Stuck In The 60s

Chapter Twelve

    "Tell us. What's your name?"

    My name? My god, at that moment, I could barely remember my name. I was speechless.

   "Come on, out with it," said a smiling John Lennon.

   I was still still speechless for about thirty more seconds, until I was finally able to murmur my name.

   "My name's Catherine, fellows," I said, "Catherine Brothers."

   "Got any brothers, Catherine?" George Harrison joked.

   I smiled and rolled my eyes. I've heard that one plenty of times.

  "Nope."

  "Well, that's quite ironic."

  I laughed, because it really was ironic that I had no brother.

  "And, how old are you?"

  "Twelve."

  They all stared at me with big eyes. I had figured. What would a twelve year old child be doing, working in a huge hotel like Edgewater? They'd kick me out if they found out that I was a huge fan, and, to top it off, not even from this time period.

  "The manager, Mr. Hayes," I said, "He's my uncle. That's why I work here." The four boys nodded their heads.

  John picked up his guitar, and started playing a few chords. Ringo grabbed his drum sticks, and tapped them against the night table, next to the bed.

  I put my hand to my mouth. The two boys were playing their instruments. If I lucked out, maybe I'd hear an entire song.

  Then, John asked me a question. "Are you a fan?"

  Was I a fan? Oh, I was much more than a fan.

  "I'm about your biggest fan ever," I exclaimed confidently. Although, that's probably what every girl said in this generation. They've probably heard that same line millions of times.

   They all stared at each other, mischievously, as if they were speaking to each other through their eyes. I awkwardly stood there, in the middle of the room, confused as to what the lads were doing.

    "We like you, Catherine," Ringo Starr said, "In fact, we're ordering your uncle, the manager, to have you as our maid for the next few weeks."

    I clapped my hand to my mouth. For a second, I had forgotten to breathe. My eyes felt as big as saucers. The Beatles' maid? That meant that I would be the only maid serving them, until they left the hotel. I hadn't even expected to meet them. Jesus, they're even saying they like me. 

   "I'd love that," I told the four men. My smile was so big that it hurt my cheeks. I rubbed my cheeks to relieve the pain, while the four laughed. I laughed at myself along with them.

   I ran down to the lobby, at such a great speed that I thought at any second, I'd come falling down. "Mr. Hayes!" I called to my employer, "Mr. Hayes, you won't believe my luck!"

   I reached the end of the stairs, and jumped high in the air, landing on the rich red rug. I turned to a frightened Patrick Hayes, who remained seated at his desk. I sprinted towards his desk, and he stared at me as if I was a murderer.

   "I met them, Mr. Hayes!" I screeched, "I saw them! They want me to be the only maid serving them!" People sitting in the lobby and other hotel workers stared at me. Patrick gave me a terrible look, a look that made me want to shut my mouth.

   "If you want to work in this hotel, Catherine," Patrick whispered, "Please, I beg of you, do not yell." I could easily sense the aggrivation in his voice.

   "I'm sorry, Mr. Hayes," I told him, "I suppose my excitement got the best of me."

   He nodded, to show me that he understood. I paused.

   "May I tell you what happened, Mr. Hayes?" 

   He stared down at me. He smiled, and rolled his eyes.

   "Alright. Tell me, what was so exciting that you had to cause such a commotion in my lobby?" 

   I told him the whole story, from when Paul McCartney answered the door, until they told me they wanted me to serve them, at all times.

  "You should be getting a call from them, Mr. Hayes," I exclaimed, talking rapidly, "They want to inform you that I'll be their only server for the next few weeks." He told me to calm down.

  "They didn't find it strange that you were a tiny, twelve-year-old child serving them?" Patrick inquired, giving me a look of confusion.

  "They did, Mr. Hayes," I said, and then hesitated. Would Patrick get mad if I told him that I told the boys that he was my uncle? I assumed so, and decided to shut my mouth, before I got in trouble for using it.

   "I'd think so," he said, and I was glad he didn't want to know how I explained the situation to the men.

   Later on that day, as I was roaming around the hotel, waiting for Patrick to tell me that the beatles had requested a meal, or a cleaning, or anything for that matter, and I felt a vibration in the pocket of my maid's dress. It must have been Janel's cell phone. I had realized I was in the middle of a hotel lobby, where about twenty other people were constantly walking by me, and more walking in the door to the hotel, and was in a generation in which cell phones didn't exist. I remembered Patrick had shown me the restroom, located near the kitchen. I rushed towards it quickly, so I wouldn't miss the call.

  I pulled open the door to the restroom. The phone was still vibrating, luckily, and I reached deep into my pocket to grab it.

  "Hi, Catherine!" I heard a voice on the other end. Actually, it was multiple voices I heard. Voices belonging to Tariq, Janel, Ben and Julian.

  "Damn it, you guys," I harshly whispered into the phone, trying to sound as quiet as possible, "You picked the wrong time to give me a call."

  "Sorry," I heard Tariq say to me, "We wanted to know if the transportation device worked. Did it?"

  I rolled my eyes. It would be quite an embarrassment if I was caught by someone, talking on an unknown machine.

 "Yes," I told my peers, "The project was a success. I'm working as a maid at the Edgewater Hotel."

 I heard Ben and Julian laughing. I suppose it sounded stupid to them. It had to me at first as well.

 "That's great," Tariq said to me, "Now that the device has been tested, you can come back!"