The Girl Who Became a Beatle

by Greg Taylor

  “Caverns!!!” yelled the frantic production assistant, or whoever it was trying to track us down. “Get your asses in here!!!!”

  “So…,” I said. “Guess I’ll be seeing you.”

  “Yes, you will. Every Thursday night on the number-one-rated show in its time slot.”

  With that, Bradley gave me one of his killer smiles. I watched him walk away, toward the rear entrance of the Shrine. There was a huge group of fans and paparazzi on a nearby sidewalk, kept out of the compound by a metal fence. When they yelled out to Bradley, he strolled over to them and started signing pieces of paper and whatever else they shoved in his face. I shook my head and smiled at the sight. Bradley was right where he wanted to be. Feeling all the heat from his fans. As long as he had that, it meant he was famous.

  “Regina!” I turned to see Julian gesturing animatedly from a few trailers away. “Gotta go!”

  As I ran with Julian toward the Shrine, I felt loose and free and energized, like I could run all the way back to Twin Oaks, just as long as Julian didn’t leave my side. But there was something I obviously needed to do before returning to Twin Oaks.

  “I have a surprise for you, Julian.” He gave me a look that asked, Now what? “Don’t freak out or anything, but there’s been a little change in the program.”

  35

  I stood on a pitch-black stage. The void in front of me was filled with the excited buzz of a massive amount of people. In just a few seconds, they would be illuminated by an explosion of light and color. Before that, however, I would be throwing a major monkey wrench into the grand opening of a program that was being beamed into millions of households.

  But I was ready. As ready as I’d ever be.

  “Ladies and gentlemen … fellow musicians … fans from around the world … welcome to the Grammy Awards!”

  The voice—floating, coming from nowhere—boomed out into the darkness. This was the moment when I was supposed to yell out, “One, two, three, four!” and start singing “Hello, Goodbye.” Get it? “Hello?” At the beginning of the Grammy show?

  But instead I slashed my electric guitar with the musical intro to “No Drama.” I had told Julian and Waverly the chords to the song and instructed Danny that we were playing a rock song instead of “Hello, Goodbye” and to just do whatever he felt like. No coaching or lording over his creativity on this song. No, sir!

  The stage and auditorium were still cloaked in darkness as the band fell in tentatively behind me and started to fill in the spaces suggested by my intro. It felt really ragged, that’s for sure. And I felt a brief flash of panic. What if the first original song I ever played in public was a total stinker?

  Don’t think, Regina! Just play!

  Right, right. Exactly. The captain of the ship. As I stepped up to the mic to start singing the first verse of the song, I could hear a frantic rushing about in the wings of the stage. I could only imagine the surprised, confused looks on those headset people’s faces. Well, I’d be seeing them soon enough. I suddenly yelled out, in time to the music, “One, two … one, two, three, four!” And then there were …

  Lights!

  Video screen!

  Cheers and applause!

  It felt good to hear the audience explode with a wave of applause, just like they were supposed to. But they weren’t reacting to the song. I knew that. It was the brilliant theatrics of the moment. The blinding lights. The sight of the psychedelic images behind us. The loud, overpowering sound of guitars and drums, ragged as they were.

  I knew things would settle down very quickly and then the audience would be concentrating on just the song. So it was time to put myself out there. Time to let the audience judge me. In other words, time to start singing.

  So I did.

  And you know what? Magic happened. Truly. Maybe it was Abernathy, helping me out like he did at T.J., but everything fell into place after I began singing the lyrics to “No Drama.” It was like coming home.

  I could feel my vocals surfacing from somewhere deep inside me. I could feel the band jell behind me, Waverly laying down a hard, solid foundation, Danny playing with a gleeful innocence (as though he’d just discovered there was something called drums), Julian improvising riffs to complement my straight-ahead rock ’n’ roll rhythm guitar.

  It … felt … so … good. The song was actually working.

