When your supervisor at the secretarial agency called you into the office to discuss a new post, you’d never dreamed you would end up like this. You knew it would be something interesting when you were asked if you could be trusted to keep your new job completely secret. No giggly chats in the coffee bar with the other girls. Not even a dropped hint as you wandered around the boutiques in Carnaby Street and Kings Road with a friend. No-one could know about this job, and if you thought you couldn’t keep a secret then you had to say so right away so that the job could be given to someone else.
You knew you could keep a secret if your job depended on it, and were determined to get this assignment now that your interest had been sparked. It was very rare for a young girl to be given such an important job in the nineteen-sixties despite the new thinking, and it would deffinately be counted as a step up. Would you be working for an important tycoon whose precious ideas must be protected from the competition? Even that seemed to lame a reason for such stress and secrecy. Maybe it was a job for the government, like being a character in a James Bond film? How exciting!
When you were finally told what the job would be it was even more exciting than that. Impossible? Not when you’ve been told you’re to work for The Beatles! Apparently they’re playing about with some important ideas for a new project and need someone to note their thoughts and discussions. As your eyes open wider and wider at the prospect of all this you realise why it’s so important to keep this quiet. If you breathe a word of this to a single soul then everyone will want to know everything. And The Beatles work is too important to be spread around. More than that you’re worried of jealous reactions from some of the girls. I mean what would you do if one of the other girls you worked with went off to work with the Beatles and you had to sit at some boring desk while she got to spend time with the guy you most loved in the entire world - George Harrison?
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
For some reason you’re to arrive for work at a bus stop. Don’t question anything, it’s The Beatles. They know what they’re doing. You get up three hours early, apply your make-up about five times and fuss over the hair-style that you’ve just paid a fortune to have created at Raphael and Leonards in the west end. The Beatles’ll see it, so it’s money well spent, as is the cash you paid out for the four new outfits you still haven’t decided between. You eventually decide on the one with the shortest skirt so that you can show off your legs and prove you’re nervy at the same time.
You arrive about half an hour before you’re needed, wandering about nervously and trying to prevent yourself from seeming giddy and over-enthusiastic. The streets are quiet, the rush of people on their way to work or school being long over. Finally Paul appears round the corner and you gasp involuntarily. It’s a bad start but he smiles and nods at you. As he gets closer you begin to realise he doesn’t know who he’s meant to be meeting. You must have made yourself look like a silly fan. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself and walk straight towards him.
"Hello. I’m from the secretarial agency" you say firmly, offering your hand.
His eyebrows raise in surprise and he shakes your hand warmly. You go giddy at the touch of his hand but manage to keep it hidden deep inside.
"The others are picking us up in the bus. They’ll be here in a minute." He explains, quickly looking you up and down as you gaze in awe at his eyes. Such lovely eyes, especially when they’re close up like this. But then all the Beatles have lovely eyes, and you’ll get to meet all of them very soon.
You don’t really know how to have a conversation with him as you’re still too giddy to prevent yourself from looking like a complete idiot infront of him. Best keep quiet until you can be professional and think of something good to say. Luckily the very bus you’re waiting for pulls up within a matter of moments. The door opens as you walk slowly over to it and a gang of three eager Beatles almost fight to be the first one out.
"Hello" they all shout as they jump off the bus, talking amongst themselves as they examine the appearance of their new worker. You don’t really know how to handle this and smile back at them sweetly. When the introductions are over they gentlmanly motion for you to climb on the bus first, and then they all watch the mini skirted girl climb into the bus infront of them.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
You sit quietly, trying to play the familiar game of existing discreetly, unnoticeable and not in the way, yet instantly ready to work as soon as needed. But as you sit delicately in an ultra short mini, you can’t help staring out widely at the action going on infront of you from beneath your thick eyelashes and heavy fringe.
So far all they’ve done is to sit at the back of the bus chatting away about nothing in particular. But every word they utter seems like gold even though it’s meaningless. They’re The Beatles, you can’t possibly forget anything, you’ll want to sit and replay these moments over and over in your head for all eternity. The time you spent with the greatest group the world has ever known... and also the most gorgeous. You shyly start to examine each of them as they sit there in the latest fashions. Some of the things they’re wearing seem a little strange, but there’s no doubt that everyone will be wearing them in a matter of days.
