The Singer and the Bookworm | J.P.M

Chapter Twelve

Thank you guys so much for 3k reads, that's insane! Hope you enjoy this chapter - these next couple are going to be about the new years party and it's gonna get pretty juicy up in here tonightt

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New Year's Eve

In the aftermath of the Cavern Club performance, Paul McCartney had managed to persuade Violet Wilson to attend the New Years' party at John Lennon's place.

That was certainly a sentence Violet had never expected to think, let alone find herself facing.

Nevertheless, she found herself standing in front of her wardrobe on December 31st 1961 with the task of choosing an outfit.

She eventually picked out a plain black dress, nothing too out-there but nothing overly casual either. Its long sleeves and thick material would keep her just warm enough for the short walk to Lennon's. Fruitlessly, she attempted to create an extravagant makeup look, but upon seeing that she looked like a clown with spider-leg lashes she wiped it all off and replaced it with a neutral lipstick and a little less mascara, before combing and straightening her hair.

It seemed like both a year and a second before she found herself standing outside the front door she had visited several days ago, raising a hand to knock on the door. With the fist in front of her face at this moment, she noticed the slight tremor as her nerves sparked into action and the pre-party anxiety kicked in. It was stupid, really, that she could be so nervous for something as small and irrelevant as a teen new year's party, but she was unable to calm herself and found herself considering turning back.

As her stiletto heel hit the ground behind her and she made to turn and back down the driveway before anybody noticed her, there was a scuff of shoes behind the door and it swung open to reveal a buzzed-looking Lennon with a girl Violet knew as Cynthia Powell attached to his arm. His other arm was occupied by a bottle of beer. He peered at her, not seeming to recognise her face, before beckoning her in. The grin he presented her with was lop-sided, giving her an insight into the amount he had had to drink.

Nevertheless, she stumbled through the porch in the direction of the living room at the front, where her eyes were instantly met with the scene of the party. It was not as insane as she had imagined, with tables upturned and dancing bodies crammed into the room with no room to breathe, but on the contrary, there was a comfortable number of both boys and girls her age, perhaps three dozen, lounging and standing around, some alone, some with friends and some with their significant others. There was a bucket of beer on the coffee table, cigarettes being shared around and a record spinning on the player in the corner.

Violet vaguely wondered whether John's aunt minded this happening, or whether she knew about it at all. However, she could not think for long before she felt a strong, larger hand grasp hers and tug her to the left.

Irene, she thought at first, but she turned around only for her eyes to meet those of none other than Paul McCartney. He gave her his adorable grin, which she returned with one of her own.

"You look beautiful," he exclaimed over the raucous of all of the talking people and the bodies that often knocked into them on their way to the kitchen or the yard. She flushed a deep red and thanked him, very aware of the fact that his hand was still holding hers, both firmly and gently at the same time. The fluttering feeling in her heart that she gained from the contact of their skin made her blush even more.

"It's rather a dead party, right?" Paul remarked, his eyes moving away from Violet's face but the admiring smile remaining on his lips. Violet cast him a confused glance before switching her tone.

"Oh yeah," she agreed, nodding vigorously. "Absolutely dead."

"You've been to some wild ones, have you?" he asked her, the softer smile cracking into a smirk.

"Yup, loads," Violet answered stiffly. "Lots. Of course. All the wild stuff there."

"Like what?" he questioned.

Violet gave a soft, nervous laugh. "Like everything. Smoking and boys and stuff. You know."

They made eye contact for another brief moment, and suddenly Paul began to laugh uncontrollably. Violet joined with a nervous titter at first, before joining him - he had a contagious laugh, and she couldn't help it.

"That's really rude of you, McCartney," she scolded him when she regained control of herself, giving him a playful smack on the back. "There's no need to laugh. Although I do have pity for you, because you're obviously jealous of my bountiful social life."

"Right, obviously," he said. "Sorry, ma'am. But the thing is, I can tell you're not very experienced-like with these scenes, and I'm going to make it my mission to make you more so. Are you willing to accept?"

Violet thought for a second about the things he might make her do. She'd never taken a sip of alcohol in her life, and her father's speech about how smoking destroyed your lungs had been enough to put her off for life.

"Of course, Mister," she responded, with little to no regret.

His eyes scanned the room momentarily before he pointed at the bucket of beers. "Your first task, my dear apprentice, is to drink a bottle of beer. Take it as slow as you want, but it has to be empty in an hour's time."

Anxiously, Violet tugged at the hem of her skirt. Why had she agreed to this? The pressure of Paul's hand on the small of her back, however, pushing her softly towards the beers, gave her enough encouragement to snatch one out of the bucket, crack it open and take a sip of the burning liquid.

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"Are you kidding me?" Violet slurred, dropping her fourth empty beer bottle onto a table and staring at Paul with parted lips and a raised eyebrow. "Have you seen what that stuff does to your lungs? It gets them all mangled and grotty—"

"Not at a small scale," Paul reminded her. Despite her having seen him consume at least five bottles of beer, he didn't seen at all phased by it, instead leading around the tipsy girl as if it was a regular thing for him. "Just one drag and then you can put it out."

"Damn you, Paul," she cursed him, stamping her foot and moving towards Cynthia, who was fumbling with the packet for what could be her fifteenth cigarette of the event. By the time Violet had plucked one out, Paul was already behind her, and he tugged on her waist to pull her towards him a little.

Paul took the cigarette from between her fingers and lit it for her with a match as well as lighting one for himself, and then placed one back into her hand and one between his teeth. She knew from observation what to do, so she held it between two fingers and inhaled. As the smoke rushed into her lungs she began to choke, sending a puff out into the air and producing a disgusted grimace on her face.

"That... is ... disgusting," she managed between coughs. Paul thumped her on the back with laughter lining his face.