Chapter 1
The night carried on, silent and calm, the only noise in the London flat came from the slow melodious tempo of a Bing Crosby record. She was fond of soft contemporary music, judging from her collection of records that she brought with her when she moved into their flat. Ringo was kicked out of his room to accommodate her, resulting in sharing a room with George. Both men did not protest, she was a lady after all, and living in a male dominated flat, she needed her space.
"Martha? Can I come in?"
"Sure Paul."
Paul stepped into the pert room. The previously white walls were now painted pale green and the shag carpet was replaced with dark hardwood floor. Paul liked it, it was tidier. Martha was sitting on a plush armchair in the corner of the room, her long legs crossed and her gaze fixated on the book she had in hand. He didn't bother to read the title of the novel, but he was surprised a book held her undivided attention.
"Mar-ta." He sang out, plopping himself on her full sized bed that was placed against the center of the wall. He sat facing her, his black slacks making a swishing noise against the polyester material of her bedspread.
She held up a finger indicating that she was about to look up, and after dog earing the page she stopped at, she looked up.
"What is it, Paul?" she asked breathily, propping her elbow upon the plush armrest, her cheek resting upon her hand. She had a bored expression on her face, something that Paul wasn't used to when talking to the birds.
"Well, John and I were going to go to the pub and grab a drink or two, and George is with Maureen and Ringo's out doing who knows what…"
He trailed off by pursing his lips together, and looking up at her with his large sullen looking eyes, the hazel colored eyes that many of the fan girls went mad over.
"What I'm trying to say is, you haven't really come out of your room since you moved in here, and well, love, we're worried about you."
Martha shifted from her laid back position on the armchair to a more reserved one, somewhat indignant.
"Paul, I moved in here because you were the only one willing to give me a place to stay. I told you, once I find a job I'll be out of your hair."
She let out a faint little huff and ran a hand through her unruly dark brown hair. Upon seeing Paul's scowl, she closed her eyes and exhaled again for a brief second getting up and sitting next to him on the bed. She placed her hand on his arm and rubbed invisible little circles on it with her thumb.
"I'm sorry. I guess I'm just… stressed out is all, and I think it's best if I stay in here. Thank you though, I really appreciate it."
She gave him a quick chaste peck on the cheek and stood up, and he took that as a sign to leave. He made his way to the door, but before making a full exit, he leaned against the frame in a comically seductive pose, as he stared at her with exaggerated bedroom eyes.
"Honestly, you need to come out sometime, and when you do, I'll be waiting. Take care, love." He said, wiggling his eyebrows and turning to leave. Martha laughed and threw a pillow at his back, and once she was sure he was gone, she went to retrieve it. She leaned her back against the door, closing it. A sigh evoked from her lips, and she pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration.
"I need to find a job fast." She mused, closing her eyes as she heard Bing drawl out the last lovely note on the record and the click of the needle hitting the final groove.
"Any luck?" John asked as Paul got into the passenger seat of the Pontiac. The car was imported and John still had a bit of trouble driving from the left side, but Paul could care less about that, he was more focused on the fact that Martha was so reserved. Most birds he'd meet would throw themselves at him the minute he gave them his little flirtatious smile.
"None so far. She's too stubborn."
"What a weird bird. Tch, she should be grateful that we even invited her." John growled under his breath, irked at the fact that she had immediately declined their invitation to go drink.
Paul supposed Martha was more wrapped up in her own life to even bother with him, him! Paul McCartney, second in command of aspiring boy band, the Beatles. It still miffed him, the fact that he wasn't able to coax him out of her room. If anything, leaving it would reduce the stress she had. He did get a kiss for his efforts though, but it was on the cheek and he figured it was to get him to stop pestering her.
It had only been a few days she had been living with them, and her quiet and mysterious personality drew both Paul and John in. Even more so when they both saw her interact with George and Ringo more, though she never really revealed more to them than what she planned on doing after she moved out. Get a job and find her own place to live in, was what she wanted. It infuriated John when he couldn't get the same reaction out of her as he could the other girls he'd talk to. She'd just stare up at him with those large almond shaped eyes of hers and give him a straight reply. He sought her as nothing special, but he was determined to figure her out.
"Martha, we're home!" Paul sang out, bursting through the door. They both entered the moderate sized living room, their intoxicated state causing them to trip over random pieces of furniture. Paul almost tripped over the coffee table, and had to steady himself by grabbing the wall closest to him. John was in tow, a hiccup escaping his lips every now and then. He made a beeline for the living room couch where he proceeded to collapse upon it.
"Macca, when- when we gonna go out to the pub again?" He slurred, his hands fumbling to grab onto one of the cushions to prop himself up.
Paul shushed him, his eyebrows furrowed. He narrowed his eyes and stared in the direction of Martha's room.
"You hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"Exactly! Martha isn't even coming out to greet us."
"You dunce, she never does. 'Cept if we force her to."
"But it's quitter than usual. Come on let's have a look, shall we?"
Paul stumbled into the hallway to Martha's bedroom door and gestured for John to follow suit. John rolled his eyes but obliged. Paul pressed his ear against the door and listened. Suddenly, the door flung open, revealing an angry looking Martha in pale green plaid pajamas.
"What on the hell are you doing?" She snapped, placing a hand on each side of the doorframe, as if to block both Paul and John from entering her room.
"Ah, ah, ah, such language for a lady," John scolded mockingly, "besides, how'd you know we were here?"
"I could hear your damn footsteps; you two were stomping around like bloody lummoxes!"
John hiccupped and looked at Paul who in return looked at him; both men remained quiet for a minute before bursting into a fit of giggles. Martha stared at the two mop topped men and rolled her eyes.
"Oh, and while you were gone someone named Brian called. Said something along the lines of you two, along with George and Richie being in 'deep shit.' If I were you, I'd call back and see what was up with that."
She smirked as she heard their laughter stop abruptly, their eyes widening in realization that they failed to deliver the demo of their newest song to their manager that day. Paul's mouth made a little 'o' and John let out quiet string of curses.
"Well, it's almost ten. And usually, most people go to sleep at this time. Good night boys."
Martha made to close the door, but John placed his foot against the doorframe, stopping her from doing so.
"You know Martha, before I go to sleep, I just wanted to tell you, you're a real prude."
Martha gasped at the insult and made to close the door again, but he kept his foot there.
"Shut up John. Good night!" She said indignantly, slamming the door upon his foot multiple times. Despite the pain, he did not budge.
"Martha the Prude. Actually, that's too long. Prudence. There we go… Prudence! Pru-dence!" He sang the last bit, a tight smile gracing his face as she continued slamming the door on his foot, he silently thanked God for his thick dress shoes.
"I said shut it Lennon! Go to sleep, dammit!" She hollered, finally resorting to pushing him, causing him to topple over Paul, who merely observed the scene before him with great amusement. Once those two were both out the way, she slammed the door shut. She huffed at John's audacity, which showed even more so when he was intoxicated, and collapsed on her bed, staring up at the ceiling.
"I'm not a prude. What a horrid name… Prudence."