Chapter Text
The air tasted of hairspray. ill fitting heels blistered the backs of your ankles, and your lashes had been curled so high they poked your eyebrows.
“Turn your head,” The stylist murmured, and you obliged. Her calloused hands turn your cheek, dusting you in a layer of sweet smelling bronzer that clouded your lungs and had you holding back a cough. she spun you to face the mirror, vanity lights forming a haze over your reflection as you inspected the woman before you.
Still and doll-like, your painted eyes bore right back.
“better get going then.” The woman spoke as she dumped her assorted cosmetics back in their bag. Your cheeks flushed- you were going to be late, and she was trying to alert you in the politest way possible.
“Right.” Your hands grabbed shaky fistfuls of your dress, powder-pink heels clacking against the metal stool as you hopped off and found your way to solid ground. You made your way away from the vanity as confidently as you could, smoothing the wrinkles in your skirt that your own sweaty hands had created.
Somebody stood by the door onto set, waving his arms frantically like he was ushering you on to a lifeboat.
The interviewer's booming voice announced your name, stage lights flooding your vision as you stepped through the accursed doorway.
The set was simple, a desk for the host, accompanied by two chairs. An empty coffee cup sat next to the interviewer in question, some late-night star you had hardly heard of. This was big for you, apparently.
The studio audience's faces blurred amongst the beams of light. you gave a nondescript cheery wave, delicately dropping into one of the pale green chairs. Two very intimidating cameras circled you, mechanical voyeurs transmitting your every blink and grimace to the whole of America.
oh, god, get me out of here, you thought.
“Gosh, we are so happy to have you here tonight.” He smiled cheerfully after you had settled into your chair. Right on cue, his name was thrust to the forefront of your mind.
“Thank you, Johnny. I'm happy to be here.” You acknowledged.
“Now-” He leaned in excitedly. He was good, his movements the perfect balance of natural and rehearsed. “Your new record has just hit number one- I’ve gotta ask, how does it feel? Were you, I suppose, expecting the outcome?”
“No.” You shook your head with a laugh. “No, not at all. I mean, when I first, y’know, picked up music, I was just having a little fun. It was-“
“A hobby?”
“Yeah. And wether or not people bought the records was.. a bonus.”
“And what a large bonus it’s been.” He grinned.
♡
when you got back to your apartment, Barbara was waiting for you.
“Since when did I give you keys?” you huffed, tossing off your coat.
“Since I got a pair made. It’s my job to keep you on your feet, can’t do that if I gotta spend 20 minutes knocking on your door.”
“right.”
“Anyway,” She made her way to the kitchen, absentmindedly clearing clutter from the countertops. “I’ve accepted that it’s impossible to please you, but I've got an opportunity you just might.. well, not hate.”
“And what's that?”
“The Beatles.” she grinned.
You chuckled. Of course, you had heard of the group. They were practically everywhere. in the papers, on the radio, everywhere. But what would those guys– from all the way across the ocean, want anything to do with you?
“Pardon?”
“Well, not the Beatles themselves– But their manager, Brian, has invited you to a party. He's got this marvelous house in Sussex, it's gonna be.. beyond extravagant.”
You sighed. “I’m gonna be all alone in Sussex, fantastic.”
“You won’t be alone,” she laughed. “Phil will be accompanying you.”
Great. Even worse.
“And I need to go to this party.. why?”
she huffed, grabbing a bottle of wine off your shelf.
“Networking, darling.”
♡
you stood on the chilled street, ivory-colored heels submerged in a puddle of rainfall- you didn't care enough to move— the heels would be thrown away before they could mold, anyway. cold nipped at your features, fog covering the nighttime streets like a blanket of gray mist. You weren’t used to the weather in Europe- it was times like these you missed summers back home.
Phil hadn't bothered to accompany you out to wait for the car; a ride had whisked him away about an hour ago. You and Barb had spent the past hour or so meticulously perfecting your hair, makeup, and most importantly, your outfit. There was one thing you wholeheartedly agreed with Barb on, first impressions were everything. So naturally, your coat matched your dress matched your earrings matched your eyeshadow. baby pink, your signature. You couldn't discern whether you looked put-together, or like a big wad of chewing gum.
The driver finally arrived, rolling down a dew-stained window. “___?”
“That's me.” You murmured, sliding into the backseat.
♡
marvelous was right. The party was stylishly decorated– all blue and white, the theme of their latest album. Balloons adorned the ceilings, amber lit rooms packed with partygoers in various styles of dress. You felt enveloped by the party's atmosphere, inhaling the smell of alcohol, fancy cleaning solution and frankenscence; your coat was whisked away the second you stepped through the front door.
navigating through the crowd, you followed the ebb and flow, pathways naturally formed in the gaps between clusters of cigar-smoking music execs. By the grace of some divine being, you ended up in a much more scarcely populated area of the house. That's when you saw them, finally.
