Paul's house might have been hard to find on any other day, but with John and George practicing in his dining room all I had to do was follow the sound of two guitars and a bass. I could have done it with my eyes closed.
Still, I checked twice to make sure I was at the right address: 20 Forthlin road. After a moment's hesitation I stepped up to the front door and knocked. It was my first time at Paul's house; I had never needed to go before, but John had called me at work and asked me to come round to Paul's afterwards, where he said he had something to ask me. He didn't disclose what. So that day curiosity took me on bus from the office area of Liverpool to Paul McCartney's house where a white haired elderly man answered my knock, wearing a sweater and a striped tie.
"Hello," he said in a tone indicating he knew nothing about my arrival. "How can I help you?" He asked kindly but also confusedly. I tried not to look like I was craning my neck around him. "Hello, my name is Cora, I'm John's girlfriend, he told me to meet him here..."
"Ah! I'm Jim McCartney, Paul's father. Yes, the boys are in the dining room. Come in." I walked inside and Jim shut the door behind me.
"Da, who's that?" a younger, probably secondary school age boy asked as he hopped down the stairs. When he saw me he too looked confused but quickly shook it off and said, "Hi, I'm Mike." Mike's looks weren't similar to Paul's at all, and I grinned. "I'm Cora, John's girlfriend."
"You don't look very much like Paul," I voiced my thoughts. Mike had lighter hair and didn't share Paul's famous eyebrows, nor many of his facial features at all.
"Na, I don't. Wouldn't want to look like him anyways." He grinned up at me as he joked and I laughed. The music in the other room suddenly stopped, and I heard a faint voice through the closed door: "Cora is here."
"So, continue the song. She's talking to Mike." Another voice, probably Paul.
Some murmur of assent. "Ye can go in," Jim offered, but I shook my head. I knew my place outside the studio. It was respect that I was very aware fluctuated its levels throughout history with the Beatles.
Jim interrupted my thoughts with a sudden observation, probably to ease the awkwardness. "Egg trays." I followed his pointed finger to the top of a kitchen cabinet. "Noise insulation. I love the lads, but sometimes the music is too much."
"Da, you used to be a jazz musician," came a voice from the hall.
"Not twenty-four-seven. Besides, Mike, your room is upstairs. You don't need anything like egg trays." The singing inside the dining room stopped and John opened the door with a wide grin. "Princess!" The boy felt warm with energy against me as I threw my arms around him and felt the fabric of his white shirt, my face in his chest on tiptoe.
"You all sounded so good!"
Jim watched us from the door, holding a tumbler of some sort of drink. I wondered if Paul had told him anything about me in Hamburg and I felt suddenly guilty. I let go of John quickly. "Come in. We were just done. Is it okay if she comes in, lads?"
"Yeah, yeah," I heard George say. I entered the dining room. George was in the midst of packing up his Gretsch but Paul's Hofner was still on his knee as he plucked out a descending bass line. The yellow walls of the McCartney living room accented with the brown wooden fixtures reminded me of a sunny field. I sat, and didn't say anything, feeling a little out of place. "So, have you all written anything good?"
"No writing today, love, just practicing," George said, snapping his guitar case shut and standing up. "Well, I've got to get home. Cora, you're going with John, right?" I nodded and he bade goodbye to the McCartney family out in the hall.
"Cora, I have to ask you something," John said. I cast a glance at Paul but John didn't seem to care that Paul was still there. I watched for a glimpse from the dark haired boy but observed nothing. "What is it?" I asked, sheer curiosity overcoming me.
"Mimi wants to meet you."
I was caught off guard; this wasn't what I expected. "Mimi... Aunt Mimi?"
John mouth twitched at the word aunt but he nodded. "Yeah. Mimi."
"Me me," I pronounced slowly, correcting from "Mimi."
"Mimi?" Paul asked from the corner after producing a twangy A note. "She's going to meet Mimi?"
"Yes," John said delicately. "Mimi wants to meet you."
"Mimi wants to meet her?"
"Shut up, Macca," John tossed a half annoyed and half amused glance towards the bass player. "Yes, she's meeting Mimi. Yes, Mimi wants to meet her. Yes, it's dinner tomorrow." He grabbed his coat and left abruptly. I picked up his case, whispered "Sorry, Paul, I don't know what's happening, I'll see you later," and made my way out of the room, stopping to say a goodbye to Mike and Jim.
