I did get to meet Farrah Fawcett once, but as with many of my celebrity encounters, it was somewhat embarrassing.
It was at a so-called “Bessman Bash” a few years ago at my pal Bob Merlis’s in L.A. He throws one of these annually at the end of summer, a great opportunity for me to see a lot of people I know out there at once.
Our buddy Billy Gibbons was invited of course, but if I remember right (always questionable), ZZ Top’s legendary vocalist/guitarist called during the party to say he couldn’t make it, that he was home in Texas (though he also lives in L.A.). Ten minutes later who should walk in but Billy Gibbons! He had called from his car just to set me up for what truly was a wonderful surprise. He was with an attractive middle-aged blond and was carrying a huge container of one of his famous guacamole varieties.
Maybe an hour or so later I was in the kitchen, no doubt pretty soused. I think I was talking to my friend Dave Schulps when the blond that was with Billy wandered in looking for the bathroom. I pointed the way and that would have been that, except that when I walked into the dining room to get more food, a record company publicist friend stopped me.
“You know, this party could make a Rolling Stone ‘Random Note,’” she said. “Whaa?” I slobbered. “Yes! Billy Gibbons, Farrah Fawcett….” “Farrah Fawcett?” I barked. “She’s here? Where?”
“She’s the woman you just told where the bathroom was!”
I sensed a certain disbelief, if not disdain, in her tone, and when Farrah returned to the kitchen I apologized profusely for not recognizing her and told her how much I enjoyed her work in Robert Duval’s “The Apostle” and Robert Altman’s otherwise awful “Dr T and the Women.”
At least I can say that Farrah was just great. She hung with us in the kitchen for quite a while and it was a real treat talking with her—about what I can’t remember.