Beatles Ahoy!
- Thread starter Bri2k
- Start date
The Beatles got out of the car on Albemarle Street and looked around. They saw a figure approach from a block away who had an uncanny resemblance to the late Brian Epstein. It was only once the man had come closer that one caught the subtle differences, such as the more conservative cut and colors of his Saville Row suite and tie.
"Gentlemen, good to see you again," Clive said as he reached out a hand towards Paul.
Paul kept the handshake brief and Clive then shook hands with George, Ringo, and John. Had Mr. Epstein been less wrapped up in his thoughts, he might have noticed John's hand was cold and a little clammy. He opened the door to the NEMS office and led the Fab Four inside.
Shortly they were in a well-furnished, yet not ostentatious office. Clive sat down behind his desk and the Beatles took the four chairs placed in a semi-circle in front.
"I'm glad we could meet and I'm more than ready to handle this or any other business you require. I must say, this is an unprecedented opportunity! Were it not for the long delay caused by those troublesome engines, the ship may have indeed sailed without you."
Paul, George and Ringo chuckled but John appeared far away and seemed to miss the joke.
"To start, I've drawn up a management agreement between us that you'll need to sign," Clive said as he put a thick legal form with multiple carbons on the desk near Paul. "I'll represent you for the rest of the year with an option to extend it for an additional two years at a royalty of 15% of gross income."
"15% Clive?! Yes we need help, but that's a bit steep isn't it?" Paul asked a little incredulously.
"Look Paul, Brian took 25 and everyone including the fookin' gardener takes 15 once you add expenses. Besides, you can't really put a price on trust can you?" Ringo said calmly.
John returned to the moment and got up from his chair and approached the desk.
"Got a pen, Clive?" he asked.
"Gentlemen, good to see you again," Clive said as he reached out a hand towards Paul.
Paul kept the handshake brief and Clive then shook hands with George, Ringo, and John. Had Mr. Epstein been less wrapped up in his thoughts, he might have noticed John's hand was cold and a little clammy. He opened the door to the NEMS office and led the Fab Four inside.
Shortly they were in a well-furnished, yet not ostentatious office. Clive sat down behind his desk and the Beatles took the four chairs placed in a semi-circle in front.
"I'm glad we could meet and I'm more than ready to handle this or any other business you require. I must say, this is an unprecedented opportunity! Were it not for the long delay caused by those troublesome engines, the ship may have indeed sailed without you."
Paul, George and Ringo chuckled but John appeared far away and seemed to miss the joke.
"To start, I've drawn up a management agreement between us that you'll need to sign," Clive said as he put a thick legal form with multiple carbons on the desk near Paul. "I'll represent you for the rest of the year with an option to extend it for an additional two years at a royalty of 15% of gross income."
"15% Clive?! Yes we need help, but that's a bit steep isn't it?" Paul asked a little incredulously.
"Look Paul, Brian took 25 and everyone including the fookin' gardener takes 15 once you add expenses. Besides, you can't really put a price on trust can you?" Ringo said calmly.
John returned to the moment and got up from his chair and approached the desk.
"Got a pen, Clive?" he asked.
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It was one of his favorite dreams. The sunlight glinted off the dew on the green grass in a meadow that opened up beyond the wood. He enjoyed the warmth of the light as he stepped out from beyond the trees. The colors were almost supernaturally vivid and he caught the scent of wildflowers in the air. He walked for a bit, feeling the breeze in his hair and the softness of the ground beneath his feet. After a while, he came to a rail fence. An equine figure came out of the distant haze. As it came closer, he noticed the animal wasn't a horse, but the mythical unicorn. He snuggled deeper into his pillow as the unicorn nuzzled his shoulder in the dream. He reached in the pocket of his mac and pulled out a peach. The unicorn made a pleasant, almost musical whinny as he leaned closer to take the fruit.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Paul awoke with a start, wishing the banging on his front door would stop. It didn't. He got out of bed, slipped on a robe and went into the foyer.
A tired and very worried looking large man stood in the doorway.
"Mal? What are you doing here?!" Paul asked, not just a little miffed.
"I'm sorry Paul, I tried the buzzer but you didn't answer, so I let myself through the gate.
Paul was beginning to regret giving Mal the pass code which he'd done for the sake of convenience.
"What time is it?" Paul asked, shaking his head to try and wake up.
"Almost two. Look I need your help. It's John. He's in this bloody horrible cellar and I can't get him up on my own."
"A cellar? Can't be worse than the fookin' Cavern. Alright, let me get dressed." Paul said as he turned back towards his bedroom.
