John gulped nervously, pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek, "Oh. Right, er... What is it, Macca?"
I leaned in closer,
slowly,
for dramatic effect, ofcourse.
"...Um... Can ye promise me... that... ye'll quit being... such an utter, complete and helpless fool?" I finally asked the man in a rather humorous tone.
John, at last, caught his shaking breath. "Right." He bit his tongue.
"Oh! And maybe quit being such a jerk, as well. ...It may come in handy some day, this advice, ye know?" I continued.
John tried his best to gloss over my overt sarcasm, "...Paul... Jus... say the word and we're outta here. Tonight, even. Anything... ye want. I'm willing... to-" John went on and on until he noticed me changing the channel on the hotel room's television.
"Oh, Christ, Macca... What is it?" He asked curiously.
"Saturday Night Live's on right now, ye know that? And we are in New York City." I pointed out. "Isn't it being filmed just a few blocks down the road from here?"
John nodded, "Yeah, so what?"
"...So! I don't usually get to watch this kinda stuff back home, Lennon! 'Specially since we've moved out into the middle of nowhere." I protested. "This is quite the privilege for me."
John sat down next to me on the sofa and huffed, drooping his head down to the floor. Clearly, he is not winning this battle.
I turned to look at the man sat beside me, a smile slowly creeping onto my face. I quickly let it slip away, though.
"Ey, John?" I spoke up out of the silence once more.
He sighed, completely unsure of what I could possibly say next, "...Yes, Macca?"
"I jus want ye to know that... yer definitely, by far, ...the most interesting person... I've ever met in my entire life." I spoke with only the truth to my words. "Seriously, I mean... I don't know anybody else out there... who could pull off jus half of the things that ye have... ever since the day I met ye."
John slid his glasses down to the edge of his nose, looking back at me, "...Ye really mean that, huh?" His eyes lit up a bit, appearing less defeated.
"Honest." I scooted in closer to the boy.
John crossed his fingers, "All in the name of love, doll..."
I allowed myself to smile at that.
"Love will hurt ye, Paul, but love will never mean to." John sighed. "Remember that, alright? I mean, do ye really think that I'd intentionally try to hurt ye?"
"I jus... I jus can't help myself. Love has always made me do some pretty dense things." He admitted. "But... I intend to make things right and... to never hurt my boy... ever again. Thas a right promise."
"Ah..." I sighed, still unable to find an answer to such a thing. But maybe I don't necessarily need to? Maybe the answer has been right there infront of me, for all of these years...
"What am I gonna do wi' ye, Lennon?" I giggled.
He laughed a little in return, moving his gaze back up to meet me in my eyes, he bit at his lip once more, nervously, the guilt visibly washing over him yet again.
"I guess... I don't really blame ye." I admitted.
"Hm?" He cocked his head, "What do ye mean, Macca?"
"Well, I mean, I have no idea what to do, either, John... I'm jus as stuck as ye are."
"There's no good reason for me to be upset wi' ye, because in the end, I'm left dealing wi' the exact same issues, here. I've got a whole life back home, ...and yer's is only but a few blocks away..." I continued. "I can't even fully imagine what's goin' on through that head of yer's, either."
"...Is it really worth ruining all that?" I asked sincerely.
John stayed silent, unable to fathom a correct answer at the moment. We both know what we would like to happen, but the morality of it is in... quite the grey-area.
The television screen then flickered infront of us, the audience laughing and cheering on for the host of this evening, Lorne Michaels, some big producer for the whole show.
As John was wrapped up so deeply in watching the tele, I peered down at his hand, it was nearly touching my knee.
I let my fingers wander around until they brushed against it. John didn't pull it away or anything. He didn't even flinch.
I then took his hand into my own, my face becoming slightly hot to the touch.
"Right now, we're being seen by approximately 22 million viewers-" The producer on the tele spoke in a rather gloating manner.
John's head then dropped down on to my shoulder, causing my breathing to hitch for just a moment as I processed the action.
He let it rest there.
...Who am I to stop him?
"But please, allow me to address myself, if I may... to these four specific and... very special people."
My chin rested on the very top of his fluffy head of hair, also watching the tele very intently.
"...John, Paul, George, and Ringo; The Beatles." The producer went on.
"There's been a lot of rumors as of late that... the four of you might be getting back together. Which is just... fantastic-"
"Ey, Johnny?" I nudged him in the hip. "...Have a listen to this!"
"It's nothing short of amazing. You're one of the best things that's... ever happened to music. I think that pretty much goes well without saying. We grew up with you, and it'd be amazing to get you back into the studio once again... "
"Which is why... If you're out there and listening, after all, I'm cordially inviting you on tonight, ...to perform, ...together. Once again." The business-y man on the tele finished.
John and I both looked into eachother's tired, glossy eyes, completely and utterly exhausted from this entire week thus far.
All we could do was laugh.
