This
story is my contribution to Jiximetri's Third Anniversary. This
was
originally written in February 2002 and was meant to be posted on
November
30, 2002 as a tribute to George Harrison. However, since I ended
up
MOVING everything out on that day, it didn't get posted. I
figured,
'no sweat' and thought I'd post it on February 7, 2003, as that is the
39th
anniversary of their first visit to the U.S. But, since we don't
have
internet access at the moment, that never happened. So, I
honestly
can't think of any other special date to post this than for the Jix
anniversary.
:) Happy Anniversary, Cathy P. and the Jix community!
I
haven't been here for a full year yet, but I have seriously loved every
minute
I've been here. This is a great place!
A gigantic Bob-White thank you goes out to Susansuth for proof
reading! You're a doll...you know that?
The Art of Screaming
November 30, 2001 – Ten
Acres
A small tear escaped from Trixie’s eye as she watched the news.
She
tried to hide it from Juliana, her five-year-old granddaughter, but it
was
no use. Children notice everything.
Trixie’s oldest daughter, Katy, needed someone to watch Juliana for the
day,
and fifty-three-year-old Gramma Frayne was only too happy to
oblige.
While Juliana ate her breakfast, Trixie watched the morning news report
on
CNN.
“Why are you crying, Gramma Triskie?” Juliana asked, after her
grandmother
dabbed at her eye with a tissue and blew her nose.
“It’s nothing, sweetheart,” Trixie denied, even though her eyes were
growing
hot and watery again. “Gramma’s just being silly. Eat
your
Cheerios.”
Juliana shoved a spoonful of Cheerios into her mouth, as she turned to
see
what was on the television. She didn’t quite understand what was
happening,
but knew it was something sad. Now there was a picture of a man
on
TV and they were playing music. “What happened?” the little girl
asked
quietly. “Did he die?”
Trixie sniffed and nodded. “Yes, sweetie, he did.”
“Is that why they are crying?” Juliana asked innocently, as the picture
on
the TV switched to a group of mourners holding candles and
flowers.
One man in the back of the group was playing a guitar.
“Yep,” Trixie said, as she turned to face her granddaughter and
gently smiled.
“Did you know him?”
“I didn’t know him personally, but he meant a lot to me.”
“More than Grampa Jim?”
Trixie broke out into laughter. “No,
sweetie.
You see, he is...was a musician, and he wrote and sang a lot of beautiful
songs.”
She stole a glance back at the TV set. They were on to a new
topic, so Trixie turned the television off. “His name is George Harrison,
and
he used to sing with the Beatles.” Trixie thought for a moment. “Tell you what. You wait here and finish your cereal and I’ll be
right
back.” With that, Trixie left the kitchen table and headed
upstairs
to her bedroom. Standing up right against the wall on the top
shelf
of her closet was a large flat paper bag. Quickly, she snatched
the
paper bag and left the bedroom to find Juliana patiently waiting in the kitchen.
Trixie sat back down at the kitchen table and pulled an old LP out of
the
paper bag. Upon seeing it again, her face lit up at the sight of
the
Beatles smiling back at her. “This was one of their first albums
ever
released in the United States. This is George,” she said as she
pointed
to one of the young men on the record album cover.
“Hey, Moms has this CD,” said Juliana, recognizing the cover.
“She
plays it all the time.”
“She probably does, because I used to play this record when she was
little,”
Trixie replied. When Juliana was finished with her cereal, she
led
the little girl over to the living room and sat her down on the big
recliner.
“I thought I’d tell you something about this band.”
“Moms told me lots about them,” Juliana said with a smile. “She
told
me that you saw them once.”
Trixie felt her face flush, as she nodded her head. “I was able to see them two times. The first time was in 1964 when I was only fifteen. The second time was in 1966.” She slid the
record out of the sleeve, set it on the turntable, and began playing it
softly.
The player made hissing and popping noises as the old rock’n’roll
backbeat
sounds of the Fab Four began to play. “The first time was at the Kennedy
International Airport.”
Trixie sat in the recliner and hoisted her granddaughter up on her
lap.
“It was a cold January day in school when I heard about their
arrival…”
January 16, 1964 – Sleepyside
Junior/Senior
High School
“You’re kidding!” Fifteen-year-old Diana Lynch squealed as the Bob-Whites ate lunch in the school cafeteria. “They’re coming here? The Beatles?
Theee
Beatles? Here?”
Even the rest of the Bob-Whites looked at Honey in shock. The rest, that is, except for Brian and Jim. They had graduated the year before and were attending school in Rochester.
“Relax, Di,” Honey Wheeler playfully scolded her good friend.
“They’ll
be landing at JFK sometime next month. I’m not sure when
though.”
Trixie spaced out of the rest of the conversation. “Holy
cow!” she thought to
herself,
“The Beatles!” Her face began to flush, as
she
began to think about her small crush on one of the members of the
group,
and how Jim loved to tease her about it.
Mart suddenly forgot all about his food. “When did all this
happen?
Man, no one ever tells me a thing around here!”
Honey smiled. “Actually, I’ve known
about
it for a while now. Daddy's one of the sponsors for their
upcoming
tour. He told me right away in case I’d like to go see them when
they
come to New York. He just asked me not to tell anyone because their
plans
were changing all over the place, and he just didn’t know when in the
world
they’d be here, but their plans have recently become final.”
