Chapter Text
Paul liked John's new stuff. He brought 'Imagine' when it came out and left it spinning on the record player long after the song had finished, as though John were sitting at a piano, waiting for some kind of criticism. Then the tedious sound of static echoed into his ears and he was forced to walk over to the record player, shaking off his idle fantasy that John was there, playing to him.
Often, he'd put the song on again and go about his business.
Often, he'd stop in his tracks when John sung 'yoooouuu' because it was gorgeous, because John's voice sounded at the top of its game. Paul would let his eyelids slowly close just to feel the very essence of the tune rush over him as if it were a hand running over his body, as if it scurried along the floor and enveloped him from his toes upwards.
"You heard John's new one?" Paul asked, sitting across from his old friend, the only Beatle he'd kept in good contact with. Ringo was downing a plate of lunch beside his talkative wife, Maureen, looking smiley as ever. Across from her sat Paul's wife, lounging back on her chair with a soft hand on Paul's back as she listened.
"Hasn't everybody?" Ringo replied through a mouthful of food. He chewed and swallowed it before continuing with, "Beautiful, though. I'm jealous he didn't have the good sense to write it when we were all together."
"Oh no." Paul insisted, quickly, "It would've been too different if all of us had chipped in. It’s purely John." His voice descended into a dream-like absence, like he was on some kind of heavy drug and was slowly falling under the trippy affects. Where ever he felt he was, he consciously was certainly not where he sat. Ringo gave him a sideways look as though he were trying to remember something, but his train of thought was broken by Linda, who tucked her soft, blonde hair behind her slender shoulders as she leaned forward.
"This one's been playing it non-stop. I never get to play my stuff anymore. It's always 'Imagine' 'Imagine' 'Imagine.' Really puts you off good music when you know your husband loves it more than he loves you." She laughed, joined by Maureen, then re-positioned her hand on Paul's thigh to tell him that she didn't mean it. Paul smiled back at her, but his mind darted over her words again. It was not the song he was in love with, no matter how many times he'd told himself that it was.
Taking each other's arms, Paul and Linda were about to leave when Ringo pulled the former to one side. Linda then took it upon herself to say a warm goodbye to Maureen, assuming that her presence was not needed beside the two Beatles. Ringo, in a low but less than discreet voice, asked if Paul wanted to come over. He added that they needed to talk about Imagine, which struck something in Paul. Ringo knew...
Paul asked Linda if she wanted to go home or come with, then watched her leave in his car, blowing a short kiss to him as he got into Ringo's limo. At least she wasn't mad at him for ditching her.
Paul filed through record after record, feeling each one run on his index finger, then knock against the knuckles of his other hand. He studied each cover with a quick sweep of his eyes, but not one took his fancy. The room was too quiet and he needed something, the sound of someone's voice filling up the empty space. He was too used to it.
He went through the singles huddled in a little black box, then found the very song that he'd been trying not to listen to. He had been trying to go cold turkey on Imagine, yet there it sat with John's faded face amongst a cloud-like mist and a blue tint to the whole image. Paul instinctively drew out the black record and impaled it on the turntable, dropping the needle right on the beginning groove. The familiar sound of a piano chimed in the speakers enveloping the room. At that moment, Ringo walked into his living room where Paul was standing, watching the record spin, holding the cover in a clenched hand.
"You talked to him?" Ringo asked, joining his friend and pulling up a dining room chair.
"No, I doubt he'd speak to me." Paul replied, matter-of-factly, as he walked around Ringo to perch on the back of a corner sofa.
"If you started with how damned obsessed you are with his song, he'd listen to you all day."
"I don't want him to listen."
Paul sighed, collapsing his weight entirely on the hard back two pillows of the sofa, lifting his feet off the ground and angling his butt so it was comfortable to sit. It was akin to taking the heavy weight of John off his mind, instead allowing his ex bandmate to linger in the air along with his new song. Ringo noticed the way Paul was subconsciously running his thumb over the image of John's fair hair as though he were comforting a sleeping lover, the way he shut his eyes when John sung ''yoooouuu' with beautiful ease. He smiled sympathetically and met Paul's eyes once they opened, but it was not returned. Instead, the latter man shook his head, looking away.
"I really fucked up, didn't I?" Paul muttered, looking utterly defeated.
"I think you're a better option, if you ask me. Compared to what he has now, I'd take you any day."
