What the fuck is wrong with me, Paul wondered as he shoved his hands in his leather trouser pockets and crossed the street. This was madness.
Ok, so far he had worked out that George would probably not be feeling happy, irrationally angry, or murderous. Erm, perhaps he would just feel sad? Sad that Paul defiled his best friend.
Wait a minute….
Why did it fucking matter that he shagged Gabby!!!!!
It didn’t matter!
But it did. Paul knew that. He didn’t know why but he knew that after it happened, she felt guilty, he felt guilty and George would not pleased with the situation. But it was fucking confusing because he didn’t know why. Platonic friends don’t care for each other in a romantic sense. *Paul* cared for Gabby in a romantic sense, but George did not. There for, it made sense, for him to go about being with her.
But he still wasn’t going to tell George. In the back of his mind Paul envisioned himself telling George ‘hey mate, sorry I shagged yer best friend’ and then consequently, being beat over the head with George’s Rickenbacker. Even though he didn’t have a Rickenbacker, a real one was several hundred quid. George had a knock-off, and had written ‘Rickenbacker’ on sellotape and stuck it to the neck of his guitar for a laugh.
“Oh Fuck” Paul muttered, he ran a hand through his hair and tried to concentrate on getting back without getting hit by a car. “I’m going mental, I am”
He came up with a lie that would get him past the interrogator known as Lennon. Hopefully he would be busy with a bird, otherwise he would be grilled on where he was. Best to just say he passed out in Astrid’s kitchen.
Upon entering the Kaiserkeller he found it quite empty. Inside his head, Paul was still entertaining images of death upon blurting out “I shagged Gabby” to George.
John came skipping out from behind the bar then. He saw Paul and waved flirtatiously while skipping over to him, he did a giant twirl triple axle thingy whatsit and landed with great flourish. Then fell over laughing.
“Hey Lennon” Paul said softly
As John barked “Where the fuck did you get off to McCartney?” in mock nazi general type voice.
“I passed out”
“Hey, John” George’s voice from behind the bar, “What comes after P?”
“Er… “ John paused and looked at Paul “What comes after P?” he hissed loudly
Paul shrugged
“S!” John yelled back
There was a pause and then George’s laughter could be heard “No it isn’t you silly twit. P, *Q* R, S. Honestly it’s a good thing you’re a musician”
“I know” sad John standing up and walking back towards the bar, Paul followed “I get birds, *and* music. It’s gear that, innit?”
“Gear” Paul echoed, he leaned his elbows against the edge of the bar and clicked his tongue “What’re you doin down there Georgie?”
George’s head popped up again, he gave Paul a withering look “Alphabetizing the drinks’
John laughed, looking pleased “We got ourselves into a bit of trouble, you know how it goes They’re making us pay for it by working at the bar”
“And alphabetizing” George groaned “What comes after S?”
“T” came a sleepy voice, George seemed unperturbed and started gathering all the liquors that started with T. Pete slowly rose up next to him and looked around “What time is it?” he yawned
“Two, nearly” Said John, looking at Paul’s watch. “Why, you gotta date?”
“No, I’m sleeping some more” Pete mumbled he stood up and started for the stairs despite the fact the other three Beatles were yelling for him to come back and do his time. Pete turned though and looked at Paul.
“So, did you shag Gabby last night? Is that where you were?” he asked, a grin on his face. Paul knew he was having him on. Just to be a poncey git because he had nothing better to do.
“No, actually” he said, surprise that it came out like that rather then :“Whha.. I mean, no! No of course not… I , what? Gabby? Gabby who?” Paul wasn’t a very good liar. But he would get better. So thank god he was spared when Pete went.
“Why not, bet she’s fucking magnificent. Such a hot little--”
“Pete!” George cut him off, he was holding a bottle of Bourbon threateningly by the neck, Paul reckoned it just happened to be in his hand at the time but then, what was Bourbon doing in the ’T’s’ oh god. Random thoughts. Shut up brain!
“Shut up mate,” George cautioned, frowning “Just fuck off, stop being a prick, or I’ll bash yer head in me self”
Pete snorted “yeah right” he said stiffly, for some reason, even though the four of them were all going through the starvation, exhaustion, alcoholism, and the general madness entailing Hamburg. Pete was perhaps the first one to crack. “I don’t get any of this” he muttered and then turned and walked way, still muttering but they couldn’t pick up on any of it.
John leaned over the bar and put his arm around George’s shoulders, an awkward thing to do really considering he had to stretch the length of the bar to reach him. “I understand George, don’t worry”
“D’you?” asked George, raising his eyebrows
“Er… no not really” John laughed “But I’ll try to keep me nose out of it, mate”
“And oh, what a large nose it is” Paul giggled, George laughed as well. John just ignored them and hopped over the counter to start helping.
“Hey George” asked Paul,
“Yeah?”
“About Gabby…”
George groaned and dropped a bottle of tequila on the counter “Man, give it a fucking rest, all right? Get a life and stop worrying over her. She’s me mate and I take care of her like I would you. Drop it”
John found this very very funny for some reason and proceeded to laugh loudly, only getting louder still when George and Paul exchanged a glance that clearly said ‘yep, he’s a mad one, he is’
“I’m sorry” John laughed “But does that mean if old Petey-poo was talkin all hot and dirty about…er… Paul! Does that mean you would threaten to bash ‘is ‘ead in with a bottle o’ jack?”
“Yeah,” George grinned while Paul pulled a face at the idea of being talked nastily about by Pete. “I would bash ‘is ‘ead in Johnny” continued George “Because I *know* how much Paulie hates the idea of butt love”
This just sent them into a further spasm of giggles and laughter at the new term for er…. Homoerotic pleasure.