“You did tell him you wanted
tickets,
right?” Trixie asked her best friend.
“Oh, definitely! And you know what? The best part is, is that
because
Daddy is a sponsor, we all get tickets and backstage passes!”
Diana nearly choked. “D-did you say backstage p-passes?”
“Where are our seats?” Dan asked, barely being able to control
himself.
He quickly regained his composure because, to Dan, it wasn’t cool to
flip
out over things no matter how exciting they were, but...this was big
news!
“You’re not coming,” Honey teased. “Mr. Maypenny wants that
entire
game preserve cleared away on that day. I think he made plans
specifically
for that day.”
“Says you, chickie,” Dan said with a grin. “No one’s keeping me
away
from this.”
“Oh, Honey, don’t keep us waiting!” Trixie wailed. “Where are our
seats?”
“We’ll be three rows from center stage,” she replied. “Then after the show, we’ll be escorted backstage to get the chance to meet them.”
“Are Brian and Jim in on this too?” Mart asked.
“Yes, they are, but they don’t know about it yet. Mother and Daddy
will
call them and tell them they need to be home on the weekend the Beatles arrive.”
Trixie still could hardly believe her ears. Goosebumps and
uncontrollable
zings took over her body, as she sat there in shock. No one
else
could ask for anything better than to meet…them!
November 30, 2001 – Ten
Acres
“The year before, the Beatles toured around Europe, but made quick plans to come to the United States once they realized how popular they had become over here.”
“We sing this song in Kindergarten, Gramma,” Juliana interrupted rather
proudly,
as a new song came through the speakers. “We also do
a dance.
Watch!”
Juliana wriggled down from Trixie’s lap and accompanied the Beatles
with
her rendition of “Twist and Shout”, as she twisted her body and kicked
her
legs up in a rather deranged “Hokey Pokey” dance. “It’s
fun!
Come on, Gramma Triskie, try it!”
“Oh, that’s all right, sweetheart,” Trixie laughed, as she watched her
granddaughter
flop around. “Gramma did the twist a long
time
ago and really can’t do it anymore.” But watching her
granddaughter
have so much fun convinced Trixie that she at least needed to get a few
minutes
in before the song ended.
“Gramma, this is my favorite part!” Juliana yelled excitedly when her grandmother joined in on the fun. They started singing at the top of their lungs:
“Aaahhhhhhhh”
“Aaaahhhhhhh”
“Aaaahhhhhhh”
“Aaahhhhhhhh”
“Yeaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
“Well shake it up, baby, now”
Trixie
sang to Juliana.
“Shake it up,
baby,”
Juliana sang back.
“Twist and shout,” Trixie
sang.
“Twist and
shout,”
Juliana repeated.
When the song was over, little Juliana crashed on the recliner, trying
to
catch her breath, while Trixie held on to her side, as it cramped from
having
too much fun.
“Tell me more, Gramma!” Juliana insisted.
“Wow!” Trixie breathed. “I don’t think I’ve done that since the
days
when Great-Aunt Honey and Great-Uncle Brian and Grandpa and I
would
go out on dates.” She settled herself down in the recliner and,
once
again, hoisted Juliana up on her lap and continued her story one more
time.
“The Beatles were scheduled to arrive at the airport and Honey and Diana were both determined to go and see them
arrive.
But, my Mom wouldn’t let Brian, Mart, and I go.”
February 6, 1964 – Crabapple
Farm
“What do you mean, no, Moms? Honey, Jim and Di are going!”
Trixie
argued with her mother.
“Trixie, darling, I’d love for you to go, but you will be seeing them
in
concert in a few weeks,” Mrs. Belden said, as she calmly cleared the
table
after dinner. “I don’t feel comfortable about you kids going to
the
airport tomorrow when there will be so many people there. I just don’t
think
it’s safe, Trixie, especially so soon after what happened to the
president last November.”
She headed through the door to the kitchen with a stack of dishes.
“Oh, come on, Moms!” Trixie wailed. “What do you think
is
going to happen? We’ll just be watching them get off their
plane,
that’s all.”
Mrs. Belden came back in through the kitchen door. “It was
awfully
nice of Mr. Wheeler to get you kids tickets to see them in concert too,
but
I just don’t feel right about it. They foot the bill for
everything
you kids do. It’s really not fair to your dad and me, Trix.”
“But they always say that they don’t mind. I know they
don’t.”
“Tell you what, Trixie,” Mrs. Belden sighed. “You make sure your
homework
is done, that your room is clean, and that all of your chores are done,
and
I’ll talk to your dad tonight.”
“Oh Moms! You are just the greatest!” Trixie cried as she hugged
her
mother. “I promise I’ll have everything done!”
Trixie was upstairs in her room, flying through her homework, while
watching
the clock, when the phone rang. Mrs. Belden picked up the
downstairs
extension. About fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at her
bedroom
door.
“Come in,” Trixie called.
Mrs. Belden opened the door and peeked inside. “That was
Miss
Trask. She says that both Diana and Honey are going as well as Jim
and
Dan. Your father and I talked it over and we decided that as long as Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler and Miss Trask are going, then it would be all right.”
Trixie let out a loud whoop and, once again, flung her arms around her
mother.
