In the night, there are sights to be seen,
Stars like jewels on the crown of a Queen,
But the only sight I wanna view,
Is that wonderful picture of you.
Minnie's eyes are dancing. That's the only word for it. It's a warning when she's this excited, it invariably means there's some kind of trouble ahead.
'Have you seen this?' she says to me, as she pulls a vinyl LP out of the brown paper package in her hand and pushes it under my nose. I glance at it and then have to pick it up to look closer, almost not believing what I was looking at.
'Where did you get this?' I ask, looking back up at her.
She smiles enigmatically, like she's not going to tell me, but I can see she's bursting with whatever news she has.
I calculate in my head how long it's been since I saw his face. It feels so long ago. It was November 1960 and it's July 1963 now. Two and a half years, just over. We've come an enormous distance in that time. So, apparently, have they.
*
One of the most common interview questions - for us, and I guess most music groups - was how did you guys meet. In our case, how did two girls from the north of England, end up in a singing quartet with two girls from New York. Minnie would usually jump in to answer and soon her story was so cemented in our psyche that even I believed it. It was based on the truth, but essentially she'd made it up, adding more details as we went along.
Minnie didn't have many friends when we were kids, and much fewer were the ones you could count as close friends - but there was one. She was called Sarah Kelly and Minnie had known her since primary school. Not long after Minnie had turned 13, Sarah's family moved to the US, but Minnie had always kept in contact with her. When Minnie and Sarah would have been about seventeen, Sarah married a guy who worked on Wall Street in New York. He was quite a few years older than her, Minnie couldn't believe she'd done it.
When everyone except for Stu had returned to Liverpool, Minnie told me that Sarah had suggested we went over there to visit her. She'd also happened to mention how vibrant the club scene in Queens was, and Minnie - a little homesick for Liverpool, I think, thought we should try there. Sarah wired us some money - a loan that I'm not sure we ever fully repaid, and thanking Astrid for her hospitality we left a couple of days after New Years day.
Sarah was just what we needed after living out of a suitcase in Germany for so long. She looked after us. She cooked our meals, she washed our clothes. She helped us get ourselves together. In return, Minnie ensured Sarah had some fun. She'd married so young, and her husband put in such long hours at work, she was bored, lonely and depressed. Minnie took her - and me - out four or five nights a week. This created friction within Sarah's marriage - her husband thinking she should stay in, waiting at home for him. There were terrible arguments and after a few weeks, it was clear we'd out stayed our welcome.
We needed money, and fast. However, Minnie was dead set against us getting 'real' jobs, still dedicated to her dream of singing professionally. We hadn't a clue about how to go about getting 'green cards' or anything like that anyway.
Sarah knew two girls - twins, called Elizabeth and Catherine Raine - who were singers looking for one or two others to make up a singing group. This would be the part of interviews where Minnie would say, 'So we met the girls and it all just clicked into place!' - as if it was destiny.
Elizabeth and Catherine - or Bettie and Cathy as they were called professionally, and Bet and Cat as we knew them, had been groomed for a career in the limelight from the time they were four years old. They'd been in TV
shows and commercials as little girls. They'd done catalogue modelling and then when they were around fourteen it was decided they should concentrate on a singing career. They even already had representation in place and the offer of a record deal had been aired. With girl groups like The Chantels and The Shirelles already making a stir and more new acts like The Supremes appearing on the scene, it seemed obvious that a trio or a quartet was the way to go.
They wouldn't have looked at us twice if they knew the truth. Minnie fed everyone a pack of lies. She said we'd been singing in the Liverpool clubs for years. She said we'd partnered different Merseybeat groups. She said we were currently between managers and were deciding whether to go to London, where the record labels would be biting our hands off - naturally, or to try out in the US. So they gave us an audition.
Minnie always made out like we swanned in there and bang, we were a group. It wasn't like that. There were private auditions, held in a theatre, and several other people - with a lot more experience than us - were trying out too. The group was intended as a vehicle for the Raine twins. The name - The Raindrops - had already been picked out. Luck, and a self-believing temerity that only seems available to those with literally nothing to lose, saw us through.
