A young blond sat on the porch swing in front of her London home. She lazily let her feet drag along the smooth white deck and read another book as she waited for her boyfriend to pick her up for work. He had insisted, and Beverly Kemp wasn't about to let that opportunity pass up. She wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.
She heard his car horn and stood up, waving to the man in the car that had come to pick her up. She could dimly see his hand waving back and opened the car door. "'ello, love." Paul McCartney kissed his girlfriend's cheek and started up the car. They drove to EMI studios in absolute silence, save for one conversation that lasted less than a minute. "How's the day gonna be today, Bevvie?"
Beverly pulled out her small event notebook for work and said, "I guess we're recording the whole album today, honey." Paul looked at the road ahead and said, "Can't wait." Beverly laughed and saw Paul's face quickly brighten.
It was cold and cloudy on that February morning of 1963, as Paul got out of the car first, holding up a finger to tell Beverly to stay in her seat. He exited first and went around the car to open the door for her. "Oooh, a gentleman…" she giggled into the palm of her hand. Paul held out his hand and gently helped her out of the car. He moved her out of the way before slamming the door and walking into EMI, hand-in-hand.
"Ah, Paul, Beverly, you're here on time. Paul, why don't you go practice? I need to talk to Beverly about something," Brian said. Paul gave Beverly one last kiss on the lips before letting her go. Beverly followed Brian into the other room and asked, "Something wrong, Mr. Epstein?" Brian said, "No, nothing's wrong. In fact, that's why I asked to see you. Whatever you're doing, keep it up. All four boys have been in more control since you arrived. Probably don't want to look bad in front of a flawless woman like you, right?"
She blushed, mumbling, "I have plenty." Brian said, "I also want to ask you not to take anything they say seriously. This is going to take a while, Beverly. And they'll, I'm sure, get cranky." She nodded and said, "I won't, Mr. Epstein, I promise." Brian smiled.
The two walked back to see that Ringo and George had arrived, and the only one missing was John. "Where is he? Try calling his house, Beverly." Beverly grabbed the phone and dialed John Lennon's house number. After four rings, a groggily voice answered, "Hello?" Beverly covered the transmitter with her hand and mouthed the words, "He's at home," to Brian and George.
Her attention went back to John as she asked, "Where the hell are you? It's almost nine-thirty and we need you here!" Suddenly, John asked, "We or I?" Beverly scoffed, "What the hell is that supposed to mean? John, you're in a band and you need to be here to record Please Please Me." John began to sound a little angry, "Well, I wouldn't want to get anyone sick! That's right Bev. I have a cold. What's Brian gonna say about that, huh?" She placed her hand on the transmitter again and said, "He claims to have a bad cold."
Brian said, "Let him think he's in the clear, then go get him."
Beverly said into the phone, "Okay John. See you tomorrow. Bye." She hung up the phone and walked over to Paul, "Paul I need to go get John. Apparently he has a cold. Can I borrow the keys?"
Beverly knocked on John's door. He answered in his pajamas: a T-shirt and boxers. "Whoa, get some clothes on man." She teasingly looked away. He pulled her inside the house and asked, "Beverly, what the fuck are you doing here?"
Beverly teased, "Poor Johnny's got to get to work. Brian says." He roughly sighed and rolled his eyes, "Who cares what Brian says? Besides I have that cold." Beverly glared and said, "We've been putting this schedule off too many times. C'mon go get ready, I'll drive."
When she returned to the studio with John (fully clothed) Beverly looked at the clock, "Well, it's just a little past ten. Nothing to worry about." She took his hand and dragged him inside, where Brian looked furious. She walked in with John as Brian scolded him, "You were almost late! Thank God Beverly was here."
John sighed and said, "I'm sorry, I told you I have a cold." Brian rolled his eyes and said, "Stop with the lies, John." John sighed and looked over at Beverly. Beverly, not wanting to see him so angry at Brian, saved him and said, "Well, I checked his forehead. He is pretty warm."
Brian sighed and said, "Just don't breathe on the boys, alright?" John thanked her with his dark brown eyes.
Beverly looked down and walked away, over to George Martin. John walked into the studio and began tuning his guitar, ignoring the scolds from Paul. And the day began recording their album.
At around 8:00, the only song that was left was John covering "Twist and Shout." John had taken off his shirt and gave the okay symbol. But Beverly said, "Wait!" She ran over to the fridge and found the milk and a glass. (I don't care if there wasn't a fridge. They're cool enough to have one in there.) She poured the milk in the glass and handed it to John, "Drink this."
