I was working in the Green Door Room one night—a six, girl-on-girl live nude show, ending with semi-private toy show—and while I was in the middle of a dildo show, I spotted a musician friend of mine. I waved and gave him the, I’ll be there when I’m finished, gesture. After my show, I hugged the group of guys who had paid me, wiped my pussy with a towel and put on a skimpy outfit. I sauntered over to my friend, Mark, and his buddy, who were sitting on one of the three steps by the Cabanas. I hugged Mark, and he introduced me to his pal. He used my real name. “Hi, nice to meet you”, I said as I shook his hand.
“Hey”, he said, “Mark’s told me a lot about you.”
“Is that right? All good, I hope”, I said and winked.
“What do you do?”, I asked.
“I’m a musician.”
“Ok, so…what coffee house do you work at?” I was feeling frisky. I giggled and leaned against Mark, who was being uncharacteristicly quiet.
“No, really, I’m a musician”, he said in a shy manor.
“Yeah yeah, don’t be embarrassed. I used to pump gas at Chevron, there’s no shame in honest work.”
They weren’t saying anything. Then Mark pipes up, “He’s not lying. He’s the guitarist for _______.”
A cunt hair moment of silence passed. “Oh shit, I dance to one of your songs, my bad. Nice to meet you.”
We all laughed, and went about getting to know each other and shooting the shit. I saw him around town at a few parties after that, and Mark told me he had a crush on me. A couple months later, my boyfriend and I broke up, so I gave Mark the go ahead to give what’s-his-name my number.
We ended up dating for a short time. He was really sweet, but it wasn’t a love connection. Not really. It was fun being in his world for a minute though. His band had the number one selling record at the time. I went to the recording studio with him while they worked on some post shit and singles. He owned the most incredible house in San Francisco. I spent Halloween Eve passing out candy with him. Most times, he would stay out of view and I’d open the door to field the, “Does _________ live here?”
He was surprisingly down to earth. He’d been in the limelight for a long time. I worked at a their shows in the 80’s. He muttered some hints about marriage once, but I didn’t pay it much mind. Although perhaps I should have. I would have been set for life. But as much as I love money and the freedom it affords, I like making my own. The thought of riding on someone else’s coattails doesn’t appeal to me. I really did love his house though. I may have liked it better than him. Hell, his guitar collection alone could have covered both of my first two properties combined.
At some point, my ex-boyfriend wanted to get back together. And because I loved him—and had invested interest in the relationship—I ended it with the rock star.