May 1967

"Did I ever tell you how handsome you look in that jacket?" Connie muttered quietly to George as the two of them looked at the album cover for the Beatles' new album; Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.

That night was the album's launch, and to celebrate Brian had invited select journalists and photographers as well as a number of celebrity guests to his house. The band would be doing photos and a couple of short interviews before the album was previewed. In the hallway as they'd first come in, Brian had pictures up on display of the band in their colourful military uniform, and the album cover that Connie already knew was going to be iconic was her favourite shot out of all of them. She could spend hours admiring the detail of it, studying over each person featured. Her favourite figure, other than George in his orange coat, was a cut-out of their old friend Stuart, thinking that it was such a sweet touch that immortalising him in their history. Rather than get sentimental over the past though, that night was for celebration, so she focused on how handsome she thought her husband looked.

"Yes, repeatedly, you were at the photoshoot," George reminded her with a laugh, his arm wrapped around her waist as a server passed, offering them both a glass of champagne. George helped himself but Connie politely declined, leading to George frowning at her. "Are you still not drinking?"

"Nope," she shook her head, trying not to look at his alcohol too enviously. "Don't make a big deal out of it though I don't want anyone else asking and coming to conclusions,"

Connie felt George's hand tighten as he squeezed her waist. It was probably subconscious, a nervous reflex, but she liked it all the same. It was reassuring to know he supported her, despite the lifestyle change that had led to plenty of their friends asking questions neither of them enjoyed. They'd still not told anyone they were trying for a baby and it was getting trickier to excuse her new, self-imposed no-smoking-or-drinking rule. She was sick of telling people she was doing an article over the benefits of an alcohol-free lifestyle, but the two of them hoped she wouldn't have to lie anymore in the very near future.

"Alright love," George told her, taking a swig of his drink before he glanced behind him. "I should probably get in there and find the lads. You coming?"

"I've gotta wait for Ruby," she explained with a small sigh. "You know what she's like, walking into a room full of celebs is her worst nightmare, she needs her emotional support scouser to get through it,"

"Thought you were my emotional support scouser?" George asked, faking a hurt look.

"No, that's Ringo," she joked dryly, hitting his arm gently and gesturing to the door of Brian's great living room. "Now bugger off and find your band. I'll see you in a bit,"

"Right, love you," he kissed her cheek quickly as he unwrapped his arm from around her waist, heading off into the room where she could hear cheers for the arrival of the quiet Beatle.

As soon as he was gone, Connie let out a short sigh, her hands immediatel going to run through her hair until she remembered she'd mess up the neat curls she'd styled it in earlier, and considering how many photographers were at the party she didn't want to get caught with messy hair. Instead, she stroked down the skirt of her short floral dress, determined to look presentable. She was the only one of the Beatles' girls in attendance at the party, so she had to look good. Connie was only really invited because of work, there just because of the good press she could give the Beatles as well as the multitude of celebrities giving her the opportunity to broaden her connections. It was a bit of a relief that she was there out of her own merit rather than there as George's wife, because it gave her a break from hanging out with the other wives.

She loved them all, but given the fact that Maureen was heavily pregnant and all she and Cynthia seemed to talk about lately were their children, it didn't help Connie's situation very much. Trying to stay positive about her and George's multiple negative pregnancy tests was a lot harder when their best friends were expecting. Not that it mattered that night, Connie told herself. That night was about the lads and their amazing achievement of another album that Connie knew was going to be a hit, it wasn't about her problems or the other wives, so she decided to just enjoy the night before she had to go to work the next day to write all about it.

It wasn't too long before Ruby came through the front door, looking just as nervous as Connie thought, but just as glamourous too. She always was glamourous and that night was no exception as she was dressed in a collared pink dress and silver heels, her hair styled neatly in a high ponytail that swished behind her. There'd been a time when Connie had been utterly intimidated by not just Ruby but her wardrobe as well, but that hat been a long time ago, and she'd become one of her greatest friends and she was relieved to see her as she waved her into the house.

"I can't believe this is my life," Ruby said in place of a greeting as she looked around the hall.

"Roo, you've been to tonnes of events like this," Connie laughed, wrapping her arm through her friend's.

"I know, but it's still exciting though isn't it?" she exclaimed with her own laugh. "What's the plan, you're writing about the night itself, I'm writing about the album?"

Connie nodded in agreement, and with that led the girl into the main room. The night was still getting started, but there were plenty of people already in, milling around with alcohol,  and at the front of the room by the decadent fire place were the lads, joking around with each other. Connie had been to Brian's house plenty of times, but it was Ruby's first time and she was clearly amazed at the event. The lads noticed the two newcomers and waved over at them, but they were soon approached by other journalists meaning that Ruby and Connie instead had to talk to the other guests.

It was the first time the Beatles had appeared at an event like this for months, since they finished their last tour. Some press had talked badly of them for it, saying they were elusive, but clearly that was forgotten as her lads were once again being revered like royalty. Even so, Connie found herself in conversation with a journalist who didn't quite understand the new style they'd gone for.

