“Ah, Cassandra. You’re late,” Mr. Herriss said. “In my office.”
Silence enclosed the room. The seconds seemed to expand. Why did she have to get rid of her cold?
“Me?” the helpless girl queried, pointing to myself, amazed because of the fact he has never really talked to her.
“Yeah, you. And I’d like it snappy,” he retorted aggrivatedly, snapping his fingers.
She quickly paced to his office. Staff members snickered and teased her of her summonce, due to the fact that a week ago, she spilled her tea in his lap and had written five very unfavorable articles. Her next assignment would change her life.
The mahogany wooden door slammed behind her, and she jumped at the effect, almost spilling her tea-again. Mr. Herriss went behind his desk and sat down. Cassandra helped herself to one of the red, velvety chairs in front of the desk, crossed her legs and darted her eyes across the room, gazing at the awards, pictures, the clock that stated 6:33 at the time, and other hodgepodge mounted on the ivory walls. Her eyes pranced around and saw the big window behind her employer. As she waited for the editor to speak, all she could hear was the low conversation in the offices, the commotion of the streets below, and the rustle of papers in Mr. Herriss hands.
“Now Miss...um.. what’s your name again?”
“VanGotti?”
“Yes. Cassandra, based on my information, your work is terrible. Ghastly. Disgusting. A disgrace to the press. I’ve been getting calls from all over the city about these articles. Maybe you have been given bad topics to write about, or maybe you aren’t living up to our anticipations. If you do not give me a decent piece of writing soon, I’m going to have to fire you.”
Now Cassandra, being the klutz she was, thought that reporting was her life. And Mr. Herriss was right. She was terrible at writing. But who was to blame? She had been neglected all her life by her adopted parents.
“Oh please don’t fire me Mr. Herriss,” she pleaded, down on her knees. “I will do the best report you’ve ever set your eyes on. Please, sir, just give me a second chance.”
“I will.”
Her eyes lighted up. They became filled with hope.
“Wow. There is a God.”
“There is this new group that’s playing tonight. I’m not sure if you’ve heard of them or not. They’re called the Beatles?”
“I’ve heard of them. I understand they’re the new craze of teenage girls. I’ve never seen them before. But their music is pretty good.”
“We need a review. And I’ll give a deadline for this Friday, 5:30. in my hands at that time. That should give you a lot of time to work on it. Get it?”
“Got it.”
“Good.”
“Where is this place?”
“They’ll be playing at the Blue Angel at Berkley Square at 10:30. Don’t miss it. This will mean your job.”
“I’ll be there,” she smiled, and gave a salute. He groaned and returned to his seat. Cassandra stood up and walked out the door. The staff once again snickered. Confidently, she stopped in her tracks and stated,
“Kiss my ass, cowboys! I’m gonna right the best Goddamn article in the whole wide world. Yee-haw!”
She then jogged downstairs and out the door of the building and in to the world she thought she could tackle with the touch of her finger tips. But not everything was able to control, Cassandra discovered, when she found a pile of pigeon droppings in her blond hair.
Cassandra had only been living in London for about three weeks, on Baker St., so she had no clue where to go.
She forged through the streets, asking people,
“Excuse me, can you tell me how to get to Berkley Square?”
She either got a “Don’t bother me” or just the cold shoulder. And she got nowhere. It started to pour at 10:45, and she had to trekked through the stinging rain. She finally got to an open antique store and found a little old man polishing a orange piece of pottery.
“Excuse me,” she replied, helplessly. “Can you please tell me where the Berkley is?”
“Oh yeah, sure! Let yourself in. Wring your clothes out. Have a cup of tea and I’ll write it down for you.”
Little did she know that when she sat herself down, it was 10:52. Meanwhile:
“On behalf of the people here at the Blue Angel, I’d like to thank everybody. We’d like to close out with “Twist and Shout”. Ready? One, Two, Three....”
Back at the Antique Store
“.....And turn to the left, and you’ll surely find it. You should get yourself an umbrella. I’d lend you one, but I don’t have any.”
“Thank you so much,” she replied as she walked out the door. She looked both ways and ran across the street. Her hair was soaked completely. Her suit dress clung to her small, scrawny body. Her feet were filled with so much pain, they were laden with numbness.
At last she got to Berkley Square. She looked up at her watch. Oh, 11:30, she thought. I’ve got.....WHAT??!!?
The world seemed to stop. The silence of the cold night surrounded her ears. Cassandra thought her skin was peeling off of her, with pain. She felt cold and she wanted to die.
