If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 83 - 19.May.1967

Chapter 83 

May 19, 1967

I stayed behind my camera in a sea of photographers, snapping countless photos of the boys, my shoulders relaxed, an easy smile on my face. It never ceased to amaze me how calming it was to photograph the Beatles.

Although their looks had changed drastically in the last year, and Paul was the only one sensible enough to shave off the ridiculous mustache, they were still the same, straightforward boys from years ago...at least they were to me. But the press sometimes treated them as if they didn't have the right to dress as they pleased or make the kind of music that inspired them. A few photographers even looked a bit startled by the lads' showy, bohemian clothing.

Tony Barrow, the boys' press officer, was in charge of the photoshoot, instructing the lads where to go and the photographers when to shoot. The boys posed with and without a copy of their newest album, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, with a cover the likes of which I'd never seen before. It was simply astounding, just like they were.

We started outside on the steps of Brian's London home before moving inside. While in the drawing room, the lads piled onto a small couch. John, being the loon he so often was, stuck his tongue out at me and placed his leg over Ringo's properly crossed legs. The eager group of photographers followed the boys to the fireplace mantle, where John draped his arms across the lads' shoulders, and they posed for the cameras for what must've felt like hours to them.

Only one other female photographer was present, and she joined me in the crowd of men. She was on her knees as the boys stood holding their album, dozens of cameras snapping simultaneously. She wore a striped blazer, a sensible skirt, and white ribbed stockings. Her hair was cut to her shoulders, and her eyes kept falling on Paul, though it wasn't difficult to see why. Paul was looking awfully dapper in his grey striped jacket, purple shirt, and multi-colored scarf.

"Have you photographed the Beatles before?" she asked, her accent undoubtedly American. She tucked her blonde hair behind her ears as she glanced my way, not recognizing me as John's wife.

I turned to face her and smiled. "Just a few times."

Once it was decided that the press had been given enough time to take pictures, the photographers were dismissed, and the boys were released from their official posing duties. I almost dipped out with the other photographers, my heart skittering at the thought of what might happen next as my official work ended, but Paul grabbed my arm, shook his head in disapproval, and shoved me back inside before he was cornered by two journalists.

George and John headed straight for a table filled with salads, fruit, cheeses, eggs, hams, and loads of other goodies, including poached salmon and caviar. Both of them gulped down the food like they hadn't eaten in weeks, and maybe they hadn't—they were both looking a touch skinny.

Ringo stood smoking his favorite cigs, American Larks, with a content smile while chatting with disc jockey Jimmy Savile. And soon, Tony Barrow asked everyone to go upstairs to the lounge. The boys' new LP was playing while journalists, a few remaining photographers, and DJs mingled.

For a moment, I lost myself in the sounds of their album. I'd heard bits and pieces over the months, but to listen to it completed...I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing. They were so damned talented, and the feel of the songs fit perfectly with the mood of the times. They'd created a masterpiece. 

Champagne began to flow, and no glass stayed empty for long. I sipped my third glass of bubbly as I stood in the corner, out of the way, shifting on my feet and tugging at my skirt. I felt a bit out of place, much like I had at the last party of Brian's I attended—the one Paul tricked me into going to when John and I weren't together. It was as if I didn't belong at the album launch, and the longer I went without speaking to John, the worse the feeling got. And the boys, it seemed, were finding it difficult to get any time to breathe, with journalists surrounding them at every opportunity.