Chapter 7
Tala heard the junker rattling from far away. She swallowed, the lump in her throat growing. This was it . . . she shook her head and pushed such thoughts away, out of her mind. No, today she had to be strong for George. This last day was going to be sublime.
She picked up her bag, full of blankets and food and threw it over her shoulder. She glanced at herself in the mirror . . . she put on makeup - for the first time in a long time. Her eyes shimmered with silver and her lips shone with a subtle red. Her hair curled in loose tendrils down her back and she wore rings of silver. She studied herself - her face looked lovely, but hard and empty. Quickly she took a deep breath and smiled.
She presented the smile to George as he met her half way to the car. She saw it in his eyes, they quivered for an instant and the next she was in his arms, his mouth on hers. When they broke, he cleared his throat, seemingly embarrassed.
"You look . . . stunning. Absolutely . . . I can't even think of a word . . ."
Her smile grew wider and she took his hand.
"Thank you, George. Now, shall we go? I can barely wait!"
"Me either, love," he said, opening the door for her. He started the car and they were off, flying down the road, the evening sun lowering itself once again after a long, hot day. Tala looked about the car and noticed George brought the guitar. She smiled, and felt a shiver of anticipation. He was going to play for her tonight . . . she didn't know what, but she knew it would be moving. She gave him a smile when he looked over and she reached for his free hand to hold in hers as they drove along. Every once in a while, she would catch him glancing at her, as if he was an admirer from afar and when she met his eyes, he would give his crooked grin and blush.
They made it to the ocean, pulled their things out of the car and wandered down over the beach. Tala began to spread out blankets over the spot they picked, and George leaned in to kiss her.
"I'm going to find some driftwood, love."
She nodded and watched him walk away, periodically stooping to collect a bit of washed up wood. Then she turned and made a place for them, thick blankets on the hard sand, set in a semi circle before the spot the fire would be. She placed the food in a corner and lay the guitar case down gently, in another. She took off her sandals and knelt to push away the sand to make an indentation for the fire. When George came back he set the driftwood in a pile and began to stack the smaller bits up against one another. He threw down some dried bits of sea-grass and pulled a lighter from his pocket. Tala only then fully noticed what he was wearing, jeans, sandals and a blue shirt. He looked young today, younger than he usually did . . .
He glanced at her over the smoke that billowed from the cracking wood. His brows arched and he gave a little shrug.
"Hopefully this'll catch," he said, grinning.
"More the novice with fire-making than the guitar?" she asked, returning the grin.
"I'm pretty good actually, I've just never tried to start a fire with this," he said, inclining his hands to the driftwood.
Tala leaned back and watched him poke at the smoldering blaze for a while, then looked past him to the ocean. The sun was near setting and the water along the horizon looked aflame. When he was satisfied with the fire, crackling happily, he sat by her side and followed her eyes.
"Sunsets here are more beautiful than anywhere else," he said softly.
"I agree," she said, slipping her arm through his.
He smiled at her and pressed a soft kiss on her cheek. They sat in such a way for a while, listening to the gentle tide break and ebb, no other sounds present, save them and the fire.
"What a perfect night to come," he mumbled, staring straight ahead.
"It was meant to be," she answered wistfully.
"It was."
She turned to him, and he gently stroked the side of her face with his long fingers. His eyes were full of depths . . . depths she hadn't seen before. He looked like a little boy, except for his lips, which were drawn and solemn. She leaned in to kiss him, to make him smile, to wipe away the doubt and fear on his face. She only hoped such feelings weren't present in her face as well.
When the sun finally vanished, the darkness began to settle upon them, crossing the sky from the East. Tala pulled a blanket around them and the fire began to send out a comfortable warmth.
"What should we do tonight?" he asked.
"Let's just let the night take us along. It will guide us," she answered, closing her eyes.
She felt him moving closer and run his finger along her smooth lips. He kissed her then and when he moved back, she let her hands find him and slowly pull the shirt from his body. She undressed him, taking her time, watching the emotions pass across his face. The fire lit his skin to such a burnished brown and she loved the way the flames seemed to dance across his nakedness. He watched her watching him, patient, as she ran her hands down along his chest and over his arms. She put her fingers in his, much the way she had when they first made love. She felt the love between them, thick and trembling on this, their last night. Their actions seemed so much slower, there was no rush.
