My date with David Bowie
I press the doorbell and the nanny answers the door. She is sweet-faced and welcoming. She takes me into the foyer and takes my coat. I look stupidly at my purse – did I really need to bring it with me? I hold onto it, feeling foolish.
“Elena, is she here?” someone calls out from further inside the condo. The space is very modern. Built into two levels of this Manhattan high-rise, the walls are concrete and glass. Elena beckons me down the wide corridor and our footsteps echo off the slate floor and the tall ceilings.
Halfway down the hall, I see David walking towards us. He beams at me, his wide smile spreading across his face. “Hullo! Glad you could make it.” I smile shyly and say “Thanks.” I’m surprised that he’s not taller. He’s barefoot, in a pair of well-fitting jeans and a black t-shirt. I follow him into the kitchen, and Elena disappears down another hallway. David pulls out a chair for me at the four-person breakfast table in his ultramodern kitchen.
“Coffee?” he offers. “Yes, that would be lovely.” I sit down and lay my purse on the table. A small basket with rolled linen napkins lies in the center of the table, along with a book and the Wall Street Journal, untouched. I hear music, it sounds like something mellow yet current, probably some undiscovered band he’s in love with. He grabs mugs out of the cabinet and fills them from the coffee maker on the counter. The coffee steams and it smells delicious. There is a refreshing amount of “stuff” on the counter tops, not like the great prairies of space you see in Architectural Digest.
He asks “Cream and sugar?” and reaches for a large canister in the cupboard. “Black” I say and he releases the canister. You can always tell someone who doesn’t drink sugar in their coffee because they don’t keep the sugar in a convenient location, only in the canister. He reaches into the Sub-Zero and grabs a small carton of heavy cream, then sits down at the table. “Have any trouble finding us?” he enquires. He looks at me and I get a little weak, feeling glad I’m sitting down. “No,” I laughed, “Thanks for sending the car ’round. I hate negotiating Manhattan traffic.” I grin at my little joke, then sip my coffee, not able to shake my feeling of awkwardness and disbelief.
He adds cream to his coffee and stirs it gently. “So is this your first time to New York?” “No, I came here for vacation once before with my husband. It’s a fun town, but I’m not sure I could live here. Too used to the suburban life. I live in Raleigh, North Carolina and we really love it there. It’s beautiful, the people are nice and the weather is generally pretty good.” I babble when I’m nervous. He asks me what I do and I tell him a little bit about my job. I like it, I’m damn good at it, but it’s not my life. I ask if Iman is around and he says she’s out shopping.
He says that Lexi is playing with Elena, and they’re going to make cookies later today. “You bake?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “About as good as Lexi does,” he laughs. “I’m a better cook than a baker, though I like Iman’s cooking the best.”
He asks me how much I’ve traveled, the places I’ve seen. “Well, I have lived many different places in the States: Virgina, Georgia, Florida, Vermont, Oregon, California, Utah, just to name a few.” I tell him about my recent trip to Colombia, and a very brief visit to England during college. He is interested in where I went, but I can’t remember most of the trip. “It was made up of lowlights, I guess you could say. I went with my boyfriend but we were broken-up by the time we got back home. I do know that we stayed somewhat close to Hartfield, the home of Winnie-the-Pooh. And we had a drink at the bar at the Hard Rock of London but we weren’t allowed to sit down, we had to stand. That’s about all I can remember.”
“Memory not so good, eh? That’s a bad sign at your age!” he smiles. “Heh, you know, I can’t remember much of anything before I was 12 years old, but I can *always* remember being a fan of yours. Isn’t that strange? It’s like this one constant in my life. And I don’t know what the original inspiration was – I can’t remember!” We share a laugh and I start to feel more relaxed. “Okay, so, do I win a prize if my favorite song is one that you like?” I may be nervous in the presence of this rock god, but by golly, I can still try to be charming! “Hmmn, good question. If you don’t say ‘Changes’ or ‘Ziggy Stardust’ I promise not to poison your coffee, how about that?” He grins. “Let’s hear it then.” “Quicksand” I blurt out. I’ve been waiting how many years for this opportunity? I wait, more anxiously, for his reaction.
