A little story here. | Page 7 | Fab Forum | The Beatles Bible

Okay, I hadn't a clue you speak in a British accent. So, I'm not Rupert Murdoch (yet anyways!!), but it was all a joke. Now, in terms of Von needing to get drunk first. That's straight from a 70's TV show, The Mary Tyler Moore Show. In one of the episodes, Lou (the boss) is in his office, and Mary (the worker) comes in and says “Can I talk to you?” Lou said, “how long will this be?” Mary: “Not long.” Lou: “Okay, I only need a bit (while pouring a glass of scotch).” Glad you liked it. 

Okay, me and M3 have been doing a little set of letters together. Here's the first one. (I'm an Apple employee. 1969)

Dear M3,
They're done. The Beatles are finished. They had a meeting at the office, and Lennon said it's over. I shouldn't have listened, but I couldn't stop. It was riveting, in a depressing way. Lennon was so forceful and strong, in a way I'd never seen him before. Paul and Allen told him to shut up in public about this, but it's over. You can't say anything, of course, but their upcoming album will most likely be it. Attached to this letter I'm sending over a LP of the January sessions. This was almost released in July, but they scrapped the release. Listening to it, I see why. I have some other bootlegs, but I don't want to have to deal with cross – Atlantic shipping more than I already do. George is already talking of his solo career – he told me yesterday that he was planning at least a double album. This letter will not be my last, but, it may be last I send from Apple. Allen Klein is going on a firing binge, firing everyone he can. I heard Evan joke about an assassination plot in the staff room. Actually, I just got some news. Paul is going to record a 45 tomorrow, and he just informed me that I could have one of the 25 copies he's making. I'll see if I can get you one. Until then, enjoy the record,
Evan

Dear Patricia
You crack me up. Whenever would I, your trusted friend, lie to you? Although the gossip mill is saying Wilson is teetering on the edge of collapse from all those drugs. I’ll write again with details. And speaking of UFO’s, did I ever tell you about when John came to the studio all insane because he thought he saw a UFO? He was so funny. I remember the session – we were trying to do And Your Bird Can Sing , and John and Paul just kept cracking up doing the takes. It was a fun day at Number 2. You know I hate reminiscing, right? Although, sometimes, a trip down memory lane is good. I still remember when I first heard And I Love Her . I was in my car with my folks, and this guitar work just captivated me. Still does whenever I hear it. Oh, I realised I screwed up my last letter – it’s Darren who joked about the assassination, not me. I gave your love to Jean, and she sends her’s back. And of course, say hello to Lionel for me. He’s a good chap, Lionel. You’re lucky. I’ve got an advance copy of Abbey Road on my desk for you – the 5th made. I’ll send this as soon as I get the box. Always a pleasure,
Evan

(Jeanette? Thanks!!)

Needless to say I love them. Whose idea was it anyways?

Boy, for what I expected to be a huge crowd-pleasure, I’m way off. Not even crickets. I have another one, and it would please me greatly to get some feedback. Here goes:
New story.

“Um, Patricia, we just won 8 tickets, airfare and hotel for a Paul concert in Montreal on the 27th of July”. That was how Patricia, (M3 to her Internet pals) heard she would be getting to see Paul once again. And, there were two tickets left. Patricia, wanting to meet her Internet companion, asked fellow BB’er Evan if he wanted the seats. However, Evan, in a mystery akin to Conan Doyle, turned her down, saying, “I couldn’t take these seats. I’ll have just seen him the night before. Keep them.” M3 was so shocked, so confused, so utterly in denial, that she then asked if he had any ideas for ticket takers. “Zig. He lives within a reasonable drive, has never seen Paul, and frankly, f***ing deserves this more then me.” The next day, M3 asked Zig, saying Evan had had first crack and told her to give them to you. When Zig read that line about Evan, he then sent Evan this PM:
Mr. S,
M3 told me about the Paul tickets. I accepted, and I was going to PM you the news until I read that you were the one who told M3 to give me the tickets. You rock! Because of you, I’m going to see Paul. Me and M3 are going to tell the forum now. I can’t believe you would turn down tickets to Paul. 
As always,
Zig.
And while the forum erupted with happiness for the two of them, neither of them mentioned the fact that Evan had had first shot at the tickets. On the 26th, the night Evan was to see Paul, he asked Zig why no one mentioned it. “Me and M3 said that we would keep that quiet until closer to the day. We wanted to get the attention on us, and then give it to you. It wasn’t an insult – it was a compliment.” And when Evan returned from Paul, he saw only 1 new topic (rare for a 11 hour absence). When he opened it, it had some of the most lavish praise he had ever seen for him. It was beautiful. “After the greatest concert I’ll probably ever see, seeing that was a thing of beauty,” gushed Evan. Zig, for his part, said only this, “he’s a good kid. He should enjoy it.”