“Dammit,” she cried, wiping away a tear.
She suddenly looked up, and there in red lights was the Blue Angel. With all the strength she had left, she made her way through the storm across the street. She ran all the way up to the door, which its sign stated:
“Try again? Try again? Do you think I can get a fuckin’ second chance? Huh?”
Cassandra was filled with rage. Enough rage for anybody to go crazy. Even the toughest cookie. She started pounding the door, its sound muffled by the shower
“Let me in!” she cried. “Please let me goddamn in!”
The door instantaneously opened and she gently fell to the black ceramic floor.
“Miss, are you okay?” asked a distant voice.
She she looked up and saw a portly man, who helped her up. Her knee took a blow, but otherwise she was okay.
“I’m sorry, miss, but the club closed.”
“Yeah, I know but you’re closed. I had to be here about two hours ago, but I have no idea about where anything in this whole city is, and I had to review some group and, oh it’s just a big flaw.”
“It’s all right, miss. Have a sit down with the gentlemen over there, and surely we’ll get something for you. May I take your shoes?”
“Well..okay.”
She quickly took off her shoes and glided across the barren club, where hours ago, there were hundreds of people, socializing, drinking, eating, and dancing. The black wooden walls were covered by pictures of all the celebrities who had set foot inside the club: Sinatra, Dean, Presley, and a whole lot of others. As Cassandra looked up at the ceiling, hundreds of fans were whirling around. No wonder why it seemed so cold. About 20 tables surrounded the chestnut dance floor, and in front of the floor lay the stage where the bands would perform. By the right of the stage lay tables with bright limelights shining down on them, and sitting at these booths were three fine-looking gentlemen, all in their twenties, looking over papers and drinking tall glasses of beer. Unsure on who these men were, she approached them with caution. By the time she got as close as she could, she was brave enough to speak.
“Hi. I’m Cassandra VanGotti from the London Times.”
“A reporting bird. Great! Where were you for the show? Or were you just trying to get pulled by one of us? I’m John, this is me mate George and that’s Ringo.” Ringo smiled and waved back.
“What ‘append to you? Get stuck in a ruddy waterfall?” he replied.
She laughed. She thought it was great to be cheered up. So much, she started to laugh harder. The harder she thought about it, the funnier it was. But then she realized what she went through, and she started to bawl.
“What’s wrong?” asked John. “It’s only a joke.”
“I know it’s a joke, but I had a rough day. I was supposed to be here whenever this concert was, because I had to make a review of this group called the Beatles. And if I miss it, I lose my job, which right now seems to be my fate, my destiny!”
“It’s a shame. Because we are the Beatles,” George cried.
“You are?”
“Sure! Because you’re so nice, we’ll play it for you again.”
“Wait a second,” said John, holding out his arms to quiet everyone down. “What about Paul?”
“Paul?” She asked
“Paul.”
“Yes,” the other three cried in awe. “Paul.”
“Who’s Paul? I’ve never heard of him.”
“Did someone call my name?”
Slowly, Cassandra turned around to see the stairs to the balcony. The spotlights remained on the stairs, and right in the center stood a young man. A young man six feet tall with jet black hair. A young man with deep set hazel eyes that were so dark and large, a bewildered girl like Cassandra could get lost in them. A young man with a perfectly set nose, tiny mouth, and a clear complexion. A young man in a dark, tight suit and and ebony, leather boots. This was Paul. A 21-year old guy without a care in the world. This is what Cassandra saw. She saw heaven. Well, not exactly heaven, but an angel from heaven. She was dazed at what she saw. This must be her lucky day.
“Oh, Jesus I’m tired,” he complained as he slowly walked out of the washroom. As he made his way on the terrace, he heard his named called several times. He couldn’t help it and walked to the stairway, hoping he could retreat back to light one up. But as he grabbed the railing to the stairs, he entered the spotlight. Blinded by it, he squinted and asked if his name was called. If no one answered, he would have walked back up. If someone did, he’d walk down.
But he saw this girl. A girl with short, damp but beautifully blond hair clung to her head. A girl whose entire outfit was affixed to her. A girl with shiny blue eyes that glistened in the light like a evening star. In those wantable eyes, he could tell she needed a break from the stressful world. He saw this girl whose figure was smooth and slender, a perfect size for any man in search of his one true love. A girl whose skin seemed soft and gentle enough to touch and kiss on a cool summer dusk, and to hold close to his chest during a slow dance. This was Cassandra. A 19-year old girl who seemed to have a lot of love to spread, but to who was a mystery. A 19-year old girl who needed a helpful and strong hand to guide her through the day. This is what Paul saw. He saw heaven. Well, not exactly heaven, but an angel from heaven. He was dazed at what he saw. This must be his lucky day.
