Lovely Rita
Chapter 16
We walked up to that same white door with the small window, with linked hands. I kept bumping into Paul as we walked, laughing and clumsily walking up the corridor like silly lovers (though it was mainly due to me still feeling groggy and hung-over). Reaching the door, Paul stopped and turned to me, holding both of my hands up to chest height.
"I think you should let me tell them about us. I wouldn't want them to think you were taking control or something, y'know?" Paul mumbled, looking slightly worried. I went wide eyed and smiled, breathing out a small puff of air.
"Of course. I was waiting for you to suggest something anyway!" I said, before he smiled in relief that I wasn't offended and opened the door, pulling me in too.
"Lads, got some news." Paul announced, as the rest of the guys looked up inquisitively. You could tell from their eyes they'd been on something already. It was alright, I was used to my friends being worse.
"Let me guess," John started, replacing the circular specs that sat by his side. He eyed Paul and then looked me up and down. I smirked, feeling his eyes on me but trying to reveal nothing. "Someone got lucky last night, you randy bastards!" John said, clapping. Probably mainly to Paul. George and Ringo tittered in turn. "Congrats I suppose, guys." John smiled kindly at me. I flashed a beauty queen grin back, trying to win them all over constantly even though I was sure they liked me.
"Well, ha, that wasn't the original reason we left. She wanted to go for a ride," Paul said, holding up our hands to point to me. I shot a look up to him for leaving that terrible euphemism open as the guys started to laugh. "No, I mean in my car. Literally a drive. But we got stopped by the police and just went back to mine." Paul concluded, wording it terribly considering his Guinness World Record as 'most successful songwriter of all time'.
"Well, come sit here and we'll start practising." John said, tapping the seat in a sarcastically seductive way.
"Watch it, John. He's mine." I said, poking my tongue out childishly. I sat with George, wanting to get to know him a little better. I chatted and laughed with him, learning about guitars and his love for India after the 'Help!' movie. I kept noticing Paul and John's eyes on me as they talked. I felt a little insecure if I'm honest. I would hope that they were discussing how great I was in bed (contributions from Paul, of course). I wouldn't have minded. Or John could be moaning, or unhappy about me in the studio again. Not that I was distracting Paul necessarily - as far as I knew. I smiled inconspicuously and continued chatting to George, fiddling around with an old guitar and learning from the master. Ringo was sat with George and I.
I heard a few chords come from Paul's area. My ears pricked up like a dog's, and suddenly I recognised the song. I felt a tear well up in my eye, and it was getting painful to hold in, so I let it fall, despite what George may have thought. I excused myself from his company and wandered over to John and Paul's area. He was so engrossed in performing 'Lovely Rita' to John, that he didn't see me arrive to hug him. I just did it anyway.
"That was about me, this whole time?" I cried, nuzzling my face into his chest. It was warm, and my face felt hot against him. Given, this was a very early version of the song, but it was 'Lovely Rita' all the same.
I was completely in shock and couldn't take in anything around me. The Beatles had written a song about me. Namely, Paul McCartney had spent a bit of time with me and written a song about it. I couldn't help but cry. John smiled wisely, as he always did, enjoying watching this affectionate moment. Paul rested his chin on my head and stroked the long tendrils of hair down my back. He embraced me on his lap, and I felt slightly awkward as the whole room fell silent. But I realised; I was with the band that incited love and touching. John always said touching was good. It's what made Paul hug more, according to what I knew from researching. I put my annoying Beatles knowledge centre in my brain to bed, and felt this moment deeply. It was beautiful.
The moment passed, and everyone was happily jamming with eachother, preparing songs for Sgt. Pepper's, which would be released next year. Paul performed 'Lovely Rita' for us all, in full, and I realised the line 'when are you free to take some tea with me?' was particularly relevant now.
"That was amazing!" I beamed still in shock that it had been about me... He paused for a moment, stroking my hair as I lay on his lap while the lads were breaking.
"Do you want to go to Hollywood, honey pie?" He said, out of the blue. He sounded kind of deflated. I looked up at him, feeling a little uneasy for some reason. Nothing sinister could come of this, Rita. Shut off your stupid mind.
"I hope to. One day." I said, looking dreamily off into the ceiling as if it wasn't there. I realised I'd have to leave here one day, which was a concept I didn't want to face right now. "Actually, is there a calendar in here?" I asked. Paul pointed over to the wall by the door. I stood up to read the date, expecting no shocks, but incredibly the days had gone quickly and it was now three days until my audition with the BBC executive. My eyes widened and I put a hand to my mouth in subtle shock.
"Oh God... Paul, my audition judge is meeting me in three days. I'm meant to be in a documentary about you guys. This has all been so insane that I forgot and now I don't know what to do!" I almost yelled, my voice breaking at the end as I collapsed into tears on a nearby beanbag. I couldn't be dealing with this.
Paul said nothing. There was just a brief, thoughtful pause. I didn't want to look. I heard movement and looked up bleary eyed, seeing Paul stand, rubbing his face with his hands as the lads looked on in silence. They knew this was tense.
"Oh, Paul mate..." John said, sympathetically, getting up to hold his shoulder. The man's form of sympathy. Ringo and George exchanged looks, and looked as though they wanted to say something but couldn't quite find the words. Paul just walked out of the door, avoiding John's touch and everyone's view. He was upset.
I looked around at the guys, and more specifically at John who sat on a stool near where he had been stood.
"Go talk to him." John said, nervously twiddling a guitar plectrum in his fingers.
