FicWad

Time goes faster if you stop looking at the clock. In fact, the moment you close your eyes or look away, time jumps by three minutes and you’re just thinking, “where did all that time go?”
I was careful to avoid all clocks at all costs. I hated the incessant ticking, and I felt morosely alone in the silence. Lucy was distant but polite, the boys were off in England doing rock star things, and dad was...well, his new hobby was now fishing, so he spent most of his time in New Jersey with my cousins, fishing down there and learning how to cook his catches.

Therefore, I was left to spend all of my time with Liam, who was more than delighted at my willingness to date him. In fact, by December we were doing much more than dating (if you catch my drift.)

I spent all my time at his expansive, expensive manor. I felt like a princess there, but I never spent more than a night. I was drawn to my own apartment. I purchased “Beatles for Sale” and listened to it often. I particularly enjoyed John’s “In My Life” and Paul’s “I’ll Follow the Sun.”

Letters were scarce these days. I barely wrote anymore, and Liam didn’t like me talking about them so much.
“You act like one of those silly fan girls,” he remarked one day as I commented on the lyrics of “Day Tripper.”

I was deeply hurt and kept my mouth shut about the Fab 4 after that. Liam did tend to be hot-and-cold mood wise. When he was cold, he was freezing, but it usually only lasted a couple of days. His boiling days could last for weeks, and it was these moments that practically forced me to fall in love with him.

Thoughts of the boys returned, however, as Christmastime emerged. I bought them all presents unconsciously, pretending they were for my own friends.
For John I bought a pair of cool glasses, hoping it would encourage him to wear them more often.
I got Ringo a ring, believe it or not. It had a large beetle on it. I thought he’d have a laugh about it.
I purchased a mop for George. It seemed funny at the time

Paul’s was probably the most practical. I got him a journal to write all those stupid song lyrics in. I scribbled on a random page:
In the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make

Satisfied, I closed the journal and wrapped them. I forgot to post them until after New Years. Liam and I spent a lonely Christmas together.

Liam really was quite a good companion. He kept me excited, and he told me he was in love with me on New Year’s Eve. Of course I said it back, because in that moment, I really did believe I loved him.

Liam was ecstatic; we didn’t leave the house all day. (Ahem!) This may sound a tad strange, but I’m simply recounting the events the way they were. That’s how Granny’s journal is supposed to work, isn’t it?
Valentine’s Day was the day. The day where everything changed. The last day where my left ring finger was free.

The day I got engaged.

“Will you marry me, Alice,” Liam proclaimed, looking up at me from his kneeling position.

Tears welled in my eyes and I became emotional, just like I was supposed to. “Of course, Liam.” It was the standard answer.

The next day, the party was organized by Liam’s sister, Isabella. She was drop-dead gorgeous and I was severely jealous of her, but the party let me forget all about that.
Liam wanted me to quit my job at the gallery and let him take care of me, but I refused. I don’t know what I would do every day if I didn’t have work to go to.

Things were also going unnaturally well at work. We were opening galleries of different names across the world. Six months ago we had the Venus open in San Francisco; we had the Apollo in Chicago; the Aura in Sydney and of course, the Aphrodite in New York. However, this week was big because we were introducing Indica, the art gallery to open in London.

We had themed the names to Greek Gods and Goddesses because I thought they sounded artistic and beautiful. Everyone agreed and the names were written in a bold, elegant yet showy font.

“Alice,” Nicholas, one of my assistants leaned onto my desk.

“Nick,” I replied, smiling slightly.

He laughed briefly. “We need you to be in London next week.”

I froze. “What?”

“It’s the grand opening of Indica, Alice! You have to be there! Plus, British people are such imbeciles, no offense to your dad or anything,” Nick rambled.

I rolled my eyes. “But it’s already the middle of June! Why wasn’t I told earlier?”

“Well, I was supposed to go,” Nicholas admitted.

I frowned. “And what’s your excuse.”

“My baby is due this month,” he replied smoothly.

I pouted. “But I’ve been to England loads of times. This is your shot!”
Nicholas shook his head. “Sorry, Alice. Your flight is the day after tomorrow. Do you want first class?”

“What do you think?” I growled.

~
Landing was the best part of flying. Sure, some people may argue that take-off is better, but they are seriously mistaken.

Taking off represents the start of an adventure, and it’s a thrill at first. Then you realize you have hours until it ends. Landing means relief and thrill at the same time. I loved the feeling. (It didn’t hurt being in first class.)

I arrived in Heathrow at eleven in the morning, and I was horrendously jetlagged. I caught myself thinking about the Beatles, and I mentally slapped my forehead. I could visit them if I wanted; I had their addresses. Maybe I’d ring up John. And George. Ringo maybe...
I brushed these thoughts out of my head as I pushed past people to get to a taxi.

“The Hilton, please,” I tried out my much-perfected British accent.

“Right, lovie,” the cabbie drawled, starting up the engine. I glanced blearily around the familiar roads. I smiled faintly.

~

“No, move those to the other side,” I ordered, pointing at the pictures of the Venetian gondolas.

I had long abandoned my English accent and I was shouting in my American glory.

“That goes in the white room,” I snapped at one of the poor stewardesses. I would apologize later; I was too stressed to do it now.

“What the hell are you thinking? That doesn’t go up the flipping stairs!” I shrieked at myself. I lugged the piece downstairs and walked out. They wouldn’t need me for a while now.

