Tomorrow Never Knows - Chapter Thirty-Three
Authors: lovely_rita_mm, jenny_wren28, & pennylane_fic
Starring: The Beatles and Maggie Sue
Rating: M for language, implied sex (though none of it is explicit) & implied drug use. Characters used in this story are either our creation, or are historically-based (ie, The Beatles).
Disclaimer: We don't own any of the Beatles, this obviously never happened, and is a complete work of fiction.
George parked his Mini Cooper behind Maggie's and knocked on the side door. It swung open, and there was Maggie covered in tears and clutching a half empty bottle of liquor.
"Hi," she said.
"Are you alright?" He eyed the bottle warily – how much had she drunk? She had never been a heavy drinker, and if she'd really had half a bottle, she'd be unconscious by now. "How much of that have you had?"
Maggie looked at the bottle. "I don't know, but don't worry, it wasn't full when I started. I can't promise I won't try to finish it though." She stood back from the door. "Come on in."
George followed her in, closing the door behind them.
"I'm sorry to bother you – I know I'm probably keeping you from meditating or something," Maggie sniffled.
"It's alright."
"I need a tissue!" She looked upset by this prospect.
"Okay," George said reassuringly. He looked around. "I don't see any down here."
"I think there are some upstairs in the bedroom," Maggie said.
"Okay," George said. "Let's get them."
"Okay," Maggie nodded, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. She just stood here, so George turned her around, and hands on her shoulders, guided her upstairs. He sat her down on the bed, and seeing the box of tissues on the nightstand, offered it to her.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?" George asked.
"Well, like I started to tell you, we got in a big fight after I found all these postcards Yoko sent him while we were in India. There must have been 30 of them, and he admitted to sending her postcards too, though I don't know how many." Maggie got up and started pacing and waving the bottle around. "Then I found out that he funded one of her crappy exhibits and they even put his name on it." Maggie stopped in front of George who was now sitting on the bed, holding the tissue box. She yanked one out and wiped her nose and eyes with it and then flung it away. "Well, it wasn't his actual name, like 'John and Yoko's crappy, crappy art exhibit'. They called it 'Yoko and Me', like they were a couple or something." George cringed a bit internally. He'd known about the exhibit and hadn't told Maggie. He hadn't seen a need since it had looked as if John were done with Yoko. Clearly she'd found out anyway.
Maggie grabbed another tissue out of the box. "And then he got mad at me for being jealous of their friendship since he's not jealous of you and me." Maggie waved the bottle in George's direction.
"He's not?" George was never sure – he knew John had been possessive of his women in the past, but for reasons he never understood, John had never complained about George and Maggie's friendship. Was it because he'd been having Yoko on the side? Surely not. John seemed so dedicated to Maggie - which had been inconvenient for the band when they were on tour, admittedly.
"No, but then he said that if I didn't let him see Yoko, he'd stop us from being friends, and then he said that maybe he should give me something to be jealous about, and how would I like it if he... if he went and fucked Yoko." Tears ran down her face at the memory. She needed another tissue.
"But he was just angry, I'm sure he didn't mean it."
"I didn't think so either. But I couldn't find him and Mo suggested trying Paul's flat. I don't know why she did, or how she could have known…" Maggie's voice broke. "Maybe she didn't know, and it was just a good guess." She shrugged.
"Was John at the flat?"
"Yes. Before I could knock on the door, I heard voices. He was there with an American woman – or at least a woman who wasn't British. They were laughing and then they were…doing it. I could hear them through the door. I left. I didn't know what else to do." Maggie sat down on the bed next to George, sobbing.
He gently took the bottle away from her, and put his arm around her and let her cry. She finally looked up and said, plaintively. "George, I really want to get high."
"Maybe it's not a good idea, since you're so upset."
"Isn't it supposed to make you laugh? Maybe it will make me find this mess funny."
"I don't know if it'll do that, but I guess it can't hurt. Maybe it will calm you down."