I looked to George for help too. He nodded, with an expression that said 'work it out'. I nodded tearily, and slinked out of the room in silence. This was going to be horrible.
"I think you should let me tell them about us. I wouldn't want them to think you were taking control or something, y'know?" Paul mumbled, looking slightly worried. I went wide eyed and smiled, breathing out a small puff of air.
"Of course. I was waiting for you to suggest something anyway!" I said, before he smiled in relief that I wasn't offended and opened the door, pulling me in too.
"Lads, got some news." Paul announced, as the rest of the guys looked up inquisitively. You could tell from their eyes they'd been on something already. It was alright, I was used to my friends being worse.
"Let me guess," John started, replacing the circular specs that sat by his side. He eyed Paul and then looked me up and down. I smirked, feeling his eyes on me but trying to reveal nothing. "Someone got lucky last night, you randy bastards!" John said, clapping. Probably mainly to Paul. George and Ringo tittered in turn. "Congrats I suppose, guys." John smiled kindly at me. I flashed a beauty queen grin back, trying to win them all over constantly even though I was sure they liked me.
"Well, ha, that wasn't the original reason we left. She wanted to go for a ride," Paul said, holding up our hands to point to me. I shot a look up to him for leaving that terrible euphemism open as the guys started to laugh. "No, I mean in my car. Literally a drive. But we got stopped by the police and just went back to mine." Paul concluded, wording it terribly considering his Guinness World Record as 'most successful songwriter of all time'.
"Well, come sit here and we'll start practising." John said, tapping the seat in a sarcastically seductive way.
"Watch it, John. He's mine." I said, poking my tongue out childishly. I sat with George, wanting to get to know him a little better. I chatted and laughed with him, learning about guitars and his love for India after the 'Help!' movie. I kept noticing Paul and John's eyes on me as they talked. I felt a little insecure if I'm honest. I would hope that they were discussing how great I was in bed (contributions from Paul, of course). I wouldn't have minded. Or John could be moaning, or unhappy about me in the studio again. Not that I was distracting Paul necessarily - as far as I knew. I smiled inconspicuously and continued chatting to George, fiddling around with an old guitar and learning from the master. Ringo was sat with George and I.
I heard a few chords come from Paul's area. My ears pricked up like a dog's, and suddenly I recognised the song. I felt a tear well up in my eye, and it was getting painful to hold in, so I let it fall, despite what George may have thought. I excused myself from his company and wandered over to John and Paul's area. He was so engrossed in performing 'Lovely Rita' to John, that he didn't see me arrive to hug him. I just did it anyway.
"That was about me, this whole time?" I cried, nuzzling my face into his chest. It was warm, and my face felt hot against him. Given, this was a very early version of the song, but it was 'Lovely Rita' all the same.
I was completely in shock and couldn't take in anything around me. The Beatles had written a song about me. Namely, Paul McCartney had spent a bit of time with me and written a song about it. I couldn't help but cry. John smiled wisely, as he always did, enjoying watching this affectionate moment. Paul rested his chin on my head and stroked the long tendrils of hair down my back. He embraced me on his lap, and I felt slightly awkward as the whole room fell silent. But I realised; I was with the band that incited love and touching. John always said touching was good. It's what made Paul hug more, according to what I knew from researching. I put my annoying Beatles knowledge centre in my brain to bed, and felt this moment deeply. It was beautiful.
The moment passed, and everyone was happily jamming with eachother, preparing songs for Sgt. Pepper's, which would be released next year. Paul performed 'Lovely Rita' for us all, in full, and I realised the line 'when are you free to take some tea with me?' was particularly relevant now.
"That was amazing!" I beamed still in shock that it had been about me... He paused for a moment, stroking my hair as I lay on his lap while the lads were breaking.
"Do you want to go to Hollywood, honey pie?" He said, out of the blue. He sounded kind of deflated. I looked up at him, feeling a little uneasy for some reason. Nothing sinister could come of this, Rita. Shut off your stupid mind.
"I hope to. One day." I said, looking dreamily off into the ceiling as if it wasn't there. I realised I'd have to leave here one day, which was a concept I didn't want to face right now. "Actually, is there a calendar in here?" I asked. Paul pointed over to the wall by the door. I stood up to read the date, expecting no shocks, but incredibly the days had gone quickly and it was now three days until my audition with the BBC executive. My eyes widened and I put a hand to my mouth in subtle shock.
"Oh God... Paul, my audition judge is meeting me in three days. I'm meant to be in a documentary about you guys. This has all been so insane that I forgot and now I don't know what to do!" I almost yelled, my voice breaking at the end as I collapsed into tears on a nearby beanbag. I couldn't be dealing with this.
Paul said nothing. There was just a brief, thoughtful pause. I didn't want to look. I heard movement and looked up bleary eyed, seeing Paul stand, rubbing his face with his hands as the lads looked on in silence. They knew this was tense.
"Oh, Paul mate..." John said, sympathetically, getting up to hold his shoulder. The man's form of sympathy. Ringo and George exchanged looks, and looked as though they wanted to say something but couldn't quite find the words. Paul just walked out of the door, avoiding John's touch and everyone's view. He was upset.
I looked around at the guys, and more specifically at John who sat on a stool near where he had been stood.
"Go talk to him." John said, nervously twiddling a guitar plectrum in his fingers.
I looked to George for help too. He nodded, with an expression that said 'work it out'. I nodded tearily, and slinked out of the room in silence. This was going to be horrible.