The New Yorker (Paul McCartney)

by emlovestowrite

When the 21-year-old New Yorker Harper Mooney is given the chance to interview The Beatles, the last thing she expected was to fall in love with one. But when she soon finds the oh-so-gorgeous Paul McCartney at her heels, in love with her carefree nature and dry sense of humor, everything is not what it seems. As the two embark on a relationship at the near peak of The Beatles' fam

2. Chapter 2

I won't deny the reality that I am sitting here on my couch with a bowl of cereal, watching Z Cars with my dog.
It was 5:55 pm on February 5th, 1964, the day after I interviewed The Beatles.
As I won't deny that I'm lounging around watching a cop show, I won't deny that I have been waiting all day for Paul McCartney to call me.
That's a funny thing to say, isn't it? Waiting for Paul McCartney to call me.
I'm hoping I hadn't missed the call from him earlier today, that's what scares me the most. What if he tried and I didn't answer? There was no way of telling if and when someone has called you, so I don't know. I scribbled a good time to ring, but still. Maybe he tried and just gave up.
Or maybe he's a Beatle who is about to depart to another chaotic continent and thus busy out of his noggin.
I couldn't picture myself in his shoes; it couldn't happen.
If there's anything I learned from talking to them all yesterday, it's that it's not easy to be a "rock star."
I was sure to include a bit John had said about it, possibly making it the headline: "This all just preposterous. Like you, talking to a journalist, is preposterous. The fact that people actually want to hear what I have to say about your questions is preposterous. It's all bloody nuts and it's not easy. But I'd take it over any feeling in the world, I'll tell you that."
That was the day that I truly understood what the word "preposterous" meant.
Today in work was a situation. As soon as I walked into those wooden doors, everyone was heckling me.
Even people whom I've never talked to in my entire life were asking me questions like I was their gal.
I've never felt like all ear in the room was on me until this morning. I didn't particularly like it because, let's face it, I didn't take kindly to the limelight. Yet it was nice to be the one everyone wanted answers from.
I told them all about what they looked like, who the tallest was and who sounded the most like their music. I told them what John Lennon had to say and described Ringo Starr's laugh. I clarified that Paul was as handsome in person as on the paper and the TV screen.
It was all rather exciting, but I liked to keep the juicier details to myself.
I allowed Angie entry into my room so she could talk to me about the information that I did get.
I played the tapes for her with a huge smile planted on my face as I relived the experiences. I found myself laughing all over again at the things that made me laugh the first time.
Angie was as well.
"I like what Ringo had to say," She muttered, scrawling down something on a nearby piece of paper. "About the time they spent with each other, focus on his words for that."
"Okay." I nodded profusely, writing down RINGO- TIME WITH BOYS! on a blue sticky note. The same shade as the colour of his index ring he had on yesterday.
Sigh.
Angie peeked up at me when I did this, a little smile on her face. "See, aren't you glad I handed you this chance?"
My zealous eyes met her blue ones as I grinned at her in return. "Indeed."
"Sounds like you had a rather good time with them." She alluded to all the giggling I was pouring out on the tape.
My cheeks flushed a little bit before she said something that made them even redder.
"Let's hear Paul's." Angie sped up the recording a little bit until the middle of when he said "some good stuff?"
Angie went back a little bit and hit play. "Oop!"
"Did you get some good stuff?" Paul's distinct voice asked as the door shut behind him.
"Lord!" I shouted, remembering how much he had caught me off guard while reading George's answers.
"Probably a little too much."
He started laughing and I did too until there was that silence in between where we were both staring.
I felt Angie's eyes look up at me, her eyebrows raised. "Hm."
I refused to make her stare, embarrassed.
The talking went on and she did write a few things down until Paul started asking me questions about myself.
I was peeking at her through my peripheral vision and watched Angie gaze off into the distance, listening to the day-old tape.
She smiled, averting her gaze to my face. "You two really hit it off, hm?"
"No!" I shouted to her, biting my bottom lip. "It's not a big deal."
Angie pointed to the recording while Paul had asked me why I moved to Britain. She arched her eyebrows. "He seems interested in you, I'll tell you that."
Then Brian Epstein's voice rung out and that's when I stopped recording.
