Paul told me again to pack a small bag with an extra set of clothes, along with a few pounds in case we wanted to buy something.  We had to hurry and get out before the press found us.  Everyone promised to meet at a bar nearby to get the day started.  No, not like that. 

John was the first to arrive, wearing his sunglasses even though it wasn't sunny and his little cap to cover up a part of his moptop-ed hair.  He was chatting up the barmaid, but as soon as he saw me, he gave me a huge hug.  I laughed, but the barmaid only scowled.  

"Ringo says that he'll be a bit late.  George..." Then George walked in, looking as though he hadn't slept all night.  He refused to look at me.  I felt bad.  I could tell that Paul and John knew something was wrong, for he didn't greet me and gave the lads only a head nod.  

Once Ritchie arrived we left swiftly, much to the dismay of the barmaid.  Maybe she knew they were the lads, and if so, she wasn't as starstruck as most thought fans were.  

We went to Strawberry Fields for an hour or so, though it wasn't as beautiful as it was in the summer or spring, for all of the blossoms had since fallen.  However, some incredible pictures were taken amongst the swirling leaves and brush from the plants.  One that was absolutely gorgeous that was soon developed later was one of Ringo and I holding each others' hands, gazing down at the ground and the sun was shining on us perfectly.  Paul took the picture and, surprisingly, he wasn't angry that I held Ringo's hands.  

George wasn't fond of it though.  The look on his face was one of hurt.  

We hurried aboard a train to another town on the river, a city with a name I was saddened that I couldn't remember.  It was a lot like Liverpool.  Things moved quite slow.  

As all of us walked along the street, the lads ducked or nodded to the person who walked past, trying to look as normal as possible.  I laughed at their effort, but they all hushed me, afraid someone would recognize them.  

Though, I didn't know it then, that would be one of the few last days before everything started to change.  In what ways?  I would find out soon enough.  

Since we had been strolling for awhile, the lads decided to stop and have a smoke.  "Those are horrible for you," I warned.  

John rolled his eyes.  "Yeah, yeah, I know.  I make sure to read the label before I throw it out."  Paul offered me one, which I immediately refused.  I wished there was something that I could do to make them stop, but nothing came to mind for me to do that without making myself look crazy.  So I stood there, quietly, occasionally having to walk a few feet away for fresh air.  

Then something interesting caught my eye.  We were standing by an alley, and there was a door slightly ajar that opened out into it.  The faded paint read Stage Door.  It was an old theater.   However, the building looked like it had been abandoned for years.  I tugged on John's sleeve.  "I found a perfect hiding place." 

Though Ringo protested against it, for we could get into horrible trouble for trespassing, we decided it would be a good place for a rest during our adventure.  We crept the door, and shut it as far as we could without closing it, but close enough to the wall of the building so it looked like no one had gone in.  

Our voices echoed in the large room.  We had walked out onto the stage.  I was surprised that everything looked almost well-kept, as if it was still in working order.  "Wow..." I whispered.  

John shouted something a bit vulgar, just so it would echo.  Paul suddenly had an idea.  

"We should put on a performance.  Ringo will be the judge.  We should have to sing one of our songs in an operatic tone, considering that we are in such a fine theater," he added the last part with a dramatic flourish.  "It will be a wonderful little competition."

And John and Paul both said at the same time, "I want Elle on my team."

We decided that I would switch around to everyone's' teams, including George's, which made me nervous.  

I started with Paul, and our first song was And I Love Her (his choice, not mine).  It wasn't as good as we hoped, and in the end he wanted me to sing the highest note I could, but still be in tune.  The note echoed in the theater.  I felt like it might have been a bit sharp, but Ringo clapped anyway.  "Brava, bella primadonna!"  Paul kissed my hand, and led me back offstage.  

John and George did fine, but it was so silly watching them attempt to sing an opera with a pop song.  Every time I sang with one of the lads, we got the most claps, which I knew Ringo did on purpose.  

When I arrived with George, however, things turned from fun to awkward.  After a few moments of silence, he shouted to Ringo, "Do we have to sing a song we've written already?  Or can it be an original?" 

Ringo just nodded, and lit a cigarette.  

"I'm singing an original song then.  If you can figure out the melody by the end, you can sing a small harmony.  Otherwise, just stand there and look pretty.  Like always," he turned to look at the stage, and away from me.  I couldn't tell if that last comment was a shot at me or a complement.  

When it was our turn, I carefully walked on stage.  What type of song was he going to sing?  The idea of him singing something to humiliate me made me hesitate to do it with him.  