***
The last time I had supposedly seen Mimi was never, because I was never at John's house ever since that night with Barbara and Dan. He always brought me back to George's house, sometimes accompanying me upstairs. We would sit on my bed in the dark and talk about my day, talk about his day, curtains drawn to reveal a thin beam of moonlight.
"I really think we're going somewhere," he would say sometimes, his voice dropping nervously, like if he said it too loudly it would jinx the whole thing. I was careful not to initiate that hell yes, they were going somewhere, and I would say, "I really think you are too. You know, Lennon, you all could be bigger than Elvis." I touched his nose lightly and he gripped my arm, pinning it behind my back as he leaned forwards to lightly kiss me.
"Bigger than Elvis. Ha." His sarcastic laugh rose into a real laugh. I loved hearing him laugh and I joined him, giggles flowing out of my mouth like song. Laugher subsided and John leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. "Is this what I'm going to be doing all my life?"
"John, do you remember when you said, "Is this—being a musician—what I really want to do with my life? Nightclubs and seedy scenes, always being deported, weird people in clubs?"
"Yeah, that was by the water. You were just done with your job application."
"Well, you're not playing in seedy scenes, or being deported, and most people that we play to aren't that weird," I counted off on my fingers. He mustered a grin. "You're kind of weird."
"I can attest to that."
"I like that."
"Is that why you're going out with me? Because I'm kind of weird?"
"Yes," he said quietly, smiling, something real poking out behind the tease. "Anyways my point is that being a rock star has its highs and lows. That's all jobs. Do you think I have the best time at work all the time? You have a clear goal and that's more than a lot of people."
"Gonna get number one on the radio with a hit single, I think I'll start there before comparing myself to The King."
"The King'll have competition soon."
John shook his head, a light smile on his face, the moonlight playing with the shadows on his face. "The King—"
I was snapped out of my flashback. "Cora!"
"Huh?" John and I were on the main road outside Paul's house; darkness was falling fast. I handed him his guitar case; he took it without a word of thanks.
"You just left. Are you all right?" The last word faded as I noticed his scowl. "...evidently not."
"It's no big deal. I'll take you home." We started walking, and when he dropped me off, he made to leave, but stopped and said, "Please wear something nice to Mimi's. Dinner tomorrow night—March 15th, yeah? I'll pick you up after work. No plans with Katherine or anything, yeah?"
"John, you didn't even ask me if I'm free then," I said, a little annoyed, still facing him. Yes, I wasn't doing anything then, but what if I was? "And I know how to dress."
"I was just telling you."
"Sorry," I said. He pulled me into a hug. "Sorry, love, sorry about all that." I strangely noticed his hand on my back shaking a little, and my hand met his to steady it.
***
Wednesday—hump day. I had received a call from George in the late afternoon. Just recently he had secured a job at Blackers, the electrician company, but he wasn't happy about it.
"I keep blowing things up," he complained. I laughed. "George, are you eating something?"
"It is dinner hour."
"So it is," I sighed, keeping my voice down so as not to bother Katherine, who was typing furiously at the typewriter. Every day Katherine and I would walk in at around the same time; we started out with very polite greetings but soon got to know each other. She was fun to be around. I soon discovered her true love for reading and sometimes we read together during our lunch hour. Whenever she'd get excited about something she'd go completely still and just stare at the page, forgetting about the soup in her hand or her chewing, until I had to gently remind her to eat again.
"I've got news," George said. I heard him swallow.
"What about?"
"Stu. Remember Stu? Average height, looks like James Dean—"
I cut him off. "Divvy. 'Course I do."
"Well, he's gotten engaged. He's gotten engaged to Astrid in Germany. Went back today."
"Congratulations!" I squeaked into the phone. "Geo, that's bloody brilliant for them!" I bit into my sandwich, probably the same type as his. "You're next, huh?"
"Yeah, right."
"Anna?"
"We've been writing. I hope to go back and visit her."
John approached the front desk; I jumped and told George, "Well, Len is here to take me to dinner."
"Chinese again?"
"Mimi's."
"Mimi's?"
"Why does everyone keep saying it like that?" I asked into the phone. "I don't see what the big deal is. I'm sure it'll be fine, Geo." I hung up the phone and asked John, "Ready to go?"
"Yeah. You look great." I was wearing a modest length dress and my brown overcoat. My hair was down, and I had applied a natural lipstick shade.
"Where are you two going tonight?" Katherine asked me, looking up from her typing.
"John's aunt's house," I supplied.
