Wishing I Was Wet
Starring Natalie Imbruglia
Written by WetKram
Written by WetKram
The week began the same as any other. I sat down at my desk and began to read what assignments lay ahead in the next five days. As I completed my scan of the list, I was as excited as anyone would be about the tasks I had to complete. Monday: Compile a list of upcoming soap actors; Tuesday: Attend a press screening of a new TV quiz show; Wednesday: Interview a group of students on college life…
Who said being an assistant writer for "Youth-2-Day", a trendy teen gossip magazine, was no fun? Whoever they were, I had come to the conclusion during the last eighteen months that they were right. My skills were being wasted. I was full of opinions, bursting with creativity and ready for the big-time – though my editor didn't know that. She didn't seem to even know my first name, let alone have the slightest clue about my dreams and ambitions.
No sooner than I had gotten comfortable in my cramped chair and had begun the long and boring job of contacting PR agencies, I was called into my editor's office. I was expecting to receive another glut of unexciting and generally dull tasks, but instead was given the surprise of my life. A grumbled greeting from my editor and a signal to sit down in the allotted chair was all I received upon entering the office, and I nervously awaited for her to finish tapping something into her personal organiser.
"We've had a slight problem," she began. I simply nodded and allowed her to continue. "Were you aware that Nick Palmer has been taken ill in the South of France?" she enquired. "No, I wasn't," I replied. Nick Palmer was the 'big cheese' of reporters for the magazine. I did not realise he was absent, but then again, he was never in the office much anyway – he got all of the cushy assignments: the big premieres and parties, trendy luncheons mingling with the cream of "young celebritydom", and of course, all of the best articles and interviews.
"Well," she continued, "he'd got a busy week lined up, and we're desperately trying to re-assign all of his engagements this morning." Again, I tactfully replied with a simple "Okay". "I was hoping he would be back by midweek, but it looks doubtful at the moment," she added. A little apprehensively, she finally got to the point: "His absence couldn't have come at a worse time. We've been given the chance to interview Natalie Imbruglia, and of course this was his most important job this week. Now I would love to reschedule this for when he gets back, but unfortunately she's only in the country until Sunday morning. To put it bluntly, you're the best man for the job – do you think you can handle it?".
I felt beyond words. Finally a real interview with a real celebrity – and not just any celebrity, but a stunningly beautiful Australian singer. "I feel I am up to the task!" I almost giggled. I wanted to pinch myself, but forcefully resisted all signs of excitement and happiness in case my editor was to suddenly change her mind. She quickly wrapped up the meeting by handing me Ms. Imbruglia's itinerary and a small fact-file on the former actress and piping hot singer. Unfortunately, no fixed time had been set for the interview. Instead, I was given a little spending money, and had to follow Natalie around when she arrived Wednesday, until she could spare time for a quick interview. Why did I envision a two-minute encounter in the back of a London taxi, in which I would only have time to say "hello", and time permitting, "goodbye"? Undeterred, I left the office on Monday evening a very happy man. Tuesday simply brushed-by, and before I knew it, it was the big day – my date with destiny so to speak.
After a frantic dash in my increasingly worn-out Mini, I arrived at a record store in Central London where Natalie would be signing copies of her new single until 1:30pm. Of course, I missed my opportunity, not even catching site of Natalie at the store. "Oh well!" I casually thought – I will just have to bide my time. Sadly, as I went to bed in the early hours of Thursday morning, I had still not even laid my eyes upon the genuine article. Was Natalie even in the UK? I hadn't even seen her to verify the fact! I was either too early, too late, or she simply did not turn up.
Another day, another opportunity. Having managed get to get a good night's sleep, I psyched myself up and was fiercely determined to get the job done during Thursday, or not at all. A gorgeous superstar she might well be, but I did not intend spending my entire week chasing her around London. Another album signing was planned for the morning, so I hurtled to the store, and finally managed to actually catch a glimpse of the beautiful performer. I met her PR assistant, and was kindly told to wait in line with the other fifty-or-so reporters that had arrived for a "quick" chat. As time ticked away, I became increasingly frustrated that the line was not moving, and that one interviewer in particular seemed to be dominating her time.
At 12:30pm, "time" was called, and Natalie "left the building", disappointing 45 of the 50 reporters that had gathered to meet her briefly. The guy standing in front of me said that I should "get used to it", but I was feeling extremely annoyed. I noticed Natalie's public relations assistant talking with the store manager, and stormed over to complain to her. But as I got closer and closer, my enraged attitude miraculously calmed, and I decided that it would be best to politely tell her who I was and state that I had been promised an interview with her client. "I am so sorry," she gushed. "Here, take this," she said, as she handed me what appeared to be a pass-card. "You know where she's performing on Saturday night, don't you?" asked the woman. I simply nodded. "Good, if you show that to the security staff they'll let you backstage and you can meet her then. I take it that it is a short interview?". Again, I remained silent and simply nodded, disbelieving the "magic ticket" I had just been given was authentic!
The pass was, of course, very authentic, and I trundled off to lunch with a degree of enthusiasm. At last there was some light at the end of the tunnel. My editor congratulated me upon returning to the office that afternoon, as if to say the interview was "in the bag". I did not fully share her certainties, and knew by her sarcastic congratulatory remarks that my head would be on a platter if I screwed up again.
I spent all of Friday working hard on accompanying pages for the interview, compiling some facts, figures and pictures about Natalie – it was going to be a major feature for our next issue. At around 8pm, the cleaners entered the office, and I realised I had been doing some serious overtime. I nipped out to grab a pizza, and came back to the office a little later to finish off what I was doing. Having gotten hooked on the hundreds of web pages devoted to Natalie, I finally left the office at around 1am on Saturday morning. I was forced to catch a combination of tube trains, buses and taxis to get home because my Mini had finally decided to die on me in the office car park. I crashed onto the couch at 2:30am, and awoke some twelve hours later to find myself still wearing my office suit.
