The Long and Winding Road

By iluvpmacc

Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN ANYTHING RELATED TO THE BEATLES!

Aria's POV

God only knows that being a woman in a mainly male dominated workplace is hard. I have actual dreams of amounting to something in my life rather than becoming the common housewife like every other girl in England. My first few months working at the Liverpool Journal were scary as hell, but frankly speaking, the most annoying of my life. The way I am treated differently even today, two years after I have started working here, appalls me. I have to work harder for every little step I take, meanwhile the others get their work cut out and handed to them on a silver platter. Thankfully, a year ago, another female journalist, Caroline, joined this absurd place that I still somehow manage to love. We had become fast friends as I taught her the ropes of being a working female in the sixties, and we now look out for each other and keep each other sane and grounded. After I left home when I was twenty, she has been my closest and best friend. If she had not shown up, there is a high chance that I would be locked up in an insane asylum right now for going on a mass murder streak in my workplace. Well actually, that's over exaggerating the reality just slightly.

Point blank, I am a hard worker. And I love the feeling of accomplishing things on my own. I have a small one bedroom apartment in one of the greatest places in the world (in my opinion), a steady job which, although it drives me up the wall, pays well and helps me work towards my goal of someday being a published author, and a best friend that I could never replace. For me, life is good, if only a bit stressed.

I take a sip of a cup of strong black coffee and settle into my cubicle for the day of work ahead. Looking at my to-do list, I see the one item that has been circled and circled many times that I continuously put off. CRAP! The article on the loose foundation of the local bridge was due today! A swear of curses run through my mind as I panic and try and figure out what to do. Never before have I ever ever turned in an article, or anything for that matter, late. And now I don't have a single word of this paper done! This is all Mary's fault. If my sister hadn't gone and decided to get married right now and pick me as her bridesmaid…OH! I also have to call the floral arrangers and check to see if the flowers that Damian and her had requested are ready! And I have to request the day after tomorrow off to go dress shopping with her, but with this article not even written I don't know how well that's going to go over with the boss. And I need my paycheck because my rent for the apartment is due in one week! I rubbed my sleep deprived eyes and remembered that I had also forgotten to put food in Jet's bowl. Great. Now I'm even neglecting my dog. What next?

This day is not going to go well.

I hear footsteps approaching and sigh as Caroline enters my tiny place that I can call my own in this building. It is covered with little scribbles of notes reminding me what to do, a large calendar where all my important events were put on, and a huge list of phone numbers that are related to the wedding. "Honey," Caroline states. "You look a mess." And she is right. My curly brown hair in its usual tight bun is in a low, messy ponytail, my pencil skirt is the same one I had worn yesterday to work, and to top it all off, there is a somewhat small stain on my white button down. Just dandy. Even my hazel eyes make me look like I have passed the age of sixty, when I am only twenty two, due to the bags under them. I am most certainly going to make a fabulous impression on my boss when I look like I just got drunk and came then decided to show up for work.

Meanwhile Caroline here looks absolutely fabulous as usual. Her pin straight blonde hair is always something I'll be jealous of, along with her bright green eyes. Her style sense is impeccable, and she can stun in the office or in any bar or club. The moment we walk in, no other girl matters, because all eyes are on my best friend. The best thing about Caroline, the thing I love the most, is that she does not try to be this way. Her inner beauty and personality shine out through the outside. Sure, it must be nice to have all the men at work want you, or countless guys in the bar offer to buy you a drink, but it does not get to her head. She's a smart girl, and she will not let any guy change that about herself. Guys get intimidated when they meet a beautiful, smart, and working girl, but that is the spell that Car keeps them all under. At the very beginning, I had my doubts about Car, but I learned that she is just as hardworking and motivated as I am. She is not just another pretty face, and she deserves much more than just another handsome boy.

"Car, I don't know what's happening to me… You know how I usually am. This is something completely new. I can't handle this much! And I don't even have the article written!" As I say these words, I realize how unlikely it is that I will make it through another day of work here. Mr. Sansone, the boss, looks for every little reason to fire people. I did not complete an entire article! What am I supposed to do?

Caroline walks over to my chair and puts her hands on my shoulders. "Aria Chapman, look at me." I do with tired eyes. "Just think-" But she does not get to complete her pep talk (not that it would have made a difference anyway). At that moment, who else should walk by but Mr. Sansone himself. His tall, towering frame entered my cubicle as Caroline and I stood up quickly. His head of jet black hair gives him an extra two inches of hair at least, and anyone can wilt from the stare from those icy grey eyes.

