The Beatles lunchtime show at the Cavern: it had been the talk of their part of the Merseyside for a week, every loyal Beatle fan telling any ear that would listen about it. The boys were back to serenade their girls in that cramped, sweaty cellar, and this was big news in Liverpool. 

Evelyn stood, arm touching arm, with a friend of hers from the Iron Door, the waitress, and by another boy their age that she hadn't bothered talking to yet, awaiting the special moment. She decided to set herself farther in the back, wanting to avoid any awkward interaction with the band. She didn't want to seem like she was going out of her way to see them. She wasn't really; Ellie, her friend, had been the one to invite her along for the afternoon. She wasn't what you'd called the biggest of Beatles fans, but she did like the energy that came off from the band's performances.

"It'll start t'get cramped in 'ere in no time. They'll fit as many as they can get in this place t'avoid havoc outside." Ellie leaned in to speak to Evelyn. Looking at the empty stage in the front of the cellar, Evelyn nodded her head. She'd been crammed into the cellar during a Beatles' show once before, and she was familiar with the squeeze, but she knew no one would pay any mind to it while the men were playing. Something about them made everyone forget the situation they were in. The stench of urine and body odor would fade as soon as they took their position and started up their guitars. It was only a matter of minutes until the place was thrumming with the sound, too. "Well, the more the merrier, yeah?" Evelyn laughed. Ellie smiled and agreed, "Yeah, as long as we don't catch ourselves in a fire er anythin'. The things us Liverpudlians will do fer local acts--it's mad."

"I suggested the Grapes remember, but you were the one that said we had t'be 'ere, weren't ye?"

Ellie rolled her eyes. "If we didn't come we'd be missin' out. It's no good bein' in a pub in daylight but this is right fit. 'sides, ye'r on the job and what would it look like if ye were sittin' in a booth, drinkin' away? Unprofessional, I'd say." 

"I'm doin' the same here." She held up the glass bottle of coke in her hand, shaking it. "All the same, really."

"Shirrup." Ellie gripped. She took the bottle from Evelyn and took a swig of the soda, smiling widely as the crowd began to shrill. It didn't take a turn of the head to know that the Beatles had begun to take their positions on the centre stage, but filled with excitement to see it, Evelyn did. 

There they were, only a mere five rows away. Paul was placed closer left, next to one of the two openings that adjoined the three spaces in the Cavern. George was placed to the right of him, slightly in front of Ringo who was in the back, and John was stood furthest right, by the second opening. Last time she'd seen them play the venue, they were dressed in leather, head from toe. Now they stood preparing their equipment in grey slacks, Chelsea boots, white dress shirts, and suit vests, finished off with black ties around their necks. This new stage apparel was a far cry from their original one, and Evelyn knew the culprit to be Brian Epstein himself. Bill had gone off and said something about it awhile back, and Evelyn had wondered then what that would like--the Beatles looking smart in the grimy Cavern of all places--and now here the picture was painted in front of her. Oddly, they still looked fit for the act, despite the posh clothing they donned. Perhaps, she thought, it's because they're made for this place. The Cavern is the Beatles to have. Their the kings here. As if to underline this thought, a wave of shouts peppered the from the crowd ('We luv ya, Beatles!' 'Come 'ed, boys, play us an old one!' 'Anna, Johnny!') 

Evelyn smiled, and nestled into the group, taking back her coke. Paul gave the group a look, grinning as wide as Ellie been minutes ago, before stepping in front of the microphone. Each of the boys smiled with joy, and Paul offered a "'ullo there," teasing the crowd before Bob Wooler, who stood next to the stage, announced them in. She couldn't help but laugh at the man; he knew exactly what he was doing to the crowd, and by the way his eyes twinkled with mischief, and the way he laughed up there with the boys, she knew he enjoyed it, too. Paul feed off this kind of tight interaction, as much as the people in the audience hung on his every word; it was pure mutualism happening in that cellar. 

Once all the band was in place, Bob let his voice sound over the excited ones in the crowd. "Alright," he started, trying to over power the crowd. Soon, they quieted enough for him to continue. "Alright," he repeated, "this is the Beatles with their latest single--Please, Please Me!"

As soon as the introduction was over, the boys tailed it with the opening chords of the song. Evelyn had thought she had heard this once or twice before. It was probably one of the songs Bill played in the office, but she couldn't be too sure. As they continued with it, Evelyn stopped thinking about what it was she was hearing, and started participating in the slow, stifled movement. Just like the boys on the stage, the members in the audience began bounce up and down with excitement. Wide grins mirrored that of Paul and Ringo's, any attentive glazes or deep thoughts in the crowd, vanished. The only one who still had the fixed look on their face was the young George, who slaved over his guitar, glancing up every so often--he did manage a wry one, every now and again, though. And even John, who Evelyn hadn't much known to be anything but stoic lately, was looking as if he was fighting off a grin; half his lip was formed into a grin, and with every lyric, it seemed another muscle perked up to fully form it. The grin finally had danced itself on his thin lips all the way at the end of the song, and Evelyn sat in the back, finding herself feeling the same way. You didn't have to be a dedicated fan to love what was happening in that cellar. You didn't even have to love the music. All you had to be was there, and the rest would do it for you. 

