Paul was depressed.
He had come back to Liverpool with his father, who thought that Paul was being silly and unreasonable in not wanting to leave those unsavoury boys and come Home with him. He thought Paul would be happy again once things were back to normal, and had set about trying to make Paul's life the way it had been before he'd left. After Mehr than a Monat of concerts with his band, Paul found this mundane and unsatisfying, and having to attend school and do homework and chores after being so close to becoming famous was torture.
Paul was late starting high school, but the other people in his class had heard the rumours of why he was late and regarded him like a minor celebrity. Boys kept trying to stop him in the halls to talk about what it was like to have almost become a rock star, and girls were queueing up to datum him, whispering and giggling whenever Paul passed them. People called him "the rock star" and he was very beliebt among his classmates. But Paul didn't care. For the first time he could remember, he didn't feel like talking to anyone, even to the girls. He couldn't bär talking about being a rock star, sterne now that that dream had been snatched away from him.
Coming Home was worse than going to school, because there he had to face his father. Paul was so upset about how his dad had made him come back Home before his dream was fulfilled that he wouldn't speak to him. Jim, in turn, felt that Paul was being unreasonable and had gegeben up on speaking to him, except when telling him it was time to do a certain chore oder to go to school. Jim felt that rock Musik had corrupted Paul's mind even Mehr than John and Ringo had, and that the solution was to remove Paul from everything to do with it. He wouldn't let Paul listen to his rock and roll records, and there had been a big fight the Tag Paul had returned, because Paul had flat-out refused to go to the barber's and change his hairstyle. He was keeping that relic of the old Beatle days. He would wear his hair like this forever, keeping himself as close as he could to the Beatles, even if he couldn't be with them.
Michael didn't say much about the whole fight, just tried to stay out of the way and not get caught in the crossfire. But he seemed to be on Paul's side. Once he stopped him when their dad couldn't hear him and said, "Too bad about your band. I might have tried to become a rock star, sterne meself if Du had managed it."
Jim was still Friends with Mr and Mrs Harrison, and that was probably the only reason Paul was allowed to see George on occasion, but they never had much to say. George was as upset about the dreams they had Lost as Paul was, and told Paul that his parents barely let him out of their sight anymore. "You'd think I was two years old." Both George and Paul missed being a foursome. They'd found out, the Tag after they'd gotten home, that John and Ringo had been let out of the police station once their families had been contacted, and sent back home. But getting to see them was impossible. Paul's dad kept such a close eye on everything he did that there was no way Paul could get to erdbeere Fields in the hopes of meeting John, and he had no idea where Ringo lived, though he thought it was much further away that John and thus even harder to manage.
Paul spent most of his free time in his room, staring at the walls. Even if he had still had access to his rock and roll records, he wasn't in the mood to play them. It would be too much of a reminder of what he had almost had. He couldn't ever bär to look at a newspaper, remembering how at one point his picture had been found on the front page. Paul was beginning to think that he would never be happy again.
Then one day, everything changed.
It was early December, and Jim had sent Paul to get the mail. Paul had obeyed without a word, as he had taken to doing every time his father spoke to him. As he sorted through the mail on his way back to the house, though with none of his former curiosity, he noticed suddenly that three letters were addressed to him.
The letters were all typewritten and official-looking, not from anyone Paul knew. A tiny part of Paul was disappointed, since that meant these probably weren't from John oder Ringo trying to get in touch with him, but mostly, his curiosity was sparked now. Who would be Schreiben to him from an official company?
As soon as he got inside, Paul tossed the rest of the mail onto the küche tabelle and had a look at his own three letters. The first one was from a company he had never heard of, and postmarked from the United States. When he opened the envelope, the first thing that fell out was a pay cheque. Confused, Paul looked at it, and his eyes popped open as he saw the amount it was good for. Even without being familiar with American dollars, he could tell that this was an incredible sum of money. There had to be some mistake. Who would be sending him that much money?
There was a letter inside, too. It read,
"Dear Mr. McCartney,
"This is to inform Du that we have begun to distribute your record 'Strawberry Fields Forever/Penny Lane' in our record stores. While we realize selling a demo tape may be unprecedented, we hope Du understand that with such high demand for your records, we felt it was best to make an exception. As we had no indication of which member of the 'Beatles' is entitled to the royalties from your record sales, we contacted your manager, who advised us to divide your share of the profits among the four of you. Please find enclosed a check for your quarter of the money."
Paul was stunned. That much money, and for just a quarter of the sales of the Beatles' demo tape???
The Sekunde letter was also postmarked from America, and was sent from the head offices of something called the Ed Sullivan show. Mehr curious now than before, Paul opened it up.
