Days in the Life

Chapter Twelve

Okay; I officially came to the conclusion that Canadians were nuts when I saw how many of them showed up at the airport in Toronto to welcome the Beatles that night-- there must have been almost five-thousand people hanging around the airport at 3:30 in the morning to see their plane land and maybe get a little wave from them. My eyes felt so sore that every time a flashbulb popped, I squeezed my eyelids shut in pain; I had to get to the hotel and lay down before I got dizzy and hit the floor from all the rushing around we did after we got off the plane.

Customs didn’t take too long that night, thank God; within half an hour we’d all been cleared and were free to go. The Beatles, along with Brian, dove into the first limo waiting for us outside the terminal, and they pulled away, leaving Neil and I standing in the fluorescent-bright terminal for a while as Mal and the chauffeur loaded all the suitcases and instruments into the limo and another smaller car behind us.

At long, long last, we drove to the hotel and entered right through the front doors, passing by a throng of weary fans camping outside the building. I barely remembered taking the elevator to the near top of the hotel; “you can make it, Laurie” ran through my head like some sort of positive-minded mantra as I leaned against the back wall of the elevator as it zoomed upwards.

The hotel had assigned us their Presidential suite--two common rooms with four bedrooms. I entered the first common room and aimed my aching body for the first available bedroom nearby, crashed onto the double bed without turning on the light, and closed my eyes. Ohhh, god... I could just fall asleep right here, I thought. I don’t give a shit if my makeup smears all across my face and I look like a raccoon; I need some sleep!

I kept to my word that night, I guess; I practically fell asleep on the spot and didn’t open my eyes again until bright sunlight pierced through the small crack between the drapes covering the windows.

“Mmmph,” I moaned. I sat up, then nearly fell back down into the softness of the pillow--my head was absolutely congested to the max!

After a few moments, I remembered that I was in Canada, recalling a blurry scene of going through customs and a loooong drive to the hotel the night before. I got up and looked in the mirror on the wall, only to find that my makeup had smeared completely across the right side of my face during the night.

“Yuck,” I muttered. God forbid Paul or anyone else should see me that messed up! A long hot shower was what I needed so I could clean up and get dressed before facing anyone else that day... but first I needed to figure out just where the hell my cases were. They weren’t anywhere to be found in my room.

I opened the door to the common room carefully, peeking out to check if anyone was sitting in there. The common room was dead silent, and all the bedroom doors were closed. Great, I thought, grabbing my three cases and tugging them into my room. They didn’t have to see how terrible I looked!

That shower was just what I needed; the steam from the hot water helped relieve my congested nose temporarily, making me feel a hell of a lot better by then. I wrapped my long robe around me and then, since I obviously had some time to myself, gave myself a manicure while sitting in the bathroom, breathing in some more of the steamy air before heading back into my bedroom.

I got back in bed, crossing my feet in front of me and waiting for the light pink nail polish on my nails to dry. Hmm... it was still awfully quiet in the other room. Was anyone going to get up that day? Hey... exactly what time was it, anyway?

Oh my lord, I thought as I looked at the clock ticking on the wall. It can’t be two in the afternoon! It can’t be that late! I’ve completely missed breakfast!

I opened the door and walked into the common room, putting my hands on my hips as I walked around the room, listening for any sign of life inside the other rooms. Hmm... maybe they’ve gone downstairs for lunch or something, I thought as I headed back towards my room.

It was then that I noticed the note written on hotel stationery pinned to the outside of my door; pulling it down, I noticed that it was written in George’s handwriting that I could recognize as well as my own:

Stay here and get some rest--
Will be back after the 400 show.

Just lovely, I said, setting the note down on my vanity table. Well, at least they’ll be back in a while before their evening show.

My stomach began rumbling at that point; room service sounded awfully appealing at that point, though I usually don’t have much of an appetite when I’m that sick. I ordered some soup and tea from the kitchen and sat on the couch near the door, just relaxing until the food arrived on a linen-covered cart. I tipped the “waiter” with a bill from the stack of money Neil always left by the door just for that purpose, then sat down and practically attacked the food in front of me. I was a little disappointed by the cuisine at that hotel; even with my senses obstructed by my cold, I could still taste how very salty the soup was. I felt lucky that I’d steeped my own tea as well; lord knows they probably would’ve made that too salty by some odd method!

