"You're what????????????" The loud boom of my father's voice echoed through my ears. "Who knocked you up?" A look of anger in his grey eyes.

I bit my bottom lip, casting my face to the shag carpeting below me. "Well," My father grabbed my chin, pulling me to his face.

"I don't remember his name." I lied, trying not to cry.

Not believing a word I'd said, my father smacked my cheek, hard. " I don't believe you! I raised you better than that!" I heard the unclasping of the belt buckle. "Maybe now, you'll answer me!" The leather 'weapon', raised above his head, getting ready to strike me at any moment.

"Alright, I'll tell you, don't hurt us!"

My father set the belt down on his chair, listening intently. "His name...is...Paul....I don't remember his last name, though.Honest!" Boy if ever there was a spot saved in hell for me, it's right now!

"But why did you have to get yourself pregnant? In school, you had all those health classes dealing with sex and the consequences if you do it! I'm very disappointed, Angel!" My father lit a cigar, sighing a little as he did.

The Cascades of waterfalls rolling down my face. "I'm sorry I let you down."

"Does the father have any fucking clue?" Stoically, he asked, continuing to smoke his cigar.

With a sad expression, "No."

"Get him on the phone and tell him as soon as possible!"

"Sure." I appeased him. I trudged up the steps to my room, contemplating how I was going to contact Paul- or if I was.

I knew calling wouldn't be an option. Hell, I didn't even know his or any of the Beatles' telephone numbers. I could call Abbey Road Studios; get in touch with Paul that way? Sure. That's what I'll end up doing! Like I even have a chance!