Conversations With Rock Stars

Uh, that's alright, it's awful doggone clear

April 1975

The sun shone through the windows, illuminating the cloud of cigarette smoke that hung over the table. Mr. Lee sat at the head, spinning lazily in his swivel chair, listening to one of my fellow journalists explain his story. I took a drag of my cigarette and glanced again at my notes. This meeting was to discuss the upcoming issue of the magazine and to work on fact-checking and editing the articles that were scheduled to be printed. Since last October, I had been able to get what I'd written into the magazine, without it being corrupted for a cheap thrill like my Shepperton article, by limiting the amount of people I shared my notes with. However, it still had to be approved by Mr. Lee and I was not looking forward to the criticism that accompanied these meetings, being fully aware that his favor did not rest on me. Mr. Lee waved his hand and asked, "What do we have on Rushs' upcoming US tour, Dan?" Dan pushed his glasses higher on his nose and said,

"I have a one-on-one interview with Geddy Lee right before their Pittsburgh date on the 14th." I inwardly gagged and blew a breath out in annoyance as he continued, "I also just wrote an article based on the tapes that Richard sent me concerning Nancy Wilson's interview about recording a new song for their upcoming album."

"Excellent," Mr. Lee looked pleased. His gaze wandered around the table and came to land on me. "Beverly, how about you? What can you contribute?" I took a breath before briefly describing my article about the Faces most recent tour. He nodded. "Yes, I suppose that will do, although how interesting are the Faces anymore? I heard Ronnie Wood is leaving the band to join the Rolling Stones. So, how much is there to actually write about?" I started to explain that there were many fans still interested in the Faces and that because I was with the band quite a bit, the readers loved hearing all the details. "Yes, I'm aware of that," he said, exasperated. "But see someone like Dan here," Dan sat up straighter in his chair, "is actually going after music that's in style, the scene that everyone wants. You on the other hand are becoming terribly old fashioned." Here, he stood up and walked to the window, overlooking the street below. I watched him, seething inside. He turned and addressed the writers gathered at the table. "Don't be like her." Heads glanced my way and I felt my cheeks burn. "You're dismissed. Get back to work." I pulled my notes to myself, but, "Beverly, stay behind a moment." I paused and watched everyone else leave. Sharon gave me a sympathetic glance and then left. Mr. Lee walked over to me and leaned his hands on a chair a little ways from me. "Beverly, I can't keep on a writer who doesn't bring in good stories-"

"I do! You know I do," I interrupted.

"And barely any profit," he finished. Ah, here was the core issue. The dictator of the oldest order - money. "If you continue this pattern, you'll lose your job," he warned.

"I understand, sir," I replied, standing up and leaving.

•••

I slammed the door to my apartment and flung my arms around, in an effort to release my anger, but not damage anything. Finally, I found myself standing by the window, where I could barely make out the ocean and the setting sun. I pulled my hair, saying, "Think, think. You know how much people love reading your stories. No one else does what I do. No one else came at the time I did. And no rockstar trusts any other journalist to be near them and interview them like I do." I knelt before my record collection, running a finger over the albums. "What should I do?" I pulled out Led Zeppelin's first album and opened it to see their pictures inside. "Show me what to do," I whispered.

May 1st, 1975 - Greenwich Village

I waited with the gathering of other journalists who were eagerly anticipating one-on-one conversations and interviews with the Stones. I wound my way around a clump of them and stepped outside the restaurant. It was raining outside and I crossed my arms, standing under the awning and watched the drips fall. I squinted my eyes, trying to see through the rain and smog. I could hear music playing, and I was trying to place what song it was, when out the fog appeared a flatbed truck, plugging up traffic behind it. The music was getting louder and the others inside the restaurant started trickling outside. The truck stopped in front of the restaurant, and lo and behold, there were the Rolling Stones, pounding away to Brown Sugar. They paused in front and around me came shouted questions from the journalists.