I’ve spent literally HOURS trying to make this post shorter, and I just can’t. Even though I’m leaving out SO MANY details, this one requires a lot of words.

I’ve said before that crazy things happen to me. But things like this only happen in the movies…

…And once, it happened to me.

While I was working for a marketing communications company, a coworker (we’ll call Kristy) and I were sent to a conference to meet with potential clients and hopefully pick up some new business.

I had daydreams of getting the BIG FISH – the guy on the cover of the conference brochure. He was (maybe still is) a powerful man we’ll call Mr. L.

At the time, Mr. L was a very prominent infomercial producer. If I were to name his biggest infomercial, you’d know it, even all these years later.

Picture a man in his early fifties, who looked like a mature Sylvester Stallone. Only instead of wearing a wife-beater, Mr. L was decked out in an impeccable Italian suit.

If I approached him in the hotel bar, I’d be just another parasitic butt-smoocher. I had to get HIM to come to ME.

Kristy said there was no way it would EVER happen. But I dragged her into the bar anyway, and picked a table right in his line of sight.

Every time he looked our direction, I’d just smile at him. Finally, he excused himself from his ever-growing crowd of worshipers, and came to our table to introduce himself.

I’m not going to lie and pretend like I turned on my marketing prowess. He was at the top of his field, and I was a newbie to the industry. I wasn’t going to dazzle him with knowledge.

I looked him square in the eye and said the smartest thing that came to my mind, “You’re so much better looking than your picture on the brochure.”

Kristy was mortified.

But Mr. L was flattered. He invited me to meet him the next evening at the event’s cocktail party so we could talk business. I told him Kristy and I would love to meet with him.

He said, “I only invited YOU.”

Awkward.

As soon as I found him at the party, he turned to one of his associates and said we were ready to go.

Go?

I followed them through the front lobby of the hotel out to a waiting super-stretch limousine. There were eight of us, including Mr. L.

After we got in the car, he introduced everyone: a couple of Mr. L’s employees, the president of QVC, an executive from HSN, two 20-something girls who were NOT convention attendees, but rather a couple of Beverly Hills socialites Mr. L knew. 

And then there was me.

Do you know that Sesame Street song, “One of these things is not like the others…”? Where exactly did I fit in? Somewhere on the spectrum between respected marketing mogul and ditzy rich chic?

We went to the Peninsula Hotel, a five-star luxury hotel right in the heart of Beverly Hills, and made our way to the hotel restaurant, The Belvedere.

To say this place is posh would be like saying Tiger Woods likes girls. Massive understatement.

I had a lobster tail for an appetizer. A whole lobster tail. AS AN APPETIZER. I estimated that my meal was WELL over $100, and I ate light compared to the men.

Mr. L picked up the tab for everyone.

After a really lovely evening with the best food and service I’ve ever had in my life, I figured we’d head back to the hotel in Long Beach.

But no.

Next, we went to what was, at the time, L.A.’s hottest nightclub. We were escorted directly to the VIP area.

By then it was close to 1 a.m., and my feet were KILLING me. But I figured the place HAD to close around 2 a.m., and this was a once in a lifetime event.

So I danced.

Five bottles of Dom Perignon later, around 3 a.m., the QVC and HSN guys called a car service to take them back to the hotel.

Finally, when I thought I was going to have to curl up and sleep in our booth, Mr. L said he knew an all-night burger joint that had the best greasy burgers in the world.

Okay. I was kind of hungry. Plus, I STILL hadn’t had the chance to talk business with Mr. L.

The socialites passed on the burgers. So Mr. L’s employees called a car and escorted them – well, who knows where.

It was down to just Mr. L and me. So while we were eating greasy burgers on the outdoor tables of this seriously scary dive, I finally got the chance to talk business. And it looked like he was taking me SERIOUSLY.

As we got back into the limo to call it a night – or actually a MORNING, because by then it was about 5:30 a.m., Mr. L told me he was staying at the Peninsula, NOT the hotel in Long Beach where the convention was.

Of course.

He looked at me pensively and said, “Ms. Roberts, I’d feel so much better about doing business with your company if you’d come back to my hotel and sleep with me.”

I bet he would.

Gulp.

I said, “Mr. L, my company doesn’t need your business that badly.”

There went my five percent of whatever enormous contract I hoped to sign with him. And now what? I was about 40 miles away from my hotel.

Mr. L smiled at me and said, “I apologize. I’ve been less than a gentleman. After the driver drops me at my hotel, I’ll have him take you to yours.”

When I was finally alone in the limo, I turned the stereo on and found a radio station. As we drove down SANTA MONICA BOULEVARD, a Cheryl Crow song came on.

"’All I wanna do is have a little fun before I die,’
Says the man next to me out of nowhere…”

I sat up and looked out the window. Sure enough, the sun was coming up.

“All I wanna do is have some fun
I got a feeling I'm not the only one
All I wanna do is have some fun
Until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard.”

I’ve always felt like my life has a soundtrack. I’ve just never had it sync up so perfectly before, or ever again for that matter.

Because THAT sort of thing only happens in the movies, right?