Chapter 8

I awoke the next morning, to what sounded like a tiny horn tooting.
Rolling over in bed, I saw that my racing game was still in progress. And by the clock on my computer--I hadn‘t seen one at all in Prince’s home since I had been there--I knew that in about fifteen minutes before Juan-Carlos made his daily appearance to get me up.
As I sat up and stretched, I caught sight of something purple glinting at me from the top of my dresser.
Curious as to what is was, I quickly hopped out of bed and walked over to see what is was.
I was extremely surprised to see that it was a rather large gift box, long and wide. It was wrapped in shiny, holographic purple paper, tied with a white ribbon and even larger bow.
Tucked under the bow was a white rose on top of a piece of folded white paper.
I picked up the paper and unfolding it, revealed a note written in purple ink.
I recognized Prince’s erratic script.
It took me a moment to understand what was on the paper, because Prince had a unique way of expressing himself:
Brynn,

Eye wanted to say I’m sorry for the other night. Eye didn’t mean to upset U or make U cry. Eye was just kidding around. Eye hope that U accept the gift as a token of friendship. Don’t take it personal.

Prince
“Brynn, what is that around your neck?” He demanded.
“What?” I looked down on myself and say that the symbol pendant was hanging around my throat.
“It’s just Prince’s symbol.” I tried to play it off coolly. “He gave it to me.”
“His symbol?” Michael’s voice went so high I barely understood him. “Do you even know what that thing means? What if it’s something bad?”
“Michael…” I said soothingly. “Don’t worry, I already asked, He said it was something spiritual. I wouldn’t wear it if it was something bad. I swear!” I threw up my hands.
“Okay.” Michael didn’t sound fully convinced. “But I’m going to look into this. And if I find anything weird about that, I want you to get rid of it. Give it back to Prince, throw it away, I don’t care. Understood?” Michael’s voice was gruff.
“Yes, Michael, of course.” I nodded, my eyes beginning to fill with tears because Michael was mad.
“I’m going to let you go. I love you.” Michael’s voice softened.
“I…I know.” I said somberly and snapped my phone closed.
“Are you okay?” Mindy placed her hands on my shoulders.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Perfectly fine.” I stretched my mouth to form a smile though I was sobbing on the inside. I hated when Michael was mad, especially at me.
But I wasn’t going to let Mindy catch wind of it.
I had already cried on Prince’s property once and I wasn’t planning on doing it again. It was painful, but I made every tear in my eye go back into its duct.
Behind us, the doors to the salon opened and Jimmy entered the room.
“Good morning.” He greeted us in his quiet way.
“Morning Jimmy.” I managed to sound happy as I hopped out of the salon chair.
“Mr. Prince wants me to escort you to Studio D.” Jimmy announced as I neared him.
“Studio D?” I questioned. So far, since I had been at Paisley Park, I had only seen the inside of Studio B and Prince hadn’t exactly taken me on a full tour of the studios. I didn’t break out on my own, because I didn’t want to get into anything or see anything that he wouldn’t have wanted me to.
“Yes.” Jimmy nodded as we exited the salon and started down the hall. “Mr. Prince has been in there since about four a.m. trying different guitar hooks. I’m not sure if he’s writing a new song or trying to redo the one you did the other day.” He explained quietly.
“Oh.” I nodded. “Well if he’s not recording, why does he need me today?” I glanced up at the hulking man. I knew that I probably should have been on my phone trying to mend Michael’s flaming brain.
“I suppose he wants company.” Jimmy shrugged.
He led me past Studios B and C and down a narrow stairwell through a hallway that was lined with photos of Prince holding some of his musical awards. I noticed that strangely enough, in not one of the photos, was he smiling.
Rounding a corner, I saw that at the end of a long corridor was a set of silver double doors. Written on them in a contrasting and somewhat clashing gold paint was “Studio D” in fancy script.
The hallway was amazingly bare. No photos hung on the wall, which were painted an electric blue, there weren’t even any windows. The only adornment on the walls were funky star shaped light fixtures that were spaced about three feet apart.
As we approached the door, a high pitched whine reverberated through the hall. It was so loud that I actually felt it.
“Whoa.” I gasped, trying to keep my balance in the slouchy high heeled boots I wore.
“I know, the speaker system in there is state of the art.” Jimmy laughed. “If Prince really cranked it up, people in the next county could hear what he was playing.” He opened one of the double doors and led me inside.
“Wow.” I whispered.
Studio D was truly a wonder to behold. The place looked like a concert venue it was so large and expanse. It could have easily held at least five hundred people, if not double that amount.
Turning in a circle, I saw that above the door was a square hole with a round camera lens shaped do-dad protruding from it. A spotlight.
