Chapter Ten

It started raining not long after we got back to the hotel, not a big surprise since it had been so muggy all day. All I wanted to do was get into a cold shower and freeze myself until I couldn’t take it anymore--anything to get rid of the sticky sweaty feeling all over my skin. Midwest summers are really ridiculous, especially during August--all you get are heat waves and strong thunderstorms all month long, neither of which are really very much fun.

When we got back to our floor, Paul and John raced down the hallway to their room, each one trying to edge out the other for dibs on the bathroom; John nearly knocked Paul into the wall at one point, but Paul leaped ahead with one big step and beat him to their room, making a beeline for the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him.

I caught up with them about a minute later, going into my room and also setting up the bathroom for myself. The door joining our two rooms was still open from before, so while I was getting ready I saw John gather up his things for his shower, dump them in front of the bathroom door, then sit down on the couch and rub his eyes tiredly. He stared at the ceiling for a moment as the water started running in the bathroom, then looked over at the phone next to him.

He picked up the receiver, dialed a huge string of numbers, then waited for someone to pick up on the other end. “Hello, Cyn?... How are you, luv?,” he said at last, stretching out on the couch and kicking off his black dress shoes. “Yeah, we just got back from the show... Oh, it was bloody madness; some of the fans broke loose and made a dashe for the stage. We had to stop the show until they got their arses back in their seats... Not that it made much of a damn difference--no one can hear us playing, anyway, with all those birds screaming and all...”

He shifted the phone to his other ear after a moment. “What?... Oh, no; we haven’t written shit, either... it’s unbelieveable, Cyn... How’s Julian?... Tell him hello for me, okay? How’s he doing in school?... oh, he likes drawing now? Well, that runs in the family, y’know,” he said with a little laugh. “Don’t worry, luv; I’ll see him when I get home. Yes... of course... I’ll ring you again later this week... I’m sorry I rang you so late; this is the first free time I’ve had... yeah... all right... I’ll talk to you soon... bye.”

The water in the shower shut off just as their was a knock at their door. John lifted his head tiredly and said, “Yeah?”

“It’s Nell, John,” Neil said from the other side of the door.

After John opened the door, Neil stepped in and whispered to him, “I’m going, eh, downstairs to see what’s, uh, going on for this evening... is there anything you want?”

“Yeah; there was a smashing blonde that I saw while we were coming in... white dress, white ribbons in her hair... you’ll know her if you see her...”

“All right; I’ll see if she’s all right,” Neil said, closing the door behind him as he left.

Paul came out of the bathroom just then wearing a white bathrobe and rubbing his damp moptop with a towel; I’d also noticed that he’d shaved again, which was a little odd for nearly midnight. He looked at John, who had suddenly become a hundred times more animated than he’d been earlier, and said, “What’s up?”

“That blonde we saw before is on her way up to the other room,” John said, re-collecting his shower things. “Are you done in the shower?”

Paul nodded; he looked like he was on his way towards my room, so I stepped back from my nearby spy position near the doorway and pretended I was busy reorganizing my vanity case on the bed. He came into the room, slinging the towel over his shoulders and smiling at me.

“Are you hungry at all, luv?” he asked, leaning against the doorway. “’Cause I’m absolutely famished.”

I shrugged. “Sure; I could use something to eat,” I replied, closing my “reorganized” vanity case. “What’s going on?”

“Hmm? Oh... we’re all sort of having a little party down the hall in George and Ringo’s room,” he said. “It’ll be great fun; you can come with me if you’re not too tired.”

“A party?” I repeated. “This late at night?”

He nodded, heading for my phone and dialing for room service. “Yeah, sure,” he said, waiting for someone on the other end of the line to pick up. “We’ve invited some people for a few drinks... hello? Yeah, I’d like to place an order for Room 578, please...”

I heard the water running in the shower in the other room by that point, and I figured that I should wash up as well in light of the fact that Paul was going to drag me to some party down the hall for a while. I mouthed to Paul that I was going to shower while we were waiting for our food, and he nodded as I headed for my bathroom.

