CHAPTER 11…Diana Ross
Russell was a major fan of Diana Ross and took me all the way to Dublin to see her in concert. We stayed in the majestic Gresham Hotel, situated right in the centre of Dublin. Its mammoth edifice resembled a palace rather than a hotel; it was a plush affair. At the concert venue we were met by Eddie, who was in Ireland to visit his family. The seats allocated to us were not the best – they were to one side and up in the balcony. I peered down into the arena disgruntled as I watched the more fortunate occupy the front rows. Envious that their intimate location and superior view meant more involvement and a heightened experience, this somehow threatened to detract my own concert enjoyment.
Eventually the lights went down and the crowd roared. Such a powerful force of energy erupted from thousands of reassured voices. It was astounding. The roar of the crowd took a while to subside, although it refused to fully cease. It simmered to a rumble of excited chatter with the occasional shrill of a wolf-whistle. Anticipation crowd-surfed above their heads.
Clanggg! An unseen musician struck an instrument. The eager crowd instantly roared, this time even more deafeningly. They held fast at the point of crescendo, but nothing happened. I heard some determined bellows falter but the crowd was largely defiant and refused to stop. They stamped their feet to strengthen their weakening calls. I’d never experienced such commotion or felt such energy. It was so cathartic. An easy way to purge yourself of mounted anger and frustration.
“I’m…” Diana Ross’s voice sent the place into a frenzy of cheers and applause. More stage silence and the audience simmered once again into a light babble. “I’m comiiing…” The fans became ecstatic and once again were left to hang, as her last note echoed then died. A chain reaction of craning necks lifted to look towards the back of the auditorium. I too was now eager. “Out!… I’m coming out…”
And out she came, singing. A slender figure in a long, glamorous red dress and with masses of glistening dark hair, sang and greeted her loyal fans as she skipped down the aisle towards the stage. By the time she got there, the concert had well and truly kicked off.
It was brilliant. We all swayed, sang and cheered, as you do. One massive love-in for Miss Ross fans. This unknown feeling of mass camaraderie was powerfully euphoric and overwhelmed me. Hairs on my skin jolted and rose, caught up by the static energy surrounding me. She performed ‘Endless Love’, and I sang along. Strangely, considering the seat placing, we caught the eye of Diana Ross. She sang and looked upward in our direction then extended her hand in a theatrical gesture. She appeared to be motioning me. She hung around and continued to sing looking me directly in the eyes. I felt them tingle with emotion. Her hand gesture indicated she wanted me to stand up, so I did.
Click! “Can we turn up the lights? I want to see his beautiful face,” she commanded the technicians, rather seductively. The auditorium became alight with thousands of glowing faces. She continued to sing and I, just like my sister Carole, pretended to know all the words and mouthed along. I was not entirely comfortable and would have preferred the experience out of the spot-light.
I thought myself unworthy, a fraudulent impostor, undeserving as I wasn’t even a fan. The fact that someone like her, an international superstar, would notice someone like me made me deliriously happy. I couldn’t wait to write home and began to outline my retelling of the experience before it was even over. So enraptured, a laughing tear needed to be wiped from my cheek using the back of my hand. Diana Ross then imitated my action, only more campily. She sent me up for being gay in front of a crowd of thousands and I didn’t care, I gloated. I knew “centre of the universe”. Eddie, two seats down, seethed with envy.
To me it was no small victory; it was mega and that pleased me no end. Throughout the concert, Diana Ross continued to reappear below and she sang up and blew me kisses. She lavished so much attention in my direction, I began to feel guilty for monopolising her time. Whenever I glanced over at Russell I saw his face brimming with pride. Being a shy person he did not enjoy the limelight. He was more than overjoyed it happened to me, as though he experienced it all by proxy. Diana Ross sent me one final wave and kiss before she left the stage. We left the concert feeling as if we really got our money’s worth.
The morning after, Russell suggested we stay another day and try to get tickets for that evening’s performance. We walked around Dublin and visited every ticket office and record shop we could find but all seats were sold out. As a last ditch attempt, we took a taxicab back to the box office at the concert venue. There was no evidence of the previous night’s gathering. All trash had been swept up, and the place appeared to be deserted. We saw only one female staff member through the glass doors of the box-office and were relieved the place was actually open. Russell enquired about the tickets for the evening performance. The lady then left the desk and went out back. We waited for ages, at least ten minutes. When she returned, she was grinning. She handed Russell two front-row tickets. We were both chuffed. Luckily for us someone’s reserved or returned tickets had become available.
As we had both packed light, Russell decided we needed some new outfits. He said we couldn’t wear the same clothes, just in case we got noticed a second time. We had the entire day to shop, pamper and prepare. We were determined to take our time and make it a proper treat. I purchased an overpriced white shirt which I believed looked really good. Square cut, granddad collar, a bit like a chef’s jacket with slits under the arms. Probably was a chef’s jacket. I bought my smartest pair of basketball trainers to date: a pair of high-top Patrick Ewings, dark blue with orange trim and white detailing. They had extra cushioning that supported the ankle and a tightening strap embellished with the number thirty-three in orange. Emblazoned across the back in large white embroidered lettering was the name EWING. I preferred not to lace them to the top but only midway. This made it easy to slip them on and off without undoing any knots. The extra padded ankle collar and tongue ensured my feet always remained tightly snug and I didn’t lose them when I ran. They were ridiculously chunky and very blue, but I reckoned they were the bees’ knees.
