Work Text:
“Hey Maria, you know how I’m really into music? Do you want to hear this song that I’m working on? Please don’t laugh.” Kyle hit send. He really hoped Maria would say yes. Since freshman year he’d had a crush on her, and now that they were in PE together, he had a pretence to talk to her.
Maria is typing … for three agonizing minutes
“Okay.” All that, for an okay? But at least it was an okay. Kyle wasn’t actually a musician, but girls liked musicians, right? What Maria didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. Kyle pressed play on his speakers and recorded the song into his phone, then sent it to Maria.
Maria is typing … for a worryingly short time
“You didn’t write Something. That’s a Beatles song.” Oh no. It was as if all four Beatles were standing around him, kicking him in the balls in unison to the tune of Come Together. He’d thought Something was enough of a deep cut that he’d be in the clear. How and why did Maria know that song? Girls weren’t supposed to listen to classic rock! Grandmas, maybe. But girls? No way. Kyle’s world was falling down around him. Now Maria would never go out with him! He totally blew it. What would he say now? Oh god, if anyone else found out, he’d be a virgin forever. He’d never live this down.
“It was just a prank, lol.” Yes! This could save him!
Maria is barely typing at all at this point
“K.” Well, it was better than nothing. Still, Kyle wanted nothing more than to undo this past interaction. He was mad at Maria. He was mad at himself. He was even mad at the Beatles. In fact, if the Beatles had never gotten famous, none of this would’ve ever happened! A world without the Beatles was looking pretty appealing for Kyle right about now.
“Kyle, it’s a school night and your light is still on. What did I tell you about staying up past 11?” He was suffering enough, he didn’t need his mom nagging him too!
“I’m asleep, mom. Leave me alone!” She opened his door and switched off his light.
“Go to bed. You have to be up early tomorrow.”
Mom, Maria, and the Beatles just couldn’t help but ruin Kyle’s life!
Kyle jolted awake in a white, empty room.
“Where am I?” He asked.
“You have been selected to travel back in time,” said a disembodied voice. Were spam calls evolving?
“Is this a prank? Josh, is that you?” If this was Josh, this was not the time.
“No. Pick a date and time.”
“Please promise me this is real.”
“It’s real.”
“When did the Beatles get famous?”
“1963.”
“And they’re from England, right?”
“Liverpool.”
“Okay. Can I go to January 1, 1963? Liverpool?”
He woke up again at what seemed to be a New Year’s celebration inside a retro-chic record store. Light reflected off gold tinsel, streamers, and balloons that spelled out 1963. Against a mosaic of taffeta and tuxedos, Kyle was completely out of place in a hoodie and cargo pants. All men had short, neat Brylcreem-coated coifs, save for a few longer-haired young men who seemed to be the centers of attention. A prissy man in a high-end suit and a polka dot scarf rushed towards him. Two of the attention-grabbing young men followed him like goslings to Mother Goose.
“He’s awake, at least. It seems the poor thing rather enjoyed the champagne we selected this year.” All English accents sounded posh and gay to Kyle but this one sounded extra posh and gay.
“Where am I? Am I in Liverpool? Is it January 1, 1963?” Kyle had never felt so dazed in his life.
“The yank has a brain. You couldn’t tell it from those trousers, though.” A thin teenage boy with thick eyebrows and an accent that was a lot less posh and a little less gay said, staring at him.
“You can insult my outfit when you stop dressing like my grandpa.” Kyle immediately disliked the skinny boy and his fitted mohair suit. What was that dork doing, going after him?
“Your grandpa sounds pretty gear, then.” Said a boy in a matching outfit who looked like one of his grandma’s porcelain dolls. Although this boy seemed a bit nicer to Kyle, so he wasn’t going to say that. He was on thin ice, however.
“Boys, let’s not provoke him. He’s clearly in a sorry state. Did anyone see him come in?” It was the man in polka dots.
“No, he must have just wandered in from off the street.” Doll boy replied.
“I could drive him home. Young man, where are you staying?” Kyle padded his pockets looking for his phone. No phone. 1963. He guessed cell phones must not have been around then.
“I’m not from around here. I don’t know this place.” Kyle was now slightly annoyed with himself for picking a time and setting he knew nothing about.
“I have a small flat in town that you can stay at tonight.”