The audition was alright, I thought we sang well, but when we heard the other girls - some of them already professional singers - we got downhearted. We were supposed to wait until the end to see if we'd gotten through to the next round, but as we watched another pair of girls perform with the vocal range of an opera singers, Minnie nudged me and whispered, 'I think we're wasting our time. Fancy ending this torture early?'
I nodded and gathering our things we slipped out of the auditorium.
'I'll just powder my nose,' Minnie said, as we stepped into the foyer. I went to stand on the steps at the front of the theatre to wait for her. It was a clear February day, cold, but crisply clear. Bright blue skies.
'You're not leaving already, are you?' a voice said, to the side of me.
I turned to see one of the audition judges, standing to the side of the steps, smoking. He was a huge guy, not fat, just tall and well built. He had a square face with a strong angular jaw, black hair which he wore slicked back, with a curl at the front. He wore a navy melton overcoat over a pinstripe suit and a white shirt with a silver bar through the collar. 'There's only two or three left to go.'
I smiled. 'Yes, um, I was just waiting for my sister.'
'Oh, you're English?' he says and I nod. He puts his hand out for me to shake it. 'Maurice Bewley,' he says and I gingerly shake his hand. Everyone shakes your hand over here and I can't get used to it. People don't really do that back in England. 'Sorry, my memory isn't what it was. What was your name again?'
'Hannah,' I reply. 'Hannah James and my sister is Minnie.'
His smile widened. 'That's right, that's right. Two sisters. I thought you sang very well, my dear.'
'Thank you.'
'In fact,' he adds, climbing the steps so he's level with me. 'I would say you and your sister are one of the front runners.'
I couldn't hide my surprise. 'Really? But, uh, we thought...'
'Oh yes,' he interrupted. 'It's not just up to me, of course. There are two others I'll have to convince, but I think I will definitely be giving you two my vote.' He leaned into me, putting his hand to the side of his mouth. 'Keep that to yourselves, though!' he stage whispers, and puts his hand on the door, opening it just as Minnie comes out. 'Ah, Minnie James,' he says loudly. 'Wonderful voice!' and disappears inside.
'Did you hear that?' Minnie asks as she joins me outside. 'Wasn't he one of the...'
'Yeah, one of the audition judges,' I say. 'He was just speaking to me, telling me we should wait around!'
Minnie's eyes lit up. 'Then I suppose we should,' she says, opening the door again.
A lot of things written about The Raindrops said I was older than Bet and Cat. Actually, I was a little younger than them. They were eighteen in 1961. I was still seventeen, at least until May - and still a minor in the eyes of the law. After what had happened to George in Hamburg, Minnie didn't take any chances. She said I was a year old than I really was, put my birthdate as 1942 instead of 1943. That meant she had to falsify her birthdate too, otherwise my sister would have only been six months older than me. In private, we would laugh at how women - actresses and singers especially - lied about their age to appear younger - and here were we, lying that we were older.
The man outside the theatre, Maurice Bewley, was the Raine Twins' manager. He managed a few other acts who were all male singers. We were his first - and only - all female group. By the end of 1961 The Raindrops were regulars on the Queens club circuit and often elsewhere too. We'd been booked into the studio (paid for by Maurice) and cut two sides - covers of Poison Ivy, an old fave on the Merseybeat scene, and Cry Baby which had been a hit for The Bonnie Sisters in 1956. Cat sang lead on Poison Ivy and Bet on the B-side. The record did okay locally, but didn't do anything nationally.
The Shirelles went to number one in early '61 with Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow, and the year was bookended with The Marvelettes Please Mr Postman. Girl groups became a hot trend and we were back in the studio again in early '62 to cut a second single. Maurice promised us if we could promote it and get it to a reasonable chart position, we might be able to do an album. So we worked and worked. We sang at as many venues as we could, wherever we could. We were booked, lowest on the bill, on a twelve date New York state tour, and the single got into the charts, peaking at number forty. I was a little disappointed that it didn't get any higher, but Maurice thought it was great. We recorded an album which was released at the end of 1962.
