Lonely People

America and Attitude

I spent the better half of the sixties locked in hotel rooms or trapped in a theater of screaming girls. Touring was both exhilarating and exhausting. We were barely given anytime to do anything except perform, we barely even had time to sleep. It seemed that, just as soon as we finished one show, Brian and Ellen dragged us off to another show in another city, sometimes even another country. As much as I loved touring, I despised it.

America didn't changed since the first time I arrived on the shores. It was still filled with crazy fans trying to get a hold of their idols. Their love for The Beatles knew no bounds. They were willing to go through any endeavors they could think of, no matter how daft they were, to get to the four lads they loved the most. Even if they had to go through the opening band to do so, they would.

"I'm getting tired of this bloody tour," John frowned, "So far all we've seen is a car and a room and a room and a room, that's it!"

Paul sighed, "It's not like we can go out, John."

"I fucking know that, Macca, doesn't mean I'm happy about it."

"At least we're safe," Ringo commented.

George tried to peer over his shoulder at his cards, but Molly slapped his shoulder. The four of us and Janice were sitting on the floor of the Lennon-McCartney hotel room playing cards. The famed duo themselves did what they did best, write songs.

"Safe my arse," John huffed, "I'm bored."

I rolled my eyes, "We've barely been on tour for a week, John, stop your bloody complaining."

"Piss off."

I groaned before turning my attention back to the cards. It had barely been a week, and we were all already getting claustrophobic. We were at the top of the world, in the sights of everyone and everything, and yet we saw nothing but walls and crowds. We saw nothing while everyone saw us, it was enough to drive one mad.

A knock on the door interrupted all of us. Brian walked in without waiting for an answer and sighed as soon as he saw us, "Why aren't you all dressed?"

"There's still two hours until the show," Paul replied.

"We have to be at the theater an hour early," Brian replied, "Come on, get dressed, it's time to go."

All of the lads sighed. Molly and Janice both stood, ready and willing to work, while I groaned loudly. Molly lugged me up and smiled at Brian as we passed by him.

"Come on, Melly, it's not that bad," Molly said.

I frowned, "Like John said, I'm bloody bored. I'd like to see more than a car, a room, and a plane."

"We see the theaters too," Janice mumbled, earning a glare from me.

Molly sighed, "You'll be better once we get on stage."

"My hands are aching for a bit of a drum."

Molly nodded triumphantly. We all vanished into our shared hotel room where our stage clothes hung neatly in the closet. Ellen was always diligent on making sure the clothes were washed and ironed after every show. Sometimes the hotel staff did it, and others, Ellen did it herself. Never once would she let us do it, insisting that it had to be done just right. I had even seen her re-do it after the hotel staff.

Ellen worried me sometimes. She was a perfectionist who was easily prone to stress. If things weren't exactly to her liking, she would have a complete panic attack and tear everything down in order to fix it. I often worried she would make herself sick in her endeavors. The only thing I could do to help her was to be on my best behavior and do everything she told me too, even if I didn't like it.