I took the little slip of paper that John had written on and given to me last night when he'd gone back to his hotel. We'd actually gone and sat in the late-night cafe of the hotel and had coffees, just talking and such. Pretty good conversationalist, he was. It was obvious he was pretty opinionated when it came to music and politics. I was expecting John Taylor (or any of Duran Duran for that matter) to be a spoiled brat rock star, considering that they were reasonably famous in England and had popped out there to the States trying to make their fortune. Instead I was pleasantly surprised. He was the perfect gentleman, pulling out the chair for me at the restaurant (this was unheard of by me of any guy I'd met!) and just being extremely polite. Any misgivings I could have had about this boy were washed away from memory immediately.

If you hadn't given him the time of day, you would have never given him a chance. To you, yesterday he looked like Maybelline's secret project. Why the sudden change of heart? The way he liked to lick the edges of his lips when he looked nervous, the way his whole face lit up when he laughed, the way he grinned that could electrify the whole room.

I was relieved that no one seemed to notice the two of us. Luckily there wasn't anything like the mob scene I'd seen at Tower yesterday - I guess all those girls had to make curfew and had disappeared. John assured me that they'd be back outside the hotel the next day.

"They don't give up," John said, "here. Or England. Doesn't matter where we go, they're there." He told me how the other guys were going to go into town tomorrow to sightsee - well, at least sightsee to the extent that they could make it. "Nick I think is going to try to see the Corcoran Art Gallery, since he figures that most kids wouldn't think he'd go there. I'm not so sure about the other guys - high security I'm sure. Which is why I'm glad I'm staying in and playing with our guitars instead of venturing out."

"Don't you ever feel clausterphobic? With all these fans grabbing at you and you can't go out in public without a full bodyguard throng?" I asked.

"Don't get me wrong, as much as I love the lifestyle, I wish some of the fans would 'look but don't touch,' you know? It gets tiring, and sometimes it's bloody dangerous for us, and for them."

It was obvious that he enjoyed performing but even he looked exhausted from dealing with the fans. In a way, I felt sorry for him. He and his band were so popular yet they were getting stifled by success itself! They couldn't even walk down the street without having security watching their backs. I could only imagine how old the situation would get and how fast.

He had warned me that the next day when I got to the hotel, I might be accosted by fans. "Whatever you do," he said warningly, "hold on to your guitar really tight. If those gals start thinking that's one of our guitars, they're going to grab and never let go."

Around noon, I approached their hotel worriedly, as several Duranies had made a nest of sleeping bags, cardboard, and tent material on the sidewalk directly in front of the hotel. Walking quickly, I avoided eye contact, and the doorman held the door open for me. At the concierge's desk, I presented the little bit of paper of John's, and the concierge made a couple of phone calls, through their security I guess, and one of the bodyguards came down to collect me from the lobby.

"John sent me down to get you," Mike, the bodyguard, explained. "John would have come down himself but he figured if he came down, there'd be a mess in the lobby with all the fans trying to get in, and I think we're testing the hotel management's patience already." He punched up the floor on the elevator. "John must really like you. He wouldn't stop talking about your guitar all morning."

I smiled. "Really? I was worried that I was coming to see him and the guys way too early."

Mike shook his head as the elevator came to a stop at the top. When the doors opened, John stood there smiling. "Thanks Mike, I owe ya one," he said, high-fiving the burly bodyguard.

"Don't mention it. Besides, it's my pleasure to take care of a girl who's got her head on straight, unlike some of the gals you and Simon tend to bring upstairs�"

"Hardy har har." He turned to me. "Grace, don�t believe a word this guy says."

I shrugged, smiling, as John led me into their suite. A Roland synthesizer (no doubt it was Nick's precious instrument) was set up in the corner, with another guitar on a stand nearby (which must have been Andy's). Roger's drums were also set up - I guess the guys found it necessary to practice their chops before shows, or maybe they just wanted to test the equipment before they went on. John's black bass lay on the sofa as if he was just fiddling with it.

He suggested I take a seat next to him, so he could take a closer look at the strings and knobs, which I of course obliged. He would play a passage on his bass, and then I'd try to follow him, so he could get an idea of what my bass sounded like, and if he wanted one like mine. "It's an '57 series Fender," I explained. "Like the color?"

"Very," he said, grinning, "though I prefer dark black. It's more�I don't know. Mysterious I guess. I have been told that guys with black guitars fare better with girls in general - so black it is." I laughed.

