Funny Face | a paul mccartney story

three | promises

I said yes to him. But of course you knew I'd give in eventually. This story would have ended by now had I turned him away completely.

I said yes to him the day before The Beatles left for America. If I remember correctly, it was the 17th of August. Paul hadn't said one word about a date, just like he had promised, so I'm sure it came as a bit of a shock to him when I rang him and told him yes.

I had been mulling over the question for a few days anyway. It just all came down to when I would tell him. At first, I was thinking how mental I was for not just coming out and saying no to him. This was a strong ethical dilemma that I couldn't solve to save myself. I continuously thought about Jane, and what it would do to her if I were to go through with Paul's proposition. But all he would do is look at me with those big, brown eyes and smile. His tongue would wet his lips at times, and give a subtle of shine to the skin.

I would constantly say to myself 'Stop it! No, no, you can't! It's not right! It's not right!'

My feelings really hit me during a late-in-the-evening recording session on the 14th. After about eight takes of I'm a Loser, and four takes of Mr. Moonlight, the lyrics started to get into my head. I started to really think about the situation I had put myself in. I'm a Loser definitely did me in:

"Of all the love I have won, and have lost
There is one love I should never have crossed.
She was a girl in a million my friend,
I should have known she would win in the end."

"This song makes me feel like shit, y'know." I later told John.

He had asked if he could have a mix of this song and Baby's in Black for his own personal use. George said he could, so I went up in the booth to make a copy for him. John, of course, followed. Norman Smith, our studio engineer, was one to hover over me when I handled the machinery (much to George's annoyance, might I add). He stood close by us when I said that, which made him perk up, and stick his two sense in:

"Why?" He asked, confusion lacing his tone.

John looked over at him, and pushed his weight off the tape machine. "Get out," he demanded and shoved him out the door.

"She shouldn't be alone with that machine!" Norman argued.

"Well, it's a good thing I'm in here, innit?" John smiled as he slammed the door in his face. I watched as he leant on the door with his shoulder to keep it closed, then he crossed his arms over his chest. He pulled one hand to wave me forward into the conversation, then tucked it right back into his arm.

"Just listen to it." I huffed. "My tears are falling like rain from the sky. Is it for her or myself that I cry?"

"They're just words, Melody." He finally pushed off the door and started walking toward me.

"Yes, but they're about me. I know they are." I took a few steps back to prevent him from getting closer. I guess he got the hint, because he stopped in the middle of the room.

"Alright, yeah, they are a bit autobiographical, but I was just writing. I was hurt when I wrote this."

"And that's why it makes me feel like shit. I know I caused it."

"Listen, if anyone should feel like shit, then it should be me. That night, I got drunk, Cynthia pissed me off, I couldn't tell ya why, so I kept drinking. I had way too much by the time you came 'round, I was frustraded in more ways than one, and- and I did a stupid thing. And I hate myself more and more each day for it!"

The song playing from the speakers ended during a short period of silence in John's monologue, so I busied myself with cutting the tape as he continued.

"I don't even feel like I can say sorry for it 'cause sorry wouldn't be enough. If Paul hadn'a knocked some sense to me when he did, we wouldn't be talking right now. Hell, you wouldn'a come to me the other day! This song wouldn'a been written! None of this would be happening!"

John took a heavy breath in and concluded, "I'm a dick... and I'm so, so sorry for it."

Perfectly timed with the second he stopped talking, the door swung open. Paul came in first, with George Martin following close on his heels. A look of relieve washed over Paul's face, and an audible sigh could be heard from him.

"What are you two doing in here?" George inquired.

"Nothing." John and I said at the same time.

George looked back and forth between the two of us, "It had to have been something."

"What was all that yelling?" Paul asked.

John was at his friend's side in two long strides, and whispered something that sounded like, "I'll tell you later," before pulling him out the door.

George and I watched as the two left. I could hear Paul asking what happened, but the voices became too quiet once his question was answered. George turned to me and raised an eyebrow.

"Should I be concerned?" He asked.

I quickly shook my head.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir. Everything's fine."

George left without another word, and I hid away in the booth for the longest time replaying John's apology over and over again in my mind. I made his copy of Baby's in Black while I was alone, and finally came down to give both tapes to him.

"Actually, Melody, we're going to run through a few takes or another song before they go." George told me.

"What song is it?" I asked as he and Norman started toward the booth.

"It's called Leave My Kitten Alone." John said. "It's a good song."

"Better than Mr. Moonlight if you ask me." George Harrison added with a cheeky grin.

They recorded that song in five takes. I thought it was a fine tune, don't get me wrong, but I preferred Mr. Moonlight over Leave My Kitten Alone. It just sounded better to me.

The band put themselves on vocal rest on the 15th, so on the 16th they could go to Blackpool to play at the Opera House. From what I heard it was a cracking show. The Kinks and another band called The High Numbers played along side them.

The 17th was a free day for the group, and somewhat for me as well. George had sent me home half way through the day because I couldn't think straight. Repeatedly I would mess something up and we all would have to start completely over.

"This is why I don't like her around the machines." Norman grumbled.

"Shut it, Norm." George snapped before pulling me off to the side.

I did go home like he told me to. I paced the length of my small flat many times, just letting my anxieties swallow me whole. I thought about Paul again. I thought about Jane and Cynthia. Then I started to think about myself. I thought about how I would feel in both senarios, and fell deep into each rabbit hole.

Eventually, my neighbour beneath me started hitting her broom against her ceiling, shouting at me that I was creating a draft, and to stop walking around. I responded with a loud sorry, Miss Mabel, then proceeded to take off my heels and continue pacing. Not long after, however, I looked to my phone.

