Days in the Life

Chapter Seven

Anna had gone back home about ten minutes after I hid my gifts upstairs and after she’d ordered me to bring along my camera and get lots of pictures during the trip! She said she’d explain everything to Cheryl when she picked her up for the show that night and that I shouldn’t worry about what she’d think; after all, I’d understand perfectly if the situation was reversed!

My father got home from the hotel around five-thirty that evening, just as my mother was getting dinner ready in the dining room for the two of them; I’d opted for a salami sandwich and a few potato chips instead of the heavy pot roast and carrots that my mother made for dinner. If I happened to get a nervous stomach, I didn’t want to end up too sick!

After my dad finished his dinner, he came in the living room and saw me getting fidgety on the couch; I’m not exactly the most patient person in the world, so waiting for anything just kills me--and that was just amplified by the fact that I was waiting for a limo that would take me to my Beatles! My dad couldn’t help but laugh.

“For a minute there, I thought you were Claire,” he laughed, sitting in the chair across from me after turning on the TV. “Patience, Laurie, patience; you’ll be gone before you know it.”

I fanned myself with an issue of Better Homes and Gardens that my mother left on the coffee table; even though the day wasn’t too miserably hot, it still felt like the living room was a sauna and I was wearing heavy skiing clothes!

“Well, if there’s one thing I’m not going to miss on this tour, it’s this lousy humidity,” I commented, tossing the magazine back onto the table. “The West Coast is much dryer... plus they don’t have thunderstorms like we do.”

My dad nodded. “I’ll agree with that; it’s always a relief when Mr. V sends me to Los Angeles on business,” he said, waiting for the evening news to come on. Then he lowered his voice and said, “I suppose your mother has already talked to you--”

“You mean given me the lecture about how I’m supposed to behave?” I said, rolling my eyes. “Of course, Dad, about twenty times since yesterday...”

“Okay; then you probably don’t want me to repeat it again,” he said. “Just use your head; I want to see all of that money I’ve been paying to Rosary go to some sort of good use!”

I laughed, turning my head to look out the window for the millionth time. “I will, Dad; I will.”

Just then I saw the limo pull into the driveway--five minutes early! I leaped up from the couch and ran to the door, where my three cases had been stacked. I opened the door before the chauffer could even ring the bell; he tapped the brim of his hat and said, “Good evening, miss.”

“Hello,” I said, stepping aside so he could come inside the house to get my cases and load them in the car. My mother and father approached me as I took my light overcoat from the peg on the wall and took one last look at the foyer that I wouldn’t see again for nearly three weeks; Mom gave me a big hug, then said, “Now, you’re sure you have everything you need with you?”

“Of course; after all those vacations we’ve taken, I know how to pack,” I said as the chauffer took the last suitcase, the big heavy one. “And, no, I didn’t forget to bring underwear like I did when we went to Australia when I was little!”

My dad laughed, and my mother slapped his arm gently. “Peter! Really...” she said.

“Relax, Alice,” he said as we hugged. “I’m sure the neighbors didn’t hear that; perish the thought of what would happen if they knew what Laurie did when she was a kid!”

“Oh-ho; I’m sure the Pepperdines won’t forget how she climbed that tree next door and got stuck and they had to call the fire department to get her down,” she informed us. “I still don’t know what possessed you to do that... and in your brand-new Easter dress, too...”

“Mom, I was six years old,” I said. “Don’t worry; I won’t be climbing any trees while I’m gone, either.”

She gave a small smile, then leaned against my dad’s shoulder and said, “Well... have a nice time, darling.”

“Have fun, Laurie!” my dad said as I stepped down the stairs and into the back seat of the limo. I had about a minute’s wait while the chauffer messed around with something in the trunk of the car, so I rolled down the window to get some air inside while I waited. The living room windows were wide open, and I could hear my parents talking while I waited; obviously they didn’t think I could hear them.

“Alice, she can take care of herself,” my dad said. “She’s twenty-one years old.”

“I don’t know, Peter... I still don’t know if we should have let her go,” my mother sighed. “What if something happens?”

My dad laughed. “She’s not going to be climbing any trees while she’s gone; she’ll come back in one piece.”

