

This is a work of fiction.  This is a fan novel set in the "Hard Days Night", "Help" and the assumed-fiction "Let it Be" universes, with nods to some other basic Beatles historical facts (some of it is, indeed, true).  I am no more saying that the Beatles are/were gay than Im saying they are/were vampires  one should not infer literal reality in this novel any more than one should assume Picassos women had three eyes or that Robert Burns wife literally looked like a rose.  Its a metaphor  a myth  a story phrased in the mythological gods of the modern era and the homoerotic vampire tradition.  Its also a slash novel, meant for a specific community of readers (and we all understand the game rules of the art form) and not for the reading public.  Ive also removed the names of the innocent (wives and families), since they are not gods of the common mythology and just regular old folks like you and me.  The only real peoples' names employed are Julia Lennon's and Timothy Learys.  Both are dead, and I figured Doc Tim would understand.

To Beatlefans who may have happened across this: unless youre a slash reader, this is not for you.  IF YOU DO NOT KNOW WHAT SLASH IS AND ARE READING THIS, STOP READING IT NOW.  Otherwise, severe eye damage may occur.  

In writing this, I wanted to create a story to satisfy all the lost ends of Beatlemania for those fans still haunted by it.  It is what I think may have happened based upon my assessment of known events  it is not presented as a fact-based representation of what did happen.

I should also point out how this whole story came about:  In a very Anne Rice-like setting, I dreamt I was the interviewer of the vampire John Lennon.  John then went on to relate this storymost of the major events (in terms of Paul and him) came from that dream (yes, including the fucking).  This includes his own commentary on Pauls later work (some of which I agree with and some of which I dont).  Most of the rest is my creative confabulation.  Just in case there was any actual external input made, Id like to give credit where credit is due. However, Paul, youll have to take up the content with John.  

Two points of order for non-Beatlefans: Macca was the nickname John bestowed upon Paul.  It has since become Pauls "other name".  Ringos real first name is Richard (which you know if youve seen HDN), so thats why hes called "Rich" or "Richie", as that is what hes usually called by family and friendsoccasionally they get by with "Ring".  I didnt reach for "Lennie" or "Harrie" or "Boog" or any of the other pet names because I thought at some point, one has to draw a line at reality.  I did opt for "Puddin", "Pudges" and "Prudence" because theyre so damned cute and there is public record of them.



















The Vampire John Lennon



Thursday morning, eight oclock.  

He found himself sitting there, staring at the empty wall.just staring at the empty wallbeside the deskbeneath the lightbefore his reservoir of paper.  His hand had grasped pen and wandered after a word.  Focus, he would tell himself, and then bolt back into this narrow room of attention, not quite remembering where his thoughts had been hiding.where he wasbugger that, when he was.

He checked his watch and found he had none.  He saw the message light blinking for his attention.  

He looked around the room.  Weird  And where the hell are we now?  Had he been that distracted on his way up that he had forgotten where he had come?

Felt comfortable here.  Safe like home.  Or almost home.

Almost like he was waiting for somethinganxious to exhaleheaded home on that last leg of a long, old journey.  And he was sitting here, scribbling until whatever it was arrived to carry him home.

He rose up from his chair, walked to the window.  

The eyelet sash seemed to slide up above a street in Surrey.  Fresh airnew morning.  He was overlooking a small green hill and a path.  A storm was gathering.  It was the sort of place his security detail sought for him when he was out on his own on the road.  Somewhere with old people.  Somewhere out of step with the day.

He stepped to the side and somehow knocked something over.

Something plunked to the ground at his feet.

The phone rang.  He looked in its general direction.  He knew one of his staff would answer the line.  That was one of the few perks of being filthy rich and powerful as Almighty God and then some.  In truth, there werent many more perks  beyond purchasing whatever he wanted  but the phone thing was one of the better rewards.  He never had to answer a phone or a door or a page.  He paid for people to pay attention to all such things.  He could just sit here and scribbleif he had been able to sit thereor scribble

The phone quit ringing after the seventh time.  He wondered if the line had been answered or if the caller had just given up.

"Mr. McCartney," a voice spoke behind him.

He wheeled around to find a reasonably pretty young woman dressed as a secretary.  though he couldnt remember her to spare his lifeor how, in fact, someone dressed "as a secretary".  She was clearly waiting for his reply.  

"Yes?" he said.

"Sorry to bother you, sir, but you have an old friend on the line.  He wouldnt give his name."

"Caller ID?"

"Local call," she said, shrugging.

All of his truly old friends were at a distance or dead.  (Now how the hell is it you know that, old son?)  "Tell them Im not available, would you?"

"Yes, sir.  You have about one hundred and fifty messages, all of which I have handed along to your support staff.  You do have some requests for appointments this morning.  However, I know you have very important plans today so I can shuffle them all over to your assistant."

He nodded, again distracted.  "Yes, would you?"

"Of course.  Oh, and the Apple limo will be here any moment, sir."  

"Oh, great, thankswait, what limo was it you said?" he asked.

"The corporate limo, sir," she said, smiled. 

"Oh, sure, right, exactly. Forgive me, but I seem to have forgotten your name"

"My name?  Martha, sir.  Im Martha.  And Ill alert you when the limo comes round."

She was gone  like that, just gone.

Weird that he couldnt remember anythingbut then, as if to comfort him, he remembered knocking over the photograph.

He had toppled it to the ground.  It was a small, framed portrait, lying at his feet.  Where on earth had this come from? The very appearance of it filled him with nothing short of sadness.

He picked up the picture.  It was of the four of them in Bermuda:  The four of them.  During word association tests throughout the world, when the word "four" came up, they were the first "thing" remembered.  Psychologists had checked that out for yearsit held true everywhere  even in Bengal, even in Katmandu.  One, two, three, four meant Ringo, George, Paul and John.  The four most famous faces  walking along the Great Wall, he had heard his name called down within a barrage of Mandarin Chinese.  Everywherethey knew him everywhere.

Everyone knew themyet nobody knew them at all.  

His finger swept across Ringos face, over Georges, and at last to Johns.   There was a marked difference in the ache around his heart as he looked upon each one.  It writ large the respective levels of his coming to terms with his relationships with them.  Ringo and George and he had sorted through thingsthere was never, ever enough time, but there had been more time with them than there had been with

John.

Pauls finger inquired against the picture, as if trying to feel the moment through the mast of years.  He ran his finger over Johns face, seeking some connectionsome comfort from itif only just. 

In his gut he knew it was a face he would never see again.   Paul had first seen that face the night of the Woolton Fete: a first glimpse of plaid shirt and sun-streaked hair.  And then Dead, December, 1980, one mote past midnight....  A frigid, bone-dead winter prior to an aborted Yuletide, and a new year that would never come again.   

In his own mind, McCartney entertained no illusions.  He would of course have offered the usual Sunday school platitudes to the men of the press, but anyone who knew Paul, knew he was a practical, logical, pragmatic man who didnt believe in itany of itnot really.  He tried to, occasionally.  But the flicker never founds its full flame.  "What do you think happens when you die?" he had been asked once, by some friend somewhere.  And hed been much surprised by how quickly he had just said, "Nothing."

There would be no finish to the healing that already had started.  There would be no fences mended.  Nothing.  So much unsaid...and so much never to know...  Never.

That was the beastly, gnawing, aching truth that punched at him over and over and over again every morning of his life and through every quiet moment in all the years since Johnnys murder.  For months after it happened, it stole Pauls abilities and his capacity to hope.   His future seemed trapped in a dark, endless cavern resounding with an awful Joycean knowing:  Never, ever, ever, ever

alwaysalwaysalways

The fact of the matter was he didnt believe in God.  And that meant he couldnt believe in Johnanymore
 
"Mr. McCartney," her voice said through the door.  "The apple limo is here."

"The Apple Limo," he said.  "You said it before and you just did now.  What did you mean by Apple Limo?  You mean Jeff?"

She smiled.  "Did I say that?  Well, anyway, the company limo is waiting for you.  The driver is at the door."

And she was gone, like that.  Just like that.  Again.

A drumming knock came knocking at his chamber door.  As he opened it, one of those smiling lads in the generic hired drivers uniform was standing there.  A limocab, wondrous hybrid of the modern age.  Some local enterprise called Apple Limousine no doubt, and Jeff figured there was a magical gravity to their cross-association.   

End of mystery.  

"Youre from Apple?" Paul asked.

The young man smiled and nodded.  "I am at that, sir.  Mr..McCartney?" the fellow said, looking at his clipboard.  He said it as if hed just said Mr. Jones or Mrs. Thackery or any other common, ordinary household name.  Paul loved the sound of it.

"That would be me."

"Yessir," the stranger said.  "Im Jude, sir.  Im the one whats meant to bring you in."

"Oh, sure," Paul said, not knowing what in hell the fellow was talking about, but happy for company and someone who might know what he was doing here.  "You say your name is Jude?"

"Yes, sir."

"Not born in 1970, were you?"

"Yes, sir."  He grinned, scratching the hair under his cap.  "No worries.  Given the songs of the year Im just pleased Mum didnt fancy Johnny Cash.  Old Mums going to be dead chuffed when she hears who I got to drive to his eventual destination."

Paul pointed at him.  "Youre funny.  I like you.  You need me out of here then?"

"It would move the process along, sir."

So he followed Jude out to an open door that connected directly to one of those big, roomy important Presidential stretch limos.  Paul crawled in the back, happy to be going somewhere that would jog his memory and finally make some sense.

As they drove up the first winding path of road, Paul motioned to his chauffer and then toward the window.  The driver nodded and chugged down the windows a bit.

Alas poor Jude.  

1970 would make himwhat?  thirtysomethingor?

This was strange.  And what was stranger still, young Jude didnt look a day over twenty.  They grow them hale and hearty on this Sceptred Isle.

Paul shrugged it all off, as there was little to be done but shrug it off, since it couldnt possibly be anything else but some odd thing he hadnt figured out as yet.

He turned around, looking out through the wall of rain behind the auto.  Looked like Glastonbury, pigeon-toed toward Chilkwell Street.  Wonderful: Somerset in autumnwhy not iceskate on his shortpants all the way to Shepton Mallet?  Frostbite is our friend.  The village was glowing in the surrounding cold, more so than usual.  It had taken on almost a spectral glow.

It was, almost suddenly, later in the evening.  

Sundown?  Must have misjudged the time at the suite, he reckoned.  He could see straight up the black wall sky to the harvest moon shining through the storm.  Clouds parted so he might see a bright flash of lightning sprint away.   

He clicked in the CD of Nat King Cole.  For All We Know

This may only be a dreamwe come and go like a ripple on a stream

He clicked it off.  Bloody sad.  Nat King Cole was typically a jolly old soul.  That song always reminded him of

The car banked hard to the right.

It goated up a steep incline then pitched a hard left to burrow underneath some thing.  Suddenly, the road sloped downwards.  

Behind them, angels wings double doors enfolded them into a deep, black encompassing dark.  The air was thick and humid as if from standing waternot rain, but a river or pond.  He felt the imminent weight of flanking walls.  He could see little at first, but then there appeared wavering blue white shadows that encased himlike impressions of the water flickering over high gloss wood.  

This was an interesting place for a meetinghe guessed he was going to a meeting.

He had it in mind to be frightened, until young Jude popped open the door as if opening it for a friend.

"There ya go.  Youll find your reception committee waiting for you over there, sir.  Feel free to partake of the refreshments if you like."

"My reception committee?" Paul asked, glancing around at the little he could see.  

More blackness, more close air and flickering shadows as if he stood at the edges of a pool cabana.  

"Yes, sir," Jude called back, "right over there, sir."

Then Jude was gone through some long, darkened egress or another.

Weirdest damned day in a life of weird daysPaul felt as if hed stepped out of his life and into some other unknown.  Like a night clouded in ether and then, the day.  He knew who he wasknew what he was but didnt have a hopeful clue as to when, where or why.

Paul, his inner George voice said.  You started life as a scouser street urchin and ended up with more financial resources than Elizabeth Regina and Walt Disney combined.  You're in no position to judge weirdness, you know.  

McCartney stepped haltingly around the front of the car, finding the cause of the damp air  an inside swimming poolor ornamental riveror something of the kind.  It might have been an eccentric lap pool if it hadnt wound around the vine-woven wall and disappeared.  It was a damned river, no doubt about it, but it was inside a building, like some bloody theme ride.  Pirates of the bloody Caribbean or somethin.

It wasnt just mugginess or closenessthere was a spooky sense of gravity to the airan instinctual reflex in some muscle of his soul.  It was pulling at him and all the while warmly welcoming him home to somewhere he had never been before.  

He walked circumspectly around the indoor courtyard, to see that the vined wall along the edge of the river bottomed out into a half-circle of old stone.  It was a cobbled wall to guard something beyond it, cascaded by a fountain waterfall made of four joined hands.  It flowed first into outer tributaries in the winding river.

Fucking weird.  Fucking beautiful, but fucking weird.

Beyond the bending Riverwalk arose a wall of leaded glass.  Fine filament veins in brandy-colored flashes became four yang lines laid parallel: like an I Ching trigram alive in the light.  Above him as he entered the courtyard, a blue-black sky tableau flashed back in the language of lightning. 
 
At the edge of the river, a circular flight of steps walked up to a mezzanine.    At the iron railing, a caf table was centered at which a man sat with his back toward him.  Had he not known this man very, very, very well, he might not have recognized him in these strange surroundings.  

"Ringo?" Paul said, a question of amazement rather than of genuine inquiry.  And with the amazement was a major tide of relief in finding family in this increasingly bizarre little spot.

The man turned around to greet him, as if hed always known Macca was there.  He leaned over the mezzanine railing to just above Pauls head.  

"Been wondering when youd finally make it over," Ringo said, a deep fondness in his gaze, as if they hadnt seen each other in a very long time.  He toasted toward him a crystal glass of something deeply red.  "Welcome.  I reckon youre wondering how it is you find yourself here, eh, old man?"

"Yes, precisely.  Wondering indeed.  Where is this place?  I must have really gotten pissed last night.  I cant remember what happened.  I dont even know how I come to be here.  Is this some new place of yours?"

"Its a long story, old friend.  And youve had a long trip you cant remember yet."  

Ringo vanished from the mezzanine into its upper darkness, but resurfaced at the circle steps.  He was wearing his own sort of incandescence as he began to walk down to Pauls level.  

Paul looked up to seek the source of his old friends glow, finding nothing as a likely cause.  

But as the other man reached him, it was clear the glow had centered in Ringos eyes.  The eyes shone brightly at McCartney with an intensity that was almost painful to behold.  They absorbed each moment of seeing himeach bend of light across his face.

Ringos hand outlined Pauls face a moment more.  "Youve no notion yet how grand it is to see you, Mr. McCartney.  You will soon enough, though."

"To see me?  But we just saw each other last  " Paul said, thinking.  He backed up a little, as if unsettled at his sudden thoughtsor lack of them.  "When?"

"You cant remember now, can you?"

"No, but it couldnt have been long.  Damn if you dont look like youve had a small fortune of the old nip and tuck, too."  Paul reached out and tapped his old friends face.  "Whoever did the work, he did right by you."

Ringo laughed, shook his head.  "No work, Paul.  Theres been a lot gone under the bridge.  Whens the last point in time you remember?"

"Well"

What?  Or more preciselywhen?

The longer he paused, the wider grew Pauls deep hazel eyes.  The eyes seemed to catch glimpses of shadows escaping around corners of the mind.  Days, weeks, months, yearsdecades even

"I remember"  Paul said.  "Wait a minute; I knew there was something wrong in all this"

"Exactly."  Ringo pulled a mirror from his pocket, flipped it open, held it up.  "Take a gander at yourself, my young, old friend."

Paul leaned nearer the mirror.  His hand reached half-consciously for his face His impossibly youthful face.  

"Hold on, I dont look like Im thirty.  I cant look like that!  Im  "

Ringo nodded.  "Old."

"Very old!  And you were  "

"Dead."  Ringo smiled.  "Very dead.  For a number of years, in fact.  Old, grizzled and finally dearly departed.  Gone to meet my Maker.  Join the Choir Invisible.  I was an ex-ex-Beatle."  

Paul looked at him as if Rich had finally lost his mind.  "But youre standing right here, arent you?"

Ringo reached for Pauls hands again, squeezing them both for moral support.  "Get hold of yourself, Paul.  We have shocking news to impart.  Ready, steady?"

"Yes, yes, what?" Paul said, as if knowing anything was better than this utter spin of knowing next to nothing at all.

"If Im dead, and youre speaking to me.  And I am and you are. then guess who else has shuffled off this mortal coil?"  Ringo pointed at him.  "Eh, matey?"

"What are you talking about?" Paul said, finally sensing an open door in his mind.  Something was easing him back into remembering.

"Youve gone on to the great beyond yourself," Ringo said.  "And its not just a nasty rumor this time."

Paul coughed out a second, bigger laugh.  "Youre daft."

"Im not.  Reflect a moment, theyll let you remember enough to go on with the rest of our story."

McCartney drew back a full step, looking around them.  This was what seemed so oddso strangethis place.  As if this whole piece of life had been shoveled up like mortal sod and plopped down in another site and out of synchin another time and out of place.

"Good lord," Paul said, shaking his head.  "Ive missed the whole end game.  I lost out on half me fucking life."

"No, no, you havent.  Like the fellow said, death is a sleep and a forgetting.  They anesthetize your memory as you make the leap.  And dont ask me who they are because it seems to be everybody and nobody at the same time.  Or no one is particularly disposed toward telling the likes of us."

Paul shook his head.  "No!  Im dreamin this.  Ive gotten hold some bad tabs and Im trippin under somebodys sink somewhere, havent I?  Im hallucinating."

"No, that was my game when I first got here, too.  Im still not entirely convinced this isnt some sort of ether-induced delirium or a Lucy flashback, but Im beginning to be very strongly persuaded in favor of reality."

Paul circled around.  "Youre jokingyou must be."  He gazed around at the beautiful but strange if strangely compelling place.  "I mean, this is it?  This is Heaven?"

"No, not exactly.  Imagine, there is no heaven."

"You dont mean its -- ?"  

"No, no, calm yourself, me bucko.  No Hell either.  The old boy was right on both those counts.  This place is sort of like the Afterlife.  But its not Purgatory or Perdition or any of those other Churchie concepts.   Its sort of what the holy men meant when the gods told em about the Rapture and all that rot, but they did a piss poor job at the translation."

"If were dead, why are we in bodies?"  Paul cut in, in quiet voice, to ask gently...a bit of wonder in his words.  "I mean, it certainly looks like we're in bodies."  

Ringo reached over and thumped his shoulder affirmatively.  "Spirit bodies.  You remember holograms?  Help me, Obi Wan Kinobe, that sort of thing?  These bodies are created from highly focused energy emitted from our minds.  Our minds are electromagnetic, as it were.  Our head thingies spin it into interference patterns until it solidifies into stuff."

Paul listened carefully, nodding.  "Vibrational, you mean?  Like music?  The music of the spheres?"

Ringo pouted a little.  "Yeah, they said youd get it before me.  Exactly.  It took me two days of charts and diagrams to grasp it.  And Im a musician."

"Just makes sense.  And I like the idea of having bodies."  Paul looked around again.  "But wheres everybody and everything?  All weve got is Jude?  Where are all the harp-playing diaphanous angels?  

"Please," Ringo said, shaking his head.  "That dreary old angelic place.  We saved you from it.  The so-called spirit realm is terrifically oversold. Perpetual chamber music.  Sunday night at the Pops and it never bloody ends.  Eternity reminds us of the worst potluck social at some Merseyside Home for the Elderly."

"Still, Id like to have seen it, just to have the choice."

"No, you wouldnt.  I went buggery crazy till the others broke me out and I came here.  After I died, I mean."

It felt as if Paul could finally see the whole sweep of their existence.  He saw before him a roadmap in his head.  He remembered, in a flash, all the days that followedloss like a wrecking ball into his gutall the years of growing old, being old, till at last he lost Ringo, and then many of the other people in his life

"Wait.  Youdied.  You did die, I remember now."  

Paul reached out to frame Ringos face in his hands.  The other man smiled in return  suddenly a haunting vision from another age:  something precious a lifetime lost, and now suddenly restored to him.

Ringos eyes misted over, nodding.  "I knew it would kick in eventually."

"Rich," he said, gathering the shorter fellow up in his longer arms.  Paul kissed his forehead, raked a hand through his young-again hair.  He pinched at his legendary nose. "Rich, my God, youre really alive."

"Alive and barely thirty."

"My God all that stuff I never told you and I wanted to tell you  "

"Ah, we sorted through most of that.  There wasnt much left unsaid, by the time we were heating up our liniments together."

"But there was stuff."

"Theres always stuff, old man. Thats what all this stuff is aboutto make up for that stuff. And weve got eternity to talk now.  Besides, we need to show you around the new accommodations."

"Im staying here then?"

"You couldnt be anywhere else if you tried," Ringo said, smiling cryptically.  He toasted him and then finished off the wine.  Wine consumed, the crystal vanished in his hand.  "I like being the one to make enigmatic cosmic assertions.  Used to be the other two, didnt it, Paul?"  

Paul was still squinting around, looking for the crystal glass.  "I had my own moments."

"No, you didnt, you just thought you did when you were toking, and we let you think it."  He motioned him to follow.  "Wait till you see the place.  Forget the Ritz."

Paul followed Ringo across the courtyard, to the edge of the cobbled wall before the waterfall.  Standing near, Paul could see four distinct palm prints flat against the center surface.  He thought he saw his own palm print as one of the four.

"Go on.  Put your hand up to the wall and wait for the magic," Ringo said, smiling.  "Its so incredibly cool."

Paul reached his hand up to a perfect fit over the palm print which was clearly his.  Immediately, the colors of the glass wall filaments turned ruby red.  The cobbled wall swung aside enough to reveal a door within the wall.

"Fantastic!" Paul exhaled, eyes big.

"See, I said as much," Ringo said, leading the way through the wall.

Paul as a boy once dreamt up his perfect, ideal, beautiful house.  Those were the sort of dreams that were always compromised in the winters light of reality  costs versus sheer gravity in architectural truth.  But the room that unfolded before him reminded him very much of this dream room  all as beautiful a thing as he might have imagined.  It felt like perfect comfortand perfect artistryall perfectly at peace with his soul.

It was every ideal Christmas morning for which a soul had ever wished, all coalesced in one room.

It nearly moved Mr. McCartney to tears.

"Thisis"

"I know," Ringo said, nodding.  "But wait till you see this."

Ringo reached a hand up to a series of four palm prints.  Once again, Paul spied his own hand represented there as well.  As Ringos hand touched, the whole room changednow dark and deep and richly colored in brocades and old velvet and ingot stone walls.  It gave the impression it was half-cave, half-16th century castle, with a much homier, plusher spin on things.

"Fantastic!" Paul said again; because that was all he could really think of to say. "It changes?"

"As you will it to change.  We have us a mood house.  Cool, eh?"

Had the dictionary sought a visual definition for astonishment, it would have shown Pauls face, with the term spelled out beneath him: Astonishment

"More than cool."  Paul turned around completely, three times, still not seeing it all.  "This is bloody, damned, flippin amazingand then some.  Where is this place?"

"Wherever we are," Ringo said.

"You mean it goes with us?" Paul asked.  "Thats not possible."

"Oh, but it is, Paul," said another voice suddenly beside him.  

Paul turned around: not believing, half believing, wanting as much as anything to believe.  

George smiled at him.  "In fact, Id be prepared to state it is us in its own way.  And the look on your face when Ringo disclosed to you the awful truth about the death thingy nearly gave us all a case of the rampagin giggles, didnt it, Ring?"

Paul reached a hand toward the face, as if it had to be an image from a dream.  His hand didnt pass through it, but met a firm, solid surface that felt like skin.

"Look at you!" Paul said, unable to believe his eyes anymore than his ears.  

He had been a schoolboy when Paul had first seen himnext to him on the bus to schoolthis wondrous young man who had known all the words and chords to --check that-- real rock n roll songs.  This made Pauls friend a schoolyard deity back in their day and age.  Somewhere, between a first day and the others, they became good friends.  Through the fiery trials that followed, they became something more than friends or brothers.  There wasnt a word yet for what the four of them had become.

Even when their comradeship hit choppy waters, he had always deeply loved this sweet reed of a man whod been his friend for life.  When he remembered their love it seemed infinite in a deep, soul-devouring way, just as his love for Ringo.  But he had grown comfortable with the terms of his friendship with one Mr. Richard Starkey whereas Pauls times with George in comparison seemed turbulent and unresolved.  One half of him wanted to find a firm and final place to stand with George, but found nonebecause there wasnt oneand he knew itanymore than there was for Richor for the one whose name if recalled would surely break Pauls heart

His choices had been either (1) ignore the depths or (2) surrender to them completely.  

In his mind, Paul only discovered another memory of this gentle face the last time hed seen him.  And George had been much older and deeply ill and not far from death in that other place and time.  

Here he was  young, full of life, smiling at him from beyond the grave.  Hell, from out of the grave.

Pauls arms swallowed him up, and then held George away for further inspectionfor the defects of badly drawn dreams.  Paul found none.  It was him.  

Macca grinned so hard, he thought his face might break.  He didnt know whether to cry or laugh or kiss the little bastard full on the lips.  

"Youre fuckin here," he whispered, amazed, stunned.  "Youre actually you."

George grinned, as though through the greater mystery of everything he was feeling.  He smoothed away Pauls tears with his thumbs.  He tapped both pudgy cheeks then kissed the thick of each of them.  "I missed you badly and horribly and terribly, you know.  I can tell you that now, with all the hubris removed.  And I must say youre taking all this surprisingly well."

"George thought youd freak," Ringo said.

George shook his head.  "No, not freak exactly."

"Pardon us then what exactly did you mean by Paul will freak."

"All right," George said.  "I confess I thought you wouldnt take it well, but you should have seen this one when he came here."  George pointed to their friend the drummer.  "First he barked at us and said foul things.  Then he sat in a corner talking to himself.  You know what you shoulda done, Rich? He says.  You shoulda just stuck with Rory and them Hurrycanes.  Been a one-hit wonder for a few odd bob.  But no, you had to sign on with those three and now its all padded rooms for you here on out, Mr. Starr."

Ringo cleared his voice.  "Georges clever way of saying I thought I had lost my marbles when I got here.  Not that Mr. Sitar-Plucking Spiritual Centre of the Guru Galaxy helped all that much."

"How was I to?  You thought I was a hallucination."

"It's not that really.  It was more complex than that."  He brandished his hand and its array of rings.  "For instance, I have here a favorite ring from each different Ringonic era.  One theory I had was all this might be like Madam Tussauds in the future."

"Then I pointed out Madam Tussauds was all wax," George explained.  "And that wax doesnt breathe.  But then his Ringoness here hit upon the theory that we might be made of special, military top-secret breathing wax.  How was I to respond to that?"

Ringo pouted a little.  "I didnt say I held to that theory now.  The clothes thing persuaded me otherwise."  He looked to Paul.  "First of all, noticed your garments?"

Paul touched at his chest, at the blue sweater beneath his hand.  He looked down at himself.  His favorite blue running suit  the blousy, sweatery one.  It had long ago gone to some rag bin and thence to some charity auction or other, circa 1969.  He had often thought of it fondlywell, as often as one thinks fondly of old clothes.

"Good heavens.  This is an oldie but a goodie."

"Okay, check this out," Ringo said, nodding.  "Behold your garments now."

Paul watched the blue fade to black and he was suddenly wearing his old dark jeans and black mutton-sleeve sweater.  

"This is brilliant," Paul said, thunderstruck.  "You just rethink your clothes and theyre changed?"

Ringo nodded.  "And no need to bathe or do any of those other vexatious grooming things."

"A fact which greatly pleased some of us," George added.

Ringo tossed him a semi-sour look.  "There was a cheap shot.  Your just dessert is that you can tell him about the other thing."

"Which thing?" 

Ringo nibbled at the edge of his finger.  "That thing."

"Oh.  That thing."

Paul, still fairly distracted by his new way of changing clothes, barely reacted.  "What thing?" he said.

George smiled with forced bravura.  "Very well, here we go, so heres the rest of it and then some.  Remember we mentioned the spirit bodies?  Well, the things work like the old world ones, so we have to tank up on a kind offuelon occasion."

"Fuel?"  Paul asked.  "Food, you mean?"

"Yes, if you like, we can eat and drink and all that.  But theres something else, too."

"Be careful," Ringo said.  "This hes not going to take well."  

"I was wrong about before, perhaps you are about this, eh?" George said, looking again to their newly arrived friend.  "All right, heres all of it, Paulthis is the worst, from a newcomers perspective.  You see, to survive we sap little bits of vital energy to replenish our own plasmic cells.  Usually we do this straight off the Mater, but every so often, when the opportunity presents itself, we can partake from living beings, so long as they consent.  The nice thing is the whole process is very, very pleasant, so they dont mind.  Its very, very, very pleasant for us, too.  Almost better than sex."

"It is better than sex," Ringo added.  

"Certainly in your experience."

Ringo eyed him sardonically.  "Youre the one who refused to seek counseling."

"Stop."  Paul held up a hand to staunch the flow of words around him.  "Youre saying we sap living creatures?  If I didnt have a firm toehold on realitysuch as it isId think you were saying were flippin vampires or something."

Ringo shook his head.  "Thats an ugly word for it, Paul."

"What do you mean thats an ugly word for it?"  Paul snapped at them both, looking from one to the other.  "You dont mean to say we are vampires?"

"Calm yourself, Paul," George said, lifting his hand for a moment of peace.  "No, were not really vampires, in the Bela-Lugosi-Castle-Dracula-big-ugly-Nosferatu-teeth and all of that manner of speaking.  Its a metaphor of sorts.  And the blood thing isnt a requirementexcept for the first time.  Thats all just showbiz, in the abstract sense of things."

Pauls eyebrows crawled to the eaves.  "Blood?  Except for the first time?  What on earth have you two dragged me into?"

"See, I knew youd react negatively  "

Paul buried his face in his hands.  "George, I fancy crossin over to the other side and becomin a beautiful angel and instead Im a vampire?  And you tell me not to react negatively?"  

