Two Of Us ⎯ Paul McCartney

22. Canyon Moon

Los Angeles
October, 1968

Everybody who was anybody lived in Laurel Canyon, with the exception of Brian Wilson and John and Michelle Phillips, who lived in Bel-Air. There were a few other exceptions – like Dennis Wilson, who lived in a log cabin estate off Sunset Boulevard – but for the most part, it was a hot spot. It was a place that had always fascinated me. So it wasn't really a surprise that I'd lived in a house there for a few years.

Paul and I spent the week hanging around the canyon and visiting musician and actor friends. We visited Brian Wilson at his home studio in Bel Air and hung out with Peter Fonda at the Chateau Marmont and watched bands play at the London Fog. No one seemed too surprised that we were together. I guess they all remembered last spring, too.

It felt good to get away from everything. No recording obligations, no press interviews, no fans and tabloid writers constantly trying to figure out if we were seeing each other. Pretty much everyone in England knew that there was something going on, but neither of us had actually explicitly said as much. And that's the way I planned on keeping it. For as long as possible, anyway. I had no idea where we'd end up in the next year or so.

It was great seeing all my old friends again, but it was nice to spend some time alone, too. We'd gone out to the state beach on Tuesday, spending the whole day together in Santa Monica. On the drive over, we'd driven past Sunset Boulevard, and I'd pointed out the landmarks we passed by — the Troubadour Club, the Whisky A-Go-Go, the Capitol Records Tower, the Observatory. Paul vaguely showed me the general area of where the Beatles had been in Bel Air when they'd stayed at some millionaire's house during their touring years, and I had to laugh at some of the stories involving the more dedicated fans.

We'd spent long hours out riding horses on the trails that led further up the canyon, having coffee at Ben Franks or dinner at El Coyote, and sitting either at the piano or with our acoustic guitars, writing songs together. By the end of the week, we had a handful of songs that I figured would go into consideration for my next album. They were little ditties about love and domestic bliss, and I couldn't believe how much we'd written in such a short amount of time. Writing together felt more intimate than sex sometimes. You had to be open and vulnerable in such a way that you couldn't hold anything back. I was safe to just be myself.

But inevitably, the week came to a close, and on our last evening in California before flying back to London, the two of us were sitting across from each other with acoustic guitars on the floor of the living room as the warm late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the windows. Another reason I loved writing together was because whenever we sat across from each other, it was almost like looking in a mirror, with Paul being left-handed and all, and it made the chords easier to figure out.

We'd originally planned on going out for dinner with my father for our last night, but those plans had gone out the window once he'd gotten a call a little after noon and had to run into the office to go negotiate legal proceedings — something about tax fraud, I didn't entirely get the gist of it. Connie and Will were out at some gala for Will's newspaper job and wouldn't be back until late. So Paul and I ended up writing again.

"I want to learn barre chords." I blew out a frustrated breath, sitting up and bringing my fingers up to examine them, picking at the calluses that had started to form. "But they're so damn hard. It's my hands, I'm telling you, I can't reach across the fretboard."

Paul gave me an amused look, sitting up a little. "Why does it have to be a barre chord? It's easier just to play it straight."

I kept my eyes on him a moment longer than I probably should've, admiring his tousled hair and five o'clock shadow. Then I felt my face redden, and I sheepishly dropped my gaze in order to focus on the chords again. Geez. He sure was attractive. The past week in the California sun had done him some good, too. It'd been raining a lot in London the week before we left, but in LA, the sun was practically out every day, even though it was almost November.