Then came the touring. Tours and tours and then more tours. The Raindrops album did okay on the charts. Nothing like the realms of The Ronettes or The Shirelles, but still, not bad. It was a long hard slog. We played shows at least five days a week and did matinees on some days too. We were on the road for weeks, touring with three or four other acts. Being four girls we were spared the tour bus - Maurice would arrange private transport for us - but that was pretty much where any kind of luxury ended. We stayed in the most horrible hotels - ones which made the Bambi Kino rooms in Hamburg look like The Ritz. There was no glamour; we had to do all our own laundry, mostly washed by hand in hotel room sinks and we'd have to pay for our own food and board; which was taken out of our pay every week. It didn't matter, we just wanted to try and get somewhere with our music. We'd have done it for nothing.
We worked our way up slowly. Eventually we got on a 28 date tour which was headlined by a Gene Vincent style rock singer called Vince Taylor - who Minnie had a brief, but tumultuous, affair with. Vince had been born in the UK but grown up in the US. He was unknown in the US but had success in Europe. He was the sort of person who always attracted drama and already had a reputation for being unreliable - missing gigs and not paying bills. His own band - The Playboys - got fed up with him and sacked him towards the end of the tour. They'd been offered a gig in Paris. Vince went with them anyway and later ended up rejoining them - but this effectively ended his and Minnie's relationship.
Next we toured supporting Dion, one of my favourite singers and we felt for the first time like we were getting somewhere. During the tour Dion had a hit with The Wanderer - something which had been rather unexpected as it was actually a B-side. More hits followed. Dion moved record labels and quit our tour; he was too much in demand. This left us with no headliner so Maurice immediately volunteered his star attraction to the tour promotors - Ricky West.
Out of all the acts Maurice managed, we were low down on the pecking order. We'd only see him occasionally. We had a steady stream of road managers who seemed to be replaced weekly. All that changed when Ricky joined the tour. Suddenly Maurice was there all the time. Things got done faster with him around and he'd take us out for dinner the nights he was with us. Maurice had a reputation for being hard, difficult to deal with if you were on the wrong side of him, but he was a sweetheart really. On the quiet, he was quite generous, kind and gentle. If he ever gave you anything, it would always be accompanied with a, 'Don't tell anyone about that.' He didn't want his competition or business partners finding out he could be a bit of a push over.
Maurice had managed Ricky since he was a kid. Ricky trusted him implicitly and so we all did. He'd never made a wrong move with Ricky's career. He had an aptitude for the business and a nose for the next big thing.
Ricky was born Riccardo Salvatore Vescio, but Maurice, in his wisdom, decided that name was too long and too Italian for Rock and Roll and promptly changed it to Ricky West. Ricky's family on his mother's side was Italian, but his father had been Irish, this combination of genes giving him his good looks and singing voice. Ricky didn't look Italian. He had the dark hair and gorgeous olive skin, but with dark green eyes, inherited from his father. His parents had never married, although they'd been engaged. Ricky's father had left shortly before he'd been born. He'd never met him. Still, Ricky's family were close, if small. His uncle - his mother's brother - Salvatore Mario Vescio - had taken them in when Ricky's father left and was more like a father figure in Ricky's life then an uncle. He was well connected, although I never did grasp exactly what he did for a living. He owned a couple of restaurants, but except for eating there, he didn't have much to do with running them. He was the one who'd gotten Ricky the career breaks he'd needed, introduced him to Maurice.
Teenage girls magazines nicknamed Ricky 'the Teen Dream' when he had his first hit in 1955, even though Ricky had been 26 by then. I always thought he looked younger than he really was. He was 14 years older than me, but I didn't even think about the age gap when he asked me to go to dinner with him one night.