There was hardly any thinking involved with my actions. I phoned the operator, requested my call be connected to the Asher's address, and waited for someone to pick up.

"57 Wimpole Street." An older woman answered.

Suddenly my stomach flipped, and I couldn't form any words to say.

"Hello?" She tried again.

"H-hi," I finally forced out. "My name is Melody Shipton calling from EMI studios. Is is Mr. McCartney home?"

"Uh, yes, actually- oh! Here he is. Paul-"

I huffed impatiently, and rolled my eyes up to look at the ceiling. The two talked to each other for the longest time before I finally heard his voice:

"Hallo?"

"Hi, Paul."

"Melody!" He fell silent for a moment, and I could practically hear him looking around. "What's wrong?"

"I- I wanna go out with you." I finally admitted.

Paul breathed a small laugh, then asked, "where are you?"

"At home, but-"

"I'll be there."

"What?"

"I'm coming over. Just stay put."

"Paul-"

"Hold on, what's your address?"

I should have known better than to think that man would wait for anything. In less than twenty minutes, he was at my door with the cheekiest grin on his face.

"Is there anything special you wanna do now that you've got me, y'know, alone?" He asked once he entered the flat.

"If you're gonna be like that, I'll send you away now." I laughed.

Paul laughed with me, and made himself comfortable on the small two-seater. I crossed my arms over my chest and leant back against the wall.

"What do you wanna do, then?"

"I really dunno," he shrugged. "I didn't think I'd get this far."

I giggled at him again, but then hid my face in my hand. I felt like an idiot school girl in front of a new crush. As embarrassing as it may have been for me, though, Paul's face never fell short of beaming.

So we danced.

We danced for hours and hours. Deep into the evening until the sun sank below the horizon of buildings framed by my window. Songs by anyone from Fats Domino to The Temptations to The Yardbirds filled my flat to accompany our dancing. My stocking-clad feet slid all over the thin, rust coloured carpet; Paul's shoeless feet chased after my own and tried to keep up with every improvised step I made. We laughed and sang to every song that played. Most of the time, we were no further than arms length away from each other, and no closer than our cheeks together.

This didn't feel like a date to me. I don't remember it feeling romantic or anything like it. It felt like we were two kids dancing just to forget everything wrong in the world. Perhaps it was because we were.

Sweat dripped from our skin, and it gave the appearance of a crystalline sheen that glistened in the kitchen light (the only light on in the flat). Our breathing became erratic; our hearts beat in sync. It wasn't until my downstairs neighbour started beating her broom against her ceiling to tell us to keep it down that we stopped.

Paul jumped at the booming thuds of her broom, and scrambled to turn off Little Richard's screaming. I could only chuckle to myself. I knew better than to anger her, but I didn't think ahead. It was beautiful.

"Sorry, Miss Mabel!" I shouted down to the floor.

I looked up to Paul with a sheepish smile, then we both jumped when she jabbed the broom up at us one more time.

"Barmy old lady," he breathed.

"She's only about thirty, y'know." I smiled.

Paul pressed his lips together, and his gaze shot to the ground. He was obviously embarrassed by his statement, but I couldn't help but shake my head at him.

"Coulda told me that." He mumbled.

Laughing softly, I started walking toward him with my arms outstretched. Once I was close enough, Paul pulled me into him. A few mischievous giggles were exchanged, and we once again started dancing- this time in a slow dance. He hugged me close, bowed his head to rest his cheek against my own, and let whatever song he had in his mind lead his actions. My eyes gently closed, and I let him take control. This was the closest to romantic we came to.

A few minutes later, he whispered, "I should probably leave..."

I stared up at the kitched light, hesitant with my response:

"What time is it?"

Paul moved to look at his watch.

"About half nine..."

I gave a small hum of acknowledgement, and laid my forehead against his chest. I felt him press his lips to the top of my head, and hold them there for a moment. I felt butterflies.

"If I didn't have to be on a plane eight hours, I'd stay longer." He explained.

"I know." I muttered, then picked my head up.

I looked into his soft eyes, drinking in as much of him as I could. I knew he was doing the same to me.

I suddenly didn't want him to go to America. During previous tours I didn't mind his absence (or John's), no matter the time or distance, but now I wanted to be selfish. I wanted to keep him for as long as I could just to have his company. I had to choose the day before a month-long tour to fall for him, didn't I?

"You should probably leave." I agreed, smoothing my hands down the front of his shirt.

"Yeah..."

Paul eventually pulled away from me, and sat down on the sofa to put his shoes back on. I crossed my arms over my chest as he did so, and tried to look at everything that wasn't him. You can guess how that worked out.

"Alright." He sighed. "I guess this is goodbye... for now, anyway."

I huffed a little breath of laughter, and nodded. In my mind, however, I was begging him to stay.

I don't wanna be alone... I told him in thought.

"Yes, I suppose it is." I said aloud.

I walked him to the door, but he stood there looking into my eyes for a long while.

"I'll call you." He said. "As soon as we land in America, I will."

"You will?"

"I promise..."

Paul's eyes flicked away from my eyes and down to my lips for a fraction of a second. I caught sight of it, though, and I can say that I kissed him that night. It was was tender and chaste- hardly lasting five seconds. But as out of character it was for me to initiate a kiss, especially one on a first date, we didn't think anything of it. It certainly wasn't the first (and it certainly wasn't the last).

"Goodnight, Melody." He whispered.

"Goodnight, Paul..."