1
    John cast a worried eye around the room.  He had been unable to find his contacts for several days now, and they had a concert coming up. He refused to wear his glasses, but he did not like the idea of going around blind in a performance.

    "Hey, Paulie! Have you seen my contacts?"

    "Are you still looking for those things? I hope you find them soon. We have a concert the day after tomorrow!"

    John swore loudly. He was very well aware of the situation.

Unfortunately, it had happened before. He should be able to keep an eye on his stuff!

    He swore again. Then something occurred to him. Hadn’t he left them at the studio? Of course! He could call up George and ask him to pick them up on his way back to the hotel.

    Having solved the problem that had been on his mind for days, he now felt that he could relax. He walked over to where Paul was lying on the sofa and sat on his stomach.

    "John! Get off, you nit! Come on Johnnie! Grrr..." Paul leapt up and within seconds the two were involved in an intense pillow fight. The battle went on for some time, and John and Paul were evenly matched until Paul tripped over a chair and went down onto the floor.

    John did a victory dance on the bed. He was in the process of hurling things around and generally making a mess, when someone knocked on the door.

    "Oh no! John! Get off the bed and hide!"

    "Why?"

   "It’s Brian! If he sees what a mess you made, he’ll wring our necks for sure! Quick, hide behind the sofa, and when he goes into another room we can sneak out the door!"

    John did as he was told and ducked behind the couch. He only had time to make a few exaggerated faces of dismay at Paul before the door opened and Brian, their manager, walked in.

    "Alright, boys, where are you?"

    John tried not to giggle. Brian would never catch them! Their manager he might be, and influence he might have, but he could never beat the Beatles on their own terms!

    Brian passed on to search the bathrooms, and John and Paul looked at one another and bolted out the door. Brain turned around just in time to catch a glimpse of them grabbing their coats and hustling outside. He sighed, but he knew it would be no use to go after them. Any break they could get was good for them. As concert time neared, they would be busier.

2
    John and Paul turned the corner and walked into the park. They loved to get out when they could, and this was no exeption!

    "Where to, mate?" asked John.

    "D'you feel like a drink?"

    "Always! Can we pick up some birds while we're at it?"

    Paul smiled at the antics of his friend and partner, and they headed for a nearby bar.

    Once inside, it took them a while to adjust to the smoky atmosphere of the bar. Almost at once, a group of teenage girls left their dates and rushed over to them.

    "It's them, it's them!" one girl said to her friend, as they mobbed the two. None of them minded that George and Ringo weren’t there. After all, two Beatles was more than enough for one girl!

3
    But what of George and Ringo?  As it turned out, they were having a small escapade of their own, in the very same park John and Paul had walked through earlier.

   "Here, George! Catch!" Ringo shouted as he hurled something in George’s direction.

    George hadn’t been paying attention, and the flying object struck him in the back.

    "Ow! Be careful!" he shouted. He then sat under a tree and sulked until Ringo came over, several minutes later.

    "Sorry, Georgie. Here, look! I brought you a little something to cheer you up!"     George looked up and smiled, and the girl sat down next to him.

4
    The four didn’t meet up until late that night, back at the hotel. Brian had left and come back again, but did not mention the destruction of the room. At the moment, they were all involved in a game of cards.

    "Ha! A flush! You’re all doomed!" cried John.

    "You don’t have a flush, you swine!" said Paul.

    "I do, too!"

    "No, you don’t! Let me see your cards."

    John reluctantly handed over his cards: a one, an eight, a queen, and others, but decidedly not a flush.

    "See?" said Paul. "I knew you didn’t have a flush!"

    John muttered under his breath and went to bed. The others played for a while, but they just couldn’t get back into it. One by one, they left, until just Paul was sitting alone, wondering why nobody ever wanted to play cards with him.

Next Part

Written by The Walrus. May not be reproduced without the permission of the author. Permission may be obtained by e-mail.

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