“Oh, just so you know, I’m only interested in chicks. I have no problem with gay people, but it’s not my thing.” Kyle felt he had to add that disclaimer, because he didn’t know what this guy was after. Kyle had recently experienced a glow-up. While he understood why some dudes would be interested, there was only one dick that he needed around and it was the one attached to him.
The man blanched while the skinny boy and the doll boy silently tittered amongst themselves.
“I must emphasize that I am not interested in you in that way. Apologies if I gave you the wrong impression. Liverpool can be rough, and you’re only a boy.” Oh god, he sounded like Kyle’s mom. On the other hand, he could go for a warm bed.
“Fine, take me to your place.” Kyle conceded. Yes, it was probably what his mom would’ve told him to do, but maybe, just this once, that wouldn’t be so bad. Wait, would his mom advise him to sleep in a strange gay British man’s bed? His mom made a big deal about not discriminating against people. However, he was a stranger. Maybe his mom wouldn’t have recommended this after all. What a relief!
“By the way, I’m Brian.”
“Kyle.” He said, pointing to himself.
Brian and Kyle walked out to a shiny classic car. If Kyle’s dad were here, he would’ve gone nuts. Reflexively, Kyle walked over to the passenger side, only to find Brian walking in the same direction.
“You’ve been drinking, I can drive.” Brian assured Kyle. Kyle remembered that everything was on the wrong side, this side of the Atlantic. They drove on the passenger side and vibed on the driver’s side. Probably to spite him and make him look like an idiot in front of fancy British people like Brian. Kyle turned around and went to the other side of the car.
“The boys have recorded a delightful new single called Please Please Me. It hasn’t been released yet, but one can’t help but consider it the most wonderful piece they’ve produced as of yet. Would you like to be one of the first to hear it?” Brian said, effusively.
“The boys?” Kyle asked. He didn’t know Brian, why would Brian expect him to know his gang?
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed. I manage a group called the Beatles and they’re the talk of the town here in Liverpool. They’re fabulous. Just delightful. Four charming, electrifying talents and personalities. They write their own songs, can you believe it? The Lennon/McCartney original numbers, of which this is one, are sublime. Mark my words, this time next year, they will be famous the whole world round.” Not the Beatles. After what they did to his chances with Maria?
“I know about the Beatles. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“You know the Beatles? Now you absolutely must hear this song.”
“It’s your car, man.” Kyle wasn’t going to be a dick to this guy. What if he turned out to be a murderer?
Brian pressed a button on his dashboard and an annoyingly catchy pop song played out from the tinny car speakers. Brian silently bounced his head along to the song, while Kyle promised himself not to. He swerved onto the sidewalk, then back onto the road. After the song wound down, Brian turned to him.
“What did you think?” He asked, grinning excitedly.
“Girls will like it. Gay guys too, probably.” Kyle said, trying to subtly assert his dominance without triggering Brian.
“I adore it, and it’s not just my natural bias as their manager.” Brian looked over at Kyle and smiled while running a red light.
“Aren’t you gay, though? Like I said, girls and gay guys.” Kyle reminded Brian, feeling both helpful and a little smug.
“Were the boys making jokes about me again? They have a very playful and imaginative sense of humor. One cannot take everything they say literally.” His tone was tense, his posture even tenser. Oh yeah, this was the olden days. No matter how obvious it was to Kyle, everyone was so touchy about gayness. Probably because of the AIDS epidemic, Kyle thought. He wondered if the Beatles knew.
“Nobody told me that you were gay. I I just suspected it. Never mind. Forget I said anything.” Phew. That was a close call. Kyle felt proud knowing that he had possibly saved a gay dude in 1963 from feeling depressed about his gayness.
“Wait, was that song about blowjobs?”
“My boys would never.”
Brian parked the car. The two moved from an implausible Victorian denial of Beatle prurience to a quintessentially Georgian red-doored townhouse. It was the most English thing Kyle had experienced in his life.
“Welcome to the flat. The bedroom is up the stairs, to the right. The bath is down the hall. If you need breakfast, the kitchen is well-appointed. Do help yourself to whatever you need. I shall return tomorrow morning.” Brian opened the door and waved goodbye to Kyle, who wandered upstairs and crashed on the bed.
