While he talked, The other three moved slowly toward the door.
Dr. Cole pulled down the large lever, and each of the Beatles felt a strange shock throughout their body. Ringo let out a low whimper as he felt electricity fry his internal organs. It wasn't long after that until everything faded to desolate, inky blackness.
~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~
The Fab Four landed in a pile on the floor�or rather, the absence of one.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Ringo looked at the Guitar Ashley had given him. It was absolutely enchanting. It sparkled so beautifully . He couldn't believe he was the one that got the guitar. He hardly knew how to play a chord, much less play an entire song!
@@@@@@@@@
Ringo stepped out into the dark city streets. It was raining. How clich�.
He pulled his suit coat around himself, the guitar slung carefully over his back
by the white, diamond-studded strap. His stomach growled loudly. Ringo
passed by a diner, digging through his pockets. A rubber ball, his
drumsticks, some lint...no money. Nothing. Cold, abandoned by his friends,
and penniless. Fab.
@@@
Paul turned on his two band mates. "I can't believe you did that!"
John and George just stared at the door where Ringo had just left. Paul
paced the room.
"You just kicked out Ringo! RINGO! Have you any idea what the hell we do
next, smart-ass?" Paul shouted at the two. John and George were suddenly
very interested in their shoelaces. Paul sighed in exasperation.
"That's it. I'm leaving." John and George's heads snapped up.
@@@
Ringo walked for miles, trying to figure out what to do with no money, an
empty stomach, and a celestial guitar. "I'd put on a show, but I can't
play..." He thought forlornly. Suddenly, the harsh glow of a neon sign cut
through his little reverie. Ringo looked up, and smiled.
"PAWN SHOP," the sign boasted. "TRADE ANYTHING FOR MONEY." Ringo quickly
ducked in, out of the rain.
As he shook himself somewhat dry, he had a look around. The place was small,
dusty, but at least it was warm and dry. The floor was piled high with junk
of every description. Ringo eventually found his way through the maze to the
front counter. A little fat old man wearing a white undershirt was reading a
girly magazine. His hair was thin, almost nonexistent, and it was coming out in sprouts
of frizzy white, even on his chest. Ringo gulped, then gingerly rang the
service bell. The man looked up, saw Ringo, and looked back down. Ringo
furrowed his brow, then rang the bell more loudly. The man sighed in a
wheezy way, then stood up with a loud grunt.
@@@@
Paul stomped off down the street angrily. Sometimes he just didn't
understand those two. They always picked on Ringo. Granted, he did too, but
not to the point where Ringo just walked out! He'd never seen Ringo so
upset, and now he felt awful.
He kicked a pebble, splashing through a puddle. Judging by what Angel Ashley
had said, he shouldn't go looking for Ringo; they had to follow their own
path for awhile. Paul sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
Alternative, boyband, Ska, rap, heavy metal, top 40, country, or jazz? Choices
were slim. Boyband? What the hell is that? And Ska? Paul sighed deeply. This
was not going to be easy.
@@@@
Back in the hotel room, John and George were having a terrible fight.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Paul walked for an hour in the cold rain, numb. He was filled with resentment toward John and George. After asking a fellow pedestrian, he learned that it was only 7:30. It was, however, dark and cold. Paul guessed it was mid-January. He shivered as he watched his breath crystalize in front of him. He passed a large building that looked like an old movie theatre. He almost passed it by when he noticed a paper, saturated with rain, taped on the side. It simply read, "Try-outs here." Well, naturally, Paul was curious, so he walked in. It was empty in the lobby, but he could hear some noise down the hall. So, he followed the hall down to the end. And suddenly he knew he'd hit the jackpot.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
George knew exactly what he was going to do. He walked for about 30 minutes until he found a music store. He was going to see how much their cheapest saxophone was. Upon request, he learned that the cheapest saxophone he could get was a student model alto sax. It was a Bundy, and he could rent it or buy it. He obviously opted for the latter of the two. He had to shell out 600 dollars; money he didn't have. So, he thanked the salesperson and walked out. He'd almost lost hope when he felt a guitar pick in his pocket.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
John stayed in the hotel. He was mad. The door was wide open, but he didn't care.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
@@@@
Ringo walked under a streetlight, trying to find his way in the fading
light. Because of the constant drizzle, it was almost completely dark at
only eight o'clock in the evening. He decided to grab a bite to eat at the
nearest diner. He walked in, trying to keep a low profile. Ordering a cup of
coffee and a piece of toast, he sat at the bar. After a few minutes, he
heard three girls whispering behind him.
