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MONDAY, OCTOBER 19, 1959
A door opening down the hallway distracted Paul in the middle of shaving. His white button-up was still half-unbuttoned, his hair was still adjusting to the gel he'd reapplied just moments ago, and he really didn't have much time to sit around and have a chat with whoever had just entered the house.
"Paul? Where are you? I've got to have a chat with you!"
Paul rolled his eyes at himself in the mirror and swiped the razor the last few times before rinsing his face and drying it off. George appeared in the doorway of the bathroom and Paul turned to him with an unamused look.
"What do you want?" Paul asked. "I've got a date, so it had better be something quick."
"Guin wanted to have sex," he whispered. "But, I ran away."
Paul raised an eyebrow. "You ran away?" he asked, and he couldn't help it. He chuckled, just a little bit.
"Hell, Paul, don't ruddy laugh at me!" George cried. "It just didn't feel right. Don't think I wanna do...that right now."
"What did she say?" Paul asked. "Hate to break it to you, but Guinevere is the school whore. No sex might be a deal breaker."
George's eyebrows furrowed. "Why does everyone call her that?"
"Because it's true," Paul replied.
"Well, if she's a whore, then you're a man whore!" George argued. "I knew I shouldn't have brought this up to you. Sorry I even bloody tried." George scoffed. "Have fun on your date." With that, he turned and left the bathroom, leaving Paul all alone.
"I hope that's not how you ran away from her!" Paul called after him, breaking into a fit of laughter. "That's a dealbreaker for most women!"
George appeared back in the doorway with a scowl on his face. Paul turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "Thought you were done with me?" he asked.
"You're the only one I can talk to," George grumbled.
"Well, once again," Paul said. "Alex will be here in about twenty minutes so make this therapy session speedy."
George rolled his eyes. "Bloody therapy session. I don't need ruddy therapy, and if I did, I definitely would not get it from you."
Paul put a hand to his heart mockingly. "Awe, George...I'm hurt."
Paul pushed past George and went into his bedroom. George followed him up there, his mind still reeling from his encounter with Guinevere. He couldn't believe what had almost happened...and he also couldn't believe that he wasn't ready for it! What kind of bloody bullshite was that?
He stared at Paul, and Paul stared back. "Why in the hell won't you talk to Alexandria?" Paul asked him again, still pissed off that George had heard poor Alexandria cry over him that morning and still refused to speak to her.
"About this?" George asked with a raised eyebrow. "Maybe because that's bloody awkward to discuss with another bird. Anyways, you've gotta give me some advice on this whole sex thing because I wanna do it, I just don't know how!"
"Ask yer bird. I can almost a thousand percent guarantee that she knows a thing or two about shagging." Paul smirked. "You know, because she's—." He didn't even say it to insult Guinevere. He just said it to see how much it pissed George off because he found it funny when lanky, non-threatening George Harrison got all pissy.
"Yeah, I get the ruddy point," George said. "You don't have to say it again."
"Hell, George, either way, it's all about pleasing' the bird. I can't tel you what in the hell Guinevere likes. You, as her boyfriend, are supposed to bloody figure that out." Paul pulled a thin, paper tube from his trouser pocket and stuck it between his lips before fishing for a lighter to light it up.
"Yer dad'll murder ye if he finds out that you're smoking in here again, Paul," George said. He could remember all of the times Paul had been busted with a cigarette in the house, and all the shouting matches he had endured between Paul and his dad. His dad was usually the most chill person on the planet, but when you did something to make him angry, rest assured he would make you pay.
"Good thing he won't find out, then, yeah?" Paul responded slyly. He reached for another cigarette and extended it towards George. "It'll calm your nerves. I can tell just by looking at you that you're still all wound up, and that makes me wildly uncomfortable, George."
George frowned, then gave in and took the cigarette from Paul's hand. Paul lit the device for him and then opened a window. George closed the bedroom door behind them in an attempt to keep the smoke away from the downstairs floor of the house.