Why would Brian, such a classy-seeming man, have such a basic home? The bed Kyle slept in was a double. Even at home, Kyle had a queen bed. Maybe it was a tax thing. The kitchen looked really old. Even older than his grandparents’ kitchen. Kyle found eggs and a pan in the kitchen and fried two. There was a toaster, thank god, so Kyle could have some toast to go with it.
Kyle’s mind got to work during breakfast. He didn’t come here to gossip with Brian. He came to sabotage the Beatles. Then again, he was currently well-positioned for that task, and he wanted to seize upon that opportunity. There was no way of knowing how long he had to accomplish his goals before he was thrust back into the present day. He could kill them all. Oh wait. Too dark. Making Something, a song that Maria knew, was a crime, but not one that should be punishable by death. Kyle was a merciful guy. He could give them weird haircuts. But then again, old people thought their haircuts were weird and they still got famous. He could get them addicted to drugs. However, Kyle wasn’t sure if they even had drugs back then. He was all brainstormed out. He needed intel.
Kyle went into the bathroom and opened up the medicine cabinet. He found vials upon vials of medicine. Was Brian trying to drug Kyle? Was Kyle’s mom right? No way. Unless? Just to be on the safe side, Kyle flushed all the pills down the toilet and threw away the vials.
Just then, he heard the front door open. Brian was there, but he heard another voice too.
“Is the lunatic still here?”
“Please, John. He’s just a young American boy who thoroughly enjoyed his New Year’s champagne. I seem to recall you being in a similar state last night.”
“Come off it, Eppy. The bloke’s bloody mental. I’ve never seen anyone dressed like that. Not even the biggest nutters in Hamburg. You know as well as I that I’m the only madman the Beatles need.”
“Be nice. For me.”
“Oooh, somebody fancies himself an authority now. I bet all the little queer lads fall to their knees when you pull that out. Though I thought it was usually you getting on your kn-”
“Hush, John.” Brian interrupted, going pink. “Kyle? I’m back!”
Kyle exited the bathroom and went downstairs.
“How are you feeling today?” Asked Brian, smiling at Kyle.
“I’m fine. Is he your boyfriend?” Kyle replied, forgetting it was the olden days and he wasn’t supposed to say things like that. Oh well, too late.
“I’m sure he dreams about it, the ponce,” said non-Brian with a cheeky grin, Brian’s face now magenta.
“This is John Lennon. He’s one of the Beatles.” That was John Lennon? Where were his glasses? Where was the Jesus hair? Had the media lied to Kyle this whole time about what John Lennon looked like? Although intellectually Kyle knew that there was a time when the Beatles had suits and bowl cuts, it was hard to reconcile the supposed John Lennon in front of Kyle with the John Lennon he was used to.
“Hi, John Lennon, I’m Kyle. Must be nice to be alive.” Said Kyle. Oh wait, John Lennon didn’t know that he was going to die. Whoops.
“Hi Kyle. Must be nice to be an absolute nutter.” Were all of the Beatles against him? Kyle smirked and glared at John Lennon. He was acting pretty ballsy for someone who wouldn’t be alive in 2026.
“The boys are going to Scotland today. I’m taking John to the airport. Kyle, do you have somewhere to be?”
Kyle silently prayed that Brian was about to offer him a free vacation.
“I got nothing on my agenda. I’m down to go to Scotland though. I’ve never been before.” John gave Brian a quizzical look and folded his arms across his chest.
“He’s hardly seen Liverpool and already wants out. No mercy for the Mersey.” John exclaimed, imitating the accent and intonations of a mid-century BBC announcer.
“Will your parents allow it?” Brian asked, sounding surprised.
“My parents are gone.” Technically true. 1963 was so long ago that even they weren’t alive yet.
“Oh dear. Well, we do have an extra seat booked. John, are you okay with Kyle tagging along?” Brian turned towards John.
“It couldn’t go to a fit bird?”
“I suspect you already know what I would say.”
“Of course. I shouldn’t have even bothered asking you. Fine. Sod it. Might be fun to have our very own freak-show along for the ride. Give the poor air hostesses a fright. How normal will us lot will look in comparison?” Although rolling his eyes in an exaggerated fashion, John had given in. Kyle was getting real tired of the real John Lennon.
They went to the airport and didn’t even have to go through security. The past, thought Kyle, truly was a different time. Skinny kid, doll boy, and a slight young man with vivid blue eyes were there too, alongside a huge man with glasses.
