This was evidently his sign of defiance; he wanted to show that the great and powerful McCartney could also bring the girlfriend to the studio.
I winced slightly. All the clicking was making me nervous. I knew she was snapping pictures of me; which photographer didn’t want a piece of Beatle John these days? It made me jumpy, being watched, like the paparazzi had been let into the most private and personal of places, the studio where we recorded.
In this case, the press was Paul’s plus one.
That
“Fuck, why’d you bring the bloody clicking camera?”
“Why’d you bring the bloody whining brat you’ve got there!”
“Shut up, Paul!”
“She’s telling me what to do like she’s superior or some shit!”
was
“Where’s George?”
“Gone.”
“Pissed him off again, have you?”
how
“Right, seems you don’t care anymore.”
I cared, I cared, but he wasn’t paying attention to me. He wasn’t even making an effort to pry me out of my shell of denial, like he used to.
it
“Let’s do one last performance.”
“No, we can’t do that. We’re not ready.”
“Are we ever going to do something with these songs? Another album?”
“Shit, John, I don’t know,” he said sarcastically.
all
“Paul.”
ended.
“John.” His tone was hard.
It was on one of those days, in May of 1969, that we broke up, just like that.
“Right, I’m fucking done.”
“Done?”
My voice was steady, but underneath was pure fear, welling up like a flood, ready to spill out my eyes if it weren’t for my self-control,
YOU ARE READING
Dear Sean
FanfictionEverything John has experienced with Paul, from their meeting to their first kiss to their devastating split is written in this bedtime story, one that John might never be brave enough to tell Sean.
Eighteen
Start from the beginning
