Chapter 8

“You know, I think your current state really suits you,” George said one Saturday morning as we lay in his bed. True Love Ways crackled on the radio on the nightstand.

George leaned over me to turn up the radio a bit before propping himself up on one elbow and running one hand through my hair.

“Why’s that?” I said, smiling and giving him a kiss.

“You’ve got the best color in your cheeks. You’re practically radiant!”

“Thank you, my love. So my enlarged state doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course not! In fact, I don’t think you’ve ever been more beautiful.”

I turned on my side so I was facing George and began to kiss him. He wrapped his arms around my waist and drew me closer to him. I ran my hands through his thick, soft hair, and he began to kiss me more deeply.

“And we’ll know why,” George sang softly in my ear. “Just you and I know true love ways.”

He kissed my ear and I giggled. “Is Miss Stella ticklish there?” George asked.

“Maybe a little,” I said in between laughs, as he started planting kisses all over my ear and neck. George slowed down a little and began kissing my neck more seductively. He worked his way up and enveloped me in a deep kiss. I ran my hands through his hair, down his neck, and onto his chest. I began kissing his neck and breathed in his scent of cologne and ciggies. It was so comforting. It meant home to me. I buried my face into the space right underneath his chin and George ran his hair through my hair.

“Your hair smells like heaven, love,” He whispered, kissing my head.

Suddenly, George gasped. Startled, I pulled away a little.

“What’s wrong?”

“I felt the baby kick inside you!!” His eyes were wide with total and absolute delight.

“That’s the first time I’ve felt it, too!” I exclaimed. “The baby definitely moves more when you’re around, and especially when we’re kissing.”  

George grinned wider than I’d ever seen before. “Well that’s all the evidence we need, right? Little Carl knows who his daddy is, and he’s just trying to let us know!” He started to kiss me again.

“Wait a minute … Carl? When did we decide we’d name the baby Carl?”

George grinned like a schoolboy. “Oh, well, I like that name,” he said, obviously trying to sound casual about it.

I was totally confused for a minute, until it hit me. “George, we are not naming our child after Carl Perkins.”

George pretended to pout and give me his best puppy eyes. “Please, my love? What about Chet?”

“No guitarists! And no race car drivers, either,” I said, anticipating his next idea.

George smiled, started to kiss me, and said, “You know me too well, love.”

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door. I quickly pulled on one of George’s shirts and pulled the covers up for good measure, in case it was one of his brothers or his father.

“Come in!” George called out, turning the radio down.

“George, dear, you need to be leaving now. And besides, Stella needs her rest,” Mrs. Harrison walked in, carrying George’s leather jacket. “You’re going to be late for your meeting with Mr. Epstein, and you know how he gets when you boys are late,” she continued, holding George’s coat out for him.

            “What time is it?” George asked, searching for his watch within the large pile of clothes on the floor.

            “It’s nearly noon,” his mother said curtly, eyeing the clothes and the general state of his room, obviously holding her tongue.

“Already?!” George jumped out of bed, pulled on his jeans and the first t-shirt he saw, and shoved his wallet into his back pocket while trying to comb his hair.

            “Mum, have you seen my coat?”

            Mrs. Harrison cleared her throat and eyed the coat in her hands.

            “Oh, bloody hell, where’s my mind gone? Thanks,” George said, shaking his head, and taking his coat.

            Giving me a kiss, he said, “Are you sure you’re going to be ok? Do you need me to get you anything while I’m out? I won’t be long, although Paul might want to rehearse afterwards, depending on how the meeting goes.”

            “I’ll be fine, really! Now go! It’ll do you good to get out of the house for a little while,” I said, trying to give George a strong smile, even though I hated every minute he was away.

            “Ok,” George said, kissing me again, and whispering in my ear, “I’ll get you some chocolate, anyway.”

            “George Harrison! Do I need to continue doing this with you? You’re 19 years old.”

            George grinned at me, and said sheepishly, “Sorry, mum, I’m off right now.” Mrs. Harrison practically pushed George down the stairs before returning to his room and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

            “I don’t suppose you’ve told your parents yet, then?” she said gently.