"Just shag her and get it over with."
"What if I'm bad, though?"
"Oh, you will be," Paul replied. "That's just inevitable. Only gives you room to improve...and an excuse to do it more." Paul smirked at his younger friend, but George didn't look like his mind was any more at ease now than it had been. "Hell, George, you're overthinking it. Don't think about it, just do it. If she wants to the be better somehow, believe me, she will tell you." Paul took a drag of his cigarette, then exhaled the smoke out of the window.
"James Paul McCartney, are you smoking in there again?" Jim McCartney's voice caught Paul off guard, and his doe eyes went wide as he reached over and plucked the cigarette from George's lips. He reached out of his window and snubbed them out on the brick outside, then dropped them down to the grass below.
"No!" Paul called out as George grabbed a bottle of cologne and spritzed it into the air. He knew the routine. They'd gone over it many times before. Paul yanked the window closed and quietly as possible just as his bedroom door opened. George put his hands behind his back to hide the cologne bottle.
"Alexandria's here," Paul's father said with a deep scowl at his son. He knew what he was bloody up to.
"Right, tell her I'll be down in just a minute," Paul said, and George shifted uncomfortably at the mention of his former best friend.
When the bedroom door closed yet again, Paul turned to George. "Why won't you really talk to her?" Paul asked. "I won't judge. Just tell me, please."
"Guin doesn't want me to," George grumbled. "That's all."
"George—."
"You said you wouldn't judge!" George said defensively.
"That's a godawful reason to ignore someone, George."
"Does it make me a bastard?" George asked, his cheeks turning red.
Paul nodded. "Definitely," he replied. "You saw her this morning, Geo. She misses you. Believe me, I can't bloody understand why sometimes when you hurt her so bad, but she does. I can't change that. It's just my job to make her happy now, and talking to you would definitely make her happy."
George nodded. "Guinevere hates her, Paul. She tells me every day that she does. I'm scared to speak to Alexandria. Even if I did want to abolish my relationship with her...he'll, I worry she'd kill me.
Paul rolled his eyes. George's confession angered him. He couldn't believe that George thought Guinevere was worth seeing Alexandria cry about how lonely she was without George. He couldn't believe that George seemed to care so little about his withstanding friendship with Alexandria. He couldn't believe that he was willing to throw it all away over some horny teenage girl.
"I really want to talk to her, Paul. I miss her so much. I just can't."
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Can't? George's voice was almost too soft on the other side of the door to hear, but Alexandria's ears were above average, and though she wished that she hadn't, she heard the words loud and clear.
Guinevere was officially more important to George than she was. Guinevere had officially replaced her. She was now officially separated from George. And even as George insisted that he wanted to speak to her, she had doubts.
Alexandria looked down at the nice outfit she had chosen for her date with Paul, ran her hands through her wavy hair, and regretted every choice she had made before she left the house. She regretted spending any time curling her hair, she regretted wearing anything that attempted to make her dull and ugly figure more appealing, and she hated feeling so left out. She turned and walked away from Paul's bedroom door. They didn't have to know that she had heard any of that, and they wouldn't know.
She slipped back out onto the front stoop, leaning her back against the brick wall of Paul's house and looking around. She wrapped her arms around herself. This hadn't been a very good birthday so far. She'd already cried this morning then after she got home from school and realized that Kathleen had to work, and now she was on the verge of tears now as well. She hoped that her date with Paul would make it better.
A few minutes later, the McCartneys' front door opened, and Paul stepped out, looking dapper as ever in his outfit. That being said, he smelled of cigarette smoke and too much cologne. Alexandria took a deep breath before turning to him and putting on a smile, a smile that was too fake for her to bear. She wanted to be happy since it was her birthday, but she was finding it very hard to feel that way. She kept thinking about her mother, how her remains lay just a few blocks away in a graveyard, a graveyard that she had yet to visit since the burial. The wound was still too fresh, the hurt too new, though it was almost a year old now.
