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CHAPTER 4

SOUTHERN STATES

Saturday, 8th April

The five-hour flight continued our North American slog, eighteen cities in four weeks across the States and Canada, ending in New York.

Houston is America’s fastest growing city, near Galveston on the coast and the space base up the road. We arrived early evening at another Hyatt extravaganza - three-storey lobby and lighting by Damocles.

It was Saturday night and free so we asked the staff about the best clubs and hired a limo to go visit them - Carlos, myself and a couple of the crew. The first place didn’t like the way we were dressed. After that they were too smart, too rough, wanted ID, looked like clip joints or closed last month. We ended up back at the hotel with a couple of six-packs and a bag of potato chips. Next day I found out Lou Reed had been playing in town and had a party afterwards at the hotel!

The show next day went well, an 18,000 seater. However, they had four huge video screens up in the dome, which I found distracting and never quite got off on the show.

After the gig I cleaned off my make-up, showered and had a beer. As I dropped to ground level in a glass bubble elevator, I was still slightly irritable. There was a crowd of fans in the lobby standing around or sitting in the sunken cocktail bar. Simon was talking to a couple of eye-catchers, a blonde in a black lace corset and a brunette in a shiny silver spacesuit. They waved to me.

“Hi - it’s the piano player! - are you Sean?” (I think she said “Seen” which always bugs me). “What shall we do? Where do you wanna go?”

Searching for a quick put-down I said, “Where’s the best gay club in town?”

“Oh, that’s that old Plantation - we were going to take you all there. Everyone goes to The Plantation.”

I had a puzzled beer while they sorted out transport. Half the lobby squeezed into three cars and off we went.

The Plantation was a large, ranch-style place, very friendly. Drinks were cheap and the club was buzzing, plenty of jeans and cowboy boots, a few people dressed up. There was a drag act on-stage, four guys doing the Pointer Sisters, tacky but fun. Most of the people had been to the gig - “Nice show, guys!” - but no hysterics. Kathy - silver suit - told me that down south all the kids go to gay clubs as the atmosphere isn’t heavy like the straight places. This was certainly relaxed and I thought David and Coco might like to come over.

I tried to ring them but ran into problems, of course. I didn’t know their room number and it’s no good saying breezily, “Hi, I’m in the band - could you put me through to Mr. Bowie?” So I tried calling Frank, the security guy. He wasn’t in his room so I left a message with the operator. Next morning Coco told me I had started a minor panic - “David thought you’d got into some kind of trouble and called Frank to come and rescue you!”

Anyway, back at the ranch we went back-stage and met the boys who looked rather plain without their glad rags. Later, I asked Kathy if she would come back for the night. When we dropped Linda off, she insisted on getting her camera and a faulty flash to have a picture with me. She could hardly stand and broke off every now and then to lie on the grass and laugh. We were all fairly giggly by this stage but Kathy and I made it back to the hotel and negotiated the Apollo elevator without incident.

I had a 9 o’clock call next morning - a drizzly Monday. Fortunately, Kathy’s outfit was reversible to black so she didn’t have to face the rush hour in a silver space-suit! I had a bad hangover and grabbed a V8 (tomato juice) in the coffee shop under the hanging light. I felt better at the airport after steak and eggs and some great reviews.

We flew into Dallas again and drove in from DFW airport, past our old rehearsals hotel. This time we were staying at the plush and classic Fairmont. Even the sand in the ashtrays was monogrammed - molded into the letter F. The rooms were cold though, as we were taking bad weather on tour with us.

There were several familiar faces back-stage at the Convention Centre and there was a party atmosphere as it was Pat’s birthday. Pat Gibbons was David’s business manager, looking like an American college kid but with the quiet assurance of one whose father has just endowed the college with a library. He used to promote concerts at the Tower Theatre, Philadelphia when he was 22 and remembered Fumble’s birthday party for George Washington in 1973. But tonight was his birthday so the local caterer who had looked after us during rehearsals had made him a huge cake. A shy Pat, who’s not used to being the star himself, had to blow out all the candles.

That night’s show went really well - the first one where we all settled in and just enjoyed ourselves. Four numbers were filmed for TV and later shown on the Whistle Test.

Back at the hotel, David invited us all for supper in the Venetian Room, the hotel’s restaurant. We had a couple of long tables near the stage and wine and seafood started to arrive. We toasted Pat and his wife Peggy and I gave him a Snoopy card with some reference to Beauty and the Beast, then the lights went down and a band took to the stage. Billy Davis and Marilyn McCoo were appearing and their band came on first to play a few numbers. I nudged Coco, “Hey, look at that piano player!” The lights were down but I sensed something special about the dark figure who took command of the stage. Black, short-haired, plumpish, in a tight tuxedo, striking face but… was it a guy or a girl? The lights went up on-stage and we decided it was a woman. (“Hey David,” Coco whispered across the table, “look at the piano player!”) She was fascinating, counting the band into each number, playing with great style then jumping up to conduct the last bars for a tight finish.

The stars came on and were very good but we were mostly watching the piano player. At one point Billy Davis said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a star with us here tonight!” and David stood up with a slight smile and bent his head to the applause. In a funny way, I felt proud of him but almost protective, aware that to most of the people in the room he was just a name and the applause was polite.

The kids outside knew just who he was though - quite a crowd had collected behind the red curtained entrance. In due course, David made his escape through a service exit so they had to make do with the rest of us when we emerged.

In the bar, I spotted the piano player and introduced myself. She was Gayle Dietrich, living in LA. She was planning a solo career and I wished her luck. I must confess I tried to buy some flowers to send up later but everything was closed.

After last night I felt shattered when I crawled out of the elevator and someone had stubbed a cigar out in the monogrammed sand.

* * *

Baton Rouge - the name has a ring to it, right down there on the Mississippi, but we flew in over one of the filthiest industrial estates I’ve ever seen. The airport and hotel were right out in the green though and everything was awash with rain.

The LSU Assembly Centre looks like a large flying saucer has just landed. It holds 11,000 people and the sheriff’s police had them well under control. This was a drag at first but they got excited by the end of the show.

Afterwards I met a few kids in the hotel lobby, then David arrived with Coco and Frank. They wanted to go for something to eat so the kids told us of a club nearby and eagerly piled into cars to go there themselves. Somehow in the rush, the four of us got left behind! David decided he’d rather walk - we could see the club but it turned out to be on the other side of the freeway and there were a few cars rushing out of the night. We persuaded David not to make a dash for it - I had a dreadful vision of our hero breathing his last on a Louisiana freeway - and we squeezed into another car. David and the others had a meal while I chatted with a table of kids. Later, David spent most of his time signing autographs and answering questions. I generally steer clear of him at times like this but some fans still wonder how I can avoid his company for even a minute.