No More Lonely Nights- 2

ALLIE: The Beatles are the next band to play, apparently, after this set is finished. Don't ask me to tell you the name of the group playing now, some blue-ish number, sounds like. Lucy returned from the restroom looking as painted and puffed-up as every other girl but me, and I felt a strange mix of both disgust and sympathy rise up in my throat.  Seeing her looking like a china doll when I honestly know she's quite plain makes me feel sorry for her. She's lying to herself by trying to alter her appearance to give her otherwise common face some sort of beauty, but she's also lying to these four lads about to set foot on stage. If any of the four of them have a conscious and a decent bone somewhere on their person, they will overlook the try-hards and find someone more… well, someone more real, I guess is what I'm trying to say. I know that would be my mindset if I was a guy.

Suddenly the air came to life with the sounds of screams, cries, and shrieks, so much so that I could barely hear the voice announcing the next act over the noise. "AND NOW, PLEASE WELCOME TO THE CAVERN CLUB STAGES, THOSE FOUR LADS FROM RIGHT HERE IN LIVERPOOL, THE BEATLES!" The moment the words "the Beatles" escaped into the air, mass vocal chaos seemed to break out. Girls all around me, Mary and Eloise and Lucy included, were screaming bloody murder at the tops of their lungs. Some were even sobbing, and I saw an unlucky young lady pass out on the floor. I seemed to be the only one remaining calm and silent, not collapsing from sheer hysteria or hollering as loud as my vocal cords would allow.

I stood up and peered around Lucy's shoulder, my eyes desperate to know exactly what the fuss was all about. I saw the four lads on stage, drummer in the back, bass player and two guitarists in the front standing in a neat line. My eyes traveled first to the drummer, since Mary had said he was not as cute as the other three. Ringo Starr wasn't  bad-looking in the least, I thought to myself. He did have a bit of a nose on him, but somehow, that feature seemed to add character and yes, cuteness to his face.

The two guitarists were fairly attractive as well. Lucy had told me earlier that John Lennon was the one who played rhythm guitar and that he usually stood alone at one microphone. George Harrison was on lead guitar and shared the microphone with the bass player.

I shifted my gaze slightly to the left, and suddenly, I felt a strange soaring-like sensation expand inside my chest. My breath caught in my throat, and I could have sworn my heart stopped for at least ten seconds. I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't move… all I could do was stare at the sight before me. The bass player, Paul McCartney. He had the most perfect face I had ever seen before- large, gorgeous bright eyes, a beautiful smile… and when he opened his mouth and began to sing along with John and George, I fell completely in love.


PAUL: And, of course, here we go again. Another night, another show, another bunch of girls freaking out over us. This routine is getting rather old, to me, that is. I'm not sure what the others think of it. Knowing Ringo, he's rather apathetic about the whole  thing, George probably could care less, while John likely is basking in the attention (and he's the only one of us with a steady girlfriend, his friend Cynthia Powell from school- oh, the irony…).

I can't quite get the words of that one girl out of my mind, hard as I keep trying. What she said struck me deeply and has me thinking about exactly where we as a band are headed with our careers. Nowhere, to me. I feel like we're stuck in a rut and not moving an inch, and I don't like it one bit. I am weary of playing packed shows at tiny clubs to nothing but hysterical girls. I want to go somewhere, see the world, make a name for ourselves. Make a name for the Beatles outside of Liverpool.

"Paul, come on!" John called. "We have to go out there now! Snap out of your little daydream and move it!"

I sighed and picked my bass up from the floor. Here we go. Let the chaos begin. I took a deep breath and stepped out onto the stage, positioning myself behind the right microphone by George, with John on the left microphone and Ringo slightly behind us at his drum kit. The screams and cries of the girls pulsated through my brain and almost made me dizzy. George cast a curious glance at me, but I shook my head and mouthed "Don't ask" to him. He shrugged and nodded and turned his concentration to playing his chords, leaving me to join in with my bass line accompaniment and continue trying to shake the haze from my mind. I forced myself to put on my stage face- the smile, the bright and happy disposition- and perform our set. Thirty minutes and we'd be done for the night. It would pass quickly, I knew it.

I scanned the crowd as we played, trying to see if I could find a face that could possibly match the voice I had heard as I was coming to the stage. Nearly every girl in the club wore a look of sheer euphoric hysteria on her face and almost that same number of them were crying. What our appeal was to them I had yet to understand.

Only one girl I spotted in the crowd seemed to be composed and calm and not breaking down in our presence. She was standing with three other girls who were all having meltdowns, a look of apathy and slight annoyance on her face as she watched the other females around her swoon. She had long blonde hair pulled back loosely from her face and was wearing a plain black dress with a string of pearls resting against her collarbones. Her face was not caked with cosmetics, and even from my view on the stage, she did not seem to have modified her bust line like the others clearly had done (tissues- will that trick ever go out of style?). I could not tear my eyes from her as we played through our first two songs, though I still managed to stay focused enough to perform and not completely mess up my side of things.

Somehow, I knew in my heart that the voice I'd heard belonged to that perfect face.


ALLIE: Paul McCartney has me totally transfixed. It's as if I've turned into a statue where I am standing. I keep having to remind myself even to breathe. I cannot move a muscle nor can I tear my eyes from his face. It's like I'm under some sort of spell.

The screams, the cries, the mass chaos that is ensuing around me seems to have faded to a dull rumble in the background. All I hear is the music the Beatles are playing, the pounding rhythm of Ringo's drums, John and George's guitars, and of course Paul's bass.

All I can see is Paul McCartney.

I continued to keep my eyes on him, watching his hands move over the bass, the way he tossed his head slightly as he sang, and at one point, the wink he gave the already . hyperventilating crowd. I felt my own body growing weak the longer I watched him, understanding why this place was so crowded when the Beatles were on stage- and I doubted it had as much to do with the other three boys, either.

After they finished their second song, I saw Paul glance out across the crowd, scanning the girls as though he was looking for someone in particular before his eyes settled on… me? Was he looking at me? I averted my eyes from him but quickly looked back. He was indeed watching me, a look of satisfaction and contemplation on his face. He smiled and winked at me, and I fought hard to keep from sinking back down in my chair. He'd noticed me.