Lonely One 7

“Hello, gentlemen,” I said lightly as Brian, Mal, Neil, a few others, and the Beatles entered the suite.  “Welcome to the hotel Madison.  Please feel free to relax and enjoy yourselves.  We’ve got food and drink available as well as massages.”
A few nodded to me.  Neil shot me a confused look, but moved on and allowed his coat to be taken.  John and Paul went past me without a glance.  Ringo winked at me, and George just stared.  I hoped he recognized me, but at the same time I wanted to run and hide.
Their sudden appearance drove my mind back to Chicago.  I felt a pang of homesickness, though Chicago wasn’t really my home.  I missed Greg and Jim.
The four Beatles were dressed in their usual suits, though John had already removed his tie.  Paul kicked off his signature Beatle boots and relaxed on the sofa.  Ringo made for the food.  George grabbed a sandwich and made for the corner of the room.
“Can I offer gentleman anything to drink?” one of the girls asked, holding up a bottle of champagne.
A few accepted the offer, including Neil.  After everyone had gotten through the door, I closed it.  I then surveyed the room.  Then I saw Epona.  She was noticeably making eyes at Paul.
“Would you like a massage?” she asked him.
“No thanks, luv,” Paul said kindly.
Epona looked crushed.  I hurried over to her.  “Offer him a drink,” I said quietly.  She did.  He accepted with a smile.
I looked around for George.  He was off in the corner still looking sulky, sandwich consumed.  I wondered if he and the others had had an argument.  Upon further inspection, I assumed it was true.  John seemed very withdrawn as well.  He’d already snagged a girl of his liking and was sitting with her on his lap.  It was the slut.  
Paul had already disappeared behind a bedroom door.  I didn’t know if he was alone or not.
One of the men, who I didn’t know, asked me to join him on a sofa.  I did so, drink in hand.  I enjoyed a pleasant chat with him.  Turns out he was one of Brian’s friends.  I didn’t have to wonder why.  His chatter was a lot more loose and flighty than anyone else I’d ever conversed with.
After talking with him, I allowed myself to be pulled aside by Neil.  He seemed happy as ever to see me, and didn’t question how I’d gotten there.  He asked me how I was and such.  I answered happily, saying I was great.  He told me the Beatles were having a row about touring, George being the most negative about it.  
Neil soon left me standing alone.  I was starting to lose my nerve, wondering what to do.  I felt firm hands on my shoulders.  I turned around and found myself face to face with Ringo’s beautiful blue eyes.
“Fancy seeing you again, Miss Nicole,” he said coolly.
I swallowed hard.  “As to you, sir,” I said, wondering if I should break character.  
“What brings you to the Madison on this night?” Ringo asked.
“My job, sir,” I said.
“I wonder,” Ringo said, stroking his chin.  “Is being a waitress your real job or are you really a soulless concierge looking for a bigger paycheck?”
I gaped at him, lost for words.  I shook my head.  “No, I...”
He released me and walked away toward George.  The latter was staring at me.  The intensity in his eyes shocked me.  It dawned on me that I was doing my charade a little too well.   I turned away, biting my lower lip in frustration.  
“Nicole,” Epona whispered next to me, causing me to jump.  “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I replied smoothly.  “Is everybody happy?”
“Yeah,” Epona replied.  She seemed a bit down.  “Paul’s not interested in me.”
“Give it time,” I said.  “He’s not like John at all, grabbing any girl he can get.  Don’t you worry.  Keep on him.  Look.” I pointed to the bedroom door that Paul had earlier gone behind.  He was back looking happier.
Epona gave me an odd look.  “How do you know these things?  You act like you know them or something.  Did you see the way Ringo was talking to you?” she asked.
“Nonsense,” I said sharply.  I glanced at George again.  He had another girl with him.  I closed my eyes for a moment and then faced Epona again.  “Think you can handle this without me?”
“You’re supposed to stay,” Epona said.
“I can’t handle it,” I said, my voice shaking a little.  “You’ll be alright without me.”
She pulled me aside and put her face close to mine.  “What is your deal?  You waltz in one day, get a high end job, have the assignment of the century, and now you want to leave.  Who are you?”
She was good at being serious when needed.  I avoided her gaze.  “Nobody,” I replied.  
Firm hands gripped my shoulders from behind once more.  I spun around, a fake smile on my face.  The ever so handsome Paul McCartney had me in his grasp.
“So, Miss Nicolette, we meet again,” he said suavely.  I heard Epona gasp behind me.
“Hello, Paul,” I said warily.  “How are you?”  
“I’m doin’ alright, luv,” Paul said.  He put an arm around me.  “I’m a bit confused, though. Think you can help me?”
I bit my lower lip.  My knees felt weak.  “I’ll do my best,” I said.  “It’s my job.”
“Is it?  I thought you were a waitress.  Ringo thinks you’re a mad rabid fan,” Paul said skeptically.  “George doesn’t know what teh think, and John didn’t even recognize you.  So, are you a concierge or are you a waitress?”
I breathed the familiar scent of tobacco and aftershave.  “I... am nobody,” I stuttered.  “I noticed you and the others were a bit angry at life.”