Facing forwards once again, I saw that at the opposite end of the room, a huge, full function stage was erected and stood at least ten feet off the ground on scaffolds and risers, behind what looked to be about seven large, leopard print speakers.
It had a full band’s worth of instruments on it: a set of drums, Prince’s symbol emblazoned in white on the bass drum, two sets of keyboards, a black grand piano.
It actually took a moment for me to spot Prince, because he blended in so well with the room, which was painted his signature purple color.
He kind of resembled a California Raisin he was clad in so much of the color. He wore a stiff looking, short jacket over high waisted pants and matching boots. His jacket appeared to be made out of a thick fishnet type fabric. He wore no shirt under the jacket, just his gold symbol pendant.
Another gold metal symbol was attached to the side of the purple head wrap he was wearing. Prince’s hair was curled and fluffed higher than mine!
He was seated on a stool in front of a microphone. His head was down as he was wiggling his fingers over the strings of a guitar, as if he was deciding what to play next.
I had never seen it before. It looked like a “normal” guitar. The guitar was made of a blonde, honey-colored wood. The only extravagance I could see in it was on the front there appeared to be an inset that looked to be made of tortoise shell.
It was hanging off of Prince’s small body by a simple black leather strap.
I looked back at Jimmy.
He was once again gone. How that large man managed to move so stealthily and quietly, was still a mystery to me. On the way to the studio I was able to hear his breathing quite plainly.
I glanced back at Prince; his head was still down.
I wondered if he realized that I was even in the room.
I slammed up against the doors when Prince suddenly said into the microphone,
“I know you’re in here.”
It was so deafening that it seemed his voice was going through my body.
“Um, hi.” I called meekly, peeling myself off the doors.
“Come on over here.”
Prince instructed still directing his voice over the speakers. His face was void of any expression, and I wondered if Jimmy was right about him wanting company. I hoped I wasn’t bothering him.
I quickly made my way over to the side of the stage praying that he wouldn’t say anything else, for the sake of my eardrums.
I noticed that Prince watched my every step the way convience store owners watched shady looking people who might be stealing.
Not really sure if I was supposed to, I climbed the steps leading up onstage and stood a few feet from Prince. I made certain that I turned down the urge to touch any of his instruments. I was sure most of them cost more than my life.
For a few edgy moments, Prince stared at me, still plain-faced, then turned his attention back down to his guitar.
Even though I was a good distance away from him, the scent of his lavender cologne hit me. I wondered if he wore any other scents or if all the bottles in his room had contained that one particular cologne. I should have been bored with the smell by then, but for some reason, it was intriguing to me.
I jumped a bit when Prince suddenly asked, “Did you get my package?”
“Yes, it was nice. Thank you.” I smiled shyly.
“And did you read the note?” His voice was a whisper.
“Yes…” I nodded and looked down at my feet.
“And what did you decide?” I heard Prince’s heels click as he slipped off the stool and stood.
“I think we should be friends. It’d make life a lot easier for both of us.” I reasoned. I lifted my head back up and saw that Prince was nodding in agreement, a small smile creasing his lips.
He walked up to me, and we stood so closely that his guitar was touching my abdomen.
Prince leaned and ever so lightly, pecked my cheek.
A warm sensation sparked by his lips ran the length of my body.
“I think so too.” Prince leaned back and gave me a mousy grin.
“So…uh,” I struggled to find another topic, flustered from the second kiss. “Jimmy told me that you were working on some new music.” I managed to spit out.
“Yeah, I’m not too pleased with the first arrangement. I’m going to remove the guitar solo in the song and try another one.” Prince explained.
“Oh…" I moved back a few steps. “What’s the new one sound like?” I didn’t know what the first one sounded like, because the only music I sang to was what was needed as the chorus.
“Have a seat.” Prince threw a thumb at the stool.
As I took my place, Prince whipped into a wild, almost fevered solo. His fingers flashed over the guitar at breakneck speed and were thin yellow blurs. Notes spilled from all over the room and made everything seem to vibrate. The solo was all over the place--high, then low, sharp then flat. He was leaning and bobbing as if he was fighting with the sounds he was turning out.
Prince’s face was contorted as the infectious tune blared. His head wobbled and his jaw dropped a bit, as he unleashed an extremely sharp high pitched note that he let extend about three octaves before returning and playing few bars of Game.
With a flip of his head, Prince brought his playing to an end.
“That…was…incredible!” I grinned, with a zealous tremble.
“I kind of like that, but I’m still tweaking it. I’m gonna keep at it until it’s perfect.” Prince noted.
“Well, I liked that. It was cool.” I pointed out.
“Do you dance at all? Or do you just sing?” Prince inquired swaggering back over to me.
“I think singing is my best thing, but I can dance some.” I admitted. “I can perform if it’s needed.”