"You got one little tidbit from him, Harper, so I suggest you try to expand that."
"Well, actually," My mouth started moving for me as I prepared to tell her. I felt a flurry of uneasiness. Far too similar to the feelings I experienced when I asked my older sister to borrow her light pink chiffon shirt for annual photo day. They always were the stickiest situations.
"We aren't done yet. He insisted in ringing me sometime today to actually answer questions."
Her jaw—the jaw that's said a lot of things—dropped as she manifested the idea. "You're serious?"
"Yeah, it's crazy, I know." I said to her, twiddling my thumbs as I tried to think of how to speak. "He insisted, Angie, I tried to decline."
There was a silence in the air as she continued to stare at me with her mouth dropped.
It was a lot to take in. Who would've ever thought Paul McCartney would go above and beyond to have a few more words for me, a stupid journalist?
Angie blinked her brown eyes, her heavy-coated eyelashes clumping. "Wow, Harper." Just then, she grew a grin at on her face. "Will he call you at work? Could I have a chat with him?"
"I dunno. I circled my home telephone and wrote 'after 5' so he'll possibly ring that one."
Angie whacked me in the shoulder, laughing loudly. "It's like a second date!"
"Ah, shaddup, Angie!" I blushed at her, a little smile finding its way around my lips.
Curse myself for being so bashful.
So, after a long day of deciphering what all of the boys had told me in their thick accents, I waited.
My dog Clyde stood up from beside me, hopping off the sofa. His nails make a clink, clink, clink noise on the hardwood floor.
"Boy?" I asked him as I soon heard the sound of him slurping up some water from his doggy bowl.
A big sigh rolled out of me as I threw my head back on the cushion. My life is so boring, I have nothing going for me except my job and my monthly book club. And, of course, Clyde.
My life has always been kind of like this, never having too many friends and hardly anything to do.
I went on a lot of walks, I guess. I wasn't really big on music or filmography, but I did like to read.
I know I sound utterly boring, but I promise I'm not! I get to go on a lot of trips for my job at The Mail, so I travel a lot. And plus, I got to meet The Beatles! And am awaiting a phone call with one of them who seems to care that much about me! Not like I'm saying anything romantic or lame like that, but it's pretty exciting.
Speaking of romantic, I actually have been in a relationship in the past.
Well, when I was just little, there was a boy named Teddy Denby who I took pottery course with. He was my first kiss and that was real fun.
Then there was this boy Sam who I went steady with in my final year of school.
I guess that was about it.
I blinked back to reality when the credits from the rerun of Z Cars started rolling, accompanied by some action music. I turned off the television and glanced over at the clock. 6:05.
Eh, well, I'm just going to go take a quick shower. I feel like the contents of a vacuum cleaner and that was never a great feeling.
Though, when I stood, all I wanted to do was immediately sit back down again. What if Paul rung me when I was in the shower? That would stink almost as much as I did!
I glanced at the clock again: 6:06.
Well, I'll just pop in and out. Nothing too big, I didn't have to shave or anything.
This prompted me to peek down at my legs. Naahh, I could go another shower without taking a razor to them.
I made the ultimate decision that I'd just take a quick douse and be right back out to wait by the phone until I fall asleep.
Clyde was still sitting by his food and water bowl, eating the contents that he had spilled on the floor as I walked by. He looked up at me guiltily as I wagged a finger at him. "You silly boy."
Clyde was my pet growing up in New York, my ultimate confidant and my shoulder to cry on.
He was also a wire-haired Terrier, though.
My bathroom was small and blue, but it was charming all the same.
I thought about my home in the States, which was rather big. My mother had a wealthy upbringing and still had a lot of money when she had me. It was nice to live in a place like we did, except our neighbors sucked.
They were all high-rise posh-twads who hated the slightest bit of noise. They also hated Clyde, the only dog on the street. I got him when I was around thirteen with my own allowance, and whenever I'd take him on walks, all their broody faces would glower at him.
It was another reason why I, not only decided to get out of their neighborhood, but get out of the country!
I cranked the rusty metallic shower lever to about mid-way between hot and cold. Knowing it takes a solid minute for the water to grow warm from Titanic temperature, I took the liberty to look at myself in the mirror.
