by Kal Smagh
"After we finish sorting this mail, then we need to get over to the Cavern Club."
"What will we do there? Set up on the stage?"
She laughed. And then she laughed again, shaking her head at the stupid question I’d been dumb enough to ask.
"What did I say?"
"Oh, no. It’s just that's Neil's job. You don't know him. We never go into the Cavern to work. Our job is to sign up people to the fan club outside and get as many of them into the Cavern as can fit. Maybe one day you’ll be able to go in. But right now, I’ll need you outside."
"Are they playing a lunchtime show?"
"Yes. And evening. They’ve played hundreds. I’m surprised you don’t know about it."
I was surprised myself. Perhaps this is what I got from not being connected to anybody and always doing my schoolwork: I was out of touch. Now, suddenly I felt very in touch, but painfully new.
"So, we need to speed through this mail right now and then we need to get over to the club."
I looked at the stacks of mail, breathed deeply, and dove in with both hands. Here was one for George. Here was another one for George. Here were two for Paul. I sorted and stacked and started to smell many different kinds of perfumes on my hands from each one of the letters. Each new envelope opened meant a wafting of scents meant to entice a boy’s interest.
Whap!
Freda slapped the top of her desk. I nearly jumped out of my skin.
I glanced at my watch. What seemed like just a short while later, had actually been over an hour.
"We’ve got to go. We have to set up in front of the Cavern. We’ll be late if we don’t move now."
With that she put on her coat quickly while I stammered and looked around.
"Let’s go." She pushed through the door and I struggled to grab my coat and follow her, going as fast as I could and hoping I didn't trip along the way.
CHAPTER 5: AN AFTERNOON AT THE CAVERN CLUB
She walked faster than me.
On the few blocks walk Freda told me, "We’ll set up in front of the Cavern Club for the lunchtime show. I have a table."
When we arrived, there were already people waiting to get in and the buzz of excitement ran through the street. I let my eyes wander at the assemblage of girls in black tops and gray skirts, others in white shirts and plaid skirts ducking out from school, boys in white collared shirts; all were queued up, impatient to get this show going. Freda ducked inside the door, saying hello to the doorman, while I stood on the street facing throngs of excited teens. After re-emerging from inside, I put out a sign showing "Beatles Fan Club" per Freda’s direction as she unfolded a battered card table. Mustering her papers and putting them in stacks, Freda identified our role was to engage them.
"If there’s a girl, or a boy, who is coming through the entrance we are to ask them to join the Beatles fan club," she pointed to the papers, "Have them sign up right here. Mr. Epstein wants us to do this so we can build a base."
"Got it."
She had just finished her words when were were engulfed.
We had no chance, humanity hit us like a tidal wave from all directions. We were immediately flooded with girls and boys who grabbed our forms and scribbled their names and gave them back to us in just as rapid a manner before bursting through the door to pay their money and enter the Cavern Club. I felt so surprised I had never come down here even though I had been working a year at NEMS. That’s what happens to you, when you focus on your homework, and go straight home in the evenings. You miss out on all the fun things going on. I felt like my head was in the clouds as there was so much energy around us, screaming girls and excited boys and so much grabbing and writing and shrieks. This was only lunch and we had another show ahead in the evening. What would happen then?
There were some strange characters, too. I heard a man shout from down the block on my left, "Wayne!"
This Wayne emerged from the distant right after the crowd surged forward. He had swept back blonde hair and a thin mustache and was around 200 pounds with a medium tall frame, maybe six feet tall. Forties. He seemed familiar, but I couldn't place him.
Freda saw me jerk my head at the shout, touching my arm, saying in a low voice, "Here comes Wayne Prescott. He’s here to steal business from the Cavern Club."
"How would he do that?
"He wants the Beatles to play at his bar and Brian has told him no. You may see him in the offices."
"What would we do then?" I asked.
"Just turn him over to Brian. And don’t take any guff from the woman he’s with. She’s a pushy SOB."
I looked and the woman looked to be in her mid-30s. She was dressed very nicely.
"Who is she?"
"Melanie Bumpus. She’s married to a banker, but the word is they are on the outs and it’s because she is having an affair with Prescott."
"An affair? Is she still married?" Such grown up naughtiness.
"That I don’t know."
Mr. Prescott approached asking Freda, "Brian in there?"
"I don’t know. You can have a look yourself."
Another shout from closer, the man’s voice again, "Wayne!"
From where the shout originated came walking an exquisitely beautiful woman, in her twenties, a highly attractive brunette with striking hair and green eyes. She looked like she could be a model. With her was a tall man easily 6’3" carrying a guitar case who made the original shout to Wayne Prescott, the bar owner. I wished I could be her in my wildest dreams. And able to attract a man like that. A musician no less.
Suddenly, as they drew together in front of our table at the entrance Wayne Prescott turned to the woman, shouting, "You’re a tart." Alongside him the adulteress Melanie Bumpus wore a smug look on her face. Prescott added, "And your boy is a poser."
I saw the beautiful woman’s face fall at his unprovoked rudeness. The man was expressionless as he held his guitar case by the handle, then his jaw fell open in shock and then embarrassment.