“Have you ever been trained?” Prince looped his guitar over his head and set it on the floor.
“Not really. I mean I took a jazz and contemporary dance class when I was a kid. But that was a long time ago.” I giggled.
“Wait a minute, you mean you live with Michael Jackson, and people call his ass the best dancer of all time, and you haven’t asked him to show you anything?” Prince placed his hands on his hips.
“Michael’s my friend. I think he’d get tired of me asking him to show me how to do step after step. But I wouldn’t want to be copying the moonwalk and all that sort of thing. I want to do my own thing.” I flipped my hair over my shoulder.
Prince raised an eyebrow, “I respect that. A young artist should try to make themselves unique. It’s cool to be influenced by someone, me, Michael, whoever, but it’s cool to here you say you want to do your own thing.”
I was dumbfounded.
Not only had Prince addressed me as an artist, but he said that he respected me! He wasn’t making fun of me, or laughing at me, or taunting me. He was serious and the thought that we had actually seen eye to eye on something had me reeling!
“Now I know that you have that little iPod you have all of Michael’s songs, but before you hooked up with him, what kind of music did you listen to? Like what did you jam to?”
“Um, I didn’t really listen to that much music when I was kid, just a few of Michael’s songs, and some of yours, whatever I could play on the radio…and whatever they played in the clubs I sang in, you know, when I got older. That was mostly rock.” I ran my hand through my hair. “I just kind of danced to whatever I was able to hear before my mom or dad shut the radio off.” I shrugged.
“Your parents didn’t like for you to listen to the radio?” Prince tapped his foot on the stage.
“Not really. They kind of frowned on it. They didn’t want me to be influenced by obscene lyrics and that sort of thing.” I looked away from Prince. “They were really strict.”
“You didn’t have any brothers or sisters that you could sneak off and play records with?” Prince’s voice was soft, and I was aware of his hand on my bare shoulder.
“I’m an only child.” I giggled half-heartedly. I didn’t really like to talk about my home or childhood with anyone, and the conversation I was having with Prince was more disturbing for me than if he was asking me what color underwear I had on.
“I see…” Prince looked off into the distance.
I think he sensed how uncomfortable I was because he changed the subject.
“Can you play guitar?” He asked his voice even softer and it cracked a bit.
“I actually can’t play anything.” I admitted with a bashful grin.
He appeared to be mulling my response over. “You like my guitar?” He asked slyly.
“It’s very pretty. What kind is it?” I questioned, relieved that the conversation had shifted.
“It’s called a Hohner.” Prince ran his hand along the edge of his instrument.
“Would you like to touch it?”
“Uh, sure.” I shrugged.
Picking up my hand, Prince placed it on the neck of his Hohner. It was cool and felt pretty solid. I had never held a guitar in my life, so I didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like.
“Run you hand up and down the neck, real slow.” He murmured and started playing on the body of the guitar. He was playing slow-tempo rock, the kind you’d hear in a ballad.
I did as he said and the notes went from flat to sharp as I moved my hand up and down.
“Oh that’s neat!” I snickered. “I can play guitar!” I smiled up at Prince, who was beginning to play a bit faster and the music was becoming more complex.
“Now move your hand up and down quicker.” Prince instructed.
The sound coming out of the guitar was edging on heavy metal, some of my favorite type of music.
“Be careful!” Prince suddenly exclaimed, as the guitar riff blared. “It might get excited!”
He pulled the guitar from my hand.
“Did I do something wrong?” I threw my hands up, afraid I had broken his guitar.
Prince began stumbling around, and appeared to be struggling with the Hohner.
Erratic notes filled the room.
My heart was hurting it was thumping so hard. I knew that if I had damaged his guitar in anyway, Michael would be receiving a bill for it at Neverland. And I also knew that Prince’s guitars had to be worth thousands.
“Oh…damn!” Prince dropped to his knees at my side, still wrestling. He was running his hand rapidly up and down the neck of the guitar and banging on it. “I can’t stop it!” Prince screamed, and gritting his teeth, was playing as if his life depended on it. I stared down at him in horror.
I shrieked as a liquid came shooting out the head of the guitar and hit me in the face.
“Oh my God! What the hell is that?” I yelled jumping up and covering my face with my hands.
The music began winding down and I could make out Prince laughing.
I lowered my hands and saw that he was still on his knees, clutching his guitar.
“What was that?” I demanded, wiping at my face. It’s not like I went around getting shot in the face by a guitar on a daily basis. Anything could have discharged from that electric guitar. I just hoped it wasn’t any type of radioactive juice.
“It’s just water.” Prince managed to get out, before rolling onto his side.
“I’m so sure.” I rolled my eyes and sighed. “I thought you were done with jokes.”
