CATCH ME IF YOU CAN
by Kelonzi

"My God..."

"Geeze, John..."

Two men stood, slack-jawed at what they saw before them. Lips moved slowly, but no sound, let alone words, managed to produce themselves from between suddenly dry lips.

Cynthia and John sat up quickly, straightening hair and clothes in a flurry of hands.

"'Allo, boys." John tried his best at a smile.

"Well...." Paul was shocked to find an actual word had made it into his mouth. "Didn't go wastin' any time, didja?"

"It's not like that." Cynthia protested in the midst of trying to pull her hair back out of the tangled mess it had become. "We were discussing a few things and then these two technicians came in. So---"

" "Discussin'" "? Ringo found his ability to speak had finally returned as well. "Alright. If that's what yer callin' it."

John was suddenly sick of feeling like a naughty schoolboy who had just been caught snogging in the stairwell. Well, not the stairwell, anyroad. The snorted laughter at his own half-joke was only barely avoided. "About Julian." He added, as if that made all the difference in the world. "An' other... things."

"Well, that's plain as day, mate." Ringo bent down and handed John his discarded coat with a cough.

"Will you just listen for a minute without cracking some inane joke?!" Cynthia barked, now feeling foolish as well for what the other boys had walked in on in midstream. She took a moment to compose herself before continuing. "It had everything to do with Julian, and nothing to do with-----"

"Hot passionate floor work?" Ringo cracked.

Cynthia eyed him.

"What? Ah counted on me watch. That was a minute before Ah spoke!."

"Shurrup. Shouldn't you two be doin' somethin' else anyway?" John grabbed his sunglasses and slipped them back on.

"Such as---?" Paul asked, trying very hard to stop staring at the two ex-lovers who had seemingly decided to relive their passionate past. And a passionate past was really going back a ways. For most of their marriage they had been apart. "What "somethin' else", Johnny?"

Of course, if Linda was suddenly alive again, Paul would have gone for the make out session too, but.... he and Linda hadn't had a messy breakup like John and Cynthia. Seeing them like this was downright odd. So he pressed for an explanation.

"Keepin' me out of 'ere, Ah guess."

The voice made everyone freeze instantly.

Julian stood in the door, hands loaded with various books and papers, guitar slung on his back. He was staring at the four people before him-- Ringo, Paul, his mother, and a man with his back to Julian. Judging from his mom's state, he could only assume what was going on here. "M-mum?" He shifted his gaze from face to face in search of some explanation.

Cynthia felt her stomach lurch. It wasn't supposed to happen here. Or now. She would gently reveal everything to her son back safely in the hotel room. Private and--- "Jules, we didn't want to---"

"Tell me that yer carryin' on with some technician?"

John wanted to look at him. Tell him everything was alright. But he was frozen in place, totally confounded as how to do this. Just turning around might---

"Who is this?" Julian's hand clamped on John's shoulder and whirled him around.

"God!!"

* * * * *


George returned to his hotel room, prescription for a rather heavy duty pain killer in hand. It was supposed to help with the horrible headaches he'd been experiencing. Frankly, he hoped so. Anything was better than the migraines he'd wake up with in the middle of the night.

Walking into the bathroom, he slowly filled a glass with water and downed the peanut-sized green oval. "A'right, modern medicine. Do whatever it is ya do." Frankly, he'd been pretty pissed off at the doctor for the run-around. Test, test, wait, read every magazine from 1991 to the present, then finally be called back in to find out that the tests were 'inconclusive'. He flicked off the light and made his way back into the main room. It was late afternoon and they'd have to pack up quick if they were going to make the connecting flight to Albany that night.

"So... you did take my advice after all?"

He jumped nearly a mile off the ground when Andrea appeared in his balcony window, door flung open. She looked good, he noted. Decidedly not a figment of his imagination. Unless, of course, the medicine had certain side effects the doctor had neglected to inform George about.

"Who let you in?" He smirked.

"Don't pretend you aren't absolutely thrilled to see me again." Andrea winked. "Nice roadies. Imagine... they still accepted Jess' clearance pass!"

She could have sworn she caught something George muttered under his breath about 'bloody union laborers', and laughed in response.

"Ya didn't say ya were on yer way 'ere. I figured ya'd be online the rest of the day. That's what ya do best, isn't it? Use the instant messenger... an' criticize my usin' it."