“Moms! I can’t believe it! Thank you, thank you, thank you
so
much! I gotta call Honey and tell her we’re coming!”
“Whoa, slow down, Trixie!” Mrs. Belden said, as she stopped Trixie from
shooting
out the bedroom door. Miss Trask already knows that we've given you permission to go. Jim said he’d be over around nine o’clock to pick you up.”
“Nine? He said nine? Gleeps, Moms! We simply can’t go
that
late!” Trixie wailed. “We have to be there, at the very least, six
o’clock.”
“What in the world for? Miss Trask says their plane is due to arrive
at ten-thirty. That’ll give you plenty of time to get over
there.”
“New York is one heck of a big city, Moms. There’ll already be
busloads
of people there at nine! Scads of them! We need to get a
good
view!” Trixie flopped down on the bed. “If we leave here at
nine, we won’t get there until
ten. If that’s the case, we
might
as well not go.”
“Oh, I give up, Trixie. I guess it’s not good enough that you got
free tickets to their show, and
back stage passes, now you want to
get
everyone up at four-thirty in the morning just so you
can get a good view. You’ll just have to call Honey and
make
your own plans then.” With that, Mrs. Belden stalked out the
door.
Trixie watched, as her mother shut her bedroom door and instantly felt
sorry
for her actions. Moms is
right,
she thought. She’s sometimes a
much
better sport than Miss Trask, and I take it for granted. She’s
right
about how unfair it is to both she and Dad when the Wheelers or the
Lynches
pay for vacations and flights and such. We don’t think twice
about
Jim or Honey using Mr. Wheeler’s account at Wimpy’s when we go out for
lunch.
We don’t think twice about it when they want to take the Bob-Whites on
vacation.
Now I get the opportunity of a lifetime, and I’m spoiling it for the
rest.
Trixie immediately got up and headed downstairs to the kitchen where
her
mother was working on the dishes.
“Hi, Moms,” she said, as she took a dry towel and began to dry the
dishes.
“I’m sorry I’m being such a brat over this.”
“That’s okay, Trixie,” Mrs. Belden said, with a forgiving smile.
“I
remember when I was seventeen and I wanted to go see Benny
Goodman
with your father, and my parents said no because they raised
‘respectable’ daughters.”
“I remember that night, Aunt Alicia and I snuck out
and
rode into town with Peter and her date, and we had the time of our life at
one
of New York’s finest clubs. When I got home, Moms and Dad were
waiting
for Alicia and me. We got a pretty severe punishment not only for sneaking
out,
and with boys. They got
over
it, and so did we, but one thing I’ve always told myself was that teens
will
be teens. Trixie, I like the Beatles, and so does your father. They
are
a fine group of young men.” Mrs. Belden looked around the kitchen
and
put her head down close to Trixie’s and whispered, “and very cute,
too.”
Trixie blushed. “Moms!”
“Hey, I happen to have a good eye for cute, handsome men, and I tell
you,
they take the cake.” Mrs. Belden burst out into laughter.
“Am
I embarrassing you?”
“A little, yeah.”
“Okay, I’ll stop.” Mrs. Belden continued washing dishes with a
grin
on her face.
As soon as the dishes were done, Trixie called Honey to make
plans.
“Honey, I hate to ask this, but do you think that we could possibly get
going
earlier than nine o’clock?”
“Why?”
“Well, since nearly every girl from Florida to Greenland will be there,
I
thought we could get a good view by getting there early, that’s
all.”
Trixie leaned back on the light blue sofa and curled the phone cord
around
her finger.
“Actually, we’ll get a good view anyway,” Honey replied. “Daddy
is
making sure that we will be right at gate nine, which is the one
they’ll
be coming into. Only a few people will be allowed in there.
Trix, you’ll have to promise me you won’t jump on one of them. I
made
Di promise not to attack John Lennon so we don’t get arrested.
All
they’re going to do is walk in to check their passports, and step back out
again
to their limo. The best we’re going to be able to do is just see
them,
I’m afraid. We won’t be meeting them.”
Trixie let out another whoop and danced around in a circle. “So
we’ll
see you guys in the morning then,” she said as she untangled herself
from
the phone cord. “Oh, wait, Honey…”
“Yes?”
“What do you suggest we wear? I’ve never met celebrities of their
caliber
before.”
“Since we’ll be representing Wheeler Industries as a group, I’d say
just
dress up nice. Just don’t wear jeans.”
“I’ll find something,” Trixie said. “I better go now. I’ve
got
chores and stuff to do before bed.”
“See you in the morning!” Honey squealed into the phone.
Later that night, Trixie stood in front of her closet, picking and
choosing
the perfect outfit. She
had
to laugh at herself for being so picky over clothing, but she was
getting
the rare chance of meeting…
“Oh, it’s too good to be true!” she sighed at herself in the mirror as
she
held a light blue tweed dress suit up to her chin. “I hope this
thing
still fits,” Trixie moaned, as she kicked off her loafers and tried on
the
dress. Mrs. Belden had purchased the dress last summer as
something
a bit more “adult” for Trixie to help her out of the “little girl”
stage
of life.
The straight skirt fit perfectly, but the matching button-up top had
a gapping problem in the mid-chest area. Stripping her closet
nearly
bare, Trixie found a white blouse with a small, lace collar to wear
under
the button-up top.
