February 7, 1964

I know I would have gotten into loads of trouble if my parents ever found out, but my friends Alice and Rosemary and I ditched school today to take the train down to the Idlewild airport to see the Beatles arrive.

There were a lot more people there than I thought there would be...hundreds, maybe even more than a thousand! It was cold, and we jumped up and down and rubbed our hands together to keep warm. I put my hands under my arms and shivered a lot. We had our transistor radios with us, and we all tuned them to the same station so that we could listen to the Beatles while we waited for them to arrive.

We ate our lunches at noon, and a whole bunch of reporters showed up with cameras after that. I’m not quite sure exactly what time it was when the plane finally arrived, but I know it was sometime between one and one thirty. Everybody was screaming and trying to get close as they could to the fence, and we managed to get a spot right up in front.

When the Beatles came out of the plane, everyone really went crazy. There were flashbulbs popping all over the place, and everyone was just yelling their heads off, but it was like the roar and the pushing crowd just kind of faded into the background. All I could see was the Beatles, right there in front of me, for real. In the flesh! I reached through the fence and my fingers brushed one of them on the sleeve; I think it was Ringo. He had the prettiest, friendliest blue eyes, and he smiled right at me! Then one of the men with him said something to him and he looked away and they all hurried to their car.

There were kids all over the place, even on the car! One girl fell off the back of the car as it pulled away, but she seemed okay.

We found out that they were going to be staying at the Plaza Hotel, so off we went to try to get in to meet them.

***

By the time we got to the Plaza, there were at least a hundred other girls there with the same idea, but I was luckier than they were, because my cousin Stewie works there as a bellhop. I know most of the people who work at the hotel; I even worked there as a chambermaid myself last year during my summer vacation.

Anyway, I asked Henry, the doorman, if I could get in to see Stewie, and he let me in! Oh, boy, if looks could kill, I would have died on the spot, because all the other kids there were just green with envy when they saw me go inside--- even Alice and Rosemary.

I pretended like I didn’t know what all the excitement was about when I went to the front desk. While I waited for Stewie, I told Dennis, the desk clerk, that I wanted to find out if I could work at the Plaza again during my next vacation. He said that he thought that could be arranged.

Just then, Stewie came to the desk, and I pulled him over by the elevators so we could talk.  “Stewie, I’m here to meet the Beatles,” I whispered. “Can you get me in?”

“Well, I dunno,” he whispered back. “They’re all the way up on the twelfth floor.” He thought a moment, then his face broke into a wide smile. “Tell you what, Shrimp. They ordered some sandwiches from room service a few minutes ago, and Harve is supposed to take the cart up to them. He likes you an awful lot, he’s always asking me about you ever since you worked here last year. I’ll bet that if you’d agree to go out to a movie or something with him, he’d let you take the cart up there instead.”

I hesitated, but only for a minute.  “Okay,” I agreed, “I’ll do it. It’ll be worth it if I get to meet the Beatles.”

“Great...wait here and I’ll bring the cart up. I’ll bring you an apron, too. Just stay right here.”

I was kind of nervous, waiting there for Stewie to come back. I worried that I wouldn’t know what to say when I finally got into the Beatles’ suite. I was biting my nails by the time the elevator opened to reveal Stewie standing there with a room service cart. He pulled me into the elevator and handed me an apron. I pulled my coat off and stashed it on the bottom shelf of the cart, arranging the tablecloth over it so that it wasn’t visible. I quickly tied the apron and gave Stewie a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks, Stewie,” I said, grabbing the cart as the elevator doors opened and pushing it into the hall. “I owe you a favor. What rooms are they in?”

“Down that way,” he replied. “See where that guy just came out? They’re all in there right now. Good luck,” he added as the doors closed again, leaving me standing alone in the hall.

I took a deep breath and pushed the cart down the hall, my stomach fluttering wildly; I was beginning to regret the Fluffernutter I’d eaten at the airport.

I rolled the cart down the hall and stopped in front of the door Stewie had indicated. I could hear laughter coming from inside; it sounded as if there was quite a party going on in there.

No wonder they need so many sandwiches, I thought, eyeing the considerable load balanced upon the trays. It sounds like there are a dozen people in there. I knocked loudly so that they would hear me over the raucous laughter The door was opened almost immediately by a neatly dressed gentleman.

“Room service,” I said.

“Oh, yes, well, bring it in,” the man said in a soft, cultured accent. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“Who is it, Eppy?” called a jocular voice, and I looked in the direction the call had come from to see one of the Beatles smiling happily at me.

“It’s the sandwiches, John,” replied the man who’d opened the door. “I told you they’d be right along.”

I was immediately surrounded by Beatles.

“‘Bout time we got some scram; I’m wastin’ away to a shadow,” said John. He smiled warmly and took my hand, pressing his lips to the back of it. His fingers stroked my palm, and I broke out in goosepimples, which I’m absolutely sure he noticed. He smiled dazzlingly, a devilish, knowing gleam in his light brown eyes, and released my hand after a final caress. He lifted the cover from one of the sandwich trays and selected one, biting into it eagerly. “Good,” he managed to say through his mouthful. “Thanks, Miss--”

“Carol,” I said softly, “Carol Mason.”