It was now Saturday afternoon, about 3pm in fact. I had a decent lunch for the first time in seven days, and then showered and shaved ready for the evening. I was taking no chances, so put on my "best suit" from the closet, dusted myself off, and by teatime, I was ready to leave. The concert started at 7:30pm, although Natalie probably wouldn't be on stage until 9pm. Plenty of time I thought.
Using a similar combination of tubes, taxis and buses as with the night before, I arrived at the venue at around 7:45pm. The pass did indeed get me backstage, and my stomach started to turn to jelly, as I believed I would finally be meeting the celebrity at any second. But the seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes ticked by until 8:30pm had been and gone. I noticed Natalie's PR woman once again, leaning against one of the backstage vending machines, having a cigarette. I approached her to ask where her client was, and it was then that I received the worst news of my life. "I am so sorry," began the woman. "Natalie is not feeling too good. She's got a migraine or something, and I don't think she'll be turning up tonight!". I almost wanted to scream a hail of obscenities at the woman, but I quickly decided it was not her fault. I hung around for another ten minutes, having gulped down a can of lager, when I was about to head home deflated and very disappointed.
As I exited through the backdoor in which I had came in, a limousine came to a halt just a few metres away from me. I had never been so sure of anything in my life – I knew there and then that Natalie was in that car. I knew whatever she had been suffering from had cleared up, and I knew she was here to perform the concert after all. But my psychic powers soon wore off, as a beefy ex-rugby-player type exited from the back seat. I cursed to myself, but lit up inside once again as I saw the beautiful Natalie Imbruglia follow him out from the back seat of the limo. I stood and stared for a moment, trying to compose myself. But before I could approach her, an entourage of people, lord knows where they came from, had surrounded her and were all pushing past into the building.
"I'll catch her on the way out," I thought, and spent the next ninety minutes enjoying a glorious concert. When the concert ended and the encores had been done, Natalie literally ran off stage and I knew she was heading straight for the limo. This time I managed to amalgamate myself into the entourage and people, and miraculously managed to be standing right next to her as she came through the stage door. I broke into a quick walk so as to keep up with her, and breathlessly tried to introduce myself. She had noticed me and acknowledged accordingly, but I couldn't hear a word she was saying. She pointed as if to say which direction she was heading, so I did my best to keep up.
Moments later, I found myself sitting in the back of the limo, all alone with Natalie Imbruglia. It was amazing, and I was admittedly a little lost for words. The frantic dash outside had not helped much either. "You're with the teen magazine, yeah?" casually enquired the singer. "Yes indeed, ma'am!" I remarked, like an excited schoolboy. "Sorry to drag you along in the car, but I really have to get back to the hotel suite quickly," she added.
Undaunted, I got out my Dictaphone Recorder and the shortlist of prepared questions, and was ready to begin. She smiled and patiently waited for my first question. But no sooner than the first syllable had left my mouth than the limo doors flung open, and five people leapt into the vehicle. Natalie looked at me as if to say "Continue", but I had lost my thread, and blanked. The car began to move, and eventually the noise of the crowd of people (Natalie's entourage no doubt) began to die down. As soon as I felt ready to start again, a portable phone sprung to life, and before I could say a single word, Natalie was talking on it.
Things were not going good. Ten minutes had passed, and still Natalie was chatting away on the cell phone. She kept giving me occasional looks, which I found kind of cute, but the whole thing was getting terribly annoying, because I really wanted to get the interview done and go home. She was still on the phone when we arrived at the hotel, and the group began to exit the car. One of the five people signalled that I should follow them, and I realised that we had stopped outside a swanky Mayfair hotel that will go nameless for the purposes of this story.
A few minutes later I was sitting alone on a chair in a totally deserted room of the top-floor suite of this hotel. I sat playing with my thumbs and drawing squiggly diagrams on my notepaper, as I waited patiently for the singer to return. Loud music thumped from the adjoining rooms. I guessed they were having an after-show party, hence the reason why Natalie was staying in a hotel suite during her short stopover, rather than at her "official London residence".
As time passed, a figure occasionally popped his head around the room door and told me to help myself to beverages and snacks from the mini-bar. I did so, and having had two lagers and waiting for another hour, I began to fall asleep in the uncomfortable chair that I had foolishly chosen to sit on.
I was awoken a couple of hours later, and found the room in total darkness. The mysterious figure that had woken me had simply done so by opening the room door. I looked at the silhouette of the person in the doorway, and after my eyes had found their focus in the dark, I realised that it had to be Natalie. I scanned my nightglow watch, and realised that the time was now 12:30am.
"Are you still here?" enquired the figure. It was definitely Natalie – the voice was instantly recognisable. "Yes. Sorry, I must have dozed off!" I replied. Natalie switched on the lights to the room, and my eyes struggled to focus again. "Sorry!" she whispered. "The last guests went a few moments ago. We always have a little after-show get together," she continued. I tried to open my eyes to look at her, but the light was still too much. I nodded and mumbled that I understood. As I opened my eyes properly, I found that Natalie was standing right in front of me. "Do you want to come into the other room," she said, "Or is too late to do the interview now?". Gosh, I thought, a private chat with Natalie Imbruglia. This was too good to pass-up. Having composed myself, I made absolutely sure that she was comfortable with my presence at such a late hour, and following her enthusiastic acceptance, we both made away across into the 'living room'.