Oh, god, a cool shower never felt better than it did that night after being all sweaty all day! I pulled on my blue satiny robe afterwards, feeling very cooled off and relaxed as I combed my hair and re-applied some light makeup to my face, trying to cover up the black circles forming under my eyes from losing sleep the past few days. I was really amazed at how the Beatles and company could go from town to town and sleep like logs all night without a backward glance; I just couldn’t get used to the fact yet that we were in a different hotel in a different city in a different state nearly every night, and that my days weren’t always during the daytime--those 2:30 am arrivals weren’t exactly wonderful news to my ears, you know.

I went back into my bedroom to find Paul nearly dozing off on the couch. Choosing to leave him alone so he could rest up a little, I quietly searched for some clothes to wear in my suitcase; I ended up choosing lime green skirt (one of the shorter ones from my school wardrobe--another half an inch shorter and the nuns at Rosary would say I was violating the dress code!) and a white sleeveless top with tiny pink and green flowers on the collar and on the sleeve trim along with my white Mary Janes. By the time I’d finished dressing in the bathroom, the room service guy was just knocking on the door.

I raced to the door to answer it as Paul awoke from his cat-nap. As the guy was wheeling our cart into the room, I saw Neil pass by in the hallway with about five very attractive girls, probably around my age or a bit younger; included in the group was the blonde John had talked about earlier. One of the girls, a brunette with a really squeaky voice, caught sight of Paul and said, “Oh! Paul’s in there, Jeannie!” but then caught sight of me and said, “Oh... that one is already in there with him... hmph...”

Paul laughed. “My word,” he said as I closed the door and locked it, “it’s going to be a busy evening over there. John’s already left for the party.”

I nodded, uncovering the dishes that room service had delivered. Hmm... Spaghetti deluxe with garden salad, breadsticks, and Coke and scotch as a drink. My stomach started growling as soon as I smelled the piping-hot food in front of me; I felt suddenly like I hadn’t eaten for days. The food wasn’t half-bad, actually--my only complaint was that the breadsticks were a little gummy, but, all in all, not bad for late-night hotel service!

It was still extremely difficult to keep my eyes on my plate and not staring at Mr. Wonderful sitting at the opposite end of the couch. He finished his dinner way before I did, then went back into his room and changed into jeans and a white button-down shirt while I finished eating. I would’ve liked some time to do something with my messed-up, still halfway damp hair, but no such luck--Paul was ready to go to the party, and John, of course, had gone dashing down the hall a long time before.

I locked my door and pocketed my key, meeting Paul by his door afterwards. As we walked down the hall, I could already hear noise from people laughing and talking away. By the time Paul and I walked through the door, the party was already in full swing--smoke in the air, booze flowing... the whole nine yards. The whole room was full of people I’d neer even met yet--some of the members of the supporting bands on the tour, a couple of the Beatles’ press officers, and at least ten rather, uh, flirtatious young women making passes at any celebrity in site. The very moment Paul closed the door behind us, four of the girls were instantly at his side, including that white-dress girl that John had asked Neil about earlier.

“Hi, Paul! I’m Christie,” she giggled as she sipped her drink. Oh boy--this one was half-tipsy already... and the night was still young! “I’m a--hiccup--really big fan of yours.”

Paul smiled. “Hello, Christie,” he said politely yet disinterestedly, looking more towards the rest of the room than at Miss Alcoholic... or at me either, for that matter. Quickly I grabbed hold of his arm as he walked further into the room; naturally I got dirty looks from all those other girls that had been anticipating Mr. McCartney’s arrival at the party.

Ringo was playing bartender for the moment at the cart full of every type of booze imagineable stacked on it. His eyes looked a little bloodshot--apparently he’d been sampling the merchandise while making drinks for everyone. “Me first job was as a bartender on a ferry,” he said as he mixed a rum and Coke for Paul. “Want anything, Laurie?”

“Just a Coke, please,” I said. “I already had a drink with my dinner. I don’t want to overdo it and have Alice Donaldson hear about it somehow...”