A while later, a van pulled up to a dilapidated house on the aptly named Hanky Place in Southwark. Paul and Mal could hear the music before they got out of the van. Mal led Paul in the door of the house where a party was going full blast. They wound their way past couples involved in some drug-induced form of interpretive dance. They came to a door and opened it. The light was even dimmer here as they made their way down a flight of creaky stairs.
Paul noticed a figure wearing a fur trimmed buckskin vest slumped over against a wall in the shadows. Mal leaned down.
"John, John...I've brought Paul."
An incoherent mumble escaped John's lips.
Paul leaned down.
"John? Come on, John! Time to go. Get up, John!"
John mumbled again but didn't move. Paul took hold of his shoulder and shook him. John lifted his head slightly. His eyes were slits and there was a drop of spittle on his chin.
"Alright we're gonna have to do this the hard way, Mal."
"I figured as much."
They reached under John's arms and raised him back up to his feet. John's sleeves bunched up and Paul noticed dark marks on his forearms in the dim light. Together, Paul and Mal got John up the stairs, out of the run-down house and into the back of the van. Paul slammed the back door shut with more than a hint of disgust.
"Carrying fookin' lazy Lennon around. Doesn't that beat all! Tell me what happened, Mal."
"Well I was home and got a call from my mate down at the Adam & Eve. See, he's the barman there and he said John was in the back, out of it and I'd better get him before the coppers do. Well I went down and managed to get John going. He didn't seem quite himself, like he was sick or something. Still, he laughed off my questions."
"So how'd he end out in the cellar, Mal?"
"Well I asked him where he wanted me to take him. Me missus would have my head if I took him home. I was hoping he'd go back to Eric's or something. He insisted we go to this "bloody great party full of beautiful people". I thought it best to stay with him, but I lost him in the crowd. Finally I ran into this ruddy loud Yank who told me to look in cellar. Do you think he needs a doctor, Paul?"
Almost on cue, a groan was heard from the back of the van.
"Owww me fookin' head! Where the hell am I?"
Paul smiled and turned to look at John.
"No, Mal, just take us back to my place."
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Paul awoke with a start, wishing the banging on his front door would stop. It didn't. He got out of bed, slipped on a robe and went into the foyer.
A tired and very worried looking large man stood in the doorway.
"Mal? What are you doing here?!" Paul asked, not just a little miffed.
"I'm sorry Paul, I tried the buzzer but you didn't answer, so I let myself through the gate.
Paul was beginning to regret giving Mal the pass code which he'd done for the sake of convenience.
"What time is it?" Paul asked, shaking his head to try and wake up.
"Almost two. Look I need your help. It's John. He's in this bloody horrible cellar and I can't get him up on my own."
"A cellar? Can't be worse than the fookin' Cavern. Alright, let me get dressed." Paul said as he turned back towards his bedroom.
A while later, a van pulled up to a dilapidated house on the aptly named Hanky Place in Southwark. Paul and Mal could hear the music before they got out of the van. Mal led Paul in the door of the house where a party was going full blast. They wound their way past couples involved in some drug-induced form of interpretive dance. They came to a door and opened it. The light was even dimmer here as they made their way down a flight of creaky stairs.
Paul noticed a figure wearing a fur trimmed buckskin vest slumped over against a wall in the shadows. Mal leaned down.
"John, John...I've brought Paul."
An incoherent mumble escaped John's lips.
Paul leaned down.
"John? Come on, John! Time to go. Get up, John!"
John mumbled again but didn't move. Paul took hold of his shoulder and shook him. John lifted his head slightly. His eyes were slits and there was a drop of spittle on his chin.
"Alright we're gonna have to do this the hard way, Mal."
"I figured as much."
They reached under John's arms and raised him back up to his feet. John's sleeves bunched up and Paul noticed dark marks on his forearms in the dim light. Together, Paul and Mal got John up the stairs, out of the run-down house and into the back of the van. Paul slammed the back door shut with more than a hint of disgust.
"Carrying fookin' lazy Lennon around. Doesn't that beat all! Tell me what happened, Mal."
"Well I was home and got a call from my mate down at the Adam & Eve. See, he's the barman there and he said John was in the back, out of it and I'd better get him before the coppers do. Well I went down and managed to get John going. He didn't seem quite himself, like he was sick or something. Still, he laughed off my questions."
"So how'd he end out in the cellar, Mal?"
"Well I asked him where he wanted me to take him. Me missus would have my head if I took him home. I was hoping he'd go back to Eric's or something. He insisted we go to this "bloody great party full of beautiful people". I thought it best to stay with him, but I lost him in the crowd. Finally I ran into this ruddy loud Yank who told me to look in cellar. Do you think he needs a doctor, Paul?"