He took her in his arms and held her to him, his hands sweeping the hair from her back and over her shoulder. She put her arms under his and hooked them around the breadth of his chest to his back and loved the way he felt. Their breathing fell in rhythm together and they held each other in such a way for a while. After a few moments she sat back and undressed herself, then moved back to him, pulling the blanket down over them.
They made love, slow, tantalizing love that seared through every inch of her body, that made her lose control of her thoughts and senses for a few moments after their climax. She became aware of his body, shaking in much the same way, and she put her arms around him again and held him to her. When she looked at his face, it glowed with sweat and the hollow of his cheeks and his jaw-line were so well defined in the fire-light. He smiled, one that made her tremble inside.
"You glow in the firelight," he said softly.
She smiled and snuggled in close to him. His arm went about her and his body molded to hers. Softly, he stroked her arm and lay his chin in the hollow of her shoulder. She closed her eyes and amazingly, the trepidation that had been growing for days, began to melt away. She felt more confidant and strong, especially when he was so close.
"I think, when I go back, I'm going to start laying down tracks of my songs. Songs that I've been thinking of for a while, and songs that have come to me so recently. I don't know that they'll make it on any records of ours, but I can't keep it in, you know?"
"Good," she said vaguely, "You owe it to yourself."
"I think too, that I'm going to be making an album of my own. Whatever doesn't get on our next albums, I'm gonna put on that. Solo . . . I can't even imagine."
"Of course you can. It's what you really want, isn't it?"
"Yes," he mumbled into her shoulder.
"George, would you mind it horribly if I got an album of yours?"
"The Beatles? No, why would I mind?"
"Well, I just know that you think much of the music isn't as good as it could be . . . and I know the disdain you have for the fans who never leave you alone, who hang on every action or word you say. I don't want you to think I'd become one of them, but I do want to hear your music. It's important to me."
"I won't stop you, Tala. The Beatles . . . we're a good band. Maybe not the best ever, but we love it. We did. Well, no, we do, but it's becoming individual now. If there's anything I'd want you to hear from the music, it would be the love we have for it."
"I can hear it in your voice, the love. It will happen for you, George. You will have a chance to do what you want."
"Soon, I hope. I don't like working the way we do. The way we have been. It's time for a change."
"Will it hurt you, if you break up?" she asked. She felt him shrug.
"I guess it depends in what way we break up. There may be animosity, it may be amicable. And afterwards there'll be this scramble to do the best work we've done, to prove to the world that we're all worth something as solo artists, that we don't need the other three to survive. I honestly don't know just how I'll feel. Relieved, maybe a little sad. But what I'll miss most is the friendship with them. They're my mates, have been for a long time. Nothing will change that, though there could be hard feelings for a while until things blow over. But in a way it'll be good. You can only stand so much of people . . . we've been together for nearly ten years and that's long."
"What has it been like? If you forget all about the troubles, the hectic lifestyles, the tensions. What do you love about the band?"
There was a silence, as if he was sifting away all of those things he hated to find the ember, the lifeblood that started their phenomenal band.
"I - I love the way we get along so well. The way we did. We had so much fun in the early days, in Hamburg and when we first got famous. It was so incredible! We met famous people, our fans love us . . . I love the way we make music. The songs just come to us, and it's great to have creative license to do what we wanted. It was good, for a period of years. We just had fun. They're the best mates anyone could have. It's just that now we all have separate priorities. The Beatles aren't a collective anymore."
"Don't forget the good things George," she said, turning to face him. "Hold onto your love for them no matter how they might upset, or hurt you. Only you four know what you've done. And don't forget your fans. They've given you their love blindly. Try not to be too angry with them."
"I'll try," he said softly.
She smiled and kissed him, then drew a blanket around herself and sat up. He stretched out and lay his head on her lap. She felt a surge of tenderness for him, so powerful that it made her stomach quiver with nervousness. She gently ran her hands through his hair, sweeping it from his brow and he closed his eyes, arms draped at his sides, body relaxed.