“You met George and Paul last night, and this is Ringo. John is on rhythm guitar, Paul is on bass, George is on lead guitar, and Ringo recently joined on drums.” Explained Brian. Ringo looked up at Kyle and shyly nodded.
“Hello again, George and Paul. Hi Ringo. Peace and love, right?” Kyle said, waving at George and Paul and giving Ringo a peace sign. “Who’s the absolute unit?”
“Sorry, absolute unit?” Repeated Brian, confused.
“The big guy.”
“That’s Mal, our roadie.” Said Paul, ever the diplomat. He looked like an Elf on the Shelf in his red sweater. Girls liked this?
“Brian, did you hire this wanker or something? Why is he here? He’s not that handsome. The only thing we know about him is that he’s a drunk American freak.” George. Again. Did George know that he was built like a stick insect and that he had a boomer name? Where did he find the audacity?
“Kyle wanted to join you boys in Scotland. He is a fan of yours. The first American Beatle fan I’ve met, in fact. He’s certainly someone worth celebrating.” Kyle was slightly amused by how naive people were in this time period. Brian was just going to let him join the Beatles on a trip to Scotland, just like that? Imagine if he actually was a lunatic!
“Kyle, it’s fab you showed up for us. Really, it means a lot.” Paul smiled politely while the others exchanged looks, and they all boarded the plane.
Kyle was seated next to Ringo during the flight. He was a bit annoyed. Nothing he could do to Ringo would undermine the band, he thought. He was the smallest. He had the least fanfare. He was the newest member. Plus, his name was Ringo, for god’s sake. How could anyone important be called Ringo? It seemed like there was no way Ringo was essential enough. No, he needed to look to John or Paul. Maybe Brian.
Across the aisle, Brian was opening a pillbox. Perhaps this was an opening!
“What, are you depressed or something?” Kyle asked Brian.
“One must be able to stay calm, upbeat, and focused in this business.” Brian replied, startled by the intrusive question.
“You don’t need those. At best, they’ll screw you up. Give you permanently limp dick or something. At worst, you’ll turn into a zombie and just drop dead one day. One of my friends got prescribed pills for his depression and anxiety and it changed him. For the worse. Honestly, he just sucks to be around now. I miss the old him.” Maybe if Brian quit taking his meds, he’d go berserk, thought Kyle.
“Changed for the worse? How so?” Brian asked, putting the pills down.
“Nobody finds him attractive anymore due to all the weight gain. Since his boyfriend dumped him because of the meds, he’s been a lonely nervous wreck. He also got stupider and he’s not interesting or funny like he used to be.” Brian looked skeptical as Kyle kept talking. Kyle wondered if he was harping on the gay thing too much.
“His family is ashamed of him, his prospects are hopeless. He can’t get anything right. Nobody respects him, least of all himself.” Brian’s eyes widened. Bingo.
“It’s just sad. I wish he had gone for less invasive, less risky strategies for managing his issues.” Kyle had fished for things to say that he suspected might resonate with Brian. He didn’t know Brian that well, but he had made a few assumptions. Although Kyle wasn’t currently interested in impressing his parents, Brian was the sort of person who probably cared deeply about those sorts of things. One of those type-A strivers who desperately needed to impress everyone to make up for their insecurities.
“I’m very sorry to hear that. I don’t think I’d wish that upon my worst enemy. I don’t even think I’d wish it upon myself.” So he really was depressed. Was it really that easy to sabotage the Beatles through their manager? Kyle felt like the king of manipulation.
Kyle looked over at Ringo, who was nose deep in a comic book and lightly rapping a finger against his armrest. Maybe there was something he could say to Ringo. After all, Kyle knew that egos could destroy bands. For example, his friend Jaxon was kicked out of Prostate Particles because his sweet guitar licks made the other members jealous.
“Hey Ringo.” Kyle said, extending a smile in Ringo’s direction.
“Hi Kyle.” Ringo said, smiling back.
“How is it, being the drummer?”
“It was hard at first, just ask Georgie’s eye. I like this band though. John, George, and Paul are good lads and good musicians.”
“What happened to George’s eye?”
