"And then, I just figured I was sleep walking because there's no way in hell that I'd eat oranges and coffee flavored candy." Prince's head falls back, his mouth expelling the loudest cackle that he's let out through our entire breakfast together. I guess the build up really got him going. Giggling, I cut into my food with the side of my fork. "I quickly realized that I was awake and that came to me when I was on the toilet at six o'clock in the morning. So, that's why I don't smoke anymore. It only took that one time to teach me a lesson," I shrug as my story comes to an end.
We'd been swapping stories for the last fifteen minutes. Ten minutes ago, he told me that I had the giggle of a teenage stoner that hid her joints in her jewelry box. I told him that I don't smoke after having a really bad experience... of course he wanted to know the experience.
Prince's breaths slow down, his laughter lowering in volume until it ceases to exist. He looks down at the table for a moment. For a second, I try to wait for our gazes to reunite until I realize that he is lost deep, deep in thought. My eyes focus in on his plate, just to have something to look at without being awkward. If I look at his face, it'll be weird. If I look at my lap, I'll be insecure looking. Where else is there to look?
Snapping out of it all, Prince lifts his head, sliding his chair away from the table. "You're all done, right?"
I glance down at my plate and suddenly, I want another moment to finish this last bite of my crepe. "I, actually... I, uh—" His sudden burst of energy caught me completely off guard.
"Great." My eyeballs enlarging within their sockets, I try to figure out what he is leading toward. Why would he ask me a question if he won't give me time to answer. To be honest, I don't imagine him even taking my answer into consideration even if I had the time to answer. It is clear he's had his mind made up for some time now. "I'll get changed and we can go." Prince downs the last gulp of his orange juice. His eyes dart between me and the door. He stops for a second, his bodily movements pausing as his focus remains on myself. Naturally, I return the stare with my own skeptical glossing overlaying the exchange. "You know what, you can come with me," he says.
He heads off toward the door without giving me the proper amount of time to display any reactions. I know they said he moved on his own clock, but... my god. I pick up the last piece of my breakfast and shove it in my mouth. My drink is already empty. I fold my napkin and place it on the table next to my cup before scurrying to keep up with Prince. He's clearly a man on a mission. My excitement ignites my bladder and as I'm scurrying behind Prince, I am forced to halt in the middle of an unfamiliar hallway.
"Hey, wait! I have to use the bathroom."
Yielding at the very edge of the hallway, he peers over his shoulder to look me in the eye... or so I thought. He sizes me up with all of the judgement in the world. The smirk he carries as he does so eases the judgement and, yet, somehow highlights my own hidden personal insecurities. The whirlpool of emotions he's sent mr through since arriving are beyond anything I can express and yet, he's managed to make me question the simple things every five minutes. I'd actually think something was wrong if I had no preexisting knowledge of how he operates. I'm playing this greatly appreciated cheat codes.
"Yeah, right." He let's out a chuckle and my brain goes to a loop. I have no idea what is happening in this exact moment. "First door on your right," he says, pointing down the left end of the hallway. "Meet me at the front door in five minutes."
Nodding, I throw my bag over my shoulder and scurry down the hallway.
In the bathroom, I can't help but look around at the décor. I can say it until I am blue in the face, the man is living in the future. The constant appearance of white lace made me feel as though I was back in my Aunt Charlene's home. She has a thing for the combination as well. Almost every nook and cranny in her home features linens and cloths that look as if they were ripped off a stray 1983 wedding dress. Then, again, this could have been the style back then— or should I say now? Yeah, this is the style now. At least, that is the assumption I'm going to make. Maybe it isn't. Clearly, Prince gives not a single damn and neither will my Aunt Charlene.
After peeing, I wash my hands and just before exiting the bathroom, I take a look at myself. Not to freshen up, because I know I look good, I just need to have a quick one on one.
