⇾ 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈

Chapter Sixty: The Past Twenty-Four Hours

January 1, 1962

Breakfast was eaten at a diner down the road the next morning. I didn't eat much, still feeling a little off. I hadn't told anyone other than John. It probably wasn't the smartest decision, but I didn't want to worry anyone else with anything, especially because of the big day everyone had today.

I stayed in the background, leaning against the wall and listening to Brian's meticulously planned timeline for the day.

"How are we all going to get over there?" asked George.

"Neil will be coming back," said Brian.

"He better not get lost this time," mumbled John, picking at his pancakes absently.

Brian chuckled. "He shouldn't. I gave him specific directions that only a fool could mess up."

John nodded, sitting back in his chair and taking my hand in his thoughtlessly.

Paul looked at his watch. "We should go," he said. "We've got twenty minutes."

~~~

"Bésame, bésame mucho / Each time I bring you a kiss / I hear music divine..."

The executive that was to help the boys record had come in late. They also almost didn't allow me to come in. Brian told them I was his assistant and they didn't ask anything else. Now Brian and I were sat in a room off to the side of where the boys were actually recording. We'd been listening as they went through.

We were told they would record a selection of two to five songs that they would choose, but when they saw their list, they decided they wanted them all. They never told us why, though.

Paul's voices drifted through the small speakers in the two back corners of the room.

I was listening intently, twiddling my thumbs in my lap and keeping my attention on John. There was still an uneasy air to the day. I couldn't shake off some horrible feeling I'd contracted.

"I'm—uh—." Brian jerked his attention on me. "I'm going to the bathroom," I said and he nodded.

"It should be just down the hall."

I nodded and excused myself out, closing the door quietly and slipping down the hallway, trying to find a bathroom sign.

"Need any help, Miss?"

I turned and saw a young man standing behind me.

"Uh—the bathroom?" I asked nervously.

He smiled and pointed in the opposite direction. "That way."

I breathed out a laugh and went to slip past him. "Ah, thank you."

He gave a nod. "Anytime. Hey, are you—." I turned back around questioningly. "Are you with that Beatle band?"

That Beatle band.

I almost laughed at his way of describing them. I nodded. "Yes, I am."

"Ah, yes. They're very good," he said, flashing a thumbs up.

"Uh—thanks. I'll—uh—tell them ye mentioned it."

He nodded after a little pause and turned around. I turned around too, confused, and made my way down the corridor until I found the restroom sign. I gratefully found my way inside, happy to see that it was empty. I didn't actually go into one of the stalls, but instead just sat down on a little bench just outside one of them, pulling my knees to my chest, closing my eyes, and just taking in peace and silence if not surrounding myself with a bunch of guys. I missed being alone more than I could admit, even to myself.

I went over every event that had taken place in the past twenty-four hours.

John and I had left a party, I threw up on the side of a sidewalk in front of him, went back to a party, failed to fall asleep, an executive showed up to work late and hungover, and I'd been here for about four hours since. I leaned my head back against the cold wall for a moment before standing back up and going to fix myself up a little in the mirror.

Was it really just the stress of my parents deaths that was weighing down on me today? Was that why I felt so awful? I swallowed the bile that had risen in my throat and turned to lean against the counter, pulling the little golden chain around my neck so the music box on the end could rest in my hand.

I examined it carefully, looking at every little working gear as it played the song softly. I smiled fondly as it concluded and rested it back on my chest where it always hung and stood up to leave. Outside, I found John slouched against a wall. I sighed.

"Shouldn't you be blessing those producers with your hypnotic voice?" I asked jokingly.

He shook his head, biting back a smile. "We're done."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Wow, Lennon, I'm impressed. You got the desk clerk's attention," I said with a laugh.

He raised his eyebrows. "Won't you kiss and tell?"

I rolled my eyes. "Shove off."

"Hey," he said, his voice dropping. "Are you—." He looked down the hall. "Are you alright, love?"

I nodded. "What would be wrong?" I looked down.

"Well, you know—."

I looked him in the eyes and shook my head lightly. "I'm fine."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He sighed and paused. "Well, let's get back? Or do you want to stay out here and away from all the boring music talk?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'll go back in there," I said with a laugh. "Only reluctantly!" I added teasingly.

"Well, c'mon then!" he said, pulling me back towards the room.

Everyone was stood in the room the band had previously been recording in. The executive was telling the others they'd done a good job and that he would get back to them as soon as he could. I stood back while they listened, not wanting to get in the way.

After the guy was done talking, they thanked him, and we could finally leave.

"I'm going back to the hotel," said Brian once we were outside. "You guys can do whatever you want." He smiled. "But don't go partying too hard."

They laughed. "We won't let you down, Eppy," quipped John.

"Alright then." He looked at me. "I'll see you soon then, yeah?" I nodded, looking down. He gave a little wave and left in his car.

"Now," said John, surveying everyone with his eyes. "I'm taking Donna from you."

Everyone gave sarcastic pouts and we all laughed. "Well, see you later, Johnny," said Paul, winking jokingly before following the rest of the group wandered away.

I turned to John. "If you're going to send me on some sympathy trip, please reconsider," I said pleadingly. "I don't want any sympathy."

He put his arm around me, turning around and walking in the opposite direction. "I would never," he said cheekily.