If You Believe (George Harrison/Beatles FanFic)

Chapter 2

October, 1974

Annie looked forward to going into the office every day to get her daily phone call from George. When he was too busy to ring her, she missed hearing his voice. He always had some paperwork for her to work on and Annie noticed he was becoming ill by the sound of his voice. It sounded like laryngitis to Annie, surrounded by an uncharacteristic gruffness.

"Did you learn how to use the fax machine?" he asked her in a whisper.

"Yes," Annie replied.

"Then fax those papers I need to my house, please. I need them fast."

"Absolutely. As soon as we get off the phone. But George, can I ask you a question?" Annie asked timidly.

"Yeah."

"Are you okay? You sound sick."

"I'm okay, just throat issues," he answered reassuringly. "Maybe it's my warning to shut the fuck up for awhile. Even I'm sick of listening to me."

"Café au lait with the hottest milk you can stand. My mom's a nurse and it's a miracle cure. Trust me. Half coffee, half hot milk and drink it down. A little aspirin wouldn't hurt you either. And don't talk unless you absolutely have to. Do you want me to contact a doctor to see you at home?"

It was silent on the other end of the phone. "George?"

"Yeah. That might be a good idea. You can arrange it?"

"I'll get on it right now after I fax your papers. Meantime, very hot café au lait."

"Thank you, Dr. Kirk," he answered lightly. "Phone me when you find out what is happening. You have my home phone number, right?"

"Yes. Don't worry. Help is on the way. So shut up, drink your coffee and take it easy."

"That's not as easy as it sounds."

"I know," she said softly. "Just try."

They both hung up, but just as Annie was about to put the receiver down, she heard Terry's crisp voice in the background. Annie wished Terry could take a long hike off a short bridge and leave him alone. Stress comes out in any number of ways and perhaps his laryngitis was a function of that.

....................................

The doctor's advice, not surprisingly, was rest and not talk unless absolutely necessary. George's voice came out a scratchy whisper. "That's impossible," George shook his head. "Not for another 6 weeks anyway. I can rest in 6 weeks. Right now, I have obligations to about 10,000 people that can't be canceled or broken. What else can we do?"

The doctor shook his head. "I'll give you a couple prescriptions that might carry you through. There's a throat spray, an anti-inflamatory medication, and something to gargle with. You must follow through with your regular doctor when you get back home."

"Right," he agreed.

"No talking," the doctor reminded him.

George gave him a thumbs up.

"Your last name?" the doctor looked up at him while he scribbled out the prescriptions.

"Ah, Harrison," George answered.

"Fine. Get some rest Mr. Harrison and use the medicine. This is about all we can do other than wait for your body to heal itself."

George gave him a wry smile. "Terrific," he groaned. Then he spotted Terry in the doorway.

"A doctor? How did you arrange that?" she asked in a flat tone, arms crossed against her chest.

The doctor knew trouble when he heard it, and left the room in a hurry. Terry and George heard the front door slam shut.