The next two days are Paul-less. The Beatles spend long hours at Abbey Road and I get no chance to even chat with him on the phone.
Finally, I get a call from Paul. “Hello Jules?”
“I’ve really missed you, luv. Tonight after midnight, Brian’s holding a party at the Scotch. I know it’s late, but we’re recording all day. I would love for you to be there. I’m dying to see you.”
I beam. “I’d love to.”
“Gear, but luv, I gotta go. We’re in the middle of this song I’m working on.”
“Alright. Bye Paul.”
“I love you, Jules.”
“I love you, Paul.”
I smile and hang up the phone. I rush to tell Pam.
She grins, “Yea, John had called. We’re going to spend tonight together. But don’t worry, he’ll be gone by the time you get back. He has to—they’re getting their MBE’s tomorrow.”
The day drones on, I can hardly wait for midnight. I finally hear a ring at the door and I run. Paul’s there, kisses me and we hurry to the car. I notice George and Ringo in the car. I sit in the back with George and Paul. George throws Paul a side glance and smirks. I laugh.
Ringo starts the car and we’re off. The night becomes a strange blur. I find myself surrounded by marijuana smoke, flashing camera, and numerous people. I lose Paul in the crowd quite a few times as he makes a few public statements.
No one asks him who I am, and he tells no one. Before I know it, the night is already over and I feel like I’ve spent no time with Paul.
Ringo drops me off at Pam’s and John leaves. It’s a strange exchange system. I wake up exhausted the next morning.
The news is filled with news of the Beatles being invested with MBE’s and people protesting. They interview protesters and Pam and I have fun drawing moustaches on them with crayon as they speak. We quickly rub it off so we get a clear view of our beloved Beatles.
It’s creepy seeing them on television. It’s different. They’re suddenly ‘The Beatles’—the Fab Four that I’ve always gushed over. But then I remember. I KNOW these guys. I’m DATING one of these guys. The guy I’m dating, LOVES me.
I sigh at the television, as does Pam. Of course, we’re both looking a different people. My eyes are on Paul, hers are on John. I do glance over at John, every once and while, though, knowing, I’m FRIENDS with him.
That night I dream of Paul. I wake up to find Pam all excited, John’s invited us to the Ad Lib with a bunch of friends. I once again find myself in eager anticipation of seeing Paul and the gang.
I dress in dark brown velvet dress I had bought when I went shopping with Pam, Patti, Maureen, and Cyn. I love it. The doorbell rings. It’s Paul. Cyn’s going tonight and John is staying with her. Pam looks saddened but she has to understand that her relationship with John is secretive and could be just as hurtful to Cyn—and that in public she has to remain ‘John’s friend.’
We pile into John’s Rolls Royce, driven by his chauffeur, Alf Bicknall. George and Patti drive with Ringo and Maureen behind us.
In John’s car I notice an unfamiliar face. He is introduced as Terry Doran, a friend of John’s. I sit next to Paul. He puts his arm around me but I wonder how much affection is appropriate in public. I finally decide to let him and he kisses me on the forehead.
I watch Cyn sigh, probably wishing John were as romantic. If only she knew. We happen upon the topic of birthdays, mine being August 17, and it is revealed Alf’s is today.
John automatically offers him the night on the town. I smile as Alf happily accepts and Terry picks up driving. Soon enough, we arrive at the Ad Lib.
The second we enter the door the liveliness of the place lightens my spirits. Paul takes me in his arms and starts to dance even in the doorway. Terry offers to dance with Pam, who willingly accepts, no doubt hoping to have some fun teasing with John’s brain.
George, Patti, Ringo, and Maureen catch up with us. I find myself tuning out the world with the exception of Paul. A slow song comes on and I’m in heaven. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. We stare into each other’s eyes and he winks just to be cute. I, of course, being the romantic that I am, melt.
A few fast songs pass. Another slow song starts and John cuts in.
“Hello m’lady. Care if I have this dance?”
He looks at Paul who rolls his eyes. It’s then I realize his intent—John’s going to switch off dancing with Cyn so that he can eventually dance with Pam. First, get Paul to dance with Cyn, and me to dance with him, so that it won’t seem so suspicious when he slow dances with Pam.
John puts his hands on my waist and I put my hands on his shoulders. I watch past John’s shoulder as Paul charmingly asks Cyn to dance and she accepts.
