Chapter Sixteen
The cavern was its same, moldy, grimy, sweaty, suffocating self. Even more so because the sweltering days of August only added to the discomfort. The stench of sweat and beer, the feeling of bodies pressed up against you, and the sight of the four professional goofballs on stage was just as it always was. But for some reason, I began to look at the place as so unbelievable romantic. Loving the time I spent in it. Annie thought I'd gone 'potty.' And I guess she was right. I suppose the reason that I loved the place so much was because I could spend hours watching that one guy on the right with the backwards bass. The one with the big brown eyes and girl-like lashes. The one with the silky, sensuous voice. Paul-- my Paul.
We had been seeing a lot of each other. Yes, we always saw a lot of each other, but even more than before. Not just within our big circle of friends, but on our own as well. Doing 'innocent' things, mind you. The next evening after that night at the movies, he called me and asked if I wanted to go out dancing. Well, I think my heart did an absolute somersault. Annie was in the room, demanding to know what he was saying. I had cupped my hand over the receiver and whispered, 'he's asking me out on a date!'
Our first unofficial date was what one would classify as perfect. He picked me up, whispered in my ear that I looked marvelous and we scurried off to the Iron Door Club on Dale St. where the Searchers were playing to an enthusiastic crowd. We'd danced, laughed and had a complete ball! And then, when he dropped me back off at home, we'd met each other with a kiss we'd been hungering for since the last one. And I'm telling you: I had never felt such complete ecstasy in my life.
Now, I had been 'quote unquote' in love before. Or so I thought. The crazy thing about love in my case, is that it's a very thin line between infatuation. But there was something about this guy that was completely different. With every last one of the others, I had been attracted to their good looks (shallow, but true) and it was my own self insecurity that reasoned "He likes Me?" I therefore felt obligated to return affection if they should waste their time on me of all people. I convinced myself that I was in love with them, when in reality that wasn't the case at all.
Paul was different. I'd known Paul for years. Grown up with him. I knew him more than anyone else (except for John) and we'd been through good times and bad times together. We were friends? one of my best friends. And then...for some reason...I woke up one day and looked at him and saw...someone that I'd never seen before. Someone that I wanted to be around even more than usual. Someone that I wanted to call my own. Someone that I wanted to be a part of and someone that I wanted desperately to love me. You can imagine my exquisite delight when I found out that someone felt the exact same way about me.
One of those hot Cavern afternoons, at the boys' break, Paul had told me to stick around because he wanted to talk to me after their set. I sat, like the obedient love-sick girl I was, waiting in the audience, my mind whizzing with the possibilities. Annie, always ready to jump to conclusions, taunted me saying that 'this was it,' and that he was going to ask me to 'go steady.' I very politely ordered her to shut up.
At the end of their performance, Paul came up to the microphone."Right then," he said, "for our last song, I want to dedicate it to a certain young girl in the audience tonight." A chorus of sarcastic 'ooohhs,' filled the air, John jabbed Paul's side jokingly, and Paul began to blush. "Alright, Alright now. Er...she'll know who she is when she hears the song...and...all I want to tell her is..." he paused, "listen to the words." Annie grabbed my arm with excitement, and I latched on: my stomach was churning and I kept thinking 'what if it is a song I've never heard of? What if it's someone else . . .'
There was the familiar sound of a guitar strumming, and then came Paul's sultry, however imperfect voice:
A taste of Honey! Tasting much sweeter than wine.
Do do do do! Do do do do!
I dream of your first kiss and then,
I feel upon my lips again,
A taste of honey! Tasting much sweeter than wine.
I will return, yes I will return
I'll come back for the honey and you.
Yours' was the kiss that awoke my heart
There lingers still, though we're far apart,
A taste of honey! Tasting much sweeter than wine.
I will return, yes I will return.
I'll come back (he'll come back) For the honey (for the honey)
And you!
That song hit me like a ton of bricks. A Taste of Honey was the movie we'd seen the night of our first kiss and now he was singing the song to me. And it seemed to be all about our first kiss itself! I felt like bursting into tears.
After their set, I sprinted backstage to find him and ended up running right into him--bam! Paul opened his mouth to say something, but I didn't let him. I immediately met his mouth with a passionate kiss, hoping it made him understand how truly crazy I was about him. Only out of absolute need for oxygen did I let off.
"Well then," he said, gasping for air, "I take it that you liked the song." I smiled fiendishly and answered with another kiss equally powerful, if not more so, as the first, backing him up into the wall with such force that we knocked over a spare mic that was standing nearby. We both started to laugh and then embraced each other. "So whaddya say, eh?" Paul asked, smiling, "Shall we give it a go? Do you think that you could find it in your heart to say yes and be my girlfriend?"
"Well," I said, "That all depends if you can find it in your heart to say yes and be my boyfriend!"
"I think that's a yes," he said and kissed me.
"I think that's a yes too!"
John appeared not two minutes later with this bold grin on his face. "THANK YOU," he belted at us, "Finally the both of you have grown up! All that flirting was making me positively sick! I'm glad you finally got it over with!" I looked past Paul's shoulder to see John standing with his arms folded, leather gear still on, face still shiny from sweat. "I'm glad that we made your day," I said, returning my gaze to Paul. He raised his brow, "Aye, but the night is yet ahead of us: where're we off to tonight?"
"Too much information there, mate," John sneered, "I think all of us pretty much have an idea of where you're off to tonight, now don't we?"
"Really, John," said Paul, "why'd you go and say a thing like that fer?"
"Because it's true and you know it, you scoundrels. Any 'rod, at least I know that's where I'm headed off to tonight, right Cyn?" Cynthia spun around from chatting with George and gaped her mouth open,
"What? Moi?"
"Isn't she lovely when she plays innocent," he said grinning, "You know what darling? All this love in the air is addictive," said John, grabbing hold of Cyn and giving her an unexpected winner of a kiss right on the lips and she was very happily surprised!
John looked on in admiration as Cynthia passed him by, smacking her bum as she walked. She turned and winked at him seductively. He licked his lips and sprinted after her like a dirty old man which made Cynthia shriek and run away, laughing.
John, as I mentioned, claimed that he'd known for ages that it was destined to be. Annie took a degree of responsibility as well, crediting our relationship to her wizardry. Paul and I just smiled and kept silent.
The only people that I worried about were the clique of schoolgirls who hung around the stage at the Cavern. They were all sweet girls, just kids really, and we all got along very well. John dubbed them "The Beatlelettes" as they were ardent supporters of the boys.
They all had their favorite and I knew the snide comments they made about Cynthia because of her relationship with John. They didn't particularly like competition. They were jealous of her and I knew that it would be curtains for me once they discovered I had "snogged" their Paul. But, the way I figured it : who cared? Besides, they all had their claws after Pete.
