I smiled back and we sat together and talked, his arm around my shoulder, for the next half of an hour until Paul and Yvonne returned from their walk around the neighborhood. Her blush told me that they had had a good time.
Nobody wanted to go home, least of all Paul and George, but Yvonne did have to; she was driving herself and couldn't stay alone. Sadly I watched Paul get into his car and leave to drop her off at the parking lot of the Beatles' hotel, where she was to pick up her own car to drive home in. Amazingly enough, my father had allowed me to stay with the Beatles for
"No more than two weeks," while they were in Boston. I had offered to pay for hotel service, etc., but Neil Aspinall had generously declined the offer and said that it was "on him". George and Paul took the liberty of reassuring my father that they would keep me safe. Only dad would understand how much I wanted to stay, he did, and here I was.
George and I waited for a few minutes in the safe darkness of a park near to the restaurant, and after a few seconds of small talk he found something to say that would break the awkward quiet.
"Let's play hide and seek!" I laughed,
"I didn't know that you English people knew that game!"
"Aye," he said sardonically, "but there is many a thing that we do know, and you need to learn."
"All right," I agreed wholeheartedly, "you're It."
George growled but obediently turned his back and counted into the bark of a nearby tree.
"One...two...three..." I ran away, not by far, however: I was well aware of the fact that Boston was not safe at night, even if George, in his naivete, wasn't. I crawled into the branches of a reasonably small tree and rested my legs on its arms; the trunk braced my back. Between the swaying of the leaves of the calm, quiet air, sleep began to overcome me. And though I fought to keep my eyes open I couldn't...I succumbed to relaxation and drifted off into oblivion.
Swimming pools...wind...Dad telling me to get ready for school...Penny! He called, Penny! I awoke with a jolt. I forgot where I was and moved to take a step; to answer the voice that was calling me. I was yet to remember that it was George Harrison, Beatle, yelling in the darkness as to my whereabouts. I gasped, and toppled out of the tree. I landed on my back and heard a click. All of a sudden, my upper spine felt like it was going up in flames.
"George," I managed to choke out. He saw me and came over.
"Jesus, Penny," he said tenderly, "what happened?"
"I dunno," I answered truthfully, "I just forgot where I was...I fell out of that tree."
"Here," he said, "offering me his hand, "can you get up?"
I nodded dumbly, but as he pulled me to my feet a stabbing pain shot across my back. I gasped again and fell against him
"Okay," he said reassuringly, "don't worry," and he picked me up in his guitar-playing, strong arms and walked to our car.
I refused to allow myself tears on the way to the hotel, humiliation was only the beginning of what I was feeling.
"Oh..." I exhaled softly as the pain grew larger and the stabs more frequent. George drove faster, and though I begged him not to, once we reached the hotel and stopped the car, he picked me up again and carried me into the elevator and up to his room. "Damn it!" I cried out as we reached his floor and he made to open the door, "I can't let John see me like this!" George looked surprised in addition to perplexed as he asked why.
"I don't know..." I said tearfully, (I really didn't, too,) "I just can't..."
"Okay," said George quietly, "don't worry, luv, I understand." I knew he did as he set me down outside the door. As he walked inside he quieted laughter of the other Beatles and I knew that he was telling them what had happened. I heard Ringo ask if I was all right, and George told him he didn't know...then John, I heard say,
"Can I go ask her?" George said no, but as hard as I tried, I couldn't hear how he gave the reason. I was surprised that no laughter followed, but I heard the suite's room clear, and George came out again, impish face now a mask of worry. I almost started bawling, seeing how sympathetic he was, but restrained myself as he picked me up carefully once more and brought me into his room. He kicked the door closed behind him as he laid me on the bed.
"Oh, God," I thought to myself, "in a bedroom, on a bed even, with George Harrison," but I didn't say anything: I only squeezed my eyes closed in agony. The fire in my upper back was returning.
"Umm..." George was stuttering again now, at a loss for words, "er...the others said that you could o'hurt yourself badly, but we don't know what to do since your dad's gone and...well, getting a doctor would bring the fans too...so...I mean, I definitely will if you need it..." He was getting somewhere, I could tell. "Uh...well, what I'm trying to say is...um...would you like someone to check?" My mind whirled...check? What did he mean? What could he do?
I tried to laugh but could only come up with a strangled sob as I nodded. George started to turn red.
"Uh...well...I'll have to...uh...check under your shirt." My mind did somersaults this time.
"You won't...um..." Oh, God, (again,) I couldn't say what I was fearing.
"No," he said reassuringly, stroking my hair, "I won't. Don't worry." I buried my head into the pillow as tears of embarrassment coursed down my face in rivulets. I nodded, to no one in particular, but only to let him know that it was all right. "Do you want me to, or one of the others?" I heard footsteps coming up to the door behind him and I gasped again.
"You." George leaned out of the room momentarily and whispered that he needed a cloth. Someone, I think it was Paul, left to get one.
George came back to the bed and carefully lifted me up onto my side, and then onto my stomach. Once I was no longer lying on my back I felt much better, but the prospect of being rendered helpless on a bed while George looked under my shirt was still less than appealing. He carefully lifted up the grass-stained blouse, and guitar-calloused fingers ran carefully up my spine. As soon as they got to where my bra strap was, a new pain shot through me and I cried out again, but dug a fist into my mouth to muffle the sound.
"Ah, here, luv," said George, "it's your bra. It must have caught a hold of your skin when you fell. It's pretty much in your back now."
"Is there blood?" I asked fearfully, eyes wet with tears as George answered.
"Ah...yes. Just a little bit of it, though, nothing bad. You don't even have to see it."
"Okay," I mumbled into my hand.
"Close your eyes," George instructed me. I did as he ordered and wondered what was going to happen. I felt George's cool fingers running over my back, soothing me, when all of a sudden they stopped moving, tugged at the bra strap that was implanted in my back. I felt a burning heat of pain, and I shrieked. I tried to stop from crying again, but sobs came out anyway, and when George put my shirt back down again I sat up and he wrapped me into his arms. I cried into his shoulder...and it felt so good. When I was finally done my eyes were red and his shirt was soaked.
"Better?" he asked me, concerned. I nodded silently.
Chapter One's Still Not Done! On We Go to Have Some Fun! (Ooh, I like that!)