Kitty - A College Students Idol

(Welcome to my story. It is set in Thame, Oxfordshire, in 1990. Kitty has just turned 18, and the actor is 53. Any similarities to any person living in Oxfordshire are entirely coincidental.)

It's the late afternoon, the low sun casts a warm glow on the quiet village street. The muted low light and crisp air make everything seem just a little calmer and serene.

Kitty has just alighted the number 280 'City of Oxford Motor Services' bus and is now walking the final leg, back home from college. Stomping purposefully along, in tall black Doctor Marten boots and dark three-quarter length stockings.

Carrying text and coursework books in hand and with her badge covered canvas gas-mask-style bag slung over her shoulder.

Her long, curly, red hair is deliberately messily cultivated to give the impression that she might have once been one of the 'tearaways' or 'hellions' of the St Trinian's movies.

The daily humdrum routine flows as usual; her thoughts are on this evening's homework and the end-of-term final exams that were only a few weeks away. She knows she will ace them, of course, because despite looking like a delinquent, she is both funny and clever.

But as she turns the corner near the familiar small parade of shops, she spots something different and very much out of the ordinary.

He is standing on the narrow pavement outside the small SPAR newsagents.

An older, middle-aged gentleman, heavy set, moustache, dark brown hair with a few grey streaks, leaning against the front wing of a large, silver Rolls-Royce parked at the roadside. He's holding a half-finished cigarette in one hand, the other tucked into a jacket pocket.

The traditional country gent. His Harris tweed sports jacket is weathered, but well fitted, complementing a brown woollen roll-neck jumper with matching brown slacks and leather boots nicely.

His face, with those strong features and blue eyes, that she has seen so many times before, stops dead in her tracks and simply stares.

For a second, her heart skips a beat. It couldn't be, could it? As the true realisation dawns, she takes a deep breath to steady herself.

She isn't the type to normally approach celebrities. Of course, she's seen a few in passing before, as they are relatively common in this expensive part of Oxfordshire: famous rock musicians, pop stars, writers, and actors often popping up here and there.

But this is him. This is different.

This is the actor whose films she had watched over and over on her battered old VHS video tapes. Films she'd naughtily and illegally recorded -straight from the TV.

An actor whose charm and beauty had captivated film audiences from before she was even born.

Now, seeing him in real life, she thought the intensity that he carried on screen was even more striking. Her own pretty blue eyes were still not quite believing what they were seeing.

The gentleman takes a long, slow drag from his cigarette, whilst his eyes scan the window of the shop for the goodies on display. He is completely unaware of the young red-headed woman standing staring at him from across the street.

Her hands tighten around the edges of her college books, and she smooths down the folds of her old black tabard dress, trying to make it look as presentable as possible.

Suddenly, very aware of its tattiness and its many small holes made by dropping hot rocks down the front. An unfamiliar, growing feeling of nervousness was slowly rising inside of her.

Gathering courage, she directly crosses the street and approaches him. To her own amazement, her voice is surprisingly steady, "Hello, Oliver Reed, right?"

He turns slowly to look at her, alerted by the sound of her voice, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if warily assessing her.

Then, after a few seconds, a slow, wide grin spreads across his face as he continues to look down at her. A grin that is warm and knowing, as if he had already anticipated being spotted by a fan.

"You've caught me!" he says, flicking the still-lit cigarette away into the bushes with a casual snap of his wrist. "I'm not exactly hiding out in the studio, am I?"

He straightens and faces her, his presence simply magnetic to the young woman.

Kitty holds her books protectively against her chest and giggles. The initial awkwardness melts as his humour softens the moment, "No, I guess not. I... I didn't expect to see you... here!"

"Neither did I," he replies, his voice deep but with that same smooth tone that she recognises from his films. "I've learned that sometimes, life throws a nice surprise your way when you least expect it. I'd say a pretty red-headed student is a nice surprise!"

Oliver looks down at her not in a leering way, but with a relaxed ease that makes her feel seen and somewhat self-aware. Not just another fan, but a person.

