Tomorrow Never Knows - Chapter Twenty Eight
Authors: lovely_rita_mm, jenny_wren28, & pennylane_fic
Starring: The Beatles and Maggie Sue
Rating: M for language, implied sex (though none of it is explicit) & implied drug use. Characters used in this story are either our creation, or are historically-based (ie, The Beatles).
Disclaimer: We don't own any of the Beatles, this obviously never happened, and is a complete work of fiction.
"Smile!"
Maggie squinted into the sun, and did her best to plaster a smile on her face. She was sitting cross-legged next to John, and they were lined up in front of the Maharishi with the other Beatles and their girlfriends and wives. Maggie remembered seeing the group picture from India; in fact, she remembered it being blown-up and used as a stage backdrop at a Beatles festival she and her best friend Jenny had attended when they were in college. Did that mean that someday in the future, her picture would be all over Beatles festivals, larger than life?
Oh, God. She was with the Beatles. She was engaged to a Beatle. She was the head of Apple Corps.
She started to panic and feel like she needed some air. A few more photos were snapped, and then she was finally free.
Pulling her sari up so she wouldn't trip, she moved away from the crowd of people so she could breathe. Her golden jewelry jingled a bit as she strolled along the perimeter of the compound. Looking behind her, she realized she was being followed. It was Magic Alex. Maggie picked up her pace a bit and then gave up. What was she running from?
She paused and took in the view of the Ganges.
"Hello," Alex said a bit unsurely as he approached Maggie.
"Hey."
"Taking a walk?"
"Yep."
"I had to get away from there, you know?" Alex tried. "It all just felt…"
"Fake?" Maggie offered.
"Yes. Fake."
That was rich coming from one of the biggest charlatans she knew, but for once she agreed with Alex. On one level, Maggie marveled at being a part of such a famous Beatles moment. On another, she was still very distrustful of the Maharishi and his intentions.
"It feels like the Maharishi is using the Beatles for publicity. It's like we all just took a publicity shot for him," Alex continued in his accented English. "This whole compound is just strange. Four-poster beds? Masseurs? Servants? A helipad? What kind of ashram has that stuff? This is more like a resort. And one that's not hurting for cash."
"I can't argue with you there."
"You're the one holding the purse strings, just keep holding them tight. That's my advice." The irony wasn't lost on Alex. He'd been trying to get money out of the Beatles for years for his many projects, and this woman had fought him every step of the way. Alex knew that John's fascination with him was fading. If the Beatles as a whole lost interest in him, he was done. Alex certainly didn't want or need competition from the Maharishi. As it was, this fixation with the Indian religious leader had gone on long enough, and so here he was initiating a conversation with Maggie. She was the skeptical sort, and if Alex could encourage her natural skepticism of the Maharishi, he would.
"Thanks," Maggie replied. She didn't really have anything else to say to this man. Neither of them liked the Maharishi, but that didn't make them best friends either. They both stood there uncomfortably for a moment, until Alex nodded at her and continued on his way.
* * *
Several nights later, a traveling cinema arrived in the local village square. It was a welcome glimpse of the outside world, even for George. Their entire party made their way down a dusty jungle path, the fading twilight lit by lanterns, which were swinging from their hands. Paul had, of course, brought his guitar and they all sang as they walked. He'd come up with a new up-tempo song that Maggie immediately recognized as Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da. She knew that song would later cause problems between the band members as Paul's perfectionism would drive him to record it over and over again. But tonight, it was a happy song, and she sang along with him loudly. Paul grinned at her once he realized that she knew the words without being told them.
It was a beautiful night, and one that Maggie would remember wistfully in the less peaceful days to come.
The first upheaval was between Paul and Jane. Maggie wasn't privy to their fight, as the always-civilized Jane had made sure it had taken place in private.
All she knew was that Jane had moved out of Paul's room and was only speaking to Paul when it was necessary to communicate. Maggie, not wanting to pry, had asked Jane if she were okay, but "fine" was all Jane would say. She acted normally towards everyone else in the party, but if Paul showed up, she would press her lips together and clam up.
Maggie thought she might get more information out of Paul if she could get him alone, but he proved elusive too. Clearly both parties needed time and space, so she stayed out of it and figured one or the other of them would talk when they were ready.
Though keeping mum about Paul, Jane was still friendly to Maggie otherwise. The two of them were out on the patio playing with George's sitar one afternoon, when they heard a terrible shriek come from one of the bungalows. It sounded like Maureen.
