As Told By...
PRINCE
September 9, 1992
Chanhassen, Minnesota
"I think she just has a crush on me," I tell her. My hand runs down her exposed hip to soothe the emerging jealousy. She's been high strung since she got sent home from the tour, something I didn't even see coming. "Hey, don't worry about her." A knuckle lifts her head up high. I'm honest when I say she doesn't have anything to worry about right now.
Carmen's worries have the potential to be valid, though the spinning of my brain after my last trip to Chicago left her, and every other girl in my life, floating in a wading pool. Having turned eighteen and returning from a Paisley Park funded trip to Egypt, I brought Mayte back as one of my muses. She has a unique yet commercial look I can use to my advantage. She's a sweet one too, but as she gets bolder in her every act, I know she'll rattle the cage. Carmen was already upset I had to pull the plug on her. Mayte's batting lashes after a full residency on the tour left Carmen more unsettled than she already was.
Carmen sighs. She's real cute when she's mad. Those crisp blue eyes know how to get her what she wants and she's a persistent one. If I told her I kept Mayte in my company during my short recovery break in Spain, she'd be stunning enough to stand next to a young Lyric, the one who was a beauty but reeked of puppies and glitter like she didn't have the kind of ass she does.
"You should come back tonight." My lips peck a kiss beneath her jawline, trying to soften her up as her face sits as another one of Medusa's victims. "Come by my crib tonight at nine." Another sigh is her agreeing. "K?" Carmen nods as I let go of her hand. Set free and alone, I enjoy the view of her walking away. What I enjoy even more is the space to be alone with my thoughts once she is gone.
I've had a kicking headache for three days now. A heavy thunderstorm and brain fog killed my mood two weeks ago. I've never felt this way before. When it comes to being lovesick, I'm no stranger to the pain. I'm usually put in the same two stages. I'm sad and then I'm not. This time has been a real kick in the ass. I got home and had a cold, something in the key of having the flu. I hallucinate, thinking I can hear her talking in places I know she would never be. I got bit by the love-bug bad.
That woman is something serious.
She's funny, the kind of funny that comes with corny jokes just to brighten up your day. She's smart, the kind of smart that spits out of the latin terms for every animal she spots. Most of all, she's fine... The kind of fine that wipes you out in seconds once you're between her thighs. You'll see every star of the past, present, and future in her eyes and when her stare accepts you, time stops. I'd lay on a bed of nails in the name of promoting that everyone knows she is the most beautiful woman to walk this planet since Eve, maybe a possible reincarnation.
For two weeks now, my brain has worked overtime to remind me how much dimmer life is without her. It drives me crazy as I wonder how to fill the hole in my heart. Chanel is my everything. From head to toe, her existence completes me on the inside, doll-like features complementing on the outside. She pushes me, always seeing the best in me, even when she called my bluff and realized I lied... She still came back like I hoped. Now, she's quit me and I can't blame her.
I fought long and hard to keep myself in check but old habits die hard. I sauntered around her house trying to see if she'd internally changed as much as her physical did. A lack of birth control in her medicine cabinet brought relief, as well as the motivation to keep my hands to myself. A familiar seven inches of blue silicone found in the drawer not-so-discretely holding all of her toys left my fingers burning at the tips. I was stone the second a vision of her indulging in my gift came to my mind. I wandered off, peeking into other corners of her bedroom.
In her closet, tucked away deep in the back, I found a navy blue box. She had so many pictures, so many memories. Photographs I didn't know existed sat in that box. The thought of that box making it through the move between homes left me conflicted. Knowing that night would be an ending to something I can't comprehend yet pushed me to leave behind ring inside of it, another something for her to remember me by until we figure this thing out.
The worst part it all is the possibility of her wasting her time with that punk next door. A doctor? Yeah, okay. He may be a shrink but he ain't the man for her, let alone any kind of a real man at all. He won't know what to do with a woman that fine. He won't even know how to feed her creative hunger, fueling her new and next ventures. I've been watching her. If he's the kind of suckers she's hanging around, she'll only decline. It was just this morning that I left Therese a letter requesting her album. By this afternoon, I had a copy in my hands.
It's good.
Her work being diluted down to nothing more than good pains me to see. I know she can do better. I've heard her do better. I was there during the process of recording most of that album and the tracks that should've made it are no where in sight. I don't entirely blame her for that. I know Warner at play when I see it and after she refused to take the Madonna route, they've been fucking with her every since. It ain't no fair to her, to me, or anybody else they're over there fucking with.
A cap on creativity diminishes product quality. Artists don't deserve that kind of misrepresentation of their work and neither do our audiences, especially these freaks who visit the trip I like to call my mind. Something's got to be done about this shit and I'm working on it.
