I don’t have to sell my soul,

He’s already in me.

I wanna be adored,

I’ve got to be adored…

 

 

 

 

June 2^nd 1965

 

“Guess who I saw today?” Paul said, resting his drink on the arm of the sofa and putting his arm around Jane.

 

“Harold Wilson?” John asked, leaning precariously on the back legs of his chair.

 

Paul rolled his eyes, “No…”

 

“Elvis?” John guessed again, before Paul answer.

 

“No…”

 

“Joseph Goebbels?” John asked.

 

“I saw him,” Ringo said with a conspiratorial smile, sitting between Jane and Maureen on the sofa.

 

“Well, he’s always round, isn’t he?” John leaned even further back on the chair, “In yer biscuit tin, eating all the chocolate ones.”

 

Ringo laughed, “Leaving only the stale old digestives.”

 

Paul frowned, confused, “I saw…”

 

“George,” Maureen said.

 

“Well, that’s not very remarkable…” John replied.

 

“No, George,” Maureen repeated, pointing across the room to where George had just walked into the party, looking around the room for his friends.

 

“Let’s hide!” John said, deviously.

 

Ringo waved to George, he headed over.

 

“Where’s Pattie?” Cynthia asked, as George arrived.

 

“She’s uh, not coming,” George replied off handed, looking around for a spare chair.

 

“She’s not?” Maureen asked him, as he found one and joined the circle next to her.

 

“No, she’s ill,” George said, “Headache… or somat.”

 

“Guess who I saw today?” Paul persisted.

 

“We solved that mystery,” John said, “George. He’s here. Now it’s my turn. Guess who I didn’t see today?”

 

“The queen?” Ringo guessed.

 

“Ah, got it in one,” John grinned.

 

“Will you shut up and let me tell you?” Paul said, not amused.

 

“Stop asking daft questions then,” John said derisively, “’Guess who I saw?’ Oh, hang on, Paul, I’ll get the phone book out!”

 

“Alistair,” Paul said loudly, ignoring John.

 

“Alistair who?” Ringo asked.

 

“Alistair Taylor.”

 

“I thought he was black listed?” Ringo leaned forward, taking his drink off the low coffee table in front of them, “You know? Ex-NEMS?”

 

“Jesus, if we couldn’t speak to all the sacked NEMS employees then we wouldn’t be talking to half of London!” John laughed, but no one joined him.  

 

“He came round to the house,” Paul continued.

 

“What did he want?” Ringo said.

 

“He said he was worried about Brian. Brian won’t see him, won’t speak to him.”

 

John snorted, “Yeah. After his job back more like.”

 

Paul shook his head, “Nah, he seemed genuine. Besides, he’s doing something over at Decca.”

 

“The enemy,” John said.

 

“Do you want a drink, George?” Maureen asked him.

 

George shook his head, “I’ll get one in a minute, ta, Mo,” he straightened himself up, “This party’s a bit dead, isn’t it?” he asked, looking around the room of huddled groups and cliques; a conspicuous open space in the middle.

 

“No,” John said, “The Beatles are at this party, which mean’s it’s happening!”

 

Ringo looked at his watch, “Well, we are all fashionably early,” he said.

 

“What a shame Pattie couldn’t come,” Cynthia said, “She said she was looking forward to it when I rang her yesterday.”

 

George nodded, “Yeah, she… She was disappointed. So what did Al want, Paul?” he added quickly.

 

“Just that,” Paul said, “He wants me to talk to Brian for him. Ask him to meet him or phone him because Brian won’t take his calls.”

 

“Yeah, him and the rest. Daily.” Ringo said. Paul shrugged.

 

John sucked air in through his teeth, “Another victim of the May Massacre,’ he said wistfully, “That’s what they called it in the papers. Apparently, Brian sacked sixty five percent of NEMS employees. Nice that the rags know our business better than we do, eh?”

 

“Sixty five? It can’t be that much?” Ringo asked.

 

“I bet it is,” John said, “The board’s gone, apart from two of ‘em, and they’ve been demoted. Even that nice girl on the reception’s gone.”

 

“She left to get married,” Paul said.

 

“Yeah, that’s what they tell us,” John grinned.

 

“What’s it all about?” Ringo asked, “I mean, even his brother.”

 

“God knows,” Paul replied, shaking his head.

