In March 2004, the first year he was eligible for it, Prince was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. People are still talking about how he ripped the place apart with an incredible guitar solo on “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” as part of a tribute to George Harrison. Rolling Stone said, “It could be the single greatest moment in any Rock Hall induction ceremony in its history.” I sat at home watching with tears in my eyes, partly because it truly is a mind-blowing guitar solo, and partly because I was thinking about the night we were there together, honoring George Clinton. That night, I linked my arm through my husband’s and said, “We’ll be back for yours in a few years.”
I heard that he and Manuela had bought a house in Toronto. I knew that choreography, too. It didn’t surprise me at all to hear that they’d split up shortly after that, and their divorce became final in 2006. What did surprise me was that Manuela reached out to me and said that there was some stuff of mine in storage at Paisley Park, and I should go get it. I was skeptical at first, because this message came to me on social media. Assuming it was someone pretending to be her, I replied: Tell me something so I know this is actually you.
She shot back: Tubesocks.
I burst out laughing. Yeah. Only someone who really knew him would know what that meant.
I didn’t hold back when I replied: I have no respect for you. I dreamt of ways to beat your ass if I ever saw you.
She surprised me again by saying: I’m truly sorry.
We ended up having a very long, interesting conversation, which confirmed what I always suspected: she’s a pretty cool girl. Being gorgeous was one thing, but to maintain more than passing interest from Prince, you had to be smart and strong and kind, and now that I’ve gotten to know Manuela, I know she is all those things. Sadly, that doesn’t change the fact that she crossed the line with my husband, so I can’t pretend I’ve never had another unkind thought about her. Let’s just say the relationship status is “Complicated” and probably always will be, but I give her credit for reaching out to me and apologizing. Ten years later, she’s a wonderful mom and still a natural knockout beauty.
In November 2006, I wrote Prince a long letter and told him that I was ready to forgive him. He called me, and we talked for a long time.
“We’re bound to run into each other,” I said. “I don’t want it to be weird.”
“No, no. It’s not weird. Not on my side.”
“Good. I’m glad,” I said. “I’ve actually been talking to Manuela.”
“What? No. Why? Don’t do that.”
“She’s a cool girl. It’s fine. I’m over it. It’s been a long time.”
He sighed heavily. “What is time?”
“A magazine.”
“Oh, so you’re still funny.”
“Yep.”
“I don’t believe in time. It doesn’t exist unless you believe in it. It has no power over you unless you grant that power.”
“It has power,” I said tartly. “Take a look at my butt.”
He roared at that, and I savored the fact that I could still crack him up.
“You seem to be holding up pretty well,” he said. “From what I see.”
“Well, they do keep asking me to do Playboy.”
“Ah, hell no!”
“Just saying.”
We talked and laughed for a long time. He told me about his Las Vegas residency, 3121 @ Rio Casino, which was essentially a six-month tour with only one venue. I was thinking about what a luxury that would be when he circled back and started talking about time again, saying how he wanted to be like the Dalai Lama, always moving into the future, and that he didn’t age because he didn’t celebrate his birthday.
“Oh, shut up already,” I said. “You’re a human being. We all age. We all need to sleep and eat and breathe—everything in moderation—and what’s wrong with celebrating your life if that comes from a loving place and makes you happy?”
“Hmm.” He took that in for a moment. “So what are you doing for your birthday?”
“Vegas.”
“Would you want to come to the show?”
“Of course.”
“Okay.”
“Well. Okay then.”
We said good-bye, and I hung up feeling very glad that he had called. On my birthday, I sat in the audience, basking in that old familiar torrent of purple light and energy, and feeling that, for the first time in years, I cried. I realized how much I’d missed it. I was still in awe of what he could do as a performer, and the idea that this extraordinary man was once—Oh. Whoa. What…
He had come down from the stage and was walking toward me. When he got to the aisle seat where I was sitting, he took my hand and pulled me up into his arms and hugged me. Despite the lights and loud music and a thousand pairs of eyes in the room, I closed my eyes and let myself feel the muscle and bone of his arms. For a moment, he was that man I loved. The next moment, he was Prince again, and I found I was once again able to love him purely for that, the way I did the first time I saw him in Spain when I was sixteen.