Last week, I finalized the internal workings of my deal's extension. They don't know it yet, but with my every perk granted, I'm leading the new breed of artists into a direction of getting what we deserve. In due time, it will all fall in line.
~•~
I call out to the rest of the stage. "Y'all don't love me!" The cue signals a series of spins done by Mayte, meant to trigger the choreography of the fellas. "Mayte!" Her distracted stare looks up and snaps to my direction. "You're late!" I give her a second chance to catch the cue. "Y'all don't love me," I scream a second time.
Mayte twirls, her balance wavers and she stumbles over her boot, falling to the floor. She's the first of four as they each trip over each other, only Kirk getting back up fast enough to keep pace. One by one, the band begins to fade out as they all lose focus, looking to see if the victims of gravity are okay.
"Did I say stop?" Looking around, I chastise the room of imperfections. They know better. "They fall on stage and y'all just gone stop? We got 200,000 people watching us and y'all just gone stop playing?"
Silence.
Eventually, I take a look at the pile of bodies that have finally found their footing. "Y'all alright?" Nodding heads secure their spots on their marks. "Alright," I huff, frustrated by the disaster of a reaction I've witnessed. "If you were on your mark when you spun, that wouldn't have happened so let's make sure we're watching our feet," I lecture Mayte. "2 the 9's, from the top... On the one..."
The only one still smiling is Mayte, a closed-lip smile but still a smile, nonetheless.
A real sweetheart, Mayte never complains. I know she wants to learn. Having a long, long way to go keeps her smile strong because she'll be learning as long as she's here. When I did my stint in Spain, I kept her near just to have someone close by. I don't always want to be alone. Since coming back, I've been addressing the reemerging possibilities of me having an interest in her.
When I met her, I was in another one of those weird between stages with Chanel as we were veering off into separate directions of life. Jokingly referring to her as one of my future ex-wives as we drove past the crowd accumulating, I didn't expect to ever see her again but nothing stops a pressed stage-mom with a cute daughter from shooting for the stars. When she came to a second show in a separate country, I knew what was coming. I took the tape, only to learn that much to my displeasure, she was younger than she looked. Still as fine as all outdoors and easy to talk to, I scaled it back by a million miles. I'd played that game once before and that was all it took for me to keep myself in check.
A penpal is all she became. Still cute, but just someone to talk to when I didn't want to think about what kind of stress factors came with real life. Chanel never caught wind of her existence, even when I ran back to Los Angeles to chase her when I caught word of her lounging with another man who couldn't handle her. I got love for Mike but I doubt he'd know how to work a sister like that. His following emergence with Madonna was more his speed, I know it.
When my reconnection with Chanel picked up winds faster than I expected, I had God to thank for Lisa Bonét not wanting to cast her in the video and choosing a prettier woman. Although, I couldn't say that to Mayte so I lied, not wanting the rejection to kill her confidence. I funded her room and let her run up the room service fee as high as she wanted. The fire for Chanel began to burn brighter over that summer and with Carmen on standby after Leisl gave me the cold shoulder, I sent Randee and Mayte off to Egypt. It was perfect timing as Giselle was coming back from France. There was harmony.
And then Mayte came back as an adult... And Giselle found out about Robia... And Diane got mad I was still with Robin... And Robin learned I was creeping on Carmen... And I met Tracy. Then, of course, to top it all off, Chanel came to visit on February 12. I now call that day, The Day the Earth Stood Still. Seven months later and my world remains in suspended animation.
I was too depressed to do damage control after she left, letting the cards fall wherever they chose. The game shifted after that. Mayte got gigglier, her smile grew wider, and her stare became stronger. I knew then that she wanted me and I did consider it, but I couldn't do anything until I saw Chanel one more time. I was prepared to beg my baby to stay but her sad, distant stare that hid behind her smile was too real for me to ruin her life in the name of my selfish love.
Picking up guitar I run through a quick riff as a warm up. "Scratch that." The urge to have a moment with myself swallows me whole. "She's Always in My Hair." Eyes shift, fingers scurrying to accommodate my sudden change of mind. Symbols are opened, new sounds are loaded onto keyboards. Lost, my dancers stand around in confusion. "Just get in where you fit in," I tell them. They'll figure it out.
A song written far before I met her manages to bring Chanel to mind and I've always found that interesting. Written in the name of Jill's once unconditional love, I remain stunned by how it has since melted into a separate relationship built on a similar bond. Maybe it's the foundational aspect of these women being my friend's during that time. I don't know. I don't like to think about it too long. Reminiscing will make you feel old.
But that's never stopped me from thinking about the woman who stole my heart.
