A/N: Well here goes yet ANOTHER descriptive chapter haha! I wouldn't blame ya one bit if you guys are starting to get sick of me by now with all these long drawn out chapters, but I'm only trying to keep things as realistic as possible by sharing the spotlight with not just John but the others as well...HOWEVER, I promise I'll get to the heart of this story soon...in a chapter or two...maybe more... Please just bear with me :))! ALSO, I want to thank everybody for your positive and wonderful reviews! You guys are ABSOLUTELY FANNNNtastic! :)). Hope ya like this chapter!
Constant jetlag. 'Easily one of the top worst things about touring all the time,' Ringo mused as he made his way from the kitchen back over towards the sofa, seating himself beside a seemingly napping George. Jetlag and the altered, irregular sleeping patterns they were awkwardly forced to grow accustomed to. It was bad enough sleep would become minimal in the midst of all the infinite excitement and deafening chaos that would habitually surround a band's life of excursion but add jetlag to the mix and it was a wonder they were able to get through a single period of two consecutive days while in the act of thriving. It would wear on them after a while, sometimes claiming them one by one…or two at a time.
The Beatles each had different ways of coping with life on tour. To be able to cope was a necessity; more so, a means of survival not just when it came to touring but overall. All in all, it kept them from the increasing possibility of going mad. Paul, when he wasn't writing songs with John or teaching himself new chords on his bass guitar; liked a bit of sightseeing on the side to help him unravel and keep things in perspective. Though chances to do so were minimal, they could sometimes talk Eppy and Mal into making a few hours of it, if their schedules allowed for it.
George, when he wasn't consuming half his weight in grub or lost within the grips of a good book; would frequently unwind with the Eastern art of meditation. He would sit cross-legged for hours in a single spot with eyes closed, palms outstretched over his knees; positioned in what he called the 'lotus position'. He'd then somehow allow himself to escape mercifully into a different realm from which he would return completely rejuvenated. Ringo would sometimes watch him in a state of awe and wonder how he could always manage to pull off such a feat. George would attempt to show him, but the overall effect was never quite the same for the drummer, though it did often succeed in calming him.
John, when he wasn't writing songs with Paul, lost in the midst of infinite artistic talent, or poetry writing; would repeatedly find his brightness at night in the form of a bender, a pub-crawl, or a binge, so to speak. The Beatles would all come together for that, sometimes staying out into the wee hours of the morning.
While going out on a bender had its perks, it would consequently make things a bit more difficult the morning after as they would then proceed to drag themselves out of bed with accompanying hangovers and struggle to get to whatever event it was Eppy would have scheduled for them. For reasons of the like and overall tour life in general, it was recommended they take uppers to keep above the wave of exhaustion that would otherwise claim them. Paul was least in favor of it, as he didn't like the way it would subsequently make him feel. He'd indulge in it though, more as a necessity when things got a bit rough and hard to handle, which it did more so than any of the Beatles would care to admit.
John would find himself popping them like mad as sleep had been all but obtainable for him as of late. He'd become excessively animated as a result, almost frenzied in a way before it eventually wore off and he'd have to take another to achieve similar status. While it did him good for the moment in time he was seeking an energy boost, such an act when repeated immoderately over an extended period of time would as a result, wear on him; especially when used incorrectly in place of sleep as it had been over much of the tour. In addition, he was drinking heavily whenever he could to the point that he would find himself spending his nights vomiting before passing out cold in the strangest of places. "I clearly can't sleep on me own with all our fans' incessant yammerin' penetratin' me noggin, so how else am I s'pposed to pass the time?" was his logic, "I drink, I pass out…Must make up fer something wouldn't ye' think?"
"Drunken sleep is by no means restful," Paul had forcefully tried to argue.
"What're ye' a doctor now?" John had indignantly thrown back, "Did I miss yer transition from Beatle to doctor in the blink of an eye, McCartney?"
Paul had shaken his head, bewildered, "I'm just worried about ye', y'know," he had reasoned.