“It looks dopey, but it’ll have to do,” she decided, as she modeled the
outfit
for herself one more time.
Meanwhile, up at the Manor
House...
Honey stood in front of her second closet, searching for the
perfect
outfit. Pulling outfit after outfit out of her closet, Honey
figured
it was no use. Mother might
have
an outfit I could wear.
Her mother was sitting at her vanity, brushing out her long honey-blonde
hair
and getting ready for bed, when Honey knocked on the door. “Come
in,”
she called.
Honey stepped inside the room and smiled at her mother. “Can I ask a favor
of
you?” Honey asked.
“Anything, dear,” Mrs. Wheeler said, as she took her daughter’s
hand.
“Can I borrow one of your dresses for tomorrow?”
“Certainly, Honey,” Mrs. Wheeler said, as she led her daughter over to
her
huge walk-in closet. She followed her mother, remembering that it
wasn’t
really long ago when she would have been extremely petrified to come and
ask
her mother anything.
“I hope I have something that fits you,” she said, more to herself than
to
Honey. She spent nearly a half hour, pulling
outfits
from the closet and putting them back, as Honey shook her head no.
Honey was beginning to get tired and was ready to give up, when Mrs.
Wheeler
pulled a simple, salmon colored suit out and held it up to her
daughter.
Honey’s eyes grew big as she looked the outfit over and over.
“It’ll be perfect!” Honey exclaimed and immediately tried it on.
Standing
in front of the full mirror, she straightened and adjusted here and
there,
until the skirt fit perfectly.
Mrs. Wheeler came up behind her daughter and pulled her hair up out of
her
face and off her shoulders. “Tomorrow morning, if you like, I can
help
you with your hair.”
Honey almost jumped. Her mother never used to volunteer to do
things
like this. “But Mother, wouldn’t it be easier just to hire a
stylist?”
Mrs. Wheeler reached over to her vanity and picked up her silver
brush.
“Why bother with a stylist, sweetie? I do all right by myself, you
know,”
she said, as she ran the brush through her daughter’s honey-colored
hair.
“I don’t think I’ve ever done this with you.”
Honey remained quiet and just stood patiently, letting her mother play
with
her hair.
February 7, 1964 – Crabapple Farm 2:45
a.m.
Trixie could barely get to sleep. Her Mickey Mouse Club alarm
clock
read two forty-five in the morning before her eyes finally shut for the
night.
She knew it wasn’t the last day of the month, but she managed to utter
a
small wish before going to sleep, hoping against hope that she’d
remember
to say the magic words the next morning. It seemed like only a few minutes she’d had to dream of her favorite Beatle and his soft
brown
eyes and enchanting, boyish, crooked smile.
Her hand slapped off the shrill ringing of the alarm clock, erasing
the
content of her dreams. She resisted the temptation to shut her eyelids again and grant their wish of a few more hours of sleep.
“Oh, man,” she said through a yawn. “The things I go through to
meet
stars.” She stood up to stretch and headed for the bathroom. She was dressed and trying to style her hair when a familiar voice came through the door.
“Trixie! You alive in there?”
“Yeah,” she drawled and opened the door. “Hi, Honey.”
“Hi, yourself, Trixie,” Honey said, as she stood in the doorway, watching Trixie try
to
make some kind of order with her mop of curls.
Trixie glanced at Honey’s reflection in the mirror and stopped what she
was
doing. “You look super!” she cried.
“Well, I have to, you know,” her friend responded. “I have to
catch
the eye of a certain person today!”
“Brian already thinks you’re beautiful, but he’ll be doing cartwheels
when
he takes a look at you!”
“No, silly. It’s not Brian I’m looking pretty for!” Honey
grabbed
the comb out of Trixie’s hand and set to work on her curls. “You,
my
friend, are going to be the main attraction when I get done with
you.
On second thought, I think I’ll make you so hideous that you won’t
steal
my precious Paul McCartney away from me.”
Trixie snorted. “Just work your magic on my hair and quit mooning
over
Paul.”
She headed out of the bathroom after Honey was finished and began to
get
dressed. After slipping on her powder blue flats, she inspected
herself
in the mirror. “I look silly with this lace collar. It just
doesn’t
go.”
“Look on the bright side, Trix. You look better than Diana.”
“Oh, sure I do. And I’ll bet she looks just like Quasimodo.”
“No, really. Here, let me get her and you’ll see. Prepare to
laugh,
though.” With that, Honey was out the door. She came back
in
a few seconds with a tall, thin woman of fifteen, wearing tall black
go-go
boots, a gray knee length skirt, matching blazer, and a white shirt on
underneath.
Her long dark blue-black hair flowed down around her shoulders and her
violet
eyes shined brightly, accented by dark, heavy eyeliner in hopes of
creating
the ‘mod’ look.
“Hullo, luv!” she blurted out.
Trixie could barely contain herself. She held her side as tears
came
flowing down her cheeks. “Oh Diana! You’ll be the death of
me
someday!”
“Hey!” Diana cried. “I put a lot of hard work into this get
up!”
Trixie laughed even harder. “You’re too much, Di! Work on the
accent
too, while you’re at it,” Trixie said, trying to regain her
composure.
“Good thing I don’t have my makeup on, or it’d be all over my face
now.”
