And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 62: A Solid Nine On The Ritchie Scale, Part 1

    I'll admit John and I did look good together that night, July 7th, 1961. He was dressed up as per usual, combing his hair over his forehead for that signature "Beatles" look, ending up donning a pair of leather pants and his leather jacket. I wore a black dress that hugged my curves which we had bought in Germany and a red lip. "Wish I had a camera," he whispered in my ear as we looked at each other in the glass. "I could photograph me and my Bridgette Bardot. Actually, you look even better than her."

    I leaned up against him. "Bardot could never have you."

    Paul honked outside, and we went down the steps, passed Mimi in the kitchen, crossed over the rose carpeting in the living room, and stepped outside. "Remember we went to Marty's party?" I told John, laughing. "We had to tell everyone we were just friends."

    "Now we can show them we're no ordinary friends," he said with a smirk as I slid into the car next to George, who was wearing a pair of black drainpipe trousers and a deep purple blazer. John whistled at him. "Bringing teddy boy back, Geo?"

     He turned towards us and I caught a glimpse of a striped dress shirt underneath the blazer. I shook my head slowly, grinning. "Ye look fantastic. All the birds will be after you tonight. Got over yer cold, then?"

    He suddenly coughed: "—Jinxed it, Cora—" and then smiled. "Just messing about with ye. I'm feeling only a little better but I didn't want to miss Ringo's birthday... or showing off my new jacket."

    "Where's Pete?" I asked as Paul started the car.

    "Oh, he didn't want to come tonight," Paul said airily from the front seat. Leather and leather from top to bottom, his hair combed matching John. "We'll just get Ringo to fill in if anyone feels like a dance. I think he likes us, anyways."

    "Ringo's a great lad," I agreed, watching the streets go by. John wound his arm round my shoulders and I sighed happily and nestled my head in the crook of his neck, feeling the smooth leather of his coat against my bare shoulders. "No Hitler impersonations at this party," I whispered in his ear. He said back, "But all I went to Germany for was to practice. Now who's going to see the fruits of my labor?"

    "I am," I laughed. George peered out the window. "Looks like we're in Dingle now." We were driving up Riverside drive, looking out on my right I saw a road and on my left there was a green area and beyond that, water. "Near the water. Bit of a tough neighborhood, I heard."

    "You lot live in Woolton, Geo, you and John," Paul commented.

    "Shut it, Macca," John said playfully, a bit of edge to his tone, and squeezed my waist. "Anyone bring anything for the birthday boy?"

    "Love and companionship," Paul said and we all burst into sarcastic awwwwws. "Sod that. We're here. Don't forget yer love and companionship!"

    Ringo's house was one of many in a row, stuck together. His stood out, though. Solidly white with pink trim above the narrow front door and above and below the two windows, it gave the two next to it—a brown and a pale one—a run for their money. "G'head, ring Ringo ring," John said, enjoying his little pun and pushing George towards the door as we walked up the drive. George raised his hand to knock and Paul said, "Let's sing the lad a happy birthday."

    "He'll get his birthday singing later," John told him.

    "A birthday can never have too many birthday wishes."

    Having knocked George stood back and a figure neared the door and it swung back, revealing Ringo, whose smile showed broadly between a slight beard and mustache. His slightly curled hair reached a little ways down his forehead and he was wearing a lightly colored matching suit set. "Germans! Ha ha!"