“Now you know that’s not what I’m worried about... I’m afraid she’s going to do something stupid... she’s going to be around those four boys for three weeks, Peter-- how can I not worry?”

“My dear, I have complete faith in Laurie; she knows what she’s doing.”

“I hope so... she’s my baby... her and Claire... they’re both leaving me...”

“What do you mean Claire’s leaving you? She just graduated junior high; she’s not going to take off anytime soon.”

“Tonight is probably the first night that both of our girls have ever been out of the house without us with, Peter... I’m just afraid that this is it for Laurie; she’s going to want out of this house once she gets a taste of freedom, and Claire won’t be far behind her, either... you know how kids are... we were like that, too, at her age.”

My dad started to say something else, but by that point the driver started the engine on the car and their words were drowned out. I took one more look out the window as they smiled at me from their places at the window, waving as the car rolled out of the driveway, presenting one last united front before I left them--as if they had been discussing the weather and not my future. I clutched my purse tightly as we headed down Cold Creek Street into the fast-dimming late afternoon sunlight, then rolled up my window. The car was really super-comfortable: air conditioning, soft velvety seat cushions, shaded windows--nothing like the Cadillac with no air conditioning that I’d been driving around at home!

Dead silent car rides have got to be the most boring thing I’ve ever had to endure, but this time I actually needed the time to sort out all the confusing thoughts running through my head. As the car headed south towards the city, I watched all the familar places I’d seen every day of my life pass by my eyes. I don’t know why, but for some reason it seemed like I’d never see those things again; I was forcing myself to take last looks at everything I passed by--my high school, all my hangouts in downtown Pine Lake, the playgrounds I’d played at as a kid. It was the most miserable feeling I’d ever had; I honestly became scared for about one minute and nearly told the driver to turn the car around and take me home.

However, once we left the suburbs and entered the city, I began to relax a little and remember exactly what was happening, how lucky I was, how I’d never have another chance to do something like this ever again. My thoughts carried over to Claire; she was probably eating dinner at some posh restaraunt downtown, savoring every little detail of the concert she’d just seen. I hoped she’d had as much fun as I’d had at the previous Beatles concerts I’d seen; the poor kid never got out much, and she deserved some fun.

I recognized the neighborhood around the Ampitheater as soon as we got around there about an hour later; then the driver pulled the car to a stop at the curb about four blocks away from the building. He turned around and said, “Miss, the catering van in front of us is going to take you the rest of the way so as not to make a scene.”

“Oh,” I said, taking note of the vehicle in front of our car. “What about my bags?”

“I’m bringing them to the hotel right now,” he said. “They’ll be there when you get there later tonight.”

“Okay; thank you very much,” I said before he got out of the car to open my door for me. As I stepped from the car, the doors of the van opened a little bit, and I could see Mal Evans and John sitting inside; I was a little surprised that John would chance leaving the theater this close to showtime! He gave me a nod as I headed towards them and held out his hand to help me into the back of the van. “How was the drive, luv?” he asked as I sat down next to him.

“Very nice,” I said as Mal closed the doors and the driver started towards the theater. Even though the majority of the huge mob that had been outside the theater before the show had gone inside for the concert, there was still a pretty big following of fans outside the entire perimeter of the building, including the back door we were supposed to head through. I gulped, twisting up the strap on my purse.

“Um, we’re actually going to have to make a run for it this time, aren’t we?” I said, eyeing the crowd through the windshield as we slowed down near the back door. I was pretty sure that it was the same entrance we’d gone through last January, but this time there were a few fans hanging around, just in case. I was going to be spotted for sure by the crowd if we had to make a mad dash for the door and keep ourselves from getting ripped to shreds!

John shook his head. “Nope; we’re traveling in style underneath this catering cart, you see,” he said.

“You’re kidding,” I laughed as he lifted the white tablecloth covering the heavy steel cart. He kneeled on the bottom tray that rested just above the wheels and held the cloth up so I could go with him.

“Come on, luv; I’m dead serious,” he said, waving me on. “It’s the only way we’re going to get inside without creating a mob scene... come on!”

I gave him an odd look; sneaking inside on a catering cart? Could things get any weirder? And the evening was still young, too!

