"Paul. I just want to say that I need you to be a little patient with me. I need some time to catch up. I promise I will do my best."
Without taking his eyes off what he was doing, he said, "Don't worry about it Stu. Not like anyone here is listening anyway. We'll work on it later."
"Thank you Paul." I patted him on the shoulder and turned to walk away. I saw that John had just walked in and looked to be in good spirits. He walked up to me and started to unload his stuff.
"Just pick her out, bud." I said with an evil grin. John didn't look up but he grinned from ear to ear as he unpacked his bag.
"Hello Stu. How are you doing Paul? Where's George?" John asked Paul over my shoulder. I turned my head to see the response.
Without looking up, Paul said "These new strings are murder. Looks like there might be something wrong with them." He paused for a second, sat back and composed himself. "George will be a little late. He had to help his mum with something."
I turned back around to see John nod and go back to what he was doing. I noticed Tommy's drums were set up but Tommy was nowhere to be seen.
I stooped down near where John was bending over. "So you think tonight will be any better than last night?" I asked under my breath.
"If you live up to your promise, it is bound to be a lot better." John said with a smirking grin.
I just smiled and quickly scanned the room. "Don't see any candidates yet, but the night is still young." I patted him on the shoulder and walked over and took out my bass. I needed to check the tune before I started. I sat on the stage facing the tables and placed the bass on my lap. As I meticulously tuned each string, I watch Paul wrestle with his strings. I could see the frustration on his face. He was totally focused on what he was doing. I had met people with his type of personality before. He took what he did very seriously and always wanted to be the best that he could. I found that I could never measure up to these type of people. I needed more variety in life and enjoyed the experience of new things. The result was that I would never achieve the level of ability in any field the way Paul or John had achieved in music. As I plucked the strings of my bass I hoped that I could measure up. If I could just master their repertoire, I would become just as famous as the others. I looked back at Paul and noticed that he seemed to have a handle on his string problems.
John sat down next to me and started tuning his guitar. My bass was perfectly tuned and I was getting bored. I looked around and saw nobody but the a mousy bartender wiping glasses.
I started to search my pocket for a cigarette. I turned to John who was intent on tuning his guitar. "Have you ever heard of a guy named, Richard Starkey?" I was immediately hushed by John as he raised a finger to his mouth. He was listening to one string in particular. He made a minor adjustment and stopped to looked at me.
"What were you saying," he said.
"Richard Starkey. Have you ever heard of him?" I repeated in an elevated voice.
He just shook his head no and went back to tuning the guitar. He strummed a few times before pausing again. "Who is Richard Starkey?"
I paused and thought about going further with this subject. I didn't want to do something that would endanger the fated future meeting of the famed Ringo Starr.
"Just a drummer that I heard about from this area. Just curious, nothing more." I said in a dismissing tone.
He just shrugged and went back to tuning. I felt funny about bringing it up and did not want to pursue it any further.
Fortunately, our discussion was cut short by the sound of a small crowd of people walking through the front door. Loud, raucous laugher echoed through the room. All three of us looked up to see the crowd coming into our view.
It was a good sized group of nicely dressed people. I counted eleven of them as they took their seats. The people were older than the normal crowd. They looked to be in their mid thirties.
All of them took their places around two tables that adjoined near the front of the room. The bartender quickly came out and started writing down their orders. The crowd was evenly paired up with the exception of one extra man. Their demeanor led me to believe that they had already been drinking a bit. Laughter exploded from their tables quite frequently. One of the women pointed to us and leaned over to whisper something in her friend's ear. Their exchange was followed by subdued giggles.
As the group sat down, I saw George make his way in with guitar case in hand. He was walking very quickly and very rigidly. He had the look of excitement in his youthful face.
"John. John," he said under his breath without moving his lips. John looked up as if annoyed. He was still attempting to tune his guitar. George walked up so fast, I thought he might fall right over John. He managed to slide to a stop right in front of him.
"What?" John asked abruptly. George did a quick, over the shoulder, glance at the crowd before turning to John.
"Do you know who that is?" George asked.
