
Shoutout to Brad Kyle of
who I met in my very first Substack Office Hours in January 2023, and who persuaded me to write up this story and publish it. Thank you Brad. You’ve inspired me to create a section here on The Muse dedicated to all the serendipitous encounters with celebrities, political leaders, and public figures I’ve had the pleasure to meet in my lifetime so far. Naturally, I’m calling it “Backstage”!Here’s to you and all who live life to the fullest!
It was August of 1989. I had graduated high school, and in a few weeks I would leave Connecticut to fly across the country to California to attend my dream school that I had somehow, against all odds, been accepted to. I was West Coast-bound, California-dreamin’, as the song goes, off to the land of sunshine and endless surf.
But first, I had a show to do. I had been invited to play the Queen of Hearts at a Shakespeare at the Park performance in some little town whose name I really should have remembered, if only for this story.
My job was to regale the audience and keep them entertained before the show started. I was dressed up in a bouncy white dress with big red hearts, my hair all done up in curls and lipstick far too red for my taste. In the middle of this pre-show, I suddenly saw my mother rushing toward me. Oh god what happened, I thought. But the look on her face wasn’t one of emergency—oh good no one died—rather, one of extreme urgency.
“The Rolling Stones are shooting a video and they need dancers!” she blurted out in one breath. I looked at her annoyed.
“Mom, that’s great but I can’t leave the show. I’m playing the Queen of Hearts!”
My mom looked at me as if I’d had a brain injury (considering my answer, I can see that).
“It’s the ROLLING STONES,” she said, incredulous, emphasizing the words to make sure I understood which rock band she was talking about. As in, the world-famous, the legendary, the ones and only, the Stones. You know, Mick, Keith, Ronnie, Charlie, Bill...
“They’ll understand, just tell them you need to leave, now.”
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