In Your Atmosphere (Paul McCartney/Beatles Fanfiction)

Chapter 7 - This Boy

"Hello?" 

"All right, Beauty?"

The sound of Paul's voice brought an instant smile to her face. "Oh, hey, I thought you were one of my grandmother's friends."

"I am one of your grandmother's friends."

"Mmm. She does have a lot to say about you."

"We've had a lot of nice chats lately, your grandma and I."

"She's impressed by the beautiful first edition you just sent me. I love it, thank you."

"Good, good. Listen, this is very sort of last minute, but we were meant to record tonight and it's been canceled. I'm going to pop round to John's and finish a song. Would you like to come round and meet Cyn?"

"Of course! That sounds fun."

"Great! I'll fetch you at half-past five."

Marisol hung up the phone with a whoop.

Her grandmother pressed a hand to her throat. "What on earth now?"

"Sorry, Grandma." Marisol raced out of the kitchen, nearly tripping over a dog. "Paul's on his way, we're going to London to write a song or something," she shouted on her way into the bathroom.

"Is that your indoor voice, love?"

Marisol poked her head out of the bathroom and in a softer voice asked, "Do we have any of the reserve wine left that I brought from California?"

"I should think so."

"Good, I'll bring John and his wife a bottle."

As she lathered her hair with lavender-scented shampoo under the warm spray, she softly sang the lyrics to an engaging, infectious song that had been running through her mind all day.

"I think of you and things you do, go 'round my head, the things you said, like I love only you—"

Her voice broke off when she realized the source of the song she couldn't seem to shake. Of all the catchy, emotionally direct, singable songs on the album Paul had given her, the one on an endless loop inside her head was a McCartney - Lennon creation. She knew it was highly unusual for a group to write their own material. The Beatles were anything but an ordinary band.

Two hours later, dressed in a slender grey skirt and a purple silk buttoned blouse, Marisol opened the front door to see Neil standing at the front door with Paul.

"Well isn't this a pleasure," she said, bestowing air kisses in the direction of both of their cheeks. When in England and all that.

"Hello, Beauty. Nell is driving us in. My driving disqual and all that." Paul pulled her in for a hug. He held her tight, swaying with her in the doorway for a few awkward seconds while Neil looked anywhere but at them.

When he finally released her, she was a little breathless as she smoothed her skirt and tucked in her blouse. She looked at Neil. He nodded at her.  "Where's your chauffeur hat?" she teased, poking him in the stomach.

"There isn't a closet big enough for all the hats I wear in this job," he said without a smile.

Paul raised an umbrella and they stepped out into a drizzly afternoon, the clouds a grey dome in the sky. They climbed into an older dark green Ford Consul. Paul leaned over the front seat and fiddled with the radio until he found a station playing what sounded like country and western. "How was your week?" he asked, settling onto the bench beside her.

"Good, how was yours?"

"Better than a wet weekend in Wigan."

Marisol laughed. "A what?"