“O-kay,” I sighed, scrambling next to him as he dropped the cloth down. We were totally surrounded by the heavy cloth; there was no way to see in or out through it as the driver opened the back doors, put down the ramp for the cart, and struggled to wheel us out along with a heavy cardboard box placed on top of the cloth so it wouldn’t slip off or blow away. John looked pretty nervous himself as we rolled along the pavement towards the service entrance. I prayed that the tips of my shoes or an edge of my coat weren’t hanging off the back of the cart as I heard nervous chatter among the fans just a few yards away from us. Good god... any kind of breeze, and we’d be mobbed for sure if the wind kicked up any little bit of the cloth!

Miraculously we made it inside the theater, somehow avoiding any type of detection by the fans outside. I felt safe only after the service door was closed and locked behind us and John slid out from under the cart. I followed him rather awkwardly in that darn tight green corduroy skirt that I’d chosen to wear that night, standing up and straightening myself out before John said, “We’re just down the hall and to the left, luv.”

The entire hallway was swarming with cops and other security personel as we made our way slowly towards the dressing room. We passed by a group of guys heading in the opposite direction carrying guitars; all of them gave John a little nod or a smile as we walked past.

“Who was that?” I asked him as we approached the dressing room.

“Oh, that’s the Remains... we’re using their amps tonight. Theirs are much better than the ones the theater has for us to use,” he explained, knocking four times on the door in some sort of code pattern, like thump...thump-thump... thump--obviously they’d done away with their old “What’s the password?” routine from the last show.

The door was opened by George, who was drinking a bottle of Coke and looked completely unprepared for the concert; he was dressed in a t-shirt and blue jeans, as was John and the other two as I entered the room. My god, it looked as if nothing had changed a bit in that room since the last time we’d been there: the same yellowish walls, the same two green couches with the sparkly little silver thread sewn into it, another cart of Coke and scotch, ashtrays full of cigarettes, and a rack with their stage suits hanging neatly on wooden hangers.

“Hi, everyone,” I said, giving a little wave. The only people in the room were the Beatles and their private inner circle--Brian, Mal, and Neil. Ringo was playing solitaire on the floor by the mirrors, and Paul had dozed off sitting up on one of the green couches. George went back to fiddling around with his guitar in the corner of the room. No one was talking much, just Brian, Neil and Mal quietly discussing something about the amplifying equipment out on the stage.

“Wow; what an ecstatic group,” I commented, then nodded over at Paul. “Didn’t you guys get enough sleep last night?”

cards “There isn’t much else to do, luv,” Ringo said, collecting the cards from a losing solitaire game. “John’s the only one who had any fun; he got to risk life and limb going to fetch you from the car.”

“That’s no lie, either!” John laughed, sitting next to Paul. “Laurie here looked about ready to curl up and die... I was scared out of me wits as well, you know.”

It was so quiet in the room that I heard George practicing the notes for “Day Tripper” on the guitar without an amp in the corner. Ringo shuffled the deck of cards over and over again until I said, “Hey, Ringo, do you want to play a game?”

He looked over at me, relieved that someone actually wanted to do something other than lay around and stare at the ceiling. “Sure; I’m gamed,” he said, sitting up at the mirror table and pulling out the chair next to him for me to sit down in.

“Okay,” I said, taking the deck from him and shuffling it quickly. “Do you know how to play the game Speed?”

He shook his head; I started splitting up the deck to explain the game. I set two piles of eleven cards each in the center, and two pile of fifteen cards, one for each of us. “Okay; this is really fun. The object of the game is to be the first one to get rid of your fifteen cards. I’ll say ‘go,’ and we flip over the first cards on each deck of eleven. We’ll have five cards at a time in our hand-- you always have to have that many until you’re down to four cards or less-- and you can throw down the next number higher or the next number lower than the card that’s face-up from the pile of eleven. If neither of us can throw down a card, then we flip over another card from the eleven. The first one to get rid of all their cards wins... did you get all that?”

He blinked a few times. “I think so; let’s just try it and we’ll see how it works out,” he said, picking up the first five cards from his pile of fifteen and looking through them. I collected my five, checked them over, then got ready to flip over the first card from the pile of eleven.