“Thanks, then, Miss Carol Mason,” he said with another smile. “Did ye make these yerself?”

“No, I’m just delivering, I don’t work in the kitchen.”

Paul and Ringo selected sandwiches and nodded politely.  “Haven’t I seen ya before, Miss?” asked Ringo.

“At the airport,” I reminded him. “I was there when your plane arrived.”

“Ah, yeah, I remember. I wouldn’t forget a pretty face like yours,” he said, biting into his sandwich. “You were behind th’ fence. How come ya weren’t here at work?”

George took a sandwich, murmered a soft hello, and sat on the couch, looking preoccupied and pale.

“Well, to tell the truth, I don’t exactly work here,” I confessed. “I used to, but I don’t anymore. I got someone to let me bring these up so that I could meet you.”

“Ah,” said Paul, taking a bite of a chicken sandwich, “So yer an interloper, are ya?”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” I replied, smiling shyly at him. “Do you mind?”

“Not as long as ye keep bringin’ us sandwiches,” smiled John. He gave Paul’s shoulder a gentle push. “Sod off, McCartney,” he added, “I saw her first.”

“Maybe she’d prefer someone who’s a real gentleman, and not a lout like you, Lennon,” Paul shot back.

“What’s the matter with him?” I asked, pointing towards George, who sat listlessly nibbling at a sandwich. I thought it was a good time to change the subject. “He doesn’t look as if he feels very well.”

“He’s a bit poorly today,” Paul replied. “He’s got a bit of a sore throat, like. There’s a doctor on the way over here to check him. I don’t think he’s contagious, though, so don’t worry.”

“So, whattayer say?” John asked, insinuating himself between Paul and me. “McCartney here’ll only break yer heart, yer better off with yers truly. C’mon over here an’ sit with me, whydontcher.” He grabbed another sandwich and steered me over to a loveseat in the corner. I sat and he settled himself beside me.

Now, this was something I never expected-- me sitting in the Beatles’ hotel suite beside the one and only John Lennon.

Just then, the man who’d answered the door hung up the phone he’d been quietly talking to someone on and announced, “All right, gentlemen, it’s time to get ready for the press conference. Are you sure you feel up to this, George?”

George shrugged and the man John had called ‘Eppy’ nodded to me.

“If it’s all right with you, Miss,” he said, smiling kindly at me, “I’ll have to ask you to excuse us. I have to get this lot ready to meet their public.”

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, of course I’ll go,” I said, getting quickly to my feet.

“I’ll walk ye to th’ door,” John offered. He put an arm companionably around my waist and escorted me to the door, then opened it and stepped into the hallway with me.

“Come back tonight, please, Carol,” he said earnestly, taking both of my hands in his own. “There’s gonna be a press party here, an’ I’d like ye t’ be me guest.”

I was astonished, but I nodded and he smiled warmly. He brushed my cheek with a quick kiss, allowing his breath to send a shiver down my spine when his lips touched my ear.

“Plenty more where that came from,” he whispered into my hair, then he opened the door and disappeared inside.

***

I had clothes scattered all over the place before I was satisfied with the image that looked back at me from the mirror in my bedroom. I went downstairs and took my coat out of the hall closet. My mom came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron.

“You look nice, dear,” she said with a smile, “Who’s the lucky boy?”

“He’s someone new, I just met him,” I replied. “His name is John.”

“What’s he like, Carol? Is he someone you know from school?” she asked, coming over to fuss with my hair.

“He’s a bit older than I am, Mom, he’s not in high school-- but neither will I be after this year,” I told her, feeling a little defensive and sort of reluctant to tell her exactly who my mystery date was.

“Is he a college boy?” Mom asked.

“No, he’s out of school,” I answered, turning towards the door.

“Carol,” my mother said sharply, “Just how old is this fellow?”

“I don’t know,” I replied; in all honesty, I knew very little about him. “I guess he must be around twenty two or twenty three.”

“Does he know you’re only eighteen?” she demanded. She was beginning to sound a little upset, so I hurried for the door.

“Of course he does,” I lied, anxious to be away. “Goodnight, Mom. I’ll see you in the morning; don’t wait up for me. We’re going to a party and it might run pretty late.”

I closed the door behind myself, not wanting to hear any further objections.

I sure will be glad when I turn twenty-one, I thought. Once I do, it won’t be anyone else’s business who I see or what I do.

***

I walked the four blocks to the subway station and got onto the train, lost in thought. I wondered why I was even going to this party. It wasn’t as if there was any point in my persuing a relationship with a Beatle. He was supposed to be in town for just a few days, then he’d be touring the rest of the country and returning at last to England. I had never imagined that I would be going to a party with one of them; I had thought that all that would happen was that I would get to meet them.

The girls were all still clustered around the hotel in tight little groups, trying to stay warm.