  And I realized, this is what it was all about. Everything I’d experienced in the past week, all the crazy things that had happened in my wish-come-true world … it was like all that stuff was in a funnel, swirling around and pointing to this very moment.

  Enjoy the moment, Regina.

  I did just that. The band played and I sang and I was so caught up in the moment that Abernathy—the true wizard behind all this—caught me by surprise. He saved the best for last, I’ll hand him that. It happened when I turned to Julian and gestured for him to join me at my mic for the final chorus.

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The psychedelic images from the video screen were bleeding out onto the stage! I stared in shock as the images swirled around behind Danny, then ventured farther out onto the stage, like multicolored fingers of mist.

  Julian frowned at my astonished expression and followed my gaze around the stage. When he looked back at me, it was clear he didn’t see what I saw. Whatever was happening, was happening to me only.

  OK. Got it. From the looks of things, I was being sent home on a magic carpet ride! Nice touch, Abernathy. Weird, but nice.

  I still needed to concentrate on the song, however. It helped that Julian was standing right next to me. As he and I sang the chorus, two psychedelic fingers of mist pulsated out from opposite sides of the stage, curved around the edges of the auditorium, and joined high up in the top balcony.

  I was surprisingly calm, considering that in addition to the psychedelic takeover of the top, and now the lower, balcony, the edges of my vision had started to bleed like a watercolor. It didn’t feel like I had to hurry the song to its conclusion. Matter of fact, I sensed that I had a bit more time before … what? Was I just gonna be whisked away in all this twisting, undulating miasma of color? A musical equivalent of Dorothy returning to Kansas?

  I wasn’t sure, but as “No Drama” neared its end, I had a lightning flash of what I wanted to do with whatever time I had remaining in La-la Land. I slashed my guitar in a downward motion to bring the song to a thunderous conclusion. The audience applauded, and it didn’t feel like polite applause, either. That felt good, of course, but I had other things on my mind than whether or not the crowd really liked “No Drama.”

  Things like jumping right in and starting another song before the Instigators began “Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” which is what was supposed to happen at that point in the program. As the lights shifted to Rory and his group, I blasted out the opening guitar riff to Julian’s song.

  Julian was shocked, of course. So was Rory and the Instigators and all the headset people on the side of the stage. I saw one of them throw his hands up in the air in a way that said, The girl’s totally gone off!

  I ignored all of the side-stage glares and shaking heads, ran back to Waverly, yelled out the progression of chords to him, then urged Danny to join in. Danny’s a gamer, I’ll say that. He’s always up for anything. So he jumped right into it and started pounding the drums like he had a bone to pick with them or something.

  I gestured to Julian to start singing his song. We’d hijacked the Grammys, and it was time to take it the rest of the way. Julian gave me a you’re-actin’-kinda-crazy-here-Regina-but-I-think-I-like-it! look, then he stepped up to the mic.

  I stood back and enjoyed what I figured would be the final moments in my wish-come-true world. By now the main floor of the auditorium was being taken over by the psychedelic mist. As for the balconies, they looked like they were being sucked around me and into the video screen!

  I tried to ignore that rather strange sensation as I looked around and found Dad, standing at the side of t
he stage among the frantic headset people, who slashed their hands across their throats in a desperate attempt to get us to stop playing. Dad was obviously perplexed by my shenanigans, but he seemed more pleased and amused by them than anything.

  Opposite Dad, in the other wing of the stage, was Trey. He shook his head in disgust when I looked at him. I gave him a big smile, which was not returned. Instead, he pointedly showed his back to me and walked off into the darkness. Which was where he belonged, as far as I was concerned.

  Then there was Rory. I could be wrong, but I think I caught a hint of regret in his eyes when I glanced over and gave him a little wave. Not because I wasn’t staying, but because he had made the choice to do just that.

  Finally … Mom. She was sitting in the second row. She smiled and gave me an energetic thumbs-up, even though she looked confused about all the pandemonium she could see in the wings of the stage.

