Hey everybody! I started this chapter a while ago, and I only just finished it. Just haven't felt like writing in a while, I suppose. Oh well! I'm back now, and that's what matters. Eh, George? :^) Enjoy!
Originally, Val and I came to Hamburg for the same reason; to hear the music. Music had always been somewhat of an obsession of mine, which I guess stemmed from my older sister. But as soon as we left Ireland, all Val could talk about was how she was going to be a new person wherever we went. She would be a modern women; speaking her mind, drinking, smoking, being wild with men. Back in the old country, it wasn't so easy to be like that. The only girls that publicly did such things were immediately labeled 'whore'. And, in my opinion, for good reason.
Apparently it was different in the east, or so said Valerie. She was convinced that the place to start her new life was London, and after that didn't work out, the place was Hamburg. I, of course, was always up for whatever Val threw at me, but going to Hamburg didn't take a lot of convincing on my part.
We had one major issue: we were poor as shit. We had always been very low middle class back home, but after we had spent the little money our parents had spared us and our lifesavings on GETTING here, it was up to us to provide for ourselves. And for two women twenty one and younger, that is not a very easy task, let me tell you.
That is how I became known to the Hamburg locals as Dirty, No-Good, Robbin' Maggie Mae.
We lived in a small flat (featuring a bedroom, a kitchen/living space, and a bathroom) with barely any room to walk in, and whenever I wanted to practice my music, I would have to head over the tavern on the corner. The very one I was at when I heard the boys playing for the first time.
I went into that place, the owner hardly even looking up at me as I entered, the morning after I met the fabulous John Lennon. Val was home, too hungover to even move, so I was completely alone to my thoughts this morning.
I put my fingers to the keys, pressing down softly and savoring the rush of music that breezed past my ears. Truly, this was heaven. To be able to sit down, gush out a tune, and feel like you're right where you belong. Before I knew it, my fingers were dancing across the ivory and playing me a little melody. It was jumpy and happy, something my mother had taught me on our old out of tune organ.
"My grandfather used to play me that."
I let out a little gasp, my fingers slamming down hard as I jumped at least a foot in the air out of surprise. I wasn't expecting anybody other than my usual audience (Okay, the usual audience was just the owner. But still.) to be listening to me.
I turned slowly to find a boy roughly my age, maybe a little younger, standing behind me. He had his arms crossed over his chest and was leaning into the piano. He looked a little egotistical, like I should swoon merely at the sight of him.
"Really?" I asked, eyeing him over and feeling a brief spark of recognition. Where did I know him from?
"Aye," he muttered, taking a step towards me and casting his large, sleepy eyes downward. He glanced back up through thick, black lashes, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "You sound like my grandfather, too."
"Irish," I clarified, thinking that if he was trying to flirt with me, he was doing a horrible job and should rely solely on his looks in the future. That, or at least perfect his charms before attacking an unsuspecting and rather unwilling victim.
He nodded, picking his chin up a bit when he noticed my dull, bored tone. "I don't think I introduced myself, did I?"
"No."
"Ah, well, right then. My name's John." His face was completely smooth as he said it, not even hesitating. "John Lennon."
That's when I remembered where I had seen this guy.
"Oh, really? And that accent…Liverpool?"
He smiled widely, revealing surprisingly straight—though slightly flawed—white teeth. He laced his fingers through his suspenders, leaning forward a bit on his toes and changing his voice. "Heavens no!" he cried jovially in a mock posh tone. "Born and raised Londoner."
I bit my lip. "Right, right. London." I wondered why John Lennon's bandmate wanted me to think I was him. It wasn't like we were ever going to meet again, or like John had anything on this guy in any department. "So, John, why are you here?"
The guy must not have heard the little stress I put on his name, because it didn't wipe the concrete smile off his face. Any other girl probably would have died at the attention from someone so attractive. All I felt was a burning curiosity and a smidge of disgust at his lie.
"I've gotta band," he answered coolly, dropping his hands to his sides and looking away from me. As though I wasn't worthy of his gaze. "We're pretty good, I suppose. Me? I'm the lead singer." He arranged his features to look modest. "Nothing special, though."
"Oh, no. I know about your band," I said, frowning leaning away from him. I paused, indulgently watching his face fall. "Yeah, I was here last night. Remember, we had that great conversation? My place or yours?"
He licked his lips quickly, eyes darting to the piano bench, lingering there for a moment, and then hastily meeting my stare again. "Oh! Yeah, well, the darkness tends to make me look a little different."
"Taller?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.
His furrowed, hazel eyes hardening into a glare. "The same height, actually."
I shook my head in wonder. "Wow. And here's me thinking that men weren't into dying their hair. Learn something every day, don't cha?"
He nodded, eyes softening into saucers again. "True, true. I, John Lennon, DO dye my hair. And I wax my eyebrows. And—" He smiled shyly, looking down. When he averted his gaze back up to mine, his face was solemn. "And I find myself deeply attracted to men."
"Men," I repeated.
"Men," he confirmed. "Specifically, this really charming bloke. Real easy on the eyes. Paul McCartney? Ever heard of him?"
Ah. Yes. That was his name.
"Hmm…maybe. I'm pretty sure he slept with my sister."
"Wouldn't surprise me. I hear he gets a bird once a night, without fail. Sometimes twice."
"If the rumors are true."
