Yeah Yeah Yeah (Beatles/Paul McCartney)

Prologue

Paris, 1965

Paul

Sometimes I wonder if the tune popped into my head that day because it fit so perfectly with the locale, or if the universe was trying to get me off my arse.

Either way, it got my attention.

I lay on a generic bed in the generic hotel room, staring at the ceiling. The room was clean but lifeless, with the faint smell of disinfectant and gobs of money lingering in the air. The heavy brocade bedspread was the same shade beige as the rug, and the windows were covered with thin white drapes that couldn't keep out the frantic chattering from the street below.

My fingers tapped a beat, pausing only to lift the cigarette to my lips every so often. It was a pretty little melody, if not a bit melancholy and ploddy, but it had the bones of a good song. Out of nowhere, the lyrics I love you I love you I looooove you echoed through my head. Then the whole tune disappeared, as if just out of reach, and I couldn't be bothered to get my guitar to try to yank it out of my brain.

The walls of the hotel room seemed to constrict around me, making me feel trapped in a monster of my own making. I took a drag of my cigarette and walked to the window, staring down at the throng of fans that had gathered below, their excited voices blending into a deafening cacophony. Fame was a double-edged sword of gratitude and loneliness, excitement and anxiety. 

Unable to resist the temptation, I reached for the tourist map and unfurled it, tracing the spidery streets that promised adventure. My eyes followed the avenue Montaigne, leading to the Seine, and crossing over Pont Alma to the Musee Rodin. I wondered what it would feel like to stroll out the front door and into the hot summer day. Just casually leave the hotel, not needing to let anyone know or worry about being mobbed. 

"Sod it," I muttered under my breath as I glanced up at the mirror in front of me. My eyes roved over my rumpled navy trousers and white t-shirt, wondering if I could somehow spend a few hours in anonymity. I thought back to the days as a kid when I'd take the bus a few stops away and sit there for ages, just watching the world go by.

I don't know if I was just cabin fever or finally realizing that I'd traveled the world for three years but hadn't actually seen a bloody thing. To this day, I've no idea what I was thinking, but I certainly didn't realize that it was that moment that would change everything.

Before I could overthink it, I shoved my passport into my pocket and strolled resolutely into the corridor. I stopped three doors down and knocked. Before I could overthink it, I shoved my passport into my pocket and strolled resolutely into the corridor. I stopped three doors down and knocked. After a moment, John's face appeared at the door wearing thick-rimmed glasses, their lenses magnifying his brown eyes. His lips were tightly drawn in suspicion and his famous hair was slightly disheveled like he'd been in middle of writing a song.

"Oh, hey," he said, his stance relaxing when he saw it was just me. "You wanna work on that tune?"

We'd been living on uppers, vast quantities of tea, and sheer adrenaline for the past three years, and it was beginning to take its toll.

"Could I borrow your shades?" I asked. "Mine were nicked by a fan last week."

He arched his eyebrow. "Taking a stroll in the wild, are we? Yeah, hang on a mo."

He let go of the door, which shut with a resolute click and I was left staring at the paisley hideous carpet on the floor. A minute later, he was back, twirling an enormous pair of sunglasses around his finger.

"Lost mine yesterday to a dodgy-looking maid. But here, have Cyn's," he said, handing over the admittedly very feminine shades. Oversized lenses tapered to pointed tips on the edges, making them something that Audrey Hepburn would wear. I shrugged, put them on, and struck a dramatic pose.

John's face lit up with amusement as he grinned and leaned back, his hands held in a square before him to create an imaginary frame. He squinted and his brow furrowed as he looked through the imaginary viewfinder.

"Absolutely unrecognizable," he deadpanned. "They won't have a clue it's you. Can't believe I never thought of such an absolutely brilliant plan. Hats off to you, Macca."