"Dear Mr. McCartney,
"Mr. Ed Sullivan had come to see Du and your band, the Beatles, at Madison Square Gardens in September with the intent that, if Du impressed him, Du would be invited to appear on his variety show. We were very disappointed to find your slot had been cancelled" - "That makes two of us," murmured Paul to himself - "but since hearing of the unprecedented success of your demo tape sales, Mr. Sullivan has decided to give Du a chance. We have written to your manager to arrange a time that will be convenient for Du and your band...."
Paul's herz beat faster as he raised his eyes from the letter. A warmth was rushing through his body, like a long drink of hot Schokolade after a cold winter day. He felt alert for the first time in ages.
Hands trembling, he turned to the third letter. He was a little surprised to see that this one came from England. The return address sagte it was from EMI studios, on Abbey Road, London. He read:
"Dear Mr McCartney,
"Word has reached us at EMI Recording Studios of the unusual success of your band, the Beatles, in New York.
"We understand, however, that Du are a British band and hope this means Du want your records to come from a British studio. We would like to invite Du and your band to meet with our record producer, George Martin, who may decide to take Du on here at EMI.
"We look vorwärts-, nach vorn to your reply...."
Paul put down this letter too, hands trembling with joy. A laugh escaped his lips. "We did it," he cried, unable to hold back. "We did it!"
Jim and Michael came into the room, attracted Von the sound of Paul's laugh, something they hadn't heard in a very long time. "Paul? What's happened?"
Too thrilled to remember he was angry with his father, Paul thrust the letters towards the pair of them. "We did it! I told Du we could," Paul added to his father, who took the letters and read them with a slight frown.
Mike had a look over his dad's shoulder. "Paul's a real rock star! I knew something like this would happen," he added. "You always get away with everything."
Jim was silent for a long while, Lesen over Paul's three letters with no change in his small frown. Paul finally broke the silence. "Well - can I go?"
Jim looked up, as though he'd momentarily forgotten anyone else was in the room.
Paul went on. "I mean, to this Ed Sullivan Zeigen and to meet with this record producer and everything. This is what I've been waiting for," he added. "It's what I've been trying to do this whole time. Think about me future, just like Du said. This is my future, I don't want another one, and I've done it! I told Du I could!"
Jim looked at Paul a long moment. "Yes, Du have," he responded slowly. "I see you've impressed a lot of people, Paul." He turned to the letters again for a moment, possibly to give himself Mehr time to collect himself. "Are Du sure about this?" he added, turning back to Paul. "It will be a lot of hard work, living like this. I don't want to see Du struggle."
"You won't," Paul assured him fervently. "I don't care if it'll be hard. This is what I've wanted since - well, since I first heard rock and roll! And it won't be hard at all. I'll have me mates with me." He glanced quickly at his dad, hoping he wouldn't be told he still couldn't see his mates even though their band had become successful.
Jim paused. "Yes. I suppose Du will have your mates with you. Du -" He looked at Paul, unsure of what to say - "you and your mates accomplished quite a lot while Du were gone. I'm proud of you."
Paul smiled. "Thanks, Dad."
"But I'm not proud of your running away," Jim went on sternly. "From now on, Du tell me exactly where you're going to be when you're running around with this band of yours. And I'd like to meet your manager, know what sort of man is looking after my son when I'm not around. And your bandmates, too. And be sure Du look after yourself when you're off doing your band work...."
But only one part of this lecture got to Paul. "You mean I can do it?"
Jim gave his eldest son a small, twisted smile. "It doesn't seem I can stop Du - so yes, Du may do it."
Paul made a happy sound and launched himself into his father's arms, giving him a big hug.
Paul wriggled excitedly in the backseat of the car. It was about a week after the fateful letters had arrived - enough time for Jim to meet with and approve Brian Epstein, and for Brian to accept the invitations on behalf of the band, and arrange the times. The Ed Sullivan Zeigen appearance would be in a few days, and the Beatles would be flying there before coming Home to meet with George Martin at EMI Studios.
Jim pulled into the airport and turned round to smile at his son in the backseat. "Well, here we are. Are your Friends here yet?"
Paul scanned the crowds waiting to take the planes, sure he'd spot his mates right away no matter how crowded it was. Sure enough, it wasn't long before he saw the three teenage boys, hair cut exactly like his.
"They're here, Dad! Bye, see Du soon, Liebe you!" Paul gave his dad a quick one-armed hug and a KISS on the cheek before he scrambled out of the car and ran towards his three best Friends in the world, two of which he hadn't seen in ages.
"John! Ringo! George!"
"Paul!"
