Part IV

Liverpool in New York


The following eight days were an absolute nightmare, literally. There were sometimes when I would wake up screaming, almost feeling the hands of my assailant on my body, panting and sweating as if I had been running up and down that dark alleyway over and over, night after night. I would wake up, feeling the sweat drip down on the sheets, while Jess ran into my room to keep me company. I felt somewhat responsible for her failing a test once, as she could not study due to the fact that I spent the whole afternoon crying my heart out. On other times, she had to make me eat like you would feed a two-year-old child, as for some reason, I was too tired to even eat. I felt scared, terrified... Sometimes, Jess would be so tired, she would sleep like a dead tiger and was unable to hear me scream in the middle of the night. It happened twice. And on both occasions, I would take Paul’s shirt to my face. I would then feel suddenly warm and safe: Despite the fact that it had been on my body for a day and a half, it still bore the scent of the cute Beatle. I could not place which aftershave it was, and neither did I care: The smell was wonderful. The same smell I managed to pick up when he leaned over the bed to kiss my cheek. I would hold on to the shirt, refusing to wash it. The neckline was now black rimmed, but I didn’t care. I was later told by a friend who smelled it which brand of aftershave it was (she naturally was not told of the origins of the shirt), but when I went to a department store to verify this, the smell somehow didn’t match. It was there, but it was not complete. I then assumed Paul had left a scent of his own, and this mixed with the aftershave created a humus so unique, it was hard to even think of Beatle Paul without suddenly remembering the scent on his shirt... On him. And with the scent came the image of a pair of huge, somewhat liquid eyes, dark and light at the same time, brown yet gray, gray yet hazel. The memory of a skin so white it almost hurt to look at. A smile so adorably child like, it was endearing and the voice that seemed to coo like a dove in my ears and mind.

I was actually baffled to see the word had not gotten out that I had been with the Beatles, or that I had almost been raped after their Ed Sullivan appearance, or that I had Paul McCartney’s shirt tucked under my pillow. I was surprised, as any Beatle related gossip spread quicker than a forest fire back in the day. Only once in school, someone caught me gawking at a poster in the hallway, touching Paul’s pace with my fingertips; But it was a common thing to see, and it didn’t go beyond some whispers of Rita McCormick has lost her mind, finally. I took to drawing Paul’s face during paint class, and practicing all forms of hand printed letters with his name during lettering class, but it didn’t go beyond that. Plus, I wasn’t the only one; most girls had a Beatle chip on their shoulders, and would spend the day writing, drawing, playing, painting and illustrating Beatles.

Once I passed out in the girl’s room; it had been three days since I had eaten. The lack of food and the lack of sleep made a killer mix. Strangely, I woke up, by myself, in the bathroom. No one had come in, and no one had noticed. Never had I felt so alone.

I got in from school late one afternoon and found my sister lying on the couch with the phone to her ear. She was obviously talking to her friend Nancy. I was always able to tell to whom she was talking from her body language. It was amazing to see the influence each person had over my sister: With Nancy, she behaved like the comic character Penny, lying upside down on the couch with one shoe on and the other hanging by the tip of her toe. Plus, they always laughed at all sorts of dumb things. Only this time, it was notoriously a Beatle chat. Nancy was even more obsessed that Jesse. I looked at her and asked her to cover the receiver with one hand, jut to as to remind her NOT to say a word about our experience.

While she was on the phone, I went into my room and began to undress. It wasn’t THAT late, but all I wanted was to be in comfortable jammies, to watch TV and linger around for a while. I closed the curtain to my room. Just then, a cat from the window facing mine meowed loudly, in the same fashion as the night of the attack. The sound immediately triggered the memory. I jumped far from the window in a screaming frenzy. I was suddenly terrified of everything around me. I was half naked, so feeling cold air on my body did not help too much, as I remembered the sensation of lying down in the back of the car, feeling the cold night air on all limbs.

