Time flew by, the studio rehearsals were going great in the beginning.
Paul and John, much to my surprise, from just knowing about the 69-70 sessions, worked really well together. The banter between everyone was great, Linda coming in on keyboards when needed, making the time even better. We girls got to have some interaction and gave as much as we got in the banter across the studio.
"Dear Linda can you please stay in tune" John bemoaned one day causing Paul to shrink in the corner. He was best to know what Linda was going to do, or indeed, say. Linda swiped her blonde hair from her blue eyes and levelled her gaze on Lennon, making sure she had his undivided attention.
"Dear John why don't you go push up daisies again, we need more shit on the garden for fertiliser" Linda smiled sweetly and walked over to John, never once did she run and hide, even when the going got rough. She was tough and strong and I admired her greatly.
"Paul rein in the missus mate. I'm shitting bricks here" John smiled and they hugged and that was the end of it, we all thought. Then he cracked the mouth open and sarcasm fell out over his lips with a smile of course "You can still lavish your love on your favourite Beatle Lin, just fuss and kiss me to your hearts content, luv. We all know I'm your fav.... still"
"If I did you would need to worry like hell John, as my fussing and kissing would be a precursor to my saying goodbye to your bag of bones" Linda walked off and joined me looking over the set list. John retreated mumbling to Paul about women and kitchens or something else totally sexist.
The consensus on what was going to happen for John's re-emergence however was painful and the band-aid just wasn't going to rip off anytime soon.
The FBI shot down every flaming pie John through and basically wanted to run rough shot over everything. John being, well... John, was a fuse lit but not exploding. That fuse gathered speed and shortened daily and so did his temper, his sarcasm. His normal retorts spiked with so much poison we all tried to stay well a way of Lennon when in one of his nasty moods.
As the weeks wore on, John's impatience, with all that surrounded the issue, was at an all-time high and, in the end, steam and bombs were let off in the studio.
"Keep the fucking time Rat!"
"Don't you yell at me Len, you're the one stuffing the lines"
"Rat sit your backside down and focus, stop fooling with Rusty" John tore his amp lead from the guitar and flung it away stalking towards Rusty and I like a lion on the prowl.
"We were watching the drops on the sound bar, its messing up" I walked over to the drum kit crashed my sticks on a cymbal making Paul jump. I sat down, smiling sweetly of course.
"Don't blame that contraption, you're just being a lazy cow"
"John you know where you can go now that you're trying to crawl out?- Back- To that big damn ego of yours, no one would find you for months"
He dragged me off from behind the drums. Cymbals that had only just finished shaking from my strike were crashing over everywhere. Men went every which way, doors flew open and they all disappeared, even Paul was off for fresh air.
Chickens.
Linda strolled out last but before leaving, her eyes checked mine to see if I was ok with the whole stand toe to toe with the wrath of Lennon thing. I nodded ok and she was gone.
"For crying out loud John pull your fingers out of your ears, you've the one not paying attention, just settle down and it will fall in to place"
"What the hell would you know, you're just a tribute band drummer and a nosy drunkard"
"Sod off John, what were you doing for the last 15 years?? I'll tell you what -sitting in an apartment baking bread and listening to nursey rhymes. How much real music have you actually played, or listened to, cause your ears are shot today"
He punched the wall beside my head and turned around walking across to the far side of the room - he was trying to defuse by walking away, which was admirable but his rage was getting to, what I felt, was an extreme level.
I had a decision to make and to make quickly too. I could either slow it- his rage and indignation to a dull hum OR
pull out the stops and make him push his own boundaries of control and hopefully, ultimately, take the pressure cooker of his return - the nerves of failure, of fan back lash and all the rest of the mess that could, can, or may happen, off the boil.
"So no answer, just a punch to the wall. So it's true. The once great John Lennon reduced to baker of bread. You know when you wake up again -you can just go back to baking"
"Geez you're on a run today, do you want the sack 'cause it can be arranged"
"Sorry to burst your bubble but I quit a week ago when you had the same dummy spit, losing the old marbles too I see" My mind was seeing red, he was playing the sack card again. So easy to just get another drummer I wasn't worth that much to anyone. Why do I stand here and risk the best thing that's ever happened to me In my life, I might add! No pun intended. I grinned at my thoughts and John thought I was laughing at him.