The plush hotel suite was vast, and I hadn't attempted to count how many rooms it featured. The living room was fitted with a giant TV set, and a monster of a hi-fi. If there were not such a fantastically gorgeous celebrity in the room with me at that moment, I would have probably been toying around with the gadgets. But there was, so I didn't!
Natalie strode over to one of cream leather sofas in the room, and slunk down across it, laying just a tad too seductively I thought to myself. I sat in the opposite sofa, and she insisted I relaxed and sprawled out if I wanted to do so. I couldn't refuse of course, and after getting totally comfortable, I was ready to begin. I placed the Dictaphone recorder on the floor, and started to find my notes. It dawned upon me that I no longer needed them anyway, so just finally got on with it. We began talking at about 12:45am, and about an hour later, I realised that we had drifted into friendly conversation instead of a professional interview. To make matters worse, I realised that I hadn't even switched my tape recorder on! By now I could not be bothered. It was not as if I would forget all of the details of what we had discussed instantly, so the tape recording didn't really matter – although my editor would have appreciated it I suppose.
We had been through everything; our personal likes and dislikes, what working on Neighbours was like for Natalie, her passion for singing, her ex-boyfriends and my ex-girlfriends. Suddenly she was no longer an assignment, but someone I would actually call a friend.
Little did I realise it at the time, but her curiosity in me was about to take the evening into an entirely unpredictable direction…
The question was innocent enough. Natalie simply asked me: "What is the weirdest interview you have done so far?". I obviously wanted to sound impressive, but I also wanted to be honest. I hadn't done any real celebrity interviews before. She was my first. But as much as I felt we had a good rapport going, I still felt compelled to bend the truth instead of being entirely honest. The seconds were ticking by and I pretended to be thinking hard of which was the most unusual. In my mind, I was desperately trying to remember bizarre celebrity interviews I had read, but all I kept returning to was one with the annoying brat-group "Hanson", that took place in Australia ironically enough. In it, the lads had ended up diving into a nearby swimming pool fully clothed and tugging their interviewer in with them. This was all I could remember because, quite simply, I had often fantasised about being in a similar scenario myself (but not with Hanson, of course!), as I loved getting wet fully-clothed. But I couldn't tell Natalie Imbruglia that surely! Or could I?
She was getting slightly impatient at my delay to respond, so I quickly twisted my own weird interview using the Hanson one as my inspiration. "I was interviewing this really unknown boy band," I began. "It was at this mansion down south, and they were trying to get themselves noticed. Anyway, about halfway through the interview, they said they really wanted to go for a swim, and the four of them quite literally dove off into the nearby swimming pool with all of their clothes on. It was manic! They ended up dragging me in with them, and we finished the interview off in the pool! It was a really awesome day, but very weird at the same time!".
Natalie's facial expressions had not changed a muscle during my whole answer, and as I finished explaining what had happened during my "fake interview", I nervously awaited her response. Thankfully, she simply laughed, and agreed that the whole thing was weird. She then said: "They once suggested I film a video fully-dressed and underwater". I nodded, trying not to make a big deal that I was suddenly very aroused at the thought of her wet with her clothes on. "I refused though," she added, "It's not because I wouldn't have enjoyed doing it, I probably would. But it's just that it wasn't the right image for the song!". Foolishly, for a split second, my mind told me that Natalie Imbruglia actually loved swimming fully clothed. Was it really possible? Before my mind could tell me to keep my thoughts to myself, I excitedly enthused out loud: "Oh I think swimming fully-clothed is really cool!". But Natalie showed little signs of actually agreement with my statement. Looking back, it was bad enough that I had said, but to make matters worse, I went on, admitting how much I would love to own a swimming pool and hot-tub myself one day.
The conversation petered off from there on. A good ten minutes had passed, and I think my excited remark about "swimming fully-clothed being cool" had killed the atmosphere and tarnished the friendly mood for some stupid reason. We both tried avoiding eye contact, and I knew sooner or later that somebody would have to say something. It was terribly embarrassing for both of us.
A huge weight was lifted when Natalie spontaneously got up out of the chair. "Sit right there, I'll be back in a couple of minutes," she said, as she hurriedly waltzed out of the room. A few moments passed, and I stupidly began to wonder whether she had gone after a security guard or something to escort me out of the hotel. But she returned alone minutes later, and sat down again, this time right next to me on the other sofa. She was keeping tight-lipped about something, and I couldn't put my finger on it. She was also suddenly very nervous. Had my over-zealous comment frightened her that much?
"Err, could you come with me a moment?" she asked. I was getting tired, and ready-to-leave, but I simply could not resist seeing what she wanted. We exited the room for the double-doors, which led into the hallway of the suite. Natalie walked over to the left and I noticed a big bottle of champagne sitting in a cooler-bucket on a nearby table. She picked the large bottle out of the bucket, and then directed me through another set of double doors. This time we were in what appeared to be the master bedroom. I immediately got a little apprehensive as to what exactly was going on. My mind began envisioning what was about to happen, and I swear my heart nearly missed a beat as Natalie walked into the direction of the king-size double bed in the room.
My assumptions were way off though, as she quickly slid past the bed and towards the opposite end of the room. Without realising it, I had come to a complete standstill in the doorway. Natalie beckoned me to continue following her, and I passed through yet another set of double-doors into yet another large room.
Scanning around the room (which was almost the same size as the one we had just walked through), I was stunned to realise that it was actually a bathroom. To the "left of the middle" was a huge shower cubicle, and immediately adjacent to that was a gigantic bathtub. Directly in front of me were a sink and a huge mirror, and slightly to the right of that was a toilet and bidet. As I took in the whole grand scale of the room, my eyes lit up when I finally turned my head to the far right to see a fantastic square jacuzzi half embedded into the floor of the room.
