I'll Cry Instead

Chapter 20

As soon as the door opened, the room full of noisy reporters turned silent, everyone's eyes instantly glued to the four lads. Some of them had their mouths obviously agape and others had a hand pressed to their cheeks in surprise. To say it was uncomfortable for The Beatles, and Brian, would be an understatement.

Paul unconsciously began to pull at his tie as he wobbled a bit on his feet, as if he was just itching to go back through the doors. He began to break out in a nervous sweat, and he prayed no one would notice.

George and Ringo simply stood still with awkward grins plastered across their faces. There was no way they were going to speak up anyway. After all, who would possibly be crazy enough to speak up in front of this large of a silent crowd anyway?

John Lennon. That's who.

"Well," he started in a booming voice, which was thick with the famous 'Lennon wit,' "I didn't know we were giving a press conference at an aquarium! You lot look like a school of codfish with your filthy mouths hanging about like that!"

Silence.

The room was completely and utterly silent, even more so than it had been moments earlier when they'd first walked in.

Brian thought he was going to die. John had surely just blown it for everyone. Brian swallowed thickly as he pressed his trembling hands together, hoping that someone else would speak up before he had to, after all, he had no idea how he was going to clear that little comment up. His face was bright red and sweat was threatening to trickle onto his suit. He knew the reporters would throw each one of them out until...

Wait.

What? Was that...laughter?

They were actually...laughing?

And, sure enough, the entire room had erupted in a guffaw, some of the reporters even doubling over from their fit.

Brian nearly blacked out in relief as he watched John, Paul, George, and Ringo also laugh, everyone except John giggling in sudden ease rather than actual amusement, after all, they were afraid John had ruined it as well (although Paul wouldn't have really minded that).

"You cheeky git, you!" one of the reporters cackled whilst patting John on the back, the four now finding their way to their seats.

"In the flesh," John smirked to the laughing fellow before his glance fell upon a reporter, who didn't seem enthused whatsoever. In fact, he actually looked quite irritated.

John was going to ask him was his problem was, but was stopped by Brian pushing him along to the long table in which the four would occupy.

Eventually, each of them took a seat, Paul and John sitting next to each other while George and Ringo sat next to each other. Brian took to standing behind them, just in case he was needed.

This was it. Soon, the first question would be asked and there was no going back, or, at least that was what Paul thought.

In Paul's mind, he was going into battle and, in a way, he was. He shifted a bit in his hard, metal chair as he bit his nails nervously.

"Alright," a dark-haired reporter spoke as everyone began to settle down. "Is everybody ready to begin?"

A few murmurs of 'yes' could be heard in response and so the reporter nodded his head and said that the first question could now be asked.

Paul took a deep breath as he cleared his scratchy throat.

It was happening.

"Yes, this first question goes to Mr. McCartney, I believe," an older man stated as he looked between each Beatle, as if he didn't know who was who.