The crestfallen woman said, "You’ll never get them to play at your bar, Wayne. The Beatles belong here at the Cavern Club. That’s where we want them." And then she stuck her tongue out at Wayne Prescott and Melanie Bumpus and entered the club, followed by the man. Then it was Wayne and Melanie’s turn as they stood there with shock on their faces.
I suppressed a laugh at how quickly she had turned the tables on them. They turned, stomping off in a huff. I wondered why they didn’t even go in to look for Brian.
Freda said, "That attractive one was Tamara Marylebone. She’s such a fan. She would love it if one of the boys married her. And that way even though she’s in her twenties she acts like she’s still a teenager." She paused and I could tell there was more.
"What is it? Tamara?"
"She throws herself at John. It’s embarrassing."
"And the man? Is he going to accompany the Beatles in this afternoon’s show?"
Rolling her eyes, Freda said, "Oh, God no. Not in a million years. That is Marcus Jacobs and he truly is a poser. He’s not a good musician. And he keeps coming around."
"He comes into the office too?"
"Lately it seems like so many people drop by that want to join the Beatles, or be with the Beatles, that I lose track."
The crowd had thinned down the street and it sounded like the Beatles were tuning up inside the club. Freda continued with sorting papers.
We were going to miss the start and I rubbed my hands together, finally asking Freda "After we finish sign-ups, do we go inside, too?"
She smiled, "Oh, no. Sorry. We have more mail to answer. And we need to process all of this paperwork so that they can begin on our mailing list. Then we do this again for the evening show and get more fans signed up."
As close as I was, I felt so left out as I heard the opening chords to the new single I’d heard on the radio Love Me Do. I asked, "Have you been to their shows?"
She nodded, "Many. Now fold this card table back up and give it to the doorman. I’ll hold
the paperwork."
I broke down the flimsy legs, folding them neatly and snapping them into place. This table had definitely seen better days but it had done what it needed to do. Every part of what we did was for a purpose I was learning.
It felt good to be part of the team and as I picked up the table and carried it to the door, the doorman pushed it open to accept. The music and laughter and the smell of cigarette smoke wafted over me like an exotic perfume in a rock and roll carnival. I could see nothing from the door, but I felt again a jolt of electricity from them. How much I wanted to be in there right now! The doorman accepted the table and then closed the door, extinguishing my glimpse into the Cavern Club, and stoking my hunger to see the spectacle of a Beatles lunchtime show.
CHAPTER 6: GEORGE...(gasp)...HARRISON
We worked all afternoon in the office. In the early evening Freda accepted a phone call and I overheard her say "...yes, yes, it sounds like an errand we can take care of..." I was dying to know if Brian had a tasking. We hadn’t seen him all day and I was eager to show him I was on the job.
She hung up the black phone putting the handset back into the cradle. "It seems George needs an errand run. Are you up to racing across town?"
A flash of excitement and the burst of adrenaline coursed within me, putting my hand to my cheek. "George? Yes of course."
"Excellent. Brian has a package of guitar plectrums for the boys that he obtained in London, only the boys are not able to break away to get them. They supposedly sound better and the EMI recording engineers want them to be comfortable using them...before they go back to record songs again. Brian has had it shipped to a store across the way."
I nodded, holding up several envelopes destined for their Beatle name piles. "I’ll get on it right after I finish this stack."
"Actually," she tapped her fingernail on the desktop, "they need to have the picks before the next show and George is having dinner now. Can you run over to this address? Straightaway?" She wrote out the address on a slip, holding it for me to see.
I looked across the desk, deciphering her writing and recognized where it was located. "Of course."
"In this case, straightaway means now. George needs it in the next twenty-five minutes."
Say no more! I grabbed my coat and my purse and with the address paper in my hand launched myself toward and through the door on the way.
"—Wait! Take the envelope Paul left."
"Take it where?"
"To Brian, he should be another block down from where George is. He is finalizing the contract with the manager of the theater for tomorrow."
Before letting the door close behind me I asked, "Will I meet you in front of the Cavern Club?"
"If you have time, yes, meet me over there."
I raised a finger, asking another question. "One more."
"What?"
"What is George’s last name?"
She smiled like I must be completely daft. "Harrison. Why?"
Of course. I’d seen it on before but it escaped me in being so flustered. "No reason," I said, embarrassed.
"There’s a reason," she smiled. "You won’t have to ask for him at the restaurant by name, don’t worry. But get those guitar items and run them to George where he’s having dinner." She began writing again, "Then go to Brian at the offices here." She handed me Brian’s business card; on the back she’d written the address of a theater's office. I put it and the envelope in my purse and strode out the door, flushed warm with adrenaline.
No money for a taxi, I proceeded on my route half-running, half-walking and then decided running was better. I had my driving license but I did not have a car. My father had made sure I’d earned my license. It would’ve come in handy if I’d had an actual car as well. I went along the streets cutting across and jaywalking where necessary and then checking my watch I realized with a minor heart attack I would not make it to George in the twenty-five minutes.