My favorite features that I had on my entire body were my eyes and my eyebrows shielding them an inch upward.
My eyes were green, shots of a yellowish-gold streaking through the centre with some mint sprig colour in there as well. It was one of the few qualities my mother enjoyed of me, for both of my sisters and herself had brown eyes. I was also the only one with blonde locks. My older sister and her friends used to mock me and tell me that I was adopted, but it was my father. My mother confided in me that he had both green eyes and blond hair. She said he was rather handsome, but that was where she drew the line.
I don't know why he left us or where he's gone to. All I know is that he is gone.
And then my eyebrows, a few shades darker than my blonde hair, were thick. That was the only compliment I recall Lisa giving me, that she thought my eyebrows were beautiful.
So, clinging tightly to the nicest thing I've heard from her mouth, I pride in my eyebrows.
Though my nose was long and ended quickly, plus I had barely any cartilage in there. You could twist it about and squeeze it like it was a piece of rubber.
My lips were fine, I guess, rather thin. I didn't think myself to be the greatest kisser since it seemed like there was nothing to kiss, but oh well.
I stood at a whopping 5"5 which I wasn't too proud of. Seeing as my siblings were all 5"5 when they were fifteen, it made me look like a munchkin from The Wizard of Oz. Another claim to add to the conspiracy that I was adopted, but I swear on my birth certificate, I was a true Mooney.
I took my brown leather wristwatch off, one of my most prized possessions, and slid off my attire as well.
When it had been about a minute of scrutinizing myself in the mirror, I hopped under the running water and was instantly pleasured.
It was still cold, but the essence of warmth leveled it out as a loopy smile came on my face.
Some days I didn't like to take showers because I thought of how time consuming they were. But showers were the ultimate breath of fresh air when you let them into your lungs.
I positioned myself on the slightly-shorter shower head, which was foolish enough as it was with myself being 5"5. Suppose it was a kids shower, it was.
I felt harmony in letting the water roll down my face in little streams, taking away all of the nasty with it. All of the oil that had accumulated on my head today.
Then, I squeezed a dollop of shampoo in my hand before attacking my mop and filling it with suds.
I hated shampoo and wanted it gone right away. It always got in my eyes when I was a kid and it had hurt so much. Now I realize I could've just shielded my eyes from the stuff, but I still held a grudge against it.
It also boggled my mind, how could a gooey mixture like that form bubbles all about your hair? I wasn't about to start questioning the laws of physics, but it was an odd situation.
I quickly washed it out of my mop and watched the white trails of bubbles slide down my belly with currents of water. Good riddance!
I wiped up wherever else I needed to wipe up and prepared to squeeze out a thing or two of conditioner. I like conditioner much more, I do. It's silky and has a form to it, plus the name is pleasing: "conditioner." At least it beat "shampoo," which has the word "poo" in it. That one speaks for itself.
I had my hands around the pink bottle, the water continuing to make me feel of pure bliss, when the phone started to ring.
I had to stop everything I was doing for a moment and wait for another five seconds for the CLIIING to reverberate again.
And it did.
"Shit!" I shouted out loud, hastily flipping off the running water and hopping out of the shower.
I grabbed a towel, dripping wet like mad, and raced out of the bathroom.
This couldn't be happening to me right now, he couldn't possibly be ringing the one moment I'm away from the phone.
I had to use the walls as a guardrail and I hurried to the ringing telephone, making sure I didn't slip and twist my ankle.
But I remained unscathed as I lurched myself on top of the couch. I was cursing every slur under the sun, panting, before grabbing the phone off the receiver and clearing my voice: "Hello?"
"Hullo?"
Instantly, I began to grin, clenching my fists at the surreal reality! It was him!
"Is this Harper?" Paul asked me, his voice sounding a little more muffled over the telephone. Despite of that, he still sounded upbeat.
"Is this Paul?" I asked right back to him, throwing my hands up and waving them about in the air. Eep!
Paul gave a laugh, his voice growing in amusement. "I think so."
"That's funny, I think this is Harper as well. I just don't know, actually."
"Hm," He muttered from the other line. "Well, what hair colour do you have?"
My grin grew in size, if that was even humanly possible. You could probably see all of my grill right back to my molars.
