They neared the end of the short set, as Brain watched from the side, going in to their final song and the latest single. Not that they’d know, Brian thought, glancing at the audience. The screams drowned out the music, they might as well play anything.

 

A man Brian didn’t recognise walked past and paused to shake Brian’s hand. Brian smiled, wondering who he was. The man said something inaudible and left. Brian worried for a moment it could have been important, then shrugged. He didn’t have to deal with all that anymore.

 

Phillip and Stephen, the replacements for Neil and Mal ambled up, snickering with each other. Brian crossed his arms. The jury was still out on these two. They were Michael’s choice, “Good boys,” he kept telling Brian, “I know their father.”

 

“Where have you been?” Brian said, as he stepped into the corridor with them. They started to explain but Brian put his hand up to stop them, “No, it doesn’t matter. In future, you’re needed here when they’re playing.”

 

“It’s a TV show,” said Phillip, sulkily.

 

Brian shook his head, “I don’t care if they’re playing on the back of a lorry,” he said, “You’re job is to be here, in case anything needs doing. Needs fixing. I shouldn’t have to tell you. And do that button up,” he added.

 

Phillip looked at Stephen, rolling his eyes and reluctantly buttoned the top of his collar.

 

Brian would have continued, but Paul ran into him, John close behind, escaping from the stage. Brian turned to them. “Excellent!” he said, smiling broadly and clapping.

 

“As always,” John replied.

 

“Right” Brian said, “Now, I want you all to rest tonight, alright boys? Tomorrow’s the big day.”

 

John snorted, leaning on the corridor wall. Brian raised an eyebrow at him. Paul nodded.

 

“Can’t you do what you’re asked? Just this once?” he said, knowing full well they would agree and then do as they pleased. “George?” he asked, as he caught up with them, Ringo just behind. George shoved the guitar he was still carrying at one of the roadies. Brian frowned. They still managed to look scruffier in suits than Neil and Mal had in jeans and holey t-shirts.

 

“Sure,” George replied flatly.

 

“Good.”

 

Phillip tried to take John’s guitar from him. John bared his teeth like a dog and refused to let go of it. Phillip looked at Brian.

 

“Carrying your own gear tonight, are we?” Brian asked, a faint smile on his lips.

 

“Well,” John said, still gripping the guitar. “Who the fuck are they, Brian?”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did no one introduce you? I would have thought Michael… Well, anyhow, this is Phillip and Stephen.”

 

“Phillip and Stephen,” John said, putting on a voice. “How nice.”

 

“Something wrong?”

 

“We don’t want Phillip and Steven, we want Mal and Neil.”

 

“Well, there isn’t much I can do about that, is there?” Brian folded his arms.

 

“I doubt they’d come back now, anyway,” Ringo said, leaning beside John.

 

“Do you think you could move?” said a man with a clipboard. “You’re blocking the corridor.

 

Brian sighed at them, “You are fickle,” he said, and walked down the corridor towards the dressing room.

 

“Fickle?!” John laughed sarcastically and begrudgingly surrendered his Rickenbacker. He followed Brian down the corridor, grabbing Paul as he went past and taking him with him.

 

“You sacked them, now you want them back,” Brian said over his shoulder. He turned into the dressing room.

 

“They resigned,” Ringo said, somewhere behind. “We didn’t fire them.”

 

Paul shook John off his arm as they came into the room behind Brian. Brian stopped and waited for them to file in.

 

“As good as,” George said, the last to walk through the door.

 

Ringo nodded, sitting on the dressing table, “The pay cut.”

 

“Then why do it?” Brian asked. He had to admit, the Beatles decision to get rid of Mal and Neil, even in that roundabout way, had baffled him. He had assumed they had had some sort of disagreement.

 

“We didn’t,” John said, “We knew nothing about it.”

 

“Well, of course you did,” Brian said, “Paul, you signed it all.”

 

Paul, sitting on a chair in the corner, looked up at his name, “I uh…”

 

“What a surprise,” George said bitterly.

 

“It seemed to add up,” Paul said weakly, “At the time, on paper.”

 

“You did it?” John said, raising his voice.

 

“I didn’t know, I didn’t realise it would mean…”

 

“You didn’t think to ask the rest of us?” John demanded. “Or tell us, perhaps.”

 

“I thought you all knew,” Paul said faintly. He looked down at his hands, mumbling, “I tried to put it right. After. They wouldn’t stay. I said they could have more…”

George laughed hollowly, “Unbelievable. Shoulda known.” He turned his back, taking his jacket off.

 

“I’ll get them back. As soon as we get back to London,” Paul said.

 

“You’ll do it now,” John said.

 

Paul stood up, “I can’t. We can’t have them on this tour.”

 

“You bloody well can and will!” John shouted.

 

“He means,” Brian stepped in between them, “You can’t take them on this tour because Stephen and Phillip have contracts.”

 

Paul looked at his thin black tie in his hands. He sat down again.

 

“I don’t care,” John said.

 

Brain folded his arms, “Communication seems to have broken down somewhere along the line,” he said. “You should have all been consulted when the idea was proposed.”

