He's So Fine [Beatles / George Harrison FanFiction]

Chapter Eighteen: 7th February 1964

Just the daytimes. Your evenings will be your own.

That was the deal. That's what Brian had promised when he'd asked Della to come to New York on this insane trip. She agreed only on that condition, and because they'd had such a lovely time in November when she and Brian had visited along with Billy J Kramer, when Della had still been nursing her broken heart.

But here she was, only the first day, and it was already half past six and she was still running around after the ungrateful little sods. None of them had said more than three words to her. George was ignoring her, hardly speaking to her, even when they shared a car from the airport. John was, if anything, on his best behaviour, but maybe only because his wife was accompanying him. Ringo had been cordial, but Della thought he was probably worried about what George or Paul would say if he was overly friendly to her, and Paul... Well, Paul had been in with Brian for the last twenty minutes, trying to get Della sacked and sent home.

That's what she imagined, anyway. She couldn't hear through the door, but what else would he be doing in there. A cheek, because wasn't it Paul who had dumped her? Paul who had wanted rid of Della, yet he's the one pouting and sulking and making a point of letting her know she shouldn't be here, switching cars so he doesn't even have to breathe the same air as her.

Della was dying to press her ear against the door to see if she could listen in. In fact, she was dying to barge in there and give that bastard a piece of her mind, but instead she sat very still on the chaise lounge in the wide corridor outside Brian's hotel suite and waited.

This was the sixth floor. Della's single room was next door to Brian's suite. It was a lot smaller than the Beatles suite up on the twelfth floor, but just as elaborately decorated and luxurious. Her own room was cosy. A single bed with a deep mattress with plump feather eiderdown and pillows. Elegant floor length curtains. A view of Central Park, if she squinted. If only she could get the chance to enjoy it.

The door to Brian's suite opened. Della stood as Paul stepped out. He took a quick glance at her, scowled and then stode off down the corridor without a word. Brian came to the doorway and they both watched him walk away until he reached the corner by the lifts where he disappeared from view. Paul probably shouldn't be walking around the hotel on his own, but neither Della nor Brian were volunteering to run after him.