like a pomegranate | george harrison

8 - A Day In The Life

~~~
May 2nd, 1968

Cloud woke the next morning to find George in the kitchen. Her eyes widened when she saw he'd made himself an iced coffee.

"Oh, hello there," he smiled, flashing his beautiful fangs at her.

Over tea and toast it was decided that she could no longer wear the same three borrowed outfits George had lent her. He wouldn't allow it.

It was time for a shopping trip.

~~~

Cloud donned a matching embroidered tunic and pants and a pair of sandals. George needed help choosing: striped pants, or purple?

"I think we know the obvious choice here," she grinned stupidly.

He went with the purple and threw on a leather jacket, his fluffy hair sticking out over the collar. Cloud couldn't stop peeking glances at him as they walked over to his expensive selection of cars.

She'd almost forgotten how rich this man was.

She was sad to see George's psychedelic Mini Cooper was nowhere in sight. Instead he led her to a gorgeous midnight blue Ferrari with two seats. He stuck his hands out and smiled at her, watching happily as her eyes grew as wide as dinner plates.

"Eh?" He hummed, seeking her approval.

"I thought you had a painted car?" Cloud asked, going off her Beatles knowledge. George's face dropped at her reaction.

"Oh," he said, opening the passenger door for her, "I gave that one away to Eric."

She settled silently into the seat and ran her hands all over the leather interior.

"Clapton," he specified, playfully raising an eyebrow as he slid behind the wheel.

~~~

One, she had never been in a car this nice. Ever.

Two, sitting on the left side felt weird to her American brain.

Three, George Harrison was behind the wheel, going a bit fast for her liking. She prayed he couldn't see her stealing glances at him out of the corner of her eye, dark strands of her hair obscuring her view as the wind whipped past them.

"Too fast?" He asked, his velvet brown eyes watching her through the rearview mirror. Cloud realized she'd been gripping her seat, tightly.

"It's your car," she replied. He slowed a bit anyways, shooting her a toothy grin.

He kept the windows open so he could puff on a cigarette. The cold spring air made her shiver, but the warm sunlight felt heavenly on her face. She hated that the smell of new leather mixing with tobacco smoke was so intoxicating to her.

He explained to her that he had to check in at the Beatles' Apple Boutique, their clothing shop in London. It'd be a long car ride, he warned, but Cloud didn't mind.

And neither did he. He had to fight the urge to smile like an idiot, seeing her sit all pretty in his car, her soft brown hair flying about as she watched the green English countryside pass them by.