Jesse ran into the room, and found me on the floor, screaming. I knew she was there, but somehow my mind was going through the entire episode one more time. I couldn’t stop screaming. One of the neighbors had to call the police, even. A welcome visit. When the cops arrived, Jesse explained to them that I had been assaulted in an alleyway only eight days before but skipped the Beatle details. A doctor was called in, and I was given a shot of a strong tranquilizer, which sent me oozing away into sleep.

When I awoke, I was once again conscious of my surroundings, except the fear hadn’t quite dissipated. I knew I was safe, but I had all senses on full alert. The cops were gone, and Jesse was staring at me, teary eyed, even more worried than she had been when she found me lying in John Lennon’s hotel bed.

- Hey, kiddo...- She whispered, caressing my hand. –Hang there with me, ok?

My lips were dry, so I asked her for water. While she stood up for it, I reached under the pillow and pulled out Paul’s shirt. I took it to my nose and inhaled. Suddenly, I was alarmed. The smell... It was fading!! I called out in terror to my sister, who ran in dripping water from the glass all over the carpet.

- IT’S GONE!!! THE SMELL IS GONE!!- I cried almost hysterically.

She took the shirt and smelled it. –Of course it would, sweetie!- She caressed my hair. –That sort of thing happens! Shhh, there...

I cooled down, but could not imagine spending the night without the smell of Paul’s shirt... Without the smell of Paul.

Then the phone rang.

Jesse stood up. –I have to get that.

- NO!!- I cried. –Don’t leave me!-

- I’m not leaving, honey! - She touched my hand as she stood up. –I’ll just be here, in the living room, ok? I’ll be right back, I swear I won’t take long, ok? Shhh, there...

Off she went. I held on to the once white now grayish shirt, almost hiding behind it and trying to soak up the remaining smell.

After a couple minutes, Jesse walked in. She was smiling. –Rita, you may want to hide that shirt...

- Why? - I asked almost calm.

- That was Brian Epstein. He’s coming here!! They’re here!! In New York!!!

It took a while for my brain to recap who she was talking about, but once she did, I was able to make a connection. Brian Epstein... Beatles... Paul... Shirt... Scent... Good night’s sleep.... And I was finally able to smile through the tears. – R... really? They are coming here?

- Yes! Apparently, Brian wants to know how you’re doing to see if you’ll be needing that therapist. - Suddenly she seemed puzzled. –That’s odd...

- What is?

She looked at me. –I gave Brian the phone number from school, not this one... How did he get this number? We’re not even listed!

I thought for a moment; I began to smile, and I looked up to Jesse.

- Paul had it.

- Huh?

Yes!! That was it!! He had not forgotten! He had not washed his hands before jotting the number down elsewhere!

- I gave our number to Paul while you were eating Ringo with your eyes!- I smiled. –He said he would want to call to see how I was doing!!

Jess screamed and jumped up and down. I wasn’t quite myself yet, but the thought of possibly seeing Paul again made it all good.

- What did you tell Brian? - I asked, trying to smile harder.

Jess finally sat beside me on the bed. –I told him you had just gone through crises... He was immediately concerned, I think... so he asked me for our address, asked if it would be... proper to pop in.- She spoke in mock British.

I bit my lip. –Do you think he’ll come by himself?

She sighed. –Probably. The Beatles have no business here... Unless Paul wants his shirt back.

I pressed the shirt against my chest. He had not even asked me for it yet, and I was already refusing to return it. –No way!

Jesse smiled and squeezed my knee with one hand. –You’re looking better now, sis. - She giggled. -Aren’t those boys the finest medicine?

I nodded, but gave her a serious look. – I think I may actually need that therapist, Jess. I think it’s more than just a joke...

- Of course you do... – Jess hugged me. –Now, you stay here... I have to tidy up a bit out there.

