So I bumped into Amy Winehouse in the lobby of the Radisson waiting for our interview with West Indian Girl. Seemed nice enough. Then we did the deal with W.I.G. and Ms. W is still lingering. So I go into stalkerazzi mode and see if she’ll grant us an audience.
“I don’t think so. We’ve gotta stay on schedule, y’know. Maybe next time, Love.”
In general, I take rejection poorly, but she did call my “love.” Sweet.
So then Monty and I head out front, pretty much cussing her. Schedule, my ass!
Then, not two minutes later, she rolls out with big-ass security guys in tow and hops into an Escalade and rolls back into the bowels of downtown (establishing that A) she really was, seemingly, trying to be somewhere on time; and B)while she may be as big a diva/bitch as reported in the Brit press, I cannot in good conscience use this experience to perpetuate any of that.