"Okay, bitch... I know we're in some spooky sleep paralysis lucid dream kinda' shit but, let's still be cool. I don't want to wake up in my bed thinking about the shoulda' coulda' woulda's that I leave behind. We came to slay and do the job... and look good while doing it." I lean forward to get a better view of myself as I reapply a coat of lipstick and retouch my eyeliner. This is a time I miss my own life where make up has reached new heights. I'm sure Prince would appreciate it. This foundation is barely my shade. "Alright. Beyoncé once said, always stay gracious. The best revenge is your paper... that has nothing to do with this, it literally just makes me feel good." I pop a piece of gum in my mouth, smoothen out my skirt, and head for the door.
I open the door as a refreshed CJ, one who refuses to let Prince knock her off her square.
One left and two rights are made in order for me to make it to the front door. Upon my arrival, Prince comes emerging from the back hallways I took to get into the kitchen. Here he is in a brand new outfit sporting the kind of outfit that my father would call fresh to death. I take my own moment to look him up and down. These are the kind of moments I will never get back. Having present day knowledge, his paisley jumpsuit is far from a surprise, however, to stand before him and see it all happening in the flesh is a lot to take in. He is so breathtakingly beautiful. To think, these people around here have to take it and stride like it is nothing. Well, I can imagine them handling it. I know he's a pain in the ass and that is probably what balances it all out.
"Ready to go?"
I playfully reply, "Well, even if I wasn't, you'd probably just tell me to get in the car." He chuckle, walking past me in order to open the front door. He leads the way. I turn around to close the door behind myself and meet eye to eye with Sandy. She is waving as she closes the door for me. I barely get the chance to wave back but I'm sure she saw my smile. I turn around to see Prince far out of sight. "Where'd he go?" I look to the left, I look to the right. Then, an old white T-Bird comes pulling out of the garage. I wish I knew the year... I think I read it was from 1966 or 1967. It doesn't matter, if you know the car... you know the car.
The roof top of the car no where in sight. Prince sports a grin as the car stops before me. He clicks a button and the garage closes. I did not know they had garage openers this early in the game. "Get in." I don't give him any lip, I'm far too caught up in the idea of garage remotes even existing at the moment.
When it wears off, I reach into my bag and pull out my tape recorder to click the record play. His first stop is at a stop sign and I take that halt as time to place the recorder back in my bag. My head turning to face him for a second, I cannot help but ask, "How do you look so good and dressed up so fast? You only left for like five minutes."
Another smirk arises. "Magic."
I roll my eyes and click my pen as I lean down a bit to write a note to myself. As I write, I speak every word written aloud just to tease him. "Has... the ability... to get ready in the blink... of... an eye." I take a quick glance at him. Prince is smiling as he drives the car, I shake my head and return to writing. "Refuses to let me in on the trick."
"Some secrets are meant to be kept," says Prince.
I sigh heavily. "If you say so." The car's pace is moderate as we slowly ride through the Minnesota streets. I watch as we find ourselves going in the direction of the express way. "So, what's first?"
"Surprise, surprise. We gotta' make a stop."
My eyes wander over to the side of his face. His own gaze flickers between myself and the road before him. "I would ask where we're going but..." I look back down at the notepad in my lap. Prince's focus rests on me a little longer once we are stopped at a red light. "Some secrets are just meant to be kept," I mock with the shaking of my head.
He laughs. "You learn quick. I like it, I like it."
Taking a moment to look around at the neighborhood, I realize that Prince is taking the streets to our designated location. Well, he did say that he wanted to show me the city in his own special way. "Don't I have to?" My distracted gaze pops back to Prince as I given my attention for a quick second. His eyebrows furrowing, his lips pout just a tad. He is good at making it clear that he wants to know what I am talking about. "You're known to give people like me a hard time, are you not?"
"Not people like you," Prince chuckles. My eyes narrow at him. It is easy to get caught up in his side profile though that is not my focus in this moment. My focus is the lies he is telling. This is the man who is going to have a reporter so flustered that she nearly cries live on air in about... twenty years. That kind of evil is brewing right before my eyes. "People that are in the same career field as you."
