On the set of his latest video, Enrique Iglesias kisses the girls, tells bad jokes, sings, and waits for Whitney.

Picture the scene. New York City. Boiling hot. I am sitting on a makeshift stool on a studio soundstage, reading a newspaper. I am calming myself, for I am about to meet a proper, albeit young, music superstar. All around me there are clues than hint at both the hard work and the glamour that add up to one working day in the life of this star. People with walkie-talkies come and go making important announcements such as “Makeup call in five. Rehearsal in then.” A group of dancers dressed in sequins and the odd square of denim lolls about listening to Discmans. Everyone is beautiful, and no one except me seems to feel the heat. I am on the set of the video for “Could I Have This Kiss Forever”. I am here to meet Enrique Iglesias.

At 25, Enrique is already a singing sensation. He’s sold eighteen million albums in four years: he’s had thirteen consecutive Latin number-one singles. He’s won a Grammy, an American Music Award, and three Billboard awards, among others. He lives in his own house (large, luxurious) in Miami, has his own dog (a trusted friend) and his own private plane (no big deal; he needs it). He spends most of his time traveling the world playing to crowds of about 50,000 people. And, it seems, he makes every last one of them fall in love with him.

The first time I see Enrique he is working hard. He is flanked by two models, serenading both. He leans in to kiss one, then turns to caress the other. Around him a crowd of beautiful people dances and drinks and laughs. The concept of the video is to portray a 24-hour party, of which Enrique is the life and soul. Later, he willl be joined by his duet partner, Whitney Houston. I sit like a spider as Enrique’s publicist talks about him. “He’s really a sweetheart,” I’m told. “A big practical joker. A lot of fun. You’ll see.” Why do the girls go so crazy? “He’s sexy as hell.”

And then I meet him. He kisses my cheek, and after I mumble something about the set and the girls, he gestures and says: “This? This is OK. People will see this video, and they’ll think that this business is all fun and games. But this is not what I care about. Oye, did they turn off the air? It’s hot in here, right? Or is it you? Ah, listen to me. What a cheesy line. . . .” Enrique, it should be noted, is the son of legendary crooner and super-suave man with a tan, Julio Iglesias.

We begin again. “So, you’re a musician . . .” I say, trying to launch into a serious question-- something about the art behind his craft. “No,” he says, deadpan, and before I can say another word, he starts on another tack: “You’re English, right?” I am. “You English! The English get so drunk when they go to Spain. Well, everyone gets drunk when they go to Spain. You know I’m Spanish, right?” I do.

Like his publicist says, Enrique Iglesias is a joker. He talks seriously for a moment: “For me, the music comes naturally. It’s the only way I can express myself. It’s like my own little diary. And I love my fans. If it weren’t for my fans, I wouldn’t be here, plain and simple. I’ll worry the day that I’m in a restaurant and nobody bothers me for an autograph.” But, really, he would rather go back to the jokes. Don’t you have something you want to say? I ask him. He puts on a deep voice: “I want to say to all the people out there, ‘Peace, love and happiness.’ ” He pauses. “Why are you laughing?” he asks, deadpan again. And so I start in with more of my annoying questions, and sometimes he deflects me with a joke.

He doesn’t have a girlfriend (he says) at present, but he has been in love. He suffers from insomnia and occasionally is lonely on the road. He wrote “Be With You” while working in London, where he missed being with someone-- anyone. He likes to water-ski and prefers spending time with his mostly Spanish, Miami-based friends to the celebrity shuffle. He doesn’t like to shop (a stylist finds his blue jeans and suede jackets), and says that he doesn’t bother much with the material pleasures. “I’m not trying to make out that I’m this simple guy,” he says. “It’s not that I don’t like luxuries. I just don’t have time.”

For all the stories about all the female fans, for all the hit records and lucrative business deals (he recently signed one with Interscope that was rumored to be around the $40 million mark), Enrique Iglesias is not-- yet-- a playboy. The makings are there, but right now he is too busy, too supervised, and too unassuming. Even he has to wait around for Whitney Houston to show up.

We are sitting huddled in a corner of his trailer. When his manager comes in to draw the curtains so that Whitney, due to arrive at any moment, doesn’t spot a member of the dreaded press-- me-- anywhere in the vicinity, Enrique takes this in good humor. Later he will eat in the mess hall with the extras from the shoot, and instead of checking out the models, he and his friends will indulge in a food fight. What makes you happy, Enrique? I ask. He peers out of the curtain to see if he can spot Whitney’s car. “I like being onstage,” he says with genuine feeling. “That’s what makes me happy. I feel surrounded by happiness onstage. I don’t think anything can equal that.”