Chapter Fourteen
Day Tripper
August 25, 1963
It's been almost a week since I moved out of apartment L on 57 Green Street. That night still haunts me, where-ever and when-ever. After I got into that cab, I managed to get to the front step of my father's house and ring the door bell before I broke down again. He came to the door and picked me up as if I was a child again and laid me on the couch. He sat there, he didn't ask any questions or say anything, just sat there on the couch with my head on his shoulder and let me cry. My father isn't like most, he was never really forceful and strict, but then again I never gave him a reason to be. He was laid back, from his hippie background, and never yelled out at me. That's how we got our friendship-like relationship. I did have my moments, but I never really got into trouble. What's the point of it? The next day I told him my situation and he gladly took me in, but not a minute goes by where I'm not depressed or missing The Beatles.
I sit up on my bed after waking up this morning, rubbing my red and puffy eyes from crying myself to sleep the night before. Am I over-reacting? Not at all. Those boys were my brothers, we clicked from the moment I met them at the diner. I grew to love all of them, and I regret leaving without a goodbye. I still love John too, but I don't know if I can ever forgive him. Not yet anyways. I trusted him... and he betrayed that trust, that bond. Then again, I was warned... but he was never said to be a hitter, and I wouldn't imagine so! He's too caring and protective to ever think that previous to the galla. The galla. Every time I think about it I cry, whenever I think about the days before that night I cry, especially when I think about the things Paul did for me. Oh no, Paul... I stand up and leave for the bathroom and lock the door.
I tear up as I imagine Paul. The beach when he soaked me, the day he re-taught me how to drive a car, I think of everything. His hair, his eyes, his not-quite abs and perfect eyebrows. His laugh, his accent, it doesn't matter. It's the worst when I think of Paul or see him though the little things. I practically lost it yesterday when I heard his voice on the radio. I got up and thought about calling him or Ringo one time, but when I picked up the phone I ended up calling Cyn. After Cyn bombarded me with questions, crying and talking to people in the background, I told her where I am and that I wasn't going to back. She asked why, but I didn't say. I can't hurt John and Cyn's relationship like that, not with a baby in the picture. I asked her who she was with and she ended up passing the phone to Maureen. She was part of the search team to find me when the other members came to her salon and asked if she saw me. I weakly laughed and I could hear the relief and sadness in her voice.
"What's wrong, love? Why won't you come back?" I paused, I trusted Mo enough not to tell anyone, so I let it all out. First tears, then the story.
"H-h-He kiss-e-ed me, Mo... and that's not even the w-worst part! H-He-"
"Holly, woah calm down love! Let's start from the beginning, hold on-" she exclaimed as I heard her take the phone from her ear and scream at everyone to leave the room. I smiled through my tears, I love her verbroughto. She picked the phone back up and cleared her throat. "Sorry, hon! Now take a deep breath... start from the beginning." I did what I was told and sighed.
"John cornered me in the bathroom and unloaded all this drunk gibberish onto me..."
"What do mean 'drunk gibberish', what did he-"
"He told me he loved me..." I practically whispered, but still interrupted her. Silence. For a second I thought she hung up the phone, so I called. "Mo?"
"I'm here... He said... he loved you... like... in love?"
"Yes, he told me that he was in love with me..."
"... so, what happened after that?" I took a deep breath, feeling brave at the moment.
"Well, he kept on going on about how he loved me and how he wanted to prove it to me... and slipped his hand into my dress, but I told him no. And then he got very confused and-and... he got angry and forced himself onto me. I didn't know what to do and I was so scared... and I pushed him off of me and he-he-he... slapped me..." I said those last two words almost inaudible, but I'm pretty sure Mo heard them. I wiped away some tears and she didn't say anything for a second then gasped, I think finally grasping the idea of what I just told her.
"One second, Holly," she said furiously and I heard her lay the phone on table.
