2004-04-11
7:25 p.m.

BEVR: LISA M / ST LOUIS : MARCH 21, 2004

FROM THE HEN HOUSE TO CLAY LICK ROAD: A BROADLY ODYSSEY
(with commentary by Ann, aka The Broad Mum)

C minus 11 months�The road to Broadfest begins when Clay Aiken's incomparable voice grabs me by the heart and refuses to let go. My mother suffers the same fate scant seconds later, and we form a two-woman support system until I discover the LBFCA.

C minus 2 months�Tour dates are announced and we melt in despair. No Nashville. Not even Memphis, but. St Louis looks promising. On presale day I take my laptop to work, lock myself in my office and score decent seats. I share my good news with the Broads, and Diana Kilbridge kindly offers a ride! Tickets arrive in the mail and two grown women squeal.

I went to Florida with my girlfriends when I was young, but I guess this was my first 'road trip' in the sense of going somewhere with people I didn�t know, and not knowing who I was going to see�well, except Clay of course!

C minus 4 weeks�I meet DK to show her to our house. She reminds me eerily of one of my best friends from college, and the bond is immediate. So much for internet horror stories!

C minus 3 weeks�Panic strikes when Mom gets a blood clot behind her knee. Broadly support floods in. One night while giving her shots the phone rings. It�s Filly Sue! I�d asked Mary in MD if a cellcert from Philly might be possible, and she enlisted Sue to assist. We get half of Kyrie before the connection cuts out. 2 sets of ears pressed to the phone, we shriek then sadly hang up. Later, phone rings again while Mom's napping�and I get ALL of WDC, as I stand and sway and hip bump and remind myself to breathe. I start to think this is really going to happen.

I wanted so much to go, and the doctor said it was okay but with certain restrictions, like I had to stop and get out of the car and walk every hour. I didn't know how Diana would react, but she really went out of her way for me, bless her heart!

C minus 1 day�DK arrives in a van we promptly dub the Broadly Bus, so Mom has an entire bench to herself. Nonstop talking, laughing, cranking up MoaM and my demo CD (and DK's Brude Dave, who is a heck of a songwriter!). At one stop we spy some singularly appropriate merchandise�Double Strength Big Stick incense and Rope Style Beef Stick jerky. Broads get it. Another sign, a place called the Hen House (see DK�s upcoming, ahem, BEVR for photo proof). Even a storm doesn't slow us down. We decide it�s a test of our resolve. Neither rain nor wind nor hail will keep Broads from Clayton, we declare as we take to the highway again.

St Lou rises suddenly from the flat plain like the Emerald City. We circle downtown futilely for some minutes before we spot DK's hotel. The place Mom and I stay used to be, appropriately enough, the downtown Y! Mom's a little concerned about her walking, so Diana waits for us to check in then drives us next door to the Hyatt. Do not be fooled by her bawdy exterior. Killer D is a saint.

In the Hyatt are�Broads. Broads everywhere. Faces at last for the names I know only as bytes on a screen. Nelle, our keeper of the keys; Mary in MD, TRL queen and so much more; Maylon, who Mom instantly adores (is it the accent or just her delightful self?); St Lou Paula, who ought to run for office; and many more. Clack is already spread: BIRDs, purple beaded bracelets, tassels (at last!), a luscious lipbite button and another that prudently advises 'If found in a puddle, please return to Clay Aiken'.

All the Broads were just adorable young ladies. Lisa has my permission to keep in touch with them :-D I really came to scope them out. No, not really. I came to see Clay. I listen to him every night before I go to bed. But now that I've seen him in person he's ruined me. I have to watch videos every night now!

The staff seem greatly amused by us. Mom sweet-talks a valet into admitting he thinks the tour is landing at the Hyatt. So I might be sleeping beside Clay tonight! After making a connection with 3 CH'ers from Nashville at the bar, we head for supper. Mom and I sit with Karen Nyere (who is gorgeous, darn her), Lorelei (whatta wonderful nut), Lila, (who says exactly what she thinks and I love her for it), Karen Eh? with glittery purple deely bobbers on her head, Lynda, and MS Kathleen (who toasts us all with her first drink since finishing chemo, to thunderous applause) A better batch of dinner companions you couldn't find, and the conversation is lecherous, intellectual, lecherous, spiritual, lecherous, snort-guacamole-out-your-nose funny, lecherous, deep, and did I mention lecherous?

Clay says women want to tuck him in and take care of him...Does he know what the Broads want to do to him? Yes, Mom, reportedly he does.

After dinner we adjourn to the Chocolate Bar, a cute little dessert place, and I do mean little. I�m surprised they don�t drive tacks in the walls and hang us up by our bra straps. The descent of so many boisterous succulent women naturally draws looks and questions from the unenlightened, and we are happy to enlighten them. By the time Mary in MD, Mom and I get through the order line we Clayvert the man in line in front of us, and Mary digs into her bag to present him with a S'Wingle. (I will leave it to others to tell of the infamous banana incident, as I did not personally witness same.) Karen N declares "it's like meeting all these people you knew in a past life!".

