1964, February
Maya's POV
I watched the minutes tick by. I had only 10 minutes left until I could go home, and it would be the start of my lovely holiday. The French café was half-empty, only the usual clients lingered, drinking their coffee and reading the newspaper calmly.
I sighed. I hated working at the café, and although my parents had money, they wanted me to work to get mine.
'' It'll build character'' I mumbled to myself, recalling my father's words.
I suddenly heard screams, and I saw girls running in front of the shop. I slapped myself in the head mentally and thought: Of course, February 7th; they're here.
I laughed slightly, the girls running and screaming were Beatlemaniacs, and they were quite embarrassing. I adored them myself, but, I wasn't going to run after them because I knew it would be stupid. I looked at the clock again, and gave a shriek of happiness; my shift was over, and I was free. I removed the apron and threw it on the counter. I left a note for my boss:
'' Dear Mr. Jackson,
See you in two weeks. Maya''
I walked on the same path the frenzied fans had gone on a few minutes ago and sighed, I just wanted to get home.
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Paul's POV
We were being chased by a crowd of screaming American girls, and we were carrying our instruments with us. So much for running away and taking a lovely stroll through the streets of New York.
John, George and Ringo were laughing, and I was laughing along with them. This was quite a funny situation. As usual, our plans had failed. We had managed to slip out of the studio without even Brian noticing us until the fans caught up with us. I suddenly realized that it had been quite idiotic of us to carry around our instruments but the thought really hadn't occurred to me at the time. We kept running. We crossed into an empty street, we saw an alley and tried to hide. We could hear the fan's screams and I knew that they would catch us. I looked around desperately for a door, a window, and then I saw it: the window of a first story apartment, inviting us in. I shoved my bass guitar through the window and motioned for the boys to follow me. They didn't hesitate, the screams were coming closer. I climbed through, falling into something rather hard and slippery: a bathtub. I managed to pull the bass guitar unto the floor before John fell on top of me, being followed by George ,Ringo and their instruments. We closed the window and breathed a sigh of relief.
'Erm... Paul?' asked Ringo
'Yes?' I answered from under John
'Where are we?'
' I don't know' I laughed and then continued ' Could you blokes get off me? I can't breathe properly.'
Ringo looked embarrased and got out of the bathtub, helping George and then John out. I exhaled fully and got up myself. I looked around, taking in my surroundings: a sink, a mirror. I walked into the corridor and found a door in front of me. I opened it, succumbing to my curiosity. I chuckled and grinned:
'' Looks like we found ourselves a Bob Dylan and Beatles fan''
The room was plastered with posters of the folk singer, and posters of us. The bed was small, the walls were adorned by a few shelves lined with books: Jack Kerouac's On the Road, Albert Camus's L'Etranger and Emile Zola's L'assomoir. There was a phonograph on the bedside table and a pile of records lying beside it. There was Please Please Me and With the Beatles, two Rolling Stones singles, two Bob Dylan albums and other albums. John sat down on the bed, propping his guitar against it, George sat down on the rug and Ringo looked out the window.
'' Now what, Captain McCartney?'' asked John, looking at me.
'' I dunno... If we wait for this person to come home, we could ask her to hide us. I don't want to go back to the studio, my throat hurts, I am sick of it, I want a few days off''
George looked at me and nodded, giving his approval. Ringo muttered something under his breath and John sighed. '' If this girl is a crazy fan, you're paying for it.'' He then smiled and closed his eyes, nodding off.