I looked at Natalie as if to say, "what's going on?", but words were not really needed. In my mind I knew what was about to happen, and just let the event play out to it's full. "It has been an awfully long day, I am tired, I am bored and I am a little dirty," she seductively began, "So would you care to join me for a dip and some champagne?"
Even though we probably both knew what the other was thinking at that moment, I could not resist to play the dumb innocent guy that asks too many questions. "I didn't bring my swimming trunks!" I jokingly protested, with as much seriousness as I could muster. "You don't need any trunks!" laughed Natalie. "Hey!" I lightly yelled. "I need trunks! We've only just met!". Once again, Natalie laughed at my protests: "No you don't! Come on, let's just go for it!". I knew I was probably exhibiting a huge hard-on at that moment in time, but I continued to play it sly. "I can't!" I said, shaking my head, forcing myself not to burst out giggling. "Okay, fair enough!" she agreed.
My heart almost stopped beating as Natalie put the bottle of champagne down and knelt to untie her shoelaces – she was really going to strip off in front of me, I was sure of it, and there I was thinking she was just playing along. But yet again my over-active imagination was way off as, having untied the shoelaces, Natalie re-tied them, obviously tightening them up a bit, giggled a bit, and then lifted her left leg over the side of the jacuzzi.
The next five seconds slid by like they were in slow motion. I looked-on in immense pleasure as Natalie carefully got into the hot and bubbly water of the jacuzzi. She was wearing a pair of DKNY black-grey designer trainers, what appeared to be Versace V2 light brown cargo pants, and a black-buttoned shirt with a dark blue unzipped sweat 'coat' on top of it. She teased her left foot into the water slowly, and gradually dipped it in further, getting deeper and deeper, with the bottom of her left trouser leg working it's way in shortly after. Having got a strong footing, she raised her right leg over the side and into the water, confidently stomping her feet firmly down onto the floor of the jacuzzi with a vengeance. She was now standing in the jacuzzi properly, wet up to her knees. She paced around for a moment and then said, "It's just right; not too hot, not too cold!". I could barely speak to answer, as I was now so turned-on I just wanted to dive in with her. But I quickly controlled my urges, and allowed Natalie to carefully - and slowly - sit herself down into the hot tub. As she began to manoeuvre downward, I walked over to sit on the side of the jacuzzi and get a good view. I stared with glee at the sight of her bottom gently easing into the ever-bubbling water, and nearly had a fit of excitement at seeing her clothes get ever so slowly immersed.
The jacuzzi itself was huge – the biggest I have seen EVER! At least enough room, I would estimate, for five, perhaps six, full-sized adults. At a guess I would say it had a square perimeter of almost three metres, and was just slightly deeper than the average household bathtub.
With Natalie now completely in the water, I waited for her to say something that would further fuel my arousal – and she didn't disappoint. "This is the perfect way to end an evening, don't you think?" she said. "Without a doubt the most perfect!" I agreed. Seizing every opportunity to be charming, I then joked: "Thanks for the interview. Perhaps I'll see you around?". We laughed out loud, and I pretended that I was being deadly serious, though to little avail. "Would you care to join me?" she politely asked. I replied: "Well, this suit has been begging for a clean… why not!".
I picked up the champagne bottle off of the floor, quickly opened it, passed it to Natalie, and began to get in myself. I didn't care that I was wearing my only good suit and my only decent pair of shoes – moments like this only come around once in a lifetime. Once completely in the water, we shared the bottle of champagne and resumed our conversation. It was an amazing experience.
"So tell me," Natalie began, "Do you do this sort of thing often?". I confessed to her my love of getting wet fully clothed on a more frequent basis, and she responded "how good it felt", although admitted she'd never really done it like this before. To me, this was my ultimate wet fantasy come true. The spontaneity of it alone was enough to turn me on for life – the fact that she had decided right there and then on that evening that she wanted to take a clothed dip in her hotel suite jacuzzi (with an almost perfect stranger) seemed so immensely erotic and alluring to me, and would stick in my mind forever.
As the time ticked by, we gradually wound-down our conversation and just sat relaxing in the consistently warm water. It was getting on for 3:30am when we finally got out of the jacuzzi, dripping wet and laughing our heads off at the site of one another dragging gallons of water around in our drenched clothes. I cannot deny I felt strongly attracted to her, and I wish I could say she felt the same.
Alas nothing intimate between us occurred, but obviously she had to let me stay in one of the other rooms that night, and I awoke the next morning to find her gone. On the nightstand next to my bed I noticed my tape recorder with a piece of paper attached. On the paper was simply written, "Play me!". I hit the 'Play' button, and unsurprisingly, it was Natalie: "By the time you listen to this I'll probably be somewhere over the Atlantic. Sorry to leave you like that, but I assumed you'd be tired after getting to bed so late!". There was a sudden pause, and I began to wonder if that was all she had left, but then her voice flooded back into the tiny speaker of the deck: "I really loved meeting you. I had a fantastic time last night, and wish I could be there with you this morning. Don't worry about your wet things – I've given them to the laundry lady, and they'll be returned to you any time now." Once again she paused, obviously trying to think of what say next. "I am probably rambling, I hope you don't mind. I don't know when I'll be back in the country, but when I am, I'll look you up – I've taken your card from your filofax – I might even give you a call sometime soon. You know what? As soon as I check into my hotel in LA, the first thing I'll do is have a bath and think of you!".
…And with that she said her goodbyes, and I stopped the tape. Sure enough, the laundry lady appeared with my dried and pressed clothes moments later and I left the hotel at 11am on Sunday morning. I returned home and wrote a rough draft of the interview article.
I returned to work on Monday, and was met with a barrage of praise from my editor for a job well done. I am now getting more and more exciting interviews and articles as part of my job, and would you believe it, I've even had a couple of phone calls from Natalie herself, and although it's nothing serious yet, we've certainly become good friends as a result of that evening.
