I was in NYC; I had just finished the first leg of my third tour promoting my new album, when I was woken up from an alcohol-induced sleep by a call from my manager.
"Hey good news!" Russ chortled into the phone. I glanced at the clock and groaned for two reasons. One it was only 7am and I had just passed out, err, fallen asleep at 4am, and his "good news" rarely was.
I mumbled, "What's the good news?"
"I got a call from a really wealthy business man in upstate New York, he wants to book you for a private show tonight." Before I could protest that I was supposed to have the next few days off, he came back with, "he offered $500,000 for a two hour show. He'll send a private plane for you, and he has the cash in hand. What say you boyo?"
I sat up in bed and lit a cigarette; "I'll have to run it past the band..."
"No, no. He doesn't want the whole band, just you. Acoustic set, unplugged and all that sort of stuff." Russ lowered his voice; "he offered me a $25,000 booking fee up front if I can talk you into this. I can use the money; my ex is bleeding me dry. Be a good lad and say yes."
I was torn, I really needed a day off, but the money was tempting as hell, and I knew that Russ' ex-wife had taken advantage of no pre-nup to really run him through the financial wringer. I owed him a lot; he signed me when no one else had believed in me.
"OK, when am I supposed to leave?"
"You'll do it?" Russ sighed in relief, "Thank you so much, you don't know how much I appreciate this!" He sounded a bit choked up, then his business voice came back, "He said to be downstairs at 9am, they'll be a limo waiting to take you to the airport. He said he has all the equipment you need, just bring your guitar."
I started the complimentary coffee pot, hopped into the shower and made myself as presentable as I would ever be.
As promised a black limo was waiting for me at the curb, the driver wordlessly opened the door, took my guitar placing it in the boot and we drove in complete silence to the airport, which suited my still muddled head just fine.
Once we arrived at the waiting plane, the driver repeated his less than chatty ways, and pointed at a Lear Jet off to one side of the tarmac, and before I could say anything, he grabbed my guitar and my arm and took us both to the plane. He half shoved me into a seat and put my guitar in the overhead. Then walked to the back of the plane strapped in and closed his eyes.
I was still puzzling over this bizarre welcoming committee when a truly gorgeous blonde, dressed in a fire red leather jumpsuit came up to me, "Welcome. I'm Cindy; I'm going to be your hostess until we land. What can I get you?"
I smiled suppressing the urge to say, "You would do nicely." Instead I asked for a rum and coke. I was pleasantly distracted watching her move to the back of the plane to get my drink as the plane taxied to the runway.
A couple of rum and cokes later my lack of sleep caught up with me, and I dozed off. I woke up some time later to Cindy gently shaking me awake, "We're here. It's time to get up."
Another limo awaited me at the bottom of the plane's steps and Mr. Sunshine was again my driver. I was feeling a lot more rested and attempted to strike up a conversation, "So where are we exactly?" I asked.
Nothing.
I tapped on the back of his headrest, "Excuse me, um where are we? Hello? Do you speak English? Are you deaf? HELLO?"
He replied by closing the partition between us almost catching my hand in it as it shot closed.
All right, fine. I thought. I lit up a cigarette and decided to open the window to get some air. The window buttons didn't seem to work and neither did the door locks. I didn't think anything about it at the time; I just shrugged and figured if the driver was offended he'd roll them down.
After about an hour we seemed to arrive at our destination. The limo stopped in front of what I could only describe as the ugliest hunk of architecture I had ever seen. I'm from England and I've seen castles before, but this place was a castle on steroids. It had every cliché known to man and a few previously undiscovered. Turrets and towers poked out of strange roof angles. I stifled a laugh and caught up with the driver as he raced to the house with my guitar in his hand.
The inside was a lot nicer to look at than the outside. Everything was done in muted reds and blacks with the occasional touch of white. I am not a tall man in the least, and I felt dwarfed by the huge staircase with the large stained glass windows. The limo driver set my guitar down at my feet and whirled on me.
He undid my jacket and stuck his hands into the pockets of my jeans and started patting me down, "HEY!" I protested trying to escape this violation of my privacy, "What the hell are you doing?"
"Sorry." He grunted, as he pulled my tshirt forward reached into it and yanked my necklace from my neck, snapping the leather cord, "your host is allergic to some metals and you can't wear this." He let me go and threw open my guitar case.
"You could have just asked me to take it off!" I snapped, "You really have to work on your people skills asshole. Go easy on that!" I said as he picked up the guitar turned it upside down and shook it. He snapped the case shut and shoved it into my hands, and skulked off.
I was just dialing my manager on my mobile to tell him the deal was off and to get me the hell out of here when this impressive older man dressed in an old fashioned smoking jacket and black velvet trousers greeted me, "Welcome!" he took my hand in his and firmly shook it, "I trust you had a pleasant journey."
"Aside from the ray of sunshine who just man-handled me, yeah."
"I'm sorry about that. He only has my best interests at heart but is limited in his social graces." He chuckled deep in his chest, and then put his arm around me. I usually don't welcome instant intimacy with people I've just met but there was something in his manner that made me completely at ease. "We're about to have dinner, you are the guest of honour, please come this way."