George smiled.  "Youre a beautiful angel in any event, arent you, Sir Cute One?"

"Nice try, that," Paul said, "but not working.  Not even close."

Ringo elbowed George.  "Nice job there at the explaining thing, oh Quiet One."

"Well, I had a lot more insidious thing to explain, the vampire aspect of things, didnt I?"

"I had to tell him he was dead, didnt I?"

"This cant be happening," Paul said, looking around as if for a route of rapid escape.  

"Its not as bad as all that," George said softly, quickly.  He closed the distance between them, to block Pauls flight and touch his old friends shoulder, to bring him around to the moment.  "Itll be your own choice at the time.  Really.  And there are wondrous things, too.  Beautiful and wondrous.  Youll see what we mean when the time comes."

"Id like to know some of the wondrous now, if its all the same to you.  Just to offset the horror show facets a bit."

George nodded.  "Well, were physical with all that implies in the great expanding human sense of things.  We feel everything we used to, the good and the bad, but we cannot die.  And were telepathicwell, we are, you will be soon.  Weve got an unlimited wardrobe, which the ringed one here especially likes.  And weve spectacular digs, havent we?"

Paul nodded, as if forced to admit.  "Its very cool at that.  But we dontthat is to sayI mean, you knowthe sleeping in the casket stuff?"

"No, no," George said.  "Thats all just old Universal monster movie gab.  We rest in the dark just to conserve energy, but there are good things about that as well."  He smiled rather largely.  He pointed toward an internal wall of light, dragging on Paul to force him along with him in the indicated direction.  "Next we show you our personal accommodations, away from the living space, I mean."

Paul exhaled, shaking his head.  "It can only get better from here."







The light wall dissolved into a dark room.  Not just dark, but black dark, John Milton darkO dark, dark, darkWithout all hope of day dark.  That kind of thing.

George waved a hand and beyond it, the room glowed suddenly golden warm and bright.  It seemed inviting beyond any previous welcome Paul had ever known.  This was as home to him, in that moment, as any place he had lived, in fact.  He had never been here and yet he felt as if hed returned to somewhere he loved and knew better than his own thin skin.  

"Avast, hes Merlin Harrison," Paul said, smiling.

"Dont be a sulky boy.  Youre the pretty one, remember?"  George snapped his fingers and the floor before them vanished into a sunken pool of silk cushions and thickly piled pillows.  "Remind you of anything?"

"Derivative artist, arent you?" Paul said, grinning.  "That looks like the sunken movie bed contraption, of course.  Increased in size by a factor of four or so."

"It helped to launch my celebrated cinematic career," Ringo said, collapsing into the thick of the cushions.  

"The Magic Christian, Lisztomania and Caveman do not comprise a celebrated cinematic career," George replied.

Ringo pouted.  "You forgot Son of Dracula and Two Hundred Motels."

"No I didnt."

"And Give My Regards to Broad Street," Paul said.

"No," George said. "I definitely didnt."

Paul and Ringo plucked up pillows and slung them at their friend.  

Paul ducked the return volley to lower himself slowly to the edge of the pillow pit.  He looked around them, an attempt at casualness.  And in truth, he was feeling fairly relaxed, funnily enough.

"Ive only just arrived and I already love this place," Paul said softly.  "You promised there were nice things and this is a nice thing.  You said there were others?"

George grinned roguishly, winking at Ringo.  "Time?"

Ringo smirked.  "Past time."

George lunged forward.

He grabbed Pauls arm and dragged him with him into the bed pit.   

Paul fell amid pillows, feeling like he would never stop until he did.  Breath knocked from him, he reeled back against his arms.  After a moment, he dragged himself into a defensible corner, coughing until he might laugh again.

"Were physically as young as we need to be," George explained, vaulting another pillow in his direction.  He hooked an arm around Ringos shoulders, dragging him toward him.  He lipsmacked the side of Ringos face.  "We have each other.  And"

"And?" Paul said.

"Listen, Paul.  This is the important part.  I told you before, but you didnt hear me.  Hear me now." George leaned forward to draw the full attention of his oldest friend.  "Nobody.  Ever.  Dies."

Paul shrugged.  "Sure, I sort of thought as much."

"Yes, but youre not thinking.  Youre not realizing.  Nobody.  Ever.  Dies, Paul.  Lets count us into the next set.  One Paultwo Ringothree George"  He pointed to the space behind Pauls head.  "And four?"

The strategic pause between them might have been a whisper in time.

"you dontmean"

Georges eyes glowed with a radiant meaning.  He nodded.  "I do mean, Paul."

"No," Paul said, as if refusing to thinkto believe  "Thats not possible.  Dont toy with me like that, its cruel  "

Ringo shook his head firmly.  "Were not toying with you, Paul. They left you somewhat unsurprised to see George and me, because we had a span of years to sort through portions of the interpersonal toxic garbage barge we created between us.  But because of the sheer impact involved, you havent been allowed to realize who else would obviously be here with us."

"No," Paul said, without a breath to spare. "All right, I can take the dead and alive thing...maybe  Hell, I can even accept the vampire thing, I mean, if I was dead and now Im alive, thats dotty enough, so bloody hell why not?  But I cant bear to think I mean, if I turned round and"  

He covered his eyes with his hands, straining for a last bit of calm, but he filled his palms with tears before he could reach any peace. 

"Paul," Ringo said, stepping forward, as if to say something to comfort him.

"No!" Paul stepped away, composing himself raggedly, sharply, desperately.  In another place, another time, hed have never have confessed this  He would have communicated this perhaps only through a P.R. buffer, a million miles away from his heart.   "When Johnwentit bloody killed me the first fucking time  It bloody fucking killed me"

"Theres no reason to be afraid," one of them saidPaul couldnt tell which now.

"Afraid?  This isnt fear you see, its fucking incredulity.  I mean, who am I joking?  This is insanity!  None of this is rational, let alone possible."

He turned around to seek an escape, in search of any alternate direction.

On the other side of the dark lay a room of light.  The light was so intensely white it drowned out all other features -- blinding and disorienting him -- like a midday gleam off December snow.  In the midst of it all, he saw the faint odd geometry of what might have been a window and moved toward it.  As he touched it, the lines that defined it melted at his touch.

All at once, the room of light was swallowed by Miltons Dark.  

He could see nothingno thinghe might have been standing in a void in spacebut all at once he could hear everything.

From everywhere around him, there came footsteps Paul knew better than the rhythm of his own heart.  He had thought, before, he had known every feature of fear.  He had thought, before, he knew what dread was.  There was something nearing him now bigger than all of it the personal Polaris to his binary star system.  And whatever Macca was made of was responding to it, at every level of being.    It was terrifying because it was so real, so vivid, thislove.  

"Paul," said a voice the very sound of which instantly melted the last vestige of what remained of Maccas resistance.  "You couldnt leave here if you wanted to.  And the fact is you dont want to in the least and you damned well know it, so quit playing like a hard to get queen."

McCartney forced his eyes away, but he found himself opening them against his own terroras if he had gone on autopilot at the will of something bigger than himself.  

He could see before him black sneakersblack jeansa black shirtand finally

Pauls chin was touched by the tip of a finger and gently lifted up.

Could there be anything more terrifying than a miracle in the clear light of day?  Paul knew now there was only one answer.

After a second, the man before him stuck out his tongue and made a funny face.  

Against every muscle in Maccas body, a laugh jerked forcibly from him, intertwining at once all love and wonder, terror and disbelief.  Through it all, Paul would have expected nothing less from John Lennon.

"Give us a kiss then," John said.  "Its been awhile."

"You cant be here," Paul said, pushing back the wonder and love, in favor of the more dogged demands of disbelief.  Paul was afraid to thinkafraid to believe, afraid to even consider belief or else have his last hope dashed again.  

"Problem with your theory, then, Paul.  I am."

"No.  No.  No.  No way this is happening.  I begged God for you.  I offered up everything I had to have me wake up and find it all a horrible, goddamned dream.  Do you understand that?  How can you just be here, you bloody, fucking bastard?"

"Because, this is the way its supposed to be, love.  Its a long story beyond all that, and well get to it eventually.  First we have to get through what comes next.  Sort through this first, then the rest comes after."  

"And that is?"

"Youll see."

Paul looked at him, as ever, with a mixture of pain and fury and longing.  "Calling the fucking shots as usual, Lennon?" 

"Havent I always?"

"To your way of thinking perhaps."

John shook his head.  "No, really, in fact.  Its the natural order of things with you and me, isnt it?  No avoiding the truth, Paul. It is that way and its always been and it always will be. I know youre not comfortable with it, but that doesnt change a thing, does it, love?  And if you didnt really want it that way, you wouldnt be here to begin with." 

"Lennon has it all sorted out, does he?"  Paul shot back, so angry now he could barely formulate words.  "Maybe I think youre mad."

"No, Paul."  Lennon smiled and took a long step closer.  Reaching, him, he lifted up a daring hand to tenderly stroke Pauls face.  "You get cold night clear about love and meaning staggering with a load of projectile metals in your guts, believe me.  The panoramic life review leaves one little room to doubt.  You only fled the first time because you thought I didnt love you anymore."

"Please.  You never loved me.  You said as much yourself."

"I took that back, in public, too.  And I lied about a lot of things regarding you, Paul, if youll remember.  Thats only one."

Paul yanked back from him.  "Oh, I remember.  Sixteen months, John, never mentioned in the world-wide press  thats what you left for methat was my reward for loving you.  Do you know what co-dependency is, Mr. McCartney?  Do you know what it does to self-esteem, Mr. McCartney?  And all the while you kept batterin me in the major media over and over and over.  It never stopped.  You never let it.  And you got the rest of the music industry to do it, too, Mr. Love and Peace."

"You know that Im not proud of that.  But while youre making of yourself a martyr, you might remember youre not entirely innocent either, Sir Paul."

"I didnt say I was.  The only point Im making is I wasnt entirely guilty either.  Yes, Im flippin bloody fuckin rich.  I can buy and sell you three times over and still have change for tea.  You see, theres a survival mechanism that sets in when youve had your light stomped on and your soul bound for years and years.  I have that now.  As ye sow, so shall ye reap and all that sorted crap."

"Bad news, then."  John gave him a gentle smile.  "Look around you, Paul.  You come here naked.  We have no money here.  No corporate attach.  No herd of Wall Street attorneys.  No miles of bureaucratic buffers to protect you, Mister Billionaire.  Were here in the realm of all that matters, and its just us now.  I love you, Paul.  I told you early, I tell you late, I loved you before you loved yourself.  That never, ever stopped."

"I stopped, John.   I didnt let it happen again.  Let you destroy meagain.  I made myself stop loving you the night you fucking died, you damned  "

He punched blindly. Lennon caught the half-hearted fist like a bad popfly.  John spun him around, forced his arms down beside him.  He pinned his arms fast until the fight bucking furiously through the other man gradually weakened and finally subsided.  There had never really been a contest.

"You bastard," Paul wept.

"I know."

"You bastard."  

"I know."

As Paul sagged to his knees to escape, John sunk with him in a slow battle to the floor.  Macca rolled one way to push off Johns shoulders, but Johns reach countered the move.  All at once, Pauls fingers slipped past the shoulder and merged into the wild brown riot of Johns now thirty-something hair.  The touch of it reflected sharply in Pauls big eyes: some kind of validation of the miracle itself. 

Maccas hand grasped at Johns hair, as if at fading bits of panned gold in an old miners dream.  Like his own dreams, for years after.  But this time, the gold was solidthe ghost was real and it wasnt going away.

Paul slammed a hard kiss to the side of Johns face.  "You sweet, fucking bastard."

"I know."

Macca could sob silentlywithout a cracked voice or wavering wordwhich is how he had listened over a telephone extension to the three whom he loved more than life talk about their long-ago plans to sue him.  Hed wept his fucking heart out and they had never heard his tears.  

This time, Paul knew John could see them and they all could hear them.  These tears would not go quietly. 

"Youre really here," Paul whispered, still not quite believing.

"I am, Paul.  I am.  And I swear Im not going away."  

John held him gently, strumming the other mans long, darker hair like a gentle, lilting ballad of belated sorrow.  He knew what Paul did not: that the expense of emotion was dispersed as energy and Macca would soon be surrendering to a restorative process which, in this higher realm of heaven and earth, passed for a few hours of sleep.  







It was written that I would love you 
From the moment I opened my eyes 
Paul McCartney


As his eyelids lifted, the world around him was vague and indistinct - a sketched charcoal outline so ambiguous he thought they might be less dim visions than shadows in his own minds eye.  

He reached up a hand to his shoulder, felt something under his touch.  Something cool and sleek like satin whispering beneath inquiring fingers, inciting a memory of other nights in other places.  Even the duvets in this place were top notch.

"When youre sleeping, you look like one of those rococo alabaster cherubs," said a nakedly admiring voice hovering over him.  "Only youre more beautiful."

Paul smirked; opened an eye.  There was one brown eye staring down into his eye, as if searching for something the seeker had lost.

"You in there, Macca?"

He couldnt stop the giggle, and he bloody well tried.  And a good 97.5% of him wished to hell and back he wasnt this damned happy.  Not this damned happynot sprinting-through-the-universe-painting-silly-arcs-of-rainbow-light-through-furry unicorns happy.  

Paul opened the other eye.  "Where else would I be, Lennon?" 

"Dunno, but for a moment your eyes looked suspiciously green, didnt they?  I was about to ask if you were William Campbell or Billy Shears or some other perfidious fourth horseman of the Apocalypse and just what in hell you had done with my Paulie."

A grin was extracted from Paul forcibly.  He shook his head.  "My eyes are hazel, as you know very well.  They pick up the color of whatever Im near.  They only look green when youre around, John."  

"If only that wasnt the truth."  John sat back, tipping his head for his further Macca inspection.  "So, you going to confess youre happy to see me?"

"Wasnt it appallingly obvious when I transformed into a blubbering jumble before your very eyes?"

"I confess, the anger kind of threw me," John said, leaning forward.  "We had that lovely conversation before my run-in with the hand of God.  Two hours of sweet talk."

"Followed by the release of your album with the snarky cut meant for me."

"My lady told you what that was about."

Paul nodded a little.  "Yes, she did.  Shes about all that kept me sane in the days after, too.  Shes the only way I knew youwelldidnt hate me"

"Macca, you didnt really think that  not really.  Of course I didnt hate you.  Well, okay, I occasionally hated you, but you only hate people you also love.  I even admitted on David Frost that I loved you more than her."

"David Frost was it?  Well, that makes it official."

John grinned, poking a toe at him.  "Admit that you love me.  Go on, admit that you love me."

"Stop it," Paul said, giggles beginning to escape their internal lockbox.  He fended off the toesy intruders. "I want to be grim and stern and hard-faced right now.  I cant do that with you breathing sweet things all over me."  For the first time since awakening, he glanced around their common room.  He looked, for a second, like a disappointed little boy. "You mean to say, I dont have any money?"

"Not a henny penny, Paulie."  

"Its all of it gone then?"

John nodded.  "Not gone, you just cant take it with you, like they said.  You leave it all behind.  But then we dont need any here because everything is provided for us."

Paul looked about suspiciously.  "Id rather provide for myself.  Fewer strings attached.  And anyway, whatprovides?"

John shrugged.  "Seems to have always existed.  Beats me.  But it gives us much of what we want and everything we need, even when we dont know we need it."  He poked him with a flirtatious toe again.  "If you wont admit you love me yet, go ahead and pummel me with questions.  I feel them seething beneath your lovely exterior."

"Stop flirting, John, its hopeless."  Paul fought to restrain the smile, but it would not be stopped.  "Ill see if I can come up with questions, though."

John ascended slightly into the air.   He folded his legs before him.  "We have a lot of new abilities."

"So I see."  If it had been Ringo levitating, Paul might have reacted with surprise.  With John, it was somehow not unexpected.  With George, levitation would have seemed de rigueur.  "How do you go about doing that one, eh?  We can fly?"

"Not really flying, is it?  More like artful hovering really."

Paul winced at his approaching thought.  "We dontyou knowtransform, do we?  You knowreally fly?"  He flapped invisible wings.  "Squeak  squeak  and all that."

"Turn into vampire bats, you mean?  Well, of course.  Its our regular mode of transportation, isnt it?  Its cool, too, sailing as great black bats across vast distances bathed in spectral moonlight.  And we transform into as ugly a bat as we are good-looking in life, which means you  "

"Truth, John," Georges voice dropped down on them out of nowhere.  A window on the ceiling above appeared, a head poked through it.  "Tell him the truth or Ill come down there and play my sitar in your face incessantly."

"Yes, Mahatma Harrison," John called up.  "All right, Paul, we dont transform into vampire bats."

"I didnt believe him anyway, George," Paul said.

John poked a hovering toe at Pauls flat abdomen.  "You did for a nanosecond.  You always believe me for a nanosecond."  

Paul smirked at him, glancing back up at George.  "What are you doing up there?  Wheres Ring?"

Another window in the ceiling slid open.  Ringos head poked down.  "Were giving you and John space, which is what privacy passes for somewhere where everyone knows what youre thinking and feeling.  The four of us cant be as one and were supposed to be as one until the two of you are together again.  To do that, you must process several hundred thousand accrued pieces of not-so-instant karma netted between you.  Well be down after the dust settles.  Its safer that way.  And less painful."

"Over and out," George said, as he and Ringos heads pulled out of view and their windows shut quickly after them.  

"Meanwhile, back at Juniors Farm," John said, with added emphasis and raised voice toward the ceiling.  He stretched out across the air, lowering himself gradually beside Paul on what seemed to be a big, black bed.

"Show off," Paul said.  "And for the record, I dont want to thrash things out with you.  I got over all that.  Im past it."

"Rubbish."

"Not rubbish.  That was shock talking earlier.  I got over it.  Even your issuing bleedin papal bulls every fifteen minutes on what a queenie mawkish twat Id become."

He threw a gesture at him.  "Nobody paid attention."

"Like hell they didnt.  After youdied, Id guess youd call itI got it all quoted back at me on the nightly news."

"Partly your fault for going in front of the bleedin news camera after taking six benzodiazepines and two crobs.  You looked like a big, stunned salmon.  I didna want to be aloneiss a drag innit?  Im surprised you were that erudite."

"Your faithful would have buggered me regardless."

He leaned in to flutter his eyebrows.  "Only if I let them.  You had your own faithful who hated me, too.  We each are responsible for our own flock, son.  Beyond which fact, dont spoil a poor boys fun, I still have issues."

"Was ever thus, John."

John gently popped a hand against the top of his head.  "Besides, your little Maccapout just proved youre not all past it.  May I continue?"

Paul shrugged.  "Go on, go on."

"Thats more like it," he said, rubbing his hands in ceremonial glee.  "Firstly, recordin with Whacko Jacko.  How do you reckon that one out, eh?"

"Boredom and stupidity.  That accounts for a lot in both our lives, yours and mine."

"But Paul, I mean youve got to grow a fuckin ego.  You talk about how big mine isand I mean ego, ducks, dont give me that come hither lookbut you act like you dont know how great you are.  You go and take up creatively with the likes of im.  You know how that felt from the other side, where I couldnt snipe about it to the press?  Damned painful, Ill tell you.  Not a pigs ears to tickle in sight."

Paul smirked.  "At the time, Jacko was the King of Pop."

"Please.  Youre one of the fathers of modern music  and dont give me that look either.  Its that false modesty of yours which makes you do shit when you should be reaching for stars."

"Father of modern music?  Reaching for stars?  Theres the heft of irony for you, Mr. Lennon.  What happened to all you did was Yesterday?"

"Ach, thats why you should stay close.  The whip stings hardest when its flung from far away.  It was my tough love way of keeping you honest.  You got off on How Do You Sleep, admit it."  Lennon wiggled his eyebrows.  "And I took the meaner parts back and you know it.  See also Rolling Stone interview and Playboy.  I gave several love fest interviews where I practically French-kissed you through the Daily Mail."

"The Martin Luther Lennon theologians never quote those, do they?"

"When have they ever listened to a bloody thing either of us really said?  It always soars right past them.  Look at all those flippin interviews you gave in the 80s.  I mean, how many times have you blunt out told some journalist that you and I fucked each other and they never -- "

"John!" Paul hissed, looking around for security.  "They mightve heard you  "

"They?  Who they?" 

"George and Rich!" 

John leaned over, knocked at Pauls forehead.  He blasted him a big, cheeky smile.  "Headline news, Macca: George and Rich already know." 

"They do not."

Above them, the ceiling windows slid back in unison.  Both heads popped through at the same time.

"They do so," Ringo said.

George added, "Theyve always known.  We being the They of the first part."

Pauls eyes widened.  "Who the hell told you?"

"You did," Ringo said.  "We walked in on you that time, about which you only dimly recall.  And we knew anyway as we were playin your songs for all those years.  You think me and George didnt notice neither of you had anything more than a showcase significant other for something like four years running?  As if that all wasnt enough, half the city saw you two spooning in the grass during the Monterey Jazz Festival.  We heard about that one, believe me."

George smirked.  "Hell, half of New York called me after they watched Lennon and McCartney dancing at the Manhattan gay bars during Johns celebrated vacation from the Other.  That was loads of fun explaining to cynical Atlanticans, Ill tell you.  Oh, that, they just like boy-boy dancing with each other on occasion."

Ringo nodded.  "And to think George had to bear up nobly through the Inquest.  Youd crushed his tiny, tender heart, since hed had a big crush on both of you at one time or another."

George looked over at him.  "And you didnt?"

"Didnt say that, did I?  Just said you did."

"Stop pouting, the lot of you," John shot back.  "Were all together now, remember?  And what was that about givin me and the Missus some sorting space?"

Paul shook his head, even now mystified.  "I still cant believe you two know."

George smirked.  "I cant believe you thought we didnt."

As if just belting a Fizzy Lifting Drink, John arose slowly to the ceiling.  He gently pushed the other two heads back through their windows.  

"So long now, farewell, dont be a stranger, ta ta, tot ziens, auf wiedersehen," John said tartly, but quickly added, "But dont go too far away, you two." He quickly closed the slide windows.  

"Quit pushing the lads around, John," Paul said sharply, craning his neck to look up at him.  "Thats really astounding.  They know.  George and Ringo.  That you and I were in love."

John smirked at him knowingly.  "We were in love, thats your story, is it?"  

"Of course," Paul said, looking down into his hands at bits of nothing.  "Okay, you know, I love youI admit it  But weve both gotten over that in-love thing."

John reached across to tow Pauls chin back to meet his gaze.  "Youre a pitifully appalling liar, Mr. Paul McCartney.  Youre as bad a liar about that as you were about totally forgiving me for all my historical trespasses."

Paul looked up with wounded eyes, pulling his knees protectively to his chest.  "And you come to this bit of wisdom how?"

"By knowing you better than anyone.  I even know you a bit better than the two with their fuckin ears stuck to the parquet floor up above, and they know you better than anybody."  He yelled upwards.  "Except for me of course."

Macca relaxed a little, loosening his arms grip around his knees.  "So you cant read my mind then?"

John lowered his gaze to peer into his eyes.  "Not yet, so you can stop sitting there all cinched up like an anal retentive mummy.  We do need to sort out our differences.  I suspect I know what you feel.  I damned well know what I feel."

"Do you?" Paul said, in more than brittle tones.

"Yes.  I told you early, I told you late.  I loved you before you loved yourself, Macca, and thats never changed.  It never will change.   In love, on love, up love or what-have-you.  And what were feeling is important.  Were important, you know, and not just to us.  Its the point of all Creation, I might add."

Paul laughed darkly.  "Now your ego has really gone aground, John."

"Not literally, Pauline.  I mean metaphorically.  You and I comin together tells us the why of existence."

"Which is?"

"In the beginning, God was lonely."

"And lucky old God, along comes John Lennon to keep him company?"

"Dont be saucynot until later anyway.  In the beginning, there was only the one thing  lets call it, for want of a better word, oh, God.  It was fine, it was consistent and sane and peaceful, but it couldnt grow or create and it wanted a companion to share all that was."

"That was the reason for Genesis?  God created the heavens and earth because he wanted a puppy?"

"A soulmate, I meana kiaraa sacred friend, if you will.  So God tore itself apart so it would have the other - problem was because it was a unity, its other half was its opposite.  Without the immediate unity, the halves fell out of synch with each other.  And so the immortal wheel of creation began.  It goes on in you and me.  The friction of opposites spinning the web of all being.  And giving each other bloody hell in the process of being in love."

Paul rolled his gaze upward.  "Oh, here it comes.  The bleedin Tao te Ching again.  And Im the Yin, of course."

"Of course."

"See, thats the whole problem.  Like I said to Mahahahaha all those years back.  Why do I always have to be the Yin?  Why cant you be the Yin this time and Ill be the Yang?"

"Because youre not Yang material, Paul.  Thats not your nature."

"It might be if I put me mind to it."

"But its not who you are, puddin.  It would change things.  I cant be me without you.  You cant be you without me."

"Goo goo gajoob."

"No, really.  We need each other.  We opted out of the climax yet again in the final go-round of Liverpool Gtterdmmerung.  But were going to deal with it now, Paul."

"Sounds like youve created the perfect binary system in your head to keep me under your thumb.  I thought we had gotten past all that in our later years.  Maybe you just want to bully me again, like the old days.  Well, Im not going to sit for it now, John.  Im not the docile boy you used to play like a fuckin cello.  I dont care if we never get anything accomplished.  Ill sit in the damned corner over there and ignore you for perpetuity, if I must."

Lennon grinned.  "No, you wont," he said, moving across toward Paul on the bed.  

Paul moved back a little.  "You said you couldnt read my mind."

"Not yet but we have a way here of clearing the decks.  You know the old Vulcan mind meld thing on Star Trek?"

"The one Mr. Spock did?  Hes around here, too?"

John smirked.  "Stay with the bleedin program, ducky.  No, but we can do that thing, I mean, or something like it.  And if youre really over everythingincluding me in the hot and spicy old waythen we decide what we do from there, but I doubt seriously thats an issue."

He squinted, suspicious.  "You sound certain of yourself."

"That bother you?"  

"No, of course not."

"Then you wont mind my having a look," John said, reaching a hand across their narrow division.  His hand nearly touched his face.

Paul moved away, his back now flat against the beds headboard.  "Didnt say that.  Its an invasion of privacy, isnt it?"

"Privacy?  Humbug.  We gave up privacy between you and me long about 1961."  John leaned forward, his eyes lit up like all day.  "Just proves me point.  You dont want me to see."

"I didnt say that," Paul said, hiking his chin.  "Go on then.  Pinch my neck, have a visit.  See if I bloody care." 

"Dont mind if I do," John said, grinning again, his hand finally encountering skin.

As if at the center of theatre in the round, a memory played across the world enclosing the two of them.  John was both looking in and looking out.

He saw an exposed light bulb burning, lonely in the dark.  Beneath its glow, a shattered boy.  The boy was remembering.  He was remembering it all before his silent eyes.  

A tall, strong woman stalking a worry like a fractious ghost through a little door  only the door was no longer there.  Another persons shadow stayed steady on the half-lit wall:  "We cant afford it.  Thats mine to worry.  What are we to do without the other wages?  I cant go it now.  There are things to be done.  You play, but its me and the boys who pay."  "I provide.  I do what we have to do," said a second devoutly even voice, heaving only slightly but tellingly at its locks.  "Im not saying that, I  "

The memory bowed, followed by a quickening other:  the same woman surrendered to a small kitchen chair.  Another version of the shattered boy slipped an arm around the weeping woman.  "We will get by, Mum," he had whispered a promise.  She looked at him; eyes open wide, as if she saw so much more than he did at any point in time.  She smiled while in her eyes reflected the past and the future.  "Youre my magic boy," the woman had whispered, drawing him into her arms.  She seemed to hold on for dear life.  "My magic, magic boy.  Take care of them for me when I cant, my darling." 

Another moment gone, a second taken up: the same woman lying in a hospital bed.  He could only see her through the grated door, but their eyes somehow met in the middle.  In her eyes, more pain  pain of the heart, not of the body.  "Theres still hope, son," she promised, her countenance now grave and thin.  "But if it happens, Paul, let it happen.  Itll be whether well have it or not.  Get on with things.  Let it be."

The scene shifted through a different doorway: the same kitchen chair so awfully empty now.  The morning had ended.  It was cold and silent in the different room.

In the converse chair, an ashen man sat stilted in the distant corner:  a thoroughly decent man, judging himself by his own iron-fisted inner code of justice.  The ashen man was reading his open hands, as if skimming the pages of an unseen book.  

"Dad?" his voice was small and failed him.  

"Son?"

The boy cleared his voice to try again.  He said the only thing his memory let him say.  "What are we to do without Mums wages?"

Between the man in the corner and himself passed a second figure.  A woman like his mum, but younger.  She was carrying something in her hands.  She dropped down to a knee, near him, as if she might fill his field of vision.

"Got you a gift, Paul," she said.  "Cos me a weeks pay packet, but its worth it.  Look it here."

It was a brown wood thing in his hands.  It felt cool and right to his touch.  His hand slid up the neck as if boldly past anothers swan-like neck.  As he turned the wood thing over, he saw its silent conspiracy of strings.  

"But Auntie, what is it?" he asked, his voice still small.

"Its a guitar, Paulie.  You seen em with us.  At the open market me and your mum took you to in Mersey, remember?  I noticed you liked it.  We put it away for Father Christmas to bring you, but you can have it now instead."

"The boy doesnt need -- " said the corner man, now relocated to the window.

"Says who?  The boy needs to communicate with something," his aunt shot back.  She looked around again at him.  "Tell it your woes and pain, Paulie.  Itll always listen to ya, just like your mummy did."

The boy, less shattered, let his memory drift to a different room.  The same guitar was held in his arms, him speaking to it, it talking for him.  He was surrounded by his mates.  George, his beloved easy art friend, was at his side.  But one mate would always stand out among the rest: always and always.

"How can you?" that one mate said, his voice pitched above all other voices.  

The less shattered boy looked up from his conversation with the cheap guitar.  The one mate was looking at him sternly: as if unswerving and yet devoted in a way that truly frightened the staring young man from within.