Henry had gone home, and there was a doorman there who I didn’t know, but he called the front desk on the intercom and was told that I was on the guest list and was to be let in.

When I got to the twelfth floor, I found that the doors to most of the rooms were standing open. I went to the suite the Beatles had been in earlier that day. There was a very big man inside moving guitar cases and trunks around, arranging them in the corners and along the walls. He noticed me and stopped, smiling at me.

“Well, hello,” he said, extending a huge hand, “Who might you be?”

“Carol Mason,” I told him. “John invited me; where is he?”

“I’m Mal,” he answered, “And John is in the shower, I think, at the moment. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

“Thanks,” I called to his retreating back.

I stood alone in the room and looked around; various items of clothing were scattered about, carelessly flung over the backs of chairs and couches, boots and socks lying here and there, and musical instrument cases lined up along the whole wall. The room service cart was still there, off to the side and picked clean.

A woman’s bra, incongrous in the masculine clutter, lay forgotten beside the couch. I stared at it, wondering from whom it had been removed and whether its owner was still in the suite somewhere.

“Well, hullo there, Miss Carol,” said a familiar voice.

I looked up to see John emerging from one of the adjoining rooms, a towel wrapped around his waist. He was applying a second towel to his damp hair. I flushed hotly, looking quickly away.

“Have I made ye uncomfortable, then, Miss Carol?” John asked; I could hear the broad smile in his voice.

I lifted my chin and forced my eyes to meet his, which were spakling like a naughty child’s. “No, of course not,” I replied, trying to make my voice sound light. God, but he was beautiful! I had seen my ex-boyfriend Jeff’s body, so a naked male was not something totally alien to me, but this was different. This was no adolescent in front of me, this was a real man, and that was something entirely new.

John chuckled softly, and I realized that now I was staring at him. “I’m sorry,” I muttered, looking down and blushing yet more deeply.

“No need,” he said gently, “It’s nice t’ be appreciated. A compliment...innit?”

“Yes,” I mumbled, turning to set my purse down beside a nearby chair. I sank into the cushion, earnestly studying my own shoes.

John laughed and said that he would be right back. “As soon as I get me clothes on,” he added with another audible smile. I think I nodded, but to tell the truth, I was still looking at him in my mind, so I don’t actually remember. He left the room, but he dropped the towel from around his waist as he did, and as the bedroom door closed behind him, I stared at the damp towel lying there in front of it. He was obviously playing with me, but I was beginning to worry about what I might be getting myself into.

About fifteen minutes later, John came back. He was dressed in a dark suit and white shirt, which he was in the process of buttoning. A black tie was slung over his shoulder, and he was not wearing any shoes. His still damp hair was in a lovely state of disarray, and he tossed his head to throw it out of his eyes.

“Be ready in half a tic,” he said apologetically. “Sorry for makin’ ye wait.”

“That’s all right,” I replied, watching him knot his tie and comb his hair. He began to travel about the room, picking up one boot after another until he had assembled a matching pair. He sat on the arm of the couch and pulled his footwear on, then stood and faced me.

“Do I meet yer approval, madame?” he asked, smiling down at me.

“You look very nice,” I told him, taking the hand he offered and rising to my feet.

“We’ll get over to the party in just a coupla minutes,” John said. “I wanna go in an’ check on George first. He’s not feelin’ too well. Got a sore throat, like. D’ye mind?”

“No, not at all, go ahead. I hope he’s going to be all right,” I said. “He seems like a really nice guy.”

“One o’ th’ best,” John affirmed. “Be right back.”

***

There were loads of reporters at the party, which was held in one of the hotel’s several conference rooms. The three Beatles who did attend answered hundreds of questions, most of which pertained to the boys’ perceptions of America.

“Well, we’ve not really seen much of it, so far,” Paul replied to one such question. “Ask again when we’ve been here for more than a day.”

“We could hardly believe all that fuss at the airport was for us,” Ringo supplied. “We thought that perhaps the President was on the plane with us.” He flashed the female reporter he was addressing a winning smile and steered her towards the bar.

Paul was encircled by several lovely young women, all vying for his attention; he seemed perfectly happy with his dilemma and deftly interacted with each in turn.

More than a few girls beautiful enough to be models approached John, even though it should have been clear to them that I was with him. When he pointed that out to them, they pouted prettily or looked daggers at me. I have to admit that I was rather intimidated by many of them, but to his credit, John told them all that he had a date and that they would be better served by “queuing up behind Paul.”

It wasn’t long before John was weary of answering the same dozen or so questions over and over again, and he suggested to me that we go to his room, where we would be able to “hear ourselves think.” I agreed, with the stipulation that we leave the door open.

“Ahhh...a shy virgin, are ye?” he teased.

I blushed.  “No,” I replied defensively. “It’s only that I’ve only just met you. I’m not a virgin, if you must know, but I am a nice girl.”

“O’ course ye are, an’ I never meant to suggest that ye weren’t,” he said. He looked stricken and apologetic.

We had arrived at his bedroom, and he guided me inside, then placed a suitcase in front of the open door with exaggerated care.

