Too Much Rain, Chapter 148
So...
In this chapter our heroes agree to a press conference in New York City, and all hell breaks loose!
Hope you enjoy. REMEMBER - THIS IS ALL ABSOLUTE MADE UP IMAGINARY FICTION!!!
Chapter 148
New York City
July 2001
After the more superficial personal news had been shared between John, Jason and Gerry, John said, “A dear friend of ours is dying.” He had wanted to share this information with someone he trusted, because he and Paul had been so careful not to mention this to anyone - so protective was George about his privacy, and so fiercely did he and Paul want to honor George’s wishes.
“Oh no!” Jason cried. “Who?”
“Our former band-mate, George Harrison.”
“The lead guitarist.” Gerry said this reflexively, and then looked embarrassed when both Jason and John stared at him in surprise. Too late he remembered he wasn’t supposed to know this much detail. He cleared his throat and said, “I’m very sorry to hear it.”
“And our other band-mate, Ringo...”
The drummer, Gerry thought, although this time he didn’t blurt it out loud.
“His daughter just had emergency brain surgery,” John revealed.
“That’s terrible - how old is she?” Jason asked, his eyes two pools of distress.
John had to think about that. “She was born just as the band was breaking up,” he reminded himself, “so she’s about 30, I guess.”
“How did her surgery go?”
“I spoke with Richie the other day. He said she had a completely successful operation - it was a benign tumor - but she is very weak, and it will be a long recovery. Apparently, for instance, she has a hard time finding words.”
“It’s a blessing they got it all. You know, I have a friend who had a stroke and suffered from aphasia for several months, but he’s as right as rain now,” Jason comforted.
Gerry asked, “And what about your friend George?”
John sighed heavily. “I’m not processing it yet. It doesn’t feel real. I keep hoping that there is a miracle, but we just went through this with Linda a few years ago, and the realistic side of me knows that there are no miracles once this disease reaches a certain phase.”
“How long has he got?” Jason asked quietly.
John’s face expressed his ignorance. “I have no idea, but they took it out of his throat four years ago. Then earlier this year they took it out of one of his lungs. He’s been in chemo ever since. And now - just this month - they found it in his brain.”
“Oh, ouch,” Gerry said.
“Yeah,” John said, defeated. “He’s in the middle of a very experimental treatment for this abroad. We talk to him every few days, and he always tries to sound like he’s doing well, but we can hardly recognize his voice.”
As John finished this depressing statement, Paul walked in. “You do know,” he announced to the room, “that the front door was wide open?”
Everyone chuckled. “And I’m sure you’ve closed it, haven’t you?” John teased, knowing that Paul’s behavior at times bordered on the OCD scale. After all, no one else had access to the floor, so why shouldn’t the door hang open?
Paul didn’t respond; he was busy giving Jason and Gerry his big, enveloping hugs.
Over dinner they discussed the things they always discussed together - books, movies, plays, music, politics and funny anecdotes. The conversation was suffused with wit, warmth and intelligence, with an occasional side trip into silliness. They then repaired to the sitting room to have their after-dinner drinks.
“Are you looking forward to your concerts here?” Gerry asked Paul shyly.
Paul said, “I look forward to every performance.” He looked a little sheepish. “I’m a born ham.”
“Yeah,” John laughed. “When Paul came out of the womb he was like - ta da! You know, doing a round of tap dancing and throwing his arms up in the air.” As they all laughed, Paul held his fire. Then he said,
“And when John came out of the womb, he was yawning, and he was mad at the doctor - ‘Dude - you spoiled my nap.’”
*****
The Next Morning
At the breakfast table, Paul brought up the subject of the press conference with John. John seemed to be in a calm, happy mood, and so it was a good moment to raise the troubling subject.
“So, Henry advises that we should do a press conference tomorrow, in advance of the show,” Paul said lightly, holding his breath. His elbows were on the table, and his hands were both holding on to his coffee cup, which was suspended in mid-air.
“A press conference! Is he out of his fucking mind?” John squeaked.
Paul had to laugh at John’s reaction. “He thinks it’s either that or an in depth interview on TV or for one of the print outlets.”
“I don’t understand why he keeps doing this to us! We have a clause in our contract that says we don’t have to promote our concerts if we don’t want to,” John argued.
“This isn’t coming from the promoters, John. This is Henry’s opinion that the New York press doesn’t like being spoon fed, and if we don’t give them something more substantial they’re liable to get nasty and start criticizing our concerts.”
John, exercised now, cried, “They’re already nasty. Look at that Post story!”
“Oh, we wouldn’t be talking to the tabloids directly, John. A legitimate news conference - tabloid reporters will be there, of course they will, but the real reporters will be there to keep them in line. Or else, that is what Henry thinks.”
“Maybe we should pick a tame reporter and just do another exclusive, like that really cool guy in San Francisco,” John suggested hopefully.
“He wasn’t tame, John. He empathized with us - no doubt he’s had to do his share of keeping things to himself over the years. He made a conscious choice to respect our privacy.” Paul’s face was thoughtful and serious. “The sad thing is, we are unlikely to find a New York reporter worth his salt who won’t insist upon asking the ‘usual question,’ and they won’t be satisfied until you directly comment on that Post story.”
John had listened to Paul with a deep intensity. Over the years he had learned that when Paul spoke like this he had something important to say, and it was no doubt true. He said, “I can’t comment on that Post story. What can I possibly say? Unless you think I should lie?”
Paul’s face reflected his open sympathy. “No, you don’t have to lie. You just handle it exactly as you did in that print interview about your volume of poetry. You were brilliant in that. If you respond in just that way, the legitimate press will be satisfied and will move on.”
“But the tabloids will double down...”
“They’re doubling-down already anyway though,” Paul observed.