It seemed like a reunion, like people who had grown up together or gone to school�that had not seen each other for a good while. A very sharing group. If somebody found out another one needed something, or some help, that they wanted her to know they�d be there for her.

Just as folk start to leave for the night Paula springs the big news�after much phoning, she got through to someone in the tour as impressed as we are by Maylon's devotion. Our South African Broad's longest journey will pause tomorrow at a Meet and Greet with THE CLAYTON! The Chocolate Bar explodes in joy. Mom gets her second wind excitedly educating the disbelieving onlookers about this man for whom women will travel halfway around the world. Our work done, we catch a ride back to the hotel with DK, Cha Cha (with Karen Eh?'s deely bobbers) and Lorelei. Don�t get to bed till after midnight.

C minus 0 days�I take a trial walk to the Hard Rock and Savvis to prove to Mom she can do it, then hit Union Station. Hey, I�m next to a mall, I gotta shop. An employee sees my button-festooned jacket and greets me like a long-lost sister. She's going to the show too, and confides she's hoping Clay might drop in here since he did when AI was here. I hate to tell her Clay can't do malls much anymore...but when voices screech I still race out and upstairs, just in case. It�s a fan collision, including one from another board looking for me! (If you're lurking, day1clayfan, hello!) More people who never met before hug and yak. Clay Nation has taken over the place, and it is a great country to be a citizen of!

Bustling around the hotel getting ready feels like�well, not a first date, that would've been Memphis last summer and AI2, but like the end of a long separation. Not much like a first date when your mother is also rushing around! (Sounds like an old episode of Soap...) In LBFCA T-shirts (thank you Kati!) and full Broadly regalia we hit the Hard Rock. The Clack House is also in attendance, and the scene can only be described as loving chaos. A collective whoop rocks the walls when The Vox fills the air, and an equally vehement boo when the restaurant returns to 'normal' programming for the 'non-Clay fans'. Normal? We don�t need no stinkin' normal. We pretty much drown out the 'normal' programming anyway. My contribution to the Clack: tiny purple knitted booties. If ya don�t need 'em yet you will by the end of the night... New Broads are everywhere�Jill, Amy, Theresa, and my beloved fellow fic ho's Cella and Julie! KJ who we were all sure wouldn't be here appears, to shrieks of joy. The Hard Rock staff gets into the act and leads a rousing group sing of Grease tunes and YMCA in Clay�s honor.

At last...one more check for tickets and off to join the throng streaming toward tonight's Mecca. LB Ruth, a PRoC'er and I start to spontaneously compose and sing 'The Things We Do for Clack' as we're slowly, slowly squashed in the pseudo-mosh pit of the merchandise table. Little rudeness is apparent though�are Clay fans really that different? Finally I fight my way out with my prizes clutched to me. One good look at the Joy of Sex (I mean the program) was worth it. Our seats are great, up just enough to see the whole stage, barely fifteen feet from the floor and right next to one of the only two obvious entrances from backstage. What are our chances...For the first time I wish I'd brought my crappy old camera.

Beu Sisters�nice harmony, terrible costuming. I say this not out of some misplaced prudery, but out of sympathy for one sister whose slightly rounded tummy is horribly overemphasized by her far too tight clothes. Their girl-power message is nice though. I expect to tolerate Kelly's set, but really enjoy several songs. The acoustic performance of 'Beautiful Disaster' is gorgeous. I can't imagine the song done another way. Very moving, reminds me (and others, as I learn later) of Clay. The audience is friendly to the Beus and welcome Kelly, but I don't see many people on their feet until 'Miss Independent' kicks in.

Then Kelly's gone and only minutes separate us from the goal, the grail. I nearly hyperventilated last summer driving to the Pyramid last August. I'm not hyperventilating now. I feel suspended in time, caught in a moment I will remember for a lifetime, as I break and shake glowsticks and pass them around.

The front house lights go out. A roar rises from thousands of throats as one, thousands come to their feet as one, and turn toward the back of the arena. Everybody knows what to look for, but no one knows yet where to look, till all the lights go out�except a golden glow spilling from the opening directly beside us. OMG HERE HE COMES�with three burly security guards in front and Jerome behind�here he comes, and stops RIGHT IN FRONT OF US, so close that two good jumps would land me in his arms (o rapturous thought). "Hello Clay!" I shriek and can barely hear myself, but he looks straight up where I'm twirling a bright green lightstick over my head on Lorelei's hot pink shoelace and singing Kyrie at the top of my lungs, and laughs. At me? Probably not, but I cling to the enchanting delusion that for one moment I, in my glowing purple earrings, hollering like a happy banshee if such exists, am for him the embodiment of this mad joyous place. And joyous it seems for all�in this first instant, like the instant I first saw him in the flesh, the thing that strikes me is the sparkle in his eyes. It's a reflection of the light within him, and I hope too of the happiness we bring him. We kid about Clack's addictive nature, but I�ve always heard performing is a high to beat any drug, and looking directly into Clay's luminous eyes I believe he's found it. Not a trace of lechery�it's a Sunday kind of moment on the Broadly calendar, as I bask in the voice and totality. (I get a good look at Friday the next minute though, when he strides toward the stage and the fugly jacket rides up in back just enough to spy the curves where the long legs meet that fine tush. Ahh...)

