And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 59: Real Life Is Just Like School, But Magnified

"You look like one of us."

I supposed it was true. Black leather pants which were cut in a cigarette style and hugged my backside spectacularly, a boxy shirt made out of a black satiny material. Block heels which had survived the worst, even falling into the river. "Although," John continued. "I wouldn't want to fuck anyone else in the band, mind you."

I turned around and threw my leather jacket at him. It hit him in the face and he kept laughing under it. "John Winston Lennon," I started in a half annoyed half, amused tone, walking towards him. "You couldn't—"

He grabbed my waist and I found myself on the bed, wrapped in his arms, feeling his kisses on my face at first like bullets from a machine gun, but they slowed until they became soft and sweet. I was laughing, turning my head to simultaneously avoid his passion but finding myself coming back for more. Eventually we stopped, lying there in the cramped bottom bunk. My back was to the wall, he was facing me, his back towards the door. He traced a finger down my nose. "You always do that you know. Touch my goddamn ugly nose."

"It's not ugly, John," I told him, smiling softly at the sight of it. "It's so beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you," he said, and it was a cheesy line but when he said it, when he said it in his Liverpudlian drawl it became elevated to a whole new level. "Don't," I said, closing my eyes for a moment and then opening them to see his concerned face. "Why won't you let me tell you you're so sweet? You're sweeter than any candy to me."

"Don't quote Peggy Lee," I told him. "How can you quote someone else when you're John Lennon of the Beatles?"

"All right, love," he said, his hand reaching towards me, stroking my hair. "I'll try again." He thought a while. "I should have known better, ye know. I should have known better with a girl like you... that I would love everything that ye do... and I do, and I do, yes I do." He leaned forwards and kissed me, trying to mask his embarrassment, the red rapidly rising on his cheeks, but I leaned away, my eyes wide, incredulous. "That was good! I loved that! Ye should make it into a song!"

"Love, the whole point of that was so that I could get a kiss, not have one taken away from me," he scolded me.

"Continue," I demanded. "It's bloody good lyrics."

He thought a moment. "No," he said. "I just want to lie here with you." He let the mattress engulf his form, clad in black, even more. "Yes, love come here."

I heard voices outside. "Show's about to start soon," I said sleepily. "Nearly nine."

"Sod it. Don't want to go." He paused and a look of thoughtfulness came over his face. He suddenly sat up, almost banging his head on Pete's bunk above. "Come on, love, let's go."

"All right." I grabbed my satchel and followed him downstairs, his boots thumping on the wooden staircase. My excitement morphed into confusion as he missed the doorway to the main hall and instead ran outside into the cool evening air, me following him, holding on tight to my satchel as my heels clicked madly against the concrete pavement. Two worlds: inside the Top Ten and outside, each competing with each other for nights of excitement but so different. "Where are you going?" I called, my eyes searching out his figure in the darkening sky. He lagged behind a bit, letting me grab his hand, but then we were both running, running past the little shops and cafes towards the canal. "John!"

"Come on love, don't hang behind!" There was freedom in his voice.

"You're the one without heels!"

"All right then." He slowed his walk.

"John—it's the last performance—Eckhorn—"