Beatlemania!

It was a few days after Brian’s funeral, which the boys had chosen not to attend as to keep the press away from the service.

We were back in London, now, and things were sober and quiet. Paul was flustered, John was dazed, George was in deep thought, and Ringo was still reeling. I was trying to pull myself together so as to encourage them to pull themselves together, but my mind was whirring.

How were the Beatles going to survive without a manager? Things were never going to be the same.

They decided to take over the show themselves; no manager. It was partly because no manager could ever take Brian’s place, and partially because the Beatles didn’t want to be held back by another person’s suggestions.

We conferred at Paul’s house early in September early one morning. There had been some sciffle about whether to start the next album or take a vacation to India (which George had been dying to do). It was agreed upon to keep the album going, and then go to India next year.

“Magical Mystery Tour,” George told me a couple of weeks later.

“What?” I asked in a dazed manner.

“That’s what the next album’s going to be called,” he explained.

I smiled. “Right. Album...Beatles...all that shit. I’ll come by the studio some time this week, yeah?”

“Definitely.”
~
“
I Am the Walrus” was the song John had written using a Lewis Carroll book. I cracked a smile along with the others when I heard it. I was still avoiding Paul after our blow-up months ago, and I was getting sick of it.

George brought in a haunting song, “Blue Jay Way” he called it. I didn’t care for it, but when he asked me for my honest opinion I smiled and told him it was “incredibly poignant.” He walked off pleased, but I made a point to not come in for any more recordings of that song.

They were also in the middle of filming a movie with the same title as the album, but I wasn’t sure about how it was going to turn out. Paul had suggested no script or director, and it looked like a mess to me. I only went to a few filming shots – they looked dashing while singing “Your Mother Should Know,” one of my favourite songs from the upcoming album.

There was a high point when it was announced that “All You Need is Love” hit number one on the charts, and had unofficially become the hippies’ anthem.

In celebration of this, I started to integrate the loose, cool clothing that was typical of the hippies. My hair was perfect to perfect the look.

“Look, it’s Alice Love-Peace-Hippie,” John would tease me.

But I had noticed the slight growth of length of his own hair, and I teased him mercilessly about that.

I also attended the filming of “I am the Walrus.” This was the only video that I begged to have a part in. It was just so funny. I was put in as one of the “policemen in a row,” although they had me tie my hair up in a fierce bun.
~

“Would you like to come with me?” John asked one evening on the telephone.

“You haven’t told me where we’re going yet,” I reminded him while folding my freshly washed laundry.

“Right...it’s an exhibit at the Indica, actually,” he explained.

“My Indica?” I asked curiously.

“Well, how many Indicas do you know?” John replied snidely.

I laughed. “Touché. Are you talking about the advante-garde exhibit by...oh what was her name...?”

“It’s something that screams foreign like Yogurt or something,” John said sarcastically.

I giggled again. “I’m actually really behind on drawing up this artists’ paperwork. I’ll fill it out and meet you there; is that all right?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you there, love.”
~

The exhibition was called “Unfinished Paintings and Objects.” I remember liking the title a lot and then giving the artist, Yoko (that was her name) a call.

She had an odd, quiet voice on the telephone, and I had never met her in person. I got into my car with all of the paperwork to give to her and drove smoothly to the gallery.

It was almost empty when I got there. In the main room were John and a woman talking in undertone. John was laughing and fingering a ladder.

“Hey, John,” I greeted him with a smile.

John grinned back brightly. “Alice! This is Yoko Ono; the artist.”

I smiled at the small Oriental woman next to John. “Hello, Ms. Ono, I actually have some papers for you.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “I’m the one who runs this gallery.”

“I thought that was a Westwood,” she replied suspiciously.

I raised my hand with a friendly smile. “That’s me; Alice Westwood.”

Yoko was silent, so I simply handed her the papers and then turned back to John. “I was going to get some dinner; do you want to come?”

“Actually, I’m going with Yoko. She was just talking to me about her next exbibit; it sounds really gear, actually.”

I nodded. “Well I think I’ll be going, then.”

“Sure, love. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I kissed his cheek shyly and waved to Yoko before saying hello to Samuel, the doorman and then driving back to my flat and falling asleep.
~

September came to a close rather cleanly; but October was a strange month. It started off with the boys appearing on a variety of talk shows; mostly to talk about Magical Mystery Tour, both the movie and the album.

The boys were offered millions if they performed at Shea Stadium again.

They said no.

With a few more expicatives thrown in here and there.

Maureen was now huffy and impatient, as her baby was due two weeks ago.

“Why won’t she come out?” Mo complained, poking at her large stomach.

“It’s a she?” I asked with an excited smile.

“Well, I don’t really know for sure...but I feel like it’s a girl,” she admitted, patting her stomach fondly.

I grinned. “Well maybe she likes it in there...hey do you have any names in mind?”

“Well I did like Rita but after that song Paul wrote it’s going to look like a terrble cliché,” Maureen giggled.

“How about for a boy?” I pressed.

She shrugged. “Something wild and different, you know? I’m sure Ritchie will think of something.”

I laughed. Ringo was coming up will all sorts of wacky, psychadelic names for his first kid. “I hope it’s a boy...I wouldn’t know what to do with a girl,” he confessed.