The boys were beginning to form a pattern. The stability of the Cavern slot let the boys create a presentation of their own. They took much of their performance from Hamburg, but here at the Cavern they were decidedly more at ease with the much nicer Liverpool crowd.
The lunchtime sessions began at noon and the Cavern filled with schoolgirls and young lads on their lunch breaks. The line up was informal and the boys laughed and jabbered during their performances. Sometimes John would just stop a song dead in the middle, just to chat with Paul. Their attitude was along the lines of 'Who the hell cares?'
And the kids loved it! The music which had been hardened and fine tuned in Hamburg was really unheard of in Liverpool, or anywhere else in England for that matter! To the schoolgirls who danced their lunch breaks away to the raunchy rock and roll, it was well worth it! Spending their last shilling and often returning late to class? it was worth it!
The boys played two night performances per week, and the Cavern positively pounded! Out on Mathew Street, a passerby could feel the pulsing rhythm from the cellar below and hear muffled guitar strings rise out from beneath the pavement like steam.
John called the place a "claustrophobic hellhole" and it was indeed! It wasn't unusual for boys and girls to faint. Sweat poured, the odor stifled, but the music was a godsend. And every weekend, the Cavern became the swingiest joint in Liverpool and most came to see the featured attraction: the boys.
. . .
I began my last year at the University with a strange feeling of satisfaction. And an even greater feeling of exhilaration! The last year of that daily grind! I was more than ready to get out of that place and start to make my way. I was getting sick to death of staring at blackboards all day long.
One morning, I had gotten up and was dressing for school just like every other day, when there was an unexpected knock on the door. The house was still sleeping, and dark since the blinds were all drawn. I opened the door and found both Paul and John standing, shivering from the morning cold.
More than slightly surprised, I started to say something, only interrupted by John.
"Good, Macca! She's already dressed! Get her quick!"
"What?" Paul reached forward and grabbed my wrists. I resisted, "What the hell do you think you're doing!"
"Quiet," said Paul grinning, "this is a kidnaping." I studied their expressions, waiting for the punch line. "Oh ha ha ha, very funny Paul."
"We're serious," said Paul, "Now come on along."
"Just one second," I said, weaseling out of his grip, "just where is it you're taking me."
"Since when do kidnappers tell their victims where they're going," said John, "really, Claire. I'm surprised at you."
"Yes, well," I said, stepping back inside, "I hate to be difficult, but I have three tests today that I have to pass. So...why don't you surprise me and kidnap me tomorrow."
"A tempting offer," said Paul, who came right up into my face, "But...I'm afraid that you've no choice in the matter. You're coming with us whether you like it or not."
"Oh? Is that so?" Paul nodded haughtily, as if the case were closed. "And just why would this be, you guys? Where are you going?"
John punched Paul's shoulder and shrugged, "Ah, come off it Paul. If the girl doesn't want to go, then she doesn't want to go. I told you it wouldn't work. Let's go then." Paul turned to John and nodded sadly, "Yeh...I suppose you're right mate. Oh well, we tried didn't we?" They were trying to use reverse psychology on me, and like an idiot I was falling for it. "Well tell me where you're going first!"
"What does that matter," said John, "You've got those tests you 'have to pass,' remember?"
"Well, just tell me anyway."
"Nevermind, Claire," said Paul, "Sorry we bothered you."
"Tell me!" I ordered, grabbing Paul's arm, "So help me God, I'll beat it out of you!"
Paul turned to me, and smiled. After a long moment, he approached me and brushed his lips up against my ear (how it drove me wild when he did that) and whispered, "Paris, luv." I blinked for a moment, not registering what he'd said. I studied their faces, deciding whether or not they were joking. They weren't. Without thinking, I blurted out, "Give me two minutes."
I disappeared up the staircase, repeating over and over, 'Paris! I'm going to Paris for heaven's sake!' I burst into my room, grabbed my purse and a beige canvas bag that I threw a few changes of clothes into, not knowing for how long we were going to be there. I ran into Annie's room? she was sleeping. Fast as lightning, I scribbled out a message on a piece of stationary, telling her not to worry? I'd be back soon and I'd call her as soon as I could. I then bolted back downstairs grabbing Paul's arm, only stopping to say, "Let's Go!"
We'd made it to downtown Liverpool and got on one of the green Liverpool buses to take us out of the city. Safe in the very back of the bus, smashed in between two giggling idiots, I finally calmed down and started getting practical. "Okay, okay," I said, breaking up the nasty jokes they were telling back and forth, "so call me a kill-joy or whatever, but...just how are we getting there? By bus?"
"Nah," said Paul, "we're on a budget."
"Just how much of a budget are we talkin' here."
"Well, John got 100 pounds from his Auntie in Edinburgh."
"You know," said John, "the nutty one."
"That narrows it down to about all of them, John. So how are we getting there?"
"Well," said John, crossing his leg, "this bus stops in Manchester, and after that...we're on God's good humor."
"Why don't I like the sound of that."
"We're going au natural," Paul clarified.
"We're walking?"
"Better. Hitchiking."
If I'd had a baseball bat, you can believe me, they both would be out like lightbulbs.
"Oh that's it," I said standing up, "You two have fun. Send me a postcard, would you?" John grabbed my arm, pulling me back, "Oh, come 'ead, Claire! Where's your sense of adventure?"
"Where's your sense period?!" Paul pulled me down onto his lap and I grimaced, unhappily.
"You'll be fine, Claire. We're here, you know. Nothin' will happen."
"Oh yeah, that's comforting. You two have lost your minds. I don't believe you tricked me into this."
"You always wanted to go to Paris."
"Yeah! And I also have always wanted to live to see it."
"Always the pessimist," said John.
"Pacifist. Big difference. That also means that I don't believe in suicide!" Paul laughed heatily and embraced me tightly, "Ah, I do love you, you know that?"
"Enough to put my life in danger," I said, trying to remain bitter. But it was impossible to do that when Paul snuggled into my neck the way he was. John rolled his eyes,
"Good Lord. If that's the way it's gonna be the whole time then perhaps I'll be on me way."
"One less mouth to feed," said Paul in-between his kisses to me. John gave him a forceful punch on the shoulder and Paul laughed.
We'd been sitting on the side of the road for about a half an hour. It was hot, the black asphalt was sizzling and I was having second thoughts again. John was lying down in the semi dead grass, Paul sat Indian style, resting his head on his knapsack, and I was shaking my head at the both of them.
"So," I said, "all we had to do was catch a ride to Dover, eh John?"
"Shurrup Claire. Or we're leavin' you here when we get a ride."
