There you stand with your L.A. tan
And your New York walk and your New York talk
You're mother left you when you were small
But you're gonna wish you wasn't born at all

Steel and glass
Steel and glass
Steel and glass
Steel and glass

The restaurant Charlie worked at reminded John an incredible amount of Hamburg. It was bright and little, shoved in between two other shops, and often times busy with the questionable youth that had been scattered about in Hamburg. Although it wasn't the imagery or the customers that made him tie connections of the location and Hamburg, it was what was inside that did that.

Similar to Hamburg, inside of the restaurant titled 'Nelly's', was something John longed for, something he was probably trying too hard to get back. In Hamburg it was the Kaiserkeller he longed for. He'd never forget the taste of disgusting warm ale going down his throat, and he'd never forget the rough crowds that shuffled into the club, but at the same time, he'd never forget the camaraderie 'the Peedles,' as the Germans, in their strong accents, called them, had. He'd never forget the many times he had danced about the stage, screaming and acting like a lunatic, fueled by uppers.

Inside the Kaiserkeller was his youth. It's walls had witnessed the young man evolve into a rock'n'roller, and he felt that if, only for a moment, he could go back, strap that Rickenbacker on, and burst out a hard, dirty version of Long Tall Sally or Blue Suede Shoes alongside the men he'd once loved the best, he'd be John again. That rowdy, cocky, untouchable John.

Charlie was different; he didn't long to be with because he thought it'd take him back to that --- those rowdy reckless days where it felt good to be destructive. John wanted her because he felt she'd change him for the better, the way she had in that month he spent with her. It was full of enjoyment, and he remembered laughing frequently, feeling not only free of the shackles the title "Beatle" had him in, but free of all the burden he'd experineced in his life. She cared for him, loved him, and what had he repaid her with? The harsh realities that had always been presented to him, and he keep doing it, giving them to her, even now.

John was ready to change. Commitment was what he had decided to give, full and complete. He'd gone over the plan for the last few hours, preparing. He was going to speak with Charlie, and he was going to apologize. It wasn't going to one of those half-ass 'hope you get the message' ones either, it was to be real, and geninue. Then he would ask about the child, and he would not yell or interrupt, and he would refrain from demanding to see it, because she did not owe him that. No matter what, no matter how bad she irked him or whatever smart comment came from her mouth, he was determined to control himself because he was so sick of feeling the way he did. He'd gone so many days with the lurking thought that happiness was unattainable and that perhaps, with all the recent events, death wasn't such a bad turn of events, and he wanted a change.

Sighing inwardly and swallowing his pride, John did what he had told himself he would never do again: he trudged towards the entrance, ready to ask for another talk. He'd embarrassed both himself and Charlie so badly the last time he never wanted to go back, for both their sake's, but he had to. After days of thining, he couldn't come up with another location he would find her at. The restaurant was the only place he knew of that was a steady for her.

Today he came alone, attracting all sorts of attention before he even stepped inside completely. A young lady had asked for his autograph and he begrudgily jotted it down, pushing through the doors before she could start up a conversation he had no time for. The next girl that approached him he couldn't escape so easy. She started with a query. "Are you making a new record down here John? I heard you were!"

"Yeah," came the curt reply, eyes looking past the girl to the counter behind her. Charlie wasn't there. He sighed, reverting his attention. "I don't want to give too much away though, y'know? I want it to be a surprise."

"Oh," the brunette responded simply, smiling. John mirrored her. "Me and my friends, we've made a petition for you to stay in U.S.A. We've got a good amount of signatures and all."

When that came from the kid's mouth, his subtle search for Charlie quit altogether, focus completely on them. He found it rather nice, and incredible. "Thank you," he said genuinely. "It means a lot that you'd do that for me, honest. What's your name?"

"Jamie McKee."

"Do you have a piece of paper Jamie?" She shook her head no, and John frowned. "Well Jamie, I'll wait here, and you go find yourself a pen and paper. When you come back I want you to give me an address and a phone number." He smiled widely, patting her shoulder gently. "You'll be the first to get a record, just for helping me."

Smiling a Cheshire grin, the girl muttered, "Thank you."

She ran out of the place and John laughed, before turning his attention back the search. It wasn't all that hard though; Charlie appeared right in front of him.

"John." Her countenance was contorted with shock and her tone showed it as well. Charlie licked her lips, placing the tray of sodas on the counter in front of her. "John," she repeated, this time irration creeping into her tone.

"Charlie I've something really important to say-"

"Not now!"

She turned away from him, moving towards the tables. Not allowing himself to get discouraged, he followed, running to catch up with the fast pace she was carrying.

"Charlie!" he shouted, and immediately the crowds began to chatter. Through the noise of what felt like a million voices blurring together, he heard 'Is that John Lennon?' 'Is that the Beatle?' but no one upped to approach him just yet. It didn't make it any better though; he knew all eyes were on him, and that surely, this would be on the front paper tomorrow morning, just as everything else usually was.

"Charlie," he spoke again, this time tugging on her arm. She turned toward him, eyes narrowing but not pushing away.
"What?"

"I need to talk to you."

"I don't have it."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "What are you on about? Don't have what?"

She didn't respond, jaw clenching and eyes becoming teary. He let her go and she turned away, placing the drinks on the table and going as quickly as she had come.

"Get her John!" one nosy citizen yelled to him, which he responded "Fuck you" to. If he couldn't snap at Charlie, he was to do it at someone else, and it better aimed towards the deserving than the innocent.

Following her tracks, John met her by the counter. Luckily there were no more people gathered there, allowing for a slight bit of privacy. He was truly going out on a limb doing this, putting all--even the citizenship that girl was trying to get him--on the line.

"The kid John," she responded evenly, calmly. He swallowed, hearing the information but not obtaining it. He didn't understand.

"What?"

"I don't have it. If that's why you're here, you can go. I don't have your kid." She glared at him, pursing her lips. He'd never felt so hated, so unwanted. "I gave it away."

"You..." He didn't know what to say, it was all happening so quickly. John resulted nodding his head, leaning against the counter for support. His almond shape orbs were drowing in confusion and his thoughts, even more so.

"I don't understand," he managed finally.

"Stop coming here John."

Charlie went to leave but he grabbed her, gentle this time, not near as harsh as he had in parking lot. She didn't react the way she had then either, instead only frowning.

"When do you get off?"

"What?"

"When do you get off?"

"I said-"

He used more authority this time, "When do you get off Charlotte?"

"Eleven John. Always eleven."

He nodded. "I'll see you at eleven then."

Charlie went to protest but John was ahead of her, pushing out his own comment. "Oh," he began, cutting her off before she could refuse him. "Tell Jamie McKee that I'm sorry too, and I promise to visit her before I leave. I'm expecting you and that piece of paper by eleven."

Charlie, although angered, was mute. He gave her one last look, one lingering deep look, taking in her features and piecing together what little he could, before he left the restaurant.

"Sounds like a fucking prick," was the last thing he heard.

He is, he thought, shielding the L.A. sun from his eyes, and truly, he felt it.

---------

I'm sorry I never update. I'm low-key trash.