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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.

♡

Chapter Text

♡

You could hardly sleep.after you returned home from the party. It took several hours of tossing and turning before you finally managed to drift off, only to be awoken by the sharp ringing of your telephone.

“god-“ you jumped up; you couldn’t stop the noise fast enough.

You knew who it was before you even picked it up.

“Jesus, Barb, it is way too early.”

“It’s 8:00 in the morning, ___. The rest of the world is getting up, and making breakfast, and driving to work, you know, adult things?”

“So?”

“So.. up and at em’!”

You sighed.

“Barb, I’m tired.”

“Well get up and get dressed, because you have that shoot with Seventeen, and then you’ve got lunch with Phil.”

“Again? Why does he want to see me so bad?”

“To talk about your music. It’s purely business, ___. That’s his job. You don’t have to pervert everything, you know.”

You huffed, dragging yourself up in your bed. “Seriously, Barb, if you keep pimping me out to sleazy business men, I’ll-“

“Must you be so crude all the time?”

….

“See you then.” You groaned, and hung up.

The photo shoot with Seventeen was better than usual. You didn’t mind those people- mostly young, 20-something artsy types. They draped you in powder blue fabric, posed you against a plain white backdrop and were done by noon. You didn’t bother washing off the colorful eyeshadow- you had that business lunch coming up, anyway.

You made your way out onto the sun soaked sidewalk, kicking off your ridiculous white gogo boots, which had been irritating and most definitely blistering your ankles for the past hour or so. The pavement was hot under you, and you had to squint past the blurry sun rays to tell if the car in the distance was Phil’s or not.

It was. You sighed, grabbing your heels and hopping into the backseat; Phil wasn’t going to get out to open the door for you.

“Afternoon.”

“Afternoon, Phil.”

“Why the attitude?"

“I don’t have an attitude.” You said coyly. 

You looked down at your feet- red circles of soaked in blood sat on your ankles. Damn boots.

You thought, as you slid them on.

The restaurant he had chosen was alright; a little French-style cafe with a packed balcony and vines running up the brick walls. Thank god, it was run by actual French people; Phil knew you turned your nose up to most of the local cuisine.

He had the sense to pull out a chair for you, and you started with a white wine which you gulped down eagerly.

He sighed.

“I wanna talk about your next project.” He said, his tone more business-like than usual.

“Already?”

“Yes, already.”

“I just made a whole album.”

“This industry moves quick, ___. Have you written anything?”

“Some. A few songs, a few bits and pieces..”

“Well, you need to get on that.” He took a pause to sip his wine, watching you fiddle with the napkin on the table. “If you insist on being a songwriter, you have to actually write the songs, y’know.” He said, and sat back with a proud  grin.

“I am.”

“Alright, then. We’ll see you in the studio.. Monday?"

“Woah, woah, woah.. Monday?”

“Then when?” He huffed.

Before you could answer, a dead-eyed waiter with a stained apron approached the table, carrying his steak. 

Phil sawed into his sirloin, dejectedly tossing down the fork and making a sour face. He looked up at the boy. “This is practically raw.”

“Phil, just-“

“No, no. This is his job. What did they cook this with, a warm hug? Tell them to grill it a little, at least. Christ.”

The waiter took the plate, walking away without a word.

He looked at you expectantly and took another sip of his wine. “This is the way of the world, ___. If you put up with mediocre, all you’re ever gonna get is mediocre.”

♡

Getting home from lunch, you were able to turn your prospects to the event you were really looking forward to: the club.

Your friends, (Carol, Dolly and Lisa,) were insatiable. They took any opportunity to go out, and it was a lot of fun most of the time. Since Dolly was the only local in your group, she took great joy in showing you two around England. And like the art scene, night life in London was flourishing. You all preferred the more exclusive places; they were just as rowdy, but without being whisked away for autographs all night. The fans were sweet, but not what you wanted to deal with when you’d been drinking.

Dolly’s sunshine-yellow Camaro pulled in front of your house a few minutes too early; you had to rush to finish your makeup. Tossing your lash curler back into the cabinet, you gave yourself a once over.

You looked nice. Shockingly, your hair was laying right and your skin had a nice shimmer to it. You gave yourself a smile, spun on your heels and swung your purse over your shoulders.

“___! Finally!” Dolly grinned, peaking her head out of the window. 

