I can't believe it! Two of these people are dead! And the rest of them are…old.
But there they were, large as life and in their 20s. The actual Beatles! The actual John Lennon stood up and walked over to George and me, looking me up and down.
It was then that I became aware that I was still wearing my Ulla costume: a white spaghetti-strap top, a super-short (and even hiked up a little bit from my alterations) white skirt, and six-inch white heels to make me taller than my normal 5'4"…an Amazon, to be precise.
"Well, love, good to have you onboard," John Lennon winked.
Oh my God. John Lennon is flirting with me…Isn't he married?
"She's pretty young," Paul McCartney pointed out. "I would've thought they'd assign us some old lady so there wouldn't be a danger of fans getting in here."
"Well, she wasn't really 'assigned' so to speak," George blushed. "I decided to hire her. She's new here and was working down in the costume department."
"I see. Does she have a name?" Ringo asked, walking up to me.
"Yeah…um…Y'know, come to think of it, I don't know your name, love," George mumbled to me so he wouldn't look silly. My mind went blank.
What's my name? I can't remember…SHIT!
"Q-Quinn Winslow," I managed to squeak out to George.
"Quinn Winslow," George repeated to the other three Beatles. John's eyebrows went up and he gave a knowing look to Paul and Ringo. Ringo smirked, but Paul rolled his eyes. "Pretty name," George said mostly to himself, but I could still hear him and my face went beet-red in three seconds.
"Winslow, eh?" John smirked. "I like it. So, Winslow, love, what's it about you that caught George's eye, here? Could it be your gorgeous figure? Your shapely legs? Your lovely face?" I blushed harder. "Oh! I know what it is! It's how cute you look when you blush!" He clapped his hands together and held them above his head like he had just won a major prize on a TV game show.
"Oh stop it, John," Paul scolded. "You're making her go brighter than a tomato." Paul walked over to me and put his arm around my shoulders, giving me a friendly "I'm here for you" shake.
"She doesn't mind," John scoffed, laughing as he went to a couch and sat down. He reclined his feet on the other side of the couch, making it un-sit-able for anyone else.
"So, really, George," Ringo chuckled, resting his elbow on the back of the couch, "what about Quinn made her so special that she had to be our assistant?" The way John and Ringo were talking, it was as if I was a burden. But the jovial looks on their faces proved otherwise. George's face was as red as mine, though.
Why's he embarrassed? I'm the one being harassed by John Lennon and Ringo Starr.
"I just thought she was really nice…and she's really talented," George mumbled, looking at his feet.
"Talented is right," John whistled, winking at me and looking me up and down yet again.
How many times is this man going to look at my figure? He's seen it enough already!
"You know I'm just kidding around, right?" John said seriously. "I don't mean to be a pervert or scare you off."
"Well," I smiled. "I know now." John fell back in his seat and clutched at his chest.
"And a voice like an angel's!" he gasped teasingly. "Speak again, Winslow! I beg of you!" He jumped out of his seat, ran over to me, dropped to his knees, and grabbed the end of my skirt. "I must hear that voice again!"
"You are so weird," I laughed. John sighed in admiration, stood up, and kissed my hand.
"Thank you, fair lady," he chuckled. "I do my best to please. So if you were working in the costume department, does that mean you sew?" I nodded. "Well, that's a useful talent indeed. In fact," He turned around and showed that a seam on the back of his jacket was coming loose, "I could use such a talent right now."
"Oh, you must help him, all-powerful Quinn!" Ringo shouted dramatically. "We go onstage in seven minutes!" He grabbed my hand and kneeled. "You must save us from wardrobe malfunctions!"
"I shall help," I said, also dramatically. "I need my tools. Paul! Get me my needle and some black thread!"
Paul saluted, smirking, and walked over to a cabinet on the far side of the dressing room. When he opened it, I saw that it contained napkins, different spools of thread, and other objects that might be needed for backstage emergencies. From the cabinet, Paul retrieved a pincushion, a small pair of scissors, and a spool of the blackest thread he could find. When he returned them to me, he saluted again and plopped down on the couch to watch.
I pulled out a needle from the pincushion and snipped a piece of thread off the spool. I got the eye of the needle lined up with my own eye and slipped the end of the thread through. With that, I looked carefully at the problematic seam in John's jacket.
"That's an easy fix," I mumbled to myself. I looked up at John who was now trying to crane his neck around so he could see what was going on. "All I have to do is get a hold of the loose thread and tighten it back to its original place," I told him.
"That's all, is it?" John smirked. It was obvious that he didn't think it was as simple as I made it out to be.
Well, I'll show him!
"That's all," I grinned. "And now, I go to work."
I felt the seam of the jacket until I found where the original thread ended. I grabbed it and managed to tie the original thread to the new thread on my needle. Now, it was a simple matter of sewing the seam back up. As I worked, I felt four pairs of eyes on me. I looked up.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing," all four boys replied at once, turning away. I rolled my eyes and continued working on the jacket. It took a little bit longer for me to finish John's jacket because half the seam was completely unraveled. In all, I took about six minutes.
"Done," I smirked, knotting the end of the thread and snipping off the extra. "Lookin' sharp, John."
John walked over to the mirror and looked at my work. He ran his hand over his hair, smoothing down a couple flyaway strands. His face looked deep in thought and for a moment, I thought I messed something up.
Just what I need. Congratulations, Quinn! You just screwed up a Beatle's jacket!
"You," John said slowly, not changing his facial expression, "are very good." His face lit up, he gave a goofy laugh, and he ran back to me, scooping me off the floor in a big bear hug. I caught sight of George's face and he looked almost like he was mad or something.
"You're on, boys," said someone outside the door as they knocked. "Let's go."
"Right," John grinned, putting me down. "Let's get at it." I watched as they walked out of the dressing room. George paused for a moment, looking back at me before closing the door behind him. I collapsed on the couch, my mind in the clouds.