The plane had landed in San Diego and he’d been staying at a hotel downtown for a few days. The reporters were swarming; how long had it been since Paul McCartney had been in California---or San Diego, for that matter?

It had been quite a while and Paul was glad to breathe in the warm sea air and look upon the calm, untroubled blue of the Pacific.

When he had first arrived, he’d done the round of press conferences and photo shoots and after that had gone around the city with some friends. He was able to walk on the pier and then on the beach the next morning, but the reporters and fans were so many in number that he was soon confined to his room, having to content himself on seeing San Diego from a hotel window.

A few days after arriving, he was still stuck in the room and he was getting bored. People moved in and out of his room and it was always noisy; the fans down below were making a ruckus reminiscent of Beatlemania. The papers were awed by this reception of the 58 year old and Paul found his face on the cover of People, the Union Tribune, Entertainment Weekly…one only had to name a magazine or newspaper and each would carry, if not a cover story, some mention of his maniacal stay in San Diego. "C’mon, Paul, you’ve got some more conferences," his press agent would say to him nearly every morning. Paul would nod, thankful for even just this little bit of freedom from that hotel room.

But on his fourth day of residing there, he made sure that he had a battered guitar case with a guitar and extra clothes in it when he was called.

He was promoting his new album and also answering questions about Linda’s projects, still on-going, and whatever Beatles questions the reporters had. He felt that he’d done good enough a job talking about everything (especially about the album) and when there was a break in the press conference, he slipped away, discreetly, to the conference hall restroom, taking the battered guitar case that he had hidden under the table.

"Paul, you’ve got to be out in five minutes," someone on his staff said, noticing his exit. "There’re some papers for you to see before you go back to the conference."

"Sure, yeah," Paul replied, smiling and turned the corner.

Once in the restroom, he hurriedly got into a stall and opened the guitar case. In it, beside the guitar, were the clothes he had packed earlier; they were raggedy and worn. There was also a muddy-looking bandanna and scratched aviator’s glasses. He changed quickly and then went to the sink to see his disguise. He looked like a poor, broken veteran from some long-forgotten war and the faded patches on his tattered once-green military jacket declaring "love" and "peace" did not detract from his appearance in the least.

There was a row of plants on the restroom windowsill and he reached up and took a small pinch of soil and, mixing it with water from the sink, smeared it on his face. He rinsed his fingers, looking at himself in the mirror. Perfect.

He folded what he had originally been wearing and tucked them under his guitar and locked the case. Whistling, he left the men’s room and ran headlong into men with black shirts where SECURITY blazoned forth in big, white letters.

"’ey, who let this bum in ’ere?" growled the man immediately in front of Paul.

Paul pretended to be afraid and shrank, touching his guitar case feebly and gesturing to the conference hall.

"Sorry, man, Paulie don’t give autographs," said another man with a deep, rumbling voice. "Especially to bums like you. Go on, get out."

Paul was laughing inside and their reference to him ("Paulie") tickled him. He offered a weak smile and turned to go when suddenly he was grabbed by the collar of his jacket and pitched out onto the street.

"What the hell’s going on, you guys?" he heard as the doors swung shut behind him. "Pay attention; no fans or bums allowed in here!"

Paul stood up and laughed out loud, dusting himself off. He tried hailing a taxi, but no one would pull over for the likes of him. He grinned, thinking, I’ve got everyone fooled! He eventually boarded a bus bound for Balboa Park and the bus driver said, "I don’t want any trouble from you, dude. Man in here yesterday looked jus’ like you, caused some trouble. Got yer fare?"

Paul deposited the coins into the slot as an answer and smiled amicably.

"You know, for a bum you’ve got a nice smile," the bus driver said, smiling back. "Now get on back there and be quiet."

Paul nodded and said nothing, not wanting his accent to give him away, and moved to a seat by the window. He looked out, enjoying the scenic route that the bus had taken, which started after cutting across Downtown and joining up with the southbound 15 after what was now Qualcomm Stadium. He relaxed and was glad to be on this little trip from his life.

The bus pulled to a stop a little after the long steps that went up into the "front" of the park and when Paul stepped onto the sidewalk, he saw the famous fountain spraying high and he could hear music. He went up the steps and strolled past the fountain and into the courtyard and saw a long tapestry-like advertisement for Whales inside the Space Museum. He thought that might be interesting and went in, his money already in his hand. The ticket lady tried not to look at him but took his ticket anyway and the man who opened the door to the theatre whispered to Paul, "I was there, too, back in ’67."