"Alright, alright," Paul stepped up again. He let the crowd shrill some more, as he struggled to retain regular breathing. Grinning, he tried again. He wiped away some of the perspiration on his forehead and spoke, "For this next number,  we'll be doin' another ol' single. Uh," he breathed again, laughing, "Love Me Do."

She knew this one, yeah--by heart almost. In fact, it had been placed number five in Mersey Beat's chart that day, right under Guitar Man by Duane Eddy. This had been a song circling it's way on British air waves since 1962, and it was one of the few 45s she had stored away in her collection at home.

She found the similar motions happen with this song, people grinning ear to ear, sweat forming as the bodies moved the best they could to the music. Evelyn tapped her foot and smiled widely. She stared at the men on the stage with joy pulsing through her body; she was glad to be there and though she wouldn't admit it afterwards, she was happy Ellie had suggested the place. The Beatles certainly were something. 

As she continued to scan the four men on the stage, taking in each movement, miming along to the lyrics, Paul caught his eyes on hers. He continued to sing, but his grin widened and he nodded his head, showing recognition. She nodded back, already red in the cheeks from being spotted. He turned his attention away from her and began to look at the other girls, but she couldn't help but worry that he'd go off and tell the others that she was there. What were they going to say? And there was no way she could escape now. Even if she had formatted a lie to tell Ellie to get her out, it would only attract more attention to her way. There was no way she could make a path in the crowd to leave without pulling eyes her way--people didn't leave Beatles gigs, not even when they were over, half the time, in fear of missing any bit of it. She stayed position, less joyful, but still going along with the motions.

After a few other songs, John took to the microphone and announced they were taking a short to 'unparch' themselves. With a focus eye, she watched them file off the stage and into the dressing room areas, talking amongst themselves, smiling. "Don't say anything, Paul," she silently pleaded, as they stepped out of her sight. She turned away from the opening after a few more seconds, and she looked at Ellie. "I luv them, I do." Ellie put her heart to her chest, sighing affectionately, like a love up teenager. "Think I could marry one of 'em."

"I dunno, perhaps." Evelyn nodded. She put the worrying aside momentarily. "Which one would ya have?"

"Paulie. He's the cutest, I think. I'd say George but I think he's younger than me by a year."

"So? That happens."

"I know, but I don' like 'em younger. Means their less experienced." Ellie laughed. Evelyn widened her eyes, smacking her friend playfully. The man beside them couldn't help but laugh too. 

"What's yer name then, luv?" he finally talked. Ellie looked at him, blushing slightly now. "Ellie," she stuck out a hand, " Yours?"

"Frankie," he answered her, placing a hand in front of hers. Evelyn looked back and forth between the two, and she couldn't help but feel a bit like a third wheel now. Ever quick though, Ellie added, "This is Evelyn," and she motioned to her. "Might've 'eard of her. She writes for the Mersey Beat."

"Does she?" Frankie asked Ellie. He turned his attention to Evelyn, "Do ya? I used t'know Bill--went t'the same school."

"Ah, so ya know John too then?" Evelyn asked. 

"No, not really. 'eard of 'im, but 'e was 'ardly ever there. They make it up now like 'e was, but John was usually at the pub 'er somethin', I think. I do remember 'is friend though. The one that died."

"Goodness." Ellie frowned, "That was so sad, wasn't it? His name was Stu. He died last year and my sister knew 'im. They used t'go together before he became friends with John. She said he was so sweet, a real talented bloke." Frankie nodded, "Yeah, 'e was. I liked 'im, from what I knew about 'im. 'e was the local celeb fer a bit, gettin' 'is paintings bought from the rich and all." Frankie frowned too, before shrugging his shoulders, dismissing the subject. "Would ye two like a drink 'fore the second 'alf starts? I'll buy."

Ellie looked at Evelyn, nodding. "Yeah, thanks. Two cokes, please." With that Frankie moved himself through the crowd, pushing his way to the counter. "He's cute, innit he?" Ellie asked. Evelyn looked at him again. He was dressed alright, wearing proper pants, and a nice sweater vest. He had blonde hair, greased into a quiff, and he had defined features. He was good looking, and he did seem nice. "Yeah," she agreed. "He's alright, I suppose."

"Aye." Someone tapped Evelyn on the shoulder. Turning around, she looked behind her to find a face she didn't know. "Yeah?" 