“Ready... set... go!” I cried. We flipped over the first cards, and I managed to throw down two cards right off the bat, then picked up two from my pile. Speed isn’t exactly the easiest game to play; you really have to have a quick eye and hope that the other person isn’t going to keep their hands hovering over the piles and dropping all their cards down. We were both dying laughing by the end of the first game, which I won, since I’d had lots of practice playing that game with Claire while on vacation; you just end up fighting the other person to get those last cards of yours down, shoving their hands out of the way and sneaking cards in just before they throw theirs onto the pile. John got up from his spot on the couch to see what all the fuss was about, and even Brian, Neil and Mal had stopped talking when they heard me and Ringo laughing.

“It just takes a couple games’ worth of practice, and you’ll be an expert in no time,” I grinned, collecting the cards and shuffling them again.

“All right, all right,” John said, tapping Ringo on the shoulder. “Let’s see if I can beat Miss Donaldson the Miniature Golf Queen at this game.”

“Hmph,” I said as Ringo moved aside and John took his seat. “We’ll just see about that!”

John watched me as I dealt out the piles, then got up from his chair and walked over to the coffee table. “Oh, I almost forgot me glasses,” he said, reaching for a small wire-rimmed pair of glasses on the table and putting them on. “This time I can see what I’m doing wrong.”

“Well, that’s a new look for you,” I commented as he took his seat again. “Those look like the glasses my grandpa used to wear.”

“Hey, they’re much better than those lousy black ones I used to have,” he said, picking up five cards and getting ready to play. “All right; one, two, three--go!”

Well, John no longer had the excuse of being blind as a bat; he managed to beat me in the first game, though it was a close one--I had a three left and was aiming it for the discard pile just as John threw down a five, his last card. He leaned back in his chair with a wide grin of satisfaction, crossing his arms and saying, “Well... quite easy, if I do say so meself.”

“Beginner’s luck,” I scoffed, pouting for a moment, then smiling again. “As always...”

John and I took more turns together over the next fifteen minutes, then Ringo said, “Okay; just me and John now.”

The two of them set up the game, and Ringo said, “On your mark, get set... go!” as I walked over to the cart with the drinks and opened up a bottle of Coke. Sitting down, I sipped it slowly as Brian, Mal and Neil went in and out of the dressing room, Paul slept soundly, John and Ringo flicked cards at one another between rounds like three-year-olds, and George continued practicing on his guitar, not really talking to anyone else.

A little after eight-thirty, Neil poked his head into the room from the hallway for about the thirtieth time that night and announced, “Hey, you blokes had better get ready for the show; the Ronettes are going on in about fifteen minutes, and you’re after them.”

“All right, then,” Ringo said, putting a red rubber band around the deck of cards and pocketing them. “I’m first in the loo.”

He claimed his stage suit from the rack and headed into the bathroom to get changed as Neil grinned, “Hey, Laurie, you’d better wake up Rip Van Winkle over there or he’ll sleep through the whole show.”

I laughed, then reached over and gave Paul’s shoulder a shake. “ ’ey! Macca!” I shouted in a very exaggerated Liverpudlian accent. “Wake up!”

Paul didn’t even open his eyes; he just reached out and gave my arm a shove. “Dammit, John, leave me be, for chrissake!” he said, frowning as he turned away from me and tried to go back to sleep. John and I burst into laughter.

“Paul, really, it’s time to get up,” I said in my regular voice, keeping my distance from him in case he decided to take another swing at me. “You’re going on pretty soon.”

He finally opened his eyes and looked at his watch. “Bloody hell... you’re already here, Laurie? How long was I out? It felt like about five minutes.”

George checked his watch as well. “Close to two hours, Paul,” he said, setting his guitar down and got up to search for his suit on the rack.

“You don’t need any more beauty sleep, gorgeous,” John joked, lighting up a cigarette. “Laurie thinks you’re pretty enough as you are.”

I blushed as Paul rolled his eyes, then stretched out. “Lay off, Lennon,” he muttered, reaching for his pack of Marlboros on the drink cart.