"Oh yeah. That'll happen. How far have we gotten, I've lost track. Penny Lane?" I was being sarcastic on purpose.
"It's Stratford-Upon-Avon, you hussy." said John dryly. He lifted his head up somewhat, "anymore of those jelly babies, Paul?"
"They weren't mine. They were Claire's." John looked at me and smiled pleadingly.
"I'm sorry. I'm a hussy, remember?"
"Knock it off and pass 'em over."
"Hold on," I said, grinning. I stood up and stretched, and the tossed the bag of candy to him. The long stretch of highway was just as empty as it was when we first arrived there. Only it was about ten degrees hotter. "It's a freakin' oven out here," I yelled out into the sky with all my might, and I could hear my voice echo off and then the nothingness resume. And then...faintly...I heard the familiar sound of the low hum of a car and then...I saw a faint black dot in the distance. A car!
"Look!" I cried, "It's a car!" Both Paul and John sprang to their feet, squinting eagerly.
"Arright," said Paul, "we're saved." He stuck his thumb out, and I made him put it down.
"Guys?" I said, "Let me handle this one, eh?" John and Paul stared at each other and then shrugged.
"Go fer it," said John, "be my guest." I remembered a wonderful technique that Claudette Colbert had used in that great old movie It Happened One Night. I placed my right leg on top of Paul's bag, and pulled up my summer dress until I was playfully, yet innocently, revealing my legs. John recognized it immediately and laughed, "That only works in the movies, luv."
"A fiver says you're wrong."
"You're on."
The car was now in view and we were waiting eagerly. Like clockwork, the car, an old looking convertible screeched to a halt, and a middle aged man stared at us. In a thick scotch accent, he said,
"Where're you headed?"
"Wherever you are," I said, gathering our stuff.
"I'm on me way to Canterbury..."
"So're we," I said, lying through my teeth. Canterbury was closer to Dover than this place. We hopped in the car and rode off.
They guy's name Douglas Marshall Dukay O'Neil the second, but he insisted that we call him Swift. Swift turned out to be a non-stop talker, who went on and on without taking breaths or the slightest hint of pausing. Within ten minutes we knew more about Swift than I knew about my own self. He loved music, and switched channels often, always landing on ones that all of us seemed to love.
"Eh, I like that," said Paul leaning over the seats when a song started, "turn it up, eh Swifty?" Swifty laughed and turned the dial up as loud as it went. A great, upbeat song that was perfect for everyone to sing along with called 'A Lovers Question.'
John kicked his feet up on top of the seats in front of him, and began to sing along with Paul, snapping their fingers in rhythm,
"<Does she love me with all her heart?
Should I worry when we're apart?
It's a lover's question I'd liked to know.
Does she need me as she pretends?
Is this a game, when will I win?
It's a lover's question I'd like to know."
John was singing along with Paul, doing the background do-wops, and since it was altogether irresistible, I joined in as well:
"<I'd like to know when she's not with me
If she's still true to me
I'd like to know when we're kissing
Does she feel just what I feel
And how am I to know it's really real?" Swift laughed at us and turned around occasionally, shaking his head at these three basketcases he'd picked up.
"That's good! You should start your own little group there."
"We already have one," said Paul.
"Yeah," I said, smiling, "Actually, It's my group. These guys are just back up."
"Ha! Right, Claire," said John.
"Well, she is the one with the best voice," said Swift. I burst into laughter and Paul and John both said simultaneously, "What??"
"So what're you called then? Claire and the Crooners?"
"More like Claire and the Losers," I said.
"That's it," said Paul, "let me off, Swift. I don't have to take this abuse." Swift was talking to me now,
"Well, what you need, luv, is a proper stage name. Ye know, just like all them jazz greats. Ye know like "Satchmo" and "Jelly Roll". You gotta think up something snappy like. . .Missy somethin'."
"Madame is more like it," came John's sneering innuendo.
I ignored him and smiled, "I like that, Swift. Nice and innocent: Missy.""Not like you at all is it," John laughed.
"Oh hush up, John. Just who's the head of this outfit anyway!"
"Now you've done it, Swift. You're giving her ideas. Now she'll be orderin' us around. . ."
"It is what I do best." Paul sneered and leaned in close to me, grinning deviously. "Not in my book, it isn't."
Miraculously, the three of us made it to the ferry docks in one piece, in the mid afternoon. By the time we got to Calais, the sun was setting off the water? beautiful. I was getting giddy with the realization that I was in France! The plan was to hitchhike to Paris, but... that was completely impossible. No one stopped to pick us up, and insisted that we splurged and took the train. John and Paul watched eagerly behind my shoulder as I asked for a train ticket from the man at the station,
"je voudrais trois billets pour le vignt-heures train a le gare du Nord, s'il vous plait." They again looked on eagerly when we got off the train and asked a taxi cab to take us to hotel.
"You," said Paul, "are gonna come in handy."
"Ah, I see how it is. You really wanted me to come just to be your interpreter..." Paul grinned and began to slide his fingers teasingly up my leg, "That's not the only reason I wanted you to come..."
"Right," said John, "listen, you lot. Rule number one: if you two start messin' about in the bed, I'm gettin' me own room. I'd sort of like some sleep."
"Is that a promise?"
The hotel room was a small, compact thing with exactly one double sized bed, a desk with stationary and a slightly cheezy painting entitled Paris Apres-L'herures (Paris After Hours). The bathroom was down the hall, of course, and we had a beautiful view of: nothing. First thing I did was call Ellie and Annie to let them know that I hadn't been abducted and that I was perfectly fine. Ellie was audibly upset. She voiced her dissatisfaction with my sudden decision, and I humbly apologized, telling her I just went on my first impulse. After a brief lecture about what first impulses can lead to, I heard her voice smile and she said to me that she also happened to be insanely jealous that I was in Paris while she was darning socks. Annie was being a plain old sore loser about the whole thing, swearing she'd never forgive me for waking her up. I told her she'd get over it. Someday.
I awoke the next morning, sandwiched in-between two snoring, still clothed bodies. Including myself. We'd been so beat, we hadn't even changed our clothes. I was the first awake, no surprise there, so I trekked down the hall, bag in hand, to get a nice hot shower. The boys were both awake? it was, after all, going on one o'clock, and John was prancing about the room in his boxer shorts and a white t-shirt. "Good Lord, man! Have you no morals," I asked, coming into the room.
"Well look at you," he said, "You've only your undies on."
"It's a slip, John. Women don't call slips ?undies.'" John grabbed my arm and pulled me to the window, "Look at that! Just look!"
"Yeah. Nice block of houses."
"Beyond that! In the corner over there! See it? It's just barely stickin' up!" Indeed, over the tops of the browned buildings I could see a glimmering spire, immediately recognizing it.
