Montana clapped her hands together and held out her palms at Trixie “I give her a ten!” she announced. Trixie just laughed and took a swig from her brown bag clad bottle of Whiskey.
Gabrielle collapsed in a heap next to the slowly spreading sick in the grass. They were sitting in a large park outside of San Francisco. Getting drunk. Again.
Her mouth moved in silent words and she finally said “….oh…” and brought the back of her hand to wipe her face. The veins on her hand were sticking out like huge swollen chords. It was making her sick to her stomach to look at her hand. That’s never good. The hand shook before her face. She winced and pressed it to her chest.
“I dislike eating cows” she muttered
Joan, who had just come back from parking the van some ways away laughed. “See, eating meat is mad for you”
“Since when can you get sick eating a cheeseburger” Trixie laughed
Gabrielle moaned “Apparently you can- just think about it- Baez” she jerked her thumb at Joan “Is right. A murdered bloody cow sounds good for brecky? Eh?”
“You were hungry” Trixie shrugged
“For the first time in a year” Montana added jokingly
Gabrielle rolled away from her puddle and buried her face in her arm. San Francisco was not what she had been imagining. She wasn’t really sure what she had been imagining. Maybe a bunch of leather clad teddies running around with Rickenbackers like back in Liverpool. Instead it was a blazing sun shine in the beginning of December, and loads more folkies. They ran into Bob Dylan and Joan Baez nearing their second week of straight partying and drinking which resulted in more drinking and partying.
Bob was off with the Grateful Dead now, a local band he’d taken a fancy too and besides- as he had informed Gabrielle- he was tired at looking at her ugly mug.
In the past two weeks Joan and Gabby had become relatively good friends. Gabby had a feeling… that Joan was mildly threatened by her. After all, no one got along with Bob Dylan. Further more no one liked Bob Dylan and had the feeling reciprocated.
The high point of her life. Bob Dylan thought she was an ok girl. And he hated everyone but Joan.
Joan was now nudging Gabby with her sandaled foot. “Gabby” she whined “My bestest friend…. Come on, are you all right”
“Fuck off!” Gabrielle moaned “Go play a concert or something”
Joan laughed. “No, I wasn’t to hang out with normal people again tonight, dig it?” She pulled Gabrielle up by her forearms “There? All right?”
Gabby nodded blankly. “Where can we gets some drugs? I feel like”
“Dexies!” Trixie announced and the shoveled around in her pocket “I got them from Garcia, that silly sod”
“Sod” Montana snorted and shook her head “I need a ciggie”
“Oooh” Joan sat down next to Gabby and Trixie, Montana sat as well. “Share the wealth”
“You’re rich” Montana said dryly “Can’t you buy your own cigarettes?” she non the less handed out fags to everyone but Gabby.
“Why don’t you smoke?” asked Joan curiously when Gabby declined.
Gabrielle raised her eyebrows. “Wot? Erm… I dunno.” She shrugged “Me mates smoke. I can’t stand the smell. On me I mean. Like, remember Paul?” the all nodded “He smelled like cigarettes… and soap… and” she closed her eyes, a picture of Paul burned into her brain. God… she missed him. It felt strange. She missed her father and Paul…. And John and Cynthia too. Very much. But for some reason when she thought about George she just didn’t’ feel… anything. Numb rather. “And… he” she giggled and looked down at her hands “He always… you can’t smell sugar you know… but you can taste it. Well… I don’t know he always sort of reminded me of something… sugar coated.”
“What did George smell like?” Montana wanted to know
“George?” Joan asked “I’ve heard of Paul- but who was George? Your boyfriend?”
Gabrielle pulled at her fingers, cracking and popping them out of sockets and then twisting them back in. It was a detached sort of numb pain that reminded her of George. Oh.
“No” she said softly, pulling her leather jacket closely around herself. “He was my… “
“Best friend” Montana said grinning “More like twin brother, they look alike you know”
“Really?” Joan asked, her eyes lighting up “What? Known each other since childhood?”
“Yeah” Trixie agreed “Same eyes… only yours are green and bigger, but same expressions and eyelashes. Same hair. Same high cheekbones and jaw line and perky nose. Your eyebrows are nicer.” She giggled “Same mouth, the shape of your lips- well, he had a rather girly mouth. So… and same teeth” she grinned
“Have you met them?” Joan asked
“What? No.” Trixie shook her head laughing “I’ve seen enough pictures and heard enough stories though. It’s mad. I feel like I know him.”
“Are you sure you weren’t separated at birth?” Montana joked “That would explain it”
Gabrielle was unexplainably horrified and repulsed by the thought of being George’s twin. And then she felt sad… and confused at her reaction. But her stomach was turning thinking about him as her own brother… it was… very very weird because she felt more like a sister to him then anything else.
She pulled he jacket around her closer, taking a deep breath.
“So” Montana urged “What did he smell like?”
“I… don’t remember” Gabrielle said slowly. Where as Paul’s face was burned on her memory in a picture… George’s seemed to be fading.
