The next morning, Emma was awoken by the ringing of the phone by her bed.

“Hello?”

“Happy Birthday!” John’s cheerful voice sang on the other end.

Emma groaned. “What time is it?”

“Ten a.m. You don’t sound too cheerful on your birthday.”

“I was hoping everyone had forgotten,” she muttered.

“I’m coming over in an hour and a half to take you out for lunch,” he informed her.

“John--” but he had already hung up.

“Great!” Emma cried, throwing back her covers. She walked into her bathroom and had a shower. Not in the mood to dress up, Emma put on a pair of black ankle-length capris and a white peasant top Laura had sent her from Mexico. With her hair, she just tied a black scarf around her head. By the time she was finished getting ready, John’s black Rolls Royce was waiting in the driveway. Sighing, she grabbed her bag and sunglasses and then locked her front door.

“Hey birthday girl,” John smiled as Emma climbed into the car.

“So where are we going?” Emma asked, ignoring John’s over-cheerfulness.

“I thought we would go to lunch,” he answered.

“As long as it’s nothing too much. I just want to get this day over with”

“Why so glum?” John asked.

Emma looked at him. Did he not remember what happened today, four years ago? she wondered. No twanting to be a downer, she smiled. “I had a bad day yesterday.”

“Paul,” John said knowingly.

“How did you know?”

John shrugged. “Just a guess. There have been a lot of rumors about you two in the papers lately.”

“Yeah, rumors.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “Are they really rumors?”

Emma started to laugh. “Like I would actually go back to that prick!”

“Whoa!” John cried. “What’s with this sudden hostility?”

“Please don’t make me get into it right now,” Emma pleaded.

“Sure,” John agreed.

The car came to a stop and they got out. They were at a restaurant called Fire and Ice.

“I’ve wanted to try this place,” Emma told John as they were seated. “I heard it was good.”

They talked as they waited for their meals.

“Here,” John said, handing Emma a wrapped package. “I’ll give this to you now.”

Emma took the package and unwrapped it. “Oh, John!” she choked. It was a framed picture. A picture of her, John and . . . Stuart. They were sitting on the front steps of Emma’s home in Liverpool. They smiled joyously into the camera lense. Tears filled Emma’s eyes as she set the picture down on the table.

“I didn’t forget what today was, Emmie,” John whispered. “I miss him just as much as you do.”

“I know John.”

“I just didn’t want to mention it on your birthday. It’s supposed to be a happy day.”

“It will never be a happy day for me,” she told John. “Not when I know what happened.”

Their lunch arrived and Emma hoped that the subject had been dropped, but she was wrong.

“You shouldn’t keep things inside, Em,” John told her.

“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” Emma scoffed. “You want me to talk about it, fine. He called me the day he died to wish me a happy birthday. I hurried up the conversation because I had to get to school.” She had trouble getting the next part out. “The last thing we said to each other...was...love ya.” She looked up at John and saw tears in his eyes. “I just feel like I should have done something, like I let him down in a way.”

“God! Don’t feel that way, Emmie!” John told her. “He died. We can’t change that and we can’t go on with ‘what if’s’ and ‘I should have done that.’”

“I know,” Emma sighed. “It was just so hard. I had moved to a new city, having no one I could call up and cry to. No one who really truly knew me. And then I get the phone call that Stuart had died. That just sent me over the deep end.” Emma paused and tilted her head a bit, looking at John. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“When?’ he asked.

“When Stuart died. Why was it George who called me and not you?”

“George called you?” By the tone of his voice, John knew nothing about this call.

“He called to see how I was doing and when he found out I didn’t know he told me.”

John hung his head. “I’m sorry Emmie.” He looked up. “I wanted to but I didn’t know how.”

Emma sighed. “It’s okay.”

“I did try calling you later. But the phone number I had for you didn’t work.”

