A/N: I just wanted to thank whoever e-mailed me and told me this story was good, because I nearly lost interest and stopped working on it. But now that I am back with some fresh new ideas, I shall continue. Thank you very much for your support! This chapter was slightly inspired by "Girl" by the Beatles. Also, I found out that Stu died of brain hemorrhage in April that year too late, so he's just gonna disappear, 'kay?
Disclaimer: I pretty much said it for the whole book already in the beginning chapter, so let's not and say we did. ;-)
( Ringo P.O.V.)
I didn't know why George seemed so intense all of a sudden after Rory showed up. It was like there was a ram rod stuck up his arse or something. Had a fight been ensued, I never would have forgiven meself. Rory was the jealous type, you know. He could get very angry sometimes; he was often the scariest when he was drunk. But when he wasn't jealous, angry, drunk, or all of the above, he was a very sweet and caring partner.
I never told an authority figure or my friends about the things he did to me and I often had to hide it because I still loved him. Besides, if I left him, nobody else would love me the way he did and I wouldn't have money or a home. I would get kicked out of his band and the poor baby would die without me. At least, that's what he told me. I believed him, too. He promised the whole earth to me, cried, and told me he would never let it happen again. So every time it happened, I just assumed that he was trying to make progress.
However, I couldn't seem to get young George off me mind. He had far more in common with me than Rory did and he had a rather enthralling aura about him. I guess you could say I was interested in him from an intellectual perspective. He was very spiritual and often mentioned the different cultures and traditions he had become engrossed in. For a young nineteen-year-old lad who looked a bit like a monkey by physical appearance, he was very insightful and gentle.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I now give you the next act of the night! Put your hands together for The Beatles!" the announcer blared in English and German. There were four boys on the stage when the curtains opened. George told me about all of those people. There was Pete, the so-called mediocre drummer, Paul, the slightly baby-faced lad, John, the tough-looking leader, and of course, George, me new mate. John had a toilet seat hanging around his neck and he was wearing nothing but boxer shorts. Brian Epstein, the Beatles's manager, was face-palming himself humiliatedly.
" 'Ey, look who has the best seat in the house, eh?" John joked. The audience (including me)laughed and clapped, much to Brian's relief, though he practically begged the camera men not to take any pictures for the public eye. Then, Paul stepped up to the microphone whilst fluttering his big droopy eyes and announced,
"Alright, everybody! This first number is an original song written by John and I, called, 'I Saw Her Standing There' !" The crowd cheered once more before Paul shouted, "One, two, three, four!" The band began to play and everybody got lost in the moment. That is, everybody but me. I noticed that Pete's drumming skills were not quite as proficient as they were supposed to be. Well, they weren't quite right, per se. ...Okay, fine, he sucked.
Not only was he a minger to look at, he was at least two beats behind where there were supposed to be beats, and he was playing "Fours"! "Fours!" A kick drum note on a quarter note should have been non-legalized a long time ago! And when he moved to the middle eight on the ride cymbals, he slowed down! Slowed down! I apologize, but that was not something an OCD drummer like me wanted to hear! And all of the girls liked him?! I could have criticized his playing for the whole rest of the night, but I drew an irritated breath and moved on. John and Paul were much better, with their phenomenal singing and their skilled electric/semi-acoustic guitar and bass-playing. I admired each of their instruments: a Rickenbacker guitar and a Höfner bass. The only good thing about Pete was his Ludwig drum kit, but that man abused its power!
Finally, I took a look at George. Me eyes nearly fell out of their sockets at the sight. He was on his Gretsch guitar and playing chords, his fingers flying like mad and his face stained with sweat. He had a solemn look on his face that made him look even more mysterious to me. I admired everything about him, from his dark brown hair to his small button nose, from his thick dark eyebrows to his fanged toothy smile, and from his sunken cheeks to his slightly stuck-out ears. But most of all, I admired his eyes.
Whenever he made eye contact with me, I felt as if I were staring into oblivion. Most lads would have thought this sounded poofy, but it was as if the universe had taken the two brightest stars and converted them into George's eyes when he was born. His brown eyes were always shining, which meant that he was always thinking about something. They were like a cross between John and Paul's eyes because they were large, long-eyelashed, and almond-shaped. I felt as if I could write a poem describing his eyes: cocoa, delicate, lustrous, elegant, mystique...