Is it my own fault that she broke down? The last time I saw her the whole aura was a little shaky. It haunts me, making me often wonder if I broke a piece of her. I can't tell you how annoying it is to have a memory with her for everything in sight. We used to play on this stage. She played this guitar in my hand.
Whenever I feel like givin' up, whenever my sunshine turns to rain. Whenever my hopes and dreams are aimed in the wrong direction... She's always there tellin' me how much she cares. She's always in my hair.
Chanel was always there for me, day or night, Earth or Space. The way I'll have to figure out life with this much distance between us isn't something I'm too pleased with. I got so used to having someone by my side that I started to act like she belong there. I'll be the first to tell you how big of a mistake that was. You see, this is why I stopped looking at the past a long time, probably about when I got a little bit of money in my pocket. Nothing in life is promised except death. One dame can't be the downfall of all everlasting happiness when I have a billion and one others waiting on me. If I wanted, I can go find my own Lyric right now. Hell, I can make one.
But it's always easier said than done.
Maybe I'll marry her, maybe I won't... Maybe I will not. Lemme tell ya, if I was a gigolo all my life, she'd still be there, tellin' me just how much she really cares! She's always in my hair...
"Give it to 'em, Tommy!"
These days rehearsals are a blur, each fading into one big, long session. Snapping on Damon about how he better be studying his steps as much as he keeps his face smothered in the magazines he kept trying to read on the side of the stage is the only unique factor. I can admit that some of the annoyance I felt came from the way he was gawking over Chanel, who had the cover spread. He knew better. Hell, he doesn't even like her. All that is, is a testament to exactly how fine she is.
She's mellowing out her theatrics as she's also began to take a real urban appeal kind of turn with her image over the last year. It's always been in her, trust because I know these kind of things for sure. She's at a place where she can begin to expose who she really is without Middle America throwing enough slurs at her to knock her off of the charts. How unapologetically she's been living is one of the things that makes her so special bumps her attraction up by ten notches. A beautiful sister running it all, and mostly by herself, with a plan for world domination. It makes me want to fuck the taste out of her mouth.
Therese slips into my office, arms full of tapes, after her knocking grants her permission to enter. "Okay, this is all I've got for now," she says, stacking them on the edge of my desk. "She did a radio interview that we couldn't catch so we called the station but that's it. Video LP, Wake Up! USA, Good Morning America, that BET Takeover marathon and everything else. All of this week's promotion is right there."
"Thank you..." She sticks around to make sure I was done talking. I take that as the perfect time to ask her about my orders from yesterday. "Did you all send the gift box and the flowers?"
She nods.
"And did you get the copy of that tape she has of the rehearsal jam?"
Therese's neck flexes with a light cringe. "Her assistant says they're out of town and she won't have access to it for a while but they will send a copy when they can."
"Fax them again anyway and put a copy with the flowers."
Aaliyah checks Chanel's house and mail daily whenever she is gone, this I know to be a fact. If it makes the gifts make it to her house before she gets home then Aaliyah will find them.
As my silence is taken as a sign for her to exit, Therese runs off into the bright hallway. Left alone, I dial up my only direct line of connection to the woman who has cursed me with a throbbing heart. Lenetta's been a reliable source for a while now, a positive that came out of befriending the same eighteen-year-old cousin Chanel told me to leave alone way back when. Starting off with my usual check-ins, I tease her just enough to warn her up but when I segue into her cousin, Lenetta shoots me down.
I probe out of more hurt than true inquiry. "She doesn't want to talk to me at all?"
"She never said that— I just don't think she does."
I sigh, legs rocking from side to side in my office's chair. I stare at the stack of tapes on my desk. "Come on, Lenny! Don't be like that, mama." Has she spoken about me? If I watch one of those tapes will I be able to sense she's thinking about me?
"Prince, it's not up to me..." Lenetta's cries sound truly sympathetic. All that does is turn my sweet grapes into bitter wine.
My connections to Chanel are beginning to run dry. I never thought I'd see the day. I'd used an abundance of people and little by little, they've caught on to her not wanting to hear from me. Alexis came first. I've never been cursed out the way she did when she got a hold of me a few months ago. I was every kind of bitch ass, punk ass, jive ass, hoe ass, dirty ass, worthless ass motherfucker in the book. She ended the call by telling me she loved me. Aaliyah's reaction came with a lot less animosity, more pain than anything. Seeing her and her twin as a single entity left me in her bad graces.
I'm being exiled.
Lenetta's sigh is heavy she carries the weight of having to set me down gentle and easy. "We're about to go out," she says, uncertainty sprinkled in her silence. "I don't want to ruin her vibe. I don't know what happened but she's really focused on just getting out and having fun without thinking about you, okay?"
