My ex almost passed out after a night out at the opera. We had just finished seeing Faust and went to grab a drink at the Hilton to discuss the complexities of doing a deal with the devil. “I have to take a meeting tomorrow”, I said casually, nursing the salt on the rim of my margarita. “I got backstage access to meet Donell Jones.” We were sitting across from each other at the Hilton, listening to Usher croon over the loudspeaker where the DJ had positioned his turntable.
“When?” He asked.
“Tomorrow,” I returned almost too abruptly.
This triggered a flood of questions that ended the night early and with both of us irate in an Uber. “Are you getting paid for this? Who sent you? Who are you meeting up with?” And then “alone!?” came the barrage or rapid fire questions. I hadn’t wanted it to be a big deal, but the truth is, Donell was one of my favorite artists from the R&B era, especially in the nineties. Who could forget the smooth sounds of his silky voice crooning on the radio? The panty dropping rhythms were so fierce, we had to listen in private, it would be too dangerous to be alone with a crush in any room or office. Us high school kids, we were fresh, fun, hip and horny. Donell was the kind of music we could make love to. Make babies with. It was just that good.
On the other hand, now in my forties, I’m rarely out past nine, but sometimes live the life of the sordid NYC Club Kid, pre-publicist of days past, sometimes with my mic at the ready, to get some much needed footage or content for my own dissection and publication. It’s a lot of fun to secure access to artists from back in the day who still have a certain level of recognition and everybody knows I’m obsessed with entrepreneurship and the marketing of fame. It reminds me of who I am and where I came from. It takes me on a flashback in which I acknowledge to my younger self that I had always planned to be this self-made.
At the same time, I am navigating the complexities of a new relationship and this one seems like the jealous type and maybe it isn’t normal for someone who consumes me to want me to take meetings with other men, least of all, an R&B singer by the name of Donnell Jones.
Except that I have to take this meeting tomorrow.
And I did.
Which caused, well, some modicum of turmoil.
My ex was first fascinated by my achievements, but the day I discovered his controlling and jealous tendencies and I made it clear that I won’t tolerate that behaviour, I became the worst woman in the world: in his mind I was selfish and an idiot for not seeing this as ‘care’ as he so indignantly put it. Selfish for asking for support instead of agreeing to sit at home?! Plus, the fact that I didn’t want to share my money and company with him drove him crazy. There’s no way I would share everything that I worked so hard for with a jealous person!
I got to the venue solo and heard the sounds that are so familiar but BLOCK PARTY is almost over so I have to race to the back and see if I can get access with my wrist bracelet.
Stopped by a security guard because my bracelet is for VIP access ONLY but not for backstage access, I stood outside his dressing room where he was decompressing after the performance. Soon after the manager turned towards me and I began to explain that I would like to request an interview. “Standby,” the manager offered “I’ll see if I can get you in there.”
A flood of memories returned. Days on set, reminded me of girls lined up outside DMX’s trailer for a possible quickie hustling past the security guards and to catch a glimpse. Seconds later, I caught an opening and breezed past into the small dressing room where a few couches and some tables and chairs had been set up. And then we got to talking.
If you would like the opportunity to meet your celebrity crush backstage or work with a publicist to secure techniques for interviewing celebrities as a way to establish your authority as an expert or a speaker, book a call today https://calendly.com/kojenwa/15min?month=2025-04
You Can’t Be Saved if You’re An Asshole
