Beatlemania!

“You’re what?” I asked in disbelief.
Lucy laughed whole-heartedly. “I’m getting married!”
I blinked. “You’re joking.”
“No, I promise you! Geoff just proposed!” Lucy insisted.
I squealed and yanked her into a huge hug.
“Oh my god! When’s the wedding?” I yelped excitedly, settling down for a glorious girl talk session.
She giggled girlishly. “December, but I have a couple of surprises for you.”
“December is so soon!”
Lucy ignored my former comment. “Well, first off, you’re one of four bridesmaids,” Lucy started, “and second, we’re planning for the wedding to be in England.”
I squealed again and pulled her in for another hug. It made sense that the wedding would be in England-after all, Geoff’s entire family was from England, and he was very fond of the country.

As Lucy babbled about trivial details for the wedding, I sighed under my breath. I was nearing twenty-four years old, and I had hoped to be married by now. Perhaps with a family, even. I was supposed to be married before Lucy. Selfishly, I felt as if someone had stolen my thunder.

Lucy showed me a picture of the little church she was going to be married in and my heart melted. Who am I kidding? I’m so happy for her.
~
“So I suppose you’ll be moving out,” I remarked that afternoon as I cleaned the kitchen after a hearty lunch of soup and garlic bread.
Lucy nodded vehemently. “Geoff’s got his eye on this lovely house in New Jersey so he can still make the commute to the city, but there’s a chance we’ll have to move back to England, so he’s got his parents scoping out properties out there as well.”
My head shot up. “You’re moving to England?”
She laughed. “It’s just a possibility. I’d personally rather stay here, but who knows what’ll happen.”
At that moment, the front door burst open.

“Where is my beautiful fiancée?” a cheerful, British voice called out.
Lucy snorted. “She’s cleaning in the living room.”
“Ah, yes, doing the woman’s job like a good lass,” Geoff teased.

He was a very cute looking boy, and I had always thought so. He had brown hair and lovely green eyes, and freckles dotted his cheeks and nose.

Lucy slapped him playfully. “Have you come all this way just to bother us?”
Geoff turned to look at me. “I assure you, Alice, this is a lie!”
“I’m sure,” I nodded with an amused smile.
“I’ve brought you the post,” he added, pulling out a stack of newspapers and a few measly letters.
“Bills, no doubt,” I groaned.
Geoff laughed. “Ah, well, that’s to be expected, I’m afraid.”

Lucy snatched the post from her fiancé’s hands and tossed them to me. “Take them, Alice. You’re the one with the newspaper fetish.”
I chuckled, and set aside my New York Times, the San Francisco Chronicle, and the Wall Street Journal.
“Yes, why do you get three again, Alice?” Geoff was holding back laughter.
“It’s important to know what’s going on in our world, Geoff,” I repeated for the thousandth time.

I was flipping through my letters uninterestedly and I opened my water and electricity bills and barely even glanced at them. My eyes only just registered the messy handwriting on the third letter.

Dear Alice,
I am terribly sorry we haven’t spoken since this summer. It’s already almost November, after all! Did you hear about the concert at Shea Stadium? It was mad-truly mad. George and John went batty at the end; it was hilarious. I hope you’re feeling better about Liam, he doesn’t deserve you. John, George, and Ringo send their love.
Love, Paul.

I choked in disbelief.
“What; is your water bill massive this month?” Geoff joked.
I rolled my eyes and turned to Lucy. “It’s from Paul.”
Lucy gasped. “You’re joking! I thought you hadn’t heard from them since-”
“This summer, yeah,” I gaped at the little piece of paper in my hands.
“Paul who, exactly?” Geoff wanted to know.
I smiled cheekily. “Why the one and only Paul McCartney.”
Geoff snorted rather unbecomingly. “And my mother’s the bloody queen of England.”
I laughed. “Go on, read it then you ass.”
His eyes whizzed over the line and when he was done he cleared this throat. “Well,” he started. “That’s bloody amazing. I didn’t know you knew the Beatles!”
“Met them on their first U.S. trip,” I informed rather proudly.
“Oh yes, that practically makes you royalty!” Geoff teased.
“What are you on about?” I asked with a laugh.
Lucy held up the New York Times and said, “I think this is what he’s on about.”
Of course. The Beatles had received MBE’s. Typical.
I grinned. “Well go on then; bow down before me.”
~

“Three weeks?” Nick yelped.
I wrinkled my nose as he wiped the thin layer of sweat that was forming on his forehead.
“I have to go early to prepare things, Nick,” I sighed tiredly. “Do you think I want to do this? I’m burnt out.”

This wasn’t completely true. I was really just taking two weeks off, so I could see some family and lose some stress lines.
He was flipping through my calendar furiously, his blue eyes scanning every page. “It’s going to be tough.”
I winced and told myself that this was for Lucy, my best friend. I couldn’t just miss her wedding.