I was, I have to admit, totally swept off my feet by Ricky. Ricky was talented, handsome, generous and so easy going, nothing ever seemed to bother him. Maurice was always one to over react, imagine the worst and panic at every little thing. Ricky would just laugh and tell him things would work out. He never worried about a thing.
After weeks, months, of living hand to mouth, making only handful of dollars every week, suddenly, with Ricky, we were in the lap of luxury. Not just me, but all of us. He told Maurice to put us in nicer hotels, get us better costumes. He wanted us to back him on some songs and we would - we'd do our own set first and then return to back Ricky for a couple of numbers.
On my first proper date with Ricky - a rare weekend at home - he took me to one of the nicest restaurants in New York. It was hard not to be impressed. The maitre d' couldn't do enough for him; giving us the best table, complimentary champagne. Afterwards he took me to a cocktail bar. I drank two Long Island Iced Teas which went straight to my head, and then danced with Ricky until I felt a little more sober. We walked for hours, hand in hand, just talking, not going home until the small hours of the morning. Minnie and I were renting a small apartment near to the twins home in Queens. When we finally got home, Ricky kissed me goodnight against the wall of our building and whispered, 'Hannah, I think I'm falling in love with you.' My heart soared.
But my joy was short lived. The tour was coming to an end and we didn't have anything concrete in the diary for afterwards. Ricky would be leaving to start work on a second season of his TV show. I would miss him terribly. The Ricky West TV show had started in 1961, essentially a vehicle for Ricky which would see him performing two or three numbers per show with guest acts in between, and bits about Ricky's personal life which were totally fabricated.
After the last date of our tour, we had a huge party at one of Ricky's Uncle Sal's restaurants to celebrate. There were lots of people there, lots of music and dancing, but I couldn't help feeling sad that it was all over. I hadn't even had chance to see Ricky that much. Everyone wanted to get close to him. It was easy to be squeezed out.
Close to the end of the night, I found myself sitting at the back of the room at the end of a long table, on my own. The table was still covered in dirty plates and glasses, remnants of party poppers and silly paper hats, and it all seemed so depressing. Everything was ending.
I wasn't the only one feeling down. Minnie sat down heavily on a chair next to me with a loud sigh and announced, 'I'm going home. Coming with me?'
'Yeah, maybe,' I tell her. 'But I need to wait for Ricky first.'
'Where is he?' Minnie asks, sitting up, looking around for him.
'Over there.' I point. Ricky and Maurice hold court at the table at the top of the room, four or five other men with them, laughing, drinking, smoking cigars. Ricky catches my eye and winks. I purse my lips in response and he pushes his chair back from the table, standing, still talking to the other men.
Minnie frowns. 'You know he's got absolutely nothing lined up for us,' she says, indicating to Maurice.
'I thought we were going to have a couple of weeks off anyway,' I reply. 'We haven't had a break in months.'
'Yeah, well, that had better not turn into a couple of months, because before you know it, that will be a year and then you might as well take the rest of your life off!'
I study her. She's a bit drunk. She always starts getting wound up about the band's future when she's had too much.
'I'm going home,' she says again.
'Do you want me to get a cab with you?'
'Nah, you're okay. I'll get one on my own. Bill it to Maurice.'
'What are you complaining about this time, Minnie?' Ricky says, coming up behind her.
'Sod off, Ricky,' she replies, standing up and stumbling slightly.
Ricky puts his hands on her shoulders to steady her. 'Enjoyed the free wine, have you?' he says, teasing her.
Minnie swears and turns to leave. I call her back but she ignores me. Cat, across the room, is watching. She calls over to me, 'Don't worry, Hannah! I'll go with her!' and rushes after Minnie.
Ricky laughs and sits down in Minnie's vacated seat. 'Don't laugh,' I tell him, poking him. 'That's your fault, that is.'
He kisses me briefly and replies, 'Well, she's never happy. Free food, free wine, and she's still complaining.'
'She's just worried about what we're going to do next. There's nothing planned and Maurice is being rather... evasive.'
'It'll be okay. You can trust Maurice.'
I nod, although I'm not so sure.