You begin to notice that John and Ringo keep eyeing you as they turn to chat to the other two. Paniking a little you try to stare out of the window absentmindedly to hide the fact that their attention is making you flustered and fidgity. As you stare intently out of the window you loose their conversation. It’s become quiet and hard for you to hear. You turn to glance at them. They seem heavy in silent discussion, almost as though they’re arguing about something. George turns to look at you and you instantly turn back to the window in panick.
The conversation suddenly becomes normal and you relax, shuffling back into your seat, straightening out your skirt and turning back to watch them.
"Have you got a ciggy John?" George asks, waiting for a reply.
"Ta" he says as he relaxes back into the chair. For no reason he turns to you and smiles. You smile back instantly. Instead of making an effort to smile back politely as you usually would, you’re fighting to stop yourself from beaming giddily at the excitement of having your favourite Beatle turn just to smile directly at you.
You’re surprised when he gets out of his seat and steps towards you.
"I’d like a word if you’re not busy." He says gently as your heart flutters.
"I’m not busy." You answer faintly, swallowing hard and cursing that you’re already acting stupidly. He knows you’re not busy. You’re sat on a bus with no-one to talk to and nothing to do until one of them beckons you. Well, now you’ve been summoned. Stop dreaming and get to work.
"Let’s move down here where it’s quieter." He says, referring to the laughter of the other three as someone makes an amusing remark that you missed completely.
You get up and begin to walk down the bus, letting him follow you and hoping he doesn’t think your mini skirt is too short. You don’t want to seem over the top. You’ve walked half way down the aisle and decide this is far enough, turning to check that he’s right behind you, and wondering where exactly he wants you to stop.
He begins to slide past you in the narrow aisle of the bus and you press your back against the seats behind you so as not to get in his way, knowing that if he even brushed against you now you’d be in danger of collapse. You may be giving the impression that sitting in a small bus with four Beatles means nothing extraordinary, but inside you’re screaming wildly like any other fan. Instead of rushing past he stops right in front of you and leans himself against the other seats so that he’s facing you.
The aisle is so narrow and he’s so close to you that you can hardly keep yourself under control. The cigarette is still in his hand and when he exhales you can instantly feel the gentle caress of his breath against your face. You’re so overcome with the sensation of it that you don’t even notice the smoke, your mind is too busy thrilling at how near he is. If the bus even swerved slightly you’d go tumbling straight into his arms in a matter of seconds. Your mind is crying out to any god that’s listening to make the bus swerve now so that he can catch you heroically in his arms and hold you there for a moment that you’ll record every little detail of and treasure for the rest of your life. But neither Krishna or any other of the Gods seem to be listening to you and the bus stays firmly on track.
You suddenly notice that his eyes are studying you carefully as your mind races with the possibilities of being so close to him. They seem to stare deep into your soul, sending you into a mild panic that he’s going to be able to read the ridiculous fantasies you’re wrapping around his image in your head. You’ve got to stop all of this right now before you do something silly and give yourself away. He’s watching you too closely to miss any strange behaviour, and tumbling through a mass of fantasies about him isn’t exactly going to leave you in complete control of how you’re acting.
He’s not standing with his back perfectly pressed against the seats anymore. He’s relaxed slightly and slides gently down the edge of the seats so that he can get more comfortable. He steps forward slightly to keep his balance and you find his leg gently resting against yours. You close your eyes firmly to try and shut him out, but shiver slightly and open your eyes wide to check that he didn’t notice the involuntary movement.
"Are you cold?" he asks slowly, his head tipping slightly to one side as he gazes at you with a look that could hopefully be concern about you.
"Not really" you answer quickly and then curse yourself. Of course you should tell him you’re cold. Why else would you get a sudden case of the shivers unless your a silly fan who can’t handle the fact that she can feel the soft fabric of his trousers gently resting against her bare mini-skirted legs? "...well, just a little I guess." You wonder if that sounds silly... or will it dismiss any suspicions he might have had?
He nods carefully. Thank goodness. He’s dismissed it now, and he’s also distracted so he won’t study you so hard, looking for any faults that would give you away.
"There’s a bit of a draught here." He says, nodding at a window left slightly open for air. "Let’s move down to the front a bit." He steps away from you to walk down the bus and you sigh heavily to release all the caged up feelings that have been whirling inside you during the few seconds he’s been staring at you.