"Get out, you're a menace to society you can't play your way out of a paper bag"
"And you, Winston, are a has been, slow wanker who really needs to understand the term- retirement"
He threaded back through the guitars and amps and kicked the cymbals out of the way. Standing toe to toe once again his face glaring down at me, yep if he stood tall and scary he made me feel small and dare I say it... intimidated. I noticed him rub his eyes and only then realised his glasses were lost in ruckus of the messy room "Don't be a fucking bitch Rat I'm not a has been. I can wipe the floor with your arse, you on the other hand, were a never was, your pitiful fucking life is the stuff for garbage compactors"
"John dear, your gold retirement watch is somewhere out there for you to dig up" I felt my voice break and paused. I never wanted to say any of this this to anyone especially him. I've loved him since I first heard their albums, the first glimpse of the intensity of the fire burning within him. I sure as hell didn't want to be the one to put it out, but I did want him to realise that we were all here for him, to lean on and to listen to his troubles. I dove back into the argument with as much strength I could muster, he wouldn't scare me and I wasn't about to back down "You, John Lennon, are just a sad, fat, old man. No way would anyone want to listen to your playing or that voice again"
And there it was, I found the golden button: his voice, he never really fell in love with his own voice always hating the way he sounds even when the world fell in love with it, and him. Especially me, oh and Linda of course. I can't help but think of the music he had made and made wonderfully, made memorable, made the whole world sit up and pay attention.
As I glance at his face, that hard veneer of a mask, I realise........
I died a little inside watching his face, the myriad of emotions that played over his features. I felt a bitch for doing and saying it all. Then the fist fell and the hand grabbed my chin hard, the other grabbed roughly around my bad shoulder.
"Do it, hit Rat, I wont say hit the girl that's not fair, hit me to fix whatever you think is the problem. When all you are is worried and sad, feeling alone and scared, really scared" I pushed the words out with as much bravado as I had left then the sentence ebbed to a whisper by the end.
He released my shoulder to punch the wall again but as he released me I made a grab for the pain the coursed through the injured area. I stupidly, unintentionally, moved into the punch zone, not away, and he landed one, accidently, square on my chin.
A ton of bricks that's how I went down, like a ton of bricks, my lip split and a stream of blood spirt free. Paul, seeing the whole thing, through the small window in the door, was opening the door when I yelled at him.
"Get OUT Paul" I pointed Paul out of the room and checked my jaw wasn't broken, opening and shutting my mouth a few times "Good shot Len"
He was on the floor on his knees hands slung in front of him, staring at the carpet.
"Cat I'm...."
"Save it. Admit you're scared or I'm walking out"
"I can't"
"You actually fucking hit me, the least you can do is admit that....Does your hand hurt" He nodded sullenly, he definitely wasn't 'in' the room.
"John would you look at me"
"No"
"Admit you're scared John"
The silence was deafening, I went to get up and he pulled me down. I tried again, another cymbal tree went over. I made another attempt.
"Don't go. I'm......"
"Say it and you can breathe again, I promise"
"I'm shit scared all right, I'm fucking terrified my last five years have been worth nothing... are you pleased now"
"I'm not pleased Len. I'm here for you to talk to, we all are, don't push everyone away" The blood was building in my mouth and I had to spit, an empty coffee cup was behind John so I crawled to get it, him watching as I moved around him. I spat the crap in my mouth out and he finally looked at me. "How bad is it?" I enquired of my injury.
"Terrible, you look like you're done eight rounds with Ali" He made a move to touch my chin but I tore my face away. Taking his hand in mine instead I checked his knuckles and flexed his guitar loving fingers.
He was more upright now, watching me check his hand "You'll be fine, live to play another day" I laughed at the unintentional joke pun of Pauls song.
"Why did you do that. Check me out but not let me see if your jaws fine?"
"Cause you're John Fucking Lennon. My boss. Gear guitar playing, awesome singing, not fat or terribly old, man" I sighed and felt my chin, bring my hand away, the blood covered my fingers "But if I lose a tooth you're paying for dental!"
"Let me look, will ya" I nodded and leaned back against the wall, Paul was hovering in the doorway trying to see if I was ok, I did a Macca special 'thumbs up' and he walked back out. Shutting my eyes I felt John's rough guitar calloused fingers.
"Ouch"
"Sorry luv.... Forgive me"
"It was my fault I pushed the detonate button then fell on your hand. Help me up and I'll go find ice"
I walked out the back door. I wasn't going to run into Abe, Paul, Linda and company to then have the whole lot thrown back in Johns, and my, face. What's done is done. They will notice soon enough that we have disappeared.
"Come on, you can wrap your hand and I'll sort my lip. We crept up the stairs in the semi-darkness, a light would have alerted Abe. I'm pretty sure he would be wanting to wallop John right about now.
As I got the first aid kit from the bathroom I caught sight of the damage, no modelling contracts in the near future for me- bugger. John walked in behind me and caught my eye.
