John and Ringo usually went to The Club every Friday night just
to have fun. And they did, sometimes even more fun than Paul and George
had. But Paul and George had purposes. Their mission: to keep their girlfriends.
Paul's date was the lovely Julie Wilkins, with long blond hair and bright
blue eyes. George had the dark-haired, green-eyed Ellen Canterbury on his
arm. There was sort of a ritual they followed every Friday:
6:30 P.M. to 7:00 P.M. was a time of getting prepared. At 7:15 The Beatles piled into the car. At 7:20 they picked up Julie. At 7:35 they picked up Ellen. By 7:45 they were in The Club. They stayed there for a long time, sometimes going past midnight.
Everything was running smoothly and on schedule. But, at 8:53 P.M., a broken George went home. And, at 9:23 P.M., the rest of the group helped a hobbling Paul into the car. Why? Let's look into it.
Ellen looked up at George. She fidgeted in her seat and wished she had worn something a little more comfortable. At the moment they were waiting for an opening, since the dance floor was jammed.
A few minutes later, George's voice pierced the tense silence: "Hey, I think it's cleared. Let's dance." Ellen smiled approvingly as George led her onto the floor.
They had been dancing up a storm for about an hour until Ellen's eyes began to wander about the club. After all, she had been looking at George for the past hour and even someone as good looking as him got tiring. She saw Paul and Julie, and Ellen could swear she saw smoke coming from under their feet. She could bet money that they would both end up with blisters. John had already gotten a few nasty blisters on his feet, and he was sitting in the corner waiting for the pain to pass. After that, Ellen saw Ringo, who had started his own little dance craze in a group of people. It was a very simple yet interesting dance, mainly consisting of bouncing lightly on each foot twice while making silly arm movements. Then she saw him.
He was a lonely-looking man standing next to the bar, watching the people dance. And he was smiling straight at Ellen. Seeing that he had gotten her attention, the man gave a charming wink. Ellen smiled and glanced back at George, who wasn't paying attention. She winked back and smiled coyly. The man did the eyebrow thing. Ellen turned back to George again, saw that all was clear, and she sort of danced away towards the man.
"Hello, girl," the man said. "What's your name?"
"Ellen," Ellen said.
"I'm Andrew. Who's the clown?" Andrew asked, pointing at George. "Is he supposed to be your date?"
"Yes. That's George," Ellen replied.
Andrew stifled a laugh. "Why on earth would a lovely lady like you go for some scrawny idiot with floppy hair and a name like George? Stick with me, Ellen, and you'll see some real dancing." Without a second thought, Ellen let herself be led to the floor by Andrew.
By then George had noticed Ellen was gone. He wouldn't be able to pick her out easily. There were a lot of people there, and a lot of the ladies with dark hair were wearing blue-green dresses similar to Ellen's. Maybe she got lost in the crowd and was looking for him. Maybe she had gone to the ladies' room. George didn't want to think she had deserted him.
Then, all of a sudden, there she was. He tapped her on the shoulder. "Ellen?"
The lady turned around. Her eyes were brown. "Ellen? Who's Ellen?"
"Never mind," George sighed. He looked around. Then he really saw her. He could tell that elegant expression from a mile away, if he could see that far. And she was dancing- with another man! He looked bigger than George, and much stronger. George didn't want to tangle with him, but he had to do something. Pushing his way through the crowd, he whacked the guy on the back.
The guy turned around. "Oh, look, it's little George," he said in a mocking tone. "Little George thinks he's big and strong cause he eats his breakfast." Ellen stifled a giggle. George glared at the both of them.
"George, you don't have to worry about taking me home," Ellen said. "I think I'll go with Andrew." With that, the both of them turned around. The time was exactly 8:47.
At 8:48, George found Paul and Julie. "Hey, Paul," George said, "I think I need to go home."
"Mmm?" Paul asked. He wasn't paying much attention.
"I'll need to take the car," George said.
"No you won't. Call a cab," Paul replied, not even turning around. Then something came over him. "Hold on a minute," he said to Julie. After that, Paul turned to George. He was still dancing.
"Let me get this straight," Paul said, narrowly missing George's foot. "Party Animal Dancing All Night Won't Stop Till He Gets Kicked Out Harrison wants to go home early?"
George sighed. "I have a perfectly good reason," he said, pointing to Ellen and Andrew.
"Oooh," Paul said with a pained expression, twirling Julie around. "That's gotta hurt."
"Very badly," George replied. "I guess I will call a cab home." As soon as he got near the door, he heard John ask, "George? You're leaving?"
George sighed again. "I'm leaving because I don't think I'd have much fun if I stuck around."
