Ringo has also signed with the label, which is angling to represent all four ex-Beatles. “Whatever John wants for this record, we’ll give it to him!” one Columbia executive tells Jack Douglas.

Thirty-seven-year-old David Geffen is equally motivated. As a cofounder of Asylum Records in 1971 and a former vice chairman of Warner Bros. Pictures, he has an impressive pedigree and shrewd business instincts. He understands that if he is to win the deal, Yoko is the one he needs to convince.

He sends her a telegram, and she invites him to a meeting at the Dakota. He arrives dressed all in white—Yoko’s favorite color, according to his research.

Yoko, wearing all black, makes a positive assessment of Geffen, determining that he has “good numbers.” He also boasts a roster of top talent, including five-time Grammy winner Donna Summer, the first singer to sign with the label.

John’s a fan. He plays The Wanderer—Summer’s eighth studio album and Geffen Records’ inaugural release—over and over again. Its title single is out on September 27. He brings a 45 into Yoko’s office so she can hear Summer’s vocal technique. “Listen! She’s doing Elvis!”

Without hearing Double Fantasy, Geffen agrees to Yoko’s terms. John and Yoko’s album will be a Geffen Records release.

Yoko has one final condition. She wants control over where the record is made. “You can do it anywhere in the world except for the Record Plant,” she tells Jack Douglas’s business partner, Stan Vincent, “and not California” (referencing her disagreements with the Record Plant’s owner as well as John’s “lost weekend”).

John and Yoko take over the Hit Factory’s sixth floor, equipped with keyed private elevators for security.

Sean later remembers those special days. “Everything’s there; it’s carpeted and warm; the lighting is dim. It’s very cozy. My parents are both there. The music’s loud and clear and exciting. It’s a very magical environment for a kid.”

On the days Sean can’t be in the studio, John tapes a color photo of his son inside the glass-paneled control booth. “He was looking at me all the time,” John says, struggling with guilt over their first extended separation. He keeps a tight watch on the clock so he can be home in time to take part in their beloved good-night ritual.

When John rehearses the song “Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy),” he decides to perform the closing lyric in a whisper. “Good night, Sean, see you in the morning.”

*  *  *

“Here’s David Sheff,” John sings to the tune of “Eleanor Rigby,” “come to ask questions with answers that no one will hear.”