Dream A Little Dream
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Denny On Stage The In Crowd

We "Meet The Beatles." Paisley Rolls Royce and all. Remember, the night I told you I brought John and Paul home? This was the night. We'd recorded this Beatles song, I Call Your Name. And so John asks, "On that recording you made of our little song, who's whispering 'John, John'" . And I tell him - Cass. "Oh, the big woman?" "Yeah Johnny, she loves your ass." "Well, alright then - where is she?" . . .

Rolls Royce I go running upstairs and wake her up: She gets up, puts on her prettiest mumu and comes downstairs. She and John Lennon, heads together by the fire, listening to Paul pluck the strings on this out-of-tune old piano. She had a ball. Her biggest fantasy was fulfilled. But, when the sun came up, they were off to record Sergeant Pepper and we didn't even have a group: because without Michelle that sound just wasn't there. A few days later we arrive back in LA and Michelle's waiting at the airport. John had called. All was forgiven and they went home together. Cass gave me a look like: "I told you so."
John and Michelle Michelle moved back in with John because that was the only way she could get back into the group. He took her back because that's the only way The Mamas and The Papas could continue. And they got along OK after that I guess. I mean, they'd been there before. Only this was a lot more glamorous. They bought Jeanette's MacDonald's old Bel Air Estate. Their shocking soirees , dripping with the very krill of Hollywood society, were legend.
Money burning Cass moved in next to Rudi Valee. I bought Mary Astor's old place up on Apian Way. House and contents. An antique-filled mansion on the highest street in Los Angeles. Incredible view! I start ordering everything by the case. "Let the party begin". Party. Party. Party. See by this time the money is rolling in so fast nobody even bothers to count it. Slippery stone. We should have, but . . . Everybody is pretending like everything is just great. We're touring - hopping about the mid-west in a private Lear Jet, honking on a four-stemmed hookah full of hash. So, it doesn't seem as awful as it is.

And here comes the summer of love . . .

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