Elizabeth, or Beth, as people like to call her, stretched her 5'7" frame across her bed and relaxed, deep in thought. She felt too tired to shout "Hooray! College is over!", or even do a cartwheel across the floor. What am I going to do now? I don't want to start being a practicing psychologist now. I've done so much work lately as just an apprentice, and I'm not ready to start now what I'll be doing when I'm old and grey.
She picked up her high school yearbook.Maybe I can get inspiration from this. She flipped through, and came to her senior picture. Beside it were her activities and her quote.
Band 1,2,4
Swimming 1,2,4
German Club 1,2,4
Foreign Exchange 3
Girls' Chorus 1,2,4
Newspaper 2,4
Future Plans: "After I finish school at Princeton, I'm going to travel for a while until I've seen the places I've always longed to see."
"Oh yeah!" Beth said. "I wanted to travel and live glamourously, like Marylin Monroe. Hah! I'm no Marylin, but I could still travel. I've got that nest egg stashed away at the bank, some bonds, and I cashed in at my party. Why, I could even go to England with this kind of money!"
Beth laughed, flipped her hair mock glamorously, and then thought for a moment. Hey, I really could. It's my heart's desire, although I've changed quite a bit since then. Maybe, if I play my cards right, I could even get in on the music scene. I've wanted to move out of Mom's house, and I guess this would be a good way to start. Ever since Beth had sung a note, she'd wanted to let other people hear. She wanted to make people happy, and in turn, make herself happy. The rock 'n roll bug had bit, and she had to find a way to feed it.
"Why not?" Beth said. "I've got all the time in the world! I'll most certainly get a job as a psychologist sometime after I've gotten this out of my system; my track record's splendid! It's time I finally squeeze life at the neck, and make it beg for mercy! I'm going to England!"
* * * * *
Beth started organizing the affair immediately. She wrote down things she'd need, talked to her mother, and got together her money. With her mother's consent (surprise surprise) she browsed through apartment directories and found a place in London, called the owner, and arranged for a place to stay.
Having packed everything she needed material-wise either into boxes to be sent over or suitcases, Beth drove down to the travel agency to buy a ticket for July 6, a week away. The lady at the counter asked her what she needed. "Oh, I need a morning flight to London, England on the sixth of July."
"First Class or Coach?"
"Coach, please."
The lady checked through her charts. "I'm sorry, all that's left is a seat in First Class." I was hoping to spend as little as possible. Oh well, might as well travel in comfort. "I'll take it," Beth smiled. "Very nice," the lady said. She told her the cost, and Beth paid in cash. Just as she took her ticket, the lady whispered, "You know, there's a reason there was only one ticket left." Beth's interest had been piqued.
"What?" she asked. "There's some famous guests on that flight. We've been sworn to secrecy, but somehow, people found out." "Who?" Beth asked. "I can't tell you," the lady said. "All I can say is that you'll be pleasantly surprised." As Beth walked to her car, she thought to herself. I wonder who it is? I really don't think they'd like it if I bothered them, though. Whoever it is, I'll just let them have their privacy. Besides, what "famous guest" would I really care to see?
* * * * *
Wednesday, July 6. Beth sat nervously in her seat, clutching her guitar. I'm finally going to England!! She tried to relax, burying herself in the soft, pillowy leather seat and looking out the window to her right. Instantly, her silence was broken. Flashbulb pops and screams echoed through the once silent boarding corridor, as well as clicking shoes. Seven men boarded the plane, three carrying guitar cases. Four of them wore dark sunglasses, and all of them suits. They found their seats, and the heavy door was latched shut.
A man with a slightly smaller case looked at his ticket and up above Beth's head at the aisle number. Satisfied, he sat down next to her, putting his case by his feet and buckling in. In his rush, he knocked over his case and it bumped into Beth's leg with a soft thud.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," the man said. Have I seen him before? His voice sounds familiar, kind of a loose British accent. "It's no big deal," Beth said, pointing to her battered acoustic's case. "I've had that problem before." The man removed his glasses, and Beth eyed him curiously. Is it..no, couldn't be! Then again.. "Hi, I'm Paul McCartney," he smiled. "What's your name?" Paul McCartney? Silky voiced one?! Unbelieveable! "Oh, hi," Beth said with a smile. "Elizabeth, but call me Beth." "So, Beth," Paul said. "I can see that you play, but are you any good?"
"I'd like to think so," she laughed. "I've been playing for about ten years." "Hey, I'd say you ought to be good," Paul said. "What kind of stuff are you into?" "Lots of music, but mainly rock 'n roll," Beth said. "Ah, we're much alike already," Paul said. "So, with a voice like yours, I'm certain you sing." "Oh, yeah," Beth said. "It's my gift."
