Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Sixty

Paul told me again to pack a small bag with an extra set of clothes, along with a few pounds in case we wanted to buy something.  We had to hurry and get out before the press found us.  Everyone promised to meet at a bar nearby to get the day started.  No, not like that. 

John was the first to arrive, wearing his sunglasses even though it wasn't sunny and his little cap to cover up a part of his moptop-ed hair.  He was chatting up the barmaid, but as soon as he saw me, he gave me a huge hug.  I laughed, but the barmaid only scowled.  

"Ringo says that he'll be a bit late.  George..." Then George walked in, looking as though he hadn't slept all night.  He refused to look at me.  I felt bad.  I could tell that Paul and John knew something was wrong, for he didn't greet me and gave the lads only a head nod.  

Once Ritchie arrived we left swiftly, much to the dismay of the barmaid.  Maybe she knew they were the lads, and if so, she wasn't as starstruck as most thought fans were.  

We went to Strawberry Fields for an hour or so, though it wasn't as beautiful as it was in the summer or spring, for all of the blossoms had since fallen.  However, some incredible pictures were taken amongst the swirling leaves and brush from the plants.  One that was absolutely gorgeous that was soon developed later was one of Ringo and I holding each others' hands, gazing down at the ground and the sun was shining on us perfectly.  Paul took the picture and, surprisingly, he wasn't angry that I held Ringo's hands.  

George wasn't fond of it though.  The look on his face was one of hurt.  

We hurried aboard a train to another town on the river, a city with a name I was saddened that I couldn't remember.  It was a lot like Liverpool.  Things moved quite slow.  

As all of us walked along the street, the lads ducked or nodded to the person who walked past, trying to look as normal as possible.  I laughed at their effort, but they all hushed me, afraid someone would recognize them.  

Though, I didn't know it then, that would be one of the few last days before everything started to change.  In what ways?  I would find out soon enough.  

Since we had been strolling for awhile, the lads decided to stop and have a smoke.  "Those are horrible for you," I warned.  

John rolled his eyes.  "Yeah, yeah, I know.  I make sure to read the label before I throw it out."  Paul offered me one, which I immediately refused.  I wished there was something that I could do to make them stop, but nothing came to mind for me to do that without making myself look crazy.  So I stood there, quietly, occasionally having to walk a few feet away for fresh air.  

Then something interesting caught my eye.  We were standing by an alley, and there was a door slightly ajar that opened out into it.  The faded paint read Stage Door.  It was an old theater.   However, the building looked like it had been abandoned for years.  I tugged on John's sleeve.  "I found a perfect hiding place." 

Though Ringo protested against it, for we could get into horrible trouble for trespassing, we decided it would be a good place for a rest during our adventure.  We crept the door, and shut it as far as we could without closing it, but close enough to the wall of the building so it looked like no one had gone in.  

Our voices echoed in the large room.  We had walked out onto the stage.  I was surprised that everything looked almost well-kept, as if it was still in working order.  "Wow..." I whispered.  

John shouted something a bit vulgar, just so it would echo.  Paul suddenly had an idea.  

"We should put on a performance.  Ringo will be the judge.  We should have to sing one of our songs in an operatic tone, considering that we are in such a fine theater," he added the last part with a dramatic flourish.  "It will be a wonderful little competition."