"Where are you going?"
"Does it matter?" Suddenly, attitude is all she is giving me. "Look, I'm not getting my head—"
The knocking at my door catches my attention. "Hold on, Lenny."
She groans into the phone, making me wince. My eyes narrow as if she could see me but I don't say anything. She's all I've got left. I don't want to piss her off. Frustrations from my social situation bubble over.
With my hand on the mouthpiece, I call out to the mystery person. "Who is it?" My tone is stone cold. I don't like being interrupted. Carmen sticks her head in the door and I signal her with my finger to enter, further directions shown as I place it over my lips. I continue my negotiations. "Throw me a bone, Lenny." She's the closest to begging I've gotten in a while.
Lenetta pauses. Within the seconds of her dramatic hiatus, Carmen was already trying to climb in my lap. In a swift motion, I turn the chair as I push her away from me. I can feel a possible upcoming breakthrough on the phone.
"We're going out with Tupac and some other guys. It's a club— And I'm not telling her I talked to you either."
"Why not?"
"Because it makes her sad, P."
Lenetta's brutal honesty takes my breath away. In the midst of my silence, Carmen succeeds in carefully climbing into my lap, arms wrapping around my neck as I grip the phone tighter. Eyes closed, soaking in my heartbreak's revival, I can hear laughter echoing behind Lenetta. It sounds like Honey's, Chanel's hairstylist, telling me the woman who rules my mind can't be too far away. Carmen's nail gently drag across the nape of my neck, her touch keeping me from going under.
I clear my throat in the middle of Carmen's activities to point at the seat in front me. I need space right. "Well, y'all have fun," I tell Lenetta, trying to find the positivity in my voice. "Be safe."
"Alright, I'm going to go."
"Talk to you soon."
She quickly throws out a, "Mmhm."
I hang the phone up.
Dead eyes and a forced expression of entertainment leads me down a road of trouble. Soon, just like clock-work, Carmen lands on her knees and I am granted the time to think without any interruptions.
Buffy says they're out of town and Lenetta says they're out here clubbing with Tupac Shakur. Where is she? She can be anywhere in the country she was hanging out with Tupac. Los Angeles, New York, Atlanta, Las Vegas. I'd bet my bottom dollar that she was in Los Angeles. She's there so much that she may as well move these days. Het main station remains in her roots just like my own but even I come home more than she does. I would much rather have her in New York. There's nobody in New York that would spark her interest. That would eliminate the slick ones like Jason out of the equation. Two birds, one stone.
"Take it all." I let out a breathy grunt while my hair gripped her crispy curls–somebody used the curling iron a little big too much. "Just like that." She was always a loud pleaser, the slurps could be heard from outside my office.
I'm not even given the space to replace Carmen's face with Chanel's the way I have been all week. Instead, I am plagued by the thought of some unworthy motherfucka pushing up on her. I met Jason at Aaliyah's wedding. It wasn't a bad encounter at first. It wasn't all that bad until he started asking questions like we went to high school together.
"You're Prince." I heard a voice say as I washed my hands in the men's restroom. "The bride loves you, man."
I laughed, "The bride loves me, huh?"
"Yeah... She'll flip when she finds out you're here."
Chuckling, I pulled my hands from beneath the water and reach for the paper towels. "The bride invited me." I laughed to myself. His jaw dropped. "How you know Lyric or Aaliyah? You must be from Kendall's side."
"Lyric?" A brief pause occurred. "Chanel!" His correction of her name told me where he came from. I'd spent Thanksgiving with their folks but I've never seen this cat. "I saw you two in a magazine once... I didn't think she was dating anyone." I stepped back and put my hands in my pockets as he spoke. I suddenly was interested in what he had to say. He kept on talking, much like Lyric used to. "I can't believe this."
"Those magazines say anything, man. Don't read 'em."
He shook his head. "What'd you guys name the baby, man?"
Small minded people who believe the mess in the media really blow my whistle. He lost me. The smile I wore faded. "He's a junior," I sarcastically said, walking away from him. I take my hand out of my pocket to salute him. "Nice meeting you, brother." This guy was joke. Lyric had some interesting taste in men. I don't think I'll like any guy she brings around at this rate. I know Papa Fred won't.
Feeling myself twitch, my thoughts come to a well-timed end. "Shit." I whisper as I release with no care of where any of it would wind up. When my eyes open I notice Carmen looks like she was dipped in vanilla ice cream. "Clean yourself up," I say, laughing as I reach into my drawer for a napkin specifically for her. As I rise to my feet and adjust my pants, I watch her disappear into the bathroom.
"Let's get out of here," she says.
I laugh, "I was thinking the same thing."