The Girl Who Became a Beatle

by Greg Taylor

  “You’re gonna do just great,” he said with a smile as the extras took their places in the hallway and the first AD told everyone to be quiet. When the cameraman took his place behind the camera, and the director said, “Let’s shoot the rehearsal.”

  We wound up shooting a lot more than the rehearsal. I was glad, too, because I totally stunk the first few times around, to be honest. Which is probably why we had to do the scene so many times to get it right. The director didn’t say that, he was very encouraging, but that’s the impression I got.

  I knew it was my nervousness that was making my one line sound so stilted, so unnatural. I was surprised at how nervous I actually was. I’d already acted in the music video, after all, and played on the Shrine stage, for gosh sakes. But this was different from both of those things. In the music video, I had “acted naturally,” as Ringo once sang. I was just being myself. On the Shrine stage, I was playing a song I knew by heart.

  Here, I was playing a character. A total airhead is what I was playing. Besides that, there were all these silhouettes of people moving back and forth behind the bright, hot lights, and then there was the sudden call for “Silence!” and suddenly it was deathly quiet and then it was “Action!” and then you were supposed to act as though you really were standing in a high school hallway and it was daytime, not night as you knew it really was outside. It gave me a new appreciation for actors, that’s for sure.

  Bradley was really sweet about it all. He complimented me after each take, told me I was doing great even though I knew I wasn’t, especially when I called him Bradley a couple times instead of Zane. But by the last take, I had finally relaxed and was even starting to enjoy myself.

  When the first AD announced, “That’s a wrap!” Bradley totally embarrassed me by leading a round of applause for my “film debut.” Then, in front of the entire crew of P.C.H., he gave me a kiss.

  There was a big “whoo-hoooo!” from the people on set when Bradley kissed me. Then cast members started coming up and congratulating me on my scene, and Melissa invited Bradley and me back to her trailer for a little wrap party. And that’s when those seven little words popped up yet one more time. (Third time the charm?)

  A girl could get used to this.

  * * *

  I noticed something when I was with Bradley and Melissa and some of the other P.C.H. actors in Melissa’s trailer. They were all a little older than I was—not by much, a few years maybe—but they seemed to be light-years more worldly. More sophisticated. It was how they expressed themselves. What they talked about. I felt like a kid among adults.

  So I kept kind of quiet, but nobody seemed to mind because everyone was loud and talking over each other, and they were all pretty hyped up. I figured that was because it was the end of a long week of filming. Sort of like getting out of school on Friday. It was that kind of manic energy.

  Only the P.C.H. people talked about maybe flying up to Tahoe for a bit of skiing or maybe going to Vegas and catching a show. Heck, I was happy to go sledding at a place in Twin Oaks called the Arboretum. That was my idea of a fun weekend in February. Assuming there was snow, of course.

  Anyway, after a while, I said good night to everyone, and Bradley walked me to my limo. Bradley looked kind of down all of a sudden. It was the first time I’d seen him like that.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothin’.”

  “Yes, there is.”

  Bradley looked hesitant to say anything.

  “You can tell me anything, Bradley. You know that.”

  After a moment, Bradley said, “Melissa just told me she got a movie.”

  “What?”

  “Melissa. She’s doing a movie on our hiatus.”

  “Well, that’s great, right? Now you’re both doing a movie on hiatus.” Bradley had told me about his movie when we were in the cemetery.

  “Yeah, but hers has a bigger budget.”

  I couldn’t believe what Bradley had just said, it was so ridiculous. “You’re not telling me you’re upset because Melissa’s movie has a bigger budget than yours, are you?”

  “C’mon, Regina. You know how competitive it is out here. You’re competitive with other bands, right?”

  I thought about the Circuit Club and how they were going to snatch Danny and Lorna away from the Caverns and how I had tried to persuade Mrs. Densby to give the Caverns the Back to School gig instead of letting DJ Jimmy do it. That was being kind of competitive, I guess. Still …

  “Melissa’s your friend, though, Bradley. She’s on the same show as you. I’d think you’d be happy for her.”

