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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September 16, 1992 Chicago, Illinois
The pounds were dropping like flies as the multiple due dates scheduled back to back are chasing after me. I've handled the pressure better than I have in the past. No panic attacks, no meltdowns, no mental excursions to hell and back. I've kept myself on lock and focused on the right track. Through and through, the show's setlist is completed as the lead focus is now the process of perfecting choreography and transitions down to a science. Life is easier now, the album's release date passing by freeing up my busy promotion and press time slots. I have the time to really drill myself about the show.
Drenched in sweat as I remove my sweater, exposing my arms to the coolness of the studio's fans, I reach for the water bottle Buffy offers me. "No, I think that was the one so we can end it here." I breathe out, pushing my sweatpants to my hips as my abdomen begs to be fanned off like the rest of my body. "That was definitely it. Everybody's good to go, but please do not forget that I'll be gone from next Tuesday's rehearsals."
Journey, now wearing the title of my dance captain, stands up from her resting on the floor. "Why not?" Both Journey and Faith have been with me since 1985, earning the shared title of captain as they are my backbones to the art of my stage performances.
"I told you, I'm going to New York."
Whatever that night shared between DeVante and I should be called continues to be considered debatable. What isn't debatable is how well we click. Acquaintances, just like that because it's that simple sometimes, he's invited me to his birthday party. 23-years-old, he claims he'll be. Age didn't come to mind during our time shared but I can see how that number fits in numerous ways. I'll make note to tease him about it for I'll certainly be in attendance. I love a good party.
Even more than that, I love a world tour.
We only have two months of rehearsals before I hit the ground running, jumping from city to state to country to continent. Imagine, six months of traveling around the world. I'll leave no stone unturned. This is a big deal for me as it's going to be my biggest tour to date. Warner Bros. predictions of what is to come from tickets, revenue, and all of that jazz is meant to put me in competition with Janet's last tour. I don't want to compete against my friend. I just want to do something that has never been seen before, something extraordinarily stunning to the masses.
I think I can do it. I'm sure of it.
I scratch the curls sprouting underneath my hat. In a few minutes, I have to be home. A bank account rolling through tens of millions and platinum records selling by the dozens, I'm what most call a successful artist. Yes, that is me. Yet, prior to any of this, I was crowned the big sister of a, now teenage, boy. Not trusting his driving skills enough to let him drive any of my expensive cars, I have to keep a careful eye on Eddie as he plots on a trip to the mall to get a nice outfit for a party.