'At least you'll be in New York for a while,' Ricky adds. 'Close to me.'
I smile. 'If you've got time to fit me into your busy schedule.'
'I'll always make time for you, baby.'
I laugh. 'Like you have tonight?'
'Oh, I see. That's what's the matter then, is it? You think I've been ignoring you?'
'Haven't you? This is the longest I've spoken to you all night.'
'Come on then, lets go somewhere else. Just us.'
I glance over to where Maurice is. He's watching us, looking annoyed. 'I don't think Maurice will be happy if you disappear this early.'
Ricky looks back round at him and gives him a little wave. Maurice vaguely waves back, embarrassed, looking silly. We laugh. 'He'll live,' Ricky says, back to me. 'Want to leave?'
'No, thanks. I think I'd better go and check Minnie's okay anyway.'
'Ah, Hannah,' he says, putting his hand to my chin and lifting my head up. 'Don't look so sad.'
I shake my head at him. 'I'm not.'
'What's the matter?'
'Nothing. It's just...'
'What?'
'I'm going to miss not being with you every day.'
'We'll still see each other.'
'It won't be the same.' Something echoes through me unexpectedly. A memory. George. I push the thought from my mind. Since we left Germany, I don't allow myself to think about him anymore.
Ricky sits back from me, thinking. 'Well, what... what about if you were on the show too?'
'What show?'
'My show, dumbo.'
I sit up. 'What? The Ricky West show? All of us?'
He laughs. 'Yes, all of us. It needs something new. A house girl group will lift it.'
I grin, but then as Maurice catches my eye over Ricky's shoulder, my smile fades. 'What about Maurice? Will he agree?'
'I'll talk to him. I'll make him think it's all his idea.'
The Raindrops joined the Ricky West show for the second season and almost over night our profile shot up. Suddenly, we were being invited on to radio and TV shows, instead of Maurice having to crowbar us into things. People even started recognising us in the street. On the show, we were able to experiment more with our music and try out different things. Everyone would take a turn at singing lead. We'd back Ricky on some songs and sing our own too. By now it was known that Ricky and I were 'an item' as the magazines put it, and the producers liked to play on it. I'd sing the odd song with him on our own, silly duets and they wanted me to take part in the daft skits he did, although, honestly, I was a terrible actress.
A third season was commissioned before the end of the second one. Minnie didn't need to have worried. We were soon struggling to fit filming, studio recording and appearances all in.
*
Life was so busy I didn't have time to think about much else. I'd felt a little homesick during our time in Hamburg, but now I would hardly think about Liverpool, or certain other things from there. I managed to do that quite well, so I thought.
Most of filming is waiting around. It takes ages to set the lights, the sound, the stages. I think I read more books during the filming of the Ricky West show than at any other time in my life.
We wait in the canteen usually. We had dressing rooms, but they were windowless, airless broom cupboards, so decamping to the canteen was the better option. Minnie hasn't arrived yet. It didn't really matter as everything else is running behind as well, but Bet was grumbling about it, saying she wasn't taking it seriously, wasn't acting professionally. Cat makes excuses for her, trying to keep the peace and I tried to stay out of it, staring at the words on the page, but failing to take in a word I was reading.
'She's probably just caught in traffic,' Cat says to her sister. 'She's never missed a day yet.'
'Hannah's managed to make it here on time. If she's not here in five minutes, I'm going to speak to Maurice about it.'
Just as she spoke these words, Minnie crashed through the doors of the canteen, blustering over to us, throwing a bag on to a near by chair and straightening her clothes.
'See, here she is!' Cat exclaims, more than a tad of relief in her voice.
'About time,' Bet mumbles.
Minnie gives her a pointed look. 'I had to go and collect something from the post office,' she says lightly.
'Oh well, if it was a matter of life and death,' Bet replies.
Minnie ignores the comment. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a large flat package wrapped in brown paper. 'Have you seen this?' she says to me, as she passes a vinyl record to me.
'Where did you get this?' I ask.
'Look who it is!'