I watched a bit of TV for a while; nothing very interesting was on, so I ended up switching it off and going back into my room. I was slowly starting to get over the initial roughness of the cold; the hot shower and food had helped me start feeling better. Maybe I would be able to make it to the evening show after all! I thought happily as I packed up all my bathroom things.

Let me tell you, it was quite easy to go stir-crazy after that point, being cooped up in a hotel room with no one else to talk to all day. I rearranged all the items in all three of my suitcases out of sheer boredom, managing to kill about fifteen minutes of dull time. Aargh! What the hell else could I do to keep myself occupied that afternoon, besides suck down a few glasses of water each hour, trying to keep the fluids in my body going so that I could kick the cold faster?

Around four-thirty, I called room service again and ordered dinner (my appetite was coming back with a vengeance!). This time the food was much better: baked fish with green beans and a baked potato, along with a small dish of fruit cocktail and bread and butter. I downed the whole meal in less than fifteen minutes, drinking a big glass of orange juice with it as well.

I’d dozed off on the couch after that and slept for about two hours before I woke up to the sound of voices outside the hotel door. Eeek! I was still in my bathrobe! I sprung from my place on the couch and darted into my room, closing the door just as I heard the lock to the other door click open and noisy voices filled the common room. About two minutes later, by which time I’d managed to pull on my jeans and a blouse, I heard Ringo say, “Eh, has anyone checked on Laurie yet?” to which Paul replied, “No--I’ll go see what she’s up to.”

Then came the knock at my door. I sat down on my bed and said, “Come in.”

The door opened, and Paul walked in, carrying a tray with soup and sandwiches. “Ah, zee ailing mademoiselle,” he said in full ‘Michelle-ma-belle’ French mode. “You look absolutely r-r-ravisheeng for someone who ees so seeck.”

“Well, I’m feeling better than I did last night,” I giggled as he set the tray on the vanity table and bowed deeply. “I drank so much water and juice today I think I’ve washed the cold right out of me.”

“Well, you ahve four willeeng servants at your deesposal... at least for the next hour or so,” he said, giving up the French routine. “Then we have to go to the show.”

“Oh,” I moaned, crashing backwards onto my pillow and covering my eyes. “Another show already?”

“Afraid so,” he said. “But tomorrow afternoon, we’ll be flying to Boston... did you know that we’re playing a show in the middle of a horse racetrack there?”

“You’re kidding! That’s a new one,” I remarked, sitting back up. “So, how did this afternoon’s show go?”

Paul nodded. “Very well, actually; we almost had a sold-out crowd for it.”

“That’s great,” I said. “Now, Paul, you’re going to have to help me eat some of this food; I just scarfed down an entire dinner a while ago, and I’m not quite starving yet.”

“No problem; I’ve been eyeing those sandwiches since room service delivered them,” he said. “I’ll just have a couple.”

“No, no; take as many as you want,” I said, following him to the vanity table. “You can have the soup, too, if you want it.”

“You’re sure?”

God, yes! No more pure salt for me today! “Sure,” I said, taking a bite out of a ham sandwich as he leaned over and took a spoonful of the soup.

“Hmm... not bad,” he said. “You’re sure you don’t want any?”

I frowned. “What do you mean ‘not bad’? The soup was awful earlier today!” I said, much to his surprise.

“No, really, Laurie; it’s pretty damn good; maybe it’s a different batch or something... they couldn’t possibly be serving out of the same pot all day,” he said, then paused after taking another mouthful. “Hey! What are you trying to do to me? Passing off some rotten soup to me? What kind of trick is that?”

I saw that mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and I laughed. “Oh, shut up, you... or you’ll be wearing that bowl of soup!”

Paul left the room, making a silly face at me as he carried the bowl into the other room and joined the others. “She’s her same old bitchy self!” he kidded, and the others laughed. I stuck my tongue out at them and closed the door.

