Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Forty-Six

The window in Brian's apartment was pushed open by the wind, and I rushed over to get it before it blew all of his papers.  Unfortunately it was too late.  They fluttered off of the coffee table and all over the room.  

Slamming the window closed and latching it, I hurried to pick up his reports.  Though, a few moments later, he walked into the room.  He had been in a foul mood all day, and this obviously was the last straw.  

"You stupid girl!" He scolded.  "What have you done now?"

"I'm sorry, sir." I didn't even try to put the blame on the window.  Brian wasn't going to listen to me then.  The lads had told me about his little tantrums, and I tried to keep a calm face even though I was terrified.  He kept protesting and muttering about all the troubles had had in the past week, and as I continued to scramble around on my hands and knees for the papers, he shouted, "Are you even listening to me!"

Looking up at him, standing and setting down the stacked reports on the table, I said, "Yes, Mr. Epstein."  

The young manager sighed, and ran a hand through his hair.  "At least someone is."

"Sir," I asked, feeling a bit braver, "may I suggest a day of rest?  It might help some of your...stress."

Brian looked at me for a moment and said, quietly, "I'm sorry?  Do you think that's funny?"  His voice rose to a shout.  

I wanted to say that I didn't understand, but then I did.  

"I'm afraid...I'm not referring to what you believe I am, sir.  I am sorry for the misunderstanding."

"You...you know?  About me?" Brian said.  "Do...do the lads know?"

I sat down on the couch, brushing the skirt of my dress.  "I'm not sure if they know or not.  It's alright, though, sir."

"No," Brian looked out the window miserably, "no, it's not.  It's illegal here in Britain.  I'd be sentenced to jail, and it'd be bad for the lads.  Just because...I'm queer."

Offering him my handkerchief, though he wouldn't accept it, I whispered, "It's not queer...just because it's different.  In my...I mean, where I'm from, we say gay, as in 'happy'.  Though, it's bad if you say it in a derogatory way."  Out of surprise, he looked up at me.  "It will get better in time.  I know it will."

"How?" He asked.  "How do you about me if no one has told you?  How did you know that the lads would be informed about America, and that I didn't dare sign that contract?"

As I picked up one of the folders he wanted me to organize, he watched me intently, as if I was some exotic, unearthly creature he'd only dreamed of seeing.  "I wish I could explain, but I'm not even sure how to understand it myself.  I hope you don't mind if I continue to work in my room.  I'll finish my report, and get it to you tomorrow morning, after your long rest."  I raised an eyebrow at him.  The smallest of smiles appeared on the manager's face.  

"Elle?"

"Yes, sir?" I looked over my shoulder as I opened the door.  

"I thank...I mean, I appreciate your understanding."

I gave him a small smile, and then left.  

That night, after I had long since finished the report, George knocked on my door, fully dressed in a suit.  He held a rose in his hands behind his back.  "For you," he offered it to me.  

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you've got the wrong room." I teased.  

"Let's go out, Elle," He said, "I've missed you so much.  The only time I see you is when you're taking notes of us in the corner."