Ringo arrives to Brian Epstein's home, only to discover he's there for a talk.
“We’re not getting a manager,” John says firmly.
He doesn’t have the energy to fight tonight.
“We need help,” Paul continues. “We need someone who knows what they’re doing and can get us back on track. Someone who knows what gigs we should be playing and what gigs we shouldn’t. Someone who can tell us how to dress and what to say to get the right kind of audiences. Someone who can help us be successful. Reach our potential, y’know?”
As much as John knows they need the help, the idea of giving that kind of control to someone is terrifying.
And then there’s the other thing they have to worry about.
“I don’t want to be anyone’s sex slave,” John says, taking the cigarette back from Paul.
The crudeness makes Paul sigh, and John has to look away. There’s no denying it; the law is strict and the industry ruthless. If they sign a contract with a manager, they’ll be signing over their souls. They’ll be expected to let this person fuck them and humiliate them.
In a world where the music industry is ruthless and artists are forced to be sexually submissive to their managers, The Beatles have a decision to make.
The boys gave Eppy strict but 'simple' instructions, don't come without our permission. But that's far easier said than done and if Eppy's going to break the rules anyways, they're going to let him come as much as he needs to, even if that means past any point of reason.