As they got ready to go to the evening show at Maple Leaf Gardens, I contemplated going with them for a while, but then decided against it; it would be better if I stayed at the hotel and rested up some more, maybe kicking some more of this cold. They left a few minutes after seven, right around the exact time that the opening acts were slated to start playing at the arena.

TV was my main activity that evening as I dazed out on the couch in the common room while they were gone. Around nine-thirty, though, I began feeling drowsy; I was pretty tired even though I’d gotten up only about eight hours ago. I wanted so badly to wait up for the Fabs to get back so I could hear all the gossip about their evening show, but my body got the better of me, and I headed off to bed.

As it took me a while to fall asleep, I again thought about how everyone said I was so lucky to go on tour with the Beatles. It was slowly beginning to not be so much fun for me. Where had I been for nearly a week now? In a plane, a car, a few baseball stadiums, and countless hotel rooms! I hadn’t seen any sights in any of the cities we’d been to... though the others hadn’t either, of course; all they had time to do in each city was get a little sleep, then play one or two shows, then dash onto a plane for the next stop on the tour.

I suppose I could have very well gone out and explored the cities on my own... but that wouldn’t have been any fun without any of the Beatles there with me. I remembered taking them to Petersen’s in Oak Park for ice cream last January and how much fun they’d had seeing a few sights in Chicago, courtesy of yours truly, and how they’d miniature-golfed and toured the grounds at Rosary last week, too. It was probably the most fun they’d ever had on any tour in their lives. This other stuff, this jumping from one city to another... it was bullshit, and there was no other way to put it. Was I lucky? Maybe... but I was starting to think that Cheryl had been luckier when she got a hold of the Beatles’ “Yesterday and Today” record with that weird-with-a-capital-W picture on the cover from her cousin’s record store earlier that summer before they all were recalled by Capitol; even she would have tired of this lousy touring schedule by now.

The next day came pretty quickly. I slept for a good twelve hours that night, and woke up right around noon. Grabbing a quick sandwich from the huge platter that room service brought upstairs for lunch, I ate in the elevator as we zoomed downstairs to the car, then headed for the airport. I was much more aware of what was going on in customs that time--when they searched through all my cases, I was praying that no one would notice the rose-colored nightgown that Anna had given me in my underwear case. I also got a little worried when the officials gave Mal’s bags a second look; Mal was the person appointed to haul the marijuana around for the boys while they were on the road, and I was sure that he would get caught and we’d all be carted off to jail! Wow; Alice and Peter would probably give the Canadian government the thumbs-up for them to shoot me dead as punishment!

Somehow, though, we all passed the inspection, and soon after were in the air, flying to Boston. By the time we stepped off the plane that day, I felt much better. Perhaps not quite 100% okay yet--my nose was still on the stuffy side--but much better than I’d been the day before. And, at last, much to my utter joy, we finally saw some sunlight for the first time in days as we drove to the racetrack for the show that was slated to start in about an hour.

The sitting area for us while we were waiting for the show to start was the jockeys’ locker room. After getting over the novelty of playing a show at a racetrack, the Beatles soon got bored. The Beatles smoked about one full pack of cigarettes between the four of them within the hour they spent getting their stage costumes on and putting on their stage makeup. John started complaining about his hair as he studied himself in the mirror.

“Bloody hell; I should’ve gotten me hair cut before we came over here,” he said. “I can barely see out of me eyes.”

“We don’t need a barber,” George piped up. “Let me have a go.”

I laughed, hearing his rather hilarious proposition. “You must be joking,” I said, giggling.

John got up from his chair and snatched a whole stack of paper towels from the restroom after combing some water through his hair. “We need some shears, though,” he said as he and George spread the paper across the floor under the folding chair.

George shrugged. “I’m not a barber.”

“I have a pair in my purse,” I piped up, undoing the clasp on my purse and searching through the contents. “They’re a little on the small side--they’re part of a sewing kit I have with me at all times just in case a button pops off or a hem tears.”

“Gear,” said John, taking the scissors once I found them.

“You’re really going to cut his hair? Just like that?” I said, snapping my fingers as I watched George go to work.

