In Your Atmosphere (Paul McCartney/Beatles Fanfiction)

Chapter 30 - A Hard Day's Night

The Downtown San Francisco Hilton looked like a Hollywood set for an apocalyptic disaster film. The streets were lined with hysterical fans waving signs and shrieking madly. Scores of police were trying to contain the hordes of screaming fans. Marisol had to park a mile from the hotel and wait for a bus to take her close to the entrance. On the standing-room-only bus she'd overheard a group of girls her own age plotting how to get inside the Beatles' fifteenth-floor hotel rooms. How did they know this?  she wondered. Even she didn't know what floor the Beatles were on.

She pushed her way into the lobby past uniformed sheriff's deputies wearing pistols on their belts. Girls were everywhere, wailing, some with tears running down their faces. There was a long line of disgruntled guests and would-be guests in front of the counter. Finally, she reached the front of the line. "We're sold out," the hotel clerk snapped.

"I'm trying to reach a guest by the name of Neil Aspinall." Marisol had to shout to be heard above the commotion.

The hotel clerk appraised her coolly and pointed to the house phone.

"Can you connect me with Neil Aspinall?" Marisol yelled into the receiver.

"There is no such guest registered," came the clipped reply.

"He's with the Beatles," she shouted.

"They're not accepting calls," said the hotel operator, and the line went dead.

Marisol stared at the receiver for a few seconds before replacing it. Great. So she'd have to rely on Paul to remind Neil to come down and find her eventually.

Slinging her overnight bag onto her shoulder, she shoved her way toward the main elevators where girls were weeping on the carpet in front of a weary-looking security guard. This was madness. At a nearby bank of telephones, several suited men held their hands to their ears as they tried to complete their calls. She wondered if the operator would put a call through to Neil if she asked a man to place the call for her. Adjusting her bag, she checked her slim gold diamond watch, a birthday present from Paul. The Beatles had landed only an hour ago, and the city was in chaos.

"I know you." A dark-haired man appeared in front of her with a grin on his face. He held out his hand. "Larry Kane."

Marisol felt her tense expression melt away as she smiled back. A familiar face in the madness. It was the radio man from Miami. "Oh, hey!" She took his hand. "Marisol Heming—" She broke off, remembering Paul didn't want newsmen knowing her last name. He didn't want her to be hounded by the press the way Cynthia and Maureen were.

Larry didn't seem to hear her anyway over the noise around them. He hooked a thumb at the elevator. "Going up?"

"Yes, well..." She gestured to the Beatles Press Pass prominently displayed on Larry's suit jacket. "I don't have a pass, I was hoping to get through to Neil Aspinall...could you tell him I'm here, do you suppose?"

"You bet. Wait right here. If he can't get away, I'll grab another pass and come back down for you myself."

Marisol set down her bag. Her shoulders hitched involuntarily at a piercing shriek directly behind her. She scratched at her neck. If she stayed down here much longer she might break out in hives. More stress right now was the last thing she needed.

The summer had started calmly enough. Marisol had signed up for summer classes, to make up for taking last Fall off and also to get on track to graduate early. If she worked hard, she could be finished with her degree by the time she turned 21. Summers were busy in the vineyard and in the winery, so there was plenty to do there, especially since the family business had reached a crisis point in the last few months. Marcus and their father had been approached by the owner of a larger winery who wanted to buy the business, and they were considering the offer. It would mean they would keep the vineyard, but they would sell the harvest to someone else for processing into wine. Her father was in favor of selling, but Marcus was adamantly opposed.