"Blonde, it's rather short."
"That sounds right. Where are you from?" Paul continued on, his voice still sounding pleased.
I bit my lip, crossing my wet legs together. "Funny thing, actually, I'm from New York."
"Ahh," Paul laughed on the other line. "I think you are Harper indeed."
I laughed back at him, my eyes widening as I looked back on what we had just done there. "Well that's good."
"Yeah, it is." He said, the noise of a chair leaning backward sounding in the foreground.
"So, Mr. McCartney," I peeked down at the puddle I had made with my feet. I could feel the damp cushion beneath my bum. "—I'm going to have to put you down for a moment." I told him truthfully, realizing that I couldn't get work done feeling like a mermaid.
Paul seemed unfazed by my words. "Sure, just don't hang up on me."
My smile reformed a little bit at his words as I muttered a "be right back" and laid the telephone down against the table.
I found myself staring at it for a moment, the idea that Paul was sitting there on the other line blowing my mind.
Those eyebrows of mine flew upward as I began to dry myself off with the bits of the towel that wasn't soaked.
As quickly as I could, I wrapped my hair up with a towel and slipped on a robe.
With a quick trip to my bedroom to fetch my notebook and a pen, I scurried back to the phone in the living room.
"Sorry," I muttered, holding it up to my ear again, hoping he was still on the line.
To my pleasure he was, Paul's cheerful voice speaking again. "Did I get you in the middle of something? I'm sorry that I couldn't ring sooner, I really am." He threw in that last bit in a rushed voice, blatantly showing that he was embarrassed.
I clenched my hand on my heart for a moment then, making doe-eyes. "No, please don't fret over it! I'm all good, I'm all yours."
Paul made a giggle, his voice growing in highness as he muttered his words. "Good."
I used every bone in my body to keep from making a squealing noise at his subtle little comment.
Jeez.
With my worn yellow pad in hand, I peeked down at my chicken scrawl and prepared to ask him a question.
What's it like to be a Beatle? No.
Are you surprised with your newfound fame? Nay.
What's your favorite song that you've ever produced? Not yet.
"What's your favorite color?"
There was a silence on the other line following my anti-climactic question. I didn't think that he was expecting to hear that kind of question from me.
"Ah, um," Paul wondered quizzically, making noise like he was squishing about in the chair he was seated in. "Well, I'd say blue."
Blue?! His favorite color was blue? I snorted.
Paul didn't let me get away with it. "What is it?"
"Eh," I shrugged before realizing that he couldn't see me. "I just expected you to say some kind of outlandish colour like marmalade or aubergine." I mumbled, on the cusp of laughter.
Paul did the honors.
"What?" His perfect little man voice said in a tone higher than his norm. He had began to laugh the kind of laugh that said 'what are you talking about?'
"Aubergine? I don't even... I'm sorry blue doesn't fit yer standards!" Paul continued to giggle like a schoolboy.
I couldn't get enough of it.
"C'mon, you should be honored I pegged you at Mr. Creative!" I defended myself, twiddling my thumbs in my lap with all this newfound energy.
"Well, in his free time, Mr. Creative also likes the colour blue!"
I have never heard someone speak in such an authentic British accent. In fact, I couldn't really interpret what he was saying for the most part and that was the best part.
Laughing, my fountain pen scribbled down everything I needed to know from this conversation so far.
"So, you have a brother?"
"Yus."
"Tell me about your brother."
"His name's Michael; about two years younger than I. I love him quite a bit, 'twas nice growing up with a sibling in the house."
I made another snorting noise and evaluated how sassy I was being today. Rather sassy indeed.
"Can't really say the same, can you?" Paul snickered from the sideline again, sounding like he was actually amused with the things that we were saying to each other.
Just the way he sounded when he talked to me made me feel like I was doing something right. And that was quite nice to feel because it only happens once in a blue moon.
I went back to his question. MY siblings? Was it nice to grow up with MY siblings?
Funny.
"I dunno, when my sisters weren't pulling evil pranks on me and making me feel like there was a piece of toilet paper stuck to my bum, home life was swell."
I heard him laugh under his breath as repositioned himself in his chair once again. Just by the squeaking noise, I could tell it was leather.
