The Girl Who Became a Beatle Read online

  To be honest, Lorna gave as good as she got. Maybe even more so. By the time Abernathy had pulled onto the side of the freeway and helped restore order by hauling Lorna and me out of the limo by the backs of our T-shirts (he was a big, powerful guy with massive hands), I could feel a trickle of warm blood running down my cheek.

  Lorna and I huffed as if we’d just run a marathon and shot eye daggers at each other. The fight hadn’t gone out of us, but there was no way we could resume our battle with Abernathy’s huge bulk between us.

  “I do not allow fighting in my limo,” he announced. “Understand?”

  Dad had followed Abernathy out of the limo and stood nearby, his arms crossed. Julian sat on the floor of the limo, his legs dangling through the open back door. He looked like a spectator, ready for Round Two. Danny peeked through the tinted glass from inside the Hummer, only his nose visible from where I stood.

  “Understand?” Abernathy repeated.

  I finally nodded. Abernathy stared at Lorna. After she gave a barely perceptible nod, he announced, “One of you is riding up front with me.” He didn’t release me from his grasp until I said, “I will,” then he continued to hold on to Lorna until I had gotten into the front passenger seat.

  The glass divider was up for the rest of the journey back to the Sheraton, so I couldn’t hear if anything was being said about me on the way. I didn’t care. After my rumble with Lorna, I felt I had crossed some kind of invisible line. This was not a tipping point anymore. I was on the other side, baby! And I knew … in that moment, no way was I getting on a plane on Sunday with Lorna and Dad and the rest of the band and going back to Twin Oaks.

  Calm down, Regina, my rational side urged. This is not the time to be making such decisions.

  Yes, it is! my full-speed-ahead side countered. Why should I go home? Tell me that? Everything I need is right here in L.A. Everything. Why should I leave all this behind? So that I can go back to being a lonely, frustrated, unconfident Twin Oaks teenager?

  My rational side was silent.

  When Abernathy pulled up to the Sheraton entrance, I waited until Dad and the band were in the hotel before getting out of the limo. I looked at Abernathy before heading into the hotel. He raised his eyebrows at me in a way that asked, What on earth was that all about?

  “I guess a girl can only take so much,” I said.

  “You talkin’ about yourself or Lorna?”

  “Me.”

  “Get back in here. I got something for that cut.”

  I slid back into the limo, relieved that Abernathy was not going to lecture me. I didn’t need a lecture. I needed clarity. On my third day in L.A., I felt like I had found it.

  Directing the music video …

  My talk with Trey …

  My motorcycle ride with Bradley …

  The Tonight Show …

  My fight with Lorna …

  All that added up to one thing:

  Do not get on that plane on Sunday!

  As Abernathy treated my battle wound, the paparazzi were snapping away nearby. I didn’t mind that they were capturing me in such a vulnerable moment. Matter of fact, I kind of liked it. Another thing I liked? Seeing myself up on the gigantic billboard of the Caverns. It was kind of cool being larger than life, I decided. In a sudden out-of-body experience, I actually imagined myself up on the billboard, looking out across the landscape of La-la Land.

  Aaahh, yes! L.A.

  This was my town!

  16

  Buzzing with my new revelation—I’m supposed to stay in L.A. That’s what my wish come true has been about all along—I got into the elevator and pressed 10. By the time the doors opened on my floor, I was totally spent. It was like my energy—going down?—had drained in inverse proportion to the elevator going up. Which was no surprise. After all, what a day! As I walked to my room, visions of a long restorative night’s sleep began to envelope me like warm flannel bunny PJs.

  “Regina!”

  I turned to see a boy, fourteen or so, peeking out from behind a slightly opened door with STAIRWAY printed on it. His hair was Beatles-style (or rather, Caverns-style), and he wore a Caverns T-shirt. He offered me a small package. “I was hoping you might take a listen to my CD,” the boy whispered.

  I didn’t feel like dealing with a possibly crazed fan, so I said, “You know what? You’re not supposed to be here. This floor is off-limits.” Then I continued on my way without taking the kid’s CD.