"Mo?" I called after her. What is she doing? I heard a door slam open and Mo, most likely, stomping out. I heard men, the boys, mumble something and then I heard a loud smacking sound.
"YOU MOTHER FUCKER!" Mo screamed, for a second I thought she got hurt by someone. That thought was quickly denied though when I heard a man call out in pain.
"OW! 'THE FUCK'S WRONG WITH YOU?" I heard John yell out. I heard a few more slaps and figured Mo was the one beating on John. I laughed as I heard him muffle obscenities and Mo screaming shrill grunts. I almost fell on the floor, laughing as loud as I could and phone still to my ear. Then, I heard something over John and Mo.
"IS THAT HER?" Paul yelled. A moment of silence and then a scrambling for the phone. "MOVE, RICHARD! STOP IT!" Richard? Why did Ringo want the phone so badly? I heard someone loudly pick up the phone and I flinched from it. "RICH, PLEASE! I NEED TO SPEAK WITH 'ER!"
"Sorry Paul, I need to talk to her first!"
"NO NO, RINGS!-" A door slammed shut and I heard a click, then a handle jiggling.
"Holly? Holly, are you there?" A worried Ringo said over the phone.
"Ya don't need to be so loud, you know." He laughed and I smiled at the sound.
"Ah, good!"
"OPEN THE DOOR!"
"What's wrong with Paul?"
"Umm, I don't know. He's been like this ever since he saw you get into that cab at the party and not come home after. Thinking every phone call is you and every time someone comes through the door, it's you or something."
"Oh," I smile to myself, thinking about how much he missed me, but then feeling admittedly really guilty after. "Ringo, I'm sorry. You guys were probably so worried and I just walked out without a note or anything, it's just... I'm sorry..."
"Ah, it's fine," I could imagine him smiling his signature smile. "Now that we know you're fine, we can stop being worried and you can come home-"
"Ringo... I can't go home yet..."
"What? Why not?" I could hear his frown in his voice. I hate it when Ringo frowns, it's like scolding a one month old puppy.
"I need sometime to think... you need to trust me Ringo, ok?"
"Holly, what happened? You sort of scaring me-"
"Can you trust me Ringo? Please?" I could only hear silence from the other side. After a pause to see if he would answer, I blurted out a deal. "I need time to forgive John for something... I promise I'll talk to you or come back when I do-"
"John? What did he do? Holly?"
"Ringo, I'm fine. Take a deep breath," I waited for him to do so, and continued when he finished. "Listen, you can't talk to John about this. I haven't and I need to be the first, ok?"
"...ok."
"That's me boy!" I said reassuringly in a fake British accent. He chuckled and I smiled at the cheerful sound."Oh I forgot to give you Mo's number that night! I got her number at the salon and forgot to give it to you, I'm stupid!" I exclaimed and slapped my forehead.
"It's ok, love. We kinda figured that out when she joined the search party..."
"Ah!" I smiled at his simple explanation. "Yet, you failed to mention a Maureen, Richard! So, you're just like John Winston and James Paul, huh!"
"I take offense to that, Holly..." I laughed and I heard him snort from the other side. After a slight pause, Ringo spoke up again. "So... do you want to talk to Paul?"
"I'll see you 'round, Rings. If Paul asks, I hung up before you got a chance to ask, but tell him I'm ok, alright?" I couldn't talk to Paul right now, I would most likely cry again and go back to the apartment. I, so badly, want to speak with him again though. Just hear his voice again, but I need this time to figure out what I have to do. I can't go back with the fear that John will hit me again, it will be hell for me and him. I hope Paul knows that I want to see them again, somehow.
"Alright, 'miss ya love."
"I'll miss you too, Rich..." And with that, we both hung up and I took a deep breath. "I need to get out," I said to myself and started to get dressed. I checked the clock quickly and had a sigh of relief. I have a job interview today at 12:45 and it's 12 on the dot, so I'm fine. I also have a performance tonight with my acting group. We never had a group name, funny enough, so they ended up just calling us "A.T No.1" and it stuck. That's at six, but what am I going to do now? I looked over at the old record player in my room and smirked at my teenage record collection. Found something.