"What the hell are they wearing?" he said like a snob, straightening his own tie. "Did they misplace their razors as well?"

"You can't surely expect them to look the same way they did four years ago? They're not little boys," Ruby replied quickly before Connie got the chance to speak up, knowing how protective she was over the band's personal expression, especially George's moustache that she loved.

"Well, no, but what's with the glasses?" another spoke up, gesturing over to John. "It all seems very pretentious if you ask me,"

"He's blind, nothing pretentious about it," Connie said bluntly, deciding that she'd not spent half her life reminding John to put his glasses on to have a journalist make fun of him for it.

They clearly didn't recognise her outside of her New Times position, and though that was normally a relief, Connie didn't like the critical conversations about the Beatles that came with it. Of course people were going to be shocked at their appearances. None of them had made a public appearance since their last concert and they all looked significantly different to how they'd looked a year before. All of them had grown their hair out, George, John and Ringo had all grown facial hair, and their wardrobes had undergone a complete makeover. Connie loved it, she loved how they expressed themselves, and to her they were all still the same, still just her mates, so it was difficult not to get defensive when they were criticised. That had been the way since childhood, when teachers and peers used to make fun of their teddy boy look, except she couldn't punch journalists.

She decided to remove herself from any chance of confrontation so she left Ruby to it. Ruby was always better at talking to other journalists, always able to fit in more in situations like parties. Even if Connie had the edge because she knew the boys on a personal level, none of the other journalists had that, making her almost intimidating to them as for once her upbringing was an advantage. Other journalists finding her intimidating was cool to her, but it made events harder, the social class cliques still very prominent. So instead she made her way to the front of the room where the Beatles were stood by the fireplace, posing for photographs as they held up the album, grinning and messing about for the crowd of photographers all gathered around them.

As Connie stood off towards the edge of the crowd, watching her lads proudly, she looked around at the crowd of photographers. A few of them she recognised from previous events, and  ironically she always found photographers easier to get on with than journalists. Except at the front of them all was a pretty blonde woman, standing out from the rest through her casual dress code of jeans and a jumper, a smart blazer thrown on top. All the other women there that night, though there were few, were all wearing dresses, and Connie loved the fact that this photographer was clearly empowered enough in herself to not care about social norms. Connie had never seen her at an event before, but she recognised her immediately.

Part of her work with the New Times was to constantly check out the competition of other magazines, and that included looking at the photographs featured. Her favourites were the ones of rock stars, especially the ones of them looking laid back and relaxed, and no one took those sorts of photos better than Linda Eastman. She had a real eye for good pictures, each one looking like effortless art, and Connie couldn't help but notice how, when all the others put their cameras down for a brief second, Linda seemed to notice what the lads were doing. They were goofing around, John and Paul shaking hands whilst John stuck his thumb up with a grin, the three other Beatles laughing at him. The woman snapped pictures of them, capturing the candid moment that the other photographers hadn't, and Connie smirked slightly, knowing she really wanted to talk to her.

She waited until the photo session ended, when John wandered off for a smoke and George and Ringo went off to find some food, and then she headed straight over to Linda who was fiddling with her camera.

"Hey, you're Linda Eastman, right? I'm Connie, I work with the New Times," she introduced herself, holding out her hand to shake. "I really love your work,"

"Yeah, thanks," the woman smiled as they shook hands, and Connie noticed how nice her smile was, how pretty she was up close. "I've read your stuff, you're pretty good too,"

For some odd reason, it was like Connie had met a kindred spirit, the two of them both being working women. Linda was American, over in England on a work assignment, and Connie felt in awe of her because even though she was in a new country she didn't seem out of depth at all. Connie moved cities and could barely cope, so it was infinitely impressive to her, not to mention she had a young daughter back home. Somehow she'd managed to balance it all, having a daughter and a successful career. As the two of them chatted, she felt almost sad that she was due back in America as soon as her assignment was over. Connie felt like she liked Linda so much that as she glanced over to the clock and realised she actually needed to talk to the lads that night for article quotes, she went in her dress pocket and pulled out one of the New Times business cards she carried at events.

"Listen, I've gotta go and talk to the band, but I'd really love to write something for my magazine about your work," Connie explained as Linda took the card with a smile. "Will you give me a ring when you get back to America?"

"Of course," Linda nodded enthusiastically. "It was great to meet you, Connie,"

Except, as she spoke, Connie couldn't help but look behind the blonde woman and spot Paul watching them both, almost intently as he pretended to be interested in something some journalist was saying to him. Once he'd noticed that their conversation had drawn to a close, he shot Connie a look, as if he was beckoning her over. The two of them had been best friends for long enough, and she knew that look was serious, that he really wanted something from her. As she excused herself from Linda, she headed straight over to him with raised eyebrows, watching as the journalist left him in search for one of the other Beatles. She'd not had the chance to talk to him yet that night so she wondered what was so important.

"Alright, Paulie?" She greeted, and though he flashed her a small smile of hello she noticed he wasn't really looking at her. "What's up with you?"