@@@@
John was lead by Kirk into a dingy hotel room, leaving his own closed and
with the key in the lock; they didn't need it anymore. The floor of
Metallica's hotel room was littered with trash. John stepped over a large
stack of empty pizza boxes and take out Chinese. James sat down in a leather
chair, picking out a random Chinese box from the pile and slurping Moo Goo
Gai Pan through broken chopsticks.
@@@@
Ashley sat in a fluffy white chair just as Lucy blinked in.
@@@@
George soon found a pawn shop in the direct vicinity. He ducked in quickly,
glad to be out of the rain. He wove his way through the junk on the floor
and came to the front counter, ringing the bell. In a few minutes, and old
man came from the back room.
"I think it would be gear to play the saxophone," George Harrison said to his friend and fellow band mate John Lennon.
"The Saxophone? Whatever put and idea like that into your 'ead?" John asked incredulously.
"Well, I don't know. It's got a lot of buttons, and it's rather shiny. You've got to admire that metallic luster." George was rambling again, something he often did.
"But you play the guitar, George-"
"Way to state the obvious," George interrupted another of his bandmates, Paul McCartney.
"-You've got a lot to do. Where will you find time to play the saxophone?" George grunted.
"It was JUST a suggestion." They were sitting in the waiting room of a very renowned scientist.
They had been lured to his office by a mystical add in the paper. The Beatles hadn't had much to do that day, and anything that said "Attain complete nirvana with just a short consultation" sounded appealing and a little comical.
"This 'ad BETTER be good," John grumbled. He didn't want to come in the first place.
"Ah, come 'ead, John. At least it's a different environment from being in the studio all day," Ringo said. Ringo was so positive and optimistic. Finally they were called back to see Dr. Richard Cole. He was a short aging man with a beer belly and wired spectacles. A smile illuminated his stocky features, and his eyes sparkled in anticipation.
"'Ello, boys! Welcome to my laboratory! I am Dr. Richard Cole, and I will be taking care of you!"
"What in the name of God is THAT contraption," Paul asked, staring straight up.
"Oh, this is just something that I have been spending my entire life creating," Dr. Cole said, smiling. John smirked at him. Dr. Cole looked like a circus clown with no make up.
"Great, what do we do? Come 'ead, I've got things to do, so you'd all better hurry up." John was impatient.
"Pray, what do you mean? No, you're part of the experiment!! You don't think this huge machine is in 'ere to look pretty do you?" The four began to back up.
"Listen, really..." Paul began, but couldn't finish. The smile never left Dr. Cole's grubby lips. John met Ringo's eyes.
"Uh-oh."
"I am afraid you are under a contract, boys, that says you DO what I say. "
"What? We signed no contract!" George protested.
"Ah, but you see, you did! When you came in...that means that you will step inside the pod, boys, or I will be suing you for a hefty sum of money..." he trailed off, a diabolical look sporting his porky features.
"Uh, Paul�?" George said weakly, the color drained from his face.
"You first," Dr. Cole said, taking a firm grip on George's upper arm.
"I..don't want to!" George protested unhappily.
"Don't worry about it, you are in perfect safety...and even if you aren't, there isn't much you can do about it, now is there. I will become famous with this little thing..and you will be the first."
"Not so fast, you'll be the next, along with your little friend, here. What was his name again...George." Dr. Cole thrust him into one of the pods. George fell to the ground with a large bang. Dr Cole laughed and looked ominously to Paul.
"Hey, I don't want any part of this experiment..." he trailed off as Dr. Cole reached a grubby hand out and grabbed him
"The rest of you ought to just come along and make my job easier. You aren't getting out of this lab soon, I promise you. "John sighed.
"Look, Dr. Whoever-the-hell-you-are, let go of me mates and just let us get out of here...this is my god damned day off, and I don't want to spend it in some crazy, lunatic's office!" He spun around, pulling a gun out of his pocket.
