10: "And the Truth Shall Set You Free"


10~“And the Truth Shall Set You Free”




I returned to college and Paul continued driving down at the end of every
month to take me home. There were no more emotional outbursts on my part; I
kept it all to myself. If he didn’t see what was so obvious, what I had
finally admitted to myself, that I loved him, then it was no use getting
worked up about it. As my mother would have said, “There’ll be someone for
you, someday.”


But since I had finally admitted my love for him to myself, there was no
way of not thinking about it. I lay in bed at night and thought about
my feelings, Paul, and if it would ever work out. It was October at this
point and I just consoled myself to the fact that it wouldn’t. He looked
upon me as an ever-cheerful, trustworthy friend and wasn’t that what I had
wanted all along? From my teenage years when Linda was still alive and well
and they were together, wasn’t it all I wanted---just to be a friend that he
trusted?


Yes, I told myself. That WAS what I wanted, but not anymore. Just being a
friend wasn’t enough. But all I could do was shrug my shoulders. I may have
been a famous actress, model, and writer, but I was not experienced with men
and their ways. I could flirt, like any other girl, but the love I felt for
Paul scorned that method of “reeling him in”.


There was a picture of Paul and I, with our arms across each other’s
shoulders, laughing, that Elizabeth had taken and it now was in a silver
frame on my bed-table. At this period, the lovemaking in my stories “dried
up” I think is the best way to put it and that describes pretty much how I
was feeling. I needed to put the romance-that-would-never-happen out of my
head, replace it with friendship, and get on with my studies.


October melted into November and it wasn’t the November I knew at home. It
was cold, wet, sometimes snowy, and everything was dead. At home in Windy
Falls, the hot Santa Ana winds would be blowing and the leaves in the trees
would be crimson, orange, gold, and brown and you could still walk around in
shorts.


As soon as the weather started turning nasty, there was a knock on the
door.

Sitting at the window-seat, wrapped up in blankets and drinking hot chocolate, I sighed and got up and pulled a robe on. I opened the door and there was the Federal Express man with a package in his hands.
He smiled when he saw who it was and then said, “Where can I put this for you, Miss Lewis?”
I smiled back at him and said, “Call me Lynne. It’s okay, I’ll take it.” I took it from him and placed it inside the door.
He held out the clipboard to me and motioned for me to sign. He was blushing from my smile and as I took the board from him, I noticed how young he was; perhaps a year older than me.
I signed and asked, “Do you know who it’s from? I wasn’t expecting anything.”
He grinned at me while still fiercely blushing. “I do, Miss Lewis---Lynne---but I’m not supposed to say anything. Specific instructions.”
“Oh,” I said, surprised. “Well, thank you! Be careful out in this weather.” I smiled at him again and he smiled back and then I closed the door.
“I’m not expecting anything---not many people know I’m here---who could this be from?” I said aloud. I suddenly laughed and dove on the package and ripped it apart as if I was seven and it was a birthday present.
An envelope lay on top of a white box within which I knew automatically contained clothes. I took the envelope and carefully opened it and unfolded it, revealing Paul’s loopy handwriting:
Dear Lynne,
This is a little present to keep my little friend warm in this nasty weather.
Hope all is well and I’ll see you at the end of the month.
Love always,
Paul
P.S. Whatever happened to spontaneity, luv?