John squinted over the top of his shades and gave a considerable stare. He finally broke the gaze and looked back at George. "The Queen of England?", John said.
"No the guy at the end of the table. That is Larry Parnes."
John gave a dumbfounded look that was quickly overtaken by excitement. He quickly put down his guitar. It clanged against the wooden stage. He stood up and walked over to Paul with stern determination. Leaning over, he whispered the news in Pauls ear and Paul immediately started dodging back and forth to see around John to get a glance. John moved to one side and the two shared a few whispers.
As John walked by me again, I grabbed his coat and gave it a gentle tug. "Do you want to clue me in?", I said.
He ignored me and George got right up in my ear. "Larry Parnes is the guy who books Rory Storm." He paused. I gave no response. "Rory storm is the greatest rock and roller ever to come out of Liverpool," he continued in a disbelieving tone.
I stood up and realized the seriousness. I knew I was the only one who recognized the degree of seriousness. The Beatles would be the biggest band ever in less than three years. Here was probably the key break that would lead to their success. The only problem was me. I certainly was not good enough to impress anyone at this point. I was certainly endangering the fate of the young men by being here.
I put down the bass and walked towards the front door. I gave a quick glance at the table as I walked by. I could see the bartender putting down the drinks.
I walked outside and past about another ten people who were making their way to their seats. It looked like it would be a good night for the Jacaranda.
The night was cool and I pointed myself into a chilling breeze and prepared myself to make the decision that I knew I had to make. I could get on stage and risk condemning my best friends to a life of mediocrity. I could walk away and certainly condemn myself to the same. I ran through several scenarios in my mind. I thought back to how I felt the day before I died. I thought back to the post office and life at forty. It was certainly a tough decision. I paced back and forth.
"Hey Stu. Are you coming?", a familiar voice pulled me out of my haze. I looked up to realize a waving figure had obviously tried several times to get my attention. It was Tommy, the drummer.
"Almost time bud," he said as he motioned to come. I looked down at my watch and notice that I had been outside for a long while. My gut ached from the turmoil. "I'll be in a second." I said as I waved to him.
I remembered that the angel had said that my mission was to achieve self fulfillment. I certainly had not done that at this point. I was on the precipice of musical immortality. I could either kick myself for ruining their chances or kick myself for missing out on the greatest experience ever. For the first time I could ever remember, I choose the selfish option, and went bounding back into the building. It was time to rock and roll.
I took a quick glance around and I could see John, Paul, and George all having their awkward moments with their respective guardians. I found the entire situation to be rather humorous and piled into the van.
Our showing for Mr. Parnes a few months ago had not been terribly auspicious. It turned out to be a pivotal moment in the Beatles history nonetheless. Mr. Parnes had signed us to perform a gig in Scotland backing up a young lush by the name of Johnny Gentile. At the time, I was sure this was the beginning of the Beatle's climb to fame that I had anticipated. All of us were very excited at the onset of the Scotland journey, but the tour turned out to be a big disappointment. Tommy had managed to get himself hurt and performed stoned nearly every night on his medication.
Johnny Gentile was not well received in Scotland and for most of the tour it seemed like playing in Liverpool. We were all despondent when we returned. The bands enthusiasm did not elevate again until news of this trip was announced a few weeks ago
The adventure we were about to embark on was a short tour in some strip clubs in Hamburg, Germany. I do not think any of us would have gone if it were not for the reputation that proceeded any mention of the word Hamburg. The reputation was that of Las Vegas when I was growing up. It seems that prostitution, drugs, and alcohol were as free in Hamburg as any place on the planet. For four hormone-soaked, post-teenagers, it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. We viewed this tour as a way to get paid to party. The last three practices were mainly spent on talking about the methods of procuring prostitutes. John said that a man told him the prostitutes sit in windows like some sort of cooking ware.
The driver, Alan Williams, rolled down his window and yelled for George. Alan had been a good friend to the band. He was going to drive us the entire way and had already bought us all matching shirts. I was beginning to believe that more people than I saw what was in store for these musicians.
