1982 – California
KIM
I overdressed that afternoon and my heart thumped within time and time again. Yet, I pushed through with professionalism and moved on. Of course, there was no other choice for the millionth time. Nerves would've turned off that entire room full label executives. I refused to look stupid then. Seeming naïve in front that would've been completely embarrassing. I knew so much better.
After exiting lunch with Michael and others at the studio, I slept until at least eight at night. I'd kick off a shift at the hotspot around nine that evening. As mentioned, I wouldn't even leave that venue until the next morning. But Michael would never know. Jackson only recognized my musical talent. Michael didn't know that I stacked chairs in a vast place. This man didn't know that I wiped down tables and scrubbed floors.
I wasn't ashamed of this server work, but had to keep up appearances in one way or another. Otherwise, no one at the label would take me seriously as an artist. Sadly, the demo wasn't enough to immediately launch my career. Walter Yetnikoff and I realized that truth. I'd dreamed of performance since childhood. Just like Michael. I felt at home if a keyboard or microphone reached my own presence. Cliché, but true.
That night, I strapped on heels and braved everything. A few visitors routinely smoked upstairs. One of the chefs mixed up orders in that wafting kitchen. Colleague Denise and I picked up slack, of course. There was no other choice given the circumstances.
Right outside the kitchen's silver double doors, bass pulsed loud enough to almost bother me for once. I didn't know what to think this evening. Still, I would never quit. If music never worked out, I needed something to pay bills. While the job felt sometimes demanding, even my heart would never change its delightful outlook on this place.
Coworker Denise and I had met three years ago here on a Saturday night. I'd just graduated of course, and my afro piled high. We neared the tail end of Disco and even disc jockey couldn't figure out a musical niche for this place anymore. Still, I'd wiped down the bar for one last check. We'd open for good in almost one hour.
Denise then shamelessly leaned over the counter in question. Frustrated, I rolled my eyes. The long sleeves of her white blouse almost dampened with cleaning spray I'd just used. Nearby employees shouted to one another out of need. I understood their quickness in one way or another.
"Hey, girl. I'm Denise Perkins. I don't think we've met." This woman offered to smile. I slammed down this wet cloth and faked a grin while drying my hands. Music already thumped to give us all something other than silence. I'd lose it otherwise. Before too long we shook hands and she walked around to help instead. We've been good partners never since.
Now, I almost screamed in the kitchen once more. One of our chefs burned another dish. I'd just picked up the fire existinguisher again. It took everything in me not to walk out for a Newport smoke. Instead, I shook out of this anger and picked up a different order from the pick-up line. Our manager would reprimand the chef before long.
As soon as I finally exited those double doors, everything within calm down. I'd think about this famed clientele as usual. The platter order I held on this tray belonged to stars located upstairs. Between the colorful strobe lights, I politely sifted through this crowd and held the tray with caution.
Up these flamboyant steps, I discovered some familiar faces. Morris and his crew visited once again. After exchanging my passed hello, I paused to finally give out the orders. The table question rounded with New Wave artists I didn't recognize. Blonde hair and all. Several drinks and plates later. I swayed these hips away with an empty serving dish.
"Hey! What's going on, Mama? Long time, no see." Before I could even walk back down the steps, a loud cackle prompted me to glance over one shoulder. Lo and behold, Morris stood behind me in his cheetah print jacket. Remembering my limits and professionalism, I quickly wave at him before finally exiting this upper level. Time was money anyhow.
At five in the morning, we'd closed. Everything would resume tomorrow night as usual. In the middle of sweeping, I looked up to see Denise smirking with painted lips and weary eyes. She just shook her head at me before walking off to sweep a different corner than mine. Beforehand, I'd already wiped down the bar on this lower level. After sweeping one last time near the entrance, I finally stopped.
Denise and I quickly walked down a narrowed hallway to find the employee area. I slumped into the chair of our kitchenette table. Denise hunted for a Sprite in the vending machine. A dingy coatrack cornered near the fire extinguisher in this room. Just when I thought silence would choke us, Denise finally woke up with questions.
"How was the label meeting? Did you finally meet Michael?" My coworker faked another smile. Out of respect, I sat up and listened. Regardless of my exhaustion right now, I'd always appreciate this woman. She'd offered advice time and time again through these "short" years together.
"The meeting was laid back, but organized. And girl, he's brilliant. That's all I can say right now." I could only muster up a few details. The exhaustion kicked in for good, but I'd brave another ride home alone. Denise accepted my response and we both stood up to finally leave this place. I'd probably encounter one more crazy night tomorrow.
Still, it was always worth it.
