Chapter Two

The bulk of the tale starts, I suppose, two days before the Beatles’ concert at the Amphitheatre that August. My father was at work all day that Wednesday, of course, and my mother was at her ladies’ guild meeting at the Brocklehurst house; Anna’s mother was vice-president of the guild and held all the meetings at her home. Naturally, since I was the only one home that morning, I had to take twenty minutes of my free time to drive Claire to her friend Mary Kay’s 14th birthday party at the community pool across town, and then go back again to pick her up when she phoned me later on that day.

The heat that day was unbearable as the white-hot sun burned everything in sight with ninety-degree heat, and in combination with the humidity, just about everything was steaming and sticky. Honestly, you haven’t seen a hot summer day until you’ve spent one in Pine Lake in August when there’s no breeze off of Lake Michigan to the east or from Pine Lake to the north, only an occasional blast of hot air from the south. It’s almost as cruel as the numbing cold and snowstorms of the winter months. It’s just miserable, to put it simply.

I was ridiculously uncomfortable upon arriving home in the Cadillac after dropping Claire at the party. I literally stuck to the seats in the car; I had to peel my legs off of the seat and slide out without burning my thighs on the overheated dark upholstery as I exited. Sitting in the house didn’t provide much relief to me, even with every window in the house open and the electric fan pointed directly at me as I lounged on the couch in the living room. After about three minutes I was fed up.

“Oh, the hell with it,” I muttered, getting up and heading for the kitchen down the hall. After pouring myself a glass of iced tea and dipping a paper straw into the glass, I headed out to the backyard. The shade in the white wooden gazebo in the corner of the yard served as my only comfort; even the sun-beaten warm water in the shallow part of Pine Creek at the edge of our property couldn’t provide any relief. I sat on the long wooden bench near the side of the screened-in area shaded by the leafy trees along the hillside that led down to the creek. Swinging one Keds-sneakered foot over the edge of the bench, I stared at the spiral pattern on the ceiling of the gazebo, sort of dazing out as my brain melted. The shade was somewhat comforting, as was the almost inaudible rushing of the creek just beyond the trees, yet I was still so sticky in my white sleeveless blouse and lime-green shorts that I wished I could shrink to an inch tall like Paul did in Help! and jump into my glass of iced tea.

I was starting to doze off when I thought I heard the kitchen phone ring. I frowned, checking my watch as I sat up. Only fifteen minutes had passed? Claire probably forgot her tanning lotion or sunglasses, and I would have to trek back across town on an extra trip to drop her junk off, then drive home, then do it all over again when she finally decided to get her lazy butt home!

I got up and dashed for the house. In two leaps I made it up the porch steps, then rushed to the phone on the kitchen wall. After picking it up, I breathed, “Hello?” into the receiver, then took a swing at a fly that had somehow made it inside the house and was buzzing around my head.

There was a pause for a moment on the other end of the line, then a very familiar accented male voice replied, “Hello? Is this the Donaldson residence?”

I stopped swishing my hand at the fly, my attention automatically grabbed by the caller. Who was this? He sounded very familiar.

“Yes, it is,” I said, frowning. Okay, Laurie, pay attention and place the voice. . .

“This is Brian Epstein; is Peter Don--”

I gasped, my grip on the phone tightening so much that my knuckles were white. “Oh, Mr. Epstein!” I cried. “It’s me, Laurie Donaldson, Peter’s daughter! Do you remember me?”

“Of course, Laurie. How are you?”

“Very well, thank you. This-this is such a surprise!” I stammered, pressing my palm against my sweaty forehead as I heard some very excited voices in the background. I had a pretty good guess who they belonged to!

Brian laughed that light and comfortable laugh of his. “Well, the lads and I just arrived in town and we’re--”

“You’re in Chicago already?” I squeaked, digging the toe of my sneaker into the tile floor as I leaned against the wall. “But the show isn’t until Friday night--”

“We’re here early because there’s some, uh, business that needs to be taken care of before the show. . .but since we have some extra time, the lads would like to know if they might pay you a visit this afternoon.”

I closed my eyes and bit my lip, silent for about five seconds. I had to be dreaming; that was the only explanation for this! There was no way I could be having this much luck in real life! I mean, sure, lightning strikes twice. . .but something like this was impossible! Did they really want to come back and see me?

“Laurie? Are you there?” Brian said, interrupting my stupor.

