Funny Face | a paul mccartney story

ten | goldwing

Trigger ⚠️ ⚠️ ⚠️ Warning

Alcohol abuse, and domestic violence prominent in this chapter. Please skip if you are sensitive to such topics.

Thank you.

○●○●

With March steadily approaching, the one year mark of... of that day came closer and closer. I couldn't shake the dirty, violated feeling I had. Just the thought of waking up in the morning to John sitting at the dining room table made me sick. On top of that, Brian Epstine, or Mr. Epstine, as the boys called him, was beginning to be a lot more verbally harassing toward me. Whether it be because Paul was at my beckon call more to comfort me or because he hadn't got laid in a while, I didn't know. All I knew was that his abuse did not go unnoticed.

Especially by Paul.

Especially by John.

I tried as hard as I could to get time with Paul just for comfort. Between the filming for Eight Arms to Hold You, and constant concerts, public appearances with Jane, and getting shooed away by Brian, I couldn't find Paul to even give him a quick glance. While this seems contradictory to my previous statement, do not be fooled into thinking that I didn't have time with Paul- I did- however, it was not for very long that I did.

This particular day, I can recall was the 20th of February. It was a hectic studio day. We recorded You've Got to Hide Your Love Away, That means a lot, Tell Me What You See, If You've Got Trouble, and Tell Me What You See.

For some reason, in all of this songwriting and recording, I had Hymn to Vena stuck in my head. Particularly the third verse:

He hath come to the bosom of his belov'd
Smiling on him
She beareth him to highest heav'n
With yearning heart,
On thee we gaze,
O, goldwing'd messenger of mighty gods

It was a beautiful song. This verse, in particular, however, reminded me of Brian. The more I saw him glaring at me, the more prominent the song became in my thoughts.

I told Paul about this later in the day. We had snuck into a broom closet and had a bit of a make-out session in the dark. We giggled like a couple of school kids, then it suddenly turnt serious.

"Paulie..."

"Yea...?"

"Why doesn't Brian like me?"

"Epstine?"

"Mm-hmm."

Paul let a hiss through his teeth and whispered, "I dunno."

"Does he know about... y'know?"

"Know about what?"

I hesitated for a moment, then said, "John's attack..."

I heard his breath hitch in his throat. "Why would he-"

"Be bitter about something John did? I dunno. Who knows what John told him."

"John wouldn't-"

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"Get outta there you two!" Brian's voice bellowed after the startling knocks at the door.

"Why are we always interrupted?" Paul sighed.

I lowered my head off to the side and then felt Paul take my cheek in his hand and pull my face to his. Our lips slotted together once more before we quickly pulled away and promised we'd see each other soon. For now, it was just a game of hurry up and wait.

○●○●

At this point, you may be wondering what exactly happened between John and me the night of the 3rd of March, 1964. It was a multitude of things that had built up to that moment, but I'll sum it up for you:

The boys had finished filming A Hard Day's Night for the day, and we were mixing some songs for their upcoming album. John and I had been having an affair for the beginning months of 1964, and it was a poetic relationship, but I knew it was going to end.

That night was the third month anniversary of our relationship. I had a bottle of wine for us to share, and even put on a Frank Sinatra album instead of my usual bossa nova record. Only For The Lonely is my favourite Frank Sinatra album, so naturally that is what I put on.

When John showed up (five hours late, might I add), he was pissed in more than one sense of the word. He reeked of whiskey and ciggies and had pink lipstick smeared about his mouth. His knuckles were bruised. I only now know why.

"Where the hell have you been?" I asked, pushing his groping hands off of me.

"Home." He slurred with a giggle. "I missed you..."

"John-" I tried backing away.

I hated whiskey. My alcoholic father scarred me for life with the stuff. Beating my mother after he had drank an entire bottle of it. I swore no man would ever do the same to me.

John, for some reason, just happened to be an exception.

The door of my flat was open, thank god, but it didn't help that none of my neighbours answered my pleas of "John, stop!" and my screams of pain as he slapped my face as hard as he could when I wouldn't give in to his demands.

My blouse was ripped and his trousers were down by the time Paul burst into the room. How he knew about the meeting, I will never know, but he saved me from being... you know...

I still haven't forgiven John for that night. Even after all these years. Although it seemed like I had at times, I knew I hadn't. John couldn't forgive himself either. He took that guilt to his grave.

Such a shame...

Paul was careful about how he cared for me the next few weeks after the attack. My left cheek had been bruised to the bone with the amount of times I had been slapped, and I jumped everytime he made a sudden move at me. Well, it didn't even have to be at me, he just had to simply blink and I was ready to book it.

I didn't see John for those few weeks either. He wanted to apologise to me, but I wouldn't have it. I refused to see him. I even called George Martin and told him that I refused to work with The Beatles until further notice. Although confused, he obliged to my wishes without so much as an eyebrow raise.

It was at this time that he sent me a Gustav Holst record. Hymn to Vena op. 26 no. 9 it was.

"This will protect you in your times of woe." He told me.

I wanted to hug him so badly, but I refused to let myself be in such a vulnerable position around such a man. Instead, I waited until Paul met me at my flat a few hours later, and cried into his chest as the record played.