"What?!" I exclaimed. I reached up and touched the back of my head. "How hard did I hit the ground when I fell off that desk?"

"Look, Winslow," Otto sighed, his voice starting to become impatient, "we have a lot to do. Important guests today. I have to make sure everything's shipshape. And I also have to get you to makeup-wardrobe. So stop talking like a crazy person and get the lead out."

"B-B-But…" I stammered. But Otto had already got a grip on my arm and was hauling me through more crowds of people. A few minutes later, we came to a clearer hallway and Otto led me to the third door on the left.

"Marie," he called as he opened the door a crack, "everyone decent in there?"

"You know full well I don't get the boys for wardrobe until 3:00," said an annoyed voice from inside. Otto laughed before opening the door all the way. I looked inside.

There was a woman in her early 30s standing beside a mannequin, pinning a gray jacket in places where it would have to be brought in at the chest and lengthened at the cuffs. The top layer of her fluffy red hair was pulled up in a small ponytail over the rest of her hair. The roots of her hair were turning slightly gray with stress and her dark brown eyes were tired and had dark circles under them. She pushed her wire-framed glasses up her nose and looked at me with a weird look.

"And you are?" Marie mumbled, unimpressed.

"This is Quinn Winslow," Otto smiled, gesturing to me. He walked over to Marie and put his arm around her. "She's a little kooky. Thinks it's 1971."

"And?"

"She's new. Makeup-wardrobe department. Figured you hired her," Otto said in confusion. He shrugged. "Well, I'll leave this to you, Marie. Nice meeting you, Winslow, weird as you are." He waved before leaving.

"I haven't hired anyone in three years," Marie huffed to herself. She eyed me carefully. "Kid, can you work a needle?"

"Sure," I smiled. "I'm pretty good."

"Ugh," she grimaced. "Self-esteem." She stalked over to me and circled me. "If you want to stay in this business, you need to learn that you are nothing. You have no talent and you take orders from me."

"Excuse me?"

"Now, we have an important guest coming in for this jacket," Marie announced, gesturing to the mannequin. "I need you to fix any little things that he complains about."

"But…"

"Okay, then," she snorted. "If you get that done without making any trouble, you're hired. Just a few questions I need to ask you. First, your birthday? I need to know how old you are so they don't get on my case about underage workers."

"Erm…April 13th, 1990," I whispered.

"Excuse me, I don't think I heard you right," Marie glared. "It sounded like you said you were born in 1990."

"That's right," I mumbled.

"Everyone knows it's 1964, you silly girl," Marie scoffed. "So how old are you?"

"Nearly 20," I sighed.

"So you were born in 1944," she retorted, writing it down on a scrap of paper. "Our guest will be in soon. Get that coat ready to be tried on." Marie fluffed her hair and left before I could protest.

This is the second time someone's tried to tell me that I'm in the 60s. And they call me crazy…

I knelt down by the bottom edge of the coat. Marie's stitching was atrocious. The stitches were much too long and she picked too black of a thread for the gray suit. I took some pins out of the jacket and was about to fix some of it. There was a knock at the door.

"Um…C-Come in?" I stammered. The door opened and I saw something I thought I'd never see. Even when I was standing face-to-face with it, I couldn't believe my eyes. "George Harrison?!"