Beatlemania!

“Liam?” I said; my voice and eyes thick with sleep. “What are you doing here?”

The handsome blonde stepped inside the room and closed the door almost forcefully behind him. He stared at me, as if in awe.

“Okay I’m obviously dreaming,” I groaned, shuffling back toward my bed.
Liam put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re not dreaming, Alice.”
“Well I must be, because I haven’t seen you in-”

He cut me off by placing his lips on mine. I reacted instinctively, closing my eyes and sinking into his familiar arms. “I’m not dreaming then. Even I couldn’t dream this up.”
Liam let go of me and gazed into my eyes. He had lovely blue eyes. I had always thought so.

“Alice, I heard you were here, and I needed to see you,” he told me breathlessly.
“How did you know I was here?” I demanded, suddenly wide awake.
Liam ignored my question. “I’m still in love with you, Alice. I’m so in love with you that I can’t be with anyone else without thinking about you. I see you everywhere, and when we’re together...we’re good together.”
I was looking blearily at him. “What?”

“Let’s elope,” he exclaimed.
My head started spinning. “WHAT?”
“Yes, Alice! Let’s elope! We were going to get married anyway; let’s just do it! I love you; I want to be with you for the rest of my life! I don’t want to wait anymore!” Liam’s eyes were imploring me to just go with it.

“Liam,” I cupped his cheek. “No. This is crazy, and unexpected, and you’re bloody mad.”
He wouldn’t back down. “No, let’s do it! I love you, Alice. I love you so much it hurts!”
Liam pulled me into another kiss, and I wrestled out of it.

“Just leave, please,” I pointed to the door.
“But what is the problem?” he demanded insistently.
I had reached the final straw of patience in me. “The problem is that I don’t love you anymore!” I shouted angrily.

There was silence, and I stared at him apologetically. “You keep going on and on about how you love me so much, but the truth is that I don’t love you that way anymore, Liam.”

His eyes pierced through my soul. Then, he walked slowly towards me and kissed me with such passion that my knees trembled. I pushed him gently. “I’m sorry, Liam. I really don’t.”

“That changes things then,” he backed away, longing in his eyes. “This is difficult.”
I smiled tiredly. “I’m so sorry, Liam. I wish things were different.”
“Yeah, well. You have to live with the cards you’re dealt. I’m a terrible person for putting you in that position, Alice. Forgive me?” Liam asked sorrowfully.
I nodded. “Only if you’ll forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” He turned and opened the door. Looking back, he smiled wanly. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the entire world.”

And then he was gone.
~
A few hours later, I awoke to the phone and its incessant ringing.
“What?” I grumbled into the phone.
I heard giggling. “It’s Pattie. How are you?”
Rubbing my eyes, I stifled my yawn. “I’m just fine Pattie.”
“Glad to hear it. Listen, George wants me to tell you that the lads are expecting you to be at the studio at one-thirty today. Is that alright?” she asked.
I glanced at the clock. That gave me an hour. “Yes, that’s all fine. Will I see you there?”
“I’m afraid not. They don’t like having the girlfriends sit in on recordings. Have fun, darling.”

Pattie hung up, and I was left slightly stung by her comment. Did she know that Paul and I had been fooling around? Why was she being so hostile about it?

I arrived at the studio at one-thirty sharp, dressed in a flowery-print dress and a straw hat. I was embracing the strange warm weather of the English afternoon. It was odd for January.

“Hello,” I greeted Bella, the lovely new girl at the desk with the stylish hair.
“You must be Alice Westwood,” she stood up to greet me. “I’ve read all about you, of course.”
I blinked in surprise. “What do you mean you’ve read about me?”
Bella looked embarrassed all of a sudden. “Well, you know. In all the magazines. They’re all raving about you.”
“But why?” I asked, deadpanned.
She laughed as if I were joking. “You’re the Beatles’ new favourite, Alice! You go everywhere with them. There are loads of pictures of you at the huge New Years bash that someone threw.”
I frowned. “And they know my name?”

Bella sorted through the piles of papers on her desk and pulled out the latest issue of a gossip magazine.

“There you go. It’s all in there. We’re supposed to keep track of all this so we know what the public is thinking,” she explained. “You can have that.”

I nodded my thanks and walked towards the boys’ usual studio room with my nose buried in the magazine. I gasped when I saw the pictures of me at the party, mingling with George, dancing with Ringo, and lastly, kissing John. The article read,

“Who is this girl? Well, we’ve finally found out. Introducing Alice Westwood, the Beatles’ new favourite companion. Rumour has it the girl is not a permanent resident. She is from New York, and has obviously come over to visit her favourite boys. Evidently, she has her heart set on John. It’s too bad he’s married. Sorry, Miss Westwood. Better luck with Paul.”