Almost on cue, a groan was heard from the back of the van.
"Owww me fookin' head! Where the hell am I?"
Paul smiled and turned to look at John.
"No, Mal, just take us back to my place."
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Not here. Clive finds it hard to let go of Brian's legacy and that it's advantageous from a tax perspective to keep NEMS. This proves a wise move after NEMS acquires the rights to various mid-level artists, such as Tim Buckley whose U.K. tour and subsequent LP are wildly successful.
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Google QE2 and Engine Troubles. Pretty sure on the websites about the ship, you'll find mention of her engine problems. Here are some links:
http://www.chriscunard.com/qe2_history.php
http://www.thegreatoceanliners.com/qe2.html
http://www.theqe2story.com/forum/index.php?topic=3934.0
Hope this helps!
It had been four days but it seemed more like four years. Paul, George, Ringo and Mal kept watch over John in rotating shifts, helping him get from bedroom to the bathroom and back again. The first night was the hardest. John wasn't easy to control and only Mal's size and strength kept him from going to feed the dragon. After the second morning, John stayed mostly in bed, shivering and shaking. Many times George and Ringo wanted to give up, but Paul reminded them what was ahead if only they could get John back on his feet.
They were gathered around Paul's kitchen table, sharing a joint while they had tea when they heard John grumbling from his room. Paul got up from the table and returned before the joint had made another round.
"I think Mr. Lennon's back among the living. You three could use some rest. I think I can handle it from here," Paul said. George smiled as he put the joint down in a small brass ashtray and got up. Ringo and Mal followed him to the door.
Paul went into the guest room and saw a tangle of blankets and sheets on a bare bed with a tousled mop of hair sticking out of the far end.
"That you, Paul?" the mop asked.
"How're you feeling, John?"
The mop of hair rose a little with the tangle of bedding and finally John sat up. His face was pale and there were dark smudges under his eyes. Even though he hadn't shaved or washed for days he looked better than he had for a while.
"Like I got hit by the number 10 bus but better than last night." John leaned over and reached for his trademark round glasses and put them on. He made a silly face at Paul like he was squinting to see him but then disliked what he saw.
"Think you can handle some tea?"
"Fookin' cure for everything. I can try."
John got out of bed, put on his jeans and shirt and followed Paul out to the kitchen. He sat at the table, head in his hands as Paul got him a cup and poured the tea.
"Got a smoke?"
"Now I know you're better. Back to cadging fags off me again."
Paul handed John a Stuyvesant and lit it and then took one himself.
"Off Senior Service, then Paul? What'll the neighbors think?"
Paul chuckled as John took a sip of his tea.
"John I was never so worried. Reminded me of when me mum was sick."
John took a drag off his cigarette and then had more tea, a thoughtful look on his face.
"It's always our mums, isn't it then?"
"Not sure what you're on about..." Paul trailed off.
"Fookin' always this hole inside! Nothing seems right without Julia."
"Well, they say time heals all wounds, but I could bloody well say differently meself."
"Always empty. First Cyn then Yoko, but you can't fill it no matter how you try," John explained introspectively.
Paul watched the smoke from his cigarette curl as it rose towards the ceiling. The conversation took him back to that cold, dreary October day so long ago when he ran all the way back to Forthlin Road, the rain mimicking his tears. His father seemed to have become smaller in his own grief and the world was now forever changed. The memory was far from welcome and the feelings of emptiness and despair it brought were palpable.
John crushed out his cigarette and took another sip of tea. While his jaw was set resolutely, it was obvious from his eyes that he was losing the battle to fend off his emotions.
"Christ! Do they have to take every fookin' last thing?!"
John put his head down on the table and sobbed. Paul put an arm around his shoulder and after a moment, John raised his head.
"Look John, some things you can't change. All you can do is try to get on with it. Would Julia or me own mum want to see us sad all the time?"
"Christ you know it ain't easy, you know how hard it can be, I've lost Julia now I can't find me!" John sang flatly as he removed his glasses to wipe his eyes.
"That's it, John. Not what you've been doing, but that, that's it!"
"What are you on about, Paul?"
"Fook you can either take it out on yourself or you can put it in the music. Whatever you do, you can't keep going the way you have!"
"I didn't think anyone cared. I kept hoping to just go away..." John said quietly.
"I need you, John, we all need you! It's like that time outside the Litherland Town Hall, remember?"
"Us against the fookin' world. Poor Stu..."
"We do it not only because of them, but for them, John! Dig?"
John brightened, "Where are we going, Paul?"
"To the top!" Paul replied.
"Where's that?"
"To the topppermost of the poppermost!" Paul exclaimed.