"The Eiffel Tower!" I cried, "Oh my gosh!"
Paul came into the room, with only a white terry cloth wrapped around him, his head dripping wet. Hormonal overdrive. Refreshed from the night's sleep, and invigorated from the shower, I was in an unusually giggly, giddy disposition. I fell into his somewhat damp arms, snuggling against his chest. He smelled heavenly: soap and aftershave. I teasingly pretended that I was going to unwrap his towel. He started laughing and kissed me on the lips. We both heard a groan,
"Dear Lord, is this what I've gotten me self into?" John was leaning up against the window, scornfully.
"You hush up, John," said Paul, "and hurry up and get dressed. We'd better get going!"
"Paris has been here for hundreds of years, Paul. Its' not goin' anywhere anytime soon? no rush."
"Just get dressed, would you?"
Paris was absolutely thrilling. Everything I envisioned it to be and more. Every street that you turned surpassed the other with beauty. The place was unsurpassable in beauty. Leafy and green with rich trees that guarded their even richer owners. Rod iron gates dipped in gold. Noble, gothic architecture standing just as proudly as they did when their walls were first erected. A universe of privilege and esteem and grandeur evident on most every street corner.
And the culture! I loved the sound of Parisians chatting as they briskly walked their dogs, or as they sat at outside cafes drinking limonades and eating croque-monsieurs. I loved the busy traffic circles outside the Bastille and the hordes of people walking up and down the manicured Champs-Elysees in their trendy boots and leather jackets and dark glasses, arm in arm with the one they love. I closed my eyes and drank in Paris: every last touch, sound and feel of it.
A friend of ours back in Hamburg, Jurgen Vollmer, was in Paris at the time and had given John and Paul the address where he was staying. We met up with Jurgen in the Latin Quarter, and he took us around the city. He told us stories as we strolled down the leafed streets of the St. Germain-des-Pres, a gorgeous street with numerous cafes and art nouveau shops and book shops with portly Parisian keepers and any other sort of shop you can think of. We took snapshots of Parisian landmarks: standing triupmphantly atop the Arc de Triomph, John pulling his best Quasimodo at Notre Dame, and of course, a classic shot of John and Paul bursting into a rousing "O Sole Mio" in front of the Opera House.
Having worked up a decent appetite, Jurgen took us to his favorite cafe called Le Café du Jardin, (served by a beautiful waiter named Sebastian whom Paul got jealous over...ain't that cute?) and we sat out on the sidewalk patio, sipping coffee and watching the tourists walk by.
"I could sit here like this forever," said Jurgen, gesturing to the café, "It's the most relaxing thing on earth, I think."
"Aside from being massaged by, say, Brigitte Bardot."
"So you are still obsessed with her, are you John?"
"Of course! And I'm keeping an eye out for her!"
"I'm sure. Perhaps the two of you will just fall in love with each other at first sight."
"Of course! She'll never be able to resist me!"
Wanting to change the subject before and John and Paul went into yet another 'oh my god' discussion about Brigitte's anatomy, I turned to Jurgen. I had been more than intrigued by his hairstyle and thought that it would make lovely conversation, "Jurgen," I said, "You have to tell us where you got your hair cut like that."
"This? Oh, you like it? Astrid cut it for me!"
Paul studied Jurgen's hair and nodded with approval,
"Yeah! It's fab, mate. Gear." Jurgen smiled, and ran his hand through his hair. When I'd first seen his hair, I thought to myself ?Caesar.' It was combed forward and cut straight as a ruler across his forehead, nearly covering his eyebrows. It was definitely different, and most becoming. Much better than the DA's that Paul and John were still sporting.
"Well then," said Jurgen, "I'll cut it for you!"
"Ah, I dunno about that," said Paul, "Can you be trusted with scissors?"
"Of course, Paul! I will cut it for you and then we will go out and buy you some new Parisian clothes!"
"Short on funds, mate," said John.
"Well...we can window shop then."
"You're sounding as bad as a girl," I said, smiling at Jurgen.
Paul shook his head, "nah. Don't think I'm game, mate. You can cut John's hair over there. I think I'll stay as I am."
"Oh come on , Paul! Where's your sense of adventure!"
"Sorry, luv, but I don't see you jumping at the chance either."
"Oh yes," said Jurgen, "you must let me cut your hair as well!"
"WHAT?" I cried, "CUT my hair? I haven't cut my hair in years!"
"All the more reason for you to do it now."
"Sorry, hon. You're fighting a lost cause."
"Ah, we'll just dye it then. Blonde?"
"NO Thank you!" I cried.
"YEAH," cried John, "Fab idea, Jurgen! Dye yer hair blonde, Missy! Come on, please?"
"You couldn't pay me! There is nothing that could make me do that!"
"Nothing, eh?"
"That's right. Nothing."
John grinned, "how about this: how about if I cut me DA off. Gone, finished, c'est tout."
"You? you mean it?" I asked in disbelief, "You'll actually get rid of it?"
"Of course! IF you dye your hair blonde."
"Forget it!"
"Right then. Sorry Jurgen, no hair cuts fer us today."
"NO! That's not fair, John!"
John stared at me, smiling. It was a major decision. Oh, to see that haircut off John's head, I would have given anything! But...dyeing my hair blonde? Oh....I didn't know...was it worth it? There was only one way to decided that one.
"Okay," I said, pulling out a pence from my pocket, "We'll flip a coin. Heads, you cut it, no questions asked. Tales? I dye my hair blonde? and you cut your hair!"
"You drive a tough bargain, Missy," said John, who knew that it meant he was getting his hair cut no matter what. I flipped the coin and it fell on the ground. John's face lit up with victory,
"TALES!"
Jurgen led us to his flat in the very core of the Latin Quarter where he promptly took out his cutting tools. Paul was trying to console me the entire way, but I was a stubborn sore loser about it. Jurgen's roommate took me under his wing and began the dye process. I did my best not to cry and tried not to think about it, watching as Jurgen cut the boys' locks, combed, cut, groomed, combed, on and on. The finished product?
Well, I stared at the blonde in the mirror. Was that me? It looked like me, but... oh my lord! I was really blonde! I ran my fingers through it in disbelief, as thought it were an apparition.
"That was not so awful, was it?" Jurgen smiled triumphantly, catching on the glint of satisfaction in my eyes. It was just so drastic it took some getting used to!
"Quit gapin' at yourself in the mirror," said John, "you don't see us oohin' and ahhin' over our hair cuts, now do yer?"
I blinked a couple times before being able to say anything. Their cuts were most definitely becoming to them. If you can believe this, it made them look even more lovely than they already did! They looked younger than they had, and yet older all at the same time. Sophisticated with the caesar-esque bowl cut, yet still quite the rebels as was evident by their long hair in the back. They'd refused to let Jurgen cut that off.
