I nervously sat with my group outside the banquet room, going over the fingering, awaiting our turn for the audition. A group was already in there playing in there (I think a bad version of “Something”—thank god!). The John was uncharacteristically doing some kind of religious ritual, the Paul was picking out nose hairs, and the Ringo was checking his prosthetic nose.

“Next,” said the woman behind the door. We were up. I felt my steak and kidney pie starting to come up. Forget about it Taylor, it’s indigestion. It’s happened to you all the time, it’s normal.

I closed my eyes trying to get into character, while walking down the room, making my way to the stage. Think about the sitar, Hare Krishna, Ravi Shankar, drugs, guitars, Wonderwall, fast cars, psychedelia, sexy, sexy Pattie Boyd, Within You, Without You. Before I knew it, I had picked up the guitar, assumed a different posture, and strummed against it as if I had it all my life.

The blonde bird was winking at me. She was at a table with a sheet in front of her, with Jimmy and a few other men.

I smiled back at her.

“Whenever you’re ready, boys.”

We did four songs, one each. The John took “Help”, while the Paul did “Get Back” (I attempted to do the guitar dance on that one, although it wasn’t ’64) both milking it. It was my turn. I stepped up to the mike.

“‘Think For Yourself,” very original. We’ve mostly been hearing ‘While My Guitar Gently Weeps’ of ‘Something,’” said Jimmy.

I started shaking, waiting for them to give us the signal. “John” and “Paul” were both snickering.

I played the first note.

I got a word or two

To say about the things that you do.

You’re telling all those lies

About the good things we can have if we close our eyes.

Do what you want to do

And go where you’re going to

Think for yourself ‘cuz I won’t be there with you…