"Tell me," he said, eyes still closed, "What will you do now?"
"I'm going to take that journey. I decided a few days ago."
She thought she saw something, some emotion pass across his face, but then he smiled, his crooked, languid smile.
"I'm so glad for you." His dark eyes opened and he reached up to take her hand.
"Where will you go?"
"I don't know yet. I may pick a few places, or I may just wander. But it will be spiritual. I need it, to gain back my strength, after this."
Her last words hung heavily and she regretted it. She searched for something to say quickly, but George spoke first.
"I'll seek healing in music. Everything will be for you, or God."
She bent to press a kiss on his forehead. His hands raised to caress her cheeks.
"That's wonderful," she said quietly, near his ear, " But only for God. You owe me nothing."
"Yes I do. I owe you more than you know. It's as if I was walking in a mist for years and now you, and it's been swept away and I know what I need to do. Whether I can do it with the grace you've taught me, I don't know. But I will do it, because it's right."
"You always knew what you needed to do, George. I only helped you focus."
"It's more than that. But I won't explain, because you're too selfless to accept it."
"I'm flattered that you think I am such," she said, shaking her head.
"You are, love."
"But there's so much you don't see about me. So much that goes on in my mind, that's jealous and tortured and completely un-selfless! I am not how you see me."
He didn't speak for a moment, his head turned to the fire.
"Well, that's what I regret. Not being able to see into your mind. Not being able to pick up on your emotions as I should. But you're more selfless than you'll ever know, I think."
"No regrets, alright? We've had only so much time. That we see into each other as much as we do is amazing. Whatever we have failed at is only because we hadn't the time."
"But the time we did have was . . . is lovely. More than I had ever hoped for."
She smiled, and he sat up.
"I have something for you. A song. It's almost finished, but I won't play it all, because there are things I want to fix. It's for you."
Tala felt the tears sting her eyes, but she nodded and watched as he rose to pull the blankets around him, then get the guitar case and bring it over. He opened it and brought the guitar out, the old, worn wood, looking beautiful in the firelight. It was completely dark now, and everything was illuminated tenfold with a golden aura.
George tuned the guitar, plucking at it for a while, then raised his eyes to her. He smiled, and cleared his throat nervously. She sat, body rigid and already beginning to tremble. His long fingers caressed the strings and lovely, gilded notes seemed to float from them.
Something in the way she moves, attracts me like no other lover. Something
in the way she woos me . . . don't want to leave her now, you know I believe
and how . . .
George's voice cut through her, sending shivers to every nerve in her body. It was warm and quivered slightly, but the words . . . it was about her . . .
Somewhere in her smile she knows, that I don't need no other lover. Something
in her style that shows me . . . I don't want to leave her now, you know I
believe and how . . .
He continued to play, and the song changed, and added a desperate, pleading quality . . . but he didn't sing, only hummed. Tears began to fall down her cheeks, and when she took a breath her chest shook. He didn't want to leave her . . . and so he wrote this for her, to let her know. When he finished, he looked up, unaware of her crying, and he stopped and moved to come to her, but she held up a hand and shook her head.
"No, please. Play for me? Would you please . . . I want to watch you," she said, trying to stop the tears.
He nodded and reluctantly began to play, glancing at her with concern. Listening to him play calmed her and eventually the tears stopped and the heat of the fire dried them. She felt her body loosen and she relaxed, watching his fingers move, as if she were in a trance. It really was captivating, and it seemed for a time that he was lost too, his head bent, hair falling in his eyes. Then she closed hers and let the music take her away.
When she opened them, George was kneeling in front of her, hands on the guitar that was still hanging around his shoulder.
"Are you alright?" he breathed.
"Yes. George, that was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me. That song, your song is lovely. I don't know what to say . . ."
"For once I've made you speechless," he said wryly, pushing a tress behind her ear.
"You have. I so much want to hear the rest."
"You will. When it's done. But I had to let you hear some of it . . ."
