After nine years of being attached at the hip, Lyric and Prince finally split. Now, on the road to recovery, she learns a new way to view life as Prince is forced to face the music of a song he never wanted to played aloud. Join them as they learn a...
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May 4, 1992 New Orleans, Louisiana
I haven't stopped. I don't know what sleep is. I don't know what fear is. I am a machine, an unstoppable machine at that. Bickering over when my album is to be released, running back and forth between the stages of multiple cities and my day schedule of filming. Nothing is stopping me. I ditched the tour bus and finally shoved out the big bucks for that jet I've dreamt of. Then, I took a pay cut in negotiation for some of my masters, an idea placed in my head after a conversation with Little Richard, dropping me to the second highest paid female artist. The sights set on my career had granted me stresses not tied to the emotional damage I've recently suffered. I've become the busiest of bees since that afternoon.
Three months and I'd written a line for every month. Almost 13 weeks passed, I'd written a fictional take on this grim fairytale and spun it eight different ways. 91 days equating up to roughly 2,184 hours when the math is done. I've cried for every hour and worked for double. And it all comes down to the 131,040 minutes since I've been in contact with Prince... But who is counting?
Overwhelmed by the stadium singing my own song back to me, I step away from the edge of the stage to soak in the crying angels. A sold out dome of people singing to me, singing my songs to me. It'd been a long month and this was a beautiful way to end my month long spot-date tour.
"And if feels like we're dreaming..." I sing, leaving the second line for the audience to sing as if they've written it.
All 83,000 voices scream out to me. "Believe it!" And the way Oliver smashes into the drums sends a shockwave through everyone's systems. I can see why an ex-associate once tried to poach him as they recreated their band. I fail to wipe away the tears in my eyes as the praise comes to an end after the final song. My thank you's are cut short by the sight of Ike coming on stage to rush me away for my night flight back to Los Angeles. I may be filming tomorrow afternoon.
We pack up everything and run to the jet. The flight is yet another sleepless night for me. I spend it listening to a series of demos needing to be cleaned up before I ship them off to my peers with the interests of spreading my work around as I work too much for my label to keep up. The latest favorite of mine belongs to Janet, she just doesn't know it yet. Constructed based on a poem I write entitled The Light's Kaleidoscope, I've specially crafted That's the Way Love Goes with her range and the space for Jimmy and Terry to rework it however they see fits.
She'll love it.
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