"Have you been smoking again?" Alexandria asked with a raised eyebrow. "Ye smell awful. I've told you to cut that out."
George stepped out of the house next, and she had to pretend to be surprised. She hadn't physically seen him since this morning at the bus stop. When she had finally calmed herself down and the bus chugged up to get them, she was humiliated to see that George was there. George had lied, saying that he had just gotten there when the bus arrived, and Paul had gone along with it, not wanting Alexandria to be any more upset than she already was.
Paul's cheeks flushed red, and Alexandria caught George's eye immediately. Their eye contact only lasted a millisecond before George found something behind her more interesting. She immediately looked over at Paul, who looked beyond uncomfortable.
"Happy birthday, Alex," George said, and he lifted his lips just a moment into a smile before they dropped again and he was staring at the ground.
Alexandria bit her lip. It was getting harder and harder for her to control these bloody feelings. She was never this emotional. It must have just been the day. There was certainly a lot happening today. She wasn't sure what to make of it all. She cleared her throat, trying to gain her composure in front of the boys long enough to find somewhere where she could be alone even if it was only for a few moments.
"Can I use your loo, Paul?" she asked, trying like hell to keep her voice steady...and she really worried that she was failing at that.
"Of course, love," Paul said, moving to the side so that she could slip into the McCartney residence. She moved quickly, Paul noticed, as she sped past him and went toward the bathroom.
George looked over at Paul, and both of the boys turned their bodies toward one another so that they were peering straight into each other's eyes. George reached and pulled the front door closed. "Is she happy?" George asked Paul because he needed to know. He always had made sure that Alexandria was happy. It had been his top priority since their very first meeting when he had so heroically saved her from that bully all those years ago. His voice trembled...almost. He clenched his teeth because he was rather unhappy with this whole situation. He didn't want to have to make sure that his best friend was happy through her boyfriend. He wanted to see it first hand.
Paul paused for a long moment, for the question really made him think. "I hope she is," he said finally. "I think she is. She smiles a lot, George. I can't believe you gave that up."
George couldn't believe it either. He wanted to change everything. He wanted to speak to the person that knew him the best. He wanted to feel as happy as he had when it was just him and Alex, and when Alex was more his than she was Paul's. The fact that Paul was even a factor in Alexandria's life showed just how much the times had changed, and it reminded George of how awfully he hated change.
But he was happy with Guinevere too, and he thought that it was enough to get by.
"You have to understand why, Paul," George whispered, hoping so desperately that Paul would tell him that what he was doing was okay because it didn't seem like it was okay in the slightest.
"I think you should go, George. Before she comes back," Paul said, his face going neutral all at once.
George bowed his head as he turned in the direction of the road. He tucked his hands into the large, warm pockets of his coat, and he walked solemnly. Paul watched the younger boy as he sulked away, looking so damn depressed. He didn't understand why he was still with Guinevere. Not at all.
The wind blew, and Paul moved, slipping back into his warm house to wait for Alexandria.
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The lock on the bathroom door clicked, and Alexandria felt more isolated, just the way she liked it sometimes. Her hands immediately raised up to her face, but she tried not to touch it, too worried about the makeup that she had managed to apply herself since Kathleen was working.
Unfortunately, hot and unwanted tears gathered in the bottom of her eyes, and she gave up all hope as a sob fell out. She immediately covered her mouth in an attempt to muffle them. She wasn't sure what she was crying about this time. Maybe it was just her seeing George. Maybe it had triggered something in her, something that she didn't want to feel again. It still ached deep down in her heart every time she saw him.
"No, no, not now," she whispered to herself as she crumpled to the floor of Paul's bathroom, her back against the empty wall across from the toilet, but the tears were flowing too fast for her to stop them.
Paul heard something from the other side of the wood—crying. He began to worry as he slowly made his way over to the bathroom that Alexandria had just asked to run off to.