I laughed at that last part, and felt strangely happy that he’d remembered what I’d said about not having anything to say when I called him. My fingers traced out the “love always”. It made me smile even though it was probably something he used to sign all his letters.
I left the room for a moment to hunt up my small Yellow Submarine lunchbox I’d had since the re-release a few years back. I used it to keep letters in, special letters from friends in childhood, a couple innocent love notes, and drawings by my baby brother.
It was under my bed and I opened it and put it in there and looked at another picture of Paul and I that Elizabeth had taken during the summer that I had taped on the inside of the top lid. I closed it, still smiling, and pushed it away and ran back out to the living room to open the present.
It was a long, black woolen coat that was taken in at the waist. I put my hand inside the pockets and felt something in the left one. I pulled it out and found a bright red scarf that I knew belonged to Paul. I wrapped it around my neck and went to look at myself in my bedroom full-length mirror. The coat was rather complementary to my figure and the scarf made my eyes sparkle. I seemed to hear Paul behind me…
….It was summer and I was dressing to go out and I’d asked him for his opinion between a red woolen sweater and a white blouse. He’d stood behind me in the mirror and said, “The red one. You look amazing in red.”
I grinned and looked at myself again. Elizabeth must have told him that I loved long black coats and as soon as the weather turned I was going to buy myself one. I pulled the scarf off and looked at it. He must have inadvertently stuck it in there and he’d probably want it back. I looked at the mirror-Lynne with a twinkle in my eye. I’d keep the scarf until the end of the month. It would be nice to have a reminder of him and his compliment would be ever present in my mind.
*********

