Black Rose || The Outtakes

Black Rose || Outtake 193

1985 – California (After Brenda's "Soul Train" Removal)

KELLY DAWSON (Brenda's Former Publicist)

"Yesterday, I managed the hottest woman on Earth. She could sing. She could dance. Choreography expert. Songwriting queen. Gorgeous model with the sexiest body I've ever seen. Throw in Prince as her boyfriend and she was everybody's favorite girl. Just a badass in every sense of the word. Now, she's miserable during a tabloid nightmare and I'm this laughing-stock in showbiz. Why? Because I'm the ultimate asshole." (Reggie Bradshaw – Brenda Hughes's Former Manager, 1985)

"Goddammit!" Roasted coffee splashed toward blouse this morning. Remnants of the blistering liquid dripped onto each tile as I tried to piece myself back together. I've rushed down this hallway for six years by now. Every time, my steps never failed to somehow tumble on the marbled floor of this expansive lobby. Open and bright windows fixed into every corner of this level. An intercom, connective with vast but hidden speakers, pulsed the voice of Whitney Houston. I couldn't even nod my head to "So Emotional" at this point, annoyed with the very beginning of this day.

After ditching that empty Styrofoam cup, I shook head and pulled open one of the doors to an earmarked conference room. I then peeked in and immediately realized that Prince welcomed himself into this otherwise confidential meeting. Puzzled, I didn't even cough to make myself known and hurried toward the nearest seat at this circular table. My briefcase hardly plopped the carpeted floor underneath my aching heels.

The music finally stopped pulsing beyond this office. I quietly rushed to look presentable and ready. Not once did I face Prince and Brenda, who sat right alongside one another. Meanwhile, Nicole and Reggie glanced toward me and disappointment crept into my heart without hesitation. At the same time, I'd much represent someone like Prince. Or least most, Michael Jackson himself. Other publicists reached my dreams before.

Instead, I now sat across from a mediocre female artist. If anything, Prince should've been the reason why I sat this room. Not because of his slutty fiancée. Taking on the prospect of working for Brenda years had been the biggest mistake of my career. The tabloid chaos right now proved such an ordeal. I should've walked out right then.

Yet, I found myself dazed by the stare of Prince. This ultimate bad boy. For whatever reason, we couldn't break a glare toward one another. Lust did not rest in his eyes for once. There was only madness. While not visible, I knew for sure that Prince held Brenda's engagement ring hand underneath the table, squeezing palms for reassurance.

"What the hell is wrong with you? All of you? What if this happened to someone like me? Would you just leave me out in the cold to deal with media vultures? I don't think so!" Prince pouted his fist onto the table without even blinking. Brenda never even moved as Prince unlocked his hand from her.

Silence entered the room when everyone decided to look at me. I lowered my head, honestly ashamed for once. Out of I glanced toward Prince without flinching once more. His voice tinged with more distress and rage. I kept my mouth shut. Nicole and Reggie paled with good reasons why.

"Fix that face. What's the problem? You were screaming at me in the limousine this morning. Why'd you shut up now, idiot?" Without even breathing, Prince motioned with his finger across the table. His glare faced Reggie in a way I'd never seen before. Tension suffocated the entire room once more. Brenda folded her arms. Nicole and I faced one another, puzzled as expected. On the other hand, Reggie yanked off his sunglasses and never flinched. I didn't know what to think anymore.

"None of your business. Get the hell out of my office. I don't give a damn who you are, Prince. Go hibernate in Minnesota and slept with everyone. No one cares about your opinion. She's my client after all." Reggie gripped one coffee mug of his own. It wasn't long before he took a sip and set the cup back down.

One more bout of silence entered the room. Brenda hadn't even uttered. A lump formed in my throat. If Reggie didn't explain himself, we were all screwed. "Soul Train" dancer Valerie Mitchell among others dropped the resentment bomb on this unsuspecting media. Not one response published from Don Cornelius or other showrunners. Zilch. Nothing.

Big mistake. I thought to myself.

Without even thinking, Reggie and Brenda jumped into a French and Italian screaming match. Who knew that their secondary languages could sound so intimidating? At this point, no one of bothered interpreting English. Even Prince and Nicole lowered eyes. I scribbled quickly on a notepad to somehow block out the ear-piercing clamor.

Not one member of security seemed to interfere, growing numb to the realism of these current events. Media diminished an otherwise talented "IT" girl. Yet, my mind drifted back to a sure fact behind Hughes: she'd never compare to Whitney Houston or Madonna. Though I hated to admit it, Brenda Michelle wouldn't even sell out Madison Square Garden. There was no point in acting like she'd break barriers like so many of her other peers.

Prince and Brenda left hand in hand. Reggie finally switched back to English called off the meeting while shouting one last time. When the doors slammed shut, I plopped back down into my chair at the conference table. My pen zipped along the page once more.

Nicole tipped her fedora lowered and crossed both arms while mumbling in Italian herself. Reggie had already drowned his chilled brew and threw down the mug. Shards cracked onto the pristine floor, shattering. I scurried out of here once more, puzzled and shocked more than anything else.

__

BRENDA

Today warranted me a cigarette. I lit up in this parking lot while leaning on the right side of this limousine. Prince and the chauffeur never even batted eyes. When the smoke finally blew from my circled lips, I pointed the cigarette toward Skip. The engagement ring sparkled as I held this cancer stick between my thin fingers.

"I can't deal with this shit anymore. What the fuck did I do wrong?" Not on ounce of guilt reached my heart as I croaked through this New Jersey accent, speaking to my reasonably livid fiancé. His head whipped around to face me, but we kept a fair distance between one another.

Meanwhile, the chauffeur minded his own business and headed toward the driver seat. A door slam never even prompted to flinch. I'd grown numb for obvious reasons. Blowing up during the meeting with my team seemed inevitable in somehow. I could only stay tight-lipped for so long. I threw down the dying cigarette out of habit and stomped it with my foot moments later.

I just wanted to slump my curls against Prince fall asleep, but a recording session called my name instead. I'd work with Craig at least until midnight this evening. We'd just started collaborating not too long ago and his mind hatched with all kinds of ideas. Besides Prince, music had been my reason to smile these days. Michael almost disappeared from my mind for obvious reasons. Another story for another time.

Just when Skipper and I opened those car doors for one another, Kelly and Nicole rushed out of the agency high-rise. Reggie walked behind these ladies soon after. Towering palm trees blew softly throughout a gentle breeze. The limousine churned nearby without even moving of course.

Reggie also lit up a cigarette and smoked away before clenching teeth. 'Bradshaw mumbled in Italian. I hissed back in French. Prince somehow held me back from slapping this dreadful agent and walked me toward the limousine. At this point, I'd even spit in Reggie's face had it not been for Prince interfering. Gladly.

When Skip pulled the back door closed, I could only face a right-handed window. The limousine rolled out as rock song blasted on the up-front radio. Tears prompted mascara to run right down my dark complexion. I reached over to squeeze Prince's hand and he squeezed right back. Not once did we speak throughout the entire ride.

Damn. I thought to myself.