I tease, "Same difference."
"Nuh uhn," he teases back. Our banter allows me to feel as if I've known him for years. I can't get myself too sprung off of the feeling. I've heard he's got this kind of effect. I follow a fan on instagram that met him once in 1991 and still talks as of they were best friends. He's just got that kind of charismatic and welcoming spirit. "It's different. I chose you to be here and you chose to accept my offer. I'm the best at what I do and you are the best at what you do. You and me, we're just having a conversation. I'm having a conversation with a new friend while I show her around the city. It really is different."
My cheeks flush, forcing me to turn my body toward the window.
In the matter-of-factly tone anyone can imagine Prince speaking in, he goes on to give me an explanation. "I used to tease a lot of journalist early on because I wanted them to concentrate on the music and not so much on me coming from a broken home. I really didn't think it was important. What was important was what came out of my system that particular day. I don't live in the past. I don't play my old records for that reason. I make a statement, then move on to the next."
I scoff, "You do too play your old records."
"How would you know?"
I suck in the left side of my lip with squinted eyes. "I just know that there's some days you get in the car and go, I want to hear Controversy today. Hey, I know I just recorded Cosmic Day today but, Controversy is too damn funky to ignore today."
Prince looks at me, sincerity covering his face as that same expression of genuine curiosity swipes over his face. "What do you know about Cosmic Day?"
Fuck.
Did I really just slip up as bad as that? How about we thank God that I did not praise him over Damn U. I need to clean my act up. In all of the Back To The Future movies, they stress the importance of not exposing the future. One thing they never do is tell us what to do when we do accidentally expose the future. So, I'm going to do what I believe fits this situation best. I'm going to lie my ass off until he believes me. The standing question is, do I have the capability to lie to Prince? You're goddamned right I do.
"I heard Wendy talking about it," I lie. His face is still stone. His pores ooze skepticism. "She didn't say too much about it, honestly. She wasn't even talking to me. I was just being the nosey journalist that I am. Something about it being a rock record, I think? Shit, I don't know. I was more focused on your interesting snack table by that point," I add on. His laughter allows me to thank the heavens that I have saved myself.
Prince, one hand steering the car, reveals the secret field-trip location to me. "We're going to my dad's place. It's his birthday. He wants to play some pool. I figured you'd like it. A' inside scoop on the Purple Mystique's natural habitat." The sarcasm of his final sentence makes me smile.
I giggle, "You are such a troll!"
"Excuse me," he laughs with playful offense.
Strike #2, Charolette. You're really skating on thin ice right about now. "Yeah, a troll is just what my friends and I say instead of a jokester," I lie again. "You are one of the silliest people I have ever met. I love it."
"Well, don't write that in the magazine. You're gonna ruin my street rep." His thumb flicks his nose with a sniffle as I watch Jamie Starr come to life before my very eyes. I can feel my pupils dilating at the sight. "I got bills to pay, ya' understand? Can't keep the lights on if I ain't selling no records."
I ask, "Speaking of, what would you do if you weren't selling all these millions of records?"
"Don't know," he quickly brushes my past my question. I'm not offended. I have been waiting for him to do that all day. I finally got a taste of the persona thousands of fans portray him as within a series of fanfiction stories. "What's your real name? Why does everybody call you CJ?"
I cross my arms and smartly reply. "Isn't this your interview?"
"No, my interview is tonight when we sit down and you, hopefully, ask me questions that I've never heard before. This is two friends getting to know each other."
Swallowing my pride, I accept my loss because I have already read dozens of written encounters that told me prior to this life that I could never take him head on. He probably could've talked OJ into making the glove fit. "My name's Charolette."
"Charlotte?"
I nod unsurely. "I don't really know... my mom says it as Char-lotte, my father says Carol-ette. My name's spelled C-H-A-R-O-L-E-T-T-E, only because I'm named after my aunt."