A head popped up from the row in front of them. "Excuse me sir, can you spare some change for gas?" he said. "I'm all out of beans." "John..." Paul sighed. John Lennon? THE John Lennon?! " Well, hello there!" John said. "And you are..?" "Beth Anderson," she said. "Pleased to meet you," John said, shaking her hand wildly. "May I call you Sarah?"
Beth laughed. "Sure."
"What about Lizzy?"
"Why not."
"No, I think Sparkle suits you," John said. "I agree," Beth laughed. "I like you," John smiled. "You're odd." "The sentiment's mutual," Beth smirked. Paul sighed. "I just get into a good conversation, and here comes John," he muttered. "Oh, Paulie, c'mon," John said. "I simply had to meet your friend." "Oh, bugger off," Paul said, swiping at him. "Oh, you want a fight?" he mocked. John tugged at Paul's ears as he futily tried to swat him.
"Oh, stop it," Beth said. "Aren't you a little old for that?" "Hmm, so you want to join in, eh?" John said. He grinned devilishly, and swiped her glasses from her nose. "Give those back!" Beth demanded. Without her glasses, she was virtually blind. The small wire frames made them look like reading glasses, but they in fact had coke bottle lenses. She couldn't see clearly past two feet. In short, she panicked.
"You'll have to beg for them and say you're sorry," John said smugly. "Alright already," Beth said. "I'm sorry for trying to intercede on behalf of the innocent. If I wanted to do that, I should have become a comic book hero. Please give them back to me so I can come back into the world of the seeing." At this, everyone laughed, including a second person sitting in front of them.
John handed Beth her glasses, and the other person peered up over the seat. "Hi, Beth," he said. "You sound like a card." Do my blurry eyes betray me? It's.. "George Harrison," he said, shaking her hand. "It's a pleasure." "Likewise," Beth said.
She turned her attention back to her glasses, which were now smudged and dirty. "Hmm, could anyone lend me a handkerchief?" she asked. "My kryptonian anti-blindness device seems to have been transformed into waxed paper." John pulled a multi-colored cloth from his coat pocket and gave it to her. She wiped them clean and placed them neatly back onto her face. "Ah, much better," Beth said, giving him back the cloth. "Thanks." "You're welcome," John said.
"Sit down," Paul said. "We could run into turbulence." "Now THAT reminds me of a song," John laughed. "Whoa, that'll be the day that I die, that'll be the day you make me cry..." "Shut up!" everyone else said. "Quiet down!" a voice said from across the aisle. "Yes, sir, Ringo, sir," John saluted, whistling "Peggy Sue." Ringo turned his back to them and went back to sleep.
"And that was bright, happy Ringo," George said. "I heard that," Ringo muttered, slipping back off to dreamland. "He's in a bit of a mood 'cause he stayed out too late last night," Paul said. "Guess that'll remind me not to bother him," Beth laughed. "We'll just leave you two alone," John said, nodding to George. "You need a bit of privacy to..talk." Beth laughed, Paul sighed, and John and Geo sat back in their seats.
"So, I think we were talking about you and music before we got sidetracked?" Paul said. "Yeah, as long as it's not boring you," Beth said. "Oh, no, it's not," he said. "Do you write anything? If you do, I'd like to see some of your work, if you don't mind." "Okay," she said.
Beth pulled her carryon bag from underneath the seat, and fished out three worn notebooks. "This is my best stuff," she said. "I've written songs down since I was little, but these are more recent songs." Paul skimmed the books in awe. "These are excellent lyrics," he said. Beth blushed. "Thanks," she said. She prided herself at her excellent vocabulary and grasp of syntax, and had built up her songs according to the betterment of those factors. (She used to read through the dictionary to find just the right word!)
"Here," Paul said, putting his finger on a page. "Could you sing this one for me? I want to know the tune."
"But I've scored it on the next pages.."
"I can't read music, luv."
"Oh," Beth said. "Well, I suppose." She took her guitar from its case, and softly strummed it as she sang.
Sunset falls
The moon is out
Sold away my friend
Not a soul to turn to
Waiting for the end
Take a stroll
Through the park
Blow out the last light
Leave my worries on the wind
For children of the night
*Chorus*
"Don't worry 'bout the next time
Disregard the last
Nothing's worth remembering
If it's in the past
I am just a child
But I'm not alright
It hurts to know I'm one of them
The children of the night."