Bet and Cat lean over to see what we're looking at. 'Who are they?' Bet asks.
I feel funny suddenly, a strange nervous feeling bubbling up in my stomach. 'We used to know these guys,' I tell Bet and Cat, passing the record over to them. 'They're from Liverpool too.' I turn back to Minnie. 'When did they make a record? Where did you get it from?'
'Someone sent it to me.' Her eyes are bright, she can't stop smiling.
'It looks... like a real one.'
'Of course it's real. What do you think it is? Imaginary?'
'Wait, who sent it to you?'
'Is there a record player somewhere?' Cat says. 'We can play it.'
Minnie rolls her eyes at me. 'Okay, Sherlock. John sent it to me.'
'John?' I repeat. 'John John?'
'Who's John?' Cat asks.
I reach over and point to one of the figures on the cover. 'That's John,' I say. 'He was Minnie's boyfriend before we moved here.' Back to Minnie, I say, 'I didn't know you were still in touch with John?'
Bet looks at the record cover a little closer and pulls her face, unimpressed.
'He wasn't my boyfriend,' Minnie tells Cat, taking the record back from Bet. 'But this one was Hannah's boyfriend.' She taps the cover.
Cat looks closer at the picture. 'He's cute,' she says to me. 'What was his name?'
'George,' I say, quietly.
It's been a long time since I said his name out loud. It sounds foreign in my mouth. I lean over to take another look at him. George stands in between Paul and John. Surprisingly, Ringo Starr, the drummer from The Hurricanes, is with them. The teddy boy clothes and hair are gone. They're in suits, looking down from above, big smiles as they lean over either a balcony or a stair well.
I had tried to stay in touch with Astrid and Klaus when we left Germany. Klaus sent a couple of letters but it petered out quite quickly. I had a few more letters from Astrid, but that too fell away. Stu, lovely sweet Stuart Sutcliffe, died last year. April 1962. It's already been over 12 months since. I couldn't believe it when Astrid wrote to me with the news. How do you reply to something like that? I wrote back, telling her how sorry I was, asking what had happened. She wrote a couple more times, but I haven't heard from her in months now. I had no idea Minnie kept in touch with anyone. She's never mentioned it. The fact she's still in contact with John is a surprise second only to the professional glossy LP in front of me.
'Pete's not there any more,' I say finally.
'No,' Minnie replies. 'Ringo's in the band now,' she adds, knowingly.
'What sort of name is Ringo?' Bet laughs.
'Ringo Starr,' I tell her, smiling. 'He used to be the drummer for another band. He's was a nice guy. Always joking.'
I take the record and turn it over. It's a 14 track LP called Please Please Me. I recognise a couple of the tracks from their Hamburg set, but most of the songs are different. A few have the song writing credit 'Lennon/McCartney', which makes me feel strangely proud. I turn it back over to the front, unable to stop staring at the picture of George.
'You should see what they've done to their hair,' Minnie says. 'You can't tell from this picture very well but they've all got it cut the same. Astrid did it.'
'Did she? How come you know all this, Min?'
'I get a letter from John every now and then.' She takes the record back from me, slipping it back in to her bag. 'We'll play this when we get home. See if they're any good anymore.'
'Is it out in the US?'
'No, England only. But apparently, they're doing alright.'
'Alright' turns out to be an under statement. Just like when we first met them in Liverpool, as soon as that record turns up in the post, The Beatles are suddenly everywhere. It starts slowly - newspaper and magazine articles report on the phenomena they were already calling Beatlemania, poking fun at it, but it soon caught on over here too. A single was released in the US at the end of 1963, I Want To Hold Your Hand. I bought it, but I felt odd when I played it, like I was doing it behind Ricky's back. It didn't matter if I played it or not, soon it was all over the radio and more songs followed.
'Hannah,' Minnie says, lying on the sofa in our apartment one night, an ominous tone to her voice. 'The Beatles are coming.'
'So you keep saying,' I reply, not looking up. She had a letter in her hand. I tried to resist looking at it. I knew who it was from.