 

“Like they’d tell us,” John added.

 

“There was one other thing Alistair said,” Paul took his arm back from around Jane and sat forward, “He said Neil and Mal have been to him. They reckon one of ‘em will be the next for the chop.”

 

“What?” John asked, suddenly serious. He rocked forward on his chair so it set down with a jolt, “They never said anything. Why do they think that?”

 

“Something Michael Archer’s said to them,” Paul explained, “Apparently, we don’t need two.”

 

“He can’t sack Neil or Mal. Its us who employ them, not NEMS,” George said.

 

“Just wait til the tours start, then see if we don’t need two,” Ringo agreed.

 

“Well, it’s obviously bothered them enough to ring Alistair,” Paul said.

 

“For what?” John asked.

“To see if he can get them a job, or one of them.”

 

John shook his head, “And why haven’t they mentioned it to us? Did you know about this?” he nodded to George and Ringo. They both shook their heads.

 

“I guess Brian knows what he’s doing,” Ringo said.

 

“Does he?” John said.

 

“He’s got us this far, hasn’t he?”

 

John shrugged, “Well, it hasn’t effected us none. Massacre or not.”

 

George stood up, “I’ll get a drink, anyone want anything?” They all gave him their orders. George rolled his eyes, “I’m not your bloody waiter,” he told them.

 

“Don’t offer then!” Paul laughed.

 

“Er, quickly please, or you won’t get a tip!” John said, clicking his fingers at George. George pulled his face at him.

 

“Are you alright, George?” Maureen asked, by his side.

 

“Yeah,” George said, looking down at her, “Why?”

 

“You just seem… quiet.”

 

“Well, he is the quiet one, love,” Ringo told her.

 

George smiled at her and made his way to the table of drinks, across the still vacant dance floor. He picked up the first bottle he came to, examining the label. It was an expensive whisky. Best thing about Mayfair parties, he thought, as he searched around for a glass.

 

“Hello George, I didn’t know you would be here.”

 

George looked up.

 

Her dark red hair was high up on her head, pinned with a black and orange clip. She wore a short, low cut red dress made of suede. It appeared to be wrapped around her body in swathes. She rested on hand on her hip and held a cocktail glass in the other. Her eyes seemed to be burning in to him. George looked away and put the bottle down, “Grace,” he said, flatly,  “I didn’t know you would be here either.”

 

Grace laughed, “This is my brother’s house,” she said.

 

“I thought this was a party for…”

 

“Oh, it is,” Grace cut in, “They’ve just borrowed the house. It’s bigger.”

 

“Right,” George turned back to the table.

 

“What are you drinking?”

 

“I don’t know yet.”

 

“Oh,” Grace put her glass down, “Let me make you a cocktail. I’ve been learning!”

 

George was about to refuse but then nodded, “What sort?” he asked. He hadn’t seen so much of Grace since she had moved in to a flat in Camden. Pattie always seemed to be going somewhere with her, but George had kept his distance, still feeling awkward about… that night.

 

“Well, this is a Black Russian,” Grace picked up her glass, “Here, taste. You’ll like it.”

 

She lifted the glass to George’s lips. He took a small sip and nodded.

 

“I’ll make you one then.” Grace began examining the bottles.

 

“You look better,” George said, “I mean…”

 

Grace smiled, “Yes, I am much better now,” she said, “Thanks to you, and Pattie.”

 

“How’s the flat?”

 

“It’s lovely. George, you must come round some time.”

 

George nodded, “Yeah. I will.”

 

“Is Pattie here?” Grace leaned over the table, close to George, reaching for the cocktail shaker. George took a deep breath through his nose, smelling her perfume. She stood up again, looking to him for a reply.

 

“What?” George asked.

 

“Pattie?”

 

“Oh, she’s not here. She’s got… a headache.”

 

Grace tilted her head to one side, “You don’t sound so sure?”

 

“What do you mean?” he took a small step back.

 

Grace set the shaker down, “George, I know you. I can tell when there’s something wrong.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong.”

 

Grace poured vodka into the mixer. “Well, I’ll make us these drinks and then we’ll sit down and you can tell me all about it.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong,” George repeated.

 

Grace looked at him.

