"A tale of obsession through the eyes of a fanatic."
Every tomorrow is a bold question mark for the motherless child Ivy Valentine. But one constant in her life that always offered smiles and hope was purple music. So one day, she decides to write...
Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
To ease my evident nerves, Prince dimmed the lights, and then disappeared behind me with his stool. The room froze in a subtle glow, and my heart pounded in fear. It wasn't my sweet, playful Princey back there. This was Prince. Before I knew him, in such an intimate manner, he was only a musician—a genius—that I've admired since being that little girl doing pirouettes in the kitchen to Soft and Wet. Now, sitting at the piano with jitters at my fingertips, I was going to perform for him for the very first time. And for the very first time, doubt masked my confidence at the black and white keys.
"When I first started out in the recording studio," he was saying, "I used to turn out the lights, because I didn't feel comfortable...having folks watch me pour myself out in the booth. It's one thing to perform on stage, and another when you're trying to create. And that's not to say I'm not giving my all when I do hit the stage, I'm just saying—there's nothing like the first time."
Blushing with butterflies.
"Eventually, I learned the ropes. So then I just kicked everybody out. It was just me, and I found myself more comfortable recording in the control room. That's why you see the mic over the console in there. It was built specifically for me. So when others go in, we have to move stuff around a bit. But-um...don't be nervous. I'm nobody. Just do ya thang, cutie."
"Right," I said to myself. Just do ya thang, Ivy. But I remained a statue, literally holding my breath.
Snores came from the man behind me.
"Okay, okay," and my little fingers started off the F-sharp chord, as my brain told me no holding back. Closing my eyes again, I exhaled my worries, and found myself at Minnetonka High's 1989 Spring Talent Show.
In October of '88, when Celeste signed up to take me in, she moved us to the suburbs where her new job was located. Minnetonka was an adjustment. It was my first time living in the subs, and there weren't many chocolate chip cookies, or cinnamon buns, walking down the halls. But unlike my childhood experience, I somehow learned to fit right in and quickly the whole race thing wasn't an issue. Everyone at my new high school made me feel very welcomed. I didn't go on to become a social butterfly, but I made some good buddies, joining various clubs, like Spanish, choir and theater. Amber is the only one who I remained in touch with after graduation. Everyone else spread out of state to different colleges. Meanwhile, Amber and I moved back to the city to be go-go dancers.
