"C’mon, boys, please stand still for just a minute longer. I need to finish this roll. Ringo, stop staring off in the distance, look over here! George, stop fidgeting, it won’t take me more than a minute if you’ll just stay still! Paul, no more silly faces this time around! And John, that goes double for you! Keep your mouths shut and your eyes open and let’s get this finished!"

Brian watched quietly as the photographer snapped her final shots after she’d browbeat the lads into being still. He thought there would be some good photographs from this session. He was beginning to recognize a "good shoot" from a "bad shoot."

How extraordinary, he thought. He’d been managing these boys for nearly 6 years now, and he had an almost paternal pride of them. That’s a strange thing, he thought, and chuckled to himself. Given his sexual orientation, his chances of ever experiencing fatherhood were decidedly unlikely. He shook the thought off, determined not to slip into melancholy today. It was a difficult secret to keep, but secret it must remain, if only for his parents’ sake. Not to mention the scandal that would arise if the secret came out!

"Okay, guys, that’s it for now, you’re free!" Andrea St. Claire wound the roll of film back into her camera, turning to Brian as the lads scattered behind her. "I think we’re just about finished, Brian. I’ll check these out tonight, and I might shoot a few more rolls tomorrow, but I think we’re about done." She set to work putting her gear away. Brian crossed the studio floor to help her by handing her items. "Mmmm, thanks," she said, her mind obviously elsewhere.

"It’s quite all right," Brian said, as he handed her items to carefully place within the bags that lay scattered about the room. Their hands brushed as she took the lens from him, and she smiled a thank you to him. Her smile was lovely, Brian thought, all straight white teeth and full lips, with a dimple in each cheek. She was a very attractive young woman, he thought as he handed her another lens. She had big blue eyes framed by long lashes, short black hair with some premature gray streaks, and a very fine boned frame, with small breasts and narrow hips. Brian knew that she was an extremely competent and professional photographer. He felt lucky to have acquired her services for this photo spread. An American living in France, she’d been eager to make the short trip to London when he’d contacted her after seeing some of her work.

George walked back into the room and Brian saw that he’d put his cigarette out before returning to the rented studio. He’d learnt his lesson after a severe lecture from Andrea the day before that cameras and film and cigarettes didn’t mix, and she would have none of the latter in the studio during a photo shoot. The lads had originally thought she’d be an easy mark for their tricks and clowning, but she was having none of it, and had promptly put them in their place. They were surprisingly meek after that, Brian thought with a smile. It had been a sight to see, this small woman sternly lecturing the lads and making them squirm like schoolboys caught smoking behind the barn.

"Andy, aren’t ya ready yet? The car’s here for us, and we’re all starvin’ o’ the hunger!" George exclaimed, rubbing his stomach and trying to look as though he hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks. Brian surprised himself by laughing, and Andrea joined in, her laughter light and melodious.

"Just a sec, George. Here, take a bag or two and we’ll be done that much faster. No, wait, not that one, I have one more lens to pack in there. Take those two there." Andrea pointed to two bags against the wall. George obligingly picked them up, grunted in surprise at their weight, and looked at the woman with more respect. He’d seen her carry the bags into the studio by herself while they’d been talking to Brian. He waited until Brian and Andrea were ready, and all three trooped down the stairs to the waiting limo.

"Shall we drop you at the hotel, Miss St. Claire?," Brian inquired after they were settled in the car and it prepared to join the rush of traffic.

"Nah, Brian, I could go for something to eat, too. And I’ve told you, just call me Andy. Or if that’s too informal, you can always try Andrea on for size," she said with a smile, and Brian felt a bit of a blush warm his face. The lads surely were having a good chuckle at this, he thought, but John and Paul were looking out one window and listening to the radio Paul held up near their ears, and Ringo and George were watching some girls on the street, talking about various attributes they liked. Thankfully, they were speaking in low voices, and he didn’t think Miss St. Claire heard them over the noise of the radio and the limo and the traffic.

Brian cleared his throat and asked the lads what they wanted for dinner. Steak and chips was the general consensus, and they enjoyed a pleasant dinner at a restaurant near Miss St. Claire’s hotel. Brian noted how well Andrea got on with the boys. They were extremely comfortable together. The mark of a good photographer, he thought. She could give as good as she got, and the dinner was a pleasant affair of laughter, jokes, good food, and camaraderie amongst the six of them.

After dinner, the limo driver was directed to take the Beatles to the Hilton on Park Lane. They were attending a lecture that evening, and meeting friends and family there for the event. Some sort of Eastern mystic, George told them, and he invited Brian and Miss St. Claire to join them. But Brian had noted the young lady’s yawns after dinner, and he told George, "I’ll return Miss St. Claire to her hotel. You lads go ahead without me."

Brian solicitously walked Andrea to her room at the hotel, and she kissed him on the cheek with a cheery "See you in the morning," before entering her room and shutting the door. Brian found himself whistling as he walked back to the waiting limo.

A babble of voices on the other end of the receiver woke Brian the next morning, and he listened for a moment, trying to sort them all out. "Maharishi wants us to come to Bangor for a seminar," George said with excitement, and John agreed. Brian heard "inner peace" and "regeneration" and other words bandied about, and he shook off his sleepiness enough to agree to send the limo for them. "C’mon with us, Bri, you could use a weekend away, right?" Paul tempted. And Brian was tempted. But it was the start to a holiday weekend, and he had arranged to meet with some friends for dinner. "Perhaps I’ll join you in Wales later on," he told them, and wished them a good weekend.

