John Lennon and

George Harrison

By Ned Necro

    I test the strength of the rope one last time, give my intern Ashley a thumbs-up, and put my head in the noose. I take a deep breath and kick the stool out from under myself.

    This hurts a lot more than I thought it would. I flail my arms, trying to tell Ashley to cut me loose, but the pressure on my neck won't let me get the words out. I can see her frightened eyes staring at me as I swing back and forth.

    The rope is literally squeezing the life out of me. I start to black out, then in the black I see a tiny white dot. The white dot keeps getting bigger and bigger. I can vaguely hear Ashley yelling, "Go toward the light! Go toward the light!" Then everything is white.

Imagine there is a Heaven. And this is your room.

    "Hey. Are you alright down there?"

    The voice is familiar. Liverpudlian.

    "Hey! Are you alright, man?" I open my eyes. It's John Lennon.

    "Wow," I say, my voice scratchy. Lennon is kneeling over me. He has long hair and granny glasses. He looks the same as he did in the last month of his life. "Yeah," I say. "Yeah, I'm OK."

    "You mind getting up off the bloody carpet, then? Ever think of wiping your shoes before you enter?"

    "Sorry." I climb to my feet. Lennon is wearing a white sports jacket, white T-shirt, white jeans and white sneakers. The room we're in has white walls, white furniture, white carpet. A white grand piano is behind Lennon. "Wow, so this is Heaven? Everything's white?"

    "Nah, this is just my room," Lennon says and sits on the piano bench. "They try to make you comfortable, put you somewhere you've been before. Somebody up here must have seen the 'Imagine' video. It was Yoko's design. Now I've got to live in it for all eternity. Never get married, Ned."

    "So you know my name?"

    "I know your name and why you're here. And I thought Mark David Chapman was crazy. Have a seat."

    I sit down in a plush white chair that practically swallows me up.

    "Posh, huh?" Lennon says.

    "Nice," I agree, resettling on the edge of the seat. "So you know I'm here for an interview?"

    "So they tell me," he says. "You didn't bring a camera, I see."

    "We haven't figured out how to do that yet," I said. "No recorder or paper, either. I'll have to work from memory."

    "God, I never thought I'd be misquoted again," Lennon says. "Some things I didn't mind leaving behind."

    "So if you know why I'm here, you must know I wanted to interview George Harrison as well," I said. "Will he be coming?"

    "I'm right here," a voice behind me says. I turn and there's George Harrison in an expensive-looking white suit, standing against the wall.

    "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were there," I say, rising to greet him.

    "He's the quiet one, you know," Lennon says. Harrison shoots him a sarcastic look.

    "Pleased to meet you, Ned," Harrison says, stepping forward to shake my hand. "Can we offer you something to drink? Milk?"

    "Kahlua and Cream?" Lennon says. "White Russian?"

    "Do you have anything that's not white?" I ask.

    Lennon shrugs. "It's a theme."

    "No thanks, I think we'd better get to work," I say. "I don't have much time. Do you live here as well, George?"

    Lennon laughs. "No, you should see his place! Cows roaming around everywhere, six-armed women. That must come in handy, eh, George?" Harrison looks down at the carpet, shaking his head slightly. "I don't like the food there much, though. Did you ride one of your garudas over here today, George?"

    Harrison looks up at me and exhales slowly. "Even in the afterlife I'm chastised for my beliefs," he says while sitting down on the piano bench next to Lennon. "Please write that down."

    "He didn't bring a bloody pen," Lennon says.

    "So, George, you were a very religous person," I say. "You're probably not surprised to end up here. But John, you wrote, 'Imagine there's no heaven.' And here you are. Do you find that ironic?"

    "Well, I also wrote, 'Imagine no posessions,' but you never saw me handing out money in Times Square, did you?" Lennon says. "My lyrics were just nice ideas. I couldn't be expected to live up to them."

    "But so many of our songs were about love and peace, and that did have an impact, " Harrison says. "That's why all of us, all of the Beatles, are welcome in Heaven. Even John."

    "I just wish Ringo would hurry up and get here," Lennon says. "Now there's a fun guy."

    "What about McCartney?" I ask.

    Lennon grunts and looks away. Harrison catches my eye and shakes his head, as if to say, "Don't get him started."

    "That stupid bloody git," Lennon says. "It's not enough to be the richest rock star on the planet. He has to change the credits on the Lennon-McCartney songs. Am I wrong, Ned, does 'M' come before 'L'? Am I wrong?"

    "Well, no," I begin.

    "And now he's singing 'A Day in the Life' in concert," Lennon says. "That's my song! I wrote all the good parts, anyway. He just wrote about getting his fat ass out of bed in the morning!"

    "Now, John, calm down," Harrison says.

    "Oh, yes, calm down, that's all I ever get from you," Lennon says. "NIce, sensitive George! Let's all calm down and worship the cows!"

    "John, we're in Heaven," Harrison says.

    "Oh, yeah, we can't have the truth in Heaven! We can't talk about a partner stabbing you in your dead back in Heaven!"

    "Come on, John," Harrison says with a slight smile. "Give peace a chance."

    "Fuck you, George!" Lennon stands up from the piano bench. "Just get out of my bloody white room, all of you!"

    "How about another subject," I say. "What do you think about Cirque du Soleil's 'Love' show?"

    Now Harrison comes up off the bench. "What a bloody travesty!" he shouts. "What do flying midgets and, and ... twirling nymphs and clowns with umbrellas have to do with us?"

    Lennon, delighted, claps him on the back. "Preach, brother, preach!" he says.

    "And in Las Vegas!" Harrison says. "The capitol of the decadent materialistic world! That's a knife right in my heart!"

    "Yeah, see what I mean?" Lennon says.

    "I'm sorry for getting so worked up, Ned," Harrison says, sitting back down. "This isn't the place for anger."

    "No, no, this is great!" Lennon says, cackling with delight. "Who wants some popcorn?"

    "I felt betrayed, but I'm getting over it," Harrison said. "All things must pass."

    "Hard-boiled eggs?" Lennon asks. "Peeled bananas? A white chocolate Easter bunny?"

    "And John, I also wanted to ask you about Yoko," I say.

    Harrison slaps his palm on his forehead.

    "Bloody hell, Ned," Lennon says. "Just when I was feeling good about myself ..."

    Suddenly a shudder passes through me, and I can feel myself leaving, somehow being sucked out of the room and hurtling through a dark void. The white room recedes into the blackness.

    "Hope to see you again someday, Ned," I hear Harrison call.

    "Yeah, next time bring some powdered doughnuts!" Lennon yells. "A joint is white, right? Yeah, bring a joint!"

    Everything is black.

Forgot to bring his crown of thorns to the photo shoot 

    "Ned, are you O.K.?"

    I open my eyes. My intern Ashley is looking down at me, her blond hair hanging above my face.

    "Yeah," I say. "I'm fine."

    "Thank God," she says. "I need these credits to graduate."

    Two paramedics are gathering up their equipment and preparing to leave my apartment. "Hey, thanks guys," I say, rolling into a sitting position on the floor.

    "No problem, sir," one of the paramedics says. "Next time be a little more careful doing your, uh, 'magic rope tricks.'" The other paramedic rolls his eyes.

    "Sure, no problem, guys," I say.

    "Did you get what you wanted?" Ashley asks.

     "Oh, yeah," I say. "I got my story." With my hand I feel the rope burns on my neck. I clear my parched throat. "Do we have any Kahlua?"

Coming soon...

Gene Siskel Reviews Movies From Hell!

    This column is a work of satirical fiction. Any resemblance to anyone dead is purely coincidental.