George came jogging to the van and plopped down next to our new drummer, Pete Best. George had introduced Pete to the band a short time after Tommy retired. I got the feeling that Pete got the job by process of elimination. I had hoped this was the chance I would meet Ringo Starr, but I had to remember to be patient. I gave a fleeting worried thought that I might had done something to change the historical event that Ringo Starr would be our drummer.
Alan started the van and John took turns giving everyone a high five. The spirits were high and I was looking forward to this adventure.
I leaned over to John who was sitting next to me and asked "So what's the first thing you are going to do when you get there?"
He had been smiling since we took off and his grin only increased in size. He did not say anything. He just chuckled.
The van was alive with joking, laughing, and the ever present humorous quips from John. The mood seemed to last for an hour or two before the drone of the engine echoing through the metal van put us all in to a hypnotic trance. One by one we each became quieter and started to gaze at the unfamiliar country side that went whizzing by our windows. John tried once or twice to get the enthusiasm back to its fevered pitch, but succumb himself once he got no response.
I lost myself in a very real daydream of what it was going to be like in about two years to be one of the most famous people ever to walk the planet. The fame and the money would only be the tip of the iceberg. I would be immortal. I looked over at John's nodding head. He was asleep and his head bounced side to side. I started to snicker. John was now snoring and drool was dribbling out of the corner of his mouth.
I entertained myself with the spectacle for a little while before turning back to the window. I pondered life outside the Beatles during this time in history. I realized that I could be very successful in a lot of other ways now that I knew the future to some degree. For starters, I knew what the Kentucky winning lottery numbers would be on my 40th birthday. I knew when and where John F. Kennedy would get shot. I imagined myself blowing the whistle on Oswald just before he fires the fateful shot.
But then again, here I was. Right in the middle the mother of all rock and roll historical events. It was really surrealistic. I took another glance around. Now everyone was asleep.
I turned back to the window and leaned my head against the glass. I looked down at the road and watched the lines race by. It was not to much longer before I was in dreamland.
It was exactly how I imagined it. Lots of Neon lights and people. In front of us were tail light as far as the eye could see. To each side I would see the oddest looking people walk by. Like any city, there were no shortage on bums, prostitutes, and drunks.
"I hear that, in some parts of Germany, you can still see damage from the war," George said with his face glued to the window.
"Not in Hamburg. Too big of a tourist spot for that," John responded.
It was like nothing I had ever seen. Judging by the looks on Paul, John, and George's face, I gathered they had not seen anything like this either. Hamburg was suppose to have been a port town like Liverpool. So far it was nothing like Liverpool.
The streets were very well kept and all the stores looked clean and very busy. Traffic moved at a good pace and it seemed that the roads were clearly marked.
Alan was the only one who knew where we were going. He seemed to make and endless array of turns before finding a place to park the van. It was a relief to hear the engine shut off. My head rang to the point where I felt dizzy once the drone ceased.
I was the last one out on the street and the others were already busy in their stretching rituals before I did my first toe touch. The air was considerably cooler than Liverpool. I was actually chilled while I stretched.
"Wait right here," Alan said as he bounded into a building. There was a sign read Kaiserkeller on the brick front.
It was a nervous quiet for a few minutes while Alan was away. We all suddenly realized we were in a strange place and did not speak the language. Everyone stood close as some strange characters came strolling by.
"Boy it is actually pretty cold." George complained. The complaint went without response.
The silence was broken by the sound of the front door clanging shut as Alan came jogging across the street.
"Get into the van. We are going around the corner," he said as he jogged towards us.
None of us said anything and I slid open the door while the rest started getting back into the van.
Alan jumped in and took off rather quickly. It was not a very long ride until Alan started looking for another parking place. After a brief search, he found one and parked.
"Leave the music equipment. We'll set up later," Alan said rubbing his hands together.
We grabbed up all of the personal effects and followed Alan across the street and into a theater. He leaned over and whispered something to the lady tending the ticket booth and pointed to us. She nodded and waved for us to continue.
We went into the theater and followed Alan to a set of stairs. "What are we doing here?", Paul asked.
Alan responded, "This is where you are staying." Paul looked back at me in confusion and just started following.