"I don't think you want to turn that door knob, do you, Mr. Lennon?" He said.
"Um...no, I don't...I was just about to head over and see what George was doing," he said quietly, who left Ringo to stand in horror. He was the only one left. John and Paul got put in their pods, and Dr. Cole turned around to collect the last Beatle. But, he was gone.
"Where did the heathen go?!" He growled, peering quickly around the room. "He better turn up, or you will all die." George backed up into the back of his pod, sighing deeply. What in the world could be worth all of this life threatening trouble?
Dr. Cole returned minutes later, holding a thrashing Ringo.
"Lucky I found him. I don't have time for stalling little gits who think that they own this world. Now, get your filthy, ungrateful arse in the machine!" He spat, throwing Ringo into the strange machine.
"Now, I want you to hang on...no use in having you killed before you've even left the room!" This statement puzzled all four of the Beatles, because, hadn't he just threatened them with their lives minutes ago? And...how exactly was this huge contraption going to leave the room?
"Get off me, you�you�AARGH!" John dumped Ringo off himself.
"Where are we?" George asked, looking around tentatively.
"The land of Limbo, my fair Fab Four." The Beatles turned around and beheld
two girls decked
out completely in angel outfits. One girl was incredibly tall, about six
feet, with straight
brownish-blonde hair. Surprisingly enough, two little devil horns were
poking out of her hair,
supporting a halo of diamonds. In her hands she held the most perfect guitar
the four had ever
seen. The body was smooth and sleek, made out of pure crystal that was
completely transparent.
The other angel, who looked rather disgruntled, had shortish light brown
hair, silver Oakley
sunglasses, and her halo hung slightly askew. The first angel poked her and
pointed, and the
second quickly fixed her golden crown.
Each of the fabs looked at the two angels in wonder.
"The-The land of Limbo?" John asked, finding his voice.
"Ah, yes, the land of Limbo. A truly wondrous place. We reside here and wait for unfortunate cases like you to drop in," The tall one said. The one with sunglasses poked her.
"Okay...well, who are you?" Paul asked quietly.
"I am Ashley, the Demonic Angel. This is Lucy, the Ringoholic Angel." Lucy shoved Ashley and blushed.
"I am Lucy, the Angel in disguise."
"But...you look like an Angel to me," John said.
"Well, I HAD to look like an angel right now. Duh."
"Riiiiight."
"Anyway, We are here to tell you your mission. You will be catapulted into the year 2000. You'll have to survive on your own. And by own, I do mean you will have to break up. Not for ever, don't get your knickers in a knot. But for the period of a couple of months. And each of you will have to keep doing music...but you will separate and take on your own bands, each a different kind of music. We can't tell you what kind of music you are going to take on, all I can do is tell you that George, you will get your wish," said Ashley, smiling.
"Wish? Do you mean I get to learn how to play the saxophone?" She shrugged.
"Possibly. We can, however, tell you exactly what kinds of music you can choose from. Alternative, boyband, Ska, rap, heavy Metal, Top 40, country, jazz, or anything else you can really imagine. This is 2000...lots of choices. Now, After all your paperwork goes through, which might be in a matter of minutes, you'll be in the year 2000."
"I don't know...how am I supposed to appeal to this? I am just a drummer, for God's sake!" Ringo said grumpily.
"You'll get your share, young Richard," Ashley said.
"Oh NO he won't. Or else George will get HIS share," Lucy said menacingly.
"'ey, why bring ME into this?" George asked with a nervous laugh.
"You won't be in it! Because nothing will happen, RIGHT Ashley?"
"Sure," Ashley answered. "Whatever."
"You're going to think �whatever' when I unleash my can of 'Whop-Ass' on you!!" Lucy yelled.
"ANGELS!!! Let's not fight!" George yelled loudly, much to everyone's surprise.
"Lucy!! George called me an Angel!!" Ashley said excitedly.
"You ARE an angel, you twit. And he called me one, too!!" Suddenly, a Bluish light descended from the heavens. It shined over the six of them
"I am supposed to give my guitar to the one who deserves it most." George, Paul, and John licked their lips at the magnificent guitar, already debating which of them was going to get it. George knew it would go to him. He was the lead guitar player. It was only right!
