The World Spinning Round (Beatles/Paul McCartney)

18. The Little Ray of Sunshine

December 1968
Paul

I'd been the only one of the Beatles to show up the day Neil doled out the offices at the new Apple headquarters, so, naturally, I'd claimed the largest for myself. It faced the street and had lots of natural light. I'd tacked up an oversized 1957 Buddy Holly tour poster, next to which John had drawn a doodle directly on the wall of a man placing a daisy on a record player. At some point, someone had also pasted up a wrinkled advert for a gig in '62, where we received sixth billing as, erroneously, The Peatles.

Ever since the summer, I'd tried to come into the office for several hours each day. It was only a 20-minute bus ride from St. John's Wood, and I managed to stay under the radar most days. It all felt quite officious, sitting behind the enormous oak desk and reading various bits of correspondence and listening to demos. Alice delighted in making a fuss as I got dressed each morning, asking if she should pack me a boxed lunch and wishing me luck in the coal mines.

When I arrived that day in early December, a small white memo was sitting in the middle of my desk next to a large sack of fan mail. From:  George Harrison. To: Everyone at Apple. My first question was how George had made this memo happen: had he rung up Neil from America and dictated it? My second question was why he'd invited the Hells Angels to crash at Apple and why he thought it necessary to warn us that we "mustn't let them take control."

I was puzzling over all this when there was a knock on the partially open door, which swung open to reveal Ringo. He looked beyond groovy in a brown-and-white polka dot shirt with a loose bow tied near his neck. His trousers were the same shade of brown with thin red stripes that matched the laces in his leather shoes.

"What's up, cats and kittens?" he drawled as he leaned against the doorframe and offered a lopsided smirk. There was something very calming about Ringo, which I appreciated now more than ever. He had a way of slowing everything around him. Not laziness, mind you, just the aura of someone for whom this was just a day job, and he could happily give it up at any time.

In other words, the opposite of me, whose thoughts never stopped and who was having a minor meltdown over the possibility that all this may just fizzle out.

"Alright? Didn't know you were in today." I said as he walked over and clapped me on the shoulder. I hadn't seen him in what felt like ages since the four of us had gone our separate ways after finishing up The Beatles.

He leaned his thigh against the side of my desk and fiddled with the cuff of his shirt.

"Oh, just topped by to grab some things... can you believe this bloody memo about the motorcyclists? What is this, a hostel!? Oh, and Derek said to stop by so he can show us...."

There was another knock on the door, and we both looked over to see Debbie standing at the entrance. She was a real looker and a genius with hysterical girls, which was why Neil had hired her to man the reception desk at the entrance.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said sweetly. I had a hunch that she had a crush on Ringo, though I'd bet everything I had that she'd never let any of us take her out.

I waved the memo in the air and motioned for her to come in. "What's this about? George has really invited them here? Here here?"

She shrugged. "I know what you know."

"It's not a bloody hotel!" I frowned.

"Maybe American has gone to his head," Ringo pointed out. "It has a way of doing that."

"Has he lost his marbles, inviting a bunch of--" I was ready to go on a full-on rant when the chatter from the girls outside escalated slightly, and I looked toward the window.