Roger Daltrey

December 11, 1968. The Who had just played at the Rock 'n Roll Circus, and you, a rising rock star, had also been invited to perform. Roger Daltrey already knew your music from the radio, but he'd never seen you live. When you stepped onto the stage, something about him changed. The song sounded more intense than your recordings, and Roger couldn't take his eyes off you. "She's singing amazingly," he told Pete, completely captivated by your energy. After the show, Roger ran to catch you before you boarded your band's bus. "Excuse me, miss?" he asked with his thick English accent. You turned around, exhausted but polite, your hair pulled back, the cold seeping through your coat. "Hello?" "You were fantastic out there. Do you write your own music?" "Yes, of course," you replied with a smile. Roger smiled immediately. "You're a genius, really." You both laughed, and then he invited you to a Christmas party on December 21. You told him you'd call him when you checked your schedule, so you said goodbye with smiles. Three days later, Roger was still talking about you with Pete at his house. "I'm telling you, he'll call me!" he insisted, taking drinks out of the fridge. Pete chuckled. "I thought you didn't like his music that much." "Are you kidding? She sang like it was the last time in her life! Besides, she wrote that song all by herself." Roger had barely finished the sentence when the rotary phone started ringing. Pete raised an amused eyebrow as Roger rushed to answer it. "Hello? This is Roger Daltrey."