Ringo came out of the bathroom all dressed for the show. Their newer stage outfits were really cool-looking; they didn’t look like their old ones with the pencil-thin lapels, and the only variations available with those were different colors. The new ones that they were wearing for the show that night were black, with a shiny wide collar and a double row of black buttons on the front of the jacket; the pants were slightly baggier and weren’t tapered at the bottoms, either, as their old ones had always been. Their shirts, starched snow-white, had sort of a high collar on them--and there were no ties with these suits, either. No Beatle boots, either--Ringo had opted for black dress shoes and black socks. The new look was a bit of a shock to my system at first--but after about five seconds, I decided I really liked the new suits!

“Whoa; love the threads!” I commented, drinking the last of my Coke. “Very hip.... no more ties?”

Ringo shook his head. “Nah... why wear something that you could get strangled by if some crazed fan grabs hold of it and tries to yank it off of you? No.. but really, it just looks better.”

I nodded in agreement. The others took their turns changing, then sat down at their dressing table to powder their faces and comb their hair. John put on a pair of wire-rimmed sunglasses after he finished with his makeup and got up from the table.

“Are you wearing those during the show?” I asked as he unlocked his guitar case.

“Sure,” he replied, taking out his Epiphone guitar--not the black and white Rickenbacker that he’d played all the time, much to my surprise. “I wore them this afternoon... why not?”

“And a different guitar, too?” I said as he searched for his guitar pick in the case. “Is this some big makeover for you?”

“Maybe,” he said, standing up and leaning against the wall with the guitar strapped over his shoulder. “We’ve got a whole mess of newer suits to wear for this tour; hopefully none of them will get stolen like last year’s tour.”

Paul nodded, giving his hair one last brush. “Yeah, that’s true. Half of our stage suits mysteriously ‘disappeared’ last year while we were in New York... they were bloody expensive, too!”

“Wow,” I remarked. “How much does one of those suits cost?”

John laughed. “You don’t want to know,” he murmured, tuning his guitar to the best of his ability. “Hey, Macca, can you take a look at this? Something just isn’t quite right...”

“Let me have a look,” Paul said as John handed it to him. Within about one minute he’d tuned it perfectly, ran his thumb across the strings in a G chord, and handed it back to John. “Ready to rock, Johnny.”

“You’d better be,” Neil interrupted suddenly. “There’s over ten thousand birds out there waiting for the show... I don’t think they’re particularly impressed with the opening acts; they’re having bloody conversations and not paying attention while the other groups are playing out there.”

“Even for the Ronettes?” I asked. I mean, the Ronettes were pretty famous; the Beatles would’ve been a supporting act for them if they’d toured together a few years ago!

Neil nodded. “They’re none too impressed.”

“Well, I can see their point,” I said. “I mean, everyone out there bought a ticket to see the Beatles, not the opening acts.”

“That’s right,” Neil said. “Now, Laurie, it’s going to be the same setup as last time; you’ll be in the doorway with me during the show, and we’re going to have to dash straight back to the dressing room, grab our things and hit the road with the lads back to the hotel.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding; that was what I’d pretty much figured would happen.

I watched as Neil rustled through a stack of papers on the coffee table and pulled out a small green and blue pamphlet and a larger booklet about the size of a record album; he reached over and handed it to me. “Here you go, luv; it’s the programs they’re selling out there.”

program “Oh! Thank you!” I said, grinning. The smaller of the two was titled “Summer of Stars ‘66”, the concert series that had been scheduled at the Ampitheater and the Arie Crown Theater that year. The Beatles were on the cover, as well as Peter, Paul and Mary and the Beach Boys; another picture of the Beatles was on the first page inside the program, and pictures of the Rolling Stones, the Byrds, and Simon and Garfunkel as well. The larger book had “Beatles (U.S.A.) Ltd.” stenciled across the top in red, white and blue letters and a color picture of the Beatles standing toe-to-toe in front of a striped background, wearing jeans and black long-sleeved shirts.

“I got one of the bigger programs like this one last year,” I mentioned as the others got their instruments out of their cases and Ringo found his drumsticks. “I really liked the pictures in the one last year--this one looks just as good.”

