Katey got the ticket at the last minute; one of her friends had purchased it but couldn't go. What incredible luck! A front row seat at a Michael Bolton concert! She would have to go alone, but that would be just fine; she just loved Michael Bolton, and could really enjoy the concert without having to socialize.
Her seat was even better than expected, right in front row center. The people around her were younger – college kids maybe – and seemed to be together. They were passing a small bottle of Tequila, and got rowdier as the rather bland warm-up act did a few numbers. A waft of marijuana smoke floated by, but she couldn't tell where it came from.
After a short break, the house lights dimmed, the stage lights came up, and the fabulous Michael Bolton strode onto the stage. He was even more gorgeous in person than in pictures, wearing skin tight leather pants and a loose, open cotton shirt. Taking the microphone in hand he opened by belting out When a Man Loves a Woman, the jazz combo behind him bathed in blue light. So close to the stage she could see every movement, here every word.
When Bolton came to his final number, Only a Woman Like You, it seemed he was singing only to her, the bass pulsing like a heartbeat under the melody. She looked up at him, enthralled ... and gasped inwardly. Could this be her imagination? He was looking at her, singing to her, their eyes meeting for more than a few seconds before he sauntered stage right, where the spotlight framed his face as the music ebbed to a whisper. Then thunderous applause as the lights came up, and Bolton took his bows. In front of her he again caught her gaze, lowering his eyelids slightly.
Katey sighed and slipped her jacket over her shoulders, turning to leave. Just then a young man, kind of scraggly looking, tapped her on the shoulder. "Hi, I am on the road crew," he began. "Michael wanted me to ask if you would meet him backstage."
She didn't understand at first. "Michael?"
"Yeah, you know, Michael Bolton. He said he would like you to come backstage to meet him".
This couldn't be true. Sure, she had imagined their eyes had met, but really ... to meet Bolton in person. She looked skeptical "Okayyyyyy ... this isn't a trick, is it?"
"Look, lady, I just work with the band, and do what I am told. Follow me if you want."
Following behind the young man she noticed his long hair and giggled to herself, thinking "and I thought the hippies died out in the 70s." They went though a door at the side of the hall, up some steps, and suddenly were backstage. The crew was already breaking down the set. In a moment they came to a door with "dressing room" stenciled on the outside.
"Here it is lady", the roadie gestured, then vanished down the narrow hallway. Katey didn't know what do to. She rapped lightly on the door.
A voice from inside responded. "Yeah? Come in." She cautiously turned the handle and pushed the door open, looking around the edge of it.
From his dressing stool Michael Bolton looked into the large mirror before him, seeing Katey's reflection as she peeked in. "Oh! Hiiiiiii!" he smiled. "It's you. I saw you in the audience. You really seemed to be enjoying the concert."
Katey stammered, still almost disbelieving. "Yes. Yes. I loved it. I have always loved your music. I'm a big fan." Then to herself, cringing, "Geez, that must have sounded so stupid."
"Thank you. My fans are what make me who I am. It's always a pleasure to meet them." She barely heard the words as he swivelled in the chair to face her. He had taken off his stage outfit and was wearing a short, very luxurious velour robe, belted with a sash at the waist and open at the top to reveal his muscular chest. She found herself staring, her head swimming with emotion.
Regaining control, she peeled her eyes from his chest to look him in the face. "But why did you invite me back here?" Then realization struck ... "I hope you don't think I am some groupie or something ... "