"I have a friend named Charlotte, it's spelled just like that..." Awkwardly smiling as I watch him dabble in and out of thought, I try to change the subject. "You kinda' remind me of her sister too. Just a little bit in the face and the waist," he laughs. "Maybe that's why I like you."
I shrug with a slight laugh as I scream on the inside. "But, yeah," I turn the conversation back to my name, "I kind of stick with Charlotte since that's how my aunt says it and it was her name first. So, to keep from any confusion, everybody just calls me CJ."
Prince nods, "CJ's cooler anyway. It's kind of funky. I like it."
"That's what I said," I giggle in agreement. I glance out of the window as we approach neighborhoods. The top remains down as Prince drives us around as if we're just two regular people in our hometown. "I've always wanted to live in a place like Minneapolis— wait, we're in Minneapolis again, right?" Prince's grin and nod confirm my question. "Yeah, look at this place. It's... it's like, it's homey but... still exciting? It can probably be boring at times but... still fun? I don't know how to really describe it."
"No, I get it," Prince assures me, earning a smile from myself. He points to our right, his forearm extending right past my face, forcing my eyes to follow the direction he is pointing. "There's where my mom lives." I lean closer to the window as I see an average sized house with a neatly trimmed lawn. "My parents live very close by each other, but they don't talk."
I laugh, "I couldn't live that close to my ex, not in this lifetime or the next."
Prince laughs along with me. "It's funny watching them go at it. My mom's the wild side of me; she's like that all the time. My dad's real serene; it takes the music to get him going. My father and me, we're one and the same." He laughs again, this time it is a wry laugh. My head tilts as I watch his smile remain bright as his humor takes a darker turn. "He's a little sick, just like I am."
"Oh, God. What am I in for?"
"You'll see," Prince says. His head turns, he takes a quick look at me, and he laughs much harder than before. His chuckles quickly become cackles. "Relax. We're just gonna' play some pool for a bit. He's real handy with a cue," brags Prince. "He's so cool. He knows what time it is!"
As if this dream sequence were on an exact clock, Prince pulls the T-Bird into a Northern Minneapolis alley. We stop behind a one-car garage as he rolls his own window down. I can see John from my seat. He's leaning up against a tree. His birthday outfit is definitely one for the books. He looks like a carbon copy of Cab Calloway from the neck down. I hold in my laughter and watch the encounter. John stands in his cool spot beneath the shady tree, adjusting his cufflinks. I guess they are expensive? I can't really see them.
"Happy Birthday," smiles Prince.
John chuckles, shaking his head as if it's an inside joke between the two. "Thanks," he replies. John motions at me with inquiries apparent. "You're the dame from Rolling Stone?"
I smile and wave. "Hi, I'm CJ." Prince glances over his shoulder to smile at me as I introduce myself.
When my lines are spoken, he turns his attention back to his father. "Have any cake yet?"
"Oh noooo," declines John. He leans into Prince's window as he directs the conversation. "I'm trying to take off the ten pounds I put on while visiting him in Los Angeles. He eats like I want to eat, but he exercises, which I certainly don't." Laughing, I can only imagine Prince eating. It doesn't even sound realistic. I guess all of the stuff about his habit of only eating bread and drinking water comes way after all of this. John motions to Prince. "You want me to just drive myself so you don't got to drop me off before you two go off and go wherever you got to go?"
Prince shrugs, "It's no real hassle. That's up to you."
I watch John's eyes fall on me again. He grins. "Hey, let me show you what I got for my birthday two years ago." He goes over to the garage and gives a tug on the door handle. Prince steps out of the car and I follow him into the garage to see what it is that John wants to show me. It's one of the most beautiful BMW's that I've ever seen in my life. It is customized and a deep-purple, borderline berry, color. I walk around the car in awe, I can see an Around The World In A Day tape sitting in the backseat.
