Yeah Yeah Yeah (Beatles/Paul McCartney)

27. An Actual Monkey Wrote This Song

August 1966
New York City

Alice

The taxi dropped me a block away from the Warwick Hotel, which was as close as we could get. The driver asked if I was there to see "those fellas," to which I shrugged non-committedly as I handed over a handsome tip. New York City was in the midst of a heatwave, so the air outside felt unbearably hot and humid.

Hoisting my carryall bag over my shoulder, I started walking towards the entrance to the hotel. I'd stayed at the Warwick heaps of times during my Pan Am days, but I'd never seen hundreds of overeager girls standing around the entrance. I began to weave my way through the chattering fans, first politely and then more aggressively. More than one elbow dug into my side as I finally managed to break through the front lines.

The uniformed bellhop looked me up and down, perhaps wondering if I was just another crazed bird. Channeling my grandmother, I adopted my most highbrow expression that commanded others to do my bidding. After another cursory glance, he allowed me into the lobby. The receptionist gave me another look-over as I put my carryall on the ground next to me.

"Hello," I said in a posh voice. "I'm here to see Ian Iachimoe."

I wasn't sure if I was pronouncing it correctly because it certainly didn't sound like Paul's name backward, but the receptionist's expression instantly brightened. She pointed me towards the lift, which I took to the 12th floor. Two policemen stood in the corridor but let me pass once I uttered the magical two words Paul had sworn would gain me access to the Beatle's inner sanctum.

The corridor was quiet, and, even from there, I could hear all the girls down on the pavement. I hesitated before walking toward Paul's room. I'd nearly arrived when the bell on the lift dinged, and the doors whirred open.

"Can you believe they said they'd jump out of the bloody windows?"

Paul's voice carried down the corridor, and I smiled to myself before turning around to take him in. He was dressed in black trousers and a saffron-colored jacket with a patterned shirt beneath. His hair gleamed in the overhead light, his fringe slightly uneven as if it had been trimmed in a hurry.

"Well, now that you've said you'll see 'em, all the birds will be threatening to do the same thing," John retorted. He looked like he'd come straight off Carnaby Street in his lavender-and-cream-colored jacket and modish leather shoes.

"Thank Christ that presser is over," Ringo said, running a hand through his hair. He and George were both dressed in much more sedate dark suits as if they had received an invitation with an entirely different dress code.

"Now, now, Ritchie," Paul tutted good-naturedly. "You mustn't say those things in America."

"At least wait til we're back in England to take the Lord's name in vain," George added, and they all laughed.

Somewhere amidst the guffaws, John noticed me standing there and elbowed Paul. Following John's line of sight, Paul's eyes widened excitedly, and he took off towards me. Before I knew what was happening, he'd barreled into me and thrown me over his shoulder. I yelped in surprise.

"Nice seeing ya, Viscountess!" John shouted, waving his hand wildly in the air. "We'll be in Tony's suite if you fancy a proper hello afterward."

Paul fumbled in his pockets for the key, nearly dropping me in the process.

"Paul, don't forget the Junior Press Conference in an hour!" Brian called down the corridor.

"Well, it only takes them about five minutes, y'know," John said in a stage whisper, and I wanted to die of embarrassment as the door to his room finally opened.