Elton Goes Shopping

While reporting Elton John's Wembley week, TIME Correspondent David De Voss went along with him on a buying spree. Here is his account:

Popping a pop-rock cassette into the tape deck, Elton props his feet next to the television and watches the Bond Street shoppers through the tinted windows of his Rolls-Royce Phantom. "Turn here," he instructs the chauffeur, and as the burnished ark glides to a halt, Elton hikes his high-waisted green slacks and prepares to enter Cartier.

Already a crowd is gathering on the narrow sidewalk. "It's the gold crest on the door," Elton explains. "They think the car belongs to the royal family." He is greeted by the puzzled expressions and fading smiles of people disappointed at seeing a diminutive Hobbit. The bowing doorman and salesmen inside Cartier could not be more pleased. "Good morning, Mr. John," they chime in unison. "Can we help you with some gifts?"

For Elton, money long ago became as abstract as grain futures. Paintings, jewelry and amusing baubles are what count, but most of his purchases become gifts. His U.S. agent has received a Rolls-Royce, his secretary a $2,300 raccoon coat. His manager got an $80,000 yacht and a $10,000 Faberge clock. Elton sent a Rembrandt etching of The Adoration of the Shepherds to Rod Stewart's 30th birthday party.

Today he is after presents for his band and staff, mementos of Wembley. With a personal assistant and two anxious salesmen in tow, he begins inspecting gold necklaces. "Should the necklace go to Brenda?" he asks rhetorically. "No, the necklace goes to Connie; it's a purse for Brenda." Brenda Russell is a back-up singer; Connie Pappas is with Rocket.

As the eleven names on the list are matched with presents, a pile of gifts continues to grow. Four briefcases, three gold cigarette lighters, a necklace, one duffle bag and a bracelet are ready to go, but Elton has a problem. "What are we going to get for Skunk?" he asks, referring to Guitarist Jeff Baxter. "Does he smoke?"

"I don't know," says his assistant, "but we simply must get that burgundy bag for Ray. It just matches his Bentley."

As the bag for Ray Cooper, a percussionist, is removed from the display case, its ownership is contested by a woman dressed in a Saint Laurent original who loudly protests Elton's locust-like purchasing. "I saw that yesterday and I said I was actively interested," she says, scowling at Elton. But with $7,000 worth of merchandise on the block, the men of Cartier ignore her protest. "Being interested," smiles Elton as he signs a check, "is not the same as buying."

Walking toward the door, he stops and turns. "Gracious, I didn't get anything. Haven't you got something for me?" The question produces a panic among the salesmen, who scurry about the room flinging open display cases and grabbing boxes of rings. But Elton finds nothing amusing.

At his next stop, an art deco gallery, he has better luck. Bouncing among three display rooms, he takes pictures off the walls and piles them, along with a couple of statues, by the cash register. After 15 minutes the bill is $4,300.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.