The next day at Tower Records was hectic. We'd been given all this promo stuff from England - apparently Duran Duran was a big deal in their mother country but we here in the U.S. never heard of them! Mostly posters, so we stuck them up on the walls and other strategic places down the street. I liked the location of the store - it was close enough to my apartment that I didn't need to take a taxi, and I didn't really need a car either. We had a pretty good subway system in the city so I could get where I needed to go by that.

It turned out that the location of the store was important to equally to the Berrows and their charges. They called our store first because, according to Paul, it was the closest to their hotel, and when in England, they were usually mobbed, so they were just planning ahead "just in case." A mob? Hardly! I couldn't imagine what a scene like that would be.

I was in for the biggest surprise of my life.

All afternoon it was chaos in the store. There were fans of every description - but the obvious biggest group was the under-16 female crowd, all dressed in Debbie Harry-esque, sex kitten outfits. Who they were trying to impress was anyone's guess. I figured that they were Duran Duran groupies - one of them who was buying a poster of the band explained, "we're not groupies, we're Dur-annies." I shrugged, and rang up the sale. This blonde was with some of her equally excited girlfriends. "So, who's your favorite?" I asked, curious to do a little more research before the actual signing.

"Simon," the blonde answered quickly. "He sings with...so much passion!"

One of her friends nudged her in the arm. "No way, Nick's way better! He actually plays an instrument, unlike Simon."

"Uh-uh, John's the best. John Taylor," said another. I was starting to get a headache. As the afternoon wore on, more and more girls came running into the store, breathless, wanting to get their hands on anything Duran related. And every time one of them came to my register, I would ask them who their favorite was. Every once in a while I would get "Andy," "Nick," or "Roger" - but more often then naught, it'd be "Simon" or "John." One girl even brought a copy of some imported U.K. magazine called Mates that had John Taylor hugging some non-descript blonde on the cover.

"Isn't he dreamy?" the teenybopper squealed, holding the magazine to her chest, "I'm going to ask him to sign it!" I couldn't help laughing to myself. Here was this teenage girl going bonkers over some guy a good decade older than her, who obviously wasn't interested in her the way she was interested in him. Nick was the youngest of the group - he was a year older than I was, he was born in '62. But the other guys were of various ages older.

Soon enough, or not soon enough if you asked these Duranies, the time came for the signing. Cameras were flashing and the boys settled down in a line at the signing table. Nick, then Roger, then Andy, then Simon, then John. I wondered why this was the order, and soon found out - because most of the fans would spend time down at the far end of the table, and if Simon and John were in the front, the line would never move. Ever. Hahaha. But I have to admit, these guys were a lot more cordial than I could ever be - they were more than willing to personally sign the photos if asked nicely, and these fans weren't without gifts. There was a healthy mound of stuffed animals in front of each guy after a while.

They posed for pictures with these gals, signed autographs, and did the duty of rock stars. If this was any indication of success, I suppose the guys passed with flying colors. It was obvious that they already had many (female) fans, and many of them wanted nothing less than to shower their good-looking idols with adulation. But that meant that their credibility was going to be questioned if they were going for the teenybopper crowd. I hoped not. They had promise. I'd heard that the night before.

Also, I'd figured out why the club wasn't packed the night before their performance. Because most of their fans couldn't get into the club! They weren't old enough! No wonder. I wondered why there was so much fuss by Walt over this band, but I hadn't seen Duranmania yet. I was quickly initiated into though that day.

Walt had been presiding over the whole situation, and was talking to Paul and Michael quite a bit during the signing. When it was time for them to go, they were still talking about guitarists. I was picking up a couple errant fliers off the floor when I heard my name in their conversation. My head perked up.

"...yes, and Grace is very good, she's got an incredible Fender," Walt was saying. I quickly walked over to join the conversation. The boys were hanging around the store and looking at records. Andy and John were taking a look at our selection of replacement strings.

"Who uses my name in vain?" I asked innocently, smiling at Walt. "What's up, Walt?"

"Oh, the Berrows were asking about you. Apparently you were having a good conversation about instruments last night with one of their boys?" Walt said.

I nodded, "oh yeah. Me and Nick were talking about keyboards. I've been meaning to get a synth one of these days, if I ever have time to sit down and learn piano."

"Well, Mr. Green mentioned that you play a mean bass," Paul said approvingly. "Really?" I nodded, grinning.