Skipping stones
Across the lake
One for each I knew
Guess I knew I'd miss them
When the game was through
Maybe we'll talk
Probably cry
Not so much to say
Suddenly I'm reminded
I"m dreaming past the day
*Chorus*
Beth tried to demonstrate the orchestral part, and Paul smiled. "Do you like it?" she asked. "I love it," Paul said. "Tell me, can I borrow one of these books? I'd like to take a good look at what you have here." "Oh, sure," Beth said. "How will I get back to you?" "Why don't I come to you?" Paul smiled. "Can I have your address?" "Let me write it down for you," she said, taking out a clean notebook, a pen, and a scrap of paper with the street address on it.
"Here," she said, scrawling it down and tearing the sheet out. " 1263 Churchill Lane, Saint John's Wood. It's a house converted into two flats. My place is up the stairs." "That's not far from where I'm at," Paul said. "I'll drop by soon."
* * * * *
The rest of the flight passed quickly for Beth because she drifted off to sleep. She felt someone gently shaking her shoulder at the end of a dark, black sleep. "Beth, Beth luv," Paul said. Beth snapped to. "Hmm?" she said sleepily. "The plane's about to land." "Oh, right," she said. "Thanks." They readied their belongings, and soon got off the plane. Beth waved goodbye as Paul went out of sight. She claimed her baggage, and hailed a taxi to take her to her new abode.
Beth stared out the window in awe. The city was huge and bustling with activity. It was much like Chicago, but most of the buildings were centuries old.
The countryside was lovely, too. The green hills beckoned her name, showing her all their wares, begging her to stop by and have a look. It was all Beth could do not to yell, "Let me out here!"
Finally, Churchill Lane. The flat was a big brick house, modest in appearance. Beth eagerly brought her things inside and upstairs to her door, where she found an envelope containing a key and a letter from the landlord.
Dear Miss Anderson,
this is your key. If you lose it, I can give you a replacement for a half pound. I hope you find your dwellings suitable. A refrigerator, a stove, two chests of drawers, a television, a heater, and an air conditioner are already installed, and you will also find a kitchen table, various small tables, various chairs, various lamps, and a sofa. I'm sorry, but there is no bed, or washer or dryer. The washer and dryer are available to use in the basement, but you'll have to get the bed yourself. Take care, and God Bless.
Mrs. Amhurst
Beth smiled, unlocked the door, and entered. "Wow!" she said. The place really was nice. The wooden floors gleamed, and sun shone in through the window on the opposite wall. The sofa and an easy chair sat atop a rug in the center of the room, facing a TV. A coffee table was placed between them. To the left was a dining area, and across from it was a small kitchen.
Down the hall, to the right, was the bedroom area. A bed frame lay empty on the farthest wall. There was a bathroom on the right and a window on the left. A chest of drawers was on either side of the bed, and on the wall adjoining the living room, a sizeable closet.
Beth set to work putting up curtains, storing clothes and other items, plugging things in and turning things on. After lots of work, she decided that she should probably take a shower.
The warm water slid the jet lag down her like the same off a duck's back. She pondered (and this is the only appropriate word for it, because that's what she was doing). This is a really nice place. I'll have to go out and look for a bed today, and pick up other necessities. You know, I really didn't expect those guys to be like that. I had always thought of Paul as a dumb pretty boy; guess I was wrong on that! John's a lot like me, though. We have a kind of connection. That's kind of silly to say since I hardly know him, but it's what I felt. George really wasn't all that quiet. He seemed to be a basically happy guy that maybe has stage fright, hence, "The Quiet One." And I really didn't see that much of Ringo...
Beth smacked her head. "I met the Beatles?!?" she yelled. "I MET THE BEATLES!" She turned off the water, dried off, and put on her robe and glasses. She put a towel over her hair like a turban, and went back to her room. "Am I stupid or something?" she said. "Christ! I can't believe it JUST hit me!"
A knock came at her door. "Just a second!" she called. Beth tightened her robe, and ran to the door. As she opened it, she realized that Paul McCartney was standing there. "Hello Swami!" Paul said. "May I come in?" "Oh shit," she said. "Err, excuse my language. Sure, come in." She shut the door after he walked in, and sat with him on the couch.
Paul looked as if he'd been to a photo shoot. His hair was tousled slightly, and his grey single breasted suit had neither wrinkle nor stain. Wow. He's better looking than I thought. "Sorry for my somewhat disheveled appearance," Beth said. "I just took a shower." "Oh, don't worry," Paul smiled. "You look lovely." Beth blushed. She changed the subject.
