Junk and Other Stories

Woman

It was a peaceful afternoon in April, 1969. The Beatles had gathered at Abbey Road Studios to work on and complete a couple of songs. Everyone was having a good time, recording music and sharing their ideas. It was almost like the old days.

There was only one major difference.

A fifth person was present in the recording studio.

"Get back! Get back! Get back to where you once belonged!" Paul barked into his microphone.

George was seated on a couch in the corner, head lowered so his face was concealed by his long hair. He ran his fingers up and down the neck of his guitar with great enthusiasm despite being in a hunched up position. Ringo was beating his drums and cymbals with gusto, bobbing his head in time with the beat. John was sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking relaxed.

The fifth person was perched beside him. Paul kept giving this fifth person dirty looks every so often, but mainly focused on the song he was singing. With a final grand gesture, Paul ended the song and signaled for the producer to stop recording. He then set his bass down and turned to the rest of the group.

"Well done, lads," he said brightly. "I think that's a -"

"Wait!" John cried, cutting him off.

Paul sighed heavily. He had a hunch he knew what was coming next - it was almost routine by now - but he asked anyway. "What is it now, Johnny?"

"We need to make sure this song is really, truly ready," John said. He glanced over at the fifth person sitting beside him. "Yoko, what did you think?"

Yoko gazed at John with her almond-shaped eyes. She didn't speak for several seconds. Eventually she brushed a few strands of her thick, black hair out of her eyes, smiled, and told John exactly what she thought of the band's latest number.

"That sucked! Do it again!" she crowed.

There was an embarrassed silence. Paul's mouth fell open. George raised an eyebrow at Yoko's attitude. Ring didn't know what to think and stared at his ride cymbal to avoid having to make eye contact with anyone. John didn't say anything; neither did Yoko. She carried on smiling.

"Why does she get to call the shots?" Paul asked crossly, pointing an accusing finger at the little Asian woman sitting in front of him.

"She's an artist, so her opinions matter," John replied calmly.

Paul felt his face flushing bright scarlet. He folded his arms tightly across his chest. "John? Slapping paint willy-nilly on a canvas is not art. But never mind, let's hear these opinions of hers."

John placed his arm protectively around Yoko's shoulders. He gave her a quick nudge. "Go on, Yoko. Tell Paul what you think."

Yoko wriggled away from John's grasp and marched up to Paul. She wasn't as tall as him - her top of her head only came up to his shoulders - but she was older and much, much more aggressive. Yoko gave Paul a hard poke in the chest.

"Too much bass!" she cried, prodding Paul at each word she spoke.

She turned to Ringo and jabbed at his nose. "Too much drums!"

Yoko approached George, who still hadn't moved from his spot on the couch. She tried to prod him in the chest like she'd done to Paul, but George quickly backed away, clutching his guitar like a shield.

"Too much guitar solo!" Yoko screeched.

She then began to list all of the other things the band was doing wrong; on and on, relentless. John didn't do anything to stop her, even though the other Beatles were shooting him pleading looks. He just stood back with a look of utter enchantment on his face. George and Ringo didn't think it was worth the effort trying to get Yoko to stop talking and stayed where they were.