She pressed her nose to the collar of her jacket carefully, the scent of cigarettes, sweat, and cheep cologne filling her nose and lifting her heart up to her throat.
“What?” asked Montana, seeing the look on her friend’s face. He stubbed out her fag in the grass and grabbed the collar of the jacket, sniffing and then frowning “You smoke? What? No you don’t…”
“What are you on about Zedral?” Joan laughed
“That jacket” Montana said in a sing-song voice “Smells of smoke. SO this means that our Gabby has either been smoking behind our backs, which makes no sense at all or…” she gave Gabrielle an expectant look
Joan and Trixie leaned forward.
“What?” Gabrielle asked her voice cracking “I… what? It’s… it’s” she pressed her nose into the collar again.
“On the bus, on the bus, everyone on the bus” A very drunken seventeen year old John Lennon sang as he was lifted up the stairs of the double decker by Pete and Ivan. They dumped him in a seat near the front and then retreated to the back to conspire.
“Ignore them” Paul said cheerily to George, who was chewing on his lips and looking a bit insecure. Gabrielle elbowed him in the arm. Paul grasped her hand and led them to the first couple of seats. The bus started up and Paul plopped down in one. Gabrielle sat across from him, not sure what to make of this Paul McCartney. George sa next to her, offering a weak smile.
“So” Paul asked Gabby “Are you into music?”
“Of course” she said, glancing at George. He scooted closer to her and draped an arm around her shoulder. “Erm… what time is it?”
Paul checked his watch “Nearly three”
Gabrielle yawned and dropped her head on George’s shoulder “Oh, god… good thing I’ve not got to wake up tomorrow.”
“Are you cold?” Paul asked, gesturing to her short sleeved dress.
Gabrielle gave him a small smile “Neh, well…kind of. I’ll live, you know”
Paul and George began to talk enthusiastically about guitars and the like, she became extremely board and though about how she would get into her house without her mum or dad noticing. Maybe climb the terrace. That always worked.
She began to feel the pull of sleep and decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea to just close her eyes for a bit. Paul was a nice enough a guy and George was there and there was at least another twenty minutes before they were on the right side of Liverpool.
George noticed her head falling sideways and took off his brown leather jacket. He balled it up and placed it under her head tenderly before resuming his chat with Paul.
"So," said Paul with a smug grin on his face, "Told you he was good Lennon"
John, who was passed a few seats behind Paul, simply groaned something to the extent of ‘Piss off’.
"Is he always like that?" asked George, looking over the seat at John.
"What drunk?" asked Paul "Or a bastard?"
"Eh… a bastard?"
"Oh then yeah he is" the older boy laughed "But he can’t help it, and he’s not all that bad really."
Gabrielle pulled George’s jacket up closer to her face and breathed in the heady scent. Cigarettes, cheep cologn and sweat. Also… something that she couldn’t put her finger on… something nice that perked eher sense up. Something George.
Paul gestured to Gabrielle with his head "So you two aren’t like" he quirked his eyebrows up and down suggestively "You know"
"What?" said George distractedly "Gab and I? Nah, just mates"
"Ah, come one, you’ve never wanted to give her a pull then?"
"No" said George, he shook his head and looked over at Gabrielle "After you’ve taken baths with someone it’s hard to want to shag them" he glanced back at Paul and saw a mechanical smile on his face.
"You take baths together?" Paul chuckled, and his eyes sparkled deviously.
George laughed "Bugger off! You know that’s not what I mean. When we were fucking little, you daft git"
Paul just giggled some more, his teenage mind working into overdrive. "Sure it was" he laughed
She let them think she was asleep until the bus stopped. The three fourteen year olds clambered of, and once they got down on the street below Gabrielle pulled George’s jacket on and shuddered.
"Hey that’s mine" said George, tugging at the sleeve impatiently.
Gabrielle whined "But I’m cold Georgie, I’m freezing me bollocks off"
"Oh come off it, it’s the middle of August" said Paul, grinning "You know you just want that lovely George smell all over you, don’t you"
They laughed and Gabrielle sniffed the collar of the jacket "Ew, oh god. Smells like fags and cheap cologne"
Paul batted his eyelashes at George "I bet all the girls tell you that" he said in a falsetto voice
"No" said George "Only the rude ones with daft cow eyes"
*
Gabrielle looked at Montana, the memory overwhelming her. Isn’t it funny how you can recall whole chunks of time, and everything that is said? She blinked “Um… it’s George’s” she laughed “I stole it from him like five or six years ago… do I have daft cow eyes?”
*
George pressed listened to the phone ring. And ring. And ring and ring. The sound was turning him inside out. He leaned his head against the glass of the pay booth. He felt sick and he was in a cold sweat. His heavy dark fringe was in his eyes, and the winging bits near his ear was plastered across his cheek. His stomach churned and he fell to his knees, being violently sick again. When nothing was left to retch he dry heaved, his fingers gritting into the concrete. Oh man.
*
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