Its not often you get to meet someone you’ve watched, adored and practically idolized (for twenty-two years) from afar. On November 18, 2009, I had the opportunity to do just that. Andre Agassi had written his autobiography and he was here in the LA area signing his work. I never had the chance to see him in person on any other occasion and I knew if I didn’t go, I’d likely not have the chance again. So I left work early and ventured forth to Borders in Century City, purchased my copy and began the journey that is his book while I waited in line. (If you know me, you know that I rarely read out of my favorite sub-genres within the main romance genre. But I’ll confess right here and now that I feel such admiration for this individual that it wasn’t difficult to dive right into his book.)
His wonderful sense of humor shines through the writing and the pain he felt, both physically and emotionally is acute.
Finally, around 7:30 PM, we were ushered indoors having been given explicit instructions about conduct and what to expect – no cameras (yeah, right, let me run to my car and put it away) no personalization, no breathing, no heartbeat. The line moved quickly, which made me suspect they were herding us through like cattle.
Upon my speedy approach to my heart’s destination (Oooo, purple prose!! LOL) I snapped a pic. Note the blonde Gestapo in black at his right and the pink shirt Gestapo between us. In a way I’m surprised the Fraus Gestapo didn’t confiscate my camera, but I suppose they didn’t have the facilities to house the amount of photography equipment in violation. In other words, *everyone* was snapping happily away.
After a short stint at the very front of the line, the pink shirt Gestapo took my book and handed it to Andre (because clearly I was incapable – NOT!) I stepped up to the table.
Me: “Hi.” I smiled
Andre: Looked up and smiled back. “Hi.” He bent to the task of autographing my copy.
Me: “I, too, am an author.”
Andre: His eyes, the windows to his soul, simply came to life. “YOU ARE?”
Me: “Yes, I write historical romance. Here’s my card.” I slid my business card to him across the smooth desktop.
(Gestapo in black promptly swept it into a pile of items meant for Andre.)
Andre: “Well, there’s historical romance in here!” He indicated his book.
Me: I grinned. “Excellent.”
At once I was ushered off to the side. I didn’t even get to say ‘Thank you.’
In rebellion, I snapped a couple more pix:
In time, I’m sure I will forget the Fraus Gestapo, but I will never forget my twenty seconds with one of my favorite people on Earth.
I wish all of you the same – but much longer – sort of opportunity.