In Your Atmosphere (Paul McCartney/Beatles Fanfiction)

Chapter 23 - Getting Better All the Time

"C'mon lid, open up!" George was knocking at the door. Again.

Paul lifted his head and made a face. "Oi, would ya listen to 'is rantin'? I'll get rid of 'im."

"We need cozzies," George said. "Neil got it sorted with the hotel manager, they're opening a shop for us. Come 'ead, wack."

The door closed and Paul bounced back into the room, calling over his shoulder on the way to the bathroom. "Come on, love, let's go give the Americans some of their money back."

"We're shopping? Right now?" Marisol sighed.

"We don't got no cozzies," Paul called from the bathroom. "We have to go now before the shops open."

Twenty minutes in the boutique and each of the Beatles had a pile of clothes at the checkout counter. Swim trunks, which they called cozzies, terry cloth swim jackets, white canvas boat shoes, short-sleeved shirts, summer weight trousers, jeans, hats, and designer shades. A summer wardrobe for four Beatles, and a swimsuit, two dresses, and a pair of sandals for Cynthia.

"Let me buy you something, Mari." Paul pulled a red sundress from a nearby rack. "Fancy this lovely frock?"

"No, really. I'm good for summer clothes."

He gently settled a pair of Oliver Goldsmith oversized black sunglasses on her face. Marisol looked at herself in the mirror and thought of Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany's. "Promise me one thing," she quoted. "Don't take me home until I'm drunk—very drunk indeed."

"We'll take these," Paul said, carefully removing them. "Wrap them up," he instructed the cashier.

The cashier said crisply, "that will be six thousand two hundred fifty-two dollars. And forty-three cents." Marisol tried not to hyperventilate. $6000 for cozzies?

Paul giggled with glee as John stood at the checkout counter saying, "Charge everything to Brain Epstein, room 1215 at the Deauville Hotel. That's right, 1215."

"Wayo," George said, and slapped another pair of designer shades on the counter, bringing the total to $6344. And change.

Marisol exchanged a look with Neil. "They're so out of control right now."

Neil shrugged. "Eppy can afford it."

The Beatles had a big day planned, beginning with a Life magazine photoshoot. The hotel pool would be a mob scene, so it was arranged for them to use a private pool on nearby Star Island.

Marisol sat in the sun with Cynthia while the boys frolicked in the pool, politely doing whatever the photographers and Brian asked of them, even though the water was frigid from an overnight cold snap. They were a well-oiled publicity machine, Marisol thought. When they started turning blue, the photoshoot ended and everyone was whisked away for an afternoon cruise on the Southern Trail, a 93-foot yacht with a full crew.

The tropical sun broke through by midday and everyone was ready for another swim. The captain cut the engine and dropped anchor near Stiltsville, a group of wooden fishing houses built on stilts on the edge of Biscayne Bay. The boys began peeling off clothes down to their trunks.

Marisol swung her legs over the rail and perched on the edge of the yacht, waiting for Paul to join her. "S'lovely, innit?" she heard John Lennon say, seconds before he shoved her into the sea.

"Dammit, Lennon!" she yelled, but that was all she could get out before she was underwater. It felt nice, surprisingly, and she kicked her legs and stretched her arms, propelling herself away from the yacht before coming up for air. She gasped in a breath and opened her eyes to see Paul surfacing a few feet away.