...
"That couldn't have went worse..." I said as I exited the big double doors of office building I went for my interview in. Lets just say, it could have gone way better... and I was really clumsy. I sigh as I walk down the street to make my way to the pub to help set up for the gig. I usually love to go to help with this type of thing, but after that display I just want to go home and snuggle up on the couch with some tea or a book or Pa-never mind. I was almost half way there when I got a splitting headache. OH WELL! ISN'T THAT JUST FAB! I got to the pub and was greeted by Leon, first smiling then frowning.
"No no no! What's wrong? What's the problem?" He worriedly said, running his hand through the front of his hair, which was bushier than the rest.
"I got a headache, nice to see you too Leon." I sort of snapped, flopping into a chair. I love Leon, but he can be a real pain sometimes.
"Well what, do you need Aspirin or something?"
"Do you have some?"
"No," I sighed and rubbed my head, it's getting worse by the second. After a frustrated pause, Leon sighed.
"...I know another trick, if you want to try?"
"Anything!" I pleaded. This 'headache' is starting to turn into a migraine, and that's the last thing I need right now. I closed my eyes for a second and he came back with a brown liquid in a glass. I looked up in shock.
"Leon, I don't drink. You know my thoughts-"
"Yes, but it's only a glass for it to work. I swear I'll watch out for you, don't worry you're with your friends and non-perverts." I chuckled and slowly looked backed to the drink in his hand. I don't know whether to trust Leon or not; a lot can go wrong with alcohol and personally I don't want my life to get worse than it already is. Wait, wait Holly! Leon would never do this if he thought it could be a bad idea. You are just paranoid about John and Ralph, and they both didn't manage their alcohol. Leon would just let you have one drink, and this way you can get over the question in your head about how it tastes. Only one drink. You are with friends. He set the drink down on the table and after a pause, I picked it up.
"Ahh, shit! That's terrible!" I said hoarsely when I downed the drink. I smashed the drink back down on the table and felt a little funny. Not sick, but... something else.
"Good, it should! I made it like that so you would want to try it again."
"Thanks, Leon."
"No problem, talk to me when your ready," he said and left to go help set up the lights. I messaged my head one more time and felt a little better, and energized. After a moment or two, I was up and buzzing about. Helping mic checks and girls with make up, and thinking about how I could sneak another drink.
...
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaafuggit!" I slurred, teetering out of the pub. I was drunk. Or as Paul would say, I was sloshed. "Oh Paulie!" I whispered and started to cry as I shifted to the street corner. I don't remember how I got so drunk, all I remember is lying to Leon saying I needed one more glass since the headache was coming back. I guess I kept asking and everyone left before I could start having the effects of the bloody drug. I was told that normally people were happy when they were drunk, but I'm not. All I can think about is how pathetic I am and how terrible my life is. I mean I'm scarred for life since my fucking boyfriend and one of my best friends hit me, I can't get a job and picked up drinking, when I told myself I never would. I'm a mess. I slumped against the street lamp at the end of the sidewalk and sighed. My vision was starting to get blurry I and my hearing was spotty. I looked around and everything was moving way to fast for me to comprehend. I gasped for air and I saw a shadow approach from the side.
"'Ello, darling..." I Liverpudlian accent said in front of me, filling my nose with the scent or alcohol, a scent that I was all to familiar with at the moment. Liverpool... that makes me think of Paul...
"Paul?" I asked, apart from myself. I don't have control anymore, of my thoughts or actions, but for some reason I believe that my decisions are the right ones. The figure chuckled.
"Whatever you want, babe. How much?"
"Huh-"
"Hundred? Jesus, you're a slippery bird, aren'tcha? Fine, you look pretty enough and I need a good shag..." Shag? Why would Paul want to shag me? What does 'shag' mean again?