Beatles in a Beetle

The Grand Poobah Makes an Escape!

If I owned the Beatles, they would have made twice as many fabulous albums. The Beatles did not make twice as many fabulous albums. Therefore I do not own the Beatles (Logic!).

A/N: Thanks for sticking with this! This chapter's a bit short, but I promise the next one will be longer! Thanks to my lovely reviewers Macca's Little Teddy Bear on FanFiction and Macca40 and CityofStarlight on Wattpad!

Back on the van, George, Ringo, Mal, Neil, and Brian were planning what to do next.

"Where d'you reckon John and Paul got off to?" asked Mal, anxiously twiddling his thumbs.

"Probably still in the hotel," replied Neil gloomily.

"We can't go back in there!" exclaimed George, aghast. "They'll tear us apart!"

Brian moaned incoherently and rested his head in his hands.

"No need to worry, they're not in the hotel," said Ringo cheerily.

"How can you possibly know that?" asked Brian fretfully.

"Cause they're right there," said Ringo, pointing out the window.

Everyone whipped around to look where Ringo was pointing.

"I don't see them," said Neil. "Just a bunch of fans and a couple of street people."

"There they are!" shouted George. Then he did a double take. "What're they wearing?"

"You mean those two people are John and Paul?" yelped Mal, staring at the rather odd pair of people now slowly progressing toward the bus. "But . . . John's in a dress!"

Brian seemed beyond words as the Beatles' entourage watched Lennon/McCartney shoulder their way through the crowd. John seemed barely able to walk, hobbling with some sort of walking stick. Due to their unusual garb, fans seemed not to recognize them, instead moving aside rather warily for these strange personages.

"Make way!" John shouted at the crowd. "Batman's dying!"

He continued to wobble dangerously in his high heels, using the walking stick/suit storage bag to help himself maintain balance. Paul walked in front of him, pushing aside fans and making helpful siren noises.

"Out of our path!" crowed John. "Bow down to the Grand Poobah of Freedonia, or off with your heads!"

Paul switched to making trumpet noises. He cupped his hands around his mouth to amplify the sound; unfortunately, this dislodged his fake moustache, which floated to the ground. He stared at it in consternation.

"It's THEM!" shrieked someone in the crowd.

John ran straight out of his heels as he and Paul made a break for it. They struggled through the seething mass of fans to the bus. Ringo and George flung open the door, through which John and Paul collapsed, grinning like lunatics. They exchanged a high-five, still lounging on the floor of the bus.

Silence reigned inside. Outside the screaming continued.

"Well," said Brian finally.

John stood up and brushed off his dress.

"What do you think?" he asked, twirling. "Am I ready?"

George snickered. "You look smashing. 'Cept your hat seems to be off kilter."

John straightened his flapper hat, apparently mortified.

"That's better!" said Ringo appreciatively.

Paul leapt up and offered his left elbow to John. With his right he held the walking stick bag over his shoulder.

"Care for a dance?" asked Paul with a wink and a smile.

John blinked rapidly and fanned himself with his hand. "Ooh, I'm flattered!" he answered in a shrill falsetto, linking elbows with his songwriting partner.

Paul lead John down the aisle, both with stately posture. They disappeared behind a curtain into the instrument storage area in the back of the bus.

"I guess they're changing," said Neil.

"Ready to go?" asked Mal.

Brian nodded. Whether his face was flushed bright red from embarrassment or anger was anyone's guess.

George grinned. "Let's get this show on the road!"

A few minutes later, the bus had finally escaped the fans and the city. George was trying to catch up on sleep, snoring softly as his head drooped toward Ringo's shoulder. Ringo pushed the guitarist away. George's head lolled to his other shoulder. Ringo, who was trapped by George in the window seat, stared out the window. Brian and Neil were talking in hushed voices in the back, and Mal was reading an Elvis fan magazine. John and Paul, now back in their Beatle suits, sat next to each other near the front, trying to avoid making eye contact. Every time they did, they dissolved into fits of giggles.

"Where are we headed?" asked Ringo, turning away from the window to look at Brian.

"Ipswitch," replied Brian, breaking off from his hushed conversation with Neil.

"Oh," said Ringo.

"Feel enlightened?" asked John snidely.

"I was just asking," Ringo said, turning back to the window.

Brian and Neil remained silent, except for the scratch of Brian's fountain pen on a pad of paper. Wind whooshed outside. The van bumped along the road. A crow cawed.

"Can we stop and get some tea?" asked John.

"We've only been on the road ten minutes," sighed Neil.

"Can you all please just shut up?" complained George, still sunk down in his seat with his eyes closed.

It was going to be a long drive.

A/N: Again, sorry about how short this one was! Remember, the more reviews I get, the longer the next installment will be!