"So, what brings you here?" she asked. "I thought I'd come say hello," he said. "I live about a block away on Cavendish Avenue." "Really?" Beth said. "I may just have to visit you. Don't worry, I know; it's the immensely huge house on the left side." Paul laughed. "You're very funny, you know? You remind me a lot of John." "Hmm, I hope that's a compliment," Beth said.
"It is," Paul laughed. "But really, if you'd like to come over, I'd be glad to have you. I want to talk with you sometime about your songs, and play a few together." "That would be lovely," Beth said. "Thanks for the offer." "Anytime," Paul said. He stood up. "It's been a nice visit. I'll see you soon." "Bye," Beth said, shutting the door behind him softly. She could smell his scent in the air all around her, and it made her smile.
* * * * *
It was an odd day for Beth. With the time zones, she had arrived in London just two hours after she left(London time). It was noon in London, but 6 PM in Chicago. Oh how terribly confusing! She ate and shopped for a mattress, while feeling that it was the evening. The sun was shining brightly, but she was beginning to feel tired. After arranging to have the mattress delivered to her flat the next day, she went home and slept on the sofa.
* * * * *
Beth woke to a knock on her door. She composed herself and answered it. A man in a uniform stood there with a clipboard. "Miss Anderson?" he said. "I have a mattress set for you." "Oh, yes," Beth said. "Where do I sign?" He handed her the clipboard, and brought the big box into her flat. "Thank you," she said, and he left.
"Well, thanks for all the help," she said aloud. "I suppose I'll have to set this up myself." She pulled it out of the box, and lugged the pieces back to her bedroom. First the boxsprings, then the mattress. "Whoo," Beth panted. "Those are heavier than I thought." She wiped the sweat from her brow, and set about dressing the bed.
She looked over at her clock when she finished, absentmindedly. Wow! One already. My, I sleep heavily. I suppose I should go out for some food. The only thing I have in the fridge is a dozen cokes, which the landlady left for me. And if I'm going out, I've got to change out of these rumpled clothes.
Beth put on a pair of khaki pants, a white shirt, and a blue shirt-vest. After slinging on her slingback heels and putting her purse on her shoulder, she called for a taxi and soon met it.
While in town, she window shopped for a while after she ate and bought a few things she had forgotten about in the midst of her jetlag. Blindly stumbling down the street, she collided into a man. Their packages spilled to the ground. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" she said. "I should really watch where I'm going..." Beth looked up, once again, into Paul's face. "It's alright," he smiled, giving her her packages and picking up his.
"Having fun?" he asked. "Yeah, just shopping a bit," she said. "So, how'd you get into town?" he asked. "I didn't see a car in your drive." "Took a taxi," Beth said. "I'm almost ready to go back now." "I can take you," Paul said. "My car's just down the street here." "Naw, I wouldn't want to burden you," she said. "Oh, it's no trouble," Paul said. "C'mon, you won't have to pay for cab fare." "Oh, alright," she said. "Lead on."
Paul took her parcels and opened the door for her. He put everything in the trunk and got in on his side. Firing up the engine, he revved it and sped along the street. "Nice car," Beth said. "Thanks," Paul said. "It's small, but it packs a punch. So, are you doing anything tonight?"
"No, why?"
"Ringo's having his birthday party over at his pad tonight, and I want you to come with me."
"I don't think he liked me very much..."
"He was just sleepy. Please say you'll come?"
Beth smiled. "Oh, of course I'll come," she said. "Good," Paul said. They arrived at Beth's apartment, and she showed him inside. "So when is this party?" she asked. Paul glanced at his watch. "In about an hour," he said, wincing. "That gives me plenty of time to get ready, then," she smiled nervously, putting away the last of her purchases. "Wait here while I do so. There's Cokes in the fridge, and you can flip on the TV if you wish."
Beth rushed back to her room. What am I supposed to wear?! This'll never do. I must have something nice to wear in here... She frantically sifted through her closet. Ah! What have we here? She pulled out a matching white cashmere skirt and short-sleeved jacket. Lovely! Now I put on this sleeveless white shirt right here, and change into this outfit. Very nice! Now I put on some pantyhose and put my shoes on, and the outfit is complete!
Beth ran into the bathroom and brushed her hair. She spritzed her favorite perfume at her pulse points, and dabbed on some make up. She came back into the living room. "How do I look?" she asked. "Lovely," Paul smiled. "Ready?" She picked up her purse. "Yeah. Let's go."