There, in the complete, quintessential group, sat the Beatles. It was only then that you realized–
you couldn't tell them apart.
George, Paul, John– before you had even finished running over the names, a hand on your back shepherded you towards the group. Your eyes trailed up to the owner of said hand; no other than the fabulous Brian Epstein, hosting a simple smile.
“So glad you could make it-” He raised his volume to a cheerful announcement. “Boys, this is ___. You know, that one.. ‘dun-dun-dundun’..” He hummed the tune to your latest single, hilariously off-key.
their heads perked up in recognition, a chorus of ‘o’s coming from the group.
Eagerly, one rose from his seat to shake your hand. The greeting was a little crude, but you got the idea these boys hadn’t exactly been to finishing school.
“I’ve heard some of your stuff, its great. Really great.”
“Im.. Im sorry, which.. One are you?” you asked bluntly, punctuating your sentence with an awkward sort of giggle to smooth the embarrassment a bit. To your relief, the group burst into laughter.
“Paul. Mccartney.” He grinned.
Right.
He was cute. The boyish, charming kind of looks you saw more with English stars. His dark hair was rather long, thick lashes adorning his wide, sad eyes. His hand was warm in yours.
“___.” you smiled.
“And I thought you were beautiful on television.. you’re even better in color.” He grinned. His tone was measured, charming; the sort of confidence you only acquire through lots and lots of practice.
Friendly. Very friendly. You thought.
“Thanks.” You smiled sheepishly.
Two behind him, the ones you recognized as John and ringo, sneered a little.
“Wait till she’s at least had a drink, will you?” John spoke. He was very recognizable- a long face, with a strong nose and small eyes that hardly blinked at all, critical- but the childlike grin on his face softened his features considerably.
“I’m making introductions, is all.” Paul chuckled.
“Well, you’ve met Brian. That’s George, and Ringo.”
The two were sat directly next to each other. George was a bit taller, with a thinner frame, dark eyes and tall, striking cheekbones beneath the baby fat. Ringo was shorter, with a large nose, deep blue eyes and a certain softness to him that gave him an endearing quality.
“Nice to meet you all.” The words sounded disgustingly rehearsed coming out of your mouth.
“You seem like you need a drink.” Paul laughed breathily. “Come, sit down.”
There were already a few girls sat around the luxurious room, everyone with a drink in hand and a smile. This is the best part of Hollywood, you thought. More like the only decent part.
Before long, you were sat between Paul and some southern starlet you vaguely recognized- nursing a vodka coke and doing your best to keep up with the conversation.
“Well- ___, do you live around here?” Paul asked suddenly.
“No, London.”
He chuckled. “Well, what brings you all the way to Sussex, then?”
“This party, actually.”
“That can’t be.” He laughed incredulously, although without a hint of venom. “Youve gone all that way for us?”
“Well, im American, you know. Everything’s far apart there, so the drive doesn’t seem that bad to me. Besides, your manager invited me, I couldn’t say no.”
“Right.”
…
“If it helps, we also find it impossible saying no to Brian.”
That got everybody laughing again.
“You-“ John grinned. “You wrote that new record yourself, didn’t you?”
“Mostly.” You admitted. “Phil helped me on some of the pop tracks, im-“
“Phil?”
“Spector.”
A chorus of ooh’s arose from the large group. “Wow, I had no idea he did your producing. He’s..”
“A force.”
The group chuckled.
“Certainly.” Paul smiled. “I’ve only met him once or twice. His work is… definitely great..”
“Just his work?” You smirked a little.
“I dunno.” He spun his glass around a little. “Seems kinda dodgy. Last time I met him, at least.”
“He’s..” your expression faltered a bit. “Well, I can’t exactly argue with you. He’s a business man, I suppose. They’re all a little..” you allowed your sentence to gracefully trail off.
“Right.”
“Anyway- enough about Phil.” Paul smiled. “I heard-“
“__!” A voice boomed from behind you- you nearly jumped in your seat, turning to see who was calling your name.
“Phil?”
“Speak of the devil!” John barked out a laugh.
There he stood, signature suit and all, wolfish grin spread almost unnaturally on his features. You looked at Paul, and then back at him. The difference was.. striking. Phil looked like Paul had been chewed up and microwaved; And talking to him was the last thing you wanted to do right about now.
“Thank god I found you.” He smirked.
“Yeah, thank god.”
“Well, hop to, I got some guys I want you to meet.”
You sighed. Inevitably, “some guys” meant producer friends of his. You were to spend the rest of the night getting ogled by sleazy engineer guys, showered with promises of future collaborations and projects. The thought made you gag.
Well, we all have to do things we don’t like every now and again.
Sighing, you heaved up from your seat, setting your drink down.
Paul gave a played up disappointed huff. “Aw, Phil, do you have to snatch her away so soon?”
“I’m afraid so.” He grinned.
♡