"Ringo, this guitar is yours." Ringo stood up, a discombobulated look painted across his young face.
"But...But I..I can't"
"Don't worry. Just take it...You will know what to do with it when the opportunity presents itself," Lucy said. Ashley handed her guitar to Ringo, and he examined the gift. He held it carefully, trying not to get any of his finger prints on the clear crystal. The other three looked at Ringo with disbelief.
"But-" George began. Ashley held a finger to his lips.
"No, It's Ringo's. It was written in the stars, George."
"You will see us again...many times through out your trip. Consider us...your Guardian Angels," Lucy said, pointing her finger at all of them.
"Now you will go." And with the simultaneous snap from Ashley and Lucy, the Beatles were gone.
"Ring, how about letting me play that guitar?" John asked him. They were sitting on a floor in a hotel room, where they woke up.
"No, John, I don't want to get any finger prints on it."
"Oh, come on. Please? I won't hurt it, I promise."
"No, John."
"Ritchie, please? Just a little bit?"
"NO! Leave the guitar alone. I don't want anything to happen to it."
"Damnit, Ringo! You can't even play the damn thing!!! It's just going to sit and collect dust."
"Ashley said it was written in the stars. Don't start with it. I am not in the mood. You leave that guitar alone," Ringo said. He was in a rather foul mood, thanks to the constant badgering of his guitar playing colleagues.
"Well what are we going to do now?" Paul asked, who wasn't as completely confused, nor jealous, as George and John were.
"Well, since Ringo and his guitar are doing so well, I think that they should be the first to split off on their own," John said coldly. Ringo stared in disbelief at John.
"What?"
"I second this notion," George said. Ringo felt his heart jump to his throat. This was unfair!
"'ey, It's not my fault that she gave me the guitar. But she did, and you can't have it, and if you are going to vote me off, well, then that's your own problem," Ringo said quietly. " Don't put all your hang-ups on me. I didn't do a thing to you. And if you don't want to listen to what messengers from GOD tell you, well, that's you, but I am following instructions. I'll be leaving now." Ringo got up, grabbed his guitar, and left the room. The other three stood, stunned.
"Ringo...just left," Paul said quietly.
"Oh, shit. Look what we've done," John said quietly. They hung their heads, full of remorse, but knew they could do nothing about it. All they could wonder was, what could happen next? And more importantly....who would be the next to leave?
"Leaving?" George squeaked. Paul picked up his coat and headed for the door.
The others made no move to stop him as he slammed the door behind him. The
two lone Beatles looked at each other, saying in unison, "Now look what
you've done!"
"Whaddya want, sonny?" He asked in a rough New York City accent. Ringo held out his
hands, displaying his rings.
"How much can I get for these?" The man pulled out a magnifying glass,
examining each for what seemed like hours. Then, the haggling began.
Ringo and the man argued back and forth for quite a while over the price of each
ring. At long last, Ringo managed to get an average of forty American
dollars for each of his four rings, so he now had 160 dollars. The man
looked at the guitar, licking his grubby lips.
"Say, that's a nice guitar, sonny." Ringo hugged it tightly.
"It's not for sale."
"I'd pay you top dollar."
"It's not for sale."
"One thousand, that's mah final offer."
"It's NOT for SALE!"
The man nodded quickly, holding his hands up defensively. Ringo walked
around the store for a few minutes until he came upon a guitar case. It was
fabric, not wood, and a bit beat-up, but it would do nicely for his purpose.
He carried it up to the counter, prepared to pay the man with the money he'd
just acquired.
"Y'know," The man said slyly, eyeing his guitar again. "I'd give ya that
there case and yer rings back AND you could keep that money fer that there
beaut." Ringo put his elbows on the table.
"Why would I want a guitar case if I were to give you my guitar?" The man
thought for a moment, then shrugged, taking his money for the case. Ringo
left the pawn shop, carefully sliding the guitar into its new case. He felt
better now that the guitar was covered. He continued off down the street,
pulling his coat to keep out the subsiding but still cold rain.
