Baby It's You

Baby It's You

K, well I'm deciding to bite off way more than I can chew and I'm writing yet another Beatle love story along with my Beatles Muse story. :) I don't know, I just love writing them, so why stop? Hope you all like it!

Chapter 1

If I Fell


"Come on, (your name)," Jane says, poking at various camera buttons. "The boss will KILL us if we don't get this story. It's not too often the Beatles come to America, much less New York."
You groan. "It's not like they'll ever talk to us. They're the BEATLES. They probably all have model wives or something."
Jane rolls her eyes. "You're such a downer, (your name). Do you know how excited any other woman in America would be to be in your position? You get to interview all four Beatles. And I get to take pictures!!"
"Interviews are set up and private. This is a press conference," you correct her, rolling your own eyes.
Jane shakes her head, but smiles. "Come on," she says, taking your wrist and pulling you into the conference room, where you two have reserved front seats.
"Look, there's Paul!" Jane whispers, pointing at the "cute one."
"Put your hands down!" you whisper-yell at her, yanking her fingers down. "Be professional."
"John is staring at you," she says, a big smile on her face.
"Don't tease me," you warn Jane. "You're the only person I've told I think John is hot, and that's all I think."
"You also think he's an amaaazzziiinnng songwriter," Jane teases anyway.
You groan. "WHY did I choose YOU to do this with me?"
"Because I'm your best friend," Jane replies. Despite your anger with her, you know she's right.
"The Beatles will now take your questions," the manager, Brian, says into a microphone.
Instantly, everyone's hand shoots into the air, including your own. Jane and the other photographers begin snapping pictures.
George points at a bald man with glasses. "How do you enjoy being in America so far?" he asks.
You roll your eyes. It's 1966, they've already been here for two years. You would think people would realize that question has been done to death.
Apparently, John feels the same way, as he looks in a completely different direction. After Paul gives a typical, bored answer, Ringo points to a petite woman.
"How have the fans been treating you?" she asks in a high, squeaking voice.
You rub your temples. People are so stupid.
After Ringo answering with one word- "Fine."- everyone shoots their hands in the air again.
And John picks you.
You can hear Jane giggling next to you, but you’re determined to be professional, and show all these half-brained reporters how to ask a question.
"Your new album, Revolver, has a very new sound from your typical rock-pop songs. What has caused you four to change?" you ask in your most polished voice.
All four Beates' eyes light up, but none more than John's.
"Well..." he begins, obviously not expecting such a question.”I suppose we have just... evolved. You know, with the peace movement and all, we just figured it was time we changed with the word. Not to mention we've been influenced by American artists, as everyone else has been."
You smile and scribble down the answer.
"May I ask YOU a question, ma'am?" you hear John's voice again. Your head shoots up. You can feel half the eyes in the room turn to John and the other half to you. Your face turns bright red, but nod.
"Would you like to go out with me after this conference?" he asks calmly into the microphone, like you two are not in front of a crowd of at least 30 people. Paul and George grin and shake their heads, like it's all a big joke.
"Go John!" Ringo shouts.
You awkwardly pull back a strand of hair, not sure how to respond. Jane is grinning from ear to ear.
"S-sure," you squeak.
John grins and winks at you.


"Down, Martha!" you shriek at the dog, who jumps up onto you. "Down!"
The sheepdog seems to smile at you, as it continually jumps up every time you push her back down, as if she just wants to hug you.
"Down!" you cry again, but can't stop from giggling as Martha knocks you over, onto the grass, and begins licking your face.
"(Your name)!" an angry voice shouts.
Your smile disappears as you turn and see Jason, the strictest worker in all of the Humane Society.
"Sorry, Jason," you call, and pull Martha over to the door. "I was just taking Martha out for a walk."
"I told you, (your name), you can't get attached to an animal if you can't adopt it. In fact, someone else wants to. He's here now."
You sigh and bite your lip. You knew this day was coming.
"I'll go take her over," you say, still leading the dog back to kennel, feeling smaller with every step.
But when you walk in, greeted by loud dog barks and cat meows, there is not one man, but four men. More commonly known as the Beatles.
They all turn and look at you, but the only one that catches your eye is the one with brown doe eyes, Paul McCartney. And it appears he can only look at you.
"This is Martha," you say in your calmest voice, but it's shaky.
Paul grins. "I love sheepdogs," he says, and gets down on his knee, calmly motioning for the dog to come towards him.
"I don't understand why you want a dog, McCartney," John says, looking over at the kitten kennels. "Cats are the only animals worth having."
"Can't argue with that logic," George adds.
Paul scoffs. "Quiet down, you lot," he says, rubbing under Martha's chin. "Ringo agrees with me, don't ya?"
Ringo, however, is staring into a hamster cage. "Why is it sleeping at three in the afternoon?" he asks.
"They're nocturnal," you call over to Ringo. He makes a face.
"I like cows," he responds, turning his attention back.
Paul chuckles and beings stroking Martha's head. "What a sweetie," he says.
"Yes, she is," you reply, petting her in the same spot. Your and Paul's hand graze.
Instead of pulling away, he looks up at you and smiles. You blush, but do the same.
"So uh, how old is she?" he asks, changing the subject.
"About two years," you answer, still a bit red. "And she's had all her shots and everything."
"Can we get a kitty instead?" John calls, poking his finger through the bars of the kitten's cage as it swats at his pointer. "Pretty please?"
"Quiet down!" Paul shouts. He smiles at you apologetically. "They have the maturity level of that hamster."
You laugh. "It's alright."
"Well, I'm content with this pup. Should we go fill out the paperwork?" he says.
"Sure, let me go get it. You and Martha can bond."
But as soon as you turn away, Martha follows you.
"No no," Paul says to the god, gently pulling her back by the collar. Martha whimpers, barks, and knocks Paul over as she bounds over to you.
You slap your palm to your forehead. Martha got too attached to you.
"I'm sorry," you apologize. "It seems Martha has taken a bit of a liking to me."
Paul looks intrigued. "Smart dog."
You turn red again. "We have other dogs, if you would like to-"
"No, actually, maybe you and Martha could come over to my home. That way she can get have get used to my home and still have you there."
That's actually a very good idea. "I suppose we could do that," you reply.
"Then it's a date," he says with a smile. "See you tomorrow at 10?"
You nod, your heart feeling fluttery.


