Our faith was rewarded around 11:00 when we saw a vehicle slowly pull into the parking lot. It wasn't the police again, who earlier patrolled the area and promised to keep an eye on us from time to time. The cops had to think we were harmless- crazy but harmless.
This car cruised by our line and I noticed it was a taxi. Why would a cab drive through an empty parking lot, late on a Sunday night?
Something was up. Vicki sat up beside my wheelchair, putting on her glasses and peering suspiciously at the cab. Chris, already stuffed in his sleeping bag next to Vicki, reached for his glasses too.
We could make out two shadowy figures in the backseat of the taxi. Someone mumbled "What's going on?" and I made the mistake of wondering aloud " Maybe it's Barry?"
Whoops.
Barry! As several people got to their feet the cab suddenly sped off, turning onto the main road.
"Let's follow them!" someone shouted as a few people sprinted for their cars, including Vicki, miraculously cured of her cold, who jumped into someones' car and off they went.
Meanwhile, the rest of us milled around and nervously speculated who was in the cab and why they were interested in us?
Several tension-filled minutes later, the cars returned, horns blaring as they approached. Fans were shouting at the top of their lungs. No real words, just shouts. Finally calm enough to speak, Vicki , panting like a dog she talked a mile a minute, excitedly told her story as the group gathered.
They had followed the cab to the dough nut shop, where Barry's personal assistant, Marc, and a woman companion emerged. After several minutes Marc came out of the donut shop with a huge cardboard box filled with coffee and donuts.
More intense screaming!
Sure enough, here comes the cab again, this time stopping. Out hopped Marc, carrying the goodies, and a pretty young woman with dark curly hair introduced as Susan, Barry's public relations person.
"Barry didn't want you guys to freeze to death out here," Marc said, a handsome guy with short curly brown hair and blue eyes. 'So he sent these over."
More screams! I was more in danger of losing my hearing then freezing to death at this point.
Marc hung around for a few minutes, answering questions. Barry sent his best wishes and looked forward to meeting us tomorrow. He was back at the hotel, sleeping. He had a some exciting, new projects planned in the coming year: a new album, a TV special and a new tour.
Marc took a picture of the entire group before leaving./ Barry wanted to see who his really dedicated ( and bizarre) fans were.
Before we dug into the coffee and dough nuts, several fans took pictures of the pastry, forever affectionately known from then on as "Barry's Buns." A few leftover crumbs were saved as relics.
That event alone made this frosty camp-out worthwhile. Other fans trickled in during the long night. When they heard of Marcs' visit they kicked themselves in the ass for not being there earlier. After a lifetime of missing out on crazy shit like this, it was all new to me and fun being part of it all.
I didn't sleep at all, a combination of looking forward to the next day and not exactly comfy in my chair for so many hours. Still, I wasn't complaining. I watched the stars and the growing wonder of dawn.
I wished Jill could be there. It was her dream to meet Manilow too. I was determined that, even though she couldn't be there, Barry would know of Jill.
I imagined what the parking lot would look like in several hours. Total bedlam.
What would I say to Manilow? I was lucky to meet a few famous people in my life- Bobby Rydell, Bobby Wine, Pat Croce. Would this be just as special?
I had so much to tell Manilow. All the crazy stories of concerts and ticket lines over the years. The nice friends I had made through the fan club. How I loved certain songs and how they related to my life. And of course, Jill.
By morning there were literally hundreds of fans crashing the line. The weather was kind, a crisp, sunny, autumn morning. Radios played Barry's interview with a local radio station. If someone didn't know about the book signing before, they knew it now.
Familiar faces dotted the growing crowd, fans I saw all the time at concerts. The dreaded Quarternoters finally appeared, and they tried to bully their way to the head of the line, claiming that honor should be reserved for the "official" fan club of the area.Their leader, a stocky woman in a black leather jacket who closely resembled the current middle linebacker for the Eagles, was the spokesperson and chief bully.
The ploy didn't work. Those twenty loyal fans waited all night stayed together and stood our ground together. Everyone started booing the Quarternoters.
I thought there was going to be a fight between two huge women but thank goodness mall security had arrived and were policing the line.
By noon two gray limos arrived. Barry and company were whisked to the rear of the store. Also on hand was an army of television, radio and newspaper media. Reporters were asking me, Vicki and Chris why we were there, first in line. Caught in a whirlwind of excitement, I mumbled something about loving Manilow's music and couldn't pass up the chance of a lifetime to meet him.
With no sleep I felt like a zombie but sheer adrenalin kept me going. ITherew would be time to sleep later.
Susan, who we met the night before with Marc, was standing at the door with security, waiting for the cue to start letting five people inside the bookstore at a time. She also would check if you had your book ready to sign. New books were also available to buy inside before approaching Barry.
With 12:30 approaching and the crowd buzzing to the point where it was tough to hear oneself think, shoppers drifted by the huge line, wondering what was going on. "Barry who?" some asked, while others gasped, "Here? You're kidding!"
The line snaked as far as the eye could see. Fans gazed into the bookstore windows, shouting"'I see him! He's in there! " as more squealing and screaming pierced the chaos.
The doors finally opened and Vicki, who was technically first in line, die-hard Vicki, after waiting so long, determined to be first in line, said to me "You go first!"
Was this planned as a surprise or had she chicken-out from all the media attention? Whatever, I pushed inside, the entire scene surreal, as Vicki and Chris followed behind, not knowing what to expect next.
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