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Ever since rumors about the suspected breakup of the Beatles appeared in the media, everything fell apart for the guys. Maybe saying that things were currently falling apart was a slightly better way to describe their situation. Either way, it wasn't looking so good, but lads had to finish what they started - record the album, give one last concert (although they still had no idea where they're going to sing, since Richard didn't want to go abroad, they were a little bit limited), and close the chapter. The situation was not good at all, because of the time pressure, everyone was jumping at each other's throats, everyone was finding some new reason to reproach someone for something, just to spite another person.
Such is human nature: no matter how close people are, there is always at least a faint urge to cause someone else hurt - especially when it seems like the only way to vent some energy. Leaving the broader topic of human nature aside... Spitefulness is a complex phenomenon, let’s face it. Although some derive satisfaction from it, research suggests that people are not inherently evil. Instead, spitefulness often stems from evolutionary defense mechanisms, a sense of threat, or frustration. Interestingly, anthropological and linguistic analyses increasingly indicate that humans have an innate tendency toward cooperation, and that destructive behaviors are usually defensive reactions. Deeper emotions - such as anger, jealousy, or fear - often lie behind "maliciousness"; in the course of evolution, these emotions served to motivate the individual to fight for survival and resources. Given the situation the musicians found themselves in, one could say that spitefulness was the best path they could have chosen in terms of defense mechanisms.
With each passing day, the atmosphere in the studio grew increasingly tense. People came and went, watching and shoving cameras right into the musicians' faces. One likely reason the band was going through such a rough patch was Yoko’s presence. She wasn't harmful in herself; the problem was John constantly bringing her along to rehearsals. That in itself wasn't necessarily wrong, but the behavior Lennon began to display suggested the band might not hold together long enough to finish the album's final track.
You started to feel that he simply assumed everything revolved around him - that he was the group's leader and entitled to everything. There was no denying his status; the public genuinely viewed him as the creator (and thus the leader) of The Beatles, yet that perception ran counter to the band's original ethos. You were friends; everyone was supposed to be equal; it had been agreed there would be no such thing as a "leader" or a "best member." Fame, however, proved stronger than promises or friendship - and not just for John. Everyone has heard the idea of fame as a disease that drastically increases the risk of death. Yeah. It was a real ordeal for your relationships and for all the vows you had made to one another. Empty promises, comments made behind backs, backstabbing. You could cut the tension in the studio with a knife.
It was just another January day when you forced yourself out of bed and showed up at the studio. For the past few days, you’d been recording in a completely different location, having moved from Twickenham all the way to the new Apple Corps studio. Honestly, you liked the name; it sounded so positive, considering what was actually going on behind closed doors.
As you walked through those doors, you could already feel the energy your body had built up overnight draining away. Still, you managed to make your way quickly down a corridor where the camera crews weren't hovering yet. That was another downside to the whole situation - being filmed constantly, non-stop - something about making history, shooting a documentary... You were sick of it; you came here to slog through work with four grown men, play a bit of piano, and head back home. Not to have a camera shoved in your face and be told to dance - what were you, a circus monkey? You scoffed at the thought.
You were snapped out of your reverie by the presence of someone else in the hallway. You’d expected a cameraman or a crew member, but no - you smiled to yourself at the sight of McCartney.
“Hi. Sleept well?” You asked, trying to sound merely friendly with your bandmate. Yet, both of you knew that behind closed doors, you were something far more than just friends.
“Not really; I was thinking about which songs we could use for the album, we’re still missing quite a few.” Paul explained, scratching the back of his neck; you had to admit he looked really attractive with a beard. You hoped it wasn’t something he’d get rid of as soon as the recording wrapped; as far as you were concerned, he could keep it and fully embrace the bearded look.
“What about you?” he added immediately, causing you to flinch slightly; you’d completely forgotten that you were in a studio, not on a date. Someone could join you at any moment and interrupt your private conversation.
“Same here- I mean... I didn’t sleep all that well, but I wasn’t thinking about music. I prefer to leave the music in the studio.” You clarified. Paul laughed and glanced around to make sure there were no cameras nearby. Once satisfied, he leaned in gently and gave you a quick peck on the cheek, immediately rubbing the spot with his thumb.
“We should join the others; John ought to be arriving soon - most likely with Yoko.” The bassist mentioned, and with that, you headed toward the room where all the action was taking place.
