A silver Toyota 4-Runner sped down precipitously down Whitehurst Freeway to the strains of Metallica's "S&M" CD - to my disdain.

"Tell me again who this geezer that you *have* to see today," Steve said, exasperated. Pretending to sound like a schoolgirl, he said in a high-pitched voice, "he's *so* dreamy!"

Steve is my sometimes nice, always annoying older brother. Just because he's 8 years older than me, he thinks he's so much smarter than me. Too bad for him, but I think he seriously lost out in tact, compasion, and brains. What he lacks in brainpower, he makes up for it in brawn.

Which is why my parents commissioned him to go into D.C. that day with me, because I wanted to go to the 9:30 Club to see John Taylor.

Not John Taylor, the San Francisco 49er. Not John Taylor, the avant-garde architect. John Taylor. The musician. The producer. The songwriter. He who was in Duran Duran for almost two decades then left when he wanted to follow another's voice.

His own.

So I was going downtown on that November day, showing up hours well before his 9:30 concert at 7 that evening. Mostly in the hopes of running into Mr. Taylor before the soundcheck, begging to be allowed to sit in.

I really wanted to go by myself - I had realistically planned on taking the subway. Everyone knows that Washington D.C. is *not* the safest city in the U.S. - so as soon as my parents heard that I had this inkling, they said if I went by myself, I'd be grounded. Such an ultimatum.

Unless I could get someone else to go with me. That was going to be difficult. None of my friends at school ever understood my fascination with Duran Duran. A couple of them even referred to John, the object of my affection, as "that long-haired, blonde weirdo that Lis has a crush on." I would say in response, rather hotly, "John Taylor is *not* a weirdo! You just don't get his brilliance." Which was met with snickers and snufflings.

They'll regret it someday. Like I always say, it's their loss.

Some people automatically assume that John is a rock-and-roll tragedy, a has-been, and the only time had success in the busic biz was when he was playing bass for Duran Duran. He might not have matched the commercial success of Duran Duran in those heady days of MTV's infancy. But I know better. John Taylor, he'd tasted that brand of honey already. He knew, without a doubt, that it was no longer about the money *or* the fame. He'd had his time in the limelight if that was all he was in it for.

Instead, he first used music to reveal his feelings - going through a nasty divorce, John had a heavy heart. Songwriting was cathartic for him. He had been John Taylor, teen idol, for so long. Hiding behind a smokescreen of alcohol and coke and pretending that everything was all right for the world's most eligible bachelor.

And when it was time to let it all hang out, he did. Some JT fans said that listening to "Feelings Are Good..." was almost painful to listen to because you didn't just listen to the songs, you *felt* the pain.

In that way, since then, and today, I've always felt John held special meaning for me. There was always this physical attraction I had for him - the way he swayed to the music, the way he held that bass and plucked away groovy basslines with such ease and such seduction...and then he had to go and quit Duran Duran and make me all heartbroken.

But, thankfully, my cup runneth over when he became a solo artist, and I got to hear his voice instead of Simon's for a change! Duran Duran will always be in my mind, the band and Simon LeBon's voice.

But John's solo stuff - it was completely different from Duran Duran. Still classic, but had an amazing level of honesty. Simon, god knows I love him and his writing, but he tends to write very poetically. I love poetic art. Simon is a dear.

But sometimes you want to get into someone's head, and John's music has allowed me to do that very well and much to my happiness. It's like every time I hear a John Taylor solo song, it's as if I've jumped into John's brain, slid down the various veins and arteries, fallen into his heart, and then climbed back out again. Catharsis for *him* has proved to be cathartic for me too.

So that's why I was in that car with my stupid brother. When we got to the club - it's situated between 9th and 10th streets - get it? That's why it's called the 9:30 Club... - I didn't see too many people because, I figured, it was a nightclub spot, and no one shows up until the sun goes down anyway!

Steve growled, he hated parallel parking as he pulled into a parking space. "It isn't my fault you wanted an SUV," I joked. He stuck his tongue at me. I turned, miffed.

I was equipped with the bare necessities - a pair of shades, green lenses; a bottle of water; a camera with fresh film; and a pic of John that I hoped he'd sign, if I was lucky enough to run into him. Oh, and being a girl, I had plenty of other stuff in my purse but I'm sure you're not interested in that.

