The rest of January passed, but it was both long and filled with frustration.  George returned but with demands from the rest of the group.  From what Paul had told me, George was quite ready to be filmed for the new record, but that he would leave for good if they didn’t cancel the live show.    Paul disagreed, but for the time being he caved to George’s wishes.  As far as the quarrel between John and George, Paul really didn’t give me details.  All he told me, or all he wished to share, was that they talked it out and made up.  It was fine that I didn’t know everything about it—especially the fights because it only saddened me to hear and see what has become of the most famous band in Liverpool and the world. 

            The Beatles were currently working like crazy on their new album under the strict order of their new manager Allen Klein.  Paul wasn’t too particular on him and thought they didn’t need a manager, but the other Beatles disagreed, once more shoving Paul out of the decision picture.  Of course this pissed him off even more but there was nothing he could do about it so he just went along avoiding him at all costs and not being his nice self around him.  I on the other hand, continued to stay at home and mind my own business, keeping up with the house cleaning and doing a bit of reading now and then.  It drove me crazy how I was at home all the time and never in my life have I wanted to out this much.  As before, Paul would often come home much after dinner time, and he wasn’t the friendliest to be with, but he was better than before.  It would take him about an hour or so to cool off from the day, before he could just let loose and forget it—whereas before it would last the entire evening.  One thing I did notice about Paul in the last few weeks was that he seemed to drink a lot and by this time his beard was full grown, to my dismay.   It just made him look ten years older than he really was, and as he knew I wasn’t a fan of it, he continued to keep it for whatever reason. 

            On January 30^th, The Beatles performed what would become their last ever live performance.  The producer of the film, now entitled Let It Be, assured the band that doing a performance would be wonderful, and would better the sales of the video.  George and Ringo completely disagreeing were persuaded by a pushy John and Paul, eventually giving in.  That day traffic was brought to a stop and crowds began gathering around to check out the sound coming from above.  I stood alone at the corner of the sidewalk staring up at the building in which The Beatles were playing—their music filling my ears.  I looked around at the reactions of the people around and some enjoyed it, the look of glee on their faces, but others were clearly annoyed—those including the police. 

            “Excuse me ma’am,” a man said from behind me.  I moved aside to let him and his police co-workers pass.  They made their way to the building and tried to enter, being pushed away by Mal and other security.  I watched silently hoping nothing big would come of this—they were just trying to go out with a bang.  The wind was a bit cold so after being there for 20 minutes or so I decided to go on home.  Paul wanted me to come see, and I did—my deed was done.  I was just turning when a hand firmly grabbed my shoulder and I turned to see two policemen.  I smiled politely.

            “Mrs. McCartney,” they began and my eyes fidgeted with fear.

            “Yes?” I asked.

            “Please come with us,” they said as they grabbed my arms.

            “Did I do something wrong?” I asked them. And the one laughed sarcastically.

            “No, but your husband did,” he replied as they brought me back up to the entry door of Apple.  They pounded on the door and once again Mal opened beginning to speak,

            “We already told you—Olivia?” he asked shocked to see me being held by two police, “What’s going on here?”

            “I don’t know,” I said honestly.  I had nothing to do with Paul and the doings of his band.

            “Sir if you don’t let us up to that roof, we have no choice but to arrest Mrs. McCartney,” one officer said.  I whipped my head to look at him.

            “What?!” Mal and I shrieked.

            “That’s right,”

            “You don’t have bloody authority to do that!” Mal said in protest.

            “Damn well we do son!  You don’t have authority to defy a police officer,” he replied.  Mal’s face churned with confusion.

            “Come on now, she’s pregnant can’t you see?” he asked trying again.  The officers shook their heads.

            “Makes no difference to us.  Let us up there, or she’s coming to the station with us,” they threatened again, their hands tight around my arms.  I tried to wiggle free from the pressure but it was no use.  Mal obliged opening the door for the men and me.  To my surprise they didn’t let up on their grip once inside and dragged me up the stairs with them as ‘Get Back’ began to get more prominent in its sound and lyrics.  The roof door opened strongly, The Beatles not noticing as we were behind them.  Mal went around us, giving the police a look, and went to the front of the group to let them know what was going on.  Still playing, they all turned around to see me standing there with two police men, hands tight on me.  Paul looked completely shocked, but turned back to the microphone ad libbing,

“You’ve been playing on the roofs again and you know your momma doesn’t like it, she’s gonna have you arrested!”  They finished the song quickly.