"And fook Allen Klein with his bleedin' pipe!"
The two friends started laughing and found it difficult to stop.
They were gathered around Paul's kitchen table, sharing a joint while they had tea when they heard John grumbling from his room. Paul got up from the table and returned before the joint had made another round.
"I think Mr. Lennon's back among the living. You three could use some rest. I think I can handle it from here," Paul said. George smiled as he put the joint down in a small brass ashtray and got up. Ringo and Mal followed him to the door.
Paul went into the guest room and saw a tangle of blankets and sheets on a bare bed with a tousled mop of hair sticking out of the far end.
"That you, Paul?" the mop asked.
"How're you feeling, John?"
The mop of hair rose a little with the tangle of bedding and finally John sat up. His face was pale and there were dark smudges under his eyes. Even though he hadn't shaved or washed for days he looked better than he had for a while.
"Like I got hit by the number 10 bus but better than last night." John leaned over and reached for his trademark round glasses and put them on. He made a silly face at Paul like he was squinting to see him but then disliked what he saw.
"Think you can handle some tea?"
"Fookin' cure for everything. I can try."
John got out of bed, put on his jeans and shirt and followed Paul out to the kitchen. He sat at the table, head in his hands as Paul got him a cup and poured the tea.
"Got a smoke?"
"Now I know you're better. Back to cadging fags off me again."
Paul handed John a Stuyvesant and lit it and then took one himself.
"Off Senior Service, then Paul? What'll the neighbors think?"
Paul chuckled as John took a sip of his tea.
"John I was never so worried. Reminded me of when me mum was sick."
John took a drag off his cigarette and then had more tea, a thoughtful look on his face.
"It's always our mums, isn't it then?"
"Not sure what you're on about..." Paul trailed off.
"Fookin' always this hole inside! Nothing seems right without Julia."
"Well, they say time heals all wounds, but I could bloody well say differently meself."
"Always empty. First Cyn then Yoko, but you can't fill it no matter how you try," John explained introspectively.
Paul watched the smoke from his cigarette curl as it rose towards the ceiling. The conversation took him back to that cold, dreary October day so long ago when he ran all the way back to Forthlin Road, the rain mimicking his tears. His father seemed to have become smaller in his own grief and the world was now forever changed. The memory was far from welcome and the feelings of emptiness and despair it brought were palpable.
John crushed out his cigarette and took another sip of tea. While his jaw was set resolutely, it was obvious from his eyes that he was losing the battle to fend off his emotions.
"Christ! Do they have to take every fookin' last thing?!"
John put his head down on the table and sobbed. Paul put an arm around his shoulder and after a moment, John raised his head.
"Look John, some things you can't change. All you can do is try to get on with it. Would Julia or me own mum want to see us sad all the time?"
"Christ you know it ain't easy, you know how hard it can be, I've lost Julia now I can't find me!" John sang flatly as he removed his glasses to wipe his eyes.
"That's it, John. Not what you've been doing, but that, that's it!"
"What are you on about, Paul?"
"Fook you can either take it out on yourself or you can put it in the music. Whatever you do, you can't keep going the way you have!"
"I didn't think anyone cared. I kept hoping to just go away..." John said quietly.
"I need you, John, we all need you! It's like that time outside the Litherland Town Hall, remember?"
"Us against the fookin' world. Poor Stu..."
"We do it not only because of them, but for them, John! Dig?"
John brightened, "Where are we going, Paul?"
"To the top!" Paul replied.
"Where's that?"
"To the topppermost of the poppermost!" Paul exclaimed.
"And fook Allen Klein with his bleedin' pipe!"
The two friends started laughing and found it difficult to stop.
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I'm not sure how convinced I am that Macca of 1970 would be so maternal to Lennon. Definitely in 1960, Probably in 1964, maybe even in 1967, but 1970? His voice and dialogue in these updates is the winking, doe-eyed Paul of A Hard Day's Night, not the bearded, jaded, businessman slash serious pop rock star of 1970. The one that has had it up to here with Lennon's shit.
Paul had had enough of exactly the kind of thing you're describing and no amount of money is gonna make him babysit a smack addled Lennon. Where's Linda, by the way? No way she's opening Betty Ford center in her parlour for Winston O'Boogie.
I like the concept, but it seems you're going about it in a sort of fanfiction kind of way that is both less than realistic and a slave to too many major PsOD.
I'm not bitching, I'll still read it and help in any way I can. I just think the v.2.0 is going to be much better, maybe even switching from this narrative style to news clippings or biographical updates then back to conversations.