            I stared at the quilt and answered quietly, “No, I haven’t.”

            “You’re already 3 months along, dear—you really should tell them. I know you’re afraid of your father’s reaction, but they must know. There are also a lot of issues you and George need to think about before the baby arrives. When he gets back, we’ll talk about it more, but it doesn’t hurt to start thinking about it now. I know George thinks you and he will live in that flat John and Stuart have on Gambiers Terrace, but can you imagine raising a child there? It’s awful. Assuming the band continues to be successful, George should have enough money for you to have a flat together.” Mrs. Harrison clearly wanted to say more, but stopped there and seemed to be waiting for my reaction.

            “Well, I’ve been wanting to ask George about whether we’ll get a flat together, but I haven’t wanted to bring it up, with all of the stress about the band’s future and everything.”

            “I completely understand, but it’s really very important. He’s so excited about all of this, but he’s not stopping to think about all of the preparations. When he gets back, we’ll talk about finding a flat. In the mean time, I’ll bring up some tea and toast for you. Please do let me know if you’d like to phone your parents today.” Mrs. Harrison gave me a kiss on the forehead, and left George’s room, quietly closing the door behind her.

            Lying in George’s bed, with the combined scent of his cigarettes and cologne and my perfume on the sheets and pillow, I felt a deep sense of comfort. But then I remembered how, despite having a deeply devoted, sweet, and loving father, our baby would be born into a very uncertain situation. I knew my father would be furious that I got pregnant at such a young age, and my mother would want me to return to Hamburg immediately. I had already extended my trip to Liverpool by quite a bit of time, and while I had managed to convince my parents that I had enough credits to be able to skip the spring semester of school, I couldn’t skip the autumn term and still graduate on time. And by the time the autumn term began, we’d have a baby.

            After scarfing down the delicious breakfast Mrs. Harrison brought for me, I drifted off to sleep, resolving to call my parents and deal with everything when George was there to comfort me.


            “Stella, love, wake up,” George gently shook me awake. It was already dusk; I had clearly slept for quite a while. I rubbed my eyes, and when the world came into focus, I saw John, Paul, and Ringo standing behind George, all looking somewhat concerned.

            “Oh, hello, I didn’t expect you all to come. I’m sorry I look like such a wreck,” I said, trying to sit up. George immediately stopped me.

            “Oh no, you need to rest. It’s ok—they won’t be here long,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and lightly kissing my forehead.  

            “Really, George, I’ll be fine. I just slept for four hours,” I said, sitting up. George looked concerned, but when he saw that sitting up didn’t kill me, he relaxed.

“For what it’s worth, Stella, I think you look beautiful!” Paul said, always the charmer. I smiled at him. “Thank you, Paul.”

            “John just wanted to talk to you, and we think it would be best if Paul, Ritchie, and I were here, too,” George said haltingly, looking from John to Paul and back again. He was clearly expressing some previously decided upon consensus among them.

            “Ok,” I said quietly. I had barely seen John since the incident in the Cavern, and it was still very difficult to look at him without thinking about it.

            John took a deep breath, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and then rubbed the back of his neck with one of hands as he spoke. I had never seen him show his insecurities so explicitly. It didn’t seem like John. “Stella, I—well—I didn’t come to talk to you before now because I don’t remember what happened that night. And I don’t mean because I was drunk. I don’t remember a lot of things. That night is just one of them. But I’m working on it, and slowly things are coming back.”

            I looked at George. “I’m confused.”

            “John’s concussion made him forget a lot of things. Not his name or where he’s from or anything like that, but more like recent events. He didn’t know that anything bad had happened between you two until the meeting with Brian today,” George said, rubbing my back and trying to comfort me.

            I nodded slowly, trying to process everything.

            John took a deep breath and continued. “So I guess what I want to say is that I’m really incredibly sorry. I understand if you think I’m a bastard. I am a bastard.” John stared at the floor silently, as tears began to flow down his cheeks.

            “I don’t think you’re a bastard.” I said, quietly. I didn’t know what else to say.
            I stared at the quilt and rubbed the fabric of George’s shirt that I was wearing between two fingers. I had never felt such awkward tension among a group that was usually so relaxed with one another.

