Personal Preference (George Harrison)

Chapter Eight: Blowin' in the Wind

After the initial shock of what my mother had asked of me and the denial on my part, I excused myself and left the house. To be honest, moving back in with my parents wouldn't have been such a bad concept. However, I couldn't fathom how I would live with my mother watching over my every move like a hawk. Then again, I didn't want to live with Stella or Bob, and I desperately wanted to get away from them. The truth of the matter was, I couldn't stay away from Stella because she was my sister and we performed together, and the lord knows I couldn't stay away from Bob if we shared a child together. And, the longer I rode in the car the more reassured I felt about my decision. 

Arriving at Shea Stadium half an hour later, I found that the crowd outside had already begun to culminate and I began to become very anxious. I rummaged through my purse trying to find a cigarette to calm my nerves, but to no avail, I couldn't find my pack. As the car rolled to a stop, I noticed that the darkly dressed security guards rushed to my car door and escorted me through the immense crowds. I was sickened by the close proximity of the people around me and I pushed myself to carry on throughout the crowd. The loud screams were enough to deafen someone and the press were trying their best to get to me.

Inside the halls of the stadium, everything was quiet. I found the dressing room with my name on it and briskly entered, closing the door behind me. I locked the door and sat myself down at the vanity that was lit up by a border of lights. I started to freshen my makeup and I grabbed a bottle of ginger ale out of the mini fridge in the corner of the room. I poured a little into a cup and sat back down at the vanity. I brushed through my hair and put some bright red lipstick on. I could hear the fans outside the venue growing louder and louder by the second, so it was quite clear that someone of stardom had shown up, however, they weren't shouting for the Beatles like they usually did, so I had no idea who it was. A knock on the door startled me and I placed the cup down onto the table and moved over to it.

I obviously couldn't see through the door, so I naturally asked who was there. Distorted somewhat by the door between us came the voice of a man. I was surprised that the person behind the door hadn't been Stella, but as I opened the door, I was glad to see it wasn't her. In fact, for once I was happy to see my visitor.

As I made my way back over to the vanity to sit down, George slid into the room closing the door behind him. I smiled at his rumpled look as he sat down on the couch of the dressing room. "How's your day been?" He asked, taking a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket and placing it between his lips.

"Absolutely horrific," I sigh, admitting to nothing but the truth.

George shook his head but seemed as if he was sympathetic. "Want a ciggy?" He asked as he lit the one he had put between his lips moments ago.

I nodded with a grateful expression, "That would be lovely, thank you."

"You're welcome," He grins, handing me the cigarette and his lighter. "So, what made your day so bloody awful, if you don't mind me asking?" George continues.

"My ignorant sister, sometimes I wish I didn't have her to deal with," I answer and as I say it I feel a huge weight lift off my shoulders. It's like telling the truth to George is taking the burden of today away, and I'm really thankful that he's here to hear me out.

George takes a long drag of his cigarette before replying to me, "You're lucky you have her, though."

"I never thought of it that way, I guess when no one else is there she always will be."

George nods, "Sometimes siblings do the wrong thing, but they feel as if they're doing the right thing, you have to look past things sometimes."

"Thanks for the perspective, George, but Stella made my life Hell today," I laugh.

"You're very welcome." He jokes, knowing that I had been sarcastic before.

I stub the cigarette in the cap that I had previously popped off the bottle of ginger ale, about that time Greg barges into the room and begins to berate me, for what seems like no reason. "How long have you been here?" He shouts.

"I've been here about an hour and a half," I answer, harshly.

Greg does not want to mess with me today, I'm surprised that he's pulling a stunt like this in front of George. Greg laughs, sarcastically, "You missed your fucking practice set, you're gonna sound like shit out there and now its gonna look like I'm a two-cent manager that doesn't know how to instruct his clients!"

"You are a two-cent manager," I mutter, and I hear George laugh from his place on the couch.

Greg looks between George and me and then stops and slams his fist into the wall, "You're gonna regret this, Johanna, mark my words."

"Get out, Greg, okay?" I shoo him, and he gives me the worst look I think I've ever seen. The good thing is, though, Greg does leave. He's probably off to find Stella, the thing is, though, he's never out of the way towards her, in fact, he's always sweet as pie.

"What's his deal?" George asks, placing his cigarette butt into the ashtray on the table.

"He hates me," I sigh.

George laughs, "He wouldn't hate me, I'd have the asshole fired."

"Oh, George, what a wonderful proposition."