"How could you do that? " George screamed at his guitar playing
counterpart.
"Me? You seconded the motion! It's not like you protested!"
"But this is RINGO! How could you even think of such a thing? "
"Don't blame it all on me! You had no small part in the action!"
"Boys, boys, BOYS. Tsk tsk tsk." The two remaining Fabs turned to see the
hotel maid, complete with little French maid outfit. George gasped.
"Ashley!" He cried.
She squealed in reply. "He remembers me! In your face, Lucy!"
George fell to his knees at Ashley's feet, grabbing her hands.
"Ashley!
You've got to help us!"
"Whaddya mean, 'us?'" John grumbled, folding his arms over his chest. George
ignored him.
"What's wrong?"
"JohnandIinsultedRingoandnowhe'sgoneandPaul'smadandhe'sgonetooandwedon'tknowwhattodo!"
George said in one breath, practically passing out on the floor.
"Woah, there, Georgie darlin'." As much as she liked him holding her hands,
she shook him off. "I told you before. It is necessary for the four of you
to split for a short amount of time. You must broaden you horizons to learn
about yourself. Forget your friends for awhile."
"But..."
"No but's. Now!" Ashley helped George up from the floor. "I suggest you two
get to work."
"But Ashley....how do we....know?" George asked.
"Look inside your heart. You know your desires, you just have to find them. " Ashley smiled warmly. "I know what you want, I can see it in your eyes." John stood by the window, unfazed.
"I, however, cannot read you, Mr. Lennon. All I can tell you is look inside. You'll find the path. Andremember, the famous lines by Robert Frost- "Two roads diverged in a wood. And I- I took the one less traveled by, and That has made all the difference." With a small flicker of light, she was gone.
"I'm leaving," George said, still enchanted from Ashley's presence.
"What? You can't leave!" John protested, but he knew the could do nothing to stop George. He was a free spirit, and whether John protested or not, George was leaving. He watched his friend sulk out of the room. And then there was one.
"I wonder how much I could get for this if I signed it," he thought out loud. That's when his hunt for a pawn shop began.
"You know, you have a striking resemblance to John Lennon," a man said, cutting into John's thoughts.
"Hmmmmm...oh, yeah, I get that a lot."
"Man, I'm not joking. You could be his twin."
"Well, you could say we're related," John said, clearly amused.
"Hey...Hey LARS! Get your ass in here and look at this guy! He's related to John Lennon." Another man came in to the room.
"Holy SHIT! He is RISEN!" Lars said, eyes wide.
"Risen? What?"
"You play the guitar?" The first guy asked.
"Yeah," John said skeptically.
"Man, you've got the accent and everything...damn. You wanna come with us? You don' t look like you're too busy." John nodded and decided that the two guys weren't too bad.
"My name is James Hetfield. That's Lars Ulrich." John nodded again. This must be the chance Ashley was talking about. He followed James down the hallway to a large room that was much nicer than the one he was in. "That over there is Kirk Hammet, and that's Jason Nestead," James introduced him to everyone.
"What's your name?"
"My name is John. Um...John Winston," He said, pulling out his loathed middle name.
"Good God, you are the spitting image of John Lennon," Kirk said. John just nodded.
"Anyway, we're just stopping for the night before we get back on tour." John's ears perked up like a dog.
"Tour?"
"Yeah...we're Metallica," James said, though it was quite obvious that a more appropriate answer was "Duh."
"Oh....oh right!" John said.
"So, do you want to play?" James asked, handing John a guitar. the guitar was beautiful. A cherry red Fender stratcaster. He sat down and strummed a few chords. He was starting to like this.
"You're my sunshine after the rain.
You're my cure against my fear and my pain.
And I'm losing my mind, when you're not around.
It's all because of you," sang a young man of about 19. His voice was rough and scratchy, and just flat out terrible. Four men at a table forced smiles at the wretched song.
"Wonderful. We'll.....um...we'll be in touch," one with bleached blonde hair said.
"But you haven't seen me dance yet! Hold on!" He began to twist his body very strangely.
R"Riiiiiiiiight. Well.....we'll be in touch," He said again. Paul walked in. He was soaked to the bone, but he approached the table.
