Chapter 20: Digging A Hole

I feel bigger than a whale. I put my hand on my now huge stomach and walk alongside Paul, hand in hand.

"How much longer is it going to be?" I moan, wincing at yet another power kick. "You're due in three weeks yet."

He's been my personal calendar, and I think that he's more worried than I am about it's arrival. He's been sweating a lot lately and having strange dreams. Whenever I ask him what they're about, he just shakes his head. He's been going insane, going to the studios to record more music, and then coming home to help me with whatever I need. Then we go to the wedding planner and they talk to us about dress colors and decorations. We wanted the wedding to be a bigger deal than John and Cynthia's. And guess what? The media just found out that we're marrying in two days. So we're going to the wedding planner again at the moment, and once again it takes me a while to get there.

Paul pushes the door to the office open, and we're relieved to get away from the hidden reporters. A stressed woman clamps her hands together and smiles at us.

"Ah, are we ready for another session?" Paul runs his fingers through his wind-swept hair.

The woman takes my arm and leads me into a room with mirrors shining my reflection back at me. I've seen this room many times before. Other women surround a wooden block, and I step on it once more. The women go to work, measuring my arms and asking me questions about my life.

They look at my stomach and bite their lips, wondering how on earth they're going to pull it off.

The baby kicks hard and I wince, my hand shooting to where it kicked. A woman with tight curly hair comes to my side and helps me sit down, relaxing me.

"First time, isn't it?" She tucks her hair behind her ear, only to have it pop back out again.

"Yes," I wince, taking a sharp inhale.

"I've been there too. I know how you feel, honey. How long until you're free? It's got to be soon."

"Three weeks," I say. She smiles. "That's not too bad. It could be early." I attempt a smile, despite the pain.

"I know you're probably deathly sick about people asking about Paul, but how does he feel about this whole thing? You don't have to answer if you don't want, honey." I shake my head. "No, it's fine. He's really nervous, and it's really cute how he's been acting. He sweats whenever it kicks and hurts me, and he cries whenever I'm in pain. And the whole concept about the delivery is really scaring him, probably more than me. He's such a honey."

Her eyes light up at the thought of him. "Oh, you two are adorable together. You were made for each other. I wish my husband did that when I had my children. They're 22 and 17 now… oh how I long for those days when they were little." I'm amazed by her age.

"Really? You don't look like you do." She laughs.

"Oh! Thank you darling! You're making me blush!" I rub my stomach.

"Can you stand up now, honey?" I look up at her.

"Oh, sure," I take her hand and she helps me to my feet.

Before I know it, girls are holding up beautiful fabric to me and measuring and cutting again.

I stare back at my reflection, amazed by the dress. "It's wonderful! Thank you!" I turn to the side and bite my lip at the size of my belly.

"Is everything okay?" The curly haired woman asks.

"Oh, yes, everything's absolutely perfect, thank you!"

She nods unconvincingly. "Paul, are you coming sweetie?"

I see a middle-aged woman come in the room, and Paul's head peek around the corner in a black tuxedo. He beams as soon as he sees me, and I do the same to him.

"Amazing," he whispers, "absolutely amazing." He walks over to me and gives me a kiss.

"And that's without her hair and makeup done professionally." A woman pipes in.

Paul smirks at her, then turns back to me.

"Two days."

I smile at him.

"Three weeks."

He attempts to smile back at me, but I see the fear in his eyes. Fear of what's coming next.

"Cute," he says.

"I'm glad to hear your approval, Mr. McCartney." A woman says, pushing up her glasses.

Another claps her hands together. "I'll call that a day! We'll meet you back tomorrow for the run-through." Paul moans. "Again? I think we all have it memorized."

The women laugh. "Such a nice boy," an elderly woman says, and she brushes Paul's hair off of his forehead.

"He'd be even cuter if he didn't have that incredibly long hair of his."

Paul smiles and shakes his head quickly, making his hair fall back in place.

