Part 1 - Yolanda

Do you remember her name?

Of course I do.

How was she called?

Yolanda.

Only that?

Of course not! Her name was Yolanda Fairchild.

And how do you know she is really your child? You must have heard this a thousand times, all over the years!

D'you really want to know?

Well...Now that you told me...

Then I will tell you.

Okay. So let me rephrase it. Her name was Yolanda, is it correct?

Yes it is...

"Happy birthday, mum!"

"Happy birthday, Ophelia darling!"

"Come on, blow the candles! I wanna see you blow them all!"

"Give it a break, Janine!"

Ophelia looked to her family and, just to please Janine, she blew all the fifty-one candles of the cake in front of her at once. Janine started to laugh, and Yolanda just followed her along.

"Mum, open my present first. I want to see your reaction."

"You must be flyin, ain't you, Yolla?"

"Yeah I am. Tons of things to end at The Road."

Yolanda handled her mother the golden-wrapped present, that was quickly opened by her mum. Inside, there was one gold chain, with a small cherubim, also golden, holding one small ruby.

"Yolla, you shouldn’t!"

"Oh come on, mum, don’t rain on my parade. I knew you’d like it."

"Thank you indeed. It’s...how do you say, Janine?"

"It’s smashing!"

Janine, being her the teenager lady, was always speaking that phrase. Yolanda smiled.

"I am glad you liked. Hey you all! Be ready to a fancy clothing dinner tonight! In order to comemorate mum’s birthday, I am sending everybody to eat at the Savoy’s Restaurant!"

"Whoa, from where did all this money came from?", Jerome asked.

"From me own pocket, daddy. I’ve been giving some very good hints to EMI. Every band that I recommend and that score a record or a hit, I win some bucks. I’ve been just luck these days. And now, my family, I must fly, fly away, if I still want to win this money!"

"So go, Yolla. When will you come back?"

"Six o´clock I am around."

With that, Yolanda Fairchild slammed the door and flew to Abbey Road.

Yolanda was twenty-nine years old – she’d be thirty in the following month, December. She was working since she was 25 for EMI, as an A&R. Artists & Repertoire. If you are a wannabe artist willing to sign up a contract, it’s to her that you send your demo tape. People call the guys like Yolanda the "St Peters" of the music world – they are holding the Heaven’s Door.

She arrived at the studio, passed by the wannabes and the fans busy with the graffiti on the wall, and went to her room, near the mystic Studio number 2 ( aka "The House of the Beatles" ). She could hear almost everything from there. Shouts, curses, laughter. She just sat down at the table, looking to the immense pile of work waiting for her – tons of tapes to hear, press releases, everything for yesterday. And a vase with orchids on the coffee table. She laughed, thinking who had put it there. She strolled over to see the card hanging on it.

DEAREST SWEETHEART! Come and see me NOW! Love, Trevor

Trevor Zeta-Jones was her husband-to-be, sound engineer at the studio. They had a kind of code – orchids would mean he had a surprise to her. She forgot about the work and went to the studio, to be greeted with the sound of a new song.

Make It A Beautiful Night For Me
It’s A Beautiful Night For Love
A Wonderful Sight
Of Lovers OF Love To Behold...

"Trevor, what’s that?"

"It´s Paul McCartney, sweetie. A song from his new album."

"This is the surprise?"

"Yes...and a way to drag you away from that room."

"Man, I have tons of things to do...and I have to take my mom to a fancy dinner tonight."

"I know that, you invited me, remember? But shh... listen..."

Yolanda leaned on the window of the producing room, listening to the song.

"Jesus, Trevor, he’s there! He’s there with the musicians!"

"THAT was the surprise, my dear. Do you think your mother would like an autograph from him as a present?"

So it was like this that you met her.

Yes.

Does she look like you?

No. She has night black hair, and green eyes. Not like me at all... But there was something in her that called my attention.

What?

A bit of her charisma. She could talk to anyone as if she knew the person from other life. With me it was like that. We just kept on talking, up to the minute she had to leave.

It was when she told you her story.

Quite correct...

"So this is your family", Paul said, holding the picture frame Yolanda had passed to him.

"Yes. My mother, Jerome, and my siblings – Janine, Carl and Lucy. Not in Sky."

He laughed. "Jerome is your father?"

"No. I was born in 1968. Product of the Summer of Love. Mum met Jerome when I was three years old."

"You never met your father?"

"My father is Jerome. My blood father – I mean, the one I carry the genes of - must be some forgotten old hippie. He might not even be alive by this very moment. I chose not to run after it. You know, it could have been anyone... My mum was the free woman, if you know what I mean... I know two things about him. One – his name was James. Two – he was English. I know at least fifteen guys called James, with different ages. Anyone could be my father!"

"You can’t take the blame...", he laughed sarcastically. "Hey, there’s lot of stuff here."

"Tapes and demo CDs, press releases...Only 1% of all of this can turn into something useful. I mean, I won’t find the new Beatles or the new Rolling Stones here, but I can try. After all, this is what I live of."

"You must have some good ear to music."

"Yeah I do. Must be from my father – nobody in my family can do what I can!" . She glanced the clock. "Oh, to the hell with it!"

"What’s up?"

"Today’s my mum’s birthday. And I supposed to take her to some restaurant. Man, I was talking here with you and I forgot completely about it! Oh Christ, she will hang me! Paul, I am sorry, but I must fly."

"It’s okay. We can go on talking later."

"Oh, that would be lovely! Never been a friend of a rock and roll star. I am kidding. But I must fly! See you!"

"See you, Yolanda!"

"My friends call me Yolla", she yelled, as she was leaving the room.

On to Chapter 2

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