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I Heart Heart Part 2

Several years ago I met Ann and Nancy Wilson of Heart. Sort of. I won a website contest to sit in on a taping for an XM radio concert to promote their latest CD release. You had to be a fan club member and live in NY to enter and I was both. I'm a Heartmonger. I'm slightly embarrassed by this. I have letters from the band entitled, "Dear Heartmonger," and a laminated Heartmonger card with my name on it to prove it. Most Heartmongers fit into two categories -- former or future circus carnies and semi-sexually or formally sexually confused gay men. I like to think neither describes me.

I arrived at the XM Studio taping on 57th street early enough to sneak into the studio where the band was preparing to perform. No joke and no Osama-induced security for Heart -- I just walked into the building, hopped in the elevator and went to the floor I needed to go to. The elevator opened and I could hear the band rehearsing. One of the band's handlers is a woman named Motley Sue. I know this because this is the name she posts under on the band's website. I suppose it's because she once toured with Motley Crew, or that she just like the play on words. She's not motley, but this is just further reason to carefully consider a nickname -- what is cute at 30, ain't gonna be so cute when you're 60 and your tits are tucked into your belt. I'd hate for that to be her fate. Motley Sue hit on me until she realized I'm one of the carnies/sexually confused/formerly sexually confused gay men in-waiting and then quickly escorted me back to the elevator. By this time, more Heartmongers found their way to the rehearsal space and Sue was quick to round us up and send us back down to the ground floor.

On the elevator ride down I make eye contact with no one. I notice one woman appeared to have a miniature version of a neck -- her head was on the precipice of toppling off her shoulders and she had unusually short arms for a normal sized person. She's not yet a dwarf, but she is definitely a carny. There are two other men. One is a 40 something currently sexually confused man with a Zanax grin. He's clutching a tattered Dog & Butterfly album from 1978 and wearing a Ann Wilson Solo Tour t-shirt, the one with Ann and a giant peacock feather covering half her face. He loves her and I imagine his inner dialogue sounds something like this;

Him: "Hi Ann, remember in 1978 when you wore a Japanese inspired-purple chenille top coat and matching flared pants?"

Imaginary Ann: "Yes! That was my favorite outfit on the 1978 50-city Dog & Butterfly tour. But enough about me, what was your experience with that outfit. I really what to know."

Him: "Well when I was in the 11th grade and wore it to junior prom but was laughed at -- first by my father and then by my school."

Imaginary Ann: "Oh. That's awful! I bet you looked fabulous in it. Do you need a hug? That's all anybody really needs. Sit by me, maybe you could join me for dinner?"

The only other Heartmonger man looks like an Oak Ridge Boy. I bet he traps and kills animals for their pelts. And then there's me looking down and hoping that either man doesn't talk to me and that flipper girl doesn't try to shake my hand because she reminds me of the girl with the nubs for fingers that I used to shake hands with during the peace-be-with your portion of catholic mass. My sister and I used to fight over who would sit closer to her. I often lost.

Luckily they all ignore me. When the elevator opens, Ann Wilson, resplendent in over-sized Jackie O glasses and a sheer black tunic top and flared black Lane Bryant pants, is waiting to go up to the taping. She doesn't seem in the greatest of spirits. There's a menopausal glow about her -- I swear she's hiding a battery operated fan in her purse. Everyone whispers,"It's Ann." I wet myself, the same amount I would If I coughed too long and hard -- just a little. She looks at us with a crooked smile and waits for us to file out.

We wait an hour and are let back into the studio. The band plays old and new songs. For and hour I sit an arms length from Nancy and two arms lenghts from Ann. I hear her hit the high notes in Straight On and watch her shirt ride up as she extends her torso. I look at her soft porcelain belly the same way I used to sneak peeks at Playgirl, it's wrong but I can't help it. I feel weird. In an age where I'm used to seeing Britney Spears' virginia slims, I'm uncomfortable seeing Ann Wilson's belly. It doesn't seem right. It's private. She becomes more human than ever.

When the taping ends we are allowed to approach Nancy, but not Ann, who sits in her chair until the carnies file out. She looks like she's at the tail-end of a hot flash. There's a ruddiness to her face that reminds me of my menopausal mom when she would walk through the house cursing at inanimate objects and opening all the windows during a Nor'easter. Nancy was gracious and sweet and beautiful with pink and orange streaks in her hair. Flipper girl got to Nancy first and got a hug from her. I stood there and mouthed, "Thank you for the years of music. It meant a lot." But no sound came out. Ann saw me mouth something. I wondered if she thought I was praying. Maybe she was impressed by my zen like spirituality. Or maybe she thought I was having a psychotic break and readying to stab her sister.

Ann gets very protective of Nance. I've seen them in concert at least 10 times. At least 7 of those times I've watched very drunk, very fat men leap on stage and bee-line for Nancy. But they have to get through Ann first, who I swear once head-butted a crazed fan without missing a note to Barracuda. I decide that Ann thinks I'm crazy and turn on my heels and exit the studio before she calls security. I pass Nancy, who's trying to hide her pack of cigarettes from the exiting fans. She's human too. But she should know better. I'd hate to hear her beautiful harmonies fray from smoke damage. I step into the elevator with the Oak Ridge Boy and flipper girl. We're all smiling and we say nothing, not even goodbye when the elevator opens. I linger a bit and write air graffiti -- "Ann Wilson was here '04 " and leave satisfied knowing I almost met my musical idol.