He shrugged, handing me a bottle of Coke. There was absolutely no way I was about to make myself tipsy, especially at a hotel party with tons of strange people that had come from god-knows-where! Anna and I had learned not to do that from Cheryl, who found that out the hard way at a frat party while she was visiting her cousing Samantha in California during spring break of sophomore year. Oh, she didn’t get raped or anything that horrible--but she did lose her purse, her car keys, and all her traveling money because she got drunk and ended up passing out in a bathtub in the basement bathroom of the frat house. She said she had nearly no idea how the hell she’d gotten there--not exactly a glamourous end to her first drinking experience!

The faint scent of marijuana wafted across the room from near the bathroom, getting stronger as Paul and I walked through the crowd saying hello to everyone--well, actually, while he said hello to everyone. While he was talking to some guy from one of the supporting bands, I peeked over the side of the bed and saw John and George, each with two girls just hanging all over them, sitting in the two-foot space between the wall and the bed, puffing away on a joint like there was no tomorrow. One of the girls, a redhead that looked way too much like Jane Asher for my peace of mind (must keep Paul away from her, I thought) was gently stroking the nape of John’s neck with one hand, and her other hand was practically down the front of John’s pants. Oh-kay, I thought as Paul and I headed away from that area of the room. I had no idea it was going to be this kind of party! I hope Paul wasn’t expecting me to share him with some other girl in the room--that was just sickening!

Someone had brought in a huge stack of 45s and a portable record player and had set it up on top of the coffee table near the sofa; they started the music with a Yardbirds song, but it was barely recognizeable over the din in the crowded room. I was having trouble walking around so many people, but Paul seemed to be having a blast chatting away with everyone except me. I’d barely heard a word from him directed at me all evening; it was like I’d hit some button and lit up a big red sign that said “Ignore me!” on my forehead. The people that had been there drinking for a while were starting to stagger around the room, bumping into everyone else; I nearly got shoved into the wall on one occasion because of that carelessness. The pot smoke was making me feel sick... I just wanted to get out of there as soon as I could, with or without Paul, before I vomited all over the rug or something.

At that point, I saw John and that redhead get up and disappear out the door. I had a pretty good idea where they’d run off to. I was just about to ask Paul about it when Mal Evans handed Paul an unlit joint and said, “That’s one of the last ones, Paul. Smoke it while you’ve got it.”

Paul nodded, saying, “Thanks, Mal,” and began searching his pockets for his lighter. “Oh, I think I’ve left it in your room, Laurie... can you go fetch it for me, luv? It’ll take but a minute...”

I nodded, already grabbing my keys out of my pocket--anything to get out of that room for a few minutes! “Oh, sure,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

I headed back to my hotel room down the hall and began searching by the couch for Paul’s lighter. God, he lost that thing so often; he needed the thing sewn to his hand or something before he left it behind in some hotel or on the tour bus and would never find it again!

Just as I found it behind the food dishes on the cart from room service, I heard some noise coming through the connecting door between my room and the other one. Apparently that redhead was quite a vocal girl as well as a very fast girl; all I heard was, “Oh, John! Oh, god, now baby, now... oh! Yes!” for a full minute. Oh, dear god... my suspicions had been confirmed!

I leaned against the wall, rubbing my eyes and trying to get rid of the migraine headache that was slowly building inside my head. Things hadn’t been made any easier by the fact that I’d just uncovered proof that one of the Beatles was cheating on his wife, the woman that he’d had a kid with! I mean, he’d just talked with Cynthia on the phone a little while ago, and now he was in bed with some tart Neil had picked up off the street!

As I locked my door behind me, I also started to wonder just how many times they’d all done that sort of thing--I was pretty certain that the other three members of the band weren’t angels, either. And, oh, lord, if John, George, and Ringo were all willing to shag groupies at the drop of a hat, regardless of the fact that they were married... what would stop Paul, who’d been only dating Jane Asher for three years... and now had asked me to be his girlfriend, from doing the same thing? He’d had the hearts of millions of female fans all over the world for over two years now; there was no reason for him not to take a few of them to bed while on tour.