 

“We had a fight.” For a moment he thought someone else had said it. It didn’t sound like his voice. But this argument had left George a little shaken. There was something more to it than just a quarrel. If he could only put his finger on it…

 

Grace nodded, pouring the cocktails out, “I thought so. I knew you were upset.”

“I’m fine,” George said abruptly.

 

“Come on,” Grace handed George a glass and linked her arm through his, carefully balancing her own glass.

 

She led him through a narrow arch to an adjoining room and an empty sofa. It was on the way to the bathroom and people wandered in and out, taking little notice of them. Grace sat down. George stood awkwardly, until she took his hand and pulled him down next to her.

 

“It’s er, nice, this,” George said, sipping his drink.

 

Grace nodded, “Of course,” she said, smiling.

 

George smiled back.

 

“So tell me all about it then,” she said, invitingly.

 

George looked away, casting his eyes around the room, “I shouldn’t,” he said, quietly, almost whispering, “Not to you, anyway.”

 

Grace laughed softly, “Oh, Georgie,” she said, putting her hand to his cheek and bringing him round to look at her, “You’re adorable.”

 

George took her hand away from his face, “Don’t Grace.”

 

“Tell me then,” she coaxed, “I know you want to.”

 

“We… we just fell out, that’s all.” He sounded resentful.

 

“What about?”

 

George realised he was still holding her hand and dropped it. “Nothing, it was over nothing.”

 

“If it was nothing, then why are you here alone?”

 

George shook his head, “I don’t know.”

 

Grace looked concerned, she inched a bit closer to him. “Poor George,” she said.

 

George sat round in his seat, facing forward, “She seems… unhappy. When she’s with me, anyway.”

 

“What was it about? Tonight, I mean?”

 

George looked back at her, “I’ve no idea,” he said despondently, “Something I said, but I don’t know what. She asked me about her dress, I said it was fine, and she went off. Shouting and crying, saying how I don’t think she’s good enough for me and how I…” he stopped.

 

Grace put her head on her shoulder; “I can’t bare to see you like this, George…”

 

“She locked herself in the bathroom and wouldn’t come out.” George looked down at his hands.

 

“…When it’s not your fault.”

 

George shrugged, “Perhaps it is. I must have done somethin’…”

 

“No, George, you didn’t,” Grace said firmly, “There is a reason Pattie didn’t want to come tonight, and its not you.”

 

George frowned, “What?”

 

“Oh George, I shouldn’t tell you.”

 

“What?” George began to feel worried. There was obviously something happening that he didn’t know about.

 

“No, it wouldn’t be fair,” Grace sipped her Black Russian. George looked down at his empty glass, not realising he had drunk it so quickly.

 

“Grace, if there’s somethin’ wrong with Pattie, you’ve got to tell me.”

 

“It’s not my place.”

 

George put his hand on her wrist, “Please, Grace.”

 

“It’s just…” She covered his hand with hers, “George, do you remember when I told you how Pattie was getting jealous?”

 

“Yes,” George said, taking his hand back.

 

“A week or so later, she told me…” Grace faltered, “Oh, George, you can’t tell Pattie I told you this, she’d never forgive me, but I… I can’t sit back and let her do this to you.”

 

“Do what?” A knot began to form in his stomach.

 

“She said… well, she said if you were going to have affairs then… what’s sauce for the goose…”

 

“But I’m not… what do you mean?”

 

“George, she’s cheating on you.”

 

The words made him go cold. He didn’t say anything for a moment. Grace came closer to him again but he hardly noticed, staring intently down into his hands.

 

“With who?” he asked, without looking up.

 

“I don’t know, I only know he’s here tonight. That’s why she didn’t want to come,” Grace said softly. She put her hand into his, “Shouldn’t I have told you?”

 

George squeezed her fingers and shook his head, “No, I’m glad you did,” he said numbly, “She…” He stopped. There was a lump forming in his throat. He swallowed it defiantly. “He’s here?”

 

“Yes. Pattie said there was a party you were taking her to, but she didn’t want to go because he would be here and she was afraid you’d realise if you saw them together. I didn’t know she was talking about this party…”

 

“I can’t…”

 

Grace sighed, “I guess that’s the perfect cover. To argue with you and then you’ll cover for her. She doesn’t even need to make up an excuse.”

 

George looked up suddenly, scanning the room, one thought dominating his mind, who?