I sigh. I look up at John, his eyes are lit up. He knows I’m aware of his plan. I wait until we have somewhat drifted away from the rest of the group and whisper, “John, why must I always be used as a means of you getting closer to Pam. First you set me up with Paul to get me out of the house. Then now, you dance with me so as not to look bad when you ask Pam. I don’t like being used like this—”
John pulls one hand away so as to gesture a ‘Shh.’ He replaces it at my waist and then leans down and gives me a small peck on the forehead.
I’m lost. I’m completely and utterly confused. I search his face for an explanation. Finding none with the exception of what seems to be eyes that can read my mind. I frantically look around us to make sure no one has seen what has just happened. It appears no one has and I return to his face. I crinkle my forehead.
“Juli luv, you shouldn’t think so much, you’ll hurt your brain. And don’t go and tell me you don’t think Macca really cares for you. You know he does. He loves you. Pam and me, well, we’re different and you know that.” Clearly not finding any response on my part, he continues. “Listen luv. I don’t want you to think every time I ask you to dance or that Paul goes out with you it has to do with Pam. It’s not always like that. It’s just not. Hey, are you staying longer like Paul asked you to?”
I nod, still unable to speak.
“Well then we could actually go out and see each other you know, as friends and all. We haven’t really had any quality friendship time for a while. How’s that? What do you say?”
Realizing the only truly acceptable response to that question, I say, “Um, alright.”
He smiles. “Good then, luv.” The song is over. “But now I have a date with Pam.” He tips an imaginary hat and walks off.
I catch Paul searching the crowds and bumping into John who points towards me. Paul nods and walks over.
“Miss me, luv?”
I grin. “Certainly.”
“Want to join the rest of the group?”
“Alright.” I smile as we push through the dancing couples. We catch up to other others already in conversation.
Pam slips over to me. “John’s taking us all to the Savoy tonight.”
“Oh,” I say.
“Believe me, it’s a fun place. You’ll like it.” Pam definitely seems to have lightened up since John danced with her.
Soon enough we pile into the car once again and Terry takes the driver’s seat. John cracks jokes the entire ride there and Pam, Cyn, and I are in hysterics. Not to be outdone by their friend, Terry and Paul make their own attempts at amusing us but it’s clear John is the wittiest of the group.
The ride is shorter than I expect it to be and we all file out. As we walk to the door Paul puts his arms around me. I beam and glance at a sign next to the door, ‘Francois Hardy in cabaret.’
I have a wonderful night and find myself paying little attention to Francois Hardy’s act. I watch across the table as John sits between Pam and Cyn, doing little more than neglecting Cyn and talking endlessly with Pam. Cyn, looking tired of watching the two converse, turns to Terry and makes small talk.
George seems rather interested in Patti yet still talks with Maureen and Ringo, as well as occasionally with Paul and me. Of course, I find Paul and me sort of separate from the group, paying more attention to each other than the rest.
I find myself hoping more and more that I can get a later plane ticket and come in contact with Lydia.
The fun of the night continues as John invites us to spend a few hours at his place. We drive over and all make our way to his back room. I notice one particular change to the room—a small keyboard in the center.
I sit down on the couch along with the others. Music becomes our form of amusement for the evening. Pam asks that the Beatles sing, but clearly that doesn’t seem to be their act of choice. John, ever the Pam pleaser, plops down on the chair in front of it and starts fingering the keys crazily and begins to get rather into it. He throws his hair about, in imitation of the wild-haired composers. He ends the loud clash of chords with a high A. John then stands up, acting as a self-satisfied artiste, and gives a deep bow.
The room bursts into laughter and we all applaud, with a few joking ‘Boos’ coming from the other three Beatles.
Pam, happy that John at least responded to her request, accepts the performance well, but then turns to look at me. “Well I do hope we will have some entertainment tonight.”
I, realizing she’s hinting at me, divert my eyes. Yes, she knows I sing and enjoy singing and people tend to think I’m a rather good singer, but I am not about to sing in front of the famed Beatles. Showing Paul my lyrics was humiliation enough.
John, of course, picks up on Pam’s hint. “Ah well, if you do not think me good enough to please your ears, how about Juli? Good ol’ Juli. You had said something about being musical when I first met you didn’t you?”
George continues, “Yes, I do believe I remember you saying that you enjoyed singing.”