Gently, his knuckled rapped against the oak door. "Alex, my love?" he asked quietly. "Are you all right in there?"
"Y-yeah, just give me a mo' or two, all right?" Alexandria's voice was muffled through the wood, but Paul could tell by the stutter in her voice and the sniffling that she was lying.
"Alex, come out, would ye? I hear you cryin' in there. Let me help. That's why I'm here."
Slowly, the door cracked open and Alexandria wasted no time before she pressed her head against Paul's chest, squeezing her arms around his torso. "I don't wanna go out, Paul. I'm sorry. Can we just stay here for the evening? I think what I need right now is someone to hold me and tell me that everything is going to be okay," she admitted, blushing because she knew that it's kinder completely ridiculous.
Paul rubbed his hands across her back, and it was incredibly soothing. "That's all right," Paul answered. He was always so understanding and she loved that about him. His feet moved and he led the two of them to his bedroom. He carefully guided her to the bed, and she laid down, waiting impatiently for him to join her. Unfortunately, he decided it fit to leave the room with no explanation. Another wave of sorrow washed over her like a wave and she flipped over to face the wall, sniffling to herself because she hated being alone.
"Alex?" Paul's voice was so tender and affectionate as he spoke just like he always was. "Turn around, love."
Alexandria took a deep breath and sat up, turning to see Paul standing in the doorway with a bouquet of flowers. Finally, a genuine smile planted itself on the face of Alexandria. Paul's heart warmed at the sight. She had such a beautiful smile. Such a beautiful smile. "Happy birthday," Paul said, going to sit on the bed beside her. She reached for the bouquet when he extended it to her, immediately raising the flowers to her nose so she could smell them.
"Mmm, these smell good, Paul," she said with a smile at him. "Thank you." She tilted her chin upward. "Kiss?" she asked quietly. Paul leaned forward and kissed her, his lips still curled into a grin.
"Thank you," Alexandria said as she moved away, resting her forehead against his so that they could look into one another's eyes.
There was a loud knock on Paul's door, warning the two teenagers that someone was about to enter, then the door opened just as they moved away from one another. The disapproving eyes of Jim McCartney scampered across the room, just begging to find something that he could shout at Paul about.
"Door's supposed to be open, Paul," Jim scolded. "I'm going to the shops, and don't think about any funny business because Mike is still here."
"All right, Dad. Don't worry. We'll be good."
Jim gave one last look at the two kids, then turned to leave the room, making sure to leave the bedroom door wide open.
"Here," Paul said, reaching to take the bouquet out of Alexandria's hands and laid it on the table beside his bed. "Let's just lay down, take in a bit of peace and quiet."
Paul laid down with his back against the wall and Alexandria laid across from him so that they were facing each other. "What was George over here for?" Alexandria asked him, drawing in a stuttering breathing the aftermath of her crying.
"Oh, you'll never believe it," Paul responded. "Guinevere wanted to get it on." Paul wiggled his eyebrows. Alexandria wrinkled her nose at the very idea. "Our George ran away, though."
Alexandria snorted. "Probably took her shirt off and realized she stuffs her bra," she quipped, rolling her eyes. "I wouldn't wanna sleep with her if I were him either."
Paul leaned forward again and stole a kiss off of Alexandria's lips. "I just had to," he mused as he pulled away and she blushed.
They laid there for the rest of the evening, simply talking, kissing, and cuddling, like teenage couple seemed to do best. Despite its rocky start and the underlying sadness, Alexandria's "sweet sixteen" hadn't really been all that bad. She hadn't got to see her mother, nor had she been able to spend time with George, but at least she had Paul. And later on, she had her sister to sip hot cooca with while they watched the film channel on TV. They laughed at all the cheesy romance movies, and cried at all the sad ones. At the end of the night, Alexandria fell asleep content with how the day had gone. It hadn't been so bad after all.
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