"How can I what, John?" the now less shattered boy asked.

The other one gestured to the whole of him.  "How can you just sit there, livin normal-like, with your own mum dead and everything?"

The boy shrugged a little, returning to gaze at his guitar.  "I do what I have to do.  Itll be whether Ill have it or not.  Best to get on with things."

"Hush you, Jackal Lennon!" another woman said laughing.  Another older woman of whom the less shattered boy was deeply fond.  Julia, the name rushed up on him.  The woman reached across to kiss and rustle up Johns sun-lightened hair which John all but tried to push away.  She walked between them.  "Paul knows what is right for him.  Leave him to his music playin."

Yet another day: another hour, the older boy John seated at the center of a room.  All other boys naturally spread out around him, an acknowledged leader of men.  But the Johns eyes lifted, seeking the surety of one face only, and found it in the door.  John left the circle of others, heading for the one he had seen.

"Paul," Johns voice lashed out, hard and tight as a battened sail against the cresting wind.  The sail had finally found its head.  "Come over here.  Please.  Christ."

Paul leaned into his field of vision.  "JohnI just heardI"  Paul wiped away the fresh crop of his own tears.  

"Dont talk, just hear," John said, coughing words instead of speaking them.  His face was pale and blank and tear-stained.  His hands seized Pauls arm, squeezing it for dear, old life.  "Lead me through this.  I gotta go up and see me mum layin in that fuckin death basket thing up there on the fuckin altar.  I cant do this shit alone, Paul.  Im lost.  You been there already.  You can lead me through it, eh?"

"You know that I will," Paul said gently.  He reached for the other mans hand, taking it in his.  John was so lost, he let him hold it.  Paul pulled him along.  "Come on, John.  Dont mind the others for watching.  Ill go there with you."

Years later, over the big wild wall they scaled together

The sound of knockinga sharp fist battering in terror at another door

Pauls perspective, staring in through a cracked-open door.  

"Johnny - whats wrong?" he said sharply.  "I came home, I found your note."

A hand from within the row house claimed his coat lapel and towed him into the dark.  It yanked him into covenant with Johns face. 

Pale, eyes huge and glassy, skin moist: hed been crying.

"It was that Dawson prick who done it."

"Dawson?  Tinky Dawson?  Whatd he do now?"

"That party!  That big jazz bash we went to.  The one last night at Porgy Stemmons house.  You left early, but the little bastard shit Tinky slipped me some in a Coke.  He fuckin dosed my fuckin Coke, Paul, what am I gonna do?"

"Did you ring Hospital?" Paul asked, breathless as he hurled closed the door to seal them in from the street.

"For what?  So they can fuckin call the farrows?  The Yard Weed Heats been doggin us for three bleedin weeks so you know theyd bust us sure as sin and wed be slam prattlin in our knickers before the London Sun."

"Ill ring some-"

"Who?"

"Dunno!  Someone.  George maybeBig Georgehell know someone wholl know someone.  Someone wholl know what to do  Just sit here and  "

"Dont leave me!"  Johns voice screeched out several hardscrabble words across a textured floor of sound.  He grabbed Paul before he reached the phone.  "Dont leave, Paul.  Dont leave me.  Dont want anyone else to come.  Just dont wanna go down there alone, Paul.  Shit.  Stay so I dont go down there all alone."

Paul reached out to steady him, bring his eyes back to him.  "Then what do we do?"

"Youre good.  Youre the good one."  His fingers unfolded to claim him: last anchor to a benign lost world.  "You wont go back on me.  You shep me through it.  I trust in you totally."

"John  "  Paul stopped a moment, fought for a memory.  "Do you have any of it?"

"Any what?"

"Panes, John," he said, thinking for words.  He lowered his voice.  "Acid.  Tabs.  Any of it."

"Fuck no I dont, thats the whole damn "

"Think!" Paul said.  "In your garden.  The mad doctors back up stash.  You let him hide it here.  Where?"

There came a partial clearing in the dark mists in Johns eyes.  "Its buried under the peach tree out back!  There might be some there.  Why?"

"Stay here, stay right here in that spot, Johnny.  Ill dig it up and be right back."

"And what the high holy fuck is that gonna do for us?"

Paul gestured a moment, his thoughts racing, as he grabbed back the rear door and thought but a few steps ahead.  

"Its all I know to do," he said, shrugging at the idea of anything else.  "If you go with someone, the trips not supposed to be as scary.  So Ill trip with you."

John coughed out something blocking the words, his voice clearly throttled for sound.  "Macca Youd do that for me?"

Paul looked at him in near-disappointment at the spoken words.  "Was there ever any doubt?" he said.



Doctor Roberts Stash was an arrangement of packets in a yellow shoebox cache.  The smell of sweet raw earth pulled out of the ground, Pauls fingers gouged up fresh mud to strike at cellophane.  

In the internal bag, several rolls of what looked like rub-on tattoos, the youngsters called them.  They were waxy at the touch and bore small planet earths at every squares center.  

Paul tore off a handful and stuffed the rest away into the bag, then the bag into the box.  He shoved it all under, palming the earth across the top, then patting it back down like mud pies.  

He cupped the tabs like a fading fire in his hand, as he shot back into the house.

"John?"

"Here!" 

Lennon was hunkered down between the piano and the street backed wall.  He embraced himself as if his last, best friend.  He was looking down, rocking back and forth, staring at something dead ahead of him, unseeable and unseen.

"Make it leave, Paul," John said, pointing at something that wasnt there.  

Paul knelt before his friend.  "Ill send it packing."

Paul tore away one of the tabs, considering it for a moment.  A moment of admitted terror, to be quickly set aside.  It was resting in the valley of his open hand.

"They say it makes you see things"  John said in equal measures fear and warning, his eyes lifting up at Paul with a dawning light.  

Paul looked down at the no-thing he had been asked to send away.  "Well, yeah, I"

"No," John said shortly, his voice beginning to burn.  Intense was John Winston Lennons silent middle name, but there was a power in Johns words that McCartney had never heard in them before.  "They say it makes you understand things.  About yourselfotherpeople  Things you didnt see before.  Or tried not to see.  I wouldnt ever ask this of you -- "

"You didnt ask me," Paul said, slowly tucking the tab beneath his tongue and lower lip.  He drew a breath.  He took a very, very deep breath, as if he was about to plunge into the depths of unknown water.  "Here goes everything."

Moments faded in and out of memory.  It cleared again to find them sitting in the middle of the room, side by side, two backs against the front-facing wall.  Pauls head was leaning back, as he was giggling ambitiously at something already half-forgotten.  John was hulking forward, staring fixedly out the rear glass doorway into the garden from which Paul had come.

"Well, look at that out there.  Theres something you dont fuckin see everyday."

"Such as what?"

"I have an octopus in me garden."

"You havent."

John pointed.  "I have."

"I was just out there an hour ago.  I didnt see him.  A thing like that is bound to be hard to miss."

"Bah!  You know you never see anything unless I see it first.  Look now.  See for yourself."

Paul leaned sideways, his head in Johns lap.  He could see out the backdoor to the wide drain culvert that semi-circled the tree.  And sure enough, a very large, lime-green octopus smiled and waved back at him with several friendly tentacles.

"Howd I fuckin miss him?"

John laughed at the queer sound of a not-angry Paul openly swearing.  "Well, maybe hes just now come callin."

"Seems pleasant enough," Paul said, waving back.  "Bright green, isnt he?"

"Yeah, but he wears it well."

"Some creatures can carry off that shade."  Paul turned over on his back, his head still squarely in Lennons lap, looking up.  "Weird I didnt see him, but then I wouldnt see my own flat key on the hallway table if you didnt see it first."  

"Well, there is one thing.  One thing you saw."

"What thing?"

"The thing I wouldnt see.  Not till now anyway."  

"Such as?"  

Lennon laughed, but the fragile sound splintered sharply into tears.  The tears had burst violently through as if long gathering against a wall that finally succumbed.  

"I cant tell you," he whispered.  He enclosed himself in his own arms again.  

"Cant tell me?  I thought we told each other everything.  Im your best friend."

John capped his hands over his eyes, as if at futile hide-and-seek.  His breath was hitching deep within him.  "We havent told each other everything," John said, his fingers lowering just enough so he might gaze down into the other mans face.  He allowed one unsteady hand to alight on Pauls moist forehead, one finger almost tracing its length.  Johns words were a whisper when they started, but the sound  once born  gained quickly in strength.  

"Like what, John?  What?"

John exhaled a deep, burdened sigh.  "Youre not my best friend, Paul," John said, and once having said it, seemed to relax a little into himself.

Paul winced a little at first, until a greater understanding emerged.  "How do you mean?"

"Youre more to me than a friend.  A bigger thing than that, I mean."

"Best friend is a big thing."

John laughed sharply, more from pain than anything.  It was the Tao of John to laugh all the way into sadness.  "Not as big as this.  This is so bloody big it blocks out the sun.  It fuckin scares the holy shite out of me in a way I never thought I could be scared.  And not just what it is, but how fierce it is inside me."

"What is it?"

"You know what it is!" he hissed back.  "Quit actin.  Stop actin like you dont know.  Its all so fuckin fakethis shit.  All that play acting is shit.  You and your whole bloody pretense about it."

"What on earth are you talking about, John?"  

Lennons gaze came around the long way, a tracking beam seeking only one thing in the night.

John stared through his bangs, spilling a little into his eyes.  He rushed the hair up from his gaze  a gaze that might have burned old leather.  

"I know, Paul."

Macca sat up, spun around with urgency to look at John fully, but Paul couldnt bring himself to lift his eyes.  "What do you mean you  "

"I know!" he roared back at him, grasping at Maccas slender shoulders as if to shake out a single secret.  "I know you go around with them.  Those aging Teddy Boy bastards. Its where you were this evening.  Why you left the party early.  Fuck, even Brian knew about it coz he told me.  The poor old bastard saw for himself what it was with uswith you and mehe saw every fucking thing."

Paul felt for a moment like he might pass-out from shock.  "What did Brian say to you?"

John was still looking at him, not once looking away.  "He said every daddy queen in Great Brit was droolin for you.  He was right sure you had taken one of em up on it.  He threw it in my face to see what would happen.  He saw what he saw when he said it.  Hell, I think its half the reason that he -- "  

"Dont say that, John!" Paul wailed back, a voice of rage and fright.  The younger man was holding out both hands, as if keeping the thought jumble away long enough for him to grasp it at all.  His face evinced, all at once, a sudden understanding.  "JesusMaryand Joseph you know."

"I know."  John slashed the silence with his piercing laugh.  He struggled to his feet, slinging himself over the piano to grasp the Chinois vase boastfully standing there.  "It was that fine posh prick that done it wasnt it?  The one the label sent."

"Fine posh prick that  "

"It was him!  Admit it!  He wanted to sell me the flat suite for this squathouse.  Sold me this 10,000 vase instead.  Said it would give me class, as if I didnt have none to begin with, unlike him.  But the worst part of it all was how his fuckin filthy stare kept puttin it to you."  
  
Paul gazed up at the ceiling, as if he had wished for wings.  "What do you want me to say?  You want to just shame me?  Youre a fairer man than that.  What is it - "

"I want you to tell me you dont love him!"  John said. 

Paul physically moved backward from shock at the words.  "What?"

"Fuck a fuckin skyscraper full of girls," John screamed on.  "I dont fuckin care about them.  I cant stand you bein in love with some guy.  I just cant bear it.  Just tell me you dont love that bastard."

Macca blushed as deeply as his high tone natural pallor allowed.  "Of course I dont love him!" he said, aghast.  His voice slimmed down into a throttled whisper.  "Its not like that."

John exhaled in deliverance at the words: some demon driven from his soul.  "Thank fuckin Godcoz if you did.  If you ever loveany of thosebastards"  John wall-slammed it - smashed the 10,000 vase into a hail of blue ceramic.  It all fell to the carpet in brittle, whispy sounds.  "Thats him.  Right there, thats him broken on the floor.  Coz every time you go with himor any of them, it fuckin rips out my - "

Nothing.  

Suddenly, the whole conversation had shifted focus.  Suddenly, it was taking a very different direction indeed.  One too wondrous to be real.

It was all in the next wordthe word Paul needed to hear at the end of Johns sentence more than any other word in the world.

"For Godsakes, say it, John," he whispered, as if cheering from the sidelines and not standing in the room.  He shook his head, his lips finally yielding to a budding smile.  "Please, just say it, Johnny, say itplease"

"My heart," he snapped.  "It rips out my fuckin heart.  Are you happy now?"  He kicked at the expensive debris field.  His palms wiped at his eyes, jerking away the escaped proof hed been crying.  "This is the hardest fucking thing Ive ever had to say in me life."

Paul let himself breathe once.  "I know, John.  Believe me, I know."

"I mean, at first, I blamed you for it.  I blamed you because youre so goddamned beautiful.  I thought that any man would fall for you like he would a fuckin woman.  It was just a mistake of nature, I told meself.  What I was thinking.  What I was feelin.  But I was wrong.  Which means Im just as fucking sick and twisted as them shits you run with."

Paul waited a long moment, trying to patch his thoughts together.  "You think Im sick and twisted, John?"

"I didnt say that!  I said theyre twisted.  Im twisted.  Not you."

"If youre saying to me what I think youre saying, then I would be twisted, too.  Same as you."  

John slumped onto the piano bench in a posture of submission.  "No.  God, no.  Youre beautiful.  Everything about you.  Bloody hell, I need you to write the refrain on this one, Macca.  I dont have the words to tell you what I have to."

Paul felt for the still point within him, to follow it to the bench.  He scooped up Johns chin with a tilt of his hand.  He smiled into his tears.  

"Remember the day we met?"  He whisked the last of the drops from Johns face.  

"How could I forget?"

Macca nodded.  "There I was, this little chubby mouseboy trying to act like a real bad jack.  And there you were all tall and tanned from working on the docks all autumn.  You were so damned grand.  I knew that even then, but I thought I was admiring your gear stage presence."

John laughed like something had broken through to understanding.  "No shit," he said.

Paul nodded again.  "There you were, with your cool attitude.  And the whole week long, after we met, all I could think of was you. You - that was it.  I didnt know to feel guilty about it, because you know how it was, when we were kids.  No one had a clue about all that.  The girls we knew about, but not the other side of things."

"Did it jolt you?" John asked in a whisper.

"Sort of.  I talked to my art teacher about you, and he said I had a crush on you and it was normal for a sensitive boy my age.  I have a feelin he was a closet case trying to banish his own skeletons.  That sufficed, primarily for awhile.  We had all the girls around us.  And then the world exploded.  But then the night you told me what had happened in Spainwith you and BrianI felt locked out of this very deep place that I wanted to be in with you.  I didnt want anybody else there but me.  It hurt like hell."

Johns every muscle went slack.  His weary head leaned sideways against Macca.  "Sweet Jesus.  Please dont let this be the acid talkin."

"Ive never been so sober in me life."

"Then why havent you said somethin?  You knew and you still went around with the likes of  "

"I knew what was in my heart.  What would it matter if I told you, if there wasnt anything on the other side?  I saw how you reacted to the hand job thing with Brian.  If Id said something about my feelings, I feared it might ruin everything with you and me now, which is too precious to me to risk on some blue sky dream of what we might become."  Paul nodded to himself, as if at an inner prompting.  "And to be completely candid, I was a little banty chicken about it."  

John laughed, rubbing away new tears from his face.  "So.  What happens now then?"

"What do you want to happen?"

John shook his head, laughing tightly.  He damned near averted his eyes.  "More than fuckin anything?  I want to do with you a whole array of things the very thought of which scares the shit out of me."

Paul tilted his head aside, staring down into the small space between their faces.  His fingertips came to hover just above Johns mouth. He smiled shyly and moistened his own lips.

"Starting slow then, in way of suggestion, what would be your reaction, Mr. Lennon, if I kissed you?"

"Id be forced to respond in kind, wouldnt I, Mr. McCartney?"  

"Id be significantly inclined to accept."

One tear trickled from the corner of Johns eye.  His breath hitched as he drew it.  "If you dont fuckin kiss me, Macca, Im going to burst on contact.  And since were both good and dosed, I aint takin any chances."

Paul teased him with a smooth, slow smile.  "A good point, that."  

Johns soft lips were a high polished coral shade like carnation petal pearls - as distinctly male as silk from satin, Paul thought to himself.  That mouth tantalized him incessantly, especially when John fancied Paul was watching him and strummed the measure out to its fullest.  John was a man who always played to his strengths.  

Paul neared his lips to Johns.  Johns tongue lashed out and up into Pauls mouth, as Maccas lips enclosed it.  His long, eloquent fingers filled hands with John Lennons hair.  When he sensed John shifting upward he knew he was about to attack.

John shoved Paul to his feet, and then flipped him over against the baby grand.  His lips locked down to overwhelm Pauls mouth, as if to suck up his breath and swallow down his soul.  

John dipped to his knees, dragging Macca sideways under the piano.    

The hours spun forward through the sequence of moments.  Another memory emerged.  

A brightness, all around.  Two voices beside them.

"Ah, look at that, will you?"  Ringo said.  "A final consummation to the mating dance of the musical genius avis."

"So I see."  That was George.  

"Later," Ringo said.  "Well have to get sottish over this in a major way."

"Oh, we will.  First thinks first, though."  John and Paul both felt their legs being shaken.  "Lads."

John looked up first, squinting through a fall of Beatles mop hair across his eyes.  "Oh, hullo, George.  Hullo, Rich.  Hey, Paul, wake up, its the boys."

Paul picked up his head from under Johns arm.  He looked around.  "So it is.  Hi, lads.  Oh, hey, we have big news."

"Now theres a shocker," George said, grinning.  "But just sos you know, youre stark naked and all wrapped up in each others arms in full frontal view of the flippin world.  Not that Ring and I care, but when the cleaning crew comes marchin in at the top of the hour, Cambridge Janitorial Service will have much to report to the men of the press."

John looked over his shoulder at the door.  "Georgie has a point, Paul."

"Of course Georgie has a point," Paul said, reaching across to pat his knee.  "Georgie always has a point.  We love George, dont we, John?"

"We do indeed.  And we love Richie, too."

"We do.  A lot.  As much as we do George."

"I know."

"Well, its settled.  We all love each other very, very much," Ringo said.  He flipped a high-arched look at George.  "You grab the smart one, Ill get the cute one."

Moments shifting, days on end.

The sound of an angry fist slamming into wood.

Three men in dark suits jumped at the sound:  they were inside an office on Blair Annex, just off the top of that road and Berkeley.

"Thats shit," John said, as ever using his body as a distinct and looming threat.  "Its the 1960s, for Christs sakes.  Were all talking about walkin on the moon, and you tell me that Paul and me cant love each other in the light of day?"

"Im not saying that, John," Phil from their management said, sitting forward.  He lowered his voice, in deference to the men in the outer office who were all slamming phones in full, terrified ripping crisis mode.  "For pitys sake, Im community.  You know that.  And Im telling you love each other.  Cherish each other.  Live with each other.  Make love to each other.  But do it behind closed doors."

"This is our love?  Were the stars, and we have to hide it?" John said, flipping it back in his face.

"Yes, Im afraid you do.  Thats just the way it is."

"Why?"

"Because we have all invested a lot of time and effort in your rise to the top.  Yes, you two are among primary reasons, but were all involved.  So are George and Richard  "

"George and Richie said it was our decision," Paul answered that, from his location on the opposing sofa.  "They said it was up to us."

"They would say that.  They love you.  More than I do even, and Im an old friend.  But Im asking you to put them first a second.  John, you were raised all nice and tidy on your aunt and uncles dairy farm.  But Paul, youve been ruddy poor.  You want to go back to that?  To Council Housing?  For your families?  I sure as hell dont want to go back to pushing papers in a Broadstreet storefront, Ill tell you.  If I could save enough of a reputation to do as much."

"Money isnt the only consideration," Paul said.

"Christ, I know that.  Heres one more.  What you boys want to announce so freely to the masses of humanity is still a significant criminal offense in the United Kingdom and the United States, to say nothing of the Anglo-Saxon world.  The bloody straights hate you anyway.  There are a whole host of latter-day Queensberrys straining at their locks to right the world again.  And theyd spit in their tea to stick you both with scurrilous charges and a lengthy prison time.  Its only been sixty years since Oscar Wilde left Reading Goal, boys.  And you wouldnt be together in prison, I can assure you.  You might not see each other for yearsmaybe ever.  John, you may survive in prison, but can you imagine Paul in there?  With his physique and sweet looks?"

Paul leaned over, surrendering into his own arms.  "Its hopeless then."

Phil gave them both a sad smile.  "Look, I know its horrible.  I know its tragic.  I live that tragedy every day of my life.  And Im happy as hell for the two of you, honestly I am.  But half the fuckin schoolgirls in Great Britain and North America want to bear young Maccas babies.  A significant portion of them wouldnt mind tossing out a few of yours, John, come to that.  The sex thing is part of the allure.  Even if the legal changes we hear coming make it to the booksand hasten the day can you imagine what the shock would do to your record sales?  To all youve worked so hard for, for so long?  All that George and Richard have worked for.  Like we all have done.  You cant change the whole bloody world in a week."

"Yes we can," John said.  "Thats how we change it.  One hero at a time.  Paul and I want to stand up and tell people.  Walk in the full light of day.  Say to the whole world look what weve accomplishedheres our music, the product of our love.  Listen to its beauty.  Thats what we arethere, in those songs, those are our children together."

"Thats a beautiful idea, Johnny," Phil said.  "A beautiful one.  But many good men have died for beautiful ideas.  Theyre still dead, and the world goes on just as ugly."  He looked from one to the other.  "Remember what youve come from?  Youre both rich, powerful young men.  You can have so much, just being together in private.  We can even setup a third house, a big estate somewhere, perhaps on the continentfragrant strawberry fields for miles on end for you to be together.  Bare your real selves in private and save your brave faces for the rest of the world. You dont need to perform for the world."

Paul looked up.  "You saying the pressure of hiding wont split us apart?"

"It might, I wont lie to you.  Its a damned hard thing being what we are in this world, Ill tell you.  With all the external pressures being applied to all of you, especially.  People with their own agenda just love splitting up couples anyway.  But stay calm, stay focused, stay together.  It all works out in the end."

John looked around for an available object.  He grabbed up a book, and hurled it at an empty chair.  "None of this matters if Paul and I cant be together.  If we cant walk through Covent Gardens holding hands, like the other people in love.  None of it matters."

A shattering pane of glass.   

A trickle of years.

"Paul," said the man leaning into his field of vision.  The man was some doctor from somewheresome psychological claptrap spinnersomewhere.  "Have you ever heard of something called Co-Dependency?"

"No," he said sharply, tossing a look at him like a warning shot off the starboard board.  

"Its a disorder, for want of a better word, that is really only beginning to be understood.  Its about what happens after long-term psychological and emotional control.  Verbal abuse.  Criticism.  Bullying. That sort of thing. Over the years it accrues, until you lose the walls of where one person leaves and another begins.  We feel this may be the situation here.  Usually this is relegated to abusedspousesfamiliesin domestic situations, but  "

"This is dreadful.  Ive never even met you," Paul said, moving forward in the chair.  "Who are you to come in here and diagnose me?  Its just a dishonest way of callin me names.  At least John does it to my face -- "

"Dr. Arthur is only saying  "

The door to the office suite had come open and Phil from the rep was standing in its way.

"Doctor Arthur is doin your bidding," Phil said, to the moneymans back.

The moneyman had turned toward him.  "And who are you  "

"Never mind," Phil broke in.  "Paul knows who I am.  Ill say to you the same thing I just said to the Lennon entourage downstairs.  Youre using these boys.  If you really understood anything about them, if you cared, you wouldnt be here.  I know whats happened, you dont.  Its not their fault other than in not listening to their hearts.  Its all about people coming between them.  People like you."

"Were trying to help Mr. McCartney  "

"Youre trying to help yourself," Phil snapped.  "Youre doing the work of the devil, the lot of you, and it sickens me.  You use them against each other.  Breaking up the two geese that lay the golden eggs so you can take one and them the other, and then both camps get a cut of the egg money."

"Its okay, Phil," Paul said, quietly.  "Im handling it."

"Paul," Phil said gently, as if heading near a deep and open wound.  "Youre hurt now.  Youre jealous.  Youre angry.  Okay, I dont blame you; the powers of division are winning right now.  In your self-protectiveness youre doing things you cant take back.  I know why youre doing them, but they dont.  They out there, I mean, in the teeming streets and in the paper offices.  Youre going to look like the bad guy, Paul, and I know youre not, no more than John is."

"Im right," Paul said.

"Probably, but I dont care.  Neither will they.  Neither will you shortly.  Its not about whats just, its about whats real.  If it was merely about justice, your legion of record-buyers would try to understand where youre coming from and wouldnt mind you for being who you are."  Phil tossed a look around the room.  "I think thats cryptic enough to get past the straights. Listen to me; youre going to regret this, Paul, every day of your life with all that you are.  I promise you.  And Ive just said the same thing to John."

"Understood," Paul said, numbly.

Phil shook his head and left the room for the hall.  

"Mr. McCartney," Dr. Arthur said from behind him.  "Please, in way of response to all this, let us play for you a piece of evidence."  

"What?" Paul said shortly, clearly trying to find his agonized way back to dissociation and an emotional deep freeze.

Arthurs hand reached over to press a button on a reel-to-reel tape player.  At first, it was only a thready squeak of sound.  "I want you to hear something.  This was collected during your last studio sessions when you didnt know we were taping.  Get mad at us later, just hear it.  I want you to tell me who it is who is talking here."

"I dont have time for  "

"Just listen."

Suddenly, a voice.  Tough words, short sentences, punctuated pausesan unmistakable voice that almost bashed in the fragile bearings of his recent freeze.

"Thats John," he said, his voice almost breaking, taking everything he had inside to keep it flat.  "Shut it off."

"Is it?"

"Of course!  Id know Johns voice anywhere."

"Mr. McCartney," said a new voice, nearer him.  He shut down the sound.  "Its not John Lennon speaking there.  Thats you.  We can take you right now and show you that piece of film that corresponds to it.  FromGet Back?"

"Let it Be," said the other man.  "Its been retitled."

"Thats me?" he said, as if the idea was crazy.  "That was me?"

"Yes," the doctor went on.  "This is what were talking about.  Youve ceased to have your own distinct existence.  Listen to your voice.  You sound exactly like John Lennon.  Not a little like.  Exactly like.  You didnt recognize your own voice when it was played back to you just now.  Can you see the hold this man has on you?"

"So what?  Ive lived and breathed John Lennon since I was a kid."

"That is my point."  He paused a moment.  "Why Lennon/McCartney on your record?"

"Is that any of your business?  It didnt mean that much to me who went first.  It did to him."

"Why, in Hard Days Night, are there four individual spotlight sequences, five originally, but yours hit the cutting room floor?  Why does John have two?"

"That wasnt Johns doing.  In the interest of pacing, one of them had to go."

"So once again, you fell on your sword.  Very well, then why Lennon and McCartney at Apple?  Why is it on every contract I could find, Johns name always comes first?  Why?  Its almost like a controlling husband with a submissive wife.  The only exception is MacLen publishing and its the only exception I could find.  Why is it time after time, you end up second rung under Mr. Lennon?"

"Dont tell me who John is to me!  You know nothing about us!"

"Paul," the man in the tie said, approaching him to block the way of the doctor.  "You have to break the cycle now.  If you dont, you may never be free -- "

"Maybe I dont want to be free, have you thought of that?  Maybe Im not supposed to be free.  Maybe its not good for me to be free.  Had you ever thought of any of that?  Sometimes I dont know whats right maybe.  Like that fucking investment portfolio thing.  It never even dawned on me"

"Mr. McCartney," Dr. Arthur said.  "That was spoken like a classic battered spouse."

"Stop making me sound like Im soft!" Paul snapped.  "Were all to blame.  Me as much as them.  Well talk it through.  Well find a way through it, we always do."

"Lennon is threatening  "

"John always threatens  "

"Hes saying hes going to  "

"I know," he screamed, lifting something off some table somewhere and hurling it at something else.  "I watch the bleedin telly news every night the same as you.  I know what hes sayin."  At that, Paul jerked away from the chair and the people and the hard light of day.  He walked to the picture window overlooking the City.  Paul wondered how far it was to fall from there and if he might somehow fly away.

He felt a hand sink to his shoulder.  "Paul, were just doing this for your own good."

"Are you?"

"Yes.  This woman  "

"This woman has a name.  Its only courtesy to use it," Paul said, battling back what was leaking anyway from his eyes.  "Fuck.  He called her the ladythat lady.  He said to me she was a Major Sufferer.  Into suffering for art and all of that.  And suddenly, after the shit comes down, shes all of a sudden it.  The one.  How does that happen so fast?"

The other man shrugged.  "She got in his head?  He got in hers?  Or maybe it happened?"

Paul looked away, toward an ashen sky bouncing off a dwindling day.  "I dont fucking care anymore."

The office door opened.  Another suitthere were tons of them.  "We need to hurry him out of here.  Theres someone coming up the stairs."

"Mr. McCartney," somebody said, and he felt himself being jostled out the room and guided to the lift bay.

Hard steps in determined motion trammeling onto steps churned at the corridors center like a silver sphere in pinball play.  The stairway was topped and the hallway was entered.

"Where is he?" said the voice he knew so welltoo wellnot well enough.  And then it was racing in his direction.  "You cant go with her, Paul.  Were not going to let you."

He found somewhere, the voice within him.  "Youre not my owner, John," he barked back.  

"Im not your owner?  Im not your owner?  We belong together, you and me, we belong to them, so you cant go with her.  This isnt you doin any of this.  Shes gotten into your head, Paul.  As soon as youre apart from her, youll see it.  Its as simple as that."

"Wait just a second," Paul shot back.  "Whos leaving who?"

"You know what Im saying -- "

"No, I dont."  