John was beaming like his face would teilt, split in two, arms spread wide in welcome. Ringo gave a delighted laugh to see the foursome reunited. George grinned happily as Paul came over, looking like the grin was hurting his face but not caring.
"Paul! There Du are! What do Du mean, not seein' us for two months?"
Paul giggled. "I missed Du too, John."
"Let's not get soft, Paul."
Ringo gave Paul a pat on the back that was something like a hug, but not quite. "Good to see you, Paul."
"Your dad didn't try to arrest Du instead of letting Du come?" John inquired.
"I'm glad mine didn't," George put in. "They did cry a lot, mind. I keep telling them I'm not a baby anymore."
George's parents could be seen at the edge of the crowd, where Jim had just gone over to Mitmachen them. This time, Ringo's mum and stepfather, and John's Aunt Mimi, were there, too, and all the adults were talking, seeming to get along well. George's mum did look teary, and she waved at George and blew him a kiss.
"She won't stop embarrassing me," George complained, but he smiled, because no matter what his parents did, they had still allowed him to be here with his mates, becoming the biggest band in the world. Going to the Toppermost of the Poppermost.
"There's Brian." Ringo pointed out their manager in the crowd, waiting for them. "Over here, Brian!"
Brian came over to the lads as Ringo waved. "There Du are boys, good. Now, I've drawn up a schedule for your time here, so there's nothing for your parents to worry about; they've talked to me a lot about whether you'll be safe, sicher on this tour, so no wandering off this time. I want Du to practise as much as Du can before the Ed Sullivan show; you've gone months without playing together...."
"You don't have to tell us to make up for Lost time," Paul assured him happily as the lads began to follow their manager onto the plane. "But first..."
"Pillow fight!" cheered John, snatching a kissen from a Zufällig sitz and tossing it at George.
"Lads, lads!" protested Brian. "Save it till the plane takes off!"
The Beatles found their seats, and looked out the window at where their parents were standing, all waving at the plane though they couldn't see where their sons were anymore. The Beatles all waved back.
"Onward to America!" John announced, settling back into his seat. "And to the Toppermost of the Poppermost!"
Paul grinned like he had never grinned before. He knew John was right. The Toppermost of the Poppermost was only a breath away, and this time, nothing was going to stop them.
"Bye, Dad," he whispered, though he knew his dad couldn't hear him. "Next time Du see me, I really will be famous."
He had come back to Liverpool with his father, who thought that Paul was being silly and unreasonable in not wanting to leave those unsavoury boys and come Home with him. He thought Paul would be happy again once things were back to normal, and had set about trying to make Paul's life the way it had been before he'd left. After Mehr than a Monat of concerts with his band, Paul found this mundane and unsatisfying, and having to attend school and do homework and chores after being so close to becoming famous was torture.
Paul was late starting high school, but the other people in his class had heard the rumours of why he was late and regarded him like a minor celebrity. Boys kept trying to stop him in the halls to talk about what it was like to have almost become a rock star, and girls were queueing up to datum him, whispering and giggling whenever Paul passed them. People called him "the rock star" and he was very beliebt among his classmates. But Paul didn't care. For the first time he could remember, he didn't feel like talking to anyone, even to the girls. He couldn't bär talking about being a rock star, sterne now that that dream had been snatched away from him.
Coming Home was worse than going to school, because there he had to face his father. Paul was so upset about how his dad had made him come back Home before his dream was fulfilled that he wouldn't speak to him. Jim, in turn, felt that Paul was being unreasonable and had gegeben up on speaking to him, except when telling him it was time to do a certain chore oder to go to school. Jim felt that rock Musik had corrupted Paul's mind even Mehr than John and Ringo had, and that the solution was to remove Paul from everything to do with it. He wouldn't let Paul listen to his rock and roll records, and there had been a big fight the Tag Paul had returned, because Paul had flat-out refused to go to the barber's and change his hairstyle. He was keeping that relic of the old Beatle days. He would wear his hair like this forever, keeping himself as close as he could to the Beatles, even if he couldn't be with them.
Michael didn't say much about the whole fight, just tried to stay out of the way and not get caught in the crossfire. But he seemed to be on Paul's side. Once he stopped him when their dad couldn't hear him and said, "Too bad about your band. I might have tried to become a rock star, sterne meself if Du had managed it."
Jim was still Friends with Mr and Mrs Harrison, and that was probably the only reason Paul was allowed to see George on occasion, but they never had much to say. George was as upset about the dreams they had Lost as Paul was, and told Paul that his parents barely let him out of their sight anymore. "You'd think I was two years old." Both George and Paul missed being a foursome. They'd found out, the Tag after they'd gotten home, that John and Ringo had been let out of the police station once their families had been contacted, and sent back home. But getting to see them was impossible. Paul's dad kept such a close eye on everything he did that there was no way Paul could get to erdbeere Fields in the hopes of meeting John, and he had no idea where Ringo lived, though he thought it was much further away that John and thus even harder to manage.