“Well, they’re selling pretty well out there,” Neil said, opening the door a little bit and peeking into the hall. “Okay; it looks like they’re ready for us. You guys go first, and we’ll follow.”

George nodded, leading the way, with Paul, John, and Ringo following right behind him. They went into the hallway and were immediately surrounded by police as they walked quickly and without incident down the corridor to the stage area. Neil shut off the dressing room light after Brian started down the corridor as well and left Mal on guard in front of the door so no one, even an enterprising security guard, could get into the room in our absence.

We walked quickly and quietly towards the entrance to the theater and waited just behind the Beatles for the Ronettes to finish their set, which they did a few moments later. They headed off the stage and past us down the corridor to their own dressing rooms. I’d been a big fan of all the girl groups back when I was in high school from ‘59 to ‘63, so I was pretty impressed that I’d actually seen the Ronettes in person as well as the Beatles. Apparently the audience outside weren’t as enthused about the supporting acts as I was--they were, as Neil said, carrying on their own conversations while they sang. However, at that point, the crowd was starting to get a little wound up

The local radio deejays came back on stage, and the crowd was definitely getting geared up for their idols. As it had been last time and also at the show at Comiskey Park last year, the audience was mainly female, with a handful of guys there--either true fans of the music, or boyfriends and brothers that had been pretty much forced to tag along to make sure the girl they were with didn’t go too bonkers and throw themselves at the stage.

So the deejays did their job of getting the crowd worked up, then announced, “Ladies and gentleman--THE BEATLES!” The entire audience went into those ear-splitting shrieks, and I quickly covered my ears.

“Is it just me, or do those screams seem ten times louder this time?” I shouted at Neil, who had to lean right next to my face to hear me.

He shook his head. “No, luv; it’s about the same as always!” he yelled back as the Beatles rushed onto the stage amid the flash of cameras and the glare of the spotlight. There were cops everywhere around the stage that night; a row two cops deep was centered right in front of the stage, ready to foil the efforts of any anxious fans trying to get close to the band. A few cops were around the back of the stage as well with the theater technicians and other officials.

After a few moments of plugging into their amps, the Beatles were all set to sing; without an introduction, they started playing “Rock and Roll Music”--or, at least something that sounded like that song in all that screaming. I noticed that this time they weren’t being pelted by jellybeans from the audience--that phenomenon had thankfully worn off.

Right after that, Paul tried to introduce one of my all-time favorite songs, “She’s a Woman,” but I didn’t know that that was the next song until they actually started playing it. They zipped right through that one; I really don’t know how in the world they could keep track of each other’s playing in the din. Hell, I couldn’t stay on tune with the Breckhurst Elementary School band when I was their piano accompanist in eighth grade-- and our shows were done in silence! Of course, most of the band was out of tune more often than not, so it didn’t really matter.

Paul gave his collar a little tug as he introduced “If I Needed Someone”; I guess the collars were getting uncomfortable as they became sweat-soaked, because George did the same before stepping up to the microphone and singing the song, sending all the George fans into hysterics. That was the only song that George sang lead on that night.

“Day Tripper” was next; the audience went wild during the instrumental part where John and Paul just break into screams at the end. I was starting to notice that most of all of the songs they were singing were just sort of... different than they sounded on records. They sounded a little bit empty, if that makes any sense, like there were instruments missing from the background or something.

John sang “I Feel Fine,” one of Claire’s favorites, right afterwards; I could just picture Claire screaming her lungs out at that one during the afternoon show. I really hoped she’d had as good a time as I was having that night; I also wished I could’ve sneaked out to the audience and met up with Cheryl and Anna for at least a few songs during the show, but that was impossible; if I went past the security line, I’d never make it backstage again--I had no backstage pass or anything to prove I was with the group’s inner circle.

My chance to go all weak-in-the-knees was next, for Paul sang “Yesterday.” Surprisingly, the crowd shut up a little bit to hear that song, since it was such a quiet number. The song felt extremely bare to me again; my ears really missed the violins backing up Paul and his guitar as on the record.