The studio was a total mess. Cables, amps, instruments, papers, pens, cigarettes… Even though you were partly to blame for it, you winced at the sight. You greeted the camera crew, the specialists handling all the film-related things you didn't understand - and saved the best for last, finally saying hello to George and Richard. Nothing major: the usual talk about whether you’d slept well, the weather, the plans for the day… You went over the same routine day in and day out, to the point of nausea.
After fifteen or maybe twenty minutes, John arrived at the studio with Yoko. You greeted your friend and then his partner - if only out of politeness; Ono was such a neutral figure to you that you didn't really have an opinion on her one way or the other. She was simply there; she didn't get in your way or cause you any trouble. There were already so many cameras and extra pairs of eyes in the room that one more pair made no difference to you. She was just there - sometimes reading, writing, or knitting. She did nothing wrong, though she could be irritating at times when you had nothing left to pick at and needed a scapegoat. You weren't proud of it, but blinded by anger, you couldn't distinguish between crossing the line and a stupid joke.
“Could you just-... Sod off, lad.” The first warning was issued; you were so engrossed in looking over a few sheets of song lyrics for the hundredth time that you didn't know the reason for such aggression or who had shouted the warning. Nevertheless, before you could even turn the page, another one came.
“Bloody Christ, can you stop? You keep on staring at him like you’re some queer.” Only then did you look up. Paul and John - what else did you expect? Judging by the way Yoko was glancing between the two men, it might have been about something involving her, and you really didn't like the sound of that.
“I’m not queer, Jesus! I've just told you to quit getting handsy with Yoko, we’re s’posed to focus on recording, Lenny.” Paul retorted just as aggressively, and your heart beat a little faster. Despite the pact you had made to keep your relationship a secret, it always hurt when you both had to openly state that you weren't a couple. The whole charade was exhausting.
“Y’know what? Let’s call it a break.” McCartney fumed and with that, everyone went in a different direction. Ringo stayed by his drums, George found cups of tea fascinating, John focused on Yoko, filming crew on cleaning cameras and Paul simply vanished. You yourself decided that it’s a great idea to take your pack of cigarettes and go out of the room, smoke somewhere away from others.
After finding a spot away from the others, you sat on the bench and crossed your legs. You were still inside the building - and the weather wasn't exactly ideal for smoking outdoors - so you simply opened the window next to you to avoid setting off the smoke detector. As you lit a cigarette, you allowed yourself a moment of quiet. You wondered what could have driven two men to such a scene. True, you’d heard that Paul had "crossed the line" by calling John out on something, and then glancing your way. It was as if the world had ended just because Lennon couldn't keep his hands off his partner. If he felt no shame acting that way in front of others, you didn't even want to imagine what he must have been like at home. The thought sent a shiver down your spine.
“Can I have a ciggy?” You heard it, and your face fell instantly. So much for solitude and wondering what Lennon might be doing at home. Yuck.
“Help yourself.” You tossed out a reply and handed the pack of cigarettes to Paul, since he was the one who had found you there.
“Ta, luv.” Paul sat down next to you and turned his attention to the cigarette he had just taken from the pack. He lit it without a care in the world, then handed it back to you. Exhaling smoke from his mouth, he glanced in your direction but said nothing. You took this as a request for you to start the conversation.
“So.” You started. “What got both ya so angry?” You decided to ask, at which Paul winced.
“Don’t get me started. I asked John to stop ogling on Yoko, then I looked at ya cause you were holdin’ those, y’know, notes, and he got all annoyed.” Paul waved his hand and before you knew it, his hand fell down on top of your lap, squeezing your thigh.
“Paul. There are people around.” You warned him.
“What? I don’t see anybody here. Nobody gonna see us, calm down, luv.” He cleared his throat and looked around once again, just to be safe.
“If I remember correctly, you were the one who moments ago was swearin’ that you’re not queer?” You raised an eyebrow, making Paul laugh - and choke slightly on the smoke in the process. He kept laughing despite the coughing, as if your wry look were the funniest thing he’d ever seen. Once he finally calmed down, he leaned in to plant a comfortable kiss on your lips. It tasted of smoke and tea - the usual flavor during breaks between rehearsals. Just as you ran out of breath and cigarette ash fell onto your leg, you pushed Paul away, gasping for air.
“Jesus Christ, you almost killed me!” You hissed at Paul, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the windowsill - which, incidentally, was already so full of cigarettes that ash and spent butts were spilling out of it.