            “I’d like to say thank you on behalf of the group and ourselves and I hope we passed the audition!” John shouted before putting his guitar down and moving from the mike. Paul smiled and set down his bass, the officers dragging me along with them closer to him.

            “What’s all this?” he asked eyeing me and the officers.

            “They want to arrest me,” I said glaring at them.  Paul frowned and pulled me away from them and to him.

            “What the hell for?”

            “Sir, you had no permission to play atop this roof and not allowing us to come up and stop it, gave us no choice,” an officer explained as John, George, and Ringo joined us.

            “Come off it, it’s over with now—we were just having some fun,” Paul explained, “And you didn’t have a right to touch her or arrest her—she didn’t do anything wrong,” he finished kissing me atop the head.

            “What’s this?” John asked.

            “They wanted to arrest Olivia because we wouldn’t let them up here,” Paul explained glaring at the officers.  John groaned.

            “That’s a bunch of rubbish,” he wined.

            “You boys had no permission to play atop this roof.  You disrupted a lot of the town,” The officer repeated and Paul and the others rolled their eyes.

            “You what?  Stopping three fookin’ cars on the street and giving the people on their lunch break some good music?  I hardly call that disrupting,” Paul said.

            “To some it was.  We’ll let you off this time, but don’t let it happen again. If it does, there will be bigger consequences,” the officer warned.

“Alright, we understand,” Paul nodded.

“Thanks you.  Have a good day boys,” the officers said then left us be.  I helped the boys pick up their stuff and Paul and I headed home.

            “Sorry about that love,” he said holding my hand.  I smiled.

            “Oh, it’s no big deal, at least they didn’t go through with it,” I said.  He kissed me on the cheek and we went in to have dinner.  The night was peaceful and quiet, nothing about music or the Beatles coming up in any conversation.  The next day Paul received a letter from Mick Jagger telling him to back away from Allen Klein, because he was bad news.  Paul brought it into the Apple Board Room that day, but there was no getting past John and Yoko—especially with George and Ringo at their sides.  Frustrated, Paul continued the rest of the day recording.  By the end of the day however, good news had come announcing Paul the sole director of a new off-the-shelf company entitled Adagrose Limited (which he later named McCartney Productions Limited).  He was quite happy and I was proud for him. 

Again the days went by with just more recording and fights, and then it turned to weeks, then into months.  George was busted for drugs once in late February and once in late March, and John and Yoko flew off to Paris to get married, unfortunately that not happening.  They apparently wanted to get married aboard a boat, but were refused entrance.  Instead that got married at Gibraltar in March, holding bed ins for peace and all that.  To me personally, it was a bunch of rubbish.  It wasn’t going to change anything and just made them look like even bigger goons then they were.  Paul was off doing business with John—something to do with the selling of their song Catalog—and I was at home alone, getting closer and closer to my due date.  By now it was the end of April and I had about a month and a half left. My back was growing more painful as the days continued and my cravings for the weirdest foods weren’t going away.  I couldn’t wait to have this baby.  Paul returned after a few days, not wanting to talk about the meetings he was involved in. 

            “I’m sorry you had such a bad few days,” I said rubbing his back as he sipped from his bottle of beer.

            “Oh it’s not your fault love,” he said smiling and swinging me onto his lap.  He bulged his eyes out, “Girl you’re getting heavy!” he laughed as I hit him gently.

            “Hey now!  That’s not a very nice thing to say--I’m carrying our baby,” I said and he kissed me, his beard tickling my lips.

            “I know, I know, I’m just teasing love,” he said.

            “Will you do something for me?” I asked him with a shriveled nose and he laughed.

            “Yes, I’ll do it,” he said rolling his eyes.

            “Do what?  I didn’t even ask you anything,”

            “I know what you were going to say,” he said.

            “You always say you know what I’m going to say,” I said pausing at the confusing sentence I just mumbled.

            “That’s because I do.  You still don’t realize how much I really know you,”

            “Well what was I going to ask you then?” I asked and Paul cleared his throat before impersonating me,

            “Paul,” he started in a whining tone, “Will you please get rid of your beard?  I don’t like it and it tickles my lips when you kiss me,” he finished laughing.

            “That’s not what I was going to say,” I said, “Nor what I sound like,”

            “Oh really?  Then what was it you were going to ask me?”

