I’ll never forgive myself for leaving it at that. I don’t blame Randee, and she says I shouldn’t blame myself, but I’ll always wonder—if I’d taken Gia to meet him, would he still be alive? Would it have made a difference if he’d seen that fate and coincidence were still on our side?
Pushing my gut instinct aside, I went back to my busy schedule. I selected a few items to sell and went ahead with the auction. These few items were the tip of a handcrafted artisanal iceberg, but the money was enough for me to plan a summer trip to Puerto Rico. It was also enough to make Prince’s lawyer call me.
He said, “Prince might be interested in buying back these items.”
“How is he?” I asked. “Is he—”
“He’s fine.”
“I would like to talk to him.”
“Send me a list of the items. We’ll be in touch.”
A few weeks later, Vanity died. I knew that must have left him feeling gut-shot, and I wanted to reach out to him, but the tone from the lawyer’s phone call had left me with the impression that he was angry at me. I figured I’d let that settle. Wait till summer, I thought, and then take Gia to see him. He wouldn’t turn us away if we were at the door, and I knew for a fact that it was impossible to look at Gia and not smile.
In April, there was a flurry of cancelled and postponed shows, and then it was all over the news one day that a charter jet Prince was on had been forced to make an emergency landing in Moline, Illinois, because he was “unresponsive.” An ambulance met them on the ground and took him to the hospital. There were rumors of a drug overdose, rumors that he had AIDS, rumors that he was suffering a mental breakdown of some kind, and rumors that all the rumors were just rumors, and it was the flu.
I called Manuela, and she said, “I was told dehydration.”
But we both knew that Prince drank water like crazy. That story didn’t pass the smell test. I was uneasy and frustrated. I had the distinct feeling that people didn’t want me to have the full story or access to anyone who could give it to me. I knew what it was like to be inside that isolated circle, so I knew what it meant to be outside. I saw a notice on Kirk’s Facebook that there was going to be a party that night at Paisley Park. I clicked a “Like” on the post, hoping he’d see my name and reach out to me, but that didn’t happen.
At that party, I’m told, Prince acknowledged everyone’s concern about the emergency landing and the hospital visit. He made people laugh about it.
He said, “Wait a few days before you waste any prayers.”
Six days later, he died.
tears go here
tears go here
??afterword
spirits come and spirits go
some stick around 4 the aftershow
Since the day Prince died, people have remembered him on street corners and in cathedrals. There were a number of memorial services, some of which I participated in. One of the most meaningful moments for me was standing onstage with Sheila E in June at the 2016 BET Awards, raising his guitar over our heads. In October, I went back to dance in a tribute concert put together by Prince’s family. I think people were a little surprised that I could still do the whole “7” routine, including backbends with my sword balanced on my head. Two weeks later, I returned for Purple Philanthropy, Sheila E’s benefit concert for the charities Prince supported.
I’ve reconnected with so many people from my NPG years. We laugh and cry and feed each other’s souls with stories about Paisley Park at its happiest. Even the doves felt the difference. When Prince built Paisley Park, there were two—Majesty and Divinity—and he hoped they would breed, but they didn’t for many years. Apparently, they just needed to feel some procreative love and energy in the air. Suddenly, while I was pregnant with Amiir, eggs appeared and hatched. The hatchlings matured, and then more eggs appeared. Eventually, we had to get their growing family a bigger cage. The constant murmur of the doves was one of the first things anyone noticed walking into Paisley Park, but there are only two left now, and Prince’s sister Tyka says that in the days after he died, they were strangely silent.
“Play some of his music,” she told the caretakers, and that was wise. They heard his voice and responded, engaging him in conversation.
I hear the doves now, as I enter Paisley Park for the first time in sixteen years. It’s not exactly allowed, but Prince’s brother Omarr takes me there, and Fred, the property manager Prince and I hired twenty years earlier, lets me go upstairs.
“The carpet is different,” I say to Omarr and Fred as we wander the quiet space. “The zodiac signs have been removed.”
“Oh, yeah. None of that back then.” Fred shrugs, knowing I understand.
I nod and smile. “Whatever peanut butters your jelly.”