Chapter Sixteen

The rain started to fall heavier as the Beatles' set continued; man, were we living in a tropical rain forest or something? The lousy weather never seemed to end that summer! I know it rains a lot in August, but jeez…Maybe things would be different on the East Coast-we would be in New York by tomorrow morning. And the Beatles would be making a triumphant return to Shea Stadium, the place where just last year they'd been the main attraction at the largest rock and roll concert ever assembled on the face of the earth. Something like 50,000 Beatle freaks attended their show last summer, amazingly enough!

That wasn't too long after they'd received their MBEs from Queen Elizabeth; Ed Sullivan even mentioned it as he introduced the band to the audience that night. Those MBEs should have been knighthoods, in my humble opinion (and Cheryl's and Anna's as well). The three of us had such an image built up inside our heads of them becoming knights-it was as if they would become instant royalty! We always thought, wow, if one of us could nab a Beatle for our very own, we'd be like princesses or something! Silly but fun daydreams… sigh…

So the Beatles still didn't have the title of "Sir" before their names, and I didn't have a knight of my own. I couldn't complain much, though; I did have the charming Prince Paul all to myself. The thought of how lucky I was crossed my mind again as I watched the Beatles perform "I'm Down" that night as their final song, just before the rain started coming down pretty damn hard again. I had Paul as my boyfriend! And it wasn't just because he was a Beatle…he was mature (well, at least compared to the morons I'd dated since high school), talented, a real sweetheart… and he loved me!

I was in such a lovey-dovey mood from that point on; I even gave Paul a big hug and kiss once he and the others had secured themselves in the locker room after the show. He smiled at me after our kiss ended, and I asked him, "Are you doing better, Paul?"

He nodded, then kissed me quickly on the lips one more time. "Absolutely," he whispered, brushing my hair back away from my face, "especially knowing that I'll have you in my bed tonight."

I made a face at him, then laughed as he walked away to figure out where he'd left his traveling clothes before.

George piped up from the other side of the room. "Aww, how precious! Paul and his little bird."

"So much for Miss Asher," John remarked as he combed his rain-dampened hair. "He's found someone else to spend his hard day's nights with!"

George and Ringo thought his sick joke was the funniest thing in the world; they burst out laughing. Then Neil chided them, "Hey, lay off-there's a lady present!" in my defense.

John pretended to look around confusedly. "A lady? Where? All I see is a-"

"Hey!" Paul shouted, frowning at the three court jesters. "Don't even think it, Lennon! I don't care if it's a joke…"

I yawned tiredly as I followed the group out to the limo for the ride to the airport just a short while later; I was almost sure I was going to pass out from exhaustion during the ride to the plane. The flight was pretty much a blur to me; I slept most of the way there. I'd learned over the past week that nothing extraordinary ever really happened during those flights anyway; the most I'd be missing was maybe a witty comment or two-nothing I couldn't handle not hearing.

After being greeted by a pretty large crowd at the airport in New York City, we hopped in the limo and began driving into the city. I watched from my window seat at the tall city buildings pass by during the drive. It was a lot like Chicago to me, at first glance: big buildings, people on the streets even at that hour of the night…nothing out of the ordinary, at least for me.

We had the deluxe suite at the hotel once again. I dumped my purse on the first table I saw and pulled my shoes off my aching feet after we reached the room; it was a total relief to be back in a comfy hotel room after that flight that seemed to take hours. I crashed out on the couch.

A few minutes later as Mal sorted out everyone's suitcases, Paul snuck up behind me and whispered, "Laurie, we're sharing a bedroom while we're here… is that all right?"

I turned around and hid a laugh. "Is that all right?" I repeated. "Of course it is…I just thought that Brian told my mother that I'd always have a separate room from you guys…"

"Well, this is what we have to work with: four bedrooms and eight people-there's not a chance that you can have your own this time," Paul explained. "I didn't think you'd have a problem with it, anyhow, since we've sort of been sharing a room every night anyways…"

Paul wanted to take a shower once everyone said goodnight; he still looked drenched and drained from the concert earlier that day. After Paul washed up, I took my turn in the bathroom, changing into that pink nightgown I'd rolled up in my robe to keep away from his eyes so it would be a pleasant surprise. As I changed into it, I prayed that he'd gotten a hold of some sort of birth control. I couldn't risk the chance of getting pregnant… though it would be very hard turning him away that night if I had to.