"C'mon, it couldn't have been that bad. If I'm Mr. Creative, then your Ms. Dramatic!" He added the last part, sounding proud of himself.
"Fine," I continued with the whole 'dramatic' label and poured out a big long sigh. "We're even. Now stop distracting me from this interview, Mr. Creative."
"Says the professional journalist." He added as I could almost feel the smug look arise on his face.
I rolled my eyes before, again realizing that he indeed could not see me. "Whatever, you Liverpudlian. What's your zodiac sign?"
"Eh, Gemini, I think."
"Ah," I scrawled down the little information. "Clever and imaginative?"
"Yes, wow, are you also one?" Paul asked, surprised by my knowledge.
"No, I just read all of the daily horoscopes from the paper when I'm waiting for my stuff to manufacture." I told him rather candidly. Capricorn.
His voice suddenly sounded rather seductive. Or maybe at this point, the English accent was making it hard to tell what tone he was trying to set.
"When is your birthday, anyway?" Paul inquired.
Jeez, how come I haven't developed an accent yet? I bet I'd sound totally great.
It's probably one of the main reasons why people even like The Beatles. It's just, their voices—singing or not singing—are so damned sexy. It was simply a British thing.
Then I rerouted back to reality. "December 28th."
"Ah, just after Christmas?"
I adjusted myself on the sofa so that my legs could splay out on the cushions before me. "Yes, it's terrible. Especially since my younger sister's birthday is exactly one month later and so my mother decided to throw us joint birthdays in between."
Paul made a "HAH" sound as I continued.
"You know how hard it is to have a birthday one month after your actual birthday? What's even worse is that there is approximately a five year age gap between us." I groaned just thinking about my tainted youth. "Can you imagine turning ten and spending your birthday party with a whole load of five-year-olds?"
He laughed a little louder, clearly amused by my words as I smiled too. This is so embarrassing, why was even telling him?
I really need to get out more.
I addressed the elephant in the room after a break in interaction. "'S not even like she was doing it to save money!" I threw my free hand up in the air as to send a 'what the hell' signal to my mother in the states. "She was just that lazy!"
"Why haven't you written a memoir yet?" He asked, his sweet voice laced with sarcasm.
Paul's comment made me laugh myself. "I dunno, would you read it?"
"Most definitely."
The way his words sounded indefinite made me stop for a moment. Not only did he sound sure of himself, he sounded just like himself.
The smug parade that was sashaying gallantly across my chest had stopped.
I cleared my throat the way I did when I was preparing to address my younger sister during her time of the month. "Which song are you most proud of?"
There was a small delay over the phone which I assumed was Paul readjusting to my change in aura.
This was all too good to be true, I shouldn't act like this won't just end at some point. I was trying to think practically... I think.
"Oh, well, which album?" He mustered a weak laugh as to try to lighten the mood.
"Eh, I dunno, 'With The Beatles'?"
Paul made a popping noise with his mouth and I resisted a cringe.
I'm sorry, I hate when people do that with their mouths. Really anything weird with mouths just didn't sit well with me.
I guess this dislike was actually represented as the culprit seemed to notice.
"Whut're you doing?"
"Huh?"
Paul did it again. "You made a little sound, you did."
"Agh, did you hear that?" I could feel myself losing my professional edge.
He continued to pop his lips like he knew that's what was bothering me. "Yes."
"Stop makin' that sound." I muttered under my breath, leaving it to chance if he could interpret it or not.
But if he could hear my mere grunt, he could hear my complaint.
"Oh, I'm sorry, am I making a noise?" Paul did it again as I could practically feel a smirk grow on his handsome face.
A straight line replaced my mouth. "Yes, actually, you are making a noise."
POP!
"That!" I shouted. "That right there. Stop that."
Paul, once again, seemed amused with himself in the midst of our conversation.
It surprised me how much I seemed to carry on with a Beatle due to my lack of social skills. I could've used this lip when I was in school.
"Whut's wrong with it?" Paul said, his voice tainted with laughter over the muffled telephone.
I grabbed the cord attached to the ringer and twirled my fingers around in it. "I dunno, it just makes my skin crawl. Is that okay with you?"
"Okay, m'sorry." Paul said.
"Thank you."
Pop.
"Paul!"