“There ye go, Miss Carol,” he said with a sweet smile. “Yer virtue is safe.”

I couldn’t help but smile, and he hopped onto the bed and unzipped his boots, kicking them off onto the floor. “Take yer shoes off an’ stay a while,” he grinned.

I sat on the edge of the bed beside him and removed my shoes, placing them carefully together, my hands shaking. I wondered how he could possibly be affecting me the way he was. He hadn’t even touched me, really, yet I was in a state of high excitement. His mere touch was all it took to set me emotionally ablaze--not even a single finger was necessary, actually. Just the touch of his eyes was sufficient. He excited, delighted, and frightened me all at once. I had never met a man like him before, and I told him so.

“That’s ‘cos there aren’t any others,” he said. He lay on his back and stretched luxuriantly, his hands clasped behind his head. “I’m what ye call a ‘limited edition’,” he added.

“I think that’s why you are all so popular here in America,” I told him. “No one here has ever seen anyone like you and your friends. You seem more exciting than anyone else we’ve ever been exposed to.”

John grinned wickedly. “Let me move that case and close th’ door, darlin’, an’ I’ll show ye just how excitin’ I c’n be if ye’ll expose yerself t’ me.” He gave me a long, appraising look, and I swear I almost fainted; I was really tempted, and believe me when I say that I am not that type of girl. I was going steady with the only boy I’d ever slept with for more than two months before I even let him put his hand under my sweater, and it was another month before he actually got to do anything with me besides kiss. Right now, however, I wanted nothing more than to tear off my clothes and let John Lennon do whatever he wanted to do with me.

Aloud. I said, “I’m going to have to leave if you talk to me like that.”

“No, don’t do that,” he said gently. “Sorry, Carol, really. I didn’t mean t’ make ye feel uncomfortable, really I didn’t. I was just havin’ ye on. Let’s tell each other about ourselves, then we won’t be such strangers. I like ye, gurrl, an’ I’d really like t’ get t’ know ye. Will ye stay?”

“All right,” I agreed. “I like you too, John. How long are you going to be in New York, anyhow?”

“Almost a week, that’s all I’m sure of. That’s quite a lot of time, really, when ye stop t’ think about it. How long d’ye think it’d seem if ye had t’ wait a week t’ eat, for example.”

“I guess it would seem pretty long at that,” I admitted. “All right, why don’t you tell me something about yourself, John Lennon. All I know is that you’re a musician from England.”

By the time I left the hotel (was it really just an hour ago?), I knew a lot more about him, and he knew a lot about me, too. I’m going to accompany him (Paul, Ringo, and George too, if he’s feeling better) to a rehearsal tomorrow. I can hardly wait to see him again.

***

February. 8, 1964

Well, today was quite a day! I spent the entire afternoon with John, Paul, and Ringo; they each wore a silly disguise so that nobody would be able to tell who they were. Paul was wearing a fake beard that looked like one of those fuzzy covers people put on their toilet seats, only brown. I didn’t think it was going to fool anybody, but apparently it did, because no one recognized any of the boys all afternoon. John wore a false moustache and tucked his hair up into a woolen cap, and Ringo combed his hair back and wore a scarf wrapped around the bottom half of his face-- he wore a cap, too, pulled down close to his eyes. They had gotten hold of some old overcoats that looked like they would be more likely to be worn by hoboes and those completed their ensembles. The effect was bizarre; we looked like a group of mental patients out on the town with their caretaker.

George was not well enough to go with us; he stayed in bed and his sister, who lives here in America, looked after him. I think they said she actually lives in Illinois.  Her name is Louise and she’s a very nice woman; she kind of reminds me of my Aunt Helen.

We went to some museums and for a walk in Central Park and even went to the zoo.

There aren’t many visitors during the winter season, and even though some of the exhibits were closed, we had a really good time. I brought my camera and took lots of pictures; for those, the boys temporarily removed their bogus facial hair so that their faces would be recognizable.

After our trip to the zoo, we went back to the hotel and the boys ordered a huge cart of food from room service, and we ate until we were stuffed full. Paul and Ringo wandered away to take naps in their bedrooms, and John and I retired to his room. He left the door open as he had the night before, and we lay on the bed together, his arms tight around me, making me feel very safe and warm.

“What do your parents think about how successful you’ve become?” I asked.

John’s fingers paused in their journey through my hair, with which he was toying absently. “I only wish they knew,” he replied sadly.  He told me that he hadn’t seen his father since he’d been a youngster and that his mother had died in a traffic accident when he was a teenager.

I tilted my head back to look into his eyes, which were glistening with tears. Impulsively, I kissed him gently on the lips, and he uttered a soft moan and kissed me back deeply. The world seemed to recede into a soft gray nothingness, and a faraway buzzing sound filled my head. It seemed as though there was nobody in the hotel, the city, the world-- except John and me.

Suddenly, he broke the kiss. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean t’ get so carried away, but ye must admit ye kind of started it yerself, Miss Carol.”

