This is just a little story I wrote a few years ago and published on another site, and I thought I'd share it with you people while I thought of my next new story. I apologize for any historical and/or factual mix-ups—I've written this a long time ago already. Enjoy!

I sat on the bench outside of my modeling studio, looking and feeling very bored. Not to mention tired. Modeling all day can sure knock you out. I sighed and brushed my fringe out of my face for what seemed like the millionth time today. That hairspray that I use every morning never works. Not that I need it of course, the people in charge of the modeling studio just say I do. My hair's actually very easy and manageable, except for my fringe. Plain, straight, and blonde. Hardly anything to blink an eye at. And of course I have the standard eye color for a blonde-blue. I was just plain-looking. Why everyone thought I was a perfect model, I will never know. I guess that blonde hair and blue eyes is the standard for the Liverpuddlian model. Well, except for my friend Gwen, but she was a whole other story all together.
When I figured I had enough fresh air, I went back into the studio. I had another photo shoot in about a half an hour, and I couldn't be late for it. I tucked my fair hair under my ears and walked around. I soon spotted my friend, Pattie Boyd, sitting alone looking as bored as I was. "Pattie!" I called as I walked over to her. Pattie was the same age as me and Gwen, twenty, but unlike Gwen and I, she didn't look it. Pattie was a very tall, but slightly built girl. She had blonde hair and blue eyes like me, but unlike me her hair was a little shorter and in a small beehive style. To make her look even younger, her face was round and she had a gap-toothed smile. But she was one of the prettier girls that modeled here.
"Hey Eileen," said Pattie when she saw me. Yes, my name is Eileen. Eileen Carter. Most people who I tell my name to for the first time think that I'm Irish, but I'm 100% Liverpuddlian. "What's up?"

I shrugged. "Just bored out of my wits is all," I said. I looked around a little. "Have you seen Gwen anywhere? We're just about to start the photo shoot and we need her for this one."

"I can't say I have," said Pattie in her small voice. Gwen and I always said that she looked like a little pixie. "But I will look with you."

"Good," I said. With that, we set off. Remember when I said that Gwen was a whole other story? Well, she is. In fact, Gwen Stanley is just about the craziest, maddest human being to walk the earth. But I've been her friend for all these years, so I guess I can say I'm crazy and mad too. "Maybe she's back at the flat," I suggested.
Pattie shook her head. "No, that's too easy for Gwen. Maybe she's out back."
"Worth a shot," I said. Sure enough, when we got out back, there was a rustling sound in the rubbish heap, and out popped Gwen Stanley, with a banana peel in her hair, clutching a poster that she had dug out from the rubbish. She had a winning grin on her face.
"Knew we'd find you here," I said, shaking my head.
"What isthat?" asked Pattie, holding back a laughing fit.
"This," said Gwen, jumping out of the rubbish heap and pulling the banana peel out of her hair, "is a work of art." Making a bugle fanfare imitation, she unfurled the poster to reveal a photograph of George Harrison, the lead guitarist for The Beatles. "Now, why would someone throw thisaway?"
"Because George is not as popular as John or Paul?" suggested Pattie. "I mean, he's good and all, but John and Paul are more—well—alluring."
Gwen put her hands on her hips. "So, you don't think George is good looking?" she asked. Gwen loved The Beatles, like all of us, but she was completely obsessed. Her favorite was George, obviously, but she did also have a soft spot for Ringo. Unlike Pattie and me, she had long, brunette hair that was a little wild form digging in the trash. She also had brown eyes, and was taller than me, but about an inch or two shorter than Pattie.

"Oh, no," replied Pattie, looking a little thrown off. "All I was trying to say was—well—um—that—he—"

"-is less popular than the other two," I finished for her. "And that doesn't mean that he looks worse than the others."
"Thanks Eileen," said Pattie, who was bright red by now.
"Any time Pat," I said. I looked over at Gwen again. The rubbish heap must have not had a lot of trash in it, because luckily, Gwen wasn't garbage-soaked. She was also dressed in a ratty pair of jeans and an old white t-shirt. But she still didn't look her best at the moment. "Um, Gwen," I said, looking her over. "I'd clean up if I were you, we have that photo shoot in about twenty minutes."
Gwen froze like a deer in the headlights. "Oh, you're right!" she yelled. "I gotta run!" With that, she dashed off back to our flat to clean up.
"Hopefully she'll be ready in time," said Pattie.
"Oh, she will be," I said. Pattie and I went up to the makeup booth to prepare for the photo shoot. I personally hated makeup; it made my face itch. It wasn't an allergic reaction, it was just a subconscious thing where you knew that there's something all over your face that doesn't need to be there. But I was a model, so I needed it. Pattie and Gwen were less fidgety than me. After the makeup, I put on a fancy dress that was green and purple striped (I hated it) and came up to my knees, and my hair was done in a messy-style bun on the top of my head. I looked at myself in the mirror and sighed. This was how I had to live.

