Personal Preference (George Harrison)

Chapter Thirteen: Mr. Sandman

I slept the entire night knowing that Greg was gone and that now we could possibly get somewhere with our career. I knew that Brian and Derek would try their best to get our names out there, just like they had with the Beatles. Shortly before eight, a knock came from the adjoining room. I knew Stella wanted in, so I finally gave in and unlocked the door, letting her in. Stella pranced into the room not a second later, plopping herself down on the couch. "Where's Greg?" She asked, grabbing one of the bagels that room service had delivered this morning. "We were supposed to have a meeting this morning," She continues.

I don't know what to tell her, honestly. I know how Stella feels about Greg, she loved him as our manager they had been close ever since our first album. "We had a disagreement last night over songwriting and he quit," I lie, even though some aspects of the statement are, in fact, true.

"What?!" Stella shouts, she's surprised. "He would never leave us," She adds, and this time she seems truly disappointed.

I don't get a word in edgewise, instead Stella continues to rant, "Greg got us this tour, he got us contracts for more albums, what are we going to do without him?"

"We will be fine, Stella, I've already talked to Derek Taylor and Brian Epstein," I sigh, finally able to get a couple words in.

Stella shakes her head, "What the Hell can they do for us? There in England all year, how can they manage us?"

"We'll just accommodate, we need them and I've already signed a contract with Brian."

"Glad you consulted me on this," Stella sighs, agitated.

"I shouldn't have to consult you on this, you never consult me on anything including this tour, you just assumed that this tour would suit us the best," I start. "All this tour has given us is the chance to be ignored by the crowd again, just like we've experienced on every other tour we've been on."

Stella smiles, condescendingly, "Wouldn't you care, Greg says that you could care less about this act, you won't even write songs for us anymore."

That's when I walk away from her, "Stella..." I take a measured breath, "If you don't like my decision, you can leave the tour because I really don't give a flying fuck anymore."

"I'm not leaving," She finally says.

I laugh, "Exactly."

Just before lunch and our first show of the day, Stella and I meet with Brian and Derek again. We discuss the future of our act, and even begin talking about touring with the Beatles again in December for their tour of the U.K. I'm elated at the chance, and the fact that Brian has so quickly decided to schedule us a few months in the studio. However, this means that Stella and I will have to most likely relocate while recording. That didn't bother me, in fact, I was sort of excited to go to London for a couple of months. After the business, Stella and I go our separate ways, her going with Paul to lunch and me going with the rest of the Beatles.

The dining room of the hotel has been closed off for us, yet Paul and Stella took the security and chose a restaurant in the downtown area. The buffet laid out in front of us was immense, complete with a salad bar. I started with a loaded salad, whilst the boys all went in for the chicken and meats. Not surprisingly.

The chat around the lunch table was random and mostly music based, the conversations had first started when John has asked me about my guitar choices. I had replied that I mostly used my Gretsch Double Jet and the Rickenbacker Jetglo like John's. I liked my Gretsch for rocked out tracks and I liked my Rickenbacker for more of our pop-like songs. I had asked Greg to get me a Taylor acoustic model for our more folk style songs but he had ignored me and got me another Gretsch, this type a hollow body. How hard could it be to get your hands on an acoustic guitar?

George had been giving me looks across the table the entire time, which was confusing for me. I knew he had been jealous of Bob and me, but he had no reason to be jealous now. As far as this tour was concerned, I had no one but him. I sent a secretive smile in his direction, but he seemed to reply with an odd look. He was beyond weird, and it was sort of making me start to wonder. Was there something wrong with me?

We retired to our rooms as our lunch hour came to a close. I quickly struggled into my romper for the first show, outside in the hallway I slipped my Birkenstock sandals onto my feet. Looking up from my sandaled feet, I found George sulking against the wall. He looked dashing in his summer suit, and I couldn't help but let a large grin form on my face. I approached him, slowly and casually, as not to scare him away. Finally, I stood in front of him. He looked up, the same odd look from the dining room on his face.

I took a deep, measured breath. "Did I do something wrong?"

George stayed silent, but then suddenly he looked up at me and rolled his eyes, "Of course you didn't, what would make you think that?" He said, obviously trying to evade my question.

"You're avoiding my question," I sighed, calling him out.

George shook his head, "If you must know, I've had a fight with Pattie."

"I don't know why you haven't told me, I would gladly tell you if I've had a fight with Bob. Hell, we had one in the dressing room last night, when he decided to tell me he had cheated on me multiple times," I confess.

"Why didn't you tell me?" George asks.

"I'm sure it was the same reason you hadn't told me about your fight with Pattie, we don't need to trouble each other with our home lives, am I right?" I answer,  slightly joking at the end.

"Well if that's how you really feel about it," He retorts. George didn't catch onto the joking manner I had spoken in. I guess that was something to expect, seeing as we hadn't known each other long enough to distinguish each others' tones of voices, yet.

I shake my head, "I was only kidding, George."

"Oh," He laughs but I can tell it is a put on.

John and Ringo resurface from their rooms and join George and I in the hallway. "What're you two lovebirds yakking about?" John grins, he's joking but I can tell it somewhat bothers George.

Without another word, George bolts for the elevator and gets inside making sure to close the doors on us. John and Ringo don't seem to notice that something is badly wrong with their friend and bandmate, it shouldn't take a stranger to see when someone is hurting.