Funny Face | a paul mccartney story

two | decisions

"You went to him first?"

"I couldn't help it, Paulie! I just couldn't!"

I quickly looked around us, thinking that someone had called my name, then down to the papers in my hand.

4-track tape machine, echo machine, tube amps, I brought this up at a terrible time, Electro-Voice 664, Telefunken-

"I didn't realise you were serious about this."

"Sorry, can we talk about this later?"

"But-"

"Melody, have we got any U48s in yet?" Mal asked from across the room.

"Uhh," I snapped my gaze down to the papers again and rushed over to him. "It doesn't look like it-"

"George, the mics haven't come in yet!" He shouted.

"Somebody get a hold of Decca for the U48s!" Neil added.

"We still need to call them about the Hammond C3."

"Then do it!"

"Where the hell did George go?" I huffed.

"He's in the booth." Paul butt in.

"Mal, go get him. Melody, get your ass in the office and call them. I'm not telling you again."

"Yes, sir." I obliged, pushing past Paul as I ran to the office.

I tripped over the loose carpet as I entered the office. My knees hit the floor with a painful thud, but I caught the rest of my body with my hands before I could completely faceplant.

"Dammit." I huffed to myself, seeing all my papers scattered about the floor.

EMI studios before the recording of a Beatles album: Stressful? Yes. Hectic? Of course. A pain in the arse? You know it. Sadly, none of the band could understand just how much of a hassel it actually was.

Tape machines and microphones and guitar amps would be borrowed by other studios so often that once a Beatles album was ordered by the record company, we all scattered to get everything back. We would yell and scream at each other, swearing like sailors to get a point across, and the band knew none of this. They knew that the studio was ready when they walked in on recording day. All they had to do was amp up and write songs while everyone involved smiled and did as they asked.

Paul must have been horrified to find how we acted without the band there.

As I quickly gathered the papers, I continued to grumble to myself. I fought the stinging sensation burning my eyes, and crawled over to the chair. I direct dialed Decca's number, then sat and twirled the phone cord between my fingers. I took a deep breath in, and attempted to calm my nerves before this phone call. I turned around at the sound of heavy footsteps behind me to see Paul coming to meet me.

"You seriously let them talk to you like that?"

I didn't answer.

"Melody-"

"Paul, I can't do this right now. I'm sorry I brought anything up."

"They shouldn't be talking to you like that, though. "

"Yes, I understand that, but it's all very frustrating."

"Decca studi-"

"Can you just give me two seconds, please!" I shouted into the reciever, thinking that Paul was still talking to me.

"I'm sorry." The small voice squeaked.

The glare I was giving Paul suddenly turned into a horrified, wide-eyed stare up to his concerned face. Then, I squeezed my eyes shut. I turned away from the man in front of me, and put a hand over my eyes. "No, no, not you, love, I'm sorry."