Wow okay so hi. I told myself, "Catie, listen to me. You are GOING TO FINISH THIS FANFIC THIS SUMMER GOD DAMMIT." I swear to God, that was my intention. Whether it will be done or not, I'm not sure. But what I will guarantee you is that you guys will be getting at LEAST three chapters. (Like…one for every month? Yeah.) I really hate leaving you guys hanging for so long, but there are just so. Many. Other. Things. Like, things I've never told you about. Like Camp NaNoWriMo? Yeah. Doing that. (But only in June, so at least I have all of August to write for you people.) Um, my novel that I'm writing with Addie (SparksDiamond) (God I'm using a lot of parenthesis). That novel is a bunch of different short stories (not a bunch, six, I don't know why I wrote a bunch hahaha) but it's very fun and a very different experience. Hm. What else, what else. I have to work? And play volleyball? And workout (ew)? And sometimes I have to see my friends and not just hermit inside all day? And then I have to start swimming again?

I'm busy, okay? Did I get that point across? Sweet George on Acid. :^) I'm sorry it's like 12:30 in the morning and I'm like ASDLFJAWOEJFALS right now but I WANTED TO UPDATE SO GOD DAMN IT I WILL. Look how much I've written already. Wow. I should just write fanfics of me just talking. (Oh, wait, already tried that. Shit.)

This is becoming quite extensive. Okay okay okay just ONE LAST THING. I know that a bunch of you have probably quit reading this by now, but I just wanted to say how much it SUCKS that some of my best readers who leave the most kickass reviews are anonymous (I just had such a difficult time trying to spell that but spell check stepped in, thankfully). So, here's my official thank you so much to all of you, because you continue to make my day and keep my writing fuel going each time you comment; it never goes unnoticed. :^) Happy reading guys. (This is in Maggie Mae's POV, like I said last it would be last time.)

If nothing else, John Lennon was persistent. You had to give him that.

He wanted what he wanted, and for whatever reason, what he wanted was me. I was quite positive that once he got me, he would go back to his normal tough-talking, thoughtless self. John was a man of the chase, and nothing but. I, on the other hand, wanted a more steady life. A man to bring home a paycheck and babies at my breast and all that old shit that my mother had installed me back in the Old Country. Underneath all my adventures here, I still ultimately wanted that.

As it goes, John's and my desires did not intervene.

For a long time I was scared to go to any tavern or pub that claimed to be home to the infamous Beatles, who were growing more and more popular as the days went by, seemingly. But there were many other bands – some good, some completely awful – in Hamburg, all trying to make it big. It turned out that the city was bigger than I previously expected; it was a lot easier to avoid the one band that I didn't want to see than I thought.

However, there was Val.

Val was so utterly taken by the Beatles (more like with Paul the Cute One and John Wannabe) that she tried to seek them out nearly every night that she had off of work. She didn't like that I didn't want to go with her. Mostly, she was just curious as to why.

"I thought you said you talked to the lead singer? At the bar? That one night?"

She was standing in the small bathroom that we shared in our tiny apartment. A tube of deep red lipstick was cradled in her fingers, and a record was playing in the background. She was dressed as loosely as she got, her hair hairsprayed into stone.

I sighed, leaning back onto my bed and pulling the book I was holding closer to my face. "John?"

"Yeah," she said, smacking her lips together and then ripping off a piece of toilet paper to blot. "Him. He seemed quite taken with you. And you didn't seem too offended by him…" I could practically feel her devilish smile.

"He's foul," I hissed, slamming my book into the bed and turning my head to look at her. "We don't get along whatsoever. I was interested in his bandmate – George – for a little while, but that would be too awkward, I think."

Val turned on her heel, putting on hand on her hip and staring at me incrediculously. "George? The skinny one between Paul and John?"

"Mhmm," I said, smiling. "He's nice. And funny."

"And young," Val added, "and inexperienced."

I rolled my eyes. "As compared to John, who has more experience than the rest of them put together?"

She scoffed, as though I was being completely ridiculous. "John is about ten times as sexy, too." She leaned forward, lining her eyes with thick black mascara. "In any case, we won't be seeing them tonight. I promised the bartender at…"

I kind of stopped listening after that, instead leaning back on the creaky old bed and thinking about John and George. They were too such different people. John reeked of confidence and charisma, but George had this quiet poise about him that she could not help but find attractive. As far as looks went…George was probably a few years younger than her, and John looked like he could put his trousers on in the dark, blindfolded with two hands tied behind his back.

Val could probably vouch for that.

I was broken out of my thoughts by the sound of clapping hands. I looked up and saw Val standing there in a dress that hugged and hung from her body in all the right places. "Very nice," I said, as that was my duty as sister.

She nodded at me, and I knew it was my turn for appraisal. Sighing, I stood up and moved into the harsh light of the bathroom. Once there, we both stared at our similar looking faces in the mirror; two pairs of deep blue eyes, two freckled noses, two sets of cherry red, plump lips. From behind me, Val fluffed up my mass of dark hair, which tumbled down my shoulders in thick ringlets. She held up the hairspray can, ready to assault them in her own fashion, but I knocked her hand away with a grimace.

