I got an invitation to the cocktail hour of the ForEverglades gala benefiting the Everglades Foundation at The Breakers Hotel last Friday, where Sting was going to perform.
So there was a chance that I would be in the same room with Sting. Now, I've seen him three times in concert, so technically, I've already been in the same room with him. But he didn't know that!
I raced home after work to pretty myself up on the off chance that I might actually make eye contact with Sting. Of course it was pouring...my hair does not do well in the rain. Or the sun. Or the humidity. But I said, "pull yourself together! You're going to see Sting!!!" A handful of very painfully placed bobby pins later, I was ready! Beauty is pain, so I added my high-high heels, too. Balls to the wall, baby. This was Sting!
I arrived and got my press pass. Security was tight! The PR ladies told me to enjoy myself, but come back to the front at 7:20 for the celebrity photo ops. OK... I'll be back. I grabbed a glass of Champagne and entered the fray. I made it all the way through the crowded room full of movers and shakers, when a white haired man walked up to me. "Hello, I'm Charlie Crist." I said, "Nice to meet you," and introduced myself. I didn't hit me until I turned away that I hadn't called him "Governor." Ah well. He's very tan. And not very tall. My mind was elsewhere.
I walked back up to the front at 7:20, and no Sting. But look, there were John McEnroe and Jack Nicklaus having a chat.
Jack Nicklaus, also shorter than I expected. No sign of Mrs. McEnroe. Perhaps she was somewhere shooting at the walls of heartache, bang, bang. Either way, not Sting. And I think Mark Foley was stalking me, because every time I turned around, there he was.
Then, someone started talking at the other end of the room, and the crowd pressed forward. Oh, the Governor making a speech, because he has to leave... Still no Sting. I wandered back into the main room, and the bells started to go off, and the doors to the ballroom opened. My cue to leave.
I got back to the front and saw the PR director of the Breakers. "You just missed him," she said.
"Who?"
"Sting. He was just here. He just walked down the hall."
"Are you kidding me??" I slammed down my Champagne glass and whipped my purse open, took out my camera, and down the hall I went, as fast as my high-high heels could carry me and my dignity. I didn't sprint, but I was a girl on a mission.
And there he was. Meeting John McEnroe's kids. Then they started to walk off, and I said, "Sting, can I get a picture?"
"Of course," he said. "But you have to be in it with your pretty red dress."
(GUSH!!!) "OK."
I looked around for someone to hand my camera to. No takers. And then he said, "I'll take it." And POP!
"I hope it comes out," he said, jumping in the elevator.
Oh... I think it's OK.
Of course I didn't know it did then. I had to get to a table to get out my valet ticket. My hands were shaking so much, I snapped a picture of my purse. Way to not geek out, Michelle.
