If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 85 - 25.June.1967

Chapter 85

June 25, 1967 

In all my visits, I'd never seen Studio One at EMI look anything like this. The room was overflowing with flowers, balloons, placards translating the word "love" into multiple languages, and a string puppet with four lettered balloons attached to its head spelling out L-O-V-E. I sat in a sea of people who were dressed in colorful outfits. Psychedelia was embraced completely by the crowd, and the show was moments from starting.

The Beatles were representing the BBC and Britain on Our World, the world's first live television satellite broadcast. The boys were minutes from beginning their live performance that would reach hundreds of millions of people in every part of the globe.

Despite the enormity of the moment, the lads appeared to be composed on the outside. And I rubbed a palm against my velvety green miniskirt as my heart skittered, because if they weren't going to appear nervous, then I'd damn well be anxious for them.

Studio One was filled with friends and family. Marianne Faithfull sat near Mick Jagger, who had two huge staring eyes embroidered on the back of his jacket. And Mike McCartney, Paul's brother, sat on the floor, close to John's knees. Mike was looking a bit stoned or perhaps too bored or too cool, a look that described most members of the audience as they stared into space waiting for the music to begin. It was as if the feel of the entire summer was encapsulated in one room.

The boys, apart from Ringo, sat on high stools. They'd been rehearsing all day, and I had the opportunity to snap some candid shots as they prepared and messed about with a trumpet and other instruments. But I didn't have much time to chat with any of them, not after rushing in from another photoshoot earlier in the day.

After the impromptu photoshoot, I'd had a brief moment with John as the time came closer for them to go live. He'd been chain-smoking cigarettes, as he often did, and muttering under his breath about not fucking up the words. The Beatles hadn't performed live in such a long time, and he hadn't needed to worry in nearly a year about getting the lyrics right for a song. It was only when I placed a supportive hand on his arm and flicked his cheek, snapping him back into reality, that he settled down for a moment.

Now, with only seconds to spare, Pattie Harrison found a spot beside me. She sat down, her blonde hair flowing, her fringe long, and her clothing bright. She held my hand and grinned at me, the signature gap in her front teeth showing, just as the clock struck 9:36 PM and we went live. I lowered my free hand from my aching temple and sat on it, determined not to look utterly awful for the live broadcast.

A reporter, Steve Race, introduced the boys as the backing track began to play. He finished his introduction by saying, "With some friends in to help the atmosphere, this is quite an occasion."

The song began with the orchestra playing La Marseillaise, the French national anthem, with the musicians dressed in dinner jackets and black ties. Paul joined in singing 'Love, love, love' as he sat cross-legged, a red flower sticking out of his headphones. He wore a psychedelic shirt he'd stayed up all night drawing, one he'd been chuffed to bits to show me.

But my eyes went to John the moment he began to sing. He kept the beat with his right hand as his left hand held the headphone over his ear. His eyes were closed most of the time, and his wire-rimmed glasses sat a third of the way down his nose. Two flowers he'd placed in his hair looked as if they were sprouting out of the top of his head, and another flower seemed as if it was growing out of his forehead.

John chewed gum as he sang and seemed completely unfazed by the idea of singing live for millions of people, though he didn't look around; he just focused on the task at hand. And only because I knew him and had seen him chain-smoking earlier did I know that nerves were stewing beneath his outward appearance of being carefree.