Back on the train the next day, it was much more quiet. The band was indeed worn out. Who could blame them? It was cute though seeing them interact with a little boy who had somehow wandered into our car. It's heartwarming to see a bunch guys who were now basically becoming the most famous group in the world know how to be personable and respectful to others. At least to kids anyway.
When we got back to New York it was another rush rehearsal and then to Carnegie Hall for two more sold out performances. Two days later we were on a plane heading to Miami for the Ed Sullivan show again. I looked over at George as we were in the air.
"If there is one thing you'll like about Miami, its definitely the weather." I said. "You'll be much more comfortable."
I peek over at Brian.
"You too." I said. "You'll actually be able to lose the scarf for awhile."
Brian smirked at me.
"That will be quite nice."
It had been awhile since I had been anywhere except New York City. Oh sure I had my jaunts here and there, but many of them weren't as extravagant as this. Of course Brian had made sure The Beatles had their own plane. It was huge!
The boys were scattered about the plane excited for the trip. I actually got to meet Cynthia Lennon, John's first and right now current wife. She was quiet and gentle.
We landed not too long after and immediately the warm air and sun brightened our spirits even more. We got to the hotel and within a few hours there was rehearsal. I didn't know if I could keep up! However, this time I got to meet Ed Sullivan himself. We didn't really talk much, mostly just pleasantries. Another legend though and it was amazing.
For the next two days it was rehearsal, show, rehearsal, show. FINALLY, they got a break and in some ways I did too. It's hard being a member of their crew. You gotta make them up, which in that of itself is not too hard, but then they go out and perform, make them pretty again, perform, go to an event, etc. In retrospect I probably didn't need to go to every single thing they did, but for some reason I couldn't stay away. If I tried to, they would urge me. I was feeling okay with the exception of being worn out from all the running around, but hell I am a nurse, running around is part of the job. They truly let me into their circle too. I wasn't just some wallflower, I was a friend. I made sure though to scatter as best I could from the photographers. I didn't want to be on the cover of some magazine. I had some reporters come up and ask me questions and whether I was REALLY a makeup artist to the Beatles or "something more" but I made it plain as day. The Beatles too would come over and throw their arms around my shoulders.
"Hey, you bugging our little sister?" John asked one time when one reporter wouldn't get his recorder out of my face while we were sitting outside.
"Your sister?" The reporter asked.
"Yeah, she's The Beatles sister. Mine and the other lads" Johns said. "And you better well leave her alone."
"I don't understand Mr. Lennon." The reporter asked nervously. "She doesn't seem British."
"Neither do I sometimes." John said with a snort. "Matilda is our makeup artist. She's the one who makes us look pretty, don't you think we are pretty?"
He bats his eyes. The Beatles charm. Go for it John.
"Uh."
The other three come along seeing John and my issue.
"Hey, what's happening Matilda." Ringo said. "Is he giving you trouble?"
"He thinks Matilda isn't our sister because she isn't British." John said.
"Well that's not very nice." Paul answers putting his hand on my shoulder. "Matilda is our dear friend and like John said like our sister and we want no stories about her!"
"There probably isn't anything write about." George said.
Boy, could be slick when he wants to be. Shy one, my ass.
The reporter meanwhile looked uncomfortable.
"I just thought it was odd that an American girl is part of your entourage?" He said.
"You thought we picked her up then?" John said crossing his arms.
The reporter straightened up.
"Well yes..yes I did." He said. "I am sorry, it doesn't make sense to me. I doubt she is who you say she is!"
Oh no he didn't. Now I am pissed. And before The Beatles could protest, I finally step up.
"Excuse me!" I yell. "First of all, you have no clue who I am, but I will tell you this much. No I am not one of those screaming little girls down on the beach that somehow mosied her way into their hotel! I was hired by a Ms. Langer to be the Beatles makeup artist at CBS the first night they performed in New York. I was then employed by their MANAGER after wards to continue being their makeup artist while they are on this tour. I am being paid for my work and not in the manner you oh so politely put it!"
I take a breath.
"And for someone who is a representative of this country's entertainment industry, you should be ashamed of yourself that you give them such attitude after all they work they have done here, just for us Americans. And just because I happen to be a woman does not mean I sleep my way to the top! I am sure that is what you were implying am I not?"
"I think he was Matilda." John said.
I point my finger in the reporters face.
"Sorry pal, you got the wrong girl!" I said. "And these men right here have been nothing but kind to me. They have offered me the job of a lifetime not because I did something sinister, but because I EARNED IT through hard work! Believe it or not, not all women uncross their legs! And for you to insinuate that they, who are like MY BROTHERS coerced me or I them, is cause enough for me to take that recorder of yours and shove it wear the sun doesn't shine! Don't think I won't! No one messes with my friends, absolutely no one! Post that in your shitty magazine!"