"Really... All we're saying is that, it'd be great to see you all be formally reunited. I know there may be some legal technicalities and such, I guess none of which is... any of my business."
"If it's money you want, then it's money you'll get." The producer desperately promised. "It's no issue at all, we can assure you."
Christ, how is this pathetic display even allowed on national television? America is quite the place, I'm learning. How did Linda ever survive growing up here?
"No, not to worry. The National Broadcasting Company has authorized me to offer you... a certified cheque for $3000 USD."
We leaned in even closer to one another's faces, chuckling wildly a bit more, with widened eyes this time. We fell back into the sofa together. The television zoomed in on the cheque that the producer was holding, and John even pointed out how silly it was that it was made out to, "The Beatles."
"I wonder how they suppose we'll be able to split up all that. ...Have they seen us try to negotiate wi' one another, before?" John joked around a little more.
I threw my head back into another fit of laughter.
"All you have to do is sing three Beatles tunes... If you remember the words, it'll be some quick and easy cash."
"She loves you!" John quickly piped up.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." I finished his sentence less enthusiastically.
We sat there for a little while longer, our cheeks stinging in pain from all the laughing and giggling that we shared... My sides felt like they just might split.
John finally arose from his seat and grabbed his coat.
I frowned a bit, "Where ye goin'?"
"Well? ...Are we headin' out there or not?" John asked, throwing the jacket over his torso. "I gotta get me guitar first, ofcourse, but it's only but a few blocks down the street. Bring a coat, though, it's startin' to rain again."
I grabbed Lennon's arm, "John? ...Ye don't really want to-"
"Macca! Have ye gone mad? This is a brilliant opportunity in... in so many different ways!" John paused, "How could this not excite ye? Even jus a little bit?"
"We don't even know where George nor Ringo are, it's just the two of us!" I pointed out. "How disappointing... And anyway, we haven't played together in ages, John. ...What if we're crap?"
"And?! That's bloody better than what they've gotten over the last six years! It's like screwin', I mean... once ye know how to do it..." John grabbed at my shoulder and shook it wildly, "Ye brought yer bass, yeah?"
"Yeah, but what difference does it make?"
"I don't care what ye say, alright? Because we're going whether ye like it or not! This is my answer to all our problems, okay? We're gonna rip it off like a bloody band-aid and hope for the best afterwards, ye hear me? Are ye wi' me on this, Macca? Because I can't do it wi' out ye."
John was getting so visibly excited and was absolutely hell-bent on getting that $3000. I sighed reluctantly and laid my hand over his.
He lazily threw his arm around my shoulders, "Look, if yer really too nervous to sing yer silly little love songs wi' me, ye can atleast put on yer Jerry Lee Lewis number and... Hey, we'll do the Everly Brothers, as well!"
He prodded my arm, "C'mon... Macca, go get yer six-string. ...It'll be fun."
"...Ah... Ye win, Lennon. Christ... Ye said yer guitar's at home? ...Wi' Yoko?!" I winced.
"Fuck. Eh, the studio oughta have one lyin' 'round somewhere, right? 'Least I brought ye this." John slid me my suitcase, packed to the brim with everything I brought over here. The case that my bass was kept in, neatly tucked inside.
"Do ye get what I mean by what I said earlier, now?" I reiterated, "Yer absolutely brilliant, Johnny."
John pushed a tuft of hair from my face, "Eh... I try me best."
I finally let a huge smile take over the entirety of my face, unable to hold back any laughter.
"Try not to look so recognizable, Macca, 'lest we never make it down there... A crazy fan might spot ye."
I quickly dashed over to the hook on the wall and grabbed my own coat, tossing it over my body. I then grabbed the guitar case that I had my bass in for the time being and met John back at the door.
We flew down each flight of stairs together, not even bothering to try the lift. Our feet slamming against each step, becoming louder and harsher the closer that we got to the exit of the building.
John wasn't lying, it was coming down like cats and dogs out there. The rain blew against the sidewalks and pavement as we made our way down the still pretty busy streets. Even though it was getting late into the evening at this point, it's as if this city never sleeps.
As we finally made it down to the broadcasting studio, our inane disguises keeping us hand in glove, we approached the tall skyscraper.
I still can't believe that we're actually doing this. I mean, what if that was just another stupid skit? We'd look like complete fools, John and I.
"Where to, Johnny?"
"Straight to the top, boys!"
"Oh, yeah? ...Where's that?"
"...To the toppermost of the poppermost!" He exclaimed.
He then looked down the street ahead and then behind us, ensuring that nobody else was around. He planted a tiny kiss on the very tip of my nose.
John shoved open the frosted-glass doors with both of his hands and let them swing back behind us. The cold, outside air rushing into the lobby shortly thereafter.
Wandering eyes from all over the room glanced over at us both, checking us out up-and-down, the expressions on those around us only becoming that much more dramatic the second we revealed who the two of us really are, underneath all these ragged draperies.