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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August 12, 1993 Chicago, Illinois
I sit quietly with my legs elegantly crossed to match my mood. They gave me wine. I'm happy, relaxed, and classy right now. It's been a while since I've felt this comfortable in an interview setting. Although, the questions being asked make me want to drive my car into Lake Michigan. These same questions are the reasoning to my thoughts turning down the volume on the outside world as I stare in distrait at the speckles of dust in the air.
Seriously, what the hell are we talking about?
"You and The Artist Formerly Known As Prince are close counterparts. How do you feel about his name change?"
Oddly enough, nobody has asked me about how I felt until now. I'm sure that had to do with Maria and Uncle Dorian shutting them down. This will be the first time I'm speaking on this. It's been a little over a month since he'd done it and it's still new to all of us, especially me, but I'll be honest.
I softly set the tulip shaped glass down on the bamboo coaster they provided me with. "It's still new... I still slip up and say his old name because, well," I shrug between transitions. "He's been Prince since I met him and that was a long time ago. I guess you can say it gets easier over time? I don't know. It doesn't directly affect me so whatever floats his boat."
"What do you call him now?"
On cue the giggles come flying like a school-girl with pigtails. If I could tell them, I would but I know I can't. I'm sure the last thing he wants is some fanatics coming up to him screaming Chip. All hell would break loose if he heard that. They'd have a better chance calling him The Kid.
Picking my glass back up for a quick refreshment, I take that time to gather my wording. Be careful, Lyric.
"Well, I can't tell you my favorite things to call him. I know for a fact he'd be pissed!" The interviewer laughs believing it's a joke. Nothing about that was a joke. "But besides calling him... That... I kind of found a way to maneuver and manipulate the circumstances. Sometimes I call him P, that's what I've always called him for the most part, and he'll scold me. But then I'll go–" I hold my hands up in defense as I give a quick example of our typical conversations without profanity. "Hey, I didn't say Prince! I said P... it's a difference!"
The interviewer, whose name I never caught, falls over in a burst of chuckles right before my eyes. Once again, these were some of the most sincere examples I've ever given but hey, funny is funny.
"So that's what we shouldn't call him," he asks.
"Exactly," I point with a laugh. "Overall, I don't call him much of anything anymore. If I do, it's one of the many other nicknames developed over time but those are the one's I can't say."