“How are you feeling, Stella?” Paul said, trying to break the awkward silence.

            “Not bad. Some days are better than others, but the doctor says I’m coming along well.” George squeezed my hand, and smiled at me.

            “We felt the baby kick today,” George said, trying to contain his excitement, given the original purpose of the other guys’ visit.

            John finally cracked a small smile. “I remember when that happened with Julian for the first time. Cyn was so happy.”

            “Yeah, we’re pretty happy too, aren’t we, love?” George asked me.

I gave him a small smile, as I was still a bit overwhelmed by the entire
situation. “I love you,” George whispered to me, kissing my ear.   

            “You know, Stella, if you need baby clothes or anything, I think Cyn saved just about everything, so I’m sure you could have anything she doesn’t need anymore,” John said, obviously trying to be helpful.

"Oh--umm--thanks, John. George and I would really appreciate that. Maybe I'll stop by for some tea soon to chat with Cyn and see what she might want to lend us." I looked up at George, who gave me a small, thankful smile.

A long pause followed. Everyone stared at the floor.

"Well, then, we better go then, eh?" Paul said too loudly. "Lemme get you home, John ... Mimi will be worried about you, and I'm sure George's mum wants to get dinner on the table."

Paul lead John out of George's room by the hand, with Ritchie a few paces behind.

"Thank you so much for that, love. You were so strong." George said softly, holding me close and kissing the top of my head.

I broke down in quiet tears. 

Chapter 7

            I had never seen hatred in George’s eyes before. “He isn’t really going to kill John, is he?” I asked Paul.

            “I-I don’t think so, but I’ve never seen George like this,” Paul said, his voice quiet and shaking. “I should make sure things don’t get out of hand. Take my arm, and come with me. You shouldn’t be alone.”

            Paul gently helped me stand, and gave me his arm. As we walked down the narrow hallway, we heard a glass shatter against the wall.

            “You filthy bastard!” George yelled, hurling another glass at John’s head. Blood dripped down John’s face as he cowered in a corner behind several small tables. I had never seen him so submissive, especially to George.

            Obviously intending to show him no mercy, George hurled himself at John, pinning him to the floor and launching blow after blow to his face.

            “You filthy drunk bastard! I’ll kill you! I’ll bloody kill you!” George yelled, pummeling John and sobbing.

            “What in the bloody hell is going on in here?” One of the bouncers ran downstairs from the street, and immediately pulled George off of John.

            “I’ll kill him!” George yelled, kicking and punching at the air as the bouncer dragged him to the other side of the room.

            “What the bloody hell is the matter with you?” The bouncer asked incredulously, as he forced George to sit down at a table across the room and pinned him down with two huge hands on his thin shoulders.

            George could barely speak from exhaustion. “That thing raped Stella.” He said bluntly. The mere act of making that statement launched him into another fit of sobs.

            John curled himself up in a fetal position next to the wall. Paul ran towards him. “We’ve got to get you to a hospital. I’ll go fetch Cyn.” Frantically, Paul searched the room for someone to look after John.  

            John obviously tried to protest, but evidently didn’t have enough strength to speak.

            The bouncer was clearly shocked but, realizing he was the only one detached enough to assert some authority, tried to begin dealing with logistics. “Well, the first thing we’ve got to do is lock up the club and let folks know the second set is cancelled for today. I know Mr. Epstein wouldn’t want something like this getting out. If I let you go, George, you’ve got to keep your hands off of John, you hear?”

At that moment, George noticed me standing in the doorway, and dismissed the bouncer’s question with a wave of his hand. Running towards me, he scooped me up in his arms.

“How are you feeling, my beautiful girl?” He said softly, running his hands through my hair and frantically searching my face for signs of distress.

“Better, now that I’m with you,” I said, resting my head on his shoulder. “You’re bleeding!” I gently rubbed the palm of his hand, careful not to touch the deep cut running through the middle of it.

“Oh it’s nothing. Just from a piece of glass,” George rubbed the palm of his hand against his leg to stop the blood from flowing.