“That’s all right,” I replied, winding my arms around his neck. “I didn’t mind. I liked it. A lot.”

“In that case,” he said with a smile, “How about if I close that door?” I nodded and he jumped up to do so.

John slid back onto the bed beside me and took me hungrily into his arms. I was trembling as he kissed me again, even more insistently this time. I did not resist; the last of my inhibitions were swept away by the force of his passionate onslaught. I helped him to remove my clothes, and then his own.

“Yer beautiful,” he whispered into my hair as he ran his hands over my body. I clung to him and hid my face against his shoulder, suddenly shy. I knew I wasn’t really beautiful; I was just an average girl, neither gorgeous or plain. John, on the other hand, was the handsomest man I had ever been close to. I was barely able to breathe as he touched me all over in places that had not been touched by anyone else since my relationship with my only serious boyfriend, Jeff, had ended. I found myself shivering with anticipation as he straddled me and gently parted my legs with warm, gentle hands.

I opened to him without hesitation and he slid into me quickly and easily. With a low groan, he began to move, finding his rhythm almost immediately. I closed my eyes and wrapped my legs around his waist, moving with him, and I remember thinking that if the feelings he was making me have got much better than they were already, I would probably die. The one time I had done this with my ex-boyfriend, it hadn’t been anything like this. It had been furtive, a bit painful, and over almost as soon as it began, and Jeff had acted as if he’d robbed a bank afterward, seeming to be in a hurry to flee the scene of the crime. He hadn’t called the next day, and when I saw him in the hall at school a few days later, he had just muttered something unintelligible and scurried away.

With my eyes tight shut, I rode the wave of pleasure and confusion and wondered whether John would also want to rid himself of me as soon as it was over. A small sob escaped me as he stiffened and moaned, thrusting still more deeply into me as he came with a volence matched by my own sudden release. My hips lifted and my back arched involuntarily; I was unable to stop the soft cry of pleasure and amazement that sprang to my lips. I wondered briefly if I were dying, realizing with astonishment that I didn’t care.

John relaxed and I lay there enjoying the feel of his warmth and weight upon me, both of us breathing heavily, hearts pounding. I could feel gentle spasms inside of me gently squeezing him as he softened and finally slipped free. I felt a small sense of loss when he rolled to the side, but he took me into his arms and gently kissed me.

“That was incredible,” he said in a soft whisper. “It hasn’t been that good for me in a long while. Sounded as if it was good for ye, too. Enjoy yerself, did ye, Miss Carol?”

“It was wonderful,” I said against the side of his neck. “I never knew it was supposed to feel that way.”

“How about another?” he asked with a happy smile, rolling up onto one elbow and regarding me with a leer.

“Please,” I replied, reaching for him again.

This time, he began more slowly, bringing me almost to the brink with knowing, practised hands before entering me. When he did, I closed my eyes and he paused, lifting himself on his elbows, fully sunk into me.

“Open yer eyes,. gurrl,” he said softly. “Let me see what yer feelin’. I wanna watch yer eyes when ye come.”

Trembling, I obeyed, keeping my eyes upon his face as he brought me with him back to the edge and over.

***

We were awakened an hour later by a frantic banging on the locked door.

“John, wake up!” cried the voice of the Beatles’ manager. “There’s a press conference downstairs in half an hour.  You’ve got to get ready now!”

“Yerokay, keep yer knickers on, Eppy,” called John in a hoarse voice. “I’m up. I’ll be out soon as I get inta me clothes.”

“I’ll get out of your way,” I told him.  “Just as soon as I find my clothes.”

“Nah, don’t leave. Stay here an’ wait for me,” he replied, sitting at the edge of the bed and slipping his pants on.  “Have a warm bath, watch some telly-- I won’t be long. I won’t stay for th’ party afterwards. Say ye’ll stay, Carol.”

I promised that I would and he hurried to dress so that he could get downstairs.

***

The next day, the Beatles had a rehearsal in the afternoon, and I got to sit on the side and watch. It was in preparation for their debut on the Ed Suillivan show last night. I got to go to the show as their guest, and you should have seen the audience go wild! I had been planning to watch it on television at home, but it was even better to get to be there!

I spent the night with John again and when I called my mom, she was pretty upset, but she didn’t say I couldn’t stay, just that I should get home if I could and that I had better watch out that none of the guys try to take advantage of me... I guess it’s a good thing I don’t have my father worrying over me, but he died when I was real little and I think Mom kind of goes easy on me because of that. It couldn’t have been easy for her, raising a child all by herself, but I think she did a pretty darn good job.

Anyway, John has asked me to stay with him for the rest of the time the Beatles will be here in America, and I have decided that is exactly what I am going to do-- this is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and there is no way I am missing out on it!

***

February 10, 1964

What a scene there was when I arrived home this morning. My mom was pretty upset because I hadn’t come home the night before. I told her that I had fallen asleep on the couch while John and I were talking, and that he had covered me and gone to bed. I got her calmed down a bit before I broke the news that I was taking some time off from school to spend a couple of weeks with the Beatles.