"Gosh," I breathed, "you. . . you look so different!"
"As do you Blondie," said Paul, grinning. I'm pretended to pout once more,
"Yeah, well, having your hair cut isn't quite as drastic as having your black hair dyed blonde!"
"Missy, missy, missy," Paul admonished, putting his arms around me, "you look lovely either way."
"You're under obligation to say that, son."
"Not at all! Believe me, if you looked like crap, I'd be the first one to tell you. It's just that you've yet to look like crap!" I laughed at him and playfully twisted his nose,
"You are a smooth talker, aren't you?"
"This is makin' me sick," said John gruffly, "Come ?'ead then lads, and lassy. Let's get outta here, eh?"
That evening, the four of us had dinner at a café at the top of a huge building that overlooked the entire city. We were somewhat dressed up, and felt quite grown up: being there without any attachments to anyone of any kind. Just having dropped everything and ran.
We talked and talked and talked for hours. About everything: dreams, careers, goals, wants, needs, politics, love, everything. Outside, an amateur four piece orchestra began to play, marking the official beginning of Un Nuit au Paris! The wine mixed with the music: a francais chanson called "La Vie En Rose". Paul took my hand in his and we took our dancing stance.
I nestled my head into his chest and his arms encircled me. I peeked out from over his shoulder and saw the entire city of Paris lighting up-- thousands of mesmerizing stars blinking in the magical swirl of colors. The entire world seemed to be a show that was entertaining us.
Hold me close and hold me fast, the magic spell that you cast
this is la vie en rose
when you kiss me heaven sighs, and though I close my eyes
I see la vie en rose When you press me to your heart, and in a world apart
a world where roses bloom
and when you speak angels sing from above
everyday words seem to turn into love songsgive your heart and soul to me, and live will always be
la vie en rose."
Paul's soft lips kissed me as we danced to the straining, melancholy chanson-- a song of love filled with a sense of longing that ripped my heart apart and made me cling to Paul as tightly as possible. The moment was paused, however, when I heard Paul suddenly laugh. I turned to see John dancing with Jurgen like Fred and Ginger! He dipped Jurgen and swirled him around, John making great leaps like a ballerina to the amusement of the other café goers. Paul and I broke out into laughter as John cut in between Paul and myself, graciously asking Paul to dance, and the two were off like a pair of madmen.
Afterwards, (when the café's management'd had enough of our tomfoolery) we found our way back down onto the Paris streets and walked along the Boulevard Montmarte: beneath the neon red and orange signs and the windmill of the moulin rouge. Beneath the warm night air. Beneath the clear, starry sky. Hand in hand, arm in arm with the only man I needed on one side, and my dearest truest friend on the other side. And everything was suddenly complete.
We hurried our way to the Gare du Nord and boarded the next train for Liverpool. It was the eight o' clock train, which meant that we didn't reach home until early the next morning when it was still dark outside. For some odd reason the train was jam packed with passengers, which meant that the three of us were all mangled with each other like sardines? and we slept that way the whole ride home. The three of us had dropped John off at Mendips and Paul continued with me down Providence Lane, saying that he'd just sprint the entire way home.
We stood outside on the porch for quite sometime, chatting quietly to each other. Paul slid his arm around my waist, "Well. I think you owe me a thank you."
"Oh? And just why is that?"
"Well, I delivered you from the jaws of death and brought you safely back home."
"Paris is hardly what I'd call the jaws of death."
"Well, for someone as simply rrrrravishhhhhing as you, I think it is."
I laughed at the way he said 'ravishing,' and gave him a kiss on the mouth. But there was something different about this kiss. This one lasted longer and harder than anyone before and it only got more and more passionate with every passing second.
He put his hands around my waist and pressed his body up against mine, setting off every hormone in my body. I ran my hands through his hair and up and down his back with a rawness and savageness that made Paul start to moan with pleasure. He pressed me up against the door and I reached behind me to open the doorknob. He heard the doorknob twist and he stopped to look at me, his bewitching eyes asking me if I wanted to do this. I smiled at him...I knew exactly what I was doing. I pulled him in, kissing him again, which was an overwhelming 'yes.'
Our hands were everywhere, everywhere, caressing every square inch of our bodies. We were inside Ellie's walkway, and somehow we were able to close the door behind us without removing our lock on each other. His voice was passionate, muffled by his kisses, "I love you," is what he kept whispering to me heatedly, "god, I love you."
I found the strength to pry myself away from him. "Come on," I said, grabbing him by the hand, leading him through the dark hallway to the staircase, his hands playfully grabbing at me the whole way. Halfway up the steps he tripped, making a loud boom! I cupped my hands over my mouth so I didn't break out laughing. Paul was using every strength he had not to burst out in howling laughter? he was laughing silently. "Sshh," I said quietly between giggles, "What are you trying to do, get us caught?"
"If we get caught, there's nothing that I'd rather get caught doing!"
Safe inside the compound of my room, I closed the door and locked it and started to giggle. He was giggling as well as he put his arms around me tightly. "I have been waiting for this moment," he started and I quickly hushed him up, "Paul, please don't ruin the moment with cliches. Just don't think at all. Just do it."
Which is what we did. I felt his hands unbutton my blouse, and I grew more excited with every button he undid. It was this anxious sensation I'd never felt before. When he'd gotten the blouse off, he pulled me in close and quickly unsnapped my bra. Not being nearly as careful as he was, I practically ripped his shirt off, making him fall backwards onto the bed. More giggles.
"You're a little savage, aren't you," he said in between kisses. I was kissing him everywhere. He turned me over so that he was on top of me. The light from the moon drifted in gently through my white curtains, casting enough light so that I could see his eyes: they were smiling at me.
There was a brief pause in which I lifted my hand to stroke the hair out of his eyes, "I love you, Paul." He smiled and took hold of my hand and kissed, "I know," he took a breath, "You're not nervous, are you?"
For that brief moment, yes, I had to say I was nervous. Not because of what we were going to do, but because it was my first time doing it willingly and, well, actually the word ?contraceptives' came popping into my mind. "Well..." I started, "You see...I don't have any..."
"Reach into my back pocket," he breathed, starting to gently kiss my face. I did so, and pulled out a small plastic package. "You are positively wicked to carry these around with you!"
"Well," he said, "I just had a feeling, that's all." I laughed at him and then sighed.
"Did I tell you that I love you?"
"Twice. But that's alright. Because I love you too. Only, more than I could ever show you." I grinned deviously at him and said, "Try."