Prince giggled. “I had to get one last one out my system. I’m done. I mean it.”
“Right.” I crossed my arms, and stood at his side. I wasn’t really angry with him, just a little miffed to know that he had pulled another prank.
Prince climbed to his feet.
“You gotta admit, that was kind of funny. You should have seen your face.” He smiled.
I felt another smile crawling on my face. “I bet I looked silly.” I sighed.
“Nah, I think you’re supposed to shout when something hits you in the face. If you took it normal…I dunno, you might be freakier than me.” Prince guffawed and tapped my nose with his finger.
“Whatever…” I rolled my eyes and we both laughed more.
I think I had just signed a check that my butt may not have had the funds to cash!
(Author's Note: I got the idea for this from the squirting guitar Prince played at the end of Purple Rain!)
I stood there, stunned. I could barely comprehend it. Prince was not only apologizing, but actually mentioned that he wanted to be friends.
Prince wanted to be friends.
I took the rose and held it under my nose, feeling myself blush. Prince was actually acting like a gentleman and not a snake.
A smile creeping onto my face, I set the rose down and went to pick up the box. It was fairly heavy, so I left it on the dresser top and ripped the paper loose.
I yanked the top off.
“Oh wow.” I whispered at what was inside.
Gleaming up at me was a spank brand new silver portable DVD player. But what was nestled next to the player made me squeal like a pig caught under a fence.
“No way!” I exclaimed lifting up a DVD copy of Gone with the Wind!
I was giddy with excitement. I didn’t even have a copy of the movie at Neverland; most of the movies were cartoons because that’s what Michael liked and the man had three kids.
I rushed over to the doors of my room, ready to seek out Prince to thank him for the movie.
I was stopped in my tracks when I grabbed onto the doorknobs.
The doors were locked, and it occurred to me that before I had started playing games the previous night, I had locked myself in the room.
A frightened chill eased from my head and down to my feet.
How did Prince get in the room if the door was locked?
I wondered backing away from the door.
I quickly denounced that since it was Prince’s home, he probably had a key to access my room.
I just hoped that all he had done while he was in the room was drop the package.
I felt myself all over. All the buttons on my clothes were still hooked and my underwear was still on. I didn’t feel that I had been violated in anyway.
Maybe Prince had kept his hands to himself after all.
* * *


“I’m telling you Michael, it’s so fab. He gave me a DVD player and Gone with the Wind!” I giggled into my cell phone later that morning as Mindy was styling my hair.
“See, I told you that if you relaxed, that you and Prince would make friends.” Michael pointed out and hee-hee’d.
“Yeah” I agreed.
He would have been singing a different tune if he knew why Prince had given me the gifts. I had no intent of upsetting him with the sordid details.
“Did you thank Prince for it?” Michael wondered quietly.
“No… I haven’t seen him yet today. But I will.” I promised.
Placing my hand on the receiver, I asked Mindy,
“Where is Prince?”
“I’m not sure. I think he’s off somewhere practicing his guitar.” Mindy replied, picking at my curls with a small comb.
“What are you doing?” Michael questioned.
“Um, getting made up.” I replied.
“Will you send me a picture, I want to see how you look and show the kids.” Michael hee-hee’d again.
I looked up nervously. I didn’t particularly want him to see what I had on that day.
Just like my other outfits, it was rather risqué. I wore a simple navy blue dress that had only one long sleeve and left the other shoulder and arm bare.
And of course the skirt was notoriously short. The only thing I was really proud about the outfit was that I had the bracelet Michael had sent to me on my bare wrist.
“You remember that your phone has a camera on it right?” Michael asked. “Just take a picture and email it to me.” He explained.
Hands atremble, I handed Mindy my phone and told her to shoot my only from the waist up.
A moment later, my photo was floating through cyberspace to Michael.
“I’m going to check my email now.” Michael giggled as I put the phone back to my ear.
I could hear him typing on the computer in his bedroom.
“I’m opening the photo file now,” He alerted me and I could tell that he was really excited by the way he was humming.
My heart skipped when it came to an abrupt stop.
“Brynn…oh gosh.” Michael sounded exasperated. “You look so…so…different.” He whispered.
“You don’t think I look pretty?” My bottom lip quaked, afraid that Michael was going to be mad at me.
“He doesn’t like it?” Mindy leaned around the chair and gazed me, a puzzled look on her face.
“Brynn, of course you look pretty, you always look pretty, but…gosh, you’re wearing a lot of make-up!” He exclaimed. “I’m just not used to seeing that much on you.”
“Oh.” I looked down feeling a bit defeated. “When I come home, I won’t wear it.” I told him.
“I know.” Michael replied and a second later gave an audible gasp.