Sigma Kids sequel: My Breakfast With Ava

Here’s a brief addendum to the lengthy Sigma Kids recollection you can find here and should read first: https://onmanorsmind.wordpress.com/2016/06/14/sigma-kids-somebody-up-there-likes-me/

Spelling “Bowie” with our bodies

The trust between the artists and the Kids grew to the point where we could be depended upon for occasional errands and to provide rides.

My “personal highlight” of the Sigma Sound vigil came one dawn when Ava Cherry popped out of the studio on a mission to get a round of coffee and pastries for some of the people still recording.  You can guess who leapt forward to volunteer to take her to the seedy White Tower—the only nearby place open 24/7—a half-mile away.

We must have been quite the sight to the bleary-eyed truckers and the like, propping themselves up on the diner counter: Ava, the gorgeous black woman with short blonde hair and very stylish clothing; and her “escort,” a 5’8” 138-pound starchild.

The return trip was equally as adventuresome.  We were passing through the strip that housed various peepshow and porn magazine venues, when Ava decided it would be a laugh to pick up some, um, “adult reading” for David.

In all honesty, if she asked with a smile, I would have driven her to Bermuda.  The problem was, parking was forbidden on that block; and, furthermore, it was about to switch from two- to one-way traffic to accommodate the morning rush–and we were facing the wrong direction!

I sat nervously in the car with the engine running, not exactly sure what I’d do if someone gave Ava trouble in the shop or one of Rizzo’s stormtroopers rolled up and insisted I move along while she was still inside.

Was slightly relieved when the beauty came back to the car unscathed…but that was only because she didn’t have much cash left after paying for the breakfast goodies and needed to “borrow” the whopping seven dollars I had in my pocket.

A few minutes later, we were back on the way to Sigma, narrowly averting the traffic-direction-change deadline.  Not only had I proven myself to be trustworthy, made a new striking friend and had a fantastic story to tell, but I’d also earned a bonus.

After the full album recording session ended, Ava confessed she had fallen in love with yours truly, dumped David and we began living together in Paris.

 

The two men in Ava’s life, me (far left) and the soon-to-be-cuckolded Mr Bowie

Okay, that didn’t happen.  But what did transpire was:  the next time the band appeared in concert, Ava waved to me from the stage.  Jaw somewhere around my navel, I pointed to myself as if to ask “Are you waving at ME?,” eliciting a nod and laugh from the singer.

My sister, seated to my right, gently nudged me to also confirm it, at which point I was ready to fall off my chair.  Swoon, swoon.