Chapter 25
At first, I was confused. How had Paul gotten out of the hospital? How had he found out where we were staying? Where was John? And, the one that was bothering me the most, what the hell was happening? Nothing was making sense right now. George had made a move on me, Ringo was dancing like a normal person now, Paul had escaped from the hospital to find his wife and best friends, and John was still in the hospital. What. The. Fuck.
But there wasn't any time for questions. Paul had hurried over to Ringo and forcibly removed him from the dance floor, dragging him over to where George and I stood. Next, he linked arms with me and George, for Ringo had latched onto his leg. Was this really how we were going to leave the hotel? Two of the guys drunk, Paul in pajamas, while they carried away a young lady (me). What were these people thinking? If they were sober enough to think, that is. I choked back a giggle.
One minute we were in the hotel's bar, and the next we were all piled in Ringo's car. Paul and I sat in the front, while George and Ringo sat, passed out, in the back. Suddenly, Paul realized that he didn't have the key. He suggested that I fish in his pocket for it, so I did, tossing the keys up front as soon as they were in my hand. Paul caught them and easily started the car. He pressed down on the gas, speeding out into traffic. Were we going to leave John in the hospital? What if we all decided to go home, though?
"Paul!" I exclaimed, scaring him a bit. "We have to turn around! We can't just leave John in a Miami hospital! Plus, if we leave, he's not gonna have anybody. Yeah, maybe Yoko could rent a car, but she couldn't just drive to England, you know. We at least have to give them some money if you won't give them a ride." I made my eyes as large as they would go and pushed my bottom lip out, giving him my most pathetic look. Hopefully my rant was convincing enough!
Apparently it wasn't. Paul kept right on driving, going about three times the original speed limit of 25. I gripped the glovebox nervously, fearing for my life, and the lives of all the boys in the car. What would our children say if we were to die in a fatal car accident? My stomach was in knots, and I was suddenly glad that he wasn't going to turn around. Maybe John wanted to stay in Miami; who knows? I just wanted to get to the nearest airport and catch a flight home. John would be fine; he had his family here.
Once we were in front of the airport, Paul slammed on the brakes. We both lurched forward, and I was instantly grateful I had bothered to buckle my seatbelt. I glanced over at my husband. He seemed...tense. Maybe he was just homesick. One could only hope. Because, in reality, he wasn't one to be be around when he was upset about something. Oh, and you never joined him when he was writing a song. Unless, of course, he invited you inside. But that was beside the point now.
He shoved some hundred dollar bills in my hand and stared at my face. His eyes softened, and he brushed some of my hair out of my face. "Don't be frightened, love. Just go in there and demand a flight back to London. If they decline, show them all of these bills. All of them. Do you understand?" I nodded quickly, blinking back tears. "I'll be in as soon as I can, but I've got to bring these bloody gits. I love you." He kissed my forehead, then I hopped out of the car.
I half-sprinted into the aiport, and strutted up to an African-American lady behind the desk. She seemed very tired, but not tired enough to let me just slip on by. She threw her pen down (I noticed that she was left-handed, like my husband) and narrowed her eyes at me. "Hello, may I help you?" I noticed that she had a light British accent. She was reminding me a bit like Paul, and I wasn't sure if I liked that or not.
I smiled warmly and nodded. "Yes, actually, you can. I need to board the next flight back to London. Four tickets, please." That didn't sound so rude, did it? But I had to add one little thing to it.. "I have cash, you know." I fanned the hundred dollar bills in front of my face. The air actually felt wonderful; I was sweating terribly from being nervous. Paul had never asked me to lie for him before; this was all new to me! Actually... I think I like all of this!
The lady pursed her lips and began looking through her paperwork again. "Oh, yes, I'd imagine you have cash, ma'am. But what are the other three tickets for? Your imaginary friends?" She chuckled softly.
I didn't think it was funny. Just as I was about to begin screaming at her for being impolite, Paul burst in, carrying George and Ringo. They were conscious now, but barely. George was stronger than Ringo was, stumbling slightly, trying furiously to walk, but Paul wouldn't let go of him. The lady behind the desk gawked at them. She was obviously a Beatles fan, but had never seen them in this condition. Her eyes widened even larger when she noticed that Paul and I were wearing similiar wedding rings. Was that jealousy? If so, I quite enjoyed that, too!
I handed her all of the cash, and she handed me four tickets. She swooned when Paul winked at her. I smirked and shook my head. Didn't he know what he did to all of these girls? I kissed his cheek gently.
"Thank you," I whispered. "You walked in at the exact moment you should have! I couldn't ask for anyone better than you, Paulie."
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Once we were back home, I rushed into Mary and Stella's bedroom, but they weren't there. My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the ground. Paul ran in there after me, holding a note in his hand. My heart was beating loudly, and I feared that I was going to pass out. I requested that he read the note to me, and he obliged.
"Dear Mr. and Mrs. McCartney,
I took your dear daughters. They are very beautiful, and they were sleeping when I took them. Now, of course you can have them back! But you have to do a few things for me. I want you to leave £20 on the table. I'll be checking tomorrow afternoon. If you really loved your daughters, you would. The eldest one is crying for her mummy and daddy now, and the younger one isn't saying anything. So, consider it. It seems fair, does it not? Remember, it's not for me. It's for them.
Love,
Nowhere Man."
