All In Good Time - A Time Travel Beatles Fanfiction

Track 11 - You've Got That Something

When Lainey and Maureen got back to the hotel, all of the Beatles were milling about in the hallway outside the third-floor lift, buzzing with post-show energy.

"Hullo, love! Why don't we nip off to the beach and skip some rocks?" Paul said as soon as his eyes fell on Lainey.

All of the noise and commotion of the others faded away. Standing in front of Paul, Lainey developed a sort of tunnel vision. His smiling face was her entire world. "Yes please."

With his hands on her waist, Paul drew her to him. "Did you have fun tonight?"

Lainey nuzzled her face into the heat of his damp neck. He was clean and soapy smelling. "Just another best night of my life."

His chuckle vibrated beneath her ear. "We're on a streak. Let's don't stop now."

They swayed together as if dancing to music only they could hear, oblivious to the melee around them--loud laughter, footsteps, doors slamming. A familiar nasal voice beside them. "Christ. Go on and give her one, Paulie, for god's sake. She's gagging for it."

Lainey lifted her head from Paul's shoulder. "If you don't stop being so rude and cynical, John, I'm going to start thinking all those 800-page biographies about you are true."

John took a step back, a startled look on his face. "The fuck you talking about?"

Paul gave a nervous little cough. "There's that Yank sense of humor again. Isn't she great?"

John squinted at Lainey. "She's something all right. Can't quite work it out exactly what though."

"I need to talk to you alone, John Lennon," she said.

"All right. Plenty of time for that sort of thing." Paul steered her down the hallway. "Let's pop off and fetch you a jumper. It can be bit nippy on the beach you know."

Neil had discovered a way to sneak the band in and out of the hotel through the kitchen and the fans hadn't yet figured it out. All four Beatles were in the mood to escape the hotel. George had his arm around one of the female singers opening for the Beatles, and her companion seemed to have eyes only for John.

Three miles down the beach, Neil decided the diehard fans holding court at the front of the hotel wouldn't find them. Already a pro at anticipating the boys' every desires, Neil had packed the van with blankets and cheese sandwiches, packets of crisps, and bottles of fizzy lemonade. John and Ringo had flasks of whisky. Paul and George brought acoustic guitars, and soon everyone was sitting in a circle belting out bawdy words to the tune of "My Darling Clementine." The other girls giggled at times but Lainey understood almost none of it. She had little trouble understanding any of them when speaking one on one, but when all the Beatles were together they fell back into strong Scouse accents and mumbled in a sort of shorthand that was unintelligible to her ears.

"Could you turn on the English subtitles please," she said to Paul at one point.

He smiled and passed her a flask of whisky.

None of the lads seemed to be able to get a sentence out without the others finishing the thought or taking off on another tangent. Like wound-up springs, they poked fun and laughed at each other and pretended to punch each other. Unencumbered by a guitar, Ringo danced around in the sand, jiving and hamming it up to Maureen's evident delight.

John reached over and helped himself to a cigarette from George's shirt pocket, then leaned back on his elbows and howled at the moon. The blonde beside him giggled and stretched out next to him.

The bawdy football songs turned into old Irish-sounding folk tunes. The whisky made the rounds again and Lainey dropped her head on Paul's shoulder and joined in with the tra la la's. By the fourth slug of whisky, Lainey had convinced herself she was Irish. She was swinging the flask and singing loudly, whether she knew the words or not. At this rate, she'd be speaking Gaelic by morning.