Trixie stepped back into the bathroom to wash her face and apply a
slight
amount of makeup.
“You know, Di,” Honey said, while Trixie was in the bathroom.
“This
must be special, because Trixie never puts on makeup.”
“Of course. She only makes herself up when there is a down to
earth,
good reason to.” Diana stepped over to Trixie’s vanity and picked
up
a large three inch wide button that featured a picture of George
Harrison
and in big, bold letters it read: I
LOVE GEORGE. “I think we found a clue to all this
mysterious
behavior.”
“All right, you two,” Trixie said, emerging from the bathroom. “So,
were
are your pins?”
Honey stuck her hand into her handbag and drew out a similar looking
button
that featured Paul McCartney, and Diana followed suit with her John
Lennon
button.
“You ready, girls?” Jim’s voice came echoing up the stairs. “The
plane
lands in an hour and a half.”
Trixie’s heart immediately began to race, as she checked herself in the
mirror
again. “Ready?” she squeaked to her friends.
Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler were waiting in the Belden living room with Miss
Trask.
“All set?” Mr. Wheeler asked, when the three girls came down the
stairs.
“I wish we had time for breakfast,” Trixie said wistfully, as she put her coat
on.
“No need to worry about it,” Mrs. Wheeler said. “There’ll
be
a breakfast waiting for us at the airport.”
“Super!” she cried, as she linked arms with Honey and Di. “Let’s
hit
the road!”
They passed through the New York countryside, as the Wheeler limo zoomed down
the
freeway. Traffic started to pick up as the Tom, the Wheeler’s
chauffeur,
drove them up and around the city and into Queens. Practically
thousands
of people were crowded in and around the airport. Mr. Wheeler
turned
to the Bob-Whites and spoke up.
“We are going through another entrance,” he began. “You will need to
stay
close to Mrs. Wheeler, Miss Trask and me. Now I know I’m
going
to hear protests, but I’m going to be firm. I want one of the
boys
at the side of one of the girls at all times. From what some of
the
other sponsors and executives tell me, there is supposed to be
thousands
upon thousands of screaming frantic girls surrounding the entire
airport.”
He reached into his suit coat and produced pass tags. “Put these tags on securely and hang onto them so you can go where I go.”
Tom pulled the limo up to a side entrance of the terminal. Trixie
looked
up and all around to see thousands of girls waiting excitedly.
Some
carried signs and banners, while others waved album covers and pennants,
as
they stood around waiting rather impatiently for their British icons to
arrive.
She had heard stories of fanatical mobs of girls chasing movie stars
and
singers, but had never really seen it happen, and had wondered if such a
thing
was possible in real life.
“Are we ready?” Mr. Wheeler asked, to which everyone in the limo in one
synchronized
motion, nodded their heads. “Okay, this is it.” Mr.
Wheeler opened the side door and helped his wife and Miss Trask out,
while
the rest piled out of the car. “Remember what I said,
girls.”
He said this more to Trixie than the others.
Trixie glanced around at the huge terminal that was overrun
with
photographers, reporters, girls and women of every age all waiting for
the
magical moment when they would get to witness the Beatles’ arrival. Mr.
Wheeler
led the his group through the female mob, down a
staircase
and into the arrival gate. He showed his badge to the security personnel and
they
let him and the small group join the other executives and
sponsors
in the waiting area.
Trixie’s heart pounded with each second. Each second that went by
was
one more second closer to seeing them…or more importantly,
George!
Too nervous to eat, Trixie felt content sitting on the sofa, snuggled
tight
against Jim’s warm body. It was a chilly February morning, and
she was
cursing herself for not wearing something more sensible than a silly
dress.
But, after looking at all the other girls, she didn’t quite feel so
silly.
After all, she was with her best friends, snuggling up to her
boyfriend,
and probably going to have a slight chance of possibly shaking the hand
of
one of the four cutest men in the world! Trixie couldn’t help but
grin
and blush at her thoughts. Sure he wasn’t the “cute” Beatle, but
he
sure did have a way of giving her the goosebumps. Suddenly she
sat
up with a jolt.
“Rabbit rabbit!” she cried, instantly feeling nine confused faces
staring
at her. Hastily, she explained. “I made a wish last night
before
going to bed, and I forgot to say ‘rabbit rabbit’ in the morning.
I
hope I didn’t spoil the wish.”
“Rabbit rabbit?” Mrs. Wheeler asked.
“How it works is that you make a wish and don’t say another word before
going
to bed. Then in the morning, before saying anything, you say
‘rabbit
rabbit’ and your wish will come true.”
“Well, it sure looks as though you’ve botched it up, Trix,” Mart said
with
a grin. “What’d you wish for?”
“I don’t think I should tell you. You see, I think I’ve already
made
the wish extremely impossible already, because I have two strikes
against
me.” Trixie held up two fingers. “One, I spoke before
saying
the magic words, and two, I said them anyway. I think I’ve just
jinxed
the wish, so I don’t know if I should commit a third blunder.”
“Oh, come on, Trix,” Brian said with a teasing grin. “We all know
your
wish. You’re here, so it came true.”
“No, smarty,” she replied. “That’s not what I wished for. I
mean,
yes, I’ve been wishing for this moment for my whole life, but that
wasn’t
what I wished last night.”
“That’s odd, Trixie,” Mart said, as he took off his winter coat.
