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We had a string of shows coming up all over the place. Tonight we were heading to the Odeon in Nottingham, but before that I'd promised to take Pattie out shopping. We'd be leaving in a few hours and wouldn't have a lot of time.

I really wanted to find out why she hadn't been calling me much lately. We'd still been seeing eachother regularly and I figured it was all well and good. And it was really, everything was on the verge of perfection. If the crowds would die down a bit it'd be bloody fab, but they hadn't and they weren't showing any signs of it either.

I ran up the steps to Pattie's flat and knocked  before tugging it open.

"Pattie? I'm here, where are you girl?" Probably doing up her eyes in the loo.


Tuesday, August 31th, 1965.

I was very seriously considering locking myself into the nearest dressing room and refusing to come out. This entire day had been one disaster after another, and all I wanted was a bottle of Tuinal and a few rent boys to work out my frustrations with.

But of course, the bloody show hadn't even started, and the promoters were still raising all sorts of hell. And in the back of my mind was the idea that this was it. The last show. After this, I was as good as finished. Only a matter of time before they threw me over. The thought made me want to break something. I turned away from the promoter abruptly.

"Deal with it, Alistair." I ordered, stalking down the hall. I couldn't handle another moment of this.


Jan. 21, 1966. George's Wedding Reception.

I was very well on my way to being obscenely drunk, which I supposed wasn't entirely shocking, when one considered the fact that I had been drinking in varying amounts since waking this morning.

I rather hated weddings. It was most likely due to the fact that I would never have one. Or never have a real one. I envied George his happiness. He and Pattie both looked deliriously in love, I thought sourly, and drained the remnants of brandy from the glass before making another pilgrimage over to the bar.

However, upon reaching it, I nearly tripped over someone. I looked around, blinking, before my eyes settled on Ringo. Oh. I'd spilt his drink, poor lad.

"I'm sorry, Ringo." I said quickly. "Let me get you another one."


Liverpool, England. 1963

I glanced out of the window as we pulled up to my house in Ringo's car. It was just barely running but at least he had a car. My stomach flipped a little as I looked back to him. He was different with me than the others. He didn't have any kind of attitude with me. He wasn't constantly trying to take it out of me for being so much younger than him. And he was so cool. Someone we'd all been afraid of before we found out what a laugh he was.

He was just...different. I liked it. When I was with Ringo...I felt comfortable. Comfortable in a way I didn't with John or Paul sometimes. That arrogance wasn't there.

I smiled and pushed him lightly before climbing out of his car.

"Come on in. My mom 'll give us something to drink."


January 8th, 1962. London.

I'd come to that particular show in hopes of seeing John, but when their encore ended, John was engaged by a pretty little female with striking eyes and slim hips. After watching them for a moment, I promptly gave up all hope of capturing his attentions, and turned to the stage with sigh.

George was perched on an amp, looking a bit lost, puffing on his cigarette. I moved closer to him, looking up at him. It was rare that I had to look up at people, and it unsettled me a bit. Nevertheless, he looked lonesome, and I wondered why he was so upset. It had been a good show, and he probably could have had his pick of the females here.

But then, what did I know of women? Perhaps he'd already been turned down. Perhaps even by the woman John was talking to. One never know, and I certainly wasn't going to ask.

"How are you, George?" I asked, tapping my hands on the edge of the stage.


January 27th, 1962, The Grapes.

I hadn't shown up for a single performance of The Beatles since John and I had broken things off. I'd buried myself in work, and rent boys, and collected an impressive amount of bruises, scrapes, and other assorted injuries while trying to pretend I was fine. I'm sure I wasn't fooling anyone, least of all myself.

This particular night, I'd forced myself to leave the office and head down towards the Cavern Club, fully intending on going on. I'd made it as far as the bouncer, who inquired after my absence, and said the boys were just taking the stage.

I'd fled. Right across the street into Grapes, where I sat at the bar and ordered a whiskey, fully intending on getting drunk and forgetting that I should have been across the street, listening to my artists. Because that's all John was now. One of my artists.

I sucked in a pained breath and downed the whiskey, calling for another before I'd even set down the glass.


January 23rd, 1962. George's house.

I hadn't spoken to George in several days. He had been ignoring me and I couldn't really blame him. He had found out about Brian and me and I was wasn't exactly looking forward to facing him, but I knew I'd have to sooner or later. I walked up the front steps to his house and quickly knocked on the door. I couldn't even imagine how furious he was going to be..


January 20th, 1962. The Grapes.

Brian had asked me to meet him at The Grapes for a quick drink. He also said he had something important to talk to me about. I wasn't quite sure what he meant by that, but I figured it could be any number of things. I had finally made it in and scanned the room for him. I couldn't manage to find him after a couple of minutes of searching, so I took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink. Where was he anyways?


Hamburg, 1960.

We had just gotten the call to head on stage and I wasn't looking forward to it at all. George and I had finally gotten alone and now I had to try and keep my distance from him while we were on stage. It wasn't going to be easy but I had to at least try. I could only hope this show would go fast..


Hamburg, 1960

I had just walked into the back of the Kaiserkeller and moved back into the dressingrooms. I'd just gotten finished with having drinks with Ringo before they went on stage to start off the night. I smiled widely as I came into the room and stretched into a chair, slamming my legs down onto the table.

"How's it all going, then?"