Ignoring the compliment, she continues. "I'm a huge fan of your work."

Then pausing, "I've seen all of the 'Musketeers' films you've ever done... And 'Oliver the Musical', and that's my very favourite."

Then, looking reflective, she says, "The way you bring your roles to life, it's errrrrrm, unreal."

Oliver tilts his head slightly, clearly pleased at receiving the praise, but not being overly showy about it.

"That's kind of you to say," he replies, being humble but retaining that undeniable movie star quality. "It's just what I do! I'm glad someone is watching, though."

Kitty's heart races as she considers the reality that she is standing only 3 feet away from him. Actually talking to him.

Trying to stay composed, she feels a warm blush flower in her cheeks. Suddenly remembering with some embarrassment, just how many times she had been obsessed with this man, when alone in bed in her room.

Thankfully, he doesn't seem to notice.

"It's more than acting, though," she says quickly, "It's like you ARE the character. Like when you played Bill Sykes. I swear you weren't just acting. You were him. A real villain, A scary, violent criminal, robber... and murderer!"

And then, looking him directly into his eyes, "And oh, so very brooding and sexy!"

His moustached lip instantly twitches into a grin, his gaze shifting sideways as if evaluating the compliment.

"I do try to make it believable," he pauses for a moment in thought... "You know I didn't really kill Nancy and that stupid mutt 'Bulls-eye', well, he smelled terrible!

I stank of mangy wet dog for a week!" He then unapologetically laughs at his own joke.

She is taken by how grounded he seems despite his fame. The way he just stands there now, casually leaning against his very expensive car.

It makes it feel like just a conversation between two normal people.

Not one that just happens to be between a girl with a massive crush on one of the most recognisable characters in the world.

"I didn't want to interrupt you," she says with a sheepish smile. But I just didn't want to miss the chance to say how much YOU, errrrrr... your work... means to me."

Oliver's eyes soften. His expression growing more genuine. "No interruption at all," he replies. "I'm always happy to meet someone who appreciates what I do."

A brief, comfortable silence follows. Somewhere in the distance, a car engine hums, and it passes them by in the street.

She isn't sure what to say next, but just being there, talking to him, feels totally surreal.

"You're not one of those people who give autographs all the time, are you?" she asks a little hesitantly.

"No, I'm not much of an autograph guy," he replies with a shrug. "But I'll make an exception for someone who is cute and is not just blowing smoke up my arse."

Kitty laughs, surprised by his bluntness, and he joins in with a low, warm chuckle. For a second, she thinks that it feels like they were just two old friends catching up, rather than a fan meeting her idol.

Then, with a glint of mischief in his eye, he adds, "I'll give you an autograph, what shall I sign?"

She hesitates, then thinks for a moment. Then she removes her bag from her shoulder, unbuckles it, opens the canvas flap, and rummages around.

"Here," she says, offering a felt-tip pen and her English homework book, opened to a fresh, blank page.

Oliver takes them, leans against the bonnet of his car, and turns to look back at her, "What's your name?"

"Kitty," she replies.

He scribbles something on the paper, then closes the book firmly and hands it and the pen back with a smile.

"Thank you," she says softly, taking and closely hugging the book to her chest, as if it's the most precious thing in the world.

"Well, I should be going," he announces.

Then, with surprising ease, he swiftly moves forward, leans in, and kisses her softly on the mouth. She is surprised both by his boldness and the tickle of his moustache,

Her mind reels. She stands frozen, heart pounding in her ears, watching as he turns, opens the door, and climbs into his car.

The engine purrs into life, and he engages the gear, but before pulling away, he looks out of the window and glances back at her. A smile passes between them, fleeting, but seemingly real.

And in that moment, the world feels smaller and unexpectedly more intimate.

As the car disappears down the road, she opens her book and reads what he had written inside:

"To Kitty, the prettiest college student in Oxfordshire. With love, Oliver Reed."