            “I was going to ask if you would shave off your beard,” I said with a smirk and he rolled his eyes.

            “Whatever love, same thing,” he laughed, “But yes I will—it’s getting rather annoying and hot anyway,”

            “Why did you do it in the first place?” I asked curious.  He shrugged, got up and we walked to the bathroom.  He got out his razor and ran some water.

            “I don’t know—laziness,” he started and put the shaving cream around his face.  I laughed.

            “That’s attractive,” I said, “You look like Santa Claus,” he laughed.

            “Crimble doesn’t have dark hair though love,” he pointed out and I rolled my eyes.

“Well if he did, you would look like him,” he laughed again and I smiled.

“You really didn’t like it?”

            “No, I don’t see why you did,”

            “I didn’t really—like I said, with everything going on, I was too fookin’ lazy to shave it off and felt there was no point in it.  We aren’t going round to interviews and such anymore, so no one sees me but them, George Martin, and you,” he said shaving his beard off. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t like it,” I said and he smiled.

“I know, and I’m sorry you had to see me in it for so long….things were just too busy at the time to change it—but I had planned to once the film was done…which I did,”

“Thank you,” I smiled.  He laughed.

“Of course my little fashion guru,” I rolled my eyes as I watched him finish.  He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled. I went over caressing his smooth face lightly.

            “There, now I can see my Paul,” I smiled and he laughed kissing me and wrapping his arms around me.

            “Better then?,” he asked and I just kissed him, “I’ll take that as a yes,”  I laughed kissing him again.  The buzzer rang just as our lips touched and Paul groaned, “Hell, even when we’re bloody married,” he mumbled as we left the bathroom heading for the door.  Paul pushed down on the talk button, “Yes?”

            “Hey Macca, its John,” was the response.  Paul let him in, of course being accompanied by Yoko.

            “Hey Olivia,” John said quietly.  Last time I talked to him he was an jerk off to me so we weren’t on the best of terms. 

            “Hi,” I said shortly.

            “What do you want?” Paul asked sternly.  He and John were also not on the best of terms due to business related and other things—but their songwriting partnership was always held in high regards by the both of them and it was there main source of income.

            “Want to show you a new song of ours,” he said.

            “Ours?” Paul asked making our way to the living room.  

            “Yeah, me and Yoko.  I want your opinion on it,” John said sitting down with Yoko on the couch.  Paul sat down on the chair kiddy corner from them as John handed him the lyrics.  My stomach was feeling upset so I figured instead of spend my time in annoyance and misery with them; I’d go find myself a snack.

            “I’m gonna go into the kitchen and get something to nibble on,” I told them.  Paul smiled sadly at me knowing I didn’t want them here.

            “Alright love,” he replied and I left the room. I lounged around in the kitchen trying to waste time but I figured I’d better go out there.  I went back out and took a seat next to Paul, who was busy conversing with John—and Yoko.  They worked for a bit over an hour until they had it finalized.

            “Do you mind if we go to the studio love to record it?” Paul asked me. 

            “Aren’t George and Ringo gone?” I asked confused.  He nodded.

            “Yeah, but John and I have made stuff alone before,” he said.

            “Oh, alright, then,” I said and John and Yoko began to get their coats in the entry way, Paul staying by my side.

            “It won’t take long love, I promise,” he said kissing me, “Trust me, I don’t want to be there right now,”

            “Don’t worry about it, just do it tell you get it done,” I smiled.

            “I love you so much,” he said squeezing me, “Bye baby McCartney,” he said, his head up to my stomach.  I smiled as he brought his face back up to mine kissing me again.

            “I love you, and I’ll see you later,” I replied.  He smiled, kissed me once more, and left with John and Yoko.  They weren’t even gone an hour, when to my complete surprise, my water broke.  I panicked and didn’t know what to do because it wasn’t supposed to happen for another month and a half.  I ran to the phone and desperately rang the studio.

            “Hello?” I heard a familiar voice.

            “Mal?” I asked not sure exactly who it was.

            “Nope, luv, it’s Neil,” he said, “How have you been?”  I felt bad because I couldn’t engage in more conversation.

            “I’m so sorry Neil, but is Paul there?  I really need to talk to him,” I asked.

            “Uh, well, luv, he’s right in the middle of recording, do you want me to have him ring you back?  It should only be about 10 minutes,” he offered.

