She's a Woman

Chapter Thirteen: Come On, Let's Go

I'd been with the band for nearly four weeks now, and Stu decided this milestone deserved a celebration. I was surprised by his suggestion; Stu had never really shown an interest in me before. Pete pulled me aside and explained that it was more likely a selfish act than a selfless one.

"Why is that?" I asked.

"This bar Stu plans to take us out to is full of gorgeous women," said Pete. "He met this one bird a little while ago - Astrid, I think her name was - and I assume he wants to meet up with her."

"Ah," I said, nodding my head knowingly. "That's understandable."

"Yeah, but I don't understand it," Pete mumbled.

"What's to understand?"

"What I don't get is why he'd pick some girl over his mates. Girls are only good for one thing, so what else are you meant to do with them for the other twenty-three hours and forty-five minutes of the day?"

I had to resist the urge not to punch Pete square in the face. I hope you haven't forgotten that I was (and still am) a girl, so naturally I would feel offended by someone moaning about how boring and useless women are. Pete wasn't expected to know that and I don't blame him for being tactless, but it upset me even so.

"Why do you think women are useless, Pete?" I asked, squaring up to him.

Pete shrugged. "They're silly and giggly and squeal at the slightest things."

"And you think that's all there is to girls?"

"I suppose so," Pete said, but he sounded unsure. "Am I missing something?"

"You know girls are every bit as talented as boys," I said sharply. "I bet girls could do all kinds of things that guys can do, like have big management jobs, become celebrities, maybe even be Prime Minister of England!"

Pete sneered. "Yeah, that'll be the day."

"You're being extremely sexist, Pete," I snapped.

Pete smirked and turned up his collar. "Oh, thanks. I like to look good."

I rolled my eyes. "I said 'sexist', not 'sexy', you clot."

More sexist, ill-mannered comments were made when we arrived at the bar. I was shocked, to say the very least.

Pete was right about the bar being full of beautiful women. They weren't all wearing long, full skirts and blouses; they were dressed in tight black jeans and leather jackets! My eyes nearly popped out of my head. The girls I'd seen back in England never dressed like that, and the ones who did were frowned upon (according to my mother). The other lads seemed a little taken aback as well.

"Wow," said Pete, blinking rapidly. "Look at the selection!"

"I told you, didn't I?" said Stu with a smug smile pasted on his face.

"Yeah, yeah, you told us," Pete replied. "Now, shall we have a rummage?"

Then, it was so strange. No one moved or even made an effort to go up to a girl and start up a conversation with her. John and Paul stayed positively glued to the spot; George had taken a sudden interest in the ceiling and was staring intently at it; Pete awkwardly shuffled his feet on the rather dirty floor; even Stu seemed a bit lost.

"What's wrong, fellas?" I asked. "Why aren't you 'having a rummage'?"

"Well, it's just..." Pete began.

"I think we should..." Stu's voice trailed away.

"Um..." John murmured.

"For God's sake," I cried. "You guys aren't scared of girls, are you?"