now" I laughed a low rumble in my throat 'She's gear, I was thinking of bringing her out here, but she doesn't know I'm.... well me....." My embarrassment must have reared ugly on my dial as Paul's eyebrows rose. I stuttered "We, yeah, she's pretty awesome"

"John, you're still married, don't hurt the girl"

"Nah she's tough this one, you were right, feisty, puts up with me which is refreshing. Likes me not Lennon, not a Beatle"