“So then the question was, well, then, why is it then that, you know, people do this and people choose this or that, and, uh, so he chose to wanna make it clear…”
The audience sat there, silent and confused. You could almost hear the eyes glazing over. They were here to see the Artist Formerly Known as Prince. They were here for the music. Now the studio was heavy with that feeling you get when the Jehovah’s Witness knocks on your door and you know he already saw your car in the driveway. You don’t want to be rude, but—dang.
“… and sometimes the truth—it may hurt a little bit sometimes—various things—if a person finds out, ‘Well, I was thinking this or thinking that the whole time,’ and now all of a sudden, you need to make an adjustment in your thinking, well, that’s not on me. It’s written. It is written…”
He went on like that for another three minutes until Sinbad smoothly intervened and said, “Looks like we’re about to go to church!”
Big laugh.
There was another commercial break, thank God, and then , Chaka, and Larry performed and blew the doors off the place, because that is what the funk they were born to do.
Alone with my husband that night, I could see he was so proud. He knew he was pushing the envelope but thought it went great. I didn’t have the heart to ruin it for him, so I kept my opinion to myself. I was just happy to be with him. I told myself he was grieving. Everyone has to grieve in his own way. I was certain he’d work through this difficult phase. Larry would have his collaborative role in the music and then disappear. On to the next thing. I’d seen my husband go through plenty of other creative phases. He loved learning and needed a friend. Larry was a good teacher and had a perpetually inviting energy. How could that be a bad thing? I seemed to be the only one who had a problem with it.
As the study sessions expanded, I felt less and less like a part of the group because my beliefs so clearly didn’t fall into line. Now whenever I mentioned Akhenaten and Nefertiti, he explained to me how idolatrous and misguided they were. He kept encouraging me to hang out with Tina, and I tried to participate in the study sessions, but it simply wasn’t my truth. Men and women studied separately, and I believe faith should bring people together. I believe birthdays are beautiful. I believe all good people will be rewarded in the end.
We went with Larry’s family to meetings on Saturday morning, and I was certain I smelled alcohol as we made our way to our seats. Either some of these people got tore up drinking the night before, or they were drinking first thing in the morning. Since we were married, we could sit next to each other; otherwise, men and women were segregated. People recited scripture, interpreting it with a strained logic that seemed to have a lot more to do with what they wanted it to say than what it actually said. “Judge not, lest ye be judged”—something as straightforward as that—could be morphed to some kind of diatribe, and then everyone would nod and agree, stricken by this profound truth. After an hour or two of that, I was yearning for a shark tank to dive into.
I kept comforting myself with the memory of another celebrity trying to win him over to Scientology years earlier. “It’s intriguing,” he said, “but I don’t need somebody telling me how to believe in my God.” He was always a spiritual seeker, I told myself, fascinated enough in all possibilities to integrate the signs of the zodiac and third eye and reincarnation into the Christian beliefs his Baptist mother and Seventh-Day Adventist father had exposed him to. He was way too smart to be sucked into something just because he was vulnerable in that moment.
There was a brief tour to raise money for our charitable organization, Love 4 One Another, and though I was too beat down to go with him, I needed to see him, so I showed up to surprise him one night. In the craft service area, I saw this girl who kind of looked like me but… earthier, wearing jeans and flat boots with no makeup. She was youthful, easygoing, like a kid fresh out of school. My husband had been spending a lot of time in online chat rooms. Someone told me she was a superfan who’d connected with him on one of the sites dedicated to all things Prince. I looked at her and got a bad feeling in my gut.
Listen to your gut, girls. A woman’s intuition is no joke. I casually asked a few people, “Who’s that girl? Why is she on the tour?” and someone introduced me to her.
“Mayte, this is Manuela. We hired her to do some charity work and merchandising.”
“Really?” I said, looking directly into her dark eyes. “Because I’m in charge of merchandising and Love 4 One Another, and I’ve never met you.”
She laughed. I smiled my ballerina smile. And that’s when my husband walked in and shook her hand. Just as he’d shaken my hand years before, when we were both so much younger.
When we were alone on the tour bus later, I said to him, “I’m not stupid. I know something is going on.”