Paul jumped off the third row, turned around, gave us a contemptuous and hurtful look, and yelled:
– Fools! I’ll prove it!
– What? – John muttered to himself with a smirking face, – that you’re not all talk?
The whispers in the rows grew louder.
– Hey, hey… What are you guys doing? Starting a quarrel? I don’t play like that! – came the dissatisfied voice from the fifth row. There, surrounded by a group of amazed girls, sat Ringo, looking like a distracted businessman on vacation, detached from everything.
And then, something happened that no one could have expected.
Paul started running around the small area in front of the rows of chairs arranged like an amphitheater, covering his head with his hands and shouting: “Help! Help! I need somebody!” – then, for some reason, he rushed toward me, threw himself onto a nearby chair, and burst into tears. I started to calm him down, but then, apparently moved by the scene, John sympathetically said:
– Hey, you! Actually, Paul’s a good guy and writes decent songs. Don’t be mean to him, – forgetting the unflattering words he had just said about Paul.
Only then did I notice John. No, I knew he was part of the group, but it was only now that I really became aware of his presence. He was sitting with George in the fourth row, not trying to take the spot surrounded by girls, like Ringo.
I left Paul, who had, in the blink of an eye, gained the attention of the fans, and went to the fourth row, to John. But I sat, for some reason, to the right, next to Harrison.
George immediately brightened up, turned to me, and with a quiet, seductive voice said that he was happy to see me again and that I was the first person to pay attention to him today. I convinced him that I wasn’t the last.
John, however, sat next to George, in what could be described as a state of nirvana – no, wait – at least nowhere. He sat with his arms crossed over his chest, distractedly observing the party. He was barely interested. Fame and recognition had long since intoxicated him, even back in the early concerts at the Cavern. Now, until he got bored, he enjoyed his uselessness and solitude.
While chatting with George, I kept an eye on Lennon. Noticing my rare, brief glances, he stared at me intently with a devouring look (which I steadfastly endured!), and then, demonstrating his indifference, stretched his mouth into a huge smile that lasted only a moment, and then he resumed his precious self-reflection.
Noticing that I wasn’t listening to him, George fell silent. And then… a light nudge from the right. I turned my head and realized that my head had touched the armrest in the subway train. I woke up… There were no Johns, no Beatles, no party – nothing.
“Ah, what a pity,” – I thought, – “George was so sweet!”