The next day, the band flies to Paris for a three-week booking at the prestigious Olympia theater. They check into the George V hotel.

A French DJ sends over The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan, the folksinger’s second album. “For three weeks in Paris, we didn’t stop playing it,” John says. “We all went potty about Dylan.” He even has a leather cap identical to the one Dylan wears on the cover of his first album. “Everyone will think I copied it from him,” John laments.

“Beat-les! Beat-les! Beat-les!” fans chorus outside the sold-out shows.

The British press, ever skeptical that Beatlemania is likely to spread across the Channel—or the Atlantic Ocean—gathers at the hotel on January 17, where news is breaking. After just three days on sale, the Beatles’ new single has sold over 250,000 copies. Capitol Records telegrams Brian: “I Want to Hold Your Hand” is the number-one single in America.

According to road manager Mal Evans, the Beatles celebrate with their own brand of hijinks. “They always act this way when anything big happens—just a bunch of kids, jumping up and down with sheer delight. They felt this was the biggest thing that could have happened. And who could blame them.”

Daily Express photographer Harry Benson witnesses the scene. “One morning, the press is invited up to their room and Paul says, ‘That was some pillow fight we had the other night,’” Benson recalls in a 2019 interview. “My eyes went up and I looked over at another photographer from the Daily Mail and I wondered if the bastard had picked up on it.”

He hasn’t. Benson is alone in his quest for the perfect shot.

“How about a pillow fight?” Benson asks the giddy band.

“John looks away, grabs a pillow and comes back hitting Paul in the back of the head,” Benson recalls. “Now it’s game on.”

—

December 6, 1980

Society means nothing to me, except as a tool to be used, Mark tells himself as he leaves the YMCA. People are things, objects for my pleasure.

He can fool anyone.

Just like John Lennon fooled the world.

The Dakota is only a few blocks away. As he walks, he sees Lennon’s face everywhere promoting his new release, Double Fantasy.

He locks eyes on the image all over newsstands, record stores, and billboards. His target.

It frightened him the first time he saw the Dakota, ringed by dozens of cast-iron black gargoyles, the creatures’ jaws open, bodies and tails curled around the railings.

The more he studied the Gothic revival–style building, gazing deeply into the gaslit entryway, the more his fear turned to excitement. By the time he’d crossed the street, he felt like Dorothy approaching the Emerald City in The Wizard of Oz.

As he draws closer, Mark sees three people gathered in front of the Dakota hoping to get a glimpse of Lennon—maybe even an autograph, if they’re lucky.