Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize.
October 9th, 1962
Baby, you can drive my car.
Ringo, George, and Molly were lazily sprawled across the Whatever Room on a cloudy Tuesday afternoon. George was lying on his stomach, absentmindedly flipping through a battered copy of last month's Mersey Beat, Molly was lounging on an armchair, twirling her hair as she watched the clock, and a red-faced Ringo was perched upside down on the couch, his head resting on the floor and his feet propped up where his head should be.
"And so he turns to the other two, and he says, 'I don't know about you, but where I come from, they'd recognize my face!'" Ringo howled, cracking up at his own joke.
"That wasn't funny," George sighed, "None of your jokes are funny."
"That was funny," Ringo defended.
George looked up from his magazine and asked Molly, "Was that funny?"
"No," she replied, her eyes flicking from the clock to George for a second.
"See?" George asked, returning to his magazine, "Not funny."
"Some of them are funny, right?" Ringo said, looking at Molly with sad eyes.
"Sure," she said, "Just not that one."
Ringo waggled his head with a victorious smirk on his face. "What about the one where-"
"No!" George yelled, "You've been telling these dumb jokes for an hour. No more jokes!"
"Ah, what's the matter? You're not afraid of a little joke, are you?" Ringo laughed, "Knock knock, Georgie!"
George shook his head. "I'm not going to say it."
"C'mon, George. It's just two words," Ringo pleaded.
"I've got two words for you, bucko," George mumbled, "and they're not 'who's there.'"
"Lighten up," Ringo chuckled, "Oi, Molly, knock knock!"
"Who's there?" she answered, and George slapped a hand to his head.
They never got to find out who was at the door, however, because at that moment the phone rang, and Molly leapt across the room, barely clearing George, to answer it.
"Hello, you've reached The Beatles! Molly speaking," she said, and was answered by squealing.
"Molly, I bought your record, and it's totally fab!"
George chuckled as Molly jerked the phone away from her ear. "Say hello to Florence for me," he said.
"Calm down and speak English," Molly laughed as she cautiously put her ear against the phone, "And George says 'hello.'"
"I went to NEMS music store on Friday, like you told me to, and I bought your forty five! I really like the A-side, "Love Me Do." It's gear," Florence said, calmer than before, though not by much.
"You really like it?" Molly smiled.
"Of course I do! I heard a couple of lads talking about it too, and they liked it as well. I told them that the girl in the band was me sister, and they didn't believe me. I set 'em right, though. And, wait a minute, Mol, you didn't tell me Mr. Epstein was your manager," Florence said, "I could've gotten discounts at his store!"
"Not with Eppy, you wouldn't," Molly laughed.
"It's worth a shot," Florence whined, "Oi, since you've been talking about these boys and I've only met you and George, let me put faces to the names. The one who's sitting down in front of you on the cover is George, right?"
"Yeah," Molly said, "And next to him is John. Ringo's standing next to me, and Paul's next to him, if it's the picture I think it is."
"Does Paul have big eyes and a babyish face?"
Had she been drinking anything, Molly would've done a spit take. "Oh yeah," she laughed, "That's what we call him, actually. Big-eyed, baby-faced Paulie."
Ringo roared with laughter, causing him to fall off of the couch.
"Wasn't the blood rushing to your head?" George asked.
"Yes," Ringo stated matter-of-factly, "Yes, it was."
"Tell me, Florence," Molly said, ignoring the two boys, "Has anything exciting happened in the land of Liddypol?"
"Nothing as exciting as what must be happening in London!" Florence said, "You've been living there for almost two months now, right? What've you been doing?"
"We've recorded an album, sat through a few photo shoots, including one this morning, actually, that was a right laugh. We've played various clubs around London, and sat around the house doing nothing. We do that a lot, actually. Once George, Paul, John, and I followed Ringo around for a few hours, playing our guitars and narrating everything he was doing in song," Molly said, "but other than that, we haven't done much. Trust me, I'd tell you if something happened."
"We've got an interview today," Ringo chimed in.
"Oh, yeah. We're doing an interview for a radio station today, so listen to 107.6 at six o'clock if you'd like," Molly said, "We're going out to dinner afterwards, actually, because it's John's birthday. It'll be me, John, George, Ringo, Paul, Eppy, and Cynthia. She's John's -"
Molly was interrupted by a throw pillow hitting her head, courtesy of George.
"We can't say anything about Cynthia!" he hissed.
"-sister," she finished, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.
"I can't wait!" Florence squealed, "My sister on the radio!"