Having said this, she stormed out of the room and began to clean up as fast as she could. I didn’t seem to think much, and it didn’t dawn on me that I would once again look scruffed up and in bed in front of the manager of the Fab Four. I stood up, feeling the weight of my own body as my knees wobbled, and reached for a hair brush. What little makeup I had left on my face was runny, so I took some cream and a tissue and completely cleaned my eyes and face. I was once again half naked, so I went into my closet and pulled out a huge pullover my mother had knitted before she passed away, and slipped it on. I went back into bed right in the nick of time, as the buzzer rang.

Jesse took it, and seconds later she was in my room, whispering loudly as she jumped up and down. –It’s him!!! And he’s not alone!! He’s not alone!!!

The tapping on the door brought her back to the ground as she desperately tried to compose herself. She gave me one final stare and grinned.

- Look your worst...- She winked

- I feel my worst... – I nodded assent

She left the room and went to open the door. I heard voices... But there was only one voice I was trying my best to single out...

After a few muffled sounds, I heard a whole bunch of footsteps on the wooden floor as they reached the entrance to my room. I gulped and sank myself on the bed. Jesse opened the door. –Sweetie, you have visitors!

In they came. All of them. Silent as tombstones. With them were the two men I remembered as Neil and Mal. They all looked fantastic; They had color on their cheeks, and Paul’s gorgeous china white shade was now somewhat rosy.

I grinned as best I could, as once again I felt myself paling before the greatest band ever. And there was his smell, now floating in the air of my room. MY ROOM! I had The Beatles in my room!

As usual, George was the first to approach. He sat by me on the bed.

- Hey, luv… how are ya today? –

I was somehow paralyzed. My tongue was all tied up. I could see on their faces that this was something that was just NOT in their vision of a good time. John, for one, seemed terribly disturbed, and the constant blinking of his eyes made me wonder about my appearance. I woke up every day to see my own face, so maybe I hadn’t noticed how appalling I looked.

When I failed to answer, George turned to my sister. –She looks pretty wrong.

Brian turned to my sister, following George’s comment. –She looks like she’s lost a few pounds…

Jess shrugged. –I have to admit this... She hasn’t eaten very well in the past week or so… What little she’s had to eat, I virtually shoved down her throat. Plus, she’s not sleeping well, either. - I felt myself blush as she spoke to Brian. – It’s nightmare after nightmare… sometimes she’s not even asleep and she’s just not here.

I stared at them, suddenly feeling pity on the poor boys. John was on the brink of running scared. He had some strange defense mechanism against anything too disturbing. He looked pale, probably paler than I did. Ringo just looked out the window, while Paul leaned against my dresser, with his left-hand fingers bent over his lips and his elbow on top of his other arm, pressed firmly against his chest. George seemed sympathetic, and was looking at me, trying his best to smile. I could see clean through his façade, however, and could tell he looked horrified.

Brian sighed. –Very well… I can see she really needs all the help we can offer. - He walked up to me and sat next to George, almost knocking the skinny Liverpudlian off the bed. Gently, he held my hand. –The best I can offer, Miss McCormick, is this therapist I know. But he’s in London. I’m willing to pay all expenses, if you agree to go. You have, after all, kept quiet about this ordeal.

- That won’t last…- Ringo spoke suddenly. Everyone joined him at the window, and all could see a few people already lined up by the front gate of the apartment building.

- Shit! - John squealed like a wounded warthog. –Who let the bloody word out?

Everyone turned to look at Jess.

- No, boys, I swear, it wasn’t us! - Jess almost cried.

- Just a sec, lads…- Paul began. And his voice sounded like the most beautiful music to my ears. - There was this one girl in the elevator, remember? Maybe she… You know… Gave her mates a buzz, and now, well…

Everyone groaned, somewhat displeased to have been discovered.

Paul walked up to me and sat by my bed while the others discussed how they would leave without making it too obvious. He was not the same Paul I had met; his face looked somewhat somber, yet the color on his cheeks made me assume he had spent some time under the sun. Not that that was possible in New York at the time: It was almost cold enough to have a penguin rain fall.

