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1985 - California
SUSAN ROGERS
While reviewing this Sheila E demo, I glanced over my shoulder during playback. Prince leaned against the door frame of this quiet studio, but closed that entrance.
Out of my daily habit, I turned off the chiming chords to "Noon Rendezvous" and rolled myself away from that recording console. Prince offered a smirk as one way to greet me on that now early morning.
We'd spent the working as usual. Other musicians barely departed this same room hours beforehand. His voice croaked to me in the name of exhaustion, but I still sensed this pleased feeling. As if the man would share good personal news.
I was right.
"I would like you to meet someone." His deep voice smiled. I simply nodded, waiting. But my eager hands struggled to avoid touching the console again.
My mind had been so conditioned to work in his world that I barely knew anything else anymore.
Family and friends were lucky if I ever called from the road. Three colossal albums later, I'd nearly forgotten my old lifestyle.
Yet, my mind braved another introduction. I finally met Brenda Michelle Nelson on that faithful day.
Most people would think about wine glasses and cigarette smoke. Most people would consider fishnet wardrobes and dark lipstick.
My experience deemed less glamorous. I could actually hear myself during that brief conversation.
Prince creaked that studio door back open and mumbled before walking back into the room. His new wife slowly followed behind him.
Brenda Michelle meekly sauntered into my view. Silence oddly partnered footsteps.
One proud "New York Giants" jersey obscured the notorious abs of a frantic but remarkable entertainer.
That curly lion mane from television still swooped across her forehead.
Jeans covered legs that previously shuffled for Soul Train.
At last, the recognized wedding band on her finger twinkled underneath dim lighting.
"Susan, this is my wife Brenda." Nelson spoke up this time. I'd grinned respectfully while shaking hands with the bride of my gifted employer.
Prince scooted himself away from that studio door again and cleared his throat. I nodded again before we sat down in this room.
These two huddled together only chairs away from me and Brenda opened a tiny notebook. I waited, intrigued. Between whispers, Prince offered kisses to his bride.
Not once did I feel jealous like other women complained. His gestures seemed compassionate and real toward her.
Underneath the console, Prince even held her palm. All the while, Brenda explained more lyric ideas and scribbled on that paper with her opposite hand.
In two years of working with the man, I'd never seen this much devotion exuding towards a woman before. Lust wouldn't even rest in his usually strong-willed eyes.
Only love described this movement between them.
***
PRINCE
Brenda Michelle (Monty),
You are my muse.
You are love personified.
I want keep you for the rest of my life.
All that's wrong in my world, you can make right.
You are my saviour.
You are my light.
I am so happy.
You are my wife.
Until the end of time, I'll be there for you.
You own my heart and mind.
I'm nothing without you.
Love's too weak to define just what you mean to me.
If God one day struck me blind, your beauty l'd still see.
Words cannot describe how much I need you.
Darling, I truly adore you...
Every song of devotion forces me to think about you.
I cannot dream at night without seeing your gorgeous face.
You are my woman.
I am your man.
If I was anything other than human, I would be the water and bath.
Forever yours,
Prince Rogers Nelson
I didn't care about Michael. I didn't care about the press. Again, people would never understand the relationship between us.
People didn't understand that she calmed down my frazzled nerves during long rehearsals. She could unwind my creative thinking once my exhausted body otherwise shut down.
I could rest in her arms, never moving as she swept back my hair. Her voice would hum melodies and lull me towards slumber.
Someone loved me. I would give this woman my now healed soul.
Now, we rested in the darkness of her bedroom again. She held the back of my head while drifting in and out sleep.
Once her brown eyes opened this time, I chuckled into her neck. She stared down at me without hesitating and kissed the top of my head. I shut up instantly.
Only blankets covered our skin that evening. My lips moved along her neck once she craned to sit up.
Michael would never...
"Let's go back to Paris. I'll give you another baby. We'll name her Antoinette if it's a girl..." I lowered my voice while weakening my muse with love.
She gently pulled me right into her neck. As if desperate to feel my lips in a deeper fashion.
Just as my skin clouded over her beautiful darkness, the landline shrilled.
Again.
Fuck you, Michael!
