Yeah Yeah Yeah (Beatles/Paul McCartney)

29. Go Out And Get Her

September 1966
London

Paul

Alice didn't ring.

She didn't fucking ring.

The first few days, I was full of rage. Who was she to run off like that? Who was she to police my behavior? Etc., etc., etc. It bloody killed me that I had no idea where she was nor what she was doing. Was she out having revenge sex all over the continent? Was this her way of breaking things off?

I skulked around Cavendish, ostensibly working on the film score. Usually, when composing, I'd go to a different plane of consciousness, where I'd stay until the melody had been pulled out of me. This time, however, all I could do was stare at the telephone like a sodding schoolgirl. Mr. Martin came by at some point to hear my progress, and, get this: he laughed. He laughed at what I played him, which is fair because it was trite, uninspired shit.

Around Day 4, feelings of contriteness and worry set in. Suppose she'd been kidnapped by the gate birds? Suppose they'd forged the note so no one would go looking for her, and they'd arrive at my door one day demanding sex in exchange for getting my girlfriend back. Did anyone know where she was? Did Alice flit around the bloody world without anyone knowing where she was?

Finally, on the fifth day, I phoned John.

"Sorry, can't talk, I'm an important film star," he said as soon as I identified myself. "Don't have time to talk to the little people."

"How's Spain?" I asked.

"Hot."

"How's Cyn?"

"Convinced that our house here is haunted."

"Is it?"

John considered it for a moment. "Probably, yeah."

I laughed, and we started chatting. It was slightly stilted at first, as it always was when we went from being together constantly on tour to not talking for a while. But after a few minutes of describing the new tune that he was writing, we finally got down to business.

"How's the Viscountess?" he asked.

I groaned and stared at the ceiling. "She's cross with me. Well, that's an understatement. I've no idea where she is because we were supposed to spend the week together in London, and she flew off like a deranged bird."

"What'd you do?"

"Who says I did anything?"

"Well, she would, I reckon, as would common fucking sense because you're always doing something wrong, aren't you, Macca?"

I could hear the smile in his voice.

"You're an unhelpful tosser," I replied.

"Oh, you called because you wanted me to be helpful? Well, you should have specified, then. Hang on."

There was a rustle on the line like John was dragging the telephone through the haunted house.

"Hey, Cyn!" he bellowed, and I held the receiver from my ear. "Paul's fucked up things with Alice--"

Cynthia said something unintelligible in the distance, followed by a frustrated sigh from John.

"No, I will not put money in the swear jar; I'm in me own home, aren't I?... fine, Paul's mucked things up with his bird, and she's gone and done a runner."

Another pause before John spoke into the receiver.

"Cyn says to go find her."

"I don't know where she is; that's the problem."