"Shall we get going then, Ma'am?" Paul says, giving the woman his arm. She giggles like a little girl and takes it, walking away towards Paul's dressing room. The other women giggle to me about how cute Paul is, and how lucky I am to be getting married to him.

I pull my sweater over my head and fix my hair in the mirror, studying my face. I see the door open from behind me and Paul comes behind me and rubs my shoulders.

"You seem a little tense," he says, and I turn around and kiss him. "Look who's talking, little Liverpudlian boy." I scruff his hair up. He puts his arm around me and we walk out into the lobby once more, taking a seat on the couch.

A man at the front desk with a scarf wrapped around his neck is studying his paperwork as we wait for the curly haired woman to come back.

"He's rather flamboyant, isn't he?" Paul whispers, and I giggle. "John would get a kick out of him, wouldn't he?" I whisper back.

"As much as he gets a kick out of Brian."

I cock my head to the side. "What do you mean?"

Paul gives a nervous laugh. "Brian's gay."

I turn to face him. "No," I say, not halfway surprised.

"You didn't know that?" I shake my head.

"I don't want to jump to conclusions."

The man at the desk turns to face us. "So, what do you two do for a living?" Paul looks up at him strangely.

"Well, I'm Paul McCartney… I'm in a band called The Beatles." He shakes his head.

"So sorry, Mr. McCartney. I didn't realize." He turns to me.

"And what do you do?" I don't know what to say, and I'm relieved to hear Paul answer.

"She takes pictures of our band. You know, pictures that no photographer can get because they don't know us."

"Oh? May I see?" Paul smirks. "Why would she carry pictures around?"

"Then how can I see?"

"You just won't be able to, I guess," Paul says, shrugging. The man raises an eyebrow and bites his lip uncomfortably.

"Something wrong?" Paul asks.

"You just... need to..." The man rubs his chin, trying to indicate something to Paul. We both instantly know that he means he has to shave, but we can't imagine why the man would care.

"I don't exactly understand sign language..." Paul says.

We go on with this for about what feels like ten minutes, and soon the man gets extremely frustrated with us and throws his head on the desk.

Paul moves his hand on his face. "I really need to shave." I kiss him on the cheek. "You're beautiful either way."

I think the man will explode by the sound he makes next.

The woman with the frizzy hair comes back in.

"Paul and Stella, we'll be having you two back tomorrow for our final run-through, and then we'll be all set for Saturday! Sound good?"

"Yes, Ma'am." We say in unison.

"Great! See you tomorrow! Bye-bye now!" She waves to us and we walk outside hand in hand.

"You excited?" John asks, popping out from behind the building, making us jump. George and Ringo come out too, grinning.

"Bloody hell guys. What the fuck were you thinking? You know that people have been coming out of nowhere taking pictures of us."

"Well the 'cute' Beatle is going to marry, don't you think that they want a piece of you? Great story there." Paul sticks up his middle finger at John. "You didn't need to freak us out though." John shakes his head. "You know we have to, Macca." Paul rolls his eyes.

"So what do you want, Lennon?" He asks, looking over his shoulder to make sure that nobody's going to attack us with cameras (like always happens).

"We were going to pick you up for recording. Stella can come if she wants," George says.

"Alright, we'll come."

"Great. Now we'll just call our driver…" We walk inside and Ringo calls the man up.

We walk back outside and get in the car, letting the warm air swallow us up.

"How are the future McCartney's?" The driver asks, looking at us through the rearview mirror. Paul pulls me towards him. "Wonderful, thanks for asking." The man smiles at us.

"That's good. Luckily Abbey Road is close, so I'm afraid to say that we're already here."

"We're in the back to escape the girls?" George asks, sitting up in his seat.

"Yes, Mr. Harrison, we are." He breathes a sigh of relief.

"Cool."

John stands up and opens the door.

"One… two… three!"

We jump out of the car and charge past the hundreds of girls and photographers waiting outside. We're blinded by flashes from cameras and deafened by the screaming of girls. Paul tucks me inside his coat and we run towards the door.