Exams were over and it was Christmas and I was off from college for two weeks. It was a much-needed rest. I called Paul and told him I’d be driving myself home, to which he objected and said he really missed me and wanted to come get me. I refused and told him that if he did, I’d never let him come for me again. He agreed, reluctantly, and I got my things ready to go. I pulled out a box of presents I’d already bought and loaded them into my car. I made a couple trips to get all the other unwrapped presents and they took up a lot of room. This was exactly why I didn’t want Paul to come for me. I knew he’d tease the life out of me about his presents and he might see them, as they were unwrapped, though with tags hanging from it indicating its receiver.
One of the presents was a scarf I’d made myself. One of my modeling friends was good at making her own clothes and had taught me to knit. It was a brilliant, deep blue scarf with small white snowflakes at the ends, fringed with silvery yarn. I was really proud of it and I couldn’t wait to see what he’d look like with it on, against his dark brown coat. I had plenty of money and I could buy him something else, but I truly believed that a handcrafted gift meant a lot.
Two of the other presents I’d gotten for him were pictures in beautiful silver frames with leaves and vines, reminiscent of the wineries where I grew up, sculpted along the frame borders. One picture was one I’d taken of him, at the end of the summer, when he wasn’t looking. He was looking off to the side, his eyes bright and clear with the sun shining into them showing their true colors of brown, green, gray, and gold. His hair wasn’t the least bit gray in the picture; it gleamed reddish-brown and his smile, mouth open and dimples in his cheeks, was absolutely heart-catching. I liked the picture so much that I’d made another copy and put it by my bed, to join the other of him and I.
The other picture was of me that he’d taken a couple weeks ago with my camera. I was sitting on a low stone wall surrounding a castle he’d taken me to see. The sky was gray in the background and the grass was a brilliant emerald green. My hair was a ruddy brown in contrast to my surroundings and it was blown a little by the wind. I was wearing the long black coat he’d given me and the red scarf billowed out behind me. My eyes were bright, dreamy, and happy and my cheeks were faintly red with the cold. I had a big crooked smile on my face (I literally smile crookedly) and the one dimple I had in my cheeks popped out. I was hugging my knees and had my chin tucked slightly in the scarf. I had liked this one a lot, too, so I copied it and put it in my photo album.
I couldn’t help wondering if he might put my picture by his bed like I did with his, but that wasn’t why I wanted to give it to him.
Finally ready, I turned on the alarm and locked up my apartment and got into my car and drove off to the little house in the country.
It began snowing. I laughed happily as all the snow had turned slushy in the last week and it looked pretty close to a brown Christmas. I turned on the radio and then popped in the demo tape Paul had given me of his new album. It was a really rough run-through, he’d told me, and it only had five songs on it. I sang along, having listened to it over and over while I studied, wrote, or entertained people.
Listening to it, I knew it was going to be a hit. Its promise showed even though it was still in its early stages. I was proud of him and didn’t hesitate to tell him so.
I was home in a few hours and pulled into the driveway of the cozy little home Elizabeth and I shared. I jumped out of the car and burst in the front door.
“Elizabeth!” I called out. “I’m home!”
“Lynne!” she cried, getting up from watching TV. “Welcome home!”
We hugged and filled each other in about the last couple days’ happenings as we brought all the presents on from my car. When she tried to help me get the last of them, I stopped her, grinning, and told her no for the same reasons I hadn’t wanted Paul to pick me up.
I put the box with her presents under my bed and then I took off my coat and scarf and settled down for a cup of hot chocolate and pleasant talk.
“Paul’s been calling for you,” Elizabeth told me, laughing over her steaming mug. “He must’ve called three or four times, demanding if you were home yet.”
I laughed. “What did you tell him?”
“That you weren’t home, of course. The last time he called, he asked what took you so long, ‘Where is that girl?’ he said. ‘How long does it take to drive down from Oxford? Did she stop for a photo shoot or something?’”
I laughed again. Elizabeth’s imitation of Paul’s accent was pure comedy.
“I say to him, ‘I know you’ve lived in Merrie Ol’ England longer than we have and you’d know! Give that poor girl some time to get home, you bugger.’ ‘Poor girl?’ he says to me. ‘What’s so poor about her?’ ‘She’s been slaving at college, doing photo shoots, acting, and writing non-stop. She also puts up with you and a guy giving her a hard time who she’s totally in love with.’”
“Elizabeth!” I exclaimed, shocked. “You didn’t!”
“I did. Shut up! Anyways, he says, ‘Who’s this guy?’ I was like, ‘No, I’m not telling you. She’s having a hard enough time without you teasing her about it.’ ‘Oh, come on,’ he says back. ‘I’m her friend, too.’ ‘So what?’ I said back. ‘If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you.’”
“Eliza-beth!”
“Shut up! So he says, ‘Well, okay, can you at least tell me what’s going on with her and this guy?’ ‘Oh,’ I say, ‘yeah, I can tell you that. She loves him and he doesn’t seem to give a damn about her. He likes her as a friend and takes her out and leads her on to think he wants something serious and then doesn’t make a move. Can you think of how she must feel?’”
“Well? What he’d say?”
“He said, ‘Well, she looks pretty happy. It can’t mean that much to her.’ He sounded like he wanted to change the subject, but I wasn’t havin’ it. ‘I can’t believe that you can look at her outside and think that’s how she feels on the inside and I know you’re not like that,’ I said. ‘She may be happy, but this is eating her up on the inside. “Even in laughter the heart may ache.” She’s smiling so she doesn’t cry.’”
“Oh, Elizabeth.”
“That’s when I told him bye and stop calling ’cause he was giving me a headache.”
“You didn’t! Oh, God!” I started cracking up and muffled it in a pillow. “You didn’t have to hint like that!”
“At least I got him thinking,” Elizabeth retorted. “He should make a move soon.”
“Since when do you start managing my men?” I said in mock seriousness. “I do believe, Miss Ruby, that you giggle over your own and here you are, telling mine off!”
Elizabeth laughed and then got serious. “But you do love him?”
I got serious too. “Yes, I do. I’ve tried to stop loving him and just turn it into friendship, but I can’t. I love him too much for that. But to him, I’m just a friend to talk to. I know I should be content with that….”
“….But you’re not,” she finished for me. “I know, Lynne, I know.”
The phone rang. We looked at each other and started laughing, both thinking it was Paul. Elizabeth, the closest, picked it up and said, “Hello?”
She was silent a moment, listening, and then handed me the phone. I looked at her, questioning, and she said, “It’s Aaron Lindsay.”
Aaron Lindsay.