We winded through a dark cement hallway to a door that was covered in graffiti. Alan had a little trouble getting the key to work in the dark, but managed to get the door open. He stuck his hand inside and fumbled for a light switch. After a few attempts, the room lit up and we entered. The smell was terrible. A thick moldy smell engulfed the room. I could see that the window was leaking onto old, dingy carpet. I placed my foot on the dark spot below the window and could hear the water gush below my tread.
Ever since we had entered, I could hear someone talking in German. It dawned on me that the source of the distraction was a movie playing in the adjacent theater. The sound was perfectly audible in the room. Seemingly oblivious to the conditions, George and Pete laid their stuff down on the only two beds.
After a brief and curious pause, John said, "Okay where's the next room?".
Alan gave him a quizzical look and said, "This is it." After a pause, Alan lightly chuckled. "Hey you have to start somewhere," he followed.
"Where are we sleeping?", John said with dismay.
Alan pointed to what I though was a pile of trash. A closer examination of the pile revealed that it was a pile of bed frames. I then looked above George and I could see that George was actually sitting on the bottom bed of a bunk bed.
The moment was very awkward. We were all on the verge of voicing our objections. Sensing the growing displeasure, Alan made a quick exit. "I will see you guys across the street in a half of an hour," he said handing John the key.
All of us stood there with our mouths open trying to formulate some coherent thought. After a brief moment of silence, we all started to laugh.
"Good thing we ordered the penthouse. The other place is a real dump," John said shaking his head. He was about to lay his stuff down on the wet spot before I stopped him. As he formed his question, I stomped the floor hard, sending water splashing across the room.
John walked to another spot and stomped the floor. After being satisfied that it was solid, he delicately laid his stuff down in one pile. Paul followed suit and picked another dry spot to call home. The three of us worked on the pile of wood and mattresses trying to sort out the mess to make somewhat of a suitable living quarters.
We had managed to get all the beds hung without too much difficulty. Everyone had just about gotten settled before Pete noticed that it was time to go across the street.
John came bounding into the room in a huff. "Have you seen the bathroom?" he said in a hostile tone. Everyone gave a blank stare. I shrugged. "I've never seen black porcelain before. Damn thing overflowed on me twice. At least they could do is give us some paper."
I had to laugh at that one. "What did you do?", I said in a incredulous tone.
"Let's just say, don't touch the curtains," John responded.
All of us just belly laughed for a few minutes. The moment was short lived as a heavy knock sounded on the wooden door.
I turned around to see Alan and another gentlemen. "This is Bruno Koschmider." Alan said. "Mr. Koschmider, these are the Beatles."
Alan had told us of Mr. Koschmider during the trip here. Seems that Mr. Koschmider owned the two clubs at which we would be playing. What Alan failed to accurately describe was the man. Mr. Koschmider was quite the imposing individual. He was very tall and overweight. He dressing in a dirty white short-sleeve shirt with no collar. A grey mustache graced his lined face. His head was shaved very short, making him look all the more menacing. He walked into the light and crossed his arms. His stood directly under the light and his large build cast a huge shadow on the floor. He scanned all of us with a grimace. When his gaze came upon George, he stopped and his face grew even more sour. He slightly turned his head and, without taking his eyes off George, mutter something to Alan in German. Alan paused, gave a short glance at George, and leaned back into his ear.
After a brief, inaudible exchange, Alan looked up and said, "He wants to know how old you are."
"Eighteen, Sir," George said with a stammered, low voice.
Alan did not have to repeat what he had said. Mr. Koschmider finally nodded with a disapproving scowl after a brief pause.
The two left the room after a long silence. The last thing we heard from the two was Alan shouting down the hall that he wanted us to start setting up in ten minutes.
"The man looks like he needs more fiber in his diet," John said with a frown. I chuckled at the comment but noticed that nobody else appreciated the humor in the situation.
John finally clapped his hands and said, "Well lets get to it. It can't get any worse can it?"
With that, we all filed in behind John and followed him out the door. I heard Paul grumble something as he locked the door behind us.
