You've Got To Hide Your Love Away - A Beatles Fanfic

Chapter 1 - THIS BIRD HAS FLOWN

••••
I once had a girl.
Or, should I say, she once had me.
••••

"Don't be ridiculous, John," Ruby scolded. "I don't know where you even come up with these cockamamie ideas."

"It was just a thought," John grumbled. "Just a fucking thought."

He watched as Ruby gathered her clothing, slowly returning them to her curvy frame. Her dark brown curls bounced against her shoulders as she shimmied into the maroon A-line dress, and John couldn't resist taking one last glance at her breasts before they were concealed behind the fabric. Stuffing her bra and panties into her purse, Ruby walked over to John who was still seated on the edge of the bed.

"Go home to your wife and son. I'll see you next time, love." She leaned over and placed a kiss on John's nose.

"Next time, then," John replied, suddenly becoming very interested in an invisible speck of nothing on the bedspread so as to avoid eye contact. The door opened and then closed, leaving John alone in the hotel room.

It was 1965 and Beatlemania was in full swing. John could pull any girl he wanted simply by walking into a room and picking one out. What was it about this one that kept him coming back again and again?

As he started to gather his own clothing, John thought back to how this whole thing started.

****

"Do it again, Lennon!" Pete shouted with loud laugh.

John twirled around, using a high pitched voice to giggle like a girl. He mouthed the words to the song playing through the transistor radio speakers, exaggerating and mimicking choreographed dance moves.

"Every morning, every evening, ain't we got fun?" John mouthed as he pulled a face, opening his eyes wide and puckering his lips.

"Cor, you're a right meff, John," Paul snorted, unable to contain his laughter.

"Not much money, oh but honey, ain't we got fun?" John continued to lip sync to the song, shaking his hips from side to side and using his beer bottle as a microphone.

Pete Shotton and Paul McCartney were practically in stitches laughing so hard at John's exaggerated mocking of the singer coming through the radio.

"Oi, she's proper antwacky, that bird," Pete cackled.

"All fluff and lace, she is," Stu Sutcliff added, walking back from the bathroom. "Nice voice though."

The four boys were all quite tipsy, although none were fully drunk yet. Stu's flat on Percy Street near the heart of Liverpool was the perfect location for mid-day drinking. With Paul not being legal drinking age yet, it wasn't usually worth the hassle of arguing with the barkeeps during the day. Evenings were full of rowdy drunks, and it was much easier to slip an extra ale, unnoticed. But for now the four boys made use of the small flat, drinking cheap beer and smoking cigarettes.

John finished his lewd mimicry with a pelvic thrust, an offensive hand gesture, and a long swig of his beer. "Eee, that bloody bird is all that's wrong with music anymore," he growled. "Posh twat with big fancy frocks and fake smiles all over."

****

Now fully dressed, John shook his head, laughing a bit at the memories of how he used to mock Ruby so badly when he was younger.

In the 1950's, Ruby Cohen was the highest paid female entertainer in the U.K. She sang covers of all the old standards and appeared on every variety show known to man. Always dressed in thick, fluffy tulle dresses, she would make costume changes upwards of ten times in one show. She was regarded as "the girl with the giggle in her voice." And John simply couldn't stand her.