I am not stupid. If today is the day I think it is and if E.S. stands for what I think it stands for then I know I must be dead. Or I am on the Tardis and David Tennant is going to pop out somewhere in his trench coat. Either way, I have no clue what the hell is going on. I am scared out of my mind.

But also madly curious.

The smart part of my brain tells me to just sit tight and wait for everything to pass. The adventurous, get in my ass in trouble. part of my brain tells me to play along. So who should I listen to.

The answer shouldn't that hard.

I make use of the bathtub and change into a blouse and skirt since that seems to be a lot of what I own. Donning a pair of flats, and some makeup, I bundle up and head out. Hailing a cab I head to CBS studios which is already packed. Getting out I see the sign and my heart jumps into my throat. I was right.

E.S.

Ed Sullivan

Aka

The Ed Sullivan Show

And at the bottom of the sign, "The Beatles."

Oh my god.

Suddenly my arm is grabbed and I am dragged inside.

"You are so lucky that they aren't here yet." I turn to see a woman taller than me obviously with short hair wearing a sweater and skirt. "How could you be so late! Seriously Matilda, I thought you were such a square."

"Uh yeah." I utter.

"CBS hired us especially to do their makeup and all you can say is uh!"

"Umm."

"Oh just stop it!"

I am pulled into a dressing room where the first guests were waiting.

"I already took care of Ed." The woman tells me. "You work on them!"

I look over at the guests who just sit relaxed waiting for me.

Now even though it say I graduated from Miss Mimi's School of Cosmetology, I know squat about doing hair and makeup for others other than myself. I am so screwed.

However, for some reason as I survey the tools, the colors, everything for some odd reason falls into place and for each guest I make them look, well, pretty damn good. I end up hanging around the dressing room for a bit, unsure of where to go or what to do. I can hear bits and pieces of whats going on onstage. Then I hear squeals outside the dressing room and before I even have time to react there they came bringing all the laughter and light with them. The four men who had basically shaped my love of music, who celebrated the good times with me, and helped me back up in my dark times.

The four lads from Liverpool.

The Beatles.

And they are absolutely amazing.

"Wow, gear dressing room!"

"You think so, I think its a bit cramped?"

"Doesn't feel that way to me."

"Well that's cuz your little."

"There we go again about my height."

It takes me dropping a metal comb on the floor to accidentally get their attention. All of a sudden four pairs of eyes are on me. They look me up and down just as I do with them.

"Well, are you here to help us then?" John Lennon asks me.

I try to open my mouth but no words come out, so I nod. I'd pinch myself right now, but I don't think I can move my fingers to my skin.

"Yes, yes I am." I stutter.

Again they look at me oddly, then just shrug and each take a seat in front of the large mirror.

"Can you believe how big New York is!? Paul McCartney exclaims. "Its beautiful!"

"Well you lot got to see more of than I did!" George Harrison said a bit annoyed. I remember that George had a throat infection just after they had arrived and had been stuck at the hotel. So I decide to be bold.

"Um, are you feeling better?" I ask as I move the comb through John's hair.

George just looks at me with those mysterious eyes and I am ready to keel over.

"Wouldn't be here if I wasn't." He said.

"Oh." I answer. "I am glad."

I start putting a little talcum powder on John. He makes faces as I do so. God being so close to them that I can actually smell them, which is oh so good. Looing into John's face and wonder what's circulating in that mind of his! In all of them.

"Ah don't mind George!" Ringo Starr says. "He's not a conversationalist!"

"What's your name?" Paul asks.

I move over to him and start combing his hair.

"M..M...Matilda."

"M..M..Matilda!" John mimics. "Well, M...Ma..Matilda...I am J-J-John...and he's P-P-Paul...and you already know..."

I roll my eyes.

"Cute." I say.

"No, G-g-george and R-Ringo!"

I move over to George. His hair a bit thicker than his counterparts. I read that George didn't like haircuts.

A knock on the door causes us all to turn to see a shorter man in a scarf walk in.

"Eppie!" They all yell in unison.

Eppie.

Brian Epstein. Their manager. The man who helped make the Beatles happen.

"Hello boys." He says. "How are we doing?"

"Fine." They answer.

"Still chilled are you? Paul answers. "I don't think that scarf has left your neck since we got here."

Brian shrugs.

"A bit." He says. "Its quite cold out there."

"Winter in New York is pretty to look at." I find myself saying. "But walking in it is another story. I don't blame you for having the scarf on. I'd wear my jacket indoors if I could. It's nice, your scarf."

Brian looks at me and smiles lightly.

"Thank you miss." He says. "I am glad to see someone understands my choice in neck wear."

He looks into the mirror and adjusts his own looks a bit.

I work on Ringo who shakes his head after I smooth down his hair.

"Gotta keep it a bit messy ya know." He says to me.

"Yeah." I answer with a smile and put some powder on his face.

"She's M-M-Matilda, Brian!" John says.

"Matilda eh?" He answers. "Lovely name."

I blush.

"Thank you sir."

"Call him Brian or Eppie!" Paul says. "We all do!"

Brian shakes his head.

"Brian would be fine." He says extending his hand. "Brian Epstein, I'm their manager."

"Slave driver." George whispers and the other three break out chuckling.

"I'm Matilda Jameson." I say shaking his hand.

"Oi Brian, if you are going to start looking at birds now, she just might be your type." John whispers none too quietly. "Should I get her number for you? Maybe have some fun in New York?"

Brian then glares at John. Thankfully all of my years of Beatles research had each mentioned the same thing. Brian Epstein was gay. Suddenly I felt a wave of sadness come over me. When you learn about the Beatles you learn about everything and almost everyone in their lives, Brian being no exception. And when you learn about Brian, you learn some sad things too. How he was badly beaten up when the Beatles were still in their developing stage, his own personal demons with drugs and alcohol, all that ending in one sad way.

Death.

It was never determined if it was a suicide or an accidental overdose. I hope the latter.

And now I want to cry.

"Ms. Jameson?"

I turn and they are all looking at me an I realize I am still holding the makeup puff in midair.

Brian looks at me with worried eyes.

"Are you alright?" He asks.

Such a sweet man.

"Oh..I..uh..yeah ..I am fine." I said putting the puff back.

A producer pops his head in.

"Ten minutes gentlemen!" He exclaims. Immediately they are out of the chairs ready to take NYC by storm.

"Bye Matilda!" Paul says. "Enjoy the show!"

I nod.

"I will."

"Hey there's an after party going on!" John says. "You should come! Eat, drink and be merry!"

"Yeah, come with us!" Ringo announces. "It'll be fab!"

Hehehe fab.

"I doubt I'll be welcome." I said.

"We are the Beatles." John said. "We'll take care of that or rather-"

He slaps his hands onto Brian's shoulders.

"Eppie will take care of it!" He said.

Brian chuckled.

"I'll be glad to see that Ms. Matilda is invited to your soiree." He says then looks at me. "If you are finished with your work then, why don't you come stand with me backstage? I'll be sure not to let you get into any trouble."

Holy Cow.

"I, I don't want to intrude." I answer.

"Nonsense." Brian answers. "Please come."

They all look at me with eager eyes.

In the words of my generation:

HELL YES!

"Okay." I answer.

Then off they all go with me trailing behind them.