John glanced at the clock, and took a long drag off his cigarette, leaning back against the headboard as he exhaled and closed his eyes. It was nearly nine a.m. and he hadn’t slept since she stormed off nearly five hours earlier. He imagined she’d be awake by now, programmed to rise under any circumstance due to years of routine with Julian. It was driving him mad; surely the room service he’d sent to her room had arrived. He stared at the phone on the nightstand, willing it to ring.
“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Powell,” John mumbled to himself. He must have really done it this time; she was not going to forgive him. Even Cyn wasn’t capable of loving him that much. He had tricked her, rushed her into a marriage that was to ultimately destroy them, but allowed her, and everyone else around them during that time, to think the opposite. For years he let people believe it was an accident, totally unexpected and a complete surprise; of course they loved each other, but neither was ready for marriage. Yes, that would work. They had to do it for the child. It made sense. It was believable, and letting Cyn believe it was the most significant; it still allowed him the upper hand. He even started to believe his lies himself. John Lennon, the mastermind behind the Beatles, a young genius in his prime. Why on earth would he tie himself down to his college sweetheart when the world was his for the taking? Someone like John Lennon was far too eccentric, unpredictable and wild to fancy anything even remotely close to domesticity.
What he, and everyone else didn’t realize, was that Julian was never the child in question; it was him.
His lie became his secret. The secret that he shared only with the journals he intended Julian to have one day. Poor kid. He was the innocent bystander in all this. His beloved son who he had hurt so much, and who deserved the truth more than any of them.
What the fuck was wrong with him? He had tried so hard to leave it all behind; to forget it all ever happened. He was supposed to move on to the life he convinced himself John Lennon was destined to lead. And Cyn – Cyn and Julian would finally have the life they deserved – one that no longer included him and all the pain and disappointment that came along with it. He could never give her what she wanted. It was too late to fix all of the damage.
Why did he come here? Why couldn’t he have kept his fucking mouth shut and stay in New York with Yoko? She was, after all, his second chance.
The phone beside the bed finally started ringing and he frantically stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray beside it, clearing his throat before picking up the receiver.
“Chocolate chip pancakes with blueberries and syrup on the side. You really are unbelievable, John.”
Her favorite. The exact same order she’d placed when they stayed there years ago on their honeymoon. She had been so excited. Chocolate chip pancakes. Could they really order blueberries and syrup on the side? She couldn’t believe it. He had teased her relentlessly about the unlikely and odd combination.
***
“John, love, you must try these! You couldn’t have been more wrong. They’re spectacular,” she called him to him from the honeymoon suite, “I’ve never seen such a thing and with just a bit of blueberry and touch of syrup…blimey.”
He was standing outside on their private terrace, overlooking the Champs-Elysees. He inhaled the cool air and let it fill his lungs. Autumn in Paris, with Cyn, on their honeymoon. Soon they, too, would be one of the beautiful people in the City of Light. As Hemingway once wrote, “Paris was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there.” John smiled.
“John? Did you hear me?” She was dressed in black. Wearing a slim fitting turtle neck and tight cigarette pants that stopped at her ankles and lifted her bum so high it made him question gravity, she looked every bit the art student. Every bit like Paris. Her perfect blonde flip bounced off her shoulders. She really had no idea how stunning she was.
