I'm With the Beatles

What Goes On

"Um, Lizzie? Love?" Paul hesitantly spoke as he watched me pull off my dress.

"Yes?"

"Look," he began, sitting up and leaning his head against the bedframe, "I really don't want to go through with it like this. I'm basically making ye undress against yer will. Please, darling, put your jammies on and let's kip, eh?"

You've got to be joking! First, you eye me like a piece of meat and next, you tell me to go to sleep! I was heartbroken!

"But I really want to, Paul! I...I love you," I whined, picking up the dress.

"Love, that's all I really need to hear from ye! As long as ye love me, I can wait for acts like that," he explained with a sweet smile.

Great, now I felt like the stereotypical lovestruck, perverted male. I sighed in defeat and snatched my yellow sleeping gown from its hanger. Paul just watched as I closed the bathroom door behind me.

After getting dressed, I drug my feet over to the bed, where he was already knocked out cold. The lamp casted a golden hue upon his babyish face and I touched his cheek with my lips.

"Good night, Paul," I whispered, shutting off the light.  

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The smell of strong coffee drifted throughout the room when I woke up. Paul was sitting at the table, reading the newspaper and drinking a cup. He noticed me as I stretched my arms out.

"Good morning, love," he greeted. His eyes sparkled as the sun from the window hit them.

I flashed a warm smile and fumbled out of the covers. As I checked myself in the mirror, he got up and poured me some coffee. I shuffled my feet over to the table and sat down.

"What's the agenda, today?" I asked between sips.

"Well, in a few hours, we 'ave a telephone interview for American Bandstand. Then, we 'ave to do some rehearsals for the show tomorrow. I believe we practice, then we dress up."

"Sounds fun," I attempted. I really wanted to know if Brian would allow me to hang around with them. I didn't want to stay cooped up in the hotel room.

"Ye can come swim with us this morning. It would be good exercise!"

"Swim?! But the water is WAY too cold at this time," I cried, shivering at the thought of icy cold water engulfing me.

"Lizzie, ye will be fine! I'll keep ye warm," he calmly said, winking as he finished.

"Okay. Should we go now?"

"If ye want to..."

I jumped up from the chair and grabbed my purple bikini. Paul chuckled with delight after he witnessed how fast I got ready.

"Aren't you gonna put your swimming trunks on?"

"I've been ready before ye, dear," he mentioned, pulling back his robe and showing his light blue trunks.

I caught his hand and pulled him out the door.

We had to swim in the indoor swimming pool, because large masses of people were already waiting outside to catch a glimpse of The Beatles. Everyone else was already splashing around, dunking each other below the surface. Cynthia motioned me over to the shallow end, where she was observing her husband aid George in wrestling Ringo.

"Ack, come on, ye bloody blokes! Let me be! Look, Paul's 'ere! Go drown 'im," Ringo begged.

"John, George, don't kill your drummer, please," I yelled over their laughing.