Marilyn
Goes to Hicksville! (A Marilyn/Dan Hicks Epic 32 Years in the Making)
(continued)
And I'm not the sort of person who enjoys being turned down, nor
spending a lot of energy trying to negotiate friends to want to be with
me, so I try to second-guess situations so as to avoid too much
negativity thrown my way. Family married-with-kids issues quickly
narrow the field, as do the single friends who work on Saturdays (two
of my key music friends, Chris the concert attendee and Gwen the
chantuese, who tend to either arrive late to my Saturday evening
birthday parties or, in Gwen's case, maybe only once a decade at all)
or live in California (commute's also an issue -- Mike's in Athens,
Ed's in LA, Porter and Leslie who are both musicheads are dealing with
the family thing AND living outside of Atlanta AND both can work on
Saturdays).
So I call my brother Wayne, who has a family and
lives on the
Tennessee/Virginia border, but, unlike any of my friends, has heard of
Dan Hicks AND is a Dan Hicks fan, and say, "Hey, Wayne! Wanna roadtrip
to Atlanta for the Dan Hicks and His Hot Licks concert Saturday
night?" He makes that painful disappointing sound, and says he'd
really like to, but he'd all ready bailed on the family for a trip to
Ohio to see his nephew (-in-law) graduate because he's got too much
stuff going on at work. I say, "That's PERFECT! No one will know
you
did it! Come ONNNNN!" He says no, but then happily adds,
"Remember
when he was on Flip Wilson?"
To make a long story a teensy bit less long, I,
taking a chance he
wouldn't be working, call Chris and he says, yeah, maybe, well, why
not, but he might be working, so if anyone else wants to go, don't
hesitate to go with them over him, plus he knows the manager who can
get him in anyway, but he might be working, he'll find out and get back
to me.
I hang up the phone and burst into tears. I
HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT MEEEEEAAAAAAANS!
Except that he's giving me hope, rather than a
flat-out No.
But he still might have to bail.
So the fretting and strategic asking and getting
turned down
continues through the week, and I'm starting to stress that I can't
find a friend who can give me a 3-hour hit of their time.
(Melissa had
suggested I send a blanket email to everybody I know, but I'd assured
her the idea of getting 50 no's would pretty much do me in). Gwen
was
going to Paris for the week and returning Friday, which I take to mean
she would be too exhausted for a Saturday night show, but by Friday I'm
asking anyway (and then thinking if she was flying to Paris for a few
days and coming back on a Friday, maybe it's because she has a gig
lined up for that Saturday) -- she writes back saying, shockingly, that
"Dan Hicks RULES!" but she does have a gig (actually flew back for one
Friday as well, I think). Brian's going to be up all Friday night
doing a catering gig for the Atlanta Met Opera people, so he's planning
to be a zombie. Etc. And no update from Chris, despite my
email
Friday asking if he's still game and available.
Then Saturday afternoon, I have a phone message from
Chris asking
if I'm still in need o' company for the show (I later find out his
computer is in the shop, so he isn't getting any email), and he, a
seasoned concert attender, gives me tips on where to park (way
conveniently located lot behind the theater) and says to meet him at
The Yacht Club bar restaurant down the street from the Playhouse at
8.
I, trying to sound remotely cool even though I only have so much to
work with in these rare important-to-me concert cases, am like, but,
um, the show starts at 8:30... And he's like "the theater's 100
feet
from the door!" So I, trying to sound somewhat reminiscent of a
cool
person in this case, say okay. (It's general admission, but he'd
told
me earlier that there's a big open area in front of the stage where
people can walk up and dance or whatever, with the old theater seats
further back for people who just want to relax and watch the show, so I
figure there's room to move closer to the stage whenever we get there.)
So I get to the theater a little after 7 to find a
place to park
(and maybe hit Lucky Lil Devil punk rock kids clothing shop) and
there's all ready a crowd of glorious Dan Hicks fans gathered at the
door! Chris had said the place seated about 1000, he thought, and
there weren't too many people, so I decide not to panic yet, and stroll
around town, killing some time.
It's not long before I'm hovering the entrance of
the Yacht Club,
quickly slipping in and taking a walk around in the off-chance Chris is
there early. Nope. So I hang around outside the door,
letting the
alternating scents of flowers, cigarette smoke, various people smells,
and stale beer flow over me, while overhearing people commenting on the
flyers in the window ("Hey, look! Dan Hicks!" "And next week JJ Cale!"
"Yes, but DAN HICKS TONIGHT!").
And waiting. And waiting. Quarter 'til
8. Then five after, at
which point I begin letting angry thoughts play wild in my head.
I
turn and notice that a tree is perfectly blocking my view of the
restaurant's front door, which means it's also blocking anyone's view
of me, and I go back in -- where Chris is sitting at the front table,
and we both exchange "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN???" greetings, him saying
he'd been there for an hour in case I got there early, me saying I'd
been outside for a half hour AND I'd come in and looked for him, and
can I borrow his phone because I need to call a gypsy and cancel a
curse request. He was SITTING RIGHT OVER THERE, he says, pointing
three and a half feet away at the bar of people with their backs turned
toward us, and I point at all the backs of heads that look alike and we
drop it, except that I'm worried that I'd blown it and we'd have to go
to the show dinnerless.
Chris says not to worry, and half-jokes that he'll
have them hold
the show for us, then calls his friend the manager to find out when the
show really begins. He's told "8:30, rock and roll time" which
means
any time between 8:45 and 9. After we order and I look
increasingly
nervous, and we discuss his understanding of the desire of wanting to
get there and absorb the pre-show vibe, we cancel our orders and go on
to the show (I'd had half a Coke, he's finishing his beer --
s-l-o-w-l-y, despite my uncharacteristic encouragement for him to CHUG
CHUG CHUG it let's go! -- so food can wait).
So we're moving quickly down the sidewalk, just past
the halfway
point between bar and theater door, and Chris holds back and says,
wait, he left his phone in his car, he's got to go get it, and starts
walking in the other direction, away from the theater, toward the
parking lot, to my dismayed disbelief. "The phone you used to see
what
time the show starts?" I earnestly call after him. He digs a
little
deeper and pulls the phone from his pocket -- there it is. He
smiles,
nods it off, and we resume our hike. "Man, you REALLY don't care
about
coming to this show, do you?" I jokingly accuse him. WAIT! he
says,
starting to take off to his car again, then stops and smiles, and we
continue to the theater.
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