It was Emma’s turn to hang her head. “I had my number changed. I couldn’t handle it, John. I just went over the edge. I spent weeks in my bed crying and wanting nothing more than to be dead. Thank God Laura was there. She got me to see things straight. Realize that I had to go on with my life.”

“You didn’t do anything stupid, did you Emmie?” John asked, sounding worried.

Emma shook her head. “No I didn’t. My career took off soon after and I had other things to think about.”

“My god, if anything would have happened to you...” John let the sentence trail off.

Emma reached across the table and put her hand on top of his. “I would never do anything to hurt you, I promise.”

“I know. Now, let’s get out of this morbid discussion.”

“You’re the one who brought it up!” Emma laughed.

John smiled. They had finished their meals. “Did you want to do anything else?” he asked. Emma shook her head.

“I really should go home. I have a show lined up in two weeks and I barely have anything new, but know I have tons of inspiration to work from so I am sure I will have no problem coming up with a few new paintings.”

They got up and John paid the bill. “Thank you for a lovely lunch, John,” Emma thanked him as she was dropped off at her house.

“Anytime, Emmie. Anytime.”

“Why don’t you and Cyn come over the day after tomorrow for dinner. I think I’ll throw a little party. I have a magazine interview during the day but after 7 I’m free.”

“I’ll be there,” John smiled.

Emma waved goodbye and watched until the car had disappeared from her driveway. Walking back to her house, she already had the plans for the party running through her head.

Emma had never hosted her own party before and really had no idea where to begin. She had invited a lot of people including Paul and Jane, a bold move on her part. But before she could start worrying about who was coming, she had an interview and photo shoot for Vogue magazine. She’d almost choked on her Greek salad when Brian had told her that Vouge wanted to do a story on her.

“I still don’t understand why you wanted me for your magazine!” Emma laughed as she walked into the wardrobe room.

“Because you are smart, talented and beautiful. A great role model for today’s woman.”

Emma laughed again. “Since when do women have role models?”

“Since today,” the woman replied.

They dressed Emma up like she was from the 40's. “They look is very becoming on you,” the stylist had said. The pictures took four hours to do and then she was taken to another area, where her interviewer was waiting.

“I’m Helen Jones,” she said, standing up from her chair when Emma walked in.

“Nice to meet you,” Emma replied, taking a seat in the plush chair that was offered to her. Helen sat down across from her, a notepad and pen her hand. A tape recorder was sitting on the table between them.

“Are you ready to begin?” Helen asked. Emma nodded and watched as Helen leaned over and pressed down on the recorder's buttons. “Did you grow up wanting to be an artist?”

Emma smiled. “No. In fact it wasn’t until art college that I finally became confident in my work that I knew I could make a living out of it.”

“But you’ve always been painting?”

“Yes. My mother likes to tell me that I was born with a paintbrush in my hand.”

“What inspires you to paint?”

“Many things really. Mainly emotion.”

“So when you’re feeling sad your pictures are dark and when you’re happy you paint more of a cheerful painting?”

“Actually no. I could be in the happiest mood when I start painting, but the picture itself turns out to be dark and depressing. I can’t explain how things come to when they do and why. I don’t even know.”

“What would you call your style of painting?”

Emma laughed. “I don’t know if you could catagorize my paintings into one type of style. My friends just call it ‘Emma Style.’”

“Speaking of friends, you’ve been seen around London with a few Beatles. Care to explain?”

“There is nothing to explain, really. I’ve been friends with them since I first moved to Liverpool when I was 17.”

“And are you just friends?”

“I take it you’re referring to the rumors of Paul and I?” Emma asked.

“Yes.”

“Paul and I have nothing going on between the two of us.”

Helen looked at her, uncertainty washing over her face.

“Not now, anyways. Yes, we did have something going on a long time ago but it’s long over and won't return. So all the Paul fans can stop worrying.”

Helen started to say something.

“And no, I will not go more into detail on that. Subject closed.” Emma smiled.