“Oh! Oh, I-I’m here,” I said, slowly coming to the realization that this was actually happening and I wasn’t hallucinating or anything. “I’d love to have them visit, Mr. Epstein.”

“Splendid,” he replied. “Well, we can--”

In the background I heard John interrupt. “Well, what’s the verdict, Eppy? Can we?”

Brian must have nodded, because I heard a small cheer rise from the foursome. It felt really good to know that they were looking forward to the visit so much, probably because it would be the only chance for them to goof around during their tour. Paul had remarked in the birthday card they’d sent me for my 20th last year that he and the others had really enjoyed staying at my house in January because they had fun--a simple activity that they had rarely experienced since they hit the big time.

Laughing, I remarked, “I’m glad you don’t have to drag them kicking and screaming to my house, at least!”

“Oh, no; they’ve been asking me since we boarded the plane in London if they could stop over while in Chicago. They’ve been looking forward to it.”

“Cool!”

“Well, we should be leaving the airport now before people start noticing us,” Brian said, lowering his voice; obviously they were inadvertantly gathering an audience while they were standing by the phones in the terminal. “Can you be ready for us in an hour and a half?”

My mind raced at a million miles an hour; I would have to call my mother and interrupt her guild meeting at Anna’s house. She’d flip if she came home and, without any warning, had a group of guests to look after. Most likely she’d send me driving to the store for food, which meant I’d have minimal time to wash up and get ready for my visitors. Oh, the trials and tribulations of having the Beatles visit!

“Of course,” I said, mentally saying a prayer that we could possibly be ready for them within that amount of time. “Do you remember how to get here?”

“Yes; the driver has it all planned out. . .so we’ll see you soon, then?”

“Yep; sounds good.”

“All right, then. Goodbye, Laurie,” Brian said, then hung up quickly, probably ready to run to the car with the boys before a mob scene formed around the phone.

I hung up the phone, and, trying to breathe--in, out. . .in, out. . .you know how to do this, Laurie--I clung to the receiver so I could balance on my quavering knees without falling flat onto the floor. So they’d be here in an hour and a half. . .I had to get a hold of my mother immediately!

I prayed that Anna wouldn’t pick up the phone at her house after I dialed her number. I just couldn’t tell her the news yet, even though I knew that I’d be breaking her heart by keeping it secret from her. I had to assume that this was going to be a covert operation the same as last time; not a soul could know about the visit except for my family and me.

Mrs. Brocklehurst answered the phone, so my good luck was continuing. I asked for my mother, who got on the phone a few moments later.

“Laurie, this had better be important,” she began without so much as a hello to me. “We’re in the middle of--”

“Ma, the Beatles are coming over!” I blurted out. “They’re going to be here in half an hour.”

“They’re what?”

Uh-oh; she didn’t sound happy at all! This was not a good sign!

“Their manager just called the house and asked if they could visit for a while; they just got into town for their concert on Friday.”

She sighed tiredly, trying not to make a scene in front of the guild, I suppose. “Laurie. . .I don’t believe this. . .”

“Mom, it’s not my fault! What was I supposed to do? Tell them to get lost? I couldn’t do that!”

“All right, all right,” she said quietly. “Does your father know about this?”

“No.”

“Well, I suggest you call him downtown and let him know what’s going on. Then you’re going to have to go to the store and buy some food. . .let’s see. . .do you have pen and paper?”

“Of course; they’re hanging on the wall by the phone,” I replied, taking the pen in hand. She gave me a list of about twenty things to pick up from the grocery store, then said, “Wait. . .you’d better get some chocolate chips as well for pancakes. . .I have a feeling they’re going to be spending the night.”

“Ma, what are you talking about? They didn’t ask to do that.”

“I know. . .but I just have a feeling that it’s going to happen,” she said. “Well, I’ll be home in about twenty minutes; they’re wrapping things up without me here.”

“Okay. . .thank you so much, Mom!” I grinned. “You don’t know how much this means to me. . .and them!”

“I’m going to expect some help from you, you know,” she said.

“Of course; I’m on my way to the store as soon as I hang up,” I said, tapping my feet impatiently on the floor.

“All right. . .I’ll see you in a while, then.”

“Okay; bye,” I said, hanging up the phone and directly dashing for my purse and keys on the couch where I’d dumped them after arriving home from the pool. In ten seconds I was out of the front door and jumping into the Cadillac, instantly baking as I sat down and started the engine.

