I Will [Paul McCartney/Beatles Fanfiction]

one

Carmen nearly jumped out of her skin with fright as a large stack of papers landed with a thud on the wooden desk in front of her, immediately dragging herself away from her thoughts and looking up to be met with her boss's stressed face. Swiftly, she pushed her Polaroid off to the side and scurried to regain her composure.

"Mr. Alvarez," she greeted as calmly as possible.

The middle-aged man loomed over her with an undeniable authority; it was enough to make her worry she'd been fired.

The Grand Gazette was a struggling newspaper in London on the verge of going out of business, and with each passing day, Mr. Alvarez's strictness grew more prominent and more of Carmen's co-workers were losing their jobs. Those remaining employees had all been overworked to the point of driving them to insanity; all but her. Carmen had been hired a few months earlier as an editor, but despite all the rushed drafts being done, she'd never gotten to, well, edit. There was only one other editor in the whole office, and that was Mr. Alvarez's son, Curtis, a Cambridge graduate and a proud typist of ninety words a minute. Still, though, she often thought the main reason Curtis had been hired was something along the lines of nepotism, she just refused to say anything about it to Mr. Alvarez for the fear of his uncontrollable anger.

Since then, thinking she'd never get an assignment, she'd taken up photography as a hobby that eventually made its way into work with her. She kept her camera hidden in her drawer every shift, scared that someone would find it and take it away, even though everyone seemed to be more focused on their work than on anything else (especially hygiene). This was one of the only times she'd ever risked taking it out, and the only time Mr. Alvarez had ever approached her like this.

Just as Carmen was preparing for the "you've been playing with your camera all this time? You're fired!", however, Mr. Alvarez caught her off guard with a forced smile. "Miss Dalton," he said. "I have a special task for you."

Carmen's heart practically leapt into her throat. "Oh-- of course, sir."

"Since Curtis over there has pointed out that you've been fiddling with a Polaroid rather than being productive," he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder to point at his son, "it's occurred to me that I haven't given you a big project to work on since I've hired you. You've heard about Paul McCartney's supposed wedding, yes?"

"Of course, sir," she repeated.

"Great, that saves us some time, then." Mr. Alvarez tapped the pile of papers he'd just set down on Carmen's desk. "I want you to go through these articles I've had a few people work on about it and choose whichever one you think is best suited for the headlines on Sunday. Then, edit it. And then -- this is part that made me pick you for this rather than firing you on the spot -- I want you to go to Abbey Road studios and wait to take his picture when he arrives. Make sure you get a good one; it'll be in the papers, too. Let's hope that camera of yours does you some justice. Can you do this for me?"

"Yes, sir, of course."

"Alright. Don't make me change my mind about firing you."

"Of course, sir."

As he turned his back and walked off, she breathed a heavy, nervous sigh. Oh, she was doomed for certain. Carmen hadn't heard much about the Beatles since their movie in 1965, much less about Paul McCartney's alleged wedding! His name, in fact, meant nearly nothing to her at that time, and she had only started photography as something to help time go by; she wasn't anywhere close to being professional with it!

She must've stared at Mr. Alvarez's closed door for ten minutes after he departed from her, feeling her palms grow sweaty. As she desperately lifted the paper on top of the pile and began to read it over and make changes to it, her mind wandered off again, not used to actually having work to focus on. Only one thing was circulating in her brain: do I wipe my palms on my skirt or do I leave them alone, do I wipe them on my skirt or do I leave them alone...or do I find something else to wipe them on?