"How long are we going to wait?" my brother said, sighing loudly. "Huh?"

"Just long enough," I replied. When I was little, I used to ask him things like "why does *that* happen?" To which he would reply, "because." Or "very carefully." That got me so annoyed. So if you want to know why I have such good comebacks, it's all his fault. "Be patient. Sheesh."

We waited for what seemed like an eternity. My brother was going through all the functions of his work-issued pager - including the "Fruit of the Month" feature. (I swear! It really exists! Silly as it may sound.) I kept looking at the edges of my fingernails, hoping to pass the time away before John or someone in his entourage - Gerry, Tio, whoever - stumbled to the club. They had to show up - eventually. I just hoped it was some time before the show so I could actually talk to John.

Then, as if a mirage has taken up residence in front of me, a taxi pulled up in front of the club. At first, I wasn't concerned but then I saw the unmistakable blonde streak of hair, and the 6'2" frame of the man who had given me so much through his words...

He paid the driver, or so I thought. He got out of the cab, as the cabbie threw open the trunk, and passed John a guitar case - no doubt with either one of his beloved Fenders or Gibsons. John searched his pockets, apparently he hadn't thought to bring enough money. So it was Lis to the rescue! I sauntered over - I don't know where I got the nerve, but somehow the adrenaline rush being next to my idol gave me the strength, the courage to approach him.

I pulled out a $20 and passed it to the cabbie. "Keep the change," I said, the cabbie tipping his hat and murmuring a thank you before he took off down the street.

"Thanks," John said, smiling at me, slinging the strap of his guitar case on his back. "Are you..."

I nodded, smiling back. "If you wanted to know, yes. I am a fan of yours. My name is Lis. Lis Porter."

John reached out to shake my hand. It's a wonder that my hand wasn't shaking terribly! "Porter? I was almost sure that you were of Asian origin - but then I thought, you speak English so well..."

We walked toward the entrance. My brother got up from the sidewalk, with this stupid smug look on his face. "Oh no, I'm American-born. My mom is Chinese, my dad's family is from Baltimore."

"Ah, gotcha."

"This is my brother Steve," I said sheepishly. My brother shook hands with John, it was such a farce. I think my brother's face would have cracked smiling like that. I was thankful he was at least being civil around my idol like that.

John knew immediately that Steve was *not* a fan of his music. "So, you took your sister all the way down here so she could come see me, huh?" John looked amused. That smile was blinding!

"Yeah, you've got me pinned," Steve replied. "She wanted to be here so that maybe you'd let her watch your soundcheck." He shrugged. "I'm glad that you've given my sister so much over the last year. She's been through a lot and I have to admit, you've been that missing piece that has kept her going." That brother of mine was going to get a gigantic Christmas present that year! "So I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Taylor."

"Please, call me John. No formalities." Steve nodded. "But I have a feeling that you'd rather be doing something else...you like sports?"

"Sure. Actually, so does Lis. We both do. It's all Dad's fault!"

"Well, when I came in town this morning, the airport shuttle driver was saying something about ESPNZone..."

I nodded. "Oh sure. It's that way," I pointed the direction.

"So maybe your brother here might have more fun going over to there, while you join me during the soundcheck?"

He was going to let me in to the soundcheck? "Wait a minute, did I just hear you right?" I almost stopped breathing.

"Sure, why not?" he grinned. "It's the least I can do for you after you paid for my taxi. As long as your brother approves, that is." He turned to Steve.

Steve may be slow but he's not completely stupid. "Sure, that's fine. As long I know where she is." Steve said to me, "you have my pager number, if there's anything wrong, you call me right away, understood?"

"Yes, Sergeant," I replied in a cheeky voice. And my brother was off.

Without the antics of my brother, I started to get really nervous. After all, here was *John Taylor* - and I was trying to act cool as a cucumber. It may looked as if it were working but internally it wasn't...

I followed John into the danky interior of the 9:30. John said hello to some people there, the manager and stuff, before heading backstage and figuring out the configuration of the stage. He explained that he was going to wait until the rest of the Terroristen crew showed up before he tried to do anything. So the bartender gestured that we could sit down. I got a tomato juice - to John's amusement.

"Hmmm?" I asked, sipping the juice. John himself had just gotten a bottle of Evian.