Paul had never seen anything like this round, ceiling screen where everything looked completely real. There was a short film about stars and he looked up into the screen, feeling as though he were outside looking up at the night sky.

After that, he walked through the Natural History Museum and then to the Botanical Gardens. He settled himself on the southern edge of the pond in front of the Gardens, the edge right up against the street coming from the courtyard, and with his last bit of change, bought a popsicle from a vendor. After finishing, he walked around the outside Theatre and played his guitar, marveling at how it amplified and echoed back at him from the sculpted walls.

He leaned against a pillar and played "Calico Skies", singing along:

He walked as he played, leaving the case against the pillar. As he turned in the direction of the stage of the outside Theatre, he saw a young girl, about sixteen, he guessed, dancing and then stopping to make some announcement to an imaginary audience---the chairs were empty and the only person in close vicinity was Paul himself. She was acting and he caught some lines from Cyrano de Begerac. He then heard her say, in a thick Scouse accent,

"Eh, fella, you want to try pulling the other one, it’s got a full set of bells hanging off it...Y’what?...I know your sort, two cokes and a packet of cheese and onion crisps and suddenly it’s love and we’re stopping in an empty shop doorway. Yer just after me body and y’can’t have it...so there!"

Paul laughed and wondered what those lines were from…they sounded very familiar…

He recommenced playing "Calico Skies" and the girl looked toward him, dancing again, but singing along! Paul was stunned that someone so young would know that song…even if was only a few years old…She approached him from the side of the stage that connected to the pathway he was on and then she stopped and stared at him.

Oh no, I’ve been recognized…Paul thought with an inward grimace.

"Jemmy!" the girl cried.

Paul breathed a sigh of relief. She thinks I’m someone else!

"Jemmy, James dear, it’s so lovely to see you!" she exclaimed in a very actress-y tone, coming to hug him, guitar and all.

Well, she’s got the first name right.

"How are you, luv?" she said in what he knew was her real accent; an American one through and through.

"Oh, just fine…what are those lines from?" Paul replied, trying to sound American as well and was surprised when she cuffed him lightly on the head.

"Stop trying to sound American," she said. "You know it doesn’t work. I like your real accent anyway; you’d be a fool to lose it…about those lines…are you trying to pull my leg?"

He grinned at her and looked her straight in the eye, saying, "Something like that."

"Go on, pretend you don’t know those lines," the girl replied with a wicked smile. He said nothing in reply so she dropped the subject, albeit with a roll of her large brown eyes. "So why’re you dressed up, h’m?" she asked, taking his guitar and laying it in his case.

"Oh…on a call," he said vaguely, hoping that she was a working actress and would buy it.

"I thought so," she said with a smile. "Congratulations! How long’s it been since our play together? A week? A busy man you be, matey!"

"Yeah, quite so."

"Lissa!" came a distant call.

The girl, obviously named Lissa, made a face and then kissed his dirty cheek. "Take care, old man," she said with a cheeky wink. "I’ll see you soon, Jem dear!"

She ran off in direction of the call.

Bemused, he picked up his case and began to walk towards the courtyard. After twenty minutes’ slow walking he got there and seated himself under a tree by a stream rushing on the cement under him and opened his case and began to play for his dinner.

A group was playing at the opposite stream and he could see the girl Lissa dancing along to the music. She turned and saw him and promptly went over to him and took the guitar from him and set it again in his case. She grabbed his hand and pulled him out there with her and made him dance.

He enjoyed himself and was liking this weird, friendly girl more by the second. He twirled her and she did a backwards-somersault over his head and soon a crowd had gathered to see the pair and the musicians played louder and faster.

"C’mon, James!" she yelled at him when he showed signs of tiring. "Where’s that youthful bounce?" He grinned at her and caught her in his arms, swinging her into the air.

Coins fell at their feet but they danced on, oblivious. Paul got brave enough to take off his glasses and tossed them to the side and kept swinging his new-found friend around. There was no gasp from the audience so he was assured he hadn’t been recognized. There was no twinge of recognition in Lissa’s face either; she was still grinning at him and laughing and even when their faces were inches apart he saw nothing, not even far back in her eyes.

The musicians ended their set and took a break and the crowd clapped and dispersed and Lissa gathered all the change and gave it to the musicians and then took her place at Paul’s side. She caught his hand in hers and tapped her feet, doing a little mock dance. Paul laughed; and his stomach chose this moment to growl loudly.

"Hungry?" Lissa said with an understanding smile. "C’mon; I know just the place." She kept his hand and led him to where her family was sitting, on the grass by the fountain.