John nodded. He had been trying to ignore the latest round of headlines about him and his alleged ‘gay antics’ from the New York tabloid press. He finally said, “I’ll do it, Paul, if you think it is best. But I’m not sure I can control my temper.”
“We’ll just have to count on Henry to jump in when it gets too hot.”
“Well, he didn’t ‘jump in’ to help me with that print interview a few months ago!” John was still smarting over that, apparently.
“I think he learned his lesson there. Anyway, I will make it clear to him what we expect from him,” Paul assured.
With that, the fateful decision was made.
*****
Press Conference
New York Hilton Hotel
Late July 2001
As soon as Paul had called Henry to tell him that the press conference was a ‘go’, Henry had sent out an all-points bulletin to his contacts in the legitimate press that John and Paul had decided to cede to their request for a press conference. Henry had laid down the ground rules - it would be 30 minutes long, period, and if John and Paul felt the questions were abusive of their privacy they would end the conference early. Henry knew better than to say, ‘no personal questions allowed,’ because he was aware that the main purpose of this interview was for John and Paul to be able to address those rumors directly, if only to tell everyone to mind their own business, in order to calm the gossip down. The conference was to be held at precisely 2:30 p.m. the day of the first Manhattan concert; John and Paul would leave for sound check immediately thereafter. Since sound check was at 4 p.m., this provided the perfect excuse for ending the conference precisely 30 minutes after it started.
Henry had arrived an hour early to observe how his assistants were setting up the room. There were 100 press packets of tour and album information that he’d had thrown together that morning to hand out to the attendees, and he brought the box containing these packets with him as he arrived. He was stunned to find what seemed to be many dozens of reporters waiting patiently in line outside the conference hall, and the line serpentined down the corridor. He was now worried that he hadn’t made enough press packets. He grabbed an assistant and told her to go back to the office and prepare 100 more, and get them back as soon as possible. She left the room at a trot.
Realizing that the conference was going to be packed, Henry quickly asked about the room limits as established by the NY Fire Department, and then made sure that the maximum number of chairs were fit in to the room. It was going to be first come, first serve, and if more than 200 reporters and photographers showed up they would not be allowed in the room. He was extremely nervous as the clock ticked down towards 2:30; he watched the television and video cameras being set up at the back of the room, and saw the still camera photographers staking out their spots, sitting on the floor in the front of the room, and along the sides. As the crowd grew to maximum strength, Henry became very worried. He wasn’t at all sure he could keep a crowd of New Yorkers this size contained for even 10 minutes, much less 30. New Yorkers did not take ‘no’ for an answer; that had been Henry’s experience anyway. Henry had managed to talk to the Rolling Stone reporter earlier in the day. He said he would call on Rolling Stone first, if the reporter would ask a question related solely to the concert, to which the reporter happily assented. He had intended to ask about the music anyway.
There was no time for backing out now, John thought as he and Paul arrived at the Hilton Hotel and traveled up the staff elevator to the conference room level. He and Paul were led down some private staff hallways to a small staff staging area behind the largest conference hall. They each picked up a bottle of water, and tried to keep from getting too nervous. They had 5 minutes to go before the start of the conference. Just then Henry burst in and was relieved to see them there. For one horrible moment he had worried that John might refuse to come at the last moment.
As soon as he hit the room he said excitedly, “It’s a full house - we’ve had to turn people away at the doors. There will be 200 reporters and photographers out there.” Henry wanted to get the ‘bad’ news out as quickly as he could.
“Two hundred?” John cried. He turned to Paul, his face a study in panic.
Instinctively, Paul moved in John’s direction and put his arm around John’s shoulders. “Piece of cake,” he whispered in John’s ear.
John’s eyes lit up with delight at Paul’s wordplay - “Too Many People!” He chuckled.
“Do you want me to make an introduction, or do you just want to walk in unannounced?” Henry asked.
“We’ll just walk in,” Paul said decisively, which is exactly what John would have said if he could talk. His heart was pounding so hard he was worried it might burst, and he wasn’t at all sure his voice would work.
*****
From the reporters’ point of view, the press conference was shaping up to be a pig fuck. There were too many reporters there, and only a few would be permitted to ask questions given the 30-minute time limit. The tabloid reporters figured they’d just have to shout out their questions louder than the legit press guys and hope that theirs would have to be answered in order to shut them up. The legit press was pissed that the tabloid press was there, because those guys did not follow the rules of large press conferences, where the most prestigious legitimate press outlets went first, and it was done in an orderly fashion. Yup, it was going to a pig fuck, but nothing to be done but get it over with.
Suddenly, and without any fanfare or warning, Paul McCartney and then John Lennon came in to the room from a door behind the podium, and took their places in seats at the table on the podium. The room was suddenly alight with flashes from cameras, and people were already shouting - “John!” “Paul!”
Henry was standing to the side, and with a hand mic he demanded that everyone be quiet, so the conference could start. “The longer you waste your time doing this, the shorter time you will have to ask questions,” he warned. Soon the reporters were shushing each other.
John and Paul watched all this with disbelieving amusement. They shared a quick look between them. Roller coaster time! They seemed to say to each other. John’s eyes danced. Maybe this could be fun after all.
Henry said, “The reporter from Rolling Stone...” and he pointed at the man sitting in the seat that had been saved for him, first row center. (Certain members of the legitimate press had assigned seats; everyone else was first come, first serve.)
“Your tour so far this year has broken all the records in terms of numbers of tickets sold and dollars grossed. And your new album has received fantastic reviews and has sold extremely well. Why do you think you are still so wildly popular after all these years?”
Paul thought to himself, Henry set that up, bless him, and then said, “We don’t know. We’ve never known. We like it though.”
