Gotta sing (pt. 1)

It’s one of the biggest events of the year. It’s also very exclusive. There’s a media embargo which states no one can say a word about what’s going on inside. Everyone is supposed to be quiet, but it’s hard because secrets don’t bode well for many.

I’m on the red carpet, greeting the celebrities and VIPs for the event. They’re well-known in the Canadian media landscape – a couple of movie actors, a slew of singers and television personalities, and a mix of designers and models/muses.

One of the first guests is a top R&B diva, of which I am a huge fan of. I have her CDs and know every song by heart. Her voice resembles that of Whitney Houston before the freebasing.

She’s greeted by the media on the red carpet and she answers their inane questions about the night’s event, her reason for being there (a new album is going to drop) and any other item that pops into their mind.

When she gets to the end of the red carpet, I greet her and say a couple of pleasantries. She doesn’t know what she has to do since she was the first arrival (and she’s very early because her rehearsal wrapped up not too long before). I don’t know what to do, either. Should I let her enter the venue, or should she stay on the red carpet for a few more minutes just in case another media outlet shows up? Because there’s always a chance for a camera to arrive late to the party, I keep her where she is and we continue with small talk.

It doesn’t take long before we start to talk about music and how it affects so many people. I tell her I’m a fan and keep her CD in my car at all times. She’s very gracious and thanks me for saying that.

Then I do one of the things I never expected I would do except for in my dreams...