The thought of that gave me some energy to run back down the hall and see what Paul was up to before he snuck off with one of those girls at the party. I swear, when I opened the door to Ringo and George’s room, it looked like the number of people at the party had doubled since I’d left! I could barely walk around the room, not finding any of the Beatles or their entourage in the mob. Finally I spotted Mal, still standing where he’d been chatting with Paul earlier; Paul was long gone.

“Mal!” I cried over the noise in the room. “Do you have any idea where Paul is?”

He nodded, pointing in the direction of the couch by the window. I slowly made my way over there, nearly getting burned by cigarettes three times as I finally made it to the couch.

I could’ve just smacked Paul at that point when I saw him--he was pretty much dazing out on the couch, joint in one hand, Coke and rum in the other, while he had three girls hanging all over him. He seemed to be enjoying their flirtatious manner a wee bit too much, considering he’d asked me to be his girlfriend only yesterday! My jaw just dropped, and my feet felt like they were cemented to the floor; I couldn’t take another step forward!

One of the girls, that bratty, bratty brunette from earlier, caught sight of me before he did, then aimed her face right at Paul’s and kissed him right on the mouth--and he didn’t even try to push her off until I yelled, “Paul!” a few seconds later.

Half of the people around us ceased their conversation and turned to look at what all the yelling was about. Paul sat up quickly, finally noticing I was there as the girl gave me a snotty look, sort of like a “so-NOW-what-Miss-Hot-Stuff?” sneer.

Paul opened his mouth to explain as the three girls laughed, but I just said, “Oh, to hell with you, Paul” and kicked near his shins, hitting the bottom of the couch just near him instead. I ran out of the room, limping down the hall--I’d really busted up my foot that time by kicking at him!--not letting the tears of pain and anger flow until I was safely ensconced in my hotel room.

The nerve of him! The absolute nerve of him! I half-felt like running back to the party and slugging him out cold for what he did to me! And he’d done it to me in front of a roomful of strangers, probably a lot of people that we’d be touring with for the next two weeks! I must have looked like the biggest moron in the entire world!

He came knocking on my door about one minute later. “Laurie, please open the door,” he said, very calmly, not angrily at all.

“No!” I shouted, my face red from crying. “You can just go fuck yourself for all I care, Paul. Or, no, better yet, why don’t you go fuck that little tart that’s been throwing herself at you all night? You’d probably have a much better time with her than you’d have with boring old me that you haven’t talked to at all tonight!”

“Laurie Donaldson, it was not my fault!” he said.

“That is the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard! ‘It’s not my fault’... why couldn’t you just tell all of those sluts to go take a long walk off a short pier instead of letting them mess around with you?”

“I had no idea what was going on around me... that’s sort of what pot does to you,” he said, trying to keep his voice as quiet as he could while standing out in the hallway. “Laurie, just please, please open the door; I don’t want to argue out here in the hall where everyone else can hear our business.”

“Well, God, Paul, maybe you should have thought of that before that whole scene happened at the party--I think the whole hotel knows about it now!”

“Laurie, that’s not my fault--you’re the one who started the yelling.”

“Oh, just go away! Just go away and leave me alone before I call my mother and tell her I’m flying back to Chicago on the next plane out of town!” I threatened before stuffing my face back in the pillow I was clinging to on my bed.

“Oh, fine... I can see that I can’t talk to you right now--you’re quite a hot-headed little bitch when you don’t get your way! I’ll see you later!” he yelled. It was quiet after that, so I assumed that he’d stomped back off to the party.

Ooh, that pissed me off! I can stand being called a lot, but not a bitch! I jumped up and ran for the door, hoping to catch him before he went back into the party. When I flung my door open, he was nowhere to be seen down the hallway. Oh, great... he’d gone back to the party. Maybe in a few minutes he’d be bringing a girl back to his room once John and the redhead finally decided to give it a rest--it sounded like the two of them were going at it a second time.

Well, with that type of noise, it was a little difficult to sleep or even just sit and gather my thoughts; I lasted about another ten minutes sitting on my bed before I got up, grabbed my purse from the dresser, and headed downstairs. I had no idea where the hell I was going; I just wanted to get out of my room and walk around for a while, far, far away from that party on the fifth floor and away from my problems.