Suddenly I was in seventh grade and my girl friends were daring me to dance with one of my guy friends. I accepted the dare and asked him. We danced and after we parted, I stood there feeling something different inside of me. I’d fallen for this golden-haired, blue-eyed boy with an amazing personality---a personality that eclipsed his looks and made him one of the most beautiful males I had ever seen.
I’d crushed on him for two years and he kept saying to my friends who went up to him that he liked me as a friend only. But I knew he didn’t like me because I wasn’t very pretty then. I had been trying to grow out my bangs that year and it wasn’t exactly lovely.
I had never seen him again since the beginning of eighth grade when he switched schools, but I kept on loving him. It eventually subsided but I still felt a slight bit of that original love for him ever since.
I took the phone and said, “Hello, Aaron. How are you?”
“Hi, Lynne. I’m great. How’re you?”
“Wonderful. So what’s up?”
“Nothing, really. It’s great to hear your voice.”
“Yours, too.” I bit my lip to keep questions from coming out: Why are you calling me now? Where did you get this number? Why haven’t you talked to me before in all these years?
I wasn’t angry; after all, he was an old friend.
“I’m in England right now; London, actually. I was wondering if I might drop by and see you sometime this week? Just whenever?”
“Sure, Aaron. Drop by whenever you’d like. I’m spending Christmas here this year and if you don’t mind some of my friends being here, then come over.”
“Okay. I can’t wait to see you again, Lynne. I’ll see you in a few days, all right?”
“Yeah. ’Bye, Aaron.”
“’Bye Lynne.”
Elizabeth took the phone and hung it up. “So your old flame is coming over?”
“Yeah. He probably still thinks I’m in love with him, the silly boy!”
“Methinks I heard some sarcasm when you talked to him?”
I grinned. “A little. I couldn’t help it. How would you feel if the boy you loved for two years finally gives you the time of day six years later when you’re famous?”
“I would’ve been nice, polite, and a teeny bit sarcastic, just like you.” She smiled. “Should we call Paul?”
********