“Don’t change the subject, luv,” Paul grimaced.  “That’s none of your business.”
“Alrighty then.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to leave.”  I twisted from his grip.
“But...” Paul started.  I didn’t hear the rest of his words.  I’d already gotten to the door and was in the hall.  
What was I thinking?  The idea had seemed good before.  Now I felt extremely foolish.  George would have none of me, and I would have none of him.  I had no reason to be there.  I abandoned my duty and, with a heavy heart, proceeded down the hall toward the elevators.  I was finished at the Madison hotel.
“Nicolette,” someone called.    
“What,” I said haughtily as I turned around.  Epona came to a halt, gasping for breath.  She’d been running quite roughly in her high heeled shoes.
“Where are you going?” she panted.
“Away,” I said.
“Why?” Epona asked, her brow furrowed from confusion.
“Why not?” I responded.
“You’re running away?”
I rolled my eyes.  “Apparently.”
“Why?”
I glared at her.  “Why do you care?”
She glowered back.  “You’re walking out on your job, Nicole.”
“And?”
I got another livid look from her.  “George sent me.  He told me not to let you go.  He said he wants to talk.”
Ice filled my veins.  I didn’t know if I should believe her or not.  “If he wants to see me, he’ll have to come after me.”
“But...”
“Aren’t you wondering what’s going on?” I spat.  “I’ve never seen somebody look so confused.  Just ask!”
Epona’s face turned red with anger.  “Of course, but I’m not going to pry, Nicole,” she spat back.  “If you must know, I’m extremely jealous of you because obviously you know the Beatles on a personal level.”
“Don’t be jealous of me,” I said angrily.  “You have no idea.”
“Of course I have no idea!  Fine, get out of here, stubborn,” Epona said.  “Thanks for shooting the messenger.  I have a job to do.”  She left me standing alone in the hall.
“Bye, Epona.  It was great meeting you,” I said sadly.
Once I was in the elevator, I relaxed my shoulders and heaved a deep sigh.  Sadly, I was used to disappointment.  I spent the long ride down thinking about my bleak future.  
I reached my floor and went to my room to pack up and move on.  I changed in to a pair of jeans and a plain green t-shirt.  I then brushed the snarls out of my hair and pulled my long red locks in to a simple ponytail.
My room had a phone in it.  I had half a mind to call Greg.  The phone was up to my ear before I changed my mind.  He didn’t need to be bothered with my problems.  I still missed him dearly.
A knock came on my door.  I set George’s night clothes aside and answered.  Surprisingly, I was staring at George Harrison himself.
“Evenin’, miss,” he said coolly.  “Can I come in?”
He had about four young girls behind him, begging for autographs.  He ignored them and I closed the door and locked it to keep them out.
“So,” George said, flopping down on the couch in my room.  I still stood before him.  “How are you?”
“George, I don’t know what I’m doing here,” I said quickly.  “I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“Isn’t it me who came teh see you?” George asked.
I rolled my eyes.  “Okay, but I’m the one who came to the hotel looking for you first.”
“And you did so quite successfully.  But, I’m still at a loss as to what I should think of you.  Are you the waitress I met in Chicago or are you a concierge from Boston?” George asked.  
“I’m neither,” I said.  I instantly regretted it.
“Oh good.  Now you can tell me who you really are.  Remember the promise you gave me last time we spoke?” George said, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
He had me.  I sat on the bed and crossed my arms defiantly.  “I’m not spilling that easily.  You have to ask me questions.”
George sighed.  “Alright.  Where are yeh from?”
“Colorado,” I answered simply.  I was trying not to explode at him.  I was in no mood to retell my life’s story.
This irritated George.  “Come on.  Be more specific, luv,” he pleaded.
“Nothing to be specific about.  I was born and raised in Colorado,” I said honestly.
“Okay, fine.  Next question.  How did yeh first end up in Chicago, especially alone?  Be specific this time.”
I geared myself up for a long explanation.  But first, I had a question.  “Why are you so intent on knowing these things?”
Quick as a flash, he had an answer.  “I like you,” he said.
“Oh how blunt,” I chided.  Inside I was screaming, outside I was blushing.
“You like me,” George said as though he knew everything.  “You’ve still got my pajamas.”
I blushed even darker and looked down at his folded up clothes next to me.  “So?”
“Right.  Now, tell me.”
I sighed.  “Alright, Mr. Harrison.  If you insist, I will tell you.  
“My father owned Colombia records.  He even helped invent better quality vinyl for records so that they would sound better and last longer.  We were very well off because of it, but he was also gone a lot on business trips.
“Last January my dad was actually home.  It was just him, my mom, and me.  Someone came to our door.  I approached the door with my dad.  When he answered, the strange visitor instantly pulled a gun on him and...”  I stopped, tears forming in my eyes.  “I don’t want to say any more.”
“Come now, luv.  Please?” George pleaded.
