Britney Spears And Me?

            It was 2003 and I was strolling down Sunset Plaza to the famous Coffee Bean on Sunset—everyone frequented this particular Coffee Bean. Do not go looking for this establishment; like much of Hollywood’s luster—it is gone. So centered was my life around this place and the people that relaxed, schmoozed, and created there I had moved my office down the street. On this particular day it had been yet another argument with Steve over our upcoming DVD release of “Mike Fenton’s Actors Workshop”, a pretty damn good how to make it in Hollywood video.

            Accompanied by my once good friend Daryl Mack I lamented my partnership with Steve up to the moment we walked into the Bean—to find it vacant.

            “Where the hell is everyone?” I asked the girl behind the counter, then checked out the cute little blonde that had walked up at the same moment with the same bewildered look as I. She wore some tight little jeans and a matching jean cap pulled down almost to her eyes.

            “There was a power outage, we just opened a minute ago—literally,” said the girl behind the counter.

            “So, how you doing?” asked the little blonde amused at how overtly I was checking out her posterior.

            “Good,” I answered, pulling back into a more upright position in order to make eye contact. “How you doing?”

            She laughed.

            “Sorry about that. I’m not usually so obvious. Nice though…”

            “That’s a beautiful suite,” she said, letting me off the hook.

            Concluding she was nice and cute and familiar for some reason we all proceeded to order.

            “So what are you up to today?” I asked, genuinely interested.

            “I have to go to the studio,” she responded.

            Normally, I would have inquired further. But I’m bad with faces so I had no idea that I was speaking with Britney Spears. And I was so aggravated with Steve that I couldn’t give what I wrongly assumed to be an aspiring actress the interest I normally would have.

            “But I have some time to hang out and have coffee if you want to sit for a while?”

            I smiled. “What a nice girl,” I thought to myself, starting to wonder why Daryl hadn’t ventured a single word since our having walked in. I had even ordered for him.

 

April 17th 2009

 I walked with my girlfriend, who is about the same age as Brittney was back when this story began, to Staples Center—Britney Spears the girl from the Coffee Bean on Sunset was about to perform something called Circus….

            In case one is wondering, this adventure was not my idea. But I wish I could share with every reader the excitement of my very special companion. I also wish I could share with you the feeling of walking into an arena filled with twenty-five thousand young white girls, on average half your age. It’s not the bliss you might imagine. Especially when you see a father or two dropping off daughters and friends only a year or two younger than your date. Ugh! Did I mention that I had been suffering from the flu all week? And something close to no sleep the night previous? Sick and haggard add a few years to an already self-conscious event such as this.

            But to my pleasant surprise the surrounding youngsters seemed to care little about my date and myself. Rather, they focused on the spectacle taking place in the middle of the arena—a stage truly set up as if a circus was to take place. And yes a circus actually did. First let me say the Pussy Cat Dolls did a nice job of warming the crowd up.

            “I love the way they dance,” cooed my girl.

            “It’s stripper dancing, honey,” I replied knowing that she’d only been to one strip club and was too embarrassed to watch the goings on. She told me this. I’m not the one who took her.

            “Oh.”

            We left it at that.

            Then came the Circus. Most of the performance was right out of Cirque du Soleil with a few tricks from my own Las Vegas Spectacle “Night Tribe”. No. It doesn’t bother me; imitation is a sincere form of flattery. I will admit that it is strange to watch a show that’s your show, that’s not your show. It kind of made me want to be back in the business, just to show the imitators how it’s really done.

            After some of the Circus fun concluded Britney came out to thunderous screams, and I mean thunderous, to lead the merry bunch. I don’t know how I remained conscious—suffering from brain fever at this point the noise made me see triple at times. And every time the Britster pranced to our side of the stage this Volcanic like eruption was duplicated. I kept smiling being the sport that I am.

            What did I think? It’s a good show. And it’s a big production—if not so original. It is also a sexual odyssey. The whole show is sex. I’ll spare you the social commentary; I’m no virgin myself. But if I had daughters under 18-years-old I wouldn’t let them go. Call me old school but kids today are just bombarded with too much too young. Oops I said no social commentary.

            As for Britney, she looked good. Her body was the tight little turn on it was back when I encountered her at the Coffee Bean, way back when. Her voice? I don’t think she was singing. And I don’t think anyone in the crowd cared. Britney fans were there just to see her looking good and dancing around—which she did to the crowds delight. I will say this; she looked a bit over it all. She did all the moves, but she seemed to me, to be less than inspired. But hey, it’s a lot of work to do a big show like Circus every night—and given some of the personal challenges she’s had to face in the last few years nobody in their right mind could call Circus anything less than a big success.

Back to 2003

 “I wish I could stay and hang out with you, but I’m having a big headache at the office.” The look on the cute, little blonde’s face made me hate myself for saying these words. “But I’m sure I’ll see you around.

            As I walked out the door with Daryl in tow I shook my head. “I have to get away from Steve. That was a really nice girl and I just blew her off because I’m in such a bad mood.”

            “That was Britney Spears,” Daryl finally said, in a choked off voice.

            I looked up the little alleyway next to Tracy Ross to see a very large black man opening the door of a very black Mercedes S500 for the cute little blonde.

            The palm of my hand hit my forehead. “Damn, I thought she looked familiar. Why didn’t you say something?”

            “I’m star struck. I just froze. Sorry,” he said with a shrug. “I’m sure you’ll see her again.”

            And so I did…At the Circus! I wonder what would have happened if I had hung out and had coffee that day…Funny how life goes.

           

           

           

           

 

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