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From ÔThe Beatles: The YesterdaysÕ, ed. Duncan Pressinger, 1995. pg. 175

 

                        15/08/65

The Beatles play to a crowd of 55,600 people at Shea Stadium, breaking records for attendance and gross revenue from a pop concert. Introduced by Ed Sullivan the show had a full billÉ In the audience was also Linda Eastman, Paul McCartneyÕs future wife.

 

 

 

August 15th 1965

 

George lay back on the green cushions watching the room. As usual, it was a sea of faces he didnÕt recognise Ð his friends interspersed between journalists, business associates, girls and hangers-on, all clambering for their attention. But tonight, George was content to slouch on the sofa, drink in hand and just watch.

 

It had been a good day. An even better night. The concert had been mind blowing Ð even being used to tours and the screaming hoards, it had been something else. John had gone mad, acting crazy. George had laughed so hard he could hardly play, never mind sing. It felt good to laugh, George decided. He couldnÕt remember the last time he had properly laughed.

 

Things were better now he didnÕt have to put all his energy into hating Paul. It was depressing to do and hard to keep up, George had to admit, smiling to himself. It was easier to just not think about it. After all, George thought. Things have moved on. IÕm with Grace and PattieÉ Pattie is long forgotten. Maybe things are on the up now. At last.

 

Steven and Phillip, the replacements for Mal and Neil came into view and GeorgeÕs smile faded.

 

ÒWeÕre going,Ó Phillip said, an accent that smacked of public schooling.

 

George nodded, disinterested.

 

ÒOut,Ó Phillip added, ÒWonÕt be back til the morning.Ó

 

ÒFine,Ó George replied.

 

ÒIf you need anything youÕllÉ have to get it yourself.Ó

 

George raised an eyebrow but they had already gone, swallowed up by the party.

 

John sat down heavily next to George. The sofa shunted backwards an inch.

 

ÒAlright?Ó John said.

 

George nodded.

 

ÒWhere are they going?Ó

 

George shrugged, ÒWho cares?Ó

 

ÒCan you believe Brian?Ó

 

George sighed and propped himself up on his elbows. ÒNo,Ó he said.

 

ÒSacked, thatÕs what heÕll be,Ó John said in a low growl, not looking at George, putting his glass to his lips.

 

ÒPerhaps he really is ill,Ó George tried.

 

ÒYeah, right,Ó John laughed, cruelly. ÒA coward thatÕs what he is. And soon to be an unemployed one.Ó

 

George resisted pointing out that Brian would still run NEMS, even if the Beatles did fire him. He nodded.

 

 

 

George had been the last to get up Ð he had been sleeping more recently Ð but the raised voices in the next room had eventually piqued his curiosity.

 

ÒNervous exhaustion,Ó Archer was saying and George half walked, half blindly staggered into the lounge room of the hotel suite. ÒYou boys donÕt understand Brian. HeÕs not like you are, heÕsÉ highly strung.Ó

 

Paul and Ringo were sitting on the sofa. John was stood, hands on hips, in between them and Archer. His face was angry and thin.

 

ÒWhatÕs goinÕ on?Ó George asked, collapsing on to the leather armchair.

 

ÒHeÕs fucked off,Ó John said, unhelpfully.

 

ÒWho has?Ó

 

ÒBrian,Ó Ringo said, more calmly. ÒHeÕs left.Ó

 

ÒLeft? Left what?Ó

 

ÒHis bloody senses!Ó John turned to the window.

 

ÒHeÕs gone back to London,Ó Ringo explained.

 

ÒHeÕs ill. Apparently,Ó Paul added.

 

ÒWhat? When? Is he cominÕ back?Ó George rubbed his head, still not feeling fully awake. John turned around again.

 

ÒNot for a while, if at all,Ó Archer said. ÒBut donÕt worry boys, IÕm more than capableÉÓ

 

ÒYeah, IÕm sure you are,Ó John stepped up to him, seeming to tower above the little man. Archer didnÕt move. ÒI donÕt like you,Ó John said, breathing down his neck. ÒI donÕt like the way youÕve weaselled your way in here. You might be able to wrap a poof like Epstein round your little finger, but IÕm a different matterÉÓ

 

Paul stood up. He looked at Ringo and George.

 

Archer took a small step backwards, holding his nose. ÒMy,Ó he said. ÒYou reek of alcohol and cigarettes.Ó

 

JohnÕs lip curled into a snarl. Paul came up behind him and put his hands on JohnÕs shoulders.