"My woman knows were all together.  It can be all of us.  Youd see that, too, if it wasnt for that woman blinding you to it. Dont tell me about the money.  You dont give a fuck about the money.  You drive a piece of crap.  Youre a skinflint about your own stuff.  Youd give it all away if someone let you do it.  Moneys just your dominator drug of choice so youre using it to build the wall."

"Maybe youre the one whos drugged.  In any event, I overheard your phone conversation."

John shot the other man withering glances.  "I guess theyve spun that for you as well.  Youve left us no choice.  But its for your own good, Paul.  One day you will see   "  

"I see, John.  I see.  Im not a starry-eyed boy anymore."

John moved up near his face.  "I will promise you one thing, you go with her, and youll not have a fucking moments peace from me.  I wont let you, for your own good.  You wont be with her without my shadow hanging over you, today or yesterday.  The only place youll be alone is on the fuckin moon." 

"You left me already, John," Paul shot back, amid an oncoming rush of tears.  "My advisors are trying to protect me.  Finally.  Someone is trying to protect me.  Youre the one who chose sides.  And it wasnt mine.  It was never mine."  He turned a winters worth of glare at him.  "You hear me, what goes on from here is business.  Nothing more, nothing less."

In his eyes, McCartney saw the hunger of things deep in the flesh.  It was a hunger with only one source of satisfactionand he was it.  And half of him wanted to be taken.  And half of him wanted to escape.

"Listen to me.  Hear me," John said.  "I promise this to you.  Ill crush you if you do this.  For your own fuckin good.  Theyve got your soul in their teeth and Ill have to shred you to pull you away - "

"Who are you to tell me  "

"I am you," he howled back.  "Every time you hear my name from now on youll flinch at the fuckin sound.  Every time anyone hears your name theyll only remember what I say about you. So long as youre with her, every day will bring another torrentanother torment.  Did you hear the one this morning?  And Ill tell em what I want to tell them  Im the smart one, remember?  Im the one with the mouth who they listen to.  Theyll quote me."

"Mr. Lennon," the doctor said, trying to block his physical threat, "I really must insist."

John was looking at no one but Paul.  "Leave me," John said again, breaking past him.  "And you wont be able to get far enough to be free of me  "

"You left me already, John," Paul said again.

A wall of men in business attire, as if at directive, emerged from office doorways to move between them.  

John lunged above the Brooks Brothers wall.  His hand struck for flesh, but touched air as Paul was snapped aside by the suits that made him walk toward the lifts.  

"You cant even light your own fucking smoke  "  The howl grew louder, harder, thicker, tortured.  John had rammed his way through people, throwing them off one by one to reach McCartney.  He was almost to the lift bay.  "Where were youwho were you before   Youre murdering us, Paul, youre murdering  "  

Some lawyer, Macca was never sure whom, pushed him through the door to the elevator.  He was thrust into a lift.  But just before the doors closed, Johns hand forced through the gap, clutched at Pauls collar as if the last float off a sinking ship now bound straightaway to hell.  He jacked him toward the door.  

Johns face was a mask of icy tears.   "Who you going to write your love songs for now, Paul?  They ever gonna mean anything again?"

Something shoved McCartney back into the elevator. 

The last thing Paul heard before the whole world dropped away was one dying scream: "Maccaaaaaa."

The muted thundering voice continued, screamed on, unabated, rolling against walls which echoed back and continued the rambling crescendo.

The only thing louder in the world that moment was the sound of Pauls own scream in reply.

Years followedtimes pastthings settled

Danforth Kilmers Pub on Liberty Street, somewhere and sometime before last call.

A young man in a fairly expensive Macintosh had the waiter refill his coffee.  He once more checked his watch.  

Finally, the double wooden doors opened.  Another slightly older man walked through, wearing a sleeveless Amiri Baraka t-shirt, spray-on jeans and a pair of impenetrable mirror shades.  

"Hadnt you heard, Paul?" he said, plunking into the chair across from him.  "Youve got to buy you some fuckin taste.  Macks have been out of fashion for thirty years now."

"Not in my house."

John smiled flirtatiously snapped his chewing gum and pushed a cocktail napkin across the table to the other man.  "Wipe the drool off your chin, Paul."

"Still quite fond of yourself, I see."

"Good of you to notice, such a rich, important man."

Paul flicked the napkin back at him, pointing at his chin.  "Perhaps you should have a go at yours as well."

"Pointless," John said simply, ashtraying his smoke.  "I never stop drooling where youre concerned."

Paul nearly dropped his coffee spoon in surprise, but surrendered it gradually instead to the cup.  He shifted back in his chair.  "I see you started smoking again.  Thats not a good sign.  Hows the family situation?"

Lennon crossed his legs to strike a pose.  "Oh, sweet of you to ask, Paul, very well, and yours?"

Paul smirked at the sarcasm.  "Were fine, John.  You on the other hand are another matter. Youre creating quite the commotion in the London press.  Seems youre out using and abusing everything within a ten mile radius of Manhattan.  Sounds like you and she are at odds."

Johns voice lifted into his polite conversation mode again.  "Thats the way with every modern marriage, dont you think?"

"Please.  Thats no marriage, thats bloody street theatre."

John dropped the posturing.  "Well, pardon me, but I seem to recall youre something of a performer yourself."

Paul shook his head, leaned forward slowly.  "Im tired of fighting.  I told you that before.  Im sick of living in the land of your double-edged sword.  Im here to make a suggestion to save your fucking life."

"Says you."

"Says the New York Times," Paul said.  "You willing to listen?"

John picked up the cigarette hed stranded behind. He sucked at it in punctuated fashion, and then put it away. "Itll be worth a titter or two.  Chatter on."

"Go back home to the Dakota.  At very least.  Right now, youre killing yourself."

"And at most?"

Paul averted his eyes so he could say it.  "Come home with me.  Come to Scotland."

"Come to Scotland," John said, squeaking his voice.  "And see the land of the Stone of Scone."

"Knock it off, John.  Its a genuine offer."

"One weve discussed before, Paul."

"And were discussin again it seems."

"Ill have my own little guest house, will I?  Wouldnt that be lovely?  Be some lovely little pet for the great Lord McCartney?"  John kicked back in the chair again.  His gaze was a constant, unrelenting dare to the edge of truth.  "If the two of us somehow survive long enough well end up together again.  You and me both know that.  Thats why you squirm at it  coz through your entire mighty McCartney pretense; you feel the fuckin gravity draggin you back, just like I do.  I wouldnt be us with you and her.  Id be me and you and you and her, and wouldnt that be precious?  So why not knock off this bogus bourgeoisie faade of yours and just fucking come home with me instead?  Ill go home if youll come with me."

"She despises me."

"She doesnt know you.  Lets change that."

"Anyway, thats not my home  "

"Im your home," John snapped.   "I try to push you awayyou try to push me away, same as always, but it never works, does it?  Some of your little gibberish tunes dont fly past me like they do past the professional music snobs.   They make fun of them as meaningless, but I know your code.  The situation being what it is, you cant write what you mean to say, but they dont know that, do they?  So dont tell me a bloody fuckin thing has changed between us.  My offer still stands.  And once you get your head right and stop thinkin like the French Vanilla straights, youll fuckin see that mine is the only way for you."

"I dont know why I bother to be concerned," Paul said, throwing down the cocktail napkin.  He pulled out greenbacks from his pocket, tossed them at the table.  "You go out of your way to insult me.  You call me names to the papers.  Every time I turn around or pick up the tune rags, theres some new attack on who I am and what Ive done and my music."

John reached out and grabbed his hand.  "Dont try that shit with me, Macca.  Not with me.  I know whats in your heartIve lived inside it for twenty-five years.  I know you get off on it when I strike.  Act badly, get some attention, eh?  Well, Ive noticed."

"You think everythings about you."

"Half of everything you fuckin write is about me.  Go ahead, deny it, I dont give a fuck.  The truth still stands.  Two of Us is about you and her and Hey, Jude is a song to a child and oh Jet you wrote about your little pet dog.  Say what you must.  But I know, Paul.  I know.  And heres your answer to it all.  I really love youthis is really love with you and me, not some charity event for the papers not some dumb song play-actin crap and sometimes love stings.  I love you so much I risk your wrath by telling you the fuckin truth.  Who else in the world was going to say those things to you but me?   And admit it; you think your stuff is crap anyway.  The fact of the matter is I believe in you more than you believe in yourself."

"Thats bullshit.  What you say isnt truth, John, its intentional cruelty.  Control.  Thats what it always is with you and me."

"Who you controlling now, Paul?"  John pulled Pauls hand toward him and reached for his own still smoldering cigarette from the ashtray.  He grasped the lit butt and screwed it down onto the back of Pauls hand.  

"Christ," Paul gasped, yanking back the target hand.  He stared down at it as the new wound reddened and rose.  "What the hell did you do that for?"

"Pete, ice," John called to the barman, who filled a cup with cubes, swung it around to their table, and busily made himself scarce.  John pulled a cube out of the glass.  "Pass the mitt over, Macca.  Come on.  Be a good boy."

"Why, so you can fuckin freeze it, too?"

"Stop ya sniveling."  John grabbed Pauls hand, pulling it over to him.  He wrapped the ice in a napkin, and blotted it over the burn.  Once cold enough to stop Pauls pain, he removed the napkin a moment to indicate the budding blister.  "See, that?  Thats why I said what I did.  Thats never going to disappear completely, is it?  Are you ever going to forget me now?"

"Forget you?"  Paul said, yanking his hand back to hurl himself up from the chair.  He picked up the rest of the ice cubes.  He looked from the cup to the wall, in a long moment of consideration, but then he slapped the container back to the table surface, unthrown.  

Paul combed his hands into his hair, as if madly freeing other fingers sinking in there, clutching at him.  "I cant fuckin get past you.  Im always thinking of you, for better or worse.  Fucking always and how many years has it been?  And here you are, still locked in tight, with not a bloody exorcist in sight."

"So I heard over Channel 8."  Lennon laughed hardly, darkly, as if at something that hurt so badly he could only laugh at the absurdity of the pain.  "Tell me something I dont know, Macca.  This aint comin undone, son.  Just be real with that.  Till death do we part and maybe not even then."

And the only thing worse was never hearing it again.

He was the first one she called when it happened.  December 8, one mote past midnight.  A winters night at the end of the world.

The telephone slipped away from each finger and finally out of his hand.  

It had come through in several projective waves of pain.  He thought he had dropped backward into some chairstruggled to breathe.  He thought he heard the rising hammer of his careful heart.  And he pulled his knees to his chest around the airlessnessthe pain if only the insensate could call it painan agony beyond any tear or hope of comfort

He allowed himself the scream, since there had been only one pair of ears to hear it: the night man, swabbing, who would later speak directly to the Morning Report.  One broken staggered word, sobbed out into the nightinto the empty, empty, empty night:

"Johnny."







Years later, decades later, deaths latersomewhere in a world without end

"Johnny," a raging word again broke hard against the jagged silence.the depth of the loss embodied in the force of tears.     

"Paul" John murmured to the man clinging to him as if the lone sanctuary in a demon world.  That extended vision, that flash-forward of their love and sorrow had passed through his soul as surely as it had moved through Pauls.  It ended only at the moment their future died in Maccas eyes.  

John had never known a time without some hope of their reunion.  And seeing itfeeling it through Paulas that hope was shot dead on a cold December night  

"Were here now, you and me and the lads.  That world is over, Macca.  Were home now.  Remember where we are."

Paul slowly lifted his head and choked like an infant on its first breath of air.  He closed his eyes hard, opened them again, as if catching himself in some fleeting, faithless fantasy.  He lifted his head from Johns chest and looked up.

"Thank God.  Thank fucking God.  Good lord, that was horrible.  A horrible, terrible dream."

"Remember where we are," John whispered.  

Macca shivered as an aftershock.  "Dont ever die like that and leave me behind again, John.  Never, ever again, John." His words rippled hard at the horror in his voice, in another realization.  "And Christ, dont let me leave you either.  Is there some way  "

"Yes," John whispered quickly: seriously.  

"How?"

"The way George talked about earlier.  But it has to be your choice.  Totally and completely."

"I totally and completely choose it.  Now.  Lets get on with it."

"You dont know what it is yet, Paul."

"I dont care what it is.  If it means it keeps me from doing what I always do, then do it.  Whatever it is, Johnny."

"Its your choice, then?"

"Yes!"

"Then youre of a mind to stay?"

Paul flinched back a little in shock at his words.  "Of course Ive a mind to stay.  I cant be anywhere else, can I?  And if I didnt want to be here, I wouldnt be here."

John grinned at him.  "Im very proud of you, youve been paying attention.  You ready?"

Paul nodded.  "Ready."

Johns hand moved up from a comforting presence at Pauls shoulder to a tenderly controlling clasp at his jaw.  Johns thumb ranged up the length of the main artery to Pauls throat, massaging the pulse of this worlds blood into life beneath Johns touch.  That pulsation was answering in a fierce sweet resonance everywhere in Maccas body there was an arteryhell, with that a vein.  

John shined his smile once more into Maccas  eyes.  He was peering in to find the thing he was most seeking.  He found it with a profound smile.  

"We were in love," John mocked him in falsetto.  "But weve gotten over that."  His voice returned to his own rough, heated whisper.  "Youre a dirty liar, arent you, Paul?"

He could only gasp back: it was his only means of reply.  "Yes."

"Lying to me about love is very naughty.  What shall we do to punish you then?  I know, and its in line with my special fondness for dirty sayings.  And I do so love these new ones come about in my wake.  Whats that very apt one in this situation?  Oh, yes, I remember now."  Johns massage intensified across Pauls every pleasure center.  "Whos your daddy, Mr. McCartney?"

He had to grit his teeth to find the throat to answer.  "Whos it always been?" 

"I didnt catch the name," John whispered.  "Lets try that again.  Whos your daddy, Paul?"

"You are," he moaned out.

"Whats his name?" John groaned, licking up the length of Pauls ruby-red artery, microcosm of his every gratification nerve.

"John Lennon," he roared back, not so much as dreaming of a breath.

"Much better," John whispered.  "Now youre never going to leave me again, Macca.  There will be nowhere in the whole bloody universe you can hide from me.  You understand?"

Paul nodded again, more raggedly than ever.  "Yes," Paul whispered one crippled gasp of agonized joy and then one other: "Please."

John lunged for Pauls throat.  

The bright flow of life pulsed across Johns tongue as he drank deep from one-third of all that divided one man from the other.  He was drinking Pauls reflexive solitude, his compulsive isolation, his knee-jerk loneliness.  He absorbed it all and set it free.  

"Johnny," Paul murmured, deep in the jaws of thirsty love.  His body weakened its will between the man above him and the wall.  

John imbibed all that he was allowed in the first time, forcing himself by sheer will to pull away.  So Paul might see his face.  Might see the red trickle forming all the new edges of his mouth.  See the red-tinged smile as it locked over his own.  

Pauls answer was a stiff wild moan deep into Johns mouth as his lovers tongue replied with several deft throat-fucking flourishes, making certain the implication was clear, and then moved their mouths apart.  John thumbed a residue of Pauls own blood from the other mans lips.

"There are many reasons they call it paradise, love."

John licked at his ear again, feeling every inch of Pauls body gathering with quickly increasing spasms of pleasure that hit him all at once like ecstatic lightning: a wickedly hot tornado spun wild on its axis then ripping him apart at his seams. 

It took a few moments for the changes to happen. 

Paul shook his head, breathing in, looked around.

John took a fingernails edge and stroked it across his strong chest, opening a blood trail through his own nipple.   He reached for Paul who met him halfway.  He pulled him up, guiding his lips around the blood source like a suckling.  Paul took to it greedily, the very sound of his soft lips responding to the blood oath making John Lennons whole body go hard.  He replenished from John all that he had lost from himself, beginning the first of several steps.  

"Macca," he whispered with a sigh, urging Paul on sucking at the bleeding nipple.  As he drank in John, Paul was taking on the glow of this world.    But John had to tenderly move him away.

"John," Paul whispered to protest the separation.

"Dont be greedy," Lennon whispered, tapping his face. "We have to do this all over three different times.  This is just the one.  Save more for later."

"Who knew Id like that," Paul said, laughing at new internal drive.  

"Thats just the beginning, baby," John said, smiling.

As Paul moved to brush his hair back out of his eyes, he noticed his hand  gleaming faintly gold as if in coruscated resonance with Johns own glowing skin. 

"Fancy that," Paul said.  "Im almost incandescent, too."

"Wait for the next two trips, Macca," John said, smiling largely.  "Youll be just as bright as I am."

"Very funny."  Macca grinned, more than a bit self-conscious.  "What are you looking so smug and self-satisfied about, John?"

Johns smirk widened.  He wiggled an eyebrow.  "Hmm, I wonder why that would be.  Oh, yes, I know, is that an obvious torch youre carrying for me or are you just happy to see me?"

"Torch?"  Pauls snicker tumbled out of him, in wide, slow circles.  He looked away to say it.   "Ha!  Lets try a volcanic ring of fire, Lennon. Im carrying for you a whole vast system of interconnecting Mauna Loa.  And they all keep fucking reactivating each other on a perpetual bloody basis.  Satisfied, John?  Im still fucking insanely in love with you.  There, I said it.  As if youre at all surprised."

John grinned, clearly very satisfied but not the least surprised.  He batted his eyelashes.  "Okay, I already knew but I wanted to have a kajillionaire tell me he loves me anyway."

Paul smiled more than a little.  He nodded.  "Okay, so what happens now?"

"Two more steps after this," George said, where he had appeared beside them.   "Congratulations.  Theres the next one and then the final.  Then youre all sworn in, fit and proper."

"Perhaps youll even be on time for the next one," John said.

George frowned guiltily.  "We were only delayed a moment.  Besides it was the Funny One here who had to change his attire innumerable times.  Youre looking at the last of countless haberdashery selections.  Of course, I had to be the arbiter of said selection process."

Ringo pouted, looking down at his black matching velvet togs.  "This is one of the most important moments of our destiny, third on the ladder of importance.  I wanted to dress up for the occasion."

"I dressed up as well, but it didnt take me fifteen hundred tries, now did it?"

"Yes, but how many colors of muslin can there really be, George?"

"Switch it off, lads," John said, turning around a moment.  "Shall I introduce you to this lovely chap?  Kindly meet Mr. James McCartney once of Hamstrung, Surrey, Guildford.  He prefers to go by his middle name which is Paul.  Perhaps you might remember that we all have been fuckin waiting for this to begin for a long, long, long, long time?"

"Sorry," both said.

"All right, you lads up here for your moment.  And gentlemen, acceptable levels of passion from the three of you.  Im watching."

"Sexual dominance duly noted, John," George said.   "Paul, present hands, inside up."

Still recovering from the John thing, Paul looked down at his hands and turned them up to show his wrists.  "Why am I doin this then?"

George reached over to take one of Pauls hands in his hand.  He turned it toward him, firmly kissing the nerve point at the carpus.  "Because a certain local jealous guy, ahem," he pointed at John, "has decreed that Rich and I cant have a go at the usual location on your lovely hallowed neck.  Second choice is the wrists.  Its all very silly, but there you have it.  Plus there are two of your wrists so he says its fasteras if that matters, in a land beyond time."

"Well, going with the apparent order of things," Paul said, beaming an important look at the man beyond their circle, "he had a go at both of yours, didnt he?  And you at his.  Necks, I mean.  Im assuming."  

"A fact we pointed out," Ringo said, moving to take Pauls other wrist.   

John wagged a granny finger at them.  "Just never you mind."  He pulled a stopwatch out of the air.  "Im timing you.  To your marks, girls"

George rolled a look of shared forbearance toward the other men.  "Ready, Rich?"

Ringo kissed the same place on Pauls hand that George had, then slapped it once for the blood effect.  "With southpaws they say the source is always slower on this side because its not your handy one.  So I did that to bring it to the surface a bit."

Paul nodded.  "Makes sense."

When John had struck, Pauls soul was on fire, so his own response to all sensations had been boundless.  This time, Paul had been half-expecting pain and so the utter opposite was a bracing, thrilling burst of surprise. 

"Sweet Jesus," Paul gasped out, at the pleasure coursing up his veins.  "This is fucking nice."

George winked back at him, and then his eyes slipped closed as the interface was satisfied and the flow begun.  

The echoing pleasantness felt strong and ironic and sweet and gentle and pure and honest and devoted and patient and devotedly impatient while a true breath of peace from the source.  It was George, Paul realized: the essence of him.  

That moment ended as quickly and quietly as it had begun.  "I love you," George said.

Pauls eyes shined back at him in a new way.  "Same back to you."

George winked and stepped aside.  "I kept that short so as not to overpower you with my own quintessence."

"So thats what theyre calling it these days, eh?" John said from behind.  

The left side closed, his attention was drawn toward the loving, tender sensation from the other side, as Ringos contact finished with a flourish.  This mans spirit streamed funny and sad and sweet and shy and kind and good-hearted while older than the world was young.  

Rich kissed the wrist when he had finished.  "I love you, you poor ugly beggar you."

"I love you, you huge, lumbering nit," Paul replied, smiling.

Ringo topped it off with a peck of his lips to Pauls face.  He flipped a look over his shoulder in a certain direction.

"I saw that," John said.

"Yeah," Rich said, "I know."

"So I dont get to do that, too, from you and George?" Paul asked, pouting a little.

"The master vampires rules," Ringo answered, thumbing back toward John.  "You only take from him.  Hows that for bloody justice?"

Suddenly, the black floor slid away, revealing the four-slotted bed from the hours before.  

"That time again, lads," George announced, clicking his fingers to transform his clothes to robes.  He jumped into one of the four places.  "Five hours down and well feel more festive for the big events tomorrow."

Paul pouted a little.  "It was just getting interesting, too.  What event is tomorrow?"

"Your first venture outside the boundaries of our place," Ringo explained.  "Then we have another of your ceremonies. Second on the ladder of importance."

"Sounds like fun," Paul said.

Ringo winked.  "Youve no idea."

"I saw that wink," John commented, coming up behind Paul.

"I know."  Ringo snapped his fingers, suddenly sporting something blousy.  He jumped into the space beside George.  "I suppose it goes without saying Paul sleeps in the buff."

"I heard that as well."

"I know."

Johns hand went to Pauls shoulder, tapping it once for effect.  "Youre next to me," John said, grinning with insincere shyness.    

Paul tried to act indignant, but the pretense didnt work. "As if I dont have a choice?" 

"As if you dont, yes."  John nudged him to the edge.  "Surrender, Dorothy, or Ill have you dragged there by my flying monkey."

Ringo glanced at George.  "Is that what theyre calling it these days?" 

Macca smirked, but then cast himself down into the pit of pillows beside John.  The four men were surrounded by an enveloping dark.  The dark felt like a comforta cocoon around him, nestling him in its warmth.  "This is really very comfortable, isnt it?"

Twin pillows were hurled from his right.  Two people but one voice: "Hush, Macca."

"Sorry."

"Hey," whispered the man to his left.

Their eyes met in the point between them.  

In his warm little place of comfort, it seemed that all the answers to all the questions that had ever plagued him in nights so dark, he couldnt hope to dream, shined back at him from the other mans eyes.  

"Johnny," Paul whispered, shaking his head in wonder.

John pulled a length of hair away from Pauls eyes.  "This whole very long time, Id see your empty place here.  Empty and waiting for you.  Even emptier for waiting for you so long.  And Id know what you must have been feeling, and what you must have been thinking where you were, all alone.  But this time, for the first time ever since crossing over, when I look there, Ill actually see your face."

Macca finally leaned into his arms, feeling at home there, in a way he had never before.    

"Oh my god, Ringo," a voice rejoined from the side.  "Theyre in love again."

"Oh, well.  We knew the cold war couldnt last."

"Therell be no end to this lovey stuff now."

"Youre telling me."

Twin pillows were hurled from their left.

John piped back.  "Eat your hearts out."

Ringo tossed a smirk over Paul at John.  "Why dont we eat your heart out instead?" 

"Because I dont have one, remember?"

"Theres rotten luck for you."


***


Now that was unusual, Paul thought, as he opened his eyes to the light. 

There was John:  floating around on top of a life-sized crucifix.  He was holding his arms extended and crossing his ankles at the base.  He tossed a wink down at Paul.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty."

Paul rubbed at his eyes, as if to make sure they were working.  "Johnny, what the hell are you doing up there?"

"This is part of your instruction," John explained.  "To show you we dont have to cringe from a crucifix as the crucifix is merely the symbol of the body, as you see.  The spirit born in flesh to die on the skeletal cross."

"Thats not why hes doin it," George called over, "he just likes floating about on that thing.  Not surprisingly."

Paul nodded his understanding.  "Well, quit makin a martyr of yourself, John, and come down from there.  You look like some nack Catholic Feast Day decoration or something."

"Yes, Marmee," John called down, the crucifix dissolving so floated to the floor.  "But Christmas wont be Christmas without any presents."

Paul stepped up from the pit as John landed.  They joined hands at the center, as George gave a big, rolling smirk toward Rich.  

Ringo nodded.  "Told you, George.  Its already started."

George shrugged.  "Better than their battling.  At least then we wont have a return of pony-level chaos and destruction."

Ringo pouted.  "Had to bring that up again, eh?"

Paul was listening now.  "What does pony-level mean?" 

"Well." George motioned to the room around them.  "You may have noticed we have a whole lot of beds here."

"Yes, I had noticed."  Paul nodded toward John.  "I thought that was the Bed-In Masters doing."

"You love me worst because Im a slut," John said, sticking his tongue out at him.

"Hes only responsible for some of them," George replied.  "When I first came here, I noticed that every time one of us had a mind to doss somewhere, a bed would be there for his sleeping.  So I determined I would start counting the beds.  Seemed like a good thing to do for household coordination.  Well, the beds just kept becoming more and more and then John figured out it just added a new one each time we counted.  So there was no end to it.  We finally realized the Mater took our counting as a request."

"Some of us found out about ponies the hard way," John added.

"Well, Id always wanted a pony as a boy," Ringo explained.  "So I conjured up one.  When I first came here, I was uncertain.  Ive always sort of been the odd one out with you three  "

"Poor, old thing," John replied.

Rich pitched him a glare.  "I didnt know the laws of the land.  I thought, you know, every time I wanted to sit and talk with me pony awhile, I had to wish for him again.  I didnt think I had to go out back and bring the same damned pony around."

"Somebody realized," John said, pointing at Richard, "that every time he thought up a pony, it didnt bring back the first one; it created a whole new one.  So very soon, we had this whole houseful of pretty ponies, all for little Rich."

"Forty-seven of them," George added.  

"How was I to know?"

John smirked toward Paul.  "Thus began the fearful battle of the ponies."

"Thank heavens we cant dream up people," George added.  "Or hed have a whole fleet of ElvisesElviwhat-have-you..."

Paul laughed.  "Which puts me in mind of a question."  He looked around.  "Were not the only ones who got here, right?  Where are all the other people?"

"We live here," John said, "they live there.  We have to sort this out between us, and then we can ask them over.  But theyre still there and were here."

Paul nodded.  "Makes sense.  Okay, what about the other rules and laws and the like.  Like the vampire in mirrors thing.  I remember seeing my face in the reflection Ringo showed me."

"Myth," the other three men said in chorus.

"All right.  And the traveling over water thing?"

"Invented," Ringo said.  "1947 Universal Pictures, Dracula Rises from the Tomb."

"I thought that one was Stoker," John said.

"The uncultivated always do." Ringo tossed him a pointed look.  "Go on, Paul."

"What about garlic then?"

"Its delicious," John said, winking.  "Especially with pasta.  Next up."

Paul considered.  "We really can have whatever we want then?  Simple as that."

"Depends," John said, looking suspicious, "Ill be frontline pre-screening your requests."

"Calm down, Johnny, I dont mean that."

George went on, "It also depends upon whether we need it or not.  Its all adjusted by this great cosmic justice thingy.  If its detrimental, we cant have it, although one would have certainly thought forty-seven goddamned ponies would have fallen into that particular category.  And sometimes we get things we dont ask for because we need them.  Its all to make us well and happy.  It evens out at the end."

"I can live with all that," Paul said, smiling.  "So what happens this day?"

John grinned, his eyes brightening up.  "We go on our first adventure in this world together, the four of us."

"To where?"

"To the best restaurant in this world.  In fact, the only restaurant in this world.  We learned our lesson about the counting thing, so we only have the one."

"Oooh, fun.  What do they serve there?"

All three men signed a time-out.  "Penalty, Paulie," John said,  "rewind and review todays class lesson."

"Oh, yeah, rightsorry."



***



Beatles Food Place the sign above the gateway read.  See Also: John, Paul, George, Ringo. Park wherever you like.

"Well, you cant get much more specific than that, can you?" Paul said, as the doors opened for their arrival.  

Much to Maccas surprise, there sat an entire table full of other people  all suspect looking men in buccaneer attire --  instantly looking around at them as they walked into the cafe.

All the men wore knee breeches and strange trippy Garibaldi shirts.  Two of them sported eye patches.  

Paul pointed at them.  "Who are they?"

John grinned.   "They are called pirates." 

"Hey, no fooling, I thought they were the local solicitors.  I can see theyre pirates, John I mean, what are they doing here?  I thought this world was all for us."

"It is, but pirates dont respect rules here either, same as the old world.  They come round lookin for cast-off stuff they can trade, because in their world they have restricted access on occasion to the Mater.  Ill show em the door.  You lads have a seat.  Mind the floor show."

Paul let George and Ringo advance ahead into the next little room, while Macca faded back to watch out after Johns own interaction with the pirates.  

John folded his arms.  "Say, boys, its closin time for you," he announced to the brigand.  "Were terribly sorry, but as you obviously know, youre on private property.  I realize you dont know us lads because were all separated by a ton of years, but in our time, we zealously protected our privacy for all manner of fuckin reasons.  So youll be hittin the bricks. Or Ill be hittin them with you, and by that I dont mean well be steppin out together for a pint."

"Were lookin for gate keys," the humorless leader spat back.  "We need us an extra.  One of us is stranded without one.  Hes stranded on our side and cant join us here."

"Such a pity.  Ill weep for him later, but youll just have to go back to your own side and join him there, Im afraid.  Some people are lax about those rules, but we keep soundly to them.  Go on.  Off with ya now."