“Who’s this beautiful lady?” Carol chuckled, swinging the door open to let you in. With Carol in yellow, Dolly in green and you in pink, you three looked like a bowl of Easter candy. 

The club was packed- your favorite. You three huddled near the bar, laughing like hyenas. Dolly was going on about some date she’d had with a guitarist, whom she’d met on a modeling shoot. 

Moments after you’d gotten your drink, you felt a hand on your shoulder. The moment you saw the perfect manicure, you knew who it was.

“Patty!” You cheered, throwing your arms around her.

“I thought you were in LA?”

“I was, for a time.” She spoke, with that signature smile. You adored her. There was a little bit of animosity when you first met, but she’s a hard person not to like- and apparently, so are you. “Thank god I’m back!”

“Well- did you come here yourself?”

“I bet not, she’s with her new beau, huh?”

The girls erupted into laughter. 

“I am.” She admitted, dipping her head.

“I- I didn’t hear about this?” You giggled.

A chorus of gasps echoed from the group, followed by a nearly comedic silence. “You don’t know?” Dolly inquired, which you followed with a dumb shake of your head.

“Go on, tell her.” Carol beamed.

“Well, I’m seeing a new guy. George.”

“Harrison.”

You gasped, and then you two leaned in, giggling. “Patty's dating a Beatle?”

“We’ve gone on a few dates, is all. Dinner here and there.”

“Mhm, and now he’s your plus one.” Dolly smirked.

“True.”

“They’re all here, you know.” Patty smiled.

“Really?”

“Mhm. All four.”

“One for each of us.” Dolly hinted, and you all erupted into laughter once again.

“Are all your friends this beautiful, Patty?” An anonymous voice spoke.

You snapped your head around. There, you could see the voice belonged to none other than Paul McCartney. 

He looked nearly the same as when you had met him the other day. Same sad eyes, same smile- but this time, his hair was slightly tousled and he had ditched the suit.

“I- Paul!” Your greeting came out a little too ‘old friend you’ve known forever’-ish, but he played along with it.

“___,” he smiled. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Well, it’s kind of our spot.”

“It’s kind of our spot.”

You both chuckled. It was good-natured, in the end. 

“Let me buy you a drink.” He reached for his wallet slowly, motioning with his head to the bar.

“What is it with you and giving me alcohol?”

“You’re gonna drink anyways, might as well let me buy you something.”

You smiled. “That’s kind of you.”

“Whats your favorite?” He inquired.

You plopped down right next to him, setting your elbows on the bars sticky surface. “Vodka Coke.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh, c'mon. It’s good. It works.”

He laughed. “Maybe. With really good vodka.” 

“Posh, are we?”

“Y’know, that’s an insult where I’m from.”

“Oh, right. I forget we’re not in LA.”

He spun the glass around on the tabletop. “Is that where you’re from? LA?”

“God, no.” You laughed. “That’s where I got, well, discovered. I moved here a year ago, to work on my music.”

“That’s a smart choice. Y’know, there are lots of great people out here.” He murmured.

“You sound skeptical.”

He chuckled. “No, no, ‘m not. ‘S just, y’know.. the grass is greener, I suppose. Every artist in England is trying to move to America-“

“And every artist in America is trying to move to England.”

You both laughed, and by the time you refocused, your drink was sitting in front of you. “Hmm.”

You looked over at him, scanning his appearance. 

He was drinking slowly, his hand loose around the glass. He wore two watches, both rather expensive but not flashy. Besides the watch thing, he looked rather normal. Very normal.

“What are you thinking about?” He murmured.

“Nothing. Just, y’know. You’re pretty famous.” You laughed nervously.

“..so are you,”

“…”

You both erupted into laughter.

“Mhm.” You bit your bottom lip, fidgeting with the rim of your glass.

Suddenly aware of your surroundings, you looked behind, searching for your group. The girls had moved away slightly, all absorbed in their own conversations. Patty was talking to George, the rest of the Beatles entertained by the girls and a few other randoms. From across the crowd, Dolly gave you a knowing grin. 

Shut up. You mouthed with a smile.

Chapter Text

♡

The moment you got home, you were about ready to pass out.

You kicked off the bubblegum-colored heels, picking Bobby pins out of your hair and dropping your coat to the floor. You hadn’t drank that much, but you sure felt like it.

Paul’s words from your lengthy conversation cycled through your mind, swirling and flowing like a rose-colored fog. Your feet dragged on the floor as you trudged to the couch, plopping down and breathing lowly, your face smushed into the cushions.

