The Lasses From Liverpool

Joan scanned the ocean of screaming adolescent male fans as she and her band mates emerged from the airplane. She elbowed her best friend and co founder, Paula, in the side. "Looks like they're glad to see us." "Aye," Paula agreed. The four young women had just flown into the airport in New York City. They were scheduled to appear on the Ed Sullivan Show the following day. After achieving fame in their native England, and also West Germany, they'd decided to tackle the United States. The police had to use tear gas to get the throng to part so the musicians had a path to their waiting limousine. A reporter intercepted one young man. "How do you feel about meeting the Beatelles for the first time?" "I'm going to marry Joan!" The youth's voice was high pitched, squeaky. "But Joan's already married," the reporter pointed out. "Well, maybe they'll get a divorce, or he'll have an accident, because I have to marry Joan!" Hearing this, Joan smiled and thought of Cyril at home with baby Julia. Sure, she was married, but she didn't intend to let that stop her from having as much fun as she could. The foursome reached the limousine and piled into it. Teaming masses still surrounded it, so the driver had to wait for the path to be cleared before he could drive his famous passengers to their motel. When he reached the motel, the driver saw the screaming fans had arrived there ahead of him, holding placards with the name of their favorite Beatelle on them. He opened the driver's side door, only to knock a pimply faced boy with braces to the ground. "Please, let us pass!" he shouted. In the end, police assistance was required again. Inside the motel room, the four lasses relished the peace and quiet. "Me head is spinning!" Joan complained. "I feel like an animal in a cage." Paula rolled her huge brown eyes at Georgia, who sat on the floor with her legs crossed, meditating. "I've no idea how she can be so calm." Regina, all ten fingers laden with rings, was juggling her drumsticks. She dropped one, and it fell right onto Georgia's head. Georgia didn't notice. "We'll get through this, you and me, together." Joan clapped Paula on the shoulder. "Hey, what about me and Georgia?" asked Regina. Paula rolled her eyes. "All four of us." At last the big moment arrived, and the 'Fab Four' were playing on the Ed Sullivan Show for all the country to see. As they began to play their hit 'He Loves You (Yeah, Yeah, Yeah)', security guards had to keep hysterical young men from literally climbing onto the stage. As Paula strummed the strings of her left handed guitar, she thought of her father looking down on her from heaven. He'd be so proud of me, she thought. Just then something soft hit her face and fell to the stage. Someone had thrown a red rose at her. Too bad it would be all brown and wrinkled when they got back to Liverpool, as she'd promised her little stepbrother a souvenir from America. By the time the concert was over, Paula and the others were very tired and just wanted to go back to the motel, but they had to fight their way through the mob first. The second Paula stepped off the stage, three teenage boys were in her face, begging for her autograph. She signed autograph after autograph until her pen ran out of ink and she had to borrow one. By the time she was finished, it was almost dawn. On her way out, someone shoved a sheepdog puppy into her arms. "I'll call you Matthew," she decided as she held the puppy close on the way back to the motel. Once they were inside their room, Joan glowered at her. "You aren't seriously going to keep that animal in here, are you?" "Why not?" Paula replied. "He's cute!" Regina swaggered over with a big grin on her face. "Groovy, aye?" she drawled. Paula lay back on the bed and held the puppy at arm's length. "I think I'll write a song for you. 'Matthew, My Dear.' How do you like that?" The puppy promptly peed all over her Edwardian era dress. "Bloody hell!" Georgia was walking down the sidewalk wearing a blonde wig and dark glasses as a disguise when she happened upon an instrument store. Of course, she had to go in and look around. "May I help you?" asked the store manager. "I'd like to see that instrument over there." Georgia tried to make her voice sound as American as she could. "You speak the Queen's English very well," replied the manager. "What brings you to this side of the pond?" "Do you mean to tell me you can't tell the difference between the Queen's English and Scouse?" Georgia was so indignant she forgot to be careful. "No, I can't." The manager frowned. "Anyway, what brings you to the states?" "I'm on holiday." The manager retrieved the instrument. "This is a sitar," he said. "It's used to play Hindustani music in India. Would you like to hear how it sounds?" "Of course!" The manager strummed a short tune on the sitar. Georgia grinned. "Absolutely smashing! I'll definitely have to add that sound to my band's repertoire." "And what band would that be?" "Um, never mind. I must be going. Thank you for the demonstration." She made a hasty retreat. In the blonde wig and dark glasses she'd borrowed from Georgia, Regina strolled down the sidewalk in front of Broadway, stopping to admire the posters in front. She'd always wondered what it would be like to be an actress. Being the drummer for the most famous band in the world wasn't bad, of course, but that didn't stop her from wondering what it would have been like if her life had turned out differently. She was still standing there when a trio of young men approached her. Alarmed, she took a step back. "You're just the girl we're looking for!" one of them cried. "We're doing a play about prehistoric times, and our cave woman's sick today," explained another young man. "Could you fill in for her for just today?" "I'd love to!" Regina entered the building with the young men and was soon busy performing in the play. Everything was going fine until her blonde wig slipped off. She didn't have time to retrieve it before someone yanked the glasses from her face. "Look, everybody!" he crowed. "She's Regina, the drummer for the Beatelles!" With dozens of adoring young men in hot pursuit, Regina ran for her life. After their visit to the United States, the Beatelles returned to England and continued their successful career. They had many number one hits and broke several records, but Joan once stirred up controversy by claiming the Beatelles were more popular than God. Record burnings followed, especially in the Midwest and Deep South of the United States. When their sales began to slip in the late sixties, the group attempted to get more attention by claiming Paula had been killed in a car crash and replaced with a double. It worked, but only temporarily. In the end, creative differences and other factors led to the band's splitting up in 1970. Joan married a Japanese Avant-garde artist, and the two of them had bed-ins for world peace. Paula married an American photographer, and together, they started a seventies pop rock band which was also highly successful. Georgia also had a successful solo career, and Regina became an actress. In 1980, Joan was murdered by a crazed fan just two months after her fortieth birthday. Tragedy also struck Paula when her beloved husband, Louis, succumbed to prostate cancer in 1998. Louis and Paula's son, Stuart, gained his own fame as a fashion designer, designing clothing for the rich and famous as well as upscale department stores around the world. Georgia joined a second girl group, the Traveling Wild Berries, in the late 1980's. She died of throat cancer in 2001. The surviving Beatelles, Paula and Regina, continue to entertain the world with their music and acting, respectively.