I'm With the Beatles

Get Back

"Hey, baby," he chimed with delight. I turned my head away.

"What's with a pretty girl like you being all alone in a city so big?" he asked, turning my head back around forcefully. I slapped his arm and scoffed.

"Don't ever touch me again," I sneered with as much anger as I could muster. He acted hurt and gave a weak gasp.

"A little touchy, eh?"

"No, you are the one that's 'a little touchy!' Get the hell away from me," I cried before turning back around. No guy was going to make me look where he wanted me to!

"Spoil-sport," he spat in my ear. I wiped the spit from my hair.

"I'll be watching you, baby," he whispered menacingly. He ran off into the crowded street and glanced once back at me. I shivered.

"Alright, I found a couple of pairs. How's this?" the lady stated as I diverted my attention back to her.

She was holding up a pair of tall, brown boots and a pair of tall, white heels. I nodded in excitement and she grinned in happiness. She took her pencil and scribbled down numbers again.

"Okay, it's now $419.34!"

I pulled out one more hundred and placed it into her outstretched palm. I had only one bill left and chose to give it back to the boys later. She handed me back the change and the bags.

"Thank you! And it was so very nice to meet you," she cried as she gave me a quick hug.

"You too!"

I slowly walked out of the double doors, glancing around to see if the weird guy was anywhere to be found. Nope, no weird guy in sight. I gave a big sigh and made my way back to the Plaza Hotel, almost dragging the full, heavy bags behind me.

The door to Room 25 swung open as I pushed it. I threw the bags on the bed and grabbed a towel. The bathroom was spotless, probably because of the maid that passes through on a daily basis. I turned the knob between hot and warm and let the shooting jets ease any pain of mine away. Once I was finished, I walked out into the room, with my towel on, and grabbed the multi-colored sweater and the denim miniskirt. I scanned over myself in the mirror before leaving. Ugh, I wish I would've gotten some makeup, but I do admit that I looked great au natruel. I donned the long boots and made my way downstairs.

"Yes, I was told to enter the Terrace Room," I explained to the tired man behind the lobby desk.

"For what reason, ma'am?"

I really wasn't sure on how to let him know that I was with The Beatles. I tucked my already wavy hair behind my ears and cleared my throat.

"I'm with The Beatles."

He chuckled a good bit and slapped his hand against the desk's surface.

"Sure, and I'm with Elvis Presley."

"This is not a joking matter. I'm being quite serious," I cried. I was getting nowhere with this idiot.

"Look, I'll go ask Mr. Epstein if they're expecting anyone," He turned on his heel to begin his walk down the hallway.

"Wait!"

"What is it, ma'am?" he chuckled.

"Is there anyway that you can ask the musicians themselves?"

"I'll try, but I can't promise anything."

He opened the door to the Terrace Room and whispered something. I heard a muffle of voices follow and he nodded in agreement to whatever they said. He looked back at me and smiled.

"Dizzy Miss Lizzy is allowed to visit!"

I hopped on my feet and skipped to the door. The man held it open for me as I slowly tiptoed in.

"Aye, there's Lizzie," George cried with happiness.

I looked around the room and only saw the four sitting behind a long table. There was an empty chair between Paul and Ringo, so I sat.

"Hey, y'all," I greeted with glee. They all sweetly smiled back at me.

"Where's the interviewer at?"

"Oh, he'll be here in a couple of minutes," John replied as he fixed his coat.

"Look, Lizzie, we have something of great importance to tell you," Paul whispered.

"Well, what is it?"

"Um, we kind of don't want the people to know that we have a girl from the states. You know, it will cause a lot of ruckus."

"Oh, I understand," I admitted.

"Um, if they ask us any questions about you, just...uh..." Paul started.

"Tell them you're me sis," Ringo piped up. I looked his way and giggled.

"What's so fooney?" John questioned with confusion.

"Nothing, it's just that I told those crazy girls last night that I was Ringo's sibling," I laughed.

Now, everyone gave a good chuckle at that. We all sat in silence, wondering when the people were going to show up.

"By the way, love, you look ravishing," Paul cooed. The other guys agreed with a nod.

"Yeah, very radish," John chimed in. I giggled hard again.

"Oh, did you see our golden records, love?"

I glanced towards the corner where Paul was pointing. Leaning against the wall were mustard yellow discs placed in frames. I got up from my chair and walked over to look at them more closely. One was given for "I Want to Hold Your Hand" for one million sells; the other for one million dollars in sells of "Meet The Beatles!". I gave a quick clap and sat back down.

"Aye, Mr. Livingstone gave them to us from Capitol Records," John bragged.

All of a sudden, there was a loud knock at the door. George got up and opened it to expose a man in a blue suit with a notepad in tow. As he walked into the room, he pulled out a pen from his coat pocket.

"Hello, I'm Mr. Youst, from Associated Press."

"Hello," we all stated in unison.

The man stared at me for a couple of seconds. A small smirk graced his face. I gasped silently.