"Jesus, you scared me!" she hissed, putting her hand over her beating heart.
"I thought I heard your voice coming from John's room."
"We stayed up all night talking."
"Is that all?"
Emma’s eyes flared and she marched over to where Paul was sitting. "I don’t know what your problem is, Macca, but you need to drop the attitude. It’s not attractive at all."
Emma didn’t bother to stay around and listen to Paul. She left the room and the hotel.

Emma didn’t stay much longer in San Francisco after that. Laura was getting busy with the new magazine she worked for that was premiering soon. So she returned to England. She stayed low for a few months staying away from the celebrity clubs and the night life of London, preferring dinner parties with friends and days spent shopping. Being famous was getting to her. She hated being recognized. She was a painter.
Brian wanted to keep her in the public eye so he set up an interview with the new soon to be released Rolling Stone Magazine and much to Emma’s relief Laura was sent to do the interview.
"When did you first know that you wanted to be a painter?" Laura asked. The interview was taking place in Emma’s home. They were seated on her living room couch with a bottle of wine open on the coffee table.
"Well it wasn’t until I entered the Liverpool College of Art that I really decided that art was going to be my life. And believe me, I constantly changed my mind many times, but dear friends kept telling me that I was great and I listened to them and finally made art my career."
"You lost one of these dear friends. How did that change your life?"
Emma thought about that for a moment. "Stuart Sutcliffe was his name and he was one of my best friends. He was a brilliant painter, way better that I was. He died on my birthday, 1962, of a brain hemorrhage. That totally ripped my world apart. It was so unexpected and because of it I felt that I just couldn’t possibly go on without him. But I had a great friend who pulled me out of my darkest despair." She smiled at Laura. "His death changed me in that I looked forward to life. I almost lost mine, with his death, but I knew that he wouldn’t want me to be so sad. It was then that I threw myself into painting."
"Right off the bat your show was a huge success. What has fame done to you?"
"It’s made me absolutely crazy!" Emma laughed. "Especially since I moved to England."
"Well, it doesn’t help that you are friends with the Beatles."
Emma smiled. "No, I guess it doesn’t."
"Speaking of the Beatles, how did you become friends with them?"
"Well, I befriended them while attending the Art College in Liverpool."
"How has success and fame changed you?"
"The only change that it has changed me is that I now live in a bigger house."
"Do you mind when you are in the papers?"
Emma groaned. "The papers. You know what, the thing that bothers me most about the London papers is that they really only care what Beatles I was seen with. I am a painter. They should care about what I have painted, not who I am hanging out with."
"Do you want to talk about the rumor involving you and Paul McCartney?"
Emma had decided before the interview that she was going to set the record straight. "Paul and I dated when I was in Liverpool. It ended before I came to New York to go to NYU. Since then, nothing has happened. No love affair, nothing."
"Are you still friends?"
"That is something that we are still working on."
"What is in store from Emma James?"
"Well, I’m always painting so I’m sure there will be a show soon. I’m very passionate about what I do. I cant see my self ever doing anything else and without the support of my friends and family who knows where I would be right now."

John got out of the car first followed by Paul.
"This Indica Gallery." John said turning to Paul. "This better be good. My bed was awfully warm."
Paul started to say something when Neil came bursting out of the galleries front door.
"Gallery on fire there, Neil?" John laughed.
"Emma’s been rushed to London General. She collapsed in a restaurant."
"Collapsed?" Paul asked.
"I don’t know the details," Neil said, despaired. "She was with Brian. He rang me to find you lot."
"Get in the car, Macca." John shouted as he himself jumped into the car.
He did so and they told the driver where to go. It was silent to the hospital. John was out of the car first with Paul not a second behind him. Brian was waiting for them.
John grabbed his arm. "How is she?" He pleaded.
"She’s fine, sleeping now. The doctors want to keep her overnight for observation."
"Take us to her," Paul said.
They road the elevator up to the fifth floor. Brian took them to her room. She was asleep, her hair framing her pale face.
"What did the doctors say?" John whispered.
Brian sighed. "She hasn’t eaten in days or slept much and her system was full of speed."
"Jesus," Paul breathed.
"Do you know of anything that might have been bothering her, John?" Brian asked.
John shook his head. He hadn’t spoken to Emma in almost a week. Guilt washed over him. Why hadn’t he been there for her? He looked up at Brian and Paul. "Do you mind if I have a few minutes alone with her?"
Brian and Paul nodded and left John alone with Emma. He pulled a chair up to her bedside and brushed a finger over her pale cheek. "What’s wrong, Emmie?" he whispered.
She stirred, her eyes fluttering open. It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust, then she saw John.
"I messed up," she whispered.
"Oh, Emmie. You had me so scared."
"I’m sorry."
"What happened, Em? Why haven’t you eaten, or slept?"
Emma tried to smile. "I got this sudden inspiration to paint and I just couldn’t put my brushes down, that’s all."
John was a little skeptical of her answer, but didn’t let it show. He pouted his bottom lip. "You had speed and didn’t share?"
Emma rolled her eyes. "Oh that, how else could I have stayed up? I’m fine, really. I was going to lunch with Brian when I collapsed. Did I make you miss something?"
John pushed a piece of hair out of her face. "No. We were just on our way to see some Japanese artists exhibit. I wasn’t too thrilled about going anyways. Her name scared me, Yoko Ono. Not very positive."
Emma smiled.
"Paul’s here." John told her. The smile left her face.
He stood up. "I should let you rest. You look terrible."
Emma stuck her tongue out at him.
"I try and give a compliment-"
"Save it, Lennon."
He smiled. When he got to the door he turned around. "Let me leave you with this before I go, he’s here. That must be a sign."
Emma let her head fall deeper into the pillow. She stared up at the ceiling. "What kind of sign?" She whispered to the dark.