I was tired, grumpy, and rather bored of the entire situation. I ran to the nearest payphone.

“Hello?” a tired voice groaned.

I muffled a giggle. “John? It’s Alice.”

“Alice? Why are you calling? Is everything all right?” I heard him refocus and a panicky edge filled his voice.

I sighed. “I just wanted you to pick me up.”

John groaned again. “You’re half way around the world, love. Have you been smokin’ something?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m outside of the Indica. Can you pick me up?”

The line went dead, and in ten minutes a large car parked on the curb. I hopped over to it and John pulled me inside quickly before anyone saw him.

He was different; his hair was longer, and he looked relaxed. Perhaps he was the one smoking something.

“Alice! What the hell are you doing here?” he shouted when he saw me.

I grinned. “The company I work for owns the Indica, and I was sent out to organize it.”

John pulled me into a huge hug and I laughed with joy. I had missed him.

“I thought you were all filming a film or something?” I waved it off with my hand.

John shook his head. “Nah, that was earlier. We’ve finished now, and it comes out in a couple months.”

“Oh good! What’s it called?” I asked giddily.

“I think it’s called Eight Arms to Hold You, but there may have been talk about calling it Help instead.” He frowned, trying to remember.

I snorted. “John, John. You don’t even know the name of the movie you just spent months filming.”

He beamed. “We were all a stoned while filming; can’t remember a damn thing.”

I blinked. I wasn’t aware that they had been experimenting on drugs. “Oh? Weren’t you in the lovely Bahamas?”

“So you’ve been reading the fan mags, have you?” John teased.

I blushed. “It’s not my fault you and your stupid band are all over the place.”

John laughed whole-heartedly. “Les, will you take us to the studio?”

The driver in the front let out a grunt of assent and started the engine.

“The studio?” I whined mockingly.

“It’s just for a few touch-ups for the album. I think Paul’s got some slow song that he wrote and he wants to add it on.”

I nodded, feigning coolness at Paul’s name. I hadn’t forgotten our last meeting. Or the kiss. Come to think of it, I’ve kissed John, too! I laughed in my head. I hadn’t even thought about it like that in a while.

“You look different, Alice,” John was looking at me curiously.

I glanced over myself worriedly. “What? What is it?”

“Ah,” John picked up my left hand, where the diamond rested on my ring finger. “I see.”

For some reason, as he examined my hand, I felt terribly self-conscious. The whole scene was incredibly intimate and awkward at the same time.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, yes. That happened in February.”

John flashed me a wicked grin. “Valentine’s Day?”

I nodded in defeat. “Liam likes the romantic stuff.”

“Oh, so it is that Liam bloke. Do you love him?” he wanted to know.

“Yeah, I do.” I questioned myself right after I confirmed it.

John dropped my hand and smiled at me. “Well, then congratulations. I’m glad you’re in love and engaged. It’s your dream come true, isn’t it?”

I just smiled. I wasn’t sure what to say anymore.

We pulled up to the studio and John led me inside. The rest of the lads were tuning their instruments and talking amicably.

“Alice!” George was the first one to notice me. He ran over and gave me a huge bear hug, which I gladly returned.

“Hi, George!” I squealed. “You’re my favourite!”

He laughed and then Ringo was next, giving me a nice hug which reminded me why I missed everyone so much.

I approached Paul shyly, but he was the one to envelop me into a hug which reeked of “I’m sorry.”

I pulled out of that one fast, and looked around at them all.

“God, it’s been ages!” I groaned, slumping down to sit on an amp.

“What are you doing here, anyway, love?” Paul asked.

“I’m organizing the Indica’s grand opening,” I replied, averting Paul’s eyes.

Ringo’s eyes showed comprehension. “Ooh, yeah, I read about that in the paper a few days ago.”

“You can read, can you Ringo?” John teased.

Ritchie pouted. “Course I can, idiot.”

“Doesn’t yer nose get in the way?” he snorted with laughter.

Even Ringo joined in eventually, tapping his nose with a grin.

I giggled along, until I watched John pull a rolling paper from his jacket pocket and roll himself a joint. The room was soon filled with heavy smoke that clouded my brain and my eyes.

Living in New York City, I had certainly been exposed to drugs of all kinds. However, my father had been feeding me opinions since I was a kid: drugs were bad, and alcohol was only for special occasions. So that’s the way it was for me.

The joint was passed around and I passed it off. I coughed rather pointedly. Ringo, catching my look, snuffed it out and tossed it into the bin. The air slowly cleared, and I couldn’t help feeling a little foolish. It was just marijuana, right? What did it matter?

I forced myself to think straight, but the thick smell was clouding my sense of judgement.

“I need some air, lads,” I choked out, reaching for the door.

I felt hands on mine, and I realized that George had followed me out. I sat down on the steps and George joined me companionably.

“New to it, are yeh?” he asked understandingly.

He didn’t say exactly, but I knew what he was talking about. I felt rather embarrassed.

“Not new, just inexperienced,” I admitted with a slight blush.

George laughed, but not unkindly. “We all were once. Would you like to have a go?”

I winced and shook my head. “Nah, I think I’ll stay away from all that. You never know what it does to your system.”

George shrugged, not wanting to pressure me. “How long can you stay?”

I glanced at my watch. “I should have been back ten minutes ago.”

“So...” he prompted.

“So I’ve got about ten more left.”

George grinned. “Good. Come on, you might actually get to see us record something.”