"I just figured you were underage anyhow," he said, taking a swig of water, and taking off his sunglasses, so I could see his beautiful eyes. "You look so much younger than...than those other Duranies."

I know I look young for my age, but I couldn't help but feel self-conscious. "I just turned 21, for your information," I said, in my least testy voice. "I'm a college student."

"Really?" He looked amazed. "I would have figured you as a high-school student..."

"Yes, I am. I'm majoring in biology, thank you very much."

"Wow. What do you want to do in the future? Career-wise I mean." To my surprise, he actually looked and appeared to be interested in what I had to say.

I smiled. "I hope to do research. I'd like to be able to say I've cured a disease forever. When you've lived most of your life with a disease, that's what comes to mind first. For me, anyway."

John eyes bugged out. "A disease?"

I nodded sadly. "Yeah, I've lived with lupus - that's an autoimmune disease - since when I was diagnosed at 12. It's been tough - I've had to get blood tests all the time, and I've been hospitalized numerous times. Including this year. That's what my brother was referring to, when he was talking about how I've been through a lot over the last couple of months. When I heard some of your solo stuff for the first time a while ago, it was like I had found someone who could be more honest with their feelings than I ever could. I will always be thankful for that."

"Now I'm impressed," he replied slowly, running his hand through his hair. "I never would have thought someone as young as you would get something out of music by someone as old as me!"

"Don't sell yourself short. Age is just a number, I always say. Besides, when you get older, you become wiser, which I consider a very attractive part of aging."

John nodded. "Very true."

For the next hour or so, John waited for the rest of his band, and we just sat there, talking. About music. About books. About planes - how I hated being stuck in them so that prevented me from traveling because I'm insanely clausterphobic. John could relate - he has to take flights all the time. But mostly I told him how I felt about certain songs, what kind of emotions they elicited from me, how I loved them, how I listened to them before exams to pep myself up, how I listened to them before I went to sleep so I had something positive to dream about.

I don't know why I was telling him all this. I honestly didn't have to. But I think it gave him more of a sense that he was doing his job as a songwriter, as the performer. I think he was thrilled that someone actually gave a damn about what he was trying to say as a solo artist.

When Gerry, Tio, Larry, and the rest of Terroristen et al. showed up, John tore himself away long enough to set up the stage with the rest of the guys. It was cool to meet the guys - Gerry gave me one of his dark green picks! - and I sat and enjoyed being there at the soundcheck. The manager had closed the door to the club, so even if there were Duranies outside, they couldn't get in. I felt extremely privledged in that aspect!

To test the sounds, they played "Hey Day" (one of my favorite songs), part of "New Religion," and rocked out to "Mister J." They fooled with the speakers, with the microphones, anything you could imagine. One of John's roadies had actually brought more of John's basses - but the one John had carried in, John was fooling around in the hotel that morning, he explained to me later.

Finishing up the soundcheck, John came back to take a couple more long swigs of cold water. "That has to be the most annoying part of touring!" John announced. Gerry and Tio got sodas from the bar, the others wanted to go find someplace to eat well before the show. By that time, it was still a couple more hours before the show. "Say, you know how you were talking about the Talking Heads before? And David Byrne?"

I nodded. "Yeah, what about it?"

"I find it very intriguing that you like David Byrne," he said mysteriously. "Actually, I am very interested in your musical interests. I don't have too many young fans like you."

"Believe me, there are a lot of JT fans out there, you just don't know it. Either that or they're not old enough to drive to your club concerts!" John laughed.

"Okay, anyway...what I was going to say was, are you hungry? I was going to go for a bite to eat...do you know of any place in town that's good?"

"Do I? Yeah, I know some good places. How about French?" I replied, with a slight tremor in my voice. John Taylor wanted me as a dinner companion?

"Sounds great." So off we went to hail a taxi.

"Les Halles on Pennsylvania," I told the driver. Les Halles is a slightly pretentious but very good French restaurant that I've always loved.

We were seated in a corner booth - dark, cozy. I couldn't help it. I was feeling extremely self-conscious. I knew that John was married - quite happily! - but I couldn't help but think what might transpire...

But John was the perfect gentleman. We ordered, then like he suggested, we talked about musical tastes, groups, artists, whatever suited our fancy. The time flew by. Of course John needed to get back to the club for a final run-through of everything with the other guys, so we went back after getting through a very nice dessert of chocolate covered profiteroles. I hoped that John hadn't realized that I was giving him those googley "I've got a crush!" eyes.