I will say that the interactions have been very touchingly sweet. It's nice to think of the band as this kind of way. But it's 1970, they're all hurting, marrying, moving on, and most vitally: they're all adults now. Finally.
That might be the biggest factor in breaking up the Beatles, ultimately. They hadn't had to grow up since they were 21 or 22. After all the business and women and failure and stress something finally destroyed the Beatles: Adulthood.
That is something I'm not seeing a lot of in TTL's 1970 and I think it's hurting my perception a little.
That said, I don't hate the idea or the execution. There's a lot of potential here, and it's awful ballsey of you to take it on. Good work and let me know how I can help if I can.
Paul had had enough of exactly the kind of thing you're describing and no amount of money is gonna make him babysit a smack addled Lennon. Where's Linda, by the way? No way she's opening Betty Ford center in her parlour for Winston O'Boogie.
I like the concept, but it seems you're going about it in a sort of fanfiction kind of way that is both less than realistic and a slave to too many major PsOD.
I'm not bitching, I'll still read it and help in any way I can. I just think the v.2.0 is going to be much better, maybe even switching from this narrative style to news clippings or biographical updates then back to conversations.
I will say that the interactions have been very touchingly sweet. It's nice to think of the band as this kind of way. But it's 1970, they're all hurting, marrying, moving on, and most vitally: they're all adults now. Finally.
That might be the biggest factor in breaking up the Beatles, ultimately. They hadn't had to grow up since they were 21 or 22. After all the business and women and failure and stress something finally destroyed the Beatles: Adulthood.
That is something I'm not seeing a lot of in TTL's 1970 and I think it's hurting my perception a little.
That said, I don't hate the idea or the execution. There's a lot of potential here, and it's awful ballsey of you to take it on. Good work and let me know how I can help if I can.
Much obliged for the feedback, Admiral, and you make some good points. Maybe it's naïve hope, but here the rancor and bitterness is less than in OTL. I'd pictured Paul being more agreeable because of the opportunity to play live again and make a nice payday. Here Paul sees that John's at the end of his rope and there's nobody else to help him. When I think about how the Beatles ended, it makes me wonder what happened to the deep bonds they forged in the early days. Sure, I could write this so they were the way they were in OTL, but if I did that, I don't think they'd ever play together live again or be able to continue on as a group. However, after considering your input, I'm considering a rewrite of the last update.
As for Linda, she's going to make an appearance soon...
As for Linda, she's going to make an appearance soon...
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Well, you could always put the divergence sooner, before the September 1969 point of no return. Before that, at least according to Lennon, McCartney was still talking about where the group was headed after Abbey Road. While he did reject Cold Turkey, as late as August 1969, McCartney may have been willing to keep up his natural diplomacy if it meant the group together. Though he is the one who split them up as a legal unit, McCartney seems to have been the last to accept the end, and had the ship proposal happened before John Lennon announced his divorce from the group, McCartney might have been willing to go along with it and endure Lennon's antics if it means the Beatles continue to exist.
I'm writing multiple posts because I'm using a kindle, which won't let me scroll down very far. Anyway, I do not want to come across negative, and I know you put a lot of effort into this, but I still think a slightly earlier divergence would help, both because you could avoid the 1969 defacto split, and the whole McCartney Let it Be problem, which would go a decent way towards making the boat performance more likely to happen. You might need a divergence earlier than that, before George Harrison quit in January, as one if his terms for returning was the dropping of any concert plans.
It wasn't so much performing live as it was performing in front of an audience of Beatle fans throwing jelly beans at him that Harrison was absolutely hostile to, well that and he thought the comeback concert ideas were absurdly grandiose. I think he agreed to the rooftop concert because it was a work around those issues. It really wasn't until 1971 that Harrison was comfortable performing in front of an audience that was there intentionally to see him in particular. I think he became more comfortable with the idea after performing briefly with that group Clapton toured with, but I might be misremembering things.
Thank you for your ideas, Glass Onion. You're not being negative at all and your input is appreciated. There's some other PODs that I haven't mentioned yet concerning John, Yoko, Paul, Linda and Let It Be. I've glosses over some of the issues with George but I'll be trying to see if I can pull some of the loose threads together. It's ironic, but when I started this, I toyed with keeping the original date of the QE 2's maiden voyage, but May, 1969 seemed a little early for some of the other things I wanted to include.
Would August/September 1969 be too early? Because there might be a brief time window there where such a performance could happen given a few compromises. George Harrison would be a problem, and I honestly do not know how to fix that. If a proposal is made in August, before Lennon has finally decided to leave, and for the right amount of money, John Lennon might be willing to go along with it, as he nearly was a decade later when he was offered enough money to "stand on my head for half an hour."