I PM’d her with the idea, and then we just ad-libbed the rest. As for her being named Patricia, there’s a story behind it that I can’t remember. If I think of it, I’ll post it.

Edit: It was just the first female name to pop into my head when I did my first M3 story. And then it just stuck.

If there is ever one story I would want feedback on, this latest one is it. Completely fiction, no BB’er at all. Please comment, and enjoy:
John Lennon was dead. That was the news, delivered with passion and emotion by the brilliant Howard Cosell, was a shock like no other to Jeremy Goodall, a 18 year old New Yorker, living on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. That night, as  hundreds upon hundreds of New Yorkers rushed to the Dakota, Jeremy resisted his temptations, instead calling his friend in Montreal, Jean Francois, for comfort and solace. “Jean, did you hear? Lennon’s dead.” “Jeremy, I was watching the football game. It was a boring game, and then Cosell just dropped that bombshell. There’s going to be a big gathering for him tomorrow.” “Oh, on Dorchester, at that record shop?” “Yep, at that record store. But they renamed that street. Named it for that bloody, bloody separatist.” “Oh, um, Levesque?” “That’s the guy. But yes, that store.” “Make sure you go – and think of me there. I have to go – remember how Greg is in town? He’s here.” And as soon as Greg entered the house, he and Jeremy embraced, meeting for the first time since Jeremy moved down to New York with his parents from  Montreal to New York 3 years earlier. “Greg, you haven’t a clue how nice it is to see you again. I only wish we hadn’t met for the first time right after John’s de, um, ath.” There, Jeremy just broke down, crying like a baby. “I mean, he just returned to the spotlight! He was finally what we all thought he would be when he was a Beatle. He’s finally back in the public eye, and then a bastard killed him,” Jeremy continued through tears. “It’s not fair. It’s just not.” “Well, actually, I know who shot him. I passed an off duty cop in Central park as I walked through the park. They have the guy. His name is Mark David Chapman. And yes, he is a bastard. By the way, who were you talking to when I got here?” “Jean. I need to make a trip back to Montreal soon.” “Well, Jeremy, I also have some news. I am moving to Ottawa straight after NYC. So is Jean. We’re going to share an apartment in the Glebe.” And with that, Greg left, having shattered the last remaining semblance of reality Jeremy had. A Beatle was dead, his friends were moving, his old street in Montreal had been renamed the name of a hated enemy. What was still as it was? For Jeremy, he took solace in the last song of the White Album , Good Night . Jeremy hated the song, until he heard it again after he died. It seemed like he was saying goodbye to the world, and gave Jeremy the emotional response and saviour he required. Finally, he learned the only good news of the last little while. His ability to turn his feelings into lyrics, which had left him around Lennon’s 40th Birthday in October, returned. And then, he struck the jackpot. As he was playing a little show at the New York Hard Rock Cafe, he was glancing through the audience, where he saw George Harrison , who was in town for a series of meetings with Warner, EMI and Apple. And, after delivering a heart wrenching version of Long Long Long, ending the concert, George went to the stage and met Jeremy. “Hey, nice show, mate. And yes, your eyes aren’t deceiving you. I missed your name – it is…” “Jeremy’s the name, Mr. Harrison. It means a lot that you saw me.” “Well, actually, you should thank your friends, Jeremy. They got me here. Look, it was a great show. And here they are now.” “Well Jeremy, looks like New York agrees with you,” Jean said, seeing him for the first time in 3 years. “Well, I can’t say the say about Ottawa,” replied Jeremy, embracing Jean. They spent the rest of the night swapping stories, and perhaps more importantly, sharing the story behind George’s appearance.

mithveaen said:

That's nice.. I know many people who had that reaction when John died…

This was my conscious attempt to write a story incorporating the feeling (and new knowledge) of NYC. I wonder what Paulrus. Here more then ever I want lots of feedback. So please, give it all.