"Excuse me, what it this a try-out for?" He asked.
"98 Degrees. But you're too late. We'll be beat by boybands forever," said a guy with blonde highlights. As soon as Paul heard 'boyband' he knew that this was the chance that he was looking for.
"No, please, let me try-out," Paul said breathlessly. I won't let you down, I promise." The four eyed each other, I promise." the four eyed each other.
"Okay, name?"
"James...Macca."
"Okay, James Macca. Go ahead."
"Do you have a guitar?" Paul interrupted.
"Um hold on," The faux blonde said. After a few minutes, he retrieved a guitar.
"Aren't you going to sing one of our songs?" One of them asked wearily.
"You're probably sick of hearing that. Just listen." He strummed a few chords, and then broke into "Yesterday." The four members eyed each other.
"I think we might have something."
Paul smiled nervously.
"Well? What do you think?" The four boys, stepped up on the stage and linked arms with the Beatle.
"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship."
"*Gasp!* Look! Is that Ringo Starr??" A high voice squealed.
"Oh, Ginny, that's not funny, getting my hopes up." The second voice chided.
"No, really, Lucy! look!" A third voice added.
Ringo heard the scrape of chairs behind him. He quickly moved the guitar in
front of him, holding it gently between his legs so that if the girls came
running over it wouldn't be hurt. He pulled his neck into his collar a bit,
trying desperately to hide. The three girls sat down on either side of him.
They were silent for a moment, not quite knowing what to say.
"Uhm...excuse
me?" Ginny asked quietly. Ringo turned slowly to look at her.
"Uh...yea?"
"Are you Ringo Starr??" The girl with the squeaky voice blurted out. Ginny
hit her, then smiled sweetly, awaiting his answer.
"Oh, no, I'm...uh...his cousin. Yea, I'm his cousin. I look a lot like him,
though." The two girls were clearly disappointed. The second girl tapped him
on the shoulder.
"Are you sure you're not him?" Ringo did a double take.
"Lucy!"
"You know him??" The other two girls asked in exasperation.
"Well, I...uh..." Ginny and her squeaky friend stomped out of the caf�,
grumbling about their friend holding out on them.
"Oh, now why did you go and do that!" Lucy scolded gently, turning to order
a cup of coffee from the waitress. Ringo just stared at her.
Lucy was wearing a pair of tight blue jeans, knee-high leather boots, and a
light blue sweater. Her fingernails were a scandalous shade of black. Her
halo was gone, but her silver Oakleys were perched on her brown hair. She
noticed him staring at her and blushed.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing. Hey, what did your friend call you?" He wracked his brains.
"Oh yea! The...Ringoholic angel?" At the mention of that nickname, Lucy
blushed as bright red as the red leather seats they sat on.
"Oh, she was just kidding." Ringo smirked, peering into his coffee cup.
"Yea. Right." Lucy stood up quickly, flustered.
"Look, I just came to check up on you. I'll be off now."
"Wait, I didn't mean to..." But Lucy was already out the door. Ringo hastily
paid his bill, threw the guitar case over his shoulder, and ran after her.
He ran around the street corner, seeing her about fifty feet away.
"Lucy!" Lucy turned around, winked, and disappeared in a flash of white
light.
"So! What can ya play?" Lars asked excitedly. John shrugged, then started
playing "Run For Your Life." The other four listened intently until he was
done.
"Damn! You can even PLAY like him!" Lars raved. Kirk, Jason, and James
nodded. John just stared blankly at them and plucked a few chords.
"Do you want to join our band? It's grunge rock. We could really use a guy
who plays as well as you..." John looked skeptical.
"Well, I don't know, I'm awfully busy." John lied. He didn't really want to
join a grunge band. He wasn't sure what it was exactly, but it didn't sound
good. He'd rather do jazz.
James motioned to the others to talk to them. They huddled together in a
corner of the room to talk. John nervously strummed his guitar, trying to
listen in.
"So," Ashley said slyly, picking out some notes on her saxophone. "Have fun
with Ringo?"
Lucy just stuck out her tongue as she headed for the refrigerator. "That
good, eh?"