John complained, "No, but I don't want milk. I want beer!" She gave him a death glare, "Drink it. It'll help with the cold." He downed it in one swig. Then she dropped two strawberry cough drops in his open palm. When he wouldn't put them in his mouth, she pushed his hand in a closing motion and held it shut. She awkwardly slipped her hand away and walked back over to George and Brian, holding her face in one hand as the song began:
Well, shake it up, baby, now, (shake it up, baby)
Twist and shout. (Twist and shout)
C'mon c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, baby, now, (come on baby)
Come on and work it on out. (Work it on out)
Well, work it on out, honey. (Work it on out)
You know you look so good. (Look so good)
You know you got me goin, now, (got me goin)
Just like I knew you would. (Like I knew you would, ooh!)
Well, shake it up, baby, now, (shake it up, baby)
Twist and shout. (Twist and shout)
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, baby, now, (come on baby)
Come on and work it all out. (Work it all out, ooh!)
You know you're a twisty little girl, (twist little girl)
you know you twist so fine. (Twist so fine)
Come on and twist a little closer, now, (twist a little closer)
and let me know that you're mine. (Know you're mine woo
Ahhhhhhhhhh... Ahhhhhhhhhh… Ahhhhhhhhhh… Ahhhhhhhhhhh… Ahhhhh… Ahhhhh… Whoa, Yeah
Well, shake it up, baby, now, (shake it up, baby)
Twist and shout. (Twist and shout)
Cmon, cmon, cmon, cmon, baby, now, (come on baby)
Come on and work it on out. (Work it on out, woo!)
You know you're a twisty little girl, (twist little girl)
you know you twist so fine. (Twist so fine)
Come on and twist a little closer, now, (twist a little closer)
and let me know that you're mine. (Let me know you're mine, woo!)
Well, shake it, shake it, shake it, baby, now... (Shake it up baby)
Well, shake it, shake it, shake it, baby, now. (Shake it up baby)
Well, shake it, shake it, shake it, baby, now. (Shake it up baby)
Ahhhhhhhhhh… Ahhhhhhhhhh… Ahhhhhhhhhh… Ah!
John pulled the guitar off of his head. "Don't just stand there, help him!" Brian said. Paul ran to get more milk and George and Ringo fished through Beverly's purse for more cough drops. Beverly and Brian ran towards John and handed him everything. "Oh, God I shouldn't have teased you about the cold before. Sorry John."
John's hand touched Beverly's, and Beverly took it, stroking it with her thumb. Paul returned with another glass and handed it to John. Beverly grabbed another cough drop from her purse and put it in his mouth. She asked, "How's your throat?"
"It's like sandpaper, Bev!" She led him to a chair and looked at Brian. "I think this is all we can do, Beverly. I'll go call Cynthia." And Brian left, leaving Beverly and John alone. "Beverly, while we're here, I need to tell you something. Be careful of Paul, okay?" Beverly asked, "What? Why?" John said, "Paul's used to getting what he wants." She placed her hands on her hips and looked at him, "Hmm… I've happened to hear the same thing about you, Mr. Lennon. So I wouldn't be one to judge anyone."
"I'm only sayin', Bev." She grabbed her coat and pulled it on over her work clothes. She dashed out before he could say anything more.
1953
Thirteen-year-old Richard Starkey hated hospitals. He despised lying in the hard, uncomfortable bed all day and night, not doing anything. But hating hospitals changed whenever Charlotte Ramsey visited. It had been a normal Sunday morning for Richard, simply thinking about when he was going to get out of the place, when a knock on the door brought Ringo out of his wondering pool of thoughts.
Richard looked over to his door, where the soft knock came from. There was a little girl, around ten or eleven, with auburn hair and light brown eyes. Her widened eyes showed a shy and nervous glint. Her lips were straight, as if she had no emotion. She wore a white dress and black Mary Janes on her feet. "Can I come in?" she asked, her skin sporting a furious red. He nodded, replying to her bashful question, "Sure." She walked over to Richard's bed and pushed herself up onto it. Richard just looked at her blankly, wondering what she was doing. "I'm Charlotte. Charlotte Ramsey. Who're you?" He stuttered out, "Ri-Richard Starkey."
She laughed and said, "Me little sister 'as cancer. 'er name's Megan." Richard said, "I have chronic pleurisy." She jumped off the bed, as if it had burned her. "Is it contagious?" He nodded, "I think you can catch an infection from it." She frowned and said, "I'm sorry." He looked her over again. He replied, "It's not yer fault. Ya didn't give it to me. Say Charlotte, why aren't ya with yer sister?" She replied sheepishly, "I'm sorta scared to see 'er. She looks so sad and weak."
"Does she? If you're scare to see 'er, aren't you scared to see me?" Charlotte took a seat in one of the chairs next to the door. She shook her head and replied, "No, not really, probably cause me little sister 'ad cancer since she was four. Now she's seven. And I know she's probably gonna die." Richard frowned at the girl. "Don' say that. Ya never know. She may just get out of it alive."
She whined depressingly, "After three years?" Richard, heart torn in two after seeing the little girl upset, nodded, "It doesn't matter how long. She still could. Things change, Charlotte." Charlotte smiled, "That means you'll get out of this too, right?" Richard nodded. "Thanks, Richard." She didn't smile, however, for her face had contorted into a phased, concentrating stare, "You have the prettiest eyes."