"Yeah," Molly smiled, "Oi, Florence, can you buy our forty five for me? I'll pay you back, I promise."
"Sure," Florence said, "Oh, Mum's home! I'll talk to you later, Mol. Bye!"
"Bye, Florence," Molly said, hanging up the phone.
"What was that about?" Ringo asked.
"Oh, that was just Florence," Molly said, "If you haven't noticed, she calls every Tuesday after she gets home from school and before Mum gets home from work. It's the only way I can talk to her without having to talk to me Mum first."
"And what'd Miss Florence have to say this week?" George asked.
"She bought our record; thinks it's fab," Molly shrugged, "Other than that, nothing's new."
"Not much happens in Liverpool," Ringo said, "Go figure."
"I don't see why I can't tell Florence about John and Cynthia," Molly pouted.
"Eppy said not to tell anyone," George said.
"Yes, but she's Florence," Molly said, "I've told her everything since the day she was born."
"When you get married, you can tell her," George said, "but Eppy doesn't want John's being engaged to affect our record sales at all."
"I know," Molly sighed, moving back to her armchair, draping her legs over one arm and resting her back against the other.
"That interview's at six o'clock, right?" Ringo asked.
"Yes sir," Molly said, attempting to stifle a yawn, "We'll be on The Daily Six O'clock with Ronnie Stock!"
"Him?" George scoffed, "I hate listening to him. He thinks he's the best thing in the world, he does."
"At least it'll be better than hanging around here, doing nothing all day, right Molly?" Ringo asked.
"Hmm?" she asked, her sleepy eyes barely staying open, "Oh, right. Sure. I'm going to get some kip so I can be awake for this interview. I don't know how you boys have all this energy all the time. You're always raring to go whenever I get tired out. Wake me up before we leave, will you?"
George shared a sheepish look with Ringo and answered, "Sure."
"Gear," Molly muttered before drifting to sleep.
Yes, I'm gonna be a star.
"You're listening to 107.6, Liverpool's hottest rock and roll mix. This is The Daily Six O'clock with Ronnie Stock, and I have the freshest band with me today, straight from our very own Cavern Club, The Beatles!" Ronnie Stock announced, his voice extremely charismatic in spite of the bored expression he wore, "In case you haven't heard of them yet, don't worry, folks, we'll be playing their song after we talk to them for a bit. So, if you'd like to go around and introduce yourselves, tell us what you do in the band, anything really, go ahead."
"Alright," John smirked, "Me name's John Lennon. I play rhythm guitar and mouth organ. Sometimes I even do vocals."
Ronnie Stock motioned for them to continue, so Paul said, "I'm Paul McCartney; I play bass guitar and I …sing? Yeah," he laughed, "That's it."
"Guess I'm next," George said, moving closer to the microphone, "George Harrison. Lead guitar."
"I'm Molly Wade. I play lead guitar sometimes. Most of the time, I play piano or the tambourine."
"Especially the tambourine," John interrupted.
"I'm Ringo. Ringo Starr. I'm the drummer. You know, keeping the beat, and such."
"Wonderful. John, Paul, George, Molly, and Ringo," Ronnie Stock repeated, "Now, George and Molly, you both said you were the lead guitars. Does that mean you're the leaders of the group?"
"No, I don't think the others would like that very much," Molly said.
"Lead guitar's a different type, you see, not like bass or rhythm. Rhythm sounds like ching-ching-ching, and bass is like buh-buh-buh. Lead's more like da-da-duh-da-da-da. You know?" George asked, his ears turning red as the other Beatles laughed and Ronnie Stock stared at him in horror.
"That's very accurate, George," Paul laughed.
"He's just trying to say that lead guitar's got nothing to do with being a leader; it just plays something different, that's all. Right, George?" Molly asked, still chuckling.
"Yeah," he said, his ears still red.
"Alright," a scared-looking Ronnie Stock said, "Which one of you is the leader, then?"
There was a moment of total cacophony as each Beatle said the name of another. After they finished laughing, Paul said, "I don't know if we have a leader, really. I guess it'd be John, seeing as he joined first and all."
"I see," Ronnie said, "John, is it true that you and Paul wrote both "Love Me Do" and "P.S. I Love You," which, if our listeners didn't know, are the A-side and B-side to you forty five in stores now?"
John narrowed his eyes and gave Ronnie an uninterested look. "Yes."
After a silence, Ronnie realized that John wasn't going to elaborate, so he asked, "Are you going to continue singing your own songs?"
"We have to, you see," Paul said, "No one else will."
As the Beatles laughed, Ronnie Stock rubbed his temples, his growing frustration evident on his face. "What do the other three do while John and Paul write songs?" he asked.