The two girls were in heaven, in their own private suite for the messenger
angels. They shared the room because of their current mutual interest in and
mission for the Beatles. Lucy pulled an orange soda from the fridge,
flopping down in a feather white beanbag chair opposite Ashley.
"How's
everyone doing?"
Ashley extracted a crystal ball from the folds of her white robe, holding it
up for Lucy to see. Ringo was still standing in the alley; George was in a
pawn shop having a 'chat' with the proprietor; John was playing a few songs
for Metallica; and Paul was currently chatting with four boys Ashley and
Lucy were unfortunately very familiar with.
"Eew! Is that 98 Degrees? Gross!" Lucy squealed, practically spilling her
soda as she jumped away in disgust. Ashley's brow furrowed.
"Hmm�I know boyband was a choice, but I had hoped none of them would pick
it."
"Well, Paul's yours, so *I* don't have to worry about it!" Lucy smirked.
"Yea, but you might need to worry about John�" Lucy looked at Ashley,
cocking one eyebrow.
"Whaddya mean?"
"Have a look." Lucy peered into the crystal ball, then gasped.
"John!"
"What?" He asked in annoyance. He looked at George, doing a double take.
"Damn...two Beatle look alikes in one day..."
George felt his jaw drop. He looked at the man excitedly. "Who was here
before??"
"Why are ya so interested in him?"
"I was just wondering..."
"I couldn't figger out which one 'e was, but I knew it was one of
'em."
George sighed in exasperation. "About this high�" George held up his hands
at about Ringo's height. "Big nose, blue eyes?"
The man just shrugged. "Mebbe. My memory's not what it used to be, Sonny."
George thought hard, then a lightbulb lit up over his head (not literally,
duh).
"He had a crystal guitar?"
The man's eyes lit up. "Yea! That's the kid. Very protective, 'e was.
Wouldn't pawn it for all the money 'e 'ad. 'E bought a case after pawning
'is rings."
George sighed. Ringo had to be pretty desperate to pawn his precious rings.
George pulled out his guitar pick. "Say, do you have a pen?"
The old man nodded, then handed over a pen. George hastily scribbled his
name on the pick, then returned the man's pen. He held up the guitar pick.
"How much can I get for this?" The man laughed in his face, onions and
garlic almost causing George to pass out.
"A guitar pick signed by and impersonator? About what the pick is worth;
five cents." He laughed. George's brow furrowed. The man didn't believe he
was actually George Harrison.
"If I can prove that I'm the Real Mcoy, how much would it be worth?"
"Well, sonny, I doubt you could prove it, but then
mebbe...oh...about 500 dollars. Mebbe 550.Hell.....George Harrison? I'd say...575 tops." George sighed. He felt around his back pocket for his wallet and found an identification card. He held it in the man's face. The man smirked.
"Yeah, and I was born in 1920," He said sarcastically. George heaved an exasperated sigh, and pulled a picture out of his wallet. It was an authentic, black and white photo of all the Beatles, Mal Evans, Neil Aspinall, and Brian Epstein. He always carried that picture with him.
"This is a real picture," He said taking the picture and handing it to the man. It was tattered and old.
"Good Lord, this is a real picture," He said.
"I have a few more. I swear to you I am the real George Harrison. I swear it on my life." The man eyed him suspiciously.
"I'll take all your pictures and that pick for 550 dollars, Sonny," he said. "And that's the final offer." George nodded and handed it all over to the man, who paid him $550.00.
George accepted the money and walked out, praying the music store was still opened. When he got there, he was in luck.
"Will you take 550 dollars for that Alto sax?" he asked breathlessly.
"I'm sorry, sir, but we can't negotiate," the man said.
"SHAWN!!!! Long time no talkie!!" A loud voice yelled from behind. Startled, George swirled around.
"ASHLEY!!!" George said.
"Oh, hello, George, Luv!!" Ashley said, winking. She had on a black mini skirt and a spaghetti strapped tank top that was bright red. Angels sure do get to wear nice clothes. Or that's what George thought anyway.
"Excuse me, sir, why didn't you say you knew Miss. Brooke? Why, she's our number one customer! Now, will you be paying for the saxophone with cash, check, or credit?
~~**~~**index**~~**~~