“Fair enough. Has being a celebrity changed you?”

“It’s so weird to attach celebrity to me name! Money has definitely changed me.”

“How so?”

“As we speak, I am having my house cleaned, decorated and catered for a party I am having tonight.”

“What sort of party?”

“A really late house warming party. I’ve been so busy since I moved to London. I haven’t had time for a normal life.”

“What are your plans for the future?”

“I have a show coming up next month. Then, I think I am going to take a much needed break and go back to New York for a bit and then off to San Francisco to visit my friend, Laura.”

They talked a bit more about her painting and what it was like to be successful in a man's world. Then the interview was over and Emma had just enough time to pick up her dress at the dry cleaners and make it home and get ready.

She was so nervous as she applied a final coat of lipstick. She should never have invited Paul and Jane. The whole evening would be spent trying to avoid them. But she wasn’t going to act childish. She was a mature adult and she could handle having her ex in the same room.

The doorbell rang and Emma took a quick look at herself in the mirror. She was happy with the dress she had chosen. It was black and reminded her of Audrey Hepburn in ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s.’ She’d piled her hair up so it looked messy, but nice.

Running downstairs, she opened the door to John and Cyn.

“I am the stupidest person in the universe!” was the first thing out of Emma’s mouth.

“What?” John laughed as he shut the door.

Emma took their coats. “Why did I invite Paul and Jane??”

“Because you're a mature adult. Now, where is the jukebox you wanted me to organize?” John asked. Emma sighed and led them to the living room where John went to work on the jukebox in the corner and the two girls sat down on one of the couches.

“The house looks great, Em,” Cyn said, her eyes grazing over the living room.

“Yes it does.” Emma agreed.

“When you have money, it’s a wonder what you can do,” Cyn laughed.

“Yes it is. Oh, how did the magazine interview go?”

“Really good, actually,” Emma laughed. “They had me dress in some beautiful vintage dresses and the interviewer asked me really good questions. It was weird though.”

“Em, do you have any more records?” John called from across the room.

“Yeah. There should be a couple of boxes in the closet in my bedroom.”

He got up and left the room.

Cyn leaned forward. “What happened between you and Paul?” she asked when she was sure John was out of ear range.

Emma sighed. “We got into an argument about the picture in the paper. We yelled . . . well I yelled and it ended with me saying that I wished I had never met him.”

Cyn’s eyes widened. “And you invited him tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Well I’m sure he deserved what you said to him and it’s nice that you can be an adult about the situation.”

“I just wish I wasn’t in this situation!” Emma smiled. “God. Sometimes I wish I could just go back to the days back in Liverpool before the group got famous, before I went to New York, before Stuart died, and just stay there forever.”

“I know the feeling.” Cyn replied. “Things were so much simpler. Now, people have changed.”

Emma eyed Cyn suspiciously. “Meaning?”

“Meaning people aren’t the same as they once were,” Cyn replied just as John walked back into the room, carrying a box of records.

“We’ll talk later,” Emma whispered to Cyn. Then she stood up. “Come on, Cyn. I still need to set the bar up.”

The subject was dropped for the time being and pretty soon the house was filling with people. Half an hour after the party started, Paul showed up . . . without Jane. He was with Brian and Neil.

“We come bearing gifts!” Neil smiled, handing Emma two bottles of champagne.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Emma laughed.

“It’s a housewarming party. You must come bearing gifts,” Brian explained.

“You’re too sweet. You can leave your coats in the spare bedroom down the hall. I will go put these in the fridge.” Walking away, Emma let go the breath she was holding. She didn’t even look at Paul. No. Inviting him had not been a good idea.

Emma was having a good time. She’d taken Pattie, Cyn and Maureen on a tour of the house.

“This place is amazing, Emma!” Pattie cried when they walked into Emma’s bedroom.

“You’ve certainly done wonders to the place,” Maureen agreed.

