Four
Neil returned from his errands and noticed Paul lying on the sofa. "How's he doing?" he whispered to John.
John glanced up and briefly shook his head. "Not the best I''ve seen him. Had a bit of trouble last night too.
"Do you think he'll be ok tonight?"
John shrugged. "You'll have to ask him that, mate."
Neil sat next to Paul and jokingly patted him on the knee. "Aye, sleeping beauty, I've brought you the goodies."
"Aye?" Paul mumbled, trying to clear his throat. He gingerly swung his feet off the sofa and leaned on his knees, his head between his hands, squeezing his temples. It felt like a red-hot steel rod had been thrust through his head. He stifled a groan.
"That bad, eh?" Neil asked sympathetically. "Here take these." He handed him the aspirins with a paper cup of water and the tin of lozenges.
Paul blearily croaked "Ta," downed the pills and put a couple lozenges in his mouth. The he resumed his previous position, shielding his eyes against the bright overhead lights.
"Have you eaten?" Neil gestured with his head toward the table in the middle of the room laden with snacks provided by the theatre management. The others had previously descended on it with more than a hint of gluttony.
"No," Paul grimaced. "Maybe after the show."
Neil grunted, "Yeah, right. Scotch and coke."
"Make mine a double!" John interjected.
That elicited a wan smile from Paul as Brian breezed in with the night's itinerary. Neil rose and walked to him, telling him something in a low voice. Brian looked suddenly worried. Mal returned carrying the Beatles' stage suits. "Right, lads, time to get dressed."
Without a shred of modesty, they all began stripping down and changing. As Paul bent down to pull on his boots, Brian approached him and asked worriedly, "Can you do this tonight, Paul?"
Paul sighed and straightened slowly to look at Brian. His eyes were dull and his colour off. "If you're not up to it, just tell me," Brian added softly.
"It's ok, Eppy," he replied. "I should be able to manage one night."
Brian smiled his adoring little smile reserved only for "his boys" and said, "That's the spirit!" He left in relief to chat up the producer of the show.
Paul lit a cigarette as John came up and handed him his Rickenbacker as usual. As he tuned the guitar, Paul held his cigarette in his mouth. After handing the instrument back to John, he made a face and stubbed out the cigarette. It just made his throat feel more scratchy. Noticing, John commented, "Not feeling any better?"
Paul shook his head. "You and George will have to take most of the songs tonight." His voice sounded strained and hoarse.
"Lozenges help any?" John questioned.
"No, my throat's just getting worse."
"All right, then. George and I can manage tonight." John rose from the sofa, pausing to squeeze Paul's shoulder gently. "Just another hour and we'll get you back home."
George also studied him while he was tuning his guitar. "You''re looking a little peaked, son. Shouldn't go jumping about on rooftops when your're ill."
They got their call and walked out onto the stage. Although it was a show to be taped for television, the theatre had wanted a live audience to add excitement. As they entered, the blinding floodlights pierced Paul's eyes as badly as the shrill screams sliced through his aching head. He winced as John started in on "Some Other Guy."
In full stage suits, they regularly sweated buckets during a performance. Tonight was no different. However, Paul, drenched in sweat as he was, was starting to shiver from the chills. Blinking sweat from his own eyes, John kept glancing over at him. He looked haggard, dark shadows under his eyes again. John caught George's eye and motioned with his head for George to move closer to Paul. In the wings, Brian, Neil and Mal were also becoming concerned.
For his part, Paul was struggling to concentrate on the music. But the shrieks filled his head, making it impossible to think straight. The heat made him feel like he was suffocating and his head ached intolerably. Then his eyes refused to focus and his fingers stumbled over a chord. Shit, I've got to get off stage, he hazily managed to think before all coherent thought fled.
From behind, Ringo saw Paul falter. And from the corner of his eye, John saw Paul almost falling into the wings where Mal and Neil rushed to hold him up. Without the bass, the song sounded incomplete, but John nodded to George and Ringo to keep playing. The screaming covered a multitude of sins, and they didn't want to end up with a hysterical crowd on their hands. As it was, the kids were wondering why Paul disappeared.
Backstage, Neil and Mal half-dragged a semi-conscious Paul to a chair and removed the Hofner from around his neck. "Christ, he's like an oven," Mal exclaimed.
"Aye, Paulie," Neil gently tapped him on the side of the face.
Paul opened his eyes and squinted at them. "There's two of you, Nell," he said faintly. "I can't see straight..." He went limp and Mal had to sling his arms around him to keep him from falling off the chair.
Brian, in a panic, said, "Get him back to the dressing room!"
Neil glanced onstage to check on the other Beatles who were still playing. John met his eyes with a sidelong look, worry in his expression, and nodded that they were ok. He watched as Mal lifted Paul as easily as a child in his big arms, cradling his head against his chest, as he carried him swiftly back to the dressing room.
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