The Beautiful Katastrophe

(III) Possessive

     My trip to Los Angeles was short lived. At first, I planned on staying for about a week. I had plenty of friends there I could've hooked up with but instead, I followed my heart and rushed back to Minnesota the same night of the shoot.

Truth is, I missed Prince. I wanted to see him before he went away on tour.

He didn't answer my calls so I figured I would check First Avenue, my father Romeo's club that Prince frequently occupied.

First Avenue was in the heart of Minneapolis. In 1970, when I was around eight years old, my father partnered with a man named Danny Stevens and opened up a nightclub they called The Depot.  It used to be a Greyhound Bus station actually.  After a few name changes, and new partnership in management, the club was now called First Avenue & the 7th Street Entry, with 7th Street being the smaller venue attached to it.

As soon as I stepped inside, the sound of a drum machine and slow synth overwhelmed me, buzzing through my bones. I locked the door and walked into The Mainroom, the part of the club where the most popular bands would play in front of 1500 people. Right now, it was Prince on the stage, rehearsing with his band for my father and another gentleman who was standing in the middle of the empty dancefloor.

"I guess I should've known, by the way you parked your car sideways, that it wouldn't last."

"'Sup," my dad said with a head nod.

"'Sup," I said mimicking him. I wrapped her arm around his waist for an effortless hug.

"This is my daughter, Kat. Kat, this is Bob Cavallo, Prince's manager."

I shook Bob's hand. "It's nice to meet you," I said, projecting my voice over the music.

When my father asked why I was back so early, I fibbed and claimed that I missed him. He knew I was lying but he didn't hassle me. He was nothing like my mother. I weaseled questions in about Prince and asked what he was rehearsing for. I learned that his new album was dropping the next day and he was going to perform at the club for a release party.

"So, Michael Jackson, huh?"

I smiled towards my father. "Mom told you?"

"Lizzie did." My shoulder became heavy with his arm weight and his lips pecked my temple. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, Daddy." Just then, the music stopped and before Prince could direct his band to go into the next song, I jotted to the end of the stage.

Prince came closer and kneeled before me. "What's up?" he asked, smiling.

"I'll be waiting for you when you get home."

"Oh yeah? But how do you plan on getting in?"

Bewilderment took over my expression.

"I changed the code."

"So what's the code?"

Instead of answering me, there was just that stupid smirk again. He stood up and turned his attention back to his band.

Yes, I was pissed but I couldn't show it for the sake of my father's knowledge. I spun on my heel and said goodbye to him and Mr. Cavallo.

Prince was always hot and cold. But I thought things would be different now that we spit the 'L' word at each other. Guess not, I thought.

~*~

When I got home, it was empty. I tried to chill out by painting a blank canvas. The brush, dipped in red, stroked in different directions, making an abstract piece of art. I did this for a while, with the same color until the entire canvas was crimson. Then it was nothing but a background.