“I have to be there, Nick,” I said firmly.
Nick exhaled noisily. “Right then, we’ll need you back for Monday the sixteenth, alright?”
I nodded. “Fine. I’ll have one day to recover from jetlag.” This was going to be a nightmare.
Nick smiled at me. “I don’t envy your job this time, Alice. Have a happy Christmas.”

I grinned back. “Thanks Nick. I’ll be phoning you to make sure things are moving smoothly, yeah?”
“Right, right. Isn’t your flight in four hours?”
I rolled my eyes. “Right, right. I’d better get ready for the drive to the airport.”
“See you in 1966, boss.” Nick waved me out of the office.
~

“Isn’t it romantic?” Lucy sighed contentedly at Saint Andrew’s church on the outskirts of London.
I smiled. The climbing roses and ivy that were widely present on the old building certainly gave it a certain charm.

“Your wedding is going to be perfect, Lucy,” her mother, Nancy, announced.
Lucy beamed with pride. “Oh Alice.”
“Come on, Lucy, we’ll have lunch in London today,” I said with a hug.
~

Lunch in London would have been perfect if we hadn’t picked the one restaurant that Paul McCartney was eating at with one of his dates.
“How about that other one?” I pointed across the street.
“Alice Westwood, I am getting married in two weeks. I deserve somewhere fancy,” Lucy teased, pulling me into the posh building.

I dared not look in Paul’s direction, but instead focused entirely on Lucy and our plans. We
were off to pick up the dress next; it had been shipped from New York. And then it was cake tasting time, and the final trying on of every single dress. It was going to be busy.
Lucy was polishing off a sundae when Paul and his date got up to leave. We were almost in the clear, until Paul’s jacket sleeve brushed my empty glass of water and it tumbled to the ground with a crash.

“Oh I’m sorry,” his apologetic voice sounded polished and polite.
Lucy was indignant. “You should watch where you’re going...Paul!”
His eyes looked tired, ready for another ambush. “Yes, love; I’m a Beatle...Lucy? It’s been ages, hasn’t it?” He opened his arms for a hug.

Lucy laughed and stood up to hug him. I stood up politely and glanced at my watch.
Paul’s beautiful eyes finally reached me. He gaped at me for a few seconds.
“Alice!”
His date’s head snapped to look me over and I turned red.
“Paul, it’s nice to see you again,” I smiled nicely.
Paul pulled up two chairs for himself and his date and joined us at our table.
“What in the world are you two doing here?” he asked with wide eyes.
“Miss Lucy over here is getting hitched up,” I explained proudly.
Lucy smiled bashfully. “Geoff’s from here, and he really wanted to get married at the same place as his parents.”
“Geoff, eh? That’s lovely; I’m so happy for you,” Paul said sincerely.
“Excuse me,” I stood up abruptly.
“Where are you going?” Lucy asked curiously.
I shrugged. “Bathroom.”
“I think I’ll join you,” Paul’s nameless date agreed.
I shrugged again, and Paul didn’t even look up when his date left.

I walked faster than the other girl in her heels. I got to the bathroom faster and locked myself in a stall.
“So you’re Alice,” she commented as I emerged and washed my hands in the sink.
“Yes,” I offered her a smile. “And who are you?”
“Oh I’m Isobel,” she returned my smile shyly, “and I’m one of Paul’s many. Didn’t think I could sink that low.”
She was applying powder in the mirror and I felt a sting of sadness for the poor girl.
“Well Paul can be very charming,” I consoled diplomatically.
“Doesn’t make up for anything. He’s engaged,” Isobel laughed dryly.
“Well that’s your prerogative.”
She turned to look at me full on. “Anyway, I came to talk to you.”
“Oh, what for, exactly?” I fixed my own make-up.
“Paul thinks of you often.”
I laughed sardonically. “How exactly would you know?”
Isobel blushed. “Well, he er...says your name a lot.”
“So?”
“He just...mentions you quite a bit. I think you’re on his mind,” she told me.
“I don’t think I’m the only girl on Paul McCartney’s mind, Isobel,” I smiled thinly.
“I think you should give him a chance.”
I frowned grimly. “Isobel, we just talked about how Paul is engaged and promiscuous. Why would I ever be with him?”
“Well, just know that there are millions of girls who would die to be in your position. It was nice meeting you, Alice.”
“And you, Isobel.”
As I returned to our table, Isobel was just leaving the restaurant.
“Alright, love. I’ll give you a call, alright?” Paul nodded graciously.
Isobel smiled dryly. “Actually, there’s no need Paul. Goodbye.”
I was impressed and slightly surprised by Isobel’s power move, and I returned to my seat, completely ignoring Paul.