He raises his eyebrows and sips his coffee. “Why that song?” “Ooh, I don’t know…but that’s a stupid answer, isn’t it? I guess its state of melancholy has always resonated with me. I once made this pop art chair that had several lines from the song painted on it. My mother threw it away. Damn, I coulda been Howard Finster.” He says “Well, I’m more interested in making new music than listening to stuff that’s 40 years old. But that is one of my favorites, too. Perhaps you’ll get one of Lexi’s cookies as a prize!” I smile bashfully – I have not let my rock god down!
“Do you think I could see a picture of Joe? He’s about my age and I’ve always wondered what he looks like.” David walks me into the living room and shows me a framed photo of him and Joe, it looks like it was taken at a restaurant. They are both smiling and Joey resembles his dad more than I thought he would. David tells me about Joe, how he was his best man at his wedding with Iman, and I can tell he’s proud of his son. It’s sweet.
Then I hear some squealing and giggling, and Lexi comes running into the room. She’s gorgeous (look at her parents!), medium-toned skin with long dark hair. Elena strides in, smiling gravely. Apparently Lexi was playing a prank on her and she tells her father about it. I sneak a glance at my host while he’s occupied. His face is lit up like Vegas while he talks to his daughter, and his demeanor is so engaged and nurturing – it’s lovely to watch.
“Let’s make cookies, shall we?” he declares. Lexi claps and Elena sighs, then leaves the room to finish more housework. Lexi is sweet and spunky and already a bit lanky at 7 years old. They decide to make M&M cookies and I ask David if he’s seen the pics on the Internet of his album covers with him replaced by M&M’s. He laughs and says “Yes, that one I’ve seen – very creative!” I say “It must be hard to keep up with your fandom – so many more of us out there posting and only one of you to read it!”
I ask Lexi about her school and she warms up quick, telling me what she learns in school, about her teachers, the boys in her class and her friends. David listens proudly while he starts to make the cookies, prompting her with reminders about funny stories. “Do you have children?” he asks me. “No, but we’re thinking about it” I reply. “How different is it, having kids when you’re younger versus having kids when you’re older?” “Well, the obvious things, really. When you’re younger, you’ve got more energy, but less money and experience.” I nod.
Lexi presses M&Ms into each of the cookies and the first batch of cookies goes into the oven. Lexi gets plates and glasses down, and David asks me to get the milk out of the fridge. I help Lexi pour us each a glass of milk as we anticipate cookies warm out of the oven. I ask Lexi if she likes cats, and tell her about my two cats. She is interested but says she wants a dog and David raises his eyebrows, “Perhaps.” I ask him where he likes living the best, from his travels, and he says that he’s surprised, but he really likes New York, both Manhattan and upstate.
The cookies come out of the oven and we each get one on our plate. They are yYummy cookies, warm and gooey! I manage to not get any chocolate on my face, though Lexi seems to enjoy the daubs of warm chocolate at the corners of her mouth. I glance at my pocket watch and realize that it’s time for me to go. I pick up my purse and stand. “I’m really glad we got this time to visit. Thank you for being such a gracious host.” “The pleasure has been mine” he says and gives me a hug. I lock my knees so I don’t fall over, and then regain my composure enough to walk to the front door. He hands me my coat and says “Stop by if you’re ever in the city again.” “Look me up if you’re in Raleigh” I smile back at him.
I try to take a snapshot with my mind, so I’ll never forget this, so I’ll remember every detail. He is lean, dark jeans and dark shirt, hair swept back, brilliant eyes wide and sparkling, gorgeous smile. I open the door and walk out, closing the door behind me, completing the dream of a lifetime.
Epilogue:
I would love to have the opportunity to meet David Bowie. I have read posts about people who run into David Bowie in elevators, or share a taxi ride with him, and I imagine what my encounter might be like. I don’t want it to be an adrenaline-packed 30 seconds where I blather incoherently, though I’m sure that’s the time I would get and the best I would manage under the circumstance. But if I had my choice, I’d rather share a cup of coffee. So this is my visit. Let’s face it, I probably won’t ever get this chance, but a girl can dream, can’t she?
I think this is a more current picture:
Hey, let’s face it, he’s 60.