            “Neil, I can’t—my water just broke,” I said bluntly.

            “Holy shit!” he shrieked, “Paul!  Paul!” I heard him yell. 

“Bloody hell Neil!  We were fookin’ right in the middle of recording!” I heard Paul’s not so friendly response,

“Its Olivia man,” Neil replied.  A few minutes passed and I heard a door—Paul entering the recording booth no doubt.

            “What is it love, we were right in the middle of recording something,” Paul said trying not to sound annoyed though I knew he was.

            “I know, I’m sorry, but—my water just broke Paul,” I said.

            “Your water?” he asked.

            “Yes, I need to get to the hospital,” I said again.

            “Your water?  Hospital?” I heard him repeat because he didn’t understand.  Then it hit him, “Fuck! Your water!  The hospital!  I thought you weren’t due for another month!”

            “I’m not, but it’s coming tonight Paul, pleeease,” I begged feeling strange in my stomach.

            “Yes, love sorry!  I’m coming home, I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he said.

            “Paul don’t speed, be careful,” I said worried.

            “I will--just hold tight, I’m on my way!”  He replied hanging up and I knew he was going to speed nevertheless--he did normally.  I just sat on the couch breathing, nervous as hell, waiting for Paul to arrive.  He was there within minutes like he said and he helped me to the car and drove me to the hospital.  I’m sure you’ve all seen or heard about the process of having a baby so I won’t get into that—however, that night, April 14, 1969, I did have a baby.  I don’t recall a lot about it, other then Paul was right there next to me holding my hand.  The pain didn’t even register because I was so excited to be having a baby and it all seemed to go much quicker than it actually did.  The baby was indeed premature, weighing 6 pounds 14 ounces.  I took a deep breath after the final push and looked up at Paul, who stood with his mouth hanging open from pure shock and amazement.  The doctor smiled and handed the baby to me.

            “Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. McCartney, it’s a girl,” he said.  I smiled and let out a laugh, Paul doing the same.  I held her in my arms and just stared at the little face crying because everything was so new.  After a few minutes she seemed to calm down and disappear into a sleep.  Paul touched her cheek lightly, and then kissed me on my forehead, stroking my hair with his hand.  I looked at him smiling.

            “She’s beautiful,” I said to him.

            “You both are,” he said shaking his head, “This is so amazing,” I laughed again as tears of joy and love built in my eyes.  The doctor smiled at us.

            “Any names?”  Paul and I both looked up, and we hadn’t really thought of one exact name. 

            “Mary Rose McCartney,” I said and looked at Paul who looked down at me with loving eyes, “After Paul’s mother,” I finished and the doctor smiled.

            “That’s lovely,” he said.  Paul leaned down and kissed me on the mouth this time.

            “I love you,” he whispered looking into my eyes.

            “I love you,” I said in return.  Mary was taken away from us to get cleaned up and checked out due to her being a premature baby.  The exhaustion from the last four hours suddenly hit me and I fell asleep, Paul sitting next to me, his hand engulfing mine.  I woke up a few hours later, and saw Paul sleeping soundly next to me.  I smiled looking around me.  Just then the doctor walked in softly--a little bundle of blanket in his arms.

            “I thought you may want to be with your baby for a while,” he said.  I slipped my hand from Paul’s gently and the doctor placed Mary in my arms.  She was sound asleep.

            “Thank you,” I whispered.  The doctor nodded and left the room.  I stared down at Mary and smiled.  This was Paul and my baby—and she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.  She had dark thick hair already, from her daddy no doubt, and though her eyes were shut they were big and round, also from her dad.  She had my lips and nose, “I love you Mary Rose,” I whispered touching her face softly as she slept.  I heard Paul stir and looked over to him as he woke up. 

            “I think that’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen in me life,” he said smiling, “My gorgeous wife holding our beautiful baby,”

            “She is beautiful,” I told him as he scooted in to take a closer look.

            “She has your mouth and nose,” he smiled touching Mary’s face.

            “And your eyes and hair,” I responded.

            “I can’t believe we created something so beautiful,” Paul said shaking his head, “I’m so amazed, and so in love with her,”

            “Me too,” I said.  The three of us cuddled into the night.  I was in the hospital for the next three days while the doctors continued to make sure Mary was healthy—which she was.  Paul spent every night with me during that time.  The day we went home Paul was happier than ever.

