Author's Note: To disclaim, this idea is 100% fictional. Enjoy!
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1985 – "MTV" Interview
PRINCE
America, America.
God shed his grace on thee.
America, America.
Keep the children free.
Little sister making minimum wage.
Living in a 1-room jungle-monkey cage.
Can't get over, she's almost dead.
She may not be in the black.
But she's happy she ain't in the red.
("America" by Prince, 1985)
"I don't live in a prison and I'm not afraid of anything. If fright ever consumed even my heart, I'd never perform and certainly wouldn't tie any knots with the woman beside me." I faced the television cameras head-on. Monty sported her dark make-up once again. Gigantic hoop earrings dangled on either side of that curly mane. Her physique shaped into Bodycon dress. Music video extras for my single America fenced us behind these situated chairs.
Thanks to my own request, manager Steve delivered questions from the MTV news department. This employee seat not too far away from my dolled-up and gorgeous wife. Our wedding bands shined on each finger as usual. For a moment, I reached over to hold her hand.
At the time, Brenda still encountered that pointless Soul Train controversy. Countless dancers ridiculed my woman over foolishness. Bullshit at most. Of course, we'd meet the interrogative questions in that regard as well. I never minded defending my bride at all, but this chaos seemed ridiculous in one way or another. There was only a matter of time.
"What do you think of your wife's recent controversy?" Steve cleared his throat and admitted the inquiry before long. I locked my eyes with Brenda and squeezed her ring-hand. Our gaze proved meaningful. The extras around swooned. Even Jerome held onto his heart for a moment. I loved my wife. Brenda Michelle was my everything.
"First of all, she is the baddest woman on Earth. Anybody who seems jealous of this dame can kiss my ass. She's not a groupie. She's not brainless. She's sang, danced, written songs, model, directed my shows, helped my acts, and she's recording an album right now. All without me. I can keep going if you want, people." I feverishly counted the accomplishments of my wife on both hands. In that moment, the music video extras exploded with cheers. Brenda quickly lowered her head, blushing with crossed legs.
__
MTV left shortly after the interview. I couldn't even party with the extras and Jerome afterwards. My heart gravitated in the direction of Brenda once more. I could wake up to this woman for the rest of my life. Honestly. No one else mattered. We'd leave our honeymoon in the morning. My baby looked so gorgeous in this window pane lighting. Just feet away, we could stare at the Eiffel Tower on this rounded balcony. I loved that woman so much.
Her acrylic nails against the white blanketed table and I nodded to mumbled lyrics that rested in her mind. I grinned to myself for the millionth time My own mind could only imagine what tune raced into her thoughts now. We bounced ideas off each other all the time.
I love you baby, I love you so much.
Maybe we can stay in touch.
Meet me in another world, space and joy.
Vous etes tres belle, Mama. Girls and boys...
In that moment, my eyes widened. We raced into the hotel suite and I scribbled down the lyrics. I fumbled to discover a melody on the piano. Brenda leaned the instrument without hesitation and spew anything that festered in that brilliant mind. I'd found another great song to record back home or elsewhere.
**
California
He only knew her for a little while.
But he had grown accustomed to her style.
She had the cutest ass he'd ever seen.
He did to, they were meant to be.
They loved to kiss on the steps of Versailles.
It looked like rain, Mama. Birds do fly...
I couldn't believe the genius of our session when back in America. Progress had been amazing at least. Monty (Brenda) bopped her curled mane to the music. We all giggled when I bumped fists with my wife. Our wedding bands once again shined beneath the dimmed studio lighting. Everyone from Wendy to Bobby and others jam-packed in this room.
The clock read midnight. Monty (Brenda) and I could've cared less. We'd both plop onto that nearby couch soon enough. As usual, we'd repeated "Girls and Boys" over and over. I just couldn't help dancing around the room throughout playback, either.
Brenda even offered a bridge involving spoken French for me. My woman learned the language as far back as high school and even displayed that skill during our international honeymoon. My heart melted during our protected strolls near countless landmarks. We even visited Mozart's home at one point as a surprise with the band.
Within an hour, I finally stopped working on this exact record. Band members filed out of the room and offering goodbyes this evening. After Bobby creaked that wooden door shut, I rolled my swivel chair toward a hoisted bass guitar. That instrument secured onto the nearest wall. After plugging in, plucked and quick rhythms jammed into my mind. Almost reminding me of Sly Stone in one way or another.
In that moment, I quickly remembered the song itself. I'd record this jam called "High Fashion." My protégé group "The Family" took this one. Members included Susannah and even Jerome. Time and time again, Monty (Brenda) offered to help shape this group, but I declined. My baby already worked style as well as staging for Vanity 6 years back. But I digress.
Out of nowhere, the phone rang. I didn't know what to think when Mo picked up that same landline. Exhausted and needing cuddles, I wrapped my drained arms around her after readjusting my guitar for the wall. She laughed to herself in front of me as I leaned in to kiss her sweet neck.
"Hello?" Monty's New Jersey accent emerged when this woman slipped away from my embrace. I pouted and stomped down my heel jokingly. Still, I plopped onto the couch and folded both arms, blowing kisses between her mumbled words. Again, I felt so cliché and gushy around her. But I would never change a damn thing about our love.
"Who's on the phone? I don't know what's going on, Baby?" Only seconds passed before spoke up again. Puzzlement washed over my heart in one way or another. Silence fell between us as my woman uttered to an infuriated static voice. Before long, one more bout of static buzzed across the room from that telephone.
"Fuck you, Michael!" Monty shouted into the phone before hanging up with a good-ass slam. I jumped up from that couch while startled.
