The Beatles were back together, and I had never been happier. The Beatles never forgot what I had done for them, and I became sort of their official number-one fan. They sent me their new records as soon as they released them, and they always signed them. I got free tickets to many of their concerts, and they would sometimes just call me or send me a letter to ask how I was doing, and to tell me a little bit about their lives, which were happier than ever. The Beatles told me that they had all promised each other that if they ever had problems again, they would work them out right away...
The next day, when John got up, I had already dressed, eaten, and was standing with my things by the front door, clearly ready to leave.
"Well, thanks, John," I said. "I had a wonderful time."
John blinked at me in the early-morning light. "You're leaving?"
I nodded, trying my best to look as though I really wanted to. "It's time. You know I couldn't stay with you forever. I need to get back home."
"But..." For a moment, John's ever-confident expression faltered and he looked lost - "You don't have to go yet. We haven't done half the things we could do here....
For the next week, I stayed with John. It was heaven for me, and I think John enjoyed my company, too. But my real reason for being here never left my mind.
On the first day, John introduced me to his music. He played me songs he'd recorded solo in the last couple of years, and they were so beautiful, but they made me cry. Then I asked to hear some Beatles songs, and John played me many of the earlier ones I didn't know yet on his guitar. "Misery" and "I Should Have Known Better" and "A Hard Day's Night" and "Help!" and "Eight Days a Week" and "It's Only Love" and "No Reply" and...
Some time later, and I was walking in Central Park, my next step in finding and reuniting all the Beatles. George had driven me to the airport and paid for my flight back to the United States. On the plane, I had thought about John. From what the other Beatles had told me, he would probably be the hardest to convince, but after my victory with George, I was feeling like I could do anything.
I had looked at Paul's photo of the Beatles again before leaving George's house, and even though most of the Beatles looked so different now, I was able to recognize George and Ringo in the...
I don't know how long I sat there, crying on George's kitchen table. George, I think, wasn't sure how to handle a girl crying in his kitchen and he left, letting me stay in there as long as I liked, while he was in some other part of the house. I think that was best. After a long time, when I had cried so much I couldn't cry anymore, I lifted my head into my hands and tried to think. I couldn't just accept George's answer. There had to be something I could do to change his mind. I had to see my plan through. I owed it to Paul, and to Ringo. What could I do about George? Why wouldn't...
That night was the most thrilling night of my life. Ringo told me I could stay and have dinner with him, and then after dinner, he had a concert to do, and he said I could stay backstage and watch! And I did, and he was just amazing! His songs, even without the other three Beatles there, were so beautiful! I couldn't believe that my friends didn't listen to him, at least!
I slept on the sofa in Ringo's hotel suite that night, and the next day, I decided I could ask him to take me to George. That was different from asking Paul to help me find Ringo, because Ringo knew about my plan....
Maureen found me the address of the hotel Ringo was staying in while he was recording or touring - even she wasn't sure which it was. She offered to drive me there, too, but she wouldn't go in with me. "I don't know what he'll say if I'm there. I think you'd better do this on your own." But she did give me a slip of paper she had signed, saying that I had to get in to see Ringo and should be allowed into his room. "That'll stop them giving you trouble at the front desk," Maureen said with satisfaction.
Luckily, I still had some money left from my job for transportation. I figured I might end up spending it all on plane and train tickets, but it was worth it. My only other option would have been stealing money from Paul, and I would never do that!
My next step was a plane ride followed by a train ride out into a secluded place back in England, where I found a nice big house with a statue of a rhinoceros out front. This was the place, according to Paul's address book, where Ringo lived. If he was still here, this was where I would convince him to rejoin the Beatles.
Later that night, when all the McCartneys were asleep, I sat awake, thinking, on the little pull-out bed Linda had gotten out for me.
I knew what I had to do now. Somehow, I would have to find Ringo, George, and John, and tell them how sad Paul was about their breakup, and convince them all, somehow, to come here and reunite. I didn't know how I was going to do that, but I couldn't believe that any of the former Beatles would be too hard to convince. Who would want to leave the Beatles behind? I was really much more worried about how to find them.