When I opened the bedroom door, I saw Paul already in bed, fussing with his transistor radio. He'd found a station playing some rather nice, slow, soft music-he was most definitely trying to set the mood. He looked up at me, smiled, then noticed what I was wearing.

"Well," he said, a soft look coming over his face. "This is something different… I like it. When did you have time to get this?"

"I didn't buy it, actually; Anna made the purchase on behalf of her and Cheryl as a going-away present," I said as I approached him. "She said I should have something nice to wear just in case…"

"Lucky for one," he laughed, reaching for my hips as I neared him once he'd turned off the lamp next to the bed. He pulled me down on top of him, locking my lips against his lips. I'd waited all day to feel his arms around me, holding me securely, and even just that one kiss made the wait worth it.

After about five minutes of serious kissing, he rolled me onto my back and practically attacked the string straps on my nightgown as his kisses became deeper and deeper. Ohhh god…

"Don't stop, Paul, don't!" I whimpered frantically as he pulled my nightgown down below my waist.

Just then, of all the rotten, rotten things to happen, there was a knock on the door to our bedroom. Paul paused from his activity for a moment, then buried his face in the pillows when he heard the knock again. "Mmmmph!" he groaned, irritated. "Who in the hell…"

"So much for that," I muttered tiredly, managing to bring myself back down to reality. "Okay; who do I have to kill tomorrow morning?"

Paul pulled his bathrobe around himself just before he opened the door just a bit. As I scrambled for my robe, I could hear Neil say, "Brian sent me over here to remind you that we've got two press conferences tomorrow."

"Two?" Paul repeated incredulously, rubbing his eyes as a beam of light from the lamp in the sitting room reached his eyes.

"Yes, a regular one, and that junior press conference that was arranged weeks ago."

"Aww…bloody hell. It's supposed to be our day off!"

"You'll have your day off after tomorrow's show; we'll be off to California then, so no more complaining."

"Yeah; damn right, Macca!" I heard John laugh from the common room. He was walking past the room in his pajamas, smoking one last cigarette before crashing for the night. "So just shut your gob and tell Laurie to go open hers and give you a-"

Paul closed the door just then, drowning out the last few words of John's sentence, which I could pretty much figure out on my own anyway. As Paul locked the door, he said, "If there was ever a bloke who needed to get laid…Jesus Christ; that's all he's been on about for days."

I tucked my knees underneath me as I watched him pull his robe off and toss it onto a chair in the corner of the room. "Well, I managed to go without sex for twenty-one years… I don't think it's that difficult."

Paul smirked, leaning over and kissing the back of my neck. "I don't suppose you're going to go for another twenty-one, are you?" he whispered with a little laugh as his lips pressed against my shoulders.

"Uh, no," I said, reaching back over my head and patting the side of his face with my palm. "That's not exactly one of my priorities right now…"

"Thank god," he said breathlessly as he reached for the sash on my robe and untied it quickly.

"Um, Paul?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you, um, get something like I asked you to?" I whispered as we got into a more comfortable position on the bed.

He looked down at me for a moment, then nodded. "Of course," he said, reaching for one of the small cellophaned packages on the nightstand and pressing it into my palm. "What, did you think I forgot?"

I shrugged, pressing the thin little packet between my thumb and my palm. "No… I was just checking."

"Luv, you should really think about going on the Pill," he said, taking the condom from me and opening the plastic. "It makes things much easier… or at least so I've been told…"

I frowned. "And when did you become a certified gynecologist?"

"I'm not," he giggled. "I just happened to have seen about as many-"

I clapped my hand over his mouth before he could get another word out. "Knock it off; you and the rest of your comrades are making me sick today!" I laughed. "Maybe I should just turn over and give you the cold shoulder all night!"

"I doubt that," he said, pinning me down on my back with all his weight so quickly that it knocked the breath right out of me. "You'd be hurting yourself far more than me, you know."

