Chapter Nine

For the evening show in Detroit that night, the Beatles switched from the gray jackets to the black ones they’d worn for the previous evening’s concert, rather than change into an entirely different outfit. By that point, the evening cool had come over the city; I actually almost wanted to go search for a light sweater I’d packed in my suitcases. I settled for Paul’s offer of one of his suit jackets to wear for the evening; ooh, wouldn’t any girl that saw me be jealous that I had actually come into physical contact with Beatle clothing! I had to hang pretty far back from them as they went through the corridor to the field, since there were a lot of reporters and photographers around.

I observed later on that the audience in the evening seemed much more electrified than the afternoon group; from what I heard, the fans had practically booed off the opening acts in anticipation of the Beatles, a definite sign of their hyperness. The moment the Fabs hit the stage following the Ronettes, the whole stadium lit up with flashbulbs, and the screams reached deafening levels, so loud that I was tempted to ask the cop in the dugout if I could borrow two bullets to stick in my ears so I wouldn’t have permanent hearing damage.

Numerous times during the show, eager fans managed to sneak past the security line and make a dash for the stage located near second base in the field. Some of them got pretty damn close--I think one girl even managed to sprint fast enough to make it within ten feet of the stage before one of the cops grabbed her and pulled her back to the seating area.

It seemed like the fans had gotten more and more out of control during this tour, like a Beatles concert was an excuse to go absolutely nuts. And I don’t mean just jumping up and down in your seat and squealing “eeeeek!” for a half an hour like I did, but more like one hundred percent madness, not giving a damn who you hurt or what you did in the way while trying to reach your idols. The Beatles seemed a little weary of that fact as well as they arrived in the dugout after their last song; a few girls had actually run up and touched them on their way back--a cute brunette even managed to throw her arms around Ringo for about two seconds before being whisked away by security. He just shook his head over it when I asked him about it in the locker rooms.

“I’m used to it, Laur; we all are,” he said tiredly as he claimed his traveling clothes from his suitcase. “It’s just a little nerve-wracking considering how the past few days have been going.”

Everyone was ready to leave about half an hour later; it was pretty amazing how quickly all the stage equipment got packed up and loaded onto the tour bus along with all the suitcases. The tour bus was waiting for us at one of the back gates; it was a far cry from the cracker-box-on-wheels school bus I’d grown up riding, or those noisy Chicago city buses one had to take while shopping downtown; these had padded seats with high backs and plenty of leg room, lights above each row of seats, and a bathroom at the back of the bus too... like an airplane on wheels, pretty much. We sure as hell could’ve used one of those for our eighth-grade trip to Springfield in ‘59; I never knew that fourteen-year-olds had bladders as weak as two-year-olds’ until that trip!

The Beatles, Mal, Neil, and I were the first ones allowed onto the bus, getting the seats at the back where no one would “bother” us during the drive. However, I didn’t think there was going to be much talking; everyone looked pretty tired from the long day. I snatched the seat right next to Paul, eager to see if I could get just a few quiet moments with him during our drive to Cleveland.

After about an hour of driving, most of the people around us were either dozing off of chatting amongst themselves, and a calm quiet came over the bus for the rest of the trip. Ringo and Paul attempted to play cards around midnight by stretching out their legs and resting them on the seats in front of them, using their legs as a makeshift table to set their cards on, but it didn’t work very well; diamonds, hearts, spades, and clubs went flying every time the bus hit a bump. After about ten minutes, they gave it up, and Paul announced that he was going to try and sleep like George and John were trying to do as well; he closed his eyes and slouched down in his seat. Well, there goes my chance at talking to him! I thought, folding my hands and staring out the window at the darkened farmlands we were passing. If I leaned the right way against the window, I could look upwards and see the dozens of stars over our heads; the countryside seemed so peaceful at night, even though I knew that if I ever had the urge to step out into that cool night air I’d be eaten alive by mosquitoes!

We got to the hotel in downtown Cleveland around 2:30 or so, and, believe it or not, a group of about 50 fans was camped in front of the building to welcome everyone--at that time of the night! We rushed past them into the lobby and received our keys for our rooms from the front desk.