John wanders off in search of his keys, allow Prince to take a step closer to me as he watches me gawk over the vehicle. "He never drives that thing. He's afraid it's going to get dented." Looking at his own white T-Bird, Prince goes on, "He's always been that way. My father gave me this a few years ago. He bought it new in 1966. There were only 22,000 miles on it when I got it." I give an impressed nod. Some may call it extra, I call it genius.
When John returns, Prince and I head back to the car. I slide into the passenger's seat and John's ignition is heard when Prince shouts. "Wait!" He remembers something clearly of importance. He reaches into the car, grabs something, and runs back over to his father. He grabs a tape off the T-Bird's backseat and yells to his father, "I got something for you to listen to. Lisa and Wendy have been working on these in L.A." Prince tosses the tape and his father catches it with one hand.
Prince gets back into the car and we pull off. John follows behind us, smiling and waving every time we look back at him. This man compared to the One Direction fanfic father they modeled after him in Purple Rain is day and night.
"Your dad's really nice," I say. "I guess the semi-autobiographical film isn't all that biographical, is it?"
"That stuff about my dad was part of Al Magnoli's story," Prince explains. "We used parts of my past and present to make the story pop more, but it was a story. My dad wouldn't have nothing to do with guns. He never swore, still doesn't, and never drinks." I keep my knowing thoughts to myself in regards to the last portion of his words. "Y'know, that's the kind of stuff that sells. I'm sure you see it all of the time."
I agree. "Yeah, definitely." If he hates reporters now, wait until he finds out about TMZ, TheShadeRoom and BallerAlert. It's okay, he has nothing but time.
Prince looks in his rearview mirror at the car tailing him. "He don't look sixty-nine, do he? He's so cool. He's got girlfriends, lots of 'em."
"That must be your dream," I tease. Prince says nothing. He only throws me a devilish grin with eyes that say more than I can ever read.
Still coasting, I realize that we are driving beside two children. The brown little boys casually walk their bikes. They look over and spot Prince. "Hey, Prince." My jaw nearly drops. The casualty of it all is what really gets me. Imagine being a little kid in Houston and you just see Beyoncé... and you're chilling on that?
"Hey," Prince nods in a fashion thar is identically casual. "How you doin'?"
Unbelievable.
The light turns green and we leave behind the children as I am given the chance too scribble down on the notepad that I forgot I had. "This is really your element, huh? No mysterious whispering, no one word speeches, just you and all you. You must not be leaving any time soon."
"I wouldn't move, just 'cause I like it here so much. I can go out and not get jumped on." We pass by a busy basketball court as roughly a dozen players pass and toss the ball around. "It feels good not to be hassled when I dance, which I do a lot. It's not a thing of everybody saying, 'Whoa, who's out with who here?' while photographers flash their bulbs in your face." I can definitely feel what he is saying. Had we been in Los Angeles or New York, our picture would be printed on the cover of every article at the newsstand by now. I kind of think they needed that when Terrence J crashed his car because I need to know who was in the car with him!
Looking around at all of the people and their activities, I come to a sudden realization. "So, where did Jimmy Jam and Terry and Jerome and all of them come from?"
"The South," Prince nonchalantly replies. "The South is where the bougie folks stay. They don't come up here too often."
I clutch my pearls. "So, Prince grew up in the hood?"
He laughs at my question, or maybe it's my tone of voice and reaction. "It's not that bad in comparison to other hoods but, for Minnesota, yes. I guess you can call this the hood. It ain't too bad though." I beam at the idea of Prince technically being from the lower end of his town.
Nothing beats a rags to riches story.
I turn my attention to the left side of the car as Prince does the same. Women in bonnets are dressed in bridesmaids dresses as the men standing adjacent are quite possibly ushers dressed in tuxedos. The dresses are a harsh fuchsia color. The people lined up against the walk way, that leads up the steps of the two-story church, all haul rice at a couple standing beneath the door frame of the entrance. I can see their smiles from the car as Prince slowly passes them by.