"Arg!" your best friend, George Harrison, cries, plopping down on your patio chair.
You smile at him knowingly. "Rough day at Abbey Road?"
"Rough day at HOME!" he moans. "Pattie is driving me mad!"
You nod and pour him a glass of lemonade.
"Thanks," he says, taking a long, slow sip, as though he was trying to lose his anger in the drink.
"So why don't you tell me what's wrong with you and Pattie this time?" you ask, drinking some of your own.
He groans again. "I don't know, the spark we once had is GONE. And she's been so... distant lately. It's strange."
You nod, even though you could care less about Pattie Boyd. She's a nice girl and all, but you have a major bone to pick with her.
She stole the man of your dreams.
"It's nice to have a childhood friend like you, (your name)," George tells you, his hazel eyes gazing into yours. "A woman who understand and there doesn't have to be any drama."
You smile. "I just know it's pointless to argue with YOU, George Harrison," you reply.
He laughs. "I don't know, you’re a woman, what do you think I should do?"
"If the spark is gone, George..." you trail off, not wanting to finish your thought, hoping he gets the idea.
He sighs. "I know, I know. But... I think I still love her. Maybe I'm not IN love, but I think I still love her."
You swallow nothing. You hate it when he says he loves Pattie. All you can think about is the fact is that he should be talking about you.
"I miss the days when love as simple as marrying your high-school sweetheart," George continues, gazing at nothing in particular. You wish you could do the same, but you can't keep your eyes off of him. Has there ever BEEN a more beautiful man? You think not.
"Me too," you agree.
"I keep getting a bad feeling about her. She's not home very often, and when she is, she dislikes it when I even kiss her," he says, and then his eyes light up. "Do you think she's cheating on me?!"
More than anything, you want to scream "yes yes yes!" and wrap him in a kiss, but you refrain. "I don't know George, but it seems unlikely," is the best you can come up with.
He sighs. "Anyway, I better get home," he says, and stands up, and you follow. "Thanks for everything," he says, and hugs you.
"It was nothing," you reply as he kisses you on the cheek.
"Bye, babe," he says, and shuffles back to his car.
You sigh, lightly stroking the spot George kissed. You can't help but feel hopeless that will be the closest you and George ever get to a real kiss.
"I love you," you whisper to George, even though he cannot hear you.


"Men are SCUM," you bark to Jessica, your best friend, as you shove curly fries into your mouth.
Jessica sighs. "You and Fredrick broke up again?" she asks.
"For GOOD this time," you swear, filling your mouth to full fry capacity.
"Suuuuuurrrrreee it is," she replies, sounding skeptical. "And slow down with the fries, you'll blow up like a balloon."
You roll your eyes. "What do I care?" you ask. "I've sworn off men. FOREVER."
Jessica smiles, amused. "You're such a drama queen."
"Am not," you mutter, and sip some Coke
"So, change of subject," she says, perking up. "I heard the Beatles are in town."
You scoff. "The Beatles are MEN. What do I care?"
"Oh, you love the Beatles, and nothing Fredrick does can stop that," she tells you, "And come on, Ringo Starr is in town, your favorite!"
You can't help but crack a smile. You do love Ringo. John is hot, Paul is cute and George is sexy, but Ringo is all three.
"Maybe Ringo will whisk you away to his Octopus's Garden, free from evil men and fatty fries," Jessica teases, stealing a few.
"Yeah, because I'm actually going to see Ringo Starr while he's-"
"It's Ringo Starr!" a voice shrieks.
You and Jessica whip your heads over to the front door, where there IS Mr. Ringo Starr, looking horrified he has been recognized. He takes off, towards your table, no less.
"It's your chance!" Jessica cries. "Let Ringo hid in our booth and he'll love you for sure!!"
"Are you crazy!?" you shout, but Jessica is already on the job.
"Hide here, Mr. Starr!" she whisper-yells as Ringo rounds the corner. "You can hide next to my friend, (your name)!"
Out of options, Ringo smiles at you and Jessica and slides into the booth beside you. Your heart skips a beat.
Luckily, the crowd does not see Ringo as they pass your booth, and all three of you breathe a sigh of relief.
"Thank you so much," Ringo says to the two of you. "They would have mauled me for sure! How can I ever repay you?"
You smile shyly at him. "An autograph would suffice."
He grins and pulls out a pen, signing two napkins for you two.
"I hate to be pushy but... would you like to give me an autograph as well?" he asks you.
You raise an eyebrow. "But I'm not famous. Not like you, anyway."
He smiles again. "Maybe I could... borrow your phone number? I'd use mine, but I'm afraid I've gone and lost it."
It's your turn to laugh. "K," you reply. "And you're lucky I'm a sucker for horrible pick-up lines and blue eyes."
"You're funny," he says with a wink. "I’ll call you."
You smile and blush as Ringo take the chance to escape the restraunt.
Jessica smiles. "I told you, and you're welcome."
You look away, still beet red. "Thanks," you mutter, grinning.
"You need to set me up with one of the others," she says. "You owe me."
"You were right about something else," you respond, turning back towards her.
"What was that?"
"I shouldn't have eaten those fries."

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