The Fake Photo That Came True
Language: en
The day the orchestra’s new soloist joined us, she walked straight up to Lennon. Her fingers trailed over the polished ebony of the grand piano at his side—the one everyone knew was off-limits. With a saccharine smile, she asked, "They say only the mistress of the house is allowed to touch this. Do you think I could try a piece on it?" Lennon didn't even look up from his scores. "Go ahead," he murmured. "Whatever you like." The rehearsal hall went deathly quiet. Dozens of eyes swung toward me, sharp and stinging. Everyone knew who I was—the woman who had stayed by Lennon’s side for seven…