Crazy town, crazy people Part 1

lisa entwistle.jpg

WHO’S THAT GIRL? It’s Lisa Pritchett-Johnson with Who guitarist John Entwistle 


ROGER TAVENER finds that one beer leads to another while out in Los Angeles  with the Brat Pack

Part 1

Hard Rock Cafe, Hollywood Boulevard. Very late 1980s.

 I’m knocking a few pool balls about with Kiefer Sutherland, Jason Priestley and other members of the LA Brat Pack.

They're pretty normal guys. Into girls and  beers.

A few days earlier I was booted out of an exclusive interview with Kiefer's dad, Donald, because I lit a fag during our balcony chat.

Sutherland senior apparently has a hang-up about tobacco smoke because his gambling-addicted parents raised him in fume-laden casinos.

So that became my story.

Kiefer thinks that’s fucking hilarious. Considering the excesses of Hollywooders.

Jason’s got me into this circle. We met on teen-smash Beverly Hills 90210 which is THE telly series to dominate the 1990s.

Handy because he's the sexiest hunk on the global box. Not my type but he trusts me and we do beer. His sister is studying in England. There’s common ground.

And the Express will eat this all day long.

We have a burger at famous Mel's Drive-in Diner on the Boulevard for a change of scene.

I fancy a few sunset beer pics from the Marriott (maybe now the Ritz-Carlton) and head up to the rooftop bar.

The sun’s going down and there’s only me and the rock-chick barmaid and a great view over the city.

We talk. She's apparently Eagles' guitarist Joe Walsh's just ex-girlfriend.

He has a wife, Juanita ‘Jody’ Boyer Walsh. And he's  about to be divorced for the third time. But that never stopped Jersey Joe.

Her name’s Lisa. Hi Lisa. We shake hands. Pretty girl. But she's dangerous.

That’s ok.

She buys my next beer. I buy our next bourbon. It becomes a booze-fest.

She's having trouble with Joe.

Why? Custody of our parrot. It’s gone to court. Costing a fortune.

Fuck me. That might be a story ...

Oh. Let's have a drink when you finish work... Why not?

So we do. We end up back at my place, the Sunset Marquis. And are still sitting in the amazing gardens as the sun rises...

Fast forward a few years.

At Christmases in the early 90s I went to Who bassist John Entwistle’s fairly sedate yuletide parties at his Roehampton, London, mansion.

Just a shot glass throw from the local Priory clinic, where most of the partygoers had dried-out over the years. And many had a season ticket.

The first time I was introduced to his girlfriend we exchanged that weird look when you think: “Have we met before...?”

Meet Lisa...

Yep. Fuck me. This was Lisa from a decade before.

We'd only known each other for a drunken, blurry night.

Lisa Pritchett-Johnson (MIA).

I check it out. Lisa had met John through Joe and, later, latched onto him.

They also lived in his astonishing Cotswold pile Quarwood, Stow-on-the Wold, Gloucestershire, for more than a decade...

Lisa was known locally as the Parrot Woman because she drove around in his open-top Cadillac with pet bird Ralph on her shoulder.

2002. Entwistle, 57, is found dead in his bed in the Hard Rock hotel, Las Vegas. A hooker on one side and a pile of coke on the other.

Not a bad way to go.

No more Christmas parties then?

But Lisa then knocks off the vicar who buries Entwistle.

Nah. You couldn’t make this stuff up.

A couple of years later Lisa overdoses in Memphis after receiving a big slice of Entwistle’s fortune.

Live fast, die young.

The Rock n Roll meme.

Part 2: The horrifying moment Exorcist director William Friedkin arrives home unexpectedly to find me with his wife ... the USA's top female news anchor.


© 2005-2018 Alastair McIntyre