“Lucy, we’ve got quite a few things to do,” I said pointedly.
Paul’s face showed disappointment. “Oh really? I had hoped to take you back to see the lads, Alice.”
Lucy smiled. “Oh by all means, take her. I’ll call my mother and we’ll do the dreary things.”
Paul flashed a winning smile and turned to me hopefully.
“I shouldn’t just leave Lucy,” I said quickly.
“My mother will be thrilled, Alice. Go for it,” she insisted.
Paul was still smiling at me. One look into his eyes and I caved. “Alright then, Luce. I’ll see you later.”
We went our separate ways once we exited the restaurant. I was stuck sitting in the car awkwardly with Paul.

“Did you get my letter?” he asked conversationally.
“You sent a letter?” I feigned surprise.
Paul wrinkled his brow. “Yeah, a while ago; you never got it?”
“Nope.” The lie tasted sour on my tongue.
There was silence for a while until Paul spoke up uncertainly. “You look good, Alice.”
I smiled at him thankfully. “Thank you. You know you always look good, McCartney.”
He laughed. “Well yeah, but it’s nice to hear sometimes.”
We drove to the now familiar EMI studios. I let Paul take the lead as we tried unsuccessfully to enter unnoticed by the fans.

“Paul! Paul! Who is she?” the girls chanted.
“Hello, girls,” Paul smiled charmingly.
The girls melted and we slipped inside. I breathed a sigh of relief when we arrived at the familiar door to the familiar recording room.

The lads weren’t doing anything serious; just messing about with the guitars. They were the only ones in there; George Martin and the others had obviously taken off.
“John, that sounds like shit,” George remarked cheerfully.
The perpetrator laughed. “Then apparently shit sells, mate.”

“Afternoon, lads,” Paul said, his tone blasé.
“Yeah, afternoon, lads,” I echoed with a grin.
George’s head shot up in wonder as I spoke.
“Alice!” he cried out, leaping up from the floor to embrace me.
John smiled at me. “And the mysterious bird appears.”
“What?” I asked, my voice muffled by George’s shirt.
“Paulie said he was going out with a nice bird today; he didn’t bother to mention it was you!” John explained.
I snorted. “No, we met by pure coincidence. We were just in the same restaurant.”
I glanced around and noticed that Ringo was absent. “Where’s my favourite drummer?”
“He got hungry a few hours ago and we haven’t seen him since,” George rolled his eyes.
I grinned at the thought. “Well, are you surprised?”
“YES!” John jumped up and pulled me into a strangling hug.
“You came all the way from New York just to surprise all of us?” George asked in disbelief.
I shook my head vehemently. “No, no. Lucy’s getting married here in London; I’m just here to help. Speaking of which, your movie was ridiculous.”
John cracked a smile. “You saw it?”
“I’m a Beatles fan, alright?” I replied defensively.
“Was it really that bad?” Paul asked worriedly.
I shrugged. “It was alright, I suppose.”
At that moment, Ringo burst into the studio loudly, followed by good old Mal.

“Right! Fish and chips for all!” he shouted joyfully.
John was eyeing the newspaper wrapped packages eagerly. Everyone leapt up for their share. Even Paul, who had just eaten, rushed to grab a package of chips to munch on.
After the crowd of Beatles cleared, I managed to lock eyes with the drummer.

“Alice! Oh my God it’s you!” Ringo exclaimed gleefully.
I giggled and hugged him fiercely. “Ringo, old boy, how’s the nose?”
He smiled good-naturedly. “Still famous.”
I kissed his nose ever so daintily and then turned to the rest of them, who were scoffing their faces.
“Well, are you busy for the rest of the day?” I raised my voice a tad.
“No!” George insisted. “Tag along with us after we finish up here.”
I paused, mulling things over. “How about I get back to Lucy to try my dress on and then I meet you all at around six-thirty?”
“Better make it seven, love,” Paul warned, “we’ll be a while at the rate we’re going.”
I beamed. “Okay. I’ll meet you here at six-thirty.”

Paul rolled his eyes and John grinned triumphantly. Finally, someone had set Macca straight! The Beatles weren’t everything. Everybody saw this except Paulie.
~
“Where are the boys?” I asked George Martin at six-thirty.
He looked up and smiled at my familiar face. “They finished up about fifteen minutes ago. They asked me to tell you to get into the white car with a pineapple in the window. It’ll take you to wherever it is they went.”

I nodded thankfully. “It’s good to see you, George!” I called as I ran back towards the exit.
Sure enough, the white Rolls Royce that I had spied on the way in was parked with its engine running. On the back window was a small picture of a pineapple, and with that, I jumped in.