'No, they really are coming,' she says, unable to hide the excitement in her voice. 'In February.'
I give in and look at her. February isn't far away. 'So what?' I say petulantly.
'We should go and see them,' Minnie says.
The doorbell rings. I shrug at her and get up to answer it.
'Don't you want to?' Minnie asks.
'I'm not bothered,' I reply, crossing the room, although there's already a knot in my stomach.
'Course not,' Minnie says, as I leave the room. She sits up and leans over the back of the sofa. 'If that's Howard, tell him I'm out,' she shouts after me just as I open the door.
Howard is Minnie's latest boyfriend. Latest in a long line of would-be suitors. She changes them as often as other people change their socks. As soon as they start really liking her, wanting to be with her, she loses interest and breaks up with them. Unfortunately for Howard, he seems to be particularly besotted with her, and that's just anathema to Minnie. He stands forlornly outside the door, gripping a bunch of carnations in his hand. I smile at him. He's blatantly just heard her.
'Sorry, Howard, Minnie's not home,' I say, sounding so fake I could be sick.
He nods, knowing I'm lying. 'It's okay,' he says. 'You don't need to cover for her. Here,' he gives me the flowers. 'You might as well have these instead, Hannah.'
I take the flowers from him, trying to smile sympathetically. 'She doesn't like being smothered,' I say to him in a low voice. 'If you just cooled off a little bit, that might help.'
Howard gives a small nod but he doesn't look convinced.
'Hey, Howard, there's a name for guys who give flowers to other guys girlfriends,' Ricky says, walking up behind Howard.
'I wasn't,' Howard says, missing Ricky's facetious tone. 'T-they were for Minnie,' he stutters. He always goes odd around Ricky. He's a little overawed by him.
Ricky pats him on the back. 'Yeah, whatever you say, buddy. I'm watching you,' he teases, slipping past him, into the apartment. I try to smile at him, but Howard looks dismayed as I close the door on him.
'Another broken heart,' Ricky says, giving me a brief kiss. 'Has she replaced poor ole Howie yet?'
In the living room, Minnie's put the Beatles record on the player again. 'No,' I say, carefully. 'But I think she might have one in mind.'
'Oh, who?'
I turn back to Ricky. 'I need to talk to you,' I say flatly.
Ricky raises an eyebrow. 'Okay,' he says, taken aback by my sudden serious tone. 'What's the matter?'
'Come in here for a minute.' I lead him to my room, which overlooks the back of the building. I sit down on the bed. Ricky hangs back by the door, unsure.
'You're worrying me, Hannah,' he says.
I shake my head. 'I'm sorry, it's nothing, I just wanted to tell you...' My voice fades away.
'What?'
'The Beatles,' I say with a sigh. 'We used to know them. Back in England.'
'Yeah, I know,' Ricky says. 'Minnie never shuts up about it.'
I smile faintly. 'Yes, but, I haven't been totally honest with you.' Ricky shifts his weight uncomfortably but remains silent. 'I used to... George was my boyfriend,' I blurt.
Ricky nods slowly. 'Right,' he says. 'Which one is George again?'
'The lead guitar,' I say.
Ricky crosses the room and kneels down in front of me. 'And when was this?'
'When I was seventeen. Before we came to New York.'
'So - two, three years ago?'
I nod.
Ricky smiles. 'Why are you telling me this? Are you planning on running away with him or something?'
'No,' I say emphatically. 'No, I just wanted you to know. I felt like I was keeping it secret from you.'
Ricky's smile widens. He takes my hand. 'Hannah, you're so sweet,' he says, laughing. 'A bit of a dope, but sweet...'
I smile at him, taking my hand back, pretending to be offended. 'I wish I hadn't bothered telling you then...'
'It's okay,' he says laughing. 'I understand, baby, you had a life before you met me.' He kisses me. I try to concentrate on him, push thoughts of George from my mind. Ricky draws back from me. 'You must have a thing for guitar players then, huh?' he says, grinning.