“A lot,” John appended, with a Groucho leer.
The reporters, even the hard-bitten ones, had to chuckle a little. The Beatle charm was beginning to work it’s magic again.
Henry called on the radio reporter from the most popular classic rock music station in New York City, WAXG-FM. He had made another deal with this reporter in the hour before the press conference.
“Are you going to change up the set list for tonight? Any special surprises in store for the audience?” He asked.
Since John and Paul had made an effort to throw a few of their sound check songs into the mix that night, including a new sound check staple of theirs where they both took turns singing lead, Under the Boardwalk, John said, “There might be a surprise or two specially for New York,” and then he grinned cheerily. This was not so bad, he thought. Why was I so worried?
Henry held his breath. He had to call on the reporters blind now. He began by choosing one of the big television networks and crossed his fingers.
“John, there have been some pretty outrageous and salacious stories about you published in the New York Post, among other tabloids. Do you have any comment about those stories?” The reporter asked.
(This deeply offended Williams, the reporter from the Post, who nonetheless paid strict attention to John’s answer.)
John said matter-of-factly, “That story has been around a dog’s age and I’ve had to comment on it numerous times over the years. At a certain point I have to draw the line and say ‘I’m not going to comment anymore.’ Nothing I have said so far has made them stop printing it, and I doubt that anything I might say today would stop it either.”
“Follow up!” The Post reporter yelled from his seat in the third row. “It’s my story! I want a follow up!”
Henry looked over at John and Paul for guidance. Paul turned to John and gave him a reassuring smile. John shrugged ‘okay.’ So Henry called on Williams, the reporter who was behind the ‘Brad’ story.
“You have never denied this story outright,” he declared. “If it isn’t true, why not deny it? You’ve had plenty of opportunities.”
John felt his temper rising. He decided to give the bloke a dose of his own medicine. “Maybe I don’t like to give people like you the time of day.” Many reporters laughed, some applauded, and others hissed in shock. John then continued, “You crawl around in the gutter putting the worst spin on people’s perfectly innocent behavior, and then expect them to deny it? I don’t think I’m required to respond at all.” Again there was scattered applause, and several voices began shouting for attention again.
Henry called on another large television network. That reporter said, “Will you comment on the rumors about your...”
Both John and Paul joined the reporter in finishing his sentence: “...personal relationship?” Everyone laughed, relaxing now. It seemed that at least John and Paul were going to be good sports about it all.
John then responded, “Come on folks, you all know the drill.” John looked at Paul in silent encouragement. Then they both recited at once:
“We don’t comment on our personal lives.”
This was followed by a lot of good-natured laughter from the press. However, one reporter, near the back of the room, shouted, “It’s a bit ridiculous though that you won’t answer if it’s true or not!”
The room went quiet. John and Paul regrouped and then John said, “Well, we think it’s a bit ridiculous that you keep asking us a question that you know we won’t answer.”
Paul added, “It’s a bit of a distraction from what we’re here to talk about - our album and our tour.”
John added, “Yeah, as we’ve said ‘til we’re both blue in the face, our personal lives are not for sale.”
Another reporter from the back of the room shouted, “You could end the distraction by just answering the question!”
John turned to Paul and whispered theatrically (so that everyone could hear him), “Can I hit him now?” Paul appeared to take the question seriously, and then shrugged his shoulders as if to say, Fine by me. The room burst out in laughter.
John turned back to the reporters in mock outrage. “You’re a broken record - the whole pack of you!” More laughter.
Henry quickly called on the New York Times music reporter, hoping for a return to normalcy. That reporter, however, asked in an almost reproachful voice, “You are both very honest about everything else; why not this?”
Again the room went silent. The reporters waited with baited breath. It was Paul who finally responded.
“I’ve always thought that total honesty is a highly overrated virtue.”
From the back of the room again came another demanding shout: “But what’s the point of avoiding the question when we all know it’s true?”
Paul was beginning to get angry now. He had that resting bitch face that John knew so well. His voice got lower, the way it did when he was getting angry, and he said back to the reporter, “If you think you already know the answer, then why ask it?”
A reporter from the Village Voice - an out and proud gay man - shouted out, “It’s about time you spoke out about it!”
In that moment, John snapped. Later, he would not be able to say what had gotten into him. But, filled with manic energy he jumped up from his seat and threw his arms up in the air and shouted out, hilariously: “Alright! It’s true! I can’t take it anymore! You’ve driven me right off the edge! Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!”
At this point the entire room was howling with laughter. Paul - still seated calmly in his chair - was watching John with a slightly awed and amused expression on his face, which many photographers captured. But John wasn’t finished yet, his arms gesturing wildly:
“Are you satisfied now? Have we satisfied your creepy little minds? Will you leave us the fuck alone now?” John’s manic energy was filling the room, and overloading the senses of everyone around him. And then, suddenly - as suddenly as he had erupted - John stopped shouting. He took a number of deep breaths, and then plopped back down in this seat, and continued to breath deeply as he calmed himself down. He felt surreal but terribly satisfied. Fuck them all! He then smiled pleasantly at the room, making everyone laugh.
Paul had been watching John’s performance with a wry expression. John finally met his eyes, and Paul said directly to him, but speaking in a low, amused voice into the microphone, “Feeling better?”
Reporters, fascinated by what they had just experienced, laughed.
John muttered - directly to Paul, but aware that he had a full audience - “Sorry. Whatever it was, it’s out now.” Paul chuckled and turned back to the audience. He felt completely calm. He was relaxed in his seat, although he was leaning forward. He had his elbow on the table, and his cheekbone was resting in his hand.
“Paul! Paul!” A reporter shouted. “Are you surprised by what John just admitted?”