I look about the room. All eyes now on me. I look to Ringo who’s eyes are already laughing, knowing that I will eventually be persuaded to stand up and sing for everyone.
Paul, sitting next to me, nudges me and looks up with hopeful eyes. How could I possibly resist?
I know I’ve already given in but the rest of the room doesn’t.
“Oh come on Julia, you have a beautiful voice,” Pam says. “I’m sure everyone will enjoy hearing you.”
Cyn chimes in, “Yes please, I know I’m certainly curious.”
I sigh and stand up, becoming more and more conscious of my appearance. Empire waist, maroon dress—the girls had helped me pick it out. My instinct is to apologize for what I believe will be a less-than-perfect performance but have learned from past theater experience that that is one mistake you should never make.
I approach the keyboard, searching my mind for a song, any song I might remember how to play and sing.
I sit down and smile. It’s almost as if I were in a Jane Austen novel, I think. This could almost pass for a pianoforte and I could most definitely say that Paul could pose as the man I adore and hope to impress.
I glance at the keys—nothing too different. I can do this. I pick an old Welsh tune that is quite familiar among classically trained students, ‘The Lotus Flower.’
“The Lotus flower doth languish, when the hot sun shines bright. And with its drooping chalice, it dreamily waits the cool night. The moon he is her lover…”
I can’t help but gaze over at Paul who seems to be enjoying my singing.
“He wakes her with fond delight. For him her virginal beauty lies fair in the quiet of night…”
I continue to look around the room, making sure not to lose my place on the keyboard. Everyone seems to be listening and sincerely liking the song. My confidence picks up as the song comes to its climax, I look back to Paul.
“She glows and blooms and brightens, and gazes mutely above. All fragrant and weeping, she quivers, with joy and the sorrows of love. With joy and the sorrows of love.”
I look down at the keys as I play the last note and look up. There’s silence. I become insecure and look at the faces around me. All blank. Suddenly, Paul starts applauding and smiling. The others soon join in. I smile.
“Wow,” Cyn says.
I return to my seat on the couch.
“That was lovely, Julia. That was absolutely beautiful,” Paul says.
I blush. A compliment from Paul means a lot, especially after his initial reaction to my amateur song writing.
“Hundreds times better than John,” Pam adds.
I have to laugh at that. Anything would be better than John’s performance.
The night progresses in a similar manner—full of cheer and liveliness.
I am disappointed, but eventually it all must end and Terry offers to drive us home. Of course, since it’s John’s car he will be using John and Cyn decide to join us in the ride home.
As Terry begins the rounds, he stops at Paul’s. The car is silent. Paul invites me in. I turn to Pam who encourages me with her eyes. John looks to Cyn and pretends not to notice. I accept and tell Pam I’ll meet up with her later.
Paul unlocks the door and we enter. I assume Martha’s in the backyard because she doesn’t come bounding towards us. I feel sort of bad for her in the cold. Paul leads me once again to his living room.
He begins kissing me and I realize I can no longer hold myself back. What if I can’t get those tickets? What if Lydia won’t fill in for me? What if I never see him again?
It could be months before I would get the chance to even hear his voice. I have to stay with him. I have to spend this last night with him.
As Paul kisses my neck, I decide to make it clear to him, let him know that I won’t be leaving. I unbutton his shirt—a daring move, I must admit, especially considering I hadn’t done that before.
He seems pleased and unzips the back of my dress, reaching for the latch to my bra. It’s then I realize the narrowness of the couch and suggest perhaps a larger surface. Smiling, Paul picks me up and carries me up to his bed. I spend the night.
I wake up the next morning. I open my eyes groggily to find sun streaming in through the large window on the side wall. I look to my left and see nothing but crinkled sheets and two pillows. I sit up and become quite aware that I am completely nude. After quickly pulling the sheets up, I turn to the night table on the right side. A bowl of strawberries and a small note is scribbled upon a small piece of paper.
I find a bathroom right next door and step in. It appears rather neat but from the small droplets on the shower curtain I can tell Paul has been here. The room still has the dewy smell of fresh soap and shampoo.
Now having found the bathroom, I rush back to Paul’s room to retrieve my medieval maroon dress and undergarments. I look about extravagantly furnished room and know it’s all of Jane’s doing. I decide to add my own correction the room and make the bed. I once again pick up the clothes, quickly taking the little note from Paul and placing it in my purse for safe keeping, before running to the bathroom. I take a brief shower and dress. I then decide to find my way downstairs.