I had my own room--somewhat. Paul and John were in an adjoining room right next to me, connected by a door; the others had the same simple rooms--a sitting area and bedroom combined with an adjoining bathroom. For this stop we didn’t have a deluxe suite with a common area like they’d had in Chicago at the Astor Towers because some state senator was staying in that hotel’s that night. I was tempted to make the suggestion that we should go to the Sheaffer Hotel down the street--another hotel that Mr. Vanderbilt owned-- and stay there; I was sure that we could get a deluxe suite if mentioning my dad’s name at the desk could pull some strings with the staff there.

Once I finished exploring the bathroom and swiping all the little freebie bottles of shampoo and bars of soap from the cabinets (I know--it’s a terrible habit of mine, but you just never know what type of really nice shampoo you might find during your travels!), I eavesdropped for a couple minutes through the door connecting my room with Paul’s and John’s; there were two doors in the doorway so I could keep them from coming in or vice-versa--I had mine wide open so I could be nosy and listen through their closed one. All I could hear was dull mumbling for a while; then I thought I heard the bathroom door shut in there. Just seconds later, Paul opened that door up and nearly crashed into me standing right in his way.

“Oh; I didn’t think you had this door open,” he said. “I would’ve knocked first; sorry, luv.”

“No, it’s okay,” I said. “I wasn’t in the middle of getting changed or anything; don’t worry about it.”

Paul walked around the room, then stopped by the window I’d opened to get some air in the stuffy room; the weather was still pretty warm, but the light breeze blowing outside would help cool off the room so I could sleep that night. As he looked out at the city below him, I made up my mind: I was going to ask him about what he’d said before to me; I had to know what he meant by it!

“Paul, what did you mean by what you said before?” I asked, then almost wished I hadn’t blurted it out like that. Gee whiz; real slick, Laurie!

“Huh?” he said, turning back from the window.

“What you said while I was on the phone with Claire,” I said.

“What did I say, pray tell?” he said, heading back towards the connecting doorway. He wasn’t at all taking me seriously--I couldn’t tell if he was joking or if he really didn’t honest-to-god remember!

“You said ‘Watch what you say, luv... or someday I just might have to take you seriously’ after I made that comment that I was dying in love with you,” I said slowly, a little nervous about talking with him.

“Ah... I remember,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway between our two rooms. “Well, I suppose what I should ask you now is whether or not you would like me to take that offer seriously?”

I must have started making the same face I’d made when he’d first kissed me last January--a really funny, nearly ready to puke from nerves face--because Paul’s eyes widened and he took a step back. “You’re not going to be sick, are you, luv?” he said, alarmed.

“No! No... I’m just a little... shocked,” I said, putting one hand to my chest to make sure that my heart hadn’t stopped beating. Remember to breathe, now, Laur, I thought. You haven’t been doing much of that lately!

“Why?”

Oh, sure, Paul; what a question that was! Was he asking for a smack in the face? I was just going to die if he kept this up!

“Wh-what do you mean ‘why’?” I said, sitting on the edge of my bed. “Good god, Paul... at this point I don’t think I actually woke up this morning; I have to be dreaming.”

He laughed at my predicament, much to my dismay, then said, “Laurie, I’m asking you if you’ll be my girlfriend... I know this isn’t the first time you’ve been presented with that question, luv, so it shouldn’t be a shock to you.”

“I know, I know,” I said, waving my hands as I squeezed my eyes shut. “It was just a little unexpected, that’s all...”

“I’m sorry if I made you nervous; I don’t see why I did.”

I looked up at him, still a little bleary-eyed. “Paul, you have no idea how many times I’ve imagined you saying those words to me... practically every day for the past two years. I didn’t actually ever count on it happening; it was more like a silly daydream for me to pass the time with when I was bored. But now, to actually hear you say that... I just don’t know what to do.”

“Well, an easy start would be to kiss me and tell me yes,” he said with a know-it-all smirk. “I’m sure you can handle that.”

