CHAPTER FOUR

 

 

Today was George’s interview. His long, thin body sat in a relaxed manner on the sofa in the common room, opposite from me.  He had on a pair of dark green corduroy trousers with a matching blazer, a light green turtleneck sweater, and of course his Beatle boots.  I found out that even though he was known as the quiet Beatle, he wasn’t the shy Beatle.  He was a deep, polite and funny young man. 

 

Among the things George and I talked about, were his childhood, the sitar, and Patti.

 

“You know”, George said in his thick and breathy scouse drawl, “I think you should meet Patti, you two would get along great.”

 

“I would really like that.” I answered, closing the notebook I had on my lap, “Well George, I think that’s about it.”

 

“Already?”

 

“George we’ve been talking for three hours, and you have a concert tonight.”

 

“Well, an interview goes by fast when the questions are interesting and the reporter actually listens to your answers.” George smiled as he stood up, “See ya tonight at the concert luv.”

 

“See ya.”

 

While I was jotting some final thoughts on my notebook, Neil sat next to me.

 

“Who’s your next victim?”, he asked jokingly.

 

“Ringo.”, I answered still writing.

 

Just then, as if on cue John walked in. 

 

“So Miss Reporter Patti, when are we going to play reporter?” he smiled plopping down beside me, spreading his arms on the back of the sofa, and putting his feet on the coffee table.

 

When he sat beside me I felt the same surge of electricity running through my body that I had the first day we met. He didn’t look like a Beatle wearing a dark blue T-Shirt, a pair of jeans and sandals. The New York summer afternoon sun shining through the balcony’s glass sliding doors hit his hair to reveal an auburn tone.

 

“Well, you’ll have to wait.” I said standing up, “Until then, I’m afraid you’ll have to play with yourself!”

 

My comment made John and Neil roll on the floor laughing.  Suddenly I realized what I had said.  I just waved my hands in mock exasperation and walked to my room.

 

When I closed the door, I let out a stifled laugh.  I sat down to type a quick draft of my interview with George.  But I had to get ready for the concert at Shea Stadium tonight. 

 

My “luggage” hadn’t arrived yet.  Neil told Patti about me so she could get me some clothes. Although she had never seen me, it was surprising how she got clothes to match my style, and in the perfect size, I think it’s a model’s sixth sense.  There were not many pants, but the suits were nice.  I decided to wear a pink, yellow and green floral pattern sleeveless pull on blouse, with dark green pants and flat shoes. 

 

 

 

The Shea Stadium concert was pure mayhem.  But I loved it anyway!  I saw the concert from one of the dugouts with Neil and Mal. The screaming girls were like a wall of sound.  They never stopped.  I had seen videos of the concert, but being there was a totally different experience.  Although the sound was connected to the stadium’s loudspeakers, you could hardly hear the music. The band looked great with their military jackets, very handy for a hot New York summer night.

 

I loved the  part when John kind of “lost it” playing the organ while Paul sang “I’m Down”.  George and John were just laughing away.

 

 

 

 

 

After the concert, there was a “get together” at their hotel suite.  There were a lot of girls… giggling, annoying, but beautiful girls.

 

The only light in the hotel room came from the hallway, which gave it  a sensual and mysterious vibe.  All you could hear was chatter, laughter and rock n’ roll music.  Through the cigarette smoke and partial darkness, I could make out Ringo, George and some girls dancing.  At the far end of the room Paul was surrounded by girls, and John was sitting on the love seat at the balcony, with a blonde girl sitting on his lap. He was whispering things in her ear that made her giggle.  I felt so jealous when I saw John.  What could a smart guy like him see in a bimbo like her?

 

I decided to get a drink.  While I was pouring myself a bit of wine, a handsome young man approached me.

 

“Haven’t seen you before, what’s your name?” he asked.

 

“Alice. And yours?”

 

“Al, Al Pintkin.”, he said pouring a glass of wine for himself.

 

 

Al Pintkin? This was my boss back in 2005!  Wait a minute, I should say he will be my boss…this is getting confusing.  Anyway, he is my boss, and his claim to glory was his alleged friendship with the Beatles in 1965.

 

“Nice to meet you Al.”, I said shaking his hand.

 

“You’re new in New York?”

 

“Just got here a few months ago.  I work free lance.”

 

“Free lance?  Interesting.  So what are you currently working on?”

 

“I’m traveling with the Beatles on their US tour.”

 

“Strange they chose a girl to do that.”, Al replied taking a sip of his wine.

 

What’s with men in 1965, being surprised about women being professional reporters?  First Brian, now Al? 

 

“Have you had a chance to see New York yet?” Al asked.

 

“No.”

 

“Can I invite to lunch or dinner sometime?”

 

“Well it has to be quick because we are leaving after tomorrow’s concert.”

 

“Well in that case, how about lunch tomorrow?”

 

“Well, my agenda is quite irregular,” I said, “But I think I can squeeze you in.  How about you giving me your phone number and I’ll call you?”

 

“Okay, let me give you my card.”

 

While Al was looking for his card in his jacket, John appeared.

 

“Everything going all right here Miss Reporter Patti?”

 

“Yes John.  He’s not gonna rape me.”, I whispered, putting my glass of wine on a table.

 

“Hey, when you need those kind of services you can always call me.”, John whispered in my ear.

 

His warm breath in my ear gave me goose pimples, good thing it was dark and he couldn’t notice.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I answered patting his hand, and then signaling him to leave.

 

“Here.”, Al said handing me his card, “Hi there John.”

 

“Who are you?”, John asked in a nasty tone.

 

“Al Pintkin, nice meeting you.”, Al said stretching his hand out for a handshake.

 

“Who invited you ‘ere?”, John said ignoring his hand.

 

“I am a report---“, Al began.

 

“We don’t need anymore reporters ‘ere!”, John said pushing Al to the door, “All you do is make up stories!  The only reporter ‘ere is Alice!”

 

“John! Stop it!”, I said sternly, “He’s not bothering anyone!”

 

John quickly turned around to face me, “You just shut up!”

 

I froze. His face didn’t look normal. His eyes looked so full of anger.   I had heard about his tantrums, but seeing one first hand was quite frightening.  John pushed Al out of the hotel room, and closed the door behind him.  I just stared at him bewildered.

 

“Want to go with your little boyfriend?”, John asked me angrily. 

 

I noticed he was drunk. I turned around to walk away from him.

 

“You’re here to interview us!  Nothing else!”, he said following me.

 

“Since when you give me instructions, John!”, I screamed turning around to face him, “What makes you think you can tell me what to do?”

 

John started to walk to the balcony.

 

“You’re jealous!”, I blurted out.

 

As soon as I said that, I wanted to swallow my words.

 

“Jealous?”, John asked turning around to look at me again.  By now everybody was staring at us.  “Wishful thinking, Alice!”

 

“Don’t flatter yourself, John!  I wouldn’t be with you even if you were the last man alive!”

 

“Good!  We agree on something!”

 

“Good!”

 

With that John headed to one of the bedrooms and slammed the door shut.  I went to my bedroom and slammed the door shut too.  Outside there was silence for about two minutes, I heard Paul’s voice say something and the music began playing again.  Ironically the song that started playing was “You Can’t Do That”.