Beatlemania!

Christmas dinner was to be held at John’s house, apparently. All the Beatles were expected to come, and now I was too.

“But I was thinking about spending Christmas with my aunt and her family. They life in Stafford-” I started.
The boys immediately moaned and groaned. “Stafford! That’s miles and miles and miles and miles away!” George grimaced.
“Christmas is a time for family, you know. When’s the last time you all spent time with your families?”
There was some huffing and shrugging. “But all of you are much better than any old family,” Ringo remarked.
That remark touched our hearts. “I’ll drink to that,” Paul echoed, grabbing his scotch and coke and taking a gulp.

We were sitting in a dusty bar at six in the evening, and I was extremely tired. I had dropped my dad off at the airport and then run around trying to find the lads Christmas gifts. It had taken ages. Boys are always more difficult to buy for than girls.

In the end, I had bought Paul a plant, with a note enclosed saying, “If you can keep this alive until next Christmas, maybe I’ll get you an animal next year. Love, Alice.”

For Ringo I bought two cakes, one iced with chocolate and another with vanilla. I had iced on the cakes, “now you can have your cake and eat it too.”

George received a brand new guitar case to replace the ragged and ripped one he had been using until now. “Get writing, George. You have the potential to be an amazing song writer.”

John was difficult, but in the end I bought him a watch, so he could finally have an excuse to be late. “I set this an hour and a half slow. This is your new excuse.”
It was the 22nd of December now, and we were approaching Christmas Day rapidly.

“Right lads,” I announced, slapping down my empty martini glass. “It’s time to mingle.”

I slipped off my barstool and immersed myself with the crowd. It was a mixture of the alcohol and the Christmas spirit that led to me dancing. With no one, with people, with one person; it didn’t matter. I was dancing away my worries.

After an hour and a half, Paul arrived to claim me. I smiled happily. He was so beautiful. He wrapped his arms around me and we turned on the spot slowly to the ballad that was playing.

“Paul?” I asked slowly.
“Yes?” he looked slightly worried, but he gave me a smile that weakened my knees.
“You like me, right?” I wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or me that was speaking.
He knit is brow in confusion. “Sure.”

I nodded. I thought so. “So if you like me and I like you, then why haven’t we gone out on a date?” I demanded.
Paul laughed softly. “Ah. So we’ve reached that subject.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Yes. We have.”
“Look, love, I broke up with Jane just weeks ago. I don’t think I’m ready for what you’re looking for,” Paul replied diplomatically.
I looked up at him innocently. “And what am I looking for, exactly?”
“You want a relationship, Alice. You want a long-lasting, stable relationship,” he said soothingly.
I blushed. “Well maybe I don’t want a relationship! Maybe I just want to be with you to have a little bit of fun.”

Paul held me firmly by the waist. “You are a relationship girl, Alice. I know you very well. And, quite frankly, you deserve a relationship, not just some fun with some others on the side.”
“Please,” I implored. “I just want to spend some time with you before I go back to New York.”
“Alice...” he hesitated.

Taking the first incentive, I leaned up and kissed his lips softly.
“Paul, when we first met, you had a girlfriend and we kissed. Then, I was engaged and you had a girlfriend and we kissed. Then, I was dumped and you were engaged and you took care of me. Now, I’m single and you are single, and I want to be with you.”

Once I had finished, Paul scooped me closer and covered my mouth with his. I threw myself into the kiss and wrapped my arms around his neck. He pulled away to whisper into my ear.

“If you’re sure...”
“I’m sure,” I murmured. “This feels right.”
~

I spent all of the 23rd and 24th of December with Paul, kissing and shopping and flirting. I knew it was nothing serious, and that was fine with me at the moment. I knew he was pining for Jane and I knew he would be with other girls, so I didn’t let things slip too far. I gave myself to Paul physically, but never emotionally. It was my way of drawing the line of our relationship. It was just fun and games. That was all.

