Strangers said she was abrasive and gauche, but as Paul McCartney sank into whisky-soaked oblivion, only Linda knew how to save him
At 26, Paul McCartney should have been on top of the world. He was single, rich beyond most people’s dreams and a member of the most successful pop band of them all.
Back home at the Beatle’s home in St John’s Wood, London, though, it was a different story. His beautiful green velvet sofa was covered in dog hair and the state of the carpets was indescribable. Unwashed wine glasses, plates and dirty ashtrays littered the living room.
Meanwhile, women fought like cats for a place in Paul’s grubby bed. Indeed, when his friend the writer Barry Miles came round one day, he found several semi-clad girls in residence. It was all too much — yet not enough.
So Paul reached out to the one woman who had made sense to him in recent months: American photographer Linda Eastman.
But when he called her in New York to invite her to London, she was already committed to photographing the Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane in San Francisco — so he had to wait.
As in the past, Linda ended up in bed with one of the musicians — this time Marty Balin, founder of Jefferson Airplane. But this time, at least, she applied the brakes.
Balin recalls: ‘She was a foxy chick, and all of us were trying to make it with her. Somehow she ended up with me, sleeping the night at my pad, but she left her underwear on.
By: Howard Sounes
Source: Daily Mail
