Chapter Five

"So sad, so sad,

Sometimes she feels so sad

Alone in her apartment she'd dwell

Till the man of her dreams comes to break the spell"

"Another Day"

Paul and Linda McCartney 1971

Paul stumbled in around seven accompanied by take-out from the resturant down the street. The aroma filled the kitchen within a matter of seconds, only making my already hungry stomach growl more furiously.

"How'd it go?" I asked while I pounced on the bag sitting on the table.

"Not bad actually. I thought it was some major crisis, but it turns out they just needed me to overdub my bass part," he said hanging his coat up. I nodded and peeked inside one of the white styrafoam boxes in the bag to find hamburgers and fries. Finally, some American food!

"I thought you might enjoy one of those greasy fast food meals you're always talking about, so I stopped by an American resturant on my way home," he said as he reached into the bag to pull out his food. As he placed his burger on his plate a puddle of grease leaked out and drowned his fries in the oily substance. "Yech! I'll never understand how you could eat like this on a daily basis! I'd go nuts!"

I laughed at his pitiful attempts to save his fries from soaking up all of the grease, but alais, as I'd grown to find out, there was no saving it.

"Well, they're not always this bad, but you have to admit, there's nothing like a good burger!" Paul shook his head in disagreement and sat down,

"Well, if you like them . . ."

The dinner conversation swerved towards his work in the studio, which got me thinking about my work again. Suddenly, I was feeling that same urge again, that desire to play and sing, only this time it was more intense. It was like someone had injected me with something to make me crazy with desire. I wanted nothing more than to sit behind a piano or stand behind a microphone and belt out a bluesy tune, or a rocking ballad, or even a serene lullabye.

Suddenly I burst out, "Paul, I want to go back into the studio." He stopped dead in his tracks, mid-chew, and stared at me momentarily before he continued chewing and swallowed.

"Are you sure you're ready for that Leigh, luv?" He asked with a concerned look on his face. It was the same face I saw when he charged into my apartment with Roy, and when I woke up that first time after the incident. I swallowed a lump in my throat and sat for a moment thinking about it. Did I really want to step back into the world of the studio? Not that anything was bad about it, that I knew at least, but that meant that my energy would be drained from all the work, and my time with Paul would be cut in half, not that that was a major problem, or was it? Paul was growing more and more dear to me by the day. Other than my mother, I didn't know of anybody that might go to the lenghts that he did in order to keep me in a better place. His concern for my well being was such a kind gesture that I sometimes became over-whelmed by it all. Plus, he was becoming such a great friend. I could confid anything in him because unlike so many "friends" I'd had in the past he really cared. I could see it in his eyes now. He really wanted me to get better before I ran around the studio again, and maybe he was right. Paul would never put me in harms way.

I sighed and agreed with him. "Maybe you're right Paul, it's too soon for me to start that all over again." I hung my head down and a single tear rolled down my cheek. "It's just that I-I've been so bored lately - and not that it's boring spending time with you or anything, but I just want to, I just want to ..... sing," I cried.

"Oh, Leigh," Paul gently cried as he lept from his seat to sit next to me and comfort me. "I understand, I just want you to get better first! I don't want you running around the studio and wearing yourself out! Believe me, me mum was a nurse, I know some stuff about these things!" He rubbed my shoulders and pulled me closer to his chest.

"I know," I cried, lighter now, "I just, well, you know," I choked. Paul smiled and whispered,

"I know." We sat there like that, him rocking me back and forth, for a few mineuts before Paul pulled my head up and smiled. "I've got an idea!" He smiled. I rubbed a tear away from my face and gave him a questioning look.

"What?" I asked sitting up straight.

"Well," he began, "how about I pull a few strings and get some recording equipment into my studio? There's a piano and guitar in there you can use, and I can get some microphones and recording devices in there for you, and you can work out some things, then, when you have an idea of what you want, I can bring those sketches to George Martin and he can do whatever you want done to them done, and you can work by phone and through me! How would you like that?" He beamed and was all smiles. "Well?" He asked. I had to admit, it sounded awfully inticing, and there could be no harm in just fooling around with some things while I recovered. I smiled at Paul and threw myself in his arms.

"I love the idea! Thank you so much Paul!" Paul hugged backed gently, so as not to put pressure on any sore spots still healing on my body.

"I'm glad you like the idea, I'll make some calls and get some equipment in tomorrow," he said.

Tears began flowing again, only this time they were tears of joy. Complete and utter joy.

Chapter Four