Beatlemania!

The wedding was fast approaching. It seemed like nothing got done without me, and that was overwhelming. Paul was much too busy with Beatle stuff to be fully involved with all the planning, and he was still rooting for a small ceremony. But, in reality; the service was going to be small. Just close friends and immediate family. No celebrities, no hordes of friends. Just...intimate.

The boys were filming Let it Be now, and it was falling apart. Yoko was a constant presence in the studio, and small disagreements disintegrated into full out fights. And the camera captured it all. Instead of a film about the creation of new work by an outstanding band, the picture depicted the break-up of the Beatles, and I saw very clearly this harsh truth. I knew it would be a miracle if the band lasted until the new decade.

It was a harsh reality that nobody wanted to face, least of all Paul, so I kept my feelings to myself and tried to keep myself uninvolved with the whole mess.
~
March 5th. That was the date Paul had chosen for our wedding.

“It’s not too far away,” he explained, kissing my cheek. “I don’t think I’ll be able to wait much longer.”

It was hard not seeing him very much, but I consoled myself because I knew that for a long time Paul had put his career first, and I understood that.

John was acting restless, suggesting trips to Belize or Egypt, and many other ridiculous places.

“Go meditate with George,” was my response to his silly requests.

“Can’t. I’m on the outs with ‘im,” John admitted guiltily.

My eyes narrowed. It bothered me when any of them fought. It made me feel insecure about the band and their future.

“What did you do?” I demanded.

“Why is it immediately my fault?” John’s eyebrows disappeared in his messy hair.

I gave him a knowing look, and then he grinned. “Yeah, yeah alright then. I may have told him his song was a piece of undigested shit.”

I groaned. “Jesus, John. Don’t you ever consider other peoples’ feelings?”

He shrugged. “I was in a bad mood.”

“Perhaps if you went to bed at a sensible time and drank a little water, maybe ate some reasonably healthy food once in a while...” I said quietly.

John’s keen ears caught everything. “Stop it, Alice.”

His voice was commanding, and I was silent. John rose and took Paul’s guitar from the floor and strummed it thoughtlessly.

I cleared my throat nervously. “How’s the album coming?”

“Rubbish.” John muttered, strumming louder.

“Why?” I pressed.

“Nobody likes me anymore,” he mumbled like a child.

I smothered my smile and placed my hand on his shoulder. He relaxed immediately. “What’s happened, John?” I asked quietly.

“They don’t like Yoko, so they don’t like me,” he grunted.

“I just think they feel as if Yoko has invaded their personal studio space, you see,” I explained.

“I like her there. I like feeling loved all the time,” John frowned.

I sighed. This was difficult. John, tough as he may be, was very needy and quite sensitive. I didn’t want to crush him, but I needed him to see reality. The Yoko situation was causing strain in the group.

“It wouldn’t make a difference,” he spoke again, as if reading my thoughts.

“Hmm?” I asked absentmindedly.

“If Yoko left, things would still be shite at the studio because things just aren’t the same.” He was half talking to himself now.

“I know,” I murmured.

“I think this is our last album,” John’s hazel eyes were wide with fear.

I shushed him gently. “Don’t talk like that. You’re the Beatles! Revolutionary! Timeless!”

“We always used to joke that the Beatles were just a flash in the pan...” the corners of John’s eyes were wet.

“That was a joke!” I rolled my eyes.

“Even if we make it to 1970, that’s really only eight years,” John bit his lip.

“Better than the three years George thought you would all last,” I reminded him.

“What the hell am I going to to without them, Alice?” he gasped. “This fuckin’ band has been my entire fuckin’ life for as long as I can remember.”

“Focus on today first, John. Then worry about the future when it comes,” I advised him, kissing his cheek lightly.

“Perhaps I really will have to get back to meditation!” John laughed shakily.
~

“Hey, if you hadn’t met us, who would you have married, do you think?” Paul asked me as we were drifting off to sleep one night.

“Liam,” I said without a second thought.

“Fuck, really?” Paul muttered.

I nodded. “He was the only one who made me feel loved until I was with you. I would have married him in a heartbeat.”

Paul’s voice was strained. “Oh yeah?”

I laughed and rolled over to kiss him tenderly. His lips were soft and wet against mine. “You silly boy. Why did you ask me if you weren’t prepared to hear the answer?”

“I was hoping you’d say you wouldn’t have married at all. A perpetual spinster,” Paul pouted.

I giggled. “Well, you would have married Jane.”

“I don’t think so...we were just too different,” Paul mused with a frown. “Perhaps I’d have been a perpetual playboy; fooling around until I was too wrinkly that none of the girls wanted me.”

I snorted. “As if! You’d have met a girl, Paul. You would have married and had five or six kids.”

“Five or six!? You want that many?” Paul asked with a sideways smile.

“However many you want my dear,” I yawned, drifting off into a slumber.

“Let’s fill the house up then!”

“Mhmm”

“I can hear the excitement in your voice,” Paul teased, kissing my cheek before snapping off the light and closing his eyes.