A few days later, Paul, Elizabeth, and I were having an early dinner at our house and were laughing uproariously over stories and my imitations of my professors. Paul and I leaned against each other in our mirth and held on, having a good time.
“Oh, that was good, Lynne,” Paul said, hugging me with one arm as he wiped his eyes with the other. “Now we know why you’re an actress---a bloody marvelous one at that!”
The doorbell rang and Elizabeth, still laughing herself senseless, answered it. She called over her shoulder to Paul and I,
“Lynne, it’s Aaron.”
Paul’s arm around my shoulder suddenly stiffened and he pulled away and I stood up and went over to the young man coming in. Same golden hair, same big blue eyes. Taller, less freckles, and a gorgeous smile. “Sit down, Aaron, you must be cold. Would you like some tea? Hot chocolate?”
He sat and said, “Tea, please, if you don’t mind.”
“Before I make it, I’d like to introduce you to my best friend, Elizabeth Ruby, I’m sure you know her; and my other best friend, Sir Paul McCartney.”
Aaron stared at me, wide-eyed, and then stared at Paul who coolly offered Aaron his hand.
“You’ve done it, Lynne,” he spluttered as I brought his tea. “You’ve made friends with a Beatle. Who knew, seeing you listen to them and singing “Eight Days a Week” all the time, that you’d become Paul’s girlfriend?”
Elizabeth coughed rather loudly and Paul stared at Aaron stonily. I dropped my glance, smiling, and when I met Aaron’s eyes again, he understood he had messed up big time.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered when Elizabeth turned and talked to Paul. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay,” I replied, smiling. “We’re just friends.”
“Paul doesn’t seem to be too happy,” Aaron observed.
I snorted. “He’ll get over it.”
“That’s not what I mean,” he said. “He’s seemed mad since I walked in.”
“Oh, don’t worry about him. I’ll straighten him out.”
Aaron smiled. It was a smile that, six years before, would have made my heart melt. Six years later, I just smiled back and watched him blush.
“So how’s everything back at home?” I asked. “Talked to any of the others? Have you seen Mrs. Daemon at all?” Mrs. Daemon was our seventh grade teacher and our favorite.
“Yeah. They’ve got four kids now, did you know?”
“Four kids? Wow!”
“That was my reaction, too,” Aaron laughed. “I’ve talk to Dani a lot”---Dani was a mutual friend--“and she’s doing really well in college. She told me to tell you that she was really happy you dedicated that book to her.”
“Ah, Dani. I miss that girl. I’ve talked to her a few times and sometime we’re going to collaborate on a book together.”
“Just like the old days,” he grinned.
“Yeah,” I answered. “Just like the old days play-writing in Mrs. Daemon’s class. So, Aaron, how’re you getting along?”
“Great,” he said. “College life is being pretty good to me. I’m here visiting a couple friends, besides you.”
I rolled my eyes at that emphasis. Did Aaron really come out here to see if we could be together? He couldn’t have; not after all this time and what I was doing now!
“How’re things with you?” he asked.
“Oh, lovely. I’m keeping pretty busy. The people at college are really nice. I don’t get pestered too much---though I think my six-foot bodyguards are responsible for that.” I laughed. “Doing photo shoots, writing, occasionally doing articles for magazines, acting, y’know, stuff like that.”
I turned for a moment to take a sip of tea from my cup behind me and I caught a glance of Paul’s face. Elizabeth was talking to him, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was looking down at the tablecloth, expressionless. What was his problem?
I turned again and continued talking with Aaron. After a while, Elizabeth hunted up Monopoly and we played for an hour or so, laughing and talking and almost spilling our drinks on the board. Paul sometimes smiled, but didn’t really seem into it. I sighed inwardly and wished I could take him to the side and ask him what was wrong, but something told me that he wasn’t ready to talk yet.
We packed in the game and I suggested taking a walk outside. We all started wrapping up and I noticed my pockets were inside out. I tucked them in and reached for my scarf and Elizabeth opened the door, letting a gust of cold wind in. My scarf flew off the rack and onto the floor and both Paul and Aaron bent to pick it up. Paul suddenly stood, face expressionless but his eyes were stormy. Aaron rose a second later and put the scarf on me.
“Thank you,” I said, smiling and then Paul opened the door again and went out.
“Did I do something?” Aaron asked, looking at me.
“I don’t think so, but I don’t know,” I sighed. “I really don’t know what’s wrong with him. I’ll ask him later.”
We went outside to join them and Paul stood leaning against his car, waiting for me. I was about to go to him, but Aaron asked me something and before I knew it, we were plunged into conversation, linking arms in our old school tradition of friendship and Elizabeth tried to get Paul to walk with her, but he unlocked his car and got in. I looked up and pulled Aaron along with me; we’d see what he was doing.
“Paul,” I called out as we neared him, “where are you going?”
“Home,” he said shortly. “I’ve got things to do. Good-bye, Elizabeth.” He started his engine and pulled out and drove off, without looking back.
