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Paul chewed the end of his pen. “We need some B-sides. Should we do a cover? Covers?”
John was sprawled out on a sofa chair next to the upright piano. “I’m spent.”
“You literally just got here.”
“God, this fuckin’ record,” John placed an open book over his face, muffling his voice. “We don't even know what we're after.”
“We just gotta do it. It’ll come to us.”
John groaned.
“C’mon. Anyway, this one I was thinking, the electric piano.”
“The electric piano…” John mumbled.
Paul was tired too. He stared down at the blank space that sat between sparse lyrics. It was deliberately mocking him. He impatiently tapped his pen on the spot, as if it were a magic wand that would reveal the answer. “I don't know what to put here.”
The book fell off John’s face. “How ‘bout... ‘Big and black the clouds may be, time will pass away!’” he replied in a sarcastic, dreamy tone and threw up jazz hands.
“Isn’t that- Mimi had that sign in Mendips?”
“Yeah.”
Paul started writing it down.
“You're not actually gonna use-”
“Why not?”
“I was kiddin’.”
“Well, maybe it can be a stand-in, like scrambled eggs.”
“Cheese is up your alley anyway. I have a better idea-”
“What's that?”
John threw on his baker boy hat and grabbed his near-empty Coke bottle as a microphone. “However blackpool tower maybe, In time they'll bassaway,” He spoke-sang in a posh accent like a TV advertisement. “Have faith and trumpand B B C – Griffs' light make bright your day!” He tipped his hat and broke into a little jig at the end.
Paul smiled and poked his stomach. “Should put that in yer new book, Lewis Carroll.”
“Aye, maybe I will.” John threw himself back onto the chair and finished off the soda.
Paul started playing what he had on piano. “The rest goes something like-“ He began to sing: “Can’t she see that he’s... trying to get through… nah nah nah nah nah…” He waved his hands off the keys dismissively.
“You do that a lot.”
“What?”
“Write in third person. Or take on a character. It’s like you have to distance yourself, like you’re afraid of being too…” He squinted, looking for the word. “Confessional.”
“Well, we would do that, no? Be more observational, make the audience feel, SHE loves YOU…”
“Yeah. But who are you- It’s like you're speaking to yourself. Like you hide.”
John jumped off the sofa chair, restlessly pacing back and forth. Paul sighed. Here he goes.
“You use words as a wall, but you can’t separate yourself from it. You gotta let others see you, you gotta be vulnerable.”
Paul scrunched his brows and scoffed. “I can be vulnerable!” His fingers made air quotes, and John let out a raucous laugh.
“What?” He was still laughing. “WHAT? I CAN!” His neck grew hot.
John threw his hands up. “Whatever you say, Paulie.”
Paul shot back, mocking John in a stupid, high-pitched voice- “Whatever you say, Paulie.”
John gave him a shit-eating grin- Really?
Weak ammo. Paul rolled his eyes. He turned back to the paper and slumped in his seat. Those damn pronouns. He sighed.
“It’s like storytelling. Some songs call for that, no?”
“Is this one of them?”
“I think so.”
“Sometimes you think instead of feel.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Sometimes you speak in riddles. Cryptic, like.”
Paul scoffed. “You think you’re so literal? Give me a break!”
“Can’t crack me, eh?”
Paul scrunched his brows. “You just said I speak in riddles.”
John snorted. “Can’t tell where your head is at sometimes, is all."
Paul didn’t know what to say to that- he could hardly keep up with his own thoughts.
John clapped his hands together. “The personal in the universal… vice versa.”
“Fine, let’s do it your way then, eh?”
Paul set his fingers on the keys and sang: “Can't you try to see that I’m- trying to get to you?”
John broke out his Elvis impersonation: “Baby, tryin' to get to you- Feelin' nostalgic, Paulie?” He leaned in, hot breath shaping back into Elvis- “You know someone said that the world's a stage-”
“Oh sh- “ Paul shoved him. “Wrong song. And that was ONE TIME, okay?”
John giggled and crept up spider hands tickling Paul’s sides as Paul squirmed and elbowed him.
“Aw, piss off.”
He loved his dramatic love songs. But this was real, this album. The music called for it. No stage, no characters, no masks, no acting… He thought about the upcoming film. God, he couldn’t act.
John sat on the windowsill and stuck a cig in his mouth. He wiggled it up and down like a toothpick, lit it with his pinup lighter, and lounged back, arms crossed above his head. Paul glared at him. John cocked his head and flashed bug eyes at him- wha?
“Break time,” he mumbled through his lips.
“Gimme”
John threw the pack at him and took the cig out of his mouth.
“Needy”
“Shush”
John leaned over to light Paul’s cigarette and laid back down. He rested his head on the window frame and closed his eyes, taking in the sun streaming in. Paul’s gaze settled on John’s hands playing with the naughty lighter and quickly darted back to the scraps in front of him. Paul crossed out the lyrics, flipped some words around, and wrote them in first person. He stared at the page until the words blurred together.
Snap out of it. He wouldn’t get lost in thought- he was going to feel the song.
He fidgeted with his bracelet as his eyes traced rainbow light refracting from Jane’s crystal ashtray, landing on the corner of a Valentine sticking out of his journal. If I give my heart to you… He liked John’s ballads. He was a big softy at heart. He put his cig out on the ashtray and swallowed spit. He’ll figure out the opening later.
He realized how quiet it was. He turned to John, whose chest steadily rose and fell. Paul wondered if he had fallen asleep. The sun haloed his auburn hair.
“John love?” he whispered.
John grunted, “Jus’ relaxin my eyes. Go ahead.”
He sang it over. “Look into these eyes now, tell me what you see”
A grin crept up on John’s face, blinded by the light. “OK, Dylan”
“Don’t you realize now, what you see is me? Tell me what you see-” He broke into a dazzling piano riff.
“Ooo” John jolted up.
“Yeah? You like that?”
“Yeah,” John exhaled.
He felt lightheaded. Too much sun- they should draw the curtains.
“Listen to me one more time, how can I get through? Can't you try to see that I'm trying to get to you?” He turned to the window. “Open up your eyes now, tell me what you see-”
And as if on cue, John opened his eyes. “Already sounds better.”
Tsk- He hated that he was right.
Paul nibbled at a hangnail. “It’s just a filler, anyway.”