“Carol, they’re grown men-- and besides that, they’re show business people! You don’t know what kind of people they are. What would a bunch of men in their twenties want with a high school girl anyway?” She stood in the doorway and watched me pack clothes into a suitcase. “Carol,” she continued, her voice softening, “I only worry because I care. I don’t want to see you get hurt, honey.”

I closed the suitcase and sat beside it on my bed.  “I know that, Mom,” I replied, smiling at her worried face. “But look at it from my point of view. What other chance am I ever going to get to spend time with the Beatles?”

“I just don’t see why it’s so important to you, I suppose,” Mom said quietly. “After all, they’re just a music group, even if they are pretty popular right now.” 

“They’re going to be huge, Mom. It’s like if you’d gotten the chance when you were my age to go on tour with Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Perry Como, and Tony Bennett. Would you have passed up an opportunity like that?” I asked. I really wanted her to understand.

To my relief, she smiled wanly. “I guess not,” she admitted. “You’ve always been a good girl, and I trust your judgement. I suppose if it’s that important to you, you really do have to go.” She started to leave, then turned back to face me again. “Just promise me that you won’t let any of them-- even this John of yours-- take advantage of you. You don’t want to do anything you’re going to be sorry for on your wedding night,” she added, her cheeks coloring. “You know what I mean, don’t you, Carol?”

“Yes,” I replied. “I promise that I won’t do anything I might ever be sorry for. Don’t worry, Mom. I know how to take care of myself.”

“All right, then,” she said, stepping towards me for a brief hug. “Go on, honey, before I have time to change my mind.”

***

I know my mom thinks that the Beatles are just a passing fad, and a lot of other people are saying the same thing, but none of those people are young enough to understand, I guess. There’s something special about this particular music group; you can just tell. There’s something magical about the sound of their music and even the way they interact with each other and with the press. They aren’t like any other celebrities anyone has ever seen before. They’re really special, and to me, John is most special of all.

Intellectually, I know I’m being unreasonable and impulsive. I never would have believed that I would ever do anything like this-- essentially, I was moving in with a man I just met three days ago, getting into an intimate living arrangement with him and his friends as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do. When I really think about it that way, I have to admit that I’m a little shocked at myself...not that I’m backing out now. This is a big chance for me, and I’m not letting it pass me by. I want John Lennon, and I intend to spend as much time with him as I can for as long as he is here. Who knows, maybe he’ll take me back to England with him!

***

February 12, 1964

Yesterday the guys had a concert at the Coliseum in Washington, DC-- it was the first time I have ever been in the nation’s capital, but we didn’t see much because they had to be back here in New York for two performances at Carnegie Hall today and tonight.  After that, they’ll have a little time before their next appearance on the Ed Sullivan show; we’re going to Miami Beach-- I’ve never been there and I’m really looking forward to it, especially since I will be with John.

I’ll write more as soon as tonight’s show is over; John and the rest of the Beatles have another press conference, and I’ll be here in the hotel room while that’s going on.

***

It’s quiet here for now; sorry I’ve been neglecting you, diary, but I just never even get a chance to think with the amount of activity that takes place within the vicinity of the Beatles! Add to that my new relationship with John, and you will forgive me, because there is just so much going on!

Something kind of strange happened this evening. There are always a lot of reporters around when the guys come offstage, and tonight one asked John whether or not the rumor was true that he is married.

John seemed furious. He pulled me closer to him and said, “Don’t believe everything ye hear,” in a really nasty voice. With the reporters trailing in our wake, he kept muttering that he wished to hell that the damned reporters would “mind their own fuckin’ business and leave us the hell alone once in a while.”

As we walked away, I heard one lady say that she’d learned he was married when she was watching the Ed Sullivan show. I don’t know what she was talking about; I was right there in the front row, and nobody said anything of the sort. Some kind of a misunderstanding, I guess. John was in a dark mood in the car on the way back to the hotel, but by the time he went down for the next press conference, he seemed all right. He asked me to stay here; I don’t really mind, because it gives me a chance to relax and spend some time collecting my thoughts and writing some of them down.

As if John would not have told me if he was married! I think I know him better than that.

***

February 16, 1964

It’s lovely to be here in Miami! So sunny and warm; New York was so cold, and this afternoon we went to the beach. John took me off to a spot far down the beach from everyone else and we spent some time lying under a palm tree, just kissing and talking. He was relaxed and calm, glad to be away from reporters and fans.

“This is nice,” he said, leaning on one elbow facing me as I lay on my back looking up at the palm fronds gently moving in the soft, warm breeze. I looked over at him.

“It is,” I replied, stretching lazily. “It’s so warm; I feel sorry for all my friends stuck back in the snow in New York.”

John reached over and cupped my right breast, bending his head to kiss me softly. I shivered as his tongue slipped into my mouth and he deepened the kiss, caressing my tongue with his own. I moaned softly and reached for him. He stretched out on top of me, his hands roaming possessively over my body as I answered him kiss for kiss. I guess I sort of forgot where I was, because I was really deep into the feelings he was drawing from me, and my head was spinning so! Anyhow, the next thing I knew, the other Beatles were all around us, cheering us on. It was so embarassing, I wished I could just sink into the sand and pull it over me.