Oh, and just for the record, I want the fugly jacket.

By now you've heard most of the high points�Cha Cha's 'donuts on mah butt', the birthday girl, MnM�s cel phone visitation�so I'll focus instead on what impressed me, like Clay taking time to shout out the crew who labor in the shadow cast by a star, and his obvious respect and affection for the band and backup singers. So many performers treat those folks like hired help; Clay treats them as co-workers. I worked in the music business, so this means a lot to me and I love him all the more for it.

I hold my breath when he reaches the bridge of IWCY and let out another full-body scream when he nails 'your way home'. The Vox is in da hizzouse! His onstage demeanor is so professional�no 'how ya doin, hee hee, now this next song...' over and over. He's relaxed, confident, comfortable, genuine. He is, quite frankly, irresistible. He's also clearly in charge. The band stops on a dime when he cuts them off with a gesture. He owns the stage and the crowd. We know it and he knows it.

Oh, Clay is a little darling! Okay, not little, but still a darling. The reaction of the crowd to him�there's only one person I've ever seen in concert that people responded to in the same way, and I never thought I'd see anyone come close to touching people like that�and that was my first love, Elvis. When everybody jumped up at the beginning to look for Clay I thought Elvis had come back! And after the show, when everybody was yelling for an encore, I almost expected someone to come on the mike and say 'Clay has left the building' because it felt like that.

ISY has become a whole new creature. I always thought it more than a simple romance-gone-wrong song, and the fervor with which Clay delivers it, the gestures as furious as flinging off chains, prove it. It's an obvious catharsis for him. Equally obvious, and gratifying, is that the whole audience seems to get it. After 'my new beginning' a shout rattles the house, as if to support and affirm his hard-won liberation. It's breathtaking, the most overwhelmingly positive energy I�ve ever experienced.

I try to hold on to each second as it slips by too quickly. Rockstar Clay tears up Invizzle (I still love that song) then Acoustic Clay kicks back for a few. MoaM rises like a mist all around me from thousands of voices. And then, the first notes of WDC�I thought I was prepared, but 'OHHH MAHGAAAWD YEEESSS!!!' rips from my throat as he explodes across the stage. No pictures, videos, descriptions, can prepare one for the feral nature of this performance. Grrr. Dom the tiger prowls the stage. The intensity in his voice. The give-and-take tension of the dance. Those hip moves, for Pete's sake! I'm told that on other nights there have been giggles, maybe of unease, and more overt motions, maybe defining bounds. To me, this is perfect. I'm watching (with my hips bumping too, who can sit still for this?) as a sexy young man embraces his power, and the crowd embraces him.

TW is now a love song from Clay to us, but we sing it right back to him. The way that you move me, the way that you tease me, the way that I want you tonight... From my seat I can't see it, but looking at MnM's pix later it�s clear how hard he's worked to entertain us�his shirt (sorry, shirts) are soaked clear through with sweat. That's part of the gift, I guess. Before I know it, way before I'm ready, the house lights come up to a chorus of frustrated howls. As we make our way out I feel a little giddy, almost giggly-drunk from the energy coursing through the place.

Mom's still clutching my program, her eyes glazed, so I get her one of her own before she licks mine. After the heat of the experience, the cool air outside feels great as we walk back to the after party. Broads and others fill the restaurant, with goofy grins permanently plastered on every face. MnM runs in waving her cel and yelling "CLAY'S SPIT IS IN MY PHONE!!!". Rainbeaux shares some hot early photos. Our handsome young waiter gets thoroughly debacled and loves it. Maylon and Paula are greeted like royalty...but that's their story to tell. (Did anybody get a good picture of Karen N with the green earplugs in her nose?) Much laughing and hugging later, Mom and I finally tear ourselves away.

I wish I could've done more with the Broads, but I guess everybody knows about my health problem. If my leg had been 100% I would have gotten up on the table at the Hard Rock and danced too!

The sound of Clay's voice follows us, drifting through the night across the fountains outside, the perfect touch of magic to end the perfect day.

Two things Monday that help define the Clay experience for me:

1�I spill milk at the breakfast bar and a small hand appears from nowhere to help me clean it up. It belongs to an equally small girl with a big grin in a big red Clay shirt, who I have never met. Yep, Clay fans are different.

2�Just outside Nashville we pass under a street sign that nearly sends me rolling out of the Broadly Bus laughing�'Clay Lick Road'. Yep, Broads get it.

Yes, I bought tickets to see Clay. I put out dollars for room and board and gas and Clack, and took time off work, and abused my poor vocal folds mercilessly. But that wasn't all I came away from the weekend with. The Broads are indeed a community, and one I am blessed to be a part of. Love makes Clay fans special; the delicate balance of lechery and love makes Broads special. I thank heaven for giving us Clay, and Clay for giving us not only himself, but each other.

If the Broads ask you what I think of Clay, all I can say is�words cannot describe the young man!

Broads I met, I love ya. Broads I haven't yet met, I love ya. CLAYTON, I LOVE YA!!!

-- by Lisa M and her Mom