September 2008. My best friend from college is getting married in three days. But right now I am working my last day on an Ashton Kutcher film. I have a lot of work to do and got off to a late start. But the office is in Hollywood, so I go to Melrose and Cahuenga for lunch at my favorite Tacqueria.
At the end of my lunch, I notice a tall brunette at the counter. As she turns to sit down, sparks of recognition go off inside my cranium. Spinning through the rolodex in my brain, I think I’ve landed on the right card. But I am not certain. This is going to nag at me for the rest of the day. And I have a lot of work to do. Damn!
She is by herself and appears to be texting someone. I go up to her, “Excuse me. I hate to interrupt, but are you the singer in the band The Donnas?” For those of you who don’t know The Donnas were one hit wonders back in 2003. Their song “Take it Off” got a lot of radio and MTV airplay. I bought the album and liked it. I also bought their next album and went to see one of their concerts (but I must admit, the fact that it was a free show bolstered my choice).
The woman replies, “Yes. I am”
“Oh my god! I am a psycho big fan of yours. Do you know how much of your music I have on my iPod?” I punctuate that sentence by pulling the plastic and glass rectangle from my pocket. She thanks me and I am satisfied. She is who I thought she was. But I continue, “I even have your newest album, Bitchin’.” She is clearly impressed. They left Atlantic Records and released that album independently. I neglect to mention that I only listened to it once since downloading it.
A wave of embarrassment flickers through my being. I appear to be a gawking fan. Being star struck or obsessed with fandom has never been a part of my makeup. I feel the need temper it by saying, “You guys are from the bay area, right? That’s how I heard about you because I went to Berkeley.”
“Oh my god. I went to Berkeley too. For about a minute.” She asks my name and I actually have to ask the same of her. I am still standing next to Brett, and she says, “Would you like to sit down?” gesturing to the opposite seat. It’s my last day on the job. I have a ton of work. I got off to a late start. Tomorrow I get on a plane for New York and still haven’t packed. I just spent a half an hour eating my lunch. I really should get back to the office. But....
How often does a complete stranger invite you to sit down with them?
How often does a beautiful woman invite you to sit down with her?
How often does someone famous invite you to sit down with them?
How often do you get a chance to talk to an artist you are actually a fan of?
Well this is a no-brainer. I’ll stay in the office until midnight if I have to. I take the seat. Early in the conversation Brett realizes that I am not really a fair weather fan of her band and says, “Oh you must come to Desert Moon!” I ask her what it is. She explains that it is a meet and greet and concert for their fan club out in the desert halfway between Joshua Tree and Palm Springs. They perform two sets and the songs are voted on by the fan club. It was the weekend after next.
I retort, “Hey, I’m a fan. But I’m a male and I’m in my thirties. I’m not a member of your fan club!” I don’t think I have ever been a member of any fan club for anything. Brett explains that the tickets are now open to everyone and that fan club members just get a package with stickers and junk. I explain, “Well tomorrow I’m getting on a plane for New York to go to my best friend’s wedding. So that is what is immediately on my mind. I’ll be back in about a week. So I’ll try to be there. But I can’t make any promises right now.”
Long story short, we had an amazing conversation. It ranges from growing up, to Obama and people who don’t travel, to therapy, to the music and film industries, to movies and music themselves. It is unequivocally the best conversation I have had in two years. Since my last girlfriend dumped me. Very early on I knew I was gonna ask her for her contact info and wanted to stay in touch.
But here is the funny part. Even though Brett was totally engaging and is extremely beautiful – I was not hitting on her. Because the entire time I thought she still lived in the bay area. I sat down out of curiosity. And while it was not in my conscious mind, I think that I unconsciously recalled my lost opportunity with Jerry Garcia. (See Part I). It wasn’t until the very end of the conversation that I learned that she and her entire band had moved to Los Angeles. But by this point the dice had been cast.
We were still talking long after she had finished her meal when my cell phone rings with a call about work. I end the conversation by saying, “Look. I’ve really enjoyed talking to you. You’re an amazing conversationalist. I’d love to stay in touch. Could I get your email address or something?” There is a pause and I realize that I am screwed. So I get really duplicitous. “Or let me give you mine. After all, I could be some psycho stalker.” Usually that guilts someone into giving their information. But she is unfazed.
I give her my email and say I hope to hear from her that I will try to make it to the concert. After getting back from the wedding, I found a friend to drive out to the desert with me. Brett did remember me and was friendly. She claimed that she told her mother about me. I didn’t get a whole lot of face time with Brett at the concert. It was like when you go to your friend’s wedding. You shake his hand, congratulate him, and move on because he has a million things to do. However, I did meet her mother (who was rather aloof), her father (who was extremely aloof), and her brother and his girlfriend – who was actually very friendly. But no further connection was made.
Hindsight is 20/20. And going over it in my mind, there were a few hints she dropped in that lunch. When Brett first invited me to sit she said, “Is this how people meet?” Also later she was telling me a story and said, “I went there with my boyfriend... at the time.” But I am not interested in a woman who lives 400 miles away, so I am not clueing into the signs. I am just being friendly. By the time it came out that Brett lives in Los Angeles, I had already been written off as just a fan. It’s not like she met me on a film set or at a Hollywood party where I am automatically vetted as a peer. The cliché is correct. You don’t get a second chance to make a first impression.
Most people develop crushes on Rock Stars in their ‘tweens. Mine came twenty years late. Talk about a late bloomer!
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