Moments that are out of sight

THERE are two things you need to know about the long walk into the Grammys.

First, the red carpet is, in fact, green, as it has been since the Recording Academy tapped a deal with Heineken beer a few years ago, and the underfoot inlay of Heineken’s red-star logo makes the entrance look like a 150-foot hole on the Mao Tse-tung miniature golf course.

The second thing is how to interpret the screams. A light chorus of squeals usually means a few of the 80 or so people on the fold-up bleachers near the MTV booth actually recognized someone. The louder, “Gee, this is exciting!” cheer, which on TV sounds as though someone really famous just walked in, usually means that a Grammy prompter has given the cue for madness, with or without a celebrity in sight.

And fans such as Rita Padilla, 23, squeal even if they aren’t sure exactly who they’re screaming for or whose autograph they’re collecting.

“I’ve only got one,” Padilla said three hours into her role as uber-fan. “It’s Susan ... Loo?” Padilla turned to her friend, who had scored the free bleacher seats through a radio call-in show, to get the name. “Susan Lau, L-a-u.”

Oh -- another thing to know: If you’re a run-of-the-mill fan, the Grammys aren’t for you, at least not in person. Most tickets for the show go to Recording Academy members and industry insiders, with a few given by radio stations. And without a ticket or a credential, you couldn’t get within a block of Staples Center on Wednesday, which meant the odds of a chance encounter with fame were as slim as for someone besides Jimmy Sturr winning for best polka (Sturr got it, his 15th).

Awards shows are made for television, and while a camera can be revealing, it can also be limiting. The moments that don’t make it on air far outweigh the moments that do, and while the folks on stage create “classic” Grammy moments, it’s people like Fatty Jackson, toiling in the parking garage, who help get the musicians in front of the cameras, or at least in their seats.

Jackson works for his uncle’s Jackson Limousine Service, and by late in the day he was the definition of overworked. There were musicians to shuttle, drivers to manage and some 100 limousines and Escalades to choreograph from the parking garage between Staples Center and Los Angeles Convention Center.

“Who’s driving Dr. John? Does anybody know?” someone shouts from among the limos. Squealing tires echo through the garage, and Jackson scurries to another line of limos, helping a stretch-limo driver back into a space and asking another chauffeur to straighten out a sloppy parking job.

“There’s a lot of tension,” Jackson says. “I’ve been here three, four days, lot of long hours. But it’s fun. After you get to see it, to know you were a part of a big event, it’s all worthwhile.”

Adding to the stress: construction in what used to be a parking lot north of Staples Center, which forced organizers to move the “green carpet” down Chick Hearn Court to the other end of the block and the music celebrities to take that long walk.

Inside Staples Center, Edgar Sanchez was taking his own long walks up and down the aisles hawking bottles of water and Red Vines from a 45-pound tray strapped around his shoulders.

For a Lakers game, Sanchez works a couple of hours and clears around $110, or 15% of what he sells. For the Grammys, he was putting in a nine-hour day and was expecting to clear up to $400 for the most pragmatic reason: No alcohol sales during the broadcast and an early closing of the concession stands.

During the ceremony, winners get their few words in front of the live cameras, then are shuffled off to a media room, where they play a brief game of Q&A; with music journalists.

Consider Keith Urban. After he won for best male country vocal performance, Urban stepped to the media room microphone just as recluse Sly Stone walked onto the stage in a massive platinum-blond Mohawk, drawing “Oh, my Gods” from reporters keeping an eye on the TVs.

Urban caught a glance himself and -- wisely -- paused. “I think we got upstaged,” he said -- an understatement. “Everything stops for Sly.”

Not everyone inside Staples Center was an industry pro. Sarah Szczepaniak, 23, and Cristina Telleria, 22, flew down from Seattle on Wednesday morning after winning tickets from a Seattle radio station. They got to their hotel about 11 a.m., checked in and hit a party before heading over to the show.

Just before the telecast began, they were standing in their dresses and heels near a garbage can, Telleria slurping on a blue raspberry slushie and Szczepaniak working on a Diet Pepsi, looking like they were at someone else’s high school reunion.

“It’s been fun,” Telleria said, but “we really don’t know what’s going on.”

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Special correspondent Steve Hochman contributed to this report.