 

ÒThat will have to stop. Its not becoming to have you rolling in drunk at all hours.Ó

 

ÒYouÉÓ

 

Paul pulled John back, ÒDonÕt,Ó he said simply. Ringo was on his feet now too. George stood, feeling he should do something but he didnÕt know what.

 

ÒGerroff me,Ó John said, shrugging PaulÕs hands off and turning his back to Archer. ÒI want to speak to Brian. I want to speak to him now. Get the phone,Ó he ordered to no one in particular.

 

ÒDeary me,Ó Archer tutted, heading towards the door. ÒYou really are stupider than you look, Mr Lennon. HeÕll be on a plane. You will have to wait til he lands.Ó

 

John lurched back towards him. Paul and Ringo blocked his way. Archer, ignoring the scene, opened the door and stepped out. He turned back, ÒNow donÕt let me catch you Ð any of you Ð in this state again,Ó he said, sounding like he was disciplining unruly children. ÒBe ready in an hour.Ó

 

Archer closed the door. John pushed Paul and Ringo back from him. ÒDid you hear that?Ó he spat. ÒDid you hear what he called me? Who does the twat think he is?!Ó

 

George sat down again.

 

 

ÒSomethinÕs gotta be done. We canÕt carry on like this,Ó John was rambling. George nodded, only half listening, thinking about Brian. ÒStupid! Can you believe he called me that?Ó John asked, turning his head to look at George.

 

ÒI thought you were over that?Ó George asked. The bad mood had stayed with John for most of the day, only being shaken off once they reached the stadium. But by the look of JohnÕs black expression, it had returned. George tried a new approach. ÒPerhaps we shouldnÕt jump to conclusions. Not til weÕve given Brian a chance to explainÉÓ

 

John snorted into his scotch, ÒDonÕt give me that. HeÕs no bleedinÕ innocent. He knows just what heÕs doing.Ó

 

ÒAnd whatÕs that?Ó

 

ÒMoney. ThatÕs all he gives a fuck about. HeÕs farmed us out to that dickhead, so he can concentrate on the rest. He thinks weÕve had it. WeÕre old hat, George. HeÕs looking for the ÔnewÕ Beatles now.Ó

 

George frowned. John was pissed, and probably high. ÒHow can we be?Ó he said. ÒWeÕve just played toÉÓ

 

ÒTellinÕ yer, George. HeÕs gone, son. His days are numbered!Ó

 

George gave up and just nodded some more as John continued to rant. A girl, a pretty blonde one, standing by the buffet table waved at him.

 

ÒWhatÕs up with you, anyway?Ó John said suddenly, half way through a sentence.

 

ÒWhat?Ó George said.

 

ÒYouÕve been alright today, so donÕt you dare go back to being that arsey, mardy prick youÕve been for the last week.Ó

 

George laughed, ÒGonna sack me too, Johnny?Ó

 

ÒDonÕt doubt it.Ó

 

George grinned.

 

ÒStaying in this hotel tonight, are you? Good enough for the refined tastes of the distinguished Mr Harrison?Ó

 

ÒYeah. Just about.Ó

 

ÒGood. You fuck off again, donÕt bother coming back.Ó John was smiling, but there was a serious undertone.

 

ÒI wonÕt.Ó

 

ÒCoz youÕre already sitting here, sulking like a prima donna wallflower.Ó

 

ÒIÕm not!Ó

ÒYes you are.Ó

 

ÒIÕm fine. Leave me alone. I just wanna sit here and relax for a while.Ó

 

ÒYouÕre getting old.Ó

 

ÒYeah, over the hill.Ó

 

ÒThere was a time when you knew what to do at a party.Ó

 

ÒPass the parcel? The hokey cokey?Ó

 

John sat up, leaning in close to George, ÒWell, for a start, that bird over thereÕs been eyeing you all night, and youÕve not so much as looked at her.Ó

 

George smiled, ÒSo?Ó

 

ÒSo, come on! WhatÕs wrong with you? WeÕre on tour here or have you forgotten?Ó

 

PaulÕs words from the previous night came back to George, A holidayÉ have some fun.

George shook his head. ÒI canÕt.Ó

 

ÒYou canÕt?!Ó

 

ÒGraceÉÓ

 

John lifted up a cushion then looked behind the sofa, ÒOh? Is she here?Ó

 

ÒOkay, I donÕt want to then.Ó

 

John paused in mock horror, ÒItÕs not-? Is it?Ó

 

ÒWhat?Ó

 

ÒL-o-v-e.Ó

 

George laughed hollowly and sat forward, finishing his drink.

