I stormed out of the Chicago Hilton, putting on my sunglasses, and trying to straighten my mind. I felt like George after he left the Let it Be sessions. I had no chance of making it in this mood. The group would lose concentration with this anger.

            “Come, on, Taylor,” I said to myself looking at my feet, “Pull yourself together, girl, straighten up. Organize your karma. Instant… oof!”

            I bumped into someone, maintaining my clumsy mannerisms, despite an outer transformation. Taking off the sunglasses, which I thought might be benefiting to me in the scalding hot June weather.

            “Sorry,” I said, rubbing my prosthetic nose and looking up at the figure I could see his brown and hazel eyes, masked by some Granny glasses and his bangs from his long brown hair… “Eric, I’m so sorry!” I walked towards the crosswalk, trying to avoid an awkward conversation that would keep me out of my mojo, putting on my sunglasses. Awkward was my middle name.

            “Hazzah! Wait up!” said his dead-on Lennon impersonation.

            “A’right,” I said in my almost dead-on Harrison impersonation (it wasn’t full dead-on because the shock of what happened the last minute, and overall, the shock of the whole bloody morning!). I turned around.

            “Wanna grab something to eat?”

            “I dunno,” I replied, my voice trying to adjust to its new tenor tone, “The only place close is a McDonald’s.”

            “Actually, there’s a British restaurant across the street.”

            “I’ve never had British food in my life,” I shrugged, “I was afraid.”

            “Come on, it will get you into character.”

            He started walking across the street.

            “Come’ed.”

            I started walking with him, two young men dressed up as Beatles, walking to a British restaurant. Eric took off his glasses—he had the most beautiful eyes, brown and hazel—“Get a hold of yourself,” I thought.

            We walked into the restaurant. It was red, looking like a tea room from Williamsburg, draped with British flags, and several portraits of The Queen.

Before either of us said, “table for two,” the maitre’d ran out of the kitchen, and exclaimed, “Oh, my goodness! We have customers!”

“Victoria!” I exclaimed in my most girly voice, not accustoming my appearance. Eric looked at me.

“My throat’s a little dry from singing,” I corrected myself in my new guy voice, making throat-clearing noises, “Why don’t you go to the table? I need to catch up with a friend.”

Eric went ahead.

“So I…” I attempted to come up with an exclamation, one sentence to explain what happened to me in from the last week until now.

Victoria simply removed my sunglasses and smiled, hugging me.

“Oh my lord, it really is you!”

“Shh!”

“Oh my god! It’s nice, it’s excellent!” she walked around me, giving me a full inspection, “Oh my god, the hair, the face. Did you get surgery? Smile.”

I smiled. “The nose is fake.”

“Oh my goodness gracious, fake teeth! How did you grow five inches?”

“Beatle boots.”

“Oh my God, you aren’t you! I can’t recognize you, Taylor, from the moment you got here. I still can’t. It’s like you are a different person, a totally different person.”

“What are you doing here?” I attempted to change the subject.

“I’m working here, obviously! But more than that congratulations! Who’s the guy?”

“Look, I came to check in, and I saw a female impersonator being kicked out, and they thought I was a guy, and so here I am, a guy.”

“Ooo… interesting, and does he know?”

“No one knows. He’s a Lennon impersonator. His name is Eric, and he’s kind of cute.”

“Ooo….”

“No, I cannot. Not while I’m a guy!”

“Aw….”

“Okay, you need to keep this a secret.”

“Cross my heart.”

“Okay, now I’m going to go and eat and you’re going to pretend I’m Taylor Logan, your guy friend. Okay.”

“Yes! Go be seated!”

“Thank you,” I hugged her and went back to the table.

“I took the pleasure of ordering us some teas.”

“Cool.”

“How was your practice?”

“My group is full of ego-maniacs, and other choice words as well.”

“The guy who’s playing Paul in my group actually got plastic surgery to replicate his scar.”

“That’s a waste of money.”

The waitress came up to our table holding teas and placing them down.

“Have you decided on what you’ll eat?”

“Yeah,” said Eric. He seemed used to ordering British food, “I’d like some fish ‘n chips.”

“I’ll have,” I thought of the only other British food that I was familiar with that wasn’t as greasy as fish ‘n chips, “a steak and kidney pie.”

            “Great, and that comes with a side of potatoes.”

The waitress took our menus and proceeded into the kitchen.

“So, who was the bird?”

“Oh, she’s an old friend from high school.”

“She looks nice. Did you…”

“Oh no, I never had a relationship. Not a single one. So,” I attempted to change the subject, “How did you get into The Beatles?”

“I was twelve and I was cleaning up the attic upstairs when I discovered my dad’s album collection. I popped the White Album into the player and it was magical. I sat there for the rest of the day listening to it. I’ve heard of The Beatles but I’ve never actually listened to their music other than their earlier songs on the radio. Since then I’ve been an avid fan, a 21^st century Apple Scruff. And you?”

“I was getting into The Beatles when I was twelve and my friend bought me the red and blue albums for my birthday. I loved their music and bought all of their LPs after that. It’s been non-stop listening. And I guess I’m a 21^st Apple Scruff too! But how did you know you wanted to be a Lennon impersonator?”

“I saw an American English concert and wondered what if I could do that. What if I could portray one of the most important men in the world, to me at least?”

“Oh my god, the same thing happened to me too.”

“Freaky.”

We started discussing our training, our favorite LPs (his was Sgt. Pepper, mine was Abbey Road)

“The purpose of Sgt. Pepper was to be in disguise, to be a different group for a time,” I explained.

“Much like us.”

“Yeah,” I replied. It was me more than him.

The waitress returned to our table with our food. I tried the steak and kidney pie. Surprisingly, it was good. Or the fact that I was in character might have enhanced it.

“I barely had anything for breaky. I was so nervous,” I said.

“I didn’t have anything,” Eric laughed.

When it was almost ten minutes until the audition, Eric and I split the bill. Of course we would, it wasn’t a date.

“Break a leg, George,” said Victoria, giving me a hug.

“She’s cute,” said Eric as we walked out of the restaurant.

“Yeah, we’re not dating. You can have her if you want.”

“Sounds like the same thing he told Eric Clapton.”

I laughed.

We walked into the hotel to the hallway outside the banquet room.

“I guess this is where we leave.”

“Break a leg.”

“You too.”

We shook hands—again!

“Will we see each other again?” I asked.

“Probably.”

            I was thinking, though, this might be the last time I see Eric.

I sat with my group, awaiting my date with destiny.