"Now I'll stop!" He started laughing and, I'll admit, I started to laugh too.
"Anything weird like that just, eugh, I don't like it."
He laughed some more. "You wouldn't last a day around John."
Not like I would even get that opportunity."Sounds like FUN."
Then I peeked down at my piece of paper and realized I hadn't gotten an answer from him. "What was your favorite song, you bum?"
"Alright, ah," Paul sounded as if he were repositioning himself in his seat, letting out a big exhale. "Probably 'Hold Me Tight,' I guess."
GASP!
"That's my favorite too!"
He suddenly sounded very interested. "It is, you really like it? Why is it?"
Ah, this was embarrassing. I started to blush a little bit as I stumbled over my words.
I couldn't say "because it makes me feel like you—a male—actually wants me." You've gotta admit, that song really makes you swoon.
I remember the first time I heard it, my sister was playing it on her record player as I was walking down the coral halls of my house.
I had stopped in my tracks and craned my neck around towards the sound of his sweet voice. "Who is that?"
"Hm?" Lisa mumbled absentmindedly. She was lying on the floor with her head up towards the ceiling, her chestnut locks splayed around her. "Paul McCartney, of course."
I remember being surprised at her simple answer. None of that 'do you live under a rock?' shit I usually earned. "The Beatles then?"
"Yes, Harper, The Beatles." There came the raging sarcasm.
"Harper?" A different—better—voice called my name as I switched back into current day.
I clenched the yellow telephone fiercely in my hand. The man I stopped everything in my life to listen to, was speaking to me now. And calling my name.
It would be so amusing for me to confess all of this to my family. Once they hear about the article (which they would since my mother somehow gets all of them, the only caring thing she's ever done for me), I cannot even fathom what they'll do. Probably curse me out for not giving them the opportunity to meet them all.
"Oh!" I yelped after resurfacing from my trance again. "Sorry, just thinking."
"So, why is it your favorite?"
I took this situation into my own hands, forming my own devilish smirk. "Why are you so curious, hm?"
"Oh," I expected Paul to stumble over his own words, but he handed me an answer effortlessly. "Because I'm fascinated by the idea."
"Hm?"
He laughed a little once more, his voice inclining in volume again tonight. "I dunno, the fact that your favorite song is one that I wrote and sang is great. I want to know why."
His honestly made my stomach hatch butterflies. These fucking subtle flirts were driving me nuts.
I decided to be as candid with him.
"Well, because that song makes me feel like you're singing it just to me and thus causes me to feel like a man out there wants to hold me tight!" I told him, starting slowly until the speed of my voice began to increase until 'hold me tight' became one word. "You're not a woman! You don't understand."
There was a pause on the other line that I couldn't comprehend myself.
It was probably Paul trying to register what I had just spilled to him like he was a diary intermingled with what he would respond with. I don't know much about the male mind, to be frank.
The silence was soon broken by his voice again. "That's wonderful."
"It is?" I asked uneasily.
"Of course!" Paul shouted out.
I tangled the phone cord into a knot.
"That's what I wanted to hear you say."
I half-smiled, working to untangle it. "Good."
He laughed a little more, presumably replaying my words in his head as we both sat there through a telephone.
Then I remembered my place.
"Okay, well, since I just squealed to you like a schoolgirl," I sat up in my chair, my eyes roaming the chicken scrawl before me. "You owe me another answer! Uh...how about your favorite memory?"
"My favorite memory?" Paul asked me like I was nuts.
"Heh, I know, loaded question?"
"Well, there's lots." He murmured, clearly trying to decipher something in his mind.
I allowed him a few moments to think of something to say. There must be a lot he could be sifting through in his mind.
"Well, this one time," He began to speak as I quickly grabbed the pen nestled in my lap. "We were somewhere, I don't recall where, and there were several items of merchandise for The Beatles. Most profound were these mop top wigs that were scattered about that didn't really look anything like our hair." He laughed, giving me a moment to write all of that down.
I grinned, having him down word for word as I repeated the sentence over and over in my mind. "Yes?"
"So Brian, our manager, suddenly grabs one of these wigs and throws it on his head. It was rather hilarious since Brian truthfully never acts so silly, especially in a business situation. So when he started giggling with this black thing on his head, it was rather great." Paul started to giggle. "Ringo actually got a photograph of it, he did. Real hilarious."