"You have a new one," the leader said, standing, and pointing to Paul.

"You need new eyes, ducky, hes not new.  Hes been around for ages.  So long the sheen is off him."

"He is new.  I can tell by looking at him.  That means he still has a gate key.  You singin rogues never leave this land of yours.  Its not like you need a gate key.  Wed be prepared to trade you handsomely for it, new man."

"He doesnt have one, he isnt new, and hes not trading anything with you, Blackjack," John said.

"Cant he speak for himself?"

"No, he cant.  I speak for him.  Now listen up, you nit, off with the lot of you.  One, two, three.  Skidaddle, whatever the fuck that means then."

"We will," the leader said, motioning to his men, "for now."

"Good for you, Blackjack.  Dont let the front door hit you on your bustle as you bustle out of here."

The men passed through the open door which as quickly slammed and locked behind them.

"You handled that very well, John," Paul said.

John retained his folded arms.  "Didnt I say for you to go with the lads?"

"You might have noticed, John, there is, nowhere on my body, stamped the words Property of John Lennon."

He snapped his fingers.  "I knew I forgot somethin.  Thanks for the reminder, sweetie.  In point of fact, what the hell were you to do if that had gotten ugly?"

"Back you up."

"With what?"

"My fists, if necessary."

The chortling from the room behind him was immediate and obvious.

"Well, I like that," Paul replied to the laughter.

"Paulie," John said.  "That lot would have snapped you like dry twigs and bound you up for kindlin wood.  The lads and I would have had to paste you back together and then go wring their scrawny necks.  You never were any good in a pub brawl and you know it.  My kid sister was better at it than you were and she was a little girl."

"John," Ringo said, from the doorway.  "If youre finished making fun of someone who was only trying to help you, you might both want to come in here now, so we can all be together."

"Paul knows I was only lookin out for him."

"Why not let Paul say what he knows?" Macca suggested, following after John and Ringo into the inner room.

George was bothering about green tea in a tiny porcelain cup.  Ringo sat back down at a platter of something distinctly Chinese foodish.  He plucked a pair of chopsticks out of the air, and then used them for a wicked side table drum roll.  Both the chopsticks quickly splintered into bits.

"How many times you gotta try that, Ring," George asked, "before you get that it doesnt work?"

"Yeah, but it looks so fuckin cool, doesnt it?  One day Ill pluck them off thick enough and then Ill be stylin, wont I?  Of course, none of you will appreciate it."  Ringo abandoned them to the air.  "Paul, heres how it works.  Ask the Mater provider in your head whatever youd like but be specific.  Asking for artichokes will get you a nice farmers crop strewn across the floor.  The Mater provider doesnt do fuzzy thinking."  

Paul shrugged.  "Not really hungry.  Maybe a little something.  Without a face, of course."

"Relax, PETA Paul," John added.  "Nothing ever had a face here.  Everything is pulled out of the Mater, spun out of nothing.  No animals were injured in the making of this foodstuff.  Even the little baby eggies would never have been alive."

"Oh," Paul said, realizing.  "Of course.  Why, thats brilliant, isnt it?"

John raised an eyebrow.  "You could have prime rib, Paul.  Think of it, Paul, all the goodies at the sides, Paul.  Me included, Paul."

"I could," Paul said, smiling a little mischievously.  "And stop flirting, its hopeless."

"You could," John said, nodding. He was a clearly enchanted man, chin propped on his hand.  "And like hell its hopeless"

Paul smirked at him.  "Okay.  Eventually, yesabout the prime rib, I mean.  Going to take some getting used to, the faceless food thing, however.  Right now, Id just as soon have a fresh fruit salad, if its all the same to you."  Paul was startled by the appearance of it before him.

Ringo tossed an aside to George.  "Given the events of yesterday, theres a statement teeming with double entendre."

"Given the events of yesterday, yours is a statement teeming with ethical inconsistency," George pointed out.

"I suppose.  Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself.  I am large, I contain multitudes"

"You contain significant amounts of hot air when you want to."

Ringo flashed him a hurt look.  "That was Walt Whitman."

"No kidding," John said.  "And here we thought you just pulled it out of your ass."  He yanked up a spitball from somewhere and vaulted it at Rich.  "Im not hungry, so Im just going to watch you three."

"Those two, George said.  "Im not hungry either.  Besides, we have an awful lot of ground to cover in this particular Macca bitch session."

Paul paused in his active admiration of the heaven-sent fruit salad.  He squinted a little in immediate concern.  "Excuse us?"

John moved his head down to peek up into Pauls eyes.  "Lets call it a musical intervention.  On this side, friends dont let friends write crap pop tunes.  Especially when theyre capable of brilliance."

Paul winced, tossing the fork back at the salad.  "I thought we covered that yesterday."

"No, that was just Whacko Jacko.  We saved this carcass for all of us to feast."

Paul wrinkled his mouth into a smirk.  "Well, you dont catch me snipin about your stuff, Lennon.  Oh, yeah, that Two Virgins.  Quite a few snappy numbers on that one."

"If I got it comin, baby, bring it on."

"I dont like attacking my friends."  

John pounded a palm against his head in sheer frustration.  "When you gonna get with this, ya thick, ya?  Were not attacking you, Paul.  This isnt a personal fight.  Were talking about the shit you churn out when youve got one helluva lot more in ya."

"Says you."

"Ah, that snappy repartee from the legendary composer of Bip Bop."

He pushed the salad away now.  "I was afraid this was coming eventually.  And really what else is new?  Lets put an end to a few hours of happy Beatlific harmony.  Go ahead, have a bash, enjoy yourselves at my expense.  May as well get back to normal."

"We love you, Paul," George said, exhaling at having to speak the words, yet againfor what must have been the billionth time indeed.  "Stop being so sensitive.  This isnt about you.  You we love.  Its about some of thestuff you write  You always get the two confused."

"I am that stuff."

"Not all of it, youre not," John added.  "Some of it is noxious."

"Such as?"

John pulled a bound gazetteer from the air.  He opened it, moistening a finger to peruse its pages.  "Ive already held court on the earlier stuff, so this treatise is on the later opus only.  Let us begin with my wanting to know how the bleedin hell you love a biker like an icon.  And I know that one wasnt in code as Jet was or some of the others."

"I dunno, its a song.  It takes up space on the album.  So many tracks on each side, shipped out to market.  I supported my family that way."

"There, just what I meant, your lazinessyour lack of flippin standards always pans through.  When you filter your stuff, you hit the fuckin motherlode.  But your laziness makes you put out stupid songs sometimes, Paul.  Just because the market will let you."

Paul cast him the eye.  "I thought you said they were silly songs."

"No, I said your love songs were silly.  Well, the early ones anyway.  The ones not meant for me, I mean.  Some of the other songs are just plain stupid.  You give up before said stupid song is done."

"Speaking of the biker like an icon one, I didnt mind it at all," George said.  "Thought it was one of the catchier tunes on that album."

Paul looked at him with evident gratitude.  "Thank you, George."

George nodded.  "Personally it was that Looking for Changes preachy thing that I despised."  

"Oh, geethanks...to the both of you now," Paul said.

Ringo sipped at his beverage.  "I myself would like to know what a Motor of Love is."

Paul looked around, aghast.  "E tu, Ringo?" 

He nodded.  "Yes, me too."

"That was a different album," John shot back.  "We havent even gotten to it yet."

Paul crossed his arms, sighing as if ready, at last, for battle.  "All rightgo on."

"Liverpool Archipelago," John said.

"Oratorio."

"That comes later, baby."  Lennon grinned.  "I mean, in what other classical music cantata may we find the opera diva singing about sagging off?  You even made the basso profundo sound like a big, sappy queen."

"It was experimental," Paul said.

"It was excremental," John replied.  

George thumped Lennons shoulder on cue.  "Constructive, John, constructive?"

John gestured in reluctant concession.  "Okay, all right, not all of it was.  There were some beautiful bits, too.  I loved the fuckin chorus but you always do that stuff up grand.  A pretty Macca melodytheres a big surprise.  And the last part was a lovely wallow.  And I loved all the veiled homoerotic bits about me, of course."

"I thought the whole thing was about you," Ringo said.

George passed Rich a smile.  "Arent they all?"

"Flaming Pie was," John said.  "A good half the album.  Even His Royal Maccastey over there said so.  And that was fuckin brilliant.  Ill admit between us four, but never to anyone else if quoted, it was better than any of my solo stuff.  But I cant help but link that to the fact that I inspired it."

"Thanks for that faint bit of praise anyway."  Paul considered his options for a moment.  "Is that it?  We all finished?"

"For the moment," John said, waving away his gazetteer.  "Well need a whole fuckin day for Ebony and Ivory."

"Fine.  Thats it."  Paul threw down his napkin.  He rose from his chair.  "Day is done.  I dont genuflect at my own shadow.  Im a songwriter; I build songs as a carpenter builds furniture.  Im not perfect, I fuck up.  I never said otherwise.  Ill be taking a walk outside now while you have your dessert.  Let me know when youre finished chewing on the last of my dignity."

Paul strode out of the room and was quickly gone.

George looked pointedly to John.  "Told you it was too soon.  Theres a reason for the walls.  Hes a sensitive man."

"Oh, are you fuckin putting up for his moodiness now?" 

"If hes not, I am," Ringo said.  "His sensitiveness helped make us all rich and famous, you might remember.  But when youre sensitive and you get punched in the gut too often; you tend to move by instinct to protect it.  Gee, I wonder what might have happened to have caused all that."

"Paul knows  "

"Maybe hes forgotten."  Ringo threw away his second set of chopsticks.  "George, you stay here and talk to the so-called Smart One.  Ill go about cinchin up Sir Cute Ones wounds as best I can."

After Ringo had gone, Georges stare was directed solely at John.  "Hes right, you know.  We were wrong.  It was too soon."

"Please."  He backed off from the table.  "I used to say all this nonsense to Paul daily and he never so much as flickered an eyelash at me.  Now every time I try to be who we used to be, he flames off like an offended Sussex nanny."

"He thought he had your respect then.  Its different now."

"Oh, spare me the soul-searching, will you?"

"No, I wont.  I mean, think of it.  Twenty years to get into the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame.  Paul McCartney, co-father of rock n roll as we know itas you called him yourself inducted behind tons of gifted flyweights, who grew up polishin Pauls image like a fuckin gold Buddha on bass."

"Oh and he and his poor little crippled ego had him puttin his name before mine on his records."  

"And why do you always assume yours should go first?  Thats the problemyou and your gang of music journalist thugs.  Do you know what Paul said to the press when that byline thing happened --  if I dont do that, how will my grandchildren know what I contributed to the Beatles?  Imagine Paul McCartney wonderin that."

"And Im to blame for his inferiority complex?"

"Some of it.  Why did he put out some of the crap he did, you ask?  Well, he never knew to like something unless you loved it firstand that includes himself.  He was all of fourteen when you met him.  You cobbled him on purpose comin out of the gate and you know you did.  I watched it."

"Youve cast him in the eternal role of victim, have you?"

"No, just that of a real person.  Finally someone helped him draw a line.  A bad line, a line that hurt him, but a line.  Of course hed have been better off with us, but thats only half the story.  Youre a fuckin brilliant mantheres no denyingand you know the outcome of the legal papers.  You know where wed have all been financially if those briefs had not been filed on Pauls behalf.  You blamed her, you blamed him through her, but the fact of the matter is Paul dealt us in when he didnt have to and he didnt make a press junket around it.  And you know it."

"Of course I know it.  I tried to set the bleedin record straight  "

"Yes, you did.  But then one of your macho pseudo-music critic cohortsone of those artistic thugswould tempt you and youd all have a nice group bash on Paul as if he was the pansy boy in the play yard, and you know it.   You set the precedent by treating him like a guilty secret.  I mean, what would those music men think if they knew?  And then you checked out before you had the chance to truly right the record."

"I didnt have a lot of say in checking out, did I?  Perhaps you wish it would have happened sooner?"

George winced visibly at the words.  "You know, John  You and Paul are two of the best people to ever live in the old world.  Youre also two of the biggest assholes.  Usually, I vacillate back and forth on whos the bigger asshole on a day by day basis.  But congratulations, today, youve got Macca by a mile."

John held up a hand for a moment.  "You know Im not proud ofwhat I did.  I cant go back and change the past.  What in hell do I do to right it now?"

"Do what you didnt do before.  Go to him and choose him."

"I did choose him."

"No, you chose both of them.  Go choose him first.  Go love him first.  Dont make him feel like a guilty afterthought."

"I never  "

"Yes, you did.  Yes, you did.  The most open top secret in the music world, some covert writer called it.  Well, go claim it in the fuckin light of day for once.  Why not tell him 
I love you and Im sorry?"






Ringo found the other of them walking around the outside yard, scuffing at the little Beatle patterned name in the sidewalk imprint.  There he was  a certified, goddamned zillionaire and he might have been a schoolboy sent out of class for a cool down.  He looked every bit as hurt and almost as uncertain.

"John didnt mean  "

"Yes, he did," Paul said, as if Ringos remark had just uncorked something that had been preparing to pop.  "He meant it.  Every word.  He doesnt love me, he never has.  Im just another instrument for him to play.  Something else to useabuse"

"Paul"

Ringo tried another direction.  He leaned against a piece of wall and pitched at Paul a stick of gum.  The other man, still pacing off his rage, caught it.  Ringo pocketed the rest of the package.  "Remember that certain magazine interview John gave in the mid-1970s?"

Paul thought a moment.  The gum gave him something to gnaw on in effigy.  He tucked away the paper.  "You mean the one with the quote I paraphrased for something and they tried to stick on me?"

Ringo nodded.  "Yeah, thats the one.  The interviewer asked John if he thought I was the best rock drummer in the world, right?  And John said Ringo wasnt even the best rock drummer in the Beatles."

Paul flinched in sympathy.  "Yeah, I remember."

He nodded.  "Hurt like bloody hell at the time.  But the thing that really kicked my gut is I knew for certain John was right  "

"Rich  "

"No," he said firmly.  "Dont be kind.  Its true.  Thats who I am.  I am the worlds not-greatest drummer paired up with musical historys greatest songwriting team and another fellow who, if he hadnt been befriended by the star-crossed musical dynamic duo of the century, would have been the far and away breakout star in the band.  Do you know what Id give to be worthy of John Lennons criticism?"

"You want the honor, Rich, its all of yours."  Paul looked away.  "Anyway, I say that you are worthy.  Who is he to say?  Youre a good man.  A good friend.  A gifted person in many ways.  There are more bloody important things in the world than makin great music."

"Oh, certainly there are, but were talking about music now.  And thats what I was in this instancea drummer.  A drummer who knows he wasnt worthy just like he knows you are.  With John and the truth, our feelings just have to get out of the way."

"Whose truth?  His truth?  That doesnt make it mine.  Doesnt make it yours or anyone elsesonly his."

"I realize that.  It is his truth.  But were John some blowhard, you wouldnt care what he had to say.  If you cant suffer that, one to one, you have to protect yourself, I understand.  Believe you me.  Thats part of what happened in the old world with you two.  That was the tragedy.  The thing that brought you together was the thing that blasted you apart.  But you lost so much in the process, Paul.  You both did.  I mean, screw the fuckin money.  Wed have been fine the lot of us eating cornflakes; wed have been just as happy.  All we ever really needed was each other.  With John, theres a lot youve got to forgive, but with John, you forgive a lot, you know what I mean?  Above anyone else in the world surely you should know that by now."

Paul nodded.  "Of course I know it."

"Then get real and come down from your ivory ego tower.  Put things in bloody perspective.  A little bit of honest criticism isnt going to kill you.  It may seem like it will, but trust me, we wont let it - just like you boys didnt let it destroy me.  You were given the gift of the gods, my friend.  It could be one hell of a lot worse."

"Such as?"

"Oh, such as being the one member of the band that didnt come to it out of some divine destiny.  Who was a commercial add-on."

"You werent  "

Ringo held up a hand to stop all protest.  "I was.  The soul of tact, Paul, I was.  Its just the truth.  Doesnt mean I didnt belong.  I mean, Im here in this place arent I?  The first chap is wherever good little grocery men go when they die.  But when the group busted up and my lifeboat almost sunk, it would have been right easy for me to just give up when the second solo album tanked so badly.  Lets be blunt about it, when the label tried to dump me like a bad investment.  To comfort me, you said many kind words, my friend, because that is what you do.  They were kind, but they didnt really help beyond the moment.  But what John said did help, that moment and the next."

"Which was?"

Ringo looked down, as if imitating a clear Lennon stare and flat, nasal tone.  "Play to your strengths, Rich.  Youre not known for your dulcet tones and movie star good looks.  Youre no top musician.  So work with what you have."  Ringo smiled to finish the sentence.  "And what I have, by some mad piece of luck, is three of the best musicians in the world who love me.  They all got together and helped me right my ship again.  And one of them cut a mean kazoo, Mr. McCartney."

Paul laughed fondly, nodding.  "I remember."  

"I thought you would.  I figure Im the luckiest bastard in the world.  Problem is if I punch through instead of pullin, everyones amazed.  Whoa, Ringo didnt toss it  fancy that, eh?  Evening standards got the nightly news.   But youre held to a higher standard.  And guess who does the holding in the eyes of the music world?  For better or worse, right or wrongly, the other half of your sky sittin in there.  That doesnt mean the whole of it is all John Lennons fault."

Paul thought a moment, exhaling loud and long.  He removed the chewed gum from his pocket, folding it into the silver paper which as quickly disappeared.  Finally, and after a long while, he nodded and muttered, "Thanks, Rich."

"My pleasure.  And my job as the older, stabilizing force.  The cosmic reason I was added on, by the way.  Which reminds medo you know who John said was the best drummer in the Beatles?"

"No," Paul lied, looking down again.

Ringo smiled at him knowingly.  "That drummer would be you, my friend.  Now, lets get cracking.  The lads are waiting.  We still have a damn big day ahead of us, you know."

"Where do we go from here?"

"Second rite for you, Macca," George said, as he joined them quickly, pointing toward the nearby walk and a suddenly waiting stretch limo.  "The location for which will be an old friends garden."

Coming toward them, John was moving at first in a slow and deliberate line.  Finally, the walk became a stride that didnt break until he reached Pauls side.  He moved soon enough to block Pauls attempted escape toward the limo.

"Im sorryI love you"  John said.  "Im sorryI love you."

A teasing glint of mock-hurt lit Pauls dark eyes.  "Youre sorry you love me?" 

"No!  I mean  Oh, fuck Christ, you know what I mean."

"I know, I know.  Richie has been chewing on me and reminding me that all happened a long time ago."  

"Well, Ill compare my nibble marks with yours now, hows that?  George tells me were both usually equally big assholes, only today Im edging you out."

"We cant have that, can we?"

"Kiss and make up, you two, will you?" George said, tapping his watch.  "Weve got plans."

John smirked.  "And we cant disappoint Auntie Mater now can we?"

Ringo rolled his stare to the gods.  "For the love of all thats holy, Paul, will you please laugh at that silly Auntie Mater line to thereby admire his stunning wit?  Hes been makin it for ages, hoping we would notice.  If you laugh, maybe then hell finally quit."

"Haha" Paul said drolly, in Johns direction.

John as quickly launched himself into the backseat of the limo.  Crawling to the edge, he crooked a dangerous finger toward Macca.

"Cmon, Paul, weve got the back seat all to ourselves. You took the bad medicine; here comes the heaping spoonful of sugar, my sweet."

"I told you no already, John.  Its hopeless."

"Oh, no its not.  You already admitted youre still mad for me.  And yesterday -- "

"Mad for you and mad at you.  And yesterday was all the vampire stuff, wasnt it?  Dont let it go to your head, John."

John could only smile.  "Sure, it was, Macca, sure it was."

George snapped his fingers to open the driverless limo door.  He entered at the other side, allowing Ringo his perch on the right.  Paul pointed to the seat between them.  "Mind if I sit up here with you two?"

Before they could object, in fact, Paul popped easily into the center spot.

"Where we going?" he asked George, and then Ringo as the other man forced himself into the front seat, too.

"Me and George?"  Ringo said.  "Right now, flippin insane, thanks very much."

All of them safely aboard, the limo moved by itself into the open road.

"Come on, Paul," John said from behind.   He roped an arm around Pauls shoulders, planting wicked, wet kisses on his neck.  "Stop pouting.  We get the big back seat all to ourselves, baby.  I have some dirty, little surprises for you"

Paul forced his mouth into a respectably straight line, lifting his chin.  "I thought we just magically zapped around everywhere," Paul said, appearing to ignore John and the ambitious hickey-inspiration going on at the nape of Maccas neck.  "Why are we even taking a limo?"

John nibbled at the back of his ear.  "Because zappin around that way doesnt let you get in the back seat with me."

"Wheres our planned destination?" Paul asked, drumming on the dashboard a peppy, annoying tune, composed specifically to harass the man behind him.

George slapped Pauls hands to make him stop.  "The place of an old friend."

Paul reached across to flip a radio knob on and spin the dial.  "But I thought we  "

"Youll see what we mean when we get there," George added, yanking Pauls hands from the knobs while switching sounds off.  "Look, Paul, you know its going to happen. You two are going to end up exploding all over each other in great fiery passion.  Its just your natures.  Right now for me and Rich this feels like having a Pomeranian stud humping our collective leg while his equally randy bitch coolly refuses to let him mount her.  Its bloody, damned annoying, Ill tell you.  Now get in the back, His Bitch, or were throwing you over to the mercy of your stud, I swear to god.  Time to give up the goodies hes beggin for so we can all get a little bit of quiet."

"I dont have to do anything I dont want to.  Im not some salaried companion, Im a -- "

"Rich, important man, we know."  Ringo flipped a look around him to George.  "Now hes claiming he doesnt want it, too."

George smirked.  "Youre as burning up for it as he is, Paul, admit it.  You just hide it a little better.  Thank God or wed have had a mass conflagration by now."

John shoved a grin of evil glee among them all.  He hooked his arms under Pauls. "Come on, Paulie, quit lickin your wounds.  Come back here and Ill lick em for you."

"On three," George said.

Paul defensively hiked his chin.  "You wouldnt really."

"Three," Ringo said.

John hoisted Paul backwards and George and Ringo pushed him over.  

Ringo slapped Pauls rear to aid his final descent.  "You suffered the painful procedure, Paul; you may as well enjoy the compensatory lollyso to speak."

"As an aside, Rich, I saw your hand was on his ass," John added.

"Sexual dominance duly noted, John," Ringo said.  "Carry on."

"Just for that.  I ought to drag you both in the backseat with us."

"Are you jokin?  Anyone dragged back between you two for awhile would surely be cut to ribbons in your fits of furious lust.  Me and George will take our chances up here for the time being."

George nodded, darkening the pane of glass between the back and front seats.  "You can say that again."  

They were plunged into darkness, as John rolled backward onto the rear seat with his treasured booty of one grinning, blushing, kicking, giggling man.  John shined a smile into his face and laid a wet kiss on him, while tickling under his ribs.  Paul laughed so hard it broke the kiss, while he sought half-heartedly to fight off his hands.

"Lennon, youre a menace," he said, laughing so hard he thought hed scream, as he was finally rolled onto his back for full frontal attack.  

John leered into his face with twisty eyebrows.  "Just finding that out, eh?" 

"Im at the top of the Fortune Magazine listing!" Paul said as he giggled when the rib-tickling onslaught restarted.  

"Im so impressed," John mumbled, still sucking at softer Macca throat flesh.

Pauls giggling grew furious.  "I have my own building in Manhattan!"

"I love it when you talk about your erections!"  John climbed up his body to encapsulate it.  "You may be a bloody jillionaire, but I can still make you tremble like a virgin schoolgirl.  I can still set you on fuckin fire any time at all."

Macca fought to quiet his ragged breathing.  "If only that wasnt the fuckin truth."  

John grinned, recognizing his victory.  "Then stop your empty protestations, Macca, theyll do you no good and you know it.  What Im about to do will change all that."

"Oh really?"

John grinned, knowingly into Pauls eyes.  "Really.  What if I were to tell you Im prepared to do something?  Its the one thing you always wanted from me, but Id never give it to you because I thought it was, well, too queer.  I still was playin that game with myself, that maybe we werent really queer if we didnt do X, Y and Z, right?"

"Yeah, I remember.  But it was okay.  Everyone has limits."

"Stop being so goddamned forgiving.  And no, I dont have limits, not with you.  And thats what I aim to prove to you now," John said.  "Ive been studying up on fine technique."

"For what?" Paul said, laughing.  

John smiled to make the moment last.  He kept Pauls stare directed straight at him as he captured Pauls hand.  John opened his mouth and slipped it down around one of Pauls fingers.

The response on Pauls face was hard, sharp, and immediate.   "Johnny," he gulped for shorts words faster than he captured breaths.  "Youre fuckin teasing me"

"Couldnt be more serious, Paul," he whispered, shining his smiles assurances to satisfy Pauls hungry gaze.  "I told you it would make up for all the pain.  Were talking unabashed queer sex, no circle jerk pleasure, not all boys fun.  Were talking the real thing now.  Gonna tell me no?  Gonna say were only friends?"

Paul shook his head helplessly.  "Fuck no."

"Good boy," John whispered, his lips descending Pauls chest. 

Maccas body arched upward as something raw jacked its way up his body as John moved further down to where he was going to prove the thing beyond all question, beyond all time.  His unforgiving mouth nibbled at Pauls belly, teasing muscles as they responded  an old friend to these well-played nerves.  

"This is my love, Paul," he said, blowing across layers of clothing that dissolved beneath his demand for them to do so.  Johns breath rushed up across Pauls now open thigh and up the restive shivers of blood pulsating through his stiffened cock.hard like a fist was hard.  Johns fingers questioned the tip of itan inarticulate but desperate question followed by a moist interrogatory by his hungry tongue.

Johns tongue struck Pauls foreskin and the receiving mans body arched again from a prodding, screaming need.  

"JohnnypleaseGod"

"Is there anything worth what Im about to do for you?" John whispered.

Paul shook his head feeblycertainly.  "Nothing.   Nothing in the fuckin world."

"Its all down to this with you and me.  Its all you and me in this one moment.  Nothing is worth more than what we haveus and the lads.  This is everything in the world, right here."

"I know."

"Are you ever going to forget it again?"

"No.  Fuck God, no, John.  I swear it."  He was nearly screaming now.  Pauls hand thudded mutely against the limo floor, gouging at surface, as if pleading with the flesh of the world for some small escape.  

"Good Paulie," John whispered, hard-sucking Pauls vibrant cock down into the depths of his throat, rubbing tongue like a merciless to demand across the whole of Pauls glans.  

Paul fought for a hold on himselfsome semblance of dignity in the least of all dignified acts.  He tried to measure his reaction, but there would be no stop to it.

"You know you cant hold it, silly," a voice whispered through his head.  Paul had no doubt whose thoughts theyd been.  And the sound of John softly swallowing swung him over the edge completely.  

"Johnny," Paul whisperedwhimperedall at once.

It was several full moments before the screaming had passed from his head and his veins and his lungsall of itthe full of it.  

John kissed his belly, licked at a last moist trail across his groin then moved all the way up to finish with a deep kiss into Pauls mouth.  It was a kiss wrought with the forbidden and exotic and profoundly wild.  He backed away, to see tears mingling with a smooth sweat on the other mans skin.  

"No more crying," John whispered.  He rose up for a moment to chuck back the sunroof on the limos top.  Then he reached down for Paul to pull him along. 

"Looks cold," Paul laughed, looking giddy as he squinted up at the sky.

John whisked off his shirt.  "Naw, the air is fine.  You just stand up, no balancing necessary.  I know you love the nighttime, so Ill make it dark for you.  Come out to play, Macca.  You havent lived until youve felt the starlight sweeping over your skin."

Standing, Paul fought a giggle as he found himself circled around by the other mans arms.  Paul looked around at the invisible fingers of wind doing wild and passionate things with his hairand with Johns hair.  All around them, a dreaming, haunted land which was all their own.  Star sapphire skya billion stars in every direction.  

"This is amazing!" Paul yelled, looking around him, every direction.  "Is all of this ours?"

"Yes, all of it.  Recompense for a life spent bottled up in hotels, I suppose.  Whatever is here seems to love us very much, apart from the celebrated pony fiasco.  I mean, it brought you back to me, didnt it?"

Macca smiled.  "Sweet talker.  You must want something."

John grinned.  "As it happens, I have a very naughty idea."

"Another one?"

"An even better one."  John ran his hands up Pauls chest to his shoulders.  "You do know you own me, body and soul?"

Paul sniffed back, grandly.  "Even so, its nice to hear it."

"And with all your poweryou big, shining starit gets harder to keep from wanting to own you, too, Mr. McCartney.  In the fun way.  Like the old days."  Johns grin focused in on Pauls face.  "Remember them?"

One Macca hand moved back to grasp at John for more solid footing.  Pauls body lost a little muscle in the moment.  His eyelashes slipped half-closed.  "Yes."

John whispered to an ear, "I thought you might.  Remember, after all that happened, you said never again, right?  Well, Im thinking, that was before.  This is now."  

Pauls lashes slid all the way closed, moonlight hinting at moisture on their edges.  He swallowed noticeably.  "Yessss"

"Youve been a bad boy, havent you?  All those years, I mean.  And far beyond my reach."

Paul slumped gently against John in a gentle surrender.  He nodded.  "I have," he whispered.

"I know you have.  But the first part of making amends is to admit our errors.  It was a very bad thing you did; straying so far, but I have an idea for redirection.  To bring us back to the way we should be, you and me.  A very sweet idea.  Want to hear it?"

Paul nodded raggedly, a little desperately.  "Yes."

John raked his hand into Pauls hair, to hold his head still while he sucked dryly for a long moment at the soft bend of Pauls throat.  He freed his mouth enough to whisper, "Get on your knees, Mr. McCartney."

It hadnt been obeisance, so much as a necessity.  Every muscle in Pauls legs gave way at the words, as if in secret conspiracy.  He dropped to his knees, Pauls hands grasping out at John for balance, while the denim dissolved at his touch.  

