“Then in December it was my birthday, my thirty-sixth, for which, in accordance with the craze of the moment, we repaired to the Roxy roller rink in New York for a party. Jane Rose had kept Patti on her radar all those months, having noticed, apparently, some spark that first night, and made sure Patti was invited. So I caught sight of Patti again, and she caught sight of me catching sight of her. And she left. And a few days later I called her and we got together. I wrote in my notebook in January 1980, a few days after that: Incredibly I’ve found a woman. A miracle! I’ve pussy at the snap of a finger but I’ve met a woman! Unbelievably she is the most beautiful (physically) specimen in the WORLD. But that ain’t it! It certainly helps but it’s her mind, her joy of life and (wonders) she thinks this battered junkie is the guy she loves. I’m over the moon and peeing in my pants. She loves soul music and reggae, in fact everything. I make her tapes of music which is almost as good as being with her. I send them like love letters. I’m kicking 40 and besotted.
            I was amazed that she was willing to hang out with me. Because I was hanging with a bunch of guys and all we did was go up to the Bronx and Brooklyn to these bizarre West Indian places and record stores. Nothing of interest to supermodels. My friend Brad Klein was there; I think Larry Sessler, Freddie’s son, was there. Gary Schultz, my minder, was there too. He was always known as Concorde, a nickname derived from Monty Python (“Brave, brave Concorde! You shall not have died in vain!” “I’m not quite dead, sir,” etc.). Jimmy Callaghan, my muscle for many years; Max Romeo, reggae star; and a few other cats. Nice to meet you, nice to know you, you want to hang with this bunch of assholes? Up to you, you know? But she was there every day. And I know something’s happening, but how it happens and when and who pulls the spring is another thing. That’s how we hung for days and days. I never put the hammer on hard. I didn’t make a move. I could never put the make on. I could just never find the right line, or one that hadn’t been used before. I just never had that thing with women. I would do it silently. Very Charlie Chaplin. The scratch, the look, the body language. Get my drift? Now it’s up to you. “Hey, baby” is just not my come-on. I’ve got to lay back and see the tension build to a point where something’s got to happen. And if they can hang through that tension, then we’re OK. They call it the reverse molecular version, the RMV, as it’s known. Finally, after an astonishing number of days, she lay down on the bed and said, come on.” ― Keith Richards.

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