 

Grace took her hand away from him and stood up to face him, “Are you alright?”

 

He nodded, “I’ll be fine.”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, George. It’s hit you like a ton of bricks, hasn’t it?” She sounded comforting, mothering.

“I think I’ll leave…” he said.

 

Grace nodded, “Yes, a party’s probably not the best place for you right now.”

 

George closed his eyes momentarily, “I can’t go home though,” he said, “Not yet.”

 

Grace crouched down in front of him, “Why don’t you come back to my flat for a while?” she asked. George looked down at her, his gaze being met by the low cut of her dress. He quickly looked away again.

 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Grace…”

 

“Come on, it will give me a chance to pay you back for the times I’ve cried on your shoulder.” George looked unconvinced; Grace squeezed his hand again, “Where else are you going to go? To a bar or a club? Or wander the streets, where any maniac can knock you down coming out of a recording studio?!”

 

George smiled weakly, “Okay,” he acquiesced, “Just for a short while, then.”

 

Grace smiled and stood up again. “I’ll just powder my nose and then we’ll go,” she said and turned. In the archway she met Paul, having to squeeze past him. Paul looked at her strangely as she disappeared.

 

He turned to George, “Were you just talking to that girl?”

 

George blinked hard and cleared his throat so Paul wouldn’t suspect there was anything wrong, “She’s a friend of Pattie’s.”

 

“What’s her name? I know her from somewhere.”

 

“Grace,” George replied.

 

“No, that’s not it,” Paul sat down next to him.

 

“That’s her name,” George said, tiredly, not in to mood to play games.

 

“It isn’t,” Paul said, “Seriously George, I’ve met her somewhere.”

 

George shook his head.

 

“Anyway,” Paul dug him in the ribs, “You didn’t waste any time, eh?”

 

“What?”

 

Paul nodded, “While the cat’s away…”

 

“Fuck off,” George said, too loudly.

 

Paul raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you like her? I thought she was stunning…”

 

“There’s nothing between me and Grace,” George said.

 

“I never said there was…”

 

George stood up angrily, “This is how rumours start,” he said and walked away quickly. He heard Paul shout his name behind him, but he didn’t look back. He found Grace in the hallway looking in her handbag. He came up beside her and took her arm. “I wanna get out of here,” he said.

 

“Okay, lets go then,” Grace agreed, letting George lead her towards the door.

 

 

 

“Do you know Paul?” George asked her once they were on the street.

 

“Paul who?” Grace asked, her arm firmly linked around George’s.

 

George nodded, “Oh, yeah, I forgot you’re the only one in the world who hasn’t heard of us.”

 

“Oh, Paul from your band? No, I’ve never met him.”

 

“You just passed him in the doorway. He thought he knew you.”

 

“Oh. No, I don’t know him,” Grace said, with a toss of her hair, “Perhaps I should have asked for his autograph?” she laughed.

 

They caught a taxi to Camden. They didn’t speak during the journey, leaving George to be tortured by the thoughts running through his mind. The initial shock and numbness was beginning to wear off and George wondered if it was a mistake not to insist on being alone.

 

There was a sting left by the way Grace had broke it to him. What’s sauce for the goose… The element of hypocrisy. Of course, the Beatles never went short of female attention, but he had never flaunted it in front of Pattie. Since he had met her, barely a year ago, George had been besotted. Perhaps there had been the odd girl on the road, every now and then, a minor indiscretion, but nothing compared to what had gone on before. He had even rejected Grace, avoided her afterwards, - something he would never have done in the past. Something he wouldn’t have deprived himself of. Something he’d never had the reason to.

 

The taxi stopped, disturbing George from his thoughts. He paid the driver and climbed onto the pavement by a tall ivy covered building. He looked up at it.

 

“I’m on the second floor,” Grace was saying, sorting through keys on a gold ring.

 

George nodded and followed her inside.

 

“It’s a bit of a mess, I’m afraid,” she apologised, switching on two tall, freestanding lamps in the living room.

 

“It’s fine,” George said, although nothing appeared out of place to him. He sat down heavily on the white sofa. The lamps created a soft hue, casting deep shadows over the terracotta walls.

 

Grace was messing with a record player. She put the needle on the vinyl and soft classical music began to play. “Not quite your cup of tea,” she said turning back to him, “It’s Bach. I haven’t any pop or rock music, I’m afraid.”

