She Wants Satisfaction and Finds It

Drive to Albuquerque to see the Rolling Stones? Virtually impossible for us, with our demanding careers and our 2-year-old at home. But my husband and I were making it happen.

Driving south on I-25 from Colorado Springs, Colo., I felt compelled to try to relive my past, to recapture some of the love of life and adventure I’d felt as a 15-year-old growing up in Los Angeles--30 years ago, when I saw the Stones for the first time.

I remember that night in the ‘60s when I snuck out my bedroom window, met a friend who was old enough to have wheels and rode to the Whiskey A Go-Go, where cigarette and other kinds of smoke filled the room and the Stones were on the stage. Mick, Keith and Charlie were still in their 20s, years away from headlining 30,000-seat arenas. Mesmerized by their talent and sex appeal, I fell in love for the first time.

Almost three decades have passed and so much has happened in my life. What happened to that fervent desire for involvement that almost got me arrested for blocking a freeway to protest the Vietnam War? I spoke out against racism and other forms of inequality. I made banners and carried signs.

As a Hollywood publicist for almost two decades, I represented some top stars, but I grew jaded. I moved to Colorado, replacing my concrete city view with the Rocky Mountains, spending my evenings reading to my daughter instead of attending glitzy parties. I’d rekindled some of my spirit, but I needed to feel that sense of adventure again.

An hour into the trip, vintage Stones was blaring from the tape deck. “Let’s Spend the Night Together” brought me back to ‘67, “The Ed Sullivan Show” and the look on Mick’s face when he had to change the chorus to “Let’s spend some time together.” Next came the beautiful “As Tears Go By,” and a flashback to when I would listen to the radio with a lump in my throat, thinking about the budding romance between Mick and Marianne Faithfull. I just knew that if Mick and I somehow could meet, he’d want me for his girlfriend.

My friends were in love with the Beatles and even kissed the TV screen whenever Paul appeared. Not me. Rock ‘n’ roll’s bad boy was who I lusted after.

The tape flipped over to “Paint It Black.” I remembered seeing my first images of war, up close and personal on television. “Jumpin’ Jack Flash.” I was a senior in high school and finally had shed my last 15 pounds of baby fat. Standing alone against the wall, I prayed that someone would ask me to dance. Someone did, and we danced the night away to Mick and the boys.

“Gimme Shelter.” I was a college freshman. The Woodstock love fest had just taken place, but Mick was singing a very different kind of music. The rock ‘n’ roll scene was starting to be heavily influenced by drugs, and people were getting hurt. Before the year was over, things would really turn ugly at the Altamont concert in California: One fan was killed and others were badly injured as the Stones sang “Under My Thumb.”

By 1971 I was a serious college student with grad school on my mind and “Wild Horses” on the stereo. Several years later, I landed my first PR job at $140 a week, and started on the career track. By the late ‘70s I had put away most of my albums.

Just a hundred miles north of Albuquerque and we could hardly wait. Through friends of friends from the old days in Hollywood, we’d been assured of house seats and backstage passes. Would I really get to meet Mick after all?

Our first indication that things might be less than euphoric came at our hotel, where the clerk mentioned that she didn’t think Albuquerque was ready for 44,000 concert-goers--especially since the University of Mexico stadium parking lot only had space for 9,000 cars.

Us worry? It was only 5:30, we were 10 minutes away from the stadium and the concert didn’t start until 7. Three hours later, we finally made it to our seats, having missed opening act Sheryl Crow.

But then the lights dimmed and the smoke began and Mick bounded onto the stage, which was more elaborate than a hotel in Vegas. He belted out “Satisfaction,” and I started rocking in the aisle.

Next came “Let’s Spend the Night Together.” Mick sashayed across a catwalk a mere 15 feet from me. I was starting to feel a contact high from all the secondhand smoke, and my husband French-kissed me in public for the first time in five years.

The adventure truly had begun.

So what if the three-mile line to the fairgrounds parking lot had brought us to another line, where thousands of concert-goers had to wait to board jammed buses--only to be dropped off a mile from the “will call” window, where they had trouble finding our tickets?

So what if our backstage passes were only VIP enough to get us into a makeshift lounge where the only food was chips without dip?

So what if Keith and Charlie now have salt-and-pepper hair?

Those 30 years seemed to melt away as I danced with almost reckless abandon. Yes, Mick, I still love you more than Paul.

* The Rolling Stones and the Wallflowers play Sunday and Monday at 7:30 p.m. at Dodger Stadium, 1000 Elysian Park Ave. $39.50 and $62.50. (213) 224-1400.

* IN CALENDAR WEEKEND: Robert Hilburn previews the Stones’ L.A. dates.