The Arch of Love ~ Paul McCartney

1. We've got tonight

Los Angeles. 30 August '66, approx. 1:30 AM

It was the last night of my holiday with Fran. The holiday we had been planning and saving up for over a year, to celebrate both of us turning 24 and our first holiday out of the country. We were drinking cocktails in the hotel bar downstairs and were chatting the night away. She asked me about my date two weeks ago, back in England. I told her that that was long over. The guy turned out to be a total creep who insisted he'd walk me home at nine thirty. I knocked on the door of a neighbour, three streets away. Luckily the old lady living there realised in what situation I was and invited me in. I wasn't going to see that guy again.

Suddenly Fran's eyes got big. She was looking at something behind me. Before I could turn around, I heard a voice speaking, a voice I hadn't heard in a long time, but could still place. 'Excuse me, but... Archie, is that you? Archie Murray?' the stranger said. His voice had dropped an octave since I had last heard it, but still had that melodic feel to it. He had lost a bit of his accent, but it was still clear that he was from the north of England.

My eyes got wide as I turned around. It couldn't be, could it? It was. Paul McCartney. In my mind he was still that chubby twelve-year-old. But he wasn't that kid, anymore. He was a man double that age, with eyes like a lost puppy and hair that fell into his eyes, the surprise visible on his lips. He was wearing grey slacks and a white button down, both of which fit impeccably. He looked good.

'I never thought you existed outside of Liverpool. Let alone in Los Angeles!' he continued, without giving me the time to answer that I was, indeed, Archie.

'I'm actually... I'm going to... I'll go to bed,' Fran managed to push out, pointing upstairs. She gave me a look that clearly said "You're going to explain this to me tomorrow". Before I could object, she was gone, leaving me with the man.

When I turned back to Paul, he had a slight smile on his face. 'Paul, right?' I asked, feigning uncertainty. Of course I recognised him. The entire world knew his name and face, including me. I had followed his rise to the top and though I enjoyed the music, I couldn't say I was a full on fan. I was too old to be a crazed fan like the ones trying to get into the hotel, even at this time of night. But that didn't mean I wasn't proud of this band from Liverpool that rose to the world stage, or proud of this man that had meant a great deal to me, a long time ago.

His smile faltered. He wasn't expecting that answer, an arrogance I didn't recognise. 'Yeah, that's me. What are you drinking?' he recovered. He sat down on the bar stool next to me and beckoned the bartender, who hurried over. It wasn't like Fran and I had to wait ten minutes before he even looked our way. I guess that was the life of a Beatle; everyone at your service, at all time.

I was a bit taken back by his confidence. There was so much of it, it might need a separate chair. 'Eh, a scotch and coke, please.'

'Make that two,' he said to the bartender, and then, without skipping a beat, to me: 'You look beautiful.'

I felt my cheeks heat up. Was it the alcohol I had been drinking, or was I blushing? Maybe both? 'Thank you. What are you doing here?'

'Just finished up a tour,' he looked at his watch, 'four hours ago. We get to rest a day before we fly back to London. What about you? What brings you to this sunny corner of the world?' He looked in my eyes, or was it the other way around? I couldn't seem to look away.

'Well, the sun,' I chuckled. 'Fran and I are on holiday to celebrate our birthdays.'

I saw something flicker in his eyes, but couldn't quite place what it was. 'You're here tomorrow?' he asked, interested.

'We fly back tomorrow morning,' I said, shaking my head.

I don't know who initiated it. Who was the first to lean forward, the first to close their eyes, the first to press their lips on the lips of the other? I don't know who started it, but it was clear both of us wanted it. When the chatting stopped, the kissing started. There was a lot of kissing that night and when kissing didn't seem enough anymore, he took me up to his hotel room. Hungry kisses, touches in forbidden places and our bodies moving in sync. It was pure bliss.

When the sun came up, the magical night ended and I untangled his limps from mine. I felt terrible, sneaking out of the room without saying goodbye, but it wasn't like I was going to stay and cuddle anyways. Fran and I would be under way to the airport before he would wake up, but I knew it was a night I would remember for a long time. Maybe I was a Beatles fan after all.