The Beatles have a day off in Bel Air, Los Angeles

On this day, The Beatles took a break from their US tour and stayed at a rented house in Bel Air, Los Angeles.

Despite many fans knowing their location, John Lennon, Neil Aspinall, and Derek Taylor managed to slip out for a few hours before John was recognized.

Later in the afternoon, they went to a charity event at the Bel Air residence of Alan Livingston, the president of Capitol Records. The party, which supported the Haemophilia Foundation of Southern California, charged $25 per ticket and succeeded in raising $10,000. During the event, Paul McCartney met the young actress Peggy Lipton and they had a short-lived romance.

The Fab Four under a tree. They looked cute. Just like the photos I had strewn across the walls of my bedroom. But I knew they weren’t the cuddly mop tops they were pretending to be. You knew that when you got up close. John’s twisted smile, for one thing, suggested a lot of strange thoughts could be going on in his head. Ringo, sporting a huge grin, seemed utterly bemused and nonchalant about it all. George was wiry and agile, adjusting his body to shake as many of the little hands as he could. I watched Paul. It felt like he was doing a sort of music-hall soft shoe routine for the crowd.

He was being a showman, a carny The nice one who could engage the multitudes. I didn’t know if I’d be able to talk when my turn came. What was there to say? My mind went completely blank.

Okay, so John greeted me first, then George took my hand. I hardly remember them. Paul was the one I was watching and my heart was pounding too loud, sounding like thunder in my ears. “Look, Peggy,” I said, trying to get a grip on myself. “He’s being really sweet with these kids.” I was admiring that while he was looking down and patting them on the head. All of a sudden I felt him looking at me and it was a totally different look. It was filled with promise and sexuality and I was stunned.

“Come on, Peggy, you can do it. Shake hands!” Earl was shouting as he was photographing me. I was embarrassed. “Please stop, Earl,” I thought. But this was a great moment for him, too. He actually saw his diligent work paying off. I wanted Paul at that moment as much as I had ever wanted anything in my life. I came face to face with him.

“Hello,” I said, and he shook my hand and looked at me. “My god, you’re beautiful,” he said. “You’re not so bad yourself,” I replied, like an idiot. A year in the planning and that was all I could come up with?

My knees under the pink silk skirt buckled. I was madly in love with Paul McCartney, or should I say even more madly in love-knowing full well that disaster lay ahead. How could it be otherwise? Every woman wanted Paul.

“Well, move on. Next person,” said a disembodied voice from hell. I went to the next person who was George Harrison or whomever. I couldn’t have cared less. I had made the connection. Paul had looked at me with his puppy dog, long-lashed, beautiful eyes and that was it. Paul moved on with his conversation and charmed the next fan in line.

I grabbed Earl, who was positively gleeful. “What am I going to do now? You have to give him my number.” Poor Earl. And then I realized I also had to work it out so that Jill would be able to come with me. Earl slipped a note to somebody. “Peggy really likes Paul,” it said, “and here’s her number.” Later on, the band’s press agent called Earl to hook up and I was asked to come to a bash that evening. […]

The Beatles were staying at someone’s very large home in Bel Air. I arrived almost sick to my stomach with butterflies. I had only lost my virginity six months earlier and I’d been thinking about Paul for a year. He greeted me sweetly. He played the piano. The next thing I knew we were on our way upstairs. Upstairs, we both knew what would take place. I tried to stretch it out. The fantasy was playing out a little too fast. He took me in his arms and kissed me. May I say that this was the kiss of my dreams? As good, passionate, tender and exciting as I ever could have imagined. […]

During our lovemaking, I caught myself … thinking. How was this making me feel? Special? Connected in any way? I didn’t have to pretend how attracted to Paul I was. My body felt like it was being covered in molten lava. Every touch, every movement of his was erotically plugged into my psyche. […]

He sat at the piano and played me a song. I got the feeling it all applied to me. “If when he calls she runs away and he calls her back, she comes. If there’s a next time he’s okay ’cause she’s under both his thumbs.” We had slept together; I had succeeded in my mission and the evening was over. […]

Paul called the next night and I went back. Well, of course I did. Once couldn’t be enough. The second time we were together, I was even more nervous and upset. I wanted to make love to try to cement a bond. […] I didn’t see Paul again that summer. He left town as the tour moved on.

Peggy Lipton – From “Breathing Out: A Memoir” by Peggy Lipton, David Dalton, Coco Dalton, 2005

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