I choked back tears. How dare they portray me as some kind of leech to them. And how did these pictures get leaked? How did they know I was from New York? I was past sad and onto angry by the time I reached the studio door. Ignoring the “recording” sign on the door, I forced the door open and let it slam shut behind me. Everyone inside turned to look at me.

“Alice?” Neil asked slowly.
George Martin smiled at me kindly. “Hello. We’re just about finished here. Just one last take.”
I nodded mutely. “Take your time. I’ll just sit here and listen.”

However, listening was the furthest thing on my mind. In fact, I barely caught one stanza of the song that I gathered was called “Paperback Writer.” I was far too busy looking at the article over and over and over again.

“Oi! Alice!” George called into the microphone.

I jumped and glanced out into the dividing glass. I waved half-heartedly, and George waved back, looking concerned.
Another fifteen minutes and they were done, and the boys came crowding into the vestibule. I kept my head down.

“What’s the matter, eh Alice?” Ringo asked worriedly.
“What’ve you got there, love?” John asked gently, prying the magazine out of my hands.
I leapt up. “It’s nothing! I swear!”

But it was too late. John’s hazel eyes were whizzing across the page, reading each and every word. And then he thrust the magazine into Paul’s arms and smiled sadly at me.

“It’s all bullshit, love. You know that, right?” he asked me carefully.
I nodded. “I know it is. But everybody else in Britain doesn’t!”
“People with half a brain know that these fan-mags make up shit to sell it,” John rolled his eyes.
“And what about the ones who don’t know that?” I asked worriedly.
“Who cares what they think?” Paul blurted.
I sighed. “I guess I do.” Suddenly exhausted, I collapsed onto the chair again.
“But why?” Ringo asked carefully, taking off my hat and seeing my red eyes.
“They know my name, and where I’m from,” I shuddered. “What else do they know about?”
George knelt down next to me and smiled endearingly. “Honestly? Who knows? But it doesn’t matter, Alice. You’ve got us, you’ve got your family, and you’ve got Lucy and all of your friends. We’ll all survive in the end.”
Solemnly, I kissed his cheek and stood up. “So shall we get lunch? I’m starved.”

All at once, the normal chatter of the recording room started up again, and John threw an arm over my shoulder. “You reacted to the article differently than I thought you would, my dear.”
I raised my eyebrows curiously. “How did you think I would react?”
“Well-I didn’t think you would care. I didn’t know you were self conscious, Alice,” John replied.
I blushed. “Well, you learn something new every day.”
“I forget at least three a day,” John mumbled.
I flicked him on the cheek. “Right, I get to choose where we eat.”
“No way in hell, miss priss. Last time you had us eating at that terrible Indian place,” John winced at the memory.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “That place was great!”
“Bloody hell, Alice. Even the napkins were spicy there!”

Laughing, I ran ahead to catch up to the others; they were already in the car.
~
“So I should tell you all something,” I announced at dinner that night.

We were eating at the restaurant at my hotel, because Paul had taken a fancy to one of the waitresses there. I averted my eyes and teased him like all the others.

“Please, do tell,” Ringo said graciously, while trying to shove an entire piece of cake into his mouth at once.
I giggled at Ringo and took a sip of water before I started. “Last night, Liam came to my hotel room.”

Instantly, fists clenched, forks were dropped, and glasses were shattered (the latter was courtesy of Paul.) I lowered my gaze and took a bite of my crème brulee.

“What the hell was he doing there?” John spat.
I shrank down into my seat. “He um...he wanted to get me back. He told me he loved me so much that it hurt, and he wanted to elope that very night.”
Silence fell at the table for the first time that evening.

“What did you say?” George asked finally.
“I told him to leave because I didn’t love him anymore,” I admitted. I felt like a teenager talking to her parents.
Just like that, the tension vanished. “Well, good for you!” Paul exclaimed, swallowing the rest of his wine.
“Here, here!” John hollered, and we all toasted to me turning down a man who was head over heels in love with me.

I swallowed my uncertainty and washed it away with the wine. I locked eyes with Paul, who was gazing at me, reading my soul with those lovely eyes. We hadn’t been together since Christmas Eve, and I was almost missing him. Almost.

Paul’s incessant flirting with every girl he saw was getting annoying. Whether it was waitresses, or girls he met at parties, he was on a dating spree. I could tell his sexual appetite was being completely satisfied as of 1966.

