European Vacation Tour.3

"Abigail wait" Paul yelled as I raced through the room. I hesitated for a moment then continued to flee the oppressing overcrowded suite.. for air.

Clean fresh night air was what I needed.

I made the hallway, George tripping over himself after I, impatiently, pushed the innocent boy, out of the way.

"Abby" Paul again called my name but I ignored his worried voice.

I need air.

Lots of air.

Lungfuls of air.

"Abigail!" George hollered but the pull of anywhere but here was much greater, the bellhop smiled then dropped the grin as he saw the wild look etched upon my face- obviously haunted, but also tense with anger and most of all, for all to see, a girl stunned by her own utter stupidity.

The dozens of fans seagull intensity of noise heightened as I neared. I rushed across the massive marble foyer towards the front doors. Even at this time of night they remained parked in row upon row of sexual frustration.

I heard a final call of 'Abigail' as the doorman allowed me to pass him by but when the girls saw Paul they made the once noisy seagull sound a roar of thousands, he stopped as I turned to face him; him inside by the elevators and me stood in front of dozens upon dozens of ravenous fangirls.

There was no way he could proceed, no way he could stop me leaving... so I did.

The Arc de Triomphe cast shadows. Its partially lit façade, amazing in the sunlight, hauntingly beautiful in the darkness. A casual walk to the sight usually twelve minutes, this time I made it there in five.

I was leaning heavily on the inner wall, hands planted on the cool smooth stone, a stitch in my side, all the while trying to recapture my breath.

A police car slowed, the two officers frowning then continuing by my distressed form, not a word uttered.

I realised finally, I was alone. Well and truly alone, just like I wanted. I am here the French capital, with dark deserted streets on all sides surrounding. No one to protect, or comfort me. In a foreign country, in the middle of the night, my shoes off and clutched in my hands, and no purse.

I turned to head back toward my only known haven- George V Hotel, presidential suites - both my sanctuary and now, my hell.

Champs-Elysées Avenue only offered darkened shopfronts and small ink black rues running off of it. A stranger dashed from one side of the road to the other but only raised an eyebrow at me as he slipped silently by.

Sullenly I began the journey back down the Avenue toward the hotel. I gazed numbly upon the fans as they milled. Some screaming, others crying, many chatting to their friends. They were prepared, and ate snacks or even slept on the dirty pavement with sleeping bags, blankets or even just a thick jacket.

My feet were sore from the cobblestones, I slowed to a halt and stood silently across the street from the grand entrance of the building.

Looking upwards I saw what the girls saw. Slivers of light, but not much else really.

That was where I had been, with him, on that balcony. So dumb, so slutty, so very stupid. I loved him and then he throws me away like dishwater. Couldn't he just say- tell me to my face, not shag some ..... some other woman, knowing full well I would be back in the suite so very soon.

I was right there.

Right.

There....

I took a step onto the roadway but that was as far as I got. I paused for heartbeats then altered my direction, the top of the Eiffel Tower beckoning. No longer did I feel soreness and aching in my legs, all I felt was sure that I was going to the right place for my mind, for my sanity.

Mal yelled out. So tall he was, spotting me over the top of all the fans. I started to run. How he ever spotted me I don't know but, with his height, he had a definite advantage. But the girls still were bodies deep between us so I continued on toward the Seine, alone.

Pont de l'Alma, the bridge Napoleon III inaugurated in 1856 spanned the black swirling waters of the Seine. The stately military statue standing solemnly at the entrance of the bridge, staring blindly as I approached, watching this silly English girl pass them by.

A car full of French girls, screaming out of the windows, as they hooned by. I ducked back in time to see the brake lights flaring as they swerved to take another corner, then the darkness returned and the river gurgled. A lonely street, a solitary light at one end allowed my vision to work out objects in the darkness.

The tower was lit and shone golden ahead. Shadows cast long, still a good walk away, but not so distant to make its entrance foyer in minutes at my fast trot; the lawns, either side of the wide paths, were deserted and bare.

I would have really liked to have toured the Tower in the day light.

Climbing the stairs, as the elevators were shutdown for the evening, it was so eerie, so silent. It bordered on scary.

A guard had glanced up at my approach but did not stop my assent so I hurried up a third of the way in one quick climb.

The wide parkland looked neat and pretty, lights that had lit my way along the expansive walk now cast shadows on the white gravel pavement and the leaves on the trees, that flanked it, russled in the breeze.

Restaurants that were bustling at lunch and dinner, lay dormant and empty. Continuing upward I focused on every step, one foot after another, higher and higher.