"You are not putting that stuff anywhere near my head."

She tsked her tongue, shaking her head. "No one wears their hair like that," she said, looking at her own hair in the mirror and spraying it a bit. Valerie was born more fair than I was, her hair golden brown instead of chocolate. Her skin was slightly tanner than my own, and she stood at least five inches taller than I did.

"Are you ready?" I asked her, anxious to leave the apartment.

She cast her eyes up and down me, then nodded. I was wearing the same little red dress that I was when I met John. Val moved forward, and I thought she was going to go for her keys so that we could get going. Instead, she reached into our shared closet and pulled out a pair of dangerous black heels.

"For you," she said, holding them out to me.

I blanched. "No thank you."

She cackled her raspy laugh, throwing her head back and shoving the shoes into my arms. The heels had to be at least four inches tall, and sharp and narrow as daggers. There was little else to them. "Put them on. I saved up a fortune for them, and you're lucky that I'm letting you wear them before I am." She gestured to her own feet, which were clad in more modest pumps. "My feet are killing me from work."

There was nothing I could do; she would insist, no matter what, that I wore the things. And I knew that if I fell (which, as I slid my feet into them, seemed entirely likely), the skirt of my dress would hide very little. I was resigned to wear them, and wear them well.

When I finally stood up in the shoes, I was hardly as tall as my sister was flat-footed. Though they were just about as uncomfortable as walking on knives, I felt good in them. Strong, sure of myself. And, I had to admit, sexy.

Val held open the door as I marched out, determined.

As big as Hamburg is, there are very few men worth a girl's time. As soon as we sat down at the bar, we were bombarded with drinks and slurred pick-up lines alike.

Val ate it up, as she always did, but I stepped away and wandered towards the dance floor and stage. That was always the place I liked to be most; listening to music and letting myself go. It was what I came to Hamburg for; God knew I hadn't come to meet a husband.

"Maggie Mae?"

My gut wrenched as I heard my name called over the sound of the band playing and people chattering. I turned my head and was very relieved to see George heading towards me, and none of his band in tow.

"Hey," he breathed when he finally same close enough for me to hear him without screaming. "It's good to see you again!"

I instantly felt a little bad; I had left him the night I had me him, ditching the club before his band could finish their set. All because I'd realized that the band he was in was the same one that John was the leader of, and I knew that any sort of relationship we had – real or just physical – would be offensive to John and would not end well.

Plus I never wanted to see him again.

I nodded vigorously in response, lifting a drink that some guy had bought me to my lips. I meant it, too; we had hit it off right away. I wished something could have happened between the two of us. "I'm really sorry about last time."

He looked relieved that I'd been the one to bring it up. "What happened? I thought…"

"You thought right." I took a deep breath, wondering if I should tell him that I knew John and he was the reason that I had taken off prematurely. "It wasn't you."

George frowned, then opened his mouth. But before he could say anything, there was a hand wrapped around his shoulder, then an arm, and then John Lennon sidled up next to him. He had a cigarette poised in between two fingers on one hand, a glass of a dark amber liquid in the other, and a simper spread across his lips.

"Aye, Georgie, we been wonderin' where you disappeared off to." He took a sip of his drink, then looked at me pointedly. As though he needed to be introduced.

George was clearly annoyed, and he shrugged out of John's embrace before saying, "Erm, John, this is Maggie Mae. Maggie Mae, this is – "

"I know who he is," I said, probably a bit more sharply than was necessary. George didn't deserve any malice; no, I should reserve all of that for John and his stupid games.

His friend was confused, but John just continued to wear that smirk like a crown. "Ah, the ever elusive Miss Maggie Mae. No good, rotten Maggie Mae. The one that got away."

I scowled. "I was talking to George."

John raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise. "Oh, that's strange. I wasn't previously aware that you and my good friend George were acquainted. I actually thought you and me had something going on, and therefore I think I have a right to be offended."

I rolled my eyes heavily and made a loud scoffing sound, but George looked slightly hurt. "You didn't tell me you knew John…" he said softly, casting his big, brown eyes my way.

My mouth twitched sympathetically. This was exactly, exactly what I had thought to avoid by not seeing George and ignoring John. I didn't even know John, and I knew that you couldn't win by him. "That's because I don't really know John at all. One time he hit on me, and one time I told him that I never wanted to talk to him again."

John seemed to have very selective hearing. "Ah, but that one time was such a good time, wouldn't you agree? You seemed to think so at the time, at least. As I recall, you were wearing that same dress." His eyes travelled the length of my body, all the way down to my feet, then shot back up. He made a sound of surprise. "Ah! But the shoes are new, aren't they? I thought you looked taller…"

I put two hands square in the center of his chest, and then shoved him away from me. "You. Are. Repulsive," I hissed. That only seemed to amuse him.