None of the other Beatles had caught on to our little flame just yet, and that was fine with us. I spent Christmas Eve at Paul’s extravagant place, nibbling on hors d'oeuvres and French baguettes.

“You’re wonderful, you know that?” I told him on Christmas morning, sitting up with the sheet wrapped around my body.
Paul grinned and kissed me deeply. “Happy Christmas!”
With that, we scrambled out of bed and dressed quickly into our pyjamas.

“Let’s go!” Paul was waiting by the front door.
“We’re not going to John’s place like this, are we?” I gasped.
He nodded. “Yes we are! Now grab your presents and let’s go!”

I arrived at Kenwood clad in my silk pyjamas, accompanied by Paul, in blue and white striped cotton ones. We weren’t the only ones in strange attire.

All gathered in the living room were our friends, the inner-most circle of the Beatle kind. George was wearing green plaid pyjamas, and was accompanied by Pattie, dressed in pink plaid. John was wearing boxers with a white shirt thrown on top, and Cynthia was sporting a red nightgown. Julian was showing off brand new fireman PJ’s and he was running around screaming about presents. Ringo and Mo were the only ones fully dressed.

I burst into laughter at the sight of all of us. Paul smiled at me. “What’s wrong?”
“We’re quite a group, aren’t we?” I managed to get out as I dumped my presents under the tree.
“Someone’s strange in the morning,” George teased me, bringing in a tray of tea from the kitchen.
“Why did you two come together?” Cyn asked curiously.
I shrugged. “I took a cab and we met up outside.”
“You took a cab? Even when I gave you the bleeding car service?” John demanded.
I rolled my eyes. “Sometimes I forget that hunk of metal is mine for the using.”
“Oh shut up you lot and lets open the presents!” Ringo shouted, as he crawled toward the tree, following Julian’s lead.

I laughed and watched as the boys took in their gifts with a laugh.

Personally, I got a bottle of expensive, beautiful-smelling perfume from George; two very stylish bags from Ringo; a beautiful new record player from John; and a teddy bear with a Beatle-cut and a guitar wearing a t-shirt saying “Love Me Do” on it from Paul.

“You’re all brilliant,” I declared, giving them all bear hugs.

The rest of the day was lovely, just sitting around in pyjamas and eating sporadically and playing with Julian.
While everyone was setting the table for the big Christmas dinner, Paul pulled me into the now deserted living room.

“Ready for your real present?” he whispered in my ear seductively.
“But the bear was so cute!” I gasped in fake horror.
Paul laughed at me and pulled out a slim white box. “For you, m’lady.”

I took the box eagerly and opened the top. It was clothes, I could tell by the box. I peeled off the tissue paper and pulled out something red, sexy, and lacy. I don’t know if it even constituted as “clothing.”

I covered my hand with my mouth and slapped him. “Well someone’s trying to make his dreams come true.”

He kissed my neck softly. “I just want to see if it’s how I imagined it.”
I blushed beet-red. “Paul...”
“Please,” he turned me around and kissed me sensuously, and I returned it.
I dropped the thing back in its box and shut it. “It’ll have to wait until tonight, you realize.”
Grinning, he glanced at his watch and remarked, “Three more hours to go.”
“Paul, I’m not going to bed at nine like a sixty-four old woman,” I snapped. “You’ve got a solid four hours to go yet.”
He brought me forward, connecting our lips again. His lips parted and I felt his tongue unglue my lips. “Maybe just three and a half,” I weakened.
~
“More, mummy,” two-year-old Julian demanded.
“What’s the magic word?” Cynthia asked sternly.
“PEASE!” he shrieked, pointing to the potatoes.

I giggled. Little Julian couldn’t pronounce his L’s yet, and it was adorable.
I personally couldn’t eat any more, but John was loading up for a third round.

“You’re not going to have any room for dessert, John,” I reminded him.
He made a face at me, but stopped putting any more food onto his plate. Julian laughed at his dad, his little mouth full of potato.

