Later that night as I was preparing to leave the party, I went looking for Rubin to thank him for inviting me. Once I found him, I simply said "nice party, Rick." Then from behind me, I heard another voice echo my parting words in a clipped British accent:

"Yeah, nice Pahhhty Rick," the voice said.

It was Mick Jagger himself.

So that night, as I drove myself home through the Hollywood Hills in a decidedly drunken state, I found myself leaning out my car window and screaming to an empty sky about how I had arrived. Honestly, at that moment I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming.

Sadly, that "arrival" was never meant to be. Some three years later, I left L.A., American Recordings, and my career in the music business under what I will readily admit were less than ideal circumstances.

Still, I have my memories and my stories. And this one has a particularly good punch line that I never grow tired of telling.

Remember that diminutive lady who met me at the gate of the party? As a short guy myself, I was particularly struck by the fact that she came up to about my chin at the time. Well, a few nights later as I watching the evening news, I noticed a story where I recognized both the house, and then the lady whose house I had apparently partied at.

The lady was Heidi Fliess.

And I had apparently partied at her house just a few nights before she was busted as the "Hollywood Madam."

These days I may be a bump on the proverbial bar stool at my local watering hole. But it remains a story I never tire of telling.