"Aren't they all?"
"Doubt it. I heard this one that he likes to impersonate you."
"What? Me?"
"Yeah, John Lennon."
"Did someone call?"
At that, both Paul and I looked over the door, where a rather rumpled looking John was standing. He looked the same as last night, only his hair was a little more ruffled and the sweat that had shone off his milky white skin was now gone. He wore tight leather trousers and a white tee shirt that was slightly askew.
He regarded us as though we were an alien species. "Paulie, c'mon now. You just excused a lady from our place of dwelling and you're already chatting another one up?" He shook his head, strolling towards the stage where we stood. "Now that's not very classy."
"No," I agreed, "it isn't, Paulie."
"Well, then. As I can see I'm not welcome." He leapt off the stage, landing dangerously close to John. "I bid you adieu, Miss…"
"Maggie Mae," I offered.
"Til we meet again, Miss Maggie Mae." And with that he strode gallantly out of the tavern, leaving behind the sweet smell of his cologne mingled with dried sweat, and a certain air of awkwardness between me and his friend.
John stared at me, his expression light and unreadable. "Charming, isn't he?"
I nodded. "Shame it wasn't he who talked to me last night, or I might have gotten to see where you live, John Lennon."
He laughed shortly, a rather screechy and unnatural sound. It didn't seem to fit his face. He looked like the sort of person that never really laughed—the sort who simply told the joke and smiled arrogantly as it went over so well.
A cocky bastard, in other words.
"You know," he started, pointing at me with a long, thin finger. "I've got a friend who could use a bit of humor in his life right now."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Thanks for telling me."
He smiled. "See, he slept with this bird last night."
"Oh, wow. Is he okay?"
He rolled his eyes at my humor. "It was his first time. And, being a mate of mine, I…well, I was there." He hesitated for a moment. "As well as a few other guys."
I felt a pang for this friend of John's. "Poor kid."
"Yeah, well, he's sulking like no fucking tomorrow right now, and I figure that if you go over there and cheer him up, everything will be fine and dandy for tomorrow's set. Sound good?" He gave me a thumbs up and a hopeful smile. As though that alone would sell me.
"You hardly even know me," I pointed out.
"I like to make new friends."
"You tried to get me to sleep with you last night."
"Don't act like you're the first."
I shot him a withering look. "How do I know you're not just trying to lure me over to your apartment, or park bench—where ever it is that you live."
He shrugged. "Why buy the cow when I could get the milk for free?"
That, actually, was some logic that I could trust. There a million girls in this town—ones prettier than me, ones looser than me, and ones a hell of a lot more worth it than me—so why did I think I was so special all of a sudden? If there was one thing that I had learned in my life, it was that nobody treats you like you're special unless they want something. And I honestly had nothing to give.
"Sorry, but I have to go." I searched for some excuse in my head. "My sister will be expecting me back sometime soon, and I still have to…" I let my voice trail off, knowing that he didn't give a fuck. I was just some girl that he met in some bar on some night in some town. I was just a meaningless memory.
He shrugged, looking a bit annoyed with his wasted effort. He sat down at the bar, ordered himself a beer, and turned away from me. As though our conversation never existed.
Something about this annoyed me tremendously. Who was he to forget ME? As though he was better than me. As though he mattered more than me.
"It's a little early for a beer, isn't it?" I muttered as I swept past him, snatching my bag from the stage and narrowing my eyes a little.
"Excuse me?" He turned to face me.
"It's nine o'clock, and you're drinking? That's decent," I barked back at him swiftly, my voice raising before I could stop it.
"Who ever said I was decent?" he replied, throwing his arms out to the side and letting them fall to his waist with a slap.
"No one. Absolutely no one." I blatantly looked him over. "And no one ever will."
His eyes widened a bit, and I noticed how dark they were. Almost black. "Snarky bitch," he growled.
"Insolent bastard," I spat back.
He shook his head in a clear look of disgust, then turned away from me. Like I even cared what he thought. Like I even considered wanting to know him in the first place. I turned on my heel, clacking towards the door to the tavern angrily. When I was just about to the door, I heard:
"I'm a real prize. Just you wait, you'll see. I'm a real fucking prize."
I stopped at those words, the familiarity of them sloshing around in my head. I turned around, wondering if he was mocking me, then wondering how he had any way of knowing that I had spoken those very same words in a very different situation, once upon a time.
"You know, Lennon, I might find you a real interesting guy. That is, if I was even remotely interested."
I stayed in my spot long enough for him to glower up at me before pulling open the door and stepping out onto the bustling street. I felt exhilarated and sick, adrenaline pumped and guilty, and I badly needed a fix.
That was how I found myself taking the long route home, humming Danny Boy as I passed a fruit stand and mindlessly swiped two oranges before the owner could even put down his morning paper. I didn't mention John or Paul to Val when I got home.
Ha. Like they were so great.
Okay. Well I didn't expect THAT to come out. No, seriously, this chapter was supposed to be just a short little conversation with Paul and then going back to the house to talk to Val, but apparently my mind had other plans. Personally, I quite enjoy seeing where my mind takes me when I just sit down and write.
Before I forget—I'm thinking of holding a poll on my profile. A NEW one, since I haven't had one in a while. Would you guys vote on it if it controlled the future of this story? You could tell me in one of those little things I like to call…a REVIEW.