Planet AUTHORity - STORYTELLING

Planet AUTHORity STORYTELLING [Storytelling ARCHIVES]

STORY OF THE WEEK

An Elton Moment
by Stephen DiLauro
copyright 2000

Lainie sees him walking along the beach toward her and she almost falls over. "You're Elton John," she blurts. He smiles and says, "I know."

She asks him if she can do a brief interview. "Right here?" he says, surprised. She nods. He tells her that usually such things are arranged by his publicist. Her "please" has enough plead to it, though, to garner a yes. "But it will have to be quick," he says. He waves off two trailing bodyguards who come running up the sand.

She could kick herself for not having a camera or tape recorder along. Lainie is 24 years old and recently launched on her journalistic career path. She decides to wing it, glad for the stubby golf pencil and the phone bill folded in the back pocket of her cut-offs. He grins but says nothing as she rips open the envelope to have the blank inside surface for notes. He is wearing dark navy Bermuda shorts and a baggy yellow tee shirt without a logo or a pocket, she notes.

He says that he's a guest a few blocks away at Julio Iglesia's house on Indian Creek Village Island, and asks her if she doesn't find that a strange construction for a place name. She says that everybody shortens it to Indian Creek. He says that sounds rather wet.

"Could I ask you a personal question? About your work of course."

"Ask away," he answers. "If it's too personal, I won't answer, though."

"Oh, it's not too personal," she says, and feels like a ditz. She isn't sure if this is going well or not. He waits. She notices that his knees are pudgy. Then she plunges ahead. "Do you mind when people come up to you and say that they love a certain song of yours?"

"I don't mind at all, as long as the song they mention is one of mine."

She laughs out loud as she scribbles his answer. He asks her which song she likes best. Her immediate answer is Benny and the Jets. She doesn't say that it's actually her mother's favorite. He nods and says he rather likes that one, too. As a follow up, she asks him which song is his favorite. He says that some days he has a favorite and some days he hasn't and this was one of those days when he hasn't. She is glad he didn't say Candle in the Wind.

Lainie knows right then that she has to have a picture and she asks him if he can wait right there while she runs and gets her camera from her car, which is only about a block and a half away. He says, "Afraid not, luv."

She feels her joy dissipating like any wave on the beach and her face must show it. Perhaps as a sop to that crestfallen look he tells her that he loves to doodle and would be glad to draw a self portrait in the sand and she can come back and take a photo of that. Starstruck, not wanting to offend, she says that would be fine, great.

While he draws with the edge of a shell she tells him that she's sure this interview will be a big break for her and he says, "I'm glad." When he finishes he asks her name and under the self-caricature writes: "For Lainie, who likes Benny and the Jets" followed by his autograph. She offers to send him a clip of the article if he tells her where. He demurs, saying somebody will see it for him.

Lainie says the picture is really great and thanks him. He shakes her hand and says goodbye and continues his stroll. The security guys tag along. Lainie watches his back for a moment, then bolts for her car.

She runs the whole way, gets her camera out of the trunk, hops in the car and races south on Harding three blocks, turns left, jumps the light to cross Collins, and parks in the cul de sac between two condo buildings. She dashes out to the beach and starts walking north. She is going to get a picture of him.

Her walk is purposeful and intent. She looks for the yellow of his tee shirt and doesn't see it. She keeps walking. The Surfside Police Beach Patrol, on a squat red 4 wheel all terrain vehicle, comes putt putting along.

Fifteen minutes later she is in a quandary. Elton John is nowhere to be seen and she can't find the drawing in the sand either. She finds this all very frustrating. The Beach Patrol comes tooling along going the other direction. She wonders if she should flag down the cop and ask him if he's seen a drawing in the sand. No. He would think she's crazy.

A hundred yards up the beach she finds it. Or what's left of it anyway. The cop must have driven right through it going both ways. All that's left are some squashed letters from the inscription, one round frame of Elton's glasses, half of his nose. The rest is tire tracks.

All she has now are her notes. She slides the paper out of her pocket and the golf pencil falls to the sand. As she reaches down to retrieve it a sudden gust of wind snatches the envelope and it sails along through the air about four feet above the ground. Lainie runs after it. A seagull swoops, glides, snatches the paper in mid air and pumps its wings and climbs away. She watches in stunned disbelief.

She can't believe it. The bird is gone. Her notes are gone. Everything is ruined. She sits down, draws her knees up, puts her elbows on them, an open palm against each cheek. She stares at the ocean. This is a nightmare. She sqeezes her face to make sure she's awake. Now, it's like it never happened.

Finally she gets up and trudges up the beach. She takes the wooden stairs over the sand dunes one step at a time. She arrives at the cul de sac just in time to see her car disappear around the corner, hooked to the back of a tow truck. This, she thinks, is not my finest moment.

AUDIO STORY OF THE WEEK

"Einstein's Mind"
by Martha Cinader