  “Please?” the kid said plaintively. “There’re only six songs on the CD. But they’re good. They’re really good!”

  That did it. Spinning around, I angrily replied, “I’m tired! Can’t you see that?! You’re trespassing! Send the CD to my manager!” I was about to turn away when I saw the desperate look in the kid’s eyes. I sighed wearily, then retraced my steps and took the CD, which was wrapped in plain brown paper. “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Stuart.”

  “What’s your band’s name?”

  “I don’t have a band. I wrote all of those songs myself. I play all the instruments.”

  “A regular Paul McCartney, huh,” I said with a smile.

  “Who?”

  Right. I still hadn’t gotten used to the fact that the Beatles were unknown in this world. “Just someone I used to know,” I explained.

  “My name and number are on the CD. Can you give me a call after you’ve listened to it? Maybe you’d like to record some of my songs!”

  Before I could answer, metallic-sounding footsteps rang out from down below. Stuart’s eyes bugged out. “Gotta go! Thanks, Regina! I love you! I love your music. You’re awesome!” As Stuart ran up the stairs, he held his hand up to his ear like a phone and mouthed the words, “Call me!”

  A security guard appeared a few seconds later, huffing it up the stairs. He stopped when he saw me, looking grateful for the break from his stairway climb. “You see a kid around here, miss?” he gasped. “Wearing a Caverns T-shirt?”

  “No,” I said, slowly concealing the CD.

  The guard looked skeptical of my answer. But before reluctantly continuing his chase, he said, “By the way, my daughter’s a big fan.”

  I waved to the guard as he pulled himself up the final flight of stairs, then let the stairway door close. Whew! I thought as I finally approached my room at the end of the hall. No wonder celebs get tired of fans. They’re relentless. But fans came with the fame. And if I was staying in L.A., I’d have to learn to deal with them, the way Bradley did so well.

  For now, however … sleep. That’s all I wanted at that point. I needed to recharge. After all, it was Grammy rehearsal tomorrow! But, as it turned out, my busy day wasn’t over. Not just yet. Because, waiting for me in my room …

  Was Mom.

  17

  “Regina!” Mom squealed from the sofa, where she was crashed out, watching TV.

  Whoa! That’s Mom? I froze at the sight of my long-departed mother. Then I quickly reminded myself, This is not the first time you’ve seen her in more than three years.

  In my pre-wish world, it had been more than three years since Mom had returned to Twin Oaks for a visit. A visit that was so awkward and unpleasant that she’d never been back since.

  That was then, however, and this was now. My smile felt plastered on as Mom came around the sofa and hugged me. The hug gave me a moment to collect myself. I was flustered and exhausted, and the main thing that kept going through my mind was, She’s had a lot of work done!

  Mom looked much younger than she did the last time I’d seen her, and that was weird. But I couldn’t show my shock. So I hugged Mom back, and in spite of all the conflicting feelings battling it out inside me, a warm glow was starting to make its presence felt by the nearness of Mom.

  “What happened to you?” she asked after our hug.

  “What—,” I replied. Mom touched the small bandage on my forehead. “Oh! I got in a fight with Lorna.”

  “You’re kidding me.” I shook my head no. “T
hat girl’s gotta go!”

  “I think she may already be,” I said.

  “Good! Nobody messes with my daughter and gets away with it! Hey, are you hungry?”

  Like my phone conversation with her a few days before, I felt like I was talking to a kid. Mom had a young way of talking. Short. Declarative. Sentences. Hopped from one topic. To the next. Without taking a breath.

  “I could eat something,” I said.

  “Good! ’Cause I already ordered room service. I love room service! Don’t you?”

  It was one of those questions that didn’t really require an answer. Besides, my attention had been diverted to my bed, which was littered with paper.

  “What’s all that?” I asked.

  “Homes! I spent the afternoon touring Beverly and Hollywood hills. We can look at them while we eat.”

  And we did. Mom had ordered a feast, believe me. Money (my money, I figured) was clearly no object, whether it was a room service dinner or a home she had her sights set on.

