My Love, My Drug, My Release

Paul's Perspective

What the fuck? Why the fuck?

I could've strangled Linda for letting Lo come down, among these godless musicians and models, around Keith fucking Richards for Christ's sake, in a red dress that didn't even approach mid thigh, that had the neckline you'd expect to see on Marilyn Monroe. 

And now, even while Linda's whore friends danced to the jazz someone had put on as background music, wearing barely anything, Keith wasn't distracted for a second, him and Anita never taking their eyes off Lo. Did she even realize how high her skirt had ridden up when she'd gotten comfortable on the couch? Did her mother see it?

No, of course not, she was too busy schmoozing up Denny Laine, thinking she was going to get me out of retirement. Well, maybe if I wasn't having to watch Lo like a hawk and make sure Richards didn't have a hand up her dress, or his foreign bird for that matter.

Even though I promised myself I wouldn't, I dropped a couple of cubes in a tumbler and filled it nearly to the brim with whiskey.

"Are you gonna give us all a taste McCartney?" Eric Clapton asked from where he was sitting with Beth, one of Linda's bleach-blonde friends on his lap.

"Nope." I didn't elaborate and didn't smile. No one was stupid enough to push me when they could see something was pissing me off, even if they didn't know what it was.

"We don't want your booze anyway," Anita said, sticking out her tongue at me.

"Yeah, the birthday girl said she wanted a good time," Keith said, grinning in a way that I'd always found fun and even endearing at times, but now made a knot in my stomach. He put a hand on Lorraine's knee, and I tried to make eyes with Linda, get confirmation that Keith, a twenty-seven-year-old man, should be touching a minor's leg, but she was watching the interaction with pleasant disinterest. "She doesn't want to get drunk on her birthday. I think the lady would much rather get high."

Everyone but me laughed, other than Lo and Keith, who both looked enticed, one by the perspective of smoking pot, the other by the girl in front of him.

"I don't know about that-" I began, but Eric was quick to cut me off.

"Never knew you as one to turn down grass."

"It's fine Paul," Linda said, walking up to me to whisper in my ear, "Wouldn't you rather she do it with us than off somewhere with strangers."

She was trying to make a logical point, but nothing about this fucking night was logical. People who hadn't reached out to me since the Beatles split were in my home, my wife was openly siding with acquaintances over me, and Lo was acting in a way I'd never seen her act before. It was like she was someone I'd never met. It gave me a migraine to think it was Keith who'd inspired this adventurous shift in her.

"Just one joint," Keith said, pulling out some weed and rolling papers. "Is that okay with you, Daddy Dearest?"

Through gritted teeth, I mumbled, "Be my guest." 

I stood there sipping whiskey while Lo watched Keith roll a joint like he was Jesus walking on water, Anita running claw-like nails through my stepdaughter's hair. 

He took a hit of it, to show her how it was done and then passed it to her. She took a deep inhale, and I couldn't even make out any anxiety on her face, and she got anxious about everything. 

She exhaled with several coughs that she tried to smother, passing the joint to Anita. This brought a smile to my face for the first time all night, because it was so innocent, so my Lorraine.

But then Keith had to go and ruin it. 

"Don't worry, everyone coughs their first time." He relaxed back into the couch, knees a touch too far apart, arms over the back of the couch to conceal the fact that he just wanted to put his arm around Lo. "You did it right though; inhaled it deep into the lungs. Give it a couple more tries, won't you?"