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"That's the ugliest bleedin' snowman anyone ever made," John Lennon spat through a cigarette as he looked upon a papier-mâché monstrosity meant to decorate the stage for the Christmas pantomime. "Did a bunch of school children make that?"
"If they did," George Harrison answered, "it would be better-lookin' wouldn't it? Kids love snowmen."
"You're actually right, Geo," John raised his eyebrows at George, impressed with that thought. "If kids did this, they'd take more care with it. No, only an adult who'd lost all of his imagination could create something as careless and ugly as this."
"What's careless and ugly?" Paul McCartney asked as he strolled up to them.
Not you, Dollface, John thought as he held his breath for a moment. God must have been in a very good mood when he created you. He took great care, indeed. Every bit of you is just right. "This abominable snowman," he said out loud, taking Paul by the wrist and dragging his partner to look at it. Anything, just to touch him.
Ringo watched the two men go off and felt a twinge of sympathy for both of them. For Paul, because the young lad never seemed to have a moment when he was not being swooned over and grabbed at, whether in public or in private. For John, because this man known for his wit, and whose persona projected a kind of toughness, was incapable of strength around Paul McCartney. On a good day, Lennon quivered around the younger man like a blancmange. On a bad day, a boring day, a day when John really didn't want to do anything but be alone with Paul (in other words, a day like today), he literally could not help himself. He showed his feelings the way a 5-year old shows his hand at poker, all innocently.
But for the Beatles, there could be no innocent reveals. Every time John got carried away with his feelings, as he was today, he became a danger to the whole band.
It would be best if John could control himself. It would be second best if Paul, noting John's vulnerabilities, would discourage him, but Ringo knew Paul would do nothing, right now, because that would feel like his safest option. Paul would never risk someone seeing him remove John's hand from his person and start wondering about things. More importantly, he would never risk John completely melting down, in public, because of Paul's perceived rejection -- even if all Paul was doing was trying to rein him in a little. To Paul's way of thinking, Ringo knew, ignoring John would either signal to observers that they were not seeing what they thought they were seeing, or it would render John's outreach, his little strokes and touches, invisible.
And who knows, Ringo thought, Paul might well be right about that. The kid was pretty savvy.
Still, Ringo decided he would keep his eye on John, in hopes of pulling him back from the edge if the need arose. Because John was clearly on fire for Paul today, and nearly off his leash.
Lennon, meanwhile, was barely cognizant of what the stage manager or the photographer were saying. For him, there was only one person in the room, and his attention was consumed by him -- all of his faculties trained only upon the nearness, the scent, the look, the presence of Paul McCartney. My Bunny! Sod the snowman, look at him! I have to touch him! If I pretend to measure his hand, who'll know that all I really want is to take that hand and put it on my own face, bite those fingertips, make Paul look at me, and see me! Just make him turn my way a little...
It was sad, in a way, thought Ringo, but also cute, the way John thought he was getting away with something. The way he tried to distract Paul when he knew Paul would never break his professional facade. Paul did not do that. He was like an actor in character when he was in public, and nothing could rattle him. In fact, increasingly it was becoming Paul's role to be the unflappable diplomat and point man, so the other three could breeze along flippantly. Paul's manner had a way of making everyone think "Oh, he's polite and cute, so they're all like him: cute and harmless."
In truth, none of them were harmless, and if Paul (who thankfully had a very long fuse) was pushed to his limit, he could give it to somebody as hard as John or George. But John really was pushing it today. It had to be tough on Paul to pretend he wasn't being half-mauled at the moment.
His hair, his silky black hair, I just have to touch it, to ruffle its softness and let Paulie know I'm thinking about him. Before, when I've done this during interviews, he's turned around and smiled at me, and that's what I need right now. I need that fleeting smile that says he sees me, he loves me too, he knows that I am feeling lonely-in-the-crowd and need him. Just to touch his beautiful black-bunny hair...
But Paul didn't look John's way this time. He didn't dare. John's neediness was already too naked, too out-there, too apparent. Paul feared that if he gave John so much as a glance, John would lose his last shred of self control, and try something stupid like a "pretend" kiss, before God and everyone.
No, he couldn't look at John right now, and not only because John might lose it, but because Paul might not try to stop such a kiss. He loved John in this mood -- it rendered him completely compliant, all Paul's, and it promised for an interestingly frenzied time when they were finally alone, later, and Paul loved to be in control when John was in a frenzy.
Yes, tonight promised some fun, but Paul knew he had to do something for John right now, during this photoshoot, to reassure him that he, Paul, had seen him, had noted his mood and his attention, and that he reciprocated the feelings, and that so John could relax.
He could only do that one way, the way that had become their stand-by means of communication: Paul's full hand on John's shoulder -- that possessive touch -- and a little squeeze. John knew what it meant, and would instantly settle down.
The fact was, they all knew what Paul's parental hand on John's shoulder meant. It meant John would behave. It meant, both literally and figuratively, that Paul had him in hand. Daddy was here.
As the click, click, click sounded off from the photographer, and John's eyes glazed over like a junkie who'd just had his fix, the whole band drew a collective sigh of relief, and smiled.