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Back in the
early 90’s I used to part time work for the new arena for the Magic as catering
manager on weekends. Supervisor really. I made sure all the illegals, mostly Haitians
who were not always interested in working but their govt’ green and run out and
none had been able to turn that voodoo sideline business into anything, Outside
of selling voodoo weed, that brought in any real money: worked.
So, I am
watching these guys as we prep for Dionne Warwick to come in. She has a show in
a few hours. Her food/service demands are marginal for a celebrity. The only
stupid thing is shrimp must be called PRAWNS. And they cannot be small. They
must be ‘the largest available that are fresh and not frozen’ or something like
that.
The only
noticeable thing in her contract was her requirement for champagne. I forget
the brand but it was a pain to find and really expensive. And she wanted a lot.
I sort of thought it was for the band or a post show celebration. (that’s called
foreshadowing)
Like for a
celebrity type it would have easier to score her a soup bowl full of cocaine
than this champagne was sooo hard to find.. And probably cost much less.
But she
brought her own mixing bowl for that. (that’s not foreshadowing – that’s HUGE)
(and that’s foreshadowing).
Gotta love
celebrities.
Anyway, she
comes with her band. Well, actually she arrives after the band, in her own
separate limo. As she arrives at the back door area: she hides underneath an
imaginary coat and hides her face. She is dressed sharply in a short skirt and
blouse that look very expensive. As she hurries along she is either hiding from
nobody – as nobody is there to see her (think norma desmond) or she is more coked
out than a room full of TV execs who have done so many drugs that Jim Belushi
becomes funny and gets the green-light for his own show of 8 laugh free years.
“John was
@#$%%^ hysterical. I mean come on, his lil’ brother has got have some of it.
People will watch. His brand is great and, I miss John. Go for it. Give him the
go ahead for his show. Now. Go get the hooker so I can snort some snow off her
ski ramps.”
So, she runs
into her room past the throngs of cement blocks she imagined were people
looking for a glimpse of her greatness. A while later I am called into her
dressing room. She is pissed because the ‘prawns’ are too small. BLAH BLAH
BLAH. She’s already half to more than half-hammered; is drinking the champagne
from a tumbler and is slurring.
I try to
explain about how these were the largest available…. freshest… best seafood
supplier. We are in Orlando, not San Jose, which I know they way to – BTW:
HAHAHAH. But is not a joke MISS WARWICK (also, how her contract mandates she
must be addressed) finds any humor in. REALLY. She’s got one freaking song from
100 years ago and you can’t reference it in front of her? Sheesh. She gets red,
really red, which is hot b/c she is black. Light black, but black. She steams
inside and stares at me.
But she goes
over to her mixing bowl and champagne serving table. She must have dropped
something in the mixing bowl: prolly an earring or something, b/c she bends over for while looking into it.
I notice at this point she is not wearing any underpants. I think of “I see
London…..’ but restrain myself after the whole ‘San Francisco’ thing. Maybe she
is not musically fond of songs about cities. As she is obviously not fond of
underpants. I let it go.
And now she
is not fond of the shrimp. As I was staring at celebrity cooter she had picked
up the ‘prawn’ serving tray and thrown it at the wall. I have had this type of
an issue before with celebrity types. So, I get all mellow. Order a Haitian to
clean it up. Assure MISS WARWICK that all is well. We’ll get her some more
PRAWNS. And we’ll make sure they’re large. She references something about
liking HUGE PRAWNS. I pour her some champagne in a champagne glass. She is
wasted. Really. Like Keith Moon drunk.
We talk for
a few more and she starts to like me a little. I pour her more champagne. Her
handlers are in the other room smoking weed and playing Nintendo. I talk more
about her musical legacy. BLAH BLAH BLAH. I get called away by the Haitian
Voodoo Junior Mafia as someone’s voodoo doll spell had not worked in helping
them win the lottery or something as equally as relevant and life moves on.
About an
hour or so passes before show time. About 5 minutes to curtain. I decide to
stop by and visit to make sure all is okay and to remind MISS WARWICK that will
have larger PRAWNS after the show.
And to see
if I can spot the celebrity cooter again. I go in and MISS WARWICK is so drunk.
She can’t even stand up. She is sloppy drunk. She is wasted. Really. Like Keith
Moon drunk but with a vagina instead of a drum stick.
She is so
wasted her handlers lift her up from the sofa, carry her to the side of the
stage. Kind of Raggety Ann drag her legs really. The diva is standing at the
side of the stage holding onto the curtains to stop the stage from spinning.
MISS WARWICK is introduced. And like the snap of a twig she is sober and
walking out onto the stage as gracefully as a princess; if princess were a real
job and you didn’t have to marry your cousin or something.
Did you know
that King Charles II of Spain in the 1600’s
(also known as Charles the Retard, Charles the
Hexed: although the Spanish version: El Hechizado, sounds much cooler, and Nick
Saban) was so inbred that a brother humping his sister (also known as Alabama
Fan) who had children and those children would be more genealogically separated
than Charles II of Spain was. So, Bama Fans are sort of like homozygous Royalty.
But the Sweet
MISS WARWICK went on. Stunned the crowd. Gave good patter. Sang well. Moved
around well. 85 minutes later she was done.
Many
celebrities can do this. Billy Joel is really good at this. One of his contract
requirements is a golf cart so he can be given a ride to the stage as he can be
so wasted as to not be able to walk. Sometimes they have to put him at the
piano before the curtain goes up there is so much fear he would not be able to
walk to it. But put him there, turn the lights up and let the crowd cheer – and
he is the Drunk Piano Man. He did get to sleep with Christie Brinkley though.
If only my story carried that theme.
The Haitians
had gotten more PRAWNS from Lombardi’s. Called the sales manager at 8 on a
Friday night. Thought all was ok after they were safely put in a serving dish
for her return. I am off working with the crews to get more beer for the band
when I am called to an emergency to MISS WARWICK’S room.
I enter the
room and we are alone. She has returned to pre-show drunkenness. She is still
pissed about the PRAWNS. Mildly hollering about the PRAWNS being inadequate.
Since we are alone I get a bit indignant on her.
The
conversation goes no where. And I know we are alone when I shout, “ You want a
BIG PRAWN MISS WARWICK. We’ll, I’ve got one right here!!!!”
She hikes up
her dress quicker than a hobo jumps on a dropped quarter. She is still not
wearing panties, and I shout, ‘I know the way to your San Jose woman’. And we
proceed to have short, unsatisfying sex. It was cool though. I was singing “I
see London, I see France…’ during the act of making a beast with two backs.
When we are
done she tells me to leave. Actually, she tells to get the $^$% out. And I do.
She walks over to the mixing bowl to make some muffins I presume. I pour her a
champagne and leave.
As I am
walking out to return to work I remembered that she used to be involved with
Phillip Michael Thomas. And the slogan when you sleep with someone – you sleep
with everyone they’ve slept with.
EWWHHHHH……
Miami Vice
reruns are never the same.
