What If

Chapter 9

I sat in front of my mirror, straightening my hair. Everyone said I looked much better with my hair straight than its normal wavy texture, but my hair is so thick that it takes forever, so I limited doing it to special occasions. Seeing one of the earliest performances of The Beatles ever? Yeah, I think that's special. I never put my hair up. Ever. I had big ears, so I wore my hair down all the time to cover them.

I went to my closet and searched through for something to go clubbing in. Most of the dresses were floral or a wide skirt. They weren't appropriate to go dancing in. Then finally I found this cute yellow dress that stopped about mid-thigh. It wasn't especially tight. Didn't show off my curves or anything, but I didn't want something like that. It wasn't ruffled either. It just kind of hung there, but it was nice. Perfect, actually.

I never wore makeup. So the stuff on my desk went completely unused. Basically, I was ready. All that was left was for Paul to come pick me up.

I didn't have to wait too long. The doorbell rang and I heard my mom's voice say "Colleen, your friend is here!"

I ran down the stairs to the front door. Paul was standing there with his usual leather jacket and greased up hair. He took one look at me and his jaw dropped. "C-Colleen," he said, stuttering a bit. "You look . . . you look . . . wow."

". . . Thanks," I replied. "Are you ready to go?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah."

I yelled goodbye to my mom and walked out into the cold night with Paul by my side, heading for the Casbah Club.

"You look great, Colleen," he said again. "I love your hair straight. You should do that more often."

I blushed and felt quite flattered. "Thank you, but it takes way too long. I think I'll just keep it ugly and wavy." There's nothing special about my hair. It's not blonde or gorgeous. It's brown and wavy. I couldn't get it to stop frizzing for the life of me and I couldn't brush it without it poofing up uncontrollably.

"There's nothing ugly about your hair or your face." He looked me over, up and down, very slowly. "Or anything."

Though he was blatantly obvious, I completely ignored the advance.

We went all the way to The Casbah Club and walked right inside. The stench of sweat, booze, and cigarettes hit me in the face like a train. Drunken boys were picking up girls at the bar, those who weren't drunk were either dancing or sitting at a booth trying to make themselves drunk, and there was a band on the far side of the club.

I was not a partier or a clubber. Shit that goes on at parties scares me and a club was basically just a legal party, so I stayed away from them like a lethal allergy. This was in no way an environment I was comfortable with, even in the 60's. My guard was all the way up.

"Oh look, I see John and the rest," Paul said, pointing to a booth. Looking over, I saw John, Stu, Pete, and George all sitting around and talking. "Come on, let's go. We're not on for another two hours." He grabbed my hand before I had a chance to say anything and dragged me in between and around people until we got to the booth. "Hey guys."

All of the boys looked up from the apparently funny conversation they were having and their mouths immediately went open . . . at me.

"Hello," John said, speaking up first, looking me over and over once again.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. I had no idea what they saw in me. Back in America, I was average if not below average. The straight hair helped, but no one ever noticed me anyway. What was different now?

I sat down with Paul and the first thing he asked me was "Can I buy you a drink?"

I expected as much. I shook my head. "No," I declined. "I don't drink." That was true. I was such a goody-goody. Underage drinking and drugs weren't worth the trouble. I'd happily stick with soda and water until I'm allowed.

"You don't drink?" John asked surprised. "What? Like ever?"

I'm sure that joke was relatively new at this time, but I've heard it a million times before, so I didn't laugh even though everyone else did. "No. Alcohol. I'm a goody-goody."

"Then can I buy you a coke?" Paul offered again.

"I can buy it myself." I reached into my shoe to grab some money. I hated to carry purses around. There's no doubt that I would leave it somewhere with a shit ton of money in it. Also, they were just way too girly for me. I'm a tomboy all the way.

"Like hell you will. I'll be right back." Against my protests, he stood up and went to the bar to order us drinks.

Then my attention, of course, went to all of the other boys who eyeing me like the most delicious meal ever to be served to them.

"You look smashing, love," John yelled over the noise. "Do something different with your hair?"

"Like it's not obvious," I said.

He grinned, sipping his beer and stood up. "Let's dance."

Once again I was being ripped from my seat and forced out onto the floor where John Lennon was already dancing.