By the time I had reached the top I was weary, emotionally fraught, and fatigue suddenly rushed to meet me head on. The nights betrayal lingered, grasping and wretching my heart. Asking me to view it from all directions.

Had I kept myself blind to John's extracurricular activities to keep my oh so innocent heart, happy?

Sitting in a prime position for viewing a beautiful twinkling Parisian skyline, I felt on top of the world with a heart that was sunk to the depths of despair.

A car flew down the parkway and just as quickly departed.

Paris was a dream from here.

Beautiful silhouettes, shadows creasing the landscape, butting against buildings that were still aglow with light.

Such romantic treasures laid out in front of me and, as the chill wind grew brisk, I leant out from the farthest railing, fingers outstretched as if to try to touch, maybe even capture, the vista.

"Abigail" The volume of the voice rose higher and higher as it neared but I utter no words, it was quite obvious that, after Mal saw my direction taken, and the guard possibly blabbing, I had been located. Paul appeared, huffing and panting; then he was hunched over, hands clasped to bent knees.

He raised his eyes, a finger pointing at me, he thought about speaking, then waved it tiredly then sank back to his knees to try again to gather his breath.

I walked away, across the structure, Paris South had a different appeal as it was more darkness than light.

"Abby..." I didn't turn and definitely didn't answer as he stood a metre behind me his breathing was slowly retuning to normal and I felt a coat go over my shoulders. I shrugged angrily and it fell away but he wasn't having any of that and placed it back, turning my shoulders around then buttoning the top button. "Abby, you scared the living daylights out of me"

A finger gently lifted my chin and I stepped back bumping against the railing, Paul caught the jacket bringing me into his warm embrace, nothing passed between us but warmth.

"Abby.....Abs, look at me darling" I shook my head but he was insistent; brushing my hair from my eyes and raising my chin slowly, trying again to find my tear filled eyes. They hadn't yet spilled over the edge and every movement I made felt like they would escape and betray me, I didn't want that.

I wanted nothing but hate and anger but all I had was tiredness and defeat.

"A fool to believe in romance and love" I drew a sigh and straightened my stance to move away but Paul brought me back into his embrace and sat his chin on my head.

"Not you- it's on him, luv" Paul smoothed his hands along my back over and over and, if I had been so inclined to fall asleep I would have, so hypnotic were his movements, so very soothing to my soul. A kiss was pressed into my hair and an arm, quickly tightened around me. "You know he never deserved you"

"I'm such a fool Paul. Thinking I was in love. Trying to ignore the rest. I knew about all this but I still didn't want to believe. How can I blame you all- handsome young men, the world your oyster, the pearls being pretty woman available for a good time, all the time"

"Look, I'm no saint and I know I've done some crap things but those girls are nothing but empty vessels- to me, to John, to George and Richie too. It's like a way to pass the time in a four-walled cell" Paul pulled my body from his and ducked lower to face me, hands squeezing my arms, his breath warm and a whisper, of that whisky he consumed, detectable.

"You know I didn't touch one female tonight.... these past few week, don't you?" The admission took me by surprise and I watched the way he dragged his hand through his hair. He was nervous, I had never seen him nervous before.

"Do you want a trophy" I bit the words out in spite.

"After Jane and I were finally done, I played the game a little too eagerly. I wanted to confide in you, be with you, but John had you wrapped up so tight to him" Paul sighed loudly.

"I'm no saint but I've been waiting... I dont know.. I kept to myself, left the girls alone...but tonight...Tonight after what John did to you, dumping you like that, having Neil, of all people, cart you off on his date..... I just flipped then sat waiting for you all night. That was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I couldn't go out with you because of the fans. And then, you just ran and I didn't know where, you could have been mugged, or worse, Abbs. You could have been seriously hurt. God Abby. I wouldn't have survived if something-"

I was brought back tightly into his embrace and his hands swept from my hair down over my shoulders to the small of my back the pressure of the hold had his fingers making almost a mark on my skin beneath.

"Paul, I-" I wasn't sure what to say, the words ended, just like my world and I was lost as he grazed his fingers over my hip "Paul?"

"Abby he's a fool. And I'm an idiot for not protecting you, not making you-" He stepped back and I was alone, wind whipped my hair and I had to use both hands to hold the locks away from my face, some even catching in my mouth making him smile at my predicament.

I wandered back to the first viewing platform, the wind was flowing over my face so my hair whipped behind me. "It's so beautiful isn't it" I whispered more to myself but Paul was close again, his chin on my shoulder, fingers thread linked around my tummy, his head bobbing a 'yes' on my shoulder.