But as soon as the first words came out of his mouth, I gasped.  I hoped that none of the other lads noticed.  

You don't realize how much I need you.

Love you all the time, I'd never leave you.  

Please come on back to me, 

I'm lonely as can be.

I need you.

He slowly took a few steps toward me as he sang, which made me wonder if I shouldn't jump off the stage and hit the ground running.  I could tell that Paul was entranced at this new song George wrote, meanwhile John looked a bit bored.  Ringo was watching us intently while offering Paul a cigarette.  

Then George had an arm around my waist, and a hand resting on the skin between my neck and shoulder.  His hands were so warm, which was when I realized how cold I felt.  Slowly, he swayed us to the music.  I felt like I, too, was in a trance until the line:  I didn't realize, as I looked in your eyes.  You told me, oh yes, you told me, you don't want my loving anymore.

The song was about me...?

His touch for some reason felt so intense I thought I might swoon.  Resting my head back on his shoulder, I was sure he could feel my heartbeat speed up.  George was so close to me I could feel the fabric of his trousers against the back of my legs where the hem was.  

Please remember how I feel about you,

I could never really live without you,

So, come on back and see, 

Just what you mean to me, 

I need you,

I need you,

I need you.

Ringo and the lads took a moment before clapping.  George left as soon as he came, and hopped off the stage, leaving me alone.  He sat down next to the Beatles.  I heard Paul mentioning putting "that tune on the next albie." 

"Now sing us a song, Elle." John said.  The lads chimed in too, saying they wanted to here something.  

I chose a song that was dainty and romantic, but could mean more than just a romance.  It could also mean friendship, and the pain you felt when you had to leave someone you loved.  There were a few high notes which echoed wonderfully in the auditorium.  The end was grand, but sad, and the lads clapped once more for their "bella primadonna," their beautiful leading lady.  

Soon Ringo said that it was starting to get late, and that we should either find a hotel or hop on a train back to Liverpool.  John and Paul thought that hopping another thing would be even more fun: bars.  Though I had no desire to drink, I tagged along.  

At the second bar of the evening, George tugged on my sleeve and whispered, "May I have a word?"  Thankfully the bar was a bit loud, for it was a Friday night, but no one had recognized the lads.  Hopefully, they wouldn't.  

We hurried towards the back of the bar, and out one of the doors into the alley.  I shivered, and pulled my coat tighter around me.  "I meant what I said," he told me, "in the song.  I do need you."

"George, this really isn't the best time..."

"When will there be a better time?  Elle, I miss you.  I know that we've done this so many times but this has to be last time.  I don't want to fight anymore.  And it really is worse than fighting, it's just this horrible unspoken discomfort between us." George intentionally backed me into the wall, and put his hands on my waist.  He was so close, and I swallowed hard.  "Don't you feel comfortable around me?" 

I could tell he wanted me to say something, but I couldn't find the words to speak.  Once I did find them, I could barely utter a whisper.  "Things have changed.  You've changed and so have I.  I'm going to have to leave in only a few years, and I don't want to hurt any of you by..."  

"By...by what?" 

By falling in love.

Slipping past him, I said, "I'm sorry, George.  But I should go and check on the lads, and make sure they aren't getting horribly drunk."  But before I could, he said something that I stopped me: "Ringo told me what you did."

My confusion must have been clear on my face because he said, "You snogged him right after you told John and Paul that you weren't going to go with anyone.  You lied." 

"He kissed me.  It was quick.  We're just friends, George." 

George scoffed and kicked a piece of gravel on the ground.  "Save it, Elle.  I just...I'm done."

And he left as quick as he could, leaving me back out in the alley alone.  I hurried inside after him.  "George!"

"George Harrison!" I grabbed his arm from behind, only for the man to whip around with an angry expression on his face.  It certainly wasn't who I was searching for.  The man's expression softened.  He didn't seem much older than George, but had darker eyes and sharper features.  "I-I'm sorry.  I'm trying to get back to my friend."

The man smiled.  "What's the rush, love?  It's only a few hours until midnight.  Then things get crazy."

His charm didn't really impress me.  "And gee, I would love to stay for that, but I have to find my friend." I pushed past him, and he caught my arm.  

"Have you got a name?"

"Elle." I swiftly pulled out of his grip and started hurrying through the crowded bar.  However, the man couldn't take a hint and followed me.  Tauntingly, he called my name, which made my heart race.  

