Blackbird, Fly (A Paul McCartney Story)

Chapter Seven

When I came to clean Paul's room, which was towards the end of my shift, he locked the door and raced me to his bedroom.  I walked slower than he did, and when I peered around the corner he picked me up and dropped me on his bed.  "Paul!" I whispered.  "Someone could see us.  What if we get caught?  I need to keeping working..." My voice trailed off as he began to kiss my neck.  Even though you wouldn't think it was, his skin was so soft.  I touched his cheek, which was so velvety smooth.

Paul and I were in that same position when someone opened the door to his room.  "Paul-" the brown-haired man seemed stunned.  

"John," he got off of me, "please, let me talk to you.  Alone."

I hurried to replace the linens in their room.  My heart was racing.  "Please don't tell," I whispered to myself.  "Please...don't let Paul get in trouble."

The two friends came back into the room.  "I promise I won't tell, Maura.  You don't have to be afraid."

Looking up at him, I said, "Thank you."

John cleared his throat.  "Well, I came here just to get my jacket and wallet.  So now, I better leave you two alone, so you can finish what I interrupted."  I blushed, and he left.  

Paul came towards me again, and as much as I wanted to take the entire day and lay in bed with him, I knew that I had to work.  So I cleaned the counters and the bathroom, and emptied the garbage.  

A middle-aged couple came in the room while I was finishing up cleaning their kitchenette counters.  They did not seem happy that they could see me.  I was supposed to be invisible.  The man began to talk about the big concert that the Beatles were playing.  

In a quiet voice, the woman said, "I can't believe those scousers want Negros in their audience.  Honestly, they're poisoning the minds of teenagers everywhere.  Next thing you'll know, they'll want interracial marriages to be legal.  Can you imagine seeing mixed children?"  

I took in a quiet breath, and tried to ignore what they were saying.  

"They're saying that one of the singers has a Negro girlfriend.  If he knows what's good for him, they'll all publicly admit that Negros are the scum of the world."  

That was a job I finished quickly and quietly.  

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It was official.  The Beatles would perform the night after that one.  If something went wrong again, they were moving on.  Their manager said that they had spent enough time there, meanwhile Paul told me it wasn't long enough.  

Paul said that John was going to be gone that evening, and it looked like rain out.  We could hear the thunder approaching.  "My dear, I know that you don't want to...but I'd love it if you stayed the night.  I could borrow you a shirt, and get you a toothbrush from the shop downstairs in the morning.  I'd make sure you'd leave my room safely.  No one will see."  

After a minute, I said, "Can I use your phone?"

Mama answered, and she was nervous about letting me stay.  But I told her that Paul was going to take care of everything, and that I wouldn't be seen.  And by the time I had pitched my argument to her, it was pouring rain outside. 

"Maura, be careful.  Don't do anything I wouldn't do.  Goodnight, honey." she sounded almost excited to get off of the phone.  I was fairly certain that she didn't want to know what was going to happen to me that night.  

"I love you, Mama."

I told Paul it worked out, and he got me a button-up shirt that was a bit big on him, so it would be more comfortable for me.  "I'm so glad you could stay.  Now we can finish what we started." he smiled.  But I said, "Will you sing for me?" 

He nodded.  "I'll get my guitar.  You go relax in my room.  If...if you'd feel more comfortable sleeping in John's bed instead of mine, it...it, um, wouldn't offend me."  But I knew how sad he would be if I didn't lay with him at the end of the night.  We didn't need to do anything, but lately I had began to feel terribly cold if Paul wasn't right next to me, even if I was still sleeping in the same bed as Ruth.  

When Paul came back into his room, he sat down next to me and began to play something soft on his guitar.  He nodded along with the strumming.  I rested my head on his shoulder as he began to sing.  I'm sad to say that today I wouldn't be able to tell you what that song was.  I was so angry with myself for forgetting.  But how could I forget the passion in his voice, and that later he said he sang for me only?

He played for at least an hour until he ran out of slow, quiet songs he knew how to play.  I kissed his cheek, and he set his guitar down at the foot of the bed.  We laid there for awhile until Paul said, "If things ever got better, would you ever want to marry me?  Would you want to have kids?"

I thought of what that couple said, about interracial marriages and mixed children.  

A child that Paul and I had would never be able to live there and be accepted.  

Sitting up, I said, "Can I have some water, please?"  He immediately got some from me, but then he asked me those questions again.  

After I set my glass down, I told him, "Paul, you're leaving soon.  And I don't know if you're going to come back anytime soon.  There is no way I'm going to get out of this town, and I highly doubt you'd ever want to come back, even if you were touring." He looked like he wanted to say something, but I continued.  "I'm not going to be the only girl you'll ever fall in love with, as much as I want to believe that I am yours forever.  But I know you'll find a beautiful, smart girl in England-" Paul cut me off by kissing me.  I touched his cheek, and my other hand rested in his hair, which I knew he liked.  

"Love...I know you're right.  But tonight and tomorrow, you're mine...if you want to be."

"I'd love to be." I said, with teary eyes and a smile.  He wiped away the visible tears and kissed me once more, holding my face in his hands.  

Maybe he wouldn't forever be mine, but that night he was.