Standing up straighter he pulled me closer to his body and my brain flinched in recognition of his maleness... Flush he was, tight against me, my legs, my bum. My mind flared in renewed recognition and finally the mists cleared.

He was here... not as a brother.... He was here as a man.

"What are you doing?" I craned to look over my shoulder at him and the trickle of emotions that crossed his face turned into river, I spun, watching him squirm under the microscope.

"He's an idiot" Paul stated matter-of-factly.

I closed my eyes to that "We agreed on that a half hour ago"...

"I'm not" Paul replied quietly and I opened my eyes again.

"No?" I provoked for a response. His eyes darkened but he refused to look at me, searching the Paris skyline his favourite thing to do at this moment in time. Touching his cheek, he drew a sharp breath but never looked down "Paul......you don't want me like that.... do you. You mustn't. We decided. I. We... we stopped-.. We stopped. Right?"

"No, Yes, Maybe, Yes. Christ Abigail it's a bloody mess. Yes..." His face fell close to my neck but never landed and I felt the hot tickle of his breath fan my neck.

"We can't have it all"

"Pardon?" He still remained static in the crook of my neck as I angled my chin up giving more room for his face, it felt nice, he did feel nice. He was so good. So wonderful.

No.

Closing my eye's I searched for answers in the steel beams above.

I was no better than John. Although I never acted upon anything I had felt things for Paul. We had had our 'moments'.

I shouldn't be disgusted by John for his roaming.

Perhaps... Perhaps he really did think I slept with Paul the nights he wasn't there.... but I couldn't love, be in love with Paul too, could I?

Kind, considerate, silly, homely or princely, he was mine as brother.

But was it just an excuse to be near him, live with him, stay close to him, and, dare I say it, actually love him.

Confusion is an understatement.

"Abigail, pardon me but you're killing me here"

"Oh sorry, I meant.... I said.... Geez I don't know- You. Me. John. I'm not- I... "

"Clear as mud huny" He scoffed into my neck. "Do?"

"This, allow you to do whatever you're doing here right now so close, so near.... Not particularly brotherly right now, is it" I leant back a tad, stopping when I caught his eye... Had I confused the confused?

"This is so fucked up. But stuff it" Paul huffed then kissed me. Soft lush lips brushing mine in question, searching nibbling my lips for a response, and I did. I did respond. God help me.

Oh I did. I'm so. I don't know-

Paul.....

Forgotten were the days with Jim, disappeared from view were the nights with John, only this moment, a soft groan escaped Paul as I allowed him past and inside. A flick of the tongue enough to have me cling and hold on for dear life.

The moment was long, long in time, long in my mind. It would stay with me forever.

Emotion engulfed me, shivers from the cold, shaking from the consequences of my actions rising. They overtook me as I pushed away and those beautiful eyes of his seared and tore at my very soul "We best get back. You'll be missed" As I went to turn away he deftly caught my hand, and brought us together again. Kissing me again. Lingering. Learning. Letting me know he was mine if I so wished. I broke away disorientated. Grasping my hand we stayed intertwined for heartbeats and walked close as we returned to the hotel in silence.

Darkness was a friend now, Paul all but invisible to any late night-clubbers recently turfed from the nearby discotheques.

No hassles, no paparazzi, no Brian, no one but the two of us, that was until the front of the hotel loomed into view and a rush of panic pricked at my heels.

Paul seemed not bothered by anything but I knew....

I knew that, in their eyes, those girl's eyes, I was the sister, his sister.

And in remembering that.. along came the freight train of realisation- media, Brian, Jim, condemnation all.

For more or less a year now I had been presented as Paul McCartney's 'sister' and in that time; this year, up until now, John's girlfriend.

Paul would be crucified. He and the Beatles juggernaut dragged disastrously through newspapers, Jim/ da would be hounded. Fans, especially the little pre-teen girls, would be confused, upset that Paul's so called sister was maybe, just maybe, something more.

Incestual- even though it wasn't in blood, it was, in their very public arena.

I halted suddenly. Paused across the street from the George V. Paul steamed ahead a pace or two more then bounced back as my arm reached full extension.

Unravelling my fingers from his we conversed in silence and agreed, my elbow was now grasped in a safe brotherly fashion and we hastened across the street to the least girl populated spot in the crowd, dashing through the doors before teenage eyes realised.

Screams arose as dawn of realisation broke over them all, crying, baying, lurching and scratching hands, fingernails outreached.

Paul quickly waved and smiled his Beatle smile as we fled toward the safety of the elevator.