“I’m sure you’d figure something out,” I rolled my eyes.
~

Speaking of which, Ringo and Maureen were throwing a party for my birthday, which was on October 13th.

“No, please,” I begged. “I don’t want a big party.”

“Really, Alice. It’ll just be the usual group...I can’t handle a huge bash right now, anyway,” Mo assured me by telephone.

I dressed nicely but casually in a short blue silk dress. I left my hair down and pulled on a coat before setting off for the hour and a half drive down to Maureen and Ringo’s charming home.

By the time I got there, all of the Beatles except John were present. George put a birthday paper crown on my head everyone cheered loudly. Pattie pointed out the good-sized pile of presents on the table that were awaiting me.

Paul wished me a happy birthday brusquely and quickly. I wondered if I had gotten a present from him at all.

John arrived half an hour late, no surprise.

“Sorry, you lot. Christ Mo, haven’t you popped yet?” John was gaping at Maureen’s stomach.

Mo slapped his arm loudly. “Shut it, you. It’s not like I can tell her to get moving.”

“Ah, well. Where’s the birthday girl?” he glanced around until his eyes met mine.

“Half an hour late, hmm? I can see where your true priorities lie,” I teased him.

“I am sorry, love. I was with Yoko; we’re discussing our new exhibit,” he explained.

“Now that you’re here you should really stop talking business and wish me a happy birthday,” I stuck my tongue out at him.

John made a face at me. “You’re a bit of a birthday bitch, missy!”

“It’s my birthday; so I can be,” I retorted.

He laughed and kissed my lips gently. “Happy birthday, Alice.”

“That’s better,” I cleared my throat. “Now go get me a martini.”

Pattie came over once John had left. “I baked you a cake!”

“Pattie!” I exclaimed. “You shouldn’t have bothered.”

“And why not? You’re a great friend, Alice. I’m so glad we’ve become so close,” she smiled gently.

I gave her a quick hug. “Thank you so much, Pattie. I feel the same way about you.”

The cake was brought out, and Pattie had neatly iced “Happy Birthday, Alice,” on it. It was delicious and gone by the time everyone had had their share.

I was reaching for the presents when Maureen cleared her throat.

“Ritch!” she whispered.

“Not now, Mo, Alice is about to open our gift,” Ringo pointed.

“But Ritch...”

Ringo turned to look at her. Her face was pale and she was sweating.

“Mo!” I called, running over. “What’s wrong.”

“My water broke about a minute ago,” she pointed to the stain on the carpet. “It looks like I’m in labour.”
~
“She’s in labour! Drive fast you stupid wanker!” Ringo roared at Paul, who was driving the entire group to the hospital.

Paul thought about yelling back, but instead stepped on the gas pedal and urged the car forward.

We ushered her into the hospital. By this time it was nearly midnight, and the halls were deserted. Mo was given a private ward and only Ritch was allowed inside the room at this point.

“I think we’d better go,” George looked at the sleeping Pattie on his shoulder. “She’s knackered.”

John yawned too. “Can I ride home with you, mate?”

“Yeah, alright. You, Alice?” George looked at me questioningly.

I shook my head. “I want Ringo to have someone to brag about his kid to. I’ll stick around until the baby’s born.”

“I have to drive the happy family home,” Paul remarked. “So I’ll be here as well.”

George shrugged. “Have fun, you two. We’ll pop by tomorrow morning.”

“Drive carefully, George,” I warned him sternly.

He laughed and woke up Pattie gently and led his groggy wife to the car.
~
Being alone with Paul wasn’t too awkward because we both alternately pretended to read or sleep. Since reading made me genuinely sleepy, I wasn’t always pretending, but we never spoke. I didn’t dare. He was too precious to me; I didn’t want him to hate me.

At four in the morning, Ringo ran in to tell us that he was a daddy.

His blue eyes were filled with pride and weariness. But mostly pride.

“Is it-” a rather large yawn cut me off.

Ringo knew what I was trying to say. “It’s a boy. Zak, his name is. Me own little boy.”

Paul laughed with glee. “Congratulations, mate. How’s Mo doing?”

“You can come and see her now, if you like,” Ringo replied earnestly.

Paul and I looked at each other properly for the first time.

“I would love to, Ritchie,” I smiled wearily at him.

However, Maureen was fast asleep. “Quite right to be, really,” Ringo admitted sheepishly.

“I’m going to go and find some food and water,” I told Ringo quickly. “Do you want anything.”

“If there’s any tea about...no, actually, you don’t think they’ll have any scotch? Ah, no, it’s a bleeding ‘ospital, innit? I’ll just have some water, love.” Ringo was rambling and grinning from ear to ear.

I did find some water, but not much else. I went down to the mess hall to find it empty. I would have killed for a couple bags of crisps.

I wandered around the maternity ward until I found the large window that looked on into the just-born babies. I sighed. There he was, little Zak Starkey, just sleeping, looking adorable.

“Looks sweet, doesn’t he?” Paul’s musical voice floated directly to only my ears for the first time in months.

“They all do,” I sniffed. “Ringo and Mo are so lucky.”

Paul was a good five feet away from me, but as he spoke it felt like he was right next to me.

“You’ll be lucky someday. I hope you will, anyway.”

I looked at him. “Oh, Paul. I hope you will too.”

His intense brown eyes gazed at me almost longingly for a few seconds. Then, he cleared his throat awkwardly and we walked off in different directions.