“Sod off, all o’ ye,” growled John, getting to his feet. “Yer all just jealous.” He helped me up and gave them all a look that dared any of them to say another word. None of them did, but their eyes were all shiny and their mouths were twitching like they were going to burst into giggles any second.

Looking back at them once more, John steered me towards the hotel and behind us, Paul, George and Ringo began to laugh out loud.

John and I spent the next couple hours making love in his room, and when it was time for them to rehearse for the show, I went out to get some fresh air. There were hundreds of teenagers outside the hotel, waiting to get a look at one of the Beatles now that they knew the guys were here. It’s pretty amazing, really-- all of it. The papers even have a name for it; they’re calling it ‘Beatlemania’. Beatles music was coming out of hundreds of transistor radios outside the hotel, kids were holding up signs and calling up to the windows, and there were policemen all around the hotel to keep the girls from breaking in to get to the boys. Paul, George, and Ringo had been spotted on the beach and chased indoors by a horde of adoring fans. I wonder how long this craziness can last; if things keep up this way for too much longer, these guys are not really going  to be able to go anywhere. I don’t think I would be able to live that way, but it seems like the Beatles are made of pretty rugged stuff. They were a little bit annoyed by having to cut their outing on the beach short, but satisfied themselves with a visit to the pool instead. They are all flexible and good humored, full of ideas about how to keep themselves and each other entertained in their suddenly restricted world. I really admire their clever resourcefulness. Tonight’s show is the last, and there will be some time for them to recover from their busy schedule.

***

February 21, 1964

Suddenly everything’s changed. I am writing this on a plane on my way back to New York. I’m not at all sure I’m going to be able to read this because my hands are shaking so badly right now, but I just need to get this down on paper before we land in New York, and we are nearly there. I’ve spent most of the flight crying, and it’s kind of hard for me to see to write.

I know I’m not making much sense; let me start with what happened this morning. John was in the shower and the phone rang. I picked it up and told the caller that they had reached John Lennon’s room.

“Please put John on the phone,” said a female voice.  She sounded almost angry.

“He’s in the shower,” I replied. “Whom should I say is calling?”

“This is Cynthia,” the woman replied. She had a soft voice and spoke with a more cultured accent than John’s.

““Cynthia who?” I asked. I was beginning to get a little impatient with the caller.

“Cynthia Lennon,” she replied in an icy tone. “I’m John’s wife. Please tell him to call me at once when he comes out.” The woman banged the phone down in my ear and I let the receiver drop from my hand, which was suddenly shaking.

John chose that moment to come out of the bathroom.

“Ye shoulda joined me in there, Miss Carol,” he said with a smile. “I had nobody t’ wash me back.”

I just looked at him, temporarily unable to speak. He squinted at me and came closer.

“Carol?” he said, bending over the bed to look into my face, “What th’ fuck’s wrong with ye? Are ye okay?”

I reached out blindly and slapped him as hard as I could across his face. He reeled back, his expression a mixture of anger and confusion. My palm stung and throbbed as a red flare appeared on John’s left cheek.

“What th’ fuck’re ye doin’?” he cried as I jumped off the bed and began scrambling for my clothes. He grabbed me and held my arms down at my sides, his own arms tight around me. “What’s th’ matter with ye, gurrl?” He gave me a hard shake and threw me down on the bed, from which I immediately tried to jump up again, but he threw himself down on top of me and held me fast, his face inches from mine, his eyes blazing.

“Tell me what it is!” he yelled, and I glared at him, struggling to get out from under him.

“Cynthia called,” I spat at him furiously.

He looked more stricken than he had when I’d slapped him, and his eyes dropped from my face. I pushed him off of me and got to my feet, picking my clothes back up and pulling them on in silence.

I heard John sigh and light a cigarette.  “I didn’t mean for ye t’ find out this way,” he said quietly. “I’m that sorry, Carol.”

“I don’t think you meant for me to find out at all, John,” I told him, tossing my clothes into my suitcase. “I think you were just going to keep lying to me until you went back home to England tomorrow--back home to your wife-- and I never would have heard from you again. The only thing I don’t understand is why you were stringing me along at all. There are hundreds of girls outside the hotel trying to get in to meet one of you. The other guys have different girls every night. Why didn’t you do that? Why didn’t you just leave me alone instead of making me fall in love with you?  Why did you hurt me this way?”

“It’s not what yer thinkin’, Carol,” John said miserably. “I wish I’d met ye first, but it just didn’t happen that way. I wouldn’t even have married Cyn if she hadn’t been havin’ th’ baby, an’--”

“She has a baby with you?” I sobbed. “My God, John, doesn’t that mean anything to you? How could you even have gotten involved with me in the first place?”

“I couldn’t help it,” he said softly. “I was fallin’ in love with you as well, an’ I didn’t think ye’d understand.”