There was no trace of a smile, or even a mild grin. His face looked composed, like a steel mask. It was obvious he too was also appalled by my appearance, but was obviously trying to be as diplomatic as possible.

- So, why have you not had your meals, then? - He asked, in an almost compassionate tone of voice, but not quite achieving it.

I gulped, hoping he would not hear my heart pounding. –I’m just not hungry.

He sighed and shook his head from side to side. – You know, It’s a shame, really. – He spoke softly. –I really thought you was gonna get past it… But you’re letting drag you down.

I was confused. –Letting IT drag me down?

- Aye, that’s what I said.

I frowned, visibly confused. He noticed this and turned his face away as he spoke. – You seemed like a rather strong girl back there… But now, it’s eating you all away. It’s just sad…- He turned back to me just as I blushed into an intense shade of red. I suddenly hated myself. I felt the heat of the tears that were welling up in my eyes. He shook his head from side to side, and touched my face with one finger. My God… I could almost feel my skin scorch right under his finger! – Go on, luv. I know it must be hard. I don’t want to seem like a bastard, here, but I just think the best thing you can do is go on with yer life. I’ll bet you can do just tha’!

- I can’t…- I felt the tears finally abandon my eyes as they hurried down my cheeks. I no longer cared if he was there or not; I felt terrible. –I can’t just get up and do it… It’s with me, everywhere I go… this man is in my sleep, in my house, in my goddamned head!!- I sobbed and looked at his face. He had turned to look at John, who was by now sending the vilest words across the room to Brian and Mal. Visibly angered and uncomfortable to be there at all. I felt ashamed, really ashamed. Paul turned back to me, looking even more baffled. –Never mind tha’…- He spoke, excusing his friend’s terrible behavior. –He’s just got a way to handle things… He’s a good lad, really.

Had it not been for the incredible smell his body emanated, I would have jumped out of the bed there and then to throw myself out the window. Paul, too, looked like he wanted to say a word or two to Brian and Mal for dragging him there. It was a mistake, a visible mistake. Jesse helped them out, telling them about the back exit of the building. But while the other three Beatles, Mal, Brian and Neil debated and quarreled over what their next move would be, Paul seemed to sit with me, even though it was an action he was doing obviously against his will.

- Why did you come?- I finally asked him. –Why did you ALL come?

- What? We’re not welcome? - He faked a childish grin.

I shook my head, not falling for it. –You obviously are uncomfortable, Paul. I may be nuts, but I can tell when someone isn’t happy… And none of you are. So, why did you come here?

The cute Beatle seemed startled. He frowned and leaned back. He stared at me for a while before looking at the others. The havoc was cooling down as they agreed to leave separately and through the back door. I saw John pick up my bra and put it on his head, raising a few giggles to lighten up the environment he himself had thickened with his bad temper.

Paul turned back to me, his jaw set, but still trying his best not to reflect any emotion through the somewhat contradictive darkened clarity of his unusual eye color.

- It’s not personal, luv… I’m sorry if it may seem that way. - He sighed and look down. - To tell you the truth, you’re right. None of them wanted to come ‘ere today. But they’ll cum around soon enough.

- None of THEM? - I spoke back.

- Yeah… Coming here was my idea. I figured Brian would not want to keep his word, so I thought, fuck that…- He stopped himself after the F word. He grinned and blushed a bit. –I’m sorry… Tha’ slipped out!

I couldn’t help smiling. So now, the truth was coming out; The Beatles drank, smoked, cussed, vomited, behaved like juniors and had pretty bad tempers. So much for the lovable, adorable Mop Tops.

- Never mind…- I looked down.

Paul stared at me. I couldn’t see him do it, but I could feel the gaze burning me up. –You know, if you’d have sum stuff to eat, you’d probably start feeling better, hey? - He raised my face, pulling it up with one finger on my chin. –I mean, let’s face the facts, you’re a luvely girl, you are… -When he said this, I had to hold back a loud scream. -…but you look so bad right now, it’s hard to believe you’re the same lass from last week, you know…

John finally picked up on the conversation, and with a smile walked over to me. His mood had visibly changed. –Yeh… Back then you looked good enough for us to want to peek under the sheets, tootsie. Now you’re not fit fer tha dogs, luv.

