Read Online We'll Be Here For the Rest of Our Lives by Paul Shaffer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Paul Shaffer
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York City—to a special moment when a group I helped assemble, the Blues Brothers, was on national tour. The genesis of that band will be dramatized for your reading pleasure at a later time in this narrative, including profiles of its stars. But first, Connie.
I met her in Memphis.
The Blues Brothers were on a tear. Our records were sellingmillions. The first Blues Brothers movie was a smash. In their roles as Jake and Elwood, Belushi and Aykroyd had become rock superstars. We played to standing-room-only crowds in arenas across the country. What had begun as a comedy sketch had turned into a musical phenomenon. The fruit of our success was a succession of groupies who greeted us in every city.
Connie was more than a groupie. She was a specialist. When our caravan rolled into Memphis, we were told that she had driven all the way from Little Rock to meet us. What I didn’t know—but quickly learned—was the etiquette governing her services. While the band members, and especially the stars, were her primary object, tradition dictated that she first win the approval of the crew; then she would be given entrée to the band.
Apparently she won that approval because at 2 a.m., after our show, I heard a knock at my hotel door. I was at the minibar, fixing myself a drink.
“Paul,” she said, “it’s Connie.”
“Delighted to see you,” I said. “Please come in.”
A good-looking woman with a warm and friendly demeanor, Connie knew how to kick off a conversation.
“I loved your sitcom
Year at the Top.”
That floored me. I had starred in an unsuccessful situation comedy that ran for only a few episodes. No one knew anything about it. But sweet Connie knew
everything
about it; she knew details from every episode.
“Would you like a drink?” I asked her.
“Sure.”
I walked back to the minibar to fix her drink, and by the time I turned around, she had slipped out of all her clothes except her high heels and stockings and had spread herselfacross my bed like a
Playboy
centerfold. “Praise God!” was the one thought that came to mind. I was so surprised, so delighted, that I spilled my vodka tonic.
“Don’t worry about it, Paul,” she said. “Just get in bed.”
I did as I was told. I soon saw that I was dealing with a master craftswoman. Her attention to detail was exceptional, and she handled her task with both confidence and cunning. I had absolutely no complaints.
When she was through, she said, “You need a Polaroid, Paul.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have a camera, Connie.”
“Next time.”
“I won’t forget,” I said.
Still in bed, she started reminiscing about her past. “I thought the glory days would go on forever,” she said. “I thought Three Dog Night would keep showing up three times a year and the party would rock on forever.”
“As long as we can make it to the show tonight,” I said, quoting Grand Funk Railroad’s “We’re an American Band.”
“You know that I’m actually in that song, don’t you?” asked Connie.
“What do you mean?”
She quoted the first verse:
On the road for forty days
Last night in Little Rock put me in a haze
Sweet, sweet Connie, doing her act
She had the whole show and that’s a natural fact
“You’re
that
Connie?” I asked in amazement. “Yes!”
“My God, you’re royalty.”
She was so pleased with my recognition of her status that she went to work again. This time I felt like I was being knighted.
After the second time around, she got up and started to get dressed.
“You don’t have to leave,” I said.
“I don’t? Everyone always kicks me out when it’s over.”
“I wouldn’t dream of kicking you out. You can stay if you want to.”
“You’re kidding,” she said. “I’m serious.”
“Wow. I usually have to spend the rest of the night banging on doors to see who’ll let me in. Sometimes I just sleep in the laundry room.”
“Stay. Take off those nylon hose with the seams running up the back and
I met her in Memphis.
The Blues Brothers were on a tear. Our records were sellingmillions. The first Blues Brothers movie was a smash. In their roles as Jake and Elwood, Belushi and Aykroyd had become rock superstars. We played to standing-room-only crowds in arenas across the country. What had begun as a comedy sketch had turned into a musical phenomenon. The fruit of our success was a succession of groupies who greeted us in every city.
Connie was more than a groupie. She was a specialist. When our caravan rolled into Memphis, we were told that she had driven all the way from Little Rock to meet us. What I didn’t know—but quickly learned—was the etiquette governing her services. While the band members, and especially the stars, were her primary object, tradition dictated that she first win the approval of the crew; then she would be given entrée to the band.
Apparently she won that approval because at 2 a.m., after our show, I heard a knock at my hotel door. I was at the minibar, fixing myself a drink.
“Paul,” she said, “it’s Connie.”
“Delighted to see you,” I said. “Please come in.”
A good-looking woman with a warm and friendly demeanor, Connie knew how to kick off a conversation.
“I loved your sitcom
Year at the Top.”
That floored me. I had starred in an unsuccessful situation comedy that ran for only a few episodes. No one knew anything about it. But sweet Connie knew
everything
about it; she knew details from every episode.
“Would you like a drink?” I asked her.
“Sure.”
I walked back to the minibar to fix her drink, and by the time I turned around, she had slipped out of all her clothes except her high heels and stockings and had spread herselfacross my bed like a
Playboy
centerfold. “Praise God!” was the one thought that came to mind. I was so surprised, so delighted, that I spilled my vodka tonic.
“Don’t worry about it, Paul,” she said. “Just get in bed.”
I did as I was told. I soon saw that I was dealing with a master craftswoman. Her attention to detail was exceptional, and she handled her task with both confidence and cunning. I had absolutely no complaints.
When she was through, she said, “You need a Polaroid, Paul.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have a camera, Connie.”
“Next time.”
“I won’t forget,” I said.
Still in bed, she started reminiscing about her past. “I thought the glory days would go on forever,” she said. “I thought Three Dog Night would keep showing up three times a year and the party would rock on forever.”
“As long as we can make it to the show tonight,” I said, quoting Grand Funk Railroad’s “We’re an American Band.”
“You know that I’m actually in that song, don’t you?” asked Connie.
“What do you mean?”
She quoted the first verse:
On the road for forty days
Last night in Little Rock put me in a haze
Sweet, sweet Connie, doing her act
She had the whole show and that’s a natural fact
“You’re
that
Connie?” I asked in amazement. “Yes!”
“My God, you’re royalty.”
She was so pleased with my recognition of her status that she went to work again. This time I felt like I was being knighted.
After the second time around, she got up and started to get dressed.
“You don’t have to leave,” I said.
“I don’t? Everyone always kicks me out when it’s over.”
“I wouldn’t dream of kicking you out. You can stay if you want to.”
“You’re kidding,” she said. “I’m serious.”
“Wow. I usually have to spend the rest of the night banging on doors to see who’ll let me in. Sometimes I just sleep in the laundry room.”
“Stay. Take off those nylon hose with the seams running up the back and
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