"'m Neil Aspinall, Beatles roadie. They'd like t'speak t'ya." He told her, quiet. He nodded his head towards the dressing room, and Evelyn felt her heart stop momentarily. She hadn't realized she had been sucking in a breath until Neil pulled at her arm gently. She went along with him, anticipating what it was they wanted. Paul, that damned snitch, she thought a hatefully, biting at her lip.

It felt like an eternity before they reached the door, both a mixture of ominous thoughts that pooled in her mind, and the reality of the large, tightly knitted crowd which made the trip feel so long. Neil opened the door, motioning her to go in. Before she even stepped inside, she knew it to be comforting environment from Paul's laughs echoed off the walls. 

"Who's this, then?" Ringo pipped, nodding his head towards her. "Erm," Paul struggled to find the name in his mind. Embarrassed he looked up to her. She smiled at him forgivingly; she hadn't given him her name yet, so she wasn't offended. Before she could answer, the voice to her left spoke. "Evelyn." John looked at her, pulling a face. "Evelyn Sinclaire." Purposefully, he put too much empathize on her last name.  "Yeah." She nodded. How had he know her name? 

"Evie," Paul announced. He stood up and put an arm around her shoulder. "She's John's writer. Yanno, the one Brian was talkin' about."

"Nice t'meet ya, John's writer." George smiled at her. There was no hateful intent behind his thick, Scouse accent. She laughed. "Hello."

"Yeah, 'ullo. 'm Ringo." He stood and offered her a hand. She took it. "Nice t'meet ya." 

"Back off, ye'r all jus' soft lads." John barked jokingly. His voice got deeper, but they ignored him. Paul's arm remained wrapped around her shoulder, and she leaned into him. The red in her cheeks could tell them alone that she wasn't used to this kind of attention. They continued to circle around her though. John joined in after a bit too, sitting his guitar down. Paul let his thumb stroke her shoulder, and she wandered what it meant. "Hands off Macca," John told him, motioning to her arm. "Don't 'ave t'take every bird, d'ya."

"Shirrup!" Paul told him, shaking his head. He lifted his finger, "e's right short of a straight mind. Ye'll be workin' with a right lunatic. I don't know 'ow I do it meself."

"Aw, don't be browned off 'cause 'm speakin' the truth, son." John took a cigratte out of his pocket. "Givva us a light, yeah, George?" Evelyn watched as George shuffled for his lighter, pulling out the sliver case in a matter of seconds. The ember glowed hot orange when John took a drag off of it, and not until he grinned and smoke pulled out, did she realize she was staring at his mouth. God, she couldn't get any more embarrassing, could she? John did her right and didn't call her out, though. "'ow's it going then--the article of ours?" Oh, she thought, this is what I've been called in for. Put to ease, she filled him in with the only topic she had touched down on with them that she was familiar with. "Good. I've put your part in the beginning, and all I've got t'do is give it a proper ending. Ye only wrote about Christmas as it were and--"

"Maybe ya should come along t'Birkenhead after the gig so ya can finish it with him." Paul intertwined himself in the conversation. John glared at the bassist and he laughed, unwrapping himself for Evelyn. Before she could answer, John filled the silence once more. "I was thinkin'." He took another drag of the cigarette, "That I could jus' come by ye'r flat  when we come back. We'll we back on the..."

"20th," George popped up now. "Fer an evenin' show."

"Ya won't 'ave time, John." Neil spoke. He was situated in the corner of the room a bit menacing like. "I think Brian said somethin' about goin' t'London after that."

"'Course he fuckin' did, didn't he?" John frowned. John looked back at Evelyn. "Sorry," he apologized, "Don't mind me gob--it runs without mind 'alf the time." He replaced his frown with another grin.

"I can jus' come back and we could do it durin' one of these, if ya really don't want me t'do it on me own." Though she had to admit she felt a little hurt by his reluctance at letting her take control of his portion of the Mersey Beat newspaper, she understood. She wouldn't be too well off if someone was out there messing with her hard work, making it into their own creation. That wasn't exactly what she was doing, more then opposite, but still--she left room for understanding. "I can come early 'er the same as I did. 'm sure we can finish it that time."

A knock on the door interrupted them all. Bob poked his head through the door. "Minutes until ye've all got t'be back. Their gettin' restless, yanno," he told the boys. Before they all began to shuffle out that door again, John turned to Evelyn. "Yeah, alright. See ya then, luv. Neil." He motioned their roadie over. "Take 'er back, yeah? Thanks fer comin' in."

"Yeah," they all nodded. Paul took her hand in his, and placed a kiss on it. "Ye'r makin' me sick," John griped at him, pushing Paul gently. It was all in good fun, she could tell. 

As Neil began making his way for them to exit the room, Evelyn couldn't help but let another smile form on her lips. 

The twentieth. Only three more days until she would be back again, experiencing that all over again. 

Boy, the things she had to tell Ellie.