The next day went past much more quickly. With an actual job to do and something to occupy her mind May found the time shot past. And being on set meant she got to see what she really wanted: The Beatles. She hadn’t really had opportunity to meet them properly or talk to them since their impromptu introduction, and she got the feeling they might be acting a little cagey towards her. She imagined that by now they had been filled in with the sordid details of the past few days and she got the impression they weren’t too certain what the correct reaction should be. She had also been met with disapproval from Brian who was distinctly cold and formal with her.
Brian introduced her to a couple of the NEMS staff and abruptly excused himself. He thinks I’m sleeping with George, May realised, and he thinks it’s wrong. Double standards, it seemed. It hardly took a stretch of the imagination to think of what perks of the job The Beatles might get to enjoy. I haven’t done a thing wrong, and yet I’m made to feel guilty as sin! But she pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind and tried to concentrate on the job. Like George had said, let them think what they like.
The job was little more than a go-fer thing, but May found the filming fascinating. She had been in several TV studios before, but never on a film set. Things were done differently and on a much grander scale. There were pieces of equipment lying around she had never even seen before, much less knew what to do with.
They filmed quite late, eventually only being forced to quit by the fading light and arriving back at Acton, May helped one of the Costume designers, Julie, pack some of the props and wardrobe things into the storage cases. A short while after six, George found her there, and tutted, tapping his foot impatiently.
“Where have you been?” he said, “Come on, beer’s not gonna drink itself you know.”
“I thought you were going to show me the town?” she replied, very aware of the jealous eyes of the eavesdropping costume mistress.
“Yeah, I thought we might start with the inside of The Coach and Horses,” he said with a sly smile.
George led her out of the station and round the corner to a pub that doubled as a bed and breakfast. The news hadn’t gotten out about the Beatles filming in the area so pleasantly there weren’t screaming hoards waiting for them, only members of the crew, and right at the back in a dark corner, George’s co-stars.
They stood at the bar and George bought himself a pint and May a coke. May did drink but she thought she had better not add alcohol to her reputation of loose morality. George paid the barman and moved towards where the other Beatles were sitting. May hung back.
“I might go and sit over there,” she said, indicating to a table where Julie and the hair stylist, Betty were sitting.
“What for?” George asked.
Because it’s awkward, May thought, it seemed apparent the other Beatles weren’t as keen to make her acquaintance as George was. She didn’t reply.
“Don’t be daft,” George said and walked off. She followed reluctantly and took the chair George offered. As she sat down the others around the table clammed up. George briskly introduced her to Neil and Mal who sat between her and John Lennon. “The real Shake and Norm,” Mal told her warmly, shaking her hand.
“You’re from Manchester then?” Paul asked after a pause.
“Yes,” May replied, “But I live in Wales now.”
“I’ve always fancied a house in Wales,” Ringo said absently.
“Do you like it?” Paul continued, then hastily added, “Wales, I mean. Aberystwyth, isn’t it?”
“Aber-what-wyth?” John laughed.
May smiled, “It took me about a month to learn how to say it too. In English it means ‘mouth of the river Ystwyth’. Except the Ystwyth is a little stream, the Rhiedol is the big river so it should be Aberrhiedol, really. Yeah, it’s nice but…”
“What? It’s full of Welsh people?” John offered jokingly.
“It’s not London. It’s like living forty years ago there. It’s so dead and dull.”
“Ah, so that’s why you’ve legged it back here then?” John said.
“John!” Paul warned.
“What? She’s not gonna crumble!”
“Yeah, kind of,” May answered shyly.
“Well, you’re welcome to stay at ours as long as you like,” Ringo said kindly.
“Thanks,” May said.
“Don’t tell her that!” George added, “She’ll never bugger off!”