John had broken out into a fleeting grin, "I know, but sometimes ye' worry a bit too much fer me liking."
"If yer not used to it by now, ye' might as well get used to it," Paul had firmly responded, "There's more where that came from."
"Was afraid you'd say that," John had muttered with a defeated sigh before dismissing himself prematurely from the conversation.
The Beatles were most unnerved by the rhythm guitarist's recently acquired antics. John was barely sleeping and therefore his body wasn't healing itself from the recurrent trials of their daily lives. As a result, he was running himself down into the ground and from their perspective; it had become quite obvious he was beginning to suffer. Three concerned band mates and sometimes Eppy and Mal had addressed John numerous times in regards to his path to destruction. They had warned him time and time again that his lack of sleep would eventually break him in the long run and that he couldn't keep carrying on the way he was. John, in his frazzled state, hadn't been in favor of all the unwanted attention to begin with and had sharply accused them of wrongly targeting him. "Christ, I 'avent properly slept since we left Liverpool," he had remarked angrily, "I'm half mad as it is! Y'think I'm bloody doing this because I want to? How the fuck else am I supposed to survive this 'ell?!" The Beatles had backed down at that, not quite knowing how to proceed without further upsetting their temperamental band mate.
Though he would often try to hide it, John was knackered all the time regardless of the plethora of uppers he would readily consume. Often, the Beatles would just sit back and observe him, wondering amongst themselves when it would all eventually catch up with him. Several times, Paul had wanted to send for a doctor to see if they could correct the insomnia aspect of the problem, but John had jumped down his throat at the attempt. "I'm fucking fine, y'git!" he had growled, "Stop being such a nancy boy and leave me be!" That had been a mere five days ago. The Beatles only continued to drown in worry and John only continued to run himself down.
In all honesty, Ringo had noticed for days now that John hadn't been looking up to par but he had seemed all right otherwise or rather what passed for all right on this most unusual of tours, so he hadn't felt the budding need to bring it up. With the surfacing of today, however, it had become blatantly obvious just how physically, mentally, and emotionally rundown the rhythm guitarist rightly was becoming. It was embedded within his antics, within his very being, really. Ringo could see it, and the rest of the band could see it. Ringo couldn't help frowning with concern at the mere realization. Perhaps, he could talk John into just one drink tonight, should they decide to go out following the show and press conference. He knew John wasn't feeling particularly well today either, whether he wanted to come to terms with it or not, and with things in constant prolonged overdrive as it had been, the band couldn't afford the inconvenience of him falling to illness. If that meant forcing him to lay low for a few nights then so be it. John wouldn't readily acknowledge it, but he'd be thanking him in the long run as their touring days wore on.
Ringo sighed, temporarily allowing his eyes to close. It was already shaping up to be one of those long days and they still had several suspense-filled hours to go prior to show time. It was moments like these that found him desperately wishing there was a switch somewhere capable of controlling the sequence of time. He'd flip it one way and find himself launched backwards into the midst of a previously played out event; one worth reliving. He'd flip it the other way and find himself propelled forward into the uncharted sea of uncertainty that was the future.
Currently, the future was sounding very good to the drummer. If it were up to him, he'd eliminate the band's endless wait altogether, bringing them all to the doorstep of their upcoming performance. All they would need to do from then on was make it through the show and following press interview before coming into a bit of relaxation. Relaxation. That was all Ringo was truly looking forward to basking in once their day came to a close. That and the promise of a few drinks. They could all use a few drinks tonight, Ringo had readily concluded on the flight over. That and maybe a night out of some sort, a bit of a bender, to help them each unwind. They were in New York after all, and one might consider them mad if they didn't stop to enjoy at least one aspect of it. He'd have to pitch the idea later to the band as a whole and see how they felt. Of course, with John's current condition and George's ongoing process of recovery, they wouldn't overdo it, couldn't afford to overdo it, as tomorrow was booked to the brim with events, one of which including their arrival in a never before been to state. Still, the desperate need to unwind…to unravel…to come away momentarily from everything was beginning to assert itself adamantly within Ringo's mind.