Andrea smiled and pulled a train ticket stub from her side bag as if it would do all the explaining for her. There were daytime trains from upstate to down state-- hell, people used them to commute to work. "That's because you were completely clueless the first time you signed on. Waiting for you to type a response was like waiting for the polar ice caps to melt. A glacier passed by my window in the time it took you to type out 'hello'."

"A'right, now yer abusin' sarcasm." George rubbed his temples lightly and sat down on the edge of his bed.

A concerned look crossed the girl's face. "Still bothering you? Did you---"

"Yes, ma'am. With you on that bloody computer an' Olivia on the telephone, both naggin' me, 'ow could Ah not? She called while Ah was on my way to the doc's. Pretty much said the same thing you did."

"What'd he give you for it?"

"Some chemical stuff that'll mess around with my insides until they're in a brand new configuration that pleases modern medicine." George tossed the bottle to her. "See for yerself."

"It'll help, I'm sure. Whether or not you like it."

"Yer soundin' like me mum."

"I just worry." She smiled. "And that's the truth. We have to keep you healthy afterall. Why, you're the only celebrity I know and regularly converse with! What would I do if you decided to move north?" She pointed to the roof, making her meaning clear.

"Well.... Paulie? 'E is the cute one." George began gathering clothes up off the bed, preparing to pack them up. "In fact, back durin' the mania, girls right about yer age would've given their right arm ta know Paulie."

Andrea tossed the bottle back at him, clothing flying about as he tried to stop the plastic projectile from nailing him square in the nose. "Why I'd never think of such a---- You have his screen name?" She teased.

"Very funny. Now help me pick this up ya 18 year ol' kid. We have to get to the airport on time." They both bent down to pick up George's wardrobe.

"So, still think we're on schedule for making it public?"

"Ah suppose. If we're sure now is the best time."

"There couldn't be a better time, George. Aside from what you've told me about Cynthia, no one else would suspect about John. You've all done a good job keeping him under wraps."

George fixed his gaze on the ceiling. "Well.... wasn't easy, let me tell you. Ah probably prayed to Krishna nearly a hundred times a day that we'd make it through."

They continued on packing, silence settling in before George finally glanced up from his work once more. "Given any of that readin' a chance?"

Andrea nodded, being able to vividly envision the book George had given her those months ago. At first she had looked at it as pure eastern philosophical mumbo-jumbo. But as time wore on and she'd finally resolved to at least read through it once, if only to make George happy. Unexpectedly, however, she found herself drawn to the teachings. Peace. Love. It was like the 60's in a book, really. But that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, was it? After all, what was wrong with a little peaceful living and love for that life? She'd been missing that in her life, she had slowly realized. It offered more comfort than conjuring and magics ever had before. Not that she was ready to convert, or anything, but--- "I-I liked it George. Really. It made.... It made sense."

The graying older man nodded. He could sense the heartfelt honesty in her words, and it touched him deeply. When he had met her, she was confused; in pain.... if he could do anything to abate even a little of that, he would. "Ah'm glad."

They completed packing up, even taking care of Paul, Ringo, and John's things for them, then headed towards the front desk. George had found a hastily scrawled note placed in Ringo's room to explain where they had gone. So it was off towards the recording studio where Paul assumed John had gone.

* * * * *


"Jules!" Cynthia gasped, words and breath whisked away from her in an instant. "It's not---"

Julian waved his hand to silence his mother. He couldn't be seeing what he was seeing. He just couldn't. His father was dead. LONG dead. This man was just another one of those damned lookalikes who made their living imitating his father. "You're not real."

But his heart was telling him otherwise. It explained all those confusing feelings. The pain. Still, what the heart felt and what the brain said were currently butting up against each other in complete chaos. John Lennon was dead. It was one of those absolutes in the world. Death. Taxes. John Lennon was dead and buried. All absolutes. All something you could depend on for truth in a world where everything seemed to have another side to it.

His father's mortality was as black and white as it came.

John looked down at his shoes, unable to meet the man's gaze--- his son's gaze. "Hello, Jules. Ah know this is strange, but... but it's true. Ah'm real."