Paul regarded the room with a languid expression. He waited for judicious moment, and when he spoke he did so very calmly in a low lazy voice directly into the microphone. “Surprised? No.” He paused again briefly and added, “I already knew about it.” His face was the very picture of innocence.
The room exploded in laughter, and John let loose with a huge belly laugh. He felt exultant and relieved.
“But Paul!” a reporter shouted, “What do you think about what John said? Are you upset by it?”
John whispered to Paul, sotto voce, “They drove me to it, I swear.” This set loose another round of laughter.
Paul smiled and winked at John and then answered the reporter’s question. “What I have to say about John’s behavior just now - and, come to think of it, ever since I first met him - is that it is the living embodiment of the phrase, ‘I can’t take him anywhere.’”
Surprisingly, the laughing reporters burst into applause as John allowed his head to fall down on to his folded arms, laughing.
As the laughter finally petered out Paul, still cool and collected said, “Now. What were we talking about before all this nonsense? Something about a tour?”
“And an album...” John added helpfully.
*****
“Well, that was quite something,” Paul said to John and Henry as they settled in the limo taking them to the concert hall for sound check.
“Are you pissed at me?” John asked, a little fearfully.
Paul squeezed John’s hand and said, “No, of course not. We were going to have to address it sometime. I actually think this was the best possible way.”
“Really?” John asked, tremendously relieved.
“I think so too,” Henry interjected. “It was hilarious. Funniest damn thing I ever saw in a press conference in my whole career. It’s going to be all over the Internet and the press wires. Lots of publicity!”
“Yes, well...” John said nervously. He was looking worriedly in Paul’s direction. He didn’t think Paul would be too happy about Henry’s enthusiasm.
Paul noticed John’s concern and said, “That doesn’t exactly fill our hearts with joy, Henry.”
“But maybe now they’ll stop asking us about it,” John offered hopefully.
“No,” Paul said regretfully. “They’ll want to know more, and the questions will get more - not less - pointed. But it can’t be helped. It was bound to happen, and now we can plan around it.”
John felt bad. “It was just so fucking frustrating - the ugly slant they were putting on it - the things they were shouting. I wanted to ram it all down their throats.”
Paul laughed easily. “You certainly accomplished that! But they totally provoked you, John, and anyway, it was very entertaining. No one was bored at all.” Paul’s eyes were dancing, and John’s mind was set at ease.
But after a few moments John spoke more softly, and with additional tension: “We’re gonna hear from everyone about this now. The kids, our friends, we’ll be explaining forever, and oh...” John groaned as he had this thought, “Your brother...I never consider the fucking consequences!”
Paul said, “John, don’t worry. It will be okay. The kids, at least, will think it’s hysterical.”
John grinned sheepishly. “Stella will for sure. She’ll take the mickey out of me.”
Paul chuckled. “You’re on your own there, mate.”
*****
Jason and Gerry were going back to John and Paul’s apartment with them after the show. They had of course heard and seen all the screaming news headlines about John’s performance at the press conference, and had witnessed over and over on the news stations the video of John raving, but had been savvy enough not to mention it backstage or on the way to the apartment in their limo afterwards. But now they were comfortably arrayed around the sitting room. Paul had disappeared into the master suite where he was taking a shower and changing his clothes. John, who had already done so, was seated on one of the sea foam colored sofas, already starting his second helping of whiskey.
“I blew my top today,” he confessed to his friends.
“We heard,” Jason said, his face lit up with amusement.
“The whole bloody world heard, “ John moaned. “And are hearing it over and over now...”
“Paul certainly took it well. He looked completely unconcerned afterwards,” Gerry offered. He had been quite proud of his friend Paul’s reaction, actually. Cool as a cucumber.
John said, “I’m worried that he is faking it.”
“Why would he fake it?” Jason asked.
“He wouldn’t want to upset me. But I’m worried that underneath it all he’s pissed. He hates confrontation, and guards his privacy.”
“Don’t go borrowing trouble again, John,” Jason counseled. “Let things unfold. I’d be very surprised if Paul was angry at you.”
“Why is that?” John asked hopefully.
“Because, John, in my experience, he adores you and worships the ground you walk on.” Jason’s words were succinct and to the point. John blinked.
“That’s how it looks to you?” He asked, insecure.
“Deep inside you must know it’s true,” Jason chided.
Before John could answer, Paul came in to the room. He looked refreshed and chipper. There was a spring in his step. He plopped down on to the sofa next to John, and took the glass of whiskey Jason leaned over to hand him.
“So, John let the cat out of the bag today!” He announced cheerfully. “It’s such a fuckin’ relief to have that over with!”
*****
London
Early the Next Morning
“Oh my god Mary! Did you hear what John did?” Stella was almost apoplectic as she shouted into her cell phone.
“John? No. What did he do?” Mary’s heart was pounding. John was so unpredictable. He was liable to do anything. She had been up all night with Arthur, who had been fretful and feverish, so she had been focusing on him and hadn’t tuned into any media yet that morning.
“They had a press conference yesterday in New York, and they were being heckled by a few reporters about ‘the usual question,’ and John just blew a gasket!” Stella answered.
“What did he do?” Mary was very worried now.
“It was hilarious! It was great! You have to watch it - it’s all over the news and the Internet - and Daddy was so hilariously blasé about it!”
“But what did he say?” Mary was still in the dark, and becoming increasingly frustrated by it.
“He was yelling ‘Yes! It’s true! Are you happy now?’ It’s like he got fed up and just started yelling. He jumped up and down. It’s priceless. Go check it out on Google right now! Call me back after!” Stella hung up and picked up the phone to call her father and John in New York, but stopped when she realized it was only about 4 a.m. there. She would have to wait several more hours before she could call. She would have to wait several more hours until she could give John the ribbing of his life!
