Read PART ONE here.
When I found Adria and the five others they were already several phases into devising crisis strategies. The coreligionist who had bought the tickets simply could not find them. She had hoped to offer records of the purchase at the box office, but this was to no avail. Online tickets leave a trail, but tickets bought the old-fashioned way are like cash: terrible to lose. She was willing to re-purchase for everyone, but the show was sold out. Any personage who seemed to work at the Fox had been pleaded with, also to no avail. No scalpers were in sight. One of the ladies had even been lured by a shady-looking character who swore he could get us in backstage, but when he started leading her around the dark street corner she turned tail.
So there we stood, watching other people clamor excitedly in to see Badu. It was not long til midnight. A final plan was hatched to return to the scene of the ticket loss for a last, desperate search. We hailed a cab, but realized seven people cannot fit in a cab. So Adria and I stayed behind. She pursued further pleas with Fox ticket takers while I stood uselessly beside her, looking, I hoped, sympathetically pitiful.
Then the shady character returned, repeating his claim that he knew Erykah and could get us in. This man did not look like he knew Erykah. In fact he did not look like he belonged here, in this happenin crowd, in the present day, at all. He looked like a greasy, troubled backup musician from the 50s; like an extra from Cadillac Records, with a shellacked perm and grandfatherly attire. Adria was sensibly fending him off.
But: we were desperate. Though we kept repeating to each other that it would be fine and we'd have a fun night no matter, we were both going to be sad as fuck if we missed this show. Being a woman of significant stature, I felt that, if it really came to it, I could take this guy. My spine may not work too well, but he wasn't exactly in his prime. I put a protective arm around the petite Adria and said we might as well give this a try. Maybe we'd be murdered, but maybe we'd see Badu.
The shady character led us around the corner and down 18th, to what in fact was the backstage gate to the Fox. He handed a backstage pass to Adria and held up his own for the gate guard. The guard was unimpressed.
"Three people, three passes."
Shady backhand-slipped me his pass and I held it up for the guard, quite sure he wasn't going to buy this cheap ruse. And in fact he probably didn't. But he let us in anyway.
At that moment our fortunes changed. Moments ago we'd been poor unfortunates begging to be let in; now here we were being ushered through secret back channels like VIPs. We kept staring at each other and squealing, and Shady wanted lots of apologies for our prior lack of faith. We arrived in a backstage room stocked with beers and a tub of Jif peanut butter. A preternaturally beautiful woman in leggings and bare feet sashayed past and wished us a happy new year, braids grazing her knees. She was Erykah's sister, Nayrok, who sang backup that night.
The year was about to end, and Badu was about to get on stage, and we were about to have one crazy night.
To be continued...
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