[the scene: Ireland has just won the World Cup against Italy, playing in New York. The author is out celebrating with The Edge of U2 at a fine Italian restaurant surrounded by folk in various stages of intoxication.]
One very beautiful, very plastered woman lands next to Edge and begins throwing her arm around him, nuzzling him and flirting.
"What do you play in U2?" she asks him.
"There's no easy answer to that," he mumbles.
"Are you married? Divorced? Married but living apart?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
She proceeds to do her imitation of Edge singing "Numb" and laughs loud at what a bad voice he has! (She's dissin' the Edge--other diners start ducking under the table.)
"What's your real name?" she asks.
"David Evans."
"I'm going to call you Dave."
"Suit yourself."
"Hello, Dave Evans."
I decide to step in. "You know," I tell her as Edge shoots daggers at me from his eyes, "the whole world loves the man called the Edge--but he's been waiting all his life for the gal who'll fall in love with simple Dave."
"Is that true?" she asks, almost crawling into his ear. Is that what you want, Dave?"
"I just want to be loved for who I really am."
"And who are you really, Dave Evans?"
"A BIG FAMOUS MEGA RICH ROCK STAR!"
That pretty much puts the kibosh on that romance.
--Bill Flanagan, U2 at the End of the World
Posted by eshtine at May 25, 2002 02:34 PM