To put it another way, everyday I am "Wishing I Was Wet" with that girl called Natalie…
Who said being an assistant writer for "Youth-2-Day", a trendy teen gossip magazine, was no fun? Whoever they were, I had come to the conclusion during the last eighteen months that they were right. My skills were being wasted. I was full of opinions, bursting with creativity and ready for the big-time – though my editor didn't know that. She didn't seem to even know my first name, let alone have the slightest clue about my dreams and ambitions.
No sooner than I had gotten comfortable in my cramped chair and had begun the long and boring job of contacting PR agencies, I was called into my editor's office. I was expecting to receive another glut of unexciting and generally dull tasks, but instead was given the surprise of my life. A grumbled greeting from my editor and a signal to sit down in the allotted chair was all I received upon entering the office, and I nervously awaited for her to finish tapping something into her personal organiser.
"We've had a slight problem," she began. I simply nodded and allowed her to continue. "Were you aware that Nick Palmer has been taken ill in the South of France?" she enquired. "No, I wasn't," I replied. Nick Palmer was the 'big cheese' of reporters for the magazine. I did not realise he was absent, but then again, he was never in the office much anyway – he got all of the cushy assignments: the big premieres and parties, trendy luncheons mingling with the cream of "young celebritydom", and of course, all of the best articles and interviews.
"Well," she continued, "he'd got a busy week lined up, and we're desperately trying to re-assign all of his engagements this morning." Again, I tactfully replied with a simple "Okay". "I was hoping he would be back by midweek, but it looks doubtful at the moment," she added. A little apprehensively, she finally got to the point: "His absence couldn't have come at a worse time. We've been given the chance to interview Natalie Imbruglia, and of course this was his most important job this week. Now I would love to reschedule this for when he gets back, but unfortunately she's only in the country until Sunday morning. To put it bluntly, you're the best man for the job – do you think you can handle it?".
I felt beyond words. Finally a real interview with a real celebrity – and not just any celebrity, but a stunningly beautiful Australian singer. "I feel I am up to the task!" I almost giggled. I wanted to pinch myself, but forcefully resisted all signs of excitement and happiness in case my editor was to suddenly change her mind. She quickly wrapped up the meeting by handing me Ms. Imbruglia's itinerary and a small fact-file on the former actress and piping hot singer. Unfortunately, no fixed time had been set for the interview. Instead, I was given a little spending money, and had to follow Natalie around when she arrived Wednesday, until she could spare time for a quick interview. Why did I envision a two-minute encounter in the back of a London taxi, in which I would only have time to say "hello", and time permitting, "goodbye"? Undeterred, I left the office on Monday evening a very happy man. Tuesday simply brushed-by, and before I knew it, it was the big day – my date with destiny so to speak.
After a frantic dash in my increasingly worn-out Mini, I arrived at a record store in Central London where Natalie would be signing copies of her new single until 1:30pm. Of course, I missed my opportunity, not even catching site of Natalie at the store. "Oh well!" I casually thought – I will just have to bide my time. Sadly, as I went to bed in the early hours of Thursday morning, I had still not even laid my eyes upon the genuine article. Was Natalie even in the UK? I hadn't even seen her to verify the fact! I was either too early, too late, or she simply did not turn up.
Another day, another opportunity. Having managed get to get a good night's sleep, I psyched myself up and was fiercely determined to get the job done during Thursday, or not at all. A gorgeous superstar she might well be, but I did not intend spending my entire week chasing her around London. Another album signing was planned for the morning, so I hurtled to the store, and finally managed to actually catch a glimpse of the beautiful performer. I met her PR assistant, and was kindly told to wait in line with the other fifty-or-so reporters that had arrived for a "quick" chat. As time ticked away, I became increasingly frustrated that the line was not moving, and that one interviewer in particular seemed to be dominating her time.
At 12:30pm, "time" was called, and Natalie "left the building", disappointing 45 of the 50 reporters that had gathered to meet her briefly. The guy standing in front of me said that I should "get used to it", but I was feeling extremely annoyed. I noticed Natalie's public relations assistant talking with the store manager, and stormed over to complain to her. But as I got closer and closer, my enraged attitude miraculously calmed, and I decided that it would be best to politely tell her who I was and state that I had been promised an interview with her client. "I am so sorry," she gushed. "Here, take this," she said, as she handed me what appeared to be a pass-card. "You know where she's performing on Saturday night, don't you?" asked the woman. I simply nodded. "Good, if you show that to the security staff they'll let you backstage and you can meet her then. I take it that it is a short interview?". Again, I remained silent and simply nodded, disbelieving the "magic ticket" I had just been given was authentic!
The pass was, of course, very authentic, and I trundled off to lunch with a degree of enthusiasm. At last there was some light at the end of the tunnel. My editor congratulated me upon returning to the office that afternoon, as if to say the interview was "in the bag". I did not fully share her certainties, and knew by her sarcastic congratulatory remarks that my head would be on a platter if I screwed up again.
I spent all of Friday working hard on accompanying pages for the interview, compiling some facts, figures and pictures about Natalie – it was going to be a major feature for our next issue. At around 8pm, the cleaners entered the office, and I realised I had been doing some serious overtime. I nipped out to grab a pizza, and came back to the office a little later to finish off what I was doing. Having gotten hooked on the hundreds of web pages devoted to Natalie, I finally left the office at around 1am on Saturday morning. I was forced to catch a combination of tube trains, buses and taxis to get home because my Mini had finally decided to die on me in the office car park. I crashed onto the couch at 2:30am, and awoke some twelve hours later to find myself still wearing my office suit.
