Lovely Rita

I could hear the clock as loud as a herd of elephants.
The reporter, the same as all of the others, had asked me question after question about my private life, and now we were getting on to the nitty gritty about the thing I knew he was dying to learn more about. I sighed continuously.

“And are you good friends with Mr. Lennon and Mr. McCartney?” the intrusive reporter asked. Frankly I was growing tired of the continuous questions about my external friendships. But being in the movies was always going to land me with the excess baggage I suppose, people always wanting to pry into your private life. I smiled politely, my British reserve coming out.

“Yes, they used to be dear friends of mine, very dear. Still are, I presume.” I said, smiling at the photographer next to him.

“The photographs show you having quite a long, deep discussion with John, here, how did you meet them? You must be close, having been talking for so long.” Jeez this guy didn’t let up.
He had a face like a vulture – in fact, he looked exactly like a vulture. His back was hunched in that ‘I’ve been sat over a typewriter all day’ shape, and his hands and neck were wrinkled and decrepit. I hadn’t listened to his name; I was tired of reporters hounding me at the moment. This was exactly the reason I had tried not to get noticed – The Beatles were big news anywhere. Especially America.

“I suppose, then, that I’m very blessed to know some wonderful people. Everything’s happened to me, I haven’t happened to anything. One thing after another has happened, and it’s quite incredible. I think it’s going to stop in a minute because the people I have met and the things I have been able to do in such a short amount of time have been phenomenal to me. Like nothing I've experienced before.” I said, trying not to give too much away. It had been about a fortnight since the wedding, and I was starting to get a little bigger baby-wise too. Not that I looked chubby at all, but it made me tired quickly.

“Is it true you partook in drug use with the four of them?” He asked forwardly.

“Who told you that?” I said defensively, regretting it. He knew exactly how to get the gossip out.

“I’ll take that as a yes, Miss Christie.” I pouted at him.

“Are you going to give me a good telling off?” I said winking, trying to maintain the character I had to keep up as an actress in Hollywood.
The reporter chuckled at my quip, quite forgetting the disdain he’d had before.

“What exactly happened that time?” He asked, holding his pen to paper. I hesitated, considering my answer.

“We had a party at Paul’s house in August, 1968. I was asked by someone there if I wanted to partake in LSD, so I did. George wasn't there. It was harmless fun between friends. I’ve not taken it since and I’m not advocating it's use, so don’t shoot me down on that. I’ll say no more about that.” I said, holding my hand up, wanting to be honest but not give too much away.

“What’s your opinion on recreational marijuana use? - being friends with the Fab Four, you must have had some experiences?”

I sighed. This was getting exasperating. It seemed he was just trying to get me to slag off my friends and treat them with contempt.
“I have no issues with it; I love it! I suppose the issue people have with pot goes back to The Beatles. They’re really cool guys, and there weren’t an awful lot of cool people around before, not a majority anyway, and they became idols. Like any idol they were copied. They didn’t tell people to do what they did; they never wanted to be heroes, and they just wanted to make music – though obviously they’ve done much more than just that. I think pot’s a wonderful thing. It’s not just associated with freedom, but an idea of pleasure too, in a way. And I think people are sort of, just, having a good time, thanks to the lads and pot. And when I say ‘majority’, I don’t know, because… one only knows a certain group of people - and maybe that’s a minority. But it seems to me that a good time is much easier had by all now than ever before.
Pleasure, I think, is terrific, fine, and if you haven’t got anything else in life, then you’re lucky to have just a little pleasure. So I’m perfectly fine with responsible drug use. The Beatles aren’t going around preaching how great it is, and it’s not their fault people use them. Any more questions?” I said, casting my gaze up to the clock after that long and drawn out rant.

“Just one. What do you like, Miss Christie?” The reporter said in his nasally voice. He was obviously feeling bad for asking so much about the boys and so little about me. I didn’t mind, I just didn’t particularly want memories shoved back in my face. The question was quite vague, so I chuckled.

“What do I like? Hmm… the sun - I’m terribly superficial - flowers, good books, cats… children. And I love strong relationships, any sort will do.” I said, smiling seductively as I had playing Christine in ‘Gregory’, and he smiled in return.

“Thank you, lovely Miss Christie. That’s all. I appreciate you took the time to answer all of our questions.” I motioned my hand as if to say ‘it was nothing’, though of course that was a lie.

They left my house and I felt a wave of sudden relief wash over me, and I plonked myself down on the sofa and napped. Just napped, in peace at last. I think baby was relieved, too.