Police try to contain the girls, but some break through, trying to get a piece of the boys, and a kick at me.

"Bitches…" Paul mutters as a girl tries to kick my shins. Brian opens up the door of the studio and we all run inside, falling on the ground to catch our breath once inside.

"Did they get you?" Paul pants, rolling over onto his back. I can't reply, because I can't breathe. I heave breaths and struggle, and Paul takes notice immediately.

"Stella, what's wrong?" He says, sitting up and looking at me.

"John!" John runs over in half a second and bends down.

"God, she can't breathe. John, do something!"

John thinks for a minute frantically, then nods. He puts both of his hands on me and pushes me onto my side, and I take a big breath before panting like a dog.

Paul comes over and lays down beside me, wrapping his arms around me.

"Don't scare me like that ever again!" He says, and I notice tears in his eyes. He runs his hand through my hair. "I love you too much."

He sits up after a little bit and walks to John, giving him a huge hug. It startles John, and he wraps his arms around him too. "Thanks Lennie. I couldn't live without you."

John nods and pats him on the back. "It's okay Paul. Everything's alright now. It was just a little problem, but we solved it."

They let go and Paul helps me to my feet, taking me into the recording room where I sit with George Martin and Brian listening to them do take after take of their new single 'She Loves You'.

Afterward, they all come up and listen to their takes, picking which one they like. I lean back in my chair and close my eyes. I hear the boys laughing.

"Is she asleep?" Ringo whispers.

"Yeah, she is I think." George replies.

"It's easier to tell if she's sleeping than Paul." John laughs. I hear Paul smack him. "Hey, it's true!"

"What's true?" Paul asks.

"You sleep with your frickin' eyes open!" John says, breaking out into a laugh.

"I do not! Geo, you tell him!"

"Sorry to jump on John's side, but you do. It's creepy." George snickers.

"I don't believe you guys. I'm asking Stella."

"And why would she know?" Ringo asks, getting a laugh from John. Paul doesn't answer. I feel Paul's hand on my shoulder.

"Good afternoon, love. Do I really sleep with my eyes open sometimes?"

Without opening my eyes, I nod slowly.

"Dammit! As much as I love you, that means that the guys win," he kisses me on the cheek. "But they aren't getting married in two days, or have a son on the way." He kisses me again. I open up my eyes and smile at him.

"It's kind of strange, but it's just another one of your cute and unique qualities," He grins. "See guys? It's cute in a creepy kind of way."

John rolls his eyes. "That's great, Macca. It's still creepy."

I prop myself up on an elbow. "So when are we done?"

They all bite their lips. "We've got about two hours left." My eyes widen.

"What?" Ringo raises an eyebrow.

"I thought that you knew what you were getting into by marryin' a Beatle." I wrinkle up my nose.

"Wake me up when we're done." Paul nods.

"Alright, love." The phone rings and Paul stands up to get it. I hear him begin talking to someone, then his voice gets faint and it soon disappears.

I feel Paul's soft lips on mine, and I recognize this as my wake-up call. I yawn and smile to feel his nose graze mine.

"Are we all done?"

He nods, giving me another kiss. "I love you." He whispers. "I love you too," I whisper. He bends down, lifts up my shirt a little, and kisses my stomach.

"And I love you too."

He helps me stand up and we walk to the door. "Ready?"

I look around the baron studio. "Where's the others?"

Paul nods to the car outside. "Already in there." I squint and am able to see three mop-tops bouncing around, waving to girls and laughing at ones that fall. I nod. "Ready."

He tucks me inside his coat a little, and we run to the car, yank the door open, and fall back on the leather seats. John crawls up into the front seat and leans back so the chair falls into George's lap. He moans and kicks it, so that John sits straight again. "No need to get feisty, Jorje."

George raises an eyebrow. "Jorje?" John turns around.

"Yeah, y'know, George in Spanish." George falls back in his chair.

"Ah, sure it is, Johnny."

"It IS!" John says, turning back to the front. He points to his flat he's sharing with Cynthia and the driver lets him out.