"Right. Sure." Julian's tone of voice was highly reminiscent of one who had been punched in the gut. His voice was small and strained. "Tell me somethin'... 'ow much are they payin' ya ta do this? Who hired ya? Who wants ta hurt me like this?" A tear rolled down his cheek. He meant to brush it away, clear his throat, do anything but what he did next. Taking one small step, he found himself collapsing into the man's--- his father's--- arms. "Who?" He choked, tears beginning to flow freely. "Yer dead. Yer dead an' gone. 'Ave been me whole life." Sobs began to interfere with his ability to speak. "Who wants ta hurt me like this?! WHO?!!"

He wanted to say a million things. Wanted to magically make things better. But he didn't possess anything within him to do so. No human being did. John could only hold the suddenly very weak body of his son to his chest, stroking his back. While he'd never really held his boy there when he was an infant--- John was away all the time--- he imagined himself now holding that infant child. "Julian."

"Where 'ave you been? They said... they said you were dead. It's been over twenty years." Julian's words were muffled against John's chest. He pulled back, finally locking eyes with that oh so famous face. He'd seen it a hundred times on CD covers, posters, T-shirts, online--- and that was just in the past week. But somehow seeing it fully animated, returning the gaze and seeing the pain in it's eyes, was oh so much harder to handle. "Did she put you up to it? A stunt?"

John shook his head. 'She' was Yoko. He knew it. Cynthia hated to hear the name, and Julian had been trained well to avoid ever speaking those two syllables in her presence. "Ah died, Jules. Ah did. But Ah came back."

"That's impossible! How---"

"Not if the right people start messin' about in magics." John quickly saw the same disbelief fill his son's features that had filled everyone else’s over the past months--- Paul, George, Ringo and finally, today, Cynthia. When Julian didn't bring forth the follow-up question however, John took it upon himself to continue. "It was a few months ago. Probably around--"

"--- March." Julian completed the date, to John's immense shock.

"You knew?"

"Ah felt... somethin'." Julian recalled the stab that had awoken him that night. "Ah'd gone to bed early, but Ah woke up in a sweat. No nightmare that Ah could remember. Just a feelin'. Like someone had come----" The tears which he had nearly subdued ushered forth again. "Like someone had come back into my life that 'ad been gone for a 'orribly long time."

"Dear God." John pulled the boy back, now to cover his own tears. He never cried. Never. And yet he almost couldn't help himself now. Almost. It was with great effort that he kept his eyes dry, vision clear.

It was amazing, really. How could Julian have sensed what had happened when he was so far away? Did family connections really go that far? If so, then why hadn't Cynthia sensed it?

Blood. The thought came to him like a flash of lightning. They shared the physical bloodline. Whatever Andrea had tapped into had shot along the bloodline. Maybe even pulled from his living children to resurrect a physical body. If that was the case, then maybe Sean---

But there would be time for the other side of the family. And it would be soon. But for now he had another half to concern himself with. He loved both his children, but he'd never really shown Julian that the same way he'd shown it to his and Yoko's child. Whenever he'd seen Julian in the past, he'd been quite happy to see him, naturally, but it was never quite the same. Now he had to change that. "Ah love you, Jules. Ah always did. An' Ah never stopped."

The words came slowly. "Ah know. Ah knew even then. You just 'ad a lot goin' on."

John blinked hard now, the fight with the tears growing frustratingly hard. "Ah didn't say it. You deserved that. Ah'm 'ere for you. Ah'll never leave you again, you 'ear? Never. No matter what Ah'm doin'. Commitments be damned."

* * * * *


"They wouldn't forget about an important commitment like this one." Andrea said firmly as she and George exited the taxi in front of the recording studio. "Paul, least of which. It's his tour."

"But we 'ave no idea what's goin' on, Drea." George opened the glass door quickly, striding towards the desk to a young man who looked as if he had had one very long day. All business, George addressed the man as courteously as possible. "Which studio is reserved for a Mrs. Cynthia Lennon, please?"

"Not again." The man exploded suddenly. "So many people coming and going the entire day long!! No more!! It's authorized personnel only," he pointed to the sign as he spoke these words, "and we don't just say that because we like to see the letters done up in pretty font!"

George turned his head slightly to Andrea. "We don't 'ave time for this."

Andrea approached him, overacting the part to the T. "Oh, PLEASE sir?! It's terribly important!"

"That's what they've said all day long!"