“Miss Westwood?” our waiter called out politely.
I stood up, still in my flowery dress. “That’s me!”
“Telephone for you in the lobby, Miss,” he explained before retreating back into the kitchen.
'
I excused myself from the table and hurried to take the call. I hastened to the front desk.
“Telephone for me? Alice Westwood.”
The concierge handed me the phone with a shy smile.
“Hello?” I said into the white phone.
I heard someone clearing their throat. “Alice? It’s Dad.”
“Dad!” I exclaimed happily. “It’s lovely to hear from you.”
“Pleasure’s mine, dear,” he replied nervously.
I frowned suspiciously. “Are you okay, Dad? You sound a bit...off.”
“I’m fine; I promise. But I wanted to know when you were getting home,” he said in a strange voice.
“Erm, the 15th, remember? I wrote down the details for you,” I reminded him.
“I think you’d better come a bit sooner,” my dad sounded terrified.
I had had it. “Alright, what’s going on over there? Why are you acting so odd?”
“I just want to see you, that’s all, Alice,” my dad’s voice softened.
I wasn’t convinced. “I’ll see what I can do. But really, what’s the matter?”
He didn’t reply.
“Dad? Just tell me.”

The line was dead.
~
“Three more days of total happiness,” I groaned to Ringo as he drove me to the studio to meet everyone else.
“Three? I thought you weren’t leaving until the fifteenth, and that’s weeks away!” Ringo exclaimed.
“I’ve moved my flight to the eighth of January, Ringo,” I admitted.
“What? Why?” he demanded.
I sighed. “I’m just worried about Dad.”
Ringo smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure he’s fine, love. Your dad can certainly take care of himself.”
I grimaced. I wasn’t so sure myself.
~
“Bye, Ringo.” I hugged the drummer tightly. “Gosh I’m going to miss you.”
Ringo grinned back at me. “Bye, Alice.”
“George!” I beamed at him affectionately.
“I’ll see you soon, love,” George kissed my cheek lightly.

Paul offered a hug and a kiss on the opposite cheek that George had taken. “I’ll miss you, Alice.” I kissed his cheek too, hoping he would understand that I would miss him too.

John smiled rather evilly. “Well if both cheeks are taken, looks like it’s the lips for me!”
John Lennon planted a rather shy kiss on my lips and hugged me hard. “Just move here, already!” he joked.
I smiled painfully at the band I was far too attached to.
“Don’t do anything stupid without me,” I warned.

The boys just waved as I disappeared into the white Rolls Royce with the pineapple in the
window.
“To the airport then, Raymond,” I sighed dolefully.

Ray nodded with an understanding smile. “Roll down the window and wave, Alice.”

I did wave. I waved until we turned the corner and I couldn’t see them anymore. Even then, I kept the window open and let the cold, English air make my cheeks pink and halt the tears that I felt coming.

“Miss, you might want to pull up your window,” Raymond warned as we drew into the airport.
I ducked back into the car and did as he said. “Why?”

But I didn’t need an answer. I saw a number of photographers waiting at the door to the airport. “They can’t be here for me, Ray. I’ll be fine. Thanks for everything.”

Just to be safe, I popped on some sunglasses and my favourite straw hat. I grabbed my suitcase and handbag and walked into the airport without interruption.

The flight was full, and I was sandwiched between a snoring man and another girl about my age, maybe a bit younger. Six hours never went by slower.
As soon as the plane landed in New York, I phoned my dad.

“Dad? Are you in Jersey or are you back in the city?” I asked immediately.
“I’m in the city, Alice. Have you landed?” Dad asked.
I nodded, but then realised he couldn’t see me. “I’m driving over, Dad.”

I hung up and raced in my thunderbird to my dad’s apartment complex. It was small and meagre compared to mine, but I ignored this and hurried into the lobby. Dad was waiting there.

“Dad!” I called, running to hug him.
His embrace stank of guilt and I waited patiently for him to explain.
“Alice. I’m so sorry.”
Well, that wasn’t a very good start.
“For what, Dad?” I asked soothingly.
“I didn’t know she was a reporter, I swear. She just came round and she asked me all about you because she said knew you from work. I told her everything about you; I even gave her baby pictures, for Christ sake. Why didn’t you warn me about reporters?” he said indignantly.

I froze. “Journalists have been making house calls?”
“Yes! You didn’t tell me you were famous,” he accused.
I paled. “Oh dad. Do you know what magazine she worked for?”
“No, lovie, I’m sorry. I can’t even remember her name. But why did she come in the first place?”

I explained everything to him. About the magazine that I had found, and the photographers at
the airport. About the pictures of me at the party. (I left out the part where John and I kissed.)

My dad nodded solemnly. “But I have something I should tell you, Alice.”
“Oh? Another surprise?” I asked dryly.

Dad winced. “I’m moving back to England.”