Pauls fingers claimed it softly, slowly.  His fingertips swept up the shaft to feel it harden more even as he touched it.  It was hard and hot, thick and red: more a miracle now than even the first time, when their love had been young and steaminga restless, molten untamed planet full of long-forbidden things.  Now it was much stronger, more solid, and far vaster than they had ever fathomed possiblethan they had hoped to contemplate.  

Pauls lips parted to swab his tongue at Johns foreskin, but John thrust forward into the depths of Pauls mouth.  There would be no more foray at foreplay, no tender prodding at teeth, just John fucking forward through jaw and soft palate that succumbed completely to his rhythm: that became nothing but the open target of his need.  Pauls hands filled with nutsack fists soft as brown rough rose petals, as he goaded them tenderly, his lips sucking demandinglya slaking search for every last seed at the root of John Lennon.

Johns hands rammed Pauls head forward, as his cock jacked his mouth.

Lennon rarely made noises, but when he did they were sounds no one would forget.  It was a fountain of sound: growl and sob and a hush muddle toward words.

"Ive wanted this so fucking long, Paul," John gasped out through tears.  "So fucking long, Paul"

Johns knees gave up, he dropped to the limo floor, but Paul followed after, not giving up his liplock, refusing to yield.  He jackhammered his jaw down so fast and often, John was pushed over from the motion itself.  

When John Lennon screamed in pleasure, there was no music grander in the whole, fucking world to Paul McCartney.  

Paul sucked for all of it, for every last bit of it, leaving no sperm untapped.  The gentle rhythm of his jawlock slowed to a milking, questioning pace until finally he let John roll free from his attentions.  Macca didnt mask his tiny victory smile as John tried his best to lift his head.

"Youre a fucking insatiable slut," John whispered.

Paul sucked at something left over on his thumb.  He leaned over to cover John Lennon completely.  Paul continued the sucking of unseen residue from his fingers.

"No, Im not," Paul whispered, leaning into his face.  "Im your daddy, arent I?"

Johns reaction unfolded in his eyes and through his face.  It was a big, burning grin.  "Oh, Paulie, youre playing with matches."

Paul smiled his smile of explicit innocence.  "Oh, good.  Say, John, lets find us an accelerant, shall we?" 

"Thats it, its decided.  Im going to fuck you through the floor, Sir Cute One.  Well have to slow down the limo to a fuckin crawl to be certain you wont get road burn by the time Im done with you.  Hell, theyll probably find indentation marks all the way there."

Paul pecked at his mouth.  "Youre really becoming the experimental fellow."

"Then we know of what I speak?"

"I suspect I do, yes."  Paul smiled in feigned shyness.  "Youre assuming Ill permit it."

"Youre assuming youll be able to say no by the time Im done with you."

"Planning on being persuasive, are we?"

"Ooooooooh, yesI promise."

The limo around them stopped.  After a moment, the back doors opened.  One set of eyes ducked down, only to be covered quickly.

"Jesus, theyre naked," Ringo said.

"So?  Youve seen em naked before."

"Ive not seen them naked together like that."

"You have so.  Youve seen them naked together lots of times."

"Notlike that.  Trust me.  Go on, see for yourself then," Ringo said.

A new set of eyes ducked down, only to be covered quickly.

"Jesus, theyre naked," George said.

"Which was my point."

"Calm yourselves, Aunties," John piped back.  "Were blinking clothes on our sinful bare nakedness to soothe your delicate sensibilities."  John  now dressed in tight jeans and a t-shirt  thought tossed a beige sweater and some brown leather pants onto Paul.

"Whats all this?" Paul asked, looking down.  "Looks bloody tacky.  Doesnt look very comfortable either."

John smiled deeply into his face, checking out his ass.  "But it sure makes me feel better.  Anyway, I dressed up for you."

"Thank Christ," Ringo said, as the other two joined him and George as they looked the other way.  "We thought we were going to have to hose down the both of you."

John pinched Richs ass.  "We shouldve made you two get naked instead.  Its our world here.  No one has a dress code."

"Some of us prefer one," Ringo said, slapping at his hand.  "And I enjoy clothing."

"If were all done with Beatles Wear Daily," George said, "can we progress to Pauls next ceremony?"

Paul had started to come out of his warm cocoon lovers mind into the open airall the more lovely given the context of the moments before.  They were standing at an overlook to a long, unfolding land  stretching out in every direction.

"This is our home, Paul," George explained.

John walked up behind Macca, enfolding him like a sweater.  John pointed across the vista.  "Thats from the top.  We have innumerable gardens, of various sorts.  Rose gardens, cactus gardens, winter gardens, botanical gardens"

There lay a blue-green natural rainforest that stretched out in every direction.  Each path to the forest spun out into its own spiral arm of fronds and trees and moss.  The general design was a center with arms reaching up and away.  Paul immediately grasped the intention.

"Its the octopus garden!" he said, grinning.  "This is great."

"And theres our old friend," John said, smiling meaningfully down at Paul.  He pointed at a mosaic tile design with a lime-green waving octopus.  

Paul touched one of the hands around his shoulders.  "So it is.  Still wears his color well."

"Tis that he does."  John indicated a deeper skyline.  In the distance, a yellow city was obvious in a secondary light.  John smiled down at him.  "Thats Pepperland."

"Like Sergeant Pepper?"

"No, Macca, like Jalapeno pepper."  John nibbled at the back of his ear.  "Hot and spicy as far as the eye can see, to signify our burning love."

"Yes, Paul," George said, adding toward John, "as in Sergeant Pepper.  Its all out there waiting for us to discover."

"And whats that up there?" Paul asked, pointing to a bright mix of colors of a Disney kind in another direction.  

"Thats what we call Cartoon City.  We cant quite figure it, but John thinks it may have something to do with that horrific animated series they did with us."

"The one where I looked like a demonic chipmunk?" Paul asked, with a thick twist of frown.

"You talk," Ringo said.  "My nose looked like it was shipped to a separate county."

"At least you two didnt sound like Dudley Do-Right," John said.  "I kept expecting to see Snidely Whiplash."

Paul nodded toward another horizon.  "And in that direction, over there, that should be Liverpool."

"Good call, puddin," John said, drawing close to his face.  "Whatever made you deduce that with your Poirot-like powers of perception?"

"The sign," Paul said, pointing to one in the distance, "its the turn-off notice toward Merseyside, so Liverpool is that way."  

George nodded.  "In every direction, a whole new land for us to discover togetheror rediscover.  So many vistas and infinite time to do it in.  And no pointy, gawking people all wanting something from us."

"That is paradise," Paul said.

"See," Ringo said, "I told you.   And now, my friend, its time for the second portion of our three-part ceremony.  George gets the first verseas usual"  

George slung a sharp smile at Rich.  He looked again at Paul.  "Second of three stages.  Last time, this time, and one more ahead of us.  When we go on and formalize things completely tomorrow, Paul, it will be us beyond time.  The four of us.  No walls, no go-betweens, no representatives using us against each other.  Just us, like it used to be in the very beginning, only the bond will be even deeper."  George gestured toward Ringo.    

"Its an exchange of light mass," Rich went on.  "Our bodies are shaped by the resonance from our spirits, and so while we keep our personal patterns because of the resonance, we exchange the vibratory units that make it up.  That way we stay in tune as a unit.  We three have already done that.  Your time is now."

Paul nodded again.  He was moved to swallow deeply, to clear his voice of shadows. "Thats beautiful.  And yes, wondrous.  I understand."

George smiled.  "If you dont feel you want to go through this, it stops.  Were going to give you a way to stop it for you.  At that point, if you make that decision, youll be transported into paradise.  Well understand and love you forever anyway."  He waited a moment.  "We go forward?"

Paul laughed a little at the question.  He said softly, "There was never any consideration otherwise."  

"Excellent.  And now is when John gives you the key," George said.  

John looked askance.  "What key?"

"You know very well what key.  Hand it to him.  Go ahead.  Its your job, you know - youre the leader."

"Some of us should remember that, eh?"  John reluctantly removed a square, golden star shape from his pocket.  He handed it to Paul, forcing himself to muddle through the words.  "If at any point and for whatever reason you cannot fulfill your roll as Miss America"

"John," said George and Ringo.

"All right, all right.  This is the way to Paradise such as was mentioned beforeprattle, prattle.  Its our act of selflessness for your sakeprattle, prattle.  To empower you to return to the celestial zoneaka paradiseprattle, prattleif youd rather not go forward with the finalizationprattle, prattle."

"Ah, you woo me with pretty poetry again, John."  Macca pocketed the key.  "Okay, what next?"  

"No need to give it to me, John," Lennon said, hiking his voice a notch.  "I wont need to have it with me, John."

"Well, I wont," Paul said.  "But Im supposed to have it, so Ill have it.  It was important enough that those pirate chaps seemed to fancy it.  Ive a mind to hang on to such things of tangible value."

"Theres a major revelation for us," John said.  "Those booty bandits fancy everything.  Im not plannin on leavin you lyin around either, Paulie.  All right, its given, happy Mahaharrison?"

"Beyond the scope of human words," George replied.  

Ringo nudged Paul.  "Youre going to like this part of it."

"Which part of it?"

George pointed at his canines.  "You cut your baby teeth.  You know your V-word teeth."  He pointed toward John.  "And guess which Illustrious Master Vampire you get to bite first."

Paul grinned.  "I am going to like this part."

"See, you lads didnt believe me, but I told you Paul was very kinky," John added.  "Okay, Paul, in a second youll get some teething pain.  Its only a flash of a second, but thats what it is, FYI."

"Youch!" Paul said, tapping his lips.

"There ya go, all finished.  Whos my big boy?"  John finally moved to stand before the other half of his sky.  He made a dramatic gesture, swept back his hair and presented throat.  "You only get one crack at this neck, Prudence, so live it for a lifetime." 

Macca was still massaging his jaw a little, moistening his mouth.  "Ill put it in me keepsake book, John, how would that be?" Paul couldnt hide the smile upon his face.  "I like this image."

John peered back at him in secret mischief.  "Bet you wish you had those fangs when we were in the back seat of the limo."

"Stop being a nit or Ill use them on it now, wont I?"

"And they wonder how we keep our love alive."  John turned his head a little more to the side.  "Go on then.  Munch away.  At my neck."

"My pleasure."

"Just try not to deafen me with your yummy sounds."

Ringo shook his head.  "We really have to work on your poor self-image, John."

Paul ran his thumb inside his mouth over his teeth.  He leaned across John to consider his throat.  "How do I go about doing this, eh?"

"Give in to your urge, follow your bliss, go with gusto, pedal to the metal, and all that gab," Ringo said.  "Sometimes it helps to smack the region a little, to get the blood source to the surface.  Enjoy yourself."  

"Watch it, Sir Cute One," John said.  

"Right when you get your hand off my ass, John, so I can concentrate."

"Really, Macca.  Hows an amoral immortal to resist?  Anyway, I thought you wanted my sweet blood pumping.  Very well."  

"Just bite?" Paul asked, "Like Im munchin a sandwich?"

"Think big," John said, "As when youre  "

"Please!"  Ringo said.  "John, spare us the salacious metaphor.  Theres a lady present."  He nodded in mock chivalry toward Paul.  

John leaned up enough to smirk back.  "Poor little Richies jealous.  And anyway, its a simile.  Innit, Paul?"

Paul glanced over at Ringo, then back to John.  "Can we get back to the matter at hand, eh?"

"Yes, yes," John said.  "Okay, just lick the area a littleor a lot, as you preferas I prefer really.  Then go by instinct where youre compelled.  Its the straw concept.  Same as in the old world."

"And Im not going to have a gag reflex problem, because its blood.particularly yours, I mean?"

John smiled sinisterly.  "Not in the least, love."

"Very well, spot on, cheerio, jolly what, its vampire time."  Paul slithered his tongue over Johns major artery, trying to ignore the roguish throaty giggle it was eliciting, but thoroughly unable to do so.  Paul pinched the thick of Johns belly in reply.  "Its hard enough here without you making me laugh, Lennon."

"Go ahead, just bite me, Macca.  You know youve wanted to do that for twenty-five fuckin years."

"We need no vampire to tell us this, Prince Johnny," Paul said.

At last, having drawn the deepest of breaths, Paul tried for a nibble.  And out of some deep reservoir that indexed his essence amid all things in time and space, something primordial took hold.  Something that was itself the unity already formed of one man to the other assumed control to release the bond of blood.  

Johns moan was deep, and loud, and long.  There was no hint of humor to it  only of a primal conduit to something vast and visceral.  His hand reached up to claim Pauls head and hold it firmly there.  

It would have been effortless to go on and onit would have been the simple tide of nature but when John tapped his shoulder, Paul instantly broke free.  

"Thats your fit of the intoxicating bubbly for today  " John said.

Ringo looked from one man to the other and then onto George.  "Nobodys peeved at anyone right now?  No need to vent this moment?"

The other three men shook their heads.  

Ringo continued, "That was easy, we can finish.  I warn you, though, if anybodys holding back, you get a nasty headache afterwards.  That goes double for you, passive-aggressive Paulie."

John swatted Maccas leather backside.  "Meaning, honest answer."

"Yeah, Im fine, Im fine.  Answering honestly."

"Good.  If you had been where you were earlier, you two, our other option would be to find a boxing ring somewhere and have the two of you punch it out, fight club style."

John flipped Macca a teasing look that led to Pauls widest smile.  "Duke it out with Macca?   We tried that twice.  Both times we ended up screwin instead.  If we had ever tried to have a pub brawl, back in that world, wed have ended up with public indecency charges."

"Were in the thick of the too much information zone again, John," Ringo said, reaching into the air for a plastic strip of something that looked like a complicated dried fruit strip.  "Paul, this is the capper for part number two.  This is the combined blood plasmic samples from me and George for you to imbibe.  We were going to try it the more fun and sensual way, but were not taking any chances today with the Alpha Beatle over here.  Especially today.  We can do the more fun stuff another daysexual dominance duly noted, John.  Lets just get that out of the way."

Paul considered the strippy thing once it was handed to him.  He peeled the substance away from its coating, and then popped it in his mouth.  "You guys taste good together."

"The taste sensations that are sweeping the nation," John said.  

Paul swallowed at last.  "Okay, that wasnt so bad.  What now?"

As he said this, the soft radiance of his skin brightened into golden glow.  "Whoa, here we go, another notch toward matching John Lennons own brilliance."

"Too late," John said from behind with a shy smile he only half showed to Paul.  "Come along then, since youre 2/3rds of the way home, weve something else terrific to show you.  It happens down inside our own little grotto."






"We each get our own rooms," Ringo explained.  "George and mine are both on that side, yours and Johns are both on this side.  Some John who shall remain nameless used to go in yours and gaze mournfully into your soul before you came here."

"The same one who decorated it for me?" Paul asked, smiling over at John with the question.  Macca moved through the indicated archway that opened for their access.  It looks a little bleak and barren in here so far."

It was a warm summer brown on gray: clean and wood and cozy.  

Ringo went on, "No one decorated it for you; it decorates itself to suit you.  Once youre all logged in to the Mater, after tomorrows ceremony, itll complete itself.  For right now, its the colors youre feelingand the people about whom youre thinking."  Ringo pointed toward hologram portraits, including ones of Ringo and George, and a bigger one of John.  "You can tell who has prominence by that shrine-sized representation of John Lennon hanging in beatific glory off the center walldoubtless subtly marred by the indentation where youve furiously rammed your head into the center over the years."

"Ouch," Paul said.  "Felt that one.  Think it came from the other direction, though.  You okay, Rich?"

"Im fine, Im fine.  Lets press on with the discovery process, shall we?  Next up, the sacred room of your anointed soul mate."

John smiled.  "That would be me."

George led the way into Johns room.  It was bright red and soft blue and floating with big cloud-like couches: simple but not austere, buoyant but not flighty.  It was as uncomplicated and clear as the man himself: a boy who had matured, but never entirely grew up.  Gone was the anger it had worn in the old world; it was replaced by a newer, equally energized, but peaceful speed of light.  His wall of faces included the ones on Paulsand Maccas portrait here equaled the immensity of the John portrait in Pauls.

"At least we know the worship goes two ways," Ringo said.  

"This is cool!" Paul said, looking around, his mouth open in awe.  "But why is your room so fine and abstract and mine is all kitten-sweet and soft?"

"Because of who we are, ducks," John said.

"I am not soft, John."

George looked to Ringo.  "Here we go."

"Im not!  Or sweet.  Or epicene.  Or any of your other usual lines of prattle.  I was the abstract one first, Lennon."

The other three men rolled their gazes skyward as if in perfect synchrony.  "Not that again," Lennon groaned.  

Paul thumped his own chest.  "I belonged to the Process, John."

John smirked.  "So you say."

"Ringo, tell him."

Ringo looked back from his assessment of anything in the room outside this argument before him.  "Paul belonged to the Process, John."  He looked back at Paul.  "You know he knows that already.  Hes just pestering you.  If you ignored such provocations, hed stop making them, but he knows he can get a rise out of you so he does."

"I belonged to the Keeley Road Dungeon Group, John," Paul pressed on, focused on his eyes.  A daring glint sparked up Pauls countenance.  "Ya, huh?  Right?  Remember?  The Keeley Dungeon.  Most outr place in Europeask anyone from the 60s.  You were out in the burbs where the barristers prowl and I was in the Westminster Vanguard of the Avant-garde.  That was me.  You were Mr. Suburbanity."

"Yes, sugar sweetums, whatever you say."

"You see, theres justice for you.  Everybody thinks Im the puffy god of confections, just because I got married and had kids.  You get married and have a son and youre the Jesus Christ of Central Park West.  Mr. Transcendent Domesticity in the flesh."

John stuck his tongue out.  "Thought I was Mr. Suburbanity."

"I cant believe weve got another day of this," George groaned.  "I know itll never truly stop with these two, but I thought the sex would take out some of the tension.  Theyre back just as hard for each other as ever."

"I told you we should have had just the one," Ringo said.  "But no, you said hed be lonely and needed a companion."

Paul was broadcasting wounded hurt and John was replying with a big smirking leer.  

"I knew Timothy Leary before you did.  I knew your woman before you did!" Paul said.  "I was thought of as quite the emergent abstract visual artist.  I had art debuts with important gallery owners."

"Queer gallery owners who wanted to prod your shapely virgin behind," John said.  "Besides, you know what an abstract artist is  an artist who cant draw but does anyway."

Paul tossed him a hard-edged glare, and then looked back toward Ringo.  "Listen to him, nothing I do is ever because Im good enough, its because Im handsomeor because someone who likes me is dumb or dotty or strange."

"Youre little girl pretty," John said.  "Im handsome."

"Thats another thing, Im sick of you insulting me manhood."

"As if I am the only one who does, Pauline, you vision of testosterone, you."

"I do all right for myself!"

"Look at that little upturned nose.  Those flirty lashes.  Such a pretty girl."

"Shut up."

John stuck his tongue out.  "You shut up."

"No, you shut up."

Ringo stomped his foot hard.  "If you both dont shut up, Ill have to pull the bloody car over and when I do, gentlemen, fur will fly."

"You dont respect me, John, thats the worst of it."

John yanked down a floating couch so he might cast himself across it.  He reached out to pluck for a piece of Paul.  "I dont want respect, particularly from you.  I want you to disrespect me as much as physically possible.  Now get over here so I can play with your lovely fun parts."

"John!" Paul said.  "Honestly."

"Okay, all right, Paulo Picasso, you were a big, spooky, avant-garde artist of great renown whom the whole world loved before time.  Now get over here, so I can play with your lovely fun parts."

Harrison leaned across to look at Paul, whose back was turned determinedly toward John.  "Hes giggling, you know," George reported.

"Thanks for ratting me out, old friend."

"Youre welcome."

Pauls chuckle cracked through to the surface.  "John, you drive me fuckin dotty."

"Ooooh, you know you drive me crazy naughty when you get fuckin dotty."  John finally bagged Pauls shoulder and hauled him backward into his arms within the couch.  "Come on, Paulie, surrender.  Times a-wastin.  We got through the ceremony stuff; lets go back to our previous preoccupation.  Where were we?  Oh, yeah"

"Do you ever stop rutting, you swine?" Paul asked, having resigned himself to the arms that encompassed him.

"Silly Macca, you know the answer to that question," John said, waving away Pauls shirt.  "Of course I dont around you, and neither do you where Im concerned."  John reached for the warm thickness beneath Pauls denim fly.  "Ive a notion thats not a plantain in your pocket."

"John!" he said, trying to be serious before his face shook into laughter again.

"Cmon, surrender.  Capitulate."  He poked at his ribs.  "Yield, yield, yield.  You know you want to."

"Johnny!" he said once more, one last act of resistance before he suddenly gave in to a battle of two mouths for control of the other.  The next sounds from Paul were sharp and loud but formless, drawn out of him rather than put forth

"There they go again," George said.

"You know, youd think their parts would get sore after awhile."

"Probably the regenerative capacities of this worlds skin, dont you think?"

"Either that or theyve built up microscopic calluses or something."

"That sort of thing possible?" George said, suddenly struck behind the head with a wildly aimed pillow.  He turned around toward the hurler.  "What was that for?"

"For sporadic, non-contextual conversation.  Take the hint, gentlemen.  If you two dont want to join in then go to your own rooms while I bugger Paul in mine."

"Oh," Ringo said, "certainly, John.  Forgive us for standing in our own house.  What were we thinking?"

"Cmon, Rich," George said, leading the way.  "Lets leave the passion pit to the enemy combatants."

A circular staircase descended from the ceiling for their use, and then once they had walked up, it as quickly rose up and away.

"I think we hurt their feelings," Paul said, leaning up a little to stare after them.

"You think so?"

"As it happens, yes.  Looks like we need to give them the talk"

"Right now?" John whined.

"Yes."  Paul admitted a pout.  "Now."

John groaned sadly, rolling off and away.  "All right, lets throw some cold water on and go after them.  You take the Quiet One, Ill take the Funny One."







The sound of the circular staircase descending was soon followed by a soft, musical contracting noise.  As the staircase clicked up, it jolted its occupant who nearly stumbled off the bottom step and into the room.  

"Guess Ill get accustomed to this stuff eventually," Paul said, staring back at the ascended staircase like the impossible contraption it was to him.  Then he turned his attentions to the room around hima new room, this.  It was a soft, vibrant gentle blueness around an ascending path: a mint-green wall-scaled mist obscuring what above him would have been a mountain.  Through it all, a narrow, winding path of water flowed to the eastern wall and was encompassed by a vision of Bengal.  This river looked like the Ganges.  In fact, if Paul hadnt been aware hed just walked into a room in a house, hed have thought it was the bloody River Ganges.  If George Harrison had been a room, he would be this one.

"Sorry, am I interrupting something vital?" Paul asked.

Georges eyes were shut, but he smiled.  "Since when has that ever stopped you?"

"Oh, sorry.   I can, well, you know, just wait over here till  "

"Paul," George said, laughing.  He shook his head in amazement.  "Ive known you forever.  When will you be comfortable in your own skin?  Youve as much right to be around me as my feet."

"Oh, all right then.  Ill just -- "  He looked around.

George nodded toward a chair that instantly appeared.  "There you go.  Bring you down to my level a little.  So, what happened to you and John and your sofa wrestling?"

Paul looked shy about it.  "Well get back to it.  We just thought perhaps wed hurt your feelings, so we decided we should check in first with you lads."

"And you drew the quiet one," George said.

"Yeah, I did.  Youre my oldest friend, you know."  Paul sat down, trying a smile that somehow got lost between there and a memory.  

"Id like to think."

"What do you mean youd like to think?  Of course you are.  Ive known my brother longer but only slightly.  And you never busted me Fats Waller record."

"No, I just scratched your Skittle Boys Extra LP, volume one."

Macca shrugged, smiled.  "You bought me another of them.  Im still waitin on the one from my brother."  Paul leaned forward in his direction.  "You know, that all seems like a thousand years, but yet as if no time at all has passed, you know?  And yet I cant even conceive of not knowing you.  Its beyond my ability to even consider."

"I know."  George grinned his understanding.  "But what is funny is I can still recall the bus that morning."

"Yeah!  Me, too!   I mean, I can bring myself back there to that moment in my head and remember the smell of it even.  What it was like in the morning, bloody cold, and how nice it was to get on early to sit near the motor housing where it got warm."

George smiled.  "I remember.  You were sitting in that very seat.  There was a space beside you and you looked friendly, so I asked if that place was being reserved.  You said no.  I sat down.  And nothing was ever the same, for either of us.  For anyone, for that matter."

Paul smiled back.  "Its so oddthe way our old lives became so different  like entirely other lives.  And yet I can even remember the smells from that morning.  I wonder if either of us had a clue what wretched trouble I was getting you into."

"Funny, I always sort of thought we got each other into trouble.  Welcome to the wheel of karma that is cosmic justice."

"Long may it ride," Paul said, shaking his head at the memory.  "Did you ever wonder what might have happened if youd been ill that morning or if Id have remembered to wear a second sweater?  Or if Id been late to the bus and had to sit elsewhere.  Ive often, often thought of it.  You might have walked right past me and neither of us would have realized a thing."

George laughed gently.  He looked up at his beloved friend with kindly understanding eyes.  "Paul, Paul, Paul"

"What?"

"Youre such an existentialist." George shook his head.  "That would never have happened.  Our meeting was as destined for that day as the sunrise on that morning."

"You think?"

George nodded, looking around for patience.  "No, I know.  I mean, its obviousespecially now.  You were always headed toward me; I was always headed toward you, the same thing with the lads and the both of us."  

Paul shifted back in his chair.  He was studying his hands, as he had in the days of the old world when he was uncertain.  "Id like to think so."

"Macca, its still a mystery to me how you could be so plugged in and so walled up at the same time.   Remember the song Mary Traverse dedicated to us at the AIDS benefit concert.  The one the three of us attended after Anthology came out?"

Paul nodded.  "Like the First Time?"

"Thats the one.  Fairly standard pop stuff, but it always had that line that struck me right with the four of us  were a song that must be sung together.  I think thats just the way it is.  Were none of us as good as when were with the other three.  Thats why Mary sang it that night because everyone else sees it, too."

Pauls small smile lifted into a timid grin.  "You said something before I was wonderingI mean, I was thinking to ask you about."

"And that is?" George asked, arising from the floor.  "Want tea?"

"Thanks, no.  Be my guest, though."

"I already was," George said, laughing as he pulled a steaming cup from the air.  He considered the item in his hand, sipped from it and set it away on a table to his side.  "Im waiting for some expansion on your comment however."

Paul shrugged, his face flushing but his voice staying steady and strong.  "Youve saidbeforeyou had crushes on John and me.  Was that true?"

"No," George said, shaking his head.  But then he laughed at himself and smiled.  "Ringo said I had crushes.  I know it was a lot more than that.  And its the same thing on Richies side, though hed never admit it short of pain or duress."

Pauls stare softened as his eyes grew large.  "Why didnt you say something before now?  Either of you?  John and I will always be first and foremost all infinitely tangled up in each other, you know that.  But we could have worked something out for everyone.  Its not like we all havent had, you know, experiences around each other.  We dont want you two feeling set aside.  You know we love you."

George smiled.  "Tell you a story to illustrate my point.  I know youve been to Teotihuacn.  Have you ever been past there, through the Avenue of the Dead to the Aztec pyramid plaza?"

Paul shrugged, fighting to follow the plot.  "Its possible I might have done.  I dont recall."

"Well, I have been there.  Ive been all the way up the fuckin Avenue of the Dead, up and around the Pyramid of the Moon, and through all the more modern Palacios, all of them lovely.   But Ive never made it through the best and biggest draw of all - the Pyramid of the Sun.  And do you know why, Paul?"

He shrugged again.  "No."

"Because no matter how perfect and beautiful it ishow utterly emotionally and spiritually compelling it would be to bask in its splendor and gloryits still 242 ruddy steps to the top.  I didnt think my knees could stand the climb."

Paul laughed, moving forward again.  "Are we that hard to circumnavigate?"

"Apart, yes.  Together, youre bloody impossible.  Its because you love each other so much that everyone else just gets blown out of the way.  Its always been that way.  I mean, when you met John, you and I were best friends.  The day after you met John, you were still my best friend, but I wasnt yours anymore.  I knew that.  It was always obvious.  It was just the way it was."

"Who is being the existentialist now?  Thats not so.  In fact, John told me once he wasnt my best friend, and hes right."

"Please"

"No, really.  Hes something elsesomething differentsomething none of us understood at the time.  You were my best friend.  And you still are, though Richies a damned close second.  But I think its in us all to be more than that if you want us to be.  And I think it would be even more beautiful than anything in this world youve seen already."

"What?  And come in second to John again?  And second to you with him?  No, thanks."

"You shouldnt see it in that way."

"No  but frankly, Id rather be what I am now.  Less complicated.  Anyway, that kind of constellation is still rather unusual, even for a bohemian fellow such as me."

"So, youll just sit it out on the sidelines, will you?  Not make the climb?  Do the Zen thing?"  Paul cast a look again around the room.  "Thats my issue with eastern mysticism.  I mean, Ive always liked a lot of it; it has its strengths and weaknesses, as does everything.  You can stay where you are, certain of the relative rightness of your actions in the grand and glorious scheme of things.  You never have to wonder if youre missing something so rare and beautiful; its worth the 242 ruddy steps to the top."  

George looked at him a little crossly.  "Why dont you have this talk with Rich?"

Paul grinned with teasing challenge.  "What do you think Johns doing now?"

George sipped again from his summoned tea.  He shrugged a little.  "Well see what he has to say.  Ill consider it."

Macca flagged his hand over the circular staircase that immediately popped across for his use.  "No you wont," Paul said with gloomy finality, just as he descended from the room through the floor.

To steady his thoughts, George tried to see himself within the tea cupped in his hands.  It was a moment or two before his sigh finally made its own way into sound.

***


John had been slinging the parsley at the back of Richs head for the better part of an hour.   And Ringo continued to ignore him.

"Beatleland to Ringo," Lennon said.  "Richie, come in, this is Beatleland talking.  Your old friend John.  Kindly say something before I kick your silly backside around your even sillier room."