 

“It’s fine,” George said again.

 

“Would you like a drink? I have some Darjeeling or…”

 

“I could do with something a bit stronger, I think,” George said.

 

Grace nodded, “Of course, you poor dear.” She crossed the room to a decanter half full with a light brown liquid. Pouring two glasses, she added soda water and gave one to George. “I haven’t any ice.”

 

“This is alright,” George swallowed half of it in one mouthful. The bitter nip provided him with something different to feel.

 

Grace sat down on the sofa next to him. She pulled the clip from her hair and allowed it to fall down around her neck and shoulder. She kicked her shoes off and crossed her legs towards George. “That’s better,” she said, “You can take your coat off too, you know,” she laughed.

 

George did as he was told.

 

Grace put her hand on his arm, “George, do you want to talk about it?”

 

“No,” he said. He swallowed the rest of his drink; he wasn’t even sure what it was.

 

“Are you sure? Because…” George kissed her suddenly. He pushed her back into the sofa, almost on top of her, his hand already on her thigh, pushing the hem of her skirt upwards.

 

Grace put her hands on his chest and held him back from her, “George,” she said breathlessly, surprised.

 

He looked down at her, his eyes glazed over, not with the passion, exactly and not with the drink. “You want it, don’t you?” he said, as breathless as she, “You’re always touching me, flirting with me.”

 

“But, George, what about Pattie?” she said innocuously,

 

“There’s no reason not to now, is there?” he said, and kissed her again forcibly, his hands straying under the suede of her dress. Grace lifted her knee so he fit into her better and lay against the arm of the sofa.

 

George broke away again, “Are you sure you don’t know who?” he said, bluntly.

 

Grace shook her head, “All I know is… it’s someone you know.”

 

He kissed her again, his tongue deep into her mouth, eager to feel something different.

 

Graces long nails pawed at his chest. She loosened his tie and started on the buttons of his shirt. George paused to help her, pulling the material off his back and letting it drop to the floor.

 

Grace sat up as well and expertly unzipped the back of her dress. It fell from her shoulders to her waist. She stood and lightly stepped out it, standing in front of George in her underwear and stockings.

 

George ran his hand up her leg to her hip, feeling her curves with the palm of his hand. He drew her closer, still sitting and rested his forehead against her stomach. She smoothed his hair, caressing the back of his neck. George let his fingers play with the stocking top, enjoying the softness of the material. Pattie would never wear… He banished the notion from his consciousness with hard, biting kisses on Grace’s stomach. She laughed slightly and took his hands from around her waist, and holding them away from her dropped to her knees in front of him.

 

George leaned back, slouching in his seat, letting Grace take control. He looked up at the ceiling, feeling her hair drifting over his skin as she moved. He looked down; his head still up and put his hand to her head, gently guiding her.

 

She paused a moment to murmur his name. George took a sharp breath and looked away again, forcing himself to detach.

 

“I’ve waited for this…” Grace said.

 

George closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensations. Her hands, her lips, her tongue.

 

“...For so long,” she added, pausing for air, “I knew we would, eventually.”

 

George looked down at her again, watching her, drawing her hair back so he could get a better view.

 

“We’re meant to,” Grace said, glancing up at him.

 

Meeting her eyes made George uncomfortable. He returned his gaze to the ceiling.

 

“It’s destined,” Grace was saying. George put his hands on her again, showing her what he wanted, the need for release taking over all his senses. She obliged him and George let go of her, putting his hands flat on the sofa, gripping with his nails as she got faster.

 

He moaned and she took him deeper. “Yes,” he whispered, closing his eyes again as the relief came.

 

Grace stood up in front of George again. George opened his eyes, feeling the blood rush through his body. Grace’s hair fell back in place. She looked composed and in control as she took his hand and pulled him to his unsteady feet.

 

She kissed him, the taste strong on George’s tongue, but he let her, glad to be told what to do, touch, taste, feel.

 

“George,” she said, nuzzling her head under his jaw, pressing her body against his, “I’ve only just begun.”

 

 

 

 

I don’t feel too steady on my feet,

I feel hollow, I feel weak,

Passion Fruit and Holy Bread

Fill my guts and ease my head

 

Through the early morning sun

I can see her, here she comes,

She bangs the drum