"Cor, Rings, what's got ye' so pensive?" George asked rather suddenly, his words nearly startling the drummer from his seat. He'd nearly forgotten he wasn't the only one left in the room.
"Blimey, George! Give a bloke a heart attack, ye' will!" he responded with unraveling exasperation, turning to the guitarist with a resulting frown.
George tiredly grinned back at him, clearly amused with the happening, "'Ey, you'll live," he replied with a pronounced air of nonchalance. He sat up a bit and rubbed at his eyes, considerably grainy from jetlag. "What's got ye' so pensive?" he repeated.
Ringo shrugged, finally allowing a halfhearted smile to grace his features, "Leave a bloke alone and his mind's bound to run away with 'im." His words were met by George's skeptical but inquisitive gaze.
"Well, where's yer mind off to, then?" the guitarist pried with piqued curiosity.
Ringo narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and dropped his gaze as he tried to think up a way to sum up the gist of his most recent thoughts. "…The upcoming show…touring…the life of a Beatle…" he rattled off.
"'The Life of a Beatle'," George echoed contemplatively, "Might make fer a good documentary, ye' know… I'd tune in the moment it hits the telly."
Ringo furrowed his brow in confusion at his younger band mate, "And why on earth should ye' want to watch it, Geo? Yer living it firsthand!"
"It would star me, of course," George responded without missing a beat, "As far as I'm concerned, that's reason enough fer anyone to tune in."
Ringo laughed again, "Cor blimey, it seems Johnny's been rubbin' off on ye', mate! Yer right starting t'sound like 'im!"
"And just what are ye' insinuatin', y'stupid git?" George responded, breaking out into his best Lennon-like impersonation, "Right bloody daft ye' are! Keep takin' the piss! Keep on with that load of bollocks, I dare ye'! Bloody fuckin' 'ell, I swear I'll put the boot in ye', I will!"
Ringo could all but keep a straight face at his friend's impersonation of their beloved band mate. Good ol' brash Johnny and that temper of his.
"'Ey, what's going on 'ere, lads?" Paul's voice suddenly filled the room, causing both George and Ringo to turn towards him in surprise. He was standing in the doorway, an amused smirk spread across his face.
"Georgie's doing a Lennon impersonation," Ringo revealed with an accompanying chuckle, "A right good one at that!"
"Oh?" Paul turned his gaze towards the guitarist an eyebrow arched with increasing interest.
"I got one fer ye' as well, Macca," George responded with a sly grin.
"Do ye' now?" Paul replied casually, his smirk of amusement still firmly planted in place. He arched an eyebrow at his younger band mate in a challenging manner, "Well, let's 'ear it, then, Georgie," he goaded teasingly, "I'm rather curious to know how I come off to ye'."
George regarded the older man with ample suspicion, "Who ye' kidding, Paulie? Yer not getting a thing from me that easily. Suck the fun out of it, ye' will!" Truthfully, he was too tired to successfully launch himself into yet another impersonation when he felt the first one was mediocre at best. He fell suddenly serious, "How's Johnny?" he asked genuinely.
"He's out," Paul affirmed, making his way finally into the room, "Didn't take 'im long neither. Mid-sentence, really, when he managed to drop off…"
"Must've been quite the boring topic, y'blokes were touching on," George quipped, allowing his heavy, sleep-laden top eyelids to sweep down over his eyes. He allowed himself to embrace the bliss brought on by complete darkness, before glancing back at Paul with mild interest, "He seem all right otherwise?"
Paul shrugged, "Y'mean, other than the fact that he's knackered to 'ell and back and his head's hampering his mood?"
"Well…yeah," George responded, taking a moment to drink in Paul's words, "I mean, 'e doesn't seem like he might be coming down with something does 'e?"
Paul shrugged again, sinking into the sofa beside his friends, "John's not always an open book as you all know…Sometimes, even I have a hard time reading him when he doesn't want to be read."
It was George's turn to shrug, "Well what can we do then?"
