Miss Americana // The Beatles

Chapter 29

Chapter 29

April 13, 1962

How did I get here? Standing in a club again in Hamburg. This morning in John's room and then at the funeral home had been too much. I had been crying the rest of the day. The show was about to start at the Star Club, the boys would be playing well into the early morning like they used to. I was sitting at a table with Astrid and Klaus. We were still in our black clothes from the funeral home, mourning a wonderful man taken too soon. Mr. Epstein was sitting at the table next to us, eager to watch the boys in action with a different crowd then the usual one in Liverpool. I sipped on a scotch and coke that George had ordered me slowly, trying to dull my aching soul. It was all too much.

The boys came on stage, the crowd cheering. John was nowhere to be seen. I looked down at my drink, then I heard the crowd laughing. I looked up again. John was dressed as a cleaning lady, walking with help of a wooden stick, pretending to be crippled. I couldn't help but crack a smile as I watched John knock over microphones and some of Pete's drums, then cleaning them again. He also pretended to clean under Paul's armpit, and then George's. Klaus was laughing beside me along with the rest of the crowd. I didn't laugh, but there was a small grin on my face as I watched John handling his pain in the only way he knew how, with humor.

The boys began to play their set. John was being his performer self for the crowd, but the sadness in his eyes gave away his true feelings. This was the first time I had seen the boys play since I had taken Mr. Epstein to see them at the Cavern. That night, I was so nervous to be face to face with John again that I couldn't focus. They were good, although I had never doubted that, they were tighter now, this was their break, having Mr. Epstein watch them. I ordered another drink.

An hour later, the two and half drinks I had had relaxed me. The boys were still rocking on stage. The number ended, and John spoke into the microphone.

"We have a special guest that we'd like to bring on stage."

Paul looked at him, confused.

John eyes locked with mine in the crowd, "Sasha McCartney would like to sing a song for Hamburg again. It's been two years and she's missed all you Krauts."

My jaw dropped. Klaus and Astrid looked at me. George was glaring at Paul.

"What is he talking about, Sasha," Mr. Epstein said from the table next to me.

John cleared his throat, "Come on, Sasha. Don't be shy. The crowd would love to see you again, wouldn't you all?"

The crowd cheered. They probably didn't know what John was talking about, but they were excited anyway.

"Our friend Stuart was trying to convince Sasha to sing again," John explained in the microphone, "Come on, Sasha."

How did he know that I had stopped writing? How did he know that Stuart begged me almost every time he saw me to sing for him, to write music again? Stu must've told John. I had started writing again, but it had been two years since I stepped foot onstage. I almost didn't, but something compelled me to stand up, walk toward the stage, and go up the stairs. Paul and George were searching my eyes as I walked past them to John. John handed me an acoustic guitar, looking into my eyes. I stood at his microphone as he backed up. I took a deep breath and looked into the crowd. Klaus and Mr. Epstein were watching me intently. There were tears streaming down Astrid's face.

I closed my eyes and began strumming the familiar chords to the song I used to open my set with two years ago. I heard some of the boys hesitate but they started playing behind me. I took a deep breath and began to sing. The crowd erupting in cheers. I thought of Stu as I sang, how much he would've wanted to see me up here again. It felt good, my whole body coming alive, my mind still sad from everything that's happened though. After I played a few songs, I took the guitar off and handed it back to John. The crowd cheering as I walked off the stage and the boys began playing again. I sat down at the table in the front.