“It’s a wonder I ever managed to get everything unpacked,” Emma confessed. “I’ve been so busy since the moment I set foot on London soil.” “Well you should be proud,” Cyn told her. “You’ve made it into a lovely home.”

Emma did her best in mingling with her guests. She danced, made sure that there was constantly food and drink and just enjoyed herself.

At one point she needed to escape outside and get some fresh air, so she grabbed herself a drink and slipped out back through the kitchen doors. Sighing, she breathed in the cool crisp night spring air and sat down on the cold concrete patio, slipping off her shoes and dipping her toes into the damp, refreshing grass. Music breezed through the open french doors and floated out into the night. The scent of roses drifted up and surrounded her. She really needed to get someone in and take care of her garden. Marvin Gaye came on at that moment.

“Oh, I love Marvin Gaye!” Emma said outloud to herself.

“I always thought you would,” a voice spoke behind her, making Emma jump. Turning her head, she saw Paul standing just a few feet from her. She hadn’t even heard him come out. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Emma looked into her half-empty glass. “I just wasn’t expecting you.”

“To show up at the party or right now?”

Emma turned her head so that it was resting on her shoulder and she was looking back at him. “Both.”

“Can I sit down?” he asked, stepping a bit closer. No!

“Yeah, sure.”

He sat down beside Emma, leaving a few feet between them. Emma played with the ice in her now-empty cup while Paul plucked the grass from the ground. “Your house is really lovely,” Paul spoke, breaking the silence.

“Thank you.” Silence again.

Emma was finding it hard to breath with him being so close. He looked amazing tonight dressed in a blood red buttondown long-sleeved shirt and black pinstripe pants. His hair was disheveled, but still looked great on him. She cleared her throat.

“So...um...where’s Jane tonight?”

“New York.” he answered.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Emma lied.

“Yeah,” Paul answered. Silence once again.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you the other day,” Emma apologized. “I was mad and said things I didn’t mean.”

“Is that why you invited me to your party? As a pity offering?”

“What?” Emma cried.

“Well,” Paul said standing up. “It just seems odd that you invited Jane and I.”

Emma stared up at him, her eyes glaring. “Are you for real?? I was trying to be an adult about our whole situation! Something that you aren’t very good at!”

Paul glared back at her. “I did what was best. I have a girlfriend in case you hadn’t noticed. I don’t need some love scandal blasted across the papers!”

“Do you think I wanted to see it any more than you did?” she yelled.

“How do I know that you weren’t the one who had the picture put in the paper?”

Emma shot up from her sitting position and stalked over to Paul so that she was inches from him. “Excuse me???? I wanted to forget about us! Why would I do that?”

Paul shook his head. “I don’t know.” He sighed and turned away from Emma, walking further out into the garden. “What’s happened to us, Em?” he asked, turning to look at her.

Emma stood there a second, shocked at how fast emotions were turning. She walked closer to him. “What do you mean?”

“We have never fought before and now that you are back in England all we seem to do is yell at each other.”

“Things are different now,” Emma whispered.

“Why?” Paul asked.

“Why is the sky blue? I don’t know Paul!” Emma cried. “People change, life changes. You can't go back to the way things once were.”

He hung his head. “Yeah, I realize that now.”

Emma wanted to get away from this subject so she thought asking about the album would be a safe departure. “So how is the album coming along?”

“Good. We’ve got some great songs on this album.”

“Is it anything like Rubber Soul?”

Paul nodded his head. “A bit. We’re advancing more with this one.”

A smile spread across her face. “I can still remember like it was yesterday the late night talks we’d all have about the when we would be famous. You’d go on and on about how you were going to record the best rock and roll records ever.” She looked at him. “And that is just what you are doing.”

Paul smiled at the memory. “Yeah. And I can remember you saying that you were going to break the male dominance barriers of art and that you did.”

“Yes well there were many times I wanted to give up and hide my brushes.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t, then.”