In this chapter our heroes agree to a press conference in New York City, and all hell breaks loose!
Hope you enjoy. REMEMBER - THIS IS ALL ABSOLUTE MADE UP IMAGINARY FICTION!!!
Chapter 148
New York City
July 2001
After the more superficial personal news had been shared between John, Jason and Gerry, John said, “A dear friend of ours is dying.” He had wanted to share this information with someone he trusted, because he and Paul had been so careful not to mention this to anyone - so protective was George about his privacy, and so fiercely did he and Paul want to honor George’s wishes.
“Oh no!” Jason cried. “Who?”
“Our former band-mate, George Harrison.”
“The lead guitarist.” Gerry said this reflexively, and then looked embarrassed when both Jason and John stared at him in surprise. Too late he remembered he wasn’t supposed to know this much detail. He cleared his throat and said, “I’m very sorry to hear it.”
“And our other band-mate, Ringo...”
The drummer, Gerry thought, although this time he didn’t blurt it out loud.
“His daughter just had emergency brain surgery,” John revealed.
“That’s terrible - how old is she?” Jason asked, his eyes two pools of distress.
John had to think about that. “She was born just as the band was breaking up,” he reminded himself, “so she’s about 30, I guess.”
“How did her surgery go?”
“I spoke with Richie the other day. He said she had a completely successful operation - it was a benign tumor - but she is very weak, and it will be a long recovery. Apparently, for instance, she has a hard time finding words.”
“It’s a blessing they got it all. You know, I have a friend who had a stroke and suffered from aphasia for several months, but he’s as right as rain now,” Jason comforted.
Gerry asked, “And what about your friend George?”
John sighed heavily. “I’m not processing it yet. It doesn’t feel real. I keep hoping that there is a miracle, but we just went through this with Linda a few years ago, and the realistic side of me knows that there are no miracles once this disease reaches a certain phase.”
“How long has he got?” Jason asked quietly.
John’s face expressed his ignorance. “I have no idea, but they took it out of his throat four years ago. Then earlier this year they took it out of one of his lungs. He’s been in chemo ever since. And now - just this month - they found it in his brain.”
“Oh, ouch,” Gerry said.
“Yeah,” John said, defeated. “He’s in the middle of a very experimental treatment for this abroad. We talk to him every few days, and he always tries to sound like he’s doing well, but we can hardly recognize his voice.”
As John finished this depressing statement, Paul walked in. “You do know,” he announced to the room, “that the front door was wide open?”
Everyone chuckled. “And I’m sure you’ve closed it, haven’t you?” John teased, knowing that Paul’s behavior at times bordered on the OCD scale. After all, no one else had access to the floor, so why shouldn’t the door hang open?
Paul didn’t respond; he was busy giving Jason and Gerry his big, enveloping hugs.
Over dinner they discussed the things they always discussed together - books, movies, plays, music, politics and funny anecdotes. The conversation was suffused with wit, warmth and intelligence, with an occasional side trip into silliness. They then repaired to the sitting room to have their after-dinner drinks.
“Are you looking forward to your concerts here?” Gerry asked Paul shyly.
Paul said, “I look forward to every performance.” He looked a little sheepish. “I’m a born ham.”
“Yeah,” John laughed. “When Paul came out of the womb he was like - ta da! You know, doing a round of tap dancing and throwing his arms up in the air.” As they all laughed, Paul held his fire. Then he said,
“And when John came out of the womb, he was yawning, and he was mad at the doctor - ‘Dude - you spoiled my nap.’”
*****
The Next Morning
At the breakfast table, Paul brought up the subject of the press conference with John. John seemed to be in a calm, happy mood, and so it was a good moment to raise the troubling subject.
“So, Henry advises that we should do a press conference tomorrow, in advance of the show,” Paul said lightly, holding his breath. His elbows were on the table, and his hands were both holding on to his coffee cup, which was suspended in mid-air.
“A press conference! Is he out of his fucking mind?” John squeaked.
Paul had to laugh at John’s reaction. “He thinks it’s either that or an in depth interview on TV or for one of the print outlets.”
“I don’t understand why he keeps doing this to us! We have a clause in our contract that says we don’t have to promote our concerts if we don’t want to,” John argued.
“This isn’t coming from the promoters, John. This is Henry’s opinion that the New York press doesn’t like being spoon fed, and if we don’t give them something more substantial they’re liable to get nasty and start criticizing our concerts.”
John, exercised now, cried, “They’re already nasty. Look at that Post story!”
“Oh, we wouldn’t be talking to the tabloids directly, John. A legitimate news conference - tabloid reporters will be there, of course they will, but the real reporters will be there to keep them in line. Or else, that is what Henry thinks.”
“Maybe we should pick a tame reporter and just do another exclusive, like that really cool guy in San Francisco,” John suggested hopefully.
“He wasn’t tame, John. He empathized with us - no doubt he’s had to do his share of keeping things to himself over the years. He made a conscious choice to respect our privacy.” Paul’s face was thoughtful and serious. “The sad thing is, we are unlikely to find a New York reporter worth his salt who won’t insist upon asking the ‘usual question,’ and they won’t be satisfied until you directly comment on that Post story.”
John had listened to Paul with a deep intensity. Over the years he had learned that when Paul spoke like this he had something important to say, and it was no doubt true. He said, “I can’t comment on that Post story. What can I possibly say? Unless you think I should lie?”
Paul’s face reflected his open sympathy. “No, you don’t have to lie. You just handle it exactly as you did in that print interview about your volume of poetry. You were brilliant in that. If you respond in just that way, the legitimate press will be satisfied and will move on.”
“But the tabloids will double down...”
“They’re doubling-down already anyway though,” Paul observed.
