I've Just Seen a Face (Other Girls Were Never Quite Like This)
July 23, 1964
London
John Lennon never planned on falling in love that night.
Paul had decided he wanted to go to a club to find some cute birds, and so the four Beatles, crawling past Brian's door and giggling like children, snuck out of the hotel and into the damp streets of London.
The club was crowded and jumping with young people; young men drowning themselves in liquid courage and looking for young girls to use it on. The band split into pairs; John and Paul off to scour one side of the club, and Ringo and George to scour the other. Paul always grabbed charismatic John to be his wingman, as he was practically a bird magnet. The two hadn't been sitting for more than five seconds before they were surrounded by women; giggly, flirty, sweet-smelling women. John thought Paul might wet himself with excitement.
John had been whispering something naughty into a petite blonde's ear when he saw Paul stand up and grab the hand of a tall, slim girl. She smiled slyly at Paul as he charmed her with his silver tongue, leading her over to the table. He said something clever to make her laugh, looking quite pleased with himself for reeling in such a catch. "Can I get you something to drink? An Alcopop? A Coke-a-rama?"
The girl chuckled, placing her hand on Paul's elbow. "A beer will do, ta," she replied sweetly, grinning at the singer.
Paul looked surprised, but enthusiastic. "Waiter! Get the lady your best bitter!"
John eyed the girl up, his head cocked to one side with interest. Her hair was a marvelous shade of red, falling just above her shoulders in thick, soft looking curls. Sea foam green eyes appraised Paul with interest as he began telling some sort of story, using avid hand motions. John licked his teeth jealously. Paul always got the best girls with his big brown eyes and charming smile. He got to have a slice of sweet red velvet cake while John was stuck with a blonde tart.
"Are you listening?" a shrill voice asked John impatiently.
He sighed. Speaking of tarts.
"So, what's your name?" he heard Paul ask as the waiter handed the girl a bottle of beer.
"Caroline," she said. "Caroline Beauregard."
"That's an interesting name," John jumped in casually, putting his elbows on the table. He felt Paul glare at him, threatening John with eyes that said "Back off, mate, I saw her first."
John batted his eyelashes at Paul. "C'mon, let me have this one, son. Take mine."
"Trade you," John whispered to Paul, gesturing to the blonde who was now pouting next to John.
"Ha. You're a funny one, Lennon," Paul hissed back sarcastically. John smirked at him.
"I'm John," he said smoothly to Caroline, reaching out to take her hand. He ignored the sharp kick Paul sent to his ankle. "John Lennon. This here is Paul McCartney."
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you both," Caroline laughed, shaking John's hand.
"The pleasure's all mine," John drawled.
"Would you like to dance?" the blonde asked from John's left. He waved her off.
"In a minute."
The blonde stood up sharply, rattling the edge of the table. John chose to ignore her. "I should've figured that a Beatle wouldn't want anything more than a shag!"
The three watched her strut away with quick, irritated steps, disappearing into the crowd. "Well, John, you certainly have a way with the ladies," Paul smirked, leaning back in his chair coolly.
"Did she say 'Beatle?'" Caroline asked slowly, turning back to the pair. Her brow furrowed. "You--you're the Beatles?"
"The ones and only," John replied, taking a swig of his beer.
"Well, stone the crows," Caroline chuckled, sitting back with a huge smile on her face. "I thought your voices were familiar. Don't own a television, though, had no idea what you looked like. Or your names."
"Better you didn't know," was Paul's opinion. "It's easier to dance with a girl when she's not acting like a nit, gushing over you and everything."
"Speaking of which," John said slowly, standing to his feet. He saw Paul begin to open his mouth in protest, but even the bass player knew he would lose the battle with John. "Caroline, would you like to dance?"
Somewhere between his fourth beer and the way Caroline felt, swaying beneath his hands, John had decided it was about time he took her back to the hotel. She was refreshingly fun; not needy, not too talkative, with a fantastic biting wit that rivaled John's.
John had always liked red velvet cake.
But John had his rules when it came to sleeping with girls; one, he did his best to avoid their names. It made him feel like less of an arse when he forgot. Two, no kissing on the mouth. Too personal. Three and four were one in the same; don't fall asleep, and kick the girl out when the deed was done. It saved him from post-coital 'cuddling' and the awkward morning after conversation.
It was too late to not learn Caroline's name, but John hoped he wouldn't forget it, as he had never met a girl quite like her and therefore resolved to treat her a little better. And what was a tiny smooch in the heat of the moment? Her lips were soft and practically begging him to kiss them. This rule-breaking didn't alarm John. He could be lenient every once in a while, couldn't he?
It was rules three and four that caused the whole thing. John didn't know what it was; Caroline's hands running over his bare back, the way she was kissing him, or the thing she did with her hips right when he was about to finish, but John found himself so satisfied and tired that he couldn't do anything except lay down, panting and sweaty and content, and fall asleep beside the redhead.
John had not invented rules three and four just to avoid awkwardness. He had created them to avoid his own habit of becoming dangerously affectionate towards women he picked up in clubs.
And so he may not have planned it, but that night was the night John Lennon fell in love.
It's much shorter than I anticipated, but it's also 1:52 am at the moment and I've finally found a good ending place, so there you have it! Please review!
~C.