Mike look at me, shook his head and said "Not in a wheelchair?"
Along for the ride was the cameraman, Ted, a short fellow with dark hair and a moustache, and R.J. the limo driver, an older guy with silver hair and a slight British accent.
I climbed into the back seat of the huge limo, waving bye to Mom who stood stunned on the porch. She, Henry and Sue would meet us down the shore later that night for the ride back.
As R. J. put the wheelchair in the trunk (I never knew a limousine had a trunk) I looked around in awe. All around me was luxury: a bar, small TV, red crushed velvet seats, a car phone ( which was a rare big deal back then). The front seat seemed miles away.
I felt pretty out of place but Mike enjoyed it, taking off his shoes, loosening his tie and lighting up a cigarette. "This isn't too bad, is it?": he said, smiling.
Riding in a limo through my hometown was the stuff dreams are made of. It was cool looking out the one-way tinted windows and watching as drivers and pedestrians squinted to see if anyone famous was inside.
We stopped in Valley Forge for a few outside shots, as we dropped off the cameraman to take some footage of the limo cruising down the road before we doubled-back and picked him up.
We were pressing for time so we started up the Pennsylvania Turnpike on the three hour trek to Kennedy Airport and Jill. We talked Phillies and Mike related some show biz gossip, then it was time for the interview.
I tried to forget about the camera as I related how I met Jill, the connection with Manilow and more. He also asked me about my many broken bones, my childhood and hospital stays. They would end up shooting a couple of reels of film, then everything would be chopped up and condensed to a mere few minutes of footage they would keep . Thankfully the worst of me would end up on the cutting room floor.
Surprisingly, I wasn't as nervous as I imagined I would be. Maybe the ham in me came out. If I mumbled or drew a blank they could always start over.
Mike asked if I knew any Norwegian. The first phrase that popped into my mind was "I love you"- "Jeg elkser deg." I hoped they would cut that part out.
With the interview over, Mike sat quietly, paging through a notebook, trying to put the story together. I gazed out the window for a long time as we glided from New Jersey into New York, creeping closer and closer to our destination. And I thought of Jill, who had to be close to landing in the States.
Waiting outside of customs, camera ready to roll, I gave Mike the cue when I saw Jill. As we hugged and she said "Good to see you!" we forgot about the camera, but only for a moment. After introductions we were on the road again, heading south to Atlantic City and the long drive ahead.
Jill looked fantastic. especially after the long flight. She couldn't get over the whirlwind of limo, camera and this entire crazy story coming true. This extra attention took some getting used to.
Mike and the crew stopped for a quick bite to eat at a fast food joint along the turnpike. Jill wasn't hunger- she ate on the plane. I wasn't hungry because I was too hyped. So we waited in the limo for the crew.
It gave us a few moments to finally be alone. We greeted each other more properly, with a kiss and a warm hug. She knew that I hated all of this glitz as much as she did. If we could sneak away into a dark corner at the show, and sneak backstage and meet Barry after wards we would. Celebrities we weren't.
On the road again Mike completed his short interview with Jill. His first question was why travel six thousand miles to meet Manilow?
"First of all, I wanted to see Greg again," she sweetly corrected him. 'And this is like an adventure. It's the chance of a lifetime."
Halfway down the turnpike our lone camera died. Mike used the car phone to call the station back in Philadelphia. A new camera and relief cameraman would meet us at a prearranged phone booth just outside of Atlantic City.
Mike worried about time, chain-smoking and chewing gum constantly. "I love the pressure," he claimed, lighting up again.
He was forming the story and upcoming evening in his mind. "Manilow music in the background as the report begins,' he mumbled to himself. 'Have to do some promos on the Boardwalk. When is the show? Ten-thirty? We will get some shots of you guys being seated at the theater, if we ever get another camera..."
We waited close to an extra hour for the news van to meet us.. By now twilight was easing over South Jersey, the lights from the Atlantic City skyline twinkling across the bay.
We finally rode into the city in style, the new cameraman, Chuck, hanging on top of the news van, filming our limo alongside the van as we made our glorious way into the seaside resort.
As soon as we arrived at the casino we were treated like royalty. The head of the casinos' entertainment and publicity department, a young blond woman named Lola, pleasantly greeted us at the door. She apologized for any inconveniences earlier in the week. She surprised us by exchanging our tickets for seats near the front of the stage.
Barry's people, including my old friend Marc, couldn't do enough for us. They said that Barry couldn't wait to meet us.
Mike was perplexed. Why weren't they this nice earlier in the week? Ah, the camera! Negative reaction would mean bad publicity. Or maybe they really did want to make amends? Whatever the reason, Mike didn't want to dampen the evening, so he went along with it, mumbling that he "never had the same problems with Julio Inglesis."
He was happy that everything seemed to be working out. After all the red tape and tremendous amount of hassle, this was more than just another story. Justice was served.
Mike made one last plea to have the camera go backstage to film the climatic meeting. The answer was still no. He didn't want to press his luck so he smiled at the road manager, saying, "Can't blame me for trying, can you?"
The road manager wasn't amused.
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