John nodded. He had been trying to ignore the latest round of headlines about him and his alleged ‘gay antics’ from the New York tabloid press. He finally said, “I’ll do it, Paul, if you think it is best. But I’m not sure I can control my temper.”
“We’ll just have to count on Henry to jump in when it gets too hot.”
“Well, he didn’t ‘jump in’ to help me with that print interview a few months ago!” John was still smarting over that, apparently.
“I think he learned his lesson there. Anyway, I will make it clear to him what we expect from him,” Paul assured.
With that, the fateful decision was made.
*****
Press Conference
New York Hilton Hotel
Late July 2001
As soon as Paul had called Henry to tell him that the press conference was a ‘go’, Henry had sent out an all-points bulletin to his contacts in the legitimate press that John and Paul had decided to cede to their request for a press conference. Henry had laid down the ground rules - it would be 30 minutes long, period, and if John and Paul felt the questions were abusive of their privacy they would end the conference early. Henry knew better than to say, ‘no personal questions allowed,’ because he was aware that the main purpose of this interview was for John and Paul to be able to address those rumors directly, if only to tell everyone to mind their own business, in order to calm the gossip down. The conference was to be held at precisely 2:30 p.m. the day of the first Manhattan concert; John and Paul would leave for sound check immediately thereafter. Since sound check was at 4 p.m., this provided the perfect excuse for ending the conference precisely 30 minutes after it started.
Henry had arrived an hour early to observe how his assistants were setting up the room. There were 100 press packets of tour and album information that he’d had thrown together that morning to hand out to the attendees, and he brought the box containing these packets with him as he arrived. He was stunned to find what seemed to be many dozens of reporters waiting patiently in line outside the conference hall, and the line serpentined down the corridor. He was now worried that he hadn’t made enough press packets. He grabbed an assistant and told her to go back to the office and prepare 100 more, and get them back as soon as possible. She left the room at a trot.
Realizing that the conference was going to be packed, Henry quickly asked about the room limits as established by the NY Fire Department, and then made sure that the maximum number of chairs were fit in to the room. It was going to be first come, first serve, and if more than 200 reporters and photographers showed up they would not be allowed in the room. He was extremely nervous as the clock ticked down towards 2:30; he watched the television and video cameras being set up at the back of the room, and saw the still camera photographers staking out their spots, sitting on the floor in the front of the room, and along the sides. As the crowd grew to maximum strength, Henry became very worried. He wasn’t at all sure he could keep a crowd of New Yorkers this size contained for even 10 minutes, much less 30. New Yorkers did not take ‘no’ for an answer; that had been Henry’s experience anyway. Henry had managed to talk to the Rolling Stone reporter earlier in the day. He said he would call on Rolling Stone first, if the reporter would ask a question related solely to the concert, to which the reporter happily assented. He had intended to ask about the music anyway.
There was no time for backing out now, John thought as he and Paul arrived at the Hilton Hotel and traveled up the staff elevator to the conference room level. He and Paul were led down some private staff hallways to a small staff staging area behind the largest conference hall. They each picked up a bottle of water, and tried to keep from getting too nervous. They had 5 minutes to go before the start of the conference. Just then Henry burst in and was relieved to see them there. For one horrible moment he had worried that John might refuse to come at the last moment.
As soon as he hit the room he said excitedly, “It’s a full house - we’ve had to turn people away at the doors. There will be 200 reporters and photographers out there.” Henry wanted to get the ‘bad’ news out as quickly as he could.
“Two hundred?” John cried. He turned to Paul, his face a study in panic.
Instinctively, Paul moved in John’s direction and put his arm around John’s shoulders. “Piece of cake,” he whispered in John’s ear.
John’s eyes lit up with delight at Paul’s wordplay - “Too Many People!” He chuckled.
“Do you want me to make an introduction, or do you just want to walk in unannounced?” Henry asked.
“We’ll just walk in,” Paul said decisively, which is exactly what John would have said if he could talk. His heart was pounding so hard he was worried it might burst, and he wasn’t at all sure his voice would work.
*****
From the reporters’ point of view, the press conference was shaping up to be a pig fuck. There were too many reporters there, and only a few would be permitted to ask questions given the 30-minute time limit. The tabloid reporters figured they’d just have to shout out their questions louder than the legit press guys and hope that theirs would have to be answered in order to shut them up. The legit press was pissed that the tabloid press was there, because those guys did not follow the rules of large press conferences, where the most prestigious legitimate press outlets went first, and it was done in an orderly fashion. Yup, it was going to a pig fuck, but nothing to be done but get it over with.
Suddenly, and without any fanfare or warning, Paul McCartney and then John Lennon came in to the room from a door behind the podium, and took their places in seats at the table on the podium. The room was suddenly alight with flashes from cameras, and people were already shouting - “John!” “Paul!”
Henry was standing to the side, and with a hand mic he demanded that everyone be quiet, so the conference could start. “The longer you waste your time doing this, the shorter time you will have to ask questions,” he warned. Soon the reporters were shushing each other.
John and Paul watched all this with disbelieving amusement. They shared a quick look between them. Roller coaster time! They seemed to say to each other. John’s eyes danced. Maybe this could be fun after all.
Henry said, “The reporter from Rolling Stone...” and he pointed at the man sitting in the seat that had been saved for him, first row center. (Certain members of the legitimate press had assigned seats; everyone else was first come, first serve.)
“Your tour so far this year has broken all the records in terms of numbers of tickets sold and dollars grossed. And your new album has received fantastic reviews and has sold extremely well. Why do you think you are still so wildly popular after all these years?”
Paul thought to himself, Henry set that up, bless him, and then said, “We don’t know. We’ve never known. We like it though.”