I broke out in a sprint feeling my clunky black shoes bump along the pavement and noticing the stares from people at the girl who was rushing up the street. I’m sure some people wondered if somebody was chasing me. More than once I bumped into people on the streets. Even though it was turning into evening and it was getting darker outside, most folks seemed to be in a hurry of their own accord and didn’t pay too much notice.
Turning up an alleyway to make up time I jogged up to the mouth...and slammed into a man on my exit racing the other way. It probably looked funny from high above, but it hurt, and we bumped knees. We were both sent careening. My items were scattered and I leaned on hands and knees to recover them. I picked myself up, mumbled "sorry" and then kept running where I finally reached the store.
"Oh, crap!" I was down to seven remaining minutes and still had blocks to go! I found the store. Out of breath the clerk handed the small package to me while I mouthed thank you but could not summon the words to properly enunciate as I took off out the door again.
Bursting down the block I turned right and then left and then right again, huffing along and feeling the sweat wetting my neck. I raced up to the address, and there I found George. Seeing him right through a window, in plain view from the street was a godsend. He was seated in a diner talking with a girl, and his plate was nearly empty. I was just on time.
I waved to him and he didn’t respond, just a flick of his eyes then turning away, no recognition registering. Damn my plainness! I pulled the plectrums out and raised them for him to see, shaking the bag like a maraca. He raised his eyebrows now in recognition and waved me around to the door. I tried to take a calming breath, feeling the tops of my lungs burning.
I pushed my way into the room, still holding up the bag like a magical elixir and he was my patient. I was really a stranger to him since we hadn’t actually spoken earlier. Standing before his table I was so completely out of air I couldn’t say anything clearly other than "...From Mr. Epstein (gasp)...Freda sent me (sucking in) ...here you go (gasp again)."
Accepting, "Thank you." He smiled at me and it melted my heart.
It seems like today I was surrounded by beautiful people and new friends and I could barely speak, so out of breath. With that I backed away from the table, jarring-bumping into another diner’s table.
"Excuse me!"
"So sorry!" I heaved, sweating and I’m sure smelly. The poor man had spilled coffee on his lap and now sat in wet underwear I imagined.
George let out a small laugh and then said, "Be careful walking back."
The girl whispered, "She's like a bull in a china shop."
George said back, "She's done me a favor. I'm thankful."
I didn't have a moment to bask in this adulation. I needed to get to Brian.
CHAPTER 7: AN EVENING AT THE CAVERN CLUB
Frantic.
I had more to do and the clock in my head was loudly counting down. I dug back into my purse and checked the address on the business card, and doublechecked I still had Paul’s envelope. It was two blocks over and I used the time to catch my breath, my feet throbbing from my sprints through the Liverpool streets. At the theater office I knocked at the door labeled "Promotions and Marketing". There was no immediate answer so I opened the door and was greeted by an older lady secretary.
"I’m looking for Mr. Brian Epstein. He’s supposed to be in a meeting here."
"He’s gone on. Ten minutes or so ago."
"Did he say where he was going?"
"He did not, young lady."
Well, that was that for now. I had no idea where he was. I trudged back out to the street, and proceeded to the Cavern Club. I expected Freda would be setting up. I had not felt this happy in a long time. I wanted to shout happily to somebody about what I was doing and what a day I was having, but I had no other friends to speak to yet until I would come to Freda.
#
Upon reaching the Cavern Club the crowd was already lined up around the block. Freda had the table set up and girls and boys crowded around filling out her forms. From a dis
tance as I approached it resembled a film I had seen from the Amazon where piranhas attack in a feeding frenzy. Only I was meant to go into that melee. This is what Freda had been contending with through the fall months; berserk kids sugared up and ready for a show.
I made my way through them to the front and felt how heavy my legs were after my sprints. It was a madhouse, and still so much time before the show was to begin.
She half shouted over the din of happy teens, "Oh, good, you’re here! How did it go?" A boy was reaching around me to pull a form from the table where I’d stopped in front. Freda motioned for me to come around to her side.
"George was perfect. I missed Brian. Didn’t see him, he’d gone."
Two girls cried out, "George! George Harrison? Where did you see him?"
A synchronized group of teenaged heads caught wind of my words and all turned in my direction, riveted on my next statement as if I were the Dalai Lama himself descended from the mountain top. Freda’s face was expressionless except her eyes; she looked at me hard like I'd just made a mistake, seeming to sense something was coming.
I offered, facing the crowd, feeling conspicuous, "At his supper."
"Oooowh!" A collective gasp gripped the cluster. Some shook heads marveling at my fortune.
"Oh! Is he still there?" one shouted.
Another probed further, "Where was it?"
"What did he eat?"
I offered, "Green beans."
"Oooowh!" A gasp waved across the crowd as more gathered round.
A boy said, motioning to a distant group of others to join, "She had dinner with George."
Cries rang out, "Dinner with George! Who?"
"Are you his girlfriend?"
I said, "No." I wasn’t anyone’s girlfriend.
Another said, "I don’t get what George sees in her."
I insisted, "I’m not his girlfriend."
"Were the other Beatles there?"
"No."
"Are they all at the restaurant now?"
"No!" I shook my head emphatically, catching Freda’s grin and then her waving arms to the crowd.