Paul made a point to shoot her seductive looks that were reminiscent of the ones her last boyfriend Jeffrey had been sending her at the going away party last week. Come-hither looks from men could be accompanied with ‘hey, yeah, I’m checking you out and I like what I see’- such as what Jeffrey was doing which just made you laugh and slap them upside the head.
Paul on the other hand, master of the male come-hither look had it down to a fine art. He would concentrate on something other then you with little significance such as- but not limited to- Brian’s watch, the dial on the radio, the sofa cushion, etcetera.
Then when he was sure that you were watching him, watch whatever stupid thing he was looking at and no one else was paying attention he would look up, glassy eyed and sexy and bewildered that you were looking at him. Then he’d chew on his lower lip and smile as if it makes him happier then an ADD kid on speed that you have taken time to notice him. He bats his eye lashes and nearly blushes and then out of no where, the shy victim in his myriad eyes washes out.
In it’s place is the obligatory, ‘you want me and I know it’ look, only the one Paul procures makes you feel as if your about to be devoured whole by the big bad wolf.
He was staring at Gabby like that now, and John was saying something in retrospect to Gabby’s question about where Pete had gotten off too
“Ah, prolly back in Liverpool being a cunt as usual…”
She was focused on Paul though, not hearing John and desperately wanting to run at Paul and ravage him. His eyes were, all though it’s cliché, burning holes though her.
She looked away to George because he was sitting next to Paul on the sofa fiddling with cuff links and looking around like a lost child. He caught her eye. And now Gabby wanted to cry. She ached to hug him and he must have scene that in her face because George stood up suddenly, abruptly in the middle of John’s rant about Pete’s idiocy.
Gabby stood up too, her uncomfortable underwear making an unwanted statement in her mind which she pushed away effortlessly. George was at this moment to overwhelming. It was like in those movies where the lovers run at each other and the girl gets dipped backwards and the bloke kisses the life out of her and then they say something romantic and it fades to black.
Instead they stared at each other, both looking rather confused and shocked and empty while everyone else fell into an uncomfortable silence, already thoughts of reunited lovers forming in their heads.
George’s arms, which had hung limply at his sides jerked up suddenly like a marionette’s might. His mouth worked to form words but no sound passed his lips. Gabby nodded and hopped up on the coffee table that divided she and Ringo’s love seat from the big couch the other Beatles occupied.
Standing on the edge of the table she leaned down on George, her arms going around his neck while his snaked around her waist. It was blurry and it was soft and hard all at once.
Gabrielle gathered the fabric of his suit jacket in her hands trying to hold him closer but not fully being able too. She’d only felt this desperate for his touch on several occasions before. One of which being at the train station.
George lifted her off the table but being that she was a good foot shorter then him she still dangled off the ground, his face in her shoulder like squeezing the life out of a doll. His mouth brushed against her ear, his breath warm on her cheek and his voice rattled out huskily. Gabrielle felt deje-vu so strong it took her a moment to hear what he said.
“Don’t ever leave me again, don’t please, don’t”
“Mmm” she mumbled back. She felt content, like she never wanted to leave. Never ever. Her body tingled with warmth some memory or dream she couldn’t recollect bubbled up in her mind. A song. A voice. George. But what did it matter.
She wasn’t leaving. She’d never leave him. Never
