Chris O'Dell, who worked as an assistant and tour manager in the music industry from 1968 to 1984, shares her inside perspective about life with some of our most legendary musicians.
Private photographs illustrate her new book, "Miss O'Dell: My Hard Days and Long Nights with the Beatles, the Stones, Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, and the Women They Loved."
After reading the excerpt below, head to the "GMA" Library to find more good reads.
Derek Taylor February-March 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 didn't try to hide the fact that I was upset.
"Chris! It's 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 you'd be here two hours ago."
"I know, I'm sorry, but look, I'm at the La Brea Inn with some friends and there's someone here you have to meet." Allan was talking fast. "His name is Derek Taylor, he used to work for the Beatles, he's doing publicity for A&M Records, and, Chris, you just have to come down here and meet him."
"I don't want to go out. I thought you were coming over here." I was still annoyed with Allan, and I didn't 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, you'll 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 torn -- should 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. I'd 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. "I'll be there in half an hour or so."
"Hurry. I'll 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 I'd bought in Tucson for two thousand dollars. My father cosigned the loan. I'll 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!