You quickly turn to check none of the others have been watching your behaviour, but they’re too busy trying to set up a card game to pay any attention. You pause, momentarily stunned by the opportunity to watch three of The Beatles sat around naturally, relaxing and playing cards. Then you remember the fourth Beatle and calmly turn back to follow him. He’s sat right down on the front seat with his legs stretched out, taking full advantage of the leg room given to him by that place. You stand watching him for a moment, then he turns and smiles at you.
"Sit down." he says. You turn around to look at the seats next to him, but they’re both filled up with guitar cases and various people’s bags. You quickly spin around to find the ones behind him are like that too. There’s nowhere to sit... you can’t just leave him because there’s nowhere to sit... not now.
"I can’t sit down, everywhere’s full of guitars and things." You tell him worriedly. Your hysterical mind can’t deal with complications like this. You look at him for some kind of an answer but he just grins slightly.
Before you know what’s happening he takes hold of your hand and pulls you onto his lap. You’re too overwhelmed to register any reaction. You’re so close to him now that it’s uncomfortable. It’s not that you don’t want to be close to him, it’s just that you can’t deal with it. You don’t know how to act or what to do. You can’t even look at him for fear you’ll gasp or even pass out. You clasp your hands together, not knowing where to put them, and then fiddle with the hem of your skirt, automatically pulling it down as you always do when you sit down. But you’re not sitting just anywhere right now, you’re sat on his knee, and you can feel the fabric of his trousers beneath you, warm from his body heat. You’ve got to do something. You can’t just sit there panicking
"You said you wanted to speak to me about something?" you say with a slight quiver in your unsteady voice, trying to act as though sitting on someone’s knee is quite a normal place to begin a discussion.
"Mmmm." he agrees, running his eyes over your hair and shoulders. You feel your head spinning and you’re beginning to loose control.
"What did you want to speak about?" you ask, trying to cling to consciousness and not just drift away and surrendor.
"I don’t know..." he answers slowly, "... what do you want to talk about?". He reaches his arm across your back to lightly brush something away from your shoulder, leaning round and concentrating with his eyes. You’re determined there’s nothing there that important that needs the attention of a Beatle to brush it away, and he’s stroking his hand so gently across the top of your dress that you’re sure he couldn’t make any difference anyway. You lean gently back against his arm and close your eyes slowly, knowing that if you were a kitten right now you’d be purring contentedly and rubbing the side of your face against his jacket.
You can’t think of any answer to his question, you’re too stunned by the situation. He hasn’t dragged you down here to discuss business, he’s led you down here so you can be alone. Alone so that he can sit you on his knee and run his hand across your back. Alone so that... Your mind is rapidly becomming overwhelmed with the thought that he’s not just interested in you being here to do your job. He’s got other plans, and you turn in shock to find out what he’s got planned for you next.
As your startled eyes turn and gaze into his you totally loose yourself. His gaze is so deep now, and he’s so close. You feel yourself drifting deeper and deeper under his spell, melting as his eyes lock on yours completely and his arms slide around you tightly. Before you realise what’s happening you’ve lost his image completely. Your eyes are closed and your lips are pressing softly against his. His mouth is caressing your lips slowly and gently, making every sensation all the more powerful and deep. You’re totally intoxicated by him now. The whole world has disapperared behind his eyes and the only sensation to feel is that of his lips against yours, and his arms as they grasp you tighter and tighter. Pulling you close so that you can gently lock your arms around his neck and feel his hair gently tickling the inside of your wrist as you try to hold him tighter but feel too weakened by the moment to hold him with any real strength.
He slowly pulls away and you keep your eyes shut tight for a moment to pull yourself together. Your eyes open slowly and gaze at him carefully, noticing a smile glimmering through as his eyes watch yours. The total realisation hits you with a bump and you wonder why you didn’t just grab him tightly like you’d always imagained you would. You’d felt dizzy and helpless, but now you were stronger and quite determined to give it a better go. The shock and the unreality of it all are long gone as you take a deep breath, run your hands slowly and firmly down his achingly strong back and then pull him ever so close with a determined kiss.
Somehow you can feel that he’s smiling beneath your kisses. Maybe your eagerness to go along with his plan was a pleasant surprise. It brings a whole new meaning to being eager to carry out your boss’s plans. You have four bosses today. What would it be like if they all had the same instructions in mind for you. You become weak at the thought, and your head feels like it’s sudden’y filled up with soft cotton wool. Your grip on him is loosening, like your grip on reality. But what’s reality when you’ve actually got a Beatle in your weakening arms.
