I am sitting on a couch in a hotel suite in midtown Manhattan.

I have two tape recorders on the coffee table ready to document my interview with one of my idols.

It’s not just any person whose whistle I hear. It’s Dolly Parton and she is whistling “9 to 5.”

There she is – Dolly Parton. She’s wearing a pink cashmere sweater and a pink tweed miniskirt. Her heels are high as her hair.

I stand up and extend my hand. But Parton apparently isn’t a handshake kind of gal. She leans in for a hug. She smells like candy. As we separate, I let out a small breath. Parton looks at me and smiles, letting me know that I have nothing to be nervous about. I smile back and we settle into the couch, sitting side-by-side and chatting for the next hour or so.

It was 2001. I was there to interview Parton for US Weekly for the launch of her 37th studio album and the second of her three bluegrass albums, “Little Sparrow.”

It would be the first of many interviews I had with Parton over the next couple of decades.

My love of Parton started when I was in my 20s. Country music wasn’t part of my childhood. I grew up in Queens, New York, in the ’70s and ’80s. Disco ruled. Country music wasn’t even a thought.

But in 1996, Parton released a cover of Cat Stevens’s “Peace Train.” After dancing to remixes of the song at gay clubs, I began listening to all of Parton’s music. I became obsessive, reading and watching anything I could by and about Parton.

I learned she grew up poor in Pigeon Forge, Tenn., and that nothing was handed to her. Parton’s success, fame and business empire were self-made.

I learned about her look. “It costs a lot of money to look this cheap,” she often said, explaining that her over-the-top hair, makeup, clothing – and boobs! – were inspired by her childhood town whore.

But as produced and cosmetically, surgically and rhinestone-enhancedd as she was, there was nothing artificial about Dolly Parton. She was as down to earth as they come. Talking to Parton was always like catching up with an old friend or relative. There was a familiarity that put people at ease.

She also gave such good quote. In 2011, backstage at the GLAAD Awards after presenting an award to then NBC Universal boss Robert Greenblatt (she was a devoted LGBTQ+ ally), Parton told me that she’d love to work with Lady Gaga. “Maybe we should do something together — GooGoo and Gaga!” Parton said. “You know those GooGoo candy bars in Nashville? I could be Lady GooGoo.”

I’ve seen Parton in concert about a dozen times. From a small show accompanied by a three-man band at New York City’s Joe’s Pub for about 150 people to the nearly 18,000-seat Hollywood Bowl, Parton always delivered what felt like an intimate affair because her music and storytelling were so personal and relatable. You couldn’t imagine she was performing for anyone else but you. (The photo above of my friend Dennis and I with Parton was taken after her show at New York City’s Irving Plaza in 2002.)

Anytime Parton spoke of the coat of many colors that her mama made for her, I couldn’t help but think of my mom and the lengths she would go to provide for my brother and me. My mom didn’t sew but she worked a second job as a cab driver to help pay the bills. And who doesn’t think of that job or boss they despised when hearing “9 to 5″?

And then there’s “I Will Always Love You.” So many times listening to that song and crying over a boy I thought I was in love with. So many times.

And the jokes. Parton had many jokes that she she usually repeated at her shows. “People ask me if I’ll ever go into politics,” Parton would say. “I say there are enough boobs in the White House.”

When the first person from the audience to shout, “I love you, Dolly,” she’d shout back, “I told you to wait in the truck!”

In 2011, Parton played a big part in my love live. I was at a Parton concert at the Hollywood Bowl when I received a text from my future husband Fabian. “Look behind you,” he wrote.

At the time, I had only met Fabian a handful of times through mutual friends. But Parton was our unofficial matchmaker because just weeks later we began dating. Sure, the marriage ended in divorce, but don’t worry, we’re all good now. It’s songs like Parton’s “Better Get to Livin'” that got me through some of the hardest times.

At the end of the interview in that midtown hotel room in 2001, I asked Parton if there was a song she still wanted to cover. Without missing a beat, she said, “Led Zeppelin’s ‘Stairway to Heaven.’”

She wasn’t kidding. Her stirring and haunting rendition of the classic rock tune is featured on her 2003 album “Halos and Horns.”

If there’s anyone who has earned that stairway to heaven, it’s Dolly.