Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Thirty-Five

You could safely assume that lunch ended early.

Brian didn't have as much time as he liked to scold, for the Beatles were on a tight schedule, but as soon as we got up to my room (It was the cleanest) he really gave it to us. He was disappointed in the lads for stringing me along, for leaving Paul and I alone in the condition he was in and for disobeying him in general.

He turned to me once. "I expected more from you, Elle. I thought you would come to me in this sort of situation. To prevent your friends from making complete fools of themselves." Paul's face fell. I hoped he would remember my talk from last night. Or really early that morning.

Out of everyone that I thought would step in for me, John was the least likely. "Come on, now," He rolled his eyes, "You can't believe she actually wanted this to happen, did you?"

"I was not insinuating that she intended for this to happen. I'm disappointed that after everything that has happened so far she decided not to report your little scheme to me."

I despised the way they were talking about me. It was as if they didn't want me to know who "she" was. With anger in my voice I told the angered manager, "I'm a person too, Mr. Epstein. I can speak for myself. I know it was wrong what we did, and I regret not coming to you when I could have, but the lads work so hard everyday. Shouldn't they be allowed to rest, and go about like tourists for a day? And I know that it's already hard to do that, and that it's only going to get worse, but it isn't fair to them."

Brian looked over at the band, and they all put on innocent, pleading faces. John even put his hands together in prayer. He tried to hide it, but I saw him roll his eyes.

"I cannot make any promises regarding leisure time, but we can try to give you longer breaks. We're leaving for Paris soon after this, and we'll see if you'll be able to have some time to tour around. But we're leaving in a half hour for a show, so please stay in the hotel!" He left in a huff to go smoke in his hotel room. He must have done it for awhile too, because I began to smell it in my room too.

John and Paul were feeling horrible after their night of bar-hopping, and they retired to their rooms wordlessly. Paul was unusually quiet the rest of the day, and even during the show that night he wasn't as talkative and happy.

John, well, he was normal. Just slightly more irritable.

George refused to speak to me after what had happened last night. I was fine with it. If he wanted space I would give it to him.

The only Beatle who seemed happy to see me was Ringo. He was still a bit sick from last night, but as soon as everyone parted he seemed more relaxed. We played cards for the rest of the spare time. Thankfully I could open my window, for it had gotten stuffy in the hotel room. The breeze was chilly but I certainly didn't mind.

But then there was an omnious knock on my door, which we knew was Brian, and I was left alone the rest of the evening. Though if I had to be temporarily "grounded" I suppose it was nice to have a wonderful little hotel room to be isolated in.

Watching television was a bore, so I watched the city from above for awhile before I grew tired. It grew dark outside, and as I laid on my bed I swore I could hear all of the screaming fans in the concert hall the lads were playing in. I hoped Paul was smiling and winking at the hysterical girls. I hoped John was making everyone laugh, and Ringo was happily flipping his hair as he played the drums. And that George was making girls fawn and swoon.

I prayed that they would let this fun last as long as it could. Because in just a year everything could change.

I should know more than anyone.