Yeah Yeah Yeah (Beatles/Paul McCartney)

16. Don't Look Down

February 1966
London

Paul

The Scotch of Saint James club had been the most swinging place in London ever since it opened during the summer of '65. Tucked away at the end of a tiny street, it was just grotty enough to make it seem authentic. The drinks were strong, the girls were pretty, and the music was unbelievable.

Barry Miles and I had come straight from Indica, where we'd spent the afternoon. For days, I'd been talking of nothing but Stevie Wonder to anyone even remotely interested.  I was stoned just enough that life seemed fabulously mellow, but not so much that I wouldn't remember the performance.

Five or six girls milled around outside the entrance, which they'd taken to doing in case anyone interesting stopped by. I nodded to them as we slipped through the nondescript door, after which I made a beeline for our usual table.

Barry and I threw ourselves onto the tartan-covered banquettes and ordered drinks. A few girls across the room were eying us, so I shifted slightly so that there weren't in my line of sight.

"Is it just me, or are American girls a little mad?" Barry asked as drinks were brought over.

"They're a bit unbalanced, in my experience. Once after a press conference, a girl walked up to me and introduced herself, but she had this look on her face like I really ought to know who she was. Like we were old friends or whatever. Our press agent asked her how she knew me-- had we corresponded? met before? She looked at him, then at me, and said, 'through God.' Just like that, all calm and normal... 'through God.'"

"No, she didn't."

"She absolutely did," I insisted.

"So, what did you say?"

"What could I say!? I dunno; there was this sort of ghastly silence... I was gulping, you know, hoping she wasn't going to pull out a knife or whatever... and then I just sort of said, 'Well, that's very nice; I must be off now.'"

He looked at me skeptically, so I nodded towards the entrance. "There's John and George; ask them!"

Heads turned as my two bandmates walked through the smoky room, their eyes fixed on our table. It was a lesson we'd learned long ago: never make eye contact and never stop moving. John collapsed into a wooden chair at the end of the table, and George slid onto the banquette next to me.

"You're late," I noted.

"Couldn't remember the password to get in," John replied. "I remembered it was a gem of some sort, so I had to run through 'em all. Jade, opal, diamond... finally, George remembered it."

"There is no password," Barry replied. John cocked his head to one side and then nodded serenely as if that explained the past five minutes of his life.

"Well, I suppose the fellow at the door knows a lot about gems now," he replied.

"Paul's telling us about a bird in America who said she met him through God," Barry said as he motioned for the waiter.

George looked over. "Is that the one who had a whole vision about how you would get married and have babies together?"

I nodded, and Barry looked horrified.

"What do you mean, is that the one? This is a regular thing?"

George shrugged. "American girls are barmy."

"Off their fucking rockers," John added as he turned towards me. "Speaking of which, where are all the nice, normal girls you promised?"

"I only said I'd invited Alice and her mates," I replied, glancing at my watch. "She promised she'd make it in time for the set."