The window in Brian's apartment was pushed open by the wind, and I rushed over to get it before it blew all of his papers. Unfortunately it was too late. They fluttered off of the coffee table and all over the room.
Slamming the window closed and latching it, I hurried to pick up his reports. Though, a few moments later, he walked into the room. He had been in a foul mood all day, and this obviously was the last straw.
"You stupid girl!" He scolded. "What have you done now?"
"I'm sorry, sir." I didn't even try to put the blame on the window. Brian wasn't going to listen to me then. The lads had told me about his little tantrums, and I tried to keep a calm face even though I was terrified. He kept protesting and muttering about all the troubles had had in the past week, and as I continued to scramble around on my hands and knees for the papers, he shouted, "Are you even listening to me!"
Looking up at him, standing and setting down the stacked reports on the table, I said, "Yes, Mr. Epstein."
The young manager sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "At least someone is."
"Sir," I asked, feeling a bit braver, "may I suggest a day of rest? It might help some of your...stress."
Brian looked at me for a moment and said, quietly, "I'm sorry? Do you think that's funny?" His voice rose to a shout.
I wanted to say that I didn't understand, but then I did.
"I'm afraid...I'm not referring to what you believe I am, sir. I am sorry for the misunderstanding."
"You...you know? About me?" Brian said. "Do...do the lads know?"
I sat down on the couch, brushing the skirt of my dress. "I'm not sure if they know or not. It's alright, though, sir."
"No," Brian looked out the window miserably, "no, it's not. It's illegal here in Britain. I'd be sentenced to jail, and it'd be bad for the lads. Just because...I'm queer."
Offering him my handkerchief, though he wouldn't accept it, I whispered, "It's not queer...just because it's different. In my...I mean, where I'm from, we say gay, as in 'happy'. Though, it's bad if you say it in a derogatory way." Out of surprise, he looked up at me. "It will get better in time. I know it will."
"How?" He asked. "How do you about me if no one has told you? How did you know that the lads would be informed about America, and that I didn't dare sign that contract?"
As I picked up one of the folders he wanted me to organize, he watched me intently, as if I was some exotic, unearthly creature he'd only dreamed of seeing. "I wish I could explain, but I'm not even sure how to understand it myself. I hope you don't mind if I continue to work in my room. I'll finish my report, and get it to you tomorrow morning, after your long rest." I raised an eyebrow at him. The smallest of smiles appeared on the manager's face.
"Elle?"
"Yes, sir?" I looked over my shoulder as I opened the door.
"I thank...I mean, I appreciate your understanding."
I gave him a small smile, and then left.
That night, after I had long since finished the report, George knocked on my door, fully dressed in a suit. He held a rose in his hands behind his back. "For you," he offered it to me.
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you've got the wrong room." I teased.
"Let's go out, Elle," He said, "I've missed you so much. The only time I see you is when you're taking notes of us in the corner."
Sitting on my bed, I sighed, "I'm Brian's assistant now. It's my job."
"I want to see you as my beautiful girl, not a tired worker," George whined sweetly, kissing my cheek. I tried to hide a smile.
As he wrapped his arms around my waist, I sighed. "Oh, but that's my role now. And yours is being a Beatle."
George smiled, and kissed my cheek again, but slow and soft. "May I suggest that as soon as we leave this hotel tonight, I become just George and you become Elle?"
The youngest Beatle smiled at me. I kissed him for a moment, but then said, "I'll be right out. I must change, though."
He held me at an arm's length, and said, "You look wonderful right now." Tossing me my coat, he said, "Come now. Let's go!"
Paris was once again alight, and so was George in a way that I hadn't seen before. He took my hand and hurried me along in the streets, causing several older couples to glare at us.
We watched the Eiffel Tower glow and light up at midnight, and our today became tomorrow. George wrapped his arms around me, keeping us both warm as a chilly wind blew around us. He leaned down to kiss me, which was often something that made me smile. He was a few inches taller than me, for I was short for my age. But George felt so tall...
After he pulled away, I whispered, "I'm sorry."