You were just about to fall asleep when the sharp ringing of your phone led you to snap up.

“Jesus..”

You reached for the table, feeling around for the phone before grabbing it and holding it shakily to your ear.

“What?” You groaned.

“Oh, oh- I’m sorry, did I wake you?” A laugh came from the other end. Your jaw nearly fell from your face when you recognized the voice.

“Paul? Oh my gosh, that was so rude-“ you laughed nervously, raising into your signature telemarketer voice.

“It’s alright. I shouldn’t be calling this late, anyway. I’ve just gotten home, is all.”

“What- how did you get my number?”

“I have my ways.” He chuckled.

“My friends snitched?”

“You’ve caught me.”

Damn it, Dolly.

You didn’t exactly mind a late night call from Paul McCartney, you’d be stupid to. With that being said, you’d rather he'd not have caught you mid-nap and wasted. Couldn’t she have withheld for a little longer? 

“I’d like to see you again.” He spoke, his tone measured.

“You’d.. like to.. what?”

“Well, you live in London, do you not?”

“..yea.” You squeaked. 

“How does Thursday sound?”

It is too late for this.

“That's.. Tomorrow.”

“..I suppose you're right.” He chuckled. “So, tomorrow then?”

Is this guy serious? 

“I can’t. I have a thing- with my friends, I mean. You blurted. “I’m.. I really have to go to bed, can we..? Do this later? You know.”

“…”

“..have a good night.” He purred, and hung up.

♡

You lied. You in fact could have gone out with Paul. But with the brunch you had scheduled for that morning, you'd be exhausted by the time the evening came around, which is.. Not something you want to be on a date.

You were dreading his next call more than you’d like to admit. This was all.. too much, too quickly. You felt like a blushing teenager;  perhaps it was his staggering eminence—  you knew you’d never really measure up in that regard. You were famous, but nowhere near Beatle famous. To tell the truth, you weren’t used to a man outselling you in any aspect of life.

And the most infuriating part? He was so ordinary. Like the screaming fans, the raving crowds didn’t affect him one bit. You couldn’t wrap your head around it.

Today, you didn’t have to worry about Paul. Today, you just had to focus on brunch.

Still nursing a dull headache and some nausea from last night's drinking, you spent just a little too long piecing together an outfit- slipping on a cornflower blue dress that sat way up on your thighs and some heels you had to squeeze into. It hurt a little, but you figured you wouldn’t be walking much anyhow. 

When you arrived at the upscale breakfast joint, things were looking up for you. Dolly had grabbed a real nice table– sunny but still shaded- a mimosa was waiting for you at your spot, some of Bridgit Bardot’s new stuff was playing softly, and Carol was waving you over with a smile. 

“You look nice!’

“Thanks,” You giggled. “You too.”

“I know!” Carol said cheerfully, leading you all to laugh.

Dolly was going on about the rocker she had unsuccessfully tried to cut off, who had called her late into the night after she’d gotten home- the story wasn’t exciting enough to justify her long winded explanation, But she made it work and you were all on the edge of your seat regardless. 

You were wolfing down your poached eggs, pushing away the garnish with your fork and careful not to let your mimosa get too warm. 

“And, anyway, I think I'll just stop responding.” Dolly sighed.

“You should. I mean, he doesn’t measure up to you, y’know. Bummer, he's cute.”

“Yeah, he sure is…” Dolly nodded dreamily; turning her sights to you. “Anyway, ___?”

You swallowed hastily. “Oh, gosh-”

“You and McCartney looked awfully comfortable last night..”

You laughed. “Enough.”

“Not accusing,” Carol shook her head. “Just.. curious.” She spoke, innocently pushing her bacon around on her plate. Dolly was fiddling with the stem of her mimosa, eyes trained on you expectantly. You didnt want to hold anything from your girls, and found it would be a lot less awkward if you blabbed, anyhow.

“He asked me out, I think?” you blurted.

“What?” Dolly gasped.

“Well-”

“He asked you-” Carol wheezed. “When did this happen?”

You licked hollandaise sauce off your fork. “Mmm, around.. 1 am or so last night?”

“Over the phone, then?”

“..yea.”

“He couldn’t wait!” Carol smirked. “Well, when's the big night?”

