Love In Her Eyes

11

A few minutes later, the limousine pulls up to the entrance of the Continental Hyatt Hotel, also infamously known as the Riot House, or so I'm told. Oh dear.
The short ride from the Whiskey A Go Go has gone pretty well, I think.
The boys are all very friendly, and seem delighted that I've joined them. Of course, the feeling is mutual.

Jimmy Page hasn't been able to take his eyes off me. Or at least, every time I turn away from chatting with Robert, Jimmy is just gazing at me with those eyes.....

But- maybe he's just staring because he's so shocked to see me after all these years- again, the feeling is mutual- and of all things in America, this time. What are the odds?

The limousine comes to a stop in front of the hotel doors, and my momentary reverie is over.

After the boys file out of the car and head for the entrance, Robert waits for me, and extends his hand.

I can never resist a gentleman, so I let him pull me out of the limo and to my feet.

"Thank you," I say.

Robert smiles.
"Just so you're prepared, it may be a bit bonkers inside."

I acknowledge his warning with a nod, but really all I can think about is how nice it is to hear a term that is familiar, as well as the lovely British lilt from which it was spoken.

He sounds like home.

When we walk in the hotel- Robert and I following behind the others- I realize right away what he meant.
There were at least three dozen or more people packed tightly in the lobby.

It wasn't hard to see that they weren't actually hotel guests, but rather fans in the know.

We are spotted instantly. There's a brief pause, and then mayhem ensues. They encroach on us like a pack of wolves, pushing and shoving and fighting, all in hopes to catch a close-up glimpse of Led Zeppelin in the flesh.

Hotel security guards go into action as best as they can, and some people do comply, but a handful of the fans are relentless.

The boys names were yelled repeatedly as we trekked on through, the elevators across the large room being our goal.

Robert wore a pleasant smile on his face the entire time, which surprised me. I did the same, trying to channel my model persona; I'd been to my share of large events back in New York where wild fans were guaranteed, but this still felt new.

Eventually we made it to an elevator, and the five of us stepped on gratefully.
The doors were almost closed when two teenage girls came out of nowhere and attempted to throw themselves in with us.
The doors shut just in the nick of time, and a loud thump came from the outside.
My hand flew to my chest and my eyes widened when I saw a chunk of brown hair that was caught in the doors, float down to the elevator floor.

There's a beat of pure silence, and then all the guys share a good laugh.

"Told you, didn't I?" Robert said with a grin.

"Yes, but I think you downplayed it a bit."

He laughs casually. "Sorry, I guess I'm just used to it by now."

As we begin to lift off, I think to myself: this is how the Beatles must have felt.

The elevator stops smoothly on the sixth floor and we all get off.

I walk beside Robert down the brightly lit, carpeted hallway, Jimmy is in the lead.

We stop abruptly after a moment and Jimmy knocks softly on room 661.