"Something," Ringo spat back, looked away.  "That was Georges song."

But he had only said anything because he saw Johns reinforcements descending into Ringos room.  Paul nearly tripped off the staircase as the bugger stopped short of the floor.  

Macca corrected his balance, looking around.  "Why is there this debris field of restaurant garnish around you?" Paul asked, considering the piling parsley at hand.

"Ask your lover the Galloping Gourmet back there.  Hes the one with the greenery fetish."

"So I see."  Paul picked up several sprigs of the vegetation and looked around for a trash receptacle.  "Wheres the  "

"Just toss it, Paul," Ringo said, articulating the process with his hand.

"Oh," Macca said, "tossing it"  to watch it vanish in mid-air.  "Thank you," he called up to the Mater.

"No need to thank it, Paul.  Were told that is its Tao," Ringo said.  "Were helping it evolve in the process."

Paul nodded, glancing around at the room in which they were.  It was big and intricate, soft autumn in color, with things in various little cool compartments, all secreted carefully away from each other.  In the midst, a nice chair, a good book, an eternally hot pot of coffee and a small stuffed replica of the little Boxer dog that the boy named Richie had loved profoundly.

"This is your room?" Paul asked, trying to act cool in such a warm little place.

"No, its Johns again; cant you tell by its subtle humor and refined good taste?" Ringo said, frowning fully a moment more.  "Yes, its my room, Paul."

"I like this room, but then I like you."

"Why, I like you, too, Paul.  Thank you."

"Dont be snippy, Ring, you know what I mean."

Ringo nodded contritely, snapping up a chair for him.  "I know.  And have a seat.  Youre a welcome distraction from the green man back there."

"Ringos got a boyfriend," John sang in the background.  "And they called it Puppy Love.  Sing along, Paul, youll know this one -- "

"Shut the fuck up, John, will you?" Ringo finally snapped back at him. "My god, its incessant, his blathering.  How in the blue flippin blazes do you deal with it, Paul?"

"Because I know what it feels like to live without it," Paul said simply.

Ringo was stung silent.  Shook his head for a moment.  Finally, he nodded.  "Sorry.  Sometimes I forget."

"Classic McCartney rhetorical TKO," John said.  "And the crowd goes wild."

"Johnny," Paul looked at him tenderly to plead their common case.  "Hush yourself and help me with this here or Ill lock you in the closet.  Again."

"Ooooh, kinky," John said, but conceded with a gesture.  He crawled across the short span to Ringos side.  He poked his nose up into Richs face.  "Cmon, Richie, dont be glum.  You know we love our drummer boy.  Whos our favorite Caveman?  Stop playing hard to get and give us both a big totty kiss."

"Honestly, John," Ringo said, simply.  He stood up and looked around at both of them.  "Theres no room for anyone else in your tandem universe.  Look, I realize this is your time for coming to terms, and that your union is very special, but the fact of the matter is your fuckin hearts blot out the sun.  Thats our sun, too, you know, Georges and mine.  Weve a right to a bit of it."

"More than a bit, Rich," John said.  "And if youd been paying attention, you might have noticed me and Paul have been trying to gently tug both of you into our solar orbit, if you know what I mean."

"Why, no, John, Im a simple little fellow.  How could I know a thing like that?"

"No need to get bitchy, Richie.  Answer the fuckin question."

"Answer it, John?  All right, I will answer it.  If we were pulled into your gravity, Planet LennonMcCartney, we would surely be crushed into tiny fragments of far-flung space debris."

"Thats a convenient excuse," John said.

"Which means?"

"Which means youre frightened, Rich," John said, pointedly.  He leaned into Ringos face.  "Fine, thats understandable.  Its a big and major step.  But your particular problem is that the four of us finally getting together would take away your whole reason for being."   

"Make your point or leave it, John."

"Fine.  Here it comes.  I mean, how could you still feel unloved when its your turn, eh?"

"My turn?"

"Your turn in the middle, while the three of us are making hot, nasty love to you."

Ringos bottom lip quivered a second then tightened in response.  "You bastard," he said.

"With John and the truth, our feelings just have to get out of the way," Paul said to him, his eyes full of promises and regrets.  "Well see you later, Rich.  Well be outside for when you want to talk to us like adults."






John picked up the conversation at the edge of his own thoughts, when their steps had finally come upon a good place to stand.  The men were looking upon an unfolding plum-black sky and its sparkling puzzle of stars.  "Id like to get back to the subject of myself for a moment," John said.

Paul chuckled.  "Theres an unnatural act."

"Hush, you.  Its a question about you actually."

"Well, okay, then, thats better."

"Beforein the old lifedid I make you feel like a guilty secret?  Like you somehow came in second?"

Paul thought about it a moment and nodded.  "Sometimes."

"You werent, you know.  And you didnt.   We were just broken in two and I couldnt find myself.  Thats why I acted as I did.  Couldnt connect my head and heartsame old song."

"We talked all that through," Paul said.  "Lets not have it again."

"George made me think about all that anew, though.  As did what just happened.  Its my contemplativeness, I hasten to add, which is the only reason I havent just hauled you into my room and started humping you furiously and horizontally.  Yet, I mean."  

That triggered a giggle fit Paul tried to hide by looking away.  "You frightened me, for a moment there I thought youd gone all squishy on me."

John leaned his head against Pauls shoulder.  "Only for a moment."

Paul considered the miracle on his shoulder.  He kissed his forehead.  "You know, I didnt know it was possible to be this happy.  I mean, God, not this happy.  Not wildly, no flippin worries or regrets in the whole bloody damned world happy."

"Good, old sensibly English happy, but not really happy," John said.

Paul slapped at his head playfully.  "You know what I mean.  I know you do."

"Of course.  Sweet thing is you dont even know how happy that youre going to be.  Theres only beauty on this side of the night, Paulo Picasso."

"You know, young man," Paul said, his eyes gently shining, "youre very gifted with your turn of phrase.  You could find gainful employment in the musical composition trade."

"You think so?  Despite the fact I cant read a spot of music?"

"That true?  Oh, well, me neither.  Guess that finishes us, eh?"

"I guess.  Ah well, I hear guitar bands are goin out of fashion anyway."

"Just as well.  Wed have gotten dragged down into the carnal and intemperate lifestyle of the professional musician."

"Really?  Well, on second thought"

Paul broke first toward a laugh.  "Dangerous, wanton lad, you.   Mrs. Donnelly at Art School said youd be a peril to my Christian character."

John joined him at the laugh.  "Old witch had no bloody idea how much, did she?"  

"God, I hope not."  Paul gestured to the sky and the horizon.  "Its so pretty at night herewherever here is"

"We didnt really know where the old universe was either, did we?"

"Good point, that.    Which reminds me, how come it never follows a pattern of a day here?  Its night, then its night, then its afternoon and morning again"

"Its whatever time of day we want it to be, isnt it?  Sort of like switching up the house lights or shutting em down."   He nodded toward the sky with a haunted smile.  "Do you remember still the falling stars that like swift horses through the heavens raced?"

"Rainer Maria Rilke," Paul said.  "And regards the falling stars, you used to like that when we were kids, too."

John snapped his fingers, looking above them.  "Mater, please, would you give us the night sky as seen from the River Mersey?  The sky from down on Water, and over near Newquay and Strand?  Then dampen out the city lights so we can see the shooting stars please?"

"Hard to see them, near our village," Paul remembered his own words.  "Beautiful, what we could see of them, John and me."

John smiled at the words set in memoryfor which he grappled a bit harder than had Paul.  "Butwe really didnt grasp their meaningtheir beautiful and magic meaning till the city lights unsighted us no more.  Free verse, some minor poet, 1965.  Gosh, I wonder what happened that year, eh?"

Paul chuckled with a shrug.  "Nothing much.  Northumberland Poetic Journal however did smite me with relish over the unsighted thing in there."

"A dangerous choice, but I liked it."  He elbowed him.  "Speaking of being smitten, its the only poem you ever wrote about medirectly at least."

"Not true.  Youre mentioned in another one."

"Yeah, but you called me your best friend in it.  Theres a flimsy euphemism for you."

"What was I to do?  Out us right there in the New York Times Book Review section?"

"Would have been very literary.  And at that, theyd never have noticed.  They never noticed with you and me.  We could have written filthy paens to our love and they wouldnt have had a clue.  But let them pick up the scent of me scratching poor old Stuarts buttcheeks and suddenly he and I are rippin poofters of the highest order."

"Living is easy with eyes closed," Paul said.

John smiled.  "What sort of lunatic wrote that, eh?"

"Pardon me?  I happen to fancy that lunatics writing."

"Yes, well, thats due to your fanatical lust for his beautiful, god-like body, isnt it?  And also in that you know him better than God does.  Just like he knows you."  John smiled the meaning to his words.  "Let that comprise a direct response to your musical rhetorical question to me in that beautiful song you wrote."

"Thank you," Paul said softly, smiling.  "Speaking of which, mind if I ask an odd question?  I always wondered. I mean, several timesback in the old life I thoughtdespite my native skepticismmaybe you tried to contact me"

"Thats because I did.  Contact you.  No maybe about it."  

Paul nodded deeply and didnt stop for a long moment.  "In my room that time.  Was that you thatappeared?"

"In your room?  No."  John shook his head.  "It was me old Auntie.  Of course it was me."

Paul shook his head, laughing again.  "Well, I did read something that suggested it might have been a hypnopompic image."

"Hypnopompic, my fuckin ass.  It was me.  Figure it out, I mean, why was it always a dead guy appearin?  Why not somebodys fuckin accountant down the bloody street or something if it was just some brain fart nonsense on wakin up?  Human beings are fuckin mad.  We give them voices on their tapes, we give them photo and video messages, we even manage to put in a personal appearance or twoand its never the voices or the images of the living people, but only the fuckin dead every single bloody timeand human beings stand around asking, Is there a life after this one?  I want to scream, Well, what the fuck do you think, Einstein?  Its not fuckin musical theatre were doin here.  Work with us."

Paul couldnt stop the giggle from firing up again.  "Okay, I take your point.  Is it safe to ask if that was you who messed with lights and sounds and things on occasion?"

"Yes, yes, yes.  I tried to send you a little message every day.  Especially after you were doing your later songs.  By the wayI grudgingly admitI loved all of them.  Youre at your best when you write about me.  Especially, you know that one."

Paul grinned shyly.  "Thought you might like that one."

"Yeah."  John looked upward again in the direction of the stars.   "If only we had had it to listen to back when it all happened.  Like you said, and like poor, old Phil told us long ago, if wed have just stayed calm, focused, and together, it would have worked out.  But back then, we werent and we didnt and it didnt.  And we let everyone but you and me take the blame."

Paul sighed his agreement.  "Our wives you mean?"

John nodded.  "Our wives.  Its always the poor women who pay for our short-sightedness it seems.  Everybody blamed them for what was our problem."

"Yeah, but were here now."

"Thank God.  And since were bein all forthcoming and everything, I have to be honest with you about something.  It really fuckin bugs me that you kept the gate key."

"John, you know how I am.  I save everything.  Ive got the first guitar I was ever given.  Practically the first damned pound note, too.  Well, I used to have it, before my recent earthly departure.  Life is uncertaineven afterlife life.  I want to trust completely like you do.  I want to stride forward, much as you do, in full confidence of bloody solid ground.  But I cant bring myself to trust that much in anything ephemeral.  Its just not my nature.   I have to give up this tomorrow, but I think it just makes good sense to keep it, just in case.  Its my last ticket to paradise, isnt it?"  

John dropped his hold on Pauls hand, looking away.  "The classic McCartney opt-out clause.  Weve been that way before, havent we, Paul?"

"John"  Paul started to say a thousand things, but decided against them all.  Instead, he pulled the gate key from his pocket, staring down into his open palm.  "Didnt you keep your key when you first came?"

"I arrived by a different method.  I came with a wish of my heart.  Going back was never an option for me."

Pauls eyes reflected a sudden tide of sadnessdark and instantaneous regrets.  "Im sorry, John  I  "

Something bright flashed in their eyes.  

There came the screech of the sky splitting open.

At the side, John first saw the shimmering color flex into a sidelong falcate light, as if a bending sprite of summer.  He stepped up to block Pauls path to it as the streaming light resolved into a beam ship fit enough for four large men, with one of them seated at the helm.  A white field of light struck up from the beam ships narrow promenade, giving the entire crew a hazy mist.

It was the ones from earlier  the brigand from the food place.  Their leader rose up to stand astride the deck.

"Seems were a little hard of hearing among the buccaneer set these days," John said, yelling sharply through his hands.  "Thought I ordered you lot out of our world."

"We made a solid offer to your Aide-de-Campone hes not responded to yet," the head pirate said, nodding toward Macca.  "Its his property and he isnt your possession."

"You lot must be thick as you are ugly, I gave you his answer.  I said no."

"You gave us your answer.  Were askin for his."

Paul nodded toward John as he answered the brigand leader.  "My answers the same as his.  Get along now.  I must say I dont much care for your manners.  Ill do no trading with the likes of you."

The brigand leader swaggered forward to the prow.  He hunched down to bore his bad, black stare into Pauls.  "Oh, see, youre a pretty thing.  I know what youre here for youre Lennons plaything, arent you?"

"Ha!  See what happens to you now, you filthy pirate bastard," John said.  "Now hell natter on insistently till you combust."

Paul folded his arms tightly.  "Whats it to you?"

"Its to me because I know your sort and that you arent keen to playing shoddy second to the likes of him.  I have everything at my whims you know.  I have worlds to offer you."

Paul yawned visibly, looked away.  "Oh, that again."

"Dont mock so readily.  Think of it.your own world, complete with whatever you like there.  And its all yours to do and have as you would no one else to deal with.  No one elses whims to serve but your own."

"You dont know who youre talking to," John said.  "Hes had all those worlds already, bought em at a huge markdown and sold em at a profit."

Paul shook his head.  "Peddle your baubles elsewhere, Mr. Pirate, Im happy as I am."

"There must be something that would convince you to part with it.  Maybe just your freedom then."  The brigand leader freed the lock pin from his sidearm and raised it, pointing it at Paul.  "We can spin your vibratory bands around so you wouldnt be back here anytime soon."

John moved between the weapon and Paul.  "Shoot him and youd destroy the gate key.  Touch him, you surly bastard, and Ill haul out me magnifying glass, search out your manhood and snip it for a titty ring.  You cant get both of us at once.  You zap that thing, the siren will go off inside and our mates will be out here with reinforcements."

"May be, Lennon, but as nothing else seems to matter to your plaything, well have you" the brigand leader said, as a net flashed across to surround John and hoist him into the air, and into the beam ship.  "Too bad we didnt have the drag weight to seal you both, but I expect I can use you for a bargaining chip."

Paul launched upward to claim the very edge of the laser mainstay that bore up a light bag being battled against as if a trap to many angry cats.  The projection from the prow swiveled around to carry John away.  Paul barely had a hand hold until something blinding flashed in his direction and he saw the ground hurtling up to meet him.

"When youre ready to deal, McCartney, were ready to bargain."

Then the beam ship reared back as if to trepan the sky but instead bored through the pulp of this world into the chambers below.

The next thing Paul knew, four hands were pulling him away from the earth and up to the light.  He was breathing easilyseeing again.  

"They  " he managed to cough out, before he could wrap his head around the memory enough to die inside.  "They have  "

"We know," George said, fighting to summon Pauls composure.  "They stood between your link and the Mater, which knocked you out a moment.  Were tracking him on the console.  Richie almost has them now."

"But they have John  " Paul groaned out, desperately, as if no one understood.

"We know."  George looked solemnly at the other men.  "And well get him back."

Paul nodded, repeating,  "Well get him back."

"No other option," Ringo said, unfurling the portable console across the sand.  "The buggers are here.   Filthy freebooters.   For the record -- and you know Im a tolerant man -- I hate pirates.  They deserve every iota of ill repute history has ever lent them."

George located a cluster of ambiguous flashes on the screen, tapping at their signatures.  "Of all the filthy cheek  the cretins are inside our own house!"

Ringo shook his head.  "No one has manners anymore.  Especially pirates."

"Why didnt they take me instead?" Paul said, as much to himself as to the others.

"They didnt have the force to take you both as theyre short of Matrix rounds, due to their ration.  If they zapped you, theyd disable the gate key.  And they knew they couldnt take you without disabling John.  They no doubt plan to barter him for your key."

"They can have the wretched thing," Paul said, snapping a cold look down at his own pocket.  "I dont want it now."

George shook his head.  "No, it gives us a bargaining chip.

"Its not that I havent tried to like pirates," Ringo said, wheeling up the console apparatus into a tube he compressed down to a circle and slipped into a pocket.  "I have done.  But theyre just bloody unlikable."  He yanked out the print out from the pocket where hed slipped the circle.  "I mean, right there, in our own Mater complex, theyre holding him.  Our John in our complex.  Of all the nerve."

George shook his head.  "Well deal with it, Rich.  Paul, you stay here.  Youre not all uploaded yet and they can do you harm, like they did back there.  Ring and I arent vulnerable to nearly as much.  The buggers want to get between us and John and then hover him close to the Mater complex so they can interfere with his pattern and possibly scatter him.  That leaves him vulnerable so they can bargain with you.    They cant kill him, but they can mess him up a good while.  Its the same as in the old world  the forces of evil can only win when they divide us from each other.  Understand?"

"No way Im stayin here," Paul said.  "Im going with youin fact, Im set to run in that direction now.  If you make me stay here, Ill follow.  You know me, George.  You know I will.  Im not letting you leave me here alone again."

"Paul," George said, gently, trying to find some short span of words.  At last, he gestured surrender.  "Very well, but listen to reason.  Stay behind us.  Follow after Rich and me."

"Oh," Ringo said.  "And watch out for the ponies."

***


George kicked the shortcut portal drop open.  It was a straight access into the nerve center of their home.  The internal cylindrical network that bridged the upper home into the lower supportive structure looked like nothing so much as a big, bendable flexi-straw.  

"To jump down, you drop slowly," Ringo explained.  "The ground will find you and get you where you need to go."

"Drop slowly?" Paul said, squinting.  "Ground will find me?"

George nodded, shrugging to Pauls confusion.  "Its the way things work."

"Were holographic vampires who live near Pepperland.  Who am I to argue for logic?" Paul looked down into the vertical follow  what seemed like an infinite distance.   

"There are four individual doors into the place they have John.  When we all hit ground, you two each take one door," George said.  "Ill take two.  Paul, if you see anything on your end, do not walk in there first.  Hear me?  We lead, for a change.  Understood?  Ready?"

The other lads nodded.

"Good. On my word.  Drop."

Each man leapt down to the surface the tallest one George landing first, but Paul took the leap running and moved first in a single direction.

Ringo and George looked at each other, left behind in his wake.

"You didnt honestly think hed listen," Ringo said.

"Every so often I am blinded by hope."






Paul could clearly see the four pirates trailing off their beam ship floating above the floor; fading satellites to a doomed star system.  He exhaled a great volume of reliefenough to leave him flagging a moment as he saw the man in the now transparent light sack, hanging at center, was certainly John Lennon.

Paul walked up slowly around the circumference, just beyond the range of the brigand leader.  

He held up both his hands obviously and waved them, to disarm the leaders reaction if nothing else.  Paul made anxious eye contact with John and kept it fully for a second.  

"You do seem to have a rude way of conducting yourselves in somebody elses land," Paul said.  "You need to review Basic Tourism 101."

"You have what were looking for?" the leader asked.  He pointed toward the pendulum light sack.  "We have what youre looking for.  The simplest of exchanges.  You toss over the gate key and we return to you your beloved leader."

"You set him free first."  

"Seems as if we have an impasse."

"It would seem.  I dont suppose it would do me any good to point out to you that this is theft, and were supposed to be in a place of justice.  

"What you have is necessary to us."

"Something that isnt yours by right.  John belongs to us.  Theres the difference."

"I wouldnt bother quoting to em from Miss Manners, Paul," Johns voice streamed down from the light sack.  "I dont think theyll be losing sleep over their incongruent behavior anytime soon."

"To them such as us," the brigand leader said, "its only yours while you possess it.  The rest is a technicality.  And if you dont stop and toss it to us, well be forced to scramble this ones interference pattern.  After you toss it to us, well set down your leader."

From the corner of his eye, Paul saw George move up.  Peripheral vision, as in their band days, was the law of that land.  He clearly saw the man open a door and wave something out of the shadows of the overground.  

At that moment, the directional thunder of nearly four dozen hooves pounded down the floor grate and headed across the room.  Pink, lavender, yellow, blue, greenevery pastel color and a couple of warm shades thrown in, all of them bearing down on the brigand four.

The brigand leader screamed, "Its those goddamned ponies again!"  

Ringo leapt the mainstay, swung the light sack around to clear their circle, and dropped it slowly to the ground.  The light sack opened like a flower at dawn.  Paul and Ringo grabbed arms to haul him to safety.  

John free, the brigand climbed aboard the beam ship in flight but was hemmed in by the ponies as they galloped into a streaming circle around them.  They became a dizzying carousel of sound and motion, spinning to keep the brigand at its core.

At the center, a bright gold star shape appeared  a blackened hole seeking a piece of light.

Paul grasped innately what was needed.  He pitched the star-shaped gate key into the blackened void.   As if by magic (and truly by a higher science) the brigand streamed with the ponies into a veil of light and vanished up and over into a hole cut out of space.  

Ringo was staring, big-eyed, into the empty distance.  "Its taken the ponies also."

George nodded, big-eyed, witness to a miracle.  "What do you know?  It has."

"That was their karma.  Their reason for being."  Rich nodded, his face awash with awe.  "You might say there was a method to my madness.  You might say there was a higher purpose to the ponies having been here after all."

"You might say that, yes," George said.  

"Actually, Richie has a point," John said, as Paul was aiding him to his feet.  "The Mater works in mysterious ways, its wonders to perform.  We dont know that it didnt seed the ponies here waiting for this very occasion."

Ringo smiled, nodded, lifting a look teeming with satisfaction toward George.  "Thank you, John."

George looked back at Lennon.  "You do realize we wont hear the end of this now, dont you?"

"I realize that you wont hear the end of it, yes."

"So, lads."   Paul was turning around, as if searching inwardly for a right direction.  "How do we get back to our place from here?"

"Right through there," George said, pointing.

Paul squinted around, fighting for bearings.  "But we had to crawl down to go around and then walk up and over."

"So?"  George said, leading the way to "right through there", Ringo following behind him.

"So to get back wed have to  " Paul said, turning once around until his eyes fell upon John, who was grinning ambitiously at him.

"Your point being?" John asked.

Finally, Paul waved off his last dance with logic.  "Oh, never mind.  Right through there it is."






And as they entered their soft-lit common room, it had become a frame of shadows of unsuspected heights.  Above it all, a ceiling arch of angled leaded glass, its panes blue-black with the permanent hue of night.  Shafts of light sliced through the dark as if beams of magic driven out of clouds.  In their childhood in the old lifethat effect had come from the dust-caked glint of broken windows.  Now it was a phantom from the prism of a common memory.

"My god, it looks like Cill Colghan Abbey!" Paul said, staring straight up into its steepled heights.

George nodded.  "I believe this is the Maters not-so-subtle way of urging us to get on with things."  He looked to the first two, and finally to Paul.  "Ready, Macca?  For round three?"

"Round three?  You mean this is it?  The final one?  Ill be a full-fledgedwhatever we are?"

George nodded.  "If were all of a mind, I suggest we comply with the directive.  The Mater can get a bit fussy at times."

"Sort of like John you mean?"

"You know, we had noticed the similarities," Ringo said, grinning in a smirking Johns direction, to make certain he received their point.  "Okay, ceremony time again.  George gets the first round.  Take it, Georgie."

George looked upward into the distilled memory all around them and smile.  "This is it, Macca.  At the end of this, well all four be part of each other.  Once our minds touch, we can perceive of a beauty so big we cant know it unless were together.  Thats what our music was, when the four of us were in synch.  Its also called beautysymmetrygreat poetryhigh artperfect logic all that type of thing.  Another word for it is love.  Now it will be a part of our very physical character. The three of us havent been this far yet.  You boost us higher so we can touch those reaches, Paul.  We cant see all of it unless were together."

"It will forge a higher order between us, you might say," Ringo added.  "We understand it can be very frightening at its peak, just from the sheer grandeur of it."

"Every angel is terrible," Paul added.  "Like Rilke said."

"Almond Rocca?" John said, squinting in mock ignorance.

Paul smirked at him knowingly.  "Rainer Maria."

"Gezundheit."

George cleared his voice to continue.  "We have to each give our choice in free will to go forward.  We needed you, Paul, to make the ultimate objective for all of us.  We cant have it at all without you.  And so, this is your third and final step."

John stuck his face next to Pauls.  "Have you any questions, Mr. McCartney, before we advance into our lightning round?" 

Paul continued smirking back at him.  "Just cant let a tender moment slide, can you, Lennon?" 

"Not if I can filthy or funny it up in some way, no."

"Excuse me, gentlemen.  You, too, John."   George cast them a sign of feigned indignation.  "We each must choose a place to represent our bond with you.  I had decided to use the old abbey, since we spent so much time here, becoming friends, three of us at least.  We wrote our first half a song here."

Paul looked over at Ringo.  "The three of us used to investigate the old place when we had no school."

"When we sagged off, you mean," John said.

"When we sagged off I mean."  Paul corrected himself.    "It was such a lovely, old shanty.  Haunted, youd think.  Beautiful in a post-modern sort of way."

"You abstract minimalist, you," John replied.  "Thats the place we got Paul all sozzled the first time, Rich."

Paul looked uncertain.  "I dont remember that."

"Im not surprised, am I?"

"Getting back to our ceremony," George said, loudly.  "I had decided to use this as the choice of my heart.  Its a lovely, old memory for me. In this place we formed our bond, Paul, with you my first real friend.  Its to this place your mind went for comfort on the night you thought I had died.  And its this place I choose to say to you I dedicate myself to us for all time."  George reached a hand out to place first in the center of the circle, on a staff that appeared from nowhere.  "Take it, Ringo."

"Thought it would end up my turn."  Richie snapped his fingers.  Around them, Cill Coghan Abbey became a mid-priced hotel room with a sashed bay window and two swaybacked double beds.  

"Recognize this place, Paul?" Ringo smirked.

Paul smiled sadly.  "Not in the least, Im afraid."

Ringo returned his smile but brightened it up.  "No, matter.  Its like every other bloody room for our first year touring, isnt it?  But this ones special to me.  We were playing somewhere about a month after I had joined the band, and I was feeling like a big fourth wheel and then some.  You three were headed out on the town.  You asked me along of course, to be considerate."

"Now, Rich," Paul said.

"No, no, it was just a courtesy at that time.  I know.  But I didnt want to be a bigger wheel than I was, so I lied and said I was sick and Id just stay behind for the evening.  But Paul, you told me you didnt want me to be alone if I were ill, so you passed on a fun night with the lads to stay with me and play cards in that old hotel room.  You let me win, too, three hands on."

"Better not have been strip poker," John said.

"No, John, it was the game you always play.  Hearts."

John flinched outwardly.  "Ouch."

Ringo nodded.  "To go onif I mayit was that night, for the very first time, I felt like one of four and not the other one trippin along behind the three of you.  Dreary as it is, its this place you really made me feel like I belonged, Paul.  So its the place I choose to say to you I dedicate myself to us for all time."

Ringo placed his hand over Georges.  

"Thats lovelyboth of you," Paul said.  Finally, he crooked a grin toward John.  "All right, where will it be, Johnny?  Manchester Zoo?  Tower of London?  La Brea Tar Pits?"

But John was already shining at him with a soft, engaging smile.  "There are a million places for me and you, arent there?  So many first important memories that we share, the two of us."

"At least a million."

"I had to pick one, so I thought of places we became friends, places we shared pain and joy and anger and laughter, all those memories. I even considered the hotel laundry hamper."  He winked.  "You know that one.  Well tell you later, lads."

"No, thank you," George replied, grinning.

But John snapped his fingers and the room became

An endless field of strawberries, in every direction.  Somewhere on the Continent.  Somewhere in summer.  Within it all, a softly green ivy-laced cottage waiting, alone.  

"I choose to take us somewhere weve never been.  The future that should have happened.  And the fact of it is, no matter how we raged and fought against it, its always been here waiting for us."  John drew a step closer to him, within the circular glow of a moon over strawberry fields.  "It means so much to me now, at this point, I have to crack jokes just to bear it."

Paul laughed a little, blushing a bit more.  He was clearly fighting back tears.  "Why at this point now?"

"Because, Mr. McCartney, just minutes ago, I watched you surrender your freedom to save me.  Which brings to mind, how the hell did you know to do that?  I mean, flip the gate key into the vortex so theyd be transported?"

Paul shrugged.  "Dunno.  I saw the shape at the center.  It was the same shape as the gate key only it was sort of blank in there, you know.  So I thought, I just do this and Bobs your uncle."

Johns own smile softened its edges.  "To save me from the spot I was in, you didnt hesitate for a second to cast away your last ticket to paradise."

"JohnnyI told you"

"I know, I know what you told me, but when you kept the key, I must admit, I wondered.  I mean, escaping to paradise can be a very attractive option when youre dealing with the likes of me."

"But how could I escape to paradise in the first place, Mr. Lennon?"

"What do you mean, Mr. McCartney?"  

"If I had gone to paradise, you would stay here.  How could that be paradise if youre not in it?"

John tried to laugh while tears emerged, as if almost amused as much as amazed by what he was now feeling.  He reached one hand toward Pauls and another to be placed third with the others.  "My darling man, its this place I choose to say to you I dedicate myself to us for all time.  I am so damned sorry for the past.  And I am even more certain of the future.  And I love you more than you can ever know."  John glanced over at the other two.  "That goes for you as well, even though you two chickened out of the L word."

"We said it yesterday," Ringo said, guiltily.

"Oh, and everyone knows you can only say it once."  John leaned near Pauls openly weeping eyes.  "Dja understand all of that, Paul?"

"I believe so, John."  

"Wouldja explain it to me then?"

