Beatle

Chapter 6 (Continued)

Hello all! Quick update, bit of a filler, but it gives some closure to where the story is currently. I'll try and have something of a bit more substance up as soon as I can. Cheers, and you guys have had and will have great holidays!

“Oooo, well I’ve got a girl with a record machine, when it comes to rockin’ she’s a queen,” Paul crooned, acting as if we weren’t even there. I remember being taken aback at that first taste of Paul’s voice, and I’m sure everyone else was at least a little impressed. This kid could sell it, and John was right in more ways than he thought when he called Paul a “little Elvis.” He could sing like nobody’s business, hitting all the notes perfectly and sounding just like Eddie Cochran.

“Took ‘er to a dance on a Saturday night, all alone I could hold ‘er tight. She lives on the twentieth floor uptown, the elevator’s broken down,” he sang, scooping down during “uptown,” really laying it on thick.

 I can imagine myself being unabashedly star struck, picturing the impressionable little thirteen year old with her mouth hanging open at the sight of Paul performing, the first “Beatlette” as John would call them in later years. Meanwhile, the rest of the group looked on, and they may have thought Paul was a bit full of himself because he sure seemed that way, but looking at John, it didn’t matter what anyone else thought. Yes he stood there trying to keep the cool exterior intact, but you could see he was just as impressed as I was. I could read his face like a book, and it clearly said, “This lad knows all the bloody words. AND he’s playin’ the guitar upside down!”

“Well it’s one flight two flight three flight four, five six seven flight eight flight more, get to the twelfth and I’m startin’ to drag, fifteen more I’m ready to sag.”

I remember thinking, “If John doesn’t like him I will personally ship myself back to the States!”

“I get to the top, I’m too tired to rock.” And with a final flourish Paul finished, slightly out of breath and pink in the cheeks, but looking smug and slightly relieved that it was over. Some of the guys clapped a little, and I joined in a bit too enthusiastically, enough to earn a wink and a “Thanks, love,” from Paul, and I stopped abruptly as my cheeks burst into flames.

But John didn’t clap, didn’t even react. He walked up to Paul again, cool as ever, and said plainly, “Well, you can play then.” He jerked his thumb behind him at the battered piano by the stage. “Can you play any piano?”

Paul nodded, handing the guitar back to John. “Yeah, I can a bit. You know Little Richard?”

John’s facial expression changed an almost imperceptible amount, but I noticed the entrance of excitement to his face. “’Course I do.” Gesturing grandly over to the piano he said, in what he called his ‘posh’ voice, “Would you do us the honor of tinkling the ivories for us sir?”

A few of the Quarrymen snickered, and Paul’s face continued to flush, but he strode confidently past John towards the piano. John followed close behind and I heard him ask, “You want something to drink?”

Paul replied, and I wasn’t sure if it was meant to be sarcastic. “I’d love some tea thanks.”

John and the others laughed at that, John saying, “Sorry son, didn’t know the queen was comin’. Have to tell ‘er we haven’t got any tea for her, poor girl.”

Paul didn’t reply, and I felt bad; I really wished John wouldn’t be so cruel, Paul obviously just wanted to John to like him.

Without another word Paul sat down at a rickety chair by the piano, that being enough to halt John’s laughter so abruptly it was almost comical. He strode over to where Paul sat and leaned over his shoulders as Paul started playing “Lucille,” putting on the voice same as he’d done for “Twenty Flight Rock.” He couldn’t quite do the screams yet, but his voice still wasn’t bad. He ran through a few more numbers, John hanging over his shoulder all the time, and soon it got to a point where the two didn’t even remember there were others in the room. The rest of the Quarrymen began slowly drifting away from that spot, grumbling and casting glances back behind them as they went.

“John!” I called tentatively. “I, I think I’ve gotta, y’know…” I jerked my thumb at the exit, indicating that I should most likely go.

He waved his hand at me without turning around, still plunking out notes on the piano with Paul.

“Come ‘ead Paul,” Ivan called in a voice with more authority than mine had. “Are we walkin’ home or not?”

Paul and John finally looked up, and Paul replied, “Yeah. Yeah, just gimme a moment would ya?”

Paul stood up from the bench and walked back over to us, John behind him.

“Be in touch lad,” John said, nodding at him.

Paul nodded back to him. “Ta, thanks.”

The three of us then turned right around and walked out of the hall.

“Did he ask ya to join the group?” Ivan asked curiously.

“Nah,” Paul said, but added quickly to the both of us, “D’ya think he, y’know, minded me atall?”  

“Not at all Paul,” I told him. “Actually, I think he rather liked you.”

Paul was in the band by the following week.

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~Rosalind xo