"You play beautifully. I must have told you such before, but you really do. You take me to a different place with your music. Your hands," she said grasping them, "These messengers of such melodies and beauty. I could be content all my life to merely watch you play."
He seemed to blush and shook his head.
"Tala, really, I'm not that good. This is just a special song and a special moment. If you heard other guitar players . . ."
"But I don't. I hear you, and the love with which you play. And I thank you, for sharing your gift and writing a song for me. I will be forever grateful."
She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, the guitar between them. He unhooked the strap and it fell, and he pulled her closer, pressing a kiss on her neck. She shivered again and felt the passion rising in her body and she felt everything through her nerves . . . the song had touched her and held her still. He gently lay her down, and smoothed her hair over the blanket. He moved his body on hers and kissed her, slowly, tenderly. Tala put her hands on his chest and she could feel his heart beating beneath her fingertips and she knew that everything in her life had lead her to this . . . this moment. Everything played out the way it should and the impossibleness of this situation only made it more right.
"I love you," she whispered, the words catching in her throat.
He looked up, the flames visible in his eyes. His face, she vowed to never forget what it looked like . . . his hair, shining and wavy, falling around his fine cheekbones, his lips parted and wet, his eyebrows drawn up slightly, in wonderment. A smile passed over his mouth.
"I love you too."
She slipped her hands around his neck and pulled him down on top of her, kissing his mouth. His hands ran over her body, down her arms, along her collarbone to her breasts and belly. She shivered, and sighed as he entered her slowly. He moved within her gently, his mouth on hers, his tongue touching hers, and along her lips. She traced her hands up along the length of his back and let them rest on his shoulder blades, loving the way she could feel them moving with his body.
His warmth seared into her, and he lay next to her, her name on his lips. Her body shivered, and as it passed, she watched him, breathing slowly, his chest rising and falling. She placed a hand there, on his ribs, and lay her head down. She felt his arm on her shoulder and then nothing else, as sleep captured them.
When she woke, she felt a chill, and looked up. George had left her side and was tending the fire that had died substantially. His face looked worried, but she thought perhaps it was only sleep and concentration. He glanced over to her and a faint smile twisted the corners of his mouth up. He dropped a bit of wood on the fire, watched it catch, then stood. He looked down at her for a long while and her own glance wavered, with shyness.
"You look lovely there . . . naked in the light," he said, voice faint.
She raised an arm, beckoning and he came to her, and pulled the blanket over her.
"We'll just have to stay close until it gets warmer. I'm sorry I let the fire die," he said.
She shook her head and wrapped her arms around his waist. He leaned to kiss her, then lay on his side, leaning his head on his hand. She grinned, then tickled him at his sides. He gave a little yelp and moved away.
"Hey now! Do I tickle you, huh?" he asked, smiling.
"No," she answered demurely.
"Well I do now," he said, then lunged for her and tickled her at her waist until she had wiggled onto her belly and was clawing along the blankets to try and get away. She laughed until she was breathless, then waved a hand in mercy.
"You win!" she gasped.
He stopped, then scooped her into his arms, laughing.
"Ah, love," he murmured into her hair.
He held her, then she spoke quietly.
"I have something for you. A present of my own."
He let her go, eyes curious. She stood and went to collect her bag, and brought it over to him. She sat and rummaged through it, then brought out a short string of beads. She met his eyes.
"It's a necklace. But it's special."
The beads seemed dull and black, but when she raised them to the firelight, they snapped red like the flames themselves.
"They're garnet. It's a special stone to India. It means many things, which represent all I feel and want for you." She paused to look at him. He waited, studying her face.
"It is meant to inspire creativity. Not that you need any George, you know I don't think so. But it stands as a reminder of what you already have. Remember that with your music. It also stands for passion, and loyalty and above all, love. I have all of these for you. I wanted to give you something to remember me by, but I didn't know what. I'm still not sure this is good enough but when I saw it, I thought it fits, as a symbol of my love for you."
He gently took the beads from her and held them between his fingers, then glanced at her.
"Tala, this is too much. It's too precious."
"Of course it isn't. It's not enough . . . not compared to what you've given me."
He shook his head slightly, then took her hand and kissed it.