Jane ran towards the bungalows to see what was wrong, but before she got there, a weeping Mo appeared from inside.
"What's wrong?" Jane wrapped a comforting arm around Maureen.
"There are huge bugs in our room again. I just can't take it anymore!" Mo broke down into loud sobs.
"Oh, Mo, it's okay. Do you want me to get Ringo for you?" Jane patted her on the back soothingly.
"He's in there killing them, but it doesn't matter. You can kill them but there will just be more later."
Ringo stepped outside. "It's all right, luv, they're dead."
Mo ran over to him and buried her face in his chest. "I want to go home, Ritchie, I want to go home."
"Okay, luv. I'm not sure my stomach can take much more of this food anyway." He smiled down at his wife, who was now sniffling hopefully.
"Really?"
"We've been away from the kids long enough. Let's go home."
Over dinner, Ringo broke the news to the whole group. He and Maureen were going to leave the next morning. They wanted to see their children, Mo couldn't take the bugs anymore, and he was tired of eating tinned beans and eggs.
"We'll miss you, Rich," George said. Everyone else echoed similar sentiments. Ringo truly was the most good-natured person Maggie had ever met. He was the heart of the band and he was universally loved. Maggie was sorry to see him go, even though she would be happy to have a break from Maureen. It made Maggie sad that she and Mo didn't get along. Now that she and Paul were friends, it was the one blemish on her happy Beatle family. Maggie had to admit it was partially her own fault for being so hard on Maureen over George. Maybe both of them would grow out of their childish dislike of each other eventually.
Early the next morning, everyone dragged themselves out of bed to see Mo and Ringo off. Jane showed up too, but with her suitcases.
"You're leaving too?" Maggie asked, dismayed. It shouldn't have been a surprise, seeing how far Jane and Paul's relationship had deteriorated, but she would miss spending time with Jane. As the most career-minded of the Beatle women, she and Jane had a lot in common, and she was often a sympathetic ear. Maggie wanted Paul and Linda to get together, but she just hated the pain this situation was causing everyone.
"It's best this way. Give me a ring when you get back to London." Jane hugged her tightly.
Paul, who was standing nearby, gave Jane a guilty look. After returning his gaze, she passed by him to hug John, and then George and Pattie and the others.
Ringo gave Maggie a bear hug and a kiss on the cheek; by contrast, she and Maureen gave each other only the most perfunctory hug, and that was solely for the sake of appearance.
Even more hugs and goodbyes were exchanged when Neil showed up with his bags. He was going to travel to London with Ringo, Mo, and Jane, and then come back a few days later once he'd been over to Apple and caught up on any pertinent news.
Mo had been afraid that they'd have to take the footpath and donkeys back, but instead, taxicabs had been called and brought up to the main entrance instead. Maggie was confused. Had their initial arrival been staged? Why the need for the footpath and bridge and the donkeys if you could drive right up to the front door? It was one more piece of an increasingly suspect puzzle.
Two other people left the same day Ringo, Mo, and Jane had, only it was for a one-day hunting excursion. "Did you see them?" John asked Maggie that night. "That middle-aged American lady and her teenaged son. They went out to shoot a few poor tigers, and then returned to commune with God."
"Can you think of a better way to commune with God than to kill some of his most beautiful creatures?"
"Too right. They'd make a good song, they would."
"Maybe you should go write one then," Maggie said, secretly pleased that it looked like Bungalow Bill would get written in this timeline. It was also going to be Yoko-free, if she could help it!
The next morning dawned bright and clear. John had decided he wanted to write the song about the hunters he'd seen the day before, so Maggie went to breakfast alone to give him some space. It was earlier than normal and no one else from their party was up yet, so she was surprised when Paul sat down next to her.
"Mind some company, luv?"
"Not at all!" She smiled at him. "I'm almost done eating, but I can wait for you if you want something."
"Actually, I already ate. Fancy a walk when you're done?"
"Sure. Or do you just want to go down to the river?"
"Yeah, that'll work." Paul nodded. "Shall I go get my guitar and meet you in the usual spot?"
"Sounds like a plan!"
Maggie finished the rest of her breakfast and headed off to meet Paul. She could hear him picking Blackbird on his guitar again as she walked towards their hiding place.
"Hey, Paulie."
"Hey, have a seat."
Maggie sat next to him and gazed at the river while she listened to him play. She would miss this when they were back in cold and dreary London. Maybe coming to India hadn't been a terrible idea after all.