"But he's George Harrison!" She fluttered hastily mascara-ed eyelashes at the man.

"No! The WITCH'S George Harrison?!" The man laughed at his own joke. "Well, that's a horse of a different color, isn't it?"

"So, we can go in?" Andrea tossed her black hair with a smile.

"NO!! And I don't care if you have ruby slippers or come back in with a brainless scarecrow, heartless tin man, and cowardly lion either! It's still NO!"

Andrea sighed. She mumbled something under her breath and looked back up, turning the charm back on.

"What was that?"

"I said.." Andrea trailed off momentarily to make sure he was looking directly into her eyes. "... we need to see Mrs. Cynthia Lennon."

His eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment. "You need to see Mrs. Cynthia Lennon."

"You'll show us how to get to her if you please." Andrea waved her hand in a small imperceptible gesture.

"I'll show you how to get to her." He nodded and produced a pad of paper, scribbling down some instructions.

George's face was a look of complete shock as Andrea continued to work the mind-mojo on the man. After a minute or so, they were prepared to head off again, and George was spluttering the whole way.

"What, exactly, was that?" He made absolutely certain she could see the disapproval in his eyes as they headed down a long corridor. "Did ya forget ta tell me you were a Jedi Knight?"

"Yes. And I always keep my lightsaber close by." Andrea chuckled and brushed aside the comment. "You said yourself that we had to get to them and in as fast a manner as possible. It was merely a way to speed up the process."

But George wasn't going to let that be the end of it. "You can't do that to other people's minds!"

"It worked, didn't it?"

A deep sigh filled George's chest. He held the breath for a moment then, slowly, released it. The calming exercise had always helped him keep his head in crazy situations. And this was most assuredly one of those. "Oh you got what you wanted, all right." He ran a hand through his hair before following. That's the problem. He found it hard to believe that she was still using magic even after what it had done with John. "I thought you an' magic--"

"I only use it for emergencies." Andrea met his worried eyes. "Swear."

"And this was an emergency?" George asked as he pushed the door open into the control room.

No one was there. Had the man lied even with Andrea's magical brand of "persuasion"? No. He saw evidences that people had been here not long ago. Jackets were strewn about, papers in various degrees of disarray, and a still steaming cup of coffee sat on a side table. Which meant they had left in a hurry. But why?

Muffled sounds came from a side room as George and Andrea examined the various surfaces around the room for clues.

"There." Andrea pointed and inched toward the door that was only ajar a crack. She prepared to open it herself, but was brushed aside by George a moment later. If there was something dangerous in there, he wasn't going to let the Drea go in first.

They walked in and what they both saw was as close to an emergency as either could have imagined.

"Krishna..." George breathed.

Andrea moaned. "Looks like you have your emergency, George."

* * * * *

John turned when he heard more people enter the room. "Isn't any one going to lock the DAMN door?! And what about the security around here? Or can just anyone walk into this damned place unannounced? Bastards!!"

"Sorry." Andrea apologized, appearing behind George. "My bastards."

Everyone whirled to look at her.

"I-I mean, I cast a spell. I had the man at the front desk let us in."

The man curled on John's shoulder got up and approached her slowly. "You're the witch, then."

"Hey, Mister! I've never seen you before in my life either, so I don't think you have any right to---" She stopped. "Oh. You mean---" She leaned around to look at John past Julian. "Does everyone know now?"

"Just about." Julian's voice brought her attention back to him.

Her eyes scanned him from head to toe before she spoke again. "You're Julian." A slight tremble went through her body. John's son. She'd hurt him as much as anyone else with her ill-advised spell. And boy could she see that hurt in his eyes. "I'm.... I'm so sorry."

"'Sorry'. Guess that makes everythin' better again, doesn't it?"

"No! No, it never could. NEVER." She insisted. "I was wrong. I've been trying to get away from what caused this mess--- I'm through with magic."

"But you just said you cast a spell---"

"-- officially." She realized she'd been caught in a half-truth. Andrea had taken steps to separate herself from what had caused this: removed the spell books, destroyed the powders and herbs... "When I do magic now, it's to help." Andrea pushed her point. "Not to hurt."

Cynthia spoke up for the first time in a long while. "But how can you tell? Didn't you cast the first one 'to help'?! Help yourself?" She scoffed.

