Other Duties as Assigned: Kidnapped!
Karen M. Staples | Dec 10, 2012
It was my first time attending PCMA’s annual meeting,(B) in Nashville in 2002. I was representing Hartford, Conn. Right before the meeting, I had pulled my back out, and it was much worse than I realized. But I went off to the PCMA meeting, because I was very excited about going. I hadn’t counted on all the walking I would be doing to get around, and I ended up spending the last day of the meeting in bed. I was in bad shape.
I hobbled my way to the lobby to check out, really early in the morning, and took a seat. This man came from out of nowhere and said, “Hello, darling. How are you today?” We exchanged introductions. He told me that he was one of the singers in the band that had performed for the closing party for PCMA (I’m leaving out his and the group’s name). I told him that my back was out, and he said, “You’re not going to the airport in a taxi or bus, are you?” He insisted that I take his limo, parked out front.
I declined, but before I know it, he gets my arm. His driver gets my luggage. They put me in the car. I think he’s just sending me to the airport with his driver, but just as the door is closing, he reaches in, gives my leg a pat, and says, “Scoot over.”
He gets in the car and off we go. He asks me if I saw the show. I said I hadn’t, so he says, “Well, let me give you a little bit of a show.” Then he rolls the window up between us and the driver so the driver can’t see us, and asks him to shut the lights off. He starts singing to me. And he has his hands all over me.
I keep moving away so that I am up against the door. The driver, nervous, puts the window down. The singer puts the window up. He puts the window down.
I am freaking out. My face is pressed up against the window, because he is trying to kiss me. I’m thinking, what am I going to do? I’m in pain. I can’t move. I’m trapped!
Finally, we get to the airport. I don’t know if the car even went into park. That driver jumped out so quick that when he pulled my door open, I fell into his arms. I couldn’t even stand up straight. The singer rolls the window down as I leave, sticks half his body out, and yells, “Remember, Karen, we’ll always have Nashville!” In full view of a bunch of PCMA attendees heading home.
— As told to Michelle Russell
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