“When we first performed some people were unhappy about me joining the band. They liked the old guy better. George took a punch for me and had the black eye to prove it. It don’t come easy, but nothing does.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Well, sometimes I wish it were easier, with the fans. It’s weird to be disliked not because of anything you did, but because you’re not somebody else. And y’know, I don’t write music or sing much, so it’s like people see me as an interchangeable replacement part instead of an equal member. Mustn’t grumble too much though, this really is a great gig in every other way.”
“I know that sometimes people don’t appreciate drummers enough. But no matter what anyone says, you are the most important member of the Beatles. They were nobodies before they met you, and you’ve given them something they’ve never been able to get from any other drummer. Both musically and vibes-wise. You might not write the songs like those guys, but you set the beat. You are the beat in the Beatles. Without you, they’d be les. Don’t get me wrong, I love lesbians, but this is 1963. The world’s not ready for les.” Kyle didn’t know he had such an inspiring speech in him. ChatGPT wished it could come up with a speech half as good, thought Kyle. Maybe he could become a professional speechwriter.
“Cheers, mate. I appreciate it, really. The other lads get a lot of love. And they deserve it, them three. I haven’t gotten there yet. Audiences haven’t adjusted to seeing me up there with them. You know, it’s a lot to measure up to. Not sure I ever will, but it’s nice to hear you say that you believe in me. I don’t hear it much. And from an American, no less.” Ringo seemed genuinely moved by Kyle’s speech. Would this give him an ego? Kyle hoped so.
“I think you’re the only person in this band who actually seems normal.”
“None of us are normal, though. We wouldn’t be here if we were. We’d be doing ordinary things like everyone else. It might be easier in some ways. But an ordinary life wouldn’t be right for me. There would always be something missing. Don’t get me wrong, no matter how big we end up being, I’ll always be Elsie Starkey’s little boy. But I’m not normal. And don’t be fooled by Brian and Neil and Mal and George Martin and them lot. They’re not normal either. The whole team are a bit strange and broken. But that’s why we can do any of this. It’s what makes us work and it’s why we understand each other.”
“I’d always thought drummers were stupid. You might actually be changing my mind.”
“Well, compared to John, Paul, and George, I’m not really educated. Didn’t really have the chance. If you were a child in hospital they didn’t bother with education. What’s the use in them trying to teach you maths when you’ll probably be dead soon anyway, was the way it was. Maybe if I hadn’t been so poorly as a child I’d have been able to go to grammar school like the others. But I’m not doing too badly for myself, am I? I am naturally intelligent, I like to think. I love to read. And drumming gives you a lot of time to ponder. I’m not just sitting there blankly while we’re rehearsing or performing, you know.”
“By the way, I think it would suit you more if you pushed your hair back. If the other guys ever let you move away from the Beatle cut, maybe consider it.” Kyle said, attempting to sprinkle a seed of disunity in Ringo’s mind now that he’d hyped him up.
“Believe me, the other blokes know that once me beautiful forehead’s on show, it’s over for the rest of them.” Ringo joked, a slight grin and a twinkle in his eye. Of all the Beatles, Ringo seemed the most chill and approachable. He’d gladly hang out with a guy like that. Kyle almost felt momentarily guilty for trying to tear apart his band.
The plane was rerouted from Edinburgh to Aberdeen due to terrible weather all throughout Scotland, and the guy who was supposed to pick them up was back in Edinburgh. Brian booked a taxi to the hotel instead. Liverpool had been a gray blur. Amidst the snowstorm, Scotland was a white blur, rather unlike the green highlands and majestic castles that Kyle had expected to see. Additionally, the scheduled concert was cancelled due to the weather, so Kyle, the Beatles, Brian, and Mal would all be holed up in the hotel. It was two Beatles per room, and while Brian had booked separate rooms for him and Mal, they decided to share so that Kyle could have a room. The room was traditional but simple: cream walls, dark wooden accents and beams, burgundy carpeting and bedding.
After everyone got settled in, Paul knocked on Kyle’s door.
“Come in!” Kyle yelled.
“It’s locked, it’s a hotel door.” Paul said in a slightly whimsical, sardonic tone.
“I’m coming.” Kyle opened the door and let Paul in.
“Ringo must’ve liked about you. I overheard the way he was talking to you. He doesn’t open up like that to new people unless he gets a good feeling about them.”
Kyle was taken aback. A Beatle actually liked him? He genuinely was charmed by Ringo, even if his own motives were less than pure.