Certainly aren't making this easy. I'm freakin' apologizing here and all they can do is hit me a little harder over the head. "Gee. Thanks for the attacks. Much appreciated."

Paul stepped in. "Lay off, everyone. What's done is bloody well done. Fightin' an' slingin' insults isn't goin' ta help. What we have to do is sit back an' take this carefully. Not rush into---"

"Ah'm not continuin' on the tour." John proclaimed suddenly.

"--- stuff like that." Paul threw his hands up. "What do you mean?"

John answered Paul evenly, hands on Julian's shoulders. "Ah mean Ah've been dead for quite some time, an' even when Ah was alive an' kickin' Ah never spent time with my family. Ah'm plannin' ta fix that startin' today."

"Ya can't just quit on us, John!" Ringo exclaimed.

"Ah bloody well can, Richie." John smirked. "Ah never was officially on tour anyway, now was Ah?"

Paul stepped back, considering his next words carefully. "John, how can we protect you from the media if ya aren't with us?" In the back of his mind was their project as well. Loosing John now would derail everything they had George and Andrea working on.

"Cyn can do it. An' Jules." Graying hair flew as John tossed his head angrily. "Damnit, Macca! Ah don't need you all standin' around me 24/7 like my bloody nanny! Ah won't go out in public, if that's what it takes! Go back ta England with me family an' live out the rest of me days in a nice an' quiet countryside somewhere nice an' secluded. No press." John raised a hand to his temple as he spoke. "Ah'm not makin' the same mistakes twice!"

"Countryside? Linda an' Ah thought that would work too. Not so. Remember that damned photographer from LIFE?" Paul got up into John's face.

John smirked. "Beautiful picture of yer ass. 'Ow could Ah forget? Tell me, why'd ya throw the bucket at that bastard, anyway? 'Cause Ah would 'ave picked somethin' a good deal heavier."

Taking a deep breath, Paul tried again. "You can't do this----"

"You can't STOP me, Paul!"

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Only erratic breathing from those who had been shouting moments before supplied any sound. When someone finally dared speak, it was George.

"There's no turnin' back, ya know, John. We're leavin' tonight. On the next flight out of the city. Ya make this choice, yer stuck with it."

John's expression indicated that he knew this exactly. "Ya have ta let me do this George. Ah'll fight ya if Ah have ta, but Ah'd rather not. When Ah died, Ah left a lot of things unfinished. Time ta make up for lost time. Ah have ta do somethin' with this second chance. You of all people should appreciate that. Changin' for the better."

"We... we know, John." Andrea spoke softly. "But isn't there some other way? Wait a while and you'll see that---"

"Andrea. Ah've been waitin' too long already. Before ya know it, ya 'ave nothin' but a bunch of empty days, each one only marked by you saying "tomorrow" or "later Ah will". An' then some loony shoots holes in your body an' you're sittin' at those pearly gates, unable ta do anythin' at all. Yer puttin' off stuff-- like yer family--- 'as finally caught up with ya."

The man once billed the spiritual Beatle nodded. George knew it was something John had to do, if only for his peace of mind. "That's it, then." George lowered his head. "Ya've made yer decision. Which we 'aveta respect, mates."

Paul and Ringo looked like they wished to protest, but catching their bandmate's gaze, nodded slowly. George motioned for the other three to follow him. "Goodbye, John. An' good luck to ya."

John nodded stiffly. "To you all too, Geo." He thrust his hand out, firmly shaking George's. "Give 'em a show ta remember, Harrison."

Four forms retreated out of the room, out of the studio, and down the hallway toward the front entrance.

* * * * *


Exiting the office, a miserable group-- Paul, George, Ringo and Andrea--- were absolutely shell shocked.

John was effectively gone now. And they had been so close to putting things back together again. Making new memories to take the place to the bad. Sure, things were bound to be strained, but they had for a moment, gotten back what they once had. Group unity. John, Paul, George, and Ringo. The best part was, they hadn't been swamped by throngs of screaming girls this time. They'd played together some nights and people had been none the wiser. They'd had all four Beatles before them, and no mania had come out of it. With John disguised and George working mainly backstage, only coming out on the occasional night for a song or two, things had been perfect.