We walked out the front of the theater. John walked up to the teller and said "Terrible movie, we couldn't understand a word. I want my money back." The lady just looked at him with a blank stare and I could see she did not understand a word of English. John just laughed and threw up his hands. John shouted in frustration to the open air, "Okay where do we set up?"
"Over there." Pete said, pointing to a dark brick building. It was Alan. He was standing in front of a building waving his arms. I could barely make him out in the dark.
A few minutes later, we were entering the Indra club with our arms loaded with equipment. All five of us entered the dark club at the same time. I could tell that the overall spirits had lifted a bit with the anticipation of seeing the club. As we entered it took a minute for our eyes to adjust to the dark. The first thing I noticed was the lack of patrons. There were two drunks at the end of the bar and that was the extent of it. I did not see a bartender.
"Where the bloody hell...", John stopped his sentence short as he located what he was looking for, the stage.
All of us were in dismay at the sight. As we walked up to the stage our dismay turned to outright disbelief. All five of us stood there and looked down at the tiny stage.
"There is not enough room here for my drum set," Pete said. Everyone stood there in silence holding their bags.
John walked over to Paul and said, "Paul, did we...,"
Paul interrupted him. "Yes. Yes we signed a contract."
"How long?" John followed.
"Four months." Paul responded.
I was the first to lay down my instrument. The rest followed my lead. I stood up and turned to look at the club and then back down at the stage. I would hardly call it a stage. It was no more than two feet off the ground and was essentially nothing more than a wooden box covered with painted plywood. One of the sheets of plywood in the back was warped and stuck up on the back edge. I stepped up onto the stage and looked back at the room. A third drunk had meandered into the club. He stood there looking at us as if he were trying to figure out why we were up here.
"You will get a lot of stares like that," Alan said from the corner. I did not know how long he had been there. He was in a shadow and must have come in from the back.
"You are the first to play music here. Up until now, there has only been strippers on that stage. Mr. Koschmider has decided to try something different."
"There's barely enough room on the stage for three people. Not to mention five," John said in a elevated, angry tone.
"You will have to deal with it. You have to start somewhere. Let's face it. You were hired because you were the best buy. When people start requesting you like Rory Storm, then you can complain."
He was right and we all knew it. At that point, I looked around and saw everyone starting to unpack. I knew that this was the time we would have to buckle down and just live through it. So far it was promising to be another Scotland tour.
I took the cigarette from my mouth and used my index finger to push the shades up against my face. It was so dark in the room shades made it impossible to see anything. I found that not hearing a crowd was not so bad when I could not see them either.
I reached down and picked up my bass while putting the strap over my neck. I hit a few strings to make sure it was in tune.
I was the only enthusiastic one left. The Indra found Pete and George as its first victims of depression. The two had scarcely said a word the last few weeks. Pete never said a word on or off the stage in our presence. His sour scowl would only be broken now and again by a twisted frown when he went into a complicated drum lick. George would speak in an unassuming voice whenever I talked to him, but I could tell this experience was wearing down his youthful enthusiasm.
Paul had high hopes and tried to laugh at the situation, but even he was getting a little sick at the prospect of playing on this tiny little stage. John had held out the longest before he stopped talking two days ago. He was now at the point where he would not even crack a joke at the few people ignoring us at the bar.
I, on the other hand, was having a blast. I was playing music with the Beatles and the Beatles were getting good. I was now more confident with the songs that I had played hundreds of times and still found excitement in soaking every bit of knowledge from, what were now, my colleagues.
It was not that playing the music was getting the others down. In fact, it was the only times that the guys would even come close to smiling. The worst part was the environment. We stood in a tiny spots unable to move for four hours at a time. We would do this twice a day with only one day off every other week. When we got off, it was not much better. I do not think any of us slept the entire first week. The theater could be heard until the last movie stopped. This did not usually happen until one or two AM every night.
Then there was the Indra itself. The Indra had grown to be a scourge in my mind. Most of the would-be patrons that did meander into the club would hang around just long enough to see that none of us were going to take our clothes off, then leave. The ones who did hang around did so because they were too intoxicated to find the door. Even on our best nights, we were thankful not to get boos. The smell of smoke, alcohol, and mold had been blended perfectly in this club to make the perfect noxious fume. I could not get the smell out of my mind even when I was away from this place for hours.