Maggie watched as George skillfully rolled the joint together and taught her how to smoke it. She'd seen the others smoke these often enough that it wasn't that hard to figure out. She coughed and choked a bit first, but pretty soon the smoke took effect and she calmed down enough to talk coherently again. At least, it felt coherent, but between the alcohol and the pot, she didn't really feel like herself. Right now, however, that was okay. She didn't want to be herself – she wanted to be anything but.
"Do you know we've never set a date to get married?" Maggie said suddenly. "I never cared about anything but being with him, so it never bothered me, but now all of a sudden it does. In my original timeline, he married Yoko as fast as he was able. Maybe the truth is, he doesn't want to marry me. What's the matter with me?" she asked George, tears forming in her eyes again.
"Aw, nothing," George said. He adored Maggie, and if he weren't already married and if John and Maggie hadn't been so in love, he would have wanted her for himself.
"I'm difficult."
"You're challenging," he softened her words with his own. "Actually, I think you're very easy to be around."
"Not at parties. I'm a giant stick in the mud."
"No, you're still easy to be around, even if it's obvious you're not comfortable around drugs. Speaking of, why the sudden change of heart about pot tonight?"
Maggie considered this for a second. "I'm too structured. I'm completely closed off."
"But in a good way," George teased her.
"No, no, I drove him away," she insisted. In her drunken, high state, a horrifying afterthought occurred to her. "And I'm going to be forty!"
"When?" George was confused. Maggie was only twenty-seven.
"Someday!" Maggie grabbed another tissue and wiped fruitlessly at the tears streaming down from her eyes again.
"In thirteen years! Actually, weren't you born in 1980? You won't really be forty until 2020."
Maggie shook her head. "Still, it's there. Just sitting there like this big dead end. And it's not the same for men. Charlie Chaplin had babies when he was seventy-three."
"Yeah, but he was too old to pick them up!" George joked, not sure why the conversation had taken this strange turn. It must be the effect of the pot.
Maggie laughed at George's quip but then her laughs turned into sobs.
"'Aw, come here, come here, it's going to be okay." George wrapped her in a hug, and stroked her hair. "It's going to be fine, you'll see."
Maggie was crying against his chest and his shirt was starting to get significantly damp. Knowing she'd be worried about that he said preemptively, "Oh go ahead, this shirt isn't one of my favorites anyway." She had to laugh a bit at this, as George had told her this at least once before. George had always been there when she'd needed him, hadn't he? Her tears slowed a bit.
"It's going to be okay," he said again, a little helplessly. Wishing he could comfort her better. He kissed her forehead. "You're okay? I could go make some tea…" He could use some air himself. The smoke was making him feel relaxed and a bit sleepy, and this bed was looking comfortable.
But Maggie protested when he started to get up, "George, could you just hold me a little longer?"
"Sure." George was content to stay where she was, so he hugged her to him, and rocked her a bit. He kissed her forehead again and then looked down at her to see if she was still crying. Her face was resting on his neck. She wasn't crying, but she looked sad. He bent down to kiss her cheek, just as she looked back up at him. The movement had caused George's lips to nearly brush hers. George planted a light, friendly, kiss on her mouth. No big deal, they'd exchanged social kisses before. Yet somehow, this was different. He didn't know if it was the smoke or her proximity to him, or the fact that she and John appeared to have broken up and she was so tender and vulnerable in his arms. Neither of them made a move to break away, and her lips were still invitingly close to his. He kissed her lightly once again, and then, feeling her respond to his touch, kissed her more deeply.
Gentle kisses turned passionate and then in the space of minutes, nearly frantic. Their limbs entwined as they half-pulled, half-pushed each other down on the bed.
For a moment Maggie's mind screamed at her to stop, but between the emotions, the alcohol, the pot, and the Beatle that was kissing her.... It was all too much and soon her mind stopped thinking, much less screaming anything at all.
A/N: Sharp readers might notice that this chapter is yet another homage to When Harry Met Sally. We planted the seeds for this back in BFF.
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