"We play marbles," George said, "Or mar poles."
"Ringo always wins at marbles," Molly explained, "and George is the best at marring poles. I'm rubbish at both, really."
"It's true, you know," Ringo said, "I've never seen anyone play marbles worse than Molly."
"Oi, Ringo!" John yelled, "I almost forgot you were here!"
"Well, I left and I came back," Ringo said, "But none of you noticed."
"Alright!" Ronnie Stock interrupted, his face burning red, "If it's the same to you folks, we'll just cut this interview short and play the song now."
"Oh, it's a real gear song," Molly said, "We've got no problem being cut off by it."
"Thanks for interviewing us, Mr. Stock," Paul said, "And for those of you listening at home, make sure to buy our record!"
"Yes, yes, yes, that's good and all," Ronnie Stock said, "Now, here's "Love Me Do" by that… vivacious new group, The Beatles." He pressed a button, and the microphones shut off. "Get out of my studio," he growled.
The Beatles shuffled out one by one, Molly pausing to turn around and say, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Stock."
"Out!" he yelled, "Out! I never want you ragamuffins near me again! I've never seen such disrespectful miscreants in my life! Your careers are going nowhere, you hear me? Nowhere!"
Molly shut the door hurriedly, and found the other four standing outside the door, clearly crestfallen at Ronnie Stock's hateful words.
"I thought that interview went well," a downhearted Ringo said.
The Beatles stared at each other in silence, not knowing what to say. The interview, which they thought was going to be their big break, had bombed, and they knew it.
"We don't need him, boys," John said, "Because we're going somewhere, with or without Mr. Ronnie Stock's approval. And where are we going, fellas?"
"To the top, Johnny," Paul, George, Ringo, and Molly answered, smiles growing on their faces.
"Where's that?" John asked.
"To the toppermost of the poppermost!" they cheered.
"That's more like it!" John smiled.
"Boys," Brian said, approaching the group with a worried look on his face, "Ronnie Stock will be calling security on us if we don't get out of here immediately."
"To hell with him!" John cried.
"Yeah, to hell with him!" George echoed, "We don't need his hoity-toity type. Toppermost of the poppermost!"
"Yes, but you won't make it there if you're beaten by security guards," Brian said.
"I bet you'd like to be beaten by security guards, wouldn't you, Eppy?" John smirked.
Brian responded by grabbing John by the elbow and dragging him out of the building, with the other four Beatles following closely behind.
"You know, Eppy called you a boy back there," Paul said, "Shouldn't you be offended or something?"
Molly shrugged. "Used to it, I guess," she yawned, "Damn it! I took a kip, and I'm still tired. How do you boys do it?"
George and Ringo looked at each other, and then at Paul, who raised an eyebrow and tilted his head towards Molly. Ringo and George nodded, and Paul grabbed Molly's hand. "Here," he said, taking a pill from his pocket and closing her hand around it, "This'll make you feel better."
"What is it?" Molly asked.
"Just our friend Ellie," Ringo mused, "Elle the Prellie."
"You won't be tired after," George promised.
"I don't know," Molly started, but Paul interrupted by saying,
"You asked how we did it. That's how."
Molly stuck the pill in her pocket. "We'll see."
"Oi!" John said, turning around suddenly and yelling at his band mates, having just missed their conversation, "Stop your moping about! It's me birthday, and we're going to celebrate Beatle style!"
Baby, you can drive my car.
"This is a posh place," George commented as The Beatles, along with Cynthia and Brian, marched into a restaurant in downtown London.
"Behave yourselves," Brian warned, "Please."
"Don't we always?" John said, batting his eyelashes.
"John, stop it," Cynthia said, patting him lightly on the arm.
"Oh yes, I'm sorry," John mocked, "I'll be good. Please don't cane me, Eppy!"
Cynthia rolled her eyes at her fiancé's antics. A waiter led the six to a table, where Molly sat in between Cynthia and Paul. Paul looked towards Molly and raised his eyebrows, but she refused to look him straight in the eye. Paul chuckled to himself, and Ringo frowned as he looked over the menu.
"Can't we get fish and chips at a place like this?" Ringo asked Brian.
"No," Brian sighed, "You can't."
"Why not?" George asked, "I'd fancy some fish and chips meself."
"You can't get fish and chips here," Brian said, "Order something else."
"They don't serve fish and chips here?" John asked, standing up, "I refuse to eat at an establishment like this! What place in a humane society such as ours doesn't serve fish and chips?"
