Gabby rolled her eyes at the ginger-haired twit who called himself the BBC’s ‘Official Talent Representative’. “Please fuck off” she requested.
“Ah, come on luv, give old Henry a chance, will you?”
“No” she sought Paul out with her eyes across the room and wondered again why she couldn’t have just stayed in the car.
“Please” He’d whined, with his big gorgeous eyes, pulling her out of the car effortlessly. “I’ll be your best friend, I will”
George had been in a bad mood due to his hang over and the three hours of sleep he received. He grabbed her away from Paul. “If I have to fucking suffer then you do to”
“Oh that’s lovely, George, really”
Now George was sulking and being antisocial while Brian tried to get him to move about and chat with the other radio guests. George pulled out a cigarette and smoked instead while Paul talked to other managers and bass players and singers and such, being all happy and fake and press happy.
Gabby had noticed the lads were all responding quite differently to this new surge in popularity. It seemed that since the fourth single off Please Please Me had gone to number one, the Beatles might have very well been the number one group in Britain. Most recently, they’d hit number one in a string of continental European countries and were now all scheduled up to go over there and tour.
Paul had developed a certain way of behaving around the press people that was a bit frightening. It was as if he suddenly aged forty years and was a peace diplomat for the Beatles to their fans.
That however, was preferable to George’s boredom with it all. Oh sure, being asked your favorite color everyday was ok with him for about the first three months…
“Just tell me your name” Henry insisted, he put his hand on her arm.
Gabby wrenched away “No, thanks” she said and shuffled over to George. Henry followed her, a smug look in his eyes as if he hadn’t just been blown off. Gabby reached down for George’s hand and intertwined her fingers in with his, shooting Henry a look.
“All right?” asked George, nudging her with his hip slightly to acknowledge her.
”Yeah” she shrugged. “So, what’s this about going to Sweden?’
George moaned, and rubbed at his eyes, carefully avoiding the burning end of his fag. “Please say you’ll come, Gabby, please.” He pleaded
”George” she laughed “I’ve got to find somewhere to stay, I can’t bloody well stay with you and Ritchie forever”
“Sure you can” George pressed “And anyway, why spend money on a flat when you’ll just end up over with me most of the time anyway”
“That’s not true” Gabby insisted, even though it was. “I don’t need you desperately, George, you know.”
“Yes you do” he chuckled, blowing smoke in her face.
Gabby waved it off. “Stop it” She looked around for Paul again but he was no where to be seen. She asked George where he’d gone but George just shrugged vaguely.
Brian approached them with an old balding man in a suit whose face was frozen in a kind smile. “Ah,” said Brian “George, Gabby,” he gestured to their hands, trying to signal that they shouldn’t display such affection in public because ‘people might get the wrong idea’, as they’d heard so many times. Gabby was George’s ‘cousin’ and the lads were not to touch her, speak to her, or behave as if she were anything more.
George quirked his eyebrows mischievously at Brian and put his arm around Gabby’s waist, his palm resting flat on her abdomen, and his thumb moving slightly up and down to indicate something more. Gabby felt the blood rush to her head, it tickled after all.
“This is Archibald Winter” said Brain, twisting his face disapprovingly. “He owns a slot of time for commercials on the BBC. Mr. Winter this is George Harrison and Gabrielle Gallagher”
They all shook hands and Archibald sighed happily. “Ah to be young and in love” he said wistfully “Your Gabrielle is like a beautiful Aphrodite, Mr. Harrison”
Gabby saw the muscles in George’s jaw work to keep from saying anything or laughing uproariously.
“Thank you” he said
“Actually” Brian interrupted “She’s not *his* Gabrielle, she’s… his… cousin.”
“Right” George grinned and pulled Gabby closer his arm clamping around front. “Cousins”
“Oh…” said Archibald slowly. He shook his head and looked at Gabby, locked in George’s arms. “You aren’t by any chance related to Lady Constantine Gallagher, are you?”
“Er..” Gabrielle twitched back a smile. “No, but I am related to Lady Irene Fraser”
Archibald’s face registered surprise “Are you indeed? How so?
“Erm… she’s… my aunt?”
“Lady Fraser is a most kind woman” said Archibald to Brian “Her yearly dinners for the Fraser foundation are always quite charitable. And her estate, it is exquisite. And to think, the Beatles are always portrayed as poor scouse lads from up north, when one of them is related to a social force in London” Archibald cackled “Isn’t it Ironic”
“Er… actually George isn’t related to Lady Fraser” said Brian, futilely.
“But he’s her nephew”
“No…no.. err… four times removed.” Brian sputtered “He’d not anyway”
‘Oh, heavens” said Archibald “Do say hello to your dear aunt to me, would you, Miss. Gallagher?’
“Of course” she said weakly.
Gorge released her from the death grip when Archibald was led away by his manservant.
Brian shot them heavy looks “That’s right George” he said scathingly “Let them think you’re like Jerry Lee Lewis, and marrying your cousin, who just happens to be a princess”
“I’m not a princess” Gabby interjected
“Not the point” Brian said dismissively. “You’re both bloody self-destructive…” he ran a hand through his hand agitated. “I’m sorry, George. Sorry” and he strode off in a rather stressful way.
”Ah, damn it” George sighed “Now I feel all guilty”
“It’ll pass” Gabby said helpfully, patting him on the arm.
“What’re you doing tonight?” George asked “Back in London, going to be in the studio all day tomorrow, so I can be as hung over as I fucking well like. Want to come out to a club or something?”
“Er.. maybe” it sounded tempting by Paul had made a big show of asking her out to dinner and getting a room at the Savoy and such. Like he was making up for something, even though they were just friends. She wondered if he still thought he was in love with her. Probably not.
“Maybe” George nodded.
She smiled at him weakly. But just then Paul entered the room. And he wasn’t alone.