I sighed and went on.  “My dad fell.  The man then turned his gun on me.  I was never so afraid in all my life.  My mom came running in the room and put herself between me and the visitor.  ‘Leave her!’ my mother shouted.  That’s the last thing she said before she was gunned down too.”  I balled my hands into fists.  “As my mother fell, I rushed at the man and wrestled the gun from his hands.  He threw me aside and pulled a knife on me, stabbing me in the side.  He then picked up the gun and shot himself in the head.  I watched him blow his own brains out.  I’ll never forget those images.  I’ll never forget my mother’s screams.”
George had been listening very intently.  His face was very somber.  
I began to cry. George got up from his perch and sat beside me on the bed, pushing my almost full suitcase aside.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.  “I wish I knew what else to say.”
I wiped my eyes smearing mascara on my hands.  I was shivering, though it wasn’t cold. “That night at the hospital after my parents were pronounced dead and I was treated, my sister left.  She declared me the reason my parents were dead.”
“Are you?” George asked, removing his suit jacket and placing it around my shoulders.
“What?  No!  I don’t think so... that man looked familiar, but I don’t know why he did what he did.  After all this my brother was shipped off to that damned war and his friend tried to take advantage of me.  I was alone anyway, so I ran away.”
“To Chicago,” George said.
“To Chicago,” I echoed.  “I found a job and somewhere to live.  I got lucky.”
“So that’s how you became a waitress,” George said thoughtfully.  
“Surprisingly, I was hired.  I sort of made friends, and sort of allowed myself to fit in.  I was still very lonely,” I said sadly.
“I can imagine.  So you spent all this time in Chicago.  Why are you in Boston now?” George asked.
I turned away.  “I needed a change of scenery,” I lied.  “When there’s nothing holding me back, why not move forward?”
“And become a hotel concierge the day before the Beatles arrive,” George finished.  “You’re lying to me.”
“So what?” I said angrily.  “You’ve heard enough, anyway.  My life is shit, alright?  I have no life, actually.  This job is a sham and I intend to get the hell out of here.”
George stood and faced me, anger in his face.  “Why did you come to Boston?” he demanded.
I stood as well, my face just below his.  “Why are you so intent on knowing?” I challenged.
“You make me tired,” George said with a pained face.  “Stubborn.”
“Leech,” I countered.  “Intruding on other people’s lives as though you own them.  Acting like everything is easy and free.  Taking everything for granted.  You’re nothing but a spoiled rock star.”
“Yer a right bitch if I ever saw one,” George growled.
“And you’re a bastard,” I said.  “I came to the Madison so that I could talk to you.  I did what I could, and yet I was treated like any fan on the street.  How should I feel when Ringo Starr of all people accuses me of being soulless?  Or Paul McCartney telling me that you, George, were angry with me.”
“You deserved it,” George said carelessly.
I felt anger rising inside of me.  I wanted to punch him.  “George Harrison, get out of my room,” I said, motioning to the door.  
“Make me,” George said, folding his arms.
I took him up on that offer, grabbing him by the arm and throwing him toward the door.  This must have taken by surprise because his reaction was very late.  He caught himself before hitting the door.  I grabbed the knob, wrenched it open, and proceeded to try and push him out.  He resisted, pushing me back on to the couch.  He was stronger than he looked.
I stood and brought up my hand, about to strike him on the cheek.  He caught my wrist in mid plunge.  He stared at my left hand thoughtfully, running a finger over the healing scar.
“Let me be here for you, Nicole,” George said softly.
My knees gave out from under me.  I collapsed on the floor, head in hands.  “For what reason,” I said furiously.  I felt tears forming in my eyes.  
George knelt down next to me and cupped my chin in his hand.  He brought my face up to his.  “Because,” he said simply.  His soft brown eyes bore deep in to my own green ones.  “Why didn’t you just call the number I gave yeh?”
I’d completely forgotten about that.  “I left Chicago so quickly I guess I didn’t realize I could have done that.”
George smiled.  “No matter.  Here you are, with me,” he said.
“I guess my stupid plan worked too well,” I said with a small laugh.
“I must agree with you there, luv,” George said.  “You look absolutely smashing in that concierge outfit.  Still, I like the simple you better.”
I stood. “You’re almost a pervert,” I said with a small laugh.
“And you left Chicago because why?” George asked.
My face grew dark.  “Because I can do what I want,” I said, pushing him toward the door again.
George spun around and wrapped his arms around my waist.  He clasped his hands together behind me.  I couldn’t get away.  “Listen here, luv,” he said calmly.  “You could either let me help you, or lose me forever.  Right here, right now.”  
I don’t know why I answered him this way, but I did.  “Mr. Harrison, you are the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.  You can’t just let things be, can you?  Why not get to know me without digging in to me?  This is only the third time we’ve met.  If being around you means being constantly badgered about my life, then I’m sorry.”  I gently eased his hands apart and pulled away from him.  “I want you to leave.”
George gaped at me, completely lost.  I stood my ground and watched him try to work out what I’d said in his mind.  His face grew more and more gloomy.  Finally, without a word, he planted a kiss on my forehead and left.  Once the door closed, I was on my knees.  I slipped off the jacket he’d given me and threw it against the wall.  I sat back and brought my knees to my chin, wondering what to do next.
How do you refuse one of the Beatles?  Well, apparently I just had.