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( CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: THE BOUNCE BACK ) November, 1993
❝ Come on drum, you ain't done yet! ❞
◯
Devon might have a running track record for having the worst birthdays of all time. Better yet, the worst 'Christmases' of all time. In the year 1990, he spent the latter part of the year unemployed, depressed and deeply hurt. In 1992, he wasemployed, but again, he was depressed and in pain. Funnily enough in 1993, things sadly weren't much different. In fact, he may even be worse off. He was angry, sad, lonely and well, struggling.
If he continues like this, then he may have to give up celebrating entirely. Maybe he should become a Jehovah's Witness? He was already well adjusted in his faith, skipping out on a few celebrations didn't sound too bad with how he was headed—
"Devon, are you listening?" Madonna's voice blared on the other end of the line, causing for Devon to clear his thoughts and readjust the phone that was pressed against his ear.
"Yes, sorry, so you wanted the dancers to form a circle during the third song?" Devon replied, jotting down notes as Madonna specifically explained all her ideas, commands and desires about the choreography for her tour. Devon didn't really mind, since it gave him a clearer picture on what to create.
Weeks have gone by, and Devon couldn't have been more unprepared for working under Madonna. She was determined, artistic and very talented, but he had to admit, some of her ways were unconventional. His first day as her choreographer, he arrived to Madonna and her dancers drinking, in the morning.
As weeks went by, he would witness the singer blatantly making snide remarks about her crew, igniting gossip sessions and petty drama between the workers. And not to mention, she was alwaysflirting. With everyone. Male and female, dancer and musician— she would say the most crass things out loud.
Devon had to force himself to get used to the strange environment, or else he wouldn't be able to focus on choreographing her tour. So, he kept his head down and mouth shut, trying his best to do his job. But he had to admit, it was hard.
"Yes, and by the end of the song, make sure the transitions are neat," Madonna continued to speak, causing for Devon to mindlessly nod, writing down more bullet points.
"Got it," he replied, taking in her words. He took a seat on the couch, his coffee table crowded with sheets of crumbled paper that he used to brainstorm some of his ideas. It was a chaotic way of working, but Devon's life in general has been chaotic lately.
"Have you tried on your costumes yet?" Madonna suddenly asked, a question that made the dancer freeze, horror overtaking his limbs.
"Um, not yet," Devon meekly responded, the dread in his voice extremely noticeable, "I'm just gonna focus on the choreography first." That was bullshit.