"Nothing," Paul replied, "Just keep an eye on him fer the remainder of the day I suppose, and send fer additional reserves if need be…"
"Y'mean a doctor?" Ringo asked, feeling slightly puzzled by Paul's use of phrasing.
"Yes Rings, that is what I meant by additional reserves," Paul clarified for him, "I gave 'im some aspirin, nonetheless. 'E must've downed five of 'em at a time…"
Ringo frowned, "This whole thing's a bloody drag…" he admitted with uncharacteristic unexpected darkness, "If John would just go on and say he's not well, we could easily take matters into our own hands and 'ave a doctor look at him, whatever it takes, and fix 'im up before the show… But, he's choosing to take the stubborn route as usual…and if it turns out that he's actually falling ill down the road, we could easily be in worlds of trouble…and not just with Eppy and Mal neither."
"That's John fer ye'," both Paul and George chorused in unison to each other's instant annoyances. Their heads whipped simultaneously to face each other and a glaring showdown immediately took place.
"Y'took the words right from me mouth, y'bloody git!" George accused Paul, pointing a finger accusingly in his face.
"Aw sod off, y'wanker!" Paul countered, slapping George's hand from his line of view.
One thing leading to another, it wasn't long before they were tangled up in a full-out wrestle.
"If something should 'appen while we're performing…" Ringo spoke, his words bringing the brawl to an end. He paused, finding it unnecessary to finish his concerns.
"Nothing will 'appen," George assured him, "Come off it, Rings. John will be fine." He stifled a yawn and gazed lazily at Paul as the musician reached into his pocket for his stash of cigarettes.
"Anyone want a light?" Paul asked, offering a cigarette to each band mate present.
"I'll take one," Ringo sighed, reaching into the pack of Marlboros, "Feel like I could stand to calm my nerves," He pulled out a long slender stick and reached into his pocket for a match before proceeding to light it.
"George?" Paul questioned, turning to him, "Smoke?"
George shook his head, "Nah, think I'm gonna follow in John's footsteps and catch a bit of a kip meself."
Paul didn't move his gaze from his friend, noticing finally his blatantly growing tiredness. "Feel all right, Geo?" he asked warily, momentary concern gripping him for what seemed like the millionth time that day.
George nodded, rising tiredly to his feet, another bloody yawn escaping him, "Still a bit hampered from that flu I had and a bit jetlagged, I s'ppose."
"You'd let on if ye' felt right ill?" Paul pressed seriously.
George eyed him skeptically, "Well, what choice would I 'ave? The lot of ye' would beat it out of me, anyhow."
Paul nodded with a slight grin, his attention returning to the process of lighting himself a cigarette, "Get some rest then, Georgie Porgie. Y'should be sleeping like a log." He couldn't help putting emphasis on his last statement, as it was a line taken slightly out of context from one of their most famous songs.
Ringo's lips twitched into a small but appreciative smirk, "Been working like dogs, we 'ave," he quipped, taking another line from the song, out of context as well.
George arched an eyebrow at his friends, "It's been a hard day's night," he articulated, releasing a slightly amused smile before turning to leave the room.
"Be up in a couple of hours," Paul called after him, "Don't make us have to wake you, Harrison."
"We'll sic Mal on ye'." Ringo added good-naturedly, taking a drag from his cigarette, "Or worse…Eppy. That oughta prove to be a good time."
The sound of a closing door met both Paul and Ringo's ears. Despite George's lack of response, neither of them had any doubt that the guitarist received the message loud and clear.
"Aren't y'tired, Paul?" Ringo asked, turning his attention from the doorway George had left through to his remaining band mate.
"Nah," Paul sighed, allowing himself a nice long drag from his cigarette, "Adrenaline." He flashed a faint smile in Ringo's direction, "You can nap though if y'want. I think I might try and write."
Ringo shook his head, "Not tired, Paul. Mind if I join ye'? I know ye' usually do most of yer best writing with John but…"
Paul shrugged, "Why not, I could use the company." He eased slowly into a smile, "Who knows, we might even come up with a bit of something to put towards the next album!"
