him in the mirror. "Don't be a dope.''

He picks up a favorite Spider-Man comic and starts reading.

At the Deauville, the screaming and weeping begin the instant the limos roll into view. The guy in charge of security is Sgt. Buddy Dresner of the Miami Beach Police Department. He has guarded Sinatra and Elvis. He supervised the guard detail when President John F. Kennedy visited the beach only a few days before his assassination in Dallas. Sgt. Buddy knows what he's doing.

The first limo is a dummy. The second limo, carrying the Beatles, speeds past the bewildered girls to the back of the building. That's how the Beatles escape the screeching, clutching throng. They slip into back elevators and are escorted to rooms where they must wonder if theythe Beatles — who doesn't? He works on his James Bond cool.

His dad, Paul, builds hotels. His mom, Jerri, is a former nightclub singer who knows the people who know the important people. The phone rings after dinner. It's a comedian friend, Myron Cohen, who had met the Beatles. They may need a getaway place, Cohen says, somewhere they can escape the hubbub. "Tell the boys to come over to my house,'' Jerri says.

The limo arrives the next morning. Led by Sgt. Buddy, the Beatles walk in, eat cold cuts, go for a swim and pose for a famous Life magazine photograph in the pool. They're nice to Billy, which is cool, but he's not supposed to tell anyone about the visit. That kills him.

Next morning Billy heads