Paul shook his head sadly. Not perfect... but close... Close to venues like Hamburg again. Not physically, but the spirit of playing together without an extreme amount of hounding. With every fiber of his being he'd wanted to keep it going--- it was part of the reason the tour had been extended so long. He didn't want to see it end.

"Now what do we do?" Andrea muttered as they approached the front desk.

"Go on without 'im." George took her hand comfortingly in his. This was going to be hard, but they'd get through it. Loosing John once was hard enough. To loose him twice was almost unbearable. The only slight comfort George could find was that John wasn't completely gone this time. If they wanted to communicate with their friend, it was just a phone call now. Not a stare up at the sky or a silent prayer.

Of course, they'd have to be careful with the telephone. If the wrong person tapped the line----

"We'll be a'right. Hire a backup musician or two an'---" Paul reinforced George's statement.

Andrea rolled her eyes. "I know the tour will be fine."

"Then why did you---" Paul eyed her.

"I meant that guy at the desk. Now what are we going to do about getting by him?."

"Oh-ho!" George couldn't help but smirk a little. Sticking his nose into the air, he began to recite, "Well, you've made your bed, now---"

"Gee. Thanks. That really helps." She sighed as they came into full view of the lobby. A thoroughly irritated and confused dark-haired man sat behind his desk, counting on his fingers as if trying to figure out what had happened before. His eyes shot up from a stack of paperwork and the man got to his feet seconds later, approaching with a look of a man none too pleased with the four approaching him.

"Hold it! All of you!"

"Mute." Andrea whispered, drawing a finger over her lips.

The man continued his lecture, only to find no sound accompanied his words. Clutching at his throat suddenly, he gaped in bewilderment. No matter how he twisted his mouth, moved his lips, nothing would sound from his silenced vocal chords.

A smiling Andrea followed the three Beatles out the door. Right before approaching the cab, she called a reversal on the spell and could hear a shout come from through the open glass door. "Whoops. Time to scoot..." Sitting down in the back seat of the taxi cab, she frantically waved to the cabby to take off. He complied and they were soon far off down the road.

Her pleasure over her quick thinking was short lived, as she was met with three different looks of bemusement. "What?"

"More magic." George muttered at a level that only she could hear. She felt a light flush on her cheeks this time, knowing she had merely used a spell for convenience this time. And George knew it. The idea that she'd disappointed him was, oddly, painful. She'd grown to respect him and his disapproval hurt.

The reactions from the other two were far less severe, however, as Paul and Ringo looked downright amused at what they had seen.

"That coulda come in handy back on tour, couldn't it, lads?" Paul chuckled. "All those screamin' girls might actually 'ave heard what we were singin' an' playin' if one of us could have done that."

After a beat, Ringo added. "Ahhhh. An' 'ow many times have Ah wished for somethin' like that ta use on you two?" He teasingly directed the comment at Paul and George with a cheeky grin.

The two indicated musicians answered in unison. "Shut up!"

* * * * *


John sat in the back seat of Cynthia's private car, Julian beside him. He would have been lying if he'd said he was completely at home in such a situation. No matter how badly he wanted to make things right, Cynthia was his ex. They hadn't spoken extensively since the 60's. And Julian.... he barely knew him. A few visits with Yoko and Sean didn't make up for all that lost time.

But he felt the pressure to make things right now. If staying here with his "family" was the only way to do that, he would. "So, Jules. What are you an' yer mum up to the rest of the week?"

Julian was a bit taken aback that John was showing interest in the family he'd never spent a substantial amount of time with, but he obliged with a response that, if not completely carefree, was happy enough. "We're goin' home for a bit. To England." There was an unspoken question in that statement: Would John carry this charade as far as traveling back to his birthplace with them? He had once said he would never return to England. He had taken America as his home. Going back to the Mother Country would be a big step.

"Good. Ah've missed the place." John hoped the lie sounded convincing. You owe 'em. You 'aveta stay with 'em now. Besides, you already pushed aside George, Paul an' Ring, dincha? No way out now. But... things could be worse, right? At least ya have 'em now for comfort. People who love you. Love ya intimately.

The trip back to the hotel was uncomfortable, but not without conversation. They did achieve some degree of "catching up". Cynthia told John about what she had done with the house, how some old friends had been faring, even the price of flowers at some of her favorite stores. Anything to fill the void.

