Since mid-morning, Liverpool's Beatles group John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr had been prisoners in the London Palladium while the teenagers surged outside. Extra police stood at the gangways while more sealed off the stage door. But when the Beatles, with their bobbed haircuts, finished their 12-minute act, the trouble really started. Screaming girls launched themselves against the police — sending helmets flying and constables reeling. Police vans sealed off the front of the theatre so that the Beatles could be smuggled out. The pop group dived down the theatre steps into a car. The teenagers charged forward and the Beatles' car went off into Oxford Street chased by the crowd.
Stage-doorman George Cooper said: "There's been nothing like it since American singer Johnnie Ray came here in 1955." Johnnie Ray was the teenage rage of those days.
The siege began earlier in the day when the Beatles arrived for rehearsals. Fifty girls got into the stalls through a smashed door and McCartney and Starr dodged behind seats. A ring of commissionaires and police cornered the girls who left when told that hoses would be turned on them.
Said McCartney: "It was a bit frightening. These girls can be a bit rough, though they don't mean to be."
Once the Beatles peeped out through a side door — then fled back inside as 200 girls charged. The Beatles — current hits She Loves You. Twist and Shout — were trapped in the theatre until their show.
'Siege of the Beatles' in The Daily Herald, 14 October 1963
This also vaguely references/has correlation/implies real-life Hollywood issues, so please be advised. Nothing is stated outright, but it’s one of those “we all know” kind of deals. Stay safe, loves.
[Other pieces here + here]
It was poker night, but Douglas hadn’t invited the other agents over to smoke them at poker. No, not tonight. He had a special announcement for tonight.
“Gentleman, I want to introduce you to my latest superstar. Come in here, Mark,” Douglass called to the hall as he gestured an arm out. There were just a handful of men there, longtime friends of Douglass Archer.
A boy popped his head around the corner, headphones hanging off one ear. He smiled and pulled them off his head entirely. He had a charming white smile, black hair tied up on his head in a loose bun.
“Hey,” he greeted casually as he reached a hand out for a handshake. The other agent smirked and shook his hand.
“There he finally is! I’ve been hearing good things about you, kid. I’m David Ferguson, but you can just call me David. Quite a devil you got yourself as a manager. Be careful, I’m pretty sure he bites.”
Mark smiled again and shook his head slightly. “Hey, I’m just grateful for the opportunity, you know?”
David laughed and clapped a hand on Mark’s back. “God, I miss when they’re young and humble. All my clients do now is call to bitch about their social media numbers.” He fished a card out and tucked in the pocket of Mark’s black jeans. “Call me if you ever find yourself find yourself in the market for a new agent, I’d love to have someone like you on my team.”
Mark squirmed a little under David’s arm and the other man took it as sign to back off. He pulled his arm away and bumped Mark’s elbow conspiratorially. “Joining us for the game?”
Mark shrugged. “Sure, but I probably won’t play.”
“Oh, that’s fine. You can just watch me as I take your Manager’s beach house.” Douglass and David laughed at some inside joke and Mark cracked a smile, too. He said hello to the other three men and they sat down at the table.
Phil insisted that Mark dealt so it was fair.
~
Douglas leaned back in his chair and took another drink. His cards were fine, but nothing to write home about. David across from his raised an eyebrow a minute amount, but Douglass had played poker with him long enough to know it was a fake tell.
Mark sat at the table with them but didn’t play. He chatted with the other guys or scrolled on his phone, paying attention absently. Just there.
In the end, Phil won and they called it a night. When everyone was still milling around and finishing up their drinks, Douglass pulled his old friend aside.
“Hey David, you remember that idea I had early last year?” David gave an amused yet exasperated sigh.
“Oh, come on Doug, you can’t expect me to remember all your hair-brained plots. Just fill me in.”
The other man didn’t answer, arching his brows and grinning like a cheshire cat.
David ran his tongue across his teeth and tried to remember which one of the plots would impress itself so hard into his friend’s memory when the others hadn’t. He groaned.
“The WRU one? Doug, there’s no way-“
Douglas put a finger up to stop him and turned his head.
“Mark? Show some respect.”
Mark had been standing off to the side, chatting with Phil. At the command, a thud rang through the room and Mark was on his knees, forehead pressed against the floor. Phil took a step back, surprised and muttering curses under his breath.
David’s jaw hung open, and Douglass relished in the responses.
“Holy shit! I didn’t notice anything! Damn, WRU can really do anything can’t they?” David mussed as he walked over. He snapped his fingers a few times to get Mark’s attention. “Position two.”
Mark sat up on his knees, chin level with the floor and eyes straight ahead. David took his chin and tilted the boy’s head to take a better look.
The boy he had been chatting and laughing with not ten minutes before.
Mark didn’t react, didn’t pull away or flinch. His eyes were different now, distant and softer. His body language was tense and stiff. Breathing shallow.
“This is crazy impressive. I think if I had mine try and act like a real person, you’d be able to see whatever’s left of her brain dripping out her ears. She’d last less than a minute before breaking out in tears.”
The man studied Mark’s blank expression for another moment before a slight look of confused amusement came over his face.
“Position 6.”
Mark brought his arms out, wrists up, and the man pulled up the sleeve on his right arm. Then his left.
“No barcode? How’d you get away with that? I thought that was some kind of requirement or something.” Douglass grinned and pulled a small black flashlight out of his pocket.