The way Paul said it like it was one of the most reflective memories made it even greater. The memories that made you beam to your heart's content were the best kind, the contagious kind.
I made sure to capture it exactly as Paul had put it and hoped to enrapture it well in the article.
"That's so cute." I mused, finishing the quote, scribbling down "McCartney" to conclude it.
"Yeah." Paul agreed, that undeniable beam working its way into his voice.
Suddenly, he shouted out. "WAIT! There's something else."
My alarm expressed itself in my speech as well. "What is it?!" I shouted back, holding the phone away from my ear for a moment.
Jeez, this better be good.
"Ah," Paul mumbled, making that popping noise again.
I pretended that I couldn't hear it.
"What was it, something about John, it was."
Well great, how helpful.
I made a "hmph" sound which made him rebut even quicker.
"No, wait, hold on." Paul stretched his words longer, like he was trying to find the right thing to say. "It's real good, probably better than the Brian thing. John and I were composing a tune and, agh, I dunno!" His voice temperament sounded a little less impeding than his words.
I remained unimpressed.
He remained persistent. "Harper, wait, it's real funny."
I sighed, nodding my head. "I'm sure it is."
"Wait, ah, listen," Paul said at last, sounding rather defeated. "Why don't I just talk it over with John and call you back with it?"
Holy shit!
"It'll be worth the wait! Headline worthy!" Paul sounded rather desperate and that's when I put the pieces together.
WAS HE MAKING UP EXCUSES TO CALL ME AGAIN? He already had an answer to my question, why would he even bother this much to just give another one? To the same question?
All of the sudden, my toes clenched as my stomach exploded in butterflies, my cheeks red as lava and my mouth as wide as the sun.
"Okay!" I yelped into the phone, taking that opportunity any day of the week.
Wow!
Paul seemed just as pleased as I did. "Great! Good." He repeated a couple times more, sounding content with himself.
With this newfound wave of excitement, I peeked down at my questions to see I only had one or two left, if at all. I really just asked Paul the equivalency of the others, so...
But a few more wouldn't hurt! I'll save them for our next convo!
Paul got this vibe as he seemed to settle with himself as well.
"Whut've you been doing?" He asked me as I began to pack all of my stuff together.
Then I set it all on the ground and stretched my body out across the cushion as much as I could.
"Ahhhh," I sighed, slumping back into a ball. "Went to work today and only began to start deciphering what the lot of you said on that tape! You're accents are so wonderful, yet at the same time, they're quite impossible."
"Really, now?" Paul countered back to me. "I think you're the one with the weird accent!"
I snorted at him. "Because I don't pronounce garage like 'gayridge'?"
He started to laugh loudly, more of a mocking laugh than anything. "S'not how we speak! You Americans say it like 'garaaaaadge!' That's weird!"
Look at little Paul sticking up for his country and their tongue. It was so cute.
I began to twirl the telephone cord around my finger again. "Whatever, I'm not going to argue with you!"
"That's right you won't, you little bugger."
Bugger.
"What have you been doing today? Are you guys awful busy?"
Paul's laughter churned into a sigh as that leather chair squeaked again. "Yeah, we have been. Basically just listening to people tell us what we can and cannot do. When we do things, how we need to act, what we're going to see. Y'know."
No, actually, I don't know. I've never been on tour!
"Well, are you getting a little excited? That's another country!"
His lackluster persona turned itself around again as he gave me a hearty thumbs-up. "'Course! It's going to be bloody crazy! Real great, it is."
America was surely different than Britain. First off, the driving was worlds different. Definitely something you have to adjust to.
(I can't tell you how many fender-benders I've gotten myself into my first year in this place!)
The buildings weren't so nice and cute or anything like that, but really depends where you're headed.
The people are loads different; they curse and shout and scare you. The people here are intimidating, but the people in America have balls on them.
"You're going to have a blast!" I told him, grinning at the mental Venn diagram I've just created of the two continents. "The people love you over there, so it'll be just fine. I'm sure of it."
"You are?"
"Yes, Paul!" I yelled, trying to reassure him.
