Chapter 49

Honey Pie

It was the day of my interview now, and I was really nervous. Soon all of Britain and America would know my inner thoughts and details of my life.

"Paul, what am I even supposed to wear to an interview?" I asked as I rummaged through my closet. My Beatle roommate appeared in the room and took my job of looking through my clothes. He tossed a dark red shirt and a black skirt that stopped above my knees onto my bed.

"I'm pretty sure I wore that to the premire of A Hard Day's Night," I commented as I peeled my socks off.

"You'll be fine, pictures are in black and white," Paul reassured me. "Probably don't remember anyways." I shooed him out of the room so I could dress myself. Afterwards, I stared at the outfit in my full length mirror before putting on my black pumps. Was it just me, or was this tighter...? Was I really getting that old? I was twenty six, for Chrissakes!

After asking Paul's opinion on the matter ("No. If anything, I think it's actually looser."), I left for my interview. I tried to prepare myself for the questions I figured I would be asked. When I arrived, I took a deep breath before finally entering the building. This was it. I was doing an interview as if I was famous or pretty or had real world-changing talent.

I don't remember the beginning real well. I know that he introduced himself, and told me that he was personally a large fan of "Why?" and my version of "He Was My Brother". Then we started the questions.

"What was your inspiration to write 'Why?'?"
"Human stupidity," I answered. If I was doing this at all, I might as well be honest.

"Why did you choose to record 'He Was My Brother'?"
"I made the demo the day I found out my own brother was shot and killed in California at a peace rally. It seemed to fit."
"I'm sorry. Were you two close?"

"Speaking of which, how do you feel about the war?"
"It's a load of shit, but the peace movement is as well."
"You aren't for peace?"
"Yes, I am. Unlike everyone else, I know that we'll never find it. Things would get damn boring if there was peace, wouldn't it?" He laughed and agreed. "I guess I'm just disenchanted with the whole thing."

"If you could collaborate with any artist or band, who would you collaborate with?"
"That depends. Now or ever?"
"Elvis, Buddy Holly and His Crickets, The Doors, Jimi Hendrix Experience, Simon and Garfunkel, Creedence Clearwater Revival. I don't know, there's just a lot of them I'd cut off a toe to work with."
"Hmm, that's intriguing. I know a lot of people who would have come and answered 'The Beatles'."
"I think that would be hard and odd. We'd also probably end up killing each other, and I'm anti-being killed."

"Can we look forward to an album to go with your chart topping singles?"
"I just haven't got that far ahead yet. The whole thing started as a joke, and I didn't expect it to escallate this high."

"Thanks for coming, and best of luck to you."

We shook hands, and I was gone. I found myself confused as to why we even have interviews in the first place. My brain drove myself to John's for a little nightcap.

"How was your first interview as a 'real' artist?" John asked me as he handed me my glass while I set down my shoes, glad to be rid of the damn things.

"Pointless," I replied. "Why do think I'm putting the load on?" He laughed.

"Get used to it, sweetheart," John told me. "I've been getting asked about my hair in every interview for the last four years. And they were four damn long years."

"Hey, I believe you," I promised. I stood up from my chair. "I'd like to make a toast to the perks of being a musician!"

We 'clinked' our glasses on it, and drank to the magnificent art of rock and roll.