“You
didn’t even know the band existed until almost three months ago, and I
seem
to recall you scoffing at them because the best they could do was
‘cheap
imitations of Elvis Presley’.”
“Can it, Mart,” Jim said with a grin, as he slid his husky arm around
Trixie’s
shoulders. “I’m more interested in what Trixie wished for last
night.”
Jim wriggled his eyebrows at her.
“One must never tell,” Trixie
said,
as she leaned back against Jim again.
The slowest hour in Trixie Belden’s life crept by. Suffering a
huge
yawn, she suddenly felt tired and snuggled herself tighter next to
Jim’s
side. Suddenly, a horrific, loud noise of yelling and screaming
startled
her.
“What’s that?” she asked instantly. It sounded like a massive
clap
of thunder along with screaming catamounts.
“Look, Trix!” Diana cried, as she flung herself up against the huge
window.
An airplane was flying low and getting ready to land.
Trixie looked out up at the plane, then scanned the mob of screaming
girls
pushing against a human chain of policemen. Every reporter from
New
York to Timbuktu was present to interview the new celebrities.
There
were so many girls up on the different levels of the building that it
started
to make Trixie nervous.
“I never thought there’d be so many girls here,” Trixie said in
awe.
“Look at them all!”
Brian and Jim wandered over, looked up, and scanned the huge crowd of
girls.
“Holy cow!” they said in unison. Brian turned to Mr. Wheeler,
while
Jim continued looking out the window. “I sure hope there’s plenty of
security.”
“Oh, trust me, there’s plenty, Brian,” Mr. Wheeler said confidently.
Diana stayed glued to the window, while a large group of teenage girls
gathered
around. Trixie felt herself getting pushed to the back of the
group,
as she watched Honey and the rest of the Bob-Whites up at the front
watching
the plane land. The screaming grew louder and louder, as the plane
stopped
just in front of the gate.
“Excuse me,” Trixie said, as she tried to push her way into the crowd of
girls.
It was no use. Many of Mr. Wheeler’s colleagues had brought their
daughters,
who, in turn, had brought their friends, and the small room was crowded
beyond
belief. Trixie stood on tip-toe only to be shoved around by the
rest
of the girls.
“Jim!” she called out to the redhead who stood up by Brian, Honey, and...
Miss Trask. Miss Trask was
pinned
up against the window just like Diana was. Trixie called
out
a few more times, but her voice was drowned out against the squeals and
shrieks
of the other teenage girls and women.
Above their heads, she could see the door open on the airplane and a
few
of the flight attendants step down onto the mobile staircase. A
few
wide-eyed people stepped off the plane and proceeded down. Two
heads
peered out the door, which caused the screaming to reach a new
decibel.
They disappeared for a minute and four men stepped down off the
plane.
Trixie watched with a breaking heart as she only got to see about a
tenth
of what Honey and Di were seeing. She had dreamed of this moment
since
the first time she had heard “Please, Please Me” on the radio. Tears
welled
up in her eyes, as she saw Ringo, Paul, George, and John wave to the
crowd
and continue down the staircase. Reporters showered them with
questions.
Security officers quickly ushered them and their entourage into the
building
in order to take care of passports and other business.
They were too far away for Trixie to really get a good view.
Everything
was happening so fast that, before she knew it, she was being pushed
aside
again, but as it happened this time, she ended up being pushed right
over
to the windows that looked out to the airplane.
If there was anything she hated, it was being pushed around. She
hated
being told what she couldn’t do, hated to be scolded, and hated to be
shoved.
And if there was anything she learned that morning, it was how high
society
really acts: not any different than the middle class girls
outside
who were screaming their heads off.
Trixie
was no less than five feet away from The Beatles and was unable to see
them
at all.
A few girls who stood next to Trixie screamed for Paul and George, while
a
few others screamed for John and Ringo. Trixie let out a screech
when
a tall blonde girl dug her sharp heels into Trixie’s sore toes over and
over
again, as she jumped up and down. Desperately wanting to shove the
girl
over, Trixie resisted the urge. A catfight wasn’t really the way
she
always wanted to welcome the Fab Four to America.
Suddenly, to Trixie’s surprise, a very rumpled and messy Honey and
Diana
were at her side. Honey’s hair, which was neatly scooped up off
her
shoulders was sitting lopsided on her head with a few strands hanging
down
on her face. Diana’s hair was tangled, and her dress was wrinkled
and
torn where her “I LOVE JOHN”
button
used to be.
“You two look like you’ve been through a boxing match,” Trixie
commented.
Honey held the remains of a pearl necklace in her hands. “This is
absolutely
crazy,” she said disgustedly. “I’ve never been in such a riot in
my
life.”
“Look,” Di pointed out the window. “Their limo is here to pick
them
up. Let’s just wave, okay? I don’t feel like screaming
anymore.”
“Sounds fine to me,” Trixie said. “I haven’t seen them yet since
they
got off the plane.”
“But weren’t you up here with us?” Honey asked. “I could’ve sworn
you
were standing right beside me.”
“No that was Miss Trask and Ji…” Trixie was suddenly shoved into Honey
and
Di as the mob of girls splatted them up against the window, so that they could see the four young men leave the gate and step up to the car. They turned
around
to wave at the screaming girls again and started to climb into the
car.