  I started to tear up when I saw her. I looked down at my guitar. I didn’t want Mom to see me cry. Besides, it was getting harder to focus on the song at that point—things were really whipping into a frenzy in the auditorium—so I needed to be sure my fingers were going where they were supposed to.

  It’s OK, I told myself. It’s all OK. Just enjoy the ride.

  It was then that I heard Julian calling to me. I looked up and saw him gesturing. He wanted me to sing with him. I walked over and stood so close to him that we were touching. It was a good place to be in those final moments.

  The lively mist had almost reached the stage. Practically everyone in the auditorium was gone, replaced by a hazy sort of nothingness. It was just the people in the first few rows, and now they were going, dissolving and pooling together. The way all of this looked reminded me of the kaleidoscope I had when I was a kid, with its endlessly shifting colors and patterns, which I loved to watch—twisting the end back and forth, back and forth—until it made me dizzy.

  Actually, I was getting a little dizzy watching all this. But that was all right, because clearly the concert was over. There was nobody left to hear it! It was just me and Julian, the last ones to go. So I closed my eyes and had the absolutely warm, wonderful sensation of him and me joining together, like we were one.

  What a feeling!

  But it didn’t last. Next thing I knew I was traveling. Very fast. But even though I had the sensation of blasting though time and space, I felt very peaceful, very still, somehow. So I gave into that feeling and let myself be taken wherever it was I was going.

  Before long, everything around me began to get very bright. It was like I was being treated to the most dazzling sunrise imaginable. It was like I was heading right toward the origin of the sunrise.

  Bright … brighter … brightest!!!

  And then …

  “Should I tell him you’ll call later?”

  I slowly opened my eyes and saw Dad staring down at me. Looking at him, I was aware of a haziness around the perimeter of my vision. My mouth felt really dry, so dry that my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. I gradually took stock of my surroundings.

  I was in bed.

  In my Twin Oaks bedroom.

  Light was peeking around the edges of the curtains.

  “Regina? You OK?”

  Was I? Was I home? Truly and for real?

  “Just a second, Dad.” My voice sounded small and tinny. I rolled out of bed, went to the window, and opened the curtains. The light outside announced that it was morning. There’d been a heavy snowfall overnight. Julian’s Falcon was parked by the curb. “Julian’s here?” I asked.

  “That’s what I just told you. Are you feeling OK?”

  I looked around the room. All things Caverns had been replaced with all things Beatles. If I had any doubt about whether or not I was back, truly back, that erased it.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I feel just fine.”

  Dad looked relieved. “Good. I was worried about you last night. I don’t like seeing you down like that.”

  Last night? What happened last night? I glanced at my wall calendar and saw that it was December 22.

  Okaaaaay, I thought. Not only am I back, but it looks like I’ve returned to the morning after I made my wish!

  “Don’t worry, Dad. I’m feeling much better now.” And I was. I was feeling more and more normal as each minute passed. My vision was becoming clearer, sounds were returning to normal. But I was still really thirsty!

  Dad smiled. “So what should I tell Julian? Want to call him later, after you’ve showered and had some breakfast?”

  “No!”

  Dad did a double take at my outburst. I smiled meekly and said, “I’ll be down in two minutes.” He nodded, a bit warily, then headed for the door. “Dad?” He turned and looked at me. I was going to tell him that I wanted to call Mom on Christmas and all three of us would get on the line together. But as we looked at each other, it didn’t feel like the right time to bring that up. But that’s what we would do, I knew. I wasn’t expecting miracles. Just a new beginning.

  So instead I told him, “I might need three minutes. Maybe four.” Dad considered that, then said he would relay that information to Julian. After he left the room, I allowed myself to take a deep breath and appreciate the feeling of being back. I took a slow tour around my room, touching all of my Beatles posters and pictures, just to be sure they were real. I ended my tour at the shelf. The sight of all my Beatles stuff, the lunch boxes and miniature album covers with the bubble gum inside and, of course, my Beatle dolls, brought a smile to my face. I picked up my John Beatle doll and gave him a big kiss on his plastic face.

