I’ve been agonizing over this post. I’m just not sure I can do it justice. I mean, really, how do you put into words the single most spectacular night of your life??
I’m pretty sure you use a better intro…
ANYway, Saturday, March 10th. We finally make it into Vegas after a near disaster with the airlines. I started to think with all the crazy shit that had gone on that maybe I was NOT crazy. Maybe, Prince and I really do have some kind of special destiny!!
We arrived at Club 3121 at about 8:30 to pick up our tickets. All tickets are will call, so my heart is still pounding a bit as I’m standing in the long ass line – which is not moving because Prince is still inside rehearsing. Prince. Inside. Me. Just outside two little doors (and one big ass line) from Prince.
At just after 9:00pm, they handed me my golden ticket and unhooked the velvet rope in front of me. The purple band around my right wrist made it official. Oh. My. I immediately began jumping and squealing like a fool. This was it. I was REALLY going to see Prince. Really. Really. Really. No cancellations. No problem with the reservations. No. Nada. Nothing was going to stop this from happening.
For those who don’t know – this was nothing short of a miracle in itself. Shows have been cancelled. There have been ticketing nightmares. Lots and lots of people over at the Prince Fan Site (shuddup, just… shuddup) have horror stories to tell. And, if a horror story is going to land in someone’s lap…
But, disaster averted. My husband and our friends were able to convince me to go eat dinner while we killed a little time before Prince would actually show up. (Because I am a member of the Prince Fan Site, I already knew he never started until after midnight. Because he’s cool like that. And he knows we will WAIT.) I cannot for the life of me remember what I shoveled into my mouth before I shoved them back to the club.
The club. Yeah, not an arena or a massive stadium. A little nightclub. When we walked in my heart began pounding even harder because it was obvious that even from the back of the room I was going to be insanely close to him. And the back of the room? Is for suckers who don’t rush through dinner. The back of the room is for the faint hearted and the weak.
I. Do not do. Back of the room.
Luckily, two hours before show time there was plenty of space right up by the stage. And that’s where I stood, for two hours and fifteen minutes, pretending to dance to the music that was playing while I counted down the moments and tried not to hyperventilate. And jockeyed for better position. And made friends with the people around me who would hold the fate of my view in their hands later on. (When you’re just under 5’2, it is crucial that you make friends at a concert if you hope to see anything but the back of a big ass head)
I have absolutely no clue what song was playing, or what song he started with. I vaguely remember videos and a celeb introduction playing across the big screens around the club walls. And then… BAM. Purple curtain UP. And there. Right fucking THERE. There. He. Is.
I think I dropped to my damn knees right there. I squealed and screamed and did a lot of “OHMYGOD OHMYGOD OHMYGOD IT’S HIM IT’SHIM IT’S HIM IT’SFRICKING PRINCE!!!!!!!!!!!!” In a sea of Prince fans, I was the fanatic. I remember clearly thinking to myself “this is why women throw their underwear on stage”.
He winked. He gave his sideways sexy look that says “I’m thinking something dirty right now… but you already knew that, didn’t you?” He asked me if I loved him. And I, of course, assured him that I do, indeed, “LOOOOOOVE YOUUUUUU PRINCE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Yes, Prince and I exchanged quite the sultry banter all night. The highlight of which was “What’s my name baby? What’s my name?” And I am telling you all when he said that he was leaning right over me, RIGHT OVER ME, and I swear he sweat on me. “What’s my NAME baby?” Prince. Sweat. What’s my name. “IT’S PRINCE!!!!!! YOUR NAME IS PRINCE!!!” I hollered as if his life depended on me helping him remember his name.
Whew. Even now. Heart flutters.
I remember him playing Kiss. And coming up by me. And Rasberry Beret. And 3121. And Black Sweat. And oh baby I remember him playing Satisfied. This was the first time I had heard the song Satisfied and I was goo. GOO I tell you, on the floor, making sounds no one should hear without having paid for dinner and booze. And flowers. And possibly jewelry. Goo.
I cannot even explain to you how magnificent he was that night. Or how close I was. In fact, I got closer all night long. In FACT… I got pulled up on stage. ON FREAKING STAGE. Thanks, in large part, to my new found friends. Prince said “I need someone to dance with me” – which is the cue for Fanatic Attention Whores to come running. One of The Twinz made their way to the side of the stage and the large black man who’d been dancing wide for me all night picked me up and launched me across the crowd in her direction.
She surveyed the lot of us, screaming, ridiculous women. I begged and pleaded “please, please, please”, and she extended her little finger to me… “You”.
And instantly, a part of me died. The part of me that ever thought life could get better, crumpled onto that stage right then and there. This. Was. It. Highlight of my life. And I’m dancing up there, thinking about how white I must look. And how I really, really wished I was black. And how I cannot fucking believe they don’t allow cameras in this place and we don’t even have camera phones. And mostly, how this is it. THIS is my happy place. Forever and ever and ever and ever when I am sad, I will close my eyes and be up on that stage. On Prince’s stage. Shaking my ass with The Twinz and doing my best to “get down” with the horn player. God I don’t even remember now what kind of horn it was….
Whew. I don’t remember what the song was that ended the dream. I remember being squeezed back into the mass. I remember my ginormous friend reaching his paw across the crowd and pulling me back to the front of the stage while others cried and moaned and threw elbows for floor space. I remember the Latino woman who’d stood in front of me all night saying “oh baby, you’re so CUTE, here, you come stand in front of me, stand up here baby” – and I didn’t care if she was drunk or patronizing or patting me on my goddamned head. She pushed me up front.
There was one man between me and actual, literal, technical front row. One small man in a white shirt. One man who everyone around warned me about saying “don’t touch him honey, he is a DICK”. I did, of course, touch him. I didn’t mean to. But with all the writhing and screaming and jumping… you’re bound to touch. I apologized profusely and gave him my best Please God Don’t Be Mad At Me And Ruin The Rest Of This Concert For Me smile.
And then… he took a step to the side, put his hand on my arm, and pushed. Hard. “Slide forward, slide forward.” He pushed me in front of him to fill the void as he melted back into the crowd. Front. Row. Not a head, not an an arm, nothing between me and Prince.
Lights down. Music stops. I got to the front row just as it all ended, it seemed.
Guitar. Oh my freaking GAWD it is THAT guitar. This can’t be. This can’t be. Lights. Purple lights. Purple lights and that guitar and….
Purple Rain. I stood in the front row and bawled like a baby while Prince sang me good night to Purple Rain.
I’m telling you people – high point. Kids are great, marriage is nice… but EVERYONE (or at least lots and lots and lots of people) can do that. How many people can say they dance on stage and stood in the FRONT FREAKING ROW for Purple Rain?
And no, I don’t have a single picture. But I’m still wearing the Purple wrist band on my right wrist. It’s getting a little worn. And twisted. But I swear his sweat is on here. His sweat, my sweat, all mixed up in a sexy star crossed concoction.
The only down side of the entire night is the fact that I’m hooked. I thought I would get my fill and be satisfied. But now.. I just want more.
Thank God there are rumors of a tour…