I smiled, standing up and approaching him near the doorway. He held out his hand to me, and I took it as he drew me close to him. He had the dreamiest look on his face as he looked down at me with those gorgeous dark brown eyes, that kiss a definite presence on his mind. Closing my eyes, I felt his lips against mine a few seconds later, his hands against my hips as he slowly turned me so I was pinned between the doorframe and his body. There was nothing that could make me let go of him; it felt way too damn good to stop as his lips slid down my chin to my neck. Oh god; he isn’t going to stop at all, either, I thought. My parents aren’t one door away from my room like they were last time--he’s got no reason to stop unless I tell him so...

Just then the phone rang--great timing, eh?--and he turned his head away from me as John came out of the bathroom in their room and picked up the receiver. Paul’s hands dropped to his sides before he walked away from me, curious about who was on the phone.

John hung up the phone after exchanging only a few words with the caller, then turned to Paul. “Eh, Paul, Brian wants to talk to all of us in his room right now,” he said, yawning. “He says there’s a problem with our show on Monday that we need to know.”

“Crap,” Paul muttered, looking back over at me; he looked pretty distressed that our little love scene had been interrupted--so was I, for that matter! “Laurie, want to come with? It should only take a minute.”

I nodded, following the two of them down the hall to Brian’s room, three doors down from theirs. George, Ringo, Neil and Mal had beaten us there; they were seated all around the room when we walked in.

“All right, Brian; what have I done now?” John said, crossing his arms and tapping one foot on the carpeted floor. “There isn’t more problems with what I said, is there?”

Brian was silent for a moment with a very stressed-out look on his face, and I think we all took that as a ‘yes’ right away.

“There’s a bit of a situation in Washington DC,” he began, walking slowly around the room. “It seems that a lot of people there are still pretty upset over John’s remarks and that there’s still record-burnings going on--”

“And what else is new?” Ringo said. “They’ve been doing that for a while now, haven’t they? All those ten-year-old kids and old deejays making a spectacle of themselves on the telly... rubbish.”

“And now the Ku Klux Klan is getting involved as well,” Brian continued, sort of ignoring Ringo’s question. “They’re going to hold a protest in front of the stadium during the concert... that’s what I’ve been told.”

John went completely white when he heard that, as did the others as a dead silence filled the room. “Bloody fucking hell,” he muttered, turning around and pounding his head against the wall. “What the fuck is next...”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Paul said, nervously reaching for his Marlboros in his pocket. “What exactly are they going to do? Is it just going to be another record-burning... or something else this time?”

“I don’t know, Paul,” Brian said. “They haven’t exactly stated what they’ve got in mind, you know; that’s not how they work.”

“Well, jesus christ; are we going to have extra security when we get there?” Ringo asked. “We’re playing some pretty damn big arenas on this tour; and considering the fine security we’ve had so far, anyone could bring in a gun or something and kill us all right on stage.”

“Now, that’s not going to happen,” Brian said. “Believe me, I’m going to be on the phone all night taking care of the situation, and so is Neil. We’re going to do all we can to keep anything from happening on any of the upcoming concerts. I just wanted to warn all of you to take extra care wherever we go.”

“What else can happen?” Ringo said, snatching a smoke from Paul. “First that lady predicts that we’re going to crash with our plane, and now all this.”

“Huh?” I said. “What lady?”

“The lady that predicted that President Kennedy would be shot also said she had a vision of our plane crashing,” Neil explained. “And these four with their Buddy-Holly complexes haven’t helped the situation much.”

I gulped. “Well, thank god I didn’t know that before I got on the plane yesterday,” I said, trying to give a little laugh. “I would’ve stayed home and ducked for cover.”

John gave a little smile, but my joke didn’t go over very well with them.

“My god... the Klan?” I said, still hoping that somehow I’d heard wrong. “Jesus... I’m not used to that sort of thing where I come from. I mean, there’s been only a couple incidents that I’ve heard of in the Chicago area--nowhere near Pine Lake. Good lord... I can’t believe that they’re going to make such a public protest, and in DC of all places!”

George shook his head. “I’m just about ready to pack up and head home,” he sighed, closing his eyes. “They obviously don’t want us here, do they?”