I loved it. I loved him. I loved everything that seemed to be swirled up into one giant sensation. I loved the feeling of his strong hands all over my body, caressing and massaging me. I loved the feeling of his mouth, warm and hot, on my chest and my neck and my face. I loved the feeling of him? everything about him. It was something that I never knew a person could ever feel. I never knew that love was able to rise to that next level of complete and pure bliss. I never knew it was possible to love someone so much, so dearly, so intensely as I loved Paul.
The next morning, I was awoken by, not my alarm clock, but Paul's kisses. I opened my eyes groggily and found him staring at me with a silly grin on his face.
"Good morning," I said sleepily, getting ready to fall back asleep. He snuggled in next to me and kissed my cheek. "?Morning, luv. Sleep...er... well?" I smiled at his innuendo,
"If you're expecting me to pay you a compliment, then..." I grinned, "Yes. I slept very well."
He felt so wonderful, with his arms around me. I felt as though we were an old married couple. Interestingly, Paul picked that exact moment to snuggle closer and, as I buried my head into his chest, he hummed quietly, ever so softly into my ear, singing words that were barely audibly, but loud enough for everything inside of me to warm and for me to wish to god that the moment would never end: "I never knew that a day like today lay before us
I got the sun in my heart, and my heart's in the sun
sky's are as bright as your eyes, the horizon is open
love is the ceiling, feelings are reeling free as the air. . ."I laughed in my groggy morning voice, "why 'the honeymoon song'?" "No reason in particular. Woke up with it in me head." "Well, I'm lucky you woke up with that in your head, and not something like The Anvil Chorus."
He laughed heartily, the early morning light shining off his face: that angelic smile and those sparkling chestnut eyes--
it was the first time that I saw myself growing old with him by my side. And the thought was entirely alluring. My thoughts, however, were interrupted when I looked at the clock. It read 10:21? Ellie was awake by now. No sooner had I thought that, when I heard familiar footsteps coming down the hallway, and then the sound of a doorknob turning. Thank God I'd locked the door! I heard Ellie's voice say, "Claire? Sweetheart, are you in there? Is that you?"
Panic struck me, and both of us sat straight up in bed. I was mortified. What the heck was I going to do? I mouthed the words to Paul, "What do I do? She is going to..." He smiled and put his finger to my lips, silently shushing me up. "Don't worry," he whispered, "I'll take care of it." He slid out of the bed, slipping on his trousers, picked up his clothes and then tip toed into the closet. He winked at me just before closing the door and whispered, "answer her."
"Claire," came Ellie's voice again, "Claire, is that you?"
"Yes, Ellie," I said, somewhat shaken, "H-hold on a moment. I'm just changing my clothes."
"Alright."
In a panicked rush, I threw on whatever I could find, ran my fingers through my hair and swung open the door. "Ellie!" I cried, throwing my arms around her and giving her a big kiss, "Oh I missed you, I really did!"
"Oh Claire, we missed you too. Concerned about you too, but I'm glad to see you came back alright. . ." Her eyes grew wide. "Claire. . . you're hair!"
"Oh I know," I said quickly, forgettin for a moment that I had dyed my hair. "I know-- you see, I lost a bet. And, well. . .this is what it cost me."
"Goodness gracious! I never expected to. . . oh dearie, you look so different! Do you like it?"
"It's growing on me, slowly."
"I think I like it," she said, running her hands through my hair. "It's just so very drastic. . . oh, let's go tell Annie that you're here! I want to see her reaction!"
We walked down the corridor into Annie's room, who was sitting on the side of the bed. As we opened the door, out of the corner of my eye I saw Paul bolt out of the room and down the stairs. I stifled a giggle. Annie put away the magazine she was reading and stood up. "Well, well, well," she said, "the prodigal daughter returns, eh?"
"Hey, you'd better watch it, or I'll just keep the gift I bought you." She laughed and gave me a hug.
"What did they do to you? Did you accidentally fall into a vat of peroxide or something? I know there's no way you would have dyed your hair willingly." I smiled at my sister, "That's for sure. I lost a bet to John."
"Oh no! You actually bet against John?" "Don't worry, it was a sure thing. See, he finally cut of that horrible D.A."
"Hallelujah," she cried, "wish I could have been there. Listen, my pet, the next time you get kidnapped," she said, "Find time to wake me up. I'll want to come too."
Not twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang. Annie said that she'd get it, leaving just Ellie and I. I told her all about Paris and how one day her and I were going to rent a little villa right by the Seine. My dreaming was interrupted when I heard Annie bellowing, "Claire! Paul's here to see you!" PAUL?!? Was he insane? I ran down the corridor, down the steps and finally to the living room, where Paul was quite casually and pleasantly talking to Annie.
"Ah," he said smiling, "So the Sleeping Beauty has arisen." His smile was positively fiendish, and the secret we both shared was on the verge of sending me into hysterics.
"Have a nice rest?" I asked him. It was my turn now to have fun.
"Well...a bit restless. I suppose I was just excited." I bit my tongue. Don' t laugh, Claire. Whatever you do, don't laugh.
"Well I don't blame you," said Annie, "I'd be excited too if I'd spent the weekend in Paris."
"What time did you get home last night," Ellie asked, coming down the stairs, "We didn't even hear you come in."
"You didn't," Paul said, smiling, "We were sure you would, we made so much noise."
"Slept right through it," said Ellie. Thank God, I thought to myself.
"Although," said Annie, getting a peculiar grin, and looking me directly in the eye, "I did wake up last night because I thought I heard something. But...I guess it was just the next door neighbor's dog howling again. You know how animals get when it's a full moon. Positively savage."
Holy shit. She knew. Just looking at that smart ass grin on her face, you could tell that she knew! I stared at her, my eyes sending death threats, warning her not to say a word. Paul changed the subject and started to tell Ellie about Paris, while I just continued staring at Annie who smiled right back at me. "So, coming Claire?" Paul asked.
"What's that," I said, shifting my gaze to Paul, "What?"
"The Jac. John said he'd meet us there at noon. I imagine the whole gang will be there. Ready to strangle the lot of us. Coming?"
"Sounds fun."
I looked at Annie, "Coming Ann?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world." She turned to Ellie, "We'll be back later, okay Ellie?" She turned back to me, "Besides. I want to talk to Claire. We've got a lot to catch up on, haven't we?"
. . .
Well, needless to say, George and Pete were royally pissed off at us. Especially since we'd left the night the boys were scheduled to play at some club in the city. I mean...they were mad. Even Bob Wooler was there, and gave us all a severe tongue lashing. I'd never seen George so upset before in my life! He went so far as to get right up in John's face and call him a ?pompous bigot.' John and Paul didn't seem too worried about it. "It'll blow over," Paul whispered into my ear when he saw how upset I was about it, "it always does."
