The Shouting Reflex

My long-standing fandom of Duran Duran is well documented. We could call it a twenty-two year obsession. But that makes me sound…obsessive. John, the handsome bass player, was always my favorite. In the early 90s, I had a brief crush transference to the singer, Simon. By the time I got my dog, I had seen the light and ceded the number one spot in my heart to John once again. However, 'Simon' makes a much better pet name than 'John' so my giant pooch became Simon Le Dog.

Here in LA, one of my favorite nuggets of my Hollywood life is that that I have a friend that knows John Taylor. I’m tickled by that chance, however remote, that I might meet him as a regular person one day. It’s the kind of thing any fan dreams of. In fact, my friend got us back stage and introduced me a few years back but he was so adrenalized from performing I’m sure I made no impression. Since then, I’ve run into him once in public and froze. I promised myself the next time, I’d say something normal and nonchalant to him like ‘hey, I’m so-and-so’s friend. I met you…’ thus undoubtedly legitimizing my sanity in his mind.

This in fact was the topic of discussion a few weeks ago as I hiked a well-known celebrity-spotting LA hiking trail with two girlfriends and Simon Le Dog. I prattled on and on about my back stage meeting, how I knew he lived quite near to where we were and I was hoping my friend would invite me to a brunch where he’d be soon so I might get to meet him as a person and not a back-stage fan. Basically, I monopolized the conversation with “John Taylor this and John Taylor that and blah blah blah John Taylor” in a monologue befitting a Tiger Beat reader.

As we descended the trail, a tall man with rock-star hair and angular good looks passed us downhill. My friend paused my John-a-thon with:

“Um, Heidi, I think that was him.”

I looked more closely and gasped. Yes, the Man himself had just passed us with me blathering on about him. Certainly he’d heard his name. Certainly he’d rolled his eyes in recognition of my complete ridiculousness. Now what? I’d promised myself I’d talk to him in a non-stalker-like way at our next encounter and here it was; our next encounter. But how much had he heard? Was this my last chance? What would he think if I disturbed him on the trail? These questions raced through my head as John reached the bottom of the trail ahead of us and turned to loop back up.

Now he was coming right for me. I would actually be able to touch him in less than thirty seconds. How should I get his attention? How could I prove I’m not a crazy fan? And…where the heck was my dog?

In all the excitement, my dog who always sticks to me like glue had wandered off. Now I was a crazy stalker and a bad dog mom. As John passed me again, I decided my pet parenting took precedence and my stalking would have to wait.

So I started screaming “Simon! Simon! Come back! Simon!”

I swear I saw John flick a look back over his shoulder. It said: Not only is she a crazy nutter, she got me mixed up with my band-mate. Precisely the impression I was going for.

And so went my third encounter with the man I’ve loved since age eleven. I think our relationship is going well, don’t you? I also think I’ll go ahead and wait until my friend plans that long-promised brunch before I attempt to make any impression on him in a public place again. Someday we’ll laugh about this.

“Ah that was you, yes, that was funny,” he’ll purr in his Birmingham accent.

We’ll relate as two normal people and he’ll finally know I’m not out of my gourd or possibly dangerous to him. Yes, I'm a competely and totally normal person who occasionally likes to relive 1984. And he'll be fine with that. Save a prayer.