“Believe me, I’d do the same thing right now if I could,” Brian said, stopping next to George, “but you know as well as I that we just can’t do something like that--”

“Whoa! Wait a second!” Paul exclaimed, puffing out a cloud of cigarette smoke. “Just hang on a bloody minute; we’ve got another concert in the south after DC, don’t we? Memphis, isn’t it, Bri? What makes you think that they won’t go after us there, either? Or at any other show, for that matter?”

Brian’s face became tighter with stress as he said, “Listen, we’re going to do all we can, boys; I mean it... even if I have to spend every penny we’re due to make from these shows just to make sure we get through the tour alive.”

Shaking his head, Paul sighed and ground out his not even halfway-smoked ciggie in an ashtray on the coffee table. “Ohhh... this is the last thing I needed,” he muttered, collecting his pack of Marlboros and his lighter. “The very last thing... I’m going to crack before the week is out.”

“Me, too,” Ringo said, getting up from his seat on the couch. Apparently the “meeting” was over for the night. “Hey, Mal, have you got anything left for us to smoke?”

Mal nodded, glancing over at me for a split second before saying, “Yeah; it’s hidden in one of me cases in my room.”

John sat in the corner of the room still, staring at the swirly pattern in the carpeting. Paul walked over to him and offered him a cigarette, but he refused it with a wave of his hand. “Not now... I need to think,” he said quietly, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair.

Paul shrugged. “All right, then.”

With a loud sigh, John said, “So it’s come to this, has it? I can’t fucking do this anymore, Paul; sooner or later one of us is going to go mad. It’s just not working anymore.”

“I suppose so,” Paul replied, staring out the window at the city lights shimmering in the darkness. “We’ll get through it; it’s only a couple more weeks, and we’ll be back at home, thank god.”

John nodded, still staring intently at the floor as Paul headed back over to me and said, “You’d better get some sleep, luv; it’s nearly four in the morning.”

“I know,” I said as we walked slowly back down the hallway towards my door. “Things are happening a little too quickly for me; that’s all.”

“Did you think any more about what I asked you before?” he said, patting my shoulder softly.

I smiled, thinking about our loooong kiss. “Sure I did; I’d love to,” I said rather shyly, trying to avoid his eyes as he grinned in happiness.

“My fondness for you hasn’t changed much since last year, just so you know,” Paul said. “You’ve got to be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met, luv; I hate to say it, but I think that me and the others developed a crush on you the moment we saw you.”

I let out a little gasp. Oh my god; now I’d heard it all! I’d had all four of the Beatles in love with me at one point! That was it; I’d reached my peak in life! Everything else would be downhill from then on!

“Me?” I squeaked. “Why me?”

“Well, it’s for a lot of reasons,” he began as I unlocked my door. “You’re incredibly pretty, like I already said. And, well, you’re American; I know that sounds stupid, but that’s another sort of thing that I like--that we all liked. You didn’t hang all over us and pull a lot of foolish fan bullshit when we were staying at your house last year... and apparently you haven’t said a word about it to anyone else, since I’m sure the papers would’ve jumped at the opportunity to have an exclusive story about you in their newspaper. You’re not soft in the head like some other girls I’ve met; bloody hell, you outrank me in schooling by acres, Laurie. You just seem to know exactly where you’re going in life and you care about everyone else around you... perhaps that’s the thing I like the best about you.”

I smiled as I stepped into my room with Paul right behind me. Oh, god; he’s not going to ask to sleep with me, is he? I thought as he kept right on talking. Not tonight, no, please... I can’t go getting all hot and heavy with him this fast...

“Well?” he said. Apparently he’d asked me some question while I’d been thinking, and I hadn’t heard him.

“Hmm? What?” I said, feeling pretty dumb.

He rolled his eyes. “What is it that you like about me?” he asked, crossing his arms. “There must be something.”

“Oh!” I said, sitting down on my bed. “Well... where do I start?”

He sat right next to me, hip-to-hip like we’d been in the limo the other day as my mind raced to scramble up some sort of answer to his question.

“Well, you’re definitely gorgeous,” I said, sure that my face was turning red. “You’ve got such beautiful eyes... and you’re so sweet; you just seemed to me like you were the nicest one out of the group when I saw you guys on TV for the first time. I, oh, I love your voice, Paul; I can sit there and listen to my Beatle records and just see you singing those words. And after I actually got to know you last year... well, you just exceeded all my expectations, Paul. You’re not like any guy I’ve ever met; you are so special!”

