I’m the Dancer in the New Stones Video, and I’m Not Exactly Angry
But I Was Taken for a Ride
I’m still asleep when Monique calls, from the agency.
Could I have, like, an hour, to pick an outfit? Or even put something on?
No, she says, you’re fine, you’re fine, I’m sure they’ll have a costume for you when you get there.
Their first new song in 18 years, and now all of a sudden everyone’s in a huge rush. Whatever.
The car’s on the way, she says, be ready.
Well, the “car” is already outside my door. A tiny convertible with the roof down.
No limo? I mean, they’re supposed to be the world’s greatest rock and roll band.
In my lingerie, I get in. The driver doesn’t say a thing, just hits the gas. The cameraman starts filming right away, even though my hair is a complete mess and the wind isn’t helping, like, at all.
The billboards are amazing. Really cool CGI work, throwing retro looks at Mick and Keith and the other guys.
Meanwhile, I’m getting basic one-camera coverage. In the underwear I slept in.
It’s no problem. I’m in a supporting role, they’re the stars, I get it.