Even with thirty girls screaming in her ears, she was still thankful
she
was there to see them. John, Paul, and Ringo waved at the
girls
again, while Trixie, Honey, and Diana waved back. George pulled a
security
officer aside and chatted with him for a minute and looked directly at
Trixie,
Honey, and Diana and smiled, waved, and climbed in the car.
Trixie’s heart was in her mouth as she turned pale and quit
breathing.
Never in her life had she been so close to a star before, especially
one
who looked directly at her and smiled. Especially…GLEEPS…George Harrison.
The small room looked like a disaster area. Brian, Mart, Dan, and Diana were in the process of helping Honey find
lost
pearls, while Trixie massaged her sore toes. Jim handed her a cup
of
coffee and sat down next to her. All the other families had left
and
had taken their screaming banshees with them. Mrs. Wheeler was red in
the
face, as she vented to her husband about the audacity of people,
shoving
others around just to get a look at a human being. Miss Trask
appeared
to be looking for something.
“Did you lose something, too?” Trixie asked her.
Miss Trask blushed. “Nothing, really.”
“Well, it looks like you’ve lost something,”
Trixie wheedled. “Maybe we can help.”
She sighed. “Well, let me know if you find an “I LOVE RINGO” button, okay?”
“I have a message for Trixie Belden,” a young security officer said
from
the room’s entrance. “Good grief, look at this place!” he
exclaimed,
looking at the number of cups, napkins, and other garbage on the
floor.
Trixie looked up and raised her hand. “Hey, Leroy.”
Officer Leroy Robinson shook hands with the boys and Mr. Wheeler.
He was temporarily recruited from Sergeant Molinson’s side, just for this event. A few years ago, after the Laura Ramsey case, the County Sherrif sent Leroy to the Sleepyside police department.
“Hey, Trix. Here’s a note for you. It was given to one of
the
other guards by someone special.” After giving her the note, he
winked
and left the room.
Dear Curly Top, Golden Hair, and
Blackie,
The lads and I want to thank you for
not
pushing and shoving.
Yours,
George
Trixie blinked and read the note again and again. “Well, what
does
it say?” Jim asked.
Trixie blinked again and looked at the signature on the note. “He
said
‘thank you’.”
“Thank you?” Jim asked as he took the note from her and read it
himself.
“Wow, Trix!”
“What’s the note say?” Diana asked as she straightened up and
stretched.
“Here, I’ll read it. It’s for you, me and Honey.” Trixie
took
the note back and read it.
November 30th – Jim and Trixie
Frayne’s
House
“Do you still have that note?” five-year-old Juliana interrupted the
story.
Trixie frowned. “I held on to that note for ages and ages.
When
your Grandpa and I got married, I lost track of it. I’m sure it’s
stuffed
in away in a book somewhere.”
“Didn’t you also see them in concert?” Juliana asked with very
interested
eyes. “I thought you said you saw them in concert?”
Trixie shook her head. “I did, but that was a few years later. This time I wasn't able to go, even though I had tickets to see them, because I was sick with the Chicken Pox. Honey
and
Di practically insisted that they stay home instead of going, but I
felt
so miserable that I insisted that they go. No sense in their staying
behind
to feel miserable with me and missing a once-in-a-lifetime
experience.
Anyway, I was sleeping and…”
February 12, 1964 – Crabapple
Farm
Trixie blinked awake after hearing the old Bob-White station wagon pull
up
into the driveway. After taking medication that Dr. Ferris
prescribed
and a soothing bowl of Moms’ homemade chicken noodle soup, Trixie
felt
better about missing the concert that night and staying home. New
York
is the place where everything happens, so she knew she was bound to see
them
the next time around. Still, she was just dying to introduce
herself
to George and tell him that he could call her Trixie instead of Curly
Top.
Figures. Why didn’t he just
tack
on “Freckle-faced?”
A soft knock sounded on her bedroom door, and Honey peeked her head
inside.
“You up?” she asked her best friend.
“’Course I’m up,” Trixie replied. “How’d it go?”
Honey and Jim stepped inside the bedroom and sat down next to
Trixie.
They were followed by the rest of the Bob-Whites, who all found places
to
sit around Trixie’s bedroom.
“Well? How’d it go?” Trixie asked again.
“We didn’t go,” Honey responded.
“You didn’t what?”
Trixie
exclaimed. “How could you not go?”
“Because you weren’t going to be there with us,” Diana answered.
“That’s silly,” Trixie scolded. “Come on, you all went and I know
it
‘cause I can see it in your faces!”
Brian spoke up this time. “Trixie, we couldn’t bring ourselves to
go.
We got to Carnegie Hall and saw all the girls and decided that it just
wouldn’t
be enjoyable anyway. We did do something, though.” Brian
stepped
out of Trixie’s room for a second.
“I can’t believe you didn’t go!” Trixie choked out while massaging her
neck.
She had yelled so hard earlier that her throat felt sore.
Honey just grinned and remained silent. Trixie looked around the
room
to the rest of her friends. Dan remained quiet, but smiling,
Diana’s
violet eyes twinkled as she smiled, Mart looked like the cat that
swallowed
the canary, and Jim just smiled and put his arm around her
shoulders.
She winced at the touch and Jim jumped back and apologized. It
wasn’t
long before Brian came back in the room with a small vase of
flowers.