Paul grinned and mimed a slap upside his head.  "That better?"

"Much."  John pecked at his lips in a kiss.

George continued, "Now, Paul, you choose a place that signifies our time together.  Then you make the vow we did and stack your hand on top of Johns."

Lennon smirked.  "Therell be a first for you.  Just dont mash me bitty finger."

"Oh, Ill try."  

Paul considered the years behind thema quickly shuffling playback of memory: a reverse life review in a stream.  It all seemed to consolidate around one moment  one second in time.

He looked upward and then at his hand.  He snapped his fingers.

The room around them transformed into the corridor at Phils fleet of offices.  

It was in this hallway, the suits had lined up to divide Lennon from McCartney.

"While you were all choosing yours, I was thinking of mine.  And Ive gone back to this moment so many times.  The hurt my choices caused.  The pain I gave to you threethe three people in the world I wanted least to hurt.  Ive said this to people around me a hundred times, usually ten times a month at least, but Ive never said it to all of you at once.  I would now give it all up to make that choice again.  To have  done something elsesaid something more  To have pushed through that wall of suits and reached out to you, John, when you called to me."

"Paul, there was no need," John said, leaning forward to gaze straight into his eyes.  

George shook his head, laughing.  "Paul, there you go, our own beloved existentialist.  Everything happened the way it was supposed to happen, silly."

"Everything?  I thought we were making things right here?"

"We are," Ringo said.  "But that doesnt mean everything didnt happen the way it did back there for a reason."

"Its that eastern mysticism thing," George said, his eyes gently teasing.  "You know, the one you were knocking before."

"I wasnt knockin it!" Paul said.  "I just said it had limits.  Everything seems to have limits to me.  I cant figure out why anything happens the way it does.  Im amazed that you lot can."

"Youll understand shortly," Ringo said.  "In fact, well all understand more in a moment or two."

John pointed at Pauls hand, then at the stack of theirs.  "Were gettin vowers cramp over here, Prudence."

"Oh," Paul said, placing his hand over Johns.  "Well, okay so now I say something likeits in this place I say to you that I dedicate myself to us for all time.  And I love you dearly.  I love you all."  He grinned at John, winking.  "See, I didnt stint on the L word."

"When have you ever?" John towed Paul in for another quick, nimble kiss.  "And that shut up your churlish rejoinder."

"No, it didnt."

Paul thought at first this gentle, lovely light was his imagination.  But then it swirled around them, within and without them.  It pooled around them slowly while it centered on Paulthe golden incandescence strengthening until it was the brightest white that could be seen even with the eyes of this world.  

Paul suddenly felt as light as air, the pull of the old world releasing him.  He opened his eyes to his first pure view of the new life.  It was even more vivid than he recalled  the full world seen for the very first time.   

"My god, this is so"  

"Real?" Ringo suggested, smiling his certainty.

"Yes.  Utterly.  And clear.  And right."  Pauls eyes completed their transition into tears.  "My god, I can see everything now.  Not just here, but everywhere else, too."

"Wait for this," George said, with an understanding grin.  He lifted his hand, offering it to Maccas.  

As Paul touched it, the effect was more immediate than a "feeling"more like a direct sensation at the nerve.  He was, in that moment, the other manwith all his memories, all his feelings, all his understanding.

"My God, thats you, George!" Paul said in a voice of wonder.

"Thats meand thats you, too."  George nodded toward Ringo.  "Allow me to introduce the Magic Christian."

The legendary many-ringed hand spread itself next across Pauls outstretched hand.  

"Hey, Ring," Paul said, as if truly saying it and seeing him for the first time.

"Hey, yourself."  Rich nodded sideways toward John.  "And with no further ado, the lad youve known for all these years"

Johns hand replaced Richs.

Paul closed his eyes, savoring the moment - an exotic blend of cool and warm, sunny day all bursting at the edges toward a rainy sky at morning.  It was funny and restless and passionate and devoted and ribald and complex and simple and a hundred thousand other things, all clambering over the others to wave back at Paul through the breach.

Paul broke up at that one again, continued tears and then a laugh.  "Hello, John Lennon."

Johns fingers folded around his hand, as if clasping hold of something long soughtfinally found.

"No need for rough symbols anymore, Paul," John said, remembering a long-ago discussion about the futile search for understanding through a crude catalytic lexis.  "I can see you directlycompletely No need for misunderstandings."

"We can work it out."  Paul looked around at the other lads.  "Thats a musical aside."

"We had guessed," George said.

"Heres the fun part." Ringo placed his hand on Maccas head as George reached over and squeezed Pauls other hand while he still held to Johns.  

It felt as if Paul was gazing into a mirror that was reflected in a mirror that was reflected in a mirror that was reflected in a mirror  the cumulative effect so big it amassed into one thing in his mind.

There were no tears for itno way to smileno land to cover on the way to words.  There was only the moment so pure in itself it need not be reacted to or rememberedit had become a part of them all.

John came around behind him, reaching his arms around him.  "Welcome home, Paul," he whispered, pressing a kiss into his hair.  And he pulled him by the hand back toward their big, boundless bed in the center of the floor.  "All right, enough sanctimonious rite and ritual, time for the fun stufftime for the honeymoon."

Ringo looked to George: their gazes leapt up to the now-black-again ceiling.  "Well, we knew the shared beauty was too lovely to last.  Where shall we go to occupy ourselves, Georgie?  The planet Neptune?  Pluto?  The moon?"

"Doesnt matter, so long its as a reasonable distance," George said.

The next sentence was spoken by two voices and directed at Ringo and George:  "And where the hell do you two think youre going?" 

Paul and John, arms folded, were standing in the center of the bed.  They were smiling at them with equal parts tenderness and a certain giddy mischief.  

"Were going to leave you two alone," Ringo said.

"Dont leave us where we done want to be."  John looked toward Paul with a naughty smile.  "You tackle the funny one; Ill take down the quiet one."

"Not this again," Ringo said, making himself look downward as Paul approached.  But he didnt back off or move away.  

"Cmon, Rich."  Paul extended his hands in welcome.  "Youre the wisest man Ive ever known.  You know in your soul that this is the way its supposed to be."

Ringo looked at him with moist, open eyes.  "That doesnt mean it doesnt bloody terrify me."

"Just because it bloody terrifies you doesnt mean its not going to be beautiful."  

Pauls hand touched the edges of Richiesfinding a finger and then a thumb.  He managed to interlace all of his with all of Ringos.  As if at autonomic response, Richs hand opened wide to take them in.  

"Rich," George said, looking with uncertainty at John standing there within reachand Ringo clearly now looking at Paul, touching hands, as if considering.  "Rich, youre not thinking of"

"Yes, George, I am, goddamn it."  Ringo closed his eyes as if in the only way he might look inward for the words.  "I have missed the four of us so fucking much.  Finally now its the four of us again  finally  And yes, Paul, I know its the way its supposed to be.  I always have."

"I knew you did," Paul said.  "I knew you saw it."  

Rich nodded.  "There was never the sex thing before with all of us, but we loved each other more than we could probably allow ourselves to know.  And I fucking want that again.  The way it used to be.  Bloody hell, I need that again.  As long as its you lads and were together and were loving each other, I dont fuckin care about the fine details.  Is that open and out-front enough for you?"

"More than that, Rich," Paul said.  "Its about the most courageous thing Ive ever heard a person say."

Ringo glanced over his shoulder to the fourth man.  He extended a hand toward him as well.  "George, good lord, you know its the only fuckin thing that has ever made sense to either of us.  The four of us.  Why not be lovers?  Why the bloody hell not?  And its only going to really be fucking wonderful if its all four of us.  We need you there, too, George, for it to be real.  So stop your goddamned puritanical back-pedaling and thats a fucking order.  Im dragging you with me, kicking and screaming if necessary."

From behind, Pauls hands climbed Ringos chest to turn him around and lean in for the kiss.  Ringo met him more than halfway, slipping his lips softly and tenderly over Pauls mouth, as if there had never been a question of not.  The kiss pressed on as gently as the night, until Paul intensified it for a vivid moment, to then step away with a smile and relinquish the moment to John.

Lennon plucked a playing card from the air.  He showed the Ace of Hearts to Richie.  "Care to deal me in?"

"I already did that to all three of you a long time ago," Ringo said.

John and Ringo merged their mouths together in a sudden surge of curiosity and hunger.  Rich surrendered completely to the other mans insistence.  

George was watching them, with a quantified mixture of terror and longing until he saw Paul watching him, an arms length away. 


"242 steps, George," Paul said softly.  "But only one foot forward."

Georges tears were sudden and solid.  In his life, he never began to weephe always started up full sob.  "You dont get it.  This would mean too much."

"Why would it matter that it means too much if its never going to be taken away?  Were all we have, each other.  We always have been.  We always will be."

"But my god Paul," George said, as if at the very idea, only to find himself suddenly with his back against a wall.  There was no path for retreatno where to run or hide.

Paul smiled him into the sudden wall.  He dipped his head and dove for a kiss which was a fast blast of focused heat and attraction, designed to bend steel and assert gravity over the most distant hearts.   George melted against it, quickly and without resistance.  He had clearly given up all fight.  

His fingertips guessed at Pauls face, as their lips pulled softly apart.  Just as George was gaining on the sudden astonishment he had just received, another was just as suddenly on him.  

Johns kiss was a cocky demandan expectation of full compliancea presumptuous loving claim.

John wished Georges clothes away and pushed him backward into the pillow pit.  He was nothing but a tall, eloquent report of desire now, his cock having pulsed into life between one kiss and the other.

John turned and beckoned for Ringo to approach then.  "You next, Rich.  Come ahead." 

Paul laughed a soft husky sound over his shoulder and swept away Richies clothes with a wish.  "I like this ability a lot.  All these years, hoarding the goodies Rich.  I mean, you should share.  Were your mates."  He then pushed Rich forward into the cushions.  

Ringo laughed at his own reaction, folding up into his corner of the bed.  George sat just beside him, praying silently to his knees.  His was a posture of gratitude and relief.

"Just look at them, John.  What do you think?  Shall we bring them off both at once or fuck each of them individually, you think?"

"Oh, from the sweet look of awful desperation that just crossed both their faces, I definitely say one at a time.  That way they can join in toowhen theyre not themselves being feverishly fucked, I mean."

"Shall we flip a coin or just pick one?" Paul asked, looking at both men.

"I dont know.  What say you, Paul?"

"You know how it is the first timeall hot and bothered and mightily on fire.  Particularly with all of this and what this means and how fucking beautiful its going to be.  We know them both better than anyone.  We know how bad they both want this, whether they admit it or not, but theyre both terrified, too.  Terrified of going first but fuckin busting for it, too, you know?"

"Excellent, savory points." John lashed out his smile like a tongue of flame in all three directions.  "Half of George would really rather go second.  I mean, really.  And then theres Richie.  I mean, itll be a relief for shy little Ringo if he gets to wait a bit.  But then again, you know itll really play with his head if he has to watch.  And wait.  For his turn in the middle.  For your turn, Rich, you hear me?"

"Of course I hear you," he gasped back, shaking his head as if in wonder.

"Then call it, George," Paul said, pulling a penny from the air.  He flipped it, slapped it down atop Johns outstretched hand.  "Heads or tails.  Heads or tails, baby, or you go first."

"Heads," George whispered, quite clearly fighting to calm something racing deep inside himself.

Paul lifted his hand, showing John.  "Bad news, boys.  Or good news.  Depending upon the side of things were talking about.  Youre still going first, George."

John and Paul grabbed for the winner and pulled him toward Ringo, whose arms closed around George just as quickly.  

John and Paul looked deeply into Georges eyes, misted over with a kind of stunned, awful passion.  It was a need so real it looked like pain, but it wasnt.  He looked like the happiest and most frightened man in the world.  

Rich enfolded his legs around the man already in his arms.  He considered his face, and then kissed it gently reaching up to massage Georges nipples boldly.  The other man flinched at the pleasure.  Ringo smiled in reply.  

John and Paul moved each to one side of both men.  They were suddenly four naked men in a pit of pillows.  

Macca looked deep into Georges open, honest eyes.  Georges stare was a mixture of wild, honest love and joy and some thing far beyond mere gratitude.  

"Damn treasonous dick, eh, George?" John said, grinning.  "Sells us out every time.  Here youre laying there, trying to seem like youre not on fuckin fire, and your dick gives away the game.  Macca, know what Im thinking?  We needed to get mouthy on this one."

"What about it, George?" Paul asked.  "Shall John and I suck you off?"

George physical aftershock in reply triggered first in his shoulders then shot down through his body.

"I think thats a yes," John said.  

Paul moved back, shining a smile into Georges desire-fogged eyes.  "Your lips on one side, John, mine on the other?  Rich keeping up what hes doing now to his nipples?"

"Just the thing," John said.

John palmed Georges cock up from its bowed surge against his belly, then looked at Paul.  "On three, baby."

"Three," Paul said.  

John and Paul merged their mouths into a wide, wicked French kiss, with Georges cock at its center.  They clasped their hands around the pulsing shaft, squeezing it in hard-fisted demanding pumps toward pleasure.  The glans was suddenly thickly moist and the shaft steely hard in their hands.

He screamed out something that might have been both their names burned together whispered too heatedly and melted on sound.

Their tongue tangling cock kiss continued, overlapping, sucking, moving in rhythm, their fists still pleadingly jerking at hard, hot flesh.  

Ringo whispered to an ear.  He tenderly twisted Georges nipples as if seeking a higher, hotter frequency.  "Fancy that.  Isnt that something?  Who knew youd get off on this so much?"

George thrashed in his arms, unable to move from Ringos enclosure and the men pounding their mouths toward him.  "My god" he whispered, as if the only words in English he could grapple toward.

"Hm, you think the lads swallow?" Rich whispered at last.  "Do you?  I hope so.  I hope they do.  I really want to watch them swallow"

That was itthat was all It shoved him over the top and George dropped into the arms of something so exquisite, he couldnt feel it all in his mind.  He was crying as he was crying out

"Suck him finished," John whispered, "And Ill go kiss him nice and nasty."

"Make him taste it, of course," Paul said, pausing for only a moment.  "We love you, George."

John overwhelmed him, controlling his line of sight; he made their gazes merge together.  Then he rammed his tongue like a dick down Georges throat.  The sound of Johns avid sharing and sucking of Georges tongue was audible around the circle of men.

Once done, John pulled back from the kiss.  "Well, done, George.  See, there, the world didnt come to an end."

George laughed, his body clearly still resonating with every sort of pleasure.  "No, it feels like it just fucking got started."

Lennon then moved his heated gaze aside to the man sprawled just under George.  "Oh, Richieguess whose turn it is"

"No resistance here."  Ringos eyes slid closed, at the swift-coming realization.  "Its all I want in the world."

"Its a damned good thing," John said, as they dragged Ringo from under George, to the center of the pit. "Because youre about to get all of it."

"How do you want it, Rich?" Paul asked, sticking his face up in Ringos.  "We could do to you what we just did to our George, but you know what, John?"

"What would that be, Paulie?" John grinned in his devilment.

Paul smiled too brightly.  "As private as Rich is, dont you think it would really tweak him if we three got in his face about it?  I think a handjob would be just the thing.  While the three of us watch him come full on.  Rank invasion of privacy, that."

Ringos face contorted; he turned his head aside.  The words had burned along the length of him like lightning unchained.  

George grinned, moving himself sideways to rest his chin on Ringos forehead and stare down into his face. "I believe he really likes that idea."

"No, he doesnt like it in the least," John said.  "Which is exactly why hes going to get it, because hes our kinky little bastard and his body will eat it with a spoon."

John grinned, continuing stroking fingers across skin and down his chest to the top of his grointhe last boundary finally crossed.  Ringo was watching the process until John noticed and then moved his hand in one direction.

The small, terse spasms mounteddesire on tension, tension up fear, and the wonderful confluence building as Johns fingers finally touched Ringos cock.  Rich recoiled toward Paul, but Paul and George tenderly refused his sanctuary, guiding his face again toward the action  so he would have to watch Johns fingers wrapping around the thickening shaft.  And then Rich couldnt make himself look away.  It was jacking him boldly, insistently, with a growing cadence.  It was getting moist results, too; stiff and pulsating replies.  

"Were getting there," Paul whispered to his ear, as the man tried again to hide his face in Pauls chest.  Again, he and George made him turn back to watch John.  Maccas own desire tripped on a smoky void in his voice. "No where to hide, Rich.  I mean, weve been everywhere together, but weve never been here with you.  Its going to be so fuckin beautiful when we watch you cum, Rich."

"All the times we been in the room when it happenedall those groupie grope sessions but we never watched it," George added.

John grinned into Ringos face.  "We sure the fuck never made it happen."

"I bet itll be better coz were makin it happen," George said.

John laughed warmly.  "Its going to be much better because were makin it happen.  Innit right, Rich?"

At the words, Ringo coughed out some wicked sound that came too ragged for a word.  
A tear trickled from the corner of his eyes, then down near his hairline.  He was fighting not to bare his every breath.  "Much better"

Paul kissed the tear away.  "See, I thought so.  Of course its a bit scary to be like this with us.  For the first time.   Feel that?  Feel that miracle?  Thats John making you feel that good.  John is."

"I think you should give us a hand, too, Paul, if you know what I mean," John said.  "Innit right, Rich?"

"Shall I?" Paul asked sweetly, trying to gauge his response.

Ringos eyes slipped closed, a tenseness broadening the set of his jaw, which was all the answer Paul had needed.  

He moved his hand down to wrap around Johns.  After a second, John lifted his own hand to clutch Pauls palm around Ringos cock.  Then it was both men, two hands, stroking him in one ambitious rhythm.

Rich gasped like hed been seized by the front of a storm  some power stripping through him as if hard wind through calm water.  George cut the sounds off with his kiss.

John tasted Richs ear.  "Come on, Ringo.  Make it happen.  Make it all of us now.  All of us."

"You know what we want to see," Paul whispered hotly, his own breathing matching Ringos, breath on breath.  "Give us what we want."

"Paul" he whimpered softly when George broke to breathe.  Richs tears were streaming, his lungs still pleading at air.  "JohnGeorge"

"We know our names, Rich," John said.  "And that youre holding back.  So give it up.  Stop your hiding."

"Get to it now," George murmured into his ear.

"God," Ringo groaned out, his voice a twisted wrenching sound jerking out of him as his body lurched and warped with each crescendoas John and Paul clung to him and rode his every crested wave.

"We love you, Rich," Paul gasped into his ear.  

"Its happening, Richie.  Its a fuckin fact.  Look at that," Johns voice tickled at the rawest edges of Ringos mind.

Rich found himself rolled over one way into one mans arms for a long, curative kiss and then the other for the next mans embrace and lip-twisted tongue-tangling.  Finally, Ringo found room enough to breathe.

"Holy fuck" was all Rich whispered until his voice surrendered all together. He fell back into Georges arms, then surrounded by Paul and John.    "I cant believe this actually happened."

Paul kissed him fully.  "We can.  John and Ive been planning that since the backseat experience.  For all of us."

"So, what happens now," Ringo said, smiling through his sweat.  "Do we get to have a go at you two?"

"It would only be fair," George pointed out, matching Richs smile.

"You know what," John said, as he drew back a little beyond their circle.  "I think its Pauls turn."

Paul tossed him a faintly imperious smile.  "Pauls been hearing that all day, hasnt he?"

"Except Im not flirting anymore, Macca.  Im fucking serious as goddamned sin."

Perspiration beaded a little at Pauls forehead.  "Serious about what?"

"Oh, I think you know."

"I hope to god I do."

John smiled.  "If its about me ferociously bangin you through the fuckin floor, then youve got the right idea.  Hasnt he, boys?"  

"Hes into that, is he?" George said, smiling rudely over at Paul, who smirked back at him.

"Thisll be the first time," John said.  "Wont it, Paul?  And heres the secretthough it wont be much of one, because you know how it is with Macca and me.  Im the top.  Always have been.  Always will be.  Its a little discomfiting for a strong fellow like him to admit, but in private, thats the way it plays.  Well, you lads are private to us now."  John sat up from his heels.  His cock was as big and thick and as freely throbbing as it had ever been in Maccas presence.  "So, Im tellin you, Paul.  Get on your belly."

Paul shook his head.  "Not like this."

John nodded.  "Just like this.  Fucking exactly like this.  Ive been promising this to you all day.  And Im going to give it to you right here and now.  Right in front of the lads in the position you craveon the bottom.  So like I said, Paulieget on your belly."

Pauls whole body arched at the impact of his words.  His hands clawed back for handholds on sanctuary.  His muscles were not going to respond to any request.

John looked to their other lovers.  "Seems Paul is having a bit of trouble.  Lads, you want to help Paul assume the position?"

"With pleasure," Ringo said, taking one shoulder as George braced the other.  

They tenderly but determinedly guided his chest down against pillows.  

Pauls eyes slipped closed.  "Christ, Johnny, I love you."

"I love you, baby.  We must get you ready for this, though.  Otherwise, its going to hurt a bit."

At that point, something cool oozed down the small of Pauls back and dripped through the crack of his ass.  Immediately, warm and naughty heat began to goad his prostate into life. 

Once done with the application, Lennon sprawled himself across Pauls back like a predator on wounded prey.  He chewed softly into the thick of his throat.  "You want me to fuck you?"

"Yes."

"Then Ill move around the pain as best I can, but its bound to hurt some, baby.  Sure, eventually, well strike gold and itll feel like fuckin eden.  But there youll be pinned underneath me with my dick up your ass and you wont be able to do a thing about it."

Paul reached back for a handful of hair, towing Johns face down into his.  "I  dont  care" he groaned pitifully, his face now red and slick with sweat and tears.  "Just do me, John.  For Christ sakes.  Just do me "

"Ah, well.  You know what they say about me, Im Paulie whipped.  I cant say no to you," John whispered, and then with all of the muscle of his long legs tenderly but surely plunged his cock deep into Pauls slick ass.

If that pleasure had been a python, it would have wound, unforgiving, up through Macca before striking the pain.  The pleasure surged farther up until another sharp interlude with discomfort but then suddenly the pleasure of it was all the way through him and there was no lessening it for a second.  Impaled on joy  doomed to escape -- not that he everwanted toescape...   

"Paul," John cried out hard and loud, a rare fury dragged out of him.  He clutched at the man beneath him, fucking him fervently, in a steady rhythm intended to drag Paul with him to the edge.

He was already with him.  

It broke across both of them like riptide through an angry ocean.  Nothing left for musclenothing more to breathenothing else to do but lie there and feel the movement of the moments brushing by them.

And George and Richs kisses on them.  
Finally, after moments or minutes, John rolled off onto his backPaul immediately flipping over onto John.  Paul leaned down to stare into the vanquished, gently smiling face of the other half of that singular conflicted entity the two of them comprised.  

"You in there, John?"

"No," John gasped back, gaining on regular respiration.  "Please leave a message and Ill get back to you as soon as I can get my fucking brains back in me head after Macca, George and Richie screwed them out."  He grabbed the back of Pauls head, then reached for Richies pulling them both closer.  His hand lunged a third time for George, bringing him over as well.  "Ive never cum like that in all my born flippin days.  Not once.  Not even fuckin Paul before and you always do me so I cant untie my fuckin windpipe for days afterward."

"Good, on all counts," Paul said, and then in a voice that made clear the meaning of his words he whispered, "And thank you."

"Should have done that a lifetime ago.  I was too afraid.  Thats a shift of attitudes for you.  Boy I was a fuckin half-wit about that one, eh?"

"Yes, well, theres half of that transaction yet to go, you know."

"Thats ones going to have to wait a bit."

"Okay," Paul said, pointing over both his shoulders.  "And I have reinforcements now."

"Guess my days of getting my way are at an end," John said, laughing.  He squinted back at them as if in scrutiny.  "Until I figure out a way to prevail."

"God help us all," said Ringo, snapping on lounging clothes for all of them.  "Forgive me, but I can only stand us sitting around naked for so long.  Im not the Bohemian one, you may recall."

"Please, youve got more bloody rings than Saturn," John shot back.  "Still, it is time for a brief respitebrief, I sayfrom fucking.  We have a few plans ahead.  First of all being among my favorite times." 

Pauls brow furrowed in thought, as if trying to remember.  He looked over at George for a hint.

George used his finger to draw a square in the middle of the air.  He mouthed, "Presents."

"Oh, right!  Presents!  I give you all presents," Paul said, looking as if he was concentrating, then trying once, then twice and finally the third time, yanking something leather and black from mid-air.  "Hey, I did it!"

"Well done, Pudges.  Next youll be chewing gum and walkin at the same time," John said.

"See what I do for you next, Mr. Johnny Lennon," Paul said, sticking out his tongue.  "And to think this gift was for you."

John laced his fingers together in silent plea.  "Im terribly, wretchedly sorry, arent I, my darling lad?  Forgive us our trespasses.  And please, please give me me present."

"Very well," he said, tossing the leather jacket to him.

John flagged it out, examining it with a growing certainty of recognition:  a relatively inexpensive leather jacket with epaulets.   "My god!  Its it!  My jacket.  The one you bought me.  Youve found it!"

"Well, it probably just looks like it," Paul said.

George shook his head.  "No, if you pulled it the way we said, it is it."  He smiled over to Ringo.  "First hundred dollars Paul ever made with the band, he bought John here this leather jacket he fancied."

Richie sent the smile over to Paul.  "Had it bad even then, did you?"

George nodded.  "Even a certain Beatles biographer thought that incident was strangely homoerotic."  

"I lost the fuckin thing at a club date," John explained.  "Ripped up the whole place, tryin to find it.  Never bloody did."

Ringo nodded.  "At least you know now where it went."

John looked to Paul; Paul grinned at John.  "You know, it probably did," Macca said.

"I love itagain," John said.  "I plan on wearing it everywhere.  Except when were fucking of course."

"Thanks for sharing, John."

"You forget, Rich, youll be there."

"Oh, thats right, isnt it?  Keep forgetting."  Ringo blushed a little.  "So who is next in the gift line?"

"Savin yours for last, Rich," Paul said.

"So what else is new?  And spare me your scornful ripostes, lads."  

George sneered into his face.  "Looks to be my turn then."

Paul smiled, pulling down from the air a golden steppe pyramid that fit inside his palm.  "Know what that is?"

"Pyramid of the Sun," George said, grinning.  He nodded.  "And I take your point."

"Good."  Paul glanced over at John.  "Ill explain later."

"My heart will tremble till the hour," John said.

George reached over and smacked Pauls face with a kiss.  "Its lovely.  Thank you."

"Watch it, Harrison, "John said sardonically.  "I guess its time, isnt it?  Okay, lets get on to the new holy terror known as Richies present."

Ringo scowled.  "Pardon us, then?"

"Well, its like this, Rich," Paul said.  "When all the ponies came, I understand some people werent too understanding.  However, Im here now.  And since your ponies all went away to save John, Ive prevailed upon these two to give in just a bit on another request."

"Which one?"

John exhaled with a little smile.  He pulled from under the leather jacket a squirming ball of happy Boxer puppy.

"Bumpy!" Ringo gasped out, in nothing short of astonishment.  He reached out for him, only half-believing.  "My god, its him.  Its Bumpy!  My dog I had when I was a boy!"

"We know," John said, smirking fondly.

"He took sick as he got older," Rich went on, "and we couldnt afford the vet bill, so hedied, you know.  Its my Bumpy, all over again.  Even to his little bumpy head."  His eyes were now filling up with tears, but then it all crashed around him with a deeper smile torn from the older pockets of his heart.  "How did you lads do it?"

"We borrowed the original Bumpy out for a bit," George explained, sniffing at his own reaction to the moment.  "We counted him to two, and then put the original back because we know you still needed him then.  But that may as well be him."

"Yeah, and you can be sure hell chew up everything from here to bleedin Cartoon City," John said, although even he was grinning through tears.  "But Im still glad Paul could get him for you, Rich."

"Thank you, Paul.  Its the best gift Ive ever received," Rich said, smiling back at the three of them.  "Present company excepted."

Georges chin wiggled a little but he fought it.  "Cmon, Ringo, before I start turning into weepy willow, lets take Bumpy for a stroll around so we can explain to him a bit about good manners in Beatleland."

"And Ill show Paul another of our many talents," John said.  "To say nothing of the gift we have for him."

"Excuse us?" Macca said, looking around.  "I get a present?"

John levitated to the space just above Pauls head.  Lennon leaned down, as if lying across air.  He reached his hand down for Macca.  "Hey, do you know why swallows build in the eaves of houses?"

Paul smiled back.  "Why, yes, Mister Pan.  As it happens, I do know, as I had top marks in English at school.  It is to listen to the stories."

"Care to eavesdrop?"  He offered his open hand.  "I have something to show you."  

"You mean I can artfully hover?"

John chuckled, looking around.  "Actually, it is flying.  We didnt want to fluster you right off.  Come on then, Ive been waiting for this a long time."

Paul stood up carefully, looking around.  He reached for Johns hand, and before he knew it they were ten feet off the groundthen twenty.  

"God," Paul gasped out, grabbing out for John.  "Holy shit.  Dunno if I like this!"

"You will," John said, looping his arms around him from behind.  "Youre only scared because you think you can fall.  You cant because the ground will find you.  That said, come here, Ive something to show you."

John stepped out across the airas if some thoroughly invisible floor lay just beneath him.  He reached for Pauls hand, which he quickly received.  

"Take a look out there," John said, gesturing toward the open window, now extending out across their land.  

Paul could clearly see at least a hundred faces smiling, waving back.  There were so many, it was impossible to see them all.

"Who is  "

"Everyone," John said, quickly.  "Everyone weve ever loved and lost.  Its our home, but theyre always welcome.  And today, were going to have a party."

"Wonderful," Paul said, now beyond any words for what he was feeling within.  He gave John a small, secret smile.  "But I hasten to inform you this isnt my home."

"Excuse us?"

Paul grinned thoroughly.  "This isnt my home because you are."

"James Paul McCartney," John said, forcing the tears from his voice with an even grin.  "Marry me immediately and bear my many attractive offspring."

Paul could only laugh.  "Do I look like a seahorse to you, John?"