Walking down the endless hallway I spot the stairs and slowly step down them. I search around for Paul and find a trail of little cut out hearts leading the kitchen. I follow them to find the beloved Macca sitting dressed, yet barefoot on the kitchen floor, strumming his guitar.
Paul’s never looked more beautiful. His hair just washed. His eyes so bright. And his voice so melodic and sweet.
He notices my footsteps and looks up, smiling. What a gorgeous smile he has, I think. He places his guitar down, stands up and throws his arms around me. The smell of shampoo on Paul is intoxicating. He spins me around and we laugh. I love this man.
We start spinning around the room, avoiding the guitar, doing our own little waltz to a tune Paul is humming and making up as we go along.
“I love you, Jules,” Paul says nuzzling me.
I giggle. “I love you too, Paul.”
Paul pulls a chair out from the kitchen table and sits me down. He kneels down and places his elbows on my knees, looking up as if he were no older than six and wanted me to tell him a story.
“How about breakfast out this morning?”
I smile. “Sounds wonderful.”
“Gear, I’ll get my shoes and we’ll go.”
He stands up as if to walk away but I stare at the guitar sitting lonely on the floor. It’s an acoustic and I know if he would just play me one song that my dream would be complete. After all, I did sing for him last night. As he’s about to leave the room I stop him.
I suddenly become embarrassed, as if it’s too much to ask of him. Of course, I soon decide that I better finish what I started. “Would you mind playing me just one song?”
A grin spreads across Paul’s face. “Would I mind?” He laughs. “Luv, I would do anything for you. I’d love to.”
I sigh and Paul returns to the floor to play the guitar. I join him and watch as he puts the strap around his neck and positions it to play.
“What would you like to hear, luv?”
Paul looks down at the floor. “Well, there’s a song I came up with a while. Actually, it’s the same song I dragged you to Decca Records over. Marianne Faithfull is doing a cover of it. It’s called ‘Yesterday’.”
“I’d love to hear it.”
Paul fingers a G chord and begins to play. “Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away, now it looks as if they’re here to stay. Oh I believe in yesterday. Suddenly, I’m not half the man I used to be. There’s a shadow hanging over me. Oh yesterday came suddenly…”
The song continues and his voice is clear and wonderful.
I wait until he’s finished and I kiss him, doing my best not to hit into the guitar.
Paul laughs, “I take it you like it then?”
“I love it,” I say. “But most of all, I love you.”
“Same to you, my Jules.”
Paul removes his guitar and I find myself entangled with Paul on the kitchen floor. Realizing I still haven’t eaten and I don’t feel like taking another shower, I suggest we go out to eat before anything else ensues.
He smiles and agrees. Paul fetches his shoes and drive into London. We eat a large breakfast and walk down the street. He’s holding my hand. We say little other than a few ‘I love you’s.’
I am no longer occupied with public display of affection. I couldn’t care less. And in fact, I want the whole world to know that I’ve found my match and he’s found me. We stop in the middle of the sidewalk and Paul wraps his arms around me. Various people walk by, some with glares for ‘meddling with the morals of society’ and others with longing looks, wishing they had what Paul and I possess.
Paul leans down to kiss me and it’s interrupted by a high class British voice calling out, “Paul!”
He stops, dropping his hands from my face and letting them fall to both sides, then turning to face the voice he seems to recognize. I look at her, too.
It takes me a moment, but after glancing at her perfect red hair, stylish clothes, and beautiful looks, I am staring at none other than Jane Asher.
She ignores me, won’t even look me in the eyes. She’s staring into Paul’s.
“Paul, how could you—” she glances around, making sure not to make a scene and attract the attention of any potential media personnel who might recognize us. She pulls him aside, and out of the public’s view.
I, of course, follow. After all, doesn’t Paul love me? Hasn’t he broken off relations with Jane? Doesn’t she understand he’s mine now?
I stare at Paul’s face—completely blank. Nothing but a dumbfounded stare.
“Paul. I thought that after that—that incident you would at least fix your ways.” Jane begins to fall into tears. Paul doesn’t reach towards her. “Paul, for God’s sake. You love me. You had said you love me. I love you. What are you doing? Why must you go around with people like that?”
