I'm With the Beatles

I'm So Tired

Finished with our speedy showers, we met Murray at the end of the hallway. I noticed that he kept looking at me with a weird expression on his face that I quite couldn't make out. Maybe it was the tight, purple turtleneck sweater, black pencil skirt, and chunky heels that I was wearing. It basically made all the men in the group take double glances at me. I had to sigh against this fact and crossed my arms to hide the view.

"We are going to have to leave through the kitchens on the first floor. So, no stealing the hotel's food, okay," Murray the K plotted.

George smacked his forehead in an attempt to wake himself up. We bolted through the swinging kitchen doors, I almost tripping over them. The freezing, dark sky heralded us and we boarded the limousine that we were supposed to ride in earlier. I made sure not to sit that close to Ringo this time, even though I cared deeply for him.

Carnegie Hall appeared to be massive and people were piling out into the streets. This time, I was with Mal as we ran to the backstage. Paul requested that Mal supervise me for the night when he couldn't. Thank goodness Ringo let us borrow his deck of playing cards!

"That was such a bash," George shrieked as they trotted downstairs.

Mal placed an ace against my queen.

"I guess that means I win!"

"Sure, sure..." I slightly agreed, swatting away his voice.

I felt giddy when I witnessed Paul strut down the small steps. He looked so good with his hair slightly dishelved. His coffee-brown eyes seemed to pierce through the hot, bright lights. I must've drifted off too much, for my chin pounded against the wooden table that Mal and I were playing cards on. I winced and cradled my jaw.

"Lizzie, what has gotten into you?" Mal wondered with concern.

"I need some ice!"

Mal nodded with understanding and got up to obtain some out of the complimentary cooler full of beverages. I stole a quick peek over to where the four were at. Some special guests were busy chatting up a storm with them, probably talking about their great performance. I knew that they did superb just by the way that Paul projected himself. Mal projected a small bag of ice in front of my face.

"It's a little cold," he alerted.

I pressed the cool plastic on the affected area and gently closed my eyes. I envisioned Paul's vision of me singing with them someday. How interesting would that be? I sunk deeper in my chair.

"Lizzie, do you need to see a doctor or something?" Mal pondered, taking a hold of my arm.

"No, I'm fine," I stated as I crashed back down to reality.

Mal leaned over and motioned with a wave. Soon, Paul was right by my side, caressing my cheek with the back of his hand.

"What's wrong with her?" Paul obviously questioned the bodyguard.

"I don't know exactly, but she did smack her head good on the table earlier."

I frowned at the memory and slammed the now water-filled bag on the surface. Paul rapidly brought both of his hands to my face.

"Are you truly alright?"

"I'm perfectly fine! Just tired that's all," I whispered, my eyelids feeling ten times heavier than usual.

"We have a few more minutes until our next performance, which will be over in at least half an hour. I'd rather you attempt to kip a bit. Mal, please watch over her."

"Will do, Paul," Mal pledged.

"Paulie, get your happy bum over here! Shirley Bassey is here to see us," John's voice rung.

I popped my head up and turned to meet Paul's worried gaze.

"Who's Shirley?" I interrogated, acid slipping through each syllable.

"Calm down, love. She's just a singer," he pleaded quietly. He left me with a soft kiss on my forehead.

"Mal, I'd rather you watch him. Make sure no female lays her nasty hands on him."

Mal chuckled and nodded, patting my arm in an attempt to coax me to sleep. It worked.

I opened my peepers to the interior of the limo. My head was in Paul's lap and he greeted me with a smug smile.

"Good morning, love!"

I lifted myself up and searched around, only to find that the sky was still pitch-black. As I raised my hand to rub my chin, my arm bumped into something hard. It was another golden disc from Swan Records, congratulating the group on a million copies of "She Loves You" sold.

"You feeling better, Lizzie?" John cooed with sympathy.

I took a glimpse at the other men sitting in the car: John was waiting for an answer with concerning eyes, Ringo's bottom lip jutted out to show his support, George was nodding in and out of sleep and Mal grabbed the record to prevent anymore unnessecary injuries.

"Mal, did you have any problems?" I pressed, really wanting to know if a girl took the opportunity.

"Of course not, although John gets a bit too close for everyone's liking."

John's head shot up and he gave Mal a "What the hell are you talking about?" look.

"You dirty boy," I teased. John was now officially confused.

"Usually, I would take that as a compliment, but, with what Mal said, you now have me scared," John revealed.

"So, how did Carnegie Hall go?" I inquired.

Everyone but John nodded and smiled with George admitting, "It went fairly well!"

"I felt like an animal with all of the pawing that everyone was doing," John griped as he stared out of the window.

"I'm truly sorry to hear about that John," I comforted.

He turned towards me, "Why are you always apologizing? You are the fan that never was, never is and never will be in the public eye. I wish they were all like you, but we all know it will never happen!"

I listened and nodded, feeling bad for the way that John interpreted the world. Although, I could understand where he was getting at just by bringing up the girls that looked at Paul in an inappropriate way.

"What time is it?" George wondered aloud.

"Almost one," Mal answered.

"Why, what are we doing?" I asked.

"Murray told us that we'll be visiting the Headliner Club and Greenwich Village," Paul groggily mentioned.

I cuddled up against him and sighed, "Do y'all ever get a chance to actually...kip?"

"I've always asked that me self," he stated with a slight cough.

"I think you're getting sick," I shot back worriedly.

He just moved his shoulders up and down and leaned his head against the cold glass. Pulling me into his embrace, he presented me with a kiss on my head. The Plaza Hotel's lights seemed to be a beacon for sleep for us all, but we knew that it would be in vain to even try. I exhaled forcefully and shut my eyes once again, hoping that someone would carry me into the building.