I got a kiss on the cheek for that one, and he patted my hand, staring right at me and smiling--then he kissed me on the lips, more and more until I was sprawled onto my back on the bed and he was completely on top of me, his kisses getting deeper and deeper each time as he pressed against me. I thought for sure he was going to ask the inevitable at any moment--I could sure as hell feel that he was ready to do the inevitable as he rubbed up against me while we kissed. I had to figuratively kick myself in the ass and get ready to tell him no way even though every inch of my body was urging me to say yes. I wasn’t about to go and sleep with him less than an hour after he asked me to be his girlfriend--I’d promised myself a long time ago that I’d never be that cheap or that easy... but, my god, it was hard convincing myself to say no to him that night! But I didn’t need my excuse, as it turned out: John came back into the adjoining room from Brian’s room and began messing about with the radio in there.

Paul stopped kissing me after a moment, his face hovering just inches above mine with a peaceful look across it. He stroked my hair and said, “You just made me feel so much better, Laurie. I’d forgotten everything that’s wrong while you were kissing me.”

He maneuvered his way back to a standing position and fixed his mussed hair a little, the only physical sign that we’d been heavily making out. About the only thing that I’d taken off that whole time were my shoes--and that was only because I felt that if I left them on for another second I’d have blisters on my heels from all the walking and running I’d done that day. Sighing, I watched him as he slowly walked back towards his room.

“Are you going to sleep?” I asked him, moving myself up towards my pillow.

He nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to do that to you five minutes after you told me you’d be my girlfriend.”

“No, no; it’s okay,” I said, smiling at him. “Really... it was nice to hold you again like I did last year.”

He gave me a little smile. “Still no regrets, luv?”

I shook my head. “Not one,” I grinned. “And I never will.”

Even after all that had happened that evening, I still managed to fall asleep right after I’d changed out of my clothes and crawled into bed; it was nearly five in the morning at that point, and I was praying that we all were going to sleep late that day, since there was no afternoon show--just an evening one. Luckily I got my wish; no one got up until about two in the afternoon the next day--Paul had to pound on my door for about five minutes before I woke up out of my practically comatose sleep.

The first thing I noticed was that it was pouring rain outside as I got out of bed. Uh-oh, I thought. They’re supposed to be playing in the middle of a baseball field tonight; what if it storms or something? They’ll be killed!

My choice of attire that day was a light blue skirt and a sleeveless white top, complete with my penny loafers; I needed to dress as lightly as I could that day, since the humidity and heat was nearly unbearable! Ugh; I’d be a mess by the show that night.

The Beatles looked pretty uncomfortable, too, as we all converged in Brian’s room for breakfast/lunch/early dinner at three-thirty that afternoon. The first thing that George said was, “I can’t believe how miserably hot it is today... and it isn’t even sunny out!” That pretty much turned out to be the Complaint of the Day for everyone I spoke to.

After breakfast or whatever meal you want to call it since it was served in the middle of the day, I went back to my room, thinking that I’d better write to Cheryl and Anna or they’d be mighty pissed at me; perhaps they’d be pacified if I scribbled out a couple of letters to them early on--I knew that as the trip went on, I’d be in less and less of a writing mood. So, sprawling out onto my bed, I started writing a letter to both of them (I’d mail it to Anna, and she could share it with Cheryl):

August 14, 1966
Dear Cheryl and Anna,

Hi! Oh my god; you wouldn’t believe what a time I’m having here with the Fabs! We’re all pretty damn spoiled, with room service and all--I can just pick up the phone in the middle of the night and order anything I want at all, and for free, too!

