And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 9: Mach Schau!

"Well, that's what they do," John said. He was still looking from me to George. I closed my mouth. "George, this is Cora, I met her in... London," John introduced us. "Cora, George Harrison, lead guitarist of The Beatles."

I stared at the kid in front of me and managed, "Nice to meet you."

"Let's go inside, then, it's freezing," George said as he ground out his cig. We followed him inside. "Where have you been for the past few days? Paul's got his knickers in a right twist. We were supposed to play a set last night and Koschmider's been threatening to evict us."

I listened to the rolling waves of George's Scouse accent as I glanced around the main area of the Kaiserkeller. Half of a large space, probably a dancing section, had a nautical theme to it; rope partitions sectioned off the dining from the dancing. A tiny stage held a drum kit and several amps. An upright piano lay off to the side. I gazed opposite the stage and saw a bar, glass bottles of alcohol stocked in the back wall. John was talking to George about something; I barely understood anything but it didn't matter. We reached the end of a hallway. George opened the door and John said, "Cora, meet sleeping body number one, two, and three. Paul, Pete, and Stu respectively, or Stu, Pete, and Paul. Everyone's the same when they're asleep.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness; I barely made out three sleeping lads. One of them rolled over at the sudden ray of light; someone snored. I stared at the boys, one of them who would go on to be part of the Beatles, part of a cultural revolution. I could barely make out Paul's tousled dark head in the bed closest to the door... or was it Pete? Whoever it was I didn't find out because George closed the door and I said, "Goodbye, sleeping bodies."

Now seated at one of the tables I suddenly realized how tired I was. Someone came in through another entrance; it was a small elderly German woman with gray flyaway hair who exclaimed "John!" with a thick accent. "Sie sind zurück!"

"Rosa!" John exclaimed, bending to hug the small woman. "Ich bin wieder zurück!" He gave her a final squeeze and let her go. "Rosa, das ist Cora. Cora, das ist Rosa... this is Rosa."

"Good to meet you, Rosa," I said awkwardly, not understanding a word of German. She gave me a toothless smile in return. Rosa touched the folds of my dress. "Das ist schön... nicht von hier."

"London," John explained. "Work hard enough and get there, eh, Rosa?"

She scoffed at him and turned around to walk away, not before giving him a maternal, stern glance. "Where you from? Not a Scouser, are you?" George asked me, turning my attention towards him, sipping something from a thick ceramic mug.

"Chiswick," I said. George's mouth dropped. "John, ye travelled all the way to Chiswick?"

"Long night," he said and yawned. "Good for me to catch a short kip, Geo."

"Gig's tonight," George commented, tapping out a rhythm on the wooden table. "Hope Koschmider doesn't take out too much of your arse for your attendance record." He stood, stretched, and said, "I'm going to practice." I watched his figure retreat into the hallway from whence he had come, leaving John and me alone in the seemingly cavernous dance hall.

John touched the tips of his fingers together and said, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" I asked, forgetting about what we were talking about when George interrupted, not that I minded.

"For... well... the kiss, I suppose. Listen, I..." he trailed off and I smiled. "Now look who's not being direct."

"Well, it's bloody hard, Cora," he said, staring at the table, two patches of red suddenly appearing on his cheeks, his mouth slightly open, his fingers tapping at something nonexistent. I smirked at him and scooted my chair closer to him, suddenly uncharacteristically reaching out to touch his soft auburn hair. "Yeah?"