Oh dear. I was doing it again. I was thinking about another man. Rory had made it a sin for me to do so, and therefore didn't allow me to have any guy friends. I realized that on top of his piss-drunkenness, he would do that thing to me again because I had broken one of his rules. I loved him, but sometimes when we talked it was like I was walking on egg shells. I remembered one night when I was talking to one of me friends in the living room before Rory stormed in, drunk and enraged. Me pal went home and the next thing I knew, I was being thrown against the wall and punched in the eye.
"N-N-No! I-I'm t-the o-o-only o-one y-y-y-you c-can t-t-talk t-to!" he shouted, during that jealous fit of his. I breathed heavily and tears flowed down my face. Rory realized what he had done and cried, feeling guilty. I could barely see him: my eyes were flooded with water and I shook violently on the ground. The next day he was sweet and caring again, but he made me call that man and tell him that I wasn't interested in being his friend anymore. He did the same with all of my other friends until all I had for company was him.
I refused to do the same thing to George this time around, however. He wasn't like any of me old friends in the past. He was different from all of them, which I liked. The very thought of my punishment once I got home was filled my mind with dread and apprehension, but no matter how much it hurt I had to stay strong. After all, sometimes I wanted a break from flowers and kissing so that I could flirt with a guy a little and talk about music and dreams.
The song ended and John Lennon sang a song called "Twist and Shout". I liked that song and began standing up, clapping with the beat with my rings rattling. Rory sat down the whole time, not really getting too into it. I didn't know why: those guys were bloody brilliant! Everybody applauded at the end of the song and John stepped up to the microphone.
"By the way, I'd like to thank that eager young man with the jewelry who was dancing his arse off the whole time," he said, pointing at me. Everybody laughed, including me. George's mates seemed like cool blokes that I could meet sometime. George whispered something in John's ear while pointing at me and I observed curiously. Perhaps he was telling him about some new bloke called Ringo he met at the bar. Whatever it was, John was grinning devilishly and George was a little flushed. John whispered to Paul, who grinned as well. George waved at me like an eager young school boy, and I waved back whilst chuckling. I could feel me boyfriend's eyes burning holes into me back already.
"Our last song this evening will be a cover of Chuck Berry's song 'Roll Over Beethoven,' which will be sung by our one and only George Harrison!" the announcer declared. I clapped eagerly. First, his amazing guitar skills, and now I got to hear him sing? How exciting! Rory got up from his seat at the bar and called out,
"T-That ch-ch-chav c-can't s-s-s-sing! H-H-He sh-should g-g-g-go b-b-back t-to h-h-his m-mummy!" Some people began to laugh, but I was not among those people. My dear Rory was heckling me friend and I didn't like it one bit.
"Hey! Rory, knock it off!" I lectured. Rory looked at me, still smiling.
" W-W-What? Oh, R-Ritchie, I-I-I w-was j-j-j-just j-j-joshing!" I looked at him incredulously and turned to see George, who was frowning determinedly. Then he began to sing. I almost melted. His voice was so beautiful, as if he were an angel on a rock guitar. I was hesitant to admit it at first, but his voice was actually better than Rory's.
"Well gonna write a little letter,
Gonna mail it to my local D.J.!
It's a rockin' little record
I want my jockey to play!
Roll over Beethoven,
I gotta hear it again today!"
I danced joyfully to the music and George directed his attention to me as if he were singing this song to me personally.
"You know my temperature's risin',
And the jukebox's blowin' a fuse!
My hearts beatin' rhythm,
And my soul keeps singing the blues!
Roll over Beethoven,
And tell Tchaikovsky the news!"
George leaned over, took me hand, and led me onto the stage so that I could dance up there with him. I hopped up and down like an idiot, and he hopped up and down with me, flipping his hair, playing guitar, and singing all at once.
"Well if you feel you like it,
Well grab your lover and reel and rock it!
Roll it over and move on up,
Just jump around and reel and rock it!
Roll it over,
Roll over Beethoven,
A rockin' in two by two, oh!"
Once the song ended, we both laughed, just enjoying each other's company. He looked like he had fun while performing that night, which I, meself, believed very strongly in. I had missed having friends; I'd almost forgotten what that felt like. Then I knew: it felt like this. Just then, George's smile disappeared from his face and he looked cold and distant again. I was about to ask if I had done something wrong, but then I turned and saw that Rory was drunk again. He snuck up behind me and whispered,
"Y-You n-n-naughty d-d-d-duffer! I-I-I'm g-gonna h-h-have t-to p-p-punish y-you!" He tried to take me shirt off, but I stopped him. I was about to walk home when he spanked me. I felt embarrassed because he was harrassing me in public, as well as in front of me pal. George's eyes became overcast with anger. He did not abide by what had just happened.