  “I read this quote once,” Bradley replied. “It was by a famous writer or something. He said…” Bradley took a moment to recall the quote. “ ‘It is not enough to succeed. Others must fail.’ ”

  “Ouch. That’s rather stringent.”

  “That’s rather L.A., Regina.”

  As I thought about that, Bradley’s face suddenly brightened. “Melissa doesn’t have tomorrow to look forward to, though, does she?”

  Tomorrow? What was tomorrow?

  “I’ll see you at the Grammys, girl.”

  Oh, right. I had gotten Bradley a backstage pass, which he was really excited about.

  “I’ll see you in geography,” I said, then smiled. I guess Bradley didn’t think that was very funny, or maybe he didn’t get it right away, ’cause he just looked at me, deadpan. But then he kind of chuckled.

  “I better get going,” I said, then I gave Bradley a quick kiss and hopped into the Hummer. As Abernathy drove off, I looked back. Bradley was still standing in the darkness by the soundstage. Then the Hummer took a left turn, and I couldn’t see him anymore.

  24

  Sitting in the back of the Hummer on the way to the hotel, I found myself thinking about the strange conversation I just had with Bradley. But I shook off the thought and tried to concentrate, for the first time, really, about all the things that needed to be done after Dad and Julian and Danny left on Sunday. (Lorna had already gone home.)

  First thing, of course, was Mom and I had to deal with the Beverly Hills place. I wasn’t sure what all you needed to do to buy a house, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t as simple as just handing over a bunch of money.

  Second, the house was ridiculously huge, so we’d have to get all kinds of furniture for it.

  Then, by the time Mom and I got settled into our new digs, I’d probably have to go on tour with the Caverns.

  After that, it would be time to start recording my solo album. I was looking forward to figuring out what Beatles/Bloomsbury songs were going to be on it.

  All the while, I’d be hanging out with Bradley and the P.C.H. people and Rory from the Instigators and who knew who else?

  Incredible! It was still hard to believe all this was actually going to happen. Before my tipping point, I was just playing a fantasy game. And trying to have some fun. But now … this was what I’d truly wished for. A busy, exciting, never-a-dull-moment life!

  I was in the midst of my mental musings when the limo passed the Hollywood Bowl. The sight of the H.B. sign stirred something in me. Something powerful. Something important.

  But I was too caught up planning my future to put my finger on what it was. As the sign disappeared from my field of vision, the divider between the front and back seats of the limo slid silently into its slot.

  “You OK?” Abernathy asked, looking at me in his rearview mirror.

  “Sure. Do I look OK?”

  “I guess. It’s good to see you smile again, that’s for sure. Considering what happened back there on the floor yesterday.”

  “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

  “It’s not the first time there’s been a fight in my limo. Won’t be the last, I’m afraid.” Abernathy left the divider down but was silent as he continued down Highland Boulevard. I think he was being polite, not putting the divider back up. That way if I wanted to continue the conversation, I could. Which I did.

  �
�Abernathy?”

  “Mmhmmm.”

  “How long have you been driving a limo?”

  “About ten years.”

  “Must have seen a lot of stuff over those years. Driving celebrities around.”

  “The good, the bad, and the ugly. Some I’ve driven when they first got to L.A. Wide-eyed and innocent as babes, they usually are. Then I’ve driven them after they’ve made it.”

  “You mean, like me?”

  Abernathy frowned. “No, I didn’t drive you when you first came to L.A.”

  Woops. I should have known that. “So … do these celebrities change much?” I asked, anxious to deflect attention from my latest slipup.

  Abernathy studied me in the mirror. He looked as if he were wondering why I had asked the question. His answer was slow and cautious. “From what I’ve seen, Regina, fame is kind of like a tidal wave. You might see it coming, sense it coming, but there’s not much you can do to avoid getting swept up in it. It’s just too powerful.”

  “Are you saying these people get stuck-up?” Some of the P.C.H. people struck me as being that way, actually.

