Famous Almost

Sneaking in the second time proved no more difficult than the first. The backstage door was still open and we simply walked in. This time we went straight up a set of stairs to a second floor where there were some offices. No one was around. This would be a great place to hide, I thought. Nobody was going to bother coming up here. But Wayne was looking out a window and suddenly barked, "Come here." Outside a group of girls had gathered, and every time he passed by the window, they began to point and scream. Steve went over and looked out and waved, and you could hear them clamor. Obviously they thought we were the band, a band, at least, and someone to yell over. We kept up our play getting a taste of what is was like, we thought, to be the Beatles. But the yelling was becoming more subdued until one of the girls called out, "Who are you?" Wayne called back, "We're the Circle of Confusion." And they went silent. Apparently, they had never heard of us before, and quickly they drifted off into the darkness. Our star had faded, but our brush with fame had left us invigorated.

We WERE big, we thought, destined for better lives than the ones we were leading. We savored the night and the certainty that all of this would one day belong to us--the dressing rooms, the fans, a life on the road. Everywhere we went, puddles of adoring girls would form and scream our names with hope and desire. We would be clever and quick when interviewed by reporters. I had already imagined Ed Sullivan introducing us with high praise and a sweep of the arm. . . "And here they are, The Circle of Confusion."

After the concert, we stood backstage as a group of followers formed. And there in the center of it was the band. We made our way over to a table full of food and drinks where Graham Nash stood with Allan Clarke. People were crowded around smashed elbow to elbow, grinning, admiring, hoping for something vague, I guess, something they could take away and tell their friends. It didn't last long, but we overheard Alan Clarke tell some girls where they were staying that night. He said to come over, that they were having a little party. And then they were gone.

Though we had not been invited, we knew where the hotel Clarke had mentioned was, and we were going. We had no car, but it wasn't far, maybe a mile, a little more, and away we flew through the night pumped full of nicotine and adrenaline and a certainty that we were destined to be something other than we now were. We were going to party with The Hollies.