I walked around the lower level of the hotel, past the swimming pool that was closed for the night by that point, and past the game rooms where two twelve-year-olds were having a late-night ping-pong tournament after standing up to a wedding that had gone on in the hotel ballroom that day. I looked at the stuff on display in the hotel shop window, not really wanting to go in and shop for any souvenirs or anything, then headed over to the restaraunt overlooking the pool area. It wasn’t too crowded, so I pulled the glass door open and went in, taking a seat at one of the stools at the counter.

I ordered a cup of coffee and a slice of apple pie when the waitress came out of the back room, and she brought it to me right away. While I picked at the top crust of the pie, I stared at the marble pattern in the countertop for a while, then looked at the other people in the room: a young couple, probably mid-twenties or so, sitting at a table in the corner of the room nearest the windows that overlooked the swimming pool, and a middle-aged couple dressed in their Sunday best (probably members of the wedding from earlier) sitting at a booth on the opposite side of the room. Sighing, I sipped my coffee, almost instantly waking up from all the caffeine in it, then stared at the headlines on a newspaper that someone had left next to me on the counter.

As I reached down to adjust the strap on my shoe, I happened to look over at the other end of the counter, about thirty feet away, and saw who else but Paul sitting there! I paused in mid-strap-fix, staring at him for a moment. I hadn’t recognized him right away, since he was wearing a baseball cap as a disguise--how many times have you ever seen the Beatles in baseball caps? Not many!

He was concentrating on writing something down on one of the hotel notepads at his end of the counter, looking quite frustrated and completely unaware that I was in the same room with him. I didn’t want to talk to him just yet; I didn’t want to look like I’d chased him downstairs, erasing the force behind what I’d told him earlier. I’m sorry, but I was pretty damn mad at him for what he’d done; it served him right that he was sitting in some hotel coffee shop at one in the morning by himself!

I’d finished about half of my pie when, in the corner of my eye, I saw him get up from his seat and pick up the pad and pen. Uh-oh; he was bound to see me, since he had to walk towards me to get out of the restaraunt! Quickly I bolted out of my seat and headed over to the jukebox against the back wall where he wouldn’t see me unless he turned his head to the right as he walked past. I lucked out; he left the restaraunt without noticing me at all... or, maybe, just maybe, he had noticed me and was still mad and didn’t want to talk to me, either...

I ran back to my seat, finished the last two bites of pie I’d left on my plate, slapped a five-dollar bill on the counter (more than enough to cover the tab), and hurried out of the coffee shop, trying to see where Paul was going to. He walked back to the elevators in the lobby and pressed the up button; I stayed back a good distance, concealing myself behind some oversized rubber plants near the registration desk. Two elevators arrived at the same time; he stepped into the one on the right and told the elevator operator, “Fifth floor, please.”

As the doors closed in front of him, I made a dash for the second elevator and told the operator to take me to the fifth floor, too. We zoomed up five stories quickly, and I cautiously got out on the fifth floor, just in case Paul was in the hallway. There wasn’t a sign of him anywhere as I reached my room again and unlocked the door. As I walked into the room, I nearly stepped on a folded-up sheet of hotel stationery on the floor near the door. I reached down to pick it up, unfolded it, and read:

Dearest, beautiful Laurie,

What can I say? I’m sorry for what I’ve done tonight and what I’ve said to you. I’ll understand if you’re not speaking to me anymore... I would probably do the same...

Paul

p.s. hope you enjoyed your snack in the coffee shop, luv

The next morning I ate breakfast by myself in my room, ordering pancakes and sausage from room service and stuffing myself before showering and getting dressed in my traveling clothes--a black skirt, white sleeveless blouse, and a white sweater. I didn’t hear a sound from the room next door until about eleven o’clock, the very latest that John and Paul wanted to get up so they could be out of the hotel and heading to the airport by noon for the flight to DC. About fifteen minutes after I finally heard some stirrings of life from their room, John knocked on the connecting door.

“Laurie? You awake?” he said.