"Mr. Sansone! How can I help you?" I am surprised by how calm and collected I sound. Considering I am most likely going to be fired.

"Good morning. I was hoping that you could take a walk with me to my office." I felt a huge lump form in my throat. Did he somehow already know how much of a slacker I have been? I did not even start the bloody article, for goodness sake! How can I expect any mercy from this man?

"Yes, sir, of course," I almost whispered, feeling more scared than I was in my entire life. I walked out, looking back in pure terror at Car. God save me if I lose this job. I will be a failure. All that I finally proved to myself, that I could make it on my own in the big bad man's world, would be gone. Poof. Done. I stepped inside the office door of Mr. Sansone, feeling the tears well up in my eyes. I quickly made them disappear, though. If there is one thing Aria Chapman does not do, it is cry. I will go out with dignity and whatever pride I have left. I sat down in a chair straight across the huge desk as Mr. Sansone settled into his. Heart clenching seconds passed as I waited for him to deliver the terrible news.

"So Aria, you have been working dutifully and determinedly for two years at the Liverpool Journal. Being one of the first women here, I can imagine it has been hard for you, but you have measured beyond the standard that a bottom level journalist usually performs at. I feel that it is time you write your first front page story."

My jaw drops. It actually drops open. Did I hear him right? Did he actually just say I could right a front pager? A few seconds later, I am actually believing it. I let out a small chuckle in disbelief. Mr. Sansone looks confused. "Is there something amusing?" He looks down. "Does it happen to do with the horrid bulldog tie that my wife picked out for me this morning?"

"No, no Mr. Sansone-"

"Call me Eric, please."

"Oh!" Mr. Sansone was being much nicer than I am remembering him to be. "Well, um, Eric, you see the thing is that…" I take a deep breath. "The article on the bridge foundation is incomplete. Actually, incomplete is an understatement. I have not started on it."

To my utter astonishment, Mr. Sansone dismisses the statement with a wave of the hand. "Aria, if I counted every single piece that had not been submitted against everyone who works here, there would be no one left. I am surprised that you have been here two whole years and done everything in a timely fashion!"

I must have died and gone to heaven. This could be the only plausible explanation for this sudden turn of events.

"So Aria, about this new article, here's the topic. There is a new band of four lads in Liverpool that is taking the place by storm. They call themselves the Beatles, and they just came back from performing in Hamburg. They'll be at the Cavern performing almost every night. Your assignment is to do a history on them, and a sort of 'Meet the Band' kind of thing. I've already scheduled an interview with them tonight after their performance at the Cavern."

I take it all into account. The Beatles? A band? Probably some upperclass snobs who think they are so amazing just because everyone knows their names. Why would I get assigned to write about them of all things? Four guys who probably will give me yes and no answers and not think I am worth my time. But bloody hell, if this is what gets me my big break, then the Beatles it will be. I have never been much of a music person, though, where's the time to listen to it? "Mr. Sansone-"

"Aria, please, it's Eric."

"Eric, I would absolutely love this job! I just have to warn you that I am not the most musically inclined person."

Mr. Sansone lets out a laugh and places his large hand on my shoulder, which I look down at confused. But I quickly take my mind off of that and focus on what he is saying. "Aria, you'll be great. You have real talent, and it's a privilege those young lads have that you're the one writing about them."

I smile, deciding to ignore the fact that the complimenting was somewhat excessive. "Thank you sir, I won't let you down!"

"Oh and Aria, why not just take the rest of the day off? You will be working tonight, so go ahead."

I fly back to my cubicle on cloud nine. This was the best thing that has ever happened to me. I am going to be writing the front page news! People are going to know my name! And I did not get fired! Car is still in my cubicle when I get back, eating some kind of flavored yogurt. As she notices me, she immediately starts bombarding me with questions. I tell her everything, ending with my piece about this band called The Beatles.

"THE BEATLES!" she shrieks. Caroline can also be a real girl sometimes. Not most of the time, but sometimes. And this is one of the times. "You're going to interview the Beatles! I cannot believe this!" I shrug, confused as to why she's so excited. In my opinion, this is not about the Beatles. This is about me getting my front page story! And a day off!

"It's no big deal. Listen, I'm going to go back home, want to come with me tonight?" I ask, feeling that it will be better to face this most likely hubristic band with my best friend at my side (even if she is a little obsessed with them).

Car's face falls. "Oh I would, I would! But I have to take the train and go see my brother today, his wife is nearly eight months pregnant and I have not visited them in ages! But you have fun tonight! And tell them your best friend says hi, and that she absolutely adores them!"