“Oh, you guys,” Trixie mumbled, as she sniffed the flowers and pulled
out
the card. “They’re beautiful, but they are no excuse for not
going
to that concert you know,” she said, as she smiled at Jim.
Trixie,
Sorry to hear you were
sick.
Hope you feel better soon and maybe
you’ll
be around
for the next time we come
back.
Yours,
Paul McCartney
Ringo Starr
George Harrison
John Lennon
Trixie nearly choked. Tears rapidly formed in her eyes as she
looked
up at Honey and then at the other Bob-Whites. “You guys really
shouldn’t
have,” she said, as she lightly rubbed her thumb over the
signatures.
“It still wasn’t the same,” Diana said. “It would’ve been a lot
better
if you had been there.”
Honey put her arm around her best friend. “We weren’t going to
even
go backstage, but since Jim and I represent Wheeler Industries, who was
a
sponsor of the concert, we had to go back and meet them.”
Trixie gently gave her best friend a hug and then leaned over to give
Jim
a quick peck on the cheek. “So what did you guys do while you
were
supposed to have gone to the concert?”
Dan stood up. “When we arrived at Carnegie Hall, I saw Officer
Robinson
there. He said that he was nervous about this concert and wasn’t
really
sure about the safety. They had already taken three trampled
girls
to the emergency room.”
“He also said that two other police officers had been seriously injured
due
to the crowds,” Mart added.
“We decided that it would be for the better to just skip it and make
our
appearance later,” Diana said with a slight pout.
“I wish I hadn’t been sick,” Trixie said. “In a small way, I
guess
I wouldn’t have minded missing the concert as long as I get to meet
them
later. Looks like my chance has pretty much come and gone.”
“You know why, Trix?” Mart said with a grin. “Because you screwed
up
your silly “Rabbit Rabbit” thing.”
Diana nudged him with her elbow. “We chatted with them privately
for
a few minutes and had them sign the card.”
Trixie blushed to the roots of her sandy blond hair. “I can’t
believe
it,” she mumbled as the tears came back. “I honestly wish I
could’ve
been there.”
“They’re headed for Washington, D.C. next,” said Honey. “They’re
going
to play a few more venues and they’ll be done over here, I’m
afraid.”
Trixie stared at the card again and slightly rearranged the flowers
again
so that the colorful one was standing out in the center. “I like
this
one,” she said as she leaned down to sniff the red petals.
“George said the same thing,” Diana said, her eyes twinkling.
Trixie widely grinned as her eyes met Diana’s.
November 30, 2001 - Ten
Acres
Trixie looked down into her granddaughter’s precious face as she slept
in her arms.
She had fallen asleep, but it didn’t keep Trixie from her fond
memories. She thought
back to the Beatles'last American tour and how Mr. Wheeler had been a sponsor of
that tour,
and had been able to get them tickets to that show as well. Because
all the boys but Dan
were all away in college and couldn’t make it, only Trixie, Honey, and
Diana went with him
and sat in the audience of screaming girls.
They sat close enough to the stage in order to have some of the best
seats in the house.
Once again, they had been flogged by screaming girls, and the show just
wasn’t very enjoyable.
Even Dan was fighting off the girls, and he wasn’t even a Beatle.
However, one memory in
particular that always managed to put a smile on her face was a moment
when George Harrison
was trying to get the girls to calm down. He even looked right in
their direction, but he
didn’t seem to recognize them as “Curly Top”, “Golden Hair” and
“Blackie”, the girls who refused
to push and shove a few years back.
She wasn’t disappointed at all in that. She didn’t think he would
recognize her. Why should he?
I want to tell you
I feel hung up and I don’t know why
I don’t mind
I could wait forever—I’ve got time
Sometimes I wish I knew you well
And I could speak my mind and tell you
Maybe you’d understand.
And in the end, the love you
take is equal to the love you make
Author’s
notes:
Was this story campy or what?
C'mon, admit it.
You thought this was the corniest thing you've ever read.
I did not have
Trixie actually meet The Beatles because of the “real person”
factor. It’s
something that I’m really not very comfortable with.
As you know, this universe takes place in the 1960's. Given this bit of information, I honestly
think that the
Bob-Whites would’ve been there at JFK to greet the Beatles, since they
would’ve
been the right age in 1964. I also felt that I couldn’t ignore
this milestone
in New York history.
I do not have permission to use any
of
the Trixie Belden characters, or the Beatles for that matter. I
really
don’t know all of what they had to do once they arrived in New York,
but
I assumed that since they’re British, they would have to have their
passports
checked and go through all sorts of other security measures…red tape,
you
know. But, you know what “assume” makes…
Songs quoted are: “Twist and Shout”, “I Want To Tell You”, and
“The End”. Used without
permission.
The note that Trixie receives from
George
is not far-fetched. In the November 30, 2001 edition of The New
York
Times, a fan from Minnesota remembered how she and her friend had
tickets
to see a show in Minneapolis. She had the chicken pox and
couldn’t
go, so her friend took the extra ticket and took someone else to the
show.
When they came back, they presented her with a note from George telling
her
to get better. So, Trixie’s chicken pox and the note and flowers
were
based on that occurrence.
The title is a play on George
Harrison’s
song, “The Art of Dying”. *ducking*