"John, sit down!" Brian said, "You'll order something else!"
"It's my birthday, isn't it? I want fish and chips!" John yelled.
"John!" Cynthia cried, "Please! We don't want to cause a scene here, too! It's bad enough we got kicked out of the last restaurant we went to."
"Come 'ead, fellas. Let's get ourselves some fish and chips," John said, moving to walk away from the table.
"You come back here this instant, John Lennon!" Brian warned, "Or I'll tell them the truth about you."
John turned around sharply. "You wouldn't."
"Wouldn't I?" Brian smiled, "Sit."
A saddened John returned to his seat. "Spaghetti sounds gear."
"I still want fish and chips," George mumbled, only to be kicked under the table by Molly.
"Shut it," she said, "People are staring."
"Of course they are," Paul said, "We're incredibly good-looking, aren't we?"
At this comment, Molly started laughing hysterically. "I don't know why I'm laughing," she sputtered when she could get a breath, "It's not even that funny!"
Brian rolled his eyes. "Never again," he muttered, "I'm never going out in public with you lot ever again."
"I'm sorry," Molly wheezed, "I'm sorry. I'll be good, I promise."
"So, Molly," Cynthia said, "It's nice to finally meet you. John's told me all about you."
"Nothing good, I bet," Molly muttered.
"You play the tambourine, don't you?" she asked.
"C'mon, John," Molly laughed, "You've lived with me for two months, and that's the best you can do?"
"I'm sorry, what was that?" Cynthia asked, "You're living with them?"
"Yeah," Molly said, "All of The Beatles under one roof."
"You didn't tell me she was living with you, John," Cynthia said, her typically sweet voice turning cold.
"I said I was living with the band," John defended, "She's part of the band."
"But living with her is different than living with Paul or George," Cynthia said, "Don't you think it's a bit improper for a girl to live with someone else's fiancé, and three other lads on top of that?"
"What are you implying?" Molly asked.
"She's not implying anything," Paul said, trying to diffuse the tension, "Right, Cyn?"
"I'm just saying I'm uncomfortable with her living with John," Cynthia said, "You can't blame me."
John scoffed. "You're worried about me and Tambourine Molly?"
"There's nothing to worry about, because Molly's dating Ringo!" Paul blurted out, "See? Everything's fixed!"
"What?" Molly and Ringo said simultaneously.
"Are you telling me," Brian started, his face turning red and a vein becoming visible in his forehead, "that there's another relationship we have to hide from the press?"
"No," a confused Ringo said, "Molly and I aren't going together."
"But Paul just said you were," Cynthia countered.
"Anymore!" Molly said, sharing a glance with Paul, "Ringo and I aren't going together anymore. We just broke up, you see."
"Oh," Cynthia frowned, "I'm so sorry."
"It's not a big deal," Molly said, "We're completely over it."
"Yeah," George laughed, "It's almost like it never even happened!"
George, Ringo, and Molly all started barking with laughter as Paul hid his face in his hands. Brian muttered obscenities under his breath, while Cynthia turned to John and said, "That can't be a healthy way to handle a break up at all."
The group spent their dinner goofing off and almost causing Brian to pull out his hair in aggravation. Cynthia was being overly sympathetic towards Molly about her "break up" with Ringo, which everyone found hysterical, much to Cynthia's chagrin.
"Oh, John! I almost forgot!" Molly cried, fishing around in her purse, "I bought you a present!"
She handed him a box, which he quickly unwrapped to find a black fisherman's hat.
"I saw it and thought you might like it," Molly explained.
"Gear," John said, putting it on and batting his eyes, "I'll never take it off."
"Oh, shut it, Lennon," Molly scoffed.
"What do we do now that our fancy dinner's over?" George asked.
"What do Beatles do best?" John asked, "Go to clubs!"
"Not so fast, Johnny," Paul said, "You've got a fiancé."
"No, that sounds like a good idea," Cynthia said, "I'd love to go dancing."
"Then out we go!" Paul said.
"You sure you aren't too tired, Molly?" George smirked.
"I feel fab," Molly said, "Now are we going or not?"
As the Beatles left the restaurant whooping like animals, Brian was left to pay the bill.
"Just don't get arrested!" he yelled after them, hanging his head in shame. "What have I unleashed on the poor world?"
And maybe I'll love you.
"Can I ask you a question?" Molly slurred, stumbling into Paul at the bar they had visited after their recording session a month ago, "Back at dinner, what was that, two hours ago? Three? I don't remember. Anyroad! Why the hell did you tell Ringo that Cynthia and I… No. Wrong. Why the hell did you tell Cynthia that Ringo and I were dating?"