“Well, you were right about that,” I said, closing my bag and carrying it to the door.  “I wouldn’t have. Goodbye, John.”

“Carol!” he cried, “Don’t  go, please-- Carol, for Christ’s sake, come back!” He came running into the hall, still clad only in a towel, and I got into the elevator. As the doors closed, I saw Paul come out of his room and grab John by the arm to keep him from chasing me, pulling him back into the room, John’s face a mask of desperation and misery. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. There would be time to cry later. All I wanted to do right at that moment was get home.

I got on the first flight to New York-- they left pretty regularly and I only had to wait about fifteen minutes. Now we’re preparing to land, and I am so tired, my eyes so sore-- all I want to do is sleep and forget that I ever met John Lennon.

***

February 22, 1964

The Beatles went back to England today. I guess that’s the last I’ll ever see of John Lennon. The only thing I can think of to do is to put him out of my mind and try to go on. I’m going to put this book away too. I just can’t look at it anymore, it’s too hard not to re-read the pages I wrote while we were together.

***

April 30, 1964

Here I am writing in this book again...once again, everything’s changed.

John called me this morning. Just the sound of his voice over the phone made me go completely to pieces. He wanted to come over, but I told him no and hung up. I didn’t think I would be able to handle seeing him again.

I found out I was right when he showed up at the front door an hour later. One look into his eyes was more than I could bear; I had to look away.

“Please, Carol,” he said, taking my hand, “Everythin’s different now. I’m not with me wife anymore. We’re divorcin’ an’ she’s seein’ another fella. I tried t’ forget about ye, Carol, but I just couldn’t. I need t’ have ye in me life. There’s norra day goes by that I don’t think about ye an’ wonder what yer doin’. I tried callin’ ye several times, but yer mum said ye wouldn’t speak t’me. I’d just about given up hope of ever even hearin’ yer voice again until I called this mornin’ an’ ye answered th’ phone yerself. Baby, I haven’t seen ye in two months. I came thousands o’ miles across th’ ocean t’ see ye, an’ I’m not leavin’ here until ye talk t’ me.” He put his fingers under my chin and lifted my face so that I had no choice but to look into his eyes.

I melted, and he bent his head to kiss me. I almost gave in, but at the last minute I recovered myself and drew away from him. The triumphant smile died on his face and his eyes narrowed slightly.

“Don’t send me away, Carol,” he said softly. “Please. Let me come in. I won’t touch ye, I promise. Just please, hear me out.”

“All right,” I told him. “Come in, but whatever you have to say isn’t going to change anything. You lied to me, John.”

“I never did lie to ye, Carol,” he countered.

“You kept the fact that you had a wife and child in England from me, John,” I replied, “And that’s the same thing.” I opened the door wider and let him in; he followed me quietly to the living room and sat beside me on the couch. He looked around the room and said that it reminded him of his auntie’s house back in Liverpool. I did not reply, and John sighed heavily.

“Yer not gonna make this easy on me, are ye, gurrl,” he said quietly. It was not a question. I said nothing, and he continued. “I know it was wrong of me not t’ tell ye about Cyn,” he admitted. “I didn’t say anythin’ because I knew if I did ye wouldn’t  see me. I started t’ fall for ye an’ I just figured that once I got back  home I could end it with her an’ come back here t’ get ye.” He took out a cigarette and lit it, smoking quietly for a couple moments. “Things haven’t been goin’ well with Cyn for a long while, y’know, Carol,” he went on. “I just kept on because there wasn’t really any reason not to. Once I came here an’ we met, I started havin’ feelin’s for ye almost right away, an’ I could see that the feelin’s were mutual. I felt terrible about keepin’ th’ truth from ye, but I didn’t wanna lose ye, Carol. Please try an’ understand. Please forgive me. Don’t make me go back t’ England alone. Say ye’ll come with me an’  that ye’ll give me a chance t’ make ye happy. Please, Carol. I need ye in me life. Don’t make me go back without ye. I don’t think I could stand it if ye did that t’me.”

I looked into his warm, light brown eyes and my heart melted. There was no way that I could refuse him, and I knew it. My throat was painfully tight, so I nodded and threw my arms around him.

***

May 1, 1964

I am going back to England with John. Our plane leaves in less than an hour. Who ever would have believed that my life would have been turned so completely upside down in less than three months?

Beatlemania is still going strong, and the man I love is one of the four most famous people on the planet. To think that such a short time ago, he and I, born worlds apart, didn’t even know that the other one existed.

Mom isn’t too happy that I am leaving, but she refuses to stand in the way of my happiness, and she plans to sell the house and come to England to live.  Alice and Rosemary are green with envy and they made me promise that they can come visit us as soon as we’re settled. Alice has high hopes of getting to know Ringo better, and Rosemary has designs on George. I wish them the best; after all, if I can catch myself a Beatle, who’s to say that one of them can’t do the same?

Now I will close this book; I’ll pack it into my suitcase and take it out to read these entries from time to time.

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