Carnival of Light || Paul McCartney/Beatles

05. Baby Love at Bag o Nails

Carnival of Light

05.

Matthew went away to Brighton for a stag do for the week, which was the longest I'd gone without seeing him in months. We didn't live together, but aside from where we slept we were practically glued together at the hip.

I had plenty of work to be getting on with as April of 1966 drew to a close. My editor Norah agreed to postpone a publishing date until I could finish a few new pieces of work. My writing had evolved significantly through March and April as I found a new, stronger voice, and though I wasn't about to admit it to Norah, I believed my experiences with LSD were at the heart of it. I'd taken it three times by then, always with Matthew.

So I was determined to slow down on swinging London and focus on work, getting up at a reasonable hour instead of being hungover until the afternoon like I was most days.

Poppy convinced me to come see a band play at Bag O Nails one night. I can't remember what they were called, but they were a rhythm and blues group trying to be the Stones like most groups playing around London in 1966. Bag O Nails was a club on Kingsley Street in Soho that you wouldn't know to be a nightclub if you weren't looking for it. The floors were uneven and sticky and the stage was backed by a watered velvet marigold curtain to match the upholstery. It was a venue to watch live music at, but some tables had been cordoned off into little alcoves off the main dance floor for privacy. Poppy wore a shift dress printed with lemons and a huge yellow bow in her hair, her fringe perfectly blunt. I wore a short-sleeved black polo tucked neatly into a white mini skirt, my fringe artfully messy.

I drank a gin and tonic – I was allowing myself three – while we watched the band, who were unremarkable and didn't draw a large crowd. Poppy, always unfailingly kind, told the singer and bass player how fabulous they were once they finished their set, but they only wanted to know about Poppy's boyfriend, Sir Mark and his recently-launched male modelling agency. It was called English Boy and they'd signed up Brian Jones for it, and now every skinny musician in London wanted to join.

I pointed this out to Poppy as we headed for the bar, our arms linked together.

"See!" she said cheerfully. "The boy modelling agency is a good idea."

"Is it?" I laughed. "I rather think it's going to give every skinny boy in London aspirations of grandeur."

"Well, I think you'll be very surprised," Poppy chirped. "Mark is very insightful. It's what makes him so eccentric."

I laughed again, and started to reply when I spotted Paul smoking at a table with Ringo Starr and a giant of a man with blonde hair and horn rimmed glasses. Paul had already spotted me, and my stomach did that nervous flip when he smiled and gave me a small wave. I smiled and waved back.

"Are you waving at Paul McCartney?" Poppy's eyes widened. "Do you know him?"

"I guess," I shrugged. "We've met a few times."

Poppy laughed incredulously. "Well, should we say hi?"

I wasn't sure—were Paul and I friends? Acquaintances? Would it be rude not to say hello? Would it be too forward or eager to approach him? Why was I overthinking this?

Paul had turned back to Ringo and his giant friend, and now they were all looking at us.

"Well?" Poppy asked me.

Before I could decide, Paul stood and walked toward us, smiling as he dropped his ciggie end underfoot. He looked as handsome and neatly put together as he always did, and I felt the nervous flippy feeling again as he drew nearer.