"Oh, yeah? Prove it!" I grinned.

I should have kept my mouth shut while I was ahead-he proved himself to be quite right about his earlier assumption that night! Once we were done making love after about an hour straight, I got sort of embarrassed; I really hoped that the others hadn't heard us getting so carried away in our room. They probably wouldn't say much about it to me, since they knew that it would bother me… but they'd ridicule the hell out of Paul for it!

The next morning I woke up around eleven o'clock, still rather drowsy from our activity the night before. I turned over to see Paul sleeping all curled up into a ball, clutching the bedsheets against him. Lazy, I thought, reaching over and giving him a shake. He opened his eyes and gave me a crabby look, then rolled back over and dozed off again.

"'Ey! Macca!" I laughed, poking his shoulder repeatedly until he finally turned around and said, "For the love of god, Laurie, leave me be!"

"Um, Paul, weren't you the one that told me last night that there's two press conferences you guys are doing this afternoon?" I questioned, reaching for my robe that had been left in a pitiful heap last night. "You should probably be showering and getting ready, you know."

"I know, I know," he said, rolling onto his back and rubbing his sleepy eyes. "I'll be so glad when all of this is over…"

"Pretty soon," I said as he got up and wrapped his robe on. "You've only got a few shows left, right?"

He nodded, managing a very drowsy smile. "Mmm-hmm," he murmured, heading for the bathroom for a hot shower and closing the door behind him.

Only a few shows left, I thought as I opened up my vanity case to search for my shampoo and soap. My god, it's gone by so damn fast…I'm going to be back in Pine Lake pretty soon! And they're going to go home…

Now that was a problem; I realized that for the first time that morning. I only had about a week left with Paul…then what? I had to go back to school, and he needed to go home to England…so much for the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing! The thought of running away to London with him was probably the most tempting thought that had ever crossed my mind… but could it ever possibly happen? I didn't think I could just up and leave my family and my school on such a whim for a guy that I'd met only twice in my life…but, hell, this was Paul, and he loved me, and I loved him! And what had he had in mind by asking me to be his girlfriend if he knew as well as I did that we only had a few weeks before he was due to leave me again? Something would have to be decided eventually, either by Paul or by me, before the tour ended.

That thought occupied my mind while Paul showered. Once he finished, he emerged from the steamy bathroom with a towel wrapped around him and his wet moptop combed back away from his forehead. I took one look at him and giggled.

"You look so funny like that with your hair all pulled away from your face," I said as he found his razor and shaving cream in his travel case.

"Aye, well, you should have seen the D.A. hair I had back when I was a teenager," he smiled. "Me dad used to have a fit when I would come home from the barber's and it looked like he'd cut nothing off."

"My cousin Tommy was always getting into trouble over his hair being like that, too," I remarked as he went back into the bathroom. "He's Helen Wheels' brother… my uncle got so mad at one point that he drove Tommy to the barbershop and had him get a crew cut or he wouldn't be able to use my uncle's car anymore."

Paul laughed. "Dear me!"

I watched him as he shaved, then rinsed the remaining shaving cream off his face. I was going to miss even just quiet moments like that once the tour was over.

We joined the others in the common room after I washed up and got dressed. John and George were already seated at the breakfast table; John was still wearing his glasses, and George hadn't even changed out of pajamas yet. Neil was also at the table, but Ringo was nowhere to be found.

"Eh, where's Ring?" Paul asked, spying a radio with headphones that Mal toted around for the Fabs.

"Not awake yet," George mumbled as he poured himself another bowlful of cornflakes and splashed about half the pitcher of milk onto them.

Paul nodded just before slipping the headphones on and adjusting the radio dial so he could listen to a local pop station while he ate. I poured myself a cup of tea, sighing. So much for getting up early to order something decent from room service…

"I have a question," I piped up after about three minutes of no conversation. "Is that all you guys ever eat for breakfast? I mean, don't you guys ever eat anything like eggs and bacon or waffles or something?"

Paul didn't hear me at all, but John and George paused from their eating and looked up at me, trying to get those mind gears running after an exhausting day.