Ringo’s only number during the show followed right after Paul-- “I Wanna Be Your Man.” The screams picked up again as all the Ringo fans went bananas; I was almost sure I could hear Cheryl’s screams above all the rest during the song-- that girl had such a big mouth! I’m surprised she wasn’t in the small group of fans that tried to rush the stage at that point; they were quickly dragged away by the Chicago police before they could even get to the front of the stage.

The next number, “Nowhere Man,” was one that John, Paul and George all sang on, so most of the audience was screaming during that one--it was pretty much inaudible. They really didn’t seem to be putting very much effort into the songs by that point, almost like they were exhausted and just wanted to get it all over with.

“Paperback Writer” was next--another one of my all-time favorites; at least Paul tried to put a little more effort into that one. That one didn’t sound too terrible in concert; it sounded almost as good as the record did. I swear they kept losing tempo during the a cappella parts, though. Well, I guess I couldn’t have done much better under the circumstances.

Paul announced the next song, “I’m Down”, as their last one for the evening with a quick check of his watch; naturally the audience wasn’t very happy about hearing that news, but managed to give the screaming and shouting their all during the number, so much that I could barely hear the sections in the song where it was just Paul’s voice. A couple of fans tried to rush the stage again right near the end, but were yanked away by the cops again, just yards from attaining their goal.

As soon as the song was over, the Beatles unplugged from their amps and ran like the dickens for the doorway to the corridor. Neil and I turned and ran back towards the dressing room, hoping that we’d get there a minute or so before the group just in case there were any fans that tried to break into the room that had to be moved away before the Beatles showed up again.

I gave Mal a wave as we approached, and he just shook his head tiredly.

“What’s up?” Neil said, opening the door and hitting the light switch.

“Some crazy birds tried to break into the room, that’s what,” Mal said, crossing his arms and following us into the room. “I took three seconds to get a drink from the drinking fountain not twenty feet away from the door--and at that exact moment, three mad girls came running down the hall from the lavatory right for the dressing room door. One of the cops got knocked over by them, but two more held them back until I could help them out.”

Neil shook his head. “Bloody hell... if this is how the tour is going to go, then I’d rather go back home right now,” he muttered, collecting the Beatles’ street clothes and tossing them into the case that he’d carried their stage suits into the theater with. “We’d better get out of here right away if the birds are that crazed.... Laurie, fetch your things; we’re leaving as soon as they put their guitars in the cases. Mal, could you go find out if the paddy wagon is at the back door?”

Mal nodded, leaving the room and closing the door tightly behind him. I collected my programs, my purse, and my coat quickly, getting myself organized just as the Beatles and Brian Epstein burst into the room and slammed the door shut; the four lads seemed completely out of breath.

“Jesus... they’re... completely... soft!” Paul said between breaths. He retrieved his case for his bass and locked it away as John sat down at the dressing table, took off his sunglasses, and buried his head in his arms for a moment. Ringo and George were standing against the doorway stupefied.

“What happened?” I said, alarmed by their frantic state.

“A group of about fifty girls was chasing after us!” Ringo said. “They must have slipped past security somehow; if we’d left the stage ten seconds later, we’d have every bone in our body broken by now-- they were crazy out there!”

I shook my head. “Good god; we need to get out of here,” I said, crossing my arms. “Mal’s going to find out if the police van is here yet.”

Seconds later, Mal rapped on the door and poked his head in. “Come at, lads! You’ve gotta go right this minute; the coppers are holding back a mob in the hallway! They’re gonna break free if you don’t get out of here this minute!”

“Go on, then,” Brian said, staying somewhat calm. “Neil and I will pack up things here and meet you back at the hotel in a bit. Laurie, you go with them.”

I gulped. “Are you sure?” I said. “You don’t want me to--”

“No, no; just go!” Neil said, waving all of us out the door. “Go with them to the hotel; when I get there, I’ll help you get settled!”

“Okay, okay,” I said, darting out the door in the middle of the group with the Fabs. We sprinted down the corridor to the back service door, and suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder that jerked me backwards as the Beatles ran on. A security guard had grabbed hold of me; he said, “All right, missy; let’s get you outside where you belong.”

“No!” I cried, just as John and George turned around and saw the predicament that I was in. They ran back to me, each taking one of my hands; George snatched my two programs from me and held onto them.