I found it interesting that all of the others displayed there anguish in different fashions. John reverted to being his belligerent self before he stopped talking at all. Just a few nights ago he would constantly pick on two individuals in the bar. This brought back some less-than-special Litherland memories. Some of his antics included belching in the microphone and wearing a toilet seat that he had torn off the stool at the theater. The site was quite disgusting. I think that maybe John was either trying to get us fired or just plain seeing how far he could go out of boredom.
At this point, Paul never cracked a smile and he was constantly on Pete and me about our musical skills. It did not matter to me any more. Many was there a time I would walk into a private conversation between Paul and John only to discover Paul red faced and demanding that John kick me out of the band. No matter what Paul did, he had three dedicated admirers in the Indra. These admirers would be John, George, and me. Often we would just stop and clap if Paul did something that made us take pause to realize just what a fine musician he was destine to become. Paul was an interesting combination of being cocky and modest. He wanted you to know he was the best but would never acknowledge the fact himself. I never took his criticism to heart. I knew he was right, but I also knew I was doing my best. I also knew that I was not doing that badly. I firmly believe that Paul, at this time, wanted to play the bass and had become bored with his guitar. I also think that John saw this and tried his best to serve as referee.
Overall, I was sure that we looked like quite the depressing sight from the vantage point of the bar. To make matters worse, Mr. Koschmider would get up and shout "Mach Schau! Mach Schau!". He screamed this for an hour before Alan told us at the next break that it meant 'Make a show'. From then on, whenever he shouted that, George and Paul would make fun of it by bouncing on the stage like a couple of stooges. It was a silly sight, but it would always get him off our backs. Paul got on me a few times about not helping out, but I drew the line and refused to partake in the display. This would only further Paul's growing hatred of me. Fortunately, John agreed with me and would not partake in the nonsense either.
This tour did have some bright points. For one thing we had all the liquor we wanted and for free. It was the one benefit we had at both the Indra and the Kaiserkeller. It was a benefit that we all had partaken in and outright abused.
Alan had been kind enough to teach us all a few German words. While he taught the others useful German translations for phrases like 'Where's the bathroom?', and 'How much is that?', I asked for more important translations like 'You are very pretty.', and 'Do you have a boyfriend?' I would let the language of love do the rest.
The biggest benefit was my experiencing life with the three finest musicians ever known. Life with John, Paul, and George was beyond my expectations. I always felt an immense amount of pride standing on the same stage with them. The music we made became more refined with each set we played. We had played the same material so many times that everyone knew what the other was going to do next and this led to everyone playing in perfect unison. I was amazed at how the overall sound mixed. The weak links were Pete and me.
My failure was that I sometimes would get off the chord progression and I would never find it before the song ended. I learned to just face the back of the stage during these times and fake it until the song ended. Pete had an annoying habit of experimenting with different beats during any given song. The result often would through all of us off and solicit Paul's fury.
Even the lack of sleep would help the band. John and Paul would stay up and help each other write new songs. Many a time Pete and I threw pillows at George, Paul, and John trying to get them to shut up. It never worked. They would not stop until they were finished. I never included myself in the process for fear that, out of frustration, I might start writing their own songs for them. It just seemed to me that it was important that these young musical geniuses go through the development process without the benefit of an omnipotent co-writer.
I still had not heard them work on anything that I ever heard them perform. I knew I had less than a year or two before I would become one of the best known musicians ever, and yet, we where still nowhere. During our music, I would examine the face of every person who happened upon the bar. I would be looking to see it this person might be the one who 'discovers' the Beatles. Unfortunately, I did not know my history well enough to go looking for the individual. I did notice that we had not started playing the music that made the Beatles famous. I hadn't even met Ringo. It was times like this that I contemplated the situation and get frustrated. Most nights, I would find myself just walking the streets to get away from the entire scene. Most of the time I would find female companionship and spend the night at other locations.
