Hamburg

13. Stage Fright

Paul hadn't realised how badly his day was going until it was half-past six and he knew, in half an hour, he would have to be on that stage for seven to eight hours straight. The last time they had played, he had managed to break his B-string on his guitar but it probably didn't even matter anyway; George was on lead, John was on rhythm and Stu on bass. They didn't need another rhythm part. Maybe he could just sing. Or just play some harmonies instead of chords. It'd be alright.

He didn't manage to get anything out of George about his friendship with Ringo. He felt strange to have even meddled in the topic; he guessed he was just trying to reassure himself that he wasn't the only one getting distraught over such... issues. He stood in the powder-room, staring into a broken mirror, feeling doomed. His face was pale, eyes red and the skin under his lower lashes were dark. His cheeks and nose, however, were frightfully red because of the Hamburg cold, which was bitter and really hurt- physically. The upper-left corner of the mirror was inexistent so, he jumped up when he saw a pair of hands reaching to his shoulders from behind.

It was just John. Just John. He shook his head and sat back down. The round lights around the edges of the mirror were flickering and, suddenly, the whole room felt almost eerie. John didn't say anything. He didn't even try again to touch Paul's shoulder. He had his guitar slung over his back, which he turned around to hold.

He slid his left hand along the neck and said, "Ready?"

Paul looked at John, wanting to say the truth.

"John," said Paul. "Can we ta-"

"Paul, it's alright," John said. "We can talk later."