I had been thinking about starting a blog, a place where I could speak my mind, fling my arms wide, let my hair ruffle in the winds of time and life. What a gift to be given this haven among writers and lovers of the written word! So much has happened in my life and even my today is often much like a soap opera (or at least that is how it sounds and looks from here, inside my head). Therefore, writing this blog will be MUCH more stress relieving, fun and cathartic than that frontal lobotomy they keep recommending, lol...
The editor, copywriter and well-hidden sensationalist in me (besides the voyeur alter ego) has told me that I need to start this thing talking about the night I met Jim Morrison (lead singer of the Doors, duh... you remember, don't you??). I was young, 19, living in the Big City, aka NYC. The year was 1967. I was on the quest for adventure -- a Midwest girl hitting the lights and sights of the fast lane. I was smart, observant, but also a babe of innocence, ripe for the time, the time of my life.
I was working s a waitress in a popular British pub on the Upper East side in Manhattan, Churchill's, around 73rd and 3rd Ave. They served Indonesian food and had a dedicated bar clientele. I met all kinds of people there, had a minor crush on the hard-drinking bartender, made good money and had a lot of fun waiting tables and entertaining the guests.
After work and on my nights off I explored the city and found a small mid-town club called Ondine. For some reason the owner of the club, Brad Pierce, sort of took me under his arm (maybe it was the big boobs, long legs and short minis?? Or was it my mind??) and after a few visits, he would let me in the club for free. I sat with him -- when I could sit still, always a challenge for me -- and friends at his table - where I met and talked to (and was hit on by) such artists as Eric Burden, lead singer of the Animals. Eric was a gentleman, rather quiet, short, good capacity for alcohol and a great laugh.
Shortly after I discovered Ondines, Ondines discovered the Doors. Here is a blog entry I found that talks about Ondine's and the scene there, which was the hottest in NY: http://streetsyoucrossed.blogspot.com/2007/10/lets-swim-to-moon-uh-huh.html
So there I was, this not incredibly beautiful young girl, but with something that attracted and allowed me to fit into the flow of the stars and other artists and creative types at their round table...
But one look at Jim Morrison and the only place I had to be, wanted to be was sitting on the floor, right in front of the stage (which was low, less than two feet high), gazing straight up at that tight black leather covered crotch, that sultry, pouting mouth, that angry boy/artist with the curls that fell over his eyes, listening to that mesmerizing powerful voice, that fantastic baroque rock keyboard, that sexual nonchalance with which Jim performed, made love to the microphone. I was crazy for the guy, the band, the music... every night I was there, wiggling between the models to get my place on the floor in front of the stage. The electricity was palpable. Jim was riveting. I don't think I had really recognized the power of sex before I saw him perform. And the music... it was unique. Sucked you in, made you dance, made you fly, made you feel the depths.
At work I was telling some girl about him and she said, "Yeah, a friend of mine went out with him. When she was going to give him a blow job, she said, 'Come on baby, let me light your fire.. He laughed and pulled her head down.'" This stuck in my mind. I hadn't ever given a blow job, but I thought if I ever had the opportunity, he would be the one I would like to give my blow job cherry to. In the meantime, I just listened and watched, knowing that history was being made. Light My Fire started catching the hit parade charts on fire on its incendiary path to the stars.
I had a guy friend, Robert, whom I had met at Churchill's. He would come to see me and sometimes we would hang out, go check out other bar-restaurants in the area or take long walks all over the city, talk and talk. Likely he was interested in me for more than friendship, but that is where I kept it and he was fine with that. Robert worked at an ad agency, copywriter, if I recall. And sadly, I can't remember his last name or much about him other than he was clean cut, dark hair, nice looking but not really my type (whatever that was -- I was likely leaning more to the bad boy side). One night I suggested that we go to Ondines. I was a bit reluctant to go there with him as I thought he would cramp my style and I knew I couldn't hang out at Brad's inner circle table if I brought a guy along -- especially such a straight-looking clean-cut guy. But I really wanted my friend Robert to hear the band. I wanted everyone to hear the band. So we grabbed dinner and went.
I had to drink up every note, every word of every song and every set as I did every night. So it was closing time when we left, after 2AM. My friend was going to give me a lift a bit further downtown to my fourth floor walk up sub-let apartment. The streets were deserted and we walked out into the middle of 2nd Ave to try to catch a cab, which were very scarce at that hour -- it was the middle of the week.
Just as we hailed a cab, opened the door and started to get in, I heard a voice behind me say, "Hey!" I turned around and saw Jim Morrison standing there, looking a bit anxious. "You guys heading downtown?"he asked. We nodded. "Mind if I ride with you? I don't know when the next cab will come by." I glanced at Robert, perfectly ready to dump him and his friendship right then and there if he said no. But he said okay, albeit with a barely perceptible hesitation, just a heartbeat.
And MY heart skipped several beats! I kept thinking of that Light My Fire line from the girl at Churchill's -- I was dying to ask him if it was true. But he just slipped in beside me, black leather painted thigh warm against my naked one. I think conversation was almost non-existent -- some mumbled comments about how much we liked the show. My heart was beating so fast I was almost panting -- but I was also trying to be cool.
Pretty soon we were at my place and very reluctantly I got out, Robert too, who handed over our share of the fare to Jim. He mumbled thanks, Robert closed the door and my fantasy lover sped off. Robert saw me to the door I am sure, but after that door closed on Jim Morrison, the rest of that night is a total blur.