Lovely Rita

Chapter 2

Before I left, I wrote a small note just warning my friends that I may not be back to make
dinner, so they'd have to get off their own lazy asses and buy a ready meal or
something.

Slinging my trademark green, studded satchel across my shoulder, picking up my guitar case and slamming the door behind me, I turned around and set off down the quiet, Sunday morning Liverpool street with a beaming smile on my face; even in the intense English cold. It was August, and yet winter had clearly decided to rear its head. It was awful to most, but I actually enjoyed the
chilly feeling, especially when the sun was shining at the same time.

I was particularly excited about today's Beatle fan meet up; I knew it was the last for the year, as the lower schools started term again come September and parents didn't have the time to come anymore. But that it was the last was not the reason I was excited. It was because I know that our last days always present the chance to perform our favourite songs should we want to. Being Vice
President, I got second go. Also, there was a BBC documentary being made about the Beatles fan clubs up and down the UK, and Liverpool was first (obviously). I don't want to say I'm a believer in fate, but they were coming, and so was I.
I'd decided to perform one of my favourites today. It meant a lot to me. My Mother used to sing it to me when I was a child, before she passed away, and it was a popular one in our club sing-a-longs. I lip synched the words to the music through my headphones as I walked down the deserted street, turning the corner towards the neglected church hall where we held the weekly club.
Taking a deep breath in and clutching my guitar close to me, I entered the large hall where all of my friends were sat talking about nothing but our four favourite Liverpudlian lads. A huge, fabric reprint of the 'Jump' poster was suspended at the back of the slightly elevated stage area with a microphone and stool in front of it, and everyone was wearing their favourite shirts. It was just how I had imagined it when I'd been bestowed the task of organising my first last-of-the-year Beatle fan gathering. I’d spared no expense with it, either.

Walking into the room was like walking into a great wall of peace and homeliness. There was no hatred, jealousy, bitterness or bitching here; everyone got along, everyone saw eye to eye. That's why I loved it here.

I stood and breathed in the scent of the room, before I clocked the eyes of a waving Annelise sat near the front of the room, just in front of the stage. I smiled back before moving to sit with her. Annelise was the same age as me, 21; a fairly new fan, but each and every fan here was a fan all the same. She was a gorgeous girl; she had hair like Kate Middleton, rich chocolate and bouncy, with a face that illuminated when she smiled. She was an all round lovely girl.

"What are you singing today?" Anna asked, sitting down after she had hugged me like there was no tomorrow.

I tapped my nose. "It's a Harrison classic is all I shall divulge. I'm only on second so you've not long to wait." I chuckled.

"Ahh, I see Miss VP. I'll be patient then. Maureen's up first." She said, pointing her head in the direction of the stage.

Maureen was slim for her age - she had been alive during Beatlemania, hence her Presidential status, and was a few years Macca's junior. She was tanned, with greying dark hair and a smoker's giggle. You couldn't say a bad word about her.
She'd decided to sing 'Yes It Is', which was one of my favourites of the
non-album tracks. I wasn't moved the way I always was when John sang it, but it still brought me close to tears hearing Maureen warble along to it. The clapping roared throughout the room momentously, and then it was my turn.

I had been trained in the performing arts having recently graduated the LCA, and wanted to showcase myself publicly here for the first time. I stood with my Rickenbacker, now out of its case, and made my way to the stool centre stage. I winced up at the bright lights of the ceiling, and looked down to the back of the room, seeing the BBC camera crew interviewing a member. I breathed heavily and calmed myself, before strumming the guitar.

As soon as the words 'Something in the way she moves...' left my mouth, I felt that the whole room's worth of eyes were on me. The camera crew had wrapped the interview hastily to turn around and watch; something I noticed after opening my eyes. This George Harrison composition was a tricky one, and if done wrong could be horrendous, which is why I was so terrified to perform it.

My mind swam to 1969. I imagined George first performing the song to the guys. I imagined how he must have felt - how he must have felt about Pattie to write such a beautiful, thoughtful song. I imagined the scene, the atmosphere and the crowds they would have played in front of years before. Before I remembered where I was, the song was over. I stopped playing, and there was a moment's silence before everyone erupted in a volcano of applause, to which I brought a hand up to my mouth in disbelief that I'd done well. Even the BBC folk were applauding me. This was unbelievable...

After a few drinks, more performances and Beatle banter with my closest friends, the final 2012 session ended. I was the last to leave, as I had helped to clear up and offered to lock up for Maureen. Looking back on the room, I sighed to myself and felt a sense of exhilarating pride wash over me for today.
My first organised year end and it had been a success; I smiled. I left the hall and locked the door behind me, and started to walk away, before a hand yet again came crashing onto my shoulder. People had to stop doing that...

"Oh! Christ, sorry! You scared me to death. I was in my own world then. Did you enjoy today guys?" I asked the crew, thinking they must want a quick interview.

"Absolutely!" the person who looked like the director said. He wore glasses, a sweater and had a lanyard and clipboard; he was definitely the director. "In fact, I enjoyed your performance so much that I'm going to organise an audition for you at the BBC for a role in our fictional account of a teenage girl during Beatlemania for this 50th anniversary doc... If you'd like? You looked a natural, so I assumed..."

"Oh... Heavens," I said, bringing a hand to my forehead in the sunshine, which was slowly disappearing over the Mersey. "Of course I'd love to... It'd be a dream..." The director was eyeing me hungrily; you could almost see the pound signs in his eyes. "I'll accept for now, but if anything
comes up I'll have to let you know."

"Sure thing, doll. You have an agent I presume?" the director asked.

"I just graduated from the LCA, and they signed me and a bunch of others while we were there. I'll take your number and we can talk this through over lunch maybe sometime?" I smiled, beaming that rehearsed smile at the TV buff.

"Yes, yeah that's fine. Rita, was it? I'm Stan." He shook hands with me (very firmly), and with that I had a job... kind of.