"This is James, Mommy and Daddy; remember him?" she said and Paul smiled at how she addressed her parents. "I’ve got my license with me so we’re going to get something to eat."

Her parents nodded and smiled at Paul and returned to conversation.

"Lissa, I---"

"You’re a vegetarian. I know."

Paul raised an eyebrow.

"And don’t pretend you’re worrying about your car either; I know you didn’t come here in it. So sit down and shut up." She grinned to show that she was only joking.

Paul chuckled and wondered about the similarities between Jem and himself. It was getting quite odd.

Lissa had not led him wrong; they came to a fast food restaurant that served vegetarian foods as well. They ordered something to go and when they got back in the car, Lissa popped in a Wings CD, Back to the Egg, and played "Daytime Nighttime Suffering".

"Well, c’mon, Jemmy," she said. "Sing along; you know the words!"

Paul made a face at her.

She surprised him by laughing and saying, "I know you’re shy, but it’s just me."

He looked at her sharply when she said this and then patted her shoulder. "I know, luv, I know."

"So sing then! I know you sound just like Paul McCartney and I’d like to hear you. You’re even better than him, you know that?"

Paul grinned and smothered a laugh and sang along and saw her relax at the sound of his voice.

"I told you!" she said when the song ended. "You sound like him, exactly." Her voice drifted off a bit and she kept her eyes on the road and said nothing else.

Paul wondered at that but had no wish to pry. Had he, as Paul McCartney, done something to her? She was old enough to have attended his world tours in the early ’90s. Had he insulted her? Her family?

They pulled into the parking lot and ate their lunches on the grass outside and chatted, she having recovered from her momentary silence. "Talk to me, Jem. What’s been going on?"

"I got a contract to make an album," he began and looked at her to see her reaction. It was completely congratulatory. He went on and told her about it, avoiding the album and song titles, having a feeling she’d know and he liked this "Jem and Lissa" relationship the way it was.

"That’s great!" she said enthusiastically when he finished. "Are you gonna put a little side note on it? ‘A special hello to Strawberry’?"

He cocked his head at her quizzically.

"You’ve forgotten me old nickname!" she exclaimed in a put-on British accent. She pouted. "Everyone used to tell me I was just like one, too; sweet on the outside and sweet and special on the inside. And you called me that all the time!"

"Get on, Lissa luv! I was just teasing! Of course I remember my little Strawberry!"

He was lying through his teeth, but he achieved his purpose---she was beaming. And it wasn’t such a lie anyway; he didn’t disagree with that description at all. He even had more to add to it.

"All right, then," she said, apparently satisfied. "So what now?"

"I don’t know," Paul replied, leaning on his right hand and throwing his left hand over his left knee. "Why don’t we---"

"Play in the fountain!" Lissa exclaimed and yanked him up. "C’mon; you’ve finished?"

Paul nodded and looked on amusedly while Lissa kicked off her shoes and rolled up her flared jeans. She began to skip in direction of the famous Balboa Park fountain when she suddenly stopped and turned to face Paul. "You comin’?"

"Yeah, yeah, let me just…" Paul took off his shoes and rolled up his tattered pants. He was quite pale underneath his clothes, a definite contrast to this bouncy golden-tanned sixteen-year-old.

She smiled and said, "You be after a bit o’ tannin’, yessir! A day without sunscreen on a beach will roast ye well!" She cackled and took his hand when he approached her.

Upon reaching the fountain, she darted a furtive glance around to make sure "they" weren’t watching and then hopped in nimbly. She began whistling and he heard snatches of "Good Day Sunshine". He stood there and threw his head back, laughing that he was in company of such a fan.

"What?" she asked him with a sunny grin on her face. "I’ve got a song for every occasion, remember?"

"Yeah, that you do," he said with a short laugh and then joined her. The cold (though dirty) water felt good to his hot, sticky feet that had been encased in battered military boots the whole day.

He bent over to massage his feet and reflected, I’m getting too old for this sort of thing! when a sudden splash! erupted right next to his ear and he felt the water running down his face and dampening his clothes.

"Mmff!" he spluttered, wiping the water from his face and then thrust his hands into the water and made an upward motion completely drenching the laughing girl in front of him.

She made a shocked sound and then laughed again.

So it went on; laughing and splashing and then finally drying off, only to be splashed again.

Paul noted the sun slipping in the sky and knew that sunset in California, because it was summer, was about 8:30...judging from its position, it was already 6:30. He had quite enjoyed this vacation from being himself but now, he knew, it was time to get back. It made him sad as well because he had really liked being in Lissa’s company. It was nice to be normal in the face of strangers, he mused and aroused himself from his reverie to ask Lissa, "Luv, do you think you could take me Downtown?"