"What would happen if you did stick around?" John asked.
"I'd have to deal with the worst pain imaginable. Even worse than the blisters on your feet." George started for the door again.
"You mean you got blisters too?" John smiled. "Why, that's not a big problem at all. Just dance on your toes." George groaned and threw himself out of the door.
"What's with George? Mr. Mousie is 100% confused." Ringo came up, doing his dance which had been newly christened the Ringo Rave.
"He's got blisters," John said.
Right when George got out, it began to rain. George kicked the lamp post and stubbed his toe. Muttering to himself, he walked home in the cold, cruel night.
When George got home, he had no idea what to do. It was mandatory that he do one of those classic brokenhearted cliches, but there were so many to choose from. Should he fling himself down on the bed and cry his eyes out? Should he walk some more in the rain and collapse on the sidewalk in the light of a dying street lamp, sobbing and screaming Ellen's name? Should he kick things around and not talk to anybody again? Should he give up eating and sleeping? Or should he attempt suicide?
Cream cheese danish, George, you're pushing it, he thought to himself. None of those cliches sounded right. George thought he could sing a sad song. But no really sad songs came to mind. Maybe if he listened to the radio! George turned the radio on and heard "She Loves You".
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, right," George said, turning the radio back off.
All of a sudden, the door opened. In came John and Ringo, holding on to each of Paul's arms. "Come on, Paul, you can make it," Ringo said. George stood up, curious. "What happened?" he asked.
"Paul fell and his ankle's hurt bad," John said.
"Well, that's nice," George said grumpily.
"What's with you?" John asked.
"Ellen dumped him," Ringo said.
"Oh, dump is such a nasty word," Paul commented. "Can't you put it in a nicer way? It's not like George needs to be lower than he is now."
"Awww, Ellen dumped him," John said, not paying Paul any mind.
"Don't remind me," George said, looking down. Memories of how he and Ellen used to be washed over him all of a sudden. George's eyes filled up with tears and he began to sob.
Paul sighed. "I gotta call Julie," he said. "She's not gonna be happy. All I did was tell her I was getting sleepy and sort of hid my ankle injury. I just hope she understands that I have my pride." He reached for the phone and dialed Julie's number.
"Hello?" Julie's voice answered the phone.
"Hey, Julie," Paul said.
"Hey," Julie said. "I thought you were asleep."
"Uhh...the phone's loud," Paul said.
There was a silence. "Wait a minute- you called me."
"No, the phone was calling to me! You know, calling loudly! Call Julie! Call Julie!" Paul laughed a nervous laugh. "See, I have to tell you something about tonight."
"Okay, what is it?" Julie asked.
"Um...see, I wasn't sleepy at all," Paul began. "I got an ankle injury. Remember when I fell?"
"Oh, yeah. Why didn't you tell me in the first place?" Julie waited.
"Um...you know, I sorta have my pride," Paul said.
Julie sighed. "You don't have to have your pride around me, it's not like it's gonna hurt you. Are you gonna be able to go next week?"
"Well, everybody thinks I've sprained my ankle. I don't think I'll be able to dance, and if I do go I would probably have to sit around like a stick in the mud. And I know you like a date who can dance, so..." Paul sighed.
"That's too bad," Julie said, disappointed.
"What if I get one of the other three lads to escort you to the club till I'm better?" Paul asked.
"All right. Who will it be?" Julie asked, sounding better.
"I know you. You like consistency. I think I'll ask George," Paul said.
"Okay," Julie said. "I guess I'll be all right."
"Just as long as you don't forget who that escort of yours should be," Paul replied with a smile in his voice.
"Of course not." There was a warm silence. "He- he doesn't burp in public or scratch himself, does he?" Julie asked, curious.
"Absolutely not! He's very well groomed and a great dancer from what I can tell," Paul said.
"I don't want him to be perfect, because you know I hate that," Julie said.
"He's not perfect. He appears anxious most of the time, can get shy, and is hard to talk to," Paul said.
"Now that's a challenge. I like challenges." Julie sighed.
"It's getting a little late. I better go. See you," Paul said.
"See you," Julie replied. Paul hung up and sighed. "Hey, George!"
George stopped sobbing and looked up. "Huh?"
"You got a date Friday!" Paul exclaimed happily.
"Cream cheese danish! Ellen still likes me???" George leaped up. "Was that her?"
"'Fraid not," Paul replied.
"Mmmm." George went back into the slump.
"It's with Julie," Paul said.
George leaped back up. "Ellen who?" He grinned for the first time that night. "Trust me Paul," he said, "you won't regret it."
"I think I already am," Paul grimaced.