“Mmm-hmm,” George replied, snipping across the fringe covering John’s forehead. You know, for someone who spent the morning smoking pot and spent a plane trip pretty buzzed, he had a good eye for cutting hair evenly; I could probably never cut hair because of my crappy aim. By the time George was done, John’s hair was trimmed just the slightest bit shorter in front and considerably shorter by his neck--still a Beatle cut, though, so I didn’t have to worry. I hadn’t seen John with such short hair since some of those promo pictures from around ‘63 or so.

“I think it looks great,” I said as I helped him and George clean up the paper towels. When they weren’t looking, I picked up a tiny bit of John’s hair and rolled it into one of the towels, acquiring a rather unique and rare souvenir for Claire--she would die when I gave it to her!

“Are you next, Laur?” George joked, snipping the scissors at me.

“No, thanks!” I said, snatching the scissors from him. “My hair is short enough as it is, George... if you cut any more off, I’d look like one of you guys.”

“I highly doubt that!” Paul said from across the room. “Not with all those curves and that pink skirt of yours!”

I blushed. Always trying to embarrass me in front of the others... though it was fun being able to joke around with them. We hadn’t had enough of that during this tour, and I think it was effecting us all--all it had been so far was business, singing, running around like idiots from one place to another. It was good to laugh once in a while and get some stress out!

My head was starting to hurt again, though, and I chose to stay back in the locker room with Neil and Mal while the Beatles played their set. I suddenly got the bug to give my mother a call; I hadn’t had any word from home in quite a few days. Finding a pay phone in the hall, I dug some change out of my purse and dialed home. After four rings, someone picked up.

“Hello?” I heard my mother say.

“Hi. Mom?” I said; the phone line was a little staticky.

“Laurie! What’s wrong, dearest?” she said, alarmed. “You sound sick!” “No, I’m okay, Mom,” I said. “My nose is just a little stuffy, that’s all... you kind of get a little sick sometimes when you spend so much time cooped up in an airplane, remember?”

“Well... where are you calling from?” she said.

“Boston; the Beatles are on stage right now, and I had some free time... so I decided to call and see how things are going at home,” I said, spinning one of the dimes around on the top of the phone.

“Everything’s fine here; Claire’s been moping around the house since you’re not here to drive her to the pool or the library and it’s too hot to walk anywhere. I wish she’d go back to school already; she’s making me crazy,” she said. “And I’ve been busy trying to keep the squirrels out of the bird feeder in the yard... and your father broke the antenna off the television last night when he wasn’t watching what he was doing--”

“Oh, enough about that, Alice!” I heard my dad say in the background.

“Well, good; maybe he’ll think about getting us a color TV now,” I laughed.

“Not a chance, Laurie; the one we have right now can easily be repaired... we just bought it last year, too.”

“I know, I know.. it was worth a shot, though,” I laughed. “How’s the weather been?”

“Rather rainy; we had a couple of really lousy storms in the past couple of days,” she replied. “We thought for a while that the creek was going to flood.”

“Oh god; not again,” I said. “It was tough enough cleaning up after it reached the porch last time and ruined all the gardening equipment we stored under the porch.”

“Well, we lucked out this time... so, tell me; how have you been?”

“Oh, pretty good,” I said.

“Have you been eating well? You’ve been getting enough rest, right?”

“Yes and yes,” I said. “It’s hard to sleep a full night, though, when we have a late flight or a bus ride all night to the next stop on the tour.”

“Well, just take care of yourself so you don’t get really sick,” she warned. “How are the others?”

“They’re fine; a little tired, but fine,” I said.

“All right,” she sighed. “I don’t want to keep you very long...”

“That’s okay; I have to get going, too. I think the show just ended,” I said. The screams outside reached a deafening pitch, then quickly died down. “We’ve gotta leave.”

“Okay... well, call us again when you have the chance,” she said.

“Got it,” I said. “See you soon.”

“All right... bye-bye.”

“Bye,” I said, hanging up the phone as I saw the Beatles heading back down the hall from the outside, ready to move on once again.

Continue to Chapter Thirteen...