This isn’t right! Emma’s mind cried. She should be yelling at Paul for making her hurt for so many years. She should be hitting him and cursing him, not making small talk of the past. Emma backed away from Paul and stared up into the sky.

“Still wishing you could be with the stars?” Paul’s voice whispered into Emma’s ear. She turned around to find him inches from her. He reached up to touch her but she swatted his hand away.

“What are you doing?!” Emma cried. Paul looked confused. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“What I wanted?”

“You didn’t really think I would believe your story of you wanting to be mature and all that, did you?”

“What are you talking about?!” she cried. “Why are you doing this, Paul?”

“Because, Emma, what we had, it was...”

“That’s just it, Paul. It was what we had, not what we have.”

Paul hung his head and backed off a bit.

Emma’s temper rose as she watched him. “You stupid bloody cow!” she breathed. Now it was time for yelling.

Paul’s head shot up. “Excuse me?”

“How much did the relationship we had really mean to you?” she asked.

“What?” he asked.

“I’ve always wanted to ask you that because when we were together you told me you loved me and made all these promises.” Emma’s voice quavered but she wasn’t going to cry. Not in front of him. “And then, just like that, you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Paul’s voice rose. “That’s not the way it was, Emma.”

Emma tilted her head to the side. “No?”

“No.” Paul stated. “If I remember correctly, you were the one who broke up with me.”

“Only after you gave me this bloody speech about how you wouldn’t be able to trust me when I left and how you didn’t think we could make a long distance relationship work!”

Paul’s eyes lowered and he stared at the ground. “I never didn’t love you, Emma.” His eyes raised and he was looking right at her. “I loved you more than myself. I just got scared and panicked.”

Emma felt uncomfortable under his intense gaze. “All those times you went to Hamburg and other gigs, not once did I question your trust. Not once did I think we wouldn’t be able to work things out.” She closed her eyes, taking herself back to that night when she had thrown the ring at his feet. “Maybe we were too young. Unsure of what love and trust really were all about.”

“No.” Paul disagreed. "We were young, sure, but we knew what love and trust were. I was just too bloody blind to see.”

This was not how Emma had imagined this argument would be. Paul wasn’t supposed to admit that he was wrong. “Well, it’s a good thing you didn’t.” Emma told him.

“What do you mean?” Paul asked.

“Well god forbid you would have to spend the rest of your life with me.”

"What?! Emma, you are making no sense.”

“I’ve been doing that for a while, making no sense,” she looked at him, her eyes glistening with tears. “I’ve been through too much, Paul. Too much for someone at my age.”

“Oh, Emma,” Paul whispered. Just then, a very familiar song drifted threw the open doors. “Let’s fall in love . . .”

Emma’s head shot in the direction of where the music was coming from. This was turning out to be a weird night. This wasn’t in the box of records she had put out for John. She’d put everything that made her think of Paul into a separate box that she kept in her closet. John must have found it. She turned and looked at Paul and cleared her throat.

“This night just keeps getting better and better. I should really get back inside. I’m not being a good hostess.” She turned and started walking towards the house.

“Emma,” Paul called to her, but she just kept on walking.

Cyn was in the kitchen when Emma came in. “I saw you and Paul talking. Is everything alright?”

Emma shook her head. “We’re still at the same place we were at the other day.”

“Well, get back to the party and take your mind off things.”

Emma smiled. “Yeah. Hey, do you maybe want to have lunch tomorrow?”

“Yeah. That would be nice.”

“Okay. Well, I’d better put an appearance out there before everyone starts wondering what happened to the hostess!”

The first person she saw was John. She walked over to him. “What box of records did you take from my room?” she asked him. “I just took the boxes from your closet, why?”

“This record, Nat King Cole, it shouldn’t have been in the boxes.”

“Oh, there were a few in another box I saw open. I grabbed them too. Hey, I saw you and Paul talking outside-”

“Don’t even ask,” Emma sighed, cutting him off before he could ask any questions.