“Don’t do that, dear. It’ll get infected, and you’ve got to play tonight.” I said, taking my silk scarf off and wrapping it around his hand. “This will at least keep some of the bacteria out before your mum can properly bandage it up.”

George looked down at his wrapped-up hand and smiled at me. “Thank you, my sweet girl,” he said, running his unwrapped hand through my hair and kissing me softly.

“Did I cause a big problem?” I asked quietly, staring at the floor. “I heard the bouncer over there saying that the second set would have to be cancelled, and I imagine that means you won’t get paid for it.”

George took my chin in his healthy hand and gently directed me to look at him. “Why on earth would you think any of this is your fault?” he said incredulously. “I couldn’t care less about losing the money. All I care about is making sure you’re ok.”
He began to stroke my cheek, and tried to kiss me, but I turned away.

“Is there something else wrong?” he asked.

Only that John came inside me and didn’t use a condom, and what guy would marry a girl who might have another man’s child? I thought, my heart racing.

“No, I’m just still shaken,” I said, trying to put on a brave smile.

“Of course you are, my love. Of course you are. How could you not be? But everything is going to be ok. I’m never going to let anything like that happen to you again. You have my word.” George said, looking directly at me, his dark brown eyes glistening with determination.
“Thank you, my sweet boy,” I said, kissing him, softly at first, but then more passionately as I reveled in all of the affection and love in George’s kiss that were completely absent from John’s.

Slowly, George led me backwards into the hallway near the dressing room, all the while continuing to kiss me. He stopped me in a dark corner adjacent to the stairwell. My back was up against the wall.

“Are you sure you’re ok with this, given everything that’s happened?” He asked, again looking directly into my eyes.

“Yes, in fact I think this will only help me.” I said, pulling George closer to me and sliding my hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

George let out a small moan of satisfaction as I used one hand to run my fingers through the back of his hair.

“I love it when you do that, babe,” he said between kisses, as his hands wandered down my back and rested on my butt.

“Do you now? What about this,” I said, trying to sound seductive as I wrapped my legs around one of his and rubbed myself against his thigh.

George seemed to be trying to answer me but couldn’t, and ended up moaning and biting his lower lip instead. I had never felt him get so hard.

“I guess you like it when I take control, baby,” I said as I slid my hands into his front pockets and let one of my hands wander in his pocket towards his hard cock.

“Yes … yes,” George answered breathily, closing his eyes and moaning with satisfaction as I began to stroke his cock through the thin fabric of his pocket.

“I need you inside me, babe,” I said, kissing his neck as I continued to stroke him.

“I have to be inside you, baby … now.” George had never been so adamant right before sex before, but he almost desperately undid his pants, pulled down my panties, and thrust his hard cock into my dripping wet pussy.

“Oh god baby that’s so good,” George thrust into me harder than he had ever done before, and very quickly came inside me.

I wiped some of the sweat off of his forehead, as George kissed my neck and ears. “Did you come, babe?” He asked in between kisses.

“Not yet,” I said quietly. George immediately got down on his knees and began to suck on me, flicking my clitoris with his tongue. He was obviously experienced, and he quickly got me from wet to absolutely dripping wet.

“Oh, George Harrison, how do you do this?” I asked breathily, running my hands through his hair.

I could tell that he smiled. He continued to alternate sucking me and flicking my clitoris with his tongue until I came.

George helped me back into my dress, and pulled up his jeans. “Well, my dear, we should be getting back … I have to say, I wasn’t expecting that, but you were so very persuasive,” he said, laughing.

            “Hey! It’s not as though you objected!” I said, playfully pushing him.

            George grinned mischievously, put his arm around my shoulder, and gave me a little kiss on the forehead. As we walked back into the main room, I suddenly remembered everything that had happened with John, and a huge knot formed in my stomach.


            “George, did you want to go downstairs for tea? Your mum left some out for us” I asked quietly, walking into George’s room. George had been staring out the window, mindlessly strumming random chords on his guitar, but he snapped back to reality.

            “Oh, m’sorry, love. If you’d like tea, feel free to go downstairs. I’m not feeling up to it.”

