Lipstick Lily

Do Not Pass Go

She sat in the middle of the rug, in the middle of the floor, in her little tiny flat. 

Her eyes ran over the sheets of varied parchment in front of her.

She had painted them, in the beginning, as being the same, similar in appearance and personage. All carefree lads with free time, creative urges, intense longings for success.

But they were not that at all. John, Paul, Ringo and George were people unto themselves, of course they were four corners of the Beatles, one not able to do without the other, but the men behind their names were individuals and Lily was learning so much from them.

When she had last met up with George he was bubbling. Full of enthusiasm. He had tumbled in the flat bouncing on toes and grinning from ear to ear unable to contain his excitement and feelings about the beautiful model come actress he had just left. He had met Pattie at the Marylebone Train Station that day, on the set of the movie they were making. A movie! Those scouser's making a movie Lily had a laughing fit when Paul had told her in one of his phone calls, all self-important and conquereor he was, blowing his own trumpet. But he forgot who he was talking to. Lily had giggled, then cackled and Paul gave her a right telling off calling her a naughty girl, telling her she should be more fan-like and make googly eyeballs at him.... them. Lily laughed even harder and Paul, after calling her Gorgeous once again, had threatened a tickle battle with her on his next visit.

Lily picked up the letter. 

George had, in the beginning, written at length about ANYTHING, no subject taboo. Hamburg was laid bare, shenanigans touted and Lily felt like she was standing right beside him as they laughed and played the hundreds of hours away. Now he tore off a scribbled few lines and sometimes he must have been so busy, sentences were half finished sliding off into another totally different piece of information or gag.

Pattie was busy again apparently. This letter was longer, Lily being his outlet in times of trouble around girls he liked. George had been so enamoured by Pattie, he literally worshipped her. Yet this nasty venting letter was nothing but. He called Pattie 'selfish' and 'snobby' and Lily cringed. His reasoning was distorted by his own lifestyle and Lily, standing on the outside looking in, could see one girl trying to be a successful woman and one boy trying to have everything on his own terms.

The letter ended with him saying he was coming to see Lil next Tuesday evening and she needed to be ready with all of the following: hugs and Choc Olivier's, boiled sweets and popcorn; George was nothing but exacting in his requests.

It was Monday and her days at the job she presently worked was vexing and boring. Waiting tables, batting away leery old men's hands and clearing dirty dishes.

And her nights.... and her nights were either long winded and boring or short and terse. Especially if a man came for one thing and didn't get it....

Lily was still strong enough and capable enough to hold off in that particular department but she now remembered and rubbed her arm where that man, that night, had grasped onto her, hit out at her and punched wildly at her as she pushed the door closed, leaning with all her might on it as he flailed about and lashed out. Unhappy, unsatisfied.

He'd wanted sex. And only sex. Not companionship. Not a pleasant evening discussing the latest movie, the insipid weather or even the state of England's financial troubles. Only sex. And Lily wasn't at all happy that Ophelia had sent him round and given him the idea he would get both. No, not just a nice evening was desired. He had wanted a dirty evening. A filthy encounter with a whore. He had greeted her at the door with a sneer and self-important outlook, sliding his gaze hungrily over her attributes and pinched her tit unceremoniously as he stood on the threshold, like it was his god given right too; that's when her door was pushed to close.