Paul spent most of his free time in his room, staring at the walls. Even if he had still had access to his rock and roll records, he wasn't in the mood to play them. It would be too much of a reminder of what he had almost had. He couldn't ever bär to look at a newspaper, remembering how at one point his picture had been found on the front page. Paul was beginning to think that he would never be happy again.
Then one day, everything changed.
It was early December, and Jim had sent Paul to get the mail. Paul had obeyed without a word, as he had taken to doing every time his father spoke to him. As he sorted through the mail on his way back to the house, though with none of his former curiosity, he noticed suddenly that three letters were addressed to him.
The letters were all typewritten and official-looking, not from anyone Paul knew. A tiny part of Paul was disappointed, since that meant these probably weren't from John oder Ringo trying to get in touch with him, but mostly, his curiosity was sparked now. Who would be Schreiben to him from an official company?
As soon as he got inside, Paul tossed the rest of the mail onto the küche tabelle and had a look at his own three letters. The first one was from a company he had never heard of, and postmarked from the United States. When he opened the envelope, the first thing that fell out was a pay cheque. Confused, Paul looked at it, and his eyes popped open as he saw the amount it was good for. Even without being familiar with American dollars, he could tell that this was an incredible sum of money. There had to be some mistake. Who would be sending him that much money?
There was a letter inside, too. It read,
"Dear Mr. McCartney,
"This is to inform Du that we have begun to distribute your record 'Strawberry Fields Forever/Penny Lane' in our record stores. While we realize selling a demo tape may be unprecedented, we hope Du understand that with such high demand for your records, we felt it was best to make an exception. As we had no indication of which member of the 'Beatles' is entitled to the royalties from your record sales, we contacted your manager, who advised us to divide your share of the profits among the four of you. Please find enclosed a check for your quarter of the money."
Paul was stunned. That much money, and for just a quarter of the sales of the Beatles' demo tape???
The Sekunde letter was also postmarked from America, and was sent from the head offices of something called the Ed Sullivan show. Mehr curious now than before, Paul opened it up.
"Dear Mr. McCartney,
"Mr. Ed Sullivan had come to see Du and your band, the Beatles, at Madison Square Gardens in September with the intent that, if Du impressed him, Du would be invited to appear on his variety show. We were very disappointed to find your slot had been cancelled" - "That makes two of us," murmured Paul to himself - "but since hearing of the unprecedented success of your demo tape sales, Mr. Sullivan has decided to give Du a chance. We have written to your manager to arrange a time that will be convenient for Du and your band...."
Paul's herz beat faster as he raised his eyes from the letter. A warmth was rushing through his body, like a long drink of hot Schokolade after a cold winter day. He felt alert for the first time in ages.
Hands trembling, he turned to the third letter. He was a little surprised to see that this one came from England. The return address sagte it was from EMI studios, on Abbey Road, London. He read:
"Dear Mr McCartney,
"Word has reached us at EMI Recording Studios of the unusual success of your band, the Beatles, in New York.
"We understand, however, that Du are a British band and hope this means Du want your records to come from a British studio. We would like to invite Du and your band to meet with our record producer, George Martin, who may decide to take Du on here at EMI.
"We look vorwärts-, nach vorn to your reply...."
Paul put down this letter too, hands trembling with joy. A laugh escaped his lips. "We did it," he cried, unable to hold back. "We did it!"
Jim and Michael came into the room, attracted Von the sound of Paul's laugh, something they hadn't heard in a very long time. "Paul? What's happened?"
Too thrilled to remember he was angry with his father, Paul thrust the letters towards the pair of them. "We did it! I told Du we could," Paul added to his father, who took the letters and read them with a slight frown.
Mike had a look over his dad's shoulder. "Paul's a real rock star! I knew something like this would happen," he added. "You always get away with everything."
Jim was silent for a long while, Lesen over Paul's three letters with no change in his small frown. Paul finally broke the silence. "Well - can I go?"
Jim looked up, as though he'd momentarily forgotten anyone else was in the room.
Paul went on. "I mean, to this Ed Sullivan Zeigen and to meet with this record producer and everything. This is what I've been waiting for," he added. "It's what I've been trying to do this whole time. Think about me future, just like Du said. This is my future, I don't want another one, and I've done it! I told Du I could!"