My face was narrow with high, sharp cheekbones and along, straight nose. Everyone at the agency said that it was a perfect models' face, but I thought it was nothing special. I never really wanted to be a model, anyway, but it was the only thing that I could do. I lacked the grace needed to be a waitress, and I didn't have the right people skills to be a saleswoman. I played piano, but I wasn't able to find anywhere where I could earn a supple amount of money playing it. So I followed Pattie and Gwen into modeling, and it stuck.
"Hey Eileen," said Pattie as she came out of the trailer. Her hair was the same, but her makeup was done up a little more and she wore the same dress as me. It looked so right on her, even though I found the colors hideous on anyone else. "You look nice."
"Thanks," I said. "Gwen back yet?"
"Yes I am!" said Gwen, walking up to us. Somehow, she was already in makeup and dress. Her hair was a little harder to deal with sense it was so long, but the hair stylists had managed to put it in a bun like mine, but not as high.
"How are you ready so fast?" I asked.
"Never underestimate," was all Gwen said.

"I think we should get to the shoot then," said Pattie.

"Right," I said. The location was indoors, but there was fake garden landscaping all around. Pattie, Gwen, and I did a few poses, talked to a few people, and it was over.

"Funny you have to spend so much time getting ready for something that only takes ten minutes," I said back in the trailer, wiping off my makeup.

"Yeah, it is kinda funny," said Gwen. "But worth it when you see the pictures."

"Too right," said Pattie. "God I'm exhausted. Head home?"

"As soon as I get out of this bloody dress yes!" I said. Soon enough, the girls and I were back in street clothes and walking back to our little apartment flat. It was small and nothing special, but it managed to shelter us for the time when we weren't out modeling.
"Wow," said Gwen. "Modeling sure takes a lot out of you." She crashed down face up on her bed, gazing at her newly found poster of George Harrison, which she had taped to the ceiling above her bed.
"Gwen, that thing smells!" complained Pattie, holding her nose. "D'ya think you can spray it with something?"
"Got ya covered," said Gwen. Immediately, she pulled out her bottle of rose perfume and sprayed the whole poster.
"Ew, Gwen, that just made it worse!" I said, trying not to giggle.
"To each her own," said Gwen simply. "Eileen, I'm surprised you don't have a huge poster of Paul McCartney up there."
I turned red. I did have a bit of a crush on Paul, and Gwen never let me forget it. "Well, I'm never able to find one that's in my price range!" I said defensively.
"Maybe you can find one in the trash," joked Pattie. We all laughed, even Gwen chuckled a little.

"You know Pattie," said Gwen. "You never speak about your favorite Beatle."
"Maybe I don't have one," said Pattie, shrugging.
"Oh, come on," said Gwen, nudging Pattie in the shoulder. "Every Beatle fan has a favorite!"
"Well, it's just hard to choose!" said Pattie.
"Aw, Gwen, leave her alone," I said. "So what if she doesn't have a favorite?"
"It's just not right!" said Gwen. "Maybe I'll let you share George with me, since you're so preoccupied with staring at that poster."
Pattie jumped back, blushing. She had in fact been looking at Gwen's poster. "Oh, Gwen, come on! I mean-I'll think about it-it can't be that hard!"
Gwen winked at Pattie. "Alright then," she said.

"Wouldn't it be gear to meet them?" I asked. I could've sworn I saw Gwen's face glow with light.

"Gear?" she said. "It would be so much more than just gear!"

"But it's very unlikely," said Pattie. "I doubt it'd ever happen."

"But it's fun to think about though," I said.

"Yeah, it is..." said Gwen, drifting off.

"I don't even want to know what you'd think about Gwen Stanley," I said.
"Shut up Eileen Carter," she said. Soon, a pillow hit me square in the face, and me, Pattie and Gwen were involved in a full-scale pillow fight. Meeting The Beatles was forgotten, but something soon was about to happen that would change all of us.