Brian gave John a placating smile and rocked back on his heels. “John, sacrifices must be made. I really think this is the best way to propel your group further. Suits will make you look more professional!”
“No!” John said again with more force behind the word.
George chewed on the inside of his lip and settled for not saying anything.
Paul on the other hand placed a calming hand on John’s arm. “Now, come on John, at least give him a chance.”
John glared at his mate. “Macca! You want to be some fucking Shadows rip off, eh? Well that’s fine! You can fucking go for it man, but not with my band!”
Paul quickly removed his hand and shook his head. “No, John, that’s not what I’m saying,” he said in a pacifying voice. It was a scene that would play out thousands of times over the course of the rest of their lives. Paul, the yes man, the people pleaser, the pacifist. John completely and utterly against or for something with only Paul able to sway his mind.
George continued biting his lip. “I don’t mean to gang up or anything, but I don’t like the idea either, Paul…”
“But lads,” Brian interjected. “You will be taken *seriously.* Isn’t that what you want? To get to the top of the pops?” He continued, “If that is what you want then sacrificed such as your choices in fashion,” he gestured to the four leather clad boys, “Will have to be rubbished.”
Pete nodded his head. “I’m for it,” he said. “Brian’s right. We want to get famous, don’t we?”
The other three Beatles were now more opposed then ever. “Sell out!” John shouted across the room at the drummer.
George glared.
“Can we just see the suits?” Paul asked.
“Of course,” Brian nodded and went to a black leather portfolio of drawings. He opened it and spread several designs across the table.
Paul picked up the round neck, collarless design and looked up at Brian. “Erm…Brian…”
“They’re the latest fashion in France,” Brian said quickly. “Everything that is popular in France eventually makes its way to America, you know.”
John grabbed the design. “This is for fucking fairies,” he frowned.
“John!” Paul gave John a firm glare. “Shut up. They’re not that bad.”
“Can I see?” George asked, holding his hand out. Paul glanced at Brian and gave him a smile as well and then yanked the drawing from John and handed it to George.
George looked at it for a bit. “It’s not so bad,” he said at last. “I mean. I kind of different, you know. We’d still be different from the rest, wouldn’t we?” He handed it to Pete to critique.
“Of course,” Brian said, clasping his hands in front of him. “And It’ll in no way be interfering with the concepts of your… rugged personalities.”
“I say yes,” Pete said setting the drawing down flat on the table.
“Good lad!” Brian enthused, he looked to George “George, son, what say you?”
George was aware of John’s glaring and Paul’s lip chewing and Brian’s pleading eyes as he spoke “Well…I suppose, I’m just the guitar player, you know what I mean? I’ll go with whatever you say, but I’m not totally opposed.”
“Paul?”
“Hmm…” Paul chewed on his lips some more. “And it’ll probably help it so I say… try it. Yeah, let’s bloody give it a shot.” He nodded and looked at John. “After all, man, you know the leathers are sort of getting a bit old hat…”
John looked aggrieved and then finally sighed. “This is mad. Sure let’s fucking try it.” He sighed once more, looking defeated. “But I’m warning you Eppy,” he shook a finger warningly at his manager, “If I get fucking stoned on that stage at the Cavern, I’m having your head, you hear?”
