The End (Beatles Fanfiction)

Chapter 1

PAUL

"Well lads? What are we up to?" I sat down at the long table, rubbing my hands together.

"Aren't you jolly today," John muttered, looking down with a smirk.

I ignored him, and looked at everyone else. Ringo sat across from me, leaning back in his chair, a tired expression on his face. George sat a few chairs away, and as he lit his cigarette he gave me a nod.

"We were just discussing the means of production for Let it Be, Mr. McCartney," A big voice at the end of the table said.

I turned to see who spoke. It was Allan Klein, the producer/manager/whatever he was for our band. Well, three-fourths of our band. I didn't trust this bloke, and I made sure he knew it.

His big body bulged out of his suit and spilled over the chair. He had a greasy smile on his face, and I desperately wanted to wipe it off.

Instead, I nodded curtly, and looked back to the boys. "So?"

Ringo looked to Klein, then to me. "We were thinking of maybe adding some backing vocals to some songs......?" It sounded more like a question than a statement.

I nodded again, and said, "Of course. That would be really gear, we can just go into the studio and overdub our vocals-"

"No, Paul, not our voices," George interrupted quietly, holding his ciggie between his fingers. He flicked his eyes up to the ceiling, then down to his hands. "A choir. A choir of women."

I stared, dumbfounded. George avoided my gaze. Ringo did the same. John was looking at Klein, who didn't take his eyes off of me, a smug look plastered on his bulbous face.

"Mr. McCartney, we think it would greatly enhance the songs if we add female voices-"

"No."

Klein didn't bat an eye. "Oh?" He looked extremely disinterested.

"No. I don't want any voices other than our own on the album." I stood up, leaning my hands against the polished wood surface. "If this is a Beatles record, then only The Beatles should sing on it, right?"

"Now, that is incorrect logic, McCartney," Klein answered. "Plenty of musical acts have had people sing and play for them that were not part of their bands. You've done it as well, haven't you? I don't believe you played the orchestral numbers in Sgt Pepper. You were planning to use an orchestra on this album as well."

"That is completely different!" I burst out. "Those were instruments that we don't know how to play! We can sing, can't we? We're singers! If we can sing, then we'll sing everything! We don't need a bloody women's choir!"

"Paul," Ringo said, leaning forward in his seat. "It's not definite, you know. We have time to decide."

"There's nothing to decide," I said, sitting back down in my chair reluctantly. "There won't be any 'female voices' on our album."

John let out a snort, but I didn't pay him any mind. We've been fighting a lot lately, and he was always trying to get a rise out of me. I wouldn't let him do that.

"We wouldn't have made a final decision without you, Paul," Ringo added. "We need all the Beatles to make a choice."

"Mmm. Yeah," I said, not really believing it.

It seems we haven't acted unanimous in months. Why would we start now?

GEORGE

"That was a good meeting, wasn't it?" I muttered to Ringo as we walked out of the room.

"Just like all the other ones," Ringo answered with a sigh. "Got any more smokes?"

I took out the pack and tossed it to him. My own cigarette was just about burned out, so I threw it into a near ash tray and put my hands in my pockets.

"Are we recording today?" Ringo asked after lighting his ciggie.

"I think so," I said, kicking a piece of crumpled paper on the floor absentmindedly.

"I'm not up for it, to tell ya the truth." Ringo looked up at me in weary reluctance.

I turned my head, staring down at the horrid linoleum floor of the hallway. "No one's up for it anymore, Ritch. But we've no choice, have we?"

Ringo took a long drag on his cigarette. I stopped walking, and he did the same, staring at me.

I looked at Ringo, despair flooding my words."When did this get so hard?" I leaned against the wall, my head back. Ringo folded his arms, carefully cradling the cigarette, and listening intently. "I mean, we used to have fun. The Beatles used to be everything I wanted to do. Now it's just work." I shut my eyes.

After a long silence, Ringo spoke up.

"We're just getting older, George. We're not as nimble as we used to be."

I opened my eyes. Ringo had a small smirk on his face.

I let out a smile of my own, and straightened up. I pat Ringo on the back, and we continued walking. "That's right, Ritchie. We are just a bunch of old blokes, walking around with canes and broken hips."

"And my arthritis has really been actin' up lately," Ringo added, thickening his scouse drawl.

Our laughs rang down the hallway, the tinkling of rusty bells that haven't been rung in ages.