Lonely People

To London

Just a week after I performed with The Beatles, Brian made them get matching haircuts and they left for Scotland. It all happened at once, they were at the barbershop in the morning and on a plane in the evening. I didn't even get a chance to wish them luck.

"Ellen better not make us get matching haircuts," I said.

Janice frowned, "I think it would be cute."

"You think everything is cute."

Janice shrugged. The three of us were as bundled as we could possibly be. We did our best to ward off the snowflakes falling from the sky, but they managed to get inside of our coats. I could feel a nearly melted flake tracing down my spine.

"Wonder what she's calling us for," Janice muttered out loud.

"Probably something to do with a gig," Molly replied, "Maybe she got us a place in another music festival."

I grinned, "I hope so, that was bloody amazing."

Molly nodded. Janice didn't reply, preferring to keep her eyes on the snow covered pavement. We turned a corner and entered what was commonly referred to as downtown Liverpool.

Ellen had an office at the top floor of a five-story building. Her building was in a group of large buildings, all housing important corporations, most of which had national exports. One time, Paul and I had a school trip to one of them. We watched a bunch of people talk about their jobs, it was awfully boring.

The lift took us straight up to Ellen's office. Her secretary, a tiny boy by the name of Peter, was sitting on his desk writing a note down. I had only ever met Peter once, but I already knew he was easily intimidated. He was always trembling even when nobody was talking to him. His body shape was more like a fifteen-year-old than a twenty-five-year-old.

Ellen's office was the picture of elegance. Portraits of dancers and musicians were neatly lined on the walls. The first room had large windows that looked out over the street. From that height, we could see all the way to the hazy seaside. Two couches sat near the window, both made of rich leather.

""Ello, Peter," Molly smiled as soon as we stepped in.

Peter shoved his glasses higher on his nose, "Hello girls, I mean, ladies, I mean-"

"Girls works, Peter," Molly warmly interrupted, "Ellen said she wanted to see us, yes?"

"Yes, of course, I'll tell her now."

He hurriedly stood, dropping his pen in the process. Molly and I exchanged glances. She simply shook her head as I rolled my eyes. Peter got the job done, but he made a mess of himself as he did so.

Peter rushed into Ellen's real office. There were two rooms, the entry room and where Ellen did all her work. We had to wait in the entry room for Ellen to call us back.

"She's ready," Peter mumbled whenever he came back out.

Molly gave him a smile bright enough to cover my obvious annoyance, "Thank you, Peter."

He simply nodded. Molly gestured for us to follow her in. Ellen was sitting on her desk, glasses resting on the tip of her nose and papers strewn over her desk. Whenever she saw us, she warmly smiled.

"Girls, welcome, please, sit down," Ellen gestured.

Sometimes, I noticed her accent more than others. That day, her accent seemed thicker than usual. It caught my attention once again and I finally asked, "Say, Ellen, where's your accent from?"

"India. I lived there until I was about twenty," Ellen replied.

She seemed pleased that someone had finally asked her. It occurred to me that most people wouldn't ask because they were afraid to offend her, or they would ask to purposefully offend her. I asked because I was genuinely curious.