Part 4: So I Became a Wingman and She Had My Back

I turned around, and yes indeed, there he was. 

Oooookay.  Not to worry, I'm not going to go into some gooey girly gab fest about how dreamy he looked...lalalala....you've seen the movie?  Yeah, he's that good looking in person.  His hair's a little lighter (which makes that whole tattooing scene in ASD even funnier) - but that's it. 

Now, I'm not one to stare...but my logic went like this:

He's beautiful.  He chose a career that involves people looking at him.  He chose to attend a party where he was (clearly) going to be the center of attention.  He signed up for this.

Still, staring is rude.  I can honestly say that it felt more like watching someone who's on a stage.  Sure, you're not looking away...but not staring.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Eventually, when he was pulled onto stage, he talked about how he feels uncomfortable/shy in crowds.  This only impressed me more since, like the rest of the guys, he was very friendly, enthusiastic about signing autographs, posing for pictures, even joking and talking with fans who lingered past their turns.  He, like the rest of them, is a class act.

I watched him work his way through the dozens of people pressing in on him.  There were no velvet ropes, bouncers blocking for him or anything.  The guy's just hanging in the middle of a crowd.  A very, very excited crowd.

And then a strange thing happened.  He looked up and his eyes swept the room.  He saw me and stopped.  Now, when I say "we locked eyes" I don't mean to imply there was anything romantic or sexy about this.  There wasn't.  It would have been more polite, I know, to look away...but see above (re: my logic).  So I kept looking back at him. I know it should have felt awkward...but it didn't.  Ten solid seconds of eye contact doesn't sound like a lot, but it is.  Try it now.  Look at something for ten seconds.  That's a long time, huh?

Again, not romantic or sexy.  If anything, I think it's because I wasn't jumping, screaming, waving - I think I may have just seemed to him to be the only quiet spot in the room (ironic, I know).  It just felt friendly.  So I gave a quirky little smile and half shrugged in reference to the craziness in the room.  He broke into a wide grin...looked for a couple more seconds, then went back to signing, posing, talking, laughing.

There was a part of me that decided that that was worth more than an autograph...or a picture...

Yeah, but I still wanted them.

About a half an hour goes by...there is one person ahead of me...that person is all done...

And the producer comes up behind him, apologizes to the rest of us, and pulls him onstage.

I won't say he wasn't entertaining on stage.  Or that I didn't enjoy Troy's speech.  Or laugh with everyone when Bob Marley did his routine (in real life, Det. Greenly is stand up comic Bob Marley).  Ty Stone is a hell of a performer (he and his band do several of the songs in ASD).  It was all fantastic. 

But I was more than a little frustrated.  I'm sure it sounds petty, but at that point, I was disappointed enough that I was in danger of being sad over the whole situation - it's one thing never to meet someone...quite another to almost meet the person and have it snatched out from under you.

Well, nothing is going to come from standing in one spot.  I start walking around, and I spot Elle.  She's talking to none other than Rocco.  What's even more interesting is watching these girls (aged about 21-22) come up to him, giggling, with shots.  As Elle backed off (as she later told me "I figured he'd spent a lot of time with me, I should back off"), he turned, did the shot with the girls, thanked them, gave them back the glass...and turned back to continue his conversation with Elle.

Working under the assumption that she'd probably kill me if I interrupted them, I set off to find Norman. 

Elle and I finally hook back up.  She's on Cloud 9 and I'm busy trying not to feel ungrateful.  Having scoped the main floor of the club quite thoroughly, we decided to go to the lobby.  Daniel DeSanto is at the bar, surrounded by girls buying him drinks.  It would have been nice to meet him (etc.), but he looked awfully occupied.

I asked a couple of the women at the bar if anyone had seen Norman.

"Yeah, he's right outside..."  (Wile E. Coyote cloud of dust in place of Elle and me)

There he is.  Smoking a cigarette and speaking with a few folks.  No pushing, lines, nothing.  We walk over, wait our turn to speak, and I ask him if he'd sign (the Christmas presents I'd bought).  He couldn't have been nicer.

ME:  Would you mind taking a picture with me?
NORMAN:  Sure!!!

Elle's got the camera, he goes to put his arm around my shoulder...

AND THE SAME PRODUCER GRABS HIM BY THE ARM.

PRODUCER:  Sorry, he has to go.
ME:  (my head whipping in his direction) SERIOUSLY? 

I didn't yell it, I didn't even use what has been coined my Bitch Mommy Voice.  Considering how I felt about the matter, I think he got off pretty easily.  This time he and I made eye contact.  Weighing his options, he said:

"Fine, you can walk in with us."

With Elle hot on my heels, camera at the ready, we were off.

I'm not a tall woman. However, my lack of height comes from my lack of torso, not legs.  The producer did not count on this as he tried to lose me.  Elle is not as tall as I am, and in heels.  That woman has moves.

Now, if Norman had been trying to get away from me, I'd have backed off.  In reality, Norman (whose left arm was in the producer's Death Grip) was being marched very quickly down the hall, the whole time trying to talk to me over his right shoulder. 

The producer's first mistake was misjudging the length of my legs.  His second one was thinking he'd be able to move the star of the movie quickly and unobtrusively through the Big. Crowded. Club. 

They hit the throng and some girls latch onto Norman.  I waited for them to finish, and there was my shot.  We posed for the camera, shot taken...(finally)...

And the moment of truth. 

Up to this point (from the moment I decided to attend the party to this second) I'd been worried, terrified that, if I did get to speak to him, I'd stick my foot in my mouth.  Hard.  I skipped over anything that could be construed as flirting (apparently, I'm a fairly good girl after all).  Everything I'd come up with thus far had either been what every single other person has probably said to him, or stupid.  But now?

What's that I'm under?  Oh, it would be a gun.  He could see that I was trying to say something, so he leaned in to listen.

So I said the first thing that came to mind.  It was heartfelt, sure, but it didn't seem like much. He looked at me again...eye contact again... and with a really big smile said an earnest "Thank you!"

Then he was gone (this time his feet left the floor a bit when the producer yanked him away).

I turned to Elle, and said, "We can go - my night's not going to get any better than it is now."  In order to get back to our car, we had to leave the party well before the trains stopped running.  She said okay and then asked:

"What did you say to him?" 

Crap.  I thought it went pretty well.  "Why?"

"Well, he was listening, then leaned in to listen closer, then he did this double take, then this huge smile..."

Okay, so I didn't screw it up.

We walked toward the door...and all of the sudden, I'm alone...I turn around...

Elle is about ten feet behind me, talking with Rocco.  Who am I to rush her?  Besides, I now had something other than my phone for him to sign.  At a pause in the conversation, I ask him if he'd mind signing one more thing for me.  Ever the gentleman, we walk over to the bar (so he'd have something to lean on).  While he was doing this, I had an SBI (Scathingly Brilliant Idea).

I leaned toward him, and said "Excuse me?"
ROCCO: (turning) Yes?
ME:  My girl over there, she has the most enormous crush on you. Buuuut, she's also wicked shy.  Never in a million years would she ask, but she'd love it if you'd sign her chest.  Do you mind?"
ROCCO: Sure!  (glances over his shoulder) Which one?
(I specified)
 ROCCO:  (looks at me) She's pretty hot...

Elle maintains that, crush or no, she is also a good girl after all, since, when he walked over and moved her shirt, for that split second before she realized what, exactly, he was doing, she did freak out a little.  But only for a second.

After that, she turned to me and said: "NOW we can leave!"

We kept a moderate amount of mature, level-headedness at the party.  Once on the train, we became two teenage girls coming home from the Beatles playing Shea Stadium.