The Prizes and The Spoils

 

From ‘The Beatles: The Yesterdays’, ed. Duncan Pressinger, 1995. pg. 98

 

February 16 1965

Ground Floor Studio, EMI, Manchester Square, London

EMI Chairman, Sir Joseph Lockwood presents the Beatles with awards, including Japanese Dolls and Gold and silver discs, as a gesture of EMI’s appreciation for their hard work and success. This was during a break from recording of what was to become the soundtrack to their second motion picture, ‘Help.’ Present was Brian Epstein, his usual assistant, Alistair Taylor been called away on personal business.

 

 

 

 

 

 

George felt her get up and leave but he didn’t open his eyes.

 

Two minutes later she returned and got back into bed with him. George lay motionless, not awake, but not asleep.

 

Even when she whispered, “George,” he still didn’t move.

 

“George!” Pattie said louder and George begrudgingly made a noise in reply, turning his head away from her.

 

“George, there’s somebody in the bathroom.”

 

“Muh,” George said, or at least, that’s what it sounded like.

 

“George!” Pattie said again, shaking him.

 

George stirred and opened his eyes, finding her leaning over him, almost directly above him. He smiled through his sleepiness and reached up to touch her hair.

 

“There’s someone in the bathroom,” Pattie repeated in a hushed voice.

 

“You’ll have to wait your turn then,” George said.

 

“Who is it?”

 

George closed his eyes again, “A very hygienic burglar?”

 

“George!” Pattie pushed his chest with both hands forcing him awake again.

 

“Grace, it’s Grace,” George said, with the slightest hint of a giggle.

 

Pattie’s expression changed from concern to suspicion. “Who’s Grace?”

 

“The girl I hit with my car.”

 

Pattie moved away from him and sat cross-legged on her side of the double bed. “I know you were feeling guilty but don’t you think this is a little over the top?”

 

George stretched, “She didn’t have anywhere to stay, I couldn’t just leave her there. It’s alright. There’s no problem.” Satisfied he had explained sufficiently, George rolled onto his side and tried to go back to sleep.

 

“You let some strange girl stay over?”

 

“She’s not strange,” George said into the pillow.

 

“She could be anyone. She could be a thief or... or…”

 

“She’s not a thief.”

 

“And you didn’t even tell me… I mean, George…”

 

George rolled onto his back with a frustrated groan, “Pattie, its complicated. She didn’t have anywhere to go, it was three in the morning, so I brought her here. You were asleep, so I didn’t wake you. She’ll be gone today, and we’ll never see her again.”

 

“But…”

 

“And she isn’t stealing anything. Actually, I think she’s quite wealthy. She sounds quite posh.”

 

“Doesn’t mean…”

 

“What is she going to half inch from the bathroom? The shower curtain?”

 

Pattie thought about it for a moment. “It’s still not right, you don’t just sleep at a strangers house…”

 

A wicked smile crossed George’s lips, “Are you jealous?” he asked, teasingly.

 

Pattie flopped back against the headboard. “Yeah, you’ve never knocked me down with the car,” she said sarcastically.

 

George moved over under the duvet, resting his head on her lap, looking up at her. “Darlin’, I’d knock you down anytime,” he said.

 

Pattie smiled, pulling her fingers through his hair and smoothing it. George kissed her stomach lightly through the material of her nightie. Pattie let him for a moment, but then pushed him away, “Oh no, I can’t,” she said, softly, “I’m meeting Jenny soon.”

 

“She can wait,” George said, sitting up and moving in for a kiss.

 

Pattie held him back gently, “Don’t you have to be somewhere too?”

 

George glanced at the clock by the bed, “Shit, yes I do,” he said, bouncing out of the bed. He picked up the clothes he had worn the day before from where he had dropped them around the room, examining them to see if they were still wearable. He pulled his creased shirt onto one arm, and then paused.

 

“Pattie,” he said coaxingly, “Do you think you could…”

 

“What?” she asked, reluctantly.

 

“Give Grace a lift back to town? I can’t wait for her, I’ve got to go.”

 

“What? George I haven’t even met her!”

 

“Well, you can meet her now,” George buttoned the top of his trousers and walked round the side of the bed. Taking hold of her hand, he led her out to the landing and the closed bathroom door.

 

Pattie pulled back, “George, look how I’m dressed!”

 

George shook his head at her and knocked on the door. Grace opened it a moment later with a towel wrapped around her.

 

“Oh sorry, I…” she began.

 

George interrupted, “I’ve got to go, but Pattie will give you a lift back,” he said, “Pattie, this is Grace. Grace, Pattie.”

 

“Hi,” Pattie said, shyly.

 

“Hello,” Grace replied.

 

“All friends then. Good, lovely,” George said and walked off in the direction of the kitchen.

 

 

George opened the door to the ground floor studio. Waiting, almost directly behind the door was a man in a navy blue pin striped suit. He was a few inches shorter than George, standing in his boot heels. He had a sharp face with dark eyes and a nose that came to a point. His bright blonde hair was slicked back with what could have easily been an entire tin of Bryl cream. George stopped just short of walking straight into him.

 

“You’re late,” said the man, looking up from beneath George’s jaw.

 

“Sorry…” George said, uncertainly.

