Tuesday

The Appointment

The apartment space was quite large. Positioned on a busy corner overlooking a delicatessen.

All sorts of salami noose'd, hanging in the store front, tiny flags, stating country of origin, swinging from each... 'Charcuterie' proclaimed beautifully in large swirling sign-writing in yellow, white and black, arching and stretching across the front window. Rounds of cheese, some coated in thick red protective wax were stacked three or four high and others stood like car tyres on their sides.

An ex-marine ran the hot dog cart and John had bought the odd dog or two in his previous escapades in the neighbourhood. Best topped with mustard and a good helping of tomatoe sauce, he didn't feel like one today... The amicable guy was a nice enough fella always vocal, always stirring John about his peace rally's and so forth every single time.

And across the way a well-stocked paper-stand stood, teetering on the kerb, cluttering the sidewalk. The bloke with a handlebar moustache harking back to the forties, forever leaning out over his cluttered counter, yelling at the assorted passers-by or the trickle of traffic as it rounded the corner. Spotting mates or perhaps customers, waving a magazine in one hand at pedestrians like a flag and always, always, with a form guide for the dogs, rolled tight in the other.

"Drink?"

"Nah. What do you want?"

"I want to start again, reset us John. Try again. It was nice wasn't it?"

"For a time"

John turned back to the window watching a few kid grabbing hot dogs and sodas, it was everyday stuff but riveting to him. To be free to be able to roam with your mates, grab dogs and scatter to the park, kick a ball, ride a bike full pelt down a steep hill, tell stories, shoot the breeze.

"Would you have come if I'd called and invited you over?"

"Doubt it"

The words washed away like a stream in the wilderness. Unphased, unbothered.

Picking up the glass of liquid, a sip was taken and a hand slipped through short, newly styled blonde hair. "The weddings soon..."

John turned around like the entire place was on fire, how the hell did she know. Hush Fucking Hush and the one person he didn't want to know sat looking at him like she had won the lottery. She grinned happily away with the knowledge.

"I'd like to wear red" was relayed without a hint of question in the statement.

"You are not fucking going"

"Oh John, why do you even bother. It will happen, you don't want this little secret getting out"

"You're not a secret"

"I'm not a statement either, now am I" Standing, she swayed her hips as she crossed the room toward him. How many times before had he opened his arms as she moved into him ... more than I should have he decided cruelly. He scowled as her finger sought his skin and ran a hard nail down his jaw.

"Don't touch me- What do you want?"

"I want you silly. I want a family, with you"

"Well that's definitely not on"

"Why? ...Because you have that old woman now?"

"What old woma- Fuck, she's my age"

"Ahuh- old"

"And that makes me?...."

"Old and loaded" She shrugged and rubbed her tummy. "I do love it when you're grumpy. Will you spank me today I wonder?"

"We're through"

"No. We. Are. Not" Smiling she kissed his lips in a burst of speed thens pulled away as John went to push her away "We have the rest of our lives darling"

"I'm not your fucking darling, I don't want anything to do with you. Tell your scorned lover story to the press, hundreds have before you. Get your measly hundred and fifty bucks and go drink at your favourite dive"

"Dive, who says that anymore. Gee you are old" She circled as she spoke, a smile playing across her lips... then she was on him, rubbing her fingers eagerly over his zipper of his denim jeans "I can keep you happy. Keep you entertained and more John, we always did that well."

Close and still a woman he considered her for a moment. Likely no panties and her tits were crushed firmly against him, no bra. She was in one of the wrap frocks that was all the rage. You know, the ones with one tug and she's starkers, and she would be, so easy.

She was striking, tall and willow like, young. Well and truly younger than he. Legs like steel. John breathed deeply with the practiced patience of a man that had seen it all before, as her fingers ran through his hair.

She was no Isabelle was she. No match to his intellect like Iss. No warmth, no truth, no true unbridled passion. No honest bone in her body... Never push a lady he thought but mate, come on, she really isn't one.

He pushed her a good few steps backwards making her slightly tumble and land on the thread worn couch. Not injured, perhaps her pride was dented though.

"Hey watch it!!!! Precious cargo here!" Heather rubbed her belly again.

And finally, he opened his eyes.

"You're pregnant?!? That's what all this is about!?"

"Yes, we are, daddy" She pouted as she stood, a little happy wiggle on the spot then she moved toward him again.

"It's not mine"

"Oh baby, baby. But it is"

"How far along"

"Enough" She spat as she bounced on her toes and sat on the corner of the sideboard, legs spread slightly, rubbing the timber surface with painted nails in a sensuously manner. "Remember..."