The weather hasn’t been too great: very hot and very humid, especially today; the Beatles are in the other room right now sweating to death practically. We really don’t do much between shows--just hanging around the hotel rooms or backstage at the shows. I get to watch all their shows from the dugouts in the baseball stadiums we’ve played at so far; it’s not a bad view--just a little noisy at some points with all the screaming going on. :)

Oh, there’s gonna be some problems when they do their show in DC; Brian told us all last night that the KKK is going to hold a protest outside the stadium there--I’m not exactly happy about that, and neither are the guys. They also told me last night that some psychic lady predicted that their plane is going to crash on this tour--isn’t THAT a comfort?!!! So, if I don’t make it back home, Anna, you get my Beatles record player, and Cheryl, you get my photo album with all the Beatles pictures I took last year when they visited! :)

Anyway, I hope you guys are enjoying your summer as much as you can; I’ll see you at the end of the month when the tour’s over! Talk to you soon; maybe I’ll try giving you guys a buzz when I have some free time.

Love,
Laurie

p.s. Paul keeps looking more and more gorgeous every day! :)

We left the hotel for the show pretty late that night; we weren’t going to spend a hell of a lot of time backstage that night--just enough so the guys could change into their stage outfits before the show. That night we did something different: the limo drove straight onto the field and dropped us off right at the trailer set up at the back of the stage on second base right during the middle of the deejay’s set. As we ran into the trailer, I took a quick look at the crowd; they looked pretty wound up, even more so than the audience the night before had been, if that was at all possible. About ten or eleven girls had tried to run towards us, but each one was caught by about four cops and literally dragged back across the field; it almost looked too brutal the way the cops were treating the kids--I mean, all they were trying to do was get a peek at their idols. As long as none of them had any weapons on them, there shouldn’t have been any reason for them to get tackled so badly.

The Beatles’ choice of attire for that night were dark green suits and lime-colored shirts to match. John kept his sunglasses on while he messed about with one of his acoustic guitars backstage until Neil told us that it was showtime. The Beatles made their way outside to greet an ecstatic audience, and quickly started playing “Rock and Roll Music” as I watched them through the blinds of one of the trailer windows facing the stage; the music was just barely loud enough so I could hear it through the windows.

They’d just started playing “Day Tripper” when I noticed that a large group of fans was breaking loose and getting past the security guards on one end of the field; I figured that the cops would get a hold of them, but there were just too many at once this time--a mad rush of about a hundred girls was headed right towards the stage!

“Oh, jesus!” I said, clinging to the back of the chair I was kneeling on as I watched some of the girls actually make it all the way to the stage and attempt to climb up onto the platform. The Beatles stopped playing and stepped as far back as they could on the stage to avoid being attacked; George looked pretty nervous, staring wide-eyed at the fans clamoring to get on stage just a few feet in front of him.

Neil ran onto the stage with one of the security guards, and, after exchanging a few words, they left the stage with the Beatles in tow, heading back to the trailer. The Beatles were sweating buckets when they stepped back inside and quickly shut the door behind them, their instruments still strapped to them; I snapped the blinds shut and said, “Jesus, what happened out there?”

“They’ve gone bloody bonkers!” Ringo said. “None of the birds out there want to go back to their seats, so they’re shutting us down unless they can get everyone to sit down again.”

Ringo and I peeked out the blinds; slowly but surely, the cops were restoring order to the chaos outside. I remarked, “I thought you guys were goners for sure this time.”

“Me, too,” Paul said, taking a drink of the bottle of Coke he hadn’t finished before the show. “I hope they don’t do this again.”

Around 9:40, the security guard came back and told them that they could finish the show, so they ran back outside and finished their set, playing “Long Tall Sally” at the end instead of “I’m Down,” which I thought was a little odd. As soon as they were back in the trailer, they unstrapped their guitars, leaving them there for Neil and Mal to pack up, and the four of them, Brian, and I leaped into the limo that was waiting right outside the door for us.

As we pulled away from the stadium, there were hundreds of girls rushing the car; the Beatles all tried to look their cheery best and wave, but they still looked pretty tired to me. The fans there were nuts--girls throwing themselves on top of the car and stuff! I thought for sure that someone was going to get killed before we made it back to the hotel, but luckily we all made it back there in one piece for a somewhat quiet night of rest before heading for--gulp!--Washington DC the next day, which I was really starting to worry about at that point. I hoped that everything would work out okay, and that the luck that had helped us skirt certain disaster all throughout the tour so far would hold out for just one more day.

Continue to Chapter Ten

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