            “I have a surprise for you,” he said helping me out of the car with Mary.

            “A surprise?” I asked and he nodded putting his arm around me.

            “Yep,” he answered.  We walked into the house and he led me to what was to become Mary’s room.  He opened the door and the room was already made.  We had had things already, but as the baby was not due for another month or so we hadn’t gotten around to putting anything up.  I smiled as I looked around the baby girl themed room.

            “Paul this is wonderful,” I said turning and kissing him.

            “You like it?” he asked looking around himself, “I’m no decorator, but I tried me best,”

            “It’s wonderful Paul, really, I love it,” I said amazed.

            “The cribs not in here, I figured while Mary’s still pretty new, she’d be better off sleeping with us in our room—so it’s in there,” he explained.  I laughed.

            “You are totally amazing,” I smiled kissing him yet again, “Look Mary, look what your daddy did for you,” I said.  Mary with her big eyes looked around as she did with everything.  She was only 4 days old, but more curious then ever.  That night Paul called John, George, and Ringo letting them know I had the baby and I was home.  He also called his dad and Aunt Jin, in which we were to visit so they could see.  I in turn called my parents, who wanted to see pictures of her if we weren’t able to come down soon.  Finally I got a hold of the gang back in California telling them the news.  Everyone was most excited for us and the Cali Gang (as well as my family) was just sad because they couldn’t come see her.  I promised them we’d bring her for Micky and Brittany’s wedding in July.  Everyone stopped over within the next few days to see Mary and everyone said she was gorgeous.  The nights were sleepless, as Mary woke up about 2am, 4am, 6am, and 8:30am every morning hungry.  I wished I could take shifts with Paul on whose turn it was to tend to the baby, but as I was breast feeding her, he wouldn’t do much good on this one J.  About a week and a half passed and we were into the swing of having a baby.  Paul was back to recording, now working on their next album, trying to get home earlier than usual to be with Mary and myself.  It was a rather nice day outside and I had the insatiable craving for cookies.  I decided to make some (being back to my normal size made me feel like I was able to eat sweets again), so I brought Mary downstairs and put her in the crib we had down there so I could keep a close eye on her.  She was sleeping like usual.  I decided to turn the radio on softly and I hummed to myself as I baked. 

            “We interrupt this broadcast for a brand new information piece brought to us from the streets of London,” I heard the radio DJ say, “On the corner of downtown London, close to Beatles Studio Abbey Road….” I was suddenly alert.  I took a sip of water and turned my full attention to the radio, “Paul McCartney of the Beatles was killed instantly in a car wreck.  As of the moment, we suspect he didn’t see that the light had changed and was side swiped by another vehicle killing him directly on impact…..but more is to come,”  I dropped my glass and it shattered into a million pieces, “When we come back from the break, we’ll go into full detail of what occurred the moment Paul McCartney, and idol throughout the world, left us,” I could believe it.  I looked over at Mary sound asleep and tears flooded my eyes as I covered my mouth with a shaking hand, leading me to a break down.  No, no, no—was all I could think.  Paul was dead…..how could this be?  The more I thought about it the more by body went into shock.  My husband, the man I loved more than anyone and anything in this world, the father of my baby, had just been instantly killed in a car accident.  Should I call someone?  Or would they have heard the news already?  Should I go down to the accident?  My mind raced with thoughts as tears raced down my cheeks…my body shook, my head hurt, my stomach churned, I was devastated, I felt empty….I collapsed.

            I heard a faint voice and a baby crying.  My head hurt from hitting the ground not doubt, but the surface underneath me wasn’t hard—it was soft.

            “Olivia!  Olivia love, wake up!  Shit, sweetheart wake up!” I heard the voice a bit clearer now.  It sounded like Paul, but it couldn’t be.  He was killed—I was imagining things—imagining he was still here.  I immediately began crying and as I opened my eyes, through the blur of tears I saw a recognizable face, “Olivia!  Cor, you’re alright!  What happened?”  I blinked a few times until I could see clearly.  It was Paul.  He was sitting in front of me holding me in his arms. 

            “Paul?” I said weakly.

            “Yes, love it’s me,” he said helping me up and looking over at Mary crying softly in her crib, “Are you alright?  What happened?” he asked me leading me to the couch and letting me sit down. 

            “You’re not supposed to be here,” I said confused.  He looked puzzled.

            “Aren’t I?”