On arrival, Julian immediately turned to his dad, whom he was still getting used to calling as such again, eyes wide with alarm. "How are we gettin' him from here to the rooms?"

"Allow me. Ah'm practically the master of disguise now, mate." John pulled the hat and sunglasses from his bag and slipped them on quickly. "There we are." He waited for a smile of approval from his son, but was only met with Julian quickly sweeping out of the cab and toward the front door without comment.

With a shrug, John followed Julian inside.

"Mr. Lennon?" A small, quavering voice met John's ears and he nearly passed out in shock. That was, until he realized exactly which Mr. Lennon the female fan was fishing for an autograph from.

Julian smiled at the outstretched pen and pad, took them and scrawled a quick note for the girl that looked as if she had been waiting outside the hotel for a rather long amount of time-- likely, all afternoon, if she was like some fans. He made sure to sign slowly enough so that she could snap a photograph as well. "There ya are, Miss."

"Oh thank you, thank you, thank you! I've been a huge fan for such a long time." She gushed happily, eyes darting from pad to face, unsure of which she wanted to spend more time basking in the glow of. "I can't wait for the release of your new album!"

"Word certainly gets around fast." Julian continued to smile, trying not to show his growing impatience. He wanted to go inside, into his own private room, and just take some time to sort through everything that had gone on during the course of the day. Might even manage to grab a bite to eat during that time. Imagine. Ah could actually have somethin' that isn't take out or whatever mum's road man could grab from the candy machine.

"It's all over the Internet." She rushed on, "My friends and I have this website and---"

John tuned out the conversation from then on in. His eyes wandered to Cynthia, who had taken the time that such a distraction as this girl afforded, to use the front desk phone. Whatever his ex-wife was up to seemed much more interesting at that moment than Julian and his smitten, star-struck fan. He approached as nonchalantly as he could, hoping to catch a bit of Cyn's conversation by the most efficient means he knew --- eavesdropping.

"I'm sorry Mr. Adams, but there's little more I can tell you. I sent the package early this morning.... Yes, urgent shipping, of course!.... You should have it on your desk now...."

Eyes wide, John dropped into a chair nearby and pulled a newspaper up over his face, trying to look extremely interested in Martha Stewart and how to properly cook your Christmas goose. If this call was about what he was thinking it was, he already had a thoroughly cooked goose. Cynthia wouldn't have gone on with getting that story published, would she? Paul and Ringo had stopped her from calling Gavin just in the nick of time before, from what Paul had said. What he could get out of her end of this conversation now, though.... it was clear the phone call was meaningless in comparison to a little package she had managed to have sent out with everyone else unaware of it.

".... you do have it? Wonderful!"

How can she be so bloody pleased with herself? She has everythin' she could want! Me, Jules... Was revenge that powerful a lure? He could have accepted this if she had sent whatever this mystery "package" was before he could speak with her before, but now... now she should have been trying frantically to retrieve the thing, not metaphorically pushing it on into that young upstart reporter's lap!

"Alright, then. Oh, don't open it right away...... Yes, I realize you need this story to run within the next day..... I'm extremely grateful that you got that extension..... N-no.... I don't know how much you had in your savings account.... He can do that?.... Ooo. That bad, is it?..... My sincerest apologies..... Well, I'm certain your sacrifices will be worth it once you open that package. Yes, you too. Goodbye."

As Cynthia hung the hotel phone back in it's cradle, she took a deep breath.

And in that moment, John knew he was doomed. He had to get to Paul and tell him that everything was off. So much for their great plans. Cynthia had just dynamited everything, despite their efforts to avoid the impending doom.

John struggled to swallow the bile that rose in his throat as Cynthia settled herself down beside him on the sitting area couch. "How could you?" He hissed under his breath.

* * * * *


Mrs. Lennon had told him to wait. But if there was one thing Gavin knew in his years in the business, delaying a story could only result in one thing-- someone else getting the scoop ahead of you. He also knew one other thing as well; delaying one more day on his boss was known as sticking your head in the lion's mouth. And this lion was hungry.

Getting an extension had almost killed him before... literally. So he couldn't put things off. Not one more moment.

He grabbed at the rather thick manila envelope and tore into it greedily. "Time to show the old boss that this was well worth the wait." If Gavin were a small child, he would have been bouncing up and down in anticipation. But then he stopped almost as suddenly as he had started, thinking of an even better way to break the news to cranky old Mr. Peterson.