We say, "I wonder who's getting married." Our unity leaves behind a quick moment of silence. Prince and I eye each other down as we both realize we spoke the exact same words at the exact same time.
His attention is stolen when a chunky little boy with a head full of brunette curls waves at Prince from the side walk with a wide grin. Prince waves back. His popularity is quite blatant but I love the way everybody still remains calm at the sight of him. Cellphones clearly ruined lives because this very video of him driving would've been on twitter if we were in my world.
"Just all kinds of things here," he says, turning right. I nod with understanding as I watch the buildings pass us by. "There was a school right there, John Hay. That's where I went to elementary school," he recalls. He's pointing out a field of black tar with a handful of bent metal basketball rims decorating the property. We make it past the school as more houses begin popping up. "And that's where my cousin lives. I used to play there every day when I was twelve, on these streets, football up and down this block. That's his father out there on the lawn."
I eye the distracted man who is watering his lawn as Prince casually drives past. "You not gonna' wave or say hi to him too?" My smile derives from the idea of whatever his answer will be. He is so unpredictable and comical that I know for a fact he will make me laugh.
"Nah, he's a jerk," shrugs Prince. I stifle a laugh and lean down to scribble on my notepad that will be full before this ride ends. "Whatcha' writing that down for?" Prince laughs. "If everything I say is gonna' get written down, I'll stop talking." He's laughing but I know he is serious.
I smile as I finish writing my thought and say, "First of all..." I dot my page to end my note off with a period before looking up at him. "I wrote that you're funny because you are one of the funniest people I have ever met!" He fails to hold back his bashful grin, causing for me to believe he wasn't even trying to. I know this man's poker face is unbreakable when he meeds it to be. "And let me do my job. This is an interview!"
"No, it's not!"
I ask, "Are you going to try to argue me down about that all day?"
"Are you going to be wrong all day?"
His argumentative tone had just enough giggle to it. It tells me that he could argue all day about it if I really wanted to. I say if I wanted to because it is obvious that he wants to and that is why he insists on correcting me about it. I also feel like him refusing to refer to it as a interview is a mind trick that helps him remain natural. Everybody gets weird when you title things. Maybe playing by his rules for a little bit is the way to get my best story out of him while having the time of my life. Yeah, when you put it that way? This isn't an interview. We really are just two new friends hanging out.
"Okay, Prince. It isn't an interview yet," I give in.
Prince, eyes still on the road, knowingly smiles at my words. I've done it now. I stroked his ego. I told him he was right and those clearly were the magic words. "I know..." I scoff at his tone. "You don't wanna' be my friend, CJ?"
My eyes light up at a street sign. "Hey, how far are we from 4th Street? Y'know, like the Bob Dylan song?"
Prince's fingers are fiddling with the tape deck. I watch him closely as Old Friends 4 Sale begins to play at a low, low volume. My stomach does back flips the moment I realize that this is the original recording... the rawest of them all. "Not too far, actually."
"You like Bob Dylan?"
"I don't know too much about Dylan," Prince starts, "but I respect him a lot. All Along the Watchtower is my favorite of his. I heard it first from Jimi Hendrix."
I nod at an understanding of his words. I heard of this one song called Only If for a Night through it being sampled in a Rihanna song called Goodnight Gotham. I'd never heard it before in my life until after Goodnight Gotham. Apparently the original is by some band called Florence + The Machine. I didn't know jack shit about them until Rihanna lead me to this discovery. So, I really get where Prince is coming from in all of this. That's why I just nod at his words because sometimes that's all you really have to do.
Old Friends 4 Sale fades out as the next track takes its place. I ball my fist up the moment I realize it is one of my favorite songs that I've heard so far. Strange Relationships, a song I discovered when I ran across a fanfiction about Prince and his fictional best friend who's some corny pop star. It was quite interesting... a little overly dramatic... but still pretty good.