“A lot,” John appended, with a Groucho leer.
The reporters, even the hard-bitten ones, had to chuckle a little. The Beatle charm was beginning to work it’s magic again.
Henry called on the radio reporter from the most popular classic rock music station in New York City, WAXG-FM. He had made another deal with this reporter in the hour before the press conference.
“Are you going to change up the set list for tonight? Any special surprises in store for the audience?” He asked.
Since John and Paul had made an effort to throw a few of their sound check songs into the mix that night, including a new sound check staple of theirs where they both took turns singing lead, Under the Boardwalk, John said, “There might be a surprise or two specially for New York,” and then he grinned cheerily. This was not so bad, he thought. Why was I so worried?
Henry held his breath. He had to call on the reporters blind now. He began by choosing one of the big television networks and crossed his fingers.
“John, there have been some pretty outrageous and salacious stories about you published in the New York Post, among other tabloids. Do you have any comment about those stories?” The reporter asked.
(This deeply offended Williams, the reporter from the Post, who nonetheless paid strict attention to John’s answer.)
John said matter-of-factly, “That story has been around a dog’s age and I’ve had to comment on it numerous times over the years. At a certain point I have to draw the line and say ‘I’m not going to comment anymore.’ Nothing I have said so far has made them stop printing it, and I doubt that anything I might say today would stop it either.”
“Follow up!” The Post reporter yelled from his seat in the third row. “It’s my story! I want a follow up!”
Henry looked over at John and Paul for guidance. Paul turned to John and gave him a reassuring smile. John shrugged ‘okay.’ So Henry called on Williams, the reporter who was behind the ‘Brad’ story.
“You have never denied this story outright,” he declared. “If it isn’t true, why not deny it? You’ve had plenty of opportunities.”
John felt his temper rising. He decided to give the bloke a dose of his own medicine. “Maybe I don’t like to give people like you the time of day.” Many reporters laughed, some applauded, and others hissed in shock. John then continued, “You crawl around in the gutter putting the worst spin on people’s perfectly innocent behavior, and then expect them to deny it? I don’t think I’m required to respond at all.” Again there was scattered applause, and several voices began shouting for attention again.
Henry called on another large television network. That reporter said, “Will you comment on the rumors about your...”
Both John and Paul joined the reporter in finishing his sentence: “...personal relationship?” Everyone laughed, relaxing now. It seemed that at least John and Paul were going to be good sports about it all.
John then responded, “Come on folks, you all know the drill.” John looked at Paul in silent encouragement. Then they both recited at once:
“We don’t comment on our personal lives.”
This was followed by a lot of good-natured laughter from the press. However, one reporter, near the back of the room, shouted, “It’s a bit ridiculous though that you won’t answer if it’s true or not!”
The room went quiet. John and Paul regrouped and then John said, “Well, we think it’s a bit ridiculous that you keep asking us a question that you know we won’t answer.”
Paul added, “It’s a bit of a distraction from what we’re here to talk about - our album and our tour.”
John added, “Yeah, as we’ve said ‘til we’re both blue in the face, our personal lives are not for sale.”
Another reporter from the back of the room shouted, “You could end the distraction by just answering the question!”
John turned to Paul and whispered theatrically (so that everyone could hear him), “Can I hit him now?” Paul appeared to take the question seriously, and then shrugged his shoulders as if to say, Fine by me. The room burst out in laughter.
John turned back to the reporters in mock outrage. “You’re a broken record - the whole pack of you!” More laughter.
Henry quickly called on the New York Times music reporter, hoping for a return to normalcy. That reporter, however, asked in an almost reproachful voice, “You are both very honest about everything else; why not this?”
Again the room went silent. The reporters waited with baited breath. It was Paul who finally responded.
“I’ve always thought that total honesty is a highly overrated virtue.”
From the back of the room again came another demanding shout: “But what’s the point of avoiding the question when we all know it’s true?”
Paul was beginning to get angry now. He had that resting bitch face that John knew so well. His voice got lower, the way it did when he was getting angry, and he said back to the reporter, “If you think you already know the answer, then why ask it?”
A reporter from the Village Voice - an out and proud gay man - shouted out, “It’s about time you spoke out about it!”
In that moment, John snapped. Later, he would not be able to say what had gotten into him. But, filled with manic energy he jumped up from his seat and threw his arms up in the air and shouted out, hilariously: “Alright! It’s true! I can’t take it anymore! You’ve driven me right off the edge! Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!”
At this point the entire room was howling with laughter. Paul - still seated calmly in his chair - was watching John with a slightly awed and amused expression on his face, which many photographers captured. But John wasn’t finished yet, his arms gesturing wildly:
“Are you satisfied now? Have we satisfied your creepy little minds? Will you leave us the fuck alone now?” John’s manic energy was filling the room, and overloading the senses of everyone around him. And then, suddenly - as suddenly as he had erupted - John stopped shouting. He took a number of deep breaths, and then plopped back down in this seat, and continued to breath deeply as he calmed himself down. He felt surreal but terribly satisfied. Fuck them all! He then smiled pleasantly at the room, making everyone laugh.
Paul had been watching John’s performance with a wry expression. John finally met his eyes, and Paul said directly to him, but speaking in a low, amused voice into the microphone, “Feeling better?”
Reporters, fascinated by what they had just experienced, laughed.
John muttered - directly to Paul, but aware that he had a full audience - “Sorry. Whatever it was, it’s out now.” Paul chuckled and turned back to the audience. He felt completely calm. He was relaxed in his seat, although he was leaning forward. He had his elbow on the table, and his cheekbone was resting in his hand.
“Paul! Paul!” A reporter shouted. “Are you surprised by what John just admitted?”