You pushed your food around, or what was left of it, holding your fork lazily. You sighed, reaching for your mimosa. “Oh, I, uh.. Said no.”

“What?!”

“Well- cmon! I was drunk, I was half asleep,”

“That doesn’t matter!” Carol squeaked. A Beatle asks you out, you say yes, when, thank you so much, anything but no!”

“I’m- maybe he’ll ask again, you know. Anyway, I’m only in this situation because someone gave him my number..”

Dolly threw her hands up. “He said he wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

“Right. Well, 'm not gonna say yes to a date with anyone when I’m that drunk. If he really wants me, he’ll call again.”

Carol groaned.“I hate when you say reasonable shit like that.”

♡

When you returned to your apartment, you realized you’d left a candle burning.

“Damn it…”

You snuffed the flame out between your manicured nails.

“You should be more careful, you know.” 

You jumped around to find Phil standing there, staring you down like a ghost in a horror movie. “Good god!”

“What?”

“You can’t just come into my house!”

“It’s an apartment.”

“Whatever! This is a private domicile, and you don’t have a key!”

He chuckled. “Cmon, baby, since when do you use words like ‘domicile’?”

“I’ve always been smart, you’ve just been too busy ogling me to notice.”

“Right.” He looked around, absentmindedly grabbing a lace-trimmed pillow off your couch and tossing it back and forth in his hands. “I lit the candle, by the way.”

“Why are you in my house, Phil?”

“We’re going out.”

“I just-“

“No, not- going out, going out. We’re going to the studio. some practice would be good for you.”

“Seriously, you’re going to drag me to work?”

“Yes. Come along now.”

You huffed, following him out the door like a toddler. It was better not to argue with Phil. Well, it was easier, anyway.

When you arrived at the studios, the building was different then last time. You quirked a brow as you exited the car. “What’s this?”

“Emi studios.” He nodded, closing his own door. “They invited us. Something new for a change?”

“What do you mean they-“

“Jesus, stop asking questions. Just follow me.”

After checking in with a very unorganized secretary, you made your way to an airily lit studio room which contained- to your surprise, the Beatles. John was focused on his guitar- George and Ringo on their conversation, but Paul gave you a nod.

Phil joined in on the talking, leaving you to your own devices. You somehow found your way to an acoustic guitar, fiddling with the strings for a bit. 

“Alright, we’re going.” Phil spoke.

You raised your head. “What?”

“Well, you didn’t think we’d be recording in here, did you?”

“Whatever.”

Chapter Text

That day of filming was particularly grueling. At the very least, you finished early- so you had lots of extra time to yourself.

You spent as much time as you wanted playing a record- powdering, spraying, pampering- your bathroom was filled with rose-scented steam by the end of your indulgent beauty ritual.

When you were done, you were displeased to hear your phone ringing again— probably Phil, calling to scold you for some mistake you’d made on one of the takes.

You picked up. “Yes?”

“Good to hear you don’t sound so tired this time.”

Paul. You smiled.

“Yeah- well, I’m sober. You caught me at a good time.”

“I'm sure. Listen, are you free.. tomorrow night?”

You could practically hear the lopsided smirk through the phone. You shifted your weight to your hips, twirling a strand of hair. “Mm, I think so, yeah. Why?”

“We’re going out.”

“Are we?” You laughed.

“Wear something nice. And you should do your hair like it was today. Don’t straighten it.”

“Oh, now we’re making demands?”

“If you’ll let me.”

“Hm.” 

“I’ll see you then-“

“Aren’t you going to ask me where I live?” You queried.

“No need, your manager’s told me.”

“You seem to know everything about me; should I be scared?”

He chuckled. “I just find you interesting, is all. There's nothing to be scared about. What, do I make you nervous?”

“Not at all,” you laughed.

“7:00. Good night, ___.”

♡

The next day, every hour leading up to your date felt like years. 

You sprawled out on the couch, drinking a Diet Coke over ice and flipping lazily through this month's selection of fashion magazines. You had a little bit of a scare when your own face stared you down, plastered onto the pages of Seventeen magazine. 

The guest for today’s episode of What’s my Line was Eartha Kitt, and you were elated to see her on the screen— but your watch time was cut short when you realized you were behind on getting ready.

After slathering yourself in gardenia-scented lotion and re-curling your lashes about 15 times, you finally felt ready. Your outfit for today was especially curated- the same outfit you wore anytime you had a first date. It was a little white dress with chunky white heels, pink socks with frills around the ankle and a nice necklace to compliment. 