            Sighing, I gently took the guitar away from George, and put one arm around his shoulders, taking his hand in my free hand. “Dear, you haven’t had anything to eat or drink since yesterday morning. And even then, you only had one jam buttie. Please eat something,” I said, pushing his hair out of his eyes and tucking it behind his ear.

            George sighed deeply, and leaned his head against mine. I stroked his cheek and ran my hand through his hair.

            “I want to eat, Stella. I really do. I just can’t force myself to do it. The band hasn’t played in a week, and it’s all my fault. I always seem to be the one to mess up everything. On our first trip to Hamburg, I got deported as soon as we moved to the Top Ten. And now, we can’t play because I had to go give John a concussion. I didn’t even know I could do that to someone.” He wiped a tear from his eyes.

            “George, you were upset. You were furious, in fact. And John deserved it.” I said, offering him my handkerchief.

            “I suppose, but I didn’t think I could be violent like that, you know? And to one of my best mates. Paul said John can’t remember things as well he used to. What if he never gets better?” George started to cry harder, and buried his head into my shoulder. Stroking his hair, I kissed his head and whispered, “Shh, it’ll be ok, dear. John will get better. Mimi is taking such good care of him. Now please eat something for me.”

            George silently nodded, and wiped his eyes with my handkerchief. “Ok, I’m going to try.”

            “Good, I’m glad,” I said as we both stood up. I straightened out the collar of George’s shirt, and he leaned down and kissed me.

            “You take such good care of me, Stella. I just don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

            “Oh shush, you take wonderful care of me, too. Remember how you sat up with me when I had nightmares those first few nights?”

            “Well, how could I not? You were so scared.” George didn’t seem to think staying up all night with me four nights in a row after I woke from nightmares in which John shoved me against a wall was much to point out as extraordinary.

            I stroked his cheek and kissed him. “You’re such a sweet boy.” I said softly, pulling him a little bit closer to me. George responded by pulling me closer and beginning to explore my lower back with his hands.

            “Now, now, dear. None of that until you eat something,” I said, taking his hands in mine. George groaned in protest.

            “But you’re wearing that lovely blue dress. You know I love you in that one, Miss Stella.” He said, grinning mischievously.

            I laughed, and took his hand, leading him out of his room.  

            “One sandwich, George. Just one, and then you can have your way with me.”

            “Oh can I, then? Well, in that case …” George picked me up and ran with me down the stairs.


             “G’morning, sleepyhead,” I said, smiling at George and giving him a kiss.
            His smile turned immediately into a look of concern. “You still look pale. Why do you still look pale?”

            I turned away. “Oh, I don’t know … George, I think you’re the only one who thinks I look pale, in any case. You worry too much about me. I’m completely fine.” I tried to get out of his bed, but George took my arm.

            “I’m not the only one, Stella. Paul asked me yesterday whether you’re feeling ok, and my mum is worried about you, too. You barely ate any dinner last night. Stella, please … look at me.”

            I turned to George, who took both of my hands in his. “What’s wrong?”

            I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as another bout of nausea came on. “I really feel fine, I promise.”

            “You’re not fine. Please let me at least take you to the doctor. If he says you’re ok, I promise I won’t bother you about it anymore.”

            I desperately wanted to resist, but I knew George wouldn’t let up. “Alright, fine. One visit to one doctor. And then you’ll see that I’m really ok.”

            “Good. Let’s get some brekkie then, and we’ll head off.”

            The doctor’s office was on St. James Street in the center of Liverpool, pretty far from Speke. During the entire bus trip, George kept examining me for signs of impeding death.
            “I’m not on the verge of death, you know,” I said, laughing a little and giving him a kiss.

            “Well you’re as pale as a ghost, and you’re hands are all clammy. Not that you’re not still gorgeous.” George said, kissing my forehead. “Oh, here’s our stop!”

As soon as we got into the doctor’s office, George got me situated in a chair and practically ran up to the reception desk.

“Alright, dear, don’t hurt yourself, now,” an elderly woman behind the desk chuckled a little. “How can I help you, then?”

“My girl is sick, and we need to see the doctor immediately,” George said emphatically. “I mean—we need to see the doctor immediately, ma’am.”

“Alright, well, there’s quite a long queue, but if it’s an emergency, we might be able to get you in ahead of the rest. Does she have a fever?”