And that it did. Within a couple of days, things were back to normal. The boys were at the Cavern again, I was back at my office on Renshaw Street, and everyone was everyone's best friend once more. In fact, things seemed to be doing better than they had before we even left for Paris. The Cavern seemed to be growing more and more electric every night, and everywhere else the boys played, the clubs were packed out. Everyone in the city seemed to have heard of the boys, one way or another and it made everyone feel just that more invincible. Just that more important. Just that more sure of themselves.
Paris must have done something for my mind, because I started to write with a vengeance. Bill even seemed amazed with my output of work, joking that perhaps he should send me to Paris more often. Or better still, me send him to Paris. The Mersey Beat was selling off the shelves, much to our utter delight.
I was at the Cavern one afternoon, like always, during my lunch break, waiting for the boys to get off for lunch. They were on stage going through a wonderful rendition of Buddy Holly's "Crying, Waiting, Hoping." The Beatlettes and all of other schoolgirls positively swooned everytime the lads sang a song like that, in which they harmonized throughout the whole thing. They just stood there, gawking at them, most likely fantasizing about just what they'd really like to be doing with the boys at the moment. Not that I blamed them: even I could get a bit twitterpated at such lovely ballads:
Crying, waiting, hoping you'll come back
I just can't seem to get you off my mind
Crying, waiting, hoping you'll come back
You're the one I love, I think about you all the time
Crying, do do do do, tear keep a falling all night long
Waiting, do do do do, it seems so useless I know it's wrong
Keep a crying, waiting, hoping you'll come back
Maybe someday soon it'll change and you'll be mine
Crying, do do do do, tear keep a falling all night long
Waiting, do do do do, it seems so useless I know it's wrong
Keep a crying, waiting, hoping you'll come back
Maybe someday soon it'll change and you'll be mine
Crying, waiting, hoping
"Lemon lager," I said to the bartender. I used to hate lagers, but John got me hooked on them at some party awhile back. He loved it, because it was another excuse for him to hear me say the words ?you were right, John.' The man placed it in front of me, and a took a long, greedy gulp. I turned and looked at the scenery. The bodies were absolutely packed in together. Sardines in a can! There were several familiar faces? the regulars. And a few new ones as well. I snickered to myself as I studied the girls' clubbing attire. Worlds different from what girls at home would have worn at a club. Devon would be having a laughing fit if she were here to see these poor girls. Ah well? I suppose most of them were at that awkward, cross over age anyway. Gadzukes! And just who was I to have such a preachy attitude? I myself was at that same age. I smiled and turned away from their black nylons and pink shoes and their mascara that was piled on entirely too thick.
That's when my eyes fell upon the man next to me. He really couldn't help but capture your attention. He was sitting, hunched over something that looked like a little black planner book. He was wearing (or from what I could tell in the dim lighting) a dark navy blue pin stripe suit, with a crisp white shirt and a blue tie with pin stripes on that as well. He even had a white hankie in his pocket. He was dressed immaculately: his shoes polished to a shine, and everything coordinated with everything else. Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle on the suit. Most girls didn't dress that well. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst this mis-matched, somewhat scraggly looking group of club hoppers. He should have been at an opera or a ballet? not a sweaty, dingy rock ?n' roll nightclub.
I couldn't help but intrude, "Er...is the book any good?" I must have startled him? and I'm amazed that he even heard me about the clamourous roar of guitars and feedback.
"What?" he asked. I pointed to the book,
"Any good?" The man looked down at the book and then smiled. He slipped it into his coat pocket,
"Oh...it's nothing spectacular." My nosiness, a definite flaw of mine, was getting the best of me.
"I think you made a wrong turn," I said lightheartedly, "the Palladium is five miles the other way."
He raised his brow somewhat? and I got a good look at his face. He had big brown eyes which, I assumed, had the potential to be quite endearing if given the opportunit, wavy hair he kept slicked down and a thin mouth. He had the round face of a pampered rich-child and not the tough and roughened features belonging to the working-class Liverpudlians. He wasn't too terribly attractive, but then maybe it was just the lighting. He finally let a thin smile appear on his face. He looked down at his clothes,
"Oh! I'm not that obvious, am I? I was rather hoping that I'd sort of...blend on in."
"Yeah, well...the double-breasted suit sort of gave you away." He laughed-- a high pitch sort of laugh. His accent was quite proper with not a trace of scouse whatsoever, confirming my suspicion that he was not a local. "I've never seen you here before. You're not from around these parts, are you." The man nodded, "Actually, I am. Born and raised here..." he eyed me, "What's your excuse?"
"Huh?"
"You're accent. American, no?"
"Oh that!" I said. It was quite easy to forget that you had a different accent than everyone else until someone brought it up and made you feel self-conscious about it all over again, "Yes. I'm from?"
"New York," he finished.
"How did you know that," I said, completely amazed that he knew.
"Oh I can tell about think like that right off. New Yorkers talk differently than other Americans do. And yours just happens to be especially potent."
"Really? I don't think so! What about you? Where'd you get off with that whole Queen's English thing?"
"My mother taught me how to speak," he said, "not like these kids who learned it from their mates."
"Actually, I'm glad you told me I have thick accent. A friend of mine told me that I was turning scouse."
"Heaven forbid that!" he said lightheartedly.
"So...what brings someone like you to a place like this," and realizing how absolutely cliche that sounded, I quickly added, "And don't worry, it's not a come on line."
"Well, actually I'm here on business."
"Oh, a business man are you?"
"Yes. I own a chain of music stores in and around the city? NEMS Enterprises. Have you heard of it?"
NEMS? This guy owned NEMS? My god! He must have been filthy rich! I turned to the bartender and said, "Double scotch and soda-- no ice," and then I turned back to the man, "Actually, I have. I used to work at a record store called Hessy's just around the corner from one of your stores."
"Ah yes," he said nodding, "Hessy's. I've been there before? quite a nice place, that is."
"I like to think so. But what does NEMS have to do with the Cavern?"
"Well," he said as he turned to face me entirely, "I subscribe to this sort of musical newsletter that covers the Merseyside club scene. It's called Mersey Beat? you don't know of it, do you."
I gawked at him. I needed a stimulant and fast. I reached down and gulped my drink. I took a breath, and shook my head. Was this guy for real? I let out a crooked smile and said, "Sir? You are talking to Mersey Beat's assistant editor." The man let his hand drop from his chin onto the bar,
"You're putting me on!"
"No, I mean it! Bill Harry, the editor, has been a friend of mine for years. I'm Claire Delaney, the assistant editor and occasional commentator." The man's eyes were wide with disbelief,
"Delaney...yes! The name does ring a bell! Well now! This is a surprise!" he extended his hand, "Pardon me for not introducing myself properly, Miss Delaney. The name is Brian Epstein!"
