Paperback Writer // McHarrison

Two

It was just past lunchtime when a soft knock rattled against Mr Harrison's door. He didn't look up from his manuscript but he waved his hand for them to enter. He heard the door open, but when it wasn't followed by Otto's usual grunt of dissatisfaction, he looked up. Instead of Otto's slumped figure and head of neatly combed grey hair, it was the frame of a young man - possibly only a couple years older than George - with a mop of midnight hair cut into the shape of a pudding bowl. He had wide doe eyes and a stiff posture, standing with his hands behind his back like he was waiting to be called upon. By the state of his clothes, that were reasonably neat but covered in black muck, he was a labourer. He even had the soot-like substance smudged over his cheeks and chin.

Mr Harrison went to speak but was horribly interrupted by Otto shoving open the door. Looking at the other man with utter disgust written into his sagging features, he then turned his greying eyes over to Mr Harrison with a scowl.

"I'll let you know, if you publish him, I'm out." He snarls as if it were a threat. The publisher doesn't offer him any emotions for all he allows to cross his face is the movement of his eyes, drifting between the two men in his office. Otto could clearly see, even from his silence, that he would not be staying, and this fired him up. With surprising strength, the older man grabs the younger one by a thick tuft of his hair and drags him to the floor. The younger man looks as if he could cripple fragile Otto, but he falls to the ground anyway, almost letting the elderly man do as he pleases as if it weren't worth the fight. With pure hate, Otto tops off his abuse by spitting on the poor man's already mucky clothes and leaving with a slam of the door.

George rushed to help the man, with an apology on the tip of his tongue. Before he has the chance to plead out his sorry on the behalf of Otto though, the man shrugs him off, flinching away from his touch and rejecting his help.

"If you don't like the book than you could have sent it back. I don't need public humiliation." He breathes, his doe eyes holding a deflated sort of fury and a pained anger. His bottom lip quivered in emotion as he feistily yanked all the pages of his book off Mr Harrison's desk and turns to leave.

"If I don't publish your work than I have failed as a publisher." George states calmly and the slightly taller man stops in his tracks. "You are the most spectacularly minded author I have ever had the privilege of reading. And that was what it was. An absolute privilege." He continues, his dark eyes begging the man to stay more than his words could ever try to persuade him.

Mr McCartney's jaw hung open as he spun on his heel and glanced from Mr Harrison to the pages in his arms and back again. His amazement was short-lived though because his naturally suspicious mindset made his eyes narrow. "You aren't going to make me change it, are you?" He asks softly, clutching the story to his chest with his grubby hands as if it were a treasure. Certainly, George would regard it as that; a treasure.

"There are a few grammatical mistakes and quite possibly the title needs more-"

"Yes, I know." He interrupts hastily. "But are you going to make me change...the relations?" He asks cautiously, watching closely for Mr Harrison's answer. The other man stayed silent though for a long moment, biting his lip in thought.

"No." He eventually answers confidently, and he can see the relief lift off of the author's shoulders. The publisher beckons him over to his desk, gesturing for the man to sit down. As they sat, he offered the writer a cigarette and he gratefully took it. Upon lighting their cigarettes, Mr Harrison gently took the book from Mr McCartney's hands and flicked through it aimlessly. "You know..." He trails off, trying to articulate all that he felt but feeling so unable to do so. "I read you're book in one night. I finished at four o'clock in the morning, but even after that, I couldn't sleep. I wondered what was going to happen even after the book finished. I wanted more, and - even as a man who reads hundreds of books a year - I never come across a book that has done that so profoundly to me." He says with admiration lining his voice.

Mr McCartney was stunned.  He opened his mouth, wanting to blurt out all his thanks, but instead he simply closed it again and looked into his lap. Never in his life did he expect to find someone who appreciated his story-telling like Mr Harrison did. He couldn't stop the small smile that made an appearance on his lips, and he couldn't block the feeling of unexpected joy from bursting like a grape inside of him. "Thank you." Was all he could manage to say.

George's pleased smile moulded into a different expression though, one that was solemn and serious. He sighs and rubs his temples before inhaling a drag of the cigarette he had carefully balanced between his fingers. "I want you to know though that this is not going to be easy. Your book is either going to make or break history. I hope you're prepared for either outcome." He warns, and Mr McCartney nods in understanding. He knew this probably better than anyone.

"You really aren't going to make me change it?" He asks again out of precaution, and Mr Harrison chuckles.

"Why should I? It wouldn't be the same story without it. The plot wouldn't work if it were a man and a woman." He explains. Mr McCartney's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he observed the publisher closely.

"It would be a safer story, that's for sure." He adds, shifting his position so he sat on his hands. Mr Harrison slowly nodded in agreement, his dark eyes scanning over the book without actually reading it. After a lengthy silence between the two men, Mr McCartney spoke again. "Not even the kissing scene? You don't want me to cut it out?" He asks, not able to believe his own ears.

Mr Harrison smiled warmly and nodded once more. "Do you want to cut it out? We can change it if you want." He says and Mr McCartney shakes his mop of hair instantly in rejection, the very idea seemingly distasteful.

"No, no," He mutters. "I'm just wondering if you're taking the piss." He mumbles mostly to himself but can feel the smile across Mr Harrison's face without even looking at him. The editor scoffs and slumps back in his chair.

"Are you doubtful of your writing?" He asks, a bushy eyebrow rising so much so, it was grazing his hairline.

"Never." Mr McCartney responds with utter surety.