Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Fifty-Three

Dedicated to the birthday boy, Paul McCartney!  Hope it's a good one!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Elle, I'm so scared."

The crowd was cheering already for the next group.  Ed Sullivan had yet to go out and introduce them.  

Paul was made up and ready to go, his guitar strapped across him.  I pulled his fingers away from his mouth.  He had been constantly chewing on them ever since we had gotten home from our escapade around the city.  "Stop that, Paul.  It's alright to be nervous, but I know you will do your best."

"What if I forgot my lyrics and make a complete fool of myself?" He bit his lip and looked out towards the stage.  I swore I could hear the racing beat of his heart.  

"You won't.  I promise you." I held his shoulders so he'd look at me.  

It was a silly question, and I think that he realized it as soon as the words came out of his mouth.  "How do you know?"  I looked over his shoulder at John, George and Ringo, who were chatting quietly before they had to go on stage.  Motioning them over, I said, "I think it's best if I talked to all of you."

John and George didn't come, meanwhile Ringo did.  I pointed at John, and he gave me a fake sheepish look that read Who, me?  I nodded.  "Yes, you.  Please come here."  He walked over quicker than George, who looked like he would rather be pushed off the stage instead of talk to me. 

Once we were all in a huddle, I said, "You can do this.  I know you can.  Everyone out there loves you.  You've just got to show them what you can do, now that you've stolen all their hearts."  

John raised his hand.  "I have something to say."

"Yes?"

"No one cares."  The remark made George snicker, though John kept a straight face.  

Paul put a hand on my shoulder.  "Well, I do."  Was it just me, or did he shoot a bit of a menacing look at George?  My heart plummeted.  I prayed they wouldn't be upset with each other because of me.  

The directors of the show told them to head onstage.  "A kiss for good luck?" Paul asked.  I complied.  Then Ringo and John wanted one too.  It was a short assembly line as they headed for the stage.  George just smirked at me and kept walking.  I swallowed hard, and then went to find Brian.  

My heart was pounding.  How many times had I dreamed of seeing this show in real life?  And how many times had I imagined being there with them instead of watching on Youtube?  This was easily the biggest day of their entire career: February 9th, 1964.  

I could tell Brian was happy too, though he tried to hide it.  

"This is incredible, isn't it?" I asked him.  He nodded.  "You can smile now, Brian," I said, "I know things will be great."

I turned away fast enough I didn't see the confused, but then relieved look on his face.  

The entire world seemed to freeze when five soon-to-be incredibly famous words were spoken.  My heart stopped.  It seemed like the audience was holding its breath.  

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Beatles!"

And the band begins to play...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the night was a blur.  The lads were invited to go so many different places, and only attended a few.  I was driven home before all of the after-parties.  It was their time to enjoy, and I didn't want Paul fretting over me.  

The show was perfect.  I couldn't believe that I was actually there.  After pulling the curtains open on my window, and pushing open the glass, I let the cool air fill the room for a few minutes.  I flopped down on the bed, and smiled.  "This is everything I've ever wanted," I sighed in happiness.  

I pulled open the box that held all of my postcards, letters and diary entries and added the little backstage pass I was given when I came in with Brian.  I began to compose another letter I would send to The New York Times (not that I expected them to put it in the new edition of the newspaper) about the hysteria the Beatles were causing.  As soon as I was finished, I stuck it in an envelope Brian had made titled Outgoing mail.  Hopefully he wouldn't go through its contents too thoroughly.  

For safe keeping, I put the bracelet Paul had given me in the box, and I pulled on the Parisian scarf.  And because I was feeling so joyous, I sprayed on the tiniest bit of my perfume, because, to me, it smelled like happiness.  

I jumped when I realized Paul was watching me from the doorway.  

"How long have you been standing there?" I was blushing, though I was too happy to be embarrassed.  

"Long enough.  You look like a child in a sweet shop." He sat down on the bed.  I looked out the window for a moment.  It was quite dark by then, but the city was still as noisy as can be.  

I looked over his shoulder into the hall.  "Are you the only one back?"

He shook his head.  "John went to the bar downstairs, though he's probably had enough to drink already.  George and Ringo went back to their room to play cards."  But then he smiled.  "We went and met some of the models for Playboy, you know.  I think I saw that one girl from the cover.  The bunnies were more adorable than we were."  I raised an eyebrow at him.  

"But you," he kissed my cheek gently, "are more adorable than all of them combined." 

"I think you're lying." I accused.  

Paul kissed me once more.  "Now why would I lie to the object of my affection?"

My heart stopped.  "What...what did you say?"

He looked down at the blanket, embarrassed, as if he had said something naughty around his mother.  "The object of my affection?" His hazel doe-eyes were wide, like he thought I was going to punish him.  

In that moment, I realized that the man was certainly not Paul.  He would have told me before, and he was nervous when I asked him.  

"Nothing's wrong, Paul.  I...just thought you said something different."

After a moment of silence, he said, "Come here.  I've been offered countless things tonight but nothing that I actually need."

I laid down on the bed.  "No, thanks.  I'm tired."

"Please?" Paul was insistent.  I closed my eyes, pretending to sleep, but I couldn't hide my smile.  The young, exhausted Beatle rested his chin on the pillow next to me and poked my cheek.  

"Elle."

"Elle."

"Elle, please.  I'm so bored-" I cut him off by leaning up and kissing him, which was the only thing he wanted all night but couldn't get.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An Unknown Point Of View

After performing on the Ed Sullivan show that night, I felt like I could do anything.  Even confess everything to Elle.  

But I couldn't.  As soon as I walked in through the doors to the hotel, that horrible dread filled me once more.  The thought that she would laugh at me, and think I was such a fool.  She was in love with someone else, and I could tell.  Why did I still continue to pursue someone who was taken with another?

Because I had undeniably fallen in love.

I made myself promise something that night.  I would tell her soon.  I wasn't sure when, but soon.  

And as soon as I promised myself, there was no stopping me.