He spent the day with Andrea, looking over the photos and picking out the best of them. He admired her artistry, and she laughed. They had lunch together at Brian’s club, and chatted throughout lunch like two old friends. He knew he would be sorry to see her go. Such a short time spent in her company had made him realize that she was the most comfortable woman he’d ever been around, and he genuinely liked her. It was an odd feeling for him, as he usually felt a bit uneasy around women.

After lunch, Brian drove her to her hotel, and waited in her sitting room as she packed her bags for her return to France.

"Brian, could you please help me with this?" Andrea called from the bedroom. Brian entered the room to find her sitting on top of an overpacked suitcase, trying to close the latches.

He had to laugh. "How on earth did you ever pack all that in the case to begin with?" he questioned as he struggled with the suitcase latches.

Andrea laughed, too, trying to bounce the suitcase into submission. "Well, I bought some stuff when I got here, but I guess I bought a little too much. Whoops, oh, look out!" She’d bounced a bit too high, Brian realized, and he caught her before she fell from her perch, the suitcase exploding its contents onto the bed and floor. Their laughter filled the room for a few moments, then it became silent.

Brian became aware that he was still holding her in his arms, and he flushed and released her quickly. He cleared his throat and said, "Er, I’ll be in the sitting room while you determine how to repack, right?" and turned to leave the room. Andrea’s hand on his arm stopped him.

"Brian," she began with a smile, "won’t you please stay?" She looked up at him with those enormous blue eyes, and Brian felt his blush increase. This was ridiculous, he thought. He knew that he was decidedly and strictly homosexual, but here he was in a woman’s bedroom, and he found that he was definitely attracted to her! Andrea reached up and kissed him on the lips, and Brian’s surprise over his attraction to a woman increased fourfold at his instantaneous bodily reaction to the kiss. Andrea took him by the hand and led him over to the bed, pushing clothes and suitcase onto the floor as she pulled him down.

What an extraordinary day, Brian thought as he drove to dinner that night in Sussex. He had spent the afternoon in Andrea’s very pleasant company before taking her to the airport, and his mind still hadn’t quite caught up with all the implications of the afternoon. It had been exceedingly pleasant. More than pleasant, he thought. He decided to think about it later, when he was by himself. But he was whistling as he walked into the manor to meet his dinner guests.

Dinner wasn’t quite what he expected, he thought over brandy with Peter Brown and Geoffrey Ellis. Several of his guests hadn’t been able to attend, and he was somewhat disappointed. But at least two friends were there, he thought. It was nearly 10:00 when he said "Listen, lads, I’m going home. I have a few things to take care of at the house, but I’ll be back tomorrow, right?" Pete and Geoff tried to convince him to stay, but Brian knew he needed a little time by himself. His drive back to London was uneventful, boring, even. He listened to the car radio on the trip.

Upon arriving home, Brian quietly let himself in, deciding not to wake his butler. He walked into his bedroom and saw a telegram on his writing desk. Hmmmm, what’s this? he thought as he opened the envelope. He scanned it quickly, and saw that it was signed by a James St. Claire. Andrea’s... husband? Brian sat down heavily, poured himself a brandy, and then read the telegram with care. He was stunned at the news it contained.

"Regret to inform your business associate Andrea St. Claire killed in car accident on return home from airport STOP Request payment of all photographic services owed, to spouse James St. Claire STOP"

Brian gulped his brandy and poured himself another, gulped that one as well, and finally sipped his third glass. He wasn’t exactly sure how he felt, or what he felt, but he was shocked. Terribly shocked that the vibrant young woman he’d known for such a short time was dead, and shocked to a lesser degree that she’d been married. He was surprised to note that the brandy bottle was empty, and he went to the kitchen for another, returning to his bedroom with a full bottle. He poured himself another glass and sipped it, his mind in a whirl as it dealt with the strong brandy and the news.

Brian sat that way for several hours, drinking and re-reading the telegram. He finally burned the telegram with a lighter and allowed the ashes to fall into his bedroom fireplace. Near sunrise, he took several sleeping pills and washed them down with more brandy, and fell into a deep sleep.

When he awoke, it was already 5:00, and he knew he was due in Sussex, but he was so tired. He called Pete and told him he’d take the train down later, after he got some more sleep. Still groggy, he didn’t pay attention to the number of pills he shook out of the bottle, just swallowed them along with another glass of brandy. As he lay back down and slid into a deep and dreamless sleep, his thoughts were of Andrea.

"I read the news today, oh, boy" -Lennon/McCartney-

Cheryl Mortensen has been a Beatle fanatic since the 1960s, but somehow went on to other things in the late 1960s, only rediscovering her passion for "all things Beatle" in the late 1990s (and on into the new century).  She is a computer programmer and an avid photographer. (Concert photos of bands and performers is her favorite area -- ask her about her Ringo pictures!!)  Cheryl lives with her husband of 18 years (Mike), her German Shepherd (Sorsha), and a bunch of fish in the tank and the pond that they've never bothered to name.