“You know, if you want, you’re welcome to come hang out with me and George in our room.” Paul said, those big googly eyes staring through Kyle. He was like one of those creepy murder dolls with the eyelids that open and close.
“You’re rooming with George?” Kyle asked.
“Do you know something I don’t? Unless he asks me to sod off once I get back to the room, we’re bunking together tonight.” Paul said, smirking.
“But you two seem so different. You don’t mind that?” Kyle was genuinely surprised that Paul and George would get along well enough to tolerate each other for an hour, let alone a night.
“We’re like brothers. You know, we sometimes have disagreements, but we’ve hitchhiked and gone on bicycle journeys together. We’ve been out of our minds on prellies and cheap vodka together, performing for sailors and spivs in Hamburg until our legs gave out. Both of us are passionate about music above everything else and we’ve both invested heaps of effort into getting here. We even once wrote a song together. He’s a good lad, our George is.” Paul assured Kyle, who hadn’t even realized that George ever wrote songs.
“You wrote a song together? But I thought the Beatles were Lennon/McCartney.”
“All of the original songs we’ve done so far are Lennon/McCartney numbers, but George and I wrote a song together before we were the Beatles.”
“Why hasn’t he written any more?”
“I think he feels intimidated. John and I have written dozens of songs together and since he’s the kid, he’s not sure he can measure up.”
“What does John think?”
“You’d have to ask him, but we really got into the habit of writing songs together. I don’t think we went into it specifically deciding to be exclusive and monogamous as songwriters, it just sort of happened. Facing each other, bouncing ideas off each other, creating songs. In a way, it’s a bit like sex. There’s passion, intimacy, vulnerability, and if it goes well, you’ve created new life. I suppose we’re a bit set in our ways, doing it just the two of us.” Maybe Ringo was right about all of the Beatles being weird.
“Do you think John would be open to George being more involved? A threesome, so to speak?”
“Christ if I know. It’s John. He can be both the most predictable and the least predictable man on the planet. It also depends on his mood. If John were in a bad mood, George and I would be traitors in his eyes for even suggesting it. If he were in a good mood, I think it’s possible. George’d have to really prove himself though.”
“Well if he’s good enough to write with you, he must be good enough to write songs for the Beatles.” Perhaps he could undermine the Lennon/McCartney songwriting partnership. If George could write too, what would that mean for John and Paul?
“If George came to me and said that he wanted to try writing more, I’d want to encourage him. You know, I want the best for the band, but I also want the best for him. Speaking of, shall we rejoin him?” Paul and Kyle left Kyle’s room and headed back towards Paul and George’s room.
“Hi George! Kyle and I are back.”
George was sitting on his bed reading a book. The TV was on in black and white. Kyle felt sorry for the people of the past. No video games, no smartphones, not even color TV. What a way to live. Kyle was surprised that there was any color in the world at all during this era. He could hardly believe that the Beatles didn’t have gray skin pre-1967.
“Hi Paul. Hi Kyle.” George didn’t look up from his book. Kyle thought that if his mom were to meet George, she’d stop calling Kyle moody. George was the real deal.
“Paul and I were talking about your songwriting.” Kyle said, smiling at George. Kyle didn’t want to smile, but he was on a mission.
“Paul was talking about me? That’s a first.”
“You’re welcome.” Paul winked at George, who scowled.
“But seriously, why? And why songwriting?”
“I was just curious why you haven’t been involved in the Beatles songwriting process.” Kyle reassured George.
“The guitar is everything for me. A bit like Ringo and his drums. I’ll sing a couple of bits, but it’s me main focus. It’s how I spend me time, trying to constantly improve me skills, expand me knowledge. I’m not really much of a songwriter. Not a proper one at least, like Paul or John.” George was so monotone and snarky. What did Paul see in him?
“That’s not true. We wrote In Spite Of All The Danger together. That’s a proper song.” George finally looked up from his book and shyly grinned at Paul.
“One song, what a repertoire.” George dryly mumbled.
“But if you had the chance, would you want to write more songs?”
“Sure, I’d like to write songs. But I’m not an experienced songwriter. I can never find the right words. Any songs I would write now would be no good compared to the songs John and Paul write.”
