1985 – "Purple Rain" Tour
KIM
The band celebrated my kisses with Michael in one way or another. For a while, different bandmates or crew members noticed the blushes on my face. Even Brenda kicked into her "bridal-mode" faster than I believed. In short, love wafted near the air. Of course, we all buckled to rehearse and kicked ass onstage as usual. Yet, I couldn't help smiling afterwards.
My thoughts raced with Michael. I felt so cliché and kind of childish at times. His dreamy smile flashed into my thoughts whenever I thought of romance onstage. And every time lust seemed to drip from the voices of this band, I imagined Michael suddenly neglecting his typically shy behavior and just allowing arrogance and dominance to consume him. As if we were both madly enamored with the idea of physical contact. But alas, I'd only view the flirty gentlemen in person.
We finished shows in New Mexico at the time and trailed right back to Cali for quite a few more concerts. To be honest, I wanted to bop Skip over the head for these constant turnarounds but couldn't really nag about anything. As I've said, our otherwise funky grooves allowed me to keep pushing. If not, I would've given up a long time ago.
Sadly, Brenda didn't stage or choreograph the gigs anymore after we left New Mexico. On her end, "Soul Train" founder Don Cornelius kicked this woman off the show after four amazing years. Swirling rumors and jealous dancers lied to tabloids, plotting to make Brenda seem like a Hollywood groupie or something. It wasn't long before this woman shut down and packed up. My old friend has been recuperating in New Jersey ever since. '
Grief-stricken, Prince offered me more solos during records. I guess the coping mechanism involved me because I knew the love of his life. His woman. Of course, I obligated. Still, he called her every single day if possible. Either still planning the wedding or simply missing each other. I understood, given my endless wishes to be with Michael every now and then.
After one California show, I finally discovered Jackson standing behind the scenes. My bandmates clustered together as usual and plotted to conquer the nightlife once more. On the other hand, Michael scooped right into his arms and spun me around. As if we existed in some cliché film. Once my heels touched gravity, bandmates whistled or swooned nearby. Yet, the happiness never lasted for long.
Footsteps marched into the private section and we all turned heads or eyes. Shirtless and moistened by performing, Prince only shook his head and blinked wet eyes. It wasn't long before security guard Big Chick trailed right back out of the room behind him. I didn't know what to think but continued embracing my sweet Michael.
In that moment, I looked to see Michael whispering in my ear. His face pulled away and appeared troubled. Bewilderment crossed my mind at the very least. I offered one kiss on the cheek and rushed to find Skip. My other bandmates filed out of the room as if nothing just happened anyhow.
I guessed that paychecks meant ten times more than the well-being of their boss. I found Skipper marching down a corridor at the venue and this man slammed the door right behind himself. Big Chick and other bodyguards most likely patrolled in the evening air to hide away.
"What?!" After three knocking efforts, Prince bellowed from inside the room. I immediately jumped back, startled more than anything else. For once, my voice almost creaked with distress. I've never felt intimidated by the man until this very moment. Still, I returned immediately back to annoyance. Prince or not, no man could tear me down like that. I wasn't stupid like his countless groupies or whoever else.
"Who the hell are you talkin' to?" My own New Jersey accent screamed back in protest. I should've kicked the door open and confronted his concerted ass. Not even seconds later, the door finally creaked open. Once we met eyes, his face almost reeked of alarm. As if it was ten more punishable to yell at women instead men.
Prince's mouth seemed agape at first and this man shut the entry behind him once more. Prince then slapped his mouth and shook his head for the millionth time. Once again, I didn't know what to think. Awkward silence fell between us and I couldn't even imagine how Michael possibly reacted with everyone else waiting right now. I longed to squeeze his hand or something, regardless of the circumstances.
"I'm so sorry, Keys. Monty and I were bitching on the phone and I...." Prince seemed vulnerable all over again and mentioned his fiancée by using her own given nickname. My heart ached every time this man called me "Keys." Before long, I thought back to Skipper trudging into that backstage area. I could only hope that everybody else would finally think about partying or something of the nature to distract themselves. Hell, I needed a drink right now. Even a cigarette called my name for the first time in a long-ass while.
Damn. I thought to myself.
Prince called to me as my heels stormed out. Yet, I wouldn't resign from this band at all. Too much backlash and regret would've stormed my heart. The media would've questioned every detail. Even Brenda would've kicked my ass if I ever abandoned this shit.
I then paraded out of the hallway and fished in my pocketbook to grab a Newport pack. Outside, smoke vapors wafted toward the night sky when I blew outwards. My mind could've cared less about drama, but promised myself to visit rehearsal the next day.