"Well, we fancied your mum's pancakes so much that we can't bear to stomach anything else except cold cereal for breakfast anymore," John remarked with a goofy grin.

"Ha-ha," I said. "All I ever get from them is indigestion…"

"What's wrong with cornflakes?" George said, pushing a few soggy flakes around in the bowl. "That's what we're used to eating, Laurie. I ate it every morning since I was little."

I bit my lip; maybe I'd been rude just then. It was sort of like I'd just made fun of their working-class upbringing. I shouldn't have done such a thing; they'd all probably had a limited diet most of their lives… and why change what one was used to?

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be rude," I apologized. "I guess I'm just used to something of more… substance for breakfast."

George shrugged. "We're not all raised with a silver spoon in our mouths."

I frowned, then George said, "Oh, I didn't mean for that to sound that way, Laur-"

"No; I know what you meant," I said after a moment. "It's okay…I won't pick on anything anymore."

Ringo finally emerged from his room just then, looking quite like he'd literally just fallen out of bed in wrinkled pajamas and with a messy mop of hair on his head. "Mornin', lads," he managed to mumble as he reached for the teapot on the table.

The others gave a nod or a quiet "Ta" in reply, then continued eating. Yes, I'd found out that there were actually times that being with the Beatles were boring! At least for me, that is-it was more like welcome peace and quiet for them, not boredom.

That was honestly the extent of any excitement that morning before they were all ready for the press conference to begin at one o'clock on the first floor of the hotel. As all of them put on their suit coats and got ready to head downstairs, I figured I'd use my free time while confined to the hotel suite to write another letter to Cheryl and Anna.

"Hey, Laurie," John said. "You're coming with us, aren't you?"

I turned and looked up at him from my lounging position on the couch near the door. "What?"

"You can come with us," he said. "Nell gave us the okay… just hang back near him and you'll be all right."

I grinned. Thank God-they'd saved me from writer's cramp!

"Fab!" I said, reaching for my shoes that I'd kicked off of my feet before stretching out on the couch. Cool, cool, cool; something different to do!

We took the elevator downstairs to the first floor, with the four Beatles standing just behind Brian and Neil by the doors. Mal stood near the back of the elevator with me, just to make sure I didn't somehow get lost in the sure-to-be hectic crowd in the lobby without someone that knew me nearby.

The doors opened, and I could already hear the busy conversation in the press area where the Beatles would shortly be fielding questions, as well as cameras whirring. The TV cameras had bright white floodlights shining at the table where the Beatles would be sitting during the interview.

"Sounds a little busier than usual," I heard Neil remark as we made our way down the short hallway to the door that the Beatles would enter through.

"Busier than usual?" I repeated in a whispery voice. "What's up?"

Neil shrugged. "Don't know… maybe the press is curious to see how this junior press conference is going to turn out later on and they're going to stick around."

"I hope it's not more Bible freaks," John muttered, taking one last drag off his cigarette before handing it to Neil. "Take care of this for me, will ya?"

Neil rolled his eyes. "Oh, anything for you, Mr. Lennon!" he said in a high-pitched girlish voice, ready to shove the still-lit ciggie against the back of John's striped suit jacket. "Oh, gee; my very own cigarette butt!"

I laughed, making a frantic grab for it. "I want it! I want it!" I giggled as Neil held the cigarette out in front of him with one hand and pushed me back with the other arm. "Oh, please, please!"

"No! It's mine! I had it first!" Neil grinned as I pretended to fight and kick my way towards the prize.

Brian turned around from his watchful position just at the doorway, gave a half smile, then a stern look at Neil for making so much noise that close to the press. As the Beatles stepped through the doorway amid the echoes of a million cameras clicking away and reporters already shouting questions, Neil stopped the goofing-off right away, depositing the cigarette into the ashtray near the doorway. At that point, Tony Barrow had taken his position to the right of the Beatles and was ready to help keep some sort of order to the whole boisterous affair. The four Beatles were sort of huddled together at the front of the room near the table, smiling for the pictures first before the questions came firing away.

