Trick or Treat

This is the photo that was printed with this story, although I do not think it goes with the story.

Another story where Paul didn't want girls hanging around, but he was much kinder to these girls and this story turned out nice.    I usually keep the stories the exact way they were written and not change anything, but I had to change some of the grammar on this one.    Written by someone who used the alias of "Susie" for the Fall 1978 McCartney Observer.

Trick or Treat

By Susie

I am happy to say that after our latest escapade we did indeed see Paul!  After waiting so long to see him sometimes a girl tends to build things up in her mind.  You keep telling yourself not to, but somehow things end up that way anyhow. 

We’d heard from a reliable source that Paul would be recording at EMI sometime in October and November (1978).  Great!   We decided to go the twenty-eighth and stay for one week.  Our minds raced!  

“Don’t build it up.” Was Doylenes’ advice.

“No, I won’t.” I assured.  We had a certificate for him and some photos that had just about grown to our hands we’d been carrying them around so long.  We couldn’t wait to see his reaction to the certificate.

Monday:

After two and a half hours we were ready to leave for EMI.  We were on foot since our hotel was walking distance to St. John’s Wood, and we couldn’t have gotten there faster if we’d had skates!  It was 1:30 and we waited.  Several people asked us who we were waiting for.  We thought for a minute, the same thing racing through our heads; if we say we’re waiting for the bus they’ll laugh us into the ground, they’ll know the truth.  If we say Paul, they’ll laugh us into the ground; they’ll know it’s true.

“We’re waiting for Paul,” I said.

“You should be seeing him soon, he usually comes around this time.”

This always made us nervous.  We get nervous when people in a position to know give us positive news.  We aren’t used to be treated like human beings.  There we were, nervous, but happy and smiling in spite of ourselves.

By six pm and three cute little old ladies and two roadies later, we weren’t quite as happy and as I’m sure you can imagine.

By seven we were grinding our teeth. 

“Should I ask someone?”

“Well….”

“I’ll ask these two.”   “Excuse me, but can you tell me if Paul McCartney will be recording tonight or anytime this week?” 

He laughed before replying, which is always good for making people feel like dirt.  “You missed him.  He left Friday on a three week holiday.  He is finished.”  They then walked into EMI.

After grabbing the butcher knife from Doylene we all sussed out the situation with myself; “Oh no!  He can’t have gone!  I can’t believe it!”  I cried.

“I wanna go to a church!” cried Doylene.

And the most prophetic came from Gloria, “My feet hurt!”  He wept.

With one girl in excruciating foot pain and the other despairing all over the place, I calmly took hold and voiced my opinion.  “Look,” I yelled as I pulled my hair, “He can’t have gone.  We went by his house earlier and the door and windows were open and the milk tray was out.  Those are good signs.  We’re just going to have to go to his house tomorrow.  I know he doesn’t like people coming to his house, but what else can we do?”   I’ll explain to him that we missed him at EMI.  He will understand. Okay?

Doylene signed, “I don’t know.”

“Well look, there’s nothing else we can do.  I’ll do all the talking.  I’ll explain.  The next day to Paul’s!”

You always know if it’s a fan walking down Paul’s street for two very obvious reasons.  One is they shake uncontrollably with fear, and two, before they walk down the street they always peek their heads around the corner first to check things out.

We came to the corner and peeked around the wall, then started the last steps to Paul’s green gates.  About three steps from the first we noticed a van outside the house with luggage in the back.  Ugly luggage.  

“Paul’s home!!” I said excitedly.  “He’s still home!  God, it is a good thing we came!”

We walked, as slowly as possible, to just a few steps from the gates.  An older man was loading the last of the luggage, the UGLY luggage into the van.  He slammed the van doors and went into Paul’s, closing the gates behind him.

“I just hope he hasn’t left already,” Doylene said.

“He’s there!” I enthused.  “He’s home.  We’re going to see him!”

“He’s going to be mad.”

“So what?!”  Nothing could bring me down.  “Who cares if he’s nasty.  At least we get to see him!  That is what matters.”

No one said anything.

“Don’t worry.  I will do all the talking.  I’ll explain.”

I was so happy.  What  a sap.

For half an hour we shifted nervously.  Nothing much happened between the time the TV repairman came and were told to return at 11 and the trash collectors emptied Paul’s two bins.

The sun was shining.  Good sign.

Suddenly we heard the wee sound of foot-steps, stepping their way to the gates from inside.  Two clicks and a swinging gate later our eyes rested on our bit of heaven, it was Paul!  In a handsome dark plus suit and white shirt, looking not a day over twenty-five.

I was shaking a couple steps in front of Doylene and so it was I he saw first.  “Please don’t hang around here (pointing to the ground).  This is the house and it’s private.  People are always hanging around here.”  

Our reactions were rather comical.  I all but hopped into the nick in his wall as I stepped back a couple steps and pulled the certificate closer to me.  He scared me!  He never raised his voice or yelled, but believe me, his message was well read.  I didn’t think there was any way more could be said.  I could say no more.  My mouth froze halfway open and the rest of me went numb.  I saw nothing but Paul.  Three things raced through my mind, foremost being, “God, he’s beautiful in those tight pants!” and “That not his line.  This isn’t the way I built it up in my mind.” And three, “Where is Doylene?  Give me someone to hide behind!

Gloria thought his entrance important enough to stop dusting cobwebs off her coat (she had been leaning against his wall).  She too said absolutely nothing.  Two things raced in her mind, “God, he’s beautiful!” and “I wonder if he saw me dusting cobwebs off my coat.”  Gloria kept her dignity, her mouth stayed shut.

Then we have the most amazing of us all, Doylene.  She talked!  “We’re sorry, Paul.  Please don’t be mad.  We didn’t want to come here but we tried really hard to see you at EMI and couldn’t and we just wanted to give you this.”   He looked to the certificate in my hand that Doylene pointed to.

“Oh, okay, but hurry cos we’re in a bit of a rush.”  (He made a cute face as he said this, pointing back to the house.)  He walked a bit closer to us and seeing I wasn’t able to, Doylene took the certificate from my hands and handed it to Paul.

He was expecting to see a photograph of himself that wanted signed and he was pleasantly surprised to find it was a gift for him.

When he came to the part that said his name, his eyebrows went up and down and his face lit up. He smiled and pointed to himself; “Oh, it’s for me!”

I saw his two front teeth!  It was adorable.  He didn’t read it all as he was in a hurry (we could hear the family coming out of the house now).  He looked up at us and his grin turned into a sweet smile

. 

“Okay—thank you.”

He waved to us and, still smiling went back inside.

We didn’t wait around to see him come out gain and leave with the family.  We just turned and left.  I cried, the realization of it all came to Doylene and she too was a bit numb, and we were all terribly happy!

A few drinks later,

 in the Portland Arms Pub in St. Johns Wood we reminisced.