"All right," she replied and helped him up from his sitting position. "Would you mind if we went for a little walk before I leave you?"

"Okay," Paul agreed. That sounds perfect. Slip right in under cover of darkness…

"C’mon, then, James," she said and they went to find the car.

"My parents are still walking around with my brother and sister," she remarked as they got in the car. "They won’t mind."

"I hope not," Paul said sincerely and touched her hair. "Thank you for a wonderful time, Lissa. I’ll never forget it."

"You’re welcome," she replied and turned her head slightly so that she met his eyes. "Thank you too. I’ve had quite a lovely day."

Paul smiled and reclined his seat and listened to his music of yesteryear floating on the air.

She parked by a small plaza in the heart of Downtown and they got out and began to walk. A sign for Ray’s Books: Used, Old, and Rare caught Lissa’s eye and she said impulsively, "Let’s go in. I know you’ve always liked these, Jemmy."

Paul nodded agreeably and they went in and separated; Lissa in the performing arts section and Paul looking at everything. They left together and walked down the street to the Star of India and Lissa said dreamily, "Isn’t she lovely?"

"Very," Paul answered and studied how the lights from the deck made the masts’ wood shine. They went on board and walked up the way they had came and sat on the edge of a dock. Lissa’s legs dangled over the side and Paul rested against the opposite dock-post. They looked out over the water that lapped gently under them and watched the sun set in a blaze of colour and glory. They talked quietly for a while and one by one, the stars began to appear in the sky.

"Look up there, James," Lissa murmured, pointing to a rather bright star. "That’s Venus. Beautiful, isn’t she?"

Paul nodded and studied the shadowy profile of his companion.

"When I was little," she said, "about five or six, my dad and I were driving through Arizona late at night and I saw this beautiful star hanging in the sky." She closed her eyes as if to picture it. "It was white and very bright and it looked exactly how artists portray the Star on the night of Jesus’ birth. It had four main points and four little ones hiding in the corners the main ones made. It’s a sign of comfort to me; I’ve never forgotten it." She was silent for a few moments and then she stood up and reached for Paul’s hand. "C’mon, I’ve got to get you back to where you’re staying."

Her voice was serious now, much different from the laughing one he’d heard in the daylight.

They got into the car and Paul said, "Just drop me off---"

"I know where to take you, Jemmy," she said, rather quietly.

She pulled up just slightly past his hotel and said, not looking at him, "You’d better change now. It’s dark here and I don’t want you to be thrown out."

Paul stared at her but did as she said in the backseat of the car. When he came up to the passenger’s side again, she took a tissue and wiped his face of the dirt he’d put on earlier as part of his disguise. She then put the car in reverse and backed up to the front entrance of the hotel and the fans that were still left were not paying attention to them.

They both got out and stood by Paul’s door, Lissa not looking at him for a moment. When she did, he met her eyes and touched her hair again.

"While you’ve been with me, you’ve been Jemmy. But when you go back in there, you’ll be Paul again," Lissa said softly, her eyes bright. "And that will be the end of it, I suppose. But thank you for being Jemmy today. I’ll never forget him, or you."

Paul understood now that she’d known who he was the whole time but the details of that weren’t important now. She turned to leave him when he suddenly grasped her arm and made her look at him.

"Do you think I’ll let you go that easily?" he asked her, his heart hurting from the truth in her words. "I’m still Jemmy, Strawberry. I’m only Paul for the cameras. But when I’m with my friends and family, I’m the Jemmy you met today. You are my friend now and I will be no one but Jemmy to you, love. Come here." He gathered her in his arms and hugged her tightly. "Thank you."

"You’re welcome," she whispered and he knew she was crying.

"Hush, luv," he said, feeling teary himself. "Here." He pulled a pen from his suit pocket and wrote his private number on a piece of paper he never failed to have about him. She looked at him with a smile on her face and in her eyes and wrote hers for him as well. They hugged each other one last time and he brushed a kiss on her cheek. "I’ll call you as soon as I get home," he said. "Take care, Lissa."

"God bless," she replied and waved as he passed out of the shadows and through the lighted grand entrance of the hotel and became Paul once more.

But only on the outside. He was still her beloved Jemmy at heart.

Copyright 2000-2001: Lissa Michelle Supler. This is original copyrighted work and may not be reproduced in any form, by any means, without the permission of the author. Permission may be obtained by e-mail.

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