David nearly laughed at how well planned out this was. The meeting, the big reveal, everything.
He clicks it on and shines it on the skin of the boy’s right wrist, lighting up a previously hidden tattoo. Under the light, his barcode and the numbers are easily read.
“Ooh, very nice. But what if he gets lost?” Douglas turned off the light and put it back in his pocket with raised eyebrows.
“Oh, this kid’s going to be a superstar. Won’t be able to get five feet from me or a bodyguard, hell even the paparazzi. He’s not going anywhere.”
He reaches down and tugs at the boy’s hair playfully. His hands are still out in front of him, waiting for further instruction.
“Besides, he’s still chipped so you’re really not going anywhere are you, Mark?”
“No, Sir.” His voice is different now, soft and docile. David shakes his head in amazement.
“This is just crazy, man. Mark, what’s your designation?”
“Platonic, Sir.” His manager arched an eyebrow and grabbed the boy’s bun, pulling his head backwards.
“And?”
Mark swallowed as he leaned back to try and get enough slack to breath properly. He nearly jerked his arms back for balance, but he knew Sir would want him to be perfect for his friend. Perfect for the crowds and the pictures and the crew and for him. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Never a detail overlooked or glance in the wrong direction for too long.
He had just wanted to sing. He had just wanted to be an artist.
You signed up for this.
“Platonic w-with secondary ro-mantic training, Sir,” he squeaked out. His hair was released, and he fell forward slightly as he took a deep breath. He fought a shiver as David laughed. Whenever possible, Mark skirted around his saying romantic training. It was okay, he could be good, but wasn’t made for it. He was made for Sir, and Sir didn’t want him for that.
He’s supposed to, though. He’s supposed to want me but he doesn’t. The handlers told me that my owner would want me but he doesn’t. He doesn’t and he never will. People say I’m supposed to love him but they never taught me to do that and he doesn’t want me like that.
“How does that work? Isn’t that some sort of oxymoron or something?” asked Phil, stepping forward and eyeing Mark with a different kind of look.
That was the other reason he didn’t want to mention his secondary training. Mark like to imagine that he shied away, but in reality, he stayed perfectly still. He could only pretend, only imagine leaning away from the hands that would come and touch and touch and touch.
“Oh he’s a platonic for me and a romantic for anyone who wants to sleep with a superstar.”
Mark swallowed again, hoping that it wasn’t noticeable. He didn’t love Sir, but he didn’t hate him. He was trained for him and he cared about him, but he knew it wasn’t mutual. It wasn’t even; Sir was still his owner and Mark was his pet. His pet that he could make do whatever he wanted.
The handlers told me collars are safe and my owner wants me, but I don’t get to wear mine most of time and he doesn’t want me. Mine doesn’t he want me. I must have done something wrong or misunderstood or something because something is missing and he doesn’t want me. But he gives me away to other people and I don’t understand.
Why did he let them train me for him and then not want me?
No, no no no bad.
It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay.
Phil used his foot to push down Mark’s shaking arms. He crouched down and lifted the boy’s chin with a smile.
“God, why didn’t we think of this years ago? Could have saved Hollywood quite a bit of trouble and maybe even a few scandals.”
The room laughed again, but this time no one expected Mark to pretend to laugh along with them.
YO I wanna know more about Mark Davies!! How did he ‘debut’? How did they make him rise to such fame, and how long did it take? Has anyone ever come close to the truth (and if so what happened/how do they cover it up)? What style of music does he perform? What’s his favorite food? Tea or coffee and how does he take it? (I’m just a box of questions like tissues, pull one and 15 come out with it)
Poor Mark. As I said to a friend over DM, “I love all my children; Nik, Hilton and *looks at smudged writing on palm* Marv.”
But really, it makes me so happy to see people interested in him. Also I have your BTHB ask and I’m workin on it
As for Mark: Douglass Archer has lots of connections, so Mark just *appeared* at the top of the charts one day. Totally new, undiscovered artist. He’s done a couple tracks with other popular artists, and that also threw him in the lime light real quick. Fame is easy to buy.
Yes, there was 1 interviewer who came very close. He dug far and found Mark’s old identity. Asked hard hitting questions about why he changed his name, why he changed his style, why he disappeared for a few months before a really sudden rise to fame; all done on a live broadcast. Mark handled it shockingly well, playing off the nervousness and headaches. Handled the situation, and surprisingly, that interviewer wasn’t really heard from much afterwards.
Mark Davies does pop, with a little bit of rap. [REDACTED] sang blues.
Mark Davies doesn’t get to choose his food, he has a nutrition plan for that, but he would sell his kidney for a philly cheesestake hoagie. Without ‘Wiz.
Coffee! Coffee coffee coffee, Mark drinks A LOT of it. Espresso if he can get it, just whatever has the most caffeine. He needs it.
Anyone who has met him, other star, stage tech, fan, always talks about how he’s taller than they expected and how NICE he was. Almost nothing in the gossip columns about him; perfectly family friendly.
Only kinda weird thing is that he doesn’t really interact with other celebrities very often. Well, except that one girl. Didn’t she play the president’s daughter on that popular show from a couple years ago? She seems pretty cool. Down to earth. They would make a cute couple don’t you think? [too bad he’s a box boy]