It caused Clyde to tiptoe on over here, looking irate.
"It'll be the time of your life." I winked at my dog who then spun around and strutted away gallantly. I started to laugh because of it.
"You laugh a lot, don't you?" Paul asked me over the shakiness of the phone.
He caught my attention again as I snapped my reality back over to the telephone. "Oh, it's just my little dog!"
That seemed to spark his interest a little."You have a dog?"
"Yes, his name is Clyde."
"Clyde?" Paul asked, his voice tainted with curiosity. "Whatta bout Bonnie?"
I knew he'd ask that question!
I started to laugh even louder than before, which prompted Paul to let out a giggle as well.
"She's back in the states somewhere. Ah, you shoulda seen her, Paul. Clyde over here was so cute while Bonnie was like demon dog." I shook my head, thinking back to her. "No, she was more snooty than anything. Looked to have no interest in being adopted."
"Nice excuse, Harper." He spoke with a tinge of smug in his voice.
My eyes rolled to the back of my head. "Whatta bout you, do you have any pets?"
Paul didn't seem too smug about this one. "No," He sighed, sounding bummed. "I've always wanted one, but even growing up, we hadn't ever had a house dog."
"I got Clyde when I was a teenager, so I know what you mean."
"Yeah, see."
"Well, you oughta get one now!" I proposed, sounding zealous.
"Ah," Paul sounded as if he were brushing dust off his shoulder. "I dunno. I suppose, but not right now anyway."
I rose my hand up to my hair under the towel to find that it was completely and utterly dry. Jeez! Then I quickly hopped up out of my seat to gape down at the mostly-dry cushion below me.
How long has it been?
That's when I sprouted the clever idea to glance over at the clock, my eyes wide as apples. 7:03?! Wow, I surprised myself at how much time I'd been sitting here talking to Paul McCartney.
This is weird, I've already taken up an hour of the most famous chap's time! I should stop, right?
"Paul," I began to speak his name, my voice steady.
"Harper," Paul mimicked me and that's when I realized that he didn't want this all to end.
I opened my mouth to speak, but found no words to form. So I just gave a wide grin instead.
"Do you watch the program Z Cars?"

***

Click, click, click! Agh.
"Clyde!" I shouted out to my little dog who had been so noisy as to wake me up completely. "Ssh!" I went to shush him like he was a human who could understand such notions.
The clock beside my bed lit up at 9:30 am. I had to be at work at 10 am. That's when I threw my head back. Why did I sleep in so late?
Sluggishly, I arose from my position on the bed and made my way over to the bathroom to brush my teeth and comb my hair.
I stopped before the mirror, picking up my toothbrush and got so far as to squeeze a dollop of toothpaste on it when the reality dawned on me. I nearly dropped the toothbrush.
I'd been talking with Paul until 9:30 pm! That's about a combined total of four and a half hours!
I stared at myself in the mirror, wide-eyed. Then I remembered what we transitioned into chatting about for hours.
George liked to watch the show Z Cars which started a conversation about George which transpired into a conversation to my sister Karen who loves George which turned into how George and Paul met which then was about how Ringo joined The Beatles to all of the name changes to my favorite name, back to why "Hold Me Tight" was my favorite tune and the other bands we both enjoyed. Until I guess at 9:30, I had started to fall asleep and thus ended our extensive phone conversation with Paul telling me he'd ring me today about the whole John situation.
Looking back, I can surely say that was the longest phone call I'd had with anyone since my best friend Lottie when we were ten. And the fact that it was Paul McCartney who'd listened to me ramble as I'd listen to him ramble was a whole separate can of worms.
The stereotypical girl inside of me was eeking for joy that, not only did I converse with a male for that long, I spoke to the dreamy Beatle frontrunner that I'm sure the nation would love to talk with!
I squeezed both of my fists together and allowed myself one obnoxious "SQUEE!"
This is one for the books, that's for certain.
Then I brushed my teeth, my hair, and continued to prepare for another day ahead of me, I guess.

A/N:
Hey! Do you guys like this one as well? I hope you do, it took me a while to write it all! I've been writing tidbits of exciting romantic moments to come and cannot wait to get there yet! STAY TUNED! I promise it'll rock all of your imaginations crazy. :)