I'm Afraid of Armpits

Although I lost track of David Bowie over the past couple of years (always a fan, just not up-to-date on the public happenings in his life), the release of "hours" reminded me just how much I missed him. With his new CD blaring, I felt like I was 16 again (now I'm that times two), privately listening to "Let's Dance" with headphones on in my room.

Now with "hours" as my music companion, I decided to take the next step - bookmark some fan Web sites. Had to get caught up on the happenings in his life. What's he up to at age 52?

Immediately, I became swept up in the Teenage Wildlife site: Photos, news briefs, appearances. Bowie was everywhere, even on Rosie. I stumbled onto the Kit Kat Klub concert page and, on a whim, posted a notice to buy a ticket to the invitation-only show Nov. 19,1999 in New York City (in a galaxy far, far away...). Give me a break, it was just wishful thinking. At first.

A few days later, a reply: "I have one ticket to the show. Make me an offer." Oh my God! What do I do? What do I offer? What will my husband say when I go and he has to stay home? I made an offer. A big offer.

Next day came the second reply: "Someone has outbid you. Make another offer." What if this guy is a creep and I'm bidding against myself? What if I travel all the way to New York from California and there's no ticket? The hell with what-ifs, so I countered (bye-bye savings). Third reply: "Make your flight arrangements, the ticket is yours."

Adulation. Excitement. Fear. How do I tell my husband? Very sweetly: "Honey, what would you do if you had the chance to see Celtic play soccer in a stadium with only 10 other fans?" "That's stupid," his reply. "Soccer is best with more people." Okay - that analogy didn't work. Try again. Finally, I got him to understand, and booked my flight the next day.

New York is a big, fast place. People run into you and don't look back and say, "Sorry." I loved it. The night of the show, with sweat beading on my brow, I looked for Mr. X in front of the Disney Store to make the money-for-ticket exchange. Who would attack me in front of Mickey and Minnie? It may be New York, but no one is that inhuman.

There he was: Short, green jacket and face like Ralph Malph on "Happy Days." I figured if it went bad, I could take him. He turned out very nice and escorted me to the gates of my version of paradise - the Kit Kat Klub.

Outside the club, in a very long line, dedicated fans waited impatiently - especially impatiently when the snob VIPs got to flaunt past us through a side door. They didn't even look that excited. I don't think there were many other people from California, with most in attendance from the New York area. I could tell that from their accents and the great use of the word "F'n" with every sentence, such as "What's that F'n van doing there with all that video equipment? Look, they've got F'n cookies inside the van. I swear I'd F'n kill for a cookie and a chance to meet Bowie" (in that order).

Finally, the line started to move, inch by inch, and then we were in. Strange sort of club. It looked like a miniature version of a theater where you'd expect to see the Phantom of the Opera pop out and knock you in the F'n head. My stranger escort said, "Do you mind holding my bag while I go to the bathroom?" Stupid me: "Sure," I replied. In that moment I knew I made a fatal mistake. With every second he sat on the toilet, I lost valuable standing room-only space on the floor in front of the stage. Why, oh why, did I have to be California nice and hold his bag?

Ten lethal minutes later, which put us at least 15 feet further back into the crowd, he emerged, and we took our place among the tightly-wedged bodies. Still, we we're closer than most average mortals to the stage where any moment Mr. Bowie himself would appear. Then, it happened (no, not the magical appearance), somehow I got stuck behind a 6-foot-plus mean guy and his twin wall of a big, blond-haired girlfriend. They stood side by side, effectively blocking my view and basically suffocating me in black leather. I couldn't see!

Then a voice - "Life on Mars" - and the surreal night began. Through their armpits, I could see a sliver of him in all his glory: Those famous eyes, long brown hair, really big, but straight teeth and slim, youthful body in a rockin' green suit. And the voice, oh the voice...so familiar, yet 100 times more beautiful in person. I tried to hold my breath, hoping that time would stop and this night would never end. But instead it seemed like time accelerated. Doesn't it always when you're at your happiest?

The 17-song set was amazing, featuring old favorites such as "Drive in Saturday," "Ashes to Ashes" and "Cracked Actor," recent releases such as "I'm Afraid of Americans" and his newest material from "hours." David (I feel we should be on a first-name basis now) was so cool and collected, addressing the crowd, having fun with his band mates and generally charming every living thing in site, and even a few of the unliving in the haughty VIP section.

I wanted so much to wave to him, catch his eye and say, "David, you know me. I'm Lisa from California. We've been friends for a long time." But, alas, no wave, no special moment, and the strange realization that he doesn't know me and never will. Does every fan feel that way after they see the object of their affection from a so-close-but-yet-so-far distance? It's kind of a disturbing feeling. It puts you in your place in the larger scheme of the universe, which isn't at the level of a friend of a superstar.

Just under two hours later, the intimate concert ended. I stood there, finally getting a great view of the stage after Goliath and his girlfriend departed. Would he come out one more time? Would I be able to see more than his forehead? Nope, a full body view just wasn't in the stars. Guess I'll have to pull out my Serious Moonlight Tour poster from the '80s and pretend I'm 16 again. My husband is a little jealous of my rekindled affection for David. But, as I learned in New York, F-him if he can't take joke.

Thanks, David, for an unexpected trip across country and an unforgettable concert. I kiss you!