Start at the beginning.
AS WE LEANED against a wall backstage--me awkwardly, Adria looking inexplicably at ease--a fellow passed by and smiled and asked if we were having a good time. He was the selfsame fellow who'd been in front of us onstage, with the triceps and the cornrows.
After awhile we bravely parted from the wall and made our way back to the exclusive-seeming room where the tub of Jif was kept. It became evident upon entry that this was the smoking room, and the Jif tub suddenly made sense. Most of the people who had been onstage were there, puffing and passing. And if you ever wondered what Badu players listen to when they smoke weed backstage, the answer is good kid, m.A.A.d city, the great Kendrick Lamar album.
Adria was making fearless chitchat. The cornrow man appeared and commenced flirting with me. (Do recall: I had on leggings.) His expression was that of a very high person and his voice that of a subdued Texan. I was being shy and coy, and coy just because I actually felt shy, and coy because that is how one is when any unknown man wants one's number.
The fact that this fellow was on close personal terms with one Erykah Badu was not lost on me. It certainly was not lost on Adria. A happily married woman, she was not about to flirt herself, but nor was she averse to coaxing the flirtation between Cornrows and me. As it turned out, he had played a major role in the creation of Worldwide Underground, and as I handed back his blunt I noticed a glimmer in his eyes that looked like the sparkly opening of "Back in the Day" sounds. He invited us to come back to the hotel for an afterparty.
Did we meet Erykah? No. We did not. We ended up in Cornrows' room at the Marriot, where he'd left CNN playing all night. I inquired what had happened with the fiscal cliff; he said a deal had been reached. The afterparty to which he'd referred was two whitegirls and him and a fresh blunt. And if you're wondering what a travelling musician plays on the laptop in his hotel room when he has brought two ladies back to it, the answer is "I'm Different" by 2 Chainz. Which has a really nice beat once you notice it.
Now allow me here to say that I have utmost respect for groupiehoes. I mean it. I consider bedding famous music people, or even slightly famous-by-association ones, to be adventurous and cool. And I may well have been, in this situation, a blowskie away from meeting Badu. But I didn't do it. I didn't even really consider it, much as I did enjoy taking home a scrap of Marriot stationary with his phone number scrawled upon it. (How quaint, right? I don't know why I didn't put it in my phone.)
The night had been adventure enough for me already. And I had a gentleman with yet nicer arms I was already looking forward to seeing later that very late night. And Adria's kids would be up a few hours hence. So we left the hotel room, with one last eye glimmer smile from Cornrows, and headed back out into the Oakland night. We were both happy. And ready to go home.
THE END
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