Their eyes met. He walked down the stairs to meet with the others, and to meet who this intriguing mistress is.
“Hi guys,” he exclaimed. Panting. Rubbing the upcoming sweat from his forehead, trying to look neat as possible, as he shook hands with his pals again.
Excitement. Pure excitement. It ran through her body was quick as light travels through space. She could barely hold this stimulation inside of her. But at the same time, she felt so nervous. How was her hair? Could anything be shown? In all of her sexual life (which there was nothing), this was the most excited she was. But she was very controlled, for she kept a straight face.
“Paul,” said John, “this is Cassandra VanGotti, reporter of the London Times. Cassandra, Paul McCartney, at the moment, single- we think!”
“Oh please guys. Give her a break.” Then Paul looked at Cassandra. She had to hold her breath so much. Orgasmic excitement had gushed throughout her body. She felt her knees bending. She just stared back at him, as if she was a little child and she saw a little puppy in a pet shop window, and she’s clung to that window. She found this puppy so desirable. Wait! He opened his mouth.
“Hi. I’m Paul.” he held out his hand for a shake. Cassandra didn’t know what to do with the hand. Shake it or put it on her chest. Paul didn’t know what she was going to do with his hand. Maybe he should just put it down her shirt. What a great idea! he thought.
Unfortunately, Cassandra gently put her hand in his and gave it a firm shake.
“Cassandra VanGotti. A pleasure to meet you.” She stared into those deep hazel eyes of his. She melted at the sight of those eyes. To think of it, it was a pleasure to meet him.
“How old are you? Let me guess. fifteen? sixteen? You seem a little young to be here at a time like this. You don’t want to break anything.....you know..... begins with a V.....” snickers surrounded the hall. Cassandra turned pink. Never had she been more insulted in her life. She gaped at Paul, filled with anger. He realized what he had done and stopped laughing. “Oh....I’m really sorry...I really didn’t know if that affected you.”
“You bet!” Oh dammit Cassandra! What were you thinking? Bad idea if you want to get anything on with the guy.
“All right. So what do you want again?”
“We promised this bird we’d play our gig for her,” said Ringo. She’s in a trap. She’s-”
“Oh let me guess. you’re new in these parts, and this is your... last chance to get a break in journalism? So you lost your way and you finally get here, lost and confused, right? Sure we’ll do the show for ya,” Paul smiled and pointed at her. “But don’t tell anyone we’re doing this. ‘Kay?”
By now, Cassandra had calmed down, and was able to act normally around the four.
“I can usually keep a secret,” she grinned. The other three went off to get ready, but Paul stayed behind and gently tapped her cheek.
“Keep the secret and you’ll get more what you bargained for,” he said and jogged off to prepare. Paul’s words clung to Cassandra as she slowly walked back to her table. What could those words mean? Her thoughts were interrupted by the stocky man who took her shoes, who brought her a hot cup of cocoa and a heavy blanket. She acknowledged the man’s kindness as she wrapped the blanket around her and sat. Mmmm, the tea completely filled her body. It felt so good. Her thoughts collided with,
“Okay! Good evening everybody. We’d like to start off with a song we called ‘I Saw Her Standing There’ Ready? One, two, three, four....”
The evening bounded along with rockers, until Paul stepped up to the mike and said,
“Our next number is called ‘Til There Was You’. You’ve seen the Music Man, haven’t you?”
“Oh I love that musical. Especially that number.” Cassandra sat up and glued her eyes to the stage. Ringo played so professionally on the drums, John and George strummed their guitars- at different rhythms. But Paul stood at the center of the stage, plucking on his bass, looking out to the empty hall, looked so sexy, so sweet. Cassandra’s mouth watered as she hoped that their eyes would meet. As he opened his mouth to sing, their eyes fortunately met. He smiled at her as he sang. And when he sung, he seemed to mean every word.
“There were bells, on a hill, but I never heard them ringing,
No I never heard them at all, till there was you...”
Cassandra just sighed as she gazed at Paul. Her eyes seemed weary as she thought of wonderful thoughts. The two of them, together in town , at a movie, on her couch......
Go on to Chapter 2
Get back to Intro.
Copyright 1998 Kate Stocker. Do not reprint this without written consent from the author.