“I think I’d better go, too,” Aaron said. “My flight leaves early tomorrow morning and I still have to pack.” We had started walking to the door when he stopped, put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye. “Lynne, I’m sorry that for all these years I never called and just now I end up on your doorstep. And you know what?” he asked with a blush.
“What?”
“I’m sorry I never went out with you when we were kids. I know I threw away your feelings for me and I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it. I knew why, anyway, and I guess I don’t blame you, even though it hurt and it still does.”
“What do you mean? What hurts?”
“You kept saying that you liked me only as a friend but it was obvious, when you looked at me, that you didn’t think I was pretty enough.”
He stared at me, turning crimson, and stuttered, “N-no, t-that’s not true, L-Lynney.”
“Oh, stop it,” I said. “You and I both know the truth. Anyway, that was six, seven years ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“But I still have your friendship?” he asked, not looking at me.
“Yes, you do,” I said, not unkindly. More gently, I added, “Aaron, did you think I would never find out? I knew what you meant from the moment ‘I like her as a friend’ came out of your mouth. I’m not stupid. You can’t use that line on girls. They know what you mean.”
“I’m sorry, Lynne,” he said, and then he smiled to take the edge off things. “Well, you’re absolutely gorgeous now!”
“Oh, you!” I laughed and hugged him. “Be careful out on those roads, Aaron, and give my love to everyone at home.”
“I will,” he said, hugging me back and getting into his car. “Take care, Lynney!”
He pulled out of the driveway and waved to me and sped off.
I waved back and then turned to go in, ready to curl up by the fireplace and wonder what was wrong with Paul.
*******
The next day, I woke up and smiled, in a wonderful mood. Paul and I were going to go Christmas shopping together and we had both canceled out of any engagements to have a day to ourselves. I dressed myself, had breakfast, and then called Paul.
“Hello?” he said.
“Hey, Paul!” I said cheerfully. “Are you ready yet?”
“Oh, hello, Lynne,” he replied coldly. “Ready for what?”
I blew out a breath impatiently, my cheeriness dampened slightly by his tone. “To go shopping together. You said you and I were going out today a couple days ago. We blocked ourselves off from any work, remember?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Lynne,” Paul said. “I’m actually busy today and for the rest of the holidays and for a while after that. I probably won’t be seeing you and I probably won’t take you home at the end of the month anymore.”
“Busy, my ass!” I said, instantly angry. “What is your problem? You’ve been such an ass lately. No one here has ever said anything to make you angry. No--no, don’t even give me your excuses! (He’d started talking) You’re not busy; you’re pissed. You just don’t want to see me anymore, is that it?”
“No, it’s not. You’re too busy entertaining your boyfriend anyway; let him look after you. That’s my gift to you. I’ll leave you alone---I’ll stop driving you home and I’ll stop taking you out and we won’t go shopping today. You know you want to spend it with him so why don’t you go to him and stop bothering me?”
“What the hell are you talking about, James Paul McCartney?!?” I yelled into the phone, with my hands mentally on my hips. “We’re friends, aren’t we? I never meant to bother you! I kept telling you that you never had to take me out or drive me and you kept saying you would and I couldn’t stop you! And what do you mean boyfriend? I don’t have one and so how could I spend time with him?”
“Oh, don’t deny it, Lynne. You’re in love with that Aaron and he doesn’t love you. Elizabeth told me before you came home. So go follow him!”
“What….?” Suddenly everything came together. Elizabeth’s ‘hinting’ over the phone made Paul think I was in love with Aaron when Elizabeth meant Paul the whole time!
“Oh, God…” I mumbled. “…Paul…”
“I don’t want to hear it, Lynne. Go on and be with a man who doesn’t even care about you.”
He hung up and I just sat there, staring at the phone in my hands with angry tears standing in my eyes.
Go and be with a man who doesn’t even care about you.
He cared about me! Paul cared about me! It was so obvious from his anger, the way he was when Aaron came over, and the exchange over the phone. All this time…we were both blind.
My tears dried up. I now felt like any further prodding would send me into hysterics over Paul’s and my stupidity.
Elizabeth emerged from her room. “So what was all that about?”
“You see what your hinting did?” I said, taking a deep, calming breath and putting the phone back in its cradle. “Paul thinks I’m in love with Aaron!”
We both started laughing, my laughter ending in a sigh. “Well, I’m going to go down to his house, then. I’m straightening things out. No use calling him and thrashing it out over the phone; he hung up on me!”
“He didn’t!” Elizabeth said, wide-eyed.
“Damn straight he did. He’s in one fine temper. He doesn’t want to pick me up from college anymore and he doesn’t want to go shopping today and he doesn’t want to go out together anymore!”
“Oh, Lynne, I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said contritely. “I never knew it would turn out like this.”
“It’s all right, luv. Find that red scarf, will you?”
I finished wrapping up, grabbed my purse and keys, and headed out. There was a man down the road I really needed to see.

