With a hand on the small of my back, George guided me firmly through the doors of the studio.
"Wendy! Ello love!" Ringo called out from behind the drums. I smiled.
"Hi Rings. Where are the others?"
"In the back room. They're having a bit of a squabble."
My stomach flopped. Whatever it was it couldn't be good. George rolled his eyes.
"I'll go see what's keeping them."
"No George don't!" The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. I swallowed. "I mean I'm sure they'll be out when they're ready."
George frowned and was about to say something when Brian and George Martin appeared.
"Oh, hello Wendy!" Brian greeted me warmly. I blushed. There had certainly been a turning of tables since the last time.
"Hello, Brian. Mr. Martin."
George Martin nodded at me and looked straight at George.
"George, we must speak to you about your riff in Roll Over Beethoven." He looked at me. "Do you mind?"
My eyes widened.
"Oh no, take your time! I won't bother a soul, I swear! Thank you for inviting me back!"
Brian chuckled.
"Oh it's no bother." he patted my arm. "Thank you for keeping the boys happy."
I blushed and laughed nervously.
"Thank you for letting me."
Brian trailed after the two Georges who were making their way to the sound booth and I was left alone in the main room with Ringo.
"Well, now." Ringo said climbing down from his throne. "What do you say we get a cuppa?"
I grinned. "That sounds lovely."
As we made our way towards the kitchen I was cut short by hushed voices.
"Erm, you go on and put the kettle on Ritchie. I'll be right there."
Ringo shrugged and headed for the kitchen.
"Suit yourself."
I bit my lip and cautiously made my way down the long hall to where I had woken up from my "nap" which seemed decades prior. Had it only been one month? The voices belonged to Paul and John and Paul sounded hysterical. I gulped at the mention of my name.
"I just don't understand her, John!" he exclaimed. "She came in, sat down, and played the song...very thoroughly, mind you."
I peered around the corner to survey the scene before me. Paul was pacing back and forth like a caged tiger and John stood in the corner smoking a cigarette, a look of amusement and contemplation upon his countenance. For someone so red-blooded I was perplexed as to how he wasn't more moved.
"Paulie. Keep yer shirt on."
Paul stopped pacing and looked up.
"It doesn't strike you odd?"
John flicked an ash into the ashtray and looked his bandmate in the eye.
"Don't yer feel tha' yer making this thing a little drastic?"
Paul picked at his nails.
"But John! You even said that you hadn't played it!"
"So I did."
"And tha' you haven't spoken to the girl in a week."
"True that."
Paul ran his fingers through his hair.
"I just don't understand how you can sit there so unphased by this when there's a bird out there stealing our songs...that haven't even been finished!"
John sighed and stood up, snuffing his cigarette out completely.
"Macca. Macca, Macca, Macca. Don't worry yersel' to death. Yer liable to have grey hairs."
Paul scoffed and looked the other way.
"If you think this is such a laugh then why don't you open up a circus right here, hmm!?"
He stormed past me and out of the room, leaving John standing there, staring at the wall. Smirking.
I felt my heart nearly stop as I felt his eyes meet mine from the dark corner of the room and for a split second I thought he saw me. To this day I don't know if he did. He seemed to be enjoying himself there, mesmerized by something quite out of reach. Standing there in the dark, pondering. But pondering what? That was the question I dreaded the answer to.
Backing up quickly before I could be spotted, I retreated towards the kitchen, running headlong into Ringo, jumping out of my skin at the mere sight of him.
"Oh, goodness Rings! I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed, helping wipe up the tea that had been spilt.
Ringo laughed.
"S'right, love. No use crying over split tea! Ahaha!"
Ha ha. I pressed my hand to my chest, still recovering from the little scare I had had. I was so sure that it had been Paul.
Ringo chuckled at me.
"Yer alrigh, love? Yer seem a bit jumpy."
"I'm-I'm fine!" I stuttered, grabbing a handful of tea cups and carrying them into the kitchen. Ringo trailed after.
"I'm not convinced."
Thrusting the cups onto the countertop, I headed for the door.
"Well, get convinced."
~~~
I spent most of the day in between couches in the studio. It was good to be back, and good to hear the boys play, but not so good to feel untrusted. I could feel it looming in the air, a certain mystique. It was namely Paul who felt the mistrust and he had every right to be uncertain of me. John on the other hand just seemed deep in thought throughout the majority of the session. He kept to himself and outside of singing and making major corrections, he rarely spoke a word at all. George and Ringo didn't seem the least bit phased and I was grateful to have some assurance.
It wasn't until late that evening that we broke for dinner. It wasn't a long break infact it was cut short by George Martin who decided that the boys return at 9 to record the vocals on Paul's ballad, Till There Was You. That meant that the rest of the lads were done for the day if they wished. George however decided to rehearse on his own back at the studio. I wasn't sure if he was going to practice his riffs or songwriting but either way I reluctantly tagged along to keep him company.
It was probably sometime after eleven when I got bored and decided to take a walk outside.
"I'm going to stretch my legs for a bit." I told George as I headed outside.
"Good idea." he mumbled, not lifting his eyes from his guitar. I cracked a smile and opened the back door, no sooner to be greeted with the chilly December London air.
Shivering, I huddled down into the lovely mink coat George had bought me for my birthday. It was a little breezy but I was accustomed to the cold being a cold-veined midwesterner and all. I thought about Illinois, all the cornfields and flat country roads. I thought about Chicago, where smog and buildings were crammed so tightly together you had to squint to see through them. And then, for the first time in a while, I thought about home.
I thought about what it must be like if time wasn't passing. Somewhere fifty years ahead, my apartment was waiting. Somewhere there lay my guitar and textbooks and unmade bed. It hadn't occurred to me till just then that I had forgotten to feed my cat Lucy that last morning in all the excitement to get to Dr. Spinetti's office.
Good ole Victor Spinetti. Ah, what I would give to get my hands on that man now. Not as a hologram but as a pure man of flesh and bone -just so I could wring his neck! I gritted my teeth at the thought of the lawsuit he would have piling on top of his head. It would be ten stories high at least when I got home...if I ever did get home. Gosh, it seemed as though I had been stuck there forever! That Spinetti and his games. I could just see him standing there in the dark, smiling so big his teeth were glistening like the Cheshire Cat. Leaning up against the brick wall like he ruled the world and everything was at his fingertips. It was his attitude that bothered me, his suave no-care enigma one minute and then blaming me for getting stuck there the next.
"Someday, Victor, you're gonna pay for this." I muttered under my breath, staring him down.
That's when I stopped dead in my tracks and realized that the make believe Victor I had been staring at in the dark for the last five minutes wasn't really Victor at all; he wasn't make believe either. The low scouse accent struck a nerve deep within me and a bolt of terror consumed my soul as he stepped forth, out of the darkness, revealing his identity.
"Pay for what, love?"