"Have you had enough to drink, Molly?" Paul asked with a raise of his eyebrow.
"I've only had one glass of wine," she protested, "And maybe four or five or six beers. Maybe seven. But that's not important. You're lodging the question, Paulie."
"I'm lodging it?" he asked, clearly amused at Molly's drunkenness.
"No. Dodging. You're dodging the question," she said, "And you're doing it again! Answer the question, Paul."
"There's not much to say," Paul said, "I didn't want Cynthia to get upset. God knows John puts her through enough already."
"Oh," Molly said, "Okay. I get it."
"Really?" Paul asked, "You're not mad?"
"Nah," Molly said, "I'm trying something new. I call it living. 'Cause, you know, I say 'life goes on' all the time, but really, I live in the past. Now I'm taking things as they come, because the past is the past. You know?"
"That's profound," Paul said, "especially coming from someone as inebriated as you are."
"Ta," Molly said, taking another drink.
"Molly?" a voice asked from behind the pair.
"Oi, Des!" Molly cried, "Long time, no see!"
"Yeah, it's been about two weeks since we went out together," Desmond said, "I thought you forgot about me."
"I've been meaning to talk to you," Molly said, "Did you hear my speech about my new philosophy? It's called living."
"I heard," Desmond laughed.
"Good. So I don't have to explain it again," she said, "I really like you, Des, but a relationship wouldn't work between us. I like you too much, and I'd probably hurt you in the end, and I don't want to hurt you. You're like an otter! I really like otters. I don't want to hurt any otters. Anyroad, before I adopted my new policy of living, I'd stick it out through the relationship, even though I'd know it'd fail in the end. Now, I'm sparing the both of us!"
When Desmond was silent, she added, "Still, I really like you. A lot. And I think we can be great friends. Because you're one of a kind, Desmond Jones. You're an otter! You don't meet otter-like people everyday. I don't want to lose my otter."
"You really feel that way?" Desmond asked.
"Yeah," Molly said, "It's my personal belief that drunken people don't lie. I'd know this, because I'm drunk."
"That's a relief!" Desmond laughed, "Not about the drunk thing. About the friend thing. I was feeling the same way."
"Really?" Molly asked, her face lighting up, "You mean it?"
"Of course!" Desmond said, "I just didn't know how to tell you. Thank goodness for living, right?"
"Yeah," Molly said, "And we'll be friends still, right?"
"Of course! You'll need a normal friend when The Beatles are famous," Desmond smiled.
"Gear!" Molly shouted, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to tell Ringo about my new philosophy."
As Molly staggered away, Desmond ordered another drink. Paul, who had been eavesdropping on their conversation, said, "You're lying."
"I'm sorry?" Desmond asked, turning to face Paul.
"I know that face. I've worn it many times meself," Paul said, "You really like Molly, don't you?"
"Of course I do," Desmond says, "but when she tells you something like that, you can't really do anything about it, can you?"
Paul shrugged. "You tell me."
"There's just something about her, you know?" Desmond asked, "She's the kind of person who comes into your life, and you know they need to stay there."
"Yeah," Paul said, staring off towards the dance floor where he saw a blonde woman dancing with her fiancé, "I think I know the kind of person you're talking about."
"And if that means I can only be her friend, then sure. I'll be her friend. It's better than nothing, and who knows? The friend might win in the end," Desmond said, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself rather than Paul.
"For the both of us, I hope you're right," Paul said.
Cynthia turned and saw Paul looking at her. She offered him a slight smile and a wave, which he answered with a wink. John noticed, and waggled his fingers at Paul.
With an attempt to wipe the sneer off of his face, Paul said, "In the meantime, I know how to forget about those kinds of people."
"Really?" Desmond asked, "How's that?"
"Spending time with someone else," Paul said, making his way towards a redhead who had been lusting after him the entire night.
Beep beep, beep beep,
Yeah!
AN: So much for updating on time. Sorry, guys! To make up for the lateness, I bring you a super long chapter! Where some controversial stuff happens... or doesn't. That's really up to your interpretation. I'll just say this about it: To provide some sort of almost accurate fiction about The Beatles, it had to be done. That didn't make sense. Sorry. It's two thirty in the morning, and I need to get to bed. So! Thoughts on this chapter? I'd really like to know what you think! Tell me in a review, if you'd like! :-D Thanks for reading!
And a special thanks to Victoria Harrison and Loree18, who have both reviewed almost, if not every, chapter so far! It really means a lot to me that you guys are enjoying this! :-D