  Before Abernathy answered, we stopped at a red light next to a bus that was totally painted—back to front, top to bottom—with an advertisement for Meet the Caverns! It gave me a bit of a start. I’d never seen a bus “wrapped” like that back home.

  “I think what it is, is some of these people come to think of themselves as the center of the universe,” Abernathy said as the bus drove off, spouting exhaust in its wake and obscuring the Caverns’ larger-than-life faces in a black fog. “And they’re not, of course. Nobody is.”

  Abernathy’s statement hung in the air as he drove the rest of the way to the Sheraton. He guided the limo into the circular driveway, got out, and opened the door for me. As I slid out of the backseat, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. Handing it to me, he said, “I’m off for the night. But if you need me for anything, don’t hesitate to call. OK?”

  “Thanks, Abernathy.” Abernathy tipped his hat and got back into the car. I waved good-bye, then walked to the revolving door and pushed through it. When I got to my room, I checked my messages.

  “Why didn’t you call?” (Trey.)

  “Sorry I missed your call. I’ll be at Starbucks until they kick me out.” (Julian, before I saw him at Starbucks.)

  “You missed out, girl. Great shopping trip! See you tomorrow!” (Mom.)

  “Have you listened to my CD? Good luck at the Grammys!” (Stuart, the kid in the stairway.)

  “Hi, I’m driving home. Just wanted to say you did great tonight, Regina. Everyone on P.C.H. loves you. By the way, so do I. Sweet dreams!” (Bradley.)

  I smiled at the last message. Bradley actually said he loved me!

  Heading across the room, I slowly peeled off my clothes and threw them on the floor. Entering the bathroom, I laughed when I saw myself in the mirror. I’d handed in my P.C.H. outfit after filming was over but forgot that I still wore my Halloween face and hair.

  “Look at you!” I said, pointing in delight at my mirror image. But my smile quickly faded. When I was wearing my tarty clothes, it all went together. It was a costume. But I was down to my tank top and underwear, and my makeup and hair looked absurd. Scary, really.

  So I stripped the rest of the way and jumped into the shower and washed off all my makeup and the gel out of my hair. When I emerged from the shower, I looked like a baby. Seriously. Naked. No makeup. Just me. The original Regina.

  The original Regina …

  What did I think about her at that point in my wish-world journey? To be honest, I thought she was kind of naive and old-fashioned and just so totally out of it, as far as being in the real world was concerned. It was clear to me that it was time to say good-bye to the original Regina, time to leave her behind.

  But I couldn’t. Not just yet.

  I stood for a while, looking in the mirror, and that kicked off all kinds of thoughts—moving to L.A. and Julian and Bradley and Dad and Mom and the Instigators’ Rory—then I got tired of thinking so much, so I turned away from myself, put on the fluffy white bathrobe that hung on a hook on the bathroom door, and slapped off the bathroom light on my way out.

  I sat on the sofa and watched a bit of TV after my shower. I was pretty tired from another long, intense day, but I needed to unwind, so I clipped my toenails and watched the end of Pretty in Pink, which was playing on TCM or one of those channels.

  “Why are you going back to that guy?” I yelled at Molly as she and Andy what’s-his-name stared moonily at each other in the hall after Molly left the prom. I’d seen the movie several times, and it always bugged me that Molly couldn’t figure out that she and Ducky belonged together. It ruined the whole movie for me, that ending.

  I turned off the TV when the credits came on and got into bed. “Well, Regina?” I called out in the dark to my Regina Beatle doll on the nightstand. “Ready for our big day tomorrow? It’s gonna be the first day of the rest of our lives!”

  The Regina doll looked as ready as she’d ever be. But was I? Was I absolutely ready to accept those Grammys and leave my old world behind?

  What’s with you, Regina? I scolded myself. Of course you’re ready. You’ve made your decision. Onward and upward!

  I rolled over, pulled up my covers, and quickly nodded off. Ah, but that did not mean I was about to have a good, restful night’s sleep.

  Quite the opposite, actually. There would be another one of those very real IMAX-type dreams. And a nocturnal visit to one of L.A.’s most famous places. And an absolutely surreal experience that would make the past few days look like kids’ stuff.

