I remember the day that I stood on the front porch of Miss Baxter’s boarding house with nothing more than a duffle bag slung over my shoulder, and very few alternatives if things didn’t work out. I pressed the bell and waited. A short time later I was greeted by a stunning middle-aged woman, perfectly coiffed and elegantly dressed in a dark trouser suit and heels. Her warm smile had a way of putting me at ease.
“You must be Julie, my pianist,” she said as she offered her hand.
I was a little surprised by her way of addressing me. I vaguely remember listing piano as one of my talents on her application, but it was mostly as an afterthought, something to avoid leaving too many things unanswered. There were a lot of odd little questions like that, and I hardly thought it would be the first