The unfortunate byproduct of our environment was that it was sucking all of us into a downward spiral of behavior. I had become the worst of the lot. All of us liked it at first, but all of the others had there fill by now. It was just to easy.
I could not believe what I had become. I now drank more often than my brother Bob ever did and I treated women worse. I remembered what I thought of Bob and shuddered to think I had become that, but it was true.
A smashing bottle opened my eyes, and I took off my shades in a startled attempt to see what had happened. I noticed that all of the faces in the bar were trained at a drunken individual being tossed out the front by the owner himself. I was amazed at the distance Mr. Koschmider got on the toss. The unwelcome drunk flew at least five feet and went tumbling out the door. I could not tell what Mr. Koschmider was yelling, but I was willing to bet he wasn't trading recipes.
"I give that toss a ten," John said wryly over the microphone, breaking his self induced code of silence. The rest of us chuckled and it was a welcome sight.
Mr. Koschmider turned abruptly and raised his hand. Before he could shout those two words we loved to hear. I got a wild urge to dissolve the situation. I do not know if it was because I was bored or tired, but I just started to play. Remembering the only disco bass line I knew, I put my glasses in my mouth, turned up the volume on my bass, and starting playing the beginning of 'Disco Inferno'. The rhythm was snappy but repetitive. This made it easy to play. I had played a few bars before I glanced up to see the reaction. Everyone in the bar was starting to bob and wiggle to the repetitive pounding. I looked at my associates and got a mixture of faces. John just looked at me with his mouth open with obvious signs of disgust. Knowing his taste, this did not surprise me.
Paul was actually smiling and trying to see my hand to get the chords I was playing. In a matter of seconds he was playing along correctly, but doing very bad disco. If one could, in fact, accomplish such a feat.
George followed suite, and it wasn't too long before the entire band was jamming disco. It was fun and very amusing, but the sound was absolutely horrible. These fine musicians were trying to put quality into what amounted to musical bubble gum. It just was not working.
I composed myself quite well until Pete tried to put in a couple of extra special licks. This was timed perfectly with George who was now trying desperately to pick out a suitable guitar lead, to no avail. That was more than I could take and I burst into laughter. I had to go to my knees convulsing in a huge exhilarating laugh before I could compose my self and stand.
"Beatle Disco. I love it." I burst into another laugh and returned to my knees. The rest laughed along until I noticed an abrupt hush. I looked up with traces of giggle escaping from my mouth, to see the owner grimacing less than a foot from my face.
John notice the situation and immediately started playing an old Chuck Berry tune. I cleared my throat and stood up and joined in the song. Mr. Koschmider eyeballed me for a few minutes before returning to his seat. Paul kept turning around and laughing at me throughout the entire song. It was great.
Paul, infatuated with disco, was now helping me learn how to play bass. Sometimes we would switch on stage. I could tell he was really more comfortable with the bass, and I really could not object to him playing. I was astonished at just how good he was at it. I liked switching between playing the guitar and the bass. I would do anything to help avoid the monotony of the situation.
I loved John's wit since our first meeting. He had truly become my best friend and I felt I could tell him anything.
"Hey. Rory Storm is playing at the Kaiserkeller tonight. Want to go? There will be an entire herd there. Here they have a cool drummer. Guys name is Ringo"
I sat up in bed banging my head on the ceiling. Wincing from the pain, I slipped to the floor and sat down.
"Ringo Starr?" I asked rubbing my head.
"Yes, I believe so. Do you know him?" John said examining his finger.
"That is the fellow Richard Starkey, I was telling you about." I stopped and realized that I was going to have to follow this up. He was sure to ask me about it.
He paused and rubbed his finger. "Okay. So lets go see your buddy. I am bored and you need to pick me out some company."
"Remember. If you want to say something to me that you don't want anyone else to understand, say it in Pig Latin." John repeated the last three words in unison. I had told him that a few times before, but I never heard him use it.
"Why is that again," he asked rolling towards me leaning up on one elbow.
"Only someone really good with English can speak Pig Latin. It is the only way we can talk and be totally sure that nobody can understand us." I scooted back with my back against the wall. My head was still a little tender.
John just shook his head in an affirmative nod.
