"Who takes showers in the morning anyway?" Ringo asked incredulously.

    "I do. A morning shower wakes me up and it's refreshing," Paul replied, putting a bath cap on so he wouldn't get his hair wet. Ringo rolled his eyes. He'd never seen anything like it in his life.

    "You do realize that this will be even worse than the bathroom deal," Ringo said slowly.

    Paul paused for a moment and then made a horrified expression.

    "Did you seriously not think of that?" Ringo asked, a smirk tugging on his lips.

    "Well, I guess we'll just have to deal with it," Paul said, swallowing hard. They stared at the shower for a few moments before Paul yelled, "I got it!"

    "You're going to ask Linda for the key?" Ringo asked hopefully.

    "No," Paul said sternly. "How about you stand outside the curtain?"

    "How will that work?" Ringo's eyebrows knitted together.

    "This chain is probably long enough for my hand to stick out of the curtains so you won't have to get in with me."

    "Great. This will make our lives so much easier."

    "And less awkward," Paul said, adjusting his shower cap.

* * *

"Fetch, Martha! Come on, fetch, girl!" Paul said enthusiastically, tossing the red rubber ball across the yard.

    "Hey," Ringo said with annoyance, looking up from his magazine.

    "Hey what?" Paul asked, looking over at him.

    "Will you stop throwing that with your right hand? Every time you do that, my hand jerks and I lose the page I'm on."

    "Well, excuse me!" Paul said, looking miffed.

    "You're left handed! Why don't you use your left hand?" Ringo asked.

    "Because . . . " Paul's voice trailed off. "You know, I don't know."

    "Figures. Please use your other hand." Ringo looked back down at his magazine. He was reading an article about himself, and it was obvious that the reporter hated him. They'd called his nose "unsightly" and they said that his drumming wasn't on time. It kind of hurt his feelings, but he'd grown to ignore what idiotic reporters thought. They just wanted dirt for an entertaining read.

    His hand jerked right in the middle of reading about how short he was and he lost his spot. "Paul," he said through gritted teeth. "Can you stop that? I'm trying to read about myself here!"

    "Martha wants to play ball," Paul said, taking the ball from Martha's mouth and chucking it across the yard again. Martha lunged after it, her thick, fluffy mass of hair bouncing. Ringo had no idea how that dog could even see with all the hair she had in her eyes.

    "Throw it with your other hand!" Ringo said, voice raised.

    "Is everything okay out here?" Linda asked, peering out of the door to look at them. They were in Paul's backyard sitting in lawn chairs, trying to enjoy the nice weather, but of course someone had to ruin it.

    "No," Ringo said bitterly. "I'm trying to read and he keeps using his right hand to throw that ball for the bloody dog."

    Paul gasped. "Don't speak of her like that!" Martha had come back with the ball and was wagging her short tail at him, panting, obviously enjoying herself. Paul protectively petted her shaggy head, glaring at Ringo as if he had kicked over his toy blocks.

    "Paul, you are left handed," Linda pointed out.

    "That's what I said!" Ringo exclaimed.

    "You're siding with him?" Paul asked in disbelief. "Why would you side with him?"

    "Because he makes more sense than you do!" Linda cried. "Now throw Martha's ball with your left hand and let Ringo read in peace." She stomped back in the house, slamming the door behind her.

    "You better do what she says," Ringo said pointedly to Paul.

    "You better do what she says," Paul mocked, but he switched the ball to his right hand.

    They sat in silence for a few moments, Ringo reading about how he was getting a free ride in the band and Paul throwing the ball. Ringo finished the article and sat calmly in his chair for a couple of seconds before ripping the magazine to shreds.

    "What was that for?" Paul asked, surprised.

    "I didn't like what was in it."

    "Hmm," Paul hummed.

    "Can you believe that someone said I couldn't keep time?" Ringo said, not being able to take it anymore.

    "What?" Paul said, shocked. "They said that?"

    "Yes."

    "Ringo, you're the best drummer I know! Don't listen to what they say. They don't know anything about you."

    "Thanks, Paul." Ringo felt a little better.

    "No problem, Richie."

    The door of the house abruptly swung open, hitting the side of the house, vibrating from the impact. Linda came out into the yard, following by John and George.

    "They want me to give them the key," Linda said, looking at them as if she was frightened by them. "Can I?"

    "No!" Paul said. "No one is allowed to detach until Monday!"

    "You don't understand," John said, glaring at George. "We can't make it like this! I swear, we'll murder each other."

    "What happened?" Ringo sighed.

    "George called Yoko something rude!" John said, his voice raising with each word.

    "I did not!" George protested.

    "You did too!"

    "Well, maybe she deserves it!"

    "She doesn't deserve anything like that!" John said, face reddening to the shade of a tomato. "I don't go about saying rude things about your cheating wife!"

    "She isn't — "

    "Oh, yes, she is!" John said. "When you called her last night, Eric Clapton was at your house."

    "That doesn't mean anything," George said bitterly.

    "Sure it doesn't," John said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Live in denial. At least Yoko is faithful to me."

    "Well, at least my wife — "

    "Both of you shut up!" Paul yelled. "You're staying tied together!"

    "Fine," John spat, venom in his voice. "All I'm saying, if Harrison winds up dead before Monday, it's on you." He started to walk away, but George remained planted where he was.

    "I don't want to go back to that house," he sneered.

    "Why not?" John growled back.

    "She's there."

    "What's wrong with her? What is your problem? Why do you hate her so much? Can't you see she makes me happy? Shouldn't that be enough?"

    George just shook his head. "Can I just stay here?"

    John was silent for a moment before pushing Ringo out of his lawn chair and plopping down.

    "Hey!" Ringo said, glaring.

    John ignored him. "Why are these paper shreds here on the ground?"

    "Ringo didn't like an article," Paul explained.

    "I've done that before," John said, nodding. "Usually I set mine on fire and use it to warm my feet."

    George just shook his head.