October 20th, 1990
Met up with some of the crew for lunch (we’re too messed up with the time changes to even consider breakfast anymore) but due to the rain and chilly air, we only made it as far as the café around the corner.
On our return, the lobby was filled with roadies carting in tons of what looked like excessively heavy equipment, all in preparation for tonight’s concert. They all wore the same shaggy hairstyle (I’m loosely using the term “style” here!) heavy beards, belted jeans and various types of concert t-shirts from era’s past. I thought of David and how much we’d laugh over the apparent “roadie uniform,” and in that moment, I missed him more than I think I ever have.
A few of us arranged to meet for dinner but the giant, squishy bed held more appeal than a night out on the town, so I rang Andy.
“I’m not going out.”
“Just like that? Do you at least have an excuse?” he asked.
He cracked up laughing. “You can borrow one of my jumpers. I might even have a hat somewhere. And a pair of gloves. Oh and…”
“Very funny but I’m tired and just not in the mood.”
I didn’t dare tell him I was already in bed, surrounded by paper and pens in preparation for a marathon letter writing session, which just reminded me I don’t have David’s new address!
“So, you’re not really cold, you just can’t be bothered.”
“Something like that.”
“You’re a wimp!”
“Maybe so but I’m still not going out.”
“Fair enough but if you wake up through the night, slip a note under my door. I’m sleeping like shit on this trip.”
“I’m glad I’m not the only one,” I yawned.
“Yeah but unlike you I’m plodding on!”
Saturday night and I’m in bed watching Glenn Close and Michael Douglas in, “Fatal Attraction,” while, several floors below, in the ballroom, people triple my age are swaying in unison, singing “Heartbreaker,” with Dionne Warwick.