“If Paul, a proper songwriter, thinks you’re enough of a songwriter to write a proper song with, I think you’re a proper songwriter.” Kyle said, trying to flatter George.
George put his book down. Kyle started wondering how much weight George could bench, but stopped himself. He needed to focus.
“I’m not proper enough to write for the band. Not yet, at least. And you should know, you’re American. You have real rock and roll, real rhythm and blues. The standard is high over there. If we ever want to make it in America, the tagalong guitar kid can’t write. The Nerk Twins wouldn’t have me. Too young and not one of them and that.” George’s tone sounded blasé, but there was sadness in his eyes.
“It doesn’t have to just be their thing. Even Paul thinks you have what it takes.” Kyle felt like he was in a race, about to cross the finish line.
“He said that? About me, little 12-year-old baby brother George Harrison? Not big George Martin, or some other George? And he meant it? He wasn’t having a laugh or doing the old ‘perfect Paul’ routine?” Kyle was surprised by how vulnerable George sounded. Suddenly, the sensitivity and insecurity behind the cynical front became clear.
“I meant it. Swear on me mum’s grave. If you want to write, I want to be supportive. Promise, my intention has never been and will never be to exclude you. John too. You wouldn’t be in the band if we weren’t confident in your abilities. You’re as important to the Beatles as me, John, or Richie.”
Paul patted George on the shoulder. Meanwhile, Kyle wondered who Richie was. He met John, Paul, George, and Ringo. As far as he knew, those were the Beatles. Where did Richie fit in and why hadn’t he met anyone by that name? He sincerely hoped that this mysterious other Beatle, Richie, wouldn’t adversely impact Kyle’s schemes. He was in too deep at this point, he didn’t have time to worry about Richie, whoever he was.
“What about John?”
“I’ll deal with John. We’ll work it out. Don’t worry about it.” Considering that minutes ago Paul had made a point of telling Kyle how unpredictable John was, Kyle was cautiously optimistic about the rift this could create.
“Paul, if you’re actually serious about this, shall we start now?” George asked, in a sudden uncharacteristic burst of excitement, mixed with more than a slight tinge of disbelief.
“I’d love to.” Said Paul, picking up a notebook and sitting beside George on the bed.
“What if we involved Richie as well?” George asked Paul, beaming.
Kyle bid the two farewell for now and decided to return to his room.
Fiddling with the door, Kyle realized that he had locked himself out of his room. Paul must’ve distracted him. Not fair, Paul. What now? Well, Brian seemed like the kind of adult who knew how to deal with situations like these. Kyle knocked on Brian’s door.
“Hello Kyle! Are you enjoying your room?” Brian calmly stood in the doorway.
“Don’t laugh, but I locked myself out. Don’t laugh.”
“Our American knob-head strikes again.” A voice from behind Brian spoke. John Lennon.
“It’s alright, I can get you an extra key. Could you please give me and Mal a few minutes?” What was that supposed to mean? Something sexual? Oh wait, maybe they just had to go down to the front desk. That was probably it.
“Of course. Thanks Brian.”
“Don’t destroy the room while we’re gone.” Mal said, joining up with Brian and exiting the room.
“What are you doing here?” Kyle asked John.
“Brian fancies me. Who can blame him? Sometimes I like to play along. Ensure that I’m not just one of his boys, I’m his top boy.” John’s voice went from just nasal to nasal and effeminate.
“But Mal is here.”
“I don’t have to be alone with him to use me charm on Brian.” Was John secretly gay this whole time? Was Imagine low-key a gay song? Kyle had a lot to ponder later.
“Do you like him?” Kyle took a seat, watching John’s eyes, trying to read between the lines and figure him out.
“In a queer way?”
“Yeah. You like to flirt with him.”
“It’s a game. A fun game.”
What did that mean? Kyle wondered where Yoko was and why she wasn’t stepping in.
“Isn’t he your boss?”
“I hired him, I can fire him. If he has any power, it’s because I let him have it. His job is to serve me, do right by me, not the other way around. No, he’s not my bloody boss. If anything, I’m his boss.”
“You don’t think it’s disrespectful to constantly tease your band’s manager about his sexuality?” Kyle went into interrogation mode. Is this what it felt like to interview a murder suspect?