  25

  I have to explain about “Saturday Night at the Movies” before I get into my night-before-the-Grammys dream.

  I was about seven or eight when Dad jump-started our weekly movie event. On that appointed day, Dad would rent two movies, and he and Mom and me would settle in for a double feature. Dad wanted us to have SNATM because that’s what his family had done when he was a kid. Only they went to the Echo or Colonial Drive-In theaters. That was back in the day, before all the drive-in movies were closed down.

  I remember Dad telling me how much he loved those nights at the Colonial and Echo, mainly for the movies but also because it was one of the few times his entire family was together. So he wanted to re-create that for me.

  It worked. Like Dad, I loved my version of Saturday Night at the Movies. So much so that he and I kept it going even after Mom left. I think it became even more special after that. More necessary. When I hit my teens, though, our private movie club was disbanded. After all, what self-respecting teen wants to stay at home on Saturday night, watching a movie with her dad? But for a period of about four or five years, it was great.

  So anyway, Saturday Night at the Movies is where I was in my night-before-the-Grammys L.A. dream. Sprawled on the sofa in my Twin Oaks living room, watching Help!, the Beatles’ second film.

  Dad’s on one side of me. Mom’s on the other. We each have our own bowls of popcorn. I’m a little girl.

  Then, suddenly …

  The TV, as though responding to the snap of a magician’s fingers, does a very strange thing. Images from my L.A. journey—and the people populating that journey—replace Help! and begin flickering on the screen, one after another.

  L.A. from the air.

  Dad.

  Julian.

  The Caverns’ Sunset Strip billboard.

  Abernathy.

  Bradley.

  The Beverly Hills home with the guitar-shaped pool.

  Mom.

  Trey.

  The Grammy rehearsal at the Shrine.

  Lorna.

  Chris Rock.

  The Hollywood Bowl.

  Rory.

  Danny.

  Some of the images return, over and over. Some don’t. Confused, I look to my parents for some explanation. But …

  They’ve disappeared! I’m all alone on the sofa
!

  I’ve never felt so alone in my whole life.

  The images suddenly speed up and become a mesmerizing blur. I’m hypnotized, looking at them. I forget about how lonely I am. Like the whirring pictures on a slot machine, they begin to slow down.

  I’m glued to the TV screen, anxious and excited and somehow knowing that the final image on the screen will be very important.

  Slower …

  and …

  slowwwwwer …

  the images …

  tick …

  by …

  until …

  finally …

  JACKPOT!

  The final image!

  Wait … what?

  What does that mean?

  My eight-year-old self sits on the sofa, staring at the TV with a frown, disappointed and confused. She has no idea what the final image on the screen is supposed to mean.

  * * *

  But I did. When I jolted awake with the image of the Hollywood Bowl in my head, I knew exactly what it meant.

  Passing the Bowl earlier had stirred something in me, but I was too busy imagining my famous future to really care what that something was. Now, as I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, I was amazed that I had burrowed so far into my wish-come-true world that I hadn’t immediately responded to the sight of the famous Bowl sign.

  What’s so important about the Bowl?

  The Beatles played two historic concerts there, in 1964 and 1965. I know that because I have the album, Live at the Hollywood Bowl. Or, rather, used to have it. Like Shea Stadium and the Cavern Club, the Bowl is hallowed ground in the Beatles universe.

  So the thing I knew when I woke up from my Saturday Night at the Movies dream was, I had to go to the Bowl. Right then. At that moment. At … (a glance at the digital bedside clock) 3:39 a.m.!

  Did you ever see Field of Dreams? That was one of Dad’s SNATM selections. Kind of a guy flick, but I liked it just the same. (Mom didn’t.)

  Anyway, in Field of Dreams, this farmer-type guy is out in his cornfield and suddenly he hears this voice that says, “If you build it, he will come.” Then he sees a vision of a baseball field in the middle of his cornfield. Just like that, he knows he has to build a baseball field in the middle of his cornfield. He just knows it, and he also knows that something very important will happen if he does. He just doesn’t know what that something is.