Chapter Text
Everyone knew Paul.
His face looked down from cinema posters twenty feet high. He smiled from magazine covers in every newsagent's window. Interviewers called him "Britain's sweetheart," directors called him "the safest investment in the industry," and fans queued for hours just to catch a glimpse of him stepping out of a black car.
He had the sort of smile that people immediately trusted. The sort of laugh that filled a room. The kind of charm that made everyone feel as though they were the only person he was speaking to.
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John Lennon hated celebrity interviews. Nine times out of ten, they were rehearsed performances masked as conversations.
"So," Johns editor said, tossing a thick folder onto John's desk, "you're covering Paul McCartney."
John frowned. “The actor?”
“The actor.”
“I thought we already interviewed him?”
“We did.”
John flipped through the folder. Three months ago, cover story. Another interview six months before that.
"He has a new film coming out," his editor continued. "The studio wants a feature following production. They specifically requested our magazine."
John looked up. “They requested me?”
His editor smiled.
“They requested whoever wouldn’t write complete rubbish.”
“…That’s not as flattering as you think.”
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The film studio was already buzzing when John arrived. Crew members hurried between enormous lights. Someone shouted for makeup, someone else wheeled a camera the size of a wardrobe across the soundstage. John showed his press pass before stepping inside.
"Journalist?"
A production assistant hurried over.
"That's me."
"Paul's just finishing a scene."
John nodded.
"I'll stay out of everyone's way."
"Good luck with that."
John watched from behind the monitors.
Paul stood beneath blazing studio lights dressed in an immaculate navy suit. The set resembled an expensive hotel lobby.
The director called for quiet. "Action."
Everything changed. Paul smiled, not the polite smile celebrities gave paparazzi. A real one. Warm. Genuine, within seconds the entire room seemed to orbit around him. His timing was perfect. Every line landed naturally, when another actor stumbled over a sentence, Paul smoothly adjusted his own delivery to keep the scene flowing. The director didn't even call cut. John found himself scribbling notes almost immediately. “Comfortable on camera.” “Natural charisma.” “Makes difficult work look easy.” The scene ended.
A light applause rippled through the crew. Paul laughed, thanked everyone, and immediately crossed the room to help an older actor retrieve a dropped script. He greeted electricians by name, asked the camera operator how his daughter was. Thanked the woman from catering for the tea she'd made earlier. John blinked, either Paul McCartney was genuinely the nicest actor in Britain...or he was frighteningly good at pretending.
____________________________________
"Mr. Lennon?"
John turned. Paul stood beside him, still wearing the suit from the scene, up close, he looked even more striking than he did on screen.
"You must be John."
"I am."
Paul offered a hand.
"Paul."
"As if I didn't know."
Paul laughed.
"Fair enough." His handshake was firm.
"So," Paul said, "how many dreadful questions have they made you ask me today?"
John glanced at his notebook.
"About thirty."
Paul groaned dramatically. "I've only just met you and you're already trying to ruin my afternoon."
"I've got one particularly awful question."
"Oh?"
"'What's it like being one of Britain's biggest stars?'"
Paul sighed theatrically.
"There it is."
"You've heard it before?"
"About a thousand times."
John couldn't help smiling.
____________________________________
The interview went smoothly. Too smoothly. Paul answered everything with effortless confidence. Questions about the film. Questions about fame. Questions about awards. Questions about fans. Every answer sounded honest without revealing very much at all, whenever John nudged the conversation toward Paul's personal life, though... The pattern changed.
"What do you do when you're not filming?"
Paul smiled.
"Sleep."
"You must have hobbies."
"I occasionally remember to water my plants."
"Family nearby?"
"They're doing well."
No elaboration. No details, just another smile before steering the conversation elsewhere. John noticed.
"Five-minute break!" A director called.
Crew members scattered. Paul stood.
"Don't disappear," he told John. "I'll be back before you think of another terrible question."
"I'll try."
With a grin, Paul disappeared through a side door. John glanced down at his notes.
Halfway through writing another sentence, he realised... Ten minutes had passed. Then fifteen. The set was ready again. The director looked around.
"Where's Paul?"
Someone answered casually.
"He'll be here."
Nobody sounded worried, apparently this happened often enough that no one questioned it.
A few minutes later Paul returned. Hair perfect. Suit immaculate, smiling as though he'd only stepped out for fresh air.
"Sorry," he called cheerfully. "Traffic."
The crew laughed. There was no traffic inside a film studio.
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Filming resumed. Paul hit every mark.
Remembered every line, made everyone around him look better. Watching him work, John almost convinced himself he'd imagined the odd disappearance. Almost.
Then lunch arrived, long tables filled with sandwiches, fruit, soup, and pastries. The crew descended like starving wolves. Paul picked up a plate. John watched him add a sandwich, few slices of fruit, a bottle of water, normal enough. Someone called Paul's name from across the room. He excused himself with a smile. Five minutes later he returned...without the plate. John looked around. It wasn't on any table. It wasn't in Paul's hands. He hadn't seen him eat. The rest of the afternoon passed with nothing but coffee. Cup after cup.
As the lights were being switched off for the evening, John packed away his notebook. He'd arrived expecting another polished celebrity profile, instead, he was leaving with the uncomfortable feeling that he'd spent the day interviewing two different people. One was the man the cameras adored. The other only appeared in the brief moments between "cut" and "action" a little quieter, a little more tired, and gone before anyone seemed to notice.
John closed his notebook, for the first time in years, he found himself looking forward to the next interview, not because he thought Paul was hiding a scandal, but because he couldn't shake the feeling that behind the dazzling smile everyone loved was a story no one had bothered to ask about.