From Chapter 9: "You know McCartney," John said wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "if any of the rest of us could tune our instruments when I started the Quarrymen you wouldn't be here at all. And you just wanted Pete out cause he looked better than you. And let us face facts; Stu was not great but you wanted his place at base guitar. Makes you look pretty fart-faced do you not think?"
"One more slug of that bottle and we all look pretty fart-faced," George said.
"I have had it with your insults about me and my music." Paul said.
He turned as if to run out the door but the door was not there. He ran into the wall bouncing off it very hard. A hush fell over the studio as the others stood looking at him in shock at how drunk he actually was. No one said anything as he got up and turned around to face them again.
"I've had it with this life in hell; god or no god I'm gonna have me some fun. I'm gonna see what my new machine will do on the way home. It's a fast machine and a clean machine."
"Clean machine you say?" John said. "Lets us have a look."
Paul found the door and ran out of the studio, the door slamming behind him.
"He needs to call a cab," John said. "he is pretty out-of-it and he needs to calm down. He is in a bad place psychologically. I think the tours did some strange things to his head. I'll go after him."
John ran down the hall and out into the pitch black night. The breeze smelled like rain, lightning flashed in the distance. It lit up the short wall in front of the studios. When the lightning flashed he could make out the dark shape of the Synagogue to his left and up the road a bit. Paul's silhouette was visible running up the street in front of the Synagogue, seemingly frozen in a different position with each flash. John was struck by the awe of the sight and the moment. He thought back on his dream about Stu.
From Chapter 7: . . . . In the back of the limousine John was thinking about Cynthia and the problems with being on tour.
. . .what the hell, he had lots of holes in his being over lots of people he had loved. In his life he had loved them all. And yet he had really chased them out of his life for the big pay-off. The pay-off of ultimate pain. The pain in the hole in his life from the absence of a loved person. And of all the friends and lovers he had known Cynthia made the largest hole and the greatest pain. It was a hole bigger than Uncle Charlie, maybe Julia.
Sometimes he wondered, only sometimes, if all the holes' people had in them from missed loved ones could fill the Albert Hall. He knew that holes he had from the absence of people he had loved and chased out of his life could have filled the universe at that moment.
Much of the pain he knew would never leave. It just stayed inside his being somewhere like a brick and tugged at his mind till death did it part. . . .
From Chapter19: Brian ran to his limo and called the police for help. John leaned out the window of the bedroom. Patti was holding on to Cynthia's feet as she was leaning over the edge of the roof, dangling like an ornament from a Christmas tree. She was screaming for the crowd below to "be good to one another, ya got to love one another."
Patti was terrified but held on tight to Cynthia.
"Hold on to her for god sake," John squealed out the window.
"She is the mother of me child, do not let go of her."
He looked out over the wall surrounding the estate. The red lights of the police car were in sight, the ambulance not far behind. John thought of the mountain of drugs at the celebration knowing they were enough to put the entire crowd behind bars for life. He ran to the closet removing his best black silk cape and top hat and his brass cane.
He slipped off his fringed leather jacket and threw the cape on over his shoulders. He ran down the stairs and stood in front of the mirror to rehearse.
In front of the mirror he placed the black top hat on his head at a slight angle and practiced holding his cane a few seconds.
"Hello! No -- Good afternoon," he said with a sweeping bow and his top hat in hand.
No, that will not do. he thought.
John looked out the window to see the police walking up to the mansion.
"Hold on to her Patti, I will take care of the police," he reassured her. Patti let out a loud grunt of approval.
There was a loud rap at the door. John grabbed the door knob and swung the door open. Two police stood before him.
"GENTLEMEN!" he yelled as he bowed holding the cane high and to his side. They both jumped a bit with surprise.
"Did you know that a woman is hanging from your roof -- over the edge and she is yelling at the people in your grounds?" one policeman said. Cynthia responded as if by cue.
"You all must love each other. You must kiss and make up and what ever you do -- What ever you do -- take no wooden nickels and -- and do not do anything I would not do," Cynthia screamed at the crowd below.
John and the officers looked up at her.
"Yes, it is me wife. She is not well and she takes some pleasantry in yelling congenial things at people while she hangs from the roof. It is a valuable pass-time for her."
"Well he is John Lennon," one of the officers said as he turned to look at his fellow officer.