 

ÒCoz, even if it is,Ó John sat forward too. ÒThis is just sex, George.Ó

 

The girl from beside the buffet table appeared in front of then. John stood up. ÒSee yer later,Ó he said with a wink and disappeared.

 

George looked up at the girl. She wore a denim mini skirt and a low cut top. Her blonde hair was in bunches making her look younger than George supposed she was. ÒHi,Ó she said in a Southern American drawl. ÒYouÕre George, arenÕt you?Ó

 

George nodded.

 

ÒI thought you would like this.Ó The girl produced two glasses from behind her back.

 

George took one with a smile, ÒWhat is it?Ó he asked, sniffing it. It smelt sweet.

 

ÒJust some punch,Ó the girl perched on the sofa next to him.

 

ÒTa,Ó George took a sip.

 

ÒYou like?Ó

 

ÒYes, its uhÉ strong though.Ó

 

The girl giggled and drank some from her own.

 

ÒWho are you then?Ó George asked, turning to look at her. Closer up he could see she had faint freckles across the top of her cheeks and nose. Her eyes were blue and big, making him think of Pattie.

 

ÒEmily,Ó said the girl. She sat back, crossing her legs. George couldnÕt help but look down. ÒI go to school just round the corner from here.Ó

 

George nodded. ÒWell, its nice to meet you Emily.Ó He stood up, looking round the room, searching for the others. He felt Emily take his hand and pull him. George looked down.

 

ÒYouÕre not leaving me already, Georgie?Ó she asked.

 

ÒI uh, would you like to meet Paul? Or Ringo?Ó

 

She shook her head, her hair brushing the top of her shoulders. ÒI only want to meet you,Ó she said.

 

ÒI, erÉ wellÉÓ

 

ÒI bought you a drink, didnÕt I? It would be rude not to drink it with me?Ó she asked.

 

George smiled, ÒOkay then,Ó he said and sat down again. ÒOne drink, then I should be getting off to bed.Ó

 

 ÒYouÕre forward, arenÕt you?Ó

 

ÒNo, no, I didnÕt meanÉÓ George said, flustered.

 

Emily laughed again, ÒIÕm just joking,Ó she said, patting GeorgeÕs knee.

 

George took her hand and gave it back to her, ÒYouÕre very nice,Ó he said. ÒBut I have a girlfriend.Ó

 

ÒWhere is she?Ó

 

ÒSheÕs called GraceÉÓ

 

ÒI said where, not who.Ó

 

ÒSheÕs at home. Back in England.Ó

 

Emily smiled. ÒShe wonÕt mind us just talking then, will she?Ó

 

ÒNo,Ó George replied. ÒI guess she wonÕt.Ó

 

 

 

Emily moved her knee and nearly caught George. He put his hand down and stopped her, just in time.

 

ÒOpps,Ó she said in a whisper.

 

George smiled, ÒThat was nearly an early bath,Ó he said. ÒWhy donÕtÉ why donÕt you go on top?Ó

 

They shuffled around carefully, George pulling the girl on top of him. Damn single beds, he thought. Hardly big enough for one, never mindÉ He was distracted by her kiss, closing his eyes and loosing himself in the sensation for a moment. She knelt over him now, a knee either side of his waist. Her breasts grazed against his chest. George moved his hands from her hips, up, sweeping her top off in one gesture. She paused to let him look at her, although in the darkened bedroom he could see little more than a silhouette.

 

Emily resumed kissing him, moving down to his neck, making George breath in sharply.

 

Suddenly light broke from the corner of the room. Emily stopped, sliding down to GeorgeÕs side in an effort to hide. George pulled the blankets over them, cursing in whispers.

 

The door didnÕt close. The bright light invading through the bed covers.

 

ÒNot now, Paul,Ó George said loudly, wondering why he was still standing there.

 

There was no reply. George lowered the cover a little, just enough to see over. He blinked, squinting. The shape in the doorway way was much larger than Paul - or anyone else for that matter. That figure was unmistakable.

 

ÒMal?Ó George asked, faintly and flinched as EmilyÕs hand found a sensitive spot.

 

ÒUh, hullo George,Ó Mal replied, unsure.

 

ÒWhatÉ what are you doing here?Ó

 

ÒI thought you might be missing him, darling, but I see youÕve managed to find someÉ comfort.Ó She stepped out from behind Mal.

 

George turned cold as she stepped out from behind MalÕs mammoth body. ÒGraceÉÓ George spluttered.