Waterloo Sunset ~ Paul McCartney

XIX. The New York Trip: Pt. 2

Stephanie

I couldn't quite believe it. There Paul was chatting away with Andy Warhol. We were here in the same club, in the same city, away from home. He was wearing a black suit but had removed the jacket and had it thrown over one arm, his top button undone and his tie pulled loose. Given the weather today, I could only assume he was wearing such a getup due to Beatles business. Maybe press conferences.

There was a general buzz around him, people peering over their shoulders to get a look, a few young women giggling and blushing due to his presence, but no one bothered him. I was staring, I couldn't help it, and eventually he met my eye. He looked shocked to see me, which was unsurprising because it wasn't as if I were often in New York. He looked very dashing; his hair had been cut and his face shaven recently but the darkness under his eyes indicated he was tired and worn out, probably very stressed as well. I'd missed his face.

I didn't know what would happen. After the way we had left things last time, I didn't know if he'd want to speak to me, but I watched as he excused himself from Andy Warhol and moved himself through the crowd over to me. He paused in front of me and I waited to see what he'd do. He pulled me into a big tight hug. He smelt of an oaky musk from his cologne mixed with a little bit of sweat too; it was so bloody hot today. I buried my face into his shirt, appreciating the warmth of his arms wrapped around me.

"God, am I glad to see you," he sighed, sounding genuinely relieved.

"How have you been?" I asked. "I heard about the whole 'bigger than Jesus' palaver, are you lot alright?"

He pulled away from the hug and looked at me, he looked exhausted. "We've been okay. I mean... it's been bloody awful, all the press and stuff. Someone also threw a firecracker on the stage in Memphis and we thought someone had fired a gun at John."

"Oh how awful for you all. I'm glad nothing bad happened to you."

"Yeah," he said tiredly. "But after all this and what happened when we were in Manila, I think that's it. No more touring for us. At least for a little while."

I nodded. It made plenty of sense. "Anyways," he said, wanting to move on from the subject of touring. "What the bloody hell are you doing in New York?"

"I've just been interviewing Bob Dylan," I said proudly.

"Ooo look at you," he said with a grin, nudging me with his arm. "You really are Little Miss Big-Shot now."

He then peered over at Bobby and Eric stood behind me, blinking at the two of us in disbelief. I'd completely forgotten they were there. "Oh! This is Bobby Fulford and Eric Dawson of The Village Voice," I introduced them. "Bobby was also interviewing Dylan today."

Bobby took a big step forward, looking absolutely chuffed, reaching his hand out for Paul to shake. "Look I'm sorry to be like this man, it's not often I get flustered but it's an honour to meet you. I'm such a great fan of you and your band's work. Revolver really knocked me out man."

Paul shook his hand and smiled, obviously appreciating the sincerity. "No problem mate, it means a lot to hear that."

He looked at Eric who tipped his head towards him. "A pleasure, man," he said, trying to act unbothered by the fact he was meeting Paul McCartney.

"How about you all grab a drink and we find a seat, yeah?" Paul suggested.

Bobby nodded eagerly and I smiled.

We found somewhere to sit down and Bobby chatted away merrily to Paul. He was an intelligent bloke who knew a lot about music and surprisingly, also a lot about the avant garde, which most pleased Paul. Eventually Andy Warhol joined us along with a member of the Velvet Underground, Sterling Morrison, and he appeared to be well-acquainted with Eric and Bobby. We had a conversation about pop-art and art-cinema and Andy told Paul he'd send him over copies of his films, though I got the impression Paul was not the faintest bit interested in them.