9:56. It was 9:56 in the morning. I was scheduled to have an interview at Lewis's Department Store at 10am. I quickened my pace down the Liverpudlian sidewalk. 9:57. I cursed to myself and began nearly running down the bustling, gravel street. It was a particularly dreary day; the clouds that draped the sky were grey and thick, indicating impending rain. Finally, the department store was in sight, and I sighed in relief. All I had to do was cross the street and I'd be on my way to employment. Hopefully. After checking my watch yet again, (9:58), I briskly walked onto the fading white crosswalk .
I can't be late to an interview again, I noted, but-
BANG. I felt a seering pain in my leg and thudded to the ground. Everything went black.
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"No, no, she's not dead, you imbecile," an unfamiliar man's voice scolded. "Just expect me to be coming in late this afternoon. And tell the boys to behave themselves." There was a click and the sound of footsteps began to come closer and closer. I fluttered open my eyes to see a well-dressed man standing before me. I studied my surroundings and realized that I was sitting in a hospital bed.
"Oh, shit!" I suddenly moaned. I tried to get up, but my head started throbbing; it was like someone was banging on it with a hammer. I winced and settled back down.
"How are you feeling, darling?" The man asked with a very posh accent.
"I could be better," I cringed as I attempted to sit up straight, only worsening the migrane. "Um... Do you know what happened?" The man was clearly not a hospital worker. Dressed in a crisp black suit, he couldn't have been older than his early 30's.
"I'm afraid I hit you with my car, dear," he softly chuckled. The heart monitor next to me steadily beeped.
"Oh, my God!" I exclaimed-I suddenly remembered my interview. I checked my watch. 11:02. The man's brows furrowed in worry.
"I'm terribly sorry about this," he frowned apologetically. "But the good news is, you only have minor injuries. My sincerest apologies-"
"Oh, please, sir, of course it was an accident. Don't worry about it. I was just upset because I realized that I missed a job interview I was on my way to," I sighed.
"Again, I am truly sorry that this happened." He seemed genuinely concerned.
"It was partially my fault," I said. "I just moved here from the states and I'm not used to everyone driving on the left side of the road."
"Oh, really? Where are you coming from?" He politely inquired.
"Chicago," I replied, doubting the Brit would have a clue about its whereabouts.
"Ah, home of the blues," he retorted. I raised my eyebrows, impressed. "Have you ever heard of Muddy Waters?"
"Heard of him?!" I exclaimed. I had grown up listening to Muddy Waters. He was one of my inspirations to pick up a guitar. "He's probably my biggest hero! I've learned how to play all his songs." I felt silly proclaiming my love of a blues legend to a posh, British white man who had just hit me with his car. How did he even know of Muddy's music? He was only a local legend.
Just then, a peppy-looking nurse burst through the door.
"Oh! Glad to see that you're awake, Miss Armstrong! The doctor should be in soon to release you." She gave me some asprin and walked out the door.
"How rude of me," the man scoffed at himself, "let me introduce myself. My name is Brian Epstein. I run a local music business here in Liverpool."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Epstein," I said to him, "I'm Kristina Armstrong." He seemed to be pondering something as he gazed out the compact window.
"Listen. You're young, bright, and assumably knowledgeable in music. I've been looking to fill the position of a secretary for one of the up-and-coming groups I'm working with. This may seem brash, but I need someone to fill the job immediatley, and you seem to be looking for work..." he said. "As a matter of fact, I was just on my way to the studio to work with the boys before this accident happened."
"I'm flattered, Mr. Epstein," I replied, "but I'm not sure I have the right credentials for the job." This sudden career opportunity seemed almost too good to be true. "I mean, I'd love to work in the music industry, but I have no secretarial experiece whatsoever."
"Do you know how to answer a telephone?" he asked.
"Yes, but-"
"Are you familiar with how the postal system works?"
"Sure, but I hardly-"
"Then you're hired," Brian smiled warmly. He held his hand out for me to shake. I hesitated.
"Are you positive I'd be right for the job?" I asked, still unsure of my abilities.
"Oh, pish, posh, you'll be grand!" He chuckled reasssuringly. I returned his smile and firmly shook my new boss's hand.
"When can I start?" Brian laughed again, making his eyes crinkle and baring nearly perfect white teeth. Something about the man seemed...welcoming.
"It looks like I certainly hit the right person. Maybe I should go around hitting people with my car more often," he joked. "My hours with the band are usually 11am to 4pm in the studio, Monday through Thursday. You definitely need to rest after this unfortunate event; are you available to start next Monday?"
"Sounds perfect!" I chirped a little too enthusiastically, intensifying my pounding headache. Regardless, I felt a deep sense of graditude. Working in the music industry sounded like way more fun than at a lame, run-of-the-mill department store. He handed me his business card and we quickly exchanged phone numbers.
"I'll give you a call with the address, among other details, later this week," he said, picking up his leather briefcase. "It was pleasant meeting you, dear. I look forward to working with you!"
I gratefully thanked him several times as he walked out the hospital door. I couldn't help but start laughing hysterically to myself. What the hell just happened?
YOU ARE READING
Ticket to Ride
FanfictionAfter being hit by a car on a Liverpudlian street, Kristina gets an offer she just can't resist...
