February 9th, 1964

The screams could be heard from backstage. It took John's breath away.

He leaned on the dressing room table and stared into the mirror. His mop top, after what seemed like hours of tweaking and bottles of mousse, finally looked decent. At least for the telly, anyway.

John missed his quiff sometimes. But Eppy had said the Beatles needed a change. And Eppy was never wrong.

George sat beside John, adjusting his collar repeatedly. Ringo leaned against the wall, smoking a ciggie.

"Ey, anyone got an aspirin?" Paul shouted as he dramatically staggered into the room, clutching his head in mock suffering. "My head is achin' with all those adoring squeals!"

"Very funny," John grunted, a smirk on his face. Paul returned the smile and sat down in his chair. He studied himself in the mirror, a pleased expression on his face.

"Like what you see, eh?" Ringo joked as he let out some smoke.

"Well, wouldn't you?" Paul replied with a grin.

"Paul, you tart." John turned around and sat on the table, crossing his arms. "Ye'd marry yerself if y'got the chance."

"Everything running smoothly in here, boys?" The posh voice reached the band before the man did.

"Actually, Eppy, things are outta control. I think George is dead," John shouted back with a grin.

At the mention of his name, George looked up for a second, then back down to his collar.

Brian walked with the comfortable gait of a man who knew his place in the world. He stopped at the doorway and surveyed the scene. Seeing that all was calm, he nodded curtly and walked into the room. 

"I've been told that you're on in ten minutes, so I hope you're prepared."

Ringo honked out a laugh. "Us? Prepared? Bri, I thought you knew us better by now."

"Don't be cheeky," Brian retorted, eyebrow raised.

"Aw, we're ready, Bri," Paul turned in his seat. "Don't worry."

"Eppy's not worried. He never is." John smiled, and Brian returned the gesture.

"That's right. I'll be in the wings. Good luck, boys." He walked out.

The exchange was more meaningful than the rest of the lads knew, and more than John or Brian cared to admit. John admired Brian. He was the one who picked the Beatles up from the dirt, dusted them off, and displayed them. He got them the best drummer in Liverpool. He got them a record deal, and an American tour. The band would have still been slumming at the Cavern if Brian hadn't swooped in and lifted them away.

"George," Ringo said, "you alright?"

Everyone turned to look at the young man. He looked back at them, his eyes wide.

"Yeah, I'm good." His voice was a little shaky. John smiled.

"The bugger's got stage fright," he laughed.

"No I don't." George turned back to his reflection, furrowing his brows. "I'm fine."

"Hey, hey, don't worry about it!" John slapped him on the back. "You'll do gear! Don't ye know who you are?"

George turned to John, a question in his eyes.

"You're the guitarist of the bloody Beatles!" At that, everyone laughed as a young woman walked in.

"You're on."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Prudence opened the door to her apartment. "Voila," she said softly.

"How... marvelous." His accent made the words roll off his tongue.

Prudence rolled her eyes and walked into the space, taking off her coat. "Well, it's not nothing," she retorted. "I've a pretty decent view of the Eiffel Tower from here."

Henri smiled. "Eet was just a joke." Prudence looked back and grinned.

Henri was her coworker, a fellow designer. Short, neat, black hair, thick glasses, and always impeccably dressed. He was very nice.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked, flicking on the television as she walked by it to the kitchen. Ed Sullivan began to speak in the background.

"What are ze choices?"

Prudence opened the refrigerator and stared at her measly options. "Erm... I have milk, water... and pickle juice," she added with a giggle. She closed the fridge and turned to Henri, who was sitting on her bed and staring at the T.V. set. "How about I make some tea?"

Henri turned to her and pointed at the set. "Who's zis?"

"Hm? Oh, it's Ed Sullivan. It's an American show. I've only two English-speaking channels here, and they're both pretty dull-"

"No, no, I know Monsieur Sullivan," Henri interrupted with a chuckle. "Ze French watch American shows as well." He turned his face back to the screen. "I mean zem."

Prudence walked over to the bed and sat down next to Henri, resting her head on his shoulder. She examined the four young men who stood next to Mr. Sullivan. Something was so familiar about them...

"Those suits are très belle. Clean cut. Who iz zeir designeur?"

Prudence lifted her head as recognition clouded her face. The men walked to their instruments and began to play.

"Mon dieu, those girls scream loud," Henri muttered. "But zey sound so good."

Her hand flew to her mouth. She couldn't believe it.

"Who iz zis band?"

"The Beatles." She didn't realize that the name left her mouth.

Henri turned to her. "Oh, you know zem? You've never mensioned zem before."

All those feelings. That rush of seeing them the first time at the Casbah. The happiness of friendship, the fun times in Liverpool. It all came flying back.

They looked different... neater. Not like those ruffians she had known in Liverpool.

"I... I knew them... once..." She faded as the camera panned onto each Beatle.

First Paul. He grinned cheekily and winked at the camera, resulting in squeals from the audience. Prudence couldn't help but smile. Not everything had changed.

Then the drummer. It wasn't Pete, but someone else. The screen read "Ringo". His head bobbed jovially to the music.

Henri was nodding his head to the beat. Prudence realized she was doing it, too.

George. Sweet, innocent George. He stared shyly into the camera and added a little nod of the head. The girls screamed even louder. Prudence heard herself giggle.

Then her stomach began to turn. She knew who was next.

When the camera turned to him, she went numb.

He had changed, of course. He had that same cut the rest of the lads had, and he wore the same suit. His eyes were squinted, from his usual refusal to wear glasses. He held his guitar how he always had, high up on his chest. He grinned and looked over the audience.

She took all that in, but it wasn't what had bothered her. What had bothered her was the sentence beneath his name, printed in big italics, with an exclamation mark at the end:

Sorry girls, he's married!

Memories flashed in front of her, as if she was flipping the channel without stopping. Seeing John in front of the school for the first time. Running from him at the Casbah. Crying as he picked up her drawing of him. Saying goodbye to him.

"Prudence? What's wrong?"

She whipped her head to face Henri. She had forgotten she wasn't alone.

His thick glasses reminded her of John.

"I... I need to be alone," she said tersely.

Henri blinked. "Wh- okay..."

Prudence stood up and walked over to the door. She opened it, not looking at Henri.

"Did I do somezing wrong?" he asked softly, picking up his jacket. Prudence responded with a shake of the head, holding the door open.

Henri pursed his lips, and slowly walked out. "Adieu," he said.

Prudence shut the door and sat down on the bed again. The Beatles, unfazed by her breakdown, continued to play. John continued to smile. Tears dotted her bedspread as she stared at the screen.

{{WASSUP

As promised, I published a chapter during (actually on the last day of) my week off from school. I hope it's not too shabby :)

GUYS PAUL MAY BE TOURING THIS YEAR AND I MIGHT GO

IM SO EXCITED

I JUST SAW MUSE LAST WEEK AND IT WAS THE BEST CONCERT EVER WOW

THE LIGHTS AND EFFECTS WERE SO COOL THEIR SHOWS ARE LIKE THE NEXT PINK FLOYD ITS INSANE

AND I GOT TICKETS FOR PANIC AT THE DISCO AND WEEZER

WOW IM EXCITED SO MANY CONCERTS

okay I'll stop sorry

Enjoy your day peeps!

PEACE AND LOVE L***}}