Lonely People

An Audition

Molly had a class that day, as university had started back up. She was not enjoying it and was highly considering dropping out, but she knew her parents wanted her to have a degree. I tried to urge her to do what her heart told her, but she wouldn't listen. That left me alone in the house in the early afternoon.

I sat at the piano in the drawing room. It was much smaller and much older than the one I had back at Dad's house. This one seemed to have been built during the time of The American Civil War, it was even American made. Nearly faded paintings of flowers adorned the stool and the key cover. One of the keys no longer worked, and a few others had cracked. It was old but still beautiful.

A notepad sat on the stool next to me. I would tap out a few notes, mutter a few lines, and write down what I liked. After writing songs with Paul for eleven odd years, I've gotten pretty good, but I was still nowhere near the talent of Paul and John.

"Maybe Paul would teach me guitar," I muttered, "I can't play piano and drums for everything."

Dad has always been in love with music. He taught Paul, Michael, and me many different instruments. Because of him, I learned the piano, violin, and flute. I learned the drums from watching the telly, and the trumpet from watching Paul, though I wasn't good at that. All were good instruments, and all could be used in songs, but they could only go so far.

Not every song needed a violin, flute, or piano, especially not rock songs. Molly and I had decided to do a combination of several genres, as we liked things other than rock and roll. In a way, we were taking skiffle to the next level and making our own genre of the existing genres. Most every song needed drums and guitars. If I knew both, I would be prepared for anything.

I scribbled a few words down. The house was abnormally quiet. It reminded me of an art museum, where any loud noises might damage the paintings. The only sounds came from my pencil or the piano. I never expected to long for the sound of a buzzing radio, but I did. Usually, I found it annoying when Mr. Mackenzie insisted on having the radio going the entire time he was home, and the static overpowered the music. 

The phone startled me when it began to ring. I jumped slightly, taking a deep breath when I realized what it was. I closed the piano and hurried into the hall.

"Mackenzie residence, Amelia speaking," I said into the phone.

"I was hoping you'd answer, Lia," Paul replied, "Can you meet me and the lads at The Cavern in twenty minutes?"

I lifted an eyebrow, "I suppose, I'm not really doing anything."

"Good, see you there."

He hung up first. I pulled the phone from my ear and shrugged. My first thought was that he wanted me there on official band business, but that couldn't be true. I wasn't a formal part of the band anymore. In fact, I wasn't a part of the band at all. I had gone from being on stage to being in the audience. Perhaps they just wanted to get a drink or something.

I slipped my feet into my boots and slapped my hat on my head. The autumn winds had started up, making the world seem colder than it actually was. Even in a turtleneck sweater, I felt the chill.

The Cavern was closed for most people, but not for employees. While I technically wasn't an employee anymore, they still let me in through the back door. I nodded at the bartender who smiled at me. He and I had grown to be good friends during my time in The Beatles. Whenever we had a particularly long show, he would always give me a drink under the table, seeing as how I was underage. 

Paul, John, and George were all sitting in a row. Two tables had been pushed together to make room for four chairs. There was an empty chair at the end, right next to Paul. When he saw me, he gestured for me to come and sit next to him.