The Beautiful Experience

"Honeymoon"

Kat.

Friday/January 3, 1992

     Let me paint the picture. On an indigo night, blanketed by the honeymoon glow, newlyweds sat on the beach, waves rippling over their feet; husband playing La-Z-Boy as Wife gave her weight to his chest, arms hanging over his legs. Nothing but beach to their left, nothing but beach to their right. Behind them, their oversized rented villa for the next four nights. And in front—Mother Nature's stage offering wordless poetry.

     After our New Year's wedding, the plan was to fly to this resort in Hawaii that I favored. Instead, Prince surprised me and whisked me away to a private island in Fiji. Five days, four nights. Even with a lifetime of history, Prince and I never vacationed together. So he said he wanted this to be special, some place fresh and new for the both of us.

Ever since he said "I do", I had been stuck in awe. First, Prince Rogers Nelson was finally my husband. Then the morning after the wedding, he brought me to my home office for a surprise. Up on the wall was a new vibrant piece of art, an original Wadsworth Jarrell painting from '73. I think I only mentioned to him once that he was a favorite of mine, years and years ago when I was still a teenager. I cried because he remembered, and because it was so beautiful. But I didn't have too much time to bask in it. We had to leave.

Leaving my Cocoa Beans was tough. As I was saying my goodbyes, Natalee threw a fit. From my mother's arms, she reached out for me and screamed in tears. And for the very first time, she called out to me. She called me Mama.

Needless to say, I snatched her up and we were late getting to the airport. Mama was actually her first word but everything was Mama at first and then it was all about Dada up until that moment at the door. I seriously struggled to leave but Prince took her and told me to run off. Crazy how guilty I felt leaving for my honeymoon. Prince had traveled without them a few times since we all moved into our new house on Galpin Boulevard, but I hadn't. Wherever I went, they went. So my heart was broken.

At the airport, our car pulled up to a purple jet. "What the hell..." And then my husband looked back at me, expression questioning yet pleased. "Did you really?"

"I did," I laughed. "You like it?" The outside wasn't the best part. The International Lover was a house on wings. He loved it. Though he did ask if I grasped how pricey it was to maintain one of these things. Our first marital financial dispute.

"We travel a lot. It's going to be worth it, especially with the kids. They need a comfortable homey setting like this if we're gonna constantly take them with us." I made my valid points. He listened. I won.

"Well," he said from the kitchen. "At least you didn't name it Seduction 747."

International Lover had a more universal meaning, but it was definitely "Seduction 747" during our 14-hour flight.

Waking up in our king-sized bed, we were flying over Fiji and the spotlight of surprise was back on me. "This is not Hawaii," I said. The private island had its own runway and everything.

The sun was down for the night a couple of hours after we arrived. After a call home and some unpacking and a bite to eat, we decided on a bath. That led to other grown-up things. Then he tried to get me to watch Barbarella for the third time but I fell asleep as usual.

It was midnight when Prince woke me. The credits were rolling. "Come outside with me." Both barefoot, him in just pants and myself in a little nightie, we sat on the porch for a while finishing up our gossip about the wedding. At some point, the ocean called my name and I just started walking towards it. Prince followed and we cozied on the shoreline.