Richard, shocked by the compliment, felt his body heat rise and his cheeks begin to burn. Charlotte giggled, obviously entertained by the older boy's embarrassment. She then dropped the conversation about their personal lives and started learning about each other, like how old they were, when their birthdays were, and their favorites.
It felt like they'd talked for hours, until worried cries filled the hallway, "Charlotte? Charlotte? CHARLOTTE?" Charlotte frowned and said, "I have to go. That's me mum. But I'll see you again. Your room number's easy to remember. Besides, it's the room right next to my sister's. We're visiting next week." She walked into the hallway, and could just hear the words, "Bye Charlotte."
June 1963
"Charlotte? Charlotte?" Charlotte zapped back to the little tea shop in London and looked up at Pete Best. "What? What?" She looked down at her left hand, to the big sapphire ring on her finger. Her eyes then traveled to the light blue ones of her fiancée as he asked, "Are you okay? You seem tense, worried, honey." Charlotte sighed and put her tea down, "I'm fine, Peter. I've jus' been thinking a lot…" Pete pressed on, "About…" Not wanting to bring up Richard, she said, "Our—our wedding! I've been planning my dress in my head." Pete put his hand on hers soothingly, stroking it with his thumb.
They finished their tea in silence and left after paying. They strolled down the streets of London together, fingers entwined until they reached Pete's car. Pete drove Charlotte to St. Augustine's and kissed her goodbye in the parking lot. She exited the car and began her work day.
"Does anyone have any questions?" She asked, referring to the process multiplying and dividing integers. However, the bell rang before any questions could be asked. It was her last class of the day, and Pete should be picking her up soon. She waited outside the school yard, the wind blowing in her face as she sat in wait for Pete's car to come pulling up. When it did, Pete took an alternate route and asked Charlotte, "Do you remember my drumming days?"
She nodded, looking ahead at the road in front of them. "Do you want to invite them to the wedding?"
Britney Anderson was a sassy blonde who strutted around the entire building with half her top unbuttoned. Her best friend was a girl named Mae Ross, a fiery redhead who loved changing her shoes each hour and had the IQ of a rock. Everybody who worked at "The Global" had absolutely no idea why or how they were hired by Mr. Fredericks, but there was one thing for sure:
They were annoying as hell.
And why were they annoying as hell? Because all they talked about while they were at work was The Beatles. That new band that was sweeping England. She really had no idea what the big deal was, because they were simply four guys who wanted to be famous. All she heard coming from Britney and Mae's mouths were: "I love Paul!" and "George and I are gonna get married one day!"
Britney and Mae strutted around the office one day; you guessed it, talking about the Beatles. "I can't believe they're so close! We need to get an interview from them!" Mae, fixing her hair in the mirror, replied, "I know, right? I mean we are the best magazine in London!"
"Keep dreaming, this place is almost done." Sheryl Greeves wasn't loved by anyone in the "Global" building, but she sure was ignored by Britney and Mae, though they were all Mr. Frederick's secretaries. Britney and Mae earned raises when they wrote one word on a piece of paper. Sheryl, however, was the black sheep of the office. She was ignored by Britney and Mae when they came into work 2 hours late, whilst Sheryl had been there for four. She was only seen to them as the girl with the black hair and her back turned to them.
"Oh, what's-her-name, I almost forgot. Mr. Fredericks. He wants you in his office." Sheryl stood up from the typewriter and thought in her head; please tell me it's a promotion...
She slowly walked over to the dark wooden door with the words E. Fredericks on it. She gently tapped on the door.
"You wanted to see me, Mr. Fredericks?" Sheryl slowly creaked open her boss' door. He was smoking a cigar, and the tension in the room made her feel like she was a Hollywood starlet in a 1920s movie. But she was far from Hollywood, living in a two-bedroom apartment in London. Mr. Fredericks didn't look up from a stack of papers and said, "Yes, yes… Sheryl. I have to ask your help."
She entered the room, twiddling her thumbs nervously. Maybe she was going to get the promotion she worked for all month. "You see, Greeves, I need to ask you a favor. This magazine is close to going out-of-business, and I need a scandalous story on those Beatle boys all the girls are so in love with."
Sheryl asked, "Sure, Mr. Fredericks. But, how do I do it?" Mr. Fredericks replied, smashing his fist on the desk. "I don't care how you do it! You get me this story in a month or less, and I'll give a big smacking promotion! Ya hear me, a promotion!" Sheryl smiled and nodded, "I'll do it! For the smacking promotion!" Sheryl tried his excited and angry dialogue, though it didn't fit. She inched out of the office and drove home bopping her head to old 50s songs.
Then something hit her bumper.
What do you guys think? Let me know how much you liked it? Good... Bad... Not that Bad... Not that Good... Too Mary Sue-ish? What?