1998
The Artist
"Entertainment Journalist Rochelle Davis attended this year's Versace Fashion Show with prolific songwriter and musician El Debarge!"
I booked a flight to Los Angeles immediately after Rochelle came back from Milan.
"Get out!" She yelled. We argued back and forth once again.
"Why would you even go with him?" I nearly lost my voice.
"You never took me, so I made a choice of my own. We've been through this already." Ro defended herself.
"Baby..." Endearment failed to calm her down. My heart dropped.
"You know what? We...shouldn't have gotten married. I knew this would happen. " Rochelle sits down on that familiar sofa, barefoot in the most stunning dress I've seen, beyond our wedding.
The sleeveless gown draped through gold and black, making her look royal. She styled those Locs with another perfect updo. Earrings shined.
"Ro...." I struggled again.
"If you never proposed to me, losing you wouldn't hurt this much. We could care about each other and still do our own thing without these betrayals." She kept looking down and smeared eyeliner.
My heart broke even further when she didn't even let me help dry her face. It was my favorite part of our routine before bed, if I ever slept at all.
"Did you ever really love me?" She asked, completely drained.
"Yes." I'd never been so sure in my entire life, even when I first proposed.
"Tell the truth. No bullshit. Why did you cheat on me to begin with?" She went there, fed up and truly wanting answers.
I had no other choice but to respond. No games whatsoever.
"I was mad: The record company still pissed me off, slowing down projects got on my nerves, and I couldn't think straight, either. Everything just tripped me out, but you weren't there." I shook my head, so frustrated.
"You didn't even ask for help. How the hell was I supposed to know what's going on? We never talked, Pop." Rochelle walked towards me in the gown. Its train rustled gently steps behind her.
"You never picked up the phone! I spent..." I trailed off this rant, trying not to shout at my wife again. "You weren't there, all right? She was!"
"Still doesn't justify what happened! Just because temptation exists doesn't mean that you should indulge. You always knew better. I could've slept with El or even Mike years ago, but I loved you way too much." Rochelle snapped, going in.
"I know...." I failed to speak again because Ro cut me off with more. So much more.
"This contract kills me. I gave up Nelson, kept quiet so the press would leave you alone, and published entire reviews without using your first name. What else could you want from me?" She was heartbroken.
"I'm sorry..." I nearly choked tears. "Just talk to me, Mama. I'm sor..."
"Did...did you sleep with Garcia because I wouldn't have children fast enough?" Her next question almost made me sob.
"No...never...I was...Baby, no...." Damn-near speechless, I covered my face with both hands.
"Damn." She was standing from the couch when I opened my eyes.
"I'll help out with your dress and run a bath." I promised, watching Rochelle trail that gown into the bathroom.
****
I didn't leave her apartment until the following day.
I woke up in her arms that morning, wishing to still wear our ring. What she gave me last night only felt like love, not a goodbye.
Paisley Park was lonely again and I never wanted anyone else.
Ro,
Last nite was '84. Not marriage.
Even after the pain, I saw the girl with stars in her eyes.
I miss u. So much.
I woke up in ur arms convinced that my soul came right back 2 u.
The way u hold me cannot be duplicated by anyone else.
"Dreaming" from "Emancipation" is about u too, baby: my angel with pretty brown eyes.
I'm so sorry.
Forgive me.
Please?
I love u beyond words.
Eternally urs.
-Husband.
For quite some time, I could only watch my best friend work from the television and sported this brand new emerald medallion with a broken heart.
She was perfect.
All I had to do was love her correctly.
****
In spite of everything, she sent out a package for me days later.
Starr,
Draped in Computer Blue 💙 🖥
-Ro 🖤
I marveled at the coat.
Deep, dark and majestic blue shaded onto gentle fabric. New cats hired in my own building would never understand what Rochelle just did for me.
"Thank you. It's beautiful." I called her, still wearing my coat late at night in the studio.
"You're welcome. I have one, too." Her laugh on the other line made me smile.
"What color?" My attention peeked.
"Black." Rochelle said. I closed both eyes and imagined her sitting next to me right now. The empty chair found in this room was haunting.
"I miss you." My voice admitted.
"Me, too." She finally offered her truth.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Working, Pop." She answered quickly.
"On what?" I clipped back.
"You'll see." Rochelle ended this call before I could ask more questions.
***
"Show Business writer Rochelle Davis put her own musical skills to the test this past weekend!"
A celebrity news channel played footage of Rochelle actually working in the studio with Lauryn Hill and Mary J. Blige.
"Mary, sing an octave lower. That tone fits better with the melody on each verse." Onscreen, my wife turned off an instrumental and sat in front of the recording console.
My baby.
And to think, years back, Ro was nearly terrified of even sitting by herself in studios.
Now, my girl helped two great artists figure out a record.
***
The record was "All That I Can Say" from Mary J. Blige.
I almost wanted to cry after seeing Rochelle's name in liner notes:
Arr: Rochelle Davis-Nelson.
YOU ARE READING
The Price of Fame || Prince/MJ
Fanfiction"Everyone has story, but what about mine?" - Rochelle Davis