"Why were you talking to that woman?" Paul questioned, though he still wasn't looking at Connie, his gaze of wonder still stuck on the woman she had just left.

"Who, Linda?" Connie frowned, wondering just why Paul was so bothered. "She's a photographer, I've seen some of her work in a few magazines. I was asking her if she'd mind if I did a piece on her at some point, I gave her me number,"

"Don't you think she has a nice smile?" he said, almost like he was in a daze, only snapping out of it when Connie elbowed him. "I met her a couple of nights ago at Bag o' Nails club, y'know that night out you were meant to come on but cancelled last minute?"

"Becuase I had to work because I have a real job?" she raised her eyebrows at him, even though he wasn't looking at her, still staring at the photographer. With a sigh, she hit his arm again, trying to get him to focus on her. "Oi! Why do you care?"

"I don't," he answered almost defensively, his tone reminding her of all the times he'd had crushes on girls back in Liverpool and she'd tease him for it. "Isn't she pretty?"

"Yeah, so's Jane, y'know, you're girlfriend?" Connie told him sharply.

"Yeah, alright, Lennie, leave off," he rolled his eyes at her, seeming irritated at the mention of his girlfriend when he was clearly enthralled by Linda. "I'm gonna go and talk to her,"

It was then Connie's turn to roll her eyes as her best friend hit her shoulder in place of a goodbye, making a beeline for the photographer. She watched him, arms folded across her chest, as he greeted Linda, and though she was too far to hear what was being said, both of them were smiling, and it looked like Paul was laughing about something. The two then disappeared off to the other side of the room, clearly to take pictures, so Connie decided to drop it.

Paul was old enough to look after himself, he didn't need her reminding him he had a girlfriend. She'd tried, and she'd been trying all her life, even back in Liverpool when Paul would chase girls, always asking for her opinion. He hadn't been as bad as John, always making crude remarks, but she'd had to tell him on more than one occasion to shut up talking about girls. It annoyed her that he had a girlfriend yet he was going to go try and chat up Linda, but she knew there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Thankfully that was when John appeared, holding a glass of some unidentified alcohol as he stood at her side, leaning over to ruffle her hair, though she quickly ducked away. One glance at him told her he was stoned, looking a little out of it. Hopefully it was just weed and nothing stronger, knowing from plenty of experience how difficult he was on acid, remembering how George had rang her in a panic from the studio when John was on the roof on a bad trip. Not that it really mattered, as he nudged her and pointed over at Paul.

"What's up with him?" he asked, watching how their friend was joking around as the photographer took his picture. "He looks all in a daze,"

"You'd know all about being dazed, wouldn't you?" Connie joked, though John just pulled a face at her. "He's seen a pretty girl, y'know what he's like,"

"Never changes," John shook his head, taking a swig out of his drink before he noticed his cousin didn't have a drink. "You still on this tee-total bullshit?"

"It's not bullshit," she rolled her eyes, which made him let out a rather snide laugh. "Don't be a swine, John. I don't need to drink,"

That had been the only downside of giving up alcohol and cigarettes. She'd decided to do it to help their tries for a baby, but by keeping their tries a secret from the rest of their friends it meant they all thought she was being daft in her sobriety. John especially, as he'd constantly tease her over it, reminding of how much whisky she used to drink even as a teenager. Usually she didn't mind him teasing her, she'd grown up used to it, but she hated it when he made fun of her for not drinking. He didn't know why she didn't drink anymore, so maybe if he did he might leave off her, but she didn't want to tell him. That didn't stop it irritating her, not that John cared.

"When did you grow up all of a sudden?" he asked, and for once she couldn't tell if he was joking, his glasses perched on the end of his nose.

"When did you turn into a petty teenager again?" Connie hit back, raising her eyebrows at him almost confrontationally.

Was this the closest the two of the had come in years to a disagreement? They never properly argued but the last time she could remember them bickering about something was well over three years ago, when he came into the New Times office and he caught her in the middle of a debate with Henry. Both Lennon's had grown up a lot in the three years that had passed, but they were still clearly just as fiery as they had been as teenagers. Even so, her sobriety definitely wasn't worth them disagreeing, so she quickly rolled her eyes, and John must have thought the same as he let out a small laugh, hitting her arm.

"Whatever," he muttered.

"I think this album's gonna be a hit," she decided to change the subject.

"Hope so," he shrugged, flashing her a sort of grin. "I hope the world's ready for it,"

It seemed an odd statement, or at least it would have done to anyone but the two of them. Connie understood exactly what he meant, the record being quite progressive in its sounds and themes, completely breaking away from anything the band had done before. They were leaving the 'good boy' personas behind, waving goodbye to the mop top, and the world who had loved that version of them might not be too happy to now hear them be so different.

"Doesn't matter, Johnny, maybe this record'll pave the way," Connie shrugged. "Maybe the world will change,"

"Wise fucking words," John stated teasingly, but Connie could tell he'd listened. "Be funny to think that we'd changed the world, four working class lads with a scrawny scouse bird following behind to write all about it. I mean, it's funny and it's stupid, but it's quite cool,"

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Word count: 3439
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