ODell Chris - Miss ODell: my life with the Beatles, the Stones, Bob Dylan, and the women who loved them

Chris ODell
with
Katherine Ketcham

A TOUCHSTONE BOOK
Published by Simon Schuster
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Touchstone

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Copyright 2009 by Chris ODell and Katherine Ketcham

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Touchstone Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Touchstone hardcover edition October 2009

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Designed by Ruth Lee-Mui

Manufactured in the United States of America

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
ODell, Chris.

Miss ODell : my life with the Beatles, the Stones, Bob Dylan,
and the women they loved / by Chris ODell with Katherine Ketcham
p. cm.

1. ODell, Chris, 1947 2. Sound recording indusryEmployeesBiography. 3. Rock musiciansAnecdotes. 4. Concert toursAnecdotes. I. Ketcham, Katherine, 1949 II. Title.

ML429.024A3 2009

782.42166092dc22

[B] 2009014555

ISBN 978-1-4165-9093-4

ISBN 978-1-4165-9675-2 (ebook)

This book is dedicated to my son, William.

I wasnt famous.
I wasnt even almost famous.
But I was there

FebruaryMarch 1968

I was sprawled out on the sofa in my Hollywood apartment, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, watching a game show on the black-and-white, thirteen-inch TV, smoking a joint, and getting really annoyed. My date was almost two hours late. I was alone in the apartment because my roommates, both high school friends from Tucson, were out partying. Where the hell was he?

When the phone finally rang around 10:00 p.m., I didnt try to hide the fact that I was upset.

Chris! Its Allan. He sounded a little out of breath, and from the background noise I guessed he was in a restaurant somewhere.

Allan, where have you been? I said. You said youd be here two hours ago.

I know, Im sorry, but look, Im at the La Brea Inn with some friends and theres someone here you have to meet. Allan was talking fast. His name is Derek Taylor, he used to work for the Beatles, hes doing publicity for A&M Records, and, Chris, you just have to come down here and meet him.

I dont want to go out. I thought you were coming over here. I was still annoyed with Allan, and I didnt believe that this guy Derek knew the Beatles. The Beatles! Who knew anyone who worked for the Beatles? He was probably just one of those people hanging out on the periphery who once met someone who once knew someone who claimed they were once best friends with someone who worked for the Beatles.

Chris, youll really like him. Allan sounded pretty excited, actually. He was almost pleading with me. Just jump in your car and come over. Come on!

I was tornshould I go or stay? I remember staring at the lamp on the side table, almost as if I thought it might tell me what to do. Allan seemed sincere about wanting me to join him, and whoever Derek was, he had certainly impressed Allan. Id never seen him act this way about anyone before. Oh, what the heck, whatever happened, it would be better than sitting in my apartment all alone feeling sorry for myself.

Okay, I said. Ill be there in half an hour or so.

Hurry. Ill be watching for you, he said.

I changed into my yellow-striped bell-bottom jeans and white top with puffy sleeves (Cher in her Sonny and days was my fashion idol), touched up my makeup, and drove to the La Brea Inn on Sunset Boulevard and North La Brea Avenue. I loved my new beige Mustang, which Id bought in Tucson for two thousand dollars. My father co-signed the loan. Ill never forget that feeling of driving off the lot in my new car, the windows down, the hot desert air blowing through my hair. Oh, that indescribable feeling of total freedom!

The drive took about fifteen minutes. The streetlights on Sunset Boulevard were so bright it might as well have been day, and under their glare I began to feel exposed and insecure. Maybe I should have stayed home. Really, all Id wanted to do that night was hang out with Allan in my apartment, two friends talking, no pressure, no stress. I liked it that way. I always tried to take things lightly, not to invest too much, although I have to admit that even at twenty I fantasized a lot about finding the right guy and a relationship that would last a lifetime. Maybe this is the one, Id think when I first became interested in someone. But when the relationship ended, even though it would hurt like hell, I moved on pretty quickly. I went with the flowone of my great strengths that would also prove, at times in my life, to be a significant weakness.

I parked my car in the crowded lot and took a few deep breaths, trying to force the anxious thoughts out of my mind and put a confident smile on my face. I was always uncomfortable walking into a room where the party was going strong and everyone else seemed to know one another. Never knowing what to expect, I feared I wouldnt fit in, that no one would talk to me, and if they did, Id say something stupid or inappropriate. So I had learned to put on a face, smiling confidently, walking with a firm stride, my back straight and head held high while my insides were trembling, whether from fear or excitement I never quite knew.

The restaurant was dimly lit, and a massive two-sided fireplace in the center of the room separated the bar from the dining area. A thin fog of cigarette smoke drifted toward the high ceiling, a pleasant hum of conversation filled the room, and the crackling fire put a pleasant glow over everything. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw Allan waving to me from a table by the fireplace.

Hey, Chris, glad you made it, he said, giving me a hug and introducing me, first, to the two women at the tablea writer named Eve and her friend, whose name I immediately forgot. I wasnt paying attention to them anyway because I couldnt take my eyes off the handsome man who had pushed back his chair, waiting for Allan to introduce us. He was sowellso English, dressed in a navy blazer with a silk scarf tied loosely around his neck and tucked into an open-collared shirt, a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. A well-groomed mustache lined his upper lip, his long hair, layered to look somewhat unkempt, curled up at the ends, and his eyes drooped in a gentle, lazy way. Just like Paul McCartneys eyes, I thought.

Chris ODell, meet Derek Taylor, Allan said.

Lovely to meet you, Chris, Derek said, standing up and taking my hand in his, all the while looking deep into my eyes. At that moment I felt like the most important person in the world, as if no one else in the room mattered to him. Dashingthat was the word for him. He reminded me of the romantic, swashbuckling Errol Flynn.

I sat down next to Allan and tried not to look like I feltout of my element. This was clearly the in crowd. Eve was talking about her latest writing project, and from the sound of it, she was one of those almost-famous people who really did know a lot of famous people. Dressed in jeans and a flowing silk blouse, with rings on almost every finger and a huge gaudy necklace that was probably worth a fortune, she held her head back at a steep angle, eyes slightly narrowed, looking down the steep cliff of her cheek at me. Im sure she sensed my insecurity and perhaps that raised the angle of her chin a bit higher.