  And that’s when I saw it.

  Back in the shadows, hidden behind the row of Beatle dolls, was another doll. Somehow I knew what it was before I even reached for it.

  It was my Regina Bloomsbury Beatle doll. A note was taped to it. I opened the note and read,

  Just a little memento from your trip. Congratulations, Regina. You made all the right moves.

  Love, Abernathy

  I stood for a while and stared at the note. Then I placed the Regina doll back where I had found it. A compound of emotions enveloped me. Relief and happiness and a hint of sadness and practically every emotion I had felt on my journey, all wrapped up in one wave, so suddenly overwhelming that I fell back on my bed, arms outspread as if I were falling off a stage onto a sea of waiting hands.

  Then I saw, up above me on my ceiling, the Magical Mystery Tour–like rainbow I had painted when I was twelve or thirteen. Perfect, I thought with a smile. “Home” had been my Magical Mystery Tour all along.

  A home that currently contained one Julian Armstrong, waiting for me downstairs! Mentally snapping back to the here and now, I grabbed my bright red sweatshirt and faded blue jeans from my now-depleted post-wish closet and dressed quickly.

  Going down the stairs, I saw Julian standing in the middle of the living room, hands in his pockets, looking ill at ease. He had that just-got-up look. He looked irresistible. I had to remind myself, He doesn’t know anything that went on in L.A.

  “Hi,” I said when I got to the living room.

  Julian nodded hello.

  “Want some coffee?”

  Julian nodded again.

  So I made a pot of coffee, and while I waited for it to brew, I drank a gallon of water to quench my strange post-wish thirst, and then Julian and I went down to the basement. It was really cold down there, but it felt wonderful just the same, being back in the heart and soul of the house.

  Julian sat on the old sofa I had seen in my dream—the one I was sitting on with Mom and Dad watching Help! before they disappeared—his hands wrapped around the hot coffee mug for warmth. “So, anyway,” he said, not looking at me. “I heard about your little scene with Lorna. Sorry it had to happen that way.”

  At first I thought Julian was talking about my catfight with Lorna in the limo. That wasn’t it, of course. He was referring to my school hallway scene with Lorna, when she told me that she was quitting the Caverns. It fe
lt like that had happened a very long time ago.

  I sat next to Julian on the sofa. “So, what … you came over to see if I was OK?”

  Julian looked at me then. Staring into Julian’s blue-green eyes, I went all mushy and warm inside. (Cold? It wasn’t cold in the Cavern!)

  “Yeah,” Julian finally said. “I guess I did.”

  I came to realize, in the days that followed, that my journey to L.A. was like a jewel. In the sense that when you turn a jewel very slowly, you are able see different facets, different colors, depending on the angle.

  If I turned my journey one way, there was Mom and I. Turn it another, there was Dad and I. Another, me and my music. Turn it yet another …

  Me and Julian.

  One very important thing I learned on my wish-world trip was to not always wait for people to initiate things. Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands. Or, in this case, arms.

  There was a déjà vu–like feeling when I leaned over and kissed Julian. Just like our kiss behind the Shrine, I surprised Julian and he instinctively pulled back a bit. But I didn’t retreat, and after a moment, everything fell into place, just like it had before. Julian returned the kiss. And it became whole.

  Beauty.

  It was as good as the Shrine kiss. No. Better. Because there, in the Cavern, it was really happening. When we finally parted, Julian looked kinda flushed. Actually, he looked kinda gorgeous is what he looked.

  Smiles spread across our faces, and I thought, OK, if that’s all I got from my journey, the courage to give the boy of my dreams a kiss, it was well worth it.

  But I knew I’d gotten a lot more than that. When my inner electrical system calmed down a bit, I said, “Want to jam? Play some music?” It was like an offering. A celebration of the moment. But I couldn’t read Julian’s expression. I couldn’t tell if he wanted to play some tunes or not. Then I added, “I … have some originals I’d like you to hear.”