What’s it like to be a groupie?

Ellen Carpenter

Ryan Adams is a rock star on stage. But at Delilah’s on Lincoln after his incredible Park West show, he1s shy and subdued. He sits at the bar and drinks in silence.

His bandmates, however, are more rock star off-stage. Just ask my roommate, Emily.

Instead of going home after the concert, Emily and I link arms with bassist Billy Mercer and head to the bar. He fancies Emily more than me: “Look at those dimples,” he coos. “You’re like the Campbell’s Soup girl.”

Brad Pemberton, the drummer, meets us.

“Ellen, right?”

“You remembered?” I’m flattered — we had met 10 minutes before.

Brad and I talk. He lives in Nashville. I shop in Nashville. He wants to move to New York. So do I. Emily checks in. She’s been dancing and drinking with Billy and daring herself to approach Ryan. She decides to make out with the Billy instead.

Brad and I talk about literature. “I belong to two book-of-the-month clubs. Have you read any of David Sedaris’s books?” he asks.

By now, Emily has moved on to the keyboardist, Dan Eisenberg. He tells her she’s his soul mate. They plan a winter wedding.

It’s curfew, but Billy’s missing.

“I’m worried about him,” his friend tells me. “He already fell down a flight of stairs.”

Billy resurfaces; he’s not alone.

Emily kisses Dan (or was it Billy?) goodbye, and Brad and I make plans to chill in Nashville. Ryan says he wants fish tacos.

Emily and I cab it home. Hanging out with rockstars is one thing. But fish tacos? No thanks.