In relation to the original plot of Glam Slam.
Day Sixteen: 4/20/18
Era: Parade
Prince sat up in his bed. He glances out of the hotel room in which he rests. Pulling himself out of the bed, he glances out of the window. Down the street is a bright light of a small hole in the wall. Something about it keeps his inquiries fluently rising by the second. Prinve waltz back to his bed, he picks up the telephone. Ordering all of the crew to join him, he gathers his band and his right hand man on the year, Jerome, to go on a field trip.
The entire building is full of bodies, he can see the festivities from the outside. Jerome looks around at the family, he looks at the building, he looks at Prince. "Say, cuzzin', what the hell you tryna' get us into?"
"It looks fun." Prince announces looking around their immediate area.
Wendy scoffs, "You took me out of bed for fun?" He Prince nods his head. Wendy had been sound asleep beside Lisa as the two enjoyed the rest of their first off day since getting to Nice, France. "Fun?"
Prince giggles, "Just fun, nothing ethereal."
Whenever he giggled in the nature of such, something almost always went wrong. He is a smart man. He is smart enough to know when to listen to his gut and when not to. He cannot help but feel some form of a spark in relation to this building. There's a special aura that it carries. The aura of a fantastic power.
The large group of seven approach the door. A tall, tall, dark skinned man stands at the front door. "Quel est le mot de passe," the man says. Prince looks around, laughing a bit. Could this be a Purple Rain joke? "Quel est le mot de passe?" He stares directly at Prince and nobody else out of the seven bodies.
For the hell of it, Prince says, "Quelle." The man steps aside and let's him in. Prince stares back, praying the man speaks English. "Hey, man, what do you guys do here? Me and my friends are here shooting movie and we were, uh, hoping we could play a gig at a hole in the wall like this."
"No we– "
Prince shoots Wendy a grimace. "So," he looks back at the tall man. "What ya' say, man? A live show, free of charge! We ain't nothing but a amateurs anyway."
"What is your name," the heavy accented man questions.
Jerome steps in to joke. "His name's Christopher! Christopher Tracy. And I'm Tricky, how do you do?" He holds his hand out to shake the bouncer's hand.
The man speaks with a heavy accent. "Right this way, Mr. Tracy."
Prince follows the man inside the club, the Revolution plus two following behind Prince. Up on the stage is a fair skinned woman. Behind her is a large sign with the letters that say BABY JO. On the far other side, poster fill the walls with the name MARILYN. Prince looks at his friends and is shocked to see their sudden change in attire, the exact way they are shocked to see his. Prince looks down at his clothing in shock as he is suddenly in a tuxedo with a head full of finger-waves.
"Aye, you looky here! This here section is for colored folks only!" An angry man screams at the ragtag group of friends from afar.
Prince's wide eyes shoot to Jerome as a woman waves off the man, approaching Prince. "I heard you talking to the bouncer. You Christopher Tracy," she questions.
Prince nods his head. "Indeed, ma'am."
Her bold, bright red lips leave a natural pout to match her green eyes. "This your band?" She asks without leaving Prince room to reply before she throws out a command. "Introduce me. Y'all look like y'all can get down."
Prince laughs. "This is Wendy, Bobby, Lisa, Matt, Susannah, Mark." Prince points at Jerome. "And this clown is–"
"Tricky at your service, beautiful." He kisses her hand with a grin. "And who might you be?"
"Oh, baby, I'm Marilyn."
