Cavern Days | A Beatles Fan Fiction

Bésame Mucho

“Here y’are.” The cab driver said as the car stopped in front of the club.

“Thank you,” I got out of the car and closed the door, then made my way towards the Cavern.
I gave my ID to the guards in front of the club, and finally, I entered. It smelt like alcohol and bread, which was horrible. I saw that the band was already on stage, tuning their instruments, so I made my way to the front of the audience so I could see them better. I stood in the corner right in front of the stage, waiting for them to start singing. I noticed that they had stopped tuning their instruments, and one of them was standing in front of a microphone.
“Hello, uh, my name is Paul McCartney, and we’re The Beatles. We are gonna play some songs for you, first starting with a hit that we like to play, called Ain’t She Sweet.”
Paul walked to the back of the stage, bobbing his head and tapping his toes as he played his bass. One of the other boys was singing this song, and I thought his name was John Lennon. I had seen The Beatles once before with Celia, but I couldn’t remember their names, other than Paul McCartney, because I had remembered his face. I didn’t know who the lead guitarist or the drummer was, but I had thought that the rhythm guitarist was John Lennon. As I stood there and thought about what their names could possibly be, I stared at Paul, who was still bobbing his head and tapping his toes as the music went on. He didn’t look at me, though; none of them did, other than the new drummer, who only took a quick glance, then looked at Paul and laughed to himself.
“Alright, next we have a song that is one of our favourites to perform. It’s called Bésame Mucho!”
My smile widened as the guitarist played the little riff, then Paul stepped closer to the microphone, belting out “cha cha, boom!”
I remembered that they had performed this song the last time I had seen them, and that it had been my favourite that they sang.

“Which one has caught your eye?” A lady asked as she watched them, occasionally glancing at me.

“Paul,” I said as I watched him continue to sing.

“Hmm, all the girls dig Paul, but I got me eye on George Harrison, the lead guitarist in the middle, there,”

“Oh, that’s his name,” I answered as my attention went onto George, “what about the drummer? What’s his name?”

“Ringo Starr, top Liverpool drummer. He met The Beatles back in Hamburg when he was touring with Rory Storm and The Hurricanes.”
I then looked at Ringo, who was hunched over, but smiling ear to ear.

“You really know a lot about them, eh?”

“Yeah, I actually run the Beatles Fan Club.”

“There’s a fan club? Can I join?”

“Yeah, sure. My name’s Freda Kelly,” he put out her hand for me to shake it, but both of us were still focused on the band.

“I’m Gloria Anderson,”  I answered. We both still stood next to each other, but we didn’t talk for the rest of the night.
After Bésame Mucho ended, they played the instrumental that George and John wrote, called Cry For A Shadow. George’s guitar playing was out of this world.

The band played a couple more songs and then ended their performance, ending with the ballad A Taste Of Honey, which a boy in the audience requested.

“Thanks for coming, and goodnight!” Paul said as they all went backstage.
I stood there and looked at the drumkit, people occasionally coming up to me and asking if I enjoyed the show. I told them I had loved it, and I didn’t want it to end.
“Hey,” a man said as he walked up to me, “the band wants you to go backstage with them, do you want to?” I was confused; why did they want me to come backstage, I wondered. But, I agreed, and the man brought me to them.
When we entered the dressing room, the boys were sitting on a small couch that was pressed against the wall. Paul was reading a magazine, George was tuning his guitar again, and Ringo was watching television with John.
“Paul,” the man called out, “here’s the girl you requested.”
I was even more confused. He hadn’t looked at me the entire night, but now he was “requesting me?” It was strange, but I had suddenly fallen in love with him even more as he stood up, walked over to me, and smiled. I smiled back at him, and we stayed there, smiling at each other, for a few seconds.

“Thanks, Neil,” Paul said as he shooed him away. He sighed, and continued to stare into my eyes.

“What’s going on?” I suddenly asked.

“Well, I saw you in the audience tonight, and, uh, I thought you were really pretty.”

“But, I was looking at you all night, and I didn’t think you noticed me at all.”

“Well, then you thought wrong, little girl, because we made direct eye contact the entire show.” He chuckled softly.

“Really?” I asked, my eyes widening. He nodded, then looked over his shoulder to see the other band members staring at us.

“Do you want to go out to dinner with me?” He asked as he looked back at me.

“I’d love to,” I responded, smiling widely at him.
He nodded, grabbed my hand, and started walking out of the room. But, before we could leave, John came running towards us.

“Congratulations, girl! You just won a night out with the infamous James Paul McCartney!” He wrapped his arm around his neck and rubbed his head. Paul looked very annoyed, and quickly pulled away.

“Shove off, John.”