It was now Saturday afternoon, about 3pm in fact. I had a decent lunch for the first time in seven days, and then showered and shaved ready for the evening. I was taking no chances, so put on my "best suit" from the closet, dusted myself off, and by teatime, I was ready to leave. The concert started at 7:30pm, although Natalie probably wouldn't be on stage until 9pm. Plenty of time I thought.
Using a similar combination of tubes, taxis and buses as with the night before, I arrived at the venue at around 7:45pm. The pass did indeed get me backstage, and my stomach started to turn to jelly, as I believed I would finally be meeting the celebrity at any second. But the seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes ticked by until 8:30pm had been and gone. I noticed Natalie's PR woman once again, leaning against one of the backstage vending machines, having a cigarette. I approached her to ask where her client was, and it was then that I received the worst news of my life. "I am so sorry," began the woman. "Natalie is not feeling too good. She's got a migraine or something, and I don't think she'll be turning up tonight!". I almost wanted to scream a hail of obscenities at the woman, but I quickly decided it was not her fault. I hung around for another ten minutes, having gulped down a can of lager, when I was about to head home deflated and very disappointed.
As I exited through the backdoor in which I had came in, a limousine came to a halt just a few metres away from me. I had never been so sure of anything in my life – I knew there and then that Natalie was in that car. I knew whatever she had been suffering from had cleared up, and I knew she was here to perform the concert after all. But my psychic powers soon wore off, as a beefy ex-rugby-player type exited from the back seat. I cursed to myself, but lit up inside once again as I saw the beautiful Natalie Imbruglia follow him out from the back seat of the limo. I stood and stared for a moment, trying to compose myself. But before I could approach her, an entourage of people, lord knows where they came from, had surrounded her and were all pushing past into the building.
"I'll catch her on the way out," I thought, and spent the next ninety minutes enjoying a glorious concert. When the concert ended and the encores had been done, Natalie literally ran off stage and I knew she was heading straight for the limo. This time I managed to amalgamate myself into the entourage and people, and miraculously managed to be standing right next to her as she came through the stage door. I broke into a quick walk so as to keep up with her, and breathlessly tried to introduce myself. She had noticed me and acknowledged accordingly, but I couldn't hear a word she was saying. She pointed as if to say which direction she was heading, so I did my best to keep up.
Moments later, I found myself sitting in the back of the limo, all alone with Natalie Imbruglia. It was amazing, and I was admittedly a little lost for words. The frantic dash outside had not helped much either. "You're with the teen magazine, yeah?" casually enquired the singer. "Yes indeed, ma'am!" I remarked, like an excited schoolboy. "Sorry to drag you along in the car, but I really have to get back to the hotel suite quickly," she added.
Undaunted, I got out my Dictaphone Recorder and the shortlist of prepared questions, and was ready to begin. She smiled and patiently waited for my first question. But no sooner than the first syllable had left my mouth than the limo doors flung open, and five people leapt into the vehicle. Natalie looked at me as if to say "Continue", but I had lost my thread, and blanked. The car began to move, and eventually the noise of the crowd of people (Natalie's entourage no doubt) began to die down. As soon as I felt ready to start again, a portable phone sprung to life, and before I could say a single word, Natalie was talking on it.
Things were not going good. Ten minutes had passed, and still Natalie was chatting away on the cell phone. She kept giving me occasional looks, which I found kind of cute, but the whole thing was getting terribly annoying, because I really wanted to get the interview done and go home. She was still on the phone when we arrived at the hotel, and the group began to exit the car. One of the five people signalled that I should follow them, and I realised that we had stopped outside a swanky Mayfair hotel that will go nameless for the purposes of this story.
A few minutes later I was sitting alone on a chair in a totally deserted room of the top-floor suite of this hotel. I sat playing with my thumbs and drawing squiggly diagrams on my notepaper, as I waited patiently for the singer to return. Loud music thumped from the adjoining rooms. I guessed they were having an after-show party, hence the reason why Natalie was staying in a hotel suite during her short stopover, rather than at her "official London residence".
As time passed, a figure occasionally popped his head around the room door and told me to help myself to beverages and snacks from the mini-bar. I did so, and having had two lagers and waiting for another hour, I began to fall asleep in the uncomfortable chair that I had foolishly chosen to sit on.
I was awoken a couple of hours later, and found the room in total darkness. The mysterious figure that had woken me had simply done so by opening the room door. I looked at the silhouette of the person in the doorway, and after my eyes had found their focus in the dark, I realised that it had to be Natalie. I scanned my nightglow watch, and realised that the time was now 12:30am.
"Are you still here?" enquired the figure. It was definitely Natalie – the voice was instantly recognisable. "Yes. Sorry, I must have dozed off!" I replied. Natalie switched on the lights to the room, and my eyes struggled to focus again. "Sorry!" she whispered. "The last guests went a few moments ago. We always have a little after-show get together," she continued. I tried to open my eyes to look at her, but the light was still too much. I nodded and mumbled that I understood. As I opened my eyes properly, I found that Natalie was standing right in front of me. "Do you want to come into the other room," she said, "Or is too late to do the interview now?". Gosh, I thought, a private chat with Natalie Imbruglia. This was too good to pass-up. Having composed myself, I made absolutely sure that she was comfortable with my presence at such a late hour, and following her enthusiastic acceptance, we both made away across into the 'living room'.
The plush hotel suite was vast, and I hadn't attempted to count how many rooms it featured. The living room was fitted with a giant TV set, and a monster of a hi-fi. If there were not such a fantastically gorgeous celebrity in the room with me at that moment, I would have probably been toying around with the gadgets. But there was, so I didn't!