"Why?" He looked at me questioningly.
"It isn't fair to you that I want to keep us a secret..." I began, which made George sigh.
"Elle, it's alright."
"No, it's not. You deserve better than this. Your girlfriend shouldn't be constantly worried, and you should be able to take her out in broad daylight-" He cut me off by kissing me. It was his sweet, polite way of saying You talk too much and it's annoying.
Clasping my hands in his, he whispered, "You worry too much, darling. I don't want a huge public relationship; I just want you. It doesn't matter if we have to do this every night, or if we tell the others tomorrow morning. I don't mind, as long as you are happy."
I hugged him, and our silhouettes were entwined as the Eiffel Tower glowed in front of us. "You're so sweet." I don't deserve you.
George kissed my cheek, and took my hand. "Let's walk."
We seemed to walk around the entire city of Paris in one night, which I knew could be done, but it felt like ages. I was resting my head on his shoulder most of the way, and he would occasionally lean over and kiss me, stopping in the middle of the walkway, sometimes to the annoyance of passers-by.
One of the times he did that I lost my balance and nearly fell, but I grabbed the collar of his jacket and he caught me. "I'm sorry." I stumbled. Klutz.
"It's alright."
We were coming back towards the hotel during the early hours of the morning, and a few people were outside the hotel, chattering and hoisting their cameras.
"Um...George, this doesn't look good-" I began, before a man turned to me.
"Ah, this is the boy!" The man spoke with a thick French accent. "You are with the band, no? Is she your wife?"
"No!" I said, startled at the close proximity of the reporters and journalists. George tried to clear a path for us, for he knew how frightened I was, but to no avail. He pulled a protective arm around me, trying to keep me somewhat brave.
"Where are the others!"
"Your next album, what is it!"
Then they turned to me, as if I was invisible, and suddenly appeared in George's arms.
"Are you married!" A man shouted from the back. A camera flash blinded me for a moment, and I winced, which definitely didn't create a pretty picture.
"Are you with another Beatle!"
"Are you expecting a child!" One of the reporters reached out and held my arm. George slapped it away. "Leave her alone!"
I grabbed at the youngest Beatle's arm. "George!" I cried, feeling trapped.
Soon the poor doorman grabbed us and helped us inside. I gasped for breath as we were ushered into the warm lobby. Holding George's arm, I pressed my face into his coat. "I'm sorry, George. That...that was a bit..."
"Scary, I know." He breathed. "Come now. Let's get upstairs. I'll have to talk to Brian. Hopefully things don't get too bad."
Though, we were so afraid they would.
"Elle."
"Elle, darling, it's time to wake up."
The soft light in the room still burned my eyes for a moment before they adjusted. It was still dark outside, so I must haven't been sleeping very long. George was leaning over me, fiddling with the blankets that were wrapped around me. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, even though it was only a few hours before that we were mobbed.
I sat up. "How early is it?"
"It's around four. The lads and I have to leave soon to do some conferences and interviews. Nothing too fun."
"Does Brian want me to do something for him?"
George stopped me from getting up by pressing my shoulders down against the pillows, a surprisingly strong action. "No. I just got a bit lonely."
I smiled shyly, and kissed his cheek. "You haven't sleep a bit?"
He shook his head. His mop of hair flopped around, which was absolutely adorable. For a moment everything was silent, but then we could hear some of the crowd still shouting to get into the George V. I jumped at the sound, and he took my hand. "It's alright, love. I promise. You didn't do anything wrong. It's my fault. I talked you into going out."
"I just don't want another reason for Brian to be mad at you."
George only shrugged, and after a few beats of silence, leaned over and kissed me. I held his bare shoulder, and he rubbed my back. Our kissing became deeper, more passionate and then the door to my room opened.
Cliff-hanger.
I know how much you darlings love those.
I'm sorry if this chapter was not spectacular. I am recovering from severe and traumatic boredom. I visited a school that I will soon be attending soon and listened to one too many speakers and thought that my youth was slowly being taken from me.
I'm sorry for complaining.
Good night (or good morning, depending on the time zones),
Luna.