"Pleasure."
"And likewise! You're just the person I wanted to talk to. Perhaps you can help me out."
"In any way possible."
With that, Brian's entire demeanor changed. He was immediately nothing but gracious and kind to me, whereas before there was a slight touch of distance in his voice. As if I were now 'ok' to talk with. He moved one seat over to sit right next to me. His voice was very calm and cool, collected and professional. It was obvious that he was a man of wealthy upbringing. Not just because of his clothes, but because of his manner of speech. He didn't use words like gear or fab or sod. He had a large vocabulary and used it frequently.
"About a week ago," he started, "a man came into my store, a scruffy looking thing, and asked me if I had in stock this record called My Bonnie by a group called the Beatles. I asked him what label it was on and he said that he hadn't the faintest idea. All he knew was that it had been done by this group. I asked him if they were foreign and he said of course they weren't. They were a hometown group. Well, needless to say, I hadn't any such record in stock. I wouldn't have taken any note of that, except later that afternoon, two young girls came into the shop, requesting the same record! Now that caught my attention. So the next few days I went researching and snooping about, trying to find out any information that I could about this record."
"And your search brought you here?"
"Yes, thanks to your newsletter! So when that lad came into the store again, I inquired about the band's whereabouts. He told me that they often played here."
"Every day, practically. You...you wanted to meet up with them then?"
"Yes. Actually, I talked to a man by the name of Wooler and he said that he would introduce me."
"Oh, Bob! Yeah, he's a nice guy. The lads get along with him really well."
"So...you know them, then?" he gestured to the boys as he asked me that question.
"Yes. Very well. I was waiting for them too...we have lunch together. The Mersey Beat office is up the street on Renshaw, so I just come down here for lunch..." I paused, "So...what is it that you want with them?"
I didn't get an answer, because we were interrupted by Bob. The boys had finished their set, and Bob had taken center stage, announcing the brief intermission. "And ladies and gents," he said, getting a smile, "We have a Mr. Brian Epstein of NEMS Enterprises in the audience with us today." There were a couple 'oohs' in the audience as though he were a celebrity of some sort. I laughed at Brian who started to blush a little bit. "Come on," I said, patting his shoulder, "I'll go introduce you."
"You're sure," he said, "I don't want to bother them."
"It's perfectly alright. I'll tell them that you're a friend of mine."
Somewhat hesitantly, Brian followed me to the side of the stage, where the boys were just getting down. Bob Wooler met me there, and took over as host, introducing Brian to the boys. They remained unphased by his presence, not paying much attention to him. George seemed skeptical of him to say the least and challenged, "So what brings Mr. Epstein here?"
"Aye, from the creme de la creme of society to down here with us liverpool nightlife rats," John added.
Brian went through his story to them and they listened patiently, puffing on their cigarettes, not at all overwhelmed by the presence of this young aristocrat. Actually, Brian seemed a bit nervous speaking with them? much more nervous as he had been with me, his voice actually cracking a few times. Odd, I remember thinking to myself, how odd.
I don't think that when Brian left that afternoon, any of the guys really knew exactly what he had wanted. Other than that he admired their work and had wanted to meet them, which was flattering. In a way. But the boys were starting to get used to flattery now. Nothing too new for them.
I'd walked Brian out and handed him my Mersey Beat business card and told him to call me anytime if he needed anything at all. He was gracious and very polite and said that he would indeed be giving me a call. I watched the somewhat awkward, yet undeniably confident little rich boy walk away? completely out of place in his Pierre Cardin on the tough roughened pavements of Mathew Street. And I got the most peculiar feeling. Like that wasn't to be the last time I saw that young man.
. . .
Sam Leech was back in town and with a vengeance. This time, his brainchild actually had some promise to it. He was going to call in ?Operation Big Beat,' and his vision was to have an enormous concert over in New Brighton and have a venue of all of the top of the line Liverpool beat groups. A few days before the boys met Brian, he had showed up at the Cavern and presented this idea to them. Now, the boys were still leery of Sam over what happened to them that one time in Aldershoot, but this time Sam convinced them that this was gonna be ?big' and that they had to be a part of it. Especially since, as Sam put it, they were the biggest act in Liverpool. They'd come a long way since that dance hall in Aldershoot, that's for sure.
Indeed, when I started to ask around, it seems like everyone had heard about this upcoming ?Operation Big Beat' concert. Gerry said that the Pacemakers were gonna be performing there. I ran into Ringo one day, and he said that the Hurricanes would be there. Not to mention Kingsize Taylor and the Dominoes, the Remo Four and a cavalcade of others.
So, we headed down to the New Brighton Tower Ballroom on November 11th, genuinely interested as to what was gonna happen. The place was an absolute madhouse. He'd rented out the entire ballroom, and the place was maxed to capacity. Everyone had heard about it, so of course, everyone was there. Everyone.
Annie and I had dolled up for the big occasion. I wore a tight fitting blouse and a short skirt, Annie in similar attire, and we had to sneak out because Ellie would have had a heart attack if she'd seen us. (Paul loved it though, the little Pervert).
The boys' itinerary for the night was a hectic one: their opening set started around nine, then they had to make a mad dash over to Cheshire for a brief appearance, and then they had to rush back to the Tower Ballroom because they had another set and 11:00.
The kids' energy seemed to be never-ending: the 11:00 crowd just as wild as the 7:00 crowd. The night was huge, filled with drinking, laughing, dancing and dancing and. . .more drinking. The Beatles took the concert-goers by storm. No, but hurricane. Even though the boys had been going since seven in the evening, as had the patrons, they still put every ounce they had into a searing version of a new song that was high on the charts called "I Just Don't Understand": and let me tell you, if the girls in the audience weren't swooning already, they surely were after John and Paul finished crooning:
Well you call me your baby
When you hold in my hand
But the way that you hurt me
I just don't understand
Well you say that you need me
Like an ocean needs sand
But the way you deceive me
I just don't understand
Well you know that I love you
More than anyone can
But a one-sided love
I just don't understand
Well you know that I love you
More than anyone can
But a one-sided love
I just don't understand
Well you call me your baby
When you hold in my hand
Oh how you can hurt me
I just don't understand
Their delivery sent a tingle up my spine, and I think it's safe to say that the other concert goers were equally as impressed. When the boys filed off the stage, plunging into waiting pints of beers, their spell over the audience seemed to go with them and things began to get quite rowdy. A fight broke out and chairs began flying? one almost hitting Paul and me in the head.
No one had to twist our arms to get going. We gathered everybody up and rode home together: tipsy, exhausted and exhilarated.