They laughed, and the sudden reality of the situation hit May. Here she was sitting in a pub with the Beatles, and she was so wrapped up in her own life and problems she had hardly noticed. Only a few days ago she would have given her right arm for this, and she was letting Jack, even from this distance, spoil it for her. Who knew when she would have to go back to talking to just a picture of George instead of the real thing? May made up her mind to enjoy herself while she had the chance, for the next few days at least, the last thing she would think about would be Jack and Wales. He was probably wondering why she hadn’t come back yet, well, let him stew a bit.
“Does this film have a title then?” she asked, forcing herself to sound a bit more cheerful.
“No,” George said.
“Beatles film number one,” Paul added.
“There are going to be more?” May said, getting excited.
“There’s a contract for three,” Ringo told her, “If these slobs can manage half decent acting, that is.”
“Speak for yerself,” John said, getting up and heading to the bar.
A couple of hours and a lot of beer passed quickly and things loosened up a bit. Someone put some money in the juke box which was well stocked with rock and roll 45’s and the music soon had everyone’s foot tapping.
“Let’s go dancing,” George said to May, sounding slightly merry.
“Alright,” she agreed.
“What’s that?” John challenged, overhearing. “Mr. Harrison, are you thinking of recklessly going to irreputatible night clubs, the very night before another hard day’s location filming?”
“Without us?!” Paul added
“Well, you can come too then. But I’m not dancin’ no slow ones with you, Lennon,” George said.
“Ah, in yer dreams, la.” John told him.
“You comin’ Bill?” Paul leaned back on his chair to a man who had been sitting at the adjacent table, with his nose in the Evening Standard.
“Nah, it’s just the way he’s sitting,” John said and May giggled. George raised an eyebrow at her, and she smiled, feeling her cheeks colour.
“How about I just drop you lads off there?” Bill said, folding the paper up.
‘Grand idea,” George said standing up.
The chauffeured car was only really adequate for the four of them and instantly became cramped with the addition of May.
“You can sit on me knee,” John said as they were getting in.
“Ah, get yer own,” George told him and put his hands on May’s waist and pulled her out of John’s reach.
“I was talking to Ringo,” John said and launched himself into the back of the car.
Bill took them to The Bag O’ Nails, a club near to Carnaby Street in the middle of London, and parked a little way down the street from it.
“If anyone asks, you took us all straight home tonight,” Paul said with a wink to Bill as they climbed out.
“Yeah, yeah.” Bill said, used to the practice, “Just be sure to be awake when I come for you tomorrow.”
“I’m not really dressed for nightclubs,” May said quietly to George, as they stood on the pavement. She was still wearing the skirt and top she had been wearing when she met him.
“That’s okay, you’ve got the right accessories,” George told her, “Besides, you look fine.”
“High praise indeed!” Ringo said, standing next to them, “It must be love!” He teased. George gave him a sideways look and taking May’s hand, led her up the street towards the Bag O’ Nails.
Inside the club was quite crowded, despite it being a weekday night. There was no one May recognised but the atmosphere and attitude gave her the impression that the club held an elite and exclusive clientele. The door staff of course recognised the Beatles and waved May in along with them.
The drinking went on steadily and true to his word, George danced with May. She felt very self-conscious at first, surrounded by what seemed like hundreds of pretty girls, models every single one of them, and trained dancers to boot, but she soon got over it when she realised most of them were envious of her, or of her dance partner at least.
George noticed too and winked at May, pulling her into him. “Oooh! Who’s that pretty girl with George?!” he said in a pseudo girly voice, then added in his own smooth Liverpudlian accent, “Hope there’s no press about, this’d be all over the gossip column!”
“Do you think so?” May replied, an image of Jack reading about her in the paper flashing in her mind. George grinned and let go of her again, dancing around in a circle in a silly, over exaggerated fashion. May laughed at him. He stopped and catching hold of her hand, twirled her and pulled her into him again.
Appearing at their side, Paul tapped George on the shoulder in a dignified manner, “May I cut in?” he said in a RP accent.
“Be my guest,” George replied, offering May’s hand to him as the record changed.