“Yeah, John,” I said, opening the door. He looked totally disheveled--hair a mess, day-old shave, pajamas buttoned crooked... gee, what a dreamboat, eh, girls?

“Just making sure, luv,” he said, yawning. “Cor... what a night I had! I can’t believe it’s nearly time to leave already... I think I got about five hours of rest...”

I smiled. Okay, I was curious by that point! “Where’s Paul?”

John pointed to the bathroom. “In the bath,” he said, searching through his suitcase for something to wear that day. “He’s a slowpoke, you know.”

“Oh, I didn’t want to talk to him or anything,” I said quickly. “I was just wondering, that’s all...”

He shrugged, continuing his search as I closed my door and locked it. Hmm... should I let Paul know that his note, simple as it had been, had really hit my heart and nearly made me cry... or should I stick to my guns for a while longer? I chose the latter, not exactly ready to let one little note fix the situation. I mean, that was pretty serious stuff; I didn’t want to have to deal with him cheating on me while we were on tour!

Paul and I barely made eye contact during the entire trip to DC, from the limo ride to the airport to the plane landing at Dulles Airport around four o’clock that afternoon; I stayed in the little compartment at the back while Paul and the others walked around the plane with the other bands, chatting away merrily. Every once in a while I took Paul’s note out of my purse and stared at his loopy handwriting for about a minute or so, then put it back and stared at the ceiling. I was really, really hoping that he’d been totally sincere in the note and not just sucking up for a quick response from me.

As the plane squealed onto the runway at Dulles, I noticed that everyone around me got a little tense as they looked out the windows at the crowds outside. Oh, god; that’s right... there’s a lot more people that have a grudge against the Beatles right now! I thought. Oh shit; this is not going to be a fun day!

We were the first group off the plane; the boys waved to their fans a little nervously from the stairs leading to the ground for a moment, then ran down to the armored car that was waiting just a few yards away. Neil, Mal, Brian, and I all followed right after them, and the cop closed the doors and locked them behind us once we were in. Wow; I knew that there was a slight chance for danger... but did we really need an armored car to get to the stadium?

The backstage antics for that show at eight o’clock were not much different than usual: a bit of rehearsal from the lads, then they got changed into their stage suits--light blue suits with some kind of weird paisley satiny shirts. The only thing different was that, after their press conference outside the dressing room was over, no one barely spoke a word to anyone else the entire wait before the show started.

Mal came into the locker room about twenty minutes before it was time for the Beatles to take the stage. He whispered something to Brian worriedly, and Brian whispered something to Neil as I watched; it was like they were playing a game of Telephone or something. Brian walked over to John and began talking to him quietly; I barely managed to catch him saying something about there being some members of the KKK marching in front of the stadium right now. John went pale, as did George when he heard the news. Paul and Ringo didn’t go pale, but they didn’t look very happy to hear the news, either, that those nutcases wearing bedsheets were holding a demonstration about one hundred yards from where we were sitting! The nerves were definitely building in the room as the clock ticked on; George looked like he was going to be sick soon if they didn’t get this show over with!

At long, long last, the Beatles got their stage call; I followed Neil to our usual viewing spot in the dugout of the stadium as the Fabs ran out to the stage a little quicker than usual--as if running fast would shield them from anyone trying to bump them off! The fans went wild, as expected; you wouldn’t be able to tell at all that there were people in that city that hated John from all the screams and cheers he got during “Rock and Roll Music” that night. I guess if anyone wanted to take a shot at the Beatles during the concert, they wouldn’t have been able to get in because the whole show looked nearly sold out that night! Good, I thought. They sold out a whole arena in a place where there’s people after them! Ha-ha!

As soon as the Beatles got back inside the safety of the corridors leading to the locker rooms, they dropped their instruments into their cases and locked them up, ready to leave for Philadelphia on the bus. Things moved pretty fast from that point on; we gathered up all our stuff from the locker rooms and headed out to the bus, taking the same seats that we’d had the other day... except this time, I pretended to immediately fall asleep on the bus rather than confront Paul about the previous evening. Tomorrow, I thought as I dozed off. Tomorrow I’ll talk to him about it...

Continue to Chapter Eleven...

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