And I Love Her (P.M)

It's Painful To Age

Paul sighed; he hated getting older. Frowning at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he ran a hand through his hair. He watched in the mirror as the covers of his bed started to move, and a long, feminine arm stretched upwards. He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. Turning back and picking clothes up as he went, he stopped at the door. Looking over his shoulder at the random girl lying in his bed, he said “You can let yourself out. Spare key is under the mat; put it through the letter box when you've locked up.” He told her, shutting the door behind him as he left. Getting dressed as he walked downstairs, he bumped into a table in the foyer. “Shit.” Paul hissed, rubbing his hip. Padding barefoot through to the kitchen, Paul could hear his unwanted company moving around above him. He sighed angryliy, wishing he'd kicked her out last night. He hated having to get rid of random girls in the morning; the frequent and limitless random girls that he brought home whilst Jane was away to keep him company and fufill his needs. The mere thought of Jane was enough to make Paul’s blood boil. Was it too much to ask for a woman who’d stay with him and be what he considered a proper wife? A proper wife was not someone who fucked off to America to be in a play. She - the one that got away - would havestayed  with him. Then again, Paul would have wanted her to have a career. Jane was talented enough, but nothing on the scale of her talent. But perhaps he was biased when it came to Demi... Demi. Paul hadn’t thought about that name in a long time; almost three years. Of course, she was all over the news these days. She was doing exceptionally well; a few number one singles here and there and she’d smashed records. She’d even found time to date some of the biggest rock stars in the world, most of whom were friends with Paul. There was nothing he could do about that; none of them knew of his past with Demi so, to people outside of the band and their families, they never happened. But Paul hated to think of her, snuggled up with Mick Jagger or Rodger Daltry instead of him. And now she was supposedly having an affair with the King himself, Elvis Presley. How on earth was he supposed to compete what that?

Paul walked into Abbey Road studios slowly; he really did hate getting older. He felt ten years older, never mind one. He signed the guest book in the lobby and waved to the young receptionist, Doris. She’d started working there around the time The Beatles had first been signed to EMI. She was like a little sister to them, and the band loved her dearly. “Happy Birthday Paul!” Doris shouted, the other three receptionists glaring at her. Paul smiled at her. “Thank you Dory.” He replied. His eyes flitted from one receptionist to another. “Good morning, ladies.” He said, nodding at them. They all cleared their throats and went back to their work. Paul winked at Doris, who giggled and waved at him as he walked away. She was only fifteen when she had started working there; now she was twenty, beautiful and the only female Paul wouldn’t take a hit at. She was too lovely and sweet for him to kick out in the morning when he was finished and bored of her. 

He walked into studio two, sighing heavily. “Hey, here he is! The birthday boy is here at last!” Paul looked up and smiled; John, George, Ringo and George Martin were all stood in the middle of the studio, obviously trying to conceal something. “How does it feel to be twenty-five then, Paulie?” John asked, grinning as Paul walked towards them. Paul shrugged. “Bit shit if I’m perfectly honest.” “Cheer up, mate." George said, patting Paul on the back. “Want your present? That’ll cheer you up!” Ringo asked. They all moved out of the way, revealing a gorgeous Fender Jazz Bass. Paul’s mouth dropped. “I think he likes it.” Ringo said, grinning. George Martin handed it to Paul, who put the attached strap over his head and admired it as it rested against his stomach. “I’ve tuned it and made sure they made it left handed for you. It’s a one-of-a-kind, specially made for you.” George Martin explained, smiling at Paul, who had started to fiddle with some chords. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a striking bass line flowed from Paul’s fingers. “Paul that’s…” John started “…Just what we need!” Paul finished. They quickly set to work.

Paul and John walked up the front steps of Paul’s London home, rolling their eyes at the screaming girls who were gathered outside Paul’s gate. “How do you put up with them?” John asked, following Paul into the house. Paul shrugged, grinning. “Most of the time, I quite enjoy having them there. But I don’t agree with them sleeping out there. I had to put a few of them up at a hotel last week ‘cause one nearly got run over by a passing van." John chuckled, shutting the front door behind him. “So when does Jane get back?” John asked. Paul rolled his eyes, lighting a cigarette. “To be honest, I couldn't care less.” Paul replied. He handed John a cigarette and lit it for him. They both sat down on Paul’s sofa, taking simultaneous drags. “So, have you seen your lady friend from the press release?” Paul’s eyes lit up at the thought of that meeting. He’d been in a club called the Bag ‘O Nails with a few of his artsy friends when a woman had caught his eye. He didn’t know her, but he knew he fancied her like mad. He saw her again only two weeks ago; she attended the press release for Sgt Pepper. “What was her name again?” John asked. “Linda Eastman.” John looked at Paul and saw something he hadn't seen in a long time; Paul was falling in love. “What does she do?” He asked, tapping his cigarette on the edge of a nearby ashtray. “She’s a photographer. That's why she was at the press release for Sgt Pepper, remember? Taking photos for some music mag?” "I thought he just there for personla gain; free photos of you!” Paul blushed. John reached over and ruffled Paul’s unkempt hair. Suddenly, the front door opened. “Hello?” Jane appeared in the door way, suitcase in hand. “Jane… I didn’t know you were coming back tonight.” Paul exclaimed, rushing over and giving her a kiss on the cheek. She squirmed and wriggled out his grip. She placed her free hand on his chest and pushed him away. “Ergh… Paul, you stink of fags and God only knows what else! What have you been doing? And why is this place a tip? Honestly, I go away for a little bit and I come home to find the place a pigsty. Jesus…” “No, John. Not Jesus – John.” John grinned at Jane, who rolled her eyes at him. “Hello John. Didn’t comments like that get you into trouble last time?” John scowled and turned his gaze to Paul, who was leant against the door frame, arms folded across his chest. “Want me to call a taxi?” He asked John. "Aye, please, mate. Wouldn't want to stay and take up Ms Asher's valuable complaining space."