[Scene: An urban coffeehouse, mood-lit and filled with ponderous art and Indonesian jazz music from the 1960s, so cool that it has no name. David Bowie sits at a small wooden table hand-carved by indigenous forest dwellers, sipping from a delicate porcelain cup a rare tea known to increase life span in rural Asian women. I enter.]
Me: (spotting Bowie, and strolling over to his table) Mr. Bowie? Big fan. Love your work.
David Bowie: (glancing up with some irritation and a small smile) Well, thank you so much. I appreciate it. Cheers. (looks away to sip tea and read French newspaper)
Me: You know, as long as I’ve got you here, there’s something I always wanted to mention to you. (pulling up a chair to the table)
David Bowie: (mildly peeved and alarmed) Is that right.
Me: You know the “Live At Santa Monica ‘72” album?
David Bowie: Mmm.
Me: The bass guitar throughout is sharp. Out of tune.
David Bowie: (long pause) That’s it, huh.
Me: Yup.
David Bowie: Well, that was some time ago. What were you then, 20?
Me: (strong glare) 10.
David Bowie: Oh. Well. What would you like me to do about it?
Me: Oh, nothing. I’m just saying.
David Bowie: You’re saying, huh.
Me: Yeah. Saying. I would think a professional would like to know these things.
David Bowie: (tensing visibly) Do you. Do you then.
Me: (tensing in return) Yes, I do.
David Bowie: Well, I don’t care for your boots. How about that shit?
Me: (offended) Well! You don’t have to get all pissy and personal! I am just SAYING! SHARP!
David Bowie: Take your sharp, ma’am, and poke your eardrums with it!
Me: (rising angrily) YOU WANT A PIECE OF ME, BOWIE?
David Bowie: (rising and tossing his chair to the ground) YOU’RE ON!
Me: I’LL MATCH THAT OTHER DILATED PUPIL FOR YOU, MAN! BACK OFF!
David Bowie: MONEY WHERE YOUR MOUTH IS, SISTER!
[A grappling fight ensues, with the teacup wobbling and falling to the ground in pieces, and many cell phone videos and Tweets occurring. The coffeehouse bouncer, Armand, rushes over to break up the fight.]
Armand: (grabbing both fighters by their collars, pushing them out the coffeehouse door) BOTH OF YOU! OUT OF HERE! THAT’S THE THIRD TIME WITH YOU GUYS THIS WEEK! NEXT TIME, YOU ARE BOTH BANNED FOR A MONTH!
Me: I was JUST SAYING, ARMAND!
David Bowie: Her boots SUCK!!!
Armand: OUT!!
[David Bowie and I straighten our clothes, glare at each other, and begin to walk opposite ways on the busy city sidewalk.]
Me: (muttering) What an ego that man has. Tuning is important. HUH!
David Bowie: (muttering) Wait until I comment on her haircolor. Just wait.
© Copyright 2008- Marianne Spellman