We both splashed out on some new cologne and branded eau de toilette, then spent the rest of the day in our hotel room. It was nice to relax and just lounge around, enjoying each other’s company. We napped whilst we listened to music on the TV. I ordered some afternoon tea and sandwiches. I had been dying to use room-service, ever since we checked in.
We left for the concert bathed and fully refreshed. As we walked slowly to our seats, passing row after row of people, I felt like a VIP. I made sure to savour the moment. Last night, it had been me up in the cheap seats. Now I hoped someone else looked down in envy as I headed towards Row A. Russell took his place, seat number nineteen at the end of the row. However, there was no number twenty. The chairs were welded together in banks, so it was obviously a ticket misprint. I didn’t worry, I knew my ticket was legitimate. A security guard, seated with his back to the stage, watched us. Then he brought over his stool, and placed it on the end next to Russell. If I didn't already feel a bit privileged, I did now. I knew people would have seen him. I told myself, I was a specially invited guest.
Occupying the seats beside Russell were a lovely twosome. Sandy and Lorna, two large women, were both lifetime fans of Miss Ross and ardent concert-goers. They had also attended the previous night’s concert and recognised me. Russell chatted about my experience and mentioned his surprise at being spotted at all as we were sat up in the balcony. They appeared very cynical and suspicious, unconvinced it was off the cuff. They asked if I was planted in the crowd. I liked feeling important and found it difficult to deny it outright. So, without too much conviction, my “no” sounded more like a “yes”.
Miss Ross took to the stage in much the same fashion as she did the evening before. Almost immediately she clocked me and pointed up to the balcony, my seat of last night. She wasn’t 100% sure; it was more a question. I was star-struck and, with smiley eyes at full stretch, nodded eagerly like an expectant five year old. I was flattered that such a distinguished artist would remember ordinary me.
The concert continued. Diana Ross did her usual crowd-pleasing walk around, singing and high-fiving as the Americans like to do. She was not a prima donna afraid of her fans; she flirted, teased and joked. She pushed the microphone into singing faces and sat on the laps of men to goad their wives. Everything she did was well received by the audience. She headed in our general direction and shook a number of hands as she performed. I watched her get closer as she came along the front row. My heart raced. She was metres away. Russell told me he thought she was going to ask me on stage. I so wanted her to stop and shake our hands but she walked straight past us. In the interval, Russell, who was still convinced I would be asked, suggested I have a drink to ready my nerves, so I did.
Part two began. ‘Upside Down’, a fast dance number, began to play. And Russell was correct: Diana Ross beckoned me up on stage. It was a glorious encounter. Right from the instant I stepped up to her, she made me feel comfortable. She emitted unambiguous nurturing vibes. The affection in her eyes was genuine. She gave me a long embrace and a kiss on the cheek. I couldn’t say that I had ever been hugged by a woman before. I thought she smelt like moisturising cream. I knew nothing about ladies’ perfume.
We danced together. Thankfully I was oblivious to the multitude of unblinking stares as I couldn’t see any of the crowd due to the powerful spot-light that blackened everything except the stage. I was amazed that I wasn’t even that nervous. Like mates at a disco, she mimicked my moves and followed my somewhat erratic steps. When the next verse came, she wondered off to sing to the crowd, leaving me dancing. Up there alone, I felt a lot more vulnerable. I didn’t know if I was expected to leave the stage. I closed my eyes and danced on. Eventually Diana Ross came back over. I was given another hug and kiss. She took my hand and, as if I were the lady, escorted me from the stage back to my seat. A look of “Oh, we were right,” came from the two women seated alongside Russell.
Afterwards we went for another drink in the bar. I met a few more people that insisted I was an undercover dancer concealed within the audience. That they could imagine that I was something more than a random fan made me feel really significant. A strong chorus of Ms Ross devotees that didn’t want the night to end started a singalong. They belted out, ‘Reach Out and Touch’; hands swayed, drinks were consumed. It was a proper Dublin hooley. I could have sworn most eyes were on me. Before we left, Russell, joked that I had better do an encore. I believed my own fantasy that I was a secret superstar; my ego was massive.
The following morning, we met Eddie for breakfast in the café at the Gresham. To say I sat smugly as Russell relayed details of our second episode in the Diana Ross experience would be an understatement.
Neither Russell nor myself could quite believe our luck at being singled out twice. The impact of Diana Ross’s show of kindness boosted my morale and carried me forward with a strong belief. I was not insignificant in the world, or else she wouldn’t have noticed me. When he recounted the previous evening’s events to Eddie, it sounded too good to be true, even to myself. Eddie pretended he was delighted for us both, even enthused. I knew his words were choked up rather than delivered with sincerity. It mattered little as I was happy – happy for Russell and happy to have an amazing tale to tell the folks back home back. I couldn’t wait to see the reaction of Peggy and the other Crones back at The Carpenters Arms.
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