This daily email is getting so depressing, as it’s a reminder of very happy days about to end last year.
Today, a year ago, I was at PR’s show. I brought an actual rock star with me, to show him what it’s like to have fun in a band, as he was depressed after touring and videos and general suckage of major label life. I told him up front — they are really and truly terrible.
And they were worse than usual.
Here is the never published record of that day . . .
I got there early, paid his cover at the door and told the door guy — this is for my guest, you will recognize him. As I waited at a table in the front bar area, I glanced through the windows and saw PR, Jr., who I’d just met and hung out with two days before at PR’s company party, standing outside and then looking at his phone, in an obvious “omg, i have no cash on me and there’s a cover charge” panic. I got up from my table, and dashed outside, to pay his cover, too. The door guy laughed at me and I was like “yeah, another one.”
PR, Jr. had just moved back to town and was living with PR, which affected our relationship, as I also had someone living with me. Money was tight for him, and he was doing contract work for PR, too. PR having gotten PR, Jr.’s texts, came from the venue part of the bar, and walked up to our table, already completely drunk and bobbing around with nervous energy. He had a half-consumed pitcher of beer in his hand, and a single pint glass, and he’d been drinking since early afternoon at an event he sponsored.
He had like an hour or two before he was to go on, and it was going to be a disaster.
He walked off to grab a glass for PR, Jr. I was drinking vodka soda and I had money, clocking lots of business on my own. We were laughing and having a great time, and PR slid into the booth next to me for a while. He was quite affectionate, and looked adorable in his normal hipster garb.
PR wandered back to prep and drink.
My actual rock star arrived — looking ridiculously hot and out of place for this grungy rock club — so I drifted off to entertain him for a bit, as the first band started. I introduced him to BandMate, who I didn’t know that well at this time, but I had alerted ahead of time that rock star was coming. It was a Saturday and PR’s acolytes were there as they’d had presentations and whatever earlier in the day. Most of them had never seen him perform, and adorably, some of the women had very obvious crushes on him, which BandMate teased him about. I had met some of them at the party on Thursday and they understood I was his girl, which was sort of funny, as it just meant they went out of their way to talk to me. The ones who didn’t know quickly figured it out, especially post show, as he had his arms wrapped around me as we talked to them.
During the show, well, it was a disaster. Like, it was so bad we still joke about it. The rock star and I talked about it two weeks ago at his show. PR and I joke about it often. Here’s why it was a disaster: he was super drunk. So drunk that as I headed to the bathroom mid-set, I heard something I’ve never heard before: “uh, our [instrument] fucked up. we need to start over.” What?! That happens?! And then, two minutes later, they had to start over again.
It was so so so bad.
When I got back to my spot with the rock star, he gave me a look, like “I know you said they were awful, but seriously?!” I know. And that my boy was the one fucking up . . . yeah. Also, kinda hilarious.
The set was only about an hour, and I entertained the rock star during load out and then he met the guys and bounced. I stayed behind, chatting with PR’s friends and PR, Jr.
Eventually, his acolytes left and I was with PR outside on a back patio, along with the band and their SOs. It was my first time really hanging out with all of them . . . and BandMate and the lead singer decided to take this opportunity, now 2.5 months in, to tell me ALL of the bad PR stories. All of them. Like: “so, I woke up and I heard this crash as these two girls climbed up our balcony and climbed into my room. I almost hit them, thinking they were burglars, and I threw them out. I think PR slept with both of them that night though.”
I looked at him, and laughed, and said, somewhat exasperated: “PR, they are NOT helping you, please make them stop!” He laughed and shrugged. They weren’t helping him, but it is who he is. I actually appreciated the fact that they wanted me to know all the bad shit. I was still with him regardless, but the fact that, especially as a younger man, he was completely absurd, well, that’s sort of part of his charm. He is a wildly successful creative executive, a local rock star, a drunken lout, and a notorious playboy. All of those parts make him who he is.
From time to time, we wandered off to more protected places and ended up making out, of course. He bought me a cocktail and as we wandered back to join the crew, he made a comment about something, and I told him I was actually born in the same decade as he. He expressed disappointment I wasn’t older. Ha.
Eventually, we wandered back inside to the now nearly empty club. It was after 1 am, but we didn’t realize it. We were cuddled together in a booth, with BM and BMG opposite us, and it was all perfectly awesome. As we start to wrap up the night, it occurs to us that — he and PR Jr rode their bikes up — and PR, Jr. is living with him. We walk outside and kiss good night repeatedly to the rolled eyes of PR, Jr. and he hails me a cab, kisses me again, and they ride off into the night.