"She Loves You" and Other One-Shots Regarding the Beatles.

THIRTY READS SPECIAL RINGO STARR 1977 ONE-SHOT

THANK YOU ALL FOR THIRTY READS! I HAD MEANT TO FINISH WRITING THIS LAST NIGHT, BUT ENDED UP FINISHING IT TODAY. PROBABLY BY THE TIME I DO UPDATE IT, THERE MAY BE FORTY READS! :_) THANKS AGAIN!

- 2020kpool

Ringo knew John would have been saddened if he had been his normal self, but he hadn't been recently. Just eight months into the year 1977 and Elvis Presley, the very one whom had sung "Heartbreak Hotel," a song which had inspired John an awful lot, had died. Ringo personally hadn't known the man, but he had known him to be a good enough man whom had inspired many, even if he had not greeted him and the lads in the friendliest of manners. He knew John would be saddened if he even knew the news. Ringo knew he did not know the news.

Mr. Starr slipped into a nearby pub. He was not looking for alcohol, just for another person to share his fascination with the way a rock star could fade in and out of culture and just live and die in a manner of time. Yes, he did understand that, being a part of a disbanded band himself, but a rock 'n' roll legend older than him and whom had been in the industry longer than him had just been taken away from the world. He wanted to know how the world felt about it.

He found out as soon as he walked over to the bar. A woman with long, tangled blonde hair held a drink in hand, a cigarette in the other. Her eyes wore dark circles and a fresh track of tears spilling onto her nose and cheeks. She had to be at least a decade younger than himself, but even she could feel the overwhelming lost and despair that hung in the air. She took a hefty swig of the alcohol and a longer drag on the cigarette. Ringo walked up to her and sat beside her.

"You're not looking well, love," he said.

She looked at him. "Having an idol of yours die can do stuff to you."

"It really can."

Without warning, Ringo reached for the cigarette. It slipped through the woman's fingers and into his own. He stubbed it out on the counter top.

"Smoking and drinking isn't going to help anything."

"It takes the pain away," she said.

"It only seems like it does that. It doesn't do anything but make the situation worse."

"Sure doesn't seem like it."

"See, you get the point." Ringo smiled despite the atmosphere.

"Not really, Elvis Presley - he's - I cannot believe it." Her eyes watered up again and she was sobbing as she said, "He's - gone, he's really gone - dammit." She made for another swig, but Ringo took the cup away from her.

"No alcohol either. That doesn't help."

"Then what does help?"

"I don't know. It's a stupid answer, but it's a stupid answer that's a true one. I don't really know what helps after a death like that. Maybe if you just...how do I say this?....move on from the death. I mean, did you know him personally?"

"No," the woman said.

"But he still meant a lot to you, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did."

"But you never knew him. What you are feeling now is nothing compared to what his family must be feeling."

"That doesn't help, sir."

"What I'm saying is his family has it a lot worse than a fan like yourself."

"Way to put salt in the wound."

Ringo thought different of that comment. "I'm not trying to make you feel worse than you should, but I'm trying to make you feel a little better. Does that work?"

"Work?" The woman laughed. "Work? Does anything really work anymore? No, nothing does. You said the alcohol and these cigarettes don't work, so why should your plan of just moving on and forgetting someone like the King work?"

"Tell me where it hurts."

"What?" His question put her off guard.

"I'm no doctor, but could you tell me where it hurts?"

The woman stared at him then at the drink he held. "Everywhere," she whispered. "But mostly my heart. Where's Heartbreak Hotel when you need it?" She laughed, but it was a laugh free of joy and amusement, replaced with sorrow.

"I don't know, really, maybe there is no such place."

She cried out in spite of her falling tears. "There is one - there has to be. I don't know, maybe Elvis went there and didn't die!"

"I'm afraid that would be a lie, dear."

"What would be a lie?" She sat up as if he had insulted her. "The part about the Hotel existing, or the E-Elvis being - alive?"

"The latter, mostly. I'm sorry, really I am, for your loss and the world's."

"That still doesn't make him any less...dead."

"I know it doesn't, but you're not alone in your grief, probably the majority of America is grieving." He put a hand on her arm. "A friend of mine would probably be joining you."

"So, you do know how I feel? Do you?"

Ringo shrugged. "To some level I do, but on another level, no, I do not. I was in a band over a decade ago, and it ended. Many hearts were broken that night as they are now."

"My heart seems to be the most broken of them all."

"Well, let me ask you this: are you alone in your grief? Are you truly alone?" He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "You're not alone, you really aren't."

"That, I suppose, is someway true." The woman made a grab for her drink, but Ringo shoved it back farther.

"You're not alone now, with me by your side."

A light pinkness crept upon her cheeks. "I'm really not, am I? You're with me, soaking in my grief, as I drown in it. God, these damn tears are going to be the death of me."

Ringo laughed lightly. "I can get you a tissue, if you like."

"Gladly."

He dabbed lightly at her cheeks with the tissue. Her eyes stared into his, seeing her own tears reflected in his.

"I'm sorry to make you feel like this, to bring the grief upon you," she said.

"No, no, it's fine. I know how you're feeling - I'm touching your actual tears right now."

"You were right, though. The Presley's must be feeling a lot more pain than I am."

"They must be, but can pain really be measured?" Ringo said. "No."

"I mean, there's not a unit for it..."

"That's the spirit."

The woman smiled. "So, can I have my drink back?"

"Perhaps," Ringo said, handing the drink back to her.

"Thank you, for...how do I put this...for helping me - is move on really the right word?"

"Depends. Have you really moved on from, you know?"

"Can you measure that?"

"No, I suppose you cannot."

"You really can't, can you?"