  She is so the opposite of Dad, I thought as we sat on my bed and ate our endless meal and worked our way through the stack of brochures she had collected that afternoon.

  I have to say, it was fun being with Mom. It didn’t feel like a mother and daughter reunion after a very long time. It felt more like a pajama party, the kind I used to have with my old friend Erin before our friendship sort of dissolved, for no particular reason that I can remember. And it was a kick looking at the houses. Even though it was fantasy time. I mean, check out how much they cost!

  $8,999,000. $10,599,000. $12,399,000. And that was just getting warmed up!

  “This is my favorite,” Mom said, handing me a brochure with a picture of a two-story, Tudor-style house. “You have to see it in person to really appreciate it.” The yard looked like a park, with a beautiful pool in the shape of a guitar right in the middle of it. The house didn’t look even close to being a Cher-style mansion, but still it cost …

  “Fifteen million dollars?!” I exclaimed, laughing.

  “You don’t even realize it, do you, Regina?”

  “Realize what?”

  “You can afford this!”

  “No, I can’t.”

  Mom shook her head earnestly. “You can. This is what I’ve been trying to tell you. What Trey has been trying to tell you. Your dad isn’t being straight with you. He’s not letting you know how much you’ve been making this past year. He thinks it’s better if you live a normal life.” Mom used her fingers like quotation marks when she said, “normal life.” “But you left normal a long time ago. Why live like everyone else?”

  Mom didn’t know it, but she was reinforcing something I had already begun thinking about. And I have to say, I got a real tingle of excitement as I stared at the brochure. I could actually live in such a luxurious place? Unbelievable!

  “Let’s go out and celebrate!” Mom said suddenly.

  “Celebrate? What?”

  “Everything! Us being together again. All your Grammy nominations. You coming to live in L.A.”

  “How do you know whether or not I’ve decided to move to L.A.?” Mom smiled a reply. “What’s with that smile?” I asked.

  “I went to see Miss Madison,” Mom explained.

  “And she would be?”

  “My psychic adviser. And she told me you’re definitely moving here.”

  “Mom!” I scolded. “You give your hard-earned money to a shyster psychic?”

  In response to my question, Mom gave me a playful push. “She’s not”—I pushed her back—“a shyster”—Mom grabbed a pillow and hit me—“psychic!” I grabbed a pillow and hit Mom back. We both leaped to our feet and started whaling at each other.

  Pillow fight!

  We were laughing and smacking each other with the pillows when …

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Mom collapsed onto the bed as I hopped off to get the door. Wouldn’t you know, it was Dad. Talk about a mood changer.

  “Hello, Richard,” Mom said after what felt like about forty-five minutes of silence. She hadn’t moved from the bed.

  “I thought you were coming up tomorrow,” Dad replied curtly.

  “Changed my mind.”

  After another forty-five minutes went by, I said, “Anyway…”

  “I wanted to talk to you, Regina, about your little altercation. But I guess this isn’t the time.”

  “Lorna should be kicked out of the band!” Mom yelled.

  “Mom. Please.” I felt more like the mother of the duo than the daughter.

  “She doesn’t have to be kicked out,” Dad replied. “She quit.”

  “Good!” Mom exclaimed.

  “Mom. Do I have to send you back to your room?”

  “You’ve gotten so snippy since you became famous. I love it!”

  “You OK?” Dad asked, looking at my bandage.

  “Yeah. Abernathy fixed me up.”

  Dad was silent. He hadn’t come in from the hallway and didn’t seem inclined to at this point. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I called Trey. He’s going to find a temporary bass player for the Grammys.”

  I think Dad wanted me to say, “I’ll talk to Lorna,” but I wasn’t about to do that. So when I just said, “OK,” Dad nodded reluctantly, gave me a “Night, Regina,” and walked off down the hall.

  I closed the door and leaned against it, looking at Mom.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said as she leaped off the bed. She was quite nimble for her age.

  “I’m beat, Mom. I’m going to bed.”