 

On the other side of the room, leaning on a table were Ringo and John, with Paul standing to the left of them. George smiled to them, but they had black expressions, looking like a gang in a playground eyeing their rivals.

 

George went to join them, checking his watch, “I’m not that late, am I?”

 

“No,” John said, “Lockwood hasn’t even turned up yet.” It wasn’t in what he said, but in the way he said it that told George there was something wrong.

 

“Who’s the suit?” he asked.

 

“That’s what we’d like to know,” Paul said in a low voice.

 

“Jumped up little bastard…” John growled.

 

“He started as soon as we got here,” Ringo told him, “’Why aren’t we in the matching suits?’ ‘John needs a haircut,’ ‘Paul’s only half dressed.’ Brian just stood by and let him.”

 

George frowned, “Half dressed?” He looked at Paul, seemingly his normal well-groomed self in suit trousers and pressed shirt.

 

“No jacket and tie,” Paul explained.

 

“I thought this was just a casual thing?” George asked, looking down at his own clothes.

 

Paul nodded, “It is. The official do’s in a couple of days.”

 

“Does he work for us?” Ringo asked.

 

“I’ve never seen him before,” John said with a snort, “You’d remember a snivelling prick like him.”

 

“He’s obviously rubbed you wrong,” George said lightly, grinning.

 

John didn’t return his smile, “Give him ten minutes, you’ll see.”

 

George turned back to look at him. Either he wasn’t listening or he was doing a good job of pretending not to. He was reading a file of papers, sitting on a chair with his briefcase on his lap.

 

“Where’s Brian?” George asked, turning back to the others.

 

“Down the corridor,” Paul said.

 

“Soon as he gets back we can get on with the prizes,” Ringo added.

 

“Prizes?” John said, cracking a grin for the first time, “We haven’t won a competition, Ring.”

 

“What are they then?”

 

“Awards.”

 

“Prizes, awards. Same difference.”

 

“I guess we have kinda won,” Paul said, “Y’know? Toppermost of the poppermost?”

 

The door opened and Brian and Joseph Lockwood came through, laughing together.

 

“Brian,” John said, standing up from against the table.

 

Brian came to the centre of the room and clapped his hands together, “Ah, good, you’re all here,” he said cheerfully. He turned to the man, still on his chair and nodded a thank you. The four Beatles looked at each other.

 

“Well, we’re all busy men, shall we press on?” Lockwood asked.

 

Sir Lockwood was his usual efficient self, doling out his gifts and gold discs with brisk handshakes and “eternal gratitude from EMI”, “excellent work,” “worldwide phenomena,” “keep it up,” and then after a few more words with Brian he was out of the door again.

 

“What are we meant to do with this?” John asked, holding up one of the ‘gifts’, a precious looking Japanese doll.

 

“What do we do with any of it?” George asked, tossing one of the discs on to the table.

 

“George, be careful with that,” Brian said half heartedly, distracted, talking with the man in the pin striped suit.

 

“At least they could go on the mantelpiece,” Ringo said, “That thing could give you nightmares,” he pointed to John’s doll,  “look at it’s horrible face!”

 

“Wooo!” John whooped, cruelly shoving the doll towards Ringo’s face, “I love you, Ringo, I want to come home with you!” he wailed in a high-pitched voice for the doll.

 

“Fuck off with that,” Ringo said, pushing John back forcibly. John came at him again.

 

“Boys, have some respect,” the man said, getting up from his chair, standing shoulder to shoulder with Brian, “That is a valuable antique doll.”

 

This reprimand was from an unwarranted source. The Beatles fell silent.

 

“Bollocks,” mumbled Ringo, now left holding the doll, “It came from Woolworth’s.” He let it fall down on to the table.

 

“Brian,” John said, stepping towards them, “Who is this slimy little get?”

 

“John…” Paul said warningly.

 

Brian didn’t flicker, “Oh,” he said, “I’m dreadfully sorry. Boys, this is Mr. Michael Archer. Michael – John, Paul, George and Ringo.”

 

Michael stepped towards them, hand outstretched, an unpleasant smile on his thin lips. After an uncomfortably long silence, Paul took his hand and shook it briefly.

 

John glared at him. Paul pulled his face. John shook his head and marched out, leaving the door open behind him.

 

“Is there something wrong?” Brian asked, innocently.

 

“Um,” Ringo said, “Isn’t Al meant to be here today?”

 

“Alistair? He couldn’t come today.”

 

“See what I mean?” Michael said to Brian, “Firm hand. Discipline.”

 

Brian nodded. “Perhaps I should explain. Mr. Archer is a… friend of mine. He’s here to oversee and assess our operations. See where we can be more efficient, where we might save a bit of money.”

 

“With us?” George asked.

 

“Oh, no, nothing like that. Just methods, practices, systems - that kind of thing. Is that what’s bothering John? I’ll go and speak to him.” Brian walked towards the door, then paused and turned back to them, “You boys do worry about things sometimes!” he said with a half laugh, “You probably won’t even see Michael again after today!” Brian smiled at them and then left.

 

Michael, still standing on the other side of the room, snapped his briefcase closed. “Gentlemen,” he said, and followed Brian out of the door.

 

“Operations?” Paul said.

 

“That was odd,” Ringo agreed, nodding to him.

 

“And Brian,” George said, “He was…”

 

“Happy,” Ringo finished for him.