Lovely Rita
Chapter 9
I directed Paul to my house in a state of disbelief and shock, and shakenly made my way inside with him. By the looks of things, I was the only one that lived there, as my friends and their belongings were nowhere to be seen. I turned the lights on and invited Paul through, extremely calmly considering my intense love for The Beatles.
"Make yourself at home in there. Would you like a drink?" I yelled from the kitchen across to the living room.
"I'll have a cuppa if that's alright, love." Paul replied.
As the kettle boiled (not my usual electric kettle. This one was on the hob with a funky pattern. Paul didn't look phased by this difference at all) I leaned on the counter to look at the man who was lighting a cigarette on my sofa (which, again, looked completely different to the one I was used to). He was fascinating to watch. Anyone would find an artist they admired interesting though, wouldn't they? Paul glanced up at me, probably feeling eyes on him, and smiled, taking in what I was wearing before looking back to the tiny, old fashioned television and turning it on. I returned to making tea for me and my prestigious guest.
"So, we're in 1966?" I asked Paul, again wanting confirmation for what was fast becoming a weird reality.
"To my knowledge yes," Paul said, taking the tea from me. "Thankyou." He smiled.
"This is insane. You probably won't believe this, and I don't blame you if you call up some asylum and get me taken away, but I think... I think that I've gone back in time." Rita spat out the last sentence quickly, knowing full well this could only be a dream.
Paul laughed. "Well, insanity is my thing. And by the looks of things, the future's a good place to be! Do you all dress like that in God knows how many years?" He said, looking up and down at my clothing. My eyes widened at how strange this must be for him too.
"You believe me? Oh thank God, at least you're seeing eye to eye with me and I'm not alone in this. Urm, yeah I suppose we do." I said, looking down and awkwardly pulling at parts of my clothing, feeling a little embarrassed.
"You'd be called a whore if you wore that now" Paul winked. I laughed, though I was still in disbelief. Firstly, I'd gone back to the sixties. Secondly, I'd - by chance - met Paul from The Beatles that same night. Things like this just didn't happen.
"I'm just in such a state of shock, Paul," I said, shaking, my mug of tea in my hands. I felt stinging tears begin to fall as I realised the consequences of this being real. My friends had all disappeared - presumably not born yet, Pete would never know what happened to me - if he was still to exist at all, and my audition too... Paul moved closer to me, and put his hand on my leg comfortingly. I jumped at his touch, still not believing this was all real myself.
"It's all right, cher. You can come back to mine tonight if you want and I'll take you to the studio with me tomorrow. We can sort out this mess you've gotten yourself into then. Two heads are better than one, right? That sound good?" He said, looking up at me with his beautiful sunken eyes, his hair brushing his brow. I looked down at him and he made a stupid face that made me laugh. He smiled at his apparent success in cheering me up.
"Yeah, yeah that sounds really good. Thank you." I smiled, putting my hand on top of his.
"But first, I think you need to go and wash up. You stink a bit, your hair's all knotty, and your make-up's everywhere now. Chop chop!" He clapped, and I jumped up and made my way to the bathroom.
I heard Paul breathe a little sigh of confusion or disbelief as I walked away. I didn't blame him.
*****
I emerged from the bathroom with no make-up on, my hair brushed and de-matted. One thing that was a problem with idolizing Brigitte Bardot was the knots your hair got itself into. I was wearing a large, knitted sweater and some pleather leggings with some nude kitten heels. This was hardly me at my best. I smelt of Stella McCartney's 'Stella' perfume (I thought it'd be funny, seeing as Stella wasn't even thought of yet and here I was, hanging out with her father) and my breath was now fresh and minty.
"Wow!" Paul said, his eyes widening as I walked down the hall. "Feel better?" He smiled, taking my bag and swinging his arm around my shoulder.
"Yeah. Still a bit confused, but I've decided I'm just gonna ride it out." I smiled. Paul breathed out a laugh at my sudden decisiveness. He led me out to his car and yet again we were off.
"Make yourself at home in there. Would you like a drink?" I yelled from the kitchen across to the living room.
"I'll have a cuppa if that's alright, love." Paul replied.
As the kettle boiled (not my usual electric kettle. This one was on the hob with a funky pattern. Paul didn't look phased by this difference at all) I leaned on the counter to look at the man who was lighting a cigarette on my sofa (which, again, looked completely different to the one I was used to). He was fascinating to watch. Anyone would find an artist they admired interesting though, wouldn't they? Paul glanced up at me, probably feeling eyes on him, and smiled, taking in what I was wearing before looking back to the tiny, old fashioned television and turning it on. I returned to making tea for me and my prestigious guest.
"So, we're in 1966?" I asked Paul, again wanting confirmation for what was fast becoming a weird reality.
"To my knowledge yes," Paul said, taking the tea from me. "Thankyou." He smiled.
"This is insane. You probably won't believe this, and I don't blame you if you call up some asylum and get me taken away, but I think... I think that I've gone back in time." Rita spat out the last sentence quickly, knowing full well this could only be a dream.
Paul laughed. "Well, insanity is my thing. And by the looks of things, the future's a good place to be! Do you all dress like that in God knows how many years?" He said, looking up and down at my clothing. My eyes widened at how strange this must be for him too.
"You believe me? Oh thank God, at least you're seeing eye to eye with me and I'm not alone in this. Urm, yeah I suppose we do." I said, looking down and awkwardly pulling at parts of my clothing, feeling a little embarrassed.
"You'd be called a whore if you wore that now" Paul winked. I laughed, though I was still in disbelief. Firstly, I'd gone back to the sixties. Secondly, I'd - by chance - met Paul from The Beatles that same night. Things like this just didn't happen.
"I'm just in such a state of shock, Paul," I said, shaking, my mug of tea in my hands. I felt stinging tears begin to fall as I realised the consequences of this being real. My friends had all disappeared - presumably not born yet, Pete would never know what happened to me - if he was still to exist at all, and my audition too... Paul moved closer to me, and put his hand on my leg comfortingly. I jumped at his touch, still not believing this was all real myself.
"It's all right, cher. You can come back to mine tonight if you want and I'll take you to the studio with me tomorrow. We can sort out this mess you've gotten yourself into then. Two heads are better than one, right? That sound good?" He said, looking up at me with his beautiful sunken eyes, his hair brushing his brow. I looked down at him and he made a stupid face that made me laugh. He smiled at his apparent success in cheering me up.
"Yeah, yeah that sounds really good. Thank you." I smiled, putting my hand on top of his.
"But first, I think you need to go and wash up. You stink a bit, your hair's all knotty, and your make-up's everywhere now. Chop chop!" He clapped, and I jumped up and made my way to the bathroom.
I heard Paul breathe a little sigh of confusion or disbelief as I walked away. I didn't blame him.
*****
I emerged from the bathroom with no make-up on, my hair brushed and de-matted. One thing that was a problem with idolizing Brigitte Bardot was the knots your hair got itself into. I was wearing a large, knitted sweater and some pleather leggings with some nude kitten heels. This was hardly me at my best. I smelt of Stella McCartney's 'Stella' perfume (I thought it'd be funny, seeing as Stella wasn't even thought of yet and here I was, hanging out with her father) and my breath was now fresh and minty.
"Wow!" Paul said, his eyes widening as I walked down the hall. "Feel better?" He smiled, taking my bag and swinging his arm around my shoulder.
"Yeah. Still a bit confused, but I've decided I'm just gonna ride it out." I smiled. Paul breathed out a laugh at my sudden decisiveness. He led me out to his car and yet again we were off.