Paul regarded the room with a languid expression. He waited for judicious moment, and when he spoke he did so very calmly in a low lazy voice directly into the microphone. “Surprised? No.” He paused again briefly and added, “I already knew about it.” His face was the very picture of innocence.
The room exploded in laughter, and John let loose with a huge belly laugh. He felt exultant and relieved.
“But Paul!” a reporter shouted, “What do you think about what John said? Are you upset by it?”
John whispered to Paul, sotto voce, “They drove me to it, I swear.” This set loose another round of laughter.
Paul smiled and winked at John and then answered the reporter’s question. “What I have to say about John’s behavior just now - and, come to think of it, ever since I first met him - is that it is the living embodiment of the phrase, ‘I can’t take him anywhere.’”
Surprisingly, the laughing reporters burst into applause as John allowed his head to fall down on to his folded arms, laughing.
As the laughter finally petered out Paul, still cool and collected said, “Now. What were we talking about before all this nonsense? Something about a tour?”
“And an album...” John added helpfully.
*****
“Well, that was quite something,” Paul said to John and Henry as they settled in the limo taking them to the concert hall for sound check.
“Are you pissed at me?” John asked, a little fearfully.
Paul squeezed John’s hand and said, “No, of course not. We were going to have to address it sometime. I actually think this was the best possible way.”
“Really?” John asked, tremendously relieved.
“I think so too,” Henry interjected. “It was hilarious. Funniest damn thing I ever saw in a press conference in my whole career. It’s going to be all over the Internet and the press wires. Lots of publicity!”
“Yes, well...” John said nervously. He was looking worriedly in Paul’s direction. He didn’t think Paul would be too happy about Henry’s enthusiasm.
Paul noticed John’s concern and said, “That doesn’t exactly fill our hearts with joy, Henry.”
“But maybe now they’ll stop asking us about it,” John offered hopefully.
“No,” Paul said regretfully. “They’ll want to know more, and the questions will get more - not less - pointed. But it can’t be helped. It was bound to happen, and now we can plan around it.”
John felt bad. “It was just so fucking frustrating - the ugly slant they were putting on it - the things they were shouting. I wanted to ram it all down their throats.”
Paul laughed easily. “You certainly accomplished that! But they totally provoked you, John, and anyway, it was very entertaining. No one was bored at all.” Paul’s eyes were dancing, and John’s mind was set at ease.
But after a few moments John spoke more softly, and with additional tension: “We’re gonna hear from everyone about this now. The kids, our friends, we’ll be explaining forever, and oh...” John groaned as he had this thought, “Your brother...I never consider the fucking consequences!”
Paul said, “John, don’t worry. It will be okay. The kids, at least, will think it’s hysterical.”
John grinned sheepishly. “Stella will for sure. She’ll take the mickey out of me.”
Paul chuckled. “You’re on your own there, mate.”
*****
Jason and Gerry were going back to John and Paul’s apartment with them after the show. They had of course heard and seen all the screaming news headlines about John’s performance at the press conference, and had witnessed over and over on the news stations the video of John raving, but had been savvy enough not to mention it backstage or on the way to the apartment in their limo afterwards. But now they were comfortably arrayed around the sitting room. Paul had disappeared into the master suite where he was taking a shower and changing his clothes. John, who had already done so, was seated on one of the sea foam colored sofas, already starting his second helping of whiskey.
“I blew my top today,” he confessed to his friends.
“We heard,” Jason said, his face lit up with amusement.
“The whole bloody world heard, “ John moaned. “And are hearing it over and over now...”
“Paul certainly took it well. He looked completely unconcerned afterwards,” Gerry offered. He had been quite proud of his friend Paul’s reaction, actually. Cool as a cucumber.
John said, “I’m worried that he is faking it.”
“Why would he fake it?” Jason asked.
“He wouldn’t want to upset me. But I’m worried that underneath it all he’s pissed. He hates confrontation, and guards his privacy.”
“Don’t go borrowing trouble again, John,” Jason counseled. “Let things unfold. I’d be very surprised if Paul was angry at you.”
“Why is that?” John asked hopefully.
“Because, John, in my experience, he adores you and worships the ground you walk on.” Jason’s words were succinct and to the point. John blinked.
“That’s how it looks to you?” He asked, insecure.
“Deep inside you must know it’s true,” Jason chided.
Before John could answer, Paul came in to the room. He looked refreshed and chipper. There was a spring in his step. He plopped down on to the sofa next to John, and took the glass of whiskey Jason leaned over to hand him.
“So, John let the cat out of the bag today!” He announced cheerfully. “It’s such a fuckin’ relief to have that over with!”
*****
London
Early the Next Morning
“Oh my god Mary! Did you hear what John did?” Stella was almost apoplectic as she shouted into her cell phone.
“John? No. What did he do?” Mary’s heart was pounding. John was so unpredictable. He was liable to do anything. She had been up all night with Arthur, who had been fretful and feverish, so she had been focusing on him and hadn’t tuned into any media yet that morning.
“They had a press conference yesterday in New York, and they were being heckled by a few reporters about ‘the usual question,’ and John just blew a gasket!” Stella answered.
“What did he do?” Mary was very worried now.
“It was hilarious! It was great! You have to watch it - it’s all over the news and the Internet - and Daddy was so hilariously blasé about it!”
“But what did he say?” Mary was still in the dark, and becoming increasingly frustrated by it.
“He was yelling ‘Yes! It’s true! Are you happy now?’ It’s like he got fed up and just started yelling. He jumped up and down. It’s priceless. Go check it out on Google right now! Call me back after!” Stella hung up and picked up the phone to call her father and John in New York, but stopped when she realized it was only about 4 a.m. there. She would have to wait several more hours before she could call. She would have to wait several more hours until she could give John the ribbing of his life!