I would have been a lot more, graphic, in my details, but hell if this was being recorded let them get a clean enough detailing.
Brian then appeared on the scene.
"I think it's best you leave sir." He said. "If you want an interview with the band or crew you have to go through me. Right now, I am forbidding any interviews from us."
"Or in other words, fuck off!" John yelled.
The reporter, beet red, nodded and left. I meanwhile was fuming, but when I realized what I had just did, I felt like a fool. I started to turn away when I felt a hand on my shoulder again.
"You alright?" Paul asked.
I didn't know what to say.
"I am so sorry." I pleaded. "I had no right to act that way! I embarrassed you guys in front of the press! I should have thought before I acted."
"Ah come off it!" Ringo said. "That wasn't the press. Just some little wanker of a reporter! Nothing to fret about."
"He was wrong to insinuate such things." Brian said. "But that is part of being a Beatle."
"Expect the worst, hope for the best." George answered.
I shook my head.
"It's not just that." I said. "You guys, its not easy being a woman in this world. No matter what we are always fighting for some sort of right and every time we succeed we are thought of as just, fucking our way to it. We are not second class citizens you know! I mean, men do it and they are considered the king, women do it, and they are whores. It's always a battle. Of course I can't be a female makeup artist for the Beatles without rumors that I am...uh...sharing a bed...with one of you. But as much as I love your music and your work, that is not who I am!"
I sit down on a chair and put my face in my hands, and then rub my face.
John comes over to me.
"We know that's not who you are." He said. "They just don't know it."
"I know." I answer. "And that's the most important part. But it still sucks."
Okay so I threw a little of my generation's lingo into it. Whatever, they'll get it. I was upset. Even in 2012 women are still fighting in a way to belong on the same scale as men and after what just happened to me with that stupid reporter, God, how do you take it?
"We do consider you like our sister Matilda." Paul said. "I mean, you have been the only one to just make us feel, comfortable, on this tour. You do your work, you help us figure out whats what and whose who, you aren't pushing us to understand or are overzealous about it."
"The boys and I of course had our reservations about coming here to you country." Brian spoke up. "Of course we wanted it to happen, but you have to understand that we come from a different place. It's a brand new experience and it is a little daunting even with all of the welcomes. You have made it less, like we are celebrities and more like we are just normal people."
I chuckle.
"It's a bit nice for a change." John said. "America is the wildest place we have been so far."
"A little culture shock huh?"
"A little!" George exclaimed. "For one thing, those damn jelly babies of your are hard as fucking rocks! Everything is a bit strange here."
We all laugh.
"I am sure I'd feel that way about England. Though I do want to go there one day." I add. "But I am sorry, I promise never to do that again. I'll try to hide away as best I can."
"Oh no no, we won't have that." Ringo said. "You are not going to hide away these last few days in America. You are going to come with us and have a fab time!"
"But what if another reporter comes again." I ask. "What if they start up with the stupid accusations."
"We'll give them the ole boot in!" John said punching the air. "No one messes with our Matilda if the know what's good for them!"
I laugh.
"Well no one messes with my Beatles if they know whats good for them too."
"So we saw!" Paul said. "You were quite frightening. Remind us never to anger you. I think that reporter pissed his trousers when you looked him in the eyes!"
There was laughter all around until Ringo clapped his hands.
"Alright, beach then?" He asked. "I want to experience this nice weather before we go home."
He points a ringed finger at me.
"And you are coming along." He said. "No arguments."
Again, I can never say no to these guys.
Lying in the sun in my one piece retro pale blue (well what be considered retro in my time) bathing suit I watch the boys frolic in the water through my oversized sunglasses. Of course they are inundated by fans, of course most women. A few even planted some good kisses on Ringo's face. Its funny watching them absorb all of the excitement with such stride. Nowadays celebrities are so snotty and downright mean to some of their fans. Understandable the paparazzi has also gotten relentless in treating them like dirt.
Whatever happened to the simpler times. To respect?
I think about this later that night. I am walking along the beach. I had been unable to sleep, so I decide a stroll on the sand might help. Its a clear night and there's a nice breeze, but my mind won't shut up. I'm still so confused.
"Why am I here?" I utter.
I sit down on the sand. If I am dreaming, its so vivid. I can touch the sand and run it through my fingers. I smell the ocean. I eat and sleep as if I was still in 2012. I knocked my leg on a chair earlier that day. I felt the pain and then later on the bruise formed. Everything is so clear. But the reality of the situation was, this was not my world!
I sigh. I doubt there is anyone I can talk to. I doubt there is anyone who would understand. But as much as I was enjoying this, I was starting to feel homesick. I put my chin in my arms and stare out at the dark ocean.
What am I going to do?