I drove for about an hour, which brought me to Paul’s farm. The gates were closed and I stopped my car and got out. The lock and chains hung over them, but the lock was open. I smiled and unhooked the chains and pushed the gates open, drove in, got back out and shut them, locking them this time, and drove on.
I pulled into his driveway and went to the door and knocked.
No answer.
I knocked and rang the doorbell.
No answer.
I put my ear to the door, listening. I heard nothing. I pushed the door open and walked in, but it was obvious he wasn’t home. I saw that the glass doors on the other side of the room were open slightly and I knew where he had gone. I closed the front door behind me and crossed the room and went out those doors, closing them gently behind me.
I started walking and soon the house was in the distance and I could see the ocean over the small hills, dark gray and misty, breaking on the sand and sending sprays on the barely-snowed-on grass around it.
Paul stood on the hill right against, but above, the sand. He was wearing his dark brown coat and his hair was oddly gray and blowing wildly in the salty wind.
I came up quietly behind him and then stood at his side and put his arm around me and intertwined my fingers with his and rested my head against his heart.
He looked down at me, startled, but couldn’t take his arm away since his fingers were linked to mine.

“Oh, Lynne,” he said, choking, and held me to him. “What was I supposed to think? Him kissing you and you kissing him back, you two linking arms…”
“That was all out of friendship,” I said, still softly. “Friends link arms from where I come from. It doesn’t mean anything. And those kisses were just of friendship. You can see that, can’t you?”
“Yeah….I’m sorry, Lynne.”
“And why did you let it bother you so much? Even if Aaron and I had been a couple, you would’ve still been my friend.”
“It wouldn’t be the same,” he sighed, lifting me away from him and putting his hands on my arms.
“Why, Paul? I’m allowed to have boyfriends, aren’t I?”
“Yes, but….”
“But what, Paul?”
“I wouldn’t have been able to be around you anymore!” he said fiercely. “I wouldn’t be able to stand it! Why, you ask?” he said, seeing me on the point of asking. “Why could I not be around you if you were dating? Because---” He stopped, breathed in deeply, and looked out at the ocean. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does! Tell me!”
“Lynne, it doesn’t matter. You’re in love with someone, aren’t you?” he asked gently.
“Yes, I am,” I said, looking in his eyes.
“Then I can never tell you.” He dropped his hands from my arms and turned away.
“Would you tell me if you knew the man I loved was you?” I said, still softly, touching his shoulder.
At the same time, he turned and said, “I can’t be your friend because I love you and it would hurt me too much!”
We both stood and stared at each other.
“What?” we both said. “You first,” I said.
“I can’t be with you if you’re with another man because…I love you,” he said. “But you just said---you love me?”
“Yes, Paul, yes! I love you!” I hugged him tightly and he pulled me away and looked at me.
“Lynne….I love you…God…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier….I put you through hell….but you really love me?”
“Yes! Why didn’t you tell me, Paul? All this time--”
“Because it was impossible for you to love me, it seemed,” he said. “You’re so young and I’m so” he laughed self-mockingly “---old.”
“Paul,” I said earnestly, “I could care less about how old you are. That doesn’t matter to me---I love you and that’s what matters. Besides, how could you love someone as immature as me? You needn’t worry about my loving you, but what about your loving me?”
Paul laughed. “You’re not immature, Lynne. You and I both know that. You’re older than your years, my dear.”
“Raised older than I was,” I whispered. I knew what Paul meant. I had always been different from my friends and I had never completely “fit in” at school because of “the difference.” I had been an only child for five years, until my sister Rose was born, and from the moment I was born, it seemed, I’d always been treated older than I was. I accepted the mantle of responsibility for others, my actions, and myself as a small child. I never blamed anyone else if I knew something was my fault. I talked about world politics as an elementary-schooler and thought on a different plane than many of my peers, who were obsessed with the opposite sex, cars, and other things. I just pleased myself.
Being older than I was had its advantages and its disadvantages. For one thing, I would never have an age. I was what I called simply “an ageless person”. I wasn’t ninety and I wasn’t nineteen. I was simply Me. I never really fit in. I was always the different one. But I’ve always liked being different. Though it gave me pain, the advantages of being older than my years far outweighed its disadvantages and it now had another advantage: Paul.