            “No, I heard on the radio….” I faded off feeling a wince of pain in my arm.  I looked down and saw a cut from the glass I had broken.  I must’ve fallen on it.  Paul already noticed and was cleaning it with a rag he had with him.

            “Heard what love?” Paul asked concerned and confused.

            “That you….you….got in an accident and died,” I said looking up at him.  He laughed outright due to surprise.

            “Died?”

            “Yes died….they said you didn’t see the light change and were sideswiped by another car and were killed instantly…..” I started totally confused and crying again just thinking about it, “I heard it, and my whole body went numb except for my tears….I must have fainted…”

            “Oh love,” Paul said sympathetically holding me tight in his arms, “I don’t know what you heard, but I’ve been at the studio all day.  I came home early to surprise you….I didn’t die, I’m still here,”

            “Who said that?” I asked angry now.

            “I have no bloody idea,” he said still holding me, “I’m so sorry love—that you went through that.  It must’ve been horrible—I know it would be if I thought you were killed,”

            “I’m so glad you’re alive….I don’t….I,” I began and started crying again.  Paul just held me closer and we stayed like this for a few minutes. 

“It’s alright love, I’m here,” he said soothingly.  Mary’s cries were a bit louder and so we pulled apart so I could feed her.  While I did, Paul brought radio over and sat next to me.  He turned it up.

            “For those of you who missed the most astonishing news in centuries, Paul McCartney of the Beatles was killed in a car accident on a November 9, a Wednesday morning at 5 am, 1966,” the DJ started.  Paul and I looked at each other.

            “1966?!  What the hell is this?” he asked listening again.

            “This has come to our conclusion with evidence from the Beatles songs, movies, and album artwork,” Paul looked pissed.

            “This is a bunch of fookin’ bullshit!”  He said as the phone rang.  Frustrated he went to answer it, “Yes, this is Paul McCartney…..yes, I did hear….no, I’m not dead, I’m as fit as a fiddle actually…..yes it’s the truth…..how would I be talking to you if I were dead?.....it’s rubbish, a rumor…..yes…..no…..you’re welcome…..ta,” Paul finished and hung up.  He came to sit back next to me.

            “Who was that?”

“One of our bloody journalists!  You know how many bloody calls we are going to be getting now?” he asked as the phone rang again.  Paul went to answer, this time it was Neil asking Paul if he’d heard.  They talked for a while and Paul demanded they fix this problem, but it only got worse.  Newspapers got a hold of the story and it flourished like crazy.  They read a list of clues off, including such things as…..if you play ‘I Am the Walrus’ backwards, John says Paul is dead, the cover of Rubber Soul is supposedly Paul looking up from his grave, for Revolver it was ‘since Paul is the only Beatle not facing forward, he’s not one of them anymore’…and the clues, or to them, evidence, went on and on.  Then it got to the point where people wondered if Paul was dead, who is the one in the band now?  According to reporters and the beginners to this sick rumor, the story of Paul’s death goes as follows:

“The story was that Paul McCartney had died in a car accident at 5:00 a.m. on Wednesday, November 9, 1966. Paul McCartney Dead: The Great Hoax suggested that Paul had picked up a female hitchhiker on his way to visit friends. The woman became so excited when she realized who had picked her up that she threw her arms around Paul and caused him to lose control of the car. Both Paul and his passenger were killed when the car swerved off the road and hit a stone fence. Paul was decapitated in the accident and the trauma to his head was so severe that even his dental records were useless in identifying the victim. Not wanting to lose potential record sales, record company executives suppressed the story of Paul's death and brought in a look-alike to replace him. For some reason the surviving Beatles agreed to go along with this scheme, but they left clues on all of their subsequent albums about Paul's death and the imposter who took his place. Paul's stand-in was a man named William Campbell, who had won a Paul McCartney look-alike contest. With a little plastic surgery, William Campbell had taken Paul's place in photos of the group. The surgery had been successful except for a small scar above his lip. And, as luck would have it, William Campbell could also sing and just happened to be a songwriter with an exceptional ear for pop melodies,”

            It was a big joke that got really old really fast.  Paul was constantly answering questions of ‘Are you really you?’ and denying any ‘proof’ that they conjured up.   We learned to live with it, and fortunately it did die down, but things would come up every so often.  Before we knew it, Mary was two and a half months old and Paul and I were flying out to Malibu, California for Brittany and Micky’s wedding.