"You don't think me charming?" he asked, drawing closer once more. "Some find my repulsiveness quite endearing."

"Not me."

He put his hand on his heart. "Oh, Maggie Mae. You wound me."

I set my jaw, realizing for the first time that George had drifted away. I saw him by the bar, raising his hand for a drink as a girl slid her hand around his elbow. He looked down at her, murmured something, and she threw her head back and laughed. I felt a jealous heat in my tummy, and I had to remind myself that George could talk to whoever he liked. After all, hadn't I basically rejected him by talking to John now, and days ago when I had left the club before he could come talk to me again?

My gaze returned to John, and I found that he was still looking at me. "You've cost me my date," I said, gesturing with my chin to where George was.

He turned and looked. "Ah, well. It would seem so." He grinned his impish grin. "What will you do now?"

I bit my lip, because despite it all some part of me wanted to smile. I forced myself to remember that he was just a bitter, drunken man. That he didn't really like me, only what I had between my legs. That no matter what, we wanted very different things and I shouldn't allow myself to fall into his trap.

"Now," I said, "I think I will go find my sister." And then I walked away, making sure to swing my narrow, almost nonexistent hips as I passed him.

I had to squeeze past a wall of men and scantily clad women to find my sister. She was hanging on the man sitting next to her, who was yelling something in English with a thick German accent. His cheeks were flushed pink to match hers, but I couldn't help but notice that his smile was a little brighter.

"Val?"

She didn't appear to hear me; instead she leaned forward and took a sip off of his drink. She glanced around, as though looking for a better offer somewhere else.

"VALERIE?"

She jumped, turning around and smiling to see me. "Hey. I saw you talking to your men over there." She cackled. "Good thing I pointed you out to them, isn't it?"

From across the bar, I watched as Paul strode up next to George and clapped a hand on his back. The boy turned and smiled at his older friend, then gestured to the girl next to him. Paul pointed at the door. George nodded and muttered something. Paul let out a burst of laughter that I could hear all the way over here, and George looked down, clearly embarrassed.

My face flushed with envy, and I forced my eyes onto my sister.

"Not really," I said vaguely. "I think I might get going."

She snorted. "Not dressed like that, you're not."

"Valerie, really, I'm not in the mood for this – "

"No, but it looks like someone else might be."

I barely had time to raise my eyebrows in question when I felt a hand on my shoulder blade and heard the chair next to me squeak as someone was pushed off and someone else clambered on. "Hey, baby," John said in a horrible American accent. "Come here often?"

I screamed in frustration, but the sound was lost in the sea of noise in the club. "Leave me alone!"

Honestly, why did I even bother coming out any more?

I made to spin around, but he grabbed my hand. I was surprised by the gentleness of his calloused fingers, and I felt like I almost had to watch as he slid his long, pale fingers through mine. I had to admit; it was pretty sexy.

Finally, my good sense returned to me, and I ripped my hand from his grasp. He looked up, bemused. "Was it something I said?"

"You," I informed him, "are the most frustrating, evil, obsessive…UGH I have ever met!"

"Ugh?"

I breathed out deeply, closing my eyes and shaking my head. "Why can't you just let me be?"

He smiled brightly, leaning forward so that I could smell his oddly intoxicating scent of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and spearmint. His eyes were wide and honest and more warmly brown than I could have ever imagined. "Because I like you."

This exasperated me beyond words. "You don't even know me!"

"No," he allowed, "but I want to."

It struck me then how much John Lennon had a way with words. That was the first time I felt my heart flutter, the first time that I wanted to let him know me. But I had to remember the person that he really was, and I also had to remember the person that I really was. We were not compatible. It was George I liked. George, with his sweet smile and quiet air. George, with that innocence that was so rare to find him boys his age.

But if I wanted innocence, why hadn't I just stayed in Ireland?

I swallowed back that thought. "Well, I think that's a little bit up to me."

He nodded, and there was nothing more to say. I didn't want to talk to him anymore, because I was afraid that the longer I knew him the more I would begin to like him. And I didn't want to like him. I didn't, I didn't. I liked George.

But looking at John then, I knew that wasn't true.

After that, I stopped trying to avoid John and his band. It was easy to let him try and charm me to death, but I couldn't ignore him anymore. Like I said, John was nothing if not persistent, and I wasn't sure if I liked that or dreaded it. I had to admit it, though: You can only hate someone so much before you start to like them for it.

O.o

John, you dog. After writing all of that (plus that huge-ass beginning AN) I really don't have much to say here, except sorry (as ever) for the wait and also for my sudden enamor with parenthesis, I don't know where that came from. I PROMISE YOU these chapters are going to start coming faster. I know I say that all the time, but I mean that. Like, from the bottom of my heart. You guys are awesome because you don't have to be reading this and you are and I'm forever grateful. I love writing these stories, and as long as you'll read them, I'll be writing them.

Thanks and more thanks, guys. REVIEW, PLEASE. (Also, have a George for you troubles. :^) )