After realizing her attraction to Prince exists, Lyric finds herself going through a number of obstacles as she attempts to deal with her feelings. While Prince's feelings are mutual, his actions are incongruous with his emotions and along with this...
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September 5, 1991 Los Angeles, California
They knew to sit me by somebody I like and I am forever grateful for their use of intelligence. I'm becoming more in tune with which colleagues I can't stand to be stuck next to for more than two minutes, time as short as an elevator ride for some. My placement next to someone of the likes of Janet is a lifesaver. No fake smiles, no awkward small talk. Instead, I am free to bask in the joys of giggling with my friend.
Janet wins the first award, much to the pleasure of most of us. I know that, soon, I'll be rushed to the back in preparation of my set for the show. The girls are already in the back setting up as I sit in the audience. Buffy is backstage assuring everything I need is in its proper place and Uncle Dorian occupies the seat between Mike and I. To my left is Janet, her man beside her beginning the line of her side.
NWA's entrance is exciting though, I do wish Ice Cube were in attendance. He was Eddie's favorite. Their presenting is the catalyst to the sight of a man I'd been thinking about since I landed in Los Angeles. Todd acceptance for Best Rap Video is the perfect example of what a real man stands to be. Tall, brown, and fine.
"Look at him. All types of man," Janet grunts in my ear, disguising our inside jokes from her husband.
She may be playing but his attractiveness is still an undeniable factor. I have to agree with her. "He is fine for no reason." Nodding in agreement with myself, I don't even register what kind of a comeback she has. "That he is." Our laughter is concealed in our smiles, the only sounds leaving our mouthes becoming light, airy giggles to keep the outside world out of our conversation.
"Uh uhn," nudges Janet, discretely pointing the fashion travesty taking place before us as she walls down the aisle. "Girl..." The rude female publicist of an even ruder, and married, male artist who shall remain unnamed reminds the room why so few genuinely enjoy her company. "Now, girl." No words come to mind to describe the disaster, I can only nod along with a disgusted Janet.
The two of us giggle and cackle about everything under the sun until my uncle double taps my shoulder right shoulder. I have to close up shop and go on about my way, promising Janet that I'll be right back. This particular shoulder tap is the signal for when I have to go backstage and get ready for my number. I hop up, escorted by Mike to the busy, busy extended hallway leading to a series of dressing rooms and greenrooms.
As I am rushing to my designated placement, I pass by a familiar figure standing in the hall with darkly tinted shades on. I could say he is trying to be cool but he doesn't need to. He's always been cool and he's always worn sunglasses inside buildings, claiming its to shield his precious eyes from the ugly personalities passing him by.
"Break a leg."
The first half of our two-part joke crafted on the Parade tour brightens my day. "Break an arm," I finish in passing, walking away behind Mike.