“Don’t be dramatic, kissin’ has never killed anyone. I think.” McCartney laughed and leaned over - this time to dispose of his cigarette. It was only when he glanced, out of sheer curiosity, at a nearby potted plant that he noticed something odd. Squinting, he reached into the pot and pulled out a microphone. The color drained completely from his face; he looked horrified.
"Oh God."He whispered, utterly paralyzed by fear.
"Look, maybe it doesn't work; let's not jump to the worst conclusion..." You cleared your throat and placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling him instantly calm down.
"You might be right. Let's get going." He conceded, though his voice betrayed his uncertainty about whether the microphone was actually functional. He could have expected cameras and microphones to be scattered throughout the building; he should have been more careful.
After a few moments, you managed to pull yourselves together and return to the main room, only to be met with strange looks from the film crew. John was still agitated, while Ringo and George were acting normally. Only the cameramen were looking at you with... Was that disgust? Perhaps you were just imagining it; you decided to ignore that nagging feeling of being watched and simply get back to playing. Throughout the recording session, however, you had the impression that the cameras were turning away from you more and more. Normally, you would have been delighted by this - it meant a bit of privacy and a moment to breathe - but given your little discovery in the flowerpot, you felt that the cameras turning away was no coincidence. The cameramen’s disgusted looks, hushed discussions, comments, and the way they pointed out your slightest mistakes - it was all strange. Yet, no one else in the band seemed to notice, so you quickly dismissed the matter, telling yourself it was just paranoia.
It wasn’t until around eight in the evening that you decided to call it a day and go your separate ways. You were just waiting for Paul - since your car wasn’t working and you were heading in the same direction, you were planning to go home together. You saw him chatting with a few people, but when he walked out of the building, he didn’t even look your way. Maybe it was just exhaustion, right?
“You alright?” You decided to ask gently, standing by his car and waiting for him to unlock the door. For a long moment, however, he didn’t answer you; he looked away - at his hands, just about anywhere but in your direction. You told yourself it was probably because he was feeling down after the argument with his friend. Anyone could have a bad day or a rough patch; it wasn’t your place to judge. Still, you wanted to hear it from him directly, rather than having to guess for yourself what might have caused such uncharacteristic behavior in the bassist.
“The camera crew stopped me. Everything got recorded, lad.” You flinched at the word "lad" coming from Paul's lips. While he always used it with your bandmates or random people, he never spoke to you that way. He always addressed you by your name or a nickname - or, when you were alone, as "love."
“Oh.” That was all you could manage to get out. You shouldn't feel bad about it - after all, Paul was the one who kissed you, not the other way around - but the way he looked at you (or rather, didn't look at you) made your stomach tie itself into a knot.
“Why were they recordin’ private conversations in the first place?” You decided to question, trying to point out, that the cameramen's behavior was more harmful than yours, but Paul waved you off.
"We were too reckless. I think it would be better if only one of us showed up tomorrow. Maybe that’ll quiet things down a bit." The man suggested, and you tilted your head in response.
"Are you staying home tomorrow?" You asked for clarification, but the way he looked at you made it clear that you were the one who was supposed to stay put.
"Take tomorrow off... Maybe the day after, too. We can manage without the piano, but not without the bass and vocals." He stated dryly.
"Are you kicking me out of the band?"
"No, nobody’s kicking you out... I’m just suggesting ya stay away for’a few days until they forget about everythin’; I’ll smooth things over or somethin’." He admitted, glancing over your shoulder; through the window, he could still see the people who had been standing behind the cameras all day, staring right into your souls and scrutinizing your every move.
"They’re watchin’ constantly. Better take the bus. See ya... In a few days, I think." With those words, Paul got into the car, leaving you standing on the sidewalk.
It was... Unexpected. You stood there, staring at the dry patch of asphalt where Paul’s car had been just moments ago, the car where you always had a designated seat, regardless of whether you were arguing or not. This was probably the first time he’d kicked you out or refused to let you in; the last time had been when you were drunk after a party and threw up right before getting into the vehicle. Back then, it was no surprise he wouldn't let you in, but now? You let out a short sigh, feeling the occasional raindrop fall onto your head. You felt bad about the whole situation, even though you shouldn't have. It was Paul who had come up with the plan to keep your relationship under wraps; he was the one who insisted to others that he wasn't dating a man - or even romantically interested in men - and he was the one who kept you quiet. Perhaps you should have seen the truth years ago - realized that he wasn't hiding you for the sake of safety, but out of shame. He was ashamed of you and of what you shared. It seemed he was prepared to keep you hidden for the rest of your lives, just to ensure no one ever found out about the bond between you.