Thankfully I reached the lads before he caught up with me.  I barely had time to explain who was coming when he rested a hand on my shoulder.  George immediately took action.  He didn't wait for my explanation when he shoved the man backwards into the bar counter.  Paul was sober enough to pull me back.  

George shouted at the man, obviously a bit drunk himself.  "You leave her alone!  She's only eighteen, you bastard!"  Ringo had the sense to pull him away from the man before any real damage was done.  "Come on, Georgie, let's get out of here.  You're very tired.  We're all very tired."  And luckily we did leave, but George pulled a protective arm around me, as if that action could shield me from everything harmful in the world."

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We all piled into one hotel room that had two beds.  Even though only one of us would have had to sleep on the floor, we took off all of the blankets and pillows and spread them all over.  We ended up falling asleep like this:  Ringo was dangling off one of the beds, and if he moved several inches as he slept he would fall of the mattress and onto John, who was dozing soundly beneath the foot of the bed.  

Paul had the silliest sleeping position out of all of us.  He was between the two beds, so hopefully no one would step on him, but he was curled up in a little haven of blankets.  The next morning I would have to help him out of his oval cocoon.  However, he slept with one hand out, which was the only part of his body visible besides his head, as if he wanted to hold my hand in his.  He was the closest Beatle to me.  

George laid on the other bed, however he was sleeping with his feet to the pillows.  In his sleep, I heard him grumble nonsense and sigh.  I couldn't fall asleep, so I stayed up and listened to the city noises and the snores of the lads.  We were told that the first train back to Liverpool left at 7:00 in the morning, and I knew that I would have to get the lads some headache medicine before then, for their hangovers were always quite fierce.  

So I listened to the music of the night.

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George's POV

Sitting alone on my bed, I set my guitar down gently.  I couldn't think of anything to play or write, and didn't want to disturb the lads as they slept.  I switched off my bedroom lamp and laid down, feeling cold although I was covered in blankets.  Then I felt the weight of the bed shift a bit, and someone laid down next to me.  

I rolled over to see who this gentle stranger was and found Elle with a shy smirk on her lips lying next to me.  Without warning, she sat up a little and rolled on top of me.  I felt breathless as she began to kiss my neck.  "Elle..."

She hushed me, nodding towards the other sleeping Beatles.  I began to worry.  If John or Paul woke up and saw us...

"Elle, please.  We'll get caught." I said.  The girl just chuckled quietly and began to kiss me passionately, suggestively.  "Oh..." 

Our sighs seemed to drown out the noise of the lads and the city, and even in the darkness I had never seen Elle look more beautiful.  I wanted her more than anything.  I moaned when her hands roamed around my chest, but I quickly shut my mouth as not to wake the boys.  But then Elle pulled away from our kiss, and laughed.  I felt something cold grow inside me, something hateful.  Why would she laugh at me?  

"Goodbye, George," she giggled, before quickly jumping off the bed and hurrying back into the darkness.  I wanted to catch her, but it was too late.  She had disappeared, but I could still hear her laughter ringing in my ears.  I pulled my blanket over my head to try and drown out the noise, but it was no use.  Elle's ridicule nearly reduced me to tears.  

I woke up breathing hard.  Looking all around, I saw all the boys were asleep.  My heart rate had just started to slow when a voice whispered, "George?" 

"Elle...oh, it's you." 

"What's wrong?" she untangled herself from the covers and sat on her knees next to the bed.  She adjusted her nightgown accordingly, for it only went to down to her mid-thigh, like it did in my dream.  I must have been staring because she said once more, "George, what's wrong?"

"Oh...um...nothing.  Just a nightmare."

Elle looked down at the ground.  "Oh, I see." I began to turn away from her when she said, "Thanks...for tonight.  For pushing that man away.  You didn't need to hit him so hard though."  

My anger towards that man frightened me.  I didn't know that I could be so intimidating.  I thought of the times I had argued and raised my voice with Elle.  She was used to hearing that sort of tone when she would be beaten by her father.  She must have thought I was going to hurt her all those times.  

I couldn't ever hurt Elle like that.  I would never want to.

"It was no problem." I replied bluntly, trying to end our conversation.  My dream of her made me want to crawl down on the floor and lie next to her, but the fear of being caught overrode my aching desire.  

I tried my hardest to sleep, but I couldn't get her out of my head.  She was less than a foot away from me, and yet the distance was unbearable.  So I gave in.  I slid off the bed, and crawled next to her.  Even though I could tell that she was half-asleep already, she rolled into my embrace, sighing into my neck.  

So much better than the dream...