“Might I have the pleasure of this next waltz, ma’am?” Paul said, holding her hand up.
“You might, sir,” she answered with a giggle.
“Why, Madam, I do believe you are inebriated!” Paul smiled as the music started.
That was true. Since arriving at the club May had switched to white wine and it had gone straight to her head, making her feel very dizzy. After the dance Paul disappeared and May walked with a tipsy sway over to George and Ringo.
“I might go and get a taxi,” Ringo said as she sat down with them, “do you want to share?”
“You wanna go home yet?” George asked May.
“No!” she replied a little too firmly, then added, “Unless you do?”
“Well, it’s another early morning tomorrow, but I guess we could stay for another drink, if you like?” He wasn’t used to seeing May like this, who had always had a sad aura around her previously. She was happy and giggly and maybe it was the wine, but he hoped it might have something to do with him too.
“Don’t stay out too late, kids,” Ringo said, standing and downing his drink, “It’s school tomorrow. Where are John and Paul?” He cast his eyes around the room.
“John disappeared an hour ago,” George told him, “And Paul’s probably got some bird on the go.”
“Oh, what naughty boys you all are!” Ringo said and left.
“Come and sit here,” George said, patting the red cushioned seat where Ringo had been. May moved. “And go easy on that too, “ he warned pointing to her glass of wine.
“Sorry,” May said.
“It’s alright, just don’t want to do me back in carrying you home.”
“I think it’s gonna be the other way round,” May said, pointing to the table of empty glasses.
“D’ya know,” George said tactfully changing the subject, “I hardly know anything about you. I don’t even know your surname.”
“It’s Brown.”
“May Brown? So you’re a May B. then?”
“I guess so.”
“Yeah, a distinct possibility,” he said with a wry smile, “That your married name?”
She nodded. “Jack’s, yes.”
“Oh well, he might be brown but you’re definitely not.”
“No, I’m just married to it.”
“You won’t go back to him will you?” George suddenly blurted out.
“I don’t know,” May answered truthfully, “I don’t know what to do.”
“Well I do.” George moved closer to her, “ You wanna have another of those…”
“You just told me not to!”
“I never said that, so have another one of those and look around you at what you’re missing.”
“What? Music and dancing? We do get music in Wales, you know.”
“Not just that. Everything. Your youth!” George said emphatically, doling out advice past his years, and spread his arms to the room, leaving his left one around May’s shoulders.
“Smooth move,” she giggled, and George smiled but his arm stayed where it was.
He was right though, May had to admit. This was what she had been missing. Maybe not nightclubs in particular but the other things that people her age were doing.
“It’s not too late though,” George said.
“Oh, you’re going to save me, are you?” she taunted.
“I thought I already had,” George replied seriously.
“You have, more than once,” she relinquished.
“You might be married May, but you haven’t got any kids, so there’s no real reason to stay with him.”
“There is,” May said quietly.
“What? You love him? How can you when he treats you like that?”
“I just do,” She looked away from him and over to the dance floor, picking out Paul dancing with a blonde girl.
George sighed and removed his arm, crossing them across his chest. “For someone who’s just been ‘saved’ you’re bloody ungrateful,” he said sulkily.
“Oh, no, I’m not,” May said suddenly, turning back to him, “George, you’ve been so kind to me, more than you know. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t met you. I suppose you really did save me.”
George turned to her and blinked his gentle, dark brown eyes. He leant into her and putting his hand on the back of her neck kissed her tenderly. May closed her eyes, the only thought occupying her mind for a moment being, George Harrison is kissing me! But then Jack’s face appeared and reluctantly May pulled away.
“I can’t…” she whispered.
“You can,” George said, still very close to her.
“George, please don’t…”
George sat back and took a deep breath. “Alright,” he finally said.
“I’m sorry George, it’s just…”
“Yeah, I know. It’s okay. Don’t apologise,” George said shortly, “Let’s go home, eh?”