"Oh! Meeting the aunt!" Katherine started, and John grabbed my arm and said, "Let's go." I gave him a wry smile as we knew what comment was coming next, and we walked out of the receptionists office, my hand waving goodbye to Katherine on the way out.
***
"Well, here we are," John said. I thought I heard air escape though his mouth in the form of anticipation as he knocked on the door, but his knuckles barely brushed against the wood. Trying again, the sound resulted in a loud knock that echoed off the doorframe.
I wasn't nervous before but now I was; it seemed John's nervousness was rubbing off on me. Paul, George, and Katherine's voices all echoed in my head: Mimi? Mimi? Mimi? I shuffled my feet a little and I grabbed John's left hand. The door suddenly opened and I saw her, a smiling older looking woman with brown hair with a few small streaks of gray, wearing a blue dress and stockings. For some reason I instinctively dropped John's hand like they were hot coals as I stammered, "Hello."
"You must be Cora. I've heard quite a bit about you," she said. Her smile revealed no teeth, and I felt an uncomfortable prickle on the back of my neck, but I shook it off. It was nothing. I was just nervous, nervous to her statement which could have sounded like a threat if one took it to be that way.
"Hello, Mi—Ms. Smith." I stuck out my hand to shake and she took it, saying, "Don't be silly, dear, call me Mimi." The two of us shared a brief handshake, a movement up and a movement down. "Well, come in, you two. Dinner's on the table." She went inside and I followed, John coming behind me as he closed the door, the smell of a curry coming down the hallway. A cat wandered out and followed us to the kitchen. I heard a slight scuffle behind me as John's foot accidentally came in contact with the poor kitty.
A floral tablecloth was covered with several dishes; places set for three, one dish of curry in the middle, salad, bread rolls, butter, some sort of chicken and potatoes. "This looks and smells amazing, Mimi," I smiled. I didn't have to pretend. It did look good. Mimi had gone round to the kitchen and I heard her ask, "What would you two like to drink?"
"Water, please," I said, and then quickly, "May I help you get anything?"
She declined politely and rejoined us in the dining room. Silverware gently clinked against dishes, the food was proclaimed delicious. After a while she asked, "So, Cora, John tells me you're a receptionist."
I smiled. "Yes. I applied for a job once we got back from—erm—well, I applied to be a receptionist a couple of weeks ago," I finished lamely. Mimi chose to ignore this, which I was grateful for. John hadn't said anything since we entered the house, but I heard him say, "We got back from Hamburg and Cora applied for a job here first thing."
"I'm paying rent at a friend's house," I told her, reaching for more potatoes. "One must work for living."
The conversation moved to the trajectory of our days. The food was disappearing rapidly, which I took as a good sign, either that or it was the product of John's nervous eating. It was funny, I wasn't planning on being overly polite, just to be myself, but I found myself on the edge of my seat, making sure my elbows weren't on the table and my knife was facing the right way.
"I've been with John since the passing of his mother," Mimi smiled across at me matter-of-factly. "Where do you and your parents live?"
With this curveball thrown at me, I ducked and said, "My mother lives in Chiswick, London, and my father left a while ago—"
"Oh! You're not German," she intercepted.
"No," I confirmed, confused. "No, I'm very much English." I dispelled the myth for her: "I'm half Chinese, half English." I laughed for the first time that night and felt the cat rub around my ankles. Mimi made a comment about how she didn't know; John never told her anything. John made a joking retort. I breathed out. Conversation turned to the cat and its story of how it came to live here and I felt an urge to pee. I excused myself and stepped out of the dining room. After using the tiled bathroom and marveling at the porcelain tub, I made my way back to the dinner table to hear, "—she's very sweet, dear, but...
"But what?" I heard John's voice, sounding like it was pulling at something.
"I don't like how her father left."
"Mimi—my father left."
"Why do you think I don't like it? Reminds me too much of your father." A clank, probably a knife against a plate. "She also seems not to have a clear career path. Receptionist? For the rest of her life?"
"Mimi, she plays with us sometimes, she plays bass guitar," John paused when he realized this wasn't helping the matter. "I—ugh. Shh. She'll hear you."
I waited a few seconds and walked back into the dining room, pretending like nothing had happened. My mind was whirling. I didn't expect Mimi to be so judgmental. But what did you expect? John was like a son to her. My body and mind were pulling me in two different directions as Mimi smiled at me with a closed mouth, to smile back or retort something biting. After tossing a glance at John, who looked apprehensive, I chose to do the former. He was my boyfriend, and I would respect those he loved.