Natalie strode over to one of cream leather sofas in the room, and slunk down across it, laying just a tad too seductively I thought to myself. I sat in the opposite sofa, and she insisted I relaxed and sprawled out if I wanted to do so. I couldn't refuse of course, and after getting totally comfortable, I was ready to begin. I placed the Dictaphone recorder on the floor, and started to find my notes. It dawned upon me that I no longer needed them anyway, so just finally got on with it. We began talking at about 12:45am, and about an hour later, I realised that we had drifted into friendly conversation instead of a professional interview. To make matters worse, I realised that I hadn't even switched my tape recorder on! By now I could not be bothered. It was not as if I would forget all of the details of what we had discussed instantly, so the tape recording didn't really matter – although my editor would have appreciated it I suppose.
We had been through everything; our personal likes and dislikes, what working on Neighbours was like for Natalie, her passion for singing, her ex-boyfriends and my ex-girlfriends. Suddenly she was no longer an assignment, but someone I would actually call a friend.
Little did I realise it at the time, but her curiosity in me was about to take the evening into an entirely unpredictable direction…
The question was innocent enough. Natalie simply asked me: "What is the weirdest interview you have done so far?". I obviously wanted to sound impressive, but I also wanted to be honest. I hadn't done any real celebrity interviews before. She was my first. But as much as I felt we had a good rapport going, I still felt compelled to bend the truth instead of being entirely honest. The seconds were ticking by and I pretended to be thinking hard of which was the most unusual. In my mind, I was desperately trying to remember bizarre celebrity interviews I had read, but all I kept returning to was one with the annoying brat-group "Hanson", that took place in Australia ironically enough. In it, the lads had ended up diving into a nearby swimming pool fully clothed and tugging their interviewer in with them. This was all I could remember because, quite simply, I had often fantasised about being in a similar scenario myself (but not with Hanson, of course!), as I loved getting wet fully-clothed. But I couldn't tell Natalie Imbruglia that surely! Or could I?
She was getting slightly impatient at my delay to respond, so I quickly twisted my own weird interview using the Hanson one as my inspiration. "I was interviewing this really unknown boy band," I began. "It was at this mansion down south, and they were trying to get themselves noticed. Anyway, about halfway through the interview, they said they really wanted to go for a swim, and the four of them quite literally dove off into the nearby swimming pool with all of their clothes on. It was manic! They ended up dragging me in with them, and we finished the interview off in the pool! It was a really awesome day, but very weird at the same time!".
Natalie's facial expressions had not changed a muscle during my whole answer, and as I finished explaining what had happened during my "fake interview", I nervously awaited her response. Thankfully, she simply laughed, and agreed that the whole thing was weird. She then said: "They once suggested I film a video fully-dressed and underwater". I nodded, trying not to make a big deal that I was suddenly very aroused at the thought of her wet with her clothes on. "I refused though," she added, "It's not because I wouldn't have enjoyed doing it, I probably would. But it's just that it wasn't the right image for the song!". Foolishly, for a split second, my mind told me that Natalie Imbruglia actually loved swimming fully clothed. Was it really possible? Before my mind could tell me to keep my thoughts to myself, I excitedly enthused out loud: "Oh I think swimming fully-clothed is really cool!". But Natalie showed little signs of actually agreement with my statement. Looking back, it was bad enough that I had said, but to make matters worse, I went on, admitting how much I would love to own a swimming pool and hot-tub myself one day.
The conversation petered off from there on. A good ten minutes had passed, and I think my excited remark about "swimming fully-clothed being cool" had killed the atmosphere and tarnished the friendly mood for some stupid reason. We both tried avoiding eye contact, and I knew sooner or later that somebody would have to say something. It was terribly embarrassing for both of us.
A huge weight was lifted when Natalie spontaneously got up out of the chair. "Sit right there, I'll be back in a couple of minutes," she said, as she hurriedly waltzed out of the room. A few moments passed, and I stupidly began to wonder whether she had gone after a security guard or something to escort me out of the hotel. But she returned alone minutes later, and sat down again, this time right next to me on the other sofa. She was keeping tight-lipped about something, and I couldn't put my finger on it. She was also suddenly very nervous. Had my over-zealous comment frightened her that much?
"Err, could you come with me a moment?" she asked. I was getting tired, and ready-to-leave, but I simply could not resist seeing what she wanted. We exited the room for the double-doors, which led into the hallway of the suite. Natalie walked over to the left and I noticed a big bottle of champagne sitting in a cooler-bucket on a nearby table. She picked the large bottle out of the bucket, and then directed me through another set of double doors. This time we were in what appeared to be the master bedroom. I immediately got a little apprehensive as to what exactly was going on. My mind began envisioning what was about to happen, and I swear my heart nearly missed a beat as Natalie walked into the direction of the king-size double bed in the room.
My assumptions were way off though, as she quickly slid past the bed and towards the opposite end of the room. Without realising it, I had come to a complete standstill in the doorway. Natalie beckoned me to continue following her, and I passed through yet another set of double-doors into yet another large room.
Scanning around the room (which was almost the same size as the one we had just walked through), I was stunned to realise that it was actually a bathroom. To the "left of the middle" was a huge shower cubicle, and immediately adjacent to that was a gigantic bathtub. Directly in front of me were a sink and a huge mirror, and slightly to the right of that was a toilet and bidet. As I took in the whole grand scale of the room, my eyes lit up when I finally turned my head to the far right to see a fantastic square jacuzzi half embedded into the floor of the room.
I looked at Natalie as if to say, "what's going on?", but words were not really needed. In my mind I knew what was about to happen, and just let the event play out to it's full. "It has been an awfully long day, I am tired, I am bored and I am a little dirty," she seductively began, "So would you care to join me for a dip and some champagne?"