I roll my eyes and laugh. "Anything for you, Car." We hug and I make my way out of the office six hours early. So this is what it must be like to be free on Saturday afternoons! I decide to go and get some new work clothes as a treat, and I even stop and have a delicious lunch of fish and chips from my favorite corner store, Gillian's Ocean. I used to eat here so much when I had first moved in, but as time passed I have been visiting less and less. Still on a first name basis with the cashier, though.

Getting back into my apartment, I immediately drop all my bags and go pour some food in Jet's bowl. "Sorry, dear," I tell him as I watch him hungrily lap up his food. With still many, many hours to spare before I have to attend the gig, I houseclean, call the florist, and watch my favorite movie, Gone With the Wind. Scarlett O'Hara may just about be my most favorite person in this world. It is a shame she is not real.

At 7:00pm, I decide it is time to go for a shower. The hot water hits me and I hiss as I turn it lower until it reaches a comfortable level. Drying off twenty minutes later, I don one of the outfits that I bought on my shopping trip today: a black shirt with a red top, and small black wedges to match. My hair is half pulled back while the other half ripples down my back, looking somewhat manageable. Just a teensy bit of mascara and I am good to go. Professional because I was going to do work, and fun because I was going to a concert. Grabbing my bag which contains my pen and pad, I pat Jet goodbye and head off towards the concert.

My car pulls up at about 8:30, although they started performing at eight. I did not have to be there for the performance though, I had to be there for the interview. That is what mattered. Inside, the crowd is packed so densely I have an amazingly hard time making it through to get a better view. Screams from girls and claps from everyone erupt as the band ends their song, and I get a good look at them for the first time.

They were all wearing leather jackets, which must have been terrible in this heat. The drummer is a small man with a strangely large nose, but he has a winning smile plastered on his face. One of the three men standing is tall, very thin and bony, but I have to admit his looks were above average. One of the two left is laughing loudly and stamping his feet along with the crowd, and the last looks like he is about to start speaking into the microphone. He has an adorable, somewhat babyish quality to his face, and there is something I immediately recognize about it. He seems so familiar to me. But how?

"Thank you, thank you everyone!" the man I am trying to recognize speaks into the microphone. "That was John singing our cover of Aint She Sweet! This will be our last song of the evening, and I hope you all had a marvelous time coming out! Thanks so much again folks! Now, if you'd like, I'll be singing on of my favorites, Long Tall Sally by Little Richard!" With that, he immediately lurches into a gripping song, his voice splitting at the seams but still sounding perfect.

I'm gonna tell Aunt Mary 'bout Uncle John

He said he had the misery but he got a lot of fun

Oh, baby, yeah now baby

Woo-oo-oo baby, some fun tonight, yeah

Where do I know this man from? This is killing me. Shouldn't I be able to remember someone with a voice like that? Or maybe I am just going crazy. I think I know him, but I don't. Yes, that sounds about right. How in earth could I have ever met him? Shaking my head and telling myself to forget about it, I listened to the man belt out the rest of the song in a way that I don't think anyone else in this room could have sang.

We're gonna have some fun tonight

Have some fun tonight

Everything's all right

Have some fun tonight

Yeah, we'll have some fun

Some fun tonight!

The music stops only to meet with thunderous cheers and applause. The four men smile, wave, and bow and then exit offstage. Oh! This is when I have to go interview them now! My mind still reeling from the mysterious singer, I head backstage from the side door and explain myself to a security guard right on the other side that I am the journalist who has come to interview them. He nods and leads me, to my surprise, straight to their dressing room. "Go right in," he says in a surprisingly sweet voice for the big man that he is. Cautiously, I peer my head in and then allow the rest of my body in.

The space is nothing like in the movies. It is pretty dusty, with only two dimly lit lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. I walk inside a little more, and see the four men sitting on two very moth bitten couches. I see the man who I could not recognize before smoking a cigarette, and up close he looks even more familiar to me. Who is he?! The drummer looks up and, noticing my presence, stands up to greet me. "'Ello there!" he said in a thick accent. "I'm Ringo, well Richard to be honest, but there's nobody who'll call me that anymore." I smile and shake his hand.

"Hello, I'm-"

But before I could state my name, someone else did for me. The man who I know stood up and took the cigarette out of his mouth. His eyes widened with shock.

"Chapman? Aria Chapman?"

At that moment, I sharply inhaled. Everything came flooding back to me clearly.

"Paul McCartney?"