There was a lull in the conversation. Something that had been bugging me for months finally came to the surface.
"John, I have something to tell you. This is very important and will require a leap of faith on your part. I am not sure how I want to start this." I paused and waited for his expression.
He just sat there and indicated that he was waiting to hear more.
"John, I know things about the Beatles and specifically yourself that you should know." I paused.
He looked at me with a little more interest.
"John, the Beatles are going to be really big in a very short time from now. I mean really big. Everyone in this band is going to be rich and famous." I paused again.
His expression changed to one of humor.
"I wish I had your confidence. Sure doesn't look that way right now." He rolled back over and put one arm over his forehead, staring upwards.
"It is not a matter of confidence. It is a matter of knowledge." I took a deep breath. "I have seen your future." I gave a squinted wince and looked at him. He just laid there and finally rolled back over.
"What?" he said in an incredulous tone.
"I know what will become of the Beatles and everyone in the Beatles, with the exception of Pete."
He just laughed. "Stop putting me on. What is this?"
"I am dead serious." I said in a stern tone.
"Okay. If you know the future, and we become big. What is our first hit single?" John said in a disbelieving tone.
"Europe or America?" I responded quickly.
Taken aback, John silently repeated my question. He paused, gave a giggle, and said, "Europe."
I hesitated. I knew the answer, but it felt wrong telling him that.
"I can't tell you." I said looking down shaking my head. I knew it would be a hard sell, but I was hoping to see some way to convince him.
"What is this about Stu?" he said in a sober tone.
"You must help me out John. I am your friend and you know that. What I am trying to tell you is very important and equally difficult. I can't tell you specifics because I run the risk of altering your bright future."
I looked up and met John's eyes. He could tell by my tone I was serious and tormented.
"Okay Stu. How do you know the future." He said it logically and was trying to calm me down.
"You wouldn't believe me, John. It is hard to explain. I am not who I seem." I paused. Remember the day you and your friends mugged me in the alley?"
"Yes," he said.
"That was my first day in your world. Evidently the real Stuart Sutcliffe drowned in the Mersey river during a gang fight."
He just stared at me. "I can tell that you are serious, but Stu you need to give me something. You are asking quite the leap of faith."
"John I can't do that. I am only telling you this because of one thing you have to know. Something terrible that happens long after the Beatles break up. I have to tell you this no matter what the risk to the others."
"What would that be?" he said.
I staggered, paused, and took several deep breaths. I was not sure where I was going with this, but I sure as hell was going. No matter what, I had to save this man's life.
"John, you find the love of your life and end up moving to New York City. You take a five year break and in 1980...," I was interrupted by a entourage of people barging through the door. The door swung open and banged me in the knees. After I yelped, I saw Pauls head peek around the door and he said "Sorry, Stu. What are you doing on the floor?"
He closed the door. John was out of his bed and shaking hands with someone. I could see a huge smile on John's face. As I stood, John turned him around and said "Evidently here is a friend of yours Ringo." I outstretched my hand before realizing who it was.
"Have we met?" Ringo said with a slow handshake.
"No. Never. No way. I don't think so. Do you? I am Stuart Sutcliffe and a really big fan." I was all over myself. I could not bring myself to let go of his hand. He eventually looked down at our hands and indicated that I was hurting him.
I released his hand and threw a barrage of apologies to him.
"How did you know his name?" John said not letting the awkward moment go.
"Everyone knows Ringo's name," I said dismissing it.
"I thought you said it was Richard Starkey or something." John said scratching his head.
"No I didn't." I said
"Yes you did." He said.
Ringo looked quite perplexed at the whole situation.
Paul finally got me off the hot spot by interjecting that he would like to get some good seats at the Kaiserkeller. After everyone agreed, we all filed in and followed Paul down the dark hallway.
Stephen Lipscomb is 35 and lives in Virginia with his wife and daughter. Stephen is a Computer Scientist with a Bachelor of Science Degree. He has written his own instructional booklet on running a lawn service. Stephen is currently branching out to writing in the fiction/adventure genre.
Stephen can be e-mailed at: slipscomb@logicon.com