Ringo was trying, really trying to be comforting, but Paul could see nothing except his own mistakes. They were dragging him down. He tossed the needle of the turntable off 'Imagine' with a violent scratch and went home, trying his best to be kind to his friend. He had done all he could, after all.
You talked to him?
Was it really such a bad idea? Perhaps a phone call wouldn't be so bad.
Paul was sitting in his own living room, lighting up a cigarette in the dark orange hue of the lights in his house against the evening backdrop. He was at an odd point between frustrated, angry and confused, each due to a reason linking back to John, John and that bloody song that soundtrack-ed his life at the moment. Once again, Imagine was playing. He both loved and hated it. He laughed at it and sung to it. He couldn't make up his mind if it was helping him, or irritating him more. So this time, he promised his self, this would be the last listen to it.
The song finished, melted away like the wisps of hot smoke expelled from his mouth and for a good 30 seconds, there was silence.
In that moment, Paul wanted something. He didn't want to put the song on again, he'd decided that it was like a bad addition he really needed to rid himself of (he thought, taking another drag of his cigarette, unaware of the irony.) But he wanted to hear John's voice. As though he'd heard John say these words to him before, he could hear him say "c'mon Paulie, give us a call..."
And, for sure he thought he was going crazy, but he gave in none the less. The static started, low humming in the background of Paul's thoughts, which seemed to spark something within him. He didn't think twice, just picked up the phone and dialled John's number.
As he did, Linda walked by. She was dressed for bed, looking tired, and she grinned at her husband when she saw him at the phone. She turned off the record player and pecked him on the cheek.
"Say hi to him for me." She whispered, before shimmering off to bed. Paul just smiled back, not really thinking about what his wife had said. His thoughts were on the dial tones that seemed to get louder, more intense, deeper the more he listened. Would John never pick up?
"Hello who is this?"
Paul held his breath when the voice came through, but it was quickly exhaled when he realized who exactly had picked up. It was not John.
“Yoko, hi. It’s Paul.” He tried his hardest to sound pleased, or at the very least, pleasant, through gritted teeth and a forced smile. He’d heard that, if you smile while you’re on the phone to someone, it makes your tone sound better. It did not seem to help. To calm himself, he looked over once again to his record, now dormant on its player. Any other day, it would have placed a genuine smile on his lips, perhaps just settle his nerves, but suddenly he could see Yoko all over it, as though she’d scrawled her name in thick scratches over the fragile black grooves. He flicked his eyes forward as her voice came back down the line.
“Oh, Paul.” She sounded equally as disheartened, “How are you?” Her fake-ness made Paul feel utterly sick, after all that excitement built up to hearing John again and having her stand between them once again, it would never change. He garbled some quick reply, then without returning the pleasantry, he asked if John was there. She seemed only too happy to hand the phone over.
“Of course, of course, Paul. He’s right here, hold on.”
Paul felt butterflies flap against his stomach lining. There was a short shuffle on the line, then;
“Alright mate?”
Paul could barely breathe, but he managed to reply, “John?” His voice was full of excitement that he couldn’t hide, no matter how much he tried to tone it down, “Hiya!”
“It’s been a while.” John said coldly. Paul wasn’t sure if his friend was pissed off because it had been so long or because they’d never quite got over the Beatles break up.
Then again there was always the underlying problem between them. Both John and Paul had fallen in love with one another, only, not at the same time. First it was John, then it was sort of both, then neither, then Paul, then no one could keep track of it, if anyone could in the first place. It had fucked them both over several times.
“Yeah. Too long, if you ask me. John, I was just calling to tell you how much I love Imagine. It’s…” Paul trailed off remembering his favourite bit again, “…beautiful.”
John was about to spit angrily that he didn’t need Paul’s fucking patronising complements, until he heard how swept away Paul sounded. It was like the younger man was dreaming…
Imagining…
“Thank you.” John almost whispered, “I’m quite proud of it myself.”
“Oh, you have every right to be.” Paul continued, feeling elated, “I’ve been completely obsessed by it.”
There was a short silence. Not an awkward one, just a difficult one because they both wanted to say something, but kept stopping, not even opening their mouths to try. Paul wanted desperately for John to suggest they should meet up. John wanted… something similar. In fact, he wasn’t even sure what he wanted exactly, as he sat by Yoko’s side, stroking her long, black hair, fondly.
Ok, this is your choice. Either you can have John and Paul stay on the phone a bit longer, or they can say goodbye.
For 'STAY ON THE LINE' go to chapter 2
For 'SAY GOODBYE' go to chapter 3