Personal Preference (George Harrison)

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Do You Want to Know a Secret

I had just landed at John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York City. My parents were picking me up from the airport for the first time in forever. Stella was busy with wedding dress fittings and cake testing, so father had insisted that he and my mother would happily pick me up. Little did they know that when they finally laid eyes on me, they would not see the daughter that they had last seen at mine and Stella's farewell dinner. I was gaunt, to say the least, I had lost at least twenty pounds since my miscarriage in August of '65. Plus, the levels of alcohol that I had been consuming lately weren't being the nicest to me. As I crossed the terminal to the baggage claim, I heard the faint call of a familiar voice. My mother no doubt.

Picking up my bag and readjusting the carry on upon my shoulder, I looked in the direction of the voice. Finding my parents, a small grin began to play on my lips. I made my way over to them at a hastened pace and upon reaching them I engulfed them both in a warm embrace. "Johanna, you look tired," Mother said, looking me up and down.

I deeply sigh, "I knew you'd say that."

"Because you know it is the truth, London must be treating you pretty badly," She joked. No, just Brian Jones, recording, and alcohol, I thought ruefully.

"I've only lost twenty pounds, mom."

"Twenty pounds too many, pumpkin," Dad spoke up.

"Shouldn't we be getting home, I'm sure Stella is frantic without you two?" I ask, trying to evade the subject at hand.

"Of course, of course, we have no time to be gawking at the airport," Mom says almost in a frantic manner.

We walk to the car, mom and dad out in front of me. Dad puts my suitcase in the boot of the car whilst mom and I get into the newer sedan. After getting in, Dad starts the car and backs out of the parking space. The drive from JFK in Queens to our home in Greenwich Village is a forty-four minute drive, one that I've made countless times. The ride is oddly silent for the first half, finally, with much debate on Dad's behalf I get him to turn the radio on. However when he does, I'm met with the voice of Bob Dylan. Listening to the song, I realize that not only does it mention me, but the entire song is about me. It's like he's trying to tell me that I haunt him through everything he does. I should, he cheated on me and got both me and Sara pregnant, how ridiculous.

I desperately needed to talk to someone about this, if this was a hit in the United States, then it wouldn't be long until this hit the English scene. That would call for a lot of explaining on my part. I tried not to think too hard about the song but I couldn't help myself. Hearing my name on the radio was appalling, I had never experienced someone sing to me. I'd much rather have someone sing me a love song rather than a regretful song. It was just odd.

Arriving at my parents' home, I grabbed my suitcase out of the boot and made my way inside. To my disappointment, Stella nor Frank were there to greet me. This was saddening to me, seeing as I really needed someone to discuss Bob's song with. Settling into my room, I noticed that a new rotary phone sat on my desk. Lovely, just the thing I needed. Calling the first number I found in my address book, I was satisfied when the other end was answered. Of course, I hadn't expected Pattie to answer but I played it cool. "Hello?" She greeted.

"Hello, I'm calling for Mr. Harrison, this is Lola, Derek Taylor's secretary," I start in the sweetest tone I could muster.

"George is packing right now for a friend's wedding could he possibly call you back?" She asked, quite nicely.

"Um... Actually, it will only take a quick few minutes, it's just a scheduling issue."

Pattie sighs on the other end, acting as if it pains her to let me talk to him, "Okay."