The recording session finally ended after 1 a.m. An exhausted Ringo and George said their good-nights and went to their cars. But the final surge of creativity had re-enervated Paul, and he was rather too wound up to sleep.
"Aye, Johnny," he said as John was putting on his jacket, "Let's stop off at the Scotch for a drink, eh?"
John, not that eager to return home to his waiting wife and child, agreed. "Just one or two or Cyn will have my head." He grabbed Paul and gleefully pinned his head between his side and right arm, rubbing Paul's scalp with his knuckles. "You night owl, you."
"Ow, sod off!" Paul wrestled out of John's grasp and flung a punch his way.
They decided to park a few blocks away and walk to the club. The night was crisp, the earthy smell of spring in the air as they strolled along the path under a bright moon. Suddenly John looked around and grabbed Paul by the arm. "What's that?"
Startled, Paul stopped and listened intently. Then he heard the long, drawn-out sound of John passing wind. "Bloody hell," he snorted. "What have you been eating?" He stepped away from John who was laughing like a goon.
"Pickled onions," John whispered sottovoce.
The Scotch was a regular hang-out for the Beatles as well as numerous other swinging names in the music business. Tonight was a rather quiet night, being as late as it was. No live bands were performing and only a few noisy drunken groups punctuated the canned music coming from the speakers. Several couples swayed slowly on the dance floor, apparently unaware of where they were as they pressed up against each other's bodies.
John and Paul went to the bar and sat down. Paul ordered a martini. John gave him a funny look. "Well, can't get in a rut, you know," Paul said. John smiled and ordered the usual scotch and coke.
Lazily leaning back in his chair, John commented, "When aren't you in rut, Paul?"
Paul gave him a sharp glance and shushed him as a giggling group of young women passed by them, winking coyly and smiling. "Hullo, girls," Paul said smoothly. They tittered and continued past in a cloud of cloying perfume.
John had just taken a sip of his drink when his eyes snagged on the sight of a familiar face. "Aye, it's the bird from the studio," he said in some surprise.
Paul looked up from the cigarette he was lighting to where John was staring. Sure enough, the same long black hair, dark eyes, and amazing figure, now dressed in a very short red dress with seamed stockings and stiletto heels.
She was sitting with a man dressed in a stuffy business suit, and it seemed to both John and Paul that she was bored stiff.
John winked at Paul. "Come 'ead, let's give her a pull."
Paul swilled some gin in his mouth before answering. "Gentlemen prefer blondes," he said.
"Get on! You don't care as long as they have tits and clits," John said crudely.
"Aye, watch it," Paul chided. "I don't know how you can pick up anybody with such charm. Besides, you're married, remember?"
"Come on! I won't DO anything. I'll just learn from you, oh my master."
"Right, don't you forget it," Paul retorted jokingly. "Ok, let's go chat her up."
A greasy musician had been about to approach the woman's table, but he slunk off in defeat at the sight of the two Beatles zeroing in. They stood next to the table as the man in the suit looked up at them in recognition and surprise.
"I say! The Beatles, isn't it? Well, this is indeed a treat," he gushed.
John hid his smirk as best he could while Paul politely replied, "Yes, well, how do you do, nice to meet you."
The exotic woman was giving them a sidelong look of hope as she picked up her wine glass and took a sip of the dark red liquid. A musky, almost primitive scent rose from her. It stirred John's senses. "If you don't mind me asking," he said to her, "What is that scent you're wearing?"
She smiled and answered in a low, dulcet voice. "Do you like it? It's a unique blend of sandlewood and myrrh that a local perfumery mixes for me."
"It quite suits you," he said, transfixed.
Paul looked at John's nearly stupified face and was almost embarrassed for him. The last time John ever appeared so wacked out on a bird was when he had his teenage crush on Bridgitte Bardot. He looked down at the woman's face, noting her porcelain complexion, her full lips painted a deep red to match her dress. She bent over to adjust one of her heels and the angle afforded Paul and John an ample glimpse of her creamy cleavage. She straightened and Paul could've sworn he heard John let out a sigh.
"Something wrong?" The woman addressed Paul directly for the first time. He met her gaze, again discomfitted by the undercurrent of lust running there. He was used to women making advances toward him, but so far she had done nothing more than look at him with those gleaming eyes. Yet it reminded him of a tigress watching her prey.
Calmly he replied, "No, not at all. My friend here would like to join you."
"Why that would be lovely." She smiled with those even, white teeth and turned back to the business man. "You will excuse us, won't you?"
"Oh, eh, I...certainly," the man stuttered at this obvious dismissal.
Lucia could see that John was easily under her spell, the incantations she'd woven over her perfume obviously affecting him. But once again, Paul evaded her, seemed almost disturbed by her presence. Perhaps he had a hint of sixth sense, she mused. Damn. She would have to rely on her own formidable charms. He was so beautiful standing there with a glass and cigarette poised in one hand, the other in the pocket of his tight-fitting trousers.
Paul watched her tongue dart out to lick those luscious red lips. He glanced at John and gave him a quick jab in the side. The idiot looked like he was going to start panting at any moment. While the woman moved forward to murmur a good-bye to the downcast businessman, Paul leaned over and whispered in John's ear, "What the hell is wrong with you? Wake up!"
That jolted John out of his daze and he whispered back, "She's just...amazing...there's some kind of incredible karma around her."
Paul snorted. "Karma? It's plain, simple bitch in heat, Johnny. Come on, you've been around enough birds to catch on to that game."
Lucia's sensitive ears picked up that last whisper as she thanked the boring suited man for the drink and gently declined to give him her telephone number. A quick flame of anger grew in her. Bitch in heat, eh? She'd show him how much of a bitch in heat she could be if he'd give her the opportunity...