"I can't live without my Fender bass," I explained. "My brother bought it for me a while ago, we had our own little garage band called Little Dictators. He's in California now so I've taken to sitting on random gigs whenever a local band calls and needs a stand-in bass player for a night."

"Your boss here has nothing but praise for your bass playing," Michael chimed in, "in fact, you must be a virtuoso from the way he describes it." I started to turn beet-red.

"She? *She* plays bass?" John said, shocked. "A girl?" John walked up to them right then. He started to laugh as if it was a joke.

"Why do you ask? You don't believe me...why not?" Walt looked at me questioningly. "Why don't you show 'em?"

I gave him that "do I really have to?" look, and he shrugged, but I didn't want Walt to look like a liar, so I went back to the employees lounge and took my guitar out of my locker, and Walt carried my amp. Lovingly, I took it out of its case, and hooked it up to the amp.

I looked at the Berrows, and John, who had his hands on his hips in disbelief. "So, what do you want me to play?" I asked, fiddling with one of the knobs.

They said they didn't care, so I played some of my favorite Led Zeppelin and John Paul Jones riffs. When I played my bass, it was like things could go on around me and I wouldn't notice. Closing my eyes, I let the guitar take me into a different world, screeching the notes and surrendering to the melody.

When I finished playing a particularly challenging part from "Heartbreaker," I opened my eyes. All the guys were clapping and whistling for my playing, I bowed quickly. John looked like the wind had been knocked out of him, he was gaping and wasn't saying anything, and his eyes were bugged out.

"What's wrong, Nigel?" Simon said, laughing, waving his hand in front of John's face. "Never seen a *girl* play guitar before?"

The guys hung around a little longer, until we closed up. Walt trusted me, so he gave me the keys and told me to lock up. John followed me around as if to study me. "What, you want me to repeat what Simon said earlier? Never seen a *girl* play a guitar so well?" I smiled, locking up the register. I hadn't paid much attention to the band, since now they were just trying to blend in and pretend to be normal customers. They were doing a good job, since the fans that had come for the signing had all left. When I looked up, John was standing in front of me.

"No, I haven't," he admitted, running his hand along his jaw. "I'm sorry that I didn't believe your boss, I just haven't met too many birds in my lifetime who can actually play guitar enough to be called a *good* player. And you're a good player!" I smiled, coming out from behind the counter. "Well, I must look like the cat that ate the canary, that I got to show off tonight."

"Yeah, you do. But you deserve it." I started to turn red again. Scanning the store, there was no one else. I started to feel uncomfortable - I was never good around guys - at any age.

I looked at my watch. A little after 8. Time to go home.

"Where did the rest of your crew go?" I asked, trying to be nonchalant. "Shouldn't you have left with them? I really should close up shop."

He shook his head. "Nah, I wanted to leave after they did. I do that sometimes, when we're leaving a store or some gig. It's sometimes better to split up so the fans don't know where we went." He said this matter-of-factly. "Besides, I figured if I walked back when it was dark, I wouldn't have any fans on my back. Ya know?"

"Oh, okay," I nodded. "I get it." I went to get my coat and my guitar case, and I guess he was waiting for me to leave. Why on earth is this guy from England following *me* around? I couldn't have been *that* good.

John took the guitar case from me. "Here, let me take that." I let him as we left the store. "I'm used to it by now. I have a Fender too. But probably not as nice as yours. You've got quite a beauty."

I smiled in the darkness. "Thanks." Trying to think of something, I asked him, "may I ask, why did Simon call you Nigel back there in the store?"

"Oh. Nigel is my real first name - too British in my opinion. So I go with my middle name - John."

"Just like Paul McCartney."

"I suppose." It was his turn to smile. "Actually, I wanted to ask you..."

Oh God. Is he going to ask me out? Or worse, is he going to ask me back to his hotel room? I wasn't born yesterday!

"...if you wanted to jam tomorrow. I was hoping I could take a look at your guitar. I haven't decided yet but I was thinking about getting another bass, and we've got a day off tomorrow, and I'd love to see how your guitar feels..." He looked all excited like a kid in the candy store.

I had a day off the next day too, Walt gave that to me since I had helped out with the signing. "Why don't you just take my guitar tonight, and come by to the store tomorrow and drop it off with my boss. He knows where to put it."

He shook his head. "Oh no, I couldn't do that. Besides, I want to see how you play it, if there's anything I need to be aware of when I'm playing it, that sort of thing."

Oh. "Well then, sure. Why not. I haven't traded bass riffs with anyone in a *long* time. This should be an experience."

"Tomorrow then?"