And I said, “Hi.”
I felt calm, suddenly. A peaceful feeling passed through me. Not from him. From within myself. It was that feeling that I belonged here, in the right place at the right time. I hadn’t evolved enough at that point in my life to even consider the deep philosophical questions I’d soon be discussing with him—the third eye, the migration of souls, the great spiral staircase we climb up and down—so I didn’t question the feeling then, but these days, when I revisit that moment in my heart, I feel this reassuring ping. Oh, it’s you! Here you are. It comforts me to think that I’ll feel it again in another time and place.
“I like your tape,” he said.
“Thanks.” It sounded short and nervous in a trying-not-to-be-nervous way, so I added, “I edited it. I didn’t want you to get bored.”
“Bored? How can dancing like that be boring?” He laughed the contagious laugh I would come to love.
“I have the whole version if you’d like to see it. And more tapes. Other tapes.”
“Are you really sixteen?”
“Yeah.”
“Huh.” He nodded and bounced the Easter egg on his palm. “Would you like better seats?”
“Sure. Thanks.” We’d spent our time trying to get backstage instead of getting inside the barricade, so we didn’t actually have seats.
“We’ll hook you up.” He glanced over my shoulder at the security guard, who nodded. “Well, I’d like to talk to you more, but I gotta get ready for the show. Can I get your number?”
“Okay. Sure.” I felt something like a fire alarm going off inside my stomach.
“Okay. I’ll call you.”
“Okay.”
It felt like my cue to leave. The entire encounter had lasted all of forty seconds, but it felt like we’d stepped outside of time. The security guard directed me toward the stairs again and said, “Prince wants your family to sit in the VIP seats. I’ll get your information after the show.”
The VIP seats turned out to be folding chairs next to the sound and light boards. The show onstage was every bit as electrifying as it had been in Barcelona, but this time I saw it from the inside out. I heard the TD (the tech director) calling every cue on his headset and watched with geeky fascination as the backstage crew wrangled the boards, light banks, scaffolding—all the inner workings of a rock concert. My entire paradigm had shifted by the end of the show; I never lost my appreciation for what a crew does to make the show appear perfect to an audience. Meanwhile, my own brain was buzzing with anxiety over the details of how this was all going to work out. I’d tucked my business card in the tape box, but what if it fell out? What if they lost it? How would he get my phone number? What if he called before I got home? Daddy was there. He’d answer and go full Rockefeller. I perched on the edge of my chair, wanting to scream for seven different reasons.
As we were leaving, the bodyguard came over and asked for my number. I wrote it down very clearly on a large piece of paper and handed it to him. As the bodyguard walked away, I saw Prince run over, grab the paper, and hop into a waiting limo.
I seized Jan’s arm. “We’ve got to go. Now.”
This was before the days of cell phones and voice mail. If he rang and we weren’t home, we would miss the call. And we were not about to miss that call. Mama drove like a madwoman all the way home. When we burst in the door, Daddy was asleep on the couch.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You don’t even know—” I started, and then we were all talking at once.
The phone rang, and we all turned to look at it like we were in a movie. It was like, camera zooms in on ringing phone.
“Oh my God,” I whispered. “It’s him.”
Then we all dove forward to answer it.
I was all, “It’s for me! You know it’s for me!”
“I should answer it,” said Mama.
“Oh my God,” said Jan. “Somebody answer it!”
Daddy stepped in and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
It was the bodyguard. “Hi, can I talk to, um… Maaaa…”
“Mayte. Her name is Mayte.” Daddy handed me the phone.
“Hi,” I peeped.
“Hi. He would like to talk to you.” The bodyguard didn’t have to say his name. I was put on hold. I was dying. My family was dying. Moments ticked by.
“Hi.”
“Hi…” I couldn’t say “Prince”; I was afraid that if “Prince” came out of my mouth, I would immediately start screaming and running in circles. “Hi.”
“I watched your video again on the way home, and I really liked it.”
“Thank you.”
“Can you come over?”
“Come over?” That wasn’t the question I was expecting. I stopped breathing for a moment and said, “What do you mean?”
“We didn’t get to talk much. Come over and hang out. We can talk more.”
I wasn’t drawing any conclusions, but I wanted to make sure there was no room for doubt. “My mom and I could come over. And my sister.”
“Cool. Where are you?”