Even though we probably both knew what the other was thinking at that moment, I could not resist to play the dumb innocent guy that asks too many questions. "I didn't bring my swimming trunks!" I jokingly protested, with as much seriousness as I could muster. "You don't need any trunks!" laughed Natalie. "Hey!" I lightly yelled. "I need trunks! We've only just met!". Once again, Natalie laughed at my protests: "No you don't! Come on, let's just go for it!". I knew I was probably exhibiting a huge hard-on at that moment in time, but I continued to play it sly. "I can't!" I said, shaking my head, forcing myself not to burst out giggling. "Okay, fair enough!" she agreed.
My heart almost stopped beating as Natalie put the bottle of champagne down and knelt to untie her shoelaces – she was really going to strip off in front of me, I was sure of it, and there I was thinking she was just playing along. But yet again my over-active imagination was way off as, having untied the shoelaces, Natalie re-tied them, obviously tightening them up a bit, giggled a bit, and then lifted her left leg over the side of the jacuzzi.
The next five seconds slid by like they were in slow motion. I looked-on in immense pleasure as Natalie carefully got into the hot and bubbly water of the jacuzzi. She was wearing a pair of DKNY black-grey designer trainers, what appeared to be Versace V2 light brown cargo pants, and a black-buttoned shirt with a dark blue unzipped sweat 'coat' on top of it. She teased her left foot into the water slowly, and gradually dipped it in further, getting deeper and deeper, with the bottom of her left trouser leg working it's way in shortly after. Having got a strong footing, she raised her right leg over the side and into the water, confidently stomping her feet firmly down onto the floor of the jacuzzi with a vengeance. She was now standing in the jacuzzi properly, wet up to her knees. She paced around for a moment and then said, "It's just right; not too hot, not too cold!". I could barely speak to answer, as I was now so turned-on I just wanted to dive in with her. But I quickly controlled my urges, and allowed Natalie to carefully - and slowly - sit herself down into the hot tub. As she began to manoeuvre downward, I walked over to sit on the side of the jacuzzi and get a good view. I stared with glee at the sight of her bottom gently easing into the ever-bubbling water, and nearly had a fit of excitement at seeing her clothes get ever so slowly immersed.
The jacuzzi itself was huge – the biggest I have seen EVER! At least enough room, I would estimate, for five, perhaps six, full-sized adults. At a guess I would say it had a square perimeter of almost three metres, and was just slightly deeper than the average household bathtub.
With Natalie now completely in the water, I waited for her to say something that would further fuel my arousal – and she didn't disappoint. "This is the perfect way to end an evening, don't you think?" she said. "Without a doubt the most perfect!" I agreed. Seizing every opportunity to be charming, I then joked: "Thanks for the interview. Perhaps I'll see you around?". We laughed out loud, and I pretended that I was being deadly serious, though to little avail. "Would you care to join me?" she politely asked. I replied: "Well, this suit has been begging for a clean… why not!".
I picked up the champagne bottle off of the floor, quickly opened it, passed it to Natalie, and began to get in myself. I didn't care that I was wearing my only good suit and my only decent pair of shoes – moments like this only come around once in a lifetime. Once completely in the water, we shared the bottle of champagne and resumed our conversation. It was an amazing experience.
"So tell me," Natalie began, "Do you do this sort of thing often?". I confessed to her my love of getting wet fully clothed on a more frequent basis, and she responded "how good it felt", although admitted she'd never really done it like this before. To me, this was my ultimate wet fantasy come true. The spontaneity of it alone was enough to turn me on for life – the fact that she had decided right there and then on that evening that she wanted to take a clothed dip in her hotel suite jacuzzi (with an almost perfect stranger) seemed so immensely erotic and alluring to me, and would stick in my mind forever.
As the time ticked by, we gradually wound-down our conversation and just sat relaxing in the consistently warm water. It was getting on for 3:30am when we finally got out of the jacuzzi, dripping wet and laughing our heads off at the site of one another dragging gallons of water around in our drenched clothes. I cannot deny I felt strongly attracted to her, and I wish I could say she felt the same.
Alas nothing intimate between us occurred, but obviously she had to let me stay in one of the other rooms that night, and I awoke the next morning to find her gone. On the nightstand next to my bed I noticed my tape recorder with a piece of paper attached. On the paper was simply written, "Play me!". I hit the 'Play' button, and unsurprisingly, it was Natalie: "By the time you listen to this I'll probably be somewhere over the Atlantic. Sorry to leave you like that, but I assumed you'd be tired after getting to bed so late!". There was a sudden pause, and I began to wonder if that was all she had left, but then her voice flooded back into the tiny speaker of the deck: "I really loved meeting you. I had a fantastic time last night, and wish I could be there with you this morning. Don't worry about your wet things – I've given them to the laundry lady, and they'll be returned to you any time now." Once again she paused, obviously trying to think of what say next. "I am probably rambling, I hope you don't mind. I don't know when I'll be back in the country, but when I am, I'll look you up – I've taken your card from your filofax – I might even give you a call sometime soon. You know what? As soon as I check into my hotel in LA, the first thing I'll do is have a bath and think of you!".
…And with that she said her goodbyes, and I stopped the tape. Sure enough, the laundry lady appeared with my dried and pressed clothes moments later and I left the hotel at 11am on Sunday morning. I returned home and wrote a rough draft of the interview article.
I returned to work on Monday, and was met with a barrage of praise from my editor for a job well done. I am now getting more and more exciting interviews and articles as part of my job, and would you believe it, I've even had a couple of phone calls from Natalie herself, and although it's nothing serious yet, we've certainly become good friends as a result of that evening.
To put it another way, everyday I am "Wishing I Was Wet" with that girl called Natalie…