Flying through town, I risked getting a ticket the whole way to the store in town, where I had to buy a cartful of food. I kept checking my watch every two minutes, keeping a close eye on my precious amout of time; I needed at least a half an hour to wash up and get ready for the boys’ arrival. Luckily the marked wasn’t crowded, so I was in and out of the store in a little over thirty minutes.

I raced back home, passing by three stop signs on my way and nearly crashing into my mother’s car in the driveway upon arriving back home. I was completely soaked with sweat as I unloaded the trunk and dragged the six bags of groceries into the kitchen, where my mother was already busy at work putting a snack tray together. I collapsed into one of the wooden kitchen chairs, completely out of breath.

“You’re lucky I’m in a generous mood,” my mother said, assembling the glass hors d’ourves tray on the counter. “This is very unexpected, you know. . .did you let your father know what’s going on?”

My jaw dropped. Whoopsie. . .“Um. . .”

My mom stopped her work and turned to me. “Laurie. . .I ask you to do one thing--”

“Mo-om! I had to go to the store! I didn’t have time to let him know!” I said, slapping my hand against the tabletop. “I’ll call him right now. . .I’ll skip my damn shower so I can call Dad and look like a wreck when the Beatles show up.”

“Watch your language!” she warned, turning back to your work. “Honestly, Laurie. . . I don’t know how you can talk to people like that. . . I’ll call your father, since you’re just going to start a fight with him with that attitude. Just go and get yourself ready; I’ll finish everything else.”

I rolled my eyes and stormed out of the kitchen, getting away from her quickly before the guilt trip actually started working on me. That shower was just what I needed to cool off and calm down; I had the water almost all the way on ice-cold the whole time as I scrubbed up and washed my hair. Thank God I’d gotten my hair cut a little shorter for the summer; it was just at my shoulders instead of part of the way down my back as it had been before, so it would be quick to dry, especially in the heat of the day.

As I let my hair air-dry, I tore my closet apart looking for something nice to wear. My wardrobe for the summer was quite limited, since I didn’t have to adhere to the Rosary dress code; all I owned were shorts and sleeveless blouses, none of them especially stylish. My few summer dresses were far too formal for something like this. Of course, in the closet there was that little pink micro-mini-skirt that I’d bought a few weeks before while shopping with Cheryl . My mother hated it so much when she saw me take it out of the Sears bag, but what could she do about it? I really had no choice in this matter; it was going to be that skirt and a white sleeveless blouse or nothing at all, as far as I was concerned! I dressed quickly, throwing on my white nylons and Mary Janes, then flipping up the ends of my now-dry hair and pulling the top back with a white headband.

I got my due criticism the moment I stepped into the kitchen. My mother turned around, took one look at me, and said, “Lauren Ashley Donaldson! What do you think you’re wearing?”

“This is all I have!” I replied, searching the icebox for a bottle of Coke. “I can’t wear my--”

“What has that college done to you? That looks utterly trashy!”

I scowled at her as I opened the Coke bottle. “Oh, like the nuns at Rosary would approve of this. . . and it does not look trashy; it’s what they’re showing in all the magazines this season.”

“Your generation. . .wait until your father sees you dressed like that. . .” she began, then went on, muttering that typical adult anthem of “whatsa-matter-with- you-kids-today” that I’d heard a million times from both my parents and the sisters at school. I simply ignored her and sauntered into the living room, setting the Coke on the window ledge and gazing out the window, watching for a black limo to come gliding down the street towards my house. They had about another ten minutes of driving before arrival; I checked the clock on the mantle every minute or so, my feelings of anxiousness building as each second ticked by.

Would they still be the same as they had been the last time I’d seen them? What in God’s name was I going to do to keep them entertained for an entire afternoon? They wouldn’t want to sit in the baking-hot house, especially if my mother was going to be so crabby. I just prayed that they would still be my friends when they arrived, and that neither them nor I had changed too much over a year and a half.

At last I saw a black car coming down the road from the south; I sat straight up in my chair upon spotting it and watched it approach my house. It started slowing as it neared number 10, then turned in the driveway and parked behind the Cadillac. They were here! I sucked in my breath and stood up, heading for the front door.

“Mom!” I shouted down the hallway. “They’re here!”

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