They had fucked like bunnies for that short interlude.

Here on the couch, there as she sat on the sideboard, legs spread around him. The shower. Pressed against the cooker, by the front door, her room.... Concentrate! She was nothing special, a means to an end, a way to spend the afternoon.

You've had better than her. You have better than her. Tit-less cow.

Poor kid will starve.

"I've got to get out of here"

"Oh" She pouted gleefully "But I need your help to buy a dress" She shifted fingers to her knee rubbing digits in circles; fingers skimming her skin upwards as she waited for him to grouch. This is such fun she thought with a smug grin.

"You are not going to the wedding"

"But-"

"No, you're nuts. Bonkers!"

"I will go. And, I will be on your arm" Statement made, Heather bounced down off the sideboard and stomped off to her bedroom, slamming the door shut.

John stood waiting, hands on hips, staring after her, then, when she didn't re-appear, he looked skyward, staring at the ceiling.

Two minutes....

Five minutes then became ten.

Crossing the room, he stood at her closed door and listened – nothing, not a sound.

He needed to leave, he needed fucking air.
He needed sedation.

Pounding the door in frustration, he found his voice "I'm going. Don't bother me again, Heather. Or-"

She cracked the door open, a privacy chain clipped across it... Who has privacy chains on their bedroom door?!?

"I... Will Be Going. Or your baby- my belly and my face- will be splashed across so many front pages it will make your head spin... I can see it now Lennon Abandons Pregnant Woman..." Heather sighed, studying her nail polish "Won't that be a nice lead up to the wedding day. See yourself out"

She grinned with greedy malice and was elated that her words had stung. He stood there wide-eyed, gulping in shock, then trepidation took a turn on his famous old face... then she slammed the door on, what she assumed, was his rapidly developing rage.

Is it fleeing when your feet don't touch the ground?

So fast... as if a tiger was on your tail.

He launched himself down the flights of stairs desperate to get some oxygen, his legs almost tumbling him head first out onto the sidewalk. Breathing deeply as he stood trying to gather the threads of his addled thoughts he watched an old lady glare, then he remembered... He was John Lennon.

He slid the sunglasses on his nose but they gave him no comfort, nor respite.

His mind was still numb.

Sunshine and a warm breeze in his life was fast becoming tornados and ice- again.

Isabelle the sunshine. She will hate me for this...

The subway platform was surprisingly devoid of foot traffic but the train was jam packed, a seat magically appeared, his head fell forward toward the floor. The only sanctuary for his face. If one single person came up to him now.... Well.... it wouldn't be pretty.

Dread wrapped his gut.

A kid... with her.

Good God... No.

And the wedding, so soon, too soon to sort out a way of keeping her quiet.

He was royally screwed.

Heather was in the past.

Was she pregnant?

She had a little belly when he finally realised her caper, sticking it out in his face. And Cyn, Cyn hadn't been large for months with Jules. Hidden from her mother, from Mimi, even the lads hadn't cottoned on til nigh. Was this Heather too? Was this really his child?

John missed his stop.

Then another. He switched tracks and reversed his direction.

Legs of lead didn't want to move. Suddenly old he pushed begrudgingly up off the seat and exited, climbing the stairs out of the subway... and found himself caught in bedlam.

The hours had fled and the hustle and bustle of pedestrians straining to get home gave him a glimmer of hope that he wouldn't be noticed... Just one of a thousand faces shuffling about their business.

He'd have to take her, it was the only way to shut her up for the time being. And Isabelle... would she ... Fuck, would she understand?

The noise around him disappeared and his head swallowed his thoughts inside, footsteps toward the Dakota taken carefully. Like any sudden movement would bring the jarring reality closer and more dangerous than before.

His head low, hands in pockets, he fumbled with the bit of change and lighter in one and touched the banknote in the other.

His backup cash. His 'just in case this face doesn't attract a free ride' pass.

Now his backup morphed into reality. He could use it. A door was held ajar, a window to sure-fire memory loss and a temporary way to lessen the shit hitting the fan, opening.

The bar was one like a hundred others spread across the city, interior inviting and dark, enveloping him in its embrace like an old friend.

The ultimate cliché of a Harbour in a storm.

A wonderful way of forgetting the world as it crashed and burned outside, just hunker down and clutch onto anything, anything at all.

The barkeep stared openly, obligatory towel grasped in hand, as John stood stock still in the doorway a la shag on a rock. Dark thoughts pressing him toward temporary relief yet a sliver of Isabelle's smile keeping him at bay.