"See you at the bachelor par-tay tomorrow, Paulie, Geo and Rings. We wave to him and he salutes us back before running into the apartments.

We drop off Ringo next, and he says the same. Then we get around to Paul's house and he kisses me goodbye, saying he'll see me soon.

George and I get out of the car at our house, and we get smothered in kisses from Mrs. Harrison. She scruffs up George's hair which makes him turn a crimson red.

"Mum…" She rolls her eyes and pinches his cheek. "My little boy is too old for his Mummy?" He looks at me and shakes his head.

"Don't you start on me, Stella." I smirk at him.

Mrs. Harrison lets go of his cheek, and he rubs it.

"Love you Mum, but I'm really tired. We played 'I Want to Hold Your Hand' about a million times. I never want to hear it again."

"Oh yeah I'll tell you something, I think you'll understand…" I start, my face breaking out in a smile. His hands shoot to his ears and he runs upstairs. "NO!"

Mrs. Harrison and I giggle at his reaction.

"I can't believe that my youngest child is going to be successful before any of my others," she puts her arm around me. "And my adopted child is going to marry one of the boys in the same band as my son." I smile and look down at my shoes, slipping them off my feet. Mrs. Harrison lets go and walks into the kitchen.

"Do you want anything to eat, honey? The baby's probably starving! You don't eat anything, you're so thin. Then again, I guess that if you're Paul McCartney's fiancé you have to keep yourself looking good…" I smile as she continues talking to herself. I pull my leggings off from underneath my skirt, letting the fresh air hit my legs.

"Woah there…" I jump to hear Harry's voice behind me. (Harry's one of my step-brothers if you've forgotten, however, he's hardly ever in the house).

He walks in from the parlor, opening a water bottle in his hands. "No need to strip for me… you can leave that for Paul."

I smile at him and give him a hug. "I haven't seen you around here for a while… when did you get back from..."

"Norway."

"When did you get back from Norway?" I ask, which makes him chuckle. "Yesterday. You weren't home!" I release him from my arms.

"I know, I'm sorry."

"You were at the McCartney's, weren't you?" He asks, getting a sly look over his face. I shake my head.

"Harry, I know better than to spend the night with Paul at their house. I was at a hotel!"

Harry smiles and scratches his head.

"Well, it's nice to see you, and now you're going away in a day. What's up with that?" I open my mouth to reply, but he goes on.

"Nah, I'm excited for you. It's not every day that two of your siblings are associated with the Beatles. One of them is in it, and the other is engaged to one!"

He scruffs up my hair, and I smile. His stomach growls and he puts a hand against it. "Yikes. My stomach… sorry," he looks up at me and then at my stomach - about five times the size of his.

"Speaking of stomachs…" he says, meeting my eye. I rest my hand on top of my stomach and rub it.

"Last time I checked, you aren't married, Missy!"

My face turns red.

"How many months has it been?"

I shake my head. "I don't want to say."

He punches me playfully in the arm. "C'mon… It can't be that bad."

"Nine months," I say, and his jaw drops a little. "Really?"

"Surprised?"

"Nah, it's pretty obvious. You're smaller than Ringo. It's pretty easy to tell on skinny, short women." I smack him. "What's the baby's name going to be?" He says, rubbing his cheek where I hit him. "James, if it's a boy."

"Isn't that Paul's name?" He asks, biting his lip. I nod.

"Yeah, it's a McCartney tradition. I decided to follow it, seeing as I'll be a McCartney soon." My heart skips a beat at the thought.

His stomach grumbles again, louder this time. "Well, that's great, but I'm really hungry… I'll be back in a few."

I nod and he walks past, patting my back as he goes.

I sit down in the parlor and look at the flowered curtains hiding the girls outside screaming for George.

I wish that I could open the curtains, to let the sun streak in, but I can't.

I pray that it dies down a little, or that Paul and I move to the country, where nobody is. Just enough privacy to have the curtains open, to let the sun creep in.