"This question is for Paul; Paul, are you going to be marrying Jane Asher anytime soon?"

I hid a laugh as Paul shook his head. "No. I get asked that question so often; the answer hasn't changed overnight, folks."

One of the other reporters asked John something about his second book, A Spaniard in the Works, to which he replied, "Well, I think it's a better book than the first one; I'm just happy it's sold as many initially as the first one did."

"What are your plans for after this tour? Another album, or…"

"Not much," George said, taking a quick glance at the other three to his right. "Sleep."

"And watch the telly," Ringo piped in as the spectators laughed at George's comment for some reason.

"Do any of you attend church while at home?" Uh-oh; another religion question…

"No," all four of them replied nearly simultaneously, then Ringo added, "None of us really have our entire lives, you know."

"Are you aware of the fact that this year's show at Shea Stadium hasn't sold out of seats at this point like it did last year, and what do you think of it?" a lady reporter asked.

John shrugged. "Well, I mean, I think last year's act would be difficult to follow, you know. They were calling last year's show the biggest rock, or pop, concert ever; I mean, how can you top that?"

Neil was standing in the doorway just behind the Beatles, and he shook his head before taking a step back and hiding himself behind the wall. "Cor, I hate these things," he remarked to me. "You'd think they'd come up with some different questions to ask them…"

"Oh, just wait until later; they'll get different ones," I remarked. "Thirty thousand teenage girls like my sister Claire are going to be standing in front of them going bananas; you know all they're going to ask is 'What's your favorite color?' or 'How tall are you, Paul?'"

Neil laughed. "Well… even those are a little different."

After the grown-up conference had concluded, the Beatles stepped back behind the doorway as the reporters left the room; I could already hear a security guard all the way at the other end of the room yelling at the younger set trying to bust their way through the doorway early.

"You've got quite a group out there, lads," Tony Barrow said, poking his head around the corner as the last of the news reporters left the room. "One hundred and fifty fans all under the age of eighteen."

"I think we're going to go deaf," Paul remarked, covering his ears. "They're going to scream us all out of the building from the way they sound right now."

I peeked past Neil's shoulder at the eager teens at the front of the waiting group sprint towards the press table once the security guard was instructed to let the fans in; it sounded like a herd of elephants galloping towards us at high speed. Four security guards quickly blocked the doorway in front of Neil, and I took a step backwards to conceal myself. No use in getting all those teenagers riled up by my presence…

Tony Barrow finally signaled the Beatles to come back out to the table after a few minutes, and the Beatles stepped out to get an earful of loud shrieking. At once, the entire roomful of teenagers surged forwards, and all four of the band members looked like they wanted to run for cover! In an instant, a row of security guards dashed from their places lining the walls of the press room and stood in front of the Beatles, protecting them from the anxious masses, thank god; they could've been ripped limb from limb!

At long, long last, most of the kids in the room calmed down and were allowed to take pictures for a few minutes before the questioning began. Tony Barrow had the kids split up into two groups and had them take turns in a somewhat orderly fashion as the Beatles smiled for their cameras snapping away rapidly. Man, if I had to smile as much as the Beatles had to during that press conference, my face would've gone numb after about two minutes!

I had to give those kids at the conference credit, though: they did think of some really good questions to ask the Beatles, moreso than their elders had done at the first conference that afternoon. The band seemed much more enthusiastic about answering some new questions posted to them, too, and I think, for the most part, it turned out to be a pretty interesting experience for everyone involved. I'd enjoyed just watching it and listening from behind the doorway with Neil.

Directly after the press conference ended, we walked back to the elevator and quickly zoomed back upstairs to our room.

"Well, that wasn't that bad, now, was it?" Tony remarked as the elevator rose steadily upwards.

George shook his head. "Nah… except for right at the start when they were going to tear us to shreds…"

"Well, that's what's bound to happen when you get a hundred girls like Claire in one spot and you guys show up," I commented, smiling. "When Claire hears about this, she's gonna wish that something like that had been held in Chicago while you guys were there… even though you were staying at our house."

Paul smiled at me, and I smiled back just as the elevator doors opened.

Continue to Chapter Seventeen...

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