“She’s with us, sir,” George said. “That’s Neil Aspinall’s sister Laurie.”

The security guard took a step back. “All right; go on, then,” he said. “You’d better get moving, though; there’s a mob scene outside right now.”

Without another thought, we ran all the way to the back door where Ringo and Paul had waited for us. The head of security informed us that there were no crowds outside the door for the moment and that the van was all set. “Is she with you?” the guard said.

“Yes,” Paul said as the guard opened the door for us. As he’d said, it was dead silent outside for the moment; we walked--not ran-- to the van, got in, and sat down. The cops closed the doors, and we were in virtual darkness as the van pulled away from the curb and rolled through the streets, passing by the front doors of the Ampitheater completely unnoticed.

The police radio was pretty noisy during the drive, so we didn’t have much of a chance to talk during the drive back to the Astor Towers. We had to go through yet another service entrance at the back of the hotel instead of the front doors and were transferred from the Chicago Police to the hotel security guards. The service elevator whooshed us up to the 27th floor, where the Beatles and their entourage had rented out the entire floor for their stay. Everything was pretty much silent there: no crazed fans were running through the hallways or anything.

One of the Beatles’ press officers welcomed them back. “Thanks, Tony,” Paul said as Tony unlocked the door to their suite and opened the door. “Tony, this is Laurie Donaldson; she’s going to be with us on the tour. Laurie, this is Tony Barrow, one of our press agents.”

“Hello,” I said, shaking hands with him.

“Pleasure,” Tony said, following us into the living room of the suite. “Where’s Brian and the others?”

John quickly explained the situation to him, and Tony nodded. “Aye, well... that happens sometimes,” he remarked. “Well, we’re due to leave here at eight tomorrow morning, so you blokes’d better get some sleep.”

“Bollocks; I’ll sleep on the plane,” John said, stretching out on the couch and kicking off his shoes. “That phone better not be ringing off the hook all night like last night, either; that’s why I’m so damn tired today.”

He looked like he was going to doze off; he shut his eyes and folded his hands over his chest. Ringo headed for his room; George lit up a cigarette, then tossed the lighter to Paul to light his own up.

“George, John, thank you so much for what you did back there,” I said, sitting in the chair next to the couch. “I thought for a minute there I was going to jail!”

“Bah; they won’t lock you up for that,” George said, exhaling a puff of smoke. “All they’ll do is make sure you get back outside with the others... no problem at all...”

“Well, thank you anyway,” I said, closing my eyes. The whole evening had really worn me out. My whole life really had flashed before my eyes when I’d been held back as the others ran down the dimly-lit corridor towards the door; I thought that that was it, that I’d never see them again if they ran out on me. Thank god George and John had run back for me; I owed them my life!

I was dozing off in the chair when Neil, Mal and Brian showed up. I sat up and checked my watch; it was past eleven at that point.

“Oh, Laurie; let me show you to your room,” Neil said. “Now, your mother said that you were to have your own room.”

I nodded, getting up from my chair. “Yeah,” I said. “That’s how she is...”

Neil walked over to one of the doors inside the suite, opened it up, and flipped the light on. “Well, here you go; here’s your room,” he said, smiling.

“Um,” I said, raising an eyebrow, “I thought I was supposed to have, like, a totally separate room... like, down the hall or on a separate floor or something... that’s what it sounded like my mother told me...”

“Well, it is a separate room,” he said. “It just happens to be in the same suite as the others’ rooms... we’re not breaking any rules, are we?”

“Not really,” I said, noticing my three cases stacked next to the doorway.

“I’m taking the separate room down the hall,” he said. “I was in this one so far during the stay, but it’s your room now. It’ll be safer; all the security guards are posted closer to this room than in the ones down the hall.”

“Okay,” I said, yawning. I was really feeling the effects of all the excitement by that point!

“Well, I’ll let you get some sleep, then,” he said. “The others will probably be passed out in about half an hour as well. You’ve gotta be up early tomorrow, so make sure you’re ready.”

“No problem,” I said, stretching out my arms. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Laurie!” I heard Paul, George, and Ringo shout from the other room.

I laughed. “Goodnight, guys!” I shouted back before closing my door.

Continue to Chapter Eight...