He thought this might be a good time to change the subject. “Would you like to have a coffee?”
“Why yes,” she said, “I would.” They ducked into a charmingly grungy East Village coffee shop.
After the coffees arrived, she noticed he was staring into his mug, as though there was something he wanted to say. “What’s up?” she asked.
“Nothing serious, just a little thing,” he shrugged. “Not sure I should even mention it.”
“It’s ok,” she said. “Honesty is not one of the things I’m scared of.”
“Well, I was just thinking. John didn’t write ‘Maxwell’s Silver Hammer’ — Paul did. So it’s really Paul who should get the credit for bringing pataphysics to the masses.”
“Hmm,” she said. “Technically yes, but do you really think Paul would even have known a word like ‘pataphysical’ if not for John? Lennon was in bed with the art avant guarde, and I mean that literally.”
“You mean Yoko, right?”
“Yes, quite. Ono was at the top of her game, a leading light of the Fluxus movement. She was changing the very face of art itself, a true heir to Alfred Jarry. Then she goes and weds beneath her station. Royalty marrying a commoner — a pop singer, no less. Imagine the scandal!”
“You have an unusual perspective on things,” he said.
“Would you rather collaborate with someone who had a usual perspective on things?”
“No,” he replied emphatically, “I would not.”
“Which brings up a question,” she said, leaning forward. “What will this musical of ours be about?”
“The same thing,” he said, “that all musicals are about.”
“And that is?”
“Relationships.”