And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 51: Short Tops And Shorter Tempers

    "You'd never look as good as Stu in that shirt," I told him, attempting to reach around his neck to grab the rest of his sandwich, but hitting the wall in the process. Someone knocked back and I jumped, hitting my head on George's bed above.

    "Mutti," George responded to everyone's laughter. "My best friend. The old German bird that cleans the toilets, and the like. That's what the coins are for, Cora, the ones you were playing with earlier. We have to put in ten pfennigs every time we take a piss."

    "Isn't that why you piss in the streets, then, Geo?" Paul laughed. "Save ten pfennigs to buy—"

    "A fancy pants leather suit," John cut in. "Hope we don't go to the wrong shop so I don't look like William Shakespeare here." He touted the photo again. "I think you'll look great in the ruff," I consoled him. "Just about a foot lower and it'll be a great tutu."

    "Hope the bloody girls get here soon," John mumbled through our laughter. "I'll give it to Anna or what's-her-name."

    "I still think—" I started, but John kissed me and said, "We'll have none of that, now," to groans from the rest of the Beatles.

***

    Compared with 1965 the Beatles, in their teenage years still nineteen or twenty, were skinnier, they were more lean. Especially George. That lad needed to eat a few hundred cakes. Paul was slightly more filled out but still lean; John and Pete fell in the same category. Compared with George, though, the curve of their boyish figures stood out more in their jeans, polo t-shirts, and t-shirts when the heat from exercise caused the leather jackets to disappear.

    "Your lad needs to eat more food," Emilia told Anna, whispering the string of words in her ear loud enough so I could hear her. Today she was donned in a daring strapless top (which would be strangely popular in 2013) and slim fitting jeans. Her long, wavy brown hair bounced around her shoulders. I too was wearing low heels, slim fitting jeans and a sleeveless striped shirt, having tied my hair up behind my ears.

    "I think he's lovely the way he is," Anna told her, a distant smile on her face as she stared at her boyfriend. I too took a glance at George, talking with Pete about a pair of pants, gesturing at the air with his hands. A pair of jeans hung off his hips; his polo did look a little large on him but the boy had just turned eighteen. Although I was sure in all his years of living George would never be known as a potbelly.

    I stood from the wooden bench in front of the Thadenstrasse 6, walking over to the boys near the front of the tailor. "You lot ready?"

     "Art takes time, Cora," George told me, stretching out time. "We have to make sure these are the right ones."

    All of a sudden John nodded and said, "Yes, these are it," and they all entered into the shop. "We're going out!" I yelled behind them. "We're going shopping—"

    "You're staying, that's what you are," John said, and he grabbed me and pulled me into the shop. "Yer part of the band, aren't ye? Well you need leather pants." I let myself in, the door tinkled and Emilia and Anna joined me, Anna's tattoo free to breathe in her sleeveless dress.

    An old man rounded the corner, mumbling, "Welcome to—" and jumped, taking in the crowd. "Alles von Dir? Sie alle wollen Leder?"

    "Nein, nur wir ... fünf..." John fumbled with the German, gesturing to the boys and me, taking my hand. "Sie auch. Her too."

    "Hose?"

    "Pants," Anna hissed from the shadows.

    "Ja."