Jane glares at me with thin, dark slits.
It hits me. ‘People like that.’ Wait—did I just fulfill my position as full-fledged cheatee? Have I just done what I condemned Pam for doing? Have I unknowingly just aided Paul in once again being unfaithful to Jane?
Has Paul lied to me the whole time? Does he really love me? If so, have I just become another one of Paul’s ‘love flings?’ And if I have, is there anything to say he hasn't been with numerous other girls while with me, despite when he said to me, ‘I’ll do my best, luv.’ Do I mean nothing to him in reality?
No, this isn’t happening. I haven’t just fallen into a pit of despair. I haven’t just come across the face of the girl who owns full rights to Paul and that I disrespected. But no—I was in no way aware that Paul and Jane are still together—if they are still together—Paul had told me they had split up. John had told me they had split up.
Jane had been Paul’s ‘mistake.’ Had he not just told me that last night? He loves ME now, cares for ME, will do anything for ME. Jane isn’t his now. He isn’t Jane’s. I am Paul’s. Paul is mine. I am his darling ‘Jules.’
Jane quickly glances back to Paul. She becomes frustrated with his inability to respond and kisses him. No effect. She grabs his shoulders and shakes him. “Paul, I loved you, Paul.”
I crack. I can’t take it anymore. My heart is reaching towards Paul, the same Paul, I knew for the past month. The Paul I slept with. The Paul that danced with me in his kitchen. But I know, I know that if Jane and he are still together he not only doesn’t belong to me, but also is unfaithful. Yes, I knew he was unfaithful in the past, but for me, he is supposed to be different, I’m supposed to be special. I’m supposed to be his one true love! But even if he cares for me and has no more feelings for Jane, and he’s ready to break it off on my behalf, if they’re still together I shouldn’t want him. I shouldn’t want a man that would cheat on a woman that he thought he loved so dearly for so long.
But I do want him. The other side of my brain is willing to accept him anyway. Even if they’re still together, even if he still loves her, I don’t want to let go.
No, that’s wrong Julia, and you know it. You don’t belong here. Something is wrong here. You shouldn’t be here.
I look at Jane, still reaching towards Paul. I’ve made up my mind. My eyes are beginning to burn. I can’t face Paul. I glance up at the beautiful teary-eyed Jane and manage to say, “I’m sorry. I had no idea,” before starting to cry.
It’s then I walk, walk as fast as I can down the street, ignoring Paul’s cries for me to stop. I hear him begin to chase after me, feel as his strong hand grips my arm, but I pull away and run, tears now streaming down my face. I find shelter in a nearby park.
I shouldn’t be there. Paul is Jane’s. That’s what seems to have been made clear. It’s good that I didn’t stop for Paul. I did the right thing.
I then realize that I not only have lost Paul but also lost myself. I run frantically to a secluded bench next to a Maple tree to blow off steam and cry. Tears come streaming down my face. My first love, the love I slept with last night. The love who isn’t mine. My love, the cheater.
When I have no tears left, I do my best to contemplate how I could possibly find my way to Pam’s. I spot a balding man on a bench not too far off. I organize myself and walk up to him.
I face him an realize it’s the man from the plane. The man who witnessed Paul’s love that day. That beautiful day.
“Oh—Julia. That’s your name isn’t it? At least I think that’s it. Wasn’t that what that young man had called you—Dole, was it? Yes, Dole—”
“I’m Julia, yes.”
“See my memory isn’t as bad as it seems. That Dole had called you that when I had taken your pictures,” the man continues. “Dole’s a sweet boy. Isn’t he? Where is he, Dole, that is?”
I originally wasn’t going to correct him but the fact he finds it necessary to incessantly pronounce Paul’s name wrong forces me to say something. “Paul, his name is Paul. He’s fine. But I was wond—”
“Paul! Oh yes! NOW I remember. Yes, it was definitely Paul. How could I have forgotten? Yes, Paul. How is the boy? Have you been crying? Is something the matter?”
Why must he ask so many questions? “I’m fine. But I was hoping you could direct me to 56 Worple Ave.”
The man smiles. “Oh, why certainly. Here, I’ll show you.”
He walks me to the edge of the park. And points down the street. The man gives me directions and then looks me in the eyes, his eyes twinkling, “Don’t let a man get to you that much. It’s not worth it.”