Ringo laughed as if the idea was right preposterous, "Now yer just taking the piss, Paul."
"No, seriously!" Paul elucidated, his brown eyes narrowing convincingly on his older band mate and friend, "I rarely piss around in the face of such a serious matter!"
Ringo shrugged, "Well, either way, we might as well make the best of things while we're stuck 'ere." He managed a grin in spite of the dismal aspect of their current confinement, "There's not much else we could be doing considering."
"A right shame, really," Paul murmured, pensively.
The inconvenience of being imprisoned in hotel after hotel while touring was enough to drive one mad. Ringo and John were especially subject to such relative frustrations often referring to themselves jokingly as prisoners confined to a cell. Nights out were their only real source of escape from the trials of stardom…that was until, they were eventually stalked and tracked down by crazed fans. God forbid the Beatles should ever be caught outside unguarded and undisguised in broad daylight. They'd be eaten up in a mere matter of seconds, never to be seen or heard from again. Though they gratefully appreciated to an extent, the pleasures of being recognized worldwide, it made them miss the noble tranquility of Britain all the more. Made them miss the slightly escalated freedom that came with familiar territory. In their beloved homeland, the Beatles were undoubtedly able to carry on with their daily lives without the incessant risk of being located and hassled. Of course, they would still come across the occasional crazed group of fanatics, but the overall threat was nothing as it was elsewhere. Nothing like it was here…
"I'd definitely settle fer a bit of a bender tonight if I can 'elp it," Ringo sighed yearningly, easing gently into Paul's thoughts, "Not a big one, just enough to break away a bit from what's become the norm and experience firsthand the magic of New York."
Paul took in a deep drag from his cigarette and with a slight nod, thoughtfully put into slight consideration the pleasurable idea of what Americans knew to be a bar-crawl. It did sound rather called for. A rather good way to let off all the adrenaline they were more or less likely to pick up in the midst of all the excitement that was sure to take place that evening. They were smack in the middle of elegant, extravagant, world-renowned New York. Seeing how exploring its grounds during the day was out of question, why not get a taste of its lively nightlife while they had the chance? He turned to Ringo, a small mischievous smirk forming upon his face, "Ye' think we could convince John to stay behind?" he quipped half-seriously, "I think he could do without a drink tonight."
Ringo returned the smirk, "Not likely, though we could try to limit his alcohol intake."
Paul arched an eyebrow at him, "And how ye' suppose we're gonna do that, Rings? Ye' got a death wish or something?"
Ringo shrugged, "I haven't gotten that far in me planning yet…" he admitted sheepishly.
Paul sighed. Try as he might, he just couldn't seem to enthuse himself with the proposed idea of a night out. Perhaps it was the fact that jetlag was inconveniently beginning to make its presence known…or seemingly more obvious, the fact that his mind was considerably all over the place. "It is rather crazy out and our fans are right barmy, anyhow," he responded absently, "I s'ppose it's a matter of whether or not Mal would support us being out in that mess and whether he'd be willing to accompany us."
"We 'aven't 'ad a proper bender since Los Angeles…" Ringo pouted, "John's been 'aving to stay in nursing that one bottle of Scotch he refuses to share…There's no fun really to be had while we're stuck in 'ere…It's no wonder we're all a bloody mess. Might do us some good, y'know."
Paul smirked. Good ol' Ringo, always putting things into perspective. "We'll see how the others are feeling on the subject and take it from there."
Perhaps a good ol' fashioned bender would do them some good, even if it meant potentially dealing with and avoiding the star struck. Paul in particular was at loose ends with himself; unraveling from the seams it felt like. A right bothered mess he was turning into. His ragged thoughts, for some reason, had been trailing off to John all day; capitalizing more and more on the idea that something about him was very wrong. And to make matters worse, the reasoning behind such sentiment wasn't entirely clear. He could only hope he was over thinking things as usual. He hated bloody feeling the way he did, right then.
A/N: Welllll, what did ya think? Tell me all about it :))