March 2, 1964
Donna's POV
John had been more calm about the pregnancy scare than I'd prepared for. It was a wave of emotions the first night I told him. He'd first looked upset almost, but then quickly he realized he'd made me mad and turned frantic. It had bled into comforting and eventually he seemed pretty set on the ground we'd settled on.
He'd taken me out for dinner that night with no reservation set in stone first. It was always a drag to go out without planning in advance now because he was always in danger of being noticed. That night, he hadn't thought twice about it. He'd slipped on his overcoat with a hat and sunglasses (at night?) and had taken me downtown to a restaurant we'd never been to before. He was only recognized by a group of girls who were out having fun. They weren't the crazy ones that stormed the boys. They were very nice. They recognized me even, from the pictures that had been snapped of John and I in New York.
All in all, it was a good night. John acted like nothing had happened. I just couldn't shake the feeling that something had happened, though. I shouldn't have felt it, but something felt different.
I enjoyed myself though; we hadn't been on a proper date in weeks. Afterwards, we took a walk around London in the dark. The streets were finally empty; strangely empty, for a Friday at least.
We didn't tell anyone, though; not even Brian.
As of today, the boys were starting work on a film to go along with their new album. They were over-the-moon. I hadn't heard the end of it last night as Paul and John ate up the spaghetti I'd made for them.
John also seemed really protective of me all of a sudden. I didn't know why. It was like he'd suddenly become even more infatuated with me. The past few months had been admittedly weird between us. Hiding our relationship for almost a year had taken its toll on us. There were times when the both of us were so stressed that we didn't say a word to each other. These moments were thankfully rare. Even when they weren't there, other moments would be filled with resistance. Sometimes it had felt like John just wasn't putting his time into the relationship anymore.
Ever since the almost-pregnancy however, he was putting his all into it. Something had sparked us again. I was relieved; losing him was my worst fear.
In addition to the film, another thing was on John's plate: the publishing of a book. In His Own Write was a side project John had been working on full of poems and drawings and short stories. It had an unusual style to it that you'd only understood if you truly knew John. I'd worked on it a lot with him, too.
I now regularly wrote articles for the newspaper as a side job now, putting my writing to use. I'd published my first full-length novel in July of last year under a slightly-altered name, substituting Epstein with my old last name, Peterson. It had been a mild success. A sequel was even to follow later this year.
Helping John on his book was a gift. It was one of the things we'd do together in complete privacy, just us two. I didn't get a whole lot of that anymore either. It was always a blessing.
The release date was March 23 and it was fast approaching. He was terribly excited about it. I knew everyone would love it.
Walking onto the movie set proved harder than I'd realized. I hadn't dressed up in the slightest since we were just gonna be here all day, but that didn't stop John. He was in a very peppy mood and I had to practically yell at him to get him to finally get out of the car and go inside the train station we were starting at...a few minutes late.
Brian gave a relieved look when he saw us walking in finally. "You're late!" he called and John shrugged.
"Sorry, Eppy!" he replied.
I took a look around at all the people the Beatles were going to be working with. Their two main costars were Wilfred Brambell and Norman Rossington. They were talking to George, Paul, and Ringo when we had come in. John shuffled his way over towards them, looking almost fearful of the big-time actors in front of him.
The day the Beatles only had some acting talent would be an overstatement; they really had none. They were exited to have a movie, but they were scared to work with so many people who actually knew what they were doing.
~~~
"Donna, Donna, ready?" John turned around in the swivel chair with two forks sticking out of the corners of his mouth.
"What the hell are you doing?" I asked him, laughing, my fork falling down onto my plate. We were in the dining car alone during the band's forty minute lunch break. The other three had gone off outside the stationary train. John and I had decided we liked it better in here.
"I'm a walrus!" he said teasingly. "Duh!"
I rolled my eyes. "You're crazy is what you are," I replied, taking a bite of my food.
John balanced his head on his hand and grinned at me dopily. "But you love it."
I nodded. "Somehow I do."
He stood up with a smile and took his stool to place it beside mine. He hopped up on it, pulled his food across the table, and rested his arm around my shoulders.
"You're such a pretty bird," he purred lovingly, leaning his head on mine.
We realized the train had stopped moving now and instead of there being thousands of girls waiting, there was only one lone photographer. He'd spotted John and I and was now trying to hide as he snapped a picture of us. John pulled away from me, a livid look on his face. He stood up and made it across the car in a mere four steps. When I realized what he intended to do, I scrambled up and went towards him.
"John, John, stop, it's okay," I assured him. "Don't do anything."
John ignored me. He opened one of the windows on the car as the young photographer began to scurry away. "Don't come back!" John yelled before angrily closing the window and going to sit back down. "I'm sorry, Donna," he said.
I went and sat back next to him and we felt the train begin the move again. I glided my hand up and down his back comfortingly. "It's okay, love," I said.
"I'm sorry they're all like that," he pouted, as much to himself as to me. "No respect for privacy."
"I know," I said. "But it's okay." I lifted his chin up and grinned at him, pressing my lips gently to his, pulling away just quick enough to make him let out a little whine for more. "Now everyone knows you're mine."
He smiled. "And that you're mine," he said, taking his turn at kissing me. He let his kiss drag out long, slow, and passionate. We pulled apart when we heard someone sarcastically gagging in the corner: George.
John's eyes lit up. "Have you talked to her?" He asked, fighting the urge to laugh.
George blushed. "Who?" he asked even though he knew exactly who John was talking about.
"Pattie Boyd," I said, resting my left hand on John's thigh and leaning my head against my right.
George sat his plate down in a sink, his face scarlet. "Yes, I did," he said evenly. "She's very nice."
"That's code for 'I want to shag her,'" explained John teasingly.
"No, John, stop," said George timidly, trying his best to hide his face, but failing miserably. "I'm going back out there," he said after a pause. "You two continue...whatever you were doing."
John and I looked at each other with a laugh as George left. John kissed me on the cheek playfully before we both returned to our food.