The performance was amazing. John had made sure, as a fan who he trusted and respected, had a great vantage of stage - right up front. I was grateful for the opportunity. Whenever John looked my way, I thought I was going to faint. He had a grin and smile taht killed me every time and almost blew out the legs below me. I knew he was being normal, charming John Taylor. I just had never gotten that close.

After the show, Gerry gestured for me, rather surreptitiously, to hang around. Why, I had no idea. I was going to phone my brother - wherever he was - and ask him to take me home. Instead, I followed Gerry's gesturing onto the stage, as the rest of the club was filing out and leaving. John had told the crowd, no autographs that night, he was tired and heading back to the hotel after experiencing a hellish flight from the UK just for that concert.

John was placing his bass lovingly in the case - a black Fender - and told one of the roadies to pack it up with everything else.

"Hey, what did you think of our performance?" he asked, flashing that grin again.

I grinned back. "You fellas are fantastic!" I beamed. "I only wish I could have seen you guys in concert much earlier. John, you are amazing. I thought that your music was amazing on CD - and now I know it's so much more special in person. Thank you for being brilliant and giving meaning...to my life."

John looked almost shocked that I had placed so much faith, so much respect in him. "You can't seriously mean that," he said, in that Birmingham accent that never seemed to leave him though he had spent years living in Los Angeles.

"I do," I said, emphasizing the syllables. "John, you have meant so much to me..." I looked deep into his eyes - and I know he was looking into mine. I knew right then and there that I hated the fact he was in love with another woman, happily married...

He took my hand, almost guiltily. "Say, you want to go out for a drink or something?" he asked, almost in a whisper. Almost afraid that someone else incriminating was going to hear what he had just said. "Or a nightcap? Back at the hotel?"

"John, as much I would love to..." The thought of being invited by John to his hotel room was appealing. I didn't want to be a one-night stand, no matter how much I loved John. For the last couple of years, it had been loving John from afar - I could deal with that. Now that I was presented with him right in front of me - I knew I loved him to much to use him and take advantage like that. "You have Gela...you don't want to lose that."

He smiled, sighing. Understanding what it meant to be a young 20-something like me. He undoubtedly remembered the early days of Duran. "I've never met anyone who knew what was best for me. I never met anyone like you." John's eyes grew wet with tears. "I haven't been turned down so nicely in years."

"Nah," I said, smiling with my own tears. "Me? Pshaw."

"You're very special, Lis. From what you've been through, I can't imagine living such a life with so many uncertainties," John replied. "You're a very strong woman - with a whirlwind of experiences."

"But you lived a whirlwind life of your own, John. I've only been lucky enough to be along for the ride, trials and tribulations. You didn't have to write your feelings into song. But you did. And for that, I will always be grateful. Thank you John."

"Lis..."

"Yes, John?"

"I want to thank you. For proving something."

"Proof of what?" I asked.

He wiped the tears dripping unceremoniously off his nose. "That music can change hearts. And minds."

"Of course music can. Music can move mountains. For the longest time, I thought I was chasing rainbows, trying to find that mystical place of happiness that you can go to when you find inner peace. Living with a disease never was easy. I always thought I'd never get there. Then you came into my life - and everything changed. I realized that chasing after rainbows wasn't what I needed. What I needed was you."

John leaned over to kiss my cheek. "Thank you. Take care of yourself..."

"Mrrrumph," I said, rolling over and falling out of bed. I woke up with a start.

Did I really just dream that? Me meeting John Taylor? That'll probably never happen...

I looked over to the autographed picture of John on my nightstand. I knew that even if I didn't meet him in my lifetime, I knew that he was going to always be a part of my life.

For showing me that it was possible to hear *your* emotions in the words of others.

Maybe I still wanted to chase after those rainbows. There was still a part of me that still had this gigantic crush on Nigel John Taylor. That would never change. Except for the part that the words that fell from his lips were so severely honest that they got me thinking.

Those rainbows that I'd been chasing - I was chasing after the wrong rainbows. What I really needed was someone to open the door, to let me live again after all the pain in my life.

I blew a kiss at the black and white image of John. "Thank you..."

back to the water on my face
back to the Fields of Eden