Paul, George, Ringo and Brian all snapped at him. –JOHN!!

- Shut yer bloody mouth, man! - Paul frowned. But all turned to me when they saw me smiling at John. I had no idea why, but I suddenly felt hungry. It was then when I realized that John Lennon was the TRUE voice of the Beatles. The others were too "image conscious", while John had the guts to say what the band was really thinking. And besides, it was true… I wasn’t fit for the dogs! There was no better way to describe my appearance. John’s words were harsh, but all too certain.

- If that’s the truth, John…- I smiled at him. - …then I’m guessing it’s about time I put something in my tummy, isn’t it?

- There ya go! - John laughed loud. There was something irresistibly charming about John Lennon. – There, see, Eppy? She’s even got a sense of humor! - He tuned to me with a huge, mischievous smile. - Never mind, luv. I’m not fit fer tha dogs, either. So I’m guessing we could both use a little suppa!

By now I was smiling, John was giggling, Ringo was pacing, George was laughing, Paul was frowning, Brian was whimpering, Neil and Mal were trembling and Jess was having a cow.

- You want to take her out before we head back to the hotel, John?- Brian smiled as politely as his rapidly raising blood pressure allowed him. -You DO know we have a plane to catch early tomorrow morning, don’t you?

- Yeh, yeh…- John waved his hand in the air dismissively. –I’ll behave, Eppy. Stop being so bloody stroppy! And you, Paulie...- He tsk-tsked as he shook his head from side to side. – You certainly left your better over in Miami, hey? Have a laugh, mate! - John pulled Paul’s ear. The poor bass player sat upright, wincing as he began to call John all the names his colorful Liverpool lingo allowed him to. It seemed he had suddenly forgotten about his manners. I was immediately amazed by John’s capacity to break through Paul’s ever still mask, even when he felt his worst. In a matter of seconds, they were mock fighting, suddenly forgetting the discomfort they had all felt only minutes earlier.

- So, then…- Ringo sat down. - Maybe it would be a good thing to ask you to have some suppa with us, hey?

Supper with the Beatles?

- Well, I guess it would be a good idea. We could discuss the issue of the therapy, and all that…- Jesse looked over to Brian. –If, of course, it’s all ok with you…

John and Paul stopped giggling, and turned to Brian.

- Sir, can they cum with us, sir? Please sir! Aw go on, sir! - John spoke like a schoolboy.

Brian looked around at the people surrounding him. Paul was pleading with his eyes.

- All right, very well…- He sighed. –But you boys be in your best behaviors, you hear?

- Yes dad. - George smiled.

I smiled. I was suddenly starving to death. For the first time in an entire week I felt like there was a hole in my stomach.

Jess ushered the band out of there so I could get dressed, while John and George were pulled by Neil and Paul, hanging on to the door ledge, screaming NO! NO! We wanna look! We wanna look!. Eventually, I was alone in my room again. I shuffled through my clothes and chose a blue pullover to match with black skintight pants and boots. I knew it would be cold outside, so I just let my hair hang loose. Once again, I framed my eyes with a thick layer of eyeliner and a couple of whiffs of mascara. After the pale, pink lipstick there was little else I could do to better myself. John was so right, in fact, I had a hard time applying the eyeliner, because every time I looked at my reflection on the mirror, I could see I WASN’T FIT FOR THE DOGS. I peeked out the window one more time; there were more people beginning to gather around the front entrance.

I walked out the room; everyone was waiting for me. Apparently, The Beatles seemed happy to have us along, so did Mal and Neil… But for some reason, Brian looked a bit put off by the whole situation.

When I emerged, they all turned and applauded me… All except Brian… And Paul, who simply gasped mildly as I smiled at them.

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