Diary of a Girl-Next-Door Heavy Metal Novelist

August 7, 2003 (continued)
The small crowd around Gene cleared, and he looked me in the eye. I extended my hand and said with conviction, "I'm Colette."

Gene took my hand. "It's very nice to meet you, Colette."

Oh. My. God. It was magnificent. In my novel, Won't Get Fooled Again, Gene Simmons makes a very brief cameo appearance when protagonist, Suzanne Curtis, literally runs into him. I was living it! My characterization of Gene as a gentle (if not lascivious) professional was right on. In Suzanne's encounter, Gene's natural authority stuns her, but at the same time, she feels completely comfortable, perhaps even safe. Bingo. Gene's voice seduced and reassured me at the same time.

"I'm a writer," I continued as I opened the front page of the portfolio that had traveled so far and through so many obstacles to get to its new owner.

My hope was that Gene would be kind enough to glance at my work. Instead, he leaned down and read my entire "Dear Gene" letter. What now? I hadn't expected him to be so attentive.

"I wrote a book. I think you..." I started to open the inside of the portfolio.

"May I read it?" he asked before I could finish.

It was just so NICE. He sounded sincere. He reached for the packet.

"I would love it if you would," I told him, handing over my work to his care. "Thank you."

"Come on, everyone! Time to go!" yelled the chaperone/tour guide. "KISS has a complimentary gift for you outside. They have lots of people to greet tonight. Let's move on."

The fate of the portfolio was now literally in Gene's hands. I followed the barked instructions, and turned toward the door.

"But first, I have to meet YOU," I said as I locked eyes with Paul Stanley. "Hi. I'm Colette."

I think Paul greeted me, but I can't remember what he said. Unfortunately, I do remember what I said, and it was some pretty lame fan shit - something to the effect of "You are the rock star of all rock stars." I recommend that if you ever meet the guy with the hottest ass in rock 'n' roll, you say something a little more profound. If he's impressed, make sure you tell him Colette prepped you. But back to my story: In this case, my rap did get a little pithier.

"May I just say," I began (and I must have sounded somewhat intriguing, as Paul leaned his face close to mine to hear my opinion. I stage whispered, "This is the best wig you've had on any tour."

Yep. That's what I said.

"Really?" he asked. "Wig?" He tugged at his hair and shook his head like a poodle after a bath.

"It's real?!?!" I couldn't believe it. Had I insulted him? Amused him? "It looks hot," I concluded as the chaperones continued their efforts to shoo us out.

Lastly, I approached Tommy Thayer. I'd decided almost as soon as I entered the room that if time was short, I'd forego talking to Peter since I'd already had my picture taken with him in January, The other reason was because all I could think of to say was "I'm a drummer too." Yuck. I guess, looking back, I could have used my wig line on him, but I wasn't thinking that clearly at the time.

"Hi, I'm Colette." I was getting pretty good with my signature phrase at this point.

"Hi, Colette. Thanks for coming."

"I'm really glad you're with the band now." Not profound, but definitely sincere. Tommy's a guy who's paid his dues.

Before the love fest could continue, I was hustled out the door. It was over.

Will Gene read my materials? I have to assume no. Would he remember me if he read about my project somewhere? I think yes. Does it matter?

No.

What matters to me is that everything that had been in my control went off better than expected. I was calm, professional and confident. I met Gene Simmons and he treated me with kindness. While at the time, I felt so calm that the experience seemed like no big deal, I realized yesterday when I couldn't stop smiling, that something very special had occured. Today, when I read KISS's website, I saw that many fans had written in begging the people who'd had platinum tickets to log in and describe the experience. I am the luckiest little novelist in the world.

I lived the fantasy.

August 8, 2003
So, what about Aerosmith? I guess that deserves an answer.

Aerosmith was like a fantastic beer.After a shot of KISS, though, no matter how great the beer chaser is, you have to acknowledge that the experience wasn't really about the beer.

Interesting that for a woman who doesn't drink at all, I seem to use a lot of alcohol metaphors (KISS hangover, shot of KISS, etc.). Here's a confession: If a glass of beer could squeeze itself into a pair of skin-tight jeans with a black thong sticking out the back like Steven Tyler wore on Monday night, I just might consider imbibing.

Hey - guess what I get to do tomorrow night! Cold Gin (speaking of alcohol) is playing. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that hottie "Paul Stanley" will front the lineup. I would truly be a hard luck woman if, now that I'm free of romantic commitments and designated driver status, some lame "Paul" performed. Ironically, if the fake Paul of my dreams is there, I owe him a drink.

Cheers!

August 9, 2003 - Look what I got today!
Paul Stanley's lipstick looks better than mine. So does his hair, darn it. But look how adorable I am with them! When Life magazine someday prints this picture to document the FIRST time I met the band, I'll ask the editors to touch up my kisser to match the master. (continue)