“I’m Alice Westwood,” I informed the driver as I fastened my seatbelt.
He nodded in acknowledgement. “I’m Raymond.”
“Nice to meet you,” I replied with a cheery smile.
I poured myself a glass of wine but I was only able to finish half of it before the car stopped and I had to hop out.
“The lads came here?” I wrinkled my nose at the busy pub.
Raymond laughed. “It’s just another party, I’m afraid. Have fun.”
I forced down the rest of my wine and handed Raymond the glass.
“Thanks, Ray.”
“My pleasure, miss.”

The party was already in full swing by the time I got there. There were people that I recognised from other parties, including the Stones, Mamas and Papas, and even Cilla Black, who I saw slinking into the back with three drinks in hand.

“Alice, I’m glad you came,” Paul smiled, looking serene as he sidled up to me.
“Me too,” I replied honestly. I could use a little fun right now.
“Feel free to wander. Mingle, you know. People will like you,” he advised with a wink.
I blushed and waved as he melted into the crowd again. The marijuana use didn’t bother me anymore. I knew there were far worse things they could be doing.

“Well hello there, love,” a voice tickled my ear.
I turned around slowly to see a smirking Mick Jagger, a cigarette hanging out of those marvellous lips of his.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” was my reply.
He laughed. “True. I’m Mick, and you would be...?”
“I’m Alice. It’s nice to meet you,” I had to shout over the pulsating music.
“And you,” he yelled back. “Listen, let’s head toward the bar. It’ll be a bit quieter.”
I shrugged and followed him over to the bar. It was indeed quieter.
“A martini with a twist, if you please,” I looked at the barman expectantly.
My glass was in front of me in seconds, and I took a huge gulp.
“So you’re Lennon’s girl, are you?” Mick commented, taking a swig of his own drink.
I nearly snorted up my drink. “Hell no! We’re just friends; and he’s married!”
Mick shrugged. “Never stopped him before. And the way he goes on about you...anyway, if it’s not John, is it McCartney?”
I shook my head. “Wrong again.”
He leaned a bit closer. “Well then which Beatle is it, babe, because I think I’m running out of guesses.”
“Who said it was a Beatle?” I smiled devilishly, finishing my martini and signalling for another.
Mick chuckled. “Because one of them has to be with you. They’re all nuts about their Alice.”
“Well you’re wrong. I’m not with anybody. I’m flying solo tonight,” I raised my drink. “Cheers, Mick.”

He clinked glasses with me and then swallowed the rest of his drink. I followed his example. I needed another...
After the third martini, things became a lot easier. I relaxed.
“So, you’re American? Or British? You seem to have a strange mixed accent,” Mick continued.
“British, lived for a while in America,” I answered.
“I guess the accent sticks, then.”
I smiled seductively. “The accent...and other things.”

Twenty minutes later, Mick was pinning me up against the wall in the ladies bathroom. His mouth was plastered on mine, and I was in no mood to stop him.
“Don’t tease me, girl,” Mick warned me, both of us breathing heavily.
I pulled him closer and covered his mouth with mine, sealing the deal.
~
Half an hour later, I rejoined the party after abandoning Mick in the bathroom, smiling to myself. I had just shagged Mick Jagger.

To be honest, it felt good to have sex again, even if it was meaningless. It was fine, it was fun, and Mick was perfectly willing. I spent the next couple hours mingling with different people, and they too knew of my connections to the Beatles.
Suddenly, an angry-looking John Lennon pulled me away from the group of friends I was making. I was tipsy and relaxed after all the marijuana smoke, but I was relatively alert.

“What is wrong with you?” I yanked my arm out of John’s grasp.
His face was serious. “Did you shag Mick?”
“When?” I asked saucily.
“What do you mean when? Just now!” John’s voice got louder.
I shrugged. “It was no big deal, John. Why are you so hyped up about this?”
“So you did!” his anger flared up.
I laughed. “It was nothing, John. Just calm down.”
“You can’t just go about fucking Mick!”I snorted.
“Look, John. I know perfectly well that all of the Beatles sleep around, even when they’re married or engaged or with somebody. Now, I am perfectly single, and therefore perfectly allowed to do whatever I want with whomever I want! And since I don’t pass judgement on your doings, I would appreciate if you didn’t pass judgement on mine.”

John paused and looked at me, rather taken aback.
“Yeah, but this is Mick Jagger.”
“If it had been Ringo would it have made you feel any better about this?” I snapped.
“Yuck! No!”
I smiled. “Exactly. It was meaningless sex, John. Something I know you’re very well acquainted with.”
And on that final note, I left John standing there alone. I trooped outside and found Ray and the car still waiting.
“Do you think you could drive me back to my hotel?” I asked Ray timidly. My head was starting to pound.
He smiled kindly. “Absolutely, miss. Mr. Lennon wants you to use the service throughout your stay here.”
I blinked in surprise. “Splendid. Off we go then.”