After checking your curls in the hallway mirror, you looked toward the clock.

6:58- right on time. But was he going to be?

Knock, knock.

Wow. Annoyingly punctual. You thought.

Swinging the door open, you grinned- the large, bursting bouquet caught your eye.

“These are my favorite.” You grinned.

He nodded. He was dressed nicely- his hair brushed,and a little flush to his cheeks. “Lucky guess.”

You lied. They weren’t your favorite- but you needed something to say. You grabbed the flowers, diligently plopping them in a vase and making a mental note to cut those later.

“Shall we?” He smiled.

“Let’s.”

The restaurant was nice- you nearly gasped when he helped you out of the car. He’d taken you to Trattoria Terrezza- a nice, fine dining Italian place well known for hosting celebrities. You’d wanted to go there ever since you’d heard Elizabeth Taylor went.

“This- I’ve heard of this place.” You beamed.

“It’s real great. Not too snobby. No starched shirts or anything.”

You laughed. “That sounds refreshing.”

“It is.”

The inside was quaint, but still with an air of luxury. You were so busy marveling at the lights you nearly missed that he’d pulled out your chair for you.

Sitting down, you helped him order a nice wine— he was clueless. The poor boy had probably been drinking rubbing alcohol on those tours of theirs.

After wine, a different waiter approached the table, and grinned. “Paul, how you been?”

“Good, good.”

“And who’s the lady?” The older man smiled warmly.

“___,” you responded.

“Oh, I’ve heard your music! Lovely sound, lovely sound.”

You have a smile and nod as thanks.

“This guy,” the man pointed, giving you a look like he was letting you in on an embarrassing secret. “Gets the same thing every time. Petto Di Pollo Sorpresa”

“I’ve got great taste.”

“It is great.”

“Well, I’ll have that then.” You smiled.

The food was great- authentic, but still in a way that was familiar to you. The conversation came easily, and every so often, your heel would click against his shoe underneath the table– you had to continually remind yourself to tuck your legs away.

 you raised your drink and motioned to his wrist. “..two watches?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, em- one for the time in England, and another for.. wherever we’re touring. So I know when it’s alright to call my family.”

You smiled. “That’s thoughtful.”

“I try to be..”

He laughed. sipping his wine- he wasn’t holding his glass right. The drink was probably warm by now. 

He spoke again. “You picked a great wine. What are you, some kind of som.. Som..”

“Sommelier?” you guessed.

Yeah, that.” He chuckled.

“No. I taught myself all about wine as soon as I was old enough to drink. I wanted to seem sophisticated.”

“You are sophisticated.”

“Am I?”

“If you’re not, you’ve fooled me.” He shook his head. After a minute of comfortable silence, he leaned sideways in his chair.  “You bounce your leg a lot. Did you know you did that?”

You looked down. “As a matter of fact, I did know.”

He laughed. “Why, then?”

“Why do I bounce my leg?”

He nodded.

“Um..” You looked down, biting your bottom lip with a smile. “I guess I'm nervous.”

“Oh,” he beamed. “Don’t be nervous. I mean, didn’t you say you weren’t scared of me?”

“Hey, there's a difference between scared and nervous. Dates make me nervous, but you’re not scary at all.”

“Why, 'cause I'm too cute?” he huffed incredulously. 

“Yeah.” You nodded. “What, do you want to be scary or something?”

He swirled his wine absentmindedly- then crinkled his nose and shook his head. “No. Definitely not.”

After dinner, he helped you into the car and you discussed flowers on the way. He drove with one hand, and your eyes lingered on the stacked watches. 

You pulled up to a large venue, and nearly stepped in a puddle on the way out of the car. He grabbed your waist, nudging you to the side so as to protect your lightly-colored heels. You uttered a thanks and looked up at the sign.

“We’re seeing a symphony?” You questioned 

“Mhm.” He beamed. “I thought you’d enjoy it.”

“I’ve never been.”

“Well, this might be a bad one to start with. No other orchestra will ever hold up.”

You laughed. “Oh, c'mon. You’re big on classical music?”

“Oh, yeah. Get a lot of my melodies from Bach and the like. Nobody ever really notices, y’know.”

You grinned. “I guess so. People don’t really look for classical influences in rock and roll, of all things.”

“If they did, I’d be out of a job.”