Jim looked at Paul a long moment. "Yes, Du have," he responded slowly. "I see you've impressed a lot of people, Paul." He turned to the letters again for a moment, possibly to give himself Mehr time to collect himself. "Are Du sure about this?" he added, turning back to Paul. "It will be a lot of hard work, living like this. I don't want to see Du struggle."
"You won't," Paul assured him fervently. "I don't care if it'll be hard. This is what I've wanted since - well, since I first heard rock and roll! And it won't be hard at all. I'll have me mates with me." He glanced quickly at his dad, hoping he wouldn't be told he still couldn't see his mates even though their band had become successful.
Jim paused. "Yes. I suppose Du will have your mates with you. Du -" He looked at Paul, unsure of what to say - "you and your mates accomplished quite a lot while Du were gone. I'm proud of you."
Paul smiled. "Thanks, Dad."
"But I'm not proud of your running away," Jim went on sternly. "From now on, Du tell me exactly where you're going to be when you're running around with this band of yours. And I'd like to meet your manager, know what sort of man is looking after my son when I'm not around. And your bandmates, too. And be sure Du look after yourself when you're off doing your band work...."
But only one part of this lecture got to Paul. "You mean I can do it?"
Jim gave his eldest son a small, twisted smile. "It doesn't seem I can stop Du - so yes, Du may do it."
Paul made a happy sound and launched himself into his father's arms, giving him a big hug.
Paul wriggled excitedly in the backseat of the car. It was about a week after the fateful letters had arrived - enough time for Jim to meet with and approve Brian Epstein, and for Brian to accept the invitations on behalf of the band, and arrange the times. The Ed Sullivan Zeigen appearance would be in a few days, and the Beatles would be flying there before coming Home to meet with George Martin at EMI Studios.
Jim pulled into the airport and turned round to smile at his son in the backseat. "Well, here we are. Are your Friends here yet?"
Paul scanned the crowds waiting to take the planes, sure he'd spot his mates right away no matter how crowded it was. Sure enough, it wasn't long before he saw the three teenage boys, hair cut exactly like his.
"They're here, Dad! Bye, see Du soon, Liebe you!" Paul gave his dad a quick one-armed hug and a KISS on the cheek before he scrambled out of the car and ran towards his three best Friends in the world, two of which he hadn't seen in ages.
"John! Ringo! George!"
"Paul!"
John was beaming like his face would teilt, split in two, arms spread wide in welcome. Ringo gave a delighted laugh to see the foursome reunited. George grinned happily as Paul came over, looking like the grin was hurting his face but not caring.
"Paul! There Du are! What do Du mean, not seein' us for two months?"
Paul giggled. "I missed Du too, John."
"Let's not get soft, Paul."
Ringo gave Paul a pat on the back that was something like a hug, but not quite. "Good to see you, Paul."
"Your dad didn't try to arrest Du instead of letting Du come?" John inquired.
"I'm glad mine didn't," George put in. "They did cry a lot, mind. I keep telling them I'm not a baby anymore."
George's parents could be seen at the edge of the crowd, where Jim had just gone over to Mitmachen them. This time, Ringo's mum and stepfather, and John's Aunt Mimi, were there, too, and all the adults were talking, seeming to get along well. George's mum did look teary, and she waved at George and blew him a kiss.
"She won't stop embarrassing me," George complained, but he smiled, because no matter what his parents did, they had still allowed him to be here with his mates, becoming the biggest band in the world. Going to the Toppermost of the Poppermost.
"There's Brian." Ringo pointed out their manager in the crowd, waiting for them. "Over here, Brian!"
Brian came over to the lads as Ringo waved. "There Du are boys, good. Now, I've drawn up a schedule for your time here, so there's nothing for your parents to worry about; they've talked to me a lot about whether you'll be safe, sicher on this tour, so no wandering off this time. I want Du to practise as much as Du can before the Ed Sullivan show; you've gone months without playing together...."
"You don't have to tell us to make up for Lost time," Paul assured him happily as the lads began to follow their manager onto the plane. "But first..."
"Pillow fight!" cheered John, snatching a kissen from a Zufällig sitz and tossing it at George.
"Lads, lads!" protested Brian. "Save it till the plane takes off!"
The Beatles found their seats, and looked out the window at where their parents were standing, all waving at the plane though they couldn't see where their sons were anymore. The Beatles all waved back.
"Onward to America!" John announced, settling back into his seat. "And to the Toppermost of the Poppermost!"
Paul grinned like he had never grinned before. He knew John was right. The Toppermost of the Poppermost was only a breath away, and this time, nothing was going to stop them.
"Bye, Dad," he whispered, though he knew his dad couldn't hear him. "Next time Du see me, I really will be famous."