“It’s fun to tease him a bit. It’s like if you took Paul and made him fully bent, not just a bit camp. How could I not? He’s hilarious to wind up and goes along with it. Look, he plays all posh and bitchy, but he likes having a laugh as much as me. I wouldn’t do it if he didn’t let me. Don’t get me wrong, I respect him. He’s done a lot for the group, and he keeps me in line. Someone has to, and lord knows it’s near impossible. Many have tried, few have the ability or the right.”
”He has to keep you in line?” Kyle leaned forward, further penetrating John with his gaze. In a straight way.
“I’m incorrigible.”
Although John had said it in a faux-posh voice, Kyle thought it was pretentious nonetheless. John using SAT words in casual conversation made him even more annoying. Just once was too many. He may not have been wearing his glasses, but the glasses were still there. Inside him.
“I just talk. I follow my impulses. I make stupid choices. I push boundaries. I get meself in trouble. I’ll probably get the band in trouble. It’s only a matter of time.” John looked away from Kyle and towards Brian’s suitcase. Why was he looking anywhere? He wasn’t wearing his glasses.
“You don’t have to. When you’re famous, people are harder on you. They hold you to higher standards. Maybe, just for the sake of the band, you can start thinking before you act. Your actions don’t just affect you anymore, they affect the rest of the band.” Kyle said, doing his best impression of his mom.
“Christ, you sound just like him. Is this why he let you join the trip? Try to talk some sense into Mad King John?” Even though Mad King John sounded like it could be the name of an actual king, Kyle was 90% certain that John was referring to himself. But that wasn’t very Imagine of him. Who was John Lennon, really?
“Just like who?”
“Eppy. Brian. But also Paul and me Aunt Mimi, for that matter.” John clarified.
“Is that bad?”
“It’s bloody annoying, is what it is. Means you’re probably right and I hate you for it.”
Brian and Mal returned to the room, keys in hand.
“But you love them, the band?”
“Of course I love the band. It means everything to me.”
“Consider it. Sometimes the best decision is the hardest one.”
When Kyle got back to modern times, he planned to have a word with his mom. Her platitudes were spreading to him and it sickened him. He hoped that he wouldn’t start saying these types of things when he wasn’t enacting sinister plots.
The door creaked open.
“The young lady at the front desk was in a mood, but we secured you another key.” Brian said, hands on hips. Kyle felt so smart for figuring that out. Maybe he was psychic.
“Don’t lose this one either.” Mal said, handing the key to Kyle.
“I won’t, I promise. Thank you.”
Kyle waved to John, Brian, and Mal and headed back to his room. John was an iconoclast. His whole thing was sticking it to the man. That was why everyone loved him. He said what everyone else was too scared to say. What good would it do to the Beatles to have a more careful version of John? What would happen to his humor and personality? If Brian got his way, he’d surely be neutered and boring, right?
After all of his sabotage, Kyle was ready for a nap. He collapsed on the hotel bed and quickly fell asleep. He woke up in his bedroom. His cell phone was on the bedside table. Mom was cooking eggs. He didn’t mind the smell if he was making them, but he couldn’t stand the smell if she was. Even if she made them the same way, it just smelled worse. He googled the Beatles to see if his plotting had worked, quietly praying that Google would ask him if he meant to search “the beetles.”
“The Beatles were an English rock band active between 1960 and 1994.” What? That wasn’t right.
Kyle kept digging. They didn’t break up in 1970 and their dissolution in 1990 was amicable. They produced 41 hit albums, won nearly 200 Grammys and were EGOT recipients. All four Beatles, plus Brian and Mal, were still alive and close as ever. All Beatles and Brian had been knighted. The most esteemed songwriting partnership in pop history was Lennon/McCartney/Harrison/Starkey, not just Lennon/McCartney. Starkey? Who even was Starkey? Following Brian’s example, the band stayed away from dangerous substances aside from the occasional dalliance with marijuana or LSD. Although John had occasionally claimed to the press how he would never accept a knighthood, once the offer came, he flaunted the title incessantly. Brian had decided to retire from the music industry after the Beatles split and became a theatre and film producer, through which he met his eventual husband. Mal was heavily involved in the production of the Beatles Anthology and was living in a lovely seaside villa with his family, minutes away from Paul McCartney. Worst of all, Something was still a famous song. How was this possible? What about his sabotage? What did he do wrong?
Kyle checked his messages with Maria.
This user has blocked you.