“I know, Lynne. And you know what? I’m glad your parents raised you that way. I’m glad you’re not another giggling girl who wants to tell the world…she’s bagged a Beatle. Because you have,” he went on, taking my face in his hands and almost touching my nose with his as he looked into my eyes. “You stole my heart when I first saw you laughing at Lentil’s.”
“You can’t be serious!” I said, drawing away and looking at him, puzzled. “You kept looking at me like---”
“I told you,” he said, quietly laughing, “you caught me. Of course, I’d seen you in movies, magazines like everyone else and I owned a couple of your books. I thought you were interesting and there was no doubt that you were beautiful---you’re like a star---a real star, I mean---just something about you. I thought it might be nice to meet ‘America’s sweetheart’, but I wasn’t taken with you then. But when I heard you laughing---and I looked at you---and you looked back---I didn’t know myself anymore. I knew there was more to you than any of your movies, pictures, and books ever let on. God,” he said, smiling and chuckling at himself, “I sound like a bloody romance novel!”
“Go on, please sir,” I said sweetly.
He smiled and laid his cheek on the top of my head and held me close. “Then when we sat with you and Elizabeth and started talking to you---I felt like I’d gone out of my body for a moment to meet you. It was the most amazing feeling. And you just sat there, laughing at Mick and Keith’s comments and held yourself above it all and made us comfortable. And that smile of yours! You turned and smiled at me and I knew I wasn’t going anywhere. And then when we were in the limo and I offered to pick up Elizabeth’s car---I’m gonna be honest with you, Lynne,” he said smiling and blushing. “I didn’t offer to get her car for you out of kindness. I wanted to be with you longer. I didn’t think you were really interested in me---an almost-sixty, aging, former Beatle---maybe slightly interested because I was a Beatle and Paul McCartney but that was the extent of it. You know what, Lynne? When I’m with you, I feel like I’m young again. You can’t understand how wonderful that is. To be with a girl I love and have my youth back on top of it. I’m drinking in the fragrance of a rare, fresh, blooming flower---you. Would you mind if I called you Flower o’ the Morning---my Flower o’ the Morning?”
“No, I don’t mind,” I said, turning very pink. I had never had a man be so honest and open about me to my face.
“And then when you kissed me out of thanks,” Paul stopped and smiled and held me tighter and dropped a light kiss on my head. “I was yours. But then when we were in that argument soon after---I told you I’d tell you someday why I didn’t help you with your story papers and why we fought in the first place. I was giving my heart away again and it hurt too much to think that you could never love me so I tried to be an ass to you and hope I could freeze my feelings. And when I found you here…I was torn between helping you and just turning away. Doing both would have been painful. I couldn’t choose. Every time we’ve argued, you tell me exactly what you think of me---if not in words, in tone. I started to think that you might love me, but I wasn’t sure I could ever come out and say I was angry or I loved you like you’ve done. After a while, I knew you loved me---in the car that day, Lynne, when you were crying---I knew. All I wanted to do was take you in my arms and declare my love for you and be able to kiss you---and have the right to---but I was still too scared. I loved once and---”
“No, Paul, don’t,” I whispered, putting a finger to his lips. “That wasn’t your fault. And you weren’t scared then. You married her and raised a fine family. That takes courage, what you and Linda did.”
We were silent for a few moments and then he asked, “I know it’s too early to ask you, Lynne, but if you and I were to get married someday, would you want to raise a family?”
“Yes---but on one condition.”
“What’s that?” He had suddenly gone rigid in my arms.
“Our first daughter is to be named Julianne Elizabeth after my friend Julie and Elizabeth and our first son is to be named James Paul Matthew.”
Paul relaxed, chuckled, and swayed me a little. “I don’t think I need an explanation on the second one! If you and I ever become an ‘us’, then you have my word.”
We both turned for a few moments to watch the seagulls flying over the ocean and then he pulled me close, lifted me in his arms, and said, “I love you, Lynne,” and kissed me in a way I’d never forget; long, hard, passionate, and above all, loving.


Chapter Eleven
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Copyright 2000, 2001, etc.: Lissa Michelle Supler/Strawberry Sunshine. 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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