It's All Too Much

Chapter Four

  “You’re a lifesaver, Pattie,” Ringo smiled, “I’m starving.”

  “It’s no problem, really,” I reassured them.

  Paul handed each of us a bottle of cola, and I opened the chips and poured them into a bowl. I then cut everyone a slice of cake, which John especially said he loved. Overall, I was very satisfied with what I had brought. I was quite proud that everyone liked it.

  “Come, sit,” George called to me after finishing his slice. They were all seated in beanbag chairs big enough to fit two people. I sat down next to him, and he wrapped his arm around me. I smiled and kissed him on the cheek. Then I noticed everyone was staring.

  “Aw, the love bugs.” Paul was smiling. “You should really meet my girl, Jane. She’s an actress. I think you’d like her, and relate to her, ya know? You being a model and somewhat actress.”

  I laughed. “I’d like that.”

  “I think you’d like Cyn, too,” George said, looking at me. “She’s John’s wife. You two are very similar, personality-wise.”

  John nodded. “She’s no model though.”

  The boys a let out little half-hearted laughs, although I couldn’t help but find that rude. If anyone, especially my husband said that about me, I’d be quote offended. I felt a little sad for Cynthia because John was talking about her behind her back. And she was his wife! I could tell almost immediately he was the kind of person who said what he thought, not thinking about the consequences. I wondered if he’d said anything about me before.

  “So what are you working on?” I asked, squeezing George’s hand. 

  “Just wrapping up Beatles for Sale, starting Help!,” Paul answered for George.

  “Well, I’d love to hear you play,” I smiled at everyone.

  “Alright guys,” George said, standing up. “Don’t fuck up, my girl’s here.”

  I laughed, and everyone smiled.

  “Ringo, how about we do your tune?” Paul asked. “That’s really the only thing we have left to do. The rest just needs polishing.”

  “Alright,” Ringo cleared his throat. “You all won’t laugh, right?”

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’re excellent,” I whispered to him, trying not to embarrass him further. He nodded a smile as a ‘thank you.’

  The boys walked into the booth and began tuning their instruments, Ringo on drums, Paul on bass, John on acoustic guitar- and George, my George, on lead electric guitar. He told me that his guitar was a Gretsch; on of the finest guitars of the time. His model was called a country gentleman, and it was a very deep, almost blackish-maroon color. I thought it matched his hair and eyes quite well.

  John counted off and George Martin, the man who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere started recording. George had told me about their producer George Martin and how he had been working for a long time before he decided to work for the Beatles. He had gray, slicked back hair and deep eyes. He looked like a fatherly figure, just like Brian.

  Although Ringo said he was a horrible singer, I thought he was excellent. For being the Beatle who supposedly wasn’t as well of a singer, he was fantastic and far better than I could ever sing. His voice was deep, which was surprising for someone who was so small. Ringo sang a little bit, and I noticed George’s hands and fingers moving very fast up and down the guitar. I couldn’t imagine the amount of skill George had, as I had almost seemed to forget that he was a famous musician when we were together.