Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Thirty

Paul, though it was a work night, insisted that he took the couch when we went to bed.  He wouldn't let me argue with him, and he seemed so anxious.  When I asked him what was wrong, he just dismissed the question.  

I couldn't sleep knowing he was downstairs awake and alone.  I heard him pacing for about a half an hour straight.  The poor lad would drive himself insane doing that.  

After a few minutes of more pacing, I went downstairs to ask him what was wrong again.  I found a teary-eyed Paul, sitting on the couch, staring at the phone like a puppy would stare at a door as it waited for its master to come home.  

"Paul?"

He wiped his eyes.  "Oh, Elle.  Um...you should be sleeping."

"What's wrong, Paul?  You can tell me these things.  It's better to get them out than keep them in.  I should know."  I used the sleeve of my nightgown to dab away some of his tears.  It hurt me to see him so sad.  

"She hasn't called in ages.  I've tried calling her but it's no use. Ringo said he thought he saw her at the Club with another man.  And we're leaving for Paris soon.  She promised me..." He managed to choke out.  He couldn't meet my gaze.  I could tell he was trying to contain another wave of tears.  

I sat on my knees on the couch, still dabbing at his cheeks.  "It's alright, Paul.  Just let it out.  You've seen me cry before.  How is it any different?"

"I'm a man.  I'm not supposed to cry."  Paul let out a small laugh, but it was a bitter one.  

"Come now, love.  Am I really one to judge?"  I opened my arms to him, and he accepted.  Even though he was sad, he still was quite strong, and I felt warm in his tight embrace.  Eleanor didn't appreciate the wonderful man she had.  He would do anything for her, and she didn't care.  As long as she could use him whenever she wanted.  It sickened me.  

But, in a way, was I any better?  I was there that night with Paul, but the next night, I could be at George's house, in his arms.  Paul still cared for me, and George had feelings for me.  I was toying with them both.  

Maybe it wasn't right of me to criticize Eleanor... 

But at least you're not breaking Paul's heart.

After a few minutes of him whimpering into my shoulder, he let go.  His big, perfect brown eyes were still filled to the brim with tears.  Breaking Paul's heart is like kicking a puppy; it's just wrong.

I got up off the couch, and disappeared for a few minutes, leaving Paul alone.  For a moment, I think he had forgotten where I had gone, and he called out my name, like a scared little boy.  But then I returned.  

As the record I had gotten started playing, I took his hands and helped him up off the couch.  When we started to dance, he whimpered, "Elle, I don't want to," but soon he was swaying smoothly to the music too.  

We were so close, too close for it to be friendly.  But at that moment I didn't care.  All I cared about was trying to make him stop crying.  The poor little Beatle still had tears running down his cheeks.  I kept hold of his hands and we danced even the song had long since ended.  But the boy still was crying!  

I needed to have a serious conversation with Eleanor.  I wished she could see how upset he was.  

"Paul?" I whispered.  "You should get some sleep."

"I can't sleep."

"I'll sing for you."

After a moment of my pleading eyes, he gave in.  I helped him take off his jacket, and draped a blanket over him, like I was tucking him in.