Heather, Isabelle, the wedding all reeling, rocking and rolling through his mind. He wanted to scream, he wanted his mermaid.

She would be infuriated wouldn't she, honest to goodness Isabelle would likely think he had been rattling Heather's bones the whole time he'd been ducking back and forth between the City and Lake.

He'd have to tell her.

Tell her what though?

When to tell her?
How?
Answering her whys and hows and whens.
Or just listening to the sound of her silence.

Because she wouldn't cry. No she would become mute and take it all on board and then what? He didn't know...

And all her lovely words would be bound inside her, unspoken.

And last but not least- The ending. The drop of the curtains. The conclusion of the show...

Hearts breaking both north and south, listening to the phone slam down in his ear.

Moments... Minutes maybe- he didn't know, passed him by, along with the daily shuffle of after work foot traffic.

Wandering in through a well-used door, using a sideways shuffling movement to pass him by as he stood unmoving, lurking in the shadowy light cast from the main bar. The muted dim light barely hitting the doorframe in which he stood.

Happiness and not a care in the world punching him repeatedly in the gut as  tired paper pushers grinned and bade hello to mates and co-workers...

John backed up further, dropping deeper into the woodwork, shadows shrouding his face complete. The coat rack overflowing and the wall making a cosy dark world of his own. It was too busy now, he'd missed the boat, the swell of city workers creating a swollen audience of many.

He still wanted a drink though.

The taste of beer on his tongue as it poured out of taps. The foaming head, the tiny bubbles, the age old smell and the colour all warming and safe. Like an old friend.

Making his mind hark back, way back to easier days.

The Grapes where the lot of 'em, Pete but not so much Rings, Paulie and George, Stu too, would sit at a table close to the ladies loo's watching the steady stream of girls that would come by to do their hair, prettying themselves for a night at the Cavern or Ye Crack, where he did indeed try to crack onto Cyn, first date an' all. The place bearing the brunt of his sorrow after Julia's death too... The White Star - the back room, the regular spot to receive their weeks share of meagre gig money. And oh yeah The ole regular haunt, The Phil.

He had said it before, many moons ago, and it came oh so painfully true...

"The price of fame was no longer being able to have a pint in The Phil."

....Or anywhere else for that matter.

Fame was a funny thing. You wanted it like the devil in the early days. No one would look at you, listen, care... then slowly, gradually the girls would pay attention, chattering ending in high pitched deafening screams.

The money oh yeah the money sea change... So poor you had nothing for rent then too rich and needing to hide it all in tax shelters and locked away from so called 'friends'.

Ahhhh 'friends' ... you could see real friends and friendships with ease pre-fame/ pre-money but with fame ordinarily sane people became vultures feeding off any scrap of your time, lying to take or be given money, and stealing what you had left of your trust.

Fame was also a bitch when all you wanted was anonymity.

Three young suits, nine to fivers, stood in front of him. A bag each, laden heavy with liquor. One grabbing a coat the other chattering about a girl he was seeing, the third silent, eyes fixated on John.

Eye contact made, John felt, and was, cornered; A bit like a rabid dog.

The time had finally come, for fans, photos and signing every fucking thing that could be written on. He didn't want that, not today, not now.

But with some sort of divine intervention coats were grabbed silently from beside him. Eyes were raised in curious recognition of, both him, and something being amiss.

One normally doesn't see a celebrity parked and hidden in the depths of a coat rack.

All three nodded, uttered not one word and exited to stand on the now lit sidewalk. Street lights halo-ing their hair, leaving him to do nothing but stare after them. Thankfulness of the reprieve from chaos washed over him. He had been so close to being ousted. John waited a few moments and then ducked out of the same doors to continue on his way slowly home.

He'd have to get Frank to get something delivered now.

Footsteps chased him down, hand on his shoulder and a clearing of the throat made.

"Hey man"

John was circled.

Stood in front of him was one of the three, the eyes that had held his own now searching, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I umm. Did you want something from the bar? It was pretty crowded. I suppose that would be a bit annoying if they all jumped on you for photos and stuff, right?"

"Yeah, it's a drag sometimes"

"Cool yea ummm. I could get it for you. You know a drink. Get a takeaway for you. That's if you'd like?"

Digging his hands deep in his pockets his fingers were feeling everything and nothing, he thought of the options... Frank or this bozo.

Frank knew the history and had occasionally taken him to AA meetings, dropping his dirty backside at the door, picking him up after the deed was done...

This bozo was only seeing the pain in the arse of fame. His fingers curled around a hundred....