I thank him and walk home. My head is swirling and I’m surprised that I find my way to Pam’s as easily as I do.
I open the door and see Pam sitting on the couch. She quickly stands up at my presence, clearly intent on hearing the occurrences of last night—of course, one of the last things I want to discuss.
Pam runs up to me, “What happened? Did you finally do it?—”
I avoid her eyes and glance around, “John isn’t here, is he?”
“No he just left, why?”
“Good, I just wanted to know. That’s all.”
Pam looks me over. “Julia, you’ve been crying. What’s the matter? What happened?”
I pour my heart out to her. My confusions, my desires, my wishes. Pam listens and comforts me. Friendship is a great creation, if only love were as consistently simple and wonderful.
That night I make a call to my parents, I’m going home. I have no reason to stay. Yes, Pam is a wonderful friend and I had a great time with The Beatles. But my heart is broken. And I have responsibilities. Responsibilities I would have forgotten had it not been for my parents in the first place. They were right. I should have listened to them. I shouldn’t have let Paul get to me. I shouldn’t have given him my heart.
I need to get home and get on with my life. I need to forget Paul. I need to move on.
Sure, this will always stand as a moment in my life to remember, to look back on. Remember just the happy moments, develop those beautiful pictures. Pictures that capture a moment in time. A moment that should be no more than a memory.
As I lie on the bed beside my packed suitcase in my room in Pam’s flat, my beautiful magenta room, I stare blankly at the cover of my marble notebook.
I have inspiration for you now, boy, do I ever. I could take my try at improving my writing, perhaps. Maybe I’ll find someone new, someone new and worthwhile. Someone with responsibilities who’s faithful and loyal—and not spoiled. Someone at home. Someone who isn’t Paul.
How could Paul do this to me? How could he possibly treat me so? How could I have fallen for it?
Easily—his eyes. Oh those gorgeous eyes—Julia, stop. To think of him like this can only hurt you. You must look into the future.
The future—a magnificent fresh canvas—ready for new experiences, myself now equipped with a new outlook. Mutual love is necessary and should never be forsaken. It may have been an amazingly wonderful night but his love should have been there, his true love.
But wasn’t it? Didn’t he say he loved me? He didn’t he say he had now realized that his breakup with Jane was for a reason—me. I was his true love. I was his reason.
But Jane—she made it seem as though it wasn’t over. They’re still together and it’s far from my place to take him. Her clothes were still there, I should have known—Paul must have lied. My Paul, my darling Paul—lied?
I stare at the newspaper clipping with the same tired picture of the Beatles I would gush over before I came to London.
It’s nothing compared to the real thing. Nothing compared to those four incredible beings. Why did I have to fall in love with one? Give myself up to him? To him that lied?
I’ll have to get over him. Get over that love, even if it kills me.
My eyes are sore from crying and I place the notebook and newspaper clippings in my purse to join the two love songs for Paul and autograph from George I had previously kept locked in my desk drawer.
Paul hasn’t called me. If he had called me I could have forgiven him, I could have heard his apologies, hear he really cares for me, hear that Jane and he had already broken up and were no longer together when he met me. When he promised me that I was his only one. But he didn’t call. Yesterday I was waltzing with him in his kitchen, listening to him serenade me—bumped in Jane.
He must not truly love me. He and Jane are probably still together. For all I know they could have slept together last night—in that same bed I slept in—Now Serving Date Number: 7, 988.
I haven’t spoken to John or the others. Pam will do that for me, explain I had to leave and was unable to get tickets. They’ll all probably see Paul and Jane together from now and forget me. But I won’t forget them.
Maybe I’ll call Pam when I get home and get a chance at speaking with idol, John Lennon. But what will I tell him? How can I possibly explain what happened?
Paul will probably have already told him. I’ll just give him my side of the story, tell him I’ve moved on, and I’m unaffected—ha, what a lie that will be.
I gave my parents no explanation for my change of heart but there’s no doubt they can guess it. I will miss seeing Pam every day. I will miss seeing the Beatles in person. At least I have my pictures and my memories. No doubt I’ll keep in constant contact with Pam.
I have soul searching left to do. My destination—New York, New York.
Keep your eyes open for Jane’s sequel, tentatively titled, “Reflections of a Blinking Eye” coming out soon!
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