She rang. He knew it was her as she was the only one who knew he was there. He intuited there would be something wrong. It mattered not how many stars the hotel had. She was always the bigger star. "How's the room?" She liked it when things were wrong as he would fix them and in fixing that road to perfection, he was showing her loyalty. And that is all she wanted. Loyalty. It was the umbrella term for groveling obedience, unnecessary ass kissing, hand and foot subservience. She would stand with her heels puncturing their boat and he would run with putty and buckets bailing and patching at the same time. Everything had to be perfect. Even if it was already perfect, it had to be more perfect until it was purrrrrfect. Purely for effect.
Perhaps the light fixture would have a fly in it. She could hear the honeymooning couple next door. Perhaps there would be too much paint on the door for her liking. The window wouldn't open. Perhaps the mini-bar would be too loud. Her hotel room number would be unlucky. It reminded her of her ex-boyfriend as it was the last three digits of his phone number. She sat in her first class seat thinking up problems for him to attend to once they arrived in New York. They had two or three gigs a night lined up for the next week. Everything from Manhattan to dinner clubs in New Jersey. She was feeling energetic. She'd demand that they change hotels, but just to be nice, she'd do it right away so as not to wake him from his sleep.
She tapped the microphone. She did what she always does....sing too low on the sound check. They'd tune it and then, when she went live, it would be Loud. Loud is what she wanted.
Where is everyone? This is a sold out show. Where are they?
The die hards were already ramming the barrier, but the friends of friends were still getting their drinks.
Well I'm not going on until they sit in their seats. Make an announcement.
It's not a classroom. They'll come once you start singing.
I'm not singing til they sit down and listen.
Backing tracks were always helpful...an insurance against her whims and temper.
Where's the piano player?
Oh. He's not coming.
Back?
Yeah. He's not coming back.
A six thousand pound microphone. Sony spent five million pounds developing it; better than the Y 45 from 1945. There are microphones specifically for voice. And some better for instruments. And there are people who are so devoted to their favorite singers, that they are willing to show up and dust the microphone in a maid's outfit.
We'll let you dust the microphone and clean the loo in the studio, but you have to be dressed.
Perhaps the light fixture would have a fly in it. She could hear the honeymooning couple next door. Perhaps there would be too much paint on the door for her liking. The window wouldn't open. Perhaps the mini-bar would be too loud. Her hotel room number would be unlucky. It reminded her of her ex-boyfriend as it was the last three digits of his phone number. She sat in her first class seat thinking up problems for him to attend to once they arrived in New York. They had two or three gigs a night lined up for the next week. Everything from Manhattan to dinner clubs in New Jersey. She was feeling energetic. She'd demand that they change hotels, but just to be nice, she'd do it right away so as not to wake him from his sleep.
She tapped the microphone. She did what she always does....sing too low on the sound check. They'd tune it and then, when she went live, it would be Loud. Loud is what she wanted.
Where is everyone? This is a sold out show. Where are they?
The die hards were already ramming the barrier, but the friends of friends were still getting their drinks.
Well I'm not going on until they sit in their seats. Make an announcement.
It's not a classroom. They'll come once you start singing.
I'm not singing til they sit down and listen.
Backing tracks were always helpful...an insurance against her whims and temper.
Where's the piano player?
Oh. He's not coming.
Back?
Yeah. He's not coming back.
A six thousand pound microphone. Sony spent five million pounds developing it; better than the Y 45 from 1945. There are microphones specifically for voice. And some better for instruments. And there are people who are so devoted to their favorite singers, that they are willing to show up and dust the microphone in a maid's outfit.
We'll let you dust the microphone and clean the loo in the studio, but you have to be dressed.
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