"Would you put it on me?" he asked.
She nodded and went behind him and tied it securely. He took her hand again and guided her to him and sat her on his lap. He adjusted the blanket, and wordlessly they sat in front of the fire.
~*~*~*~
As dawn approached they walked hand in hand along the beach. The sand was cold beneath their bare feet, but the wind was warm. He smiled down at her.
"I feel better after last night. I feel at peace, with myself and with my life. My heart was wrenching earlier, when I kept thinking this was the last . . . but I feel soothed." She squeezed his hand.
"I do as well. Last night was good. Closure . . ."
Her last word drifted for a while, then he stopped walking. He turned to her and she let her eyes take in his long, lanky frame, his hair and eyes and the necklace of beads that fit him so well.
"I do think we'll see each other again, Tala. We won't be the same, but the feelings will be. I'll love you always, more than anyone else in my life, before or after this."
"Perhaps we will. But whether or not we do, my love for you is forever."
He bent to kiss her, then she rested her head against his chest and felt warmth in his embrace, one of the last. When they parted, he glanced at his watch and looked back to the fire, down the beach.
"I have to go," he whispered, "The plane leaves early."
She nodded, feeling the ache in the back of her throat, but mustered a smile and took his hand and walked back to their spot. They picked up, and put out the last embers of the fire. Silently, they walked back to the car and he opened the door for her, then placed the blankets and guitar inside. He walked round and started the engine, and pulled back into the road.
For once he drove slowly, and she knew as much as he had found peace he didn't want to leave. India had found a place in his heart. She watched the scenery go past, the smell of the beach died, then the town came to view and passed away and then her house. He stopped the engine and got out. She grabbed a few things as did he.
"I'll help you take some of this inside," he said dully.
She nodded, and he opened her door and held it for her until she was inside. She put the things into a corner and when she turned around he was standing in the doorway, looking around. He met her eyes and smiled.
"Wasn't too long ago that I first came here."
"I know . . ."
He shook his head and took a few steps to her.
"Will you take the guitar?" she asked.
He shook his head. "You can keep it, that is if you want it."
"I'll keep it," she said, her smile broadening.
There was silence and then she rushed to him.
"Oh, Tala . . ." he said, pulling her into his arms. Tears brimmed in her eyes and when she closed them, they fell and she raised her hand to brush them away, to not let him see. She clung to him as he clung to her, rocking her slightly. He smoothed her hair back and pressed his warm lips to her cheek, and then her mouth . . . the kiss deepened . . . and then ended as quickly as it had begun. He stood back slowly, holding her at her arms.
"Don't forget me, love," he said, the statement ringing as a question.
"Never," she vowed, lips trembling, "And don't forget all the things we talked about. Have faith in yourself, George sahib. You have a beautiful soul . . . I don't know if anyone has told you."
"Only you . . . fitting it should be so. And no, I won't forget. How could I?"
There was a silence, as each was rooted to the spot they stood in, unable to move away. Finally, she spoke, shattering the stillness.
"You have to go."
"I don't. I could just stay . . ." he said, voice pleading quietly in one last, impossible effort.
"You can't," she whispered.
"I know."
"I love you."
"I love you too, Tala. More than I ever thought possible. Don't forget that, okay, love?"
She nodded. He reached for her once more, to kiss her lips briefly, then left, his fingertips falling away from hers. She watched as he went to the car, started it and pulled away, a cloud of dust blocking her vision. She stood, shaking until she could no longer hear the engine.
She walked slowly to the door and pressed on it, and stood outside. The sun was just now coming up, bringing another day with it. This day will be the hardest, she thought. Each day will get a little better. She looked down and saw the guitar case sitting on the ground, looking lonely.
She sat and pulled it to her, slowly opening it. She lifted the guitar out, once so beautiful, now dull again, mirroring how she felt. But it was special . . . it had his hands on it still, his voice within its wood and strings. She sat it in her lap and gently plucked at it. Then she looked up at the sky and said a little prayer, for his safety, but mostly in thanks . . . for ever having met him at all. She closed her eyes and a tear dropped, falling upon the wood.
Epiloge
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