Back to what I do best

Stalking Mick Jagger

April 1992 - Mustique

It was the 80th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic. I was traveling under two names- thats what tipped them off. I wasn't trying to trick people. Ann Diamond was the name I wrote under. Anne McLean was my real name.

It never occurred to me that this was a problem. I never concealed the fact that Ann Diamond was just a pseudonym. I phoned Basil's Bar on Mustique thinking I would leave a message for Mick Jagger, not expecting he would ever get it. It was one of those snap decisions: to let him know I was coming to his island. In case he was really there, which I doubted. So why not just leave a message which likely would never reach him, and which he could just ignore, having never heard of me in his life before. Meanwhile I would have done my best to fulfil my mission. It made perfect sense since my mission was to bring him a message from a deceased Tibetan lama - oh never mind. 


Finding a pay phone near the beach in the dark, dialing the number - that part was easy. When the bartender answered I had to say something e.g. "This is Ann Diamond. I'd like to leave a message for Mick Jagger."

"I can't take no message but I'll connect you to his house." 

That was nice of him ...
Omigod. Shit just got real. Click! SILENCE. He was transferring the call. I heard distant ringing. Then the same drunken bartender came back on the line.


"He's refusin to take de call."


"Of course he's refusing. I didn't ask you to phone his house! I just asked to leave a message!"


"Okay, what's de message?"


 "Tell him Ann Diamond will be at the bar tomorrow between 12 and 2pm."


"Okay, I'll tell him."


I hung up thinking I should not have said that..I should have hung up. But I was on a mission.


I had a boat to catch in the morning.


The day before I had prepaid the boat captain with traveller's cheques in the name of Anne McLean.


***


The next day the police got involved.


I was in Basil's Bar talking to Ken, the chief of Security on Mustique. A very pleasant guy in a red alligator shirt, very neat, well spoken and polite. He'd intercepted me on my way back from the toilet.


"Is your name Diamond?"


"Yes it is. Am I in a lot of trouble?"


"Not yet." He motioned to the empty chair.


I had sensed something amiss an hour ago when I landed on the beach and Mick Jagger was there ahead of memory, looking annoyed.

 

 "Do you mind answering a few questions, Miss Diamond?"


"I would love to answer some questions."


"Mick is upset."


"I know."


"Mick is very upset."


"Yes I could see he was upset at the beach an hours jammed ago."


"You don't understand, Miss Diamond- I've never seen him this upset."


That made no sense to me. "How well do you know him?"


"I know him very well. I've been to his house for drinks several times. Why do you think he's so upset?"

Blank look from me. No idea. "I didn't mean to phone his house last night. The bartender transfered the call."


He seemed to know all about it.


"I didn't mean to upset him. I was just being stupid."


"You're not looking for sex, by any chance, Miss Diamond? A lot of women come here for that. "


"Not me. I have a boyfriend."


A few more questions and Ken seems satisfied this is all just an innocent mistake. 


"Well, thank you for your time, Miss Diamond. And is there anything you'd like me to bring to Mick?"


He'd been watching me sitting by the sea writing a letter before the bar started getting crowded. I hand him the shopping bag with my novels and a hand written letter explaining my mission. 


Ken thanks me and says he'll be heading straight to Mick's place. I nearly faint thinking of Mick reading my letter.


Dear Mick,

I have no idea what I'm doing on your island but ...


Half an hour later I'm sitting opposite the boat captain, a blond Norwegian who is throwing a fit. "You came close to wrecking my livelihood by traveling under two names and phoning Mick Jagger's house last night. Because of you, I could lose my license!"


Over his shoulder I catch sight of Mick in the doorway, looking in my direction, hand on hip as if to say "Well?" 

Acting like he expects me to get up from my seat and walk over there.


No way am I approaching Mick Jagger in front of all these gawking people eating lunch. He disappears behind some bamboo as I realize I have nothing to say to him. My mind is a blank. I might burst into tears and make an even bigger fool of myself. 


I stay frozen in my seat.


This is ancient history now. But for quite a while afterwards, my indecision haunted me. 


What would I have said to Mick if I had managed to stagger past the noisy tables filled with the lunchtime crowd, and find him somewhere in the back there?


"Don't quit music." 


Eventually Mick came out from wherever he'd been hiding and stood in the doorway, looking annoyed -- he made a hand gesture like "well, do you want to talk to me or not?"


I pretended to listen to what the boat captain was saying about people like me who come to Mustique to bother the celebrities and ruin it for everyone. 


Mick got into his electric jeep and drove away. I boarded the boat and returned to Bequia where I was staying in Lower Bay. I went through my handbag and found my travel diary where I'd been recording my dreams etc. - and realized the cops had been reading it while I was sitting in Basil's Bar.


That night alone in my bed in the guest house I had the most amazing sex of my lifetime, lasting til dawn.





 ****



Two years later (summer 1994) came the  Voodoo Lounge album and the images I left behind on Mustique in a shopping bag were staring back at me from the cover design.

Inside there were also some songs about that day in the bar. but nobody believed me so I stopped talking about it.




****


A few years later I returned to Mustique on another catamaran, just for the day. Just for something to do. Taking a walk to the beach at the far end of the island, I ended up on a road leading down to the sea through a lush growth of palms and flowering trees. When I arrived on the sand near the water there was no one around, but a small table for two, two chairs, two wine glasses, and an empty bottle laid out as if ahead of my arrival, not that I had been invited. I'd stumbled on this deserted expanse of tropical wilderness, and this perfect place setting in the middle of nowhere. 


Above on a cliff stood a house, barely visible. Then all of a sudden, the voice of Céline Dion boomed down from a great height and blanketed the beach in foaming kitsch.


I'm your lady... (she screamed over the crash of the surf)

And you are my man

Whenever you're near to me

I'll do all that I can...


Someone up there sure had a spectacular sound system.  Or maybe I was trespassing on their beachfront.


When the song ended I turned and walked up the path the way I'd come. I had a boat to catch.  It never occurred to me to sit down and wait and see if anyone else showed up. I had stumbled on a scene of cosmic abandonment and I was satisfied. On closer inspection the table showed signs of having stood there bleached and deserted for years.



****


And then there was the time ... but I'll save it for later.