"Sir?" Gavin tapped lightly on door to the copy room where his boss had been busily Xerox-ing off memos for the next day. "Could you come into my office for a moment? I have that story I was telling you about."

The gruff man stood up, straightening his business suitcoat, prepared to thrash the kid if this was another delay tactic. "Well it certainly took you damn long enough Adams!! This is your last chance. Understood?!"

Gavin swallowed hard. He had his back up against the wall here... one wrong step and it was hello to the dirty streets of Los Angeles. "I'm not wrong." Mrs. Lennon wants this information made public.... well, she's about to get as much exposure as anyone could possibly hope for.

Both Mr. Peterson and Gavin settled themselves in a pair of conference chairs set at the far end of the Adams office. "Here it is, sir. The story that will put this paper's name on the lips of every person in the world by tomorrow morning---" His fingers trembled a little as he pushed the silver brad out of the top of the manila folder and reached in to draw out the picture he knew it contained.

* * * * *


"How could I what, John?" Cynthia smiled and got up from the couch.

He fixed her with a hard stare. "You know."

"Do I? Come upstairs with me, John. I need to explain something to you."

Against his better judgment, John followed Cynthia toward the bank of elevators Julian had disappeared through mere minutes before. The doors whooshed shut on the perfect tableau of a marital quarrel: John pointing his finger accusingly at Cynthia who, for her part, merely had her arms crossed with a mischievous grin on her face.

"Now start explainin'."

"Well, there isn't much to say.... except I hope Gavin Adams is good at pictograms."

John blinked, not understanding where Cynthia was going with this. "What?"

Like a student who had just played the dirtiest trick in the book on her teacher and was now practically bursting to tell the whole world the results of her prank, Cynthia motioned for John to lean in. He did so after more than a little hesitation. She whispered gently into his ear as the elevator pulled to a stop at their floor.

* * * * *


The late evening janitorial staff were the only people around to hear the scream come from office A14 as Gavin opened the package labeled "URGENT" from Mrs. Lennon--- his boss leaning over his shoulder.

"WHAT THE HELL???!!!!!" Mr. Peterson exploded, grabbing the sheaf of paper out of Gavin's hand in one rapid motion. "Is this some kind of a sick joke, Adams?!"

"No sir!" Gavin's chest filled with indignation. He hadn't secured a good long look at what Mrs. Lennon had sent him, but one thing was crystal clear--- he'd been had.

Expecting to find a candid 8x10 of John Lennon backstage with his ex-bandmates, Paul, George and Ringo, Gavin was floored by what he discovered instead.

Mr. Peterson's burly hands yanked three sheets of paper from the envelope, his face red as a tomato.

The first was a picture of a human eye. 'I'

The next was a swirling tapered shaft. 'SCREW'

The last was a rather unflattering doodle of a man with an oversized rump, his finger jammed up his nose, and a name tag on the lapel of his coat that read: Mr. Peterson. 'YOU'

"Think you're funny do you?" The man spluttered. "Well, try this on for size, kid. You're FIRED."

Gavin pulled back in his chair as if he had been slapped across the face. He was absolutely slack-jawed in surprise. Not merely was he fired, but he'd been downright lied to by a reliable source. This was outrageous! He'd sue that woman for every last cent she was worth. This was a complete sabotage of his efforts. The courts would tear her apart and----- Of course you wouldn't have a leg to stand on, would you? Suing for a recent picture of a man who has been dead for 20 years. They'll think you're insane. He hated his brain sometimes. It was just too damn logical.

"Looks to me, son, like you're the only one who's been screwed around here."

By the next morning, there was a new kid in Gavin Adams' old office.... just as eager and willing to do whatever he had to for his boss, Mr. Peterson.

And as for the editor of the newspaper, he knew he could always replace this kid too. There were thousands here in Los Angeles looking for that big break. If one new kid didn't work out, that endless collection of dreamers would work out just as well.

Among those drifters now, Gavin had no idea where to turn. In anger, he took the last of his belongings, and his money, and headed out as far as his money would stretch. Once it was gone, he'd hitchhike.

Unlike all the other drifters, though.... Gavin knew where he was going.