"Is it too much?" Prince asks in reference to playing his own music in his own car. "Not long ago I was riding around L.A. with Paul McCartney, and all he did was play his own stuff over and over." I'm not surprised by that at all... something about Paul does not sit well with me for some reason. It isn't even the Michael stuff because Michael did kind of screw him over. Paul just has a vibe about him. "If it gets too much, just tell me."
Without thinking, my mouth moves without my brain's permission, "There isn't too much of anything I can't take." The suggestiveness wasn't intentional. I don't truly realize what I've said until Prince glances over at me with a look that is almost of shock though a majority of it is entertainment. "Don't give me that look!"
"What look?" Prince playing dumb has to be one of the cutest things I have ever witnessed with my own eyes. "I didn't give you any look! You said it, not me." It takes all of me to restrain from tapping into my inner Sheila E. He's openly discussed Susannah and her being his girlfriend but there is just something about him that has potential to make me not care.
I do care... but I can see why Sheila did not.
He turns onto Plymouth, the main strip of the North Side. Aunt Char says when Martin Luther King got shot, Plymouth Avenue was burned to the ground. "We used to go to that McDonald's there," he says. "I didn't have any money, so I'd just stand outside there and smell stuff..." He reflects on his past. "Poverty makes people angry, brings out their worst side. I was very bitter when I was young. I was insecure and I'd attack anybody. I couldn't keep a girlfriend for two weeks. We'd argue about anything."
"You look like you like to argue," I joke.
Prince's nose scrunches up, his eyebrows arch in their own special way. "Are you crazy?" He softly chuckles as his expression of disbelief softens a little bit.
"You do," I say, "You look like you like to get a rise out of people."
"I like to get a rise out of women... but nobody wants to argue."
I point at him. "You picking what you wanted out of my sentence right now and then replacing people with women because that's what you saw as fitting only adds to me thinking you like to argue."
"Oh, whatever." He refrains from arguing to keep from proving me right. Across the street from McDonald's is a phone booth. The moment Prince points to the vacant corner booth is the moment I know that it is the phone booth. His tone softens. "That's where I called my dad and begged him to take me back after he kicked me out." I realize the pain is heaver to hear it from his voice and not read it in a magazine. "He said no, so I called my sister and asked her to ask him. So she did, and afterward told me that all I had to do was call him back, tell him I was sorry, and he'd take me back. So I did, and he still said no. I sat crying at that phone booth for two hours. That's the last time I cried."
"The last time you cried?"
Prince nods with pursed lips.
I try to bring some light into the conversation. "You don't cry when you watch Terms of Endearment or One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, maybe even a M*A*S*H episode?" Prince's neck rolls over and drops to the side, his ear touching his shoulder as he looks at me. "I cry at everything. Crying's good."
"You're a real maniac, aren't you?
I gasp. "Who, me?" The only way I know what way he means maniac is because I saw a clip of Under The Cherry Moon. I read that the ending is a real tear jerker so, I'm shying away from finishing it.
He chuckles, "Yeah, you. You're a nut, a lunatic. You put on this act like you're this calm, cool, and collected journalist but you're just like me."
"So what's that say about you?"
We pull into a parking lot. I can tell by the sign that this is where he and John plan to play pool. He parks the car and shifts gears but before he cuts the engine, he looks at me. "It tells me that I knew what I was doing when I requested that you and only you are the person who should come here and interview me." He cuts off the engine but my butterflies in my stomach do not cease their fluttering.
I lean forward, closing in space, with a wide grin. Prince, being as bold as he is, leans in just as close. Our noses nearly touch. "Did you just say this is an interview?" His pupils dilate as his eyes grin wider than I do. The eyes are clearly a window to the soul and Prince is not exempt.
"Nope."
He pulls away from me and steps out of the car. "Are you kidding me?" I scream at him from within the car.
"C'mon," Prince laughs as he opens my door for me. "You play pool?"