George furrowed his brow. “I don’t know. Should’ve taken her temperature before we left … one moment, ma’am.” He went over and placed the back of his hand on my forehead. “I’m going to tell her you’re burning up, my love,” he said quietly.

“Yes, I think she has a fever.”

“Alright then, love, let me see what I can do. What’s your name?”

“George Harrison.”

“Alright, Mr. Harrison, one moment.” The woman disappeared in the back, and George sat down next to me, pulling me close.

“The doctor’s going to see you really soon,” he whispered, kissing my forehead.

I buried my head into his shoulder. “Thank you so much, George … I feel so sick. I really do. I threw up four times last night.”

George pulled away from me a little and looked at me straight in the eye. “Why didn’t you wake me up? It’s awful to throw up like that and be all by yourself.”

“I didn’t want to wake you, especially with the band’s first rehearsal in two months today. You needed your rest.”

“No, I needed to help you!” George sighed in frustration, but didn’t say anything else.

“Mr. Harrison? The doctor will see you and the young lady now.”

George helped me down a narrow corridor as we followed the receptionist to an examination room. I had been quite sick as a young child, so the smell of hospitals and doctor’s offices immediately brought back memories of missing months of school while in the hospital, sick with whopping cough, or scarlet fever. Suddenly, I felt weak and frightened.

A middle-aged man with round spectacles and kind, blue eyes waited for us in examination room #6. “I’m Dr. Wilson,” he said, shaking my hand. “And what’s your name, young lady?”

“Stella Kircherr, sir.”

“Wonderful to meet you, Stella. And who’s this charming young man?”

“I’m George, sir, Stella’s fiancĂ©.”

“Ah, fiancĂ©! Congratulations. Take a seat right over there, George.”

The doctor ran a few standard tests, and then started asking me questions about how often I’ve thrown up and how tired I’ve been feeling.

“Now I’ve got to ask you, Stella. When’s the last time you menstruated?”

I stared at the floor.

“But sir, how is that relevant? We’ve always used the proper protection.” George said, fear in his voice.

“I’ve just got to ask. Just to rule it out,” the doctor said, taking notes.

“It was about 2.5 months ago.”

The doctor looked up, obviously startled. He took off his glasses. “So you’ve missed two periods?”

“Yes, sir.” I said, still staring at the floor. I couldn’t bring myself to look at George.

“Miss Kircherr, I think you are likely pregnant. I would recommend going straight home and getting lots of rest.”

I turned to George, who just stared at me in shock. “Yes, sir.”

“Alright, now come back if you have any trouble. Do you have any questions?”

“N-no, sir. Thank you.” The doctor shook our hands and left.

“I—I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I was so scared.” I hesitantly looked at George.

George furrowed his brow and took a deep breath. “So if you’ve missed two periods, that means it happened about two months ago,” he said, closing his eyes and pressing two fingers against the upper part of nose in concentration. “So that was right about the time … but then you and I also made love that day, so …” George opened his eyes and stared at me.

“So there’s no way of knowing whether the baby is yours or his.” I said, completing his thought. Tears started flowing down my cheeks.

George came over to me and took me in his arms. “Shh, it’s going to be ok,” he said kissing my head and rocking me back and forth. As soon as I felt his touch, I started sobbing.

“What’s all this, then? Why the tears?” he said, stroking my hair.

“Because I’m only 16, and I’m going to have a baby, and I don’t know if it’s yours or John’s, and what if you don’t want to marry me anymore because the baby might not be yours and then—”

“Hey, stop right there,” George said, pulling away from me and looking at me straight in the eye. “Nothing can stop me from marrying you. It’s not as though you cheated on me.” I started crying harder. George took a few tissues from the doctor’s desk and wiped my eyes.

“Hey now, no more tears. Chances are it’s mine, in any case. Haven’t been able to keep me hands off you since we met, so I think probability is in my favor, don’t you?”

I laughed at George’s feeble attempt at a joke.

“There we are. There’s that pretty smile.” George said, smiling and running his thumb along my cheek to wipe off some of my tears. “Now let’s get you home.”