  “What?! Don’t be a party pooper, Regina. Or whatever it is you kids call a party pooper these days.”

  “Drag-ass might be the word.”

  “OK. So, don’t be a drag-ass, Regina.”

  “I’m going to bed,” I repeated firmly. “I have the Grammy rehearsal tomorrow. You know how important that is? And then I’m probably going to the P.C.H. set after that.” Bradley had asked me to come by and visit him.

  “How’s Bradley? I love that guy! I was so happy when you dumped Julian.”

  I practically winced when Mom said that. “Bradley’s fine,” I said. Then I opened the door for Mom to leave.

  “Look at you. You’ve become so grown-up!” Mom smiled and kissed me on the cheek. “I think that’s what I’ve been waiting for, Regina.” Mom was suddenly serious. “For you to grow up, you know? I’m not all that good with kids, to be honest. But then, you know that, don’t you?”

  I didn’t answer. We had suddenly veered into emotional territory that I wanted to get to, eventually, with Mom. But now that she had steered us to it, I didn’t know if I was ready for it.

  “Anyway, I can’t tell you how much it means to me that we’ve reconnected. I’m going to do everything I can to make it up to you. To wipe out all those bad years. OK?”

  Mom had tears in her eyes all of a sudden. And just like that, so did I. We hugged, then Mom brushed a tear away from her cheek and said, “Enough of this, huh? I’m more comfortable having pillow fights.”

  “That was fun, Mom.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  I nodded, then watched Mom walk off in the opposite direction that Dad had gone. Being with her for just that little while seemed to have wiped out a bit of the pain I’d been carrying for so many years. I felt lighter all of a sudden.

  Not too surprising, then, that when I went to bed that night, the brochure for the Tudor house with the guitar-shaped pool was propped up prominently on the nearby nightstand. Right next to the Regina Bloomsbury Beatle doll I had tossed into my suitcase just before leaving for L.A.

  18

  Mom was back first thing the next morning, knocking on my door and insisting that we needed to see the Beverly Hills house sooner than later because a place like that wouldn’t be on the market for very long. The Grammy rehearsal wasn’t until the afternoon, so I figured, why not? I wanted to spend a little more time with Mom anyway, and this seemed like a fun way to do that.

  So
Abernathy took the two of us to Beverly Hills, and we met the real estate agent, who showed us through the ten-bedroom, twelve-bathroom house. Seriously, that’s how many bedrooms and bathrooms were in the place. Not to mention a screening room that looked like a small movie theater, plus a bowling alley! After the amazing house tour, the agent took us out into the backyard.

  I could just pitch a tent and live here! I thought as I looked around at the gorgeous expanse of green with the blue guitar-shaped pool right in the middle.

  “Well, what do you think?” the real estate agent asked with a confident smile.

  “The place is really big,” I replied.

  “Regina,” my mom said in a scolding tone of voice.

  “What? It is.”

  “Excuse us for a moment,” Mom told the agent, then she took me by the arm and led me toward the pool. “You need this kind of room, girl.”

  “I do?”

  “Absolutely. You’ll have to wipe out at least a couple of bedrooms so you can build your own recording studio.”

  “I’m going to build my own recording studio?”

  “Of course! That’s what Trey said you should do when I told him we were going to look at this place.”

  “When did you see Trey?”

  “Last night. After you turned me down for a night on the town.”

  “Oh.” I’m not sure what bothered me more. Mom and Trey hanging out together or the fact that it wasn’t difficult for me to picture the two of them hanging out together. “OK, well, let’s see, that would leave me with … another eight bedrooms.”

  “This house is a really good investment, besides. You need to think about that, too. That’s one of the things I love about Bradley.”

  “Which would be?”

  “He’s really smart with his money. For such a young guy, especially. That house of his? The artwork? The original Stickley furniture?”

  “Maybe he’s just showing off.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say about your boyfriend!”

  “Just kidding, Mom.”

  “Well, don’t kid like that. This is serious.”

  The real estate agent had edged closer to us as we talked. When she caught our attention, she smiled that confident smile again.