"It's all for the girls, is it huh?"

"What else would it be for? The fans can't hear us when we play on stage anyway - too many of them are screaming. Girls are just part of the territory."

We went back to playing, jamming, whatever. Nick, looking dapper in a navy shirt, wildly-printed bandanna, and pink pants stuck his head in to see what was going on. "Grace, g'morning dear," he said slowly. "Nigel asked you out to play, eh?"

"Yeah, I guess he did," I said, gingerly fingering the strings of my bass. "You're looking good, Nicky Rhodes."

"Thanks," he said, blushing a little behind his makeup, "we're on our way out sightseeing. Or should I say, as much sightseeing we can do without getting killed! The other guys are already down in the lobby with some of our security - I didn�t feel like signing autos this morning." He walked over to John and punched him in the arm. "Take care of Grace, would ya? And don't even think about going outside unless Mike or Rob is going with you."

John stuck his tongue out at him. "Thank you Mummy," he mocked Nick, "I'm three years older than you, Nick, not the other way around. I can take care of myself!"

Nick shrugged, grabbing a jacket off the chair. "Grace, keep him in line and out of trouble, okay?"

"Sure. 'course." Nick left, locking the door behind him.

John let out a sigh. "Good, they're gone. They make so much noise when they're here it's like Piccadilly Circus with all the traffic."

I laughed. "Well, they are part of a band, you know in case you've forgotten," I joked. John laughed.

"Yeah, I know." I got up and ran my fingers along the keys of Nick's Roland system.

I waved over to John. "You think Nick would be upset if I played his synthesizer a little?"

John shook his head, "no. Just don�t mess up any of his programs. He programs every song into that synth so in case God forbid he gets sick on the tour, someone can still play the synth rather easily without knowing all the songs perfectly well."

We traded more bass riffs, and went back and forth with playing suggestions for another hour. After that, John suggested we order something to eat, so we ordered room service.

"One thing I don�t get is how some people who play guitar can always look nonchalant when they're on stage," I commented, finishing a club sandwich. "I know I look uncomfortable and frumpy - maybe it's because I'm too short for my bass!"

John got up from his chair, nodding. "Sure, I never have a problem with the weight and the height of my bass - but then again, I'm probably about a foot taller than you!" He gestured for me to get up. "Here, try my guitar." I slid the strap beyond my shoulders, and still I felt uncomfortable.

I shrugged, "I don't know. I don't think it'll ever be right for me. Whatever guitar. At least with a Fender I'll still sound good even if I don't look good."

"Nah," John said, shaking his head. "It's all about the stance. You have to be the one to make yourself exude with confidence. No one else is going to do that for you." He got behind me and pressed down on my shoulders. "That's part of the problem. You've got so much tension up here in your shoulders. No wonder you're all uncomfortable playing. You've got to get rid of some of this tension." Placing his hands on my shoulderblades, he started massaging my shoulders.

I should have recoiled from his touch. He was a stranger, after all. But he had very nice hands - if you discounted the calluses on his fingertips from guitar playing.

"There, is that any better?"

I nodded. "Actually, it is."

"Good. Now, you have to stand with confidence. It'll change your playing 100 percent. Like this." John reached around my shoulders, almost as if he was hugging me (though I know he didn't mean to), and try to rearrange my stiff shoulders. "Grace, would you just trust me?" I let me guard down, as he molded me with his hands. His face was so close to mine, I could almost hear his heart beating and he had irresistible cologne on. "Now, try playing now," he said after he said he was done rearranging me. I hoped he hadn't notice that every time he got close to me my whole body would waver slightly.

I let loose an original bass line. "Well�"

"Well what?"

"�I think you're right. I have been playing pretty stiff lately. Like a robot."

"What's the problem? You don't like performing?"

"Oh, I love playing, it's just that audiences can be pretty intimidating," I admitted, taking his guitar off my shoulders, and handing it back to him.

"You know what I do during a concert?" I shook my head. "When I'm really feeling weirded out by the situation, I just try to block it out, and concentrate on one person in the audience and just try to connect with them."

"Easy for you to say, you're used to it."

"But I wasn't always used to it. The energy on stage - it's�incredible. Simon gets going, belting out the song and you just can't help to keep the groove. When I'm performing with the guys, it's like I'll be playing my bass and I'll be so into playing the bass lines, it's almost like I'm making love to my guitar�"