 

“What idea?!” It was an accusation. John was looking directly at Paul. Paul shook his head.

 

“I’m not consulted on anything…” George mumbled.

 

“John, stop shouting,” Brian said, putting his hands out between him and Paul.  “This won’t do. Not at all. It’s your manager’s role to…”

 

The atmosphere in the room shifted. The four Beatles simultaneously turned to Brian. For once, nobody had a come back. Brian paused, just as surprised. 

 

“You are not talking about…” John started.

 

“You’re our manager, Bri,” Ringo said.

 

“Yes, of course I am,” Brian said, perplexed, “But Michael is your executive manager now too. I manage NEMS and he… he looks after you.” Brian stopped, their expressions distracting him.

 

“What the fuck is an ‘executive manager’,” Ringo said. Brian looked at him.

 

“I don’t believe this,” John said, collapsing against the wall, “Did you okay that one too?” he said to Paul with venom.

 

“No,” Paul said firmly.

 

“Boys, calm down,” Brian said, distressed. “Nothing has changed. Michael is just sharing the workload a little.”

 

Ringo straightened himself, “Brian, none of us were told about this,” he said evenly.

 

Brian pursed his lips and sat down in the chair by Paul’s. He shook his head. “There’s… I don’t know why you’re all making such a fuss,” he said. There was a slight cracking in his voice he detested. Brian cleared his throat and looked up at Ringo. “There’s nothing to tell you about,” he said, “Michael is just my… assistant. Like Alistair was.” He looked around at each Beatle, Ringo to George to John to Paul, by his left. “Are you really not happy with him?” he said, directing it to Paul.

 

“He… uh, seems to be making a lot of changes,” Paul said.

 

“He’s changing everything!” John suddenly shouted, making Brian jump slightly. “Get rid of him Brian. Get rid of him now.”

 

“I can’t do that,” Brian said, quietly, his head beginning to swim. He couldn’t choose between Michael and the Beatles. He suddenly realised – the first thing, the first person - Brian wouldn’t put the group before.

 

“Then we’ll get rid of you,” John said, and turned away from him, kicking out idly at the bottom drawer on the dressing table. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough to make the whole table shake.

 

Ringo, still leaning on the table, stepped away.

 

“If you want to,” Brian said coolly. He stood up, “That’s your prerogative, John. We will discuss this further later.” He walked to the door.

 

“When?” John said.

 

“Later,” Brian said, not looking back, “After the tour.”

 

“He’s not doing his job,” Paul said, suddenly, desperately. Standing, behind him. Brian had stopped, the door handle in his hand. He turned back, looking at Paul. “George,” Paul said and Brian saw the glare George shot him. “George was missing all last night and this morning and Archer didn’t even know about it,” Paul finished.

 

“Paul,” George warned.

 

“No one looked for him. Anything could have happened,” Paul said, avoiding George’s eyes.

 

Brian closed the door again, “Is that true?” he asked George.

 

George licked his lips and didn’t reply.

 

“Is it?” Brain demanded.

 

“Yes,” Ringo said for him.

 

“Where were you?”

 

“I just stayed at another hotel. It’s not a big deal,” George said.

 

“Without telling anyone where you were?” Brian said incredously.

 

George shrugged.

 

“George…”

 

“I do not need your permission…” George said angrily, but it was directed at Paul, not Brian.

 

Brain paused, “Is there something I don’t know about?” He looked between them all once again. John and Ringo looked blank.

 

Paul turned away as Brain met his eyes. “Nothin’.”

 

“George,” Brian said, turning back to him. George had sat down. “You always stay together?”

 

“Not this time,” George said, messing with his shoelace, resting his foot on the arm of the chair.

 

“You can’t stay on your own. You were on your own?”

 

George nodded.

 

“It’s not safe. Or convenient.”

 

George nodded again. Brian looked at the others, trying to get an inkling of what was in the subtext, what was not being said. None of them betrayed anything to him. He put his hand on George’s shoulder. “Stay at the hotel tonight,” he said, “If you want to stay anywhere else after… I’ll fix it up.”

 

George looked up at him, his eyes soft, “Thanks, Bri.”

 

Brian nodded. He addressed the others, “We obviously have things to discuss,” he said.

 

“No fuckin’ kiddin,’” John mumbled.

 

Brian ignored him, continuing, “I was going to fly back to Britain after tomorrow night but…”

 

“Yeah, abandon us to the bloody wolves,” John said, louder.

 

“But…” Brain raised his voice, “I will postpone and we will see what can be done. I do wish you had mentioned all this before.”

 

“And when would we have done that Brian?” John said, his anger growing in his voice again. “When you weren’t answering your phone or when you were not in the office?”

 

“Leave it, John,” Ringo said.

 

John turned to him, “You said…”

 

Ringo shook his head, “Not now,” he said, “Time and place.” And Brian was quite relieved. It wasn’t that he was scared or intimidated by John. He could handle John. He’d had plenty of practice placating him – but the outcome of this wasn’t a prospect he was looking forward to.

 

“I’ve been away,” Brian said but stopped. “We will talk about this after Shea Stadium.”

 

He left before anyone could say anything else.