By nine o’ clock, Julian was taken upstairs, conked out. Paul yawned loudly. “I think Julian’s got the right idea. I punched his arm and rolled my eyes.

“You’re on your own there, mate,” John laughed loudly.
We stayed up a while longer, playing charades and pulling extra Christmas crackers.
“So you and Paul, then?” George muttered in my ear as we met in the kitchen to get some champagne.
I froze. “What?”
“Saw you in the living room,” the handsome guitarist explained.
“Oh,” I breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, sort of, I suppose.”
George looked confused. “How d’you mean ‘sort of’?”
I shrugged. “It’s very casual. We’re seeing other people, and each other.”
George’s eyes widened. “Wow. I didn’t realize you were that kind of girl. Otherwise I’d have won you over ages ago.” He winked at me and strode out to the party.
I stood there, partially paralyzed, until I heard John yelling, “Come on, Alice! What the hell is taking so long?”

I quickly rejoined the group and handed out the champagne. Three hours later, all three Beatle girlfriends/wives had passed out on the sofa. I was sleepy and yet still jumpy.

“I guess we’d better go,” I whispered to Paul.
We waved to everybody and then Paul drove me back to his place. Grabbing my Christmas gifts, I ran into the spacious manor. Paul practically dragged me upstairs.

“Put it on!” he demanded, shoving his Christmas present into my arms.
I felt extremely awkward in the bathroom as I looked at myself in the mirror. I was wearing lacy, red lingerie. Yuck. I spent a good ten minutes in there, preening and perfecting. I slowly opened the bathroom door and saw Paul lying on the bed.

He was fast asleep.
With a sigh of relief, I slipped under the covers and fell asleep instantly, the wine finally consuming me.
~
I awoke to a cold breeze, as Paul had pulled the covers off of me. I glanced out the window and saw the cloudy sky and the rain pouring down.
Paul was letting his hand hover over my stomach.

“What are you doing?” I yawned.
He bent down and kissed me. “You look fantastic.”
“Hmm?” I asked in confusion. Then I glanced down at my barely covered body and reached blindly for the blankets to cover me up again.

Paul grabbed my wrist and kissed each of my fingers. “Love, there’s never a need to be self-conscious. Especially in your case. You’re incredibly sexy.”

I felt myself grow red. I think he saw me getting embarrassed because he pulled me into his arms and kissed me powerfully. If I let my emotions go, I would fall deeply in love with Paul; I knew that. But I kept my emotions tied in a knot, and kissed back with a need and desire that was purely physical. He never said anything to make me feel like "one of the many", but there were little hints hidden in his house. He had a silky bathrobe in the bedroom, and perfume and make-up on the trousseau. His bathroom smelled like ladies shampoo, and he was far too good and pushing my buttons to make me crazy.

Yes, this man may one day be the death of me. But for now, I just enjoyed his body on mine, and I smiled at the discarded lingerie. The red strips of fabric made me feel sexy, and when I was around Paul and his beauty, it felt nice to feel sexy.
~
“Now what do we do? Christmas is over!” Ringo whined the next day.

We were gathered in Paul’s dining room, eating pizza from the box as dinner. Only Paul and I were actually using the table and chairs. The others were gathered around on the floor, chewing miserably.

“Ritchie!” I poked him with my foot. “There are now practically five days left of the year 1965, and you don’t know what to do?”
The drummer shrugged. “Any suggestions?”
“You write your resolutions, of course!” I replied.
“You what?” George’s voice came from under the table.

I got up, pizza still in hand. “Hang on, you lot...” I went into the kitchen and grabbed some paper and pencils. I set the lot down on the table and started handing them out to the three lads on the floor.

“Now, write down things you want to get accomplished in 1966. Go on!” I insisted, picking up my own pencil.
“This is bollocks,” John muttered from beneath Paul’s chair.
I bent down and glared at him. “Oi! Get it done, and then we’ll see if any of you have bollocks.”

It was silent for once at the McCartney home. I heard nothing but the scratch of pencils, and occasionally the crinkle of paper.