* * * * *
Ah, the party. It was a great time to be had by all. Ringo's house was a great place to have one at. Its immense size lended it to a lot of different functions. (Of course, the same could be said for any of the other Beatles' houses.) Dinner had been made by his cook, and it was exquisite. Beth was properly introduced to them (who else? the BEATLES), and she had a very good time. They danced, sang, and made general asses of themselves in the privacy of Ringo's home. Slightly tipsy, they all filtered home (slowly, as not to crash). Beth fell asleep in the car, and awoke in a most unfamiliar environment.
"Whoa!" she said. "Where am I?" "Shh, it's my house," Paul said. "I brought you up to my guest room. I didn't want to disturb your neighbors, coming home so late. Your glasses are right beside you on the table." "Thanks," Beth said. "You're a great help." "Not a problem," Paul said. He pulled up her covers and tucked her in. "Night," he said, kissing her softly. He switched off the lamp, and quietly left the room to its peacefully sleeping beauty.
* * * * *
Morning broke through yon window as fair Juliet..err, Beth, rose from her sleep. Hmm! What time is it? She looked over at the clock on the bedside table. 10 o' clock? Wow, I thought it was around noon. Jeez, cashmere is awful to sleep in. Ah... Her disheveled appearance and the unfamiliar suroundings startled her. I'm...at Paul's house. A virtual stranger! What am I doing here? This is unreal! Thank God I'm not one of those people who gets the screaming meemies. I'd better find a bathroom and clean up.
She opened the door on the wall beside the bed and found the guest bathroom. After using one of the washcloths to clean the makeup from her face and using a hairbrush from her purse to straighten her hair, she followed the aroma of eggs and toast wafting up the stairs.
To her surprise, Paul was cooking breakfast. Huh. I thought people like him had cooks! Mistake No. 1, I guess. "Good morning," Paul said. "Care for some breakfast?" "Sounds good," Beth said. "Mmm, eggs and toast?" "Precisely," Paul said. "Good nose." "No, it has a mind of its own," Beth laughed. "Need any help?" "Yeh, if you could get some glasses out of that cabinet--" he said, pointing, "--and the orange juice from the icebox, that would be a big help."
Beth took out the items and poured them up big glasses of O.J. Paul came to the table with two plates of food, and they ate. "Thanks for letting me stay here last night," Beth said. "And for breakfast. You're just a Godsent, Paul." "You're welcome," he said. "You need a friend when you're many miles from home, and I want to be that person."
They ate in silence, and when they finished cleaning up, Paul turned to Beth in query. "Say, are you up to doing something tonight?" he asked. "What?" she said. "I thought maybe we could club around a bit," he said. "I'd like that," she said. "What time do you want to pick me up?" "Would six be good?" he asked. "Sure," Beth said. "I've got to get back to my flat and straighten some things up now, though. You think you could give me a lift?" "Paul McCartney, chauffeur extrordinaire," he laughed. "Why not?"
* * * * *
Paul dropped Beth off at her flat, and she went right in to keep herself busy. I didn't want to make that any more awkward than it already was. What am I supposed to do until then? She pulled out her guitar. Might well practice, if I want to further my music career. After a few warm-ups, she practiced some standards and some of her own songs. I wish I had that notebook I let Paul borrow. I wonder what he did with it if he coudn't read music? I'll have to ask him.
Beth spent most of the day playing guitar and singing carelessly. She looked up at the clock, and it was already 4:30. Hmm, time flies. I'd better look for something to wear. She searched her closet. I can't wait for my stuff to come in from the States! I've got all my good clothes in those boxes. *sigh* Boxes...guess that means I'm really moving here. Ah, but wait... She looked into one of her shopping bags from yesterday. Inside it were a few nice dresses that she found on sale in one of the little boutiques. Here! I can wear this one. It's not flashy, but it's not tasteful, either. The crepe suits me, too.
It was a knee-length dress with an empire waist and thin straps. Beth put on the deep blue dress, some stockings, and her standard heels, and went to the bathroom to apply makeup. She did her hair for what seemed the longest time, and after perfecting it, walked triumphantly from the bathroom. Of course, only today would she be able to get ready in record time...which meant she'd have a lot of time to wait. Beth didn't like waiting.
So, she picked up her guitar and strummed out some tunes. She was in a trance-like state, just strumming and picking to her heart's content. Before she knew it, Paul was knocking at the door. "Come in," she said, still playing. "Hey," he said. "Are you ready?" "Oh, yeah," Beth said, putting down her guitar and picking up her purse. "Then let's go!" Paul said. The ran downstairs, jumped in Paul's car and went out to join Swingin' London in their wide world of parties.
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