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The Beatles- First Trip to America

Summary:
This is based on a dream I had. The Cullens do come in, later. The Beatles trip to America- what if the Beatles (Ringo, Paul, George and John) were human but George (I chose him randomly) meets a vampire on their way into a concert.


Notes:
This might end up being confusing- but it will make sense...eventually!


2. Chapter 2

Rating 4.5/5   Word Count 1313   Review this Chapter

"Ready?" The flight attendant asked, suppressing laughter.

"Yes, we've been ready for ten minutes," Ringo complained. The people behind us were pushing towards the door, wondering why we haven't been moving.

"You might not be ready for this," she grinned, knowing something we didn't. I wanted to look out the window, but I was too busy concentrating on not falling down. Which is hard, mind you, when twenty-some people are pushing and shoving behind you. She flung open the door with a flourish. A huge crowd was screaming, yelling, jumping, running- basically freaking out. Signs, pictures, chants. We were not ready for this.

"I-we-you-huh?" John stuttered. The crowd behind us seized and pushed us beside, flooding off the plane. They disappeared into the crowd, no doubt adding to it. My mouth hung open. Ringo did a double take. If George's eyes were any wider, his eyeballs would fall out of the sockets.

"There's got to be a million of them," John finally managed. I nodded dumbly, unable to put together even a syllable.

"We thought there were going to be, if we were lucky, maybe a thousand," George mumbled. I looked out, and started counting. My head started throbbing at around a hundred. Wait, no. I already counted them. I really wanted to just scream, SIT STILL, but so many other people were screaming they'd never hear me.

"Well, lets go. I suppose," John nudged me forward. Why me first? "And see what happens."

I nodded, gathering excitement. This crowd, granted, was insane. But promised to be fun. Ask Ringo, anywhere there was fun, I was there too.

I concentrated on moving forwards, trying to drown out the crowd's screams and yells with Love Me Do. Specifically the harmonica part. Love, love me do. You know I love you.

No, wrong song- I moaned quietly. It was going to take weeks to remove it from my head. It was stuck. And I had only just gotten rid of it.

John pushed me forward, and I started down the stairs. Police officers were wrestling with the crowd, trying to keep them at bay. Insane was an understatement. And so was huge. There were no words to explain it. It just was.

"This is insanity," Ringo mouthed to me.

"I know," I nodded, and yelled back in agreement.

Ringo shook his head sadly. John winced just about every time a girl screamed loud enough to be vaguely heard and understood: We Love You. John was happily married, and it drove him insane; the amount of girls that had crushes on him.

"We'll tell that you were good," I promised, yelling but only John heard me. He shook his head.

"No lying," He yelled back. I rolled my eyes. "Not joking. Same for you, Ringo."

"Sure, sure. But what will one tiny little lie do?" Ringo yelled. John dove at him, as best he could on the tiny staircase. We were about halfway down, fighting all the way. What is with America and the paparazzi? Finally, the camera men noticed that John and Ringo needed room to work out their differences- and backed up quicker down the staircase. It's that or they were unnerved by the way I would smile and wave, then turn and glare at them when they stepped on my feet. Which is quite obnoxious when you're trying to get down a staircase with a bunch of cameras pointed at your face.

I relaxed slightly when my feet touched the pavement. I took a complete circle, taking in the scene. In the very front, arguing with a police officer, was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. No joke. Even when she looked so furious, screaming at the officer, she was breathtaking. Jet black hair, golden butterscotch eyes, pale skin under the winter coat. Her hair was a straight as a ruler, and longer than the current fashion. It was all the way to her shoulders, and framed her face. Her perfect white teeth reflected the flashes from the cameras.

The officer nodded his consent, forlornly, and waved her through the line of officers. She walked gracefully, ever so gracefully towards us. She edged through the sea of reporters, and reached us, without ever seeming to have physical contact with any of the swarm of people surrounding us. She smiled, a small timid smile, once she was inside the circle with us.

"Hello, I'm Jaylyn Bonsworth. And you are-" She asked, then laughed at herself with a high-tinkling sound. Her voice, was like a velvet ribbon. Smooth, soft, and beautiful. It wasn't too high of a pitch that it would be annoying, but not too low that she could be mistaken with a brother when answering the phone. "Obviously, The Beatles, but other than that? I can never keep your names straight,"

"Ringo Star," Ringo jumped in, I realized she had really been addressing me at first, but had opened the question. I checked myself, no mouth hanging open with drool slipping out, not blubbering like an idiot, and not bouncing up and down as Ringo was.

"Paul McCartney," I smiled, I didn't have to introduce myself very often.

"George Harrison," George nodded, acknowledging her.

"John Lennon," John nodded, acknowledging her as well. Just not paying as much attention as we were.Her gaze flickered to his wedding ring, then uo to my face.

"It was you I was looking for," her smile broadened at our confused and surprised expressions.

"Him? Why him? He's so ugly," Ringo complained.

"Not in my opinion," She shot back.

"Oh? Then who's ugly?" Ringo asked.

"None of you, why do you care so much?" She asked, seeming sincerely interested in why Ringo cared what she thought. How couldn't she know?

"Um-welll, see..." Ringo looked away, at a cloud far above perhaps, or a random face in the crowd.

"Hmmm. As I was saying, I was wondering if you would do an interview for me, at say, five thirty? I could meet you anywhere, only I need some sort of authorization from you to get up to any private room."

"We'd be delighted. We have hundreds of interviews, only none today. At five, we'll be up in our room. Have the receptionist call up to our room, and we'll come down and get you if need be," John agreed, after a short moment of thought. "I don't believe that call from London will be coming tonight, so we won't be too busy."

"Certainly, I wouldn't want to impose thought. Are you positive today will work? I could even make it to England in a few weeks, if that is more convenient."

"No, no. Today is best. When we get back, well, that's going to be chaos like this as well." John answered. Ringo was glaring at me. I don't think he liked the fact that most of her questions were aimed at me.

"Very well, then," she nodded, half turned towards a black BMW Z4. She dug in her pockets and pulled out a set of keys with a BMW logo on them. "I'll see you at five thirty."

She turned and got into the BMW Z4. She started the car and drove away, as fast as the crowds would allow.

"You just stood there like an idiot! You idiot! She was talking to you and you just stood there!" Ringo yelled. The crowds had quieted down, most people headed home. We had arrived, now our stay was to begin. I stopped in front of one of the cars we were to ride in.

"At least I didn't scare her off," I rebuked.

"Stop fighting, both of you. Or I won't be able to stand sitting in a car with you, even if its only for a few minutes," John sighed. George burst out laughing.

"You hardly even glanced at her," George choked out, finally regaining enough composed to stand straight but not enough to keep a straight face.

I shook my head. We bickered like an old married couple. Though, there were four of us. What a funny relationship. Or, of course, you could always say we bickered like close friends. And that always aroused less controversy.