"Let me sort that for ya"
He dabbed and cleaned me up carefully, very carefully. As he tended my wound he would start to speak then I'd wince and he would wince in sympathy along with me. "I didn't mean you were a crap drummer"
"And I didn't mean ANY of those things I said to you. I'm your biggest fan, there I said it- fan girl central. OUCH!"
He grinned and gave me a minute to find a clean shirt, I took the bloodied one and tossed it in the hamper.
On the couch, sat beside him, I grab his hand rechecking the knuckles, concentrating too hard on his mitts to realise he was tugging my hair away from my face.
"Biggest fan. You know Paul's my biggest fan' He laughed at his numero uno fan- Paulie. "You weren't slow or off this arvo, I was being a dick"
"Hooray! He finally admits what we all know that" I made to laugh and it hurt.
"I'll get you a drink and get going"
He walked into the kitchen found a glass and a straw. Not sure why I had straws maybe I was sucking the dregs out of a whisky bottle one night, mysteries, mysteries! I stood when he returned and we walked the few steps to the door. An awkward silence settled over us til John spoke.
"Well, umm, I'll come check you in the morning. Call me if you get any more pain".
"Same to you, Doctor Lennon"
We both made to open the door at the exact same time and he knocked my shoulder. I winced once again and walked a tight circle.
"Hey" He spoke carefully remembering the fight but his voice was laced with regret and pain "I had you pinned there didn't I; did I bruise you bad?"
I pulled the shirt to the side and a big arse bruise was beginning to form in the hollow of my collarbone.
"CatRat I'm so.." He walked in and touched the area softly and I flinched. His lips made contact with the bruise before I realised what he was doing. I was flinching again from the ache but other feelings wanted to overtake too.
"John, we're a band it would be awkward" He was still kissing my shoulder but was making more contact with my neck. My voice caught as I tried to speak reason "We can't you're, you. This is so wrong...." He put his hands in my hair tugging my neck back gently to expose more flesh for him to explore.
So John Lennon is kissing my neck: Is this make up sex after a fight? Is this boredom, loneliness, guilt? Is this just one more notch in the great one's belt?
For me: Christ, I love the guy, I've loved him from the music on the radio to the death. I love him now for all the pieces of the puzzle that I was learning about him, the real man not the pop idol or peace protester, the man.
Johns POV
This is so wrong but I need this. Her. Not for apologies or misconstrued words. She makes me mad so mad and crazy all at once.
I shouldn't have touched her, my control was nearing zero before, now with a touch I'm falling. Sex just sex, that will be ok. We can manage the fall out of sex, right?
The bed appeared and I took the shirt off her swiftly, the elastic top that allowed it to sit on, or off, her shoulders helping the process.
Letting my lips explore her breasts and return to her shoulder to tend the ache I did my thing, took my piece of pie. She was speaking but I couldn't hear for the white noise in my head pushing me to kiss again and again. She grabbed my sore hand and I stopped, not moving from my position, she squeezed again and I found her face.
Scared, worried... masses of storm clouds floated through her eyes. "Cat its ok I won't use you" I'm such a liar, I am a greedy man and take what I want, whenever I want it.
She let go of my hand and touched my face so softly I could just feel feather marks where her fingers had played. She spoke huskily, I know she wants this, really "The band, this is not good. It's never going to end well, you'll be ok but I don't think I can crash and survive"
"Does it feel good?" She nodded closing her eyes and I kissed her jawline- the other side not the section I just thumped. "There" She nodded again, her body lifting to me. "If it feels so good... how can it ever be bad" She was faltering, the movements, her tense stance, I could see it and feel it ebbing and softening under my fingertips, my lips.
"If I called it 'just sex' would it be better/ worse? No promises. no regrets" A gamble to a lesser girl. This, I thought stupidly, would help her decide- she knew the card deals in life. I felt her tense.
"If I said I could never have 'just sex' with you, what would YOU say" She checkmated me in one easy move. I kissed her down her throat again trying to come to a perfect response but knowing it was always already in my mind.
"Cat..."
She suddenly relaxed, relented and let me kiss her, we hadn't kissed since the sexual orientation day. This was more. Better, full of heartbeats and, and I can't say it, I can't say that. My heart is telling me to say that word, but my head is pulling me back from dangerous waters.
She is in my arms and we take it easy, slow ecstasy and torture rolled into one. She is watching me as I take her, the eyes know and mine are not lying but not telling either. We meet, join, create fireworks and it was bloody fantastic.
As she lay spent, watching me, the eyes that could cut me or make me feel loved more than I had been in a long time, travel over my face.
Which do I want more?
Before I react she draws a veil and I feel as if a cold wind has blown over me. She has my number, she knows my thoughts have brought me on the side of sex tonight not love and I want to change it but my stubborn streak holds me back.
We stay together to sleep but we're miles apart.