The Voxe: Number One

"All right, babe, get up...c'mon, c'mon, get up," I think I heard her say. "Gotta get you ready for the show. C'mon."

I blinked her back into focus.

"...Sh—...show?"

*****

Of course, after getting me back up, bringing my bearings back and defluffing me, my guardian angel and mentor Lisa-Anne bedazzled me up, and I had an incredible show. What was more, she brought me backstage for a little post-show V.I.P. (Velette's Intense Peeps) party—basically a meet-and-greet for Voxers with backstage passes, plus food and mingling. To this day I'm still surprised at just how wild fans go over a nice little rock 'n' roll singing chick from Ohio.

One of the most interesting things about these encounters is that you never know what form a Voxer's affection may take. Some ask for a handshake or a hug, and for me to sign their album. Some get choked up, emoting how they can't believe they're meeting me in person. Some tell me a story about themselves, or that I may have helped them realize they were actually gay too, or what songs they like best. Some literally can't get their words out. Some drop to their knees in front of me and declare that they're not worthy. Some go point blank and tell me, dead serious, that they honestly believe they're in love with me. And rarest of all—but real—is the individual who walks up, says nothing, and kisses me smack on the lips. I'm sad to say that when a fan goes this far, they've got a toe over the line. Much as I wish this didn't have to happen, it's at this point my bodyguard Calvin has to step in and put some distance between us, or take it yet further.

The bodyguard must keep personal feelings out of it, but as for me, I feel awfully sorry for the more extreme Voxers. I understand they're starstruck and overcome by such an occurrence, and I want to give them every opportunity to take their devotion down a notch, but sometimes it simply doesn't work out. Then there're those who say they enjoyed the show but want to know why I didn't do a specific song. This is a legit question, so I give them a nice cordial smile and explain that I'm sorry, but with each new album and tour, we've got a sequenced set list laid out. And not all new songs make the live show, but many do, and older material eventually has to go—except of course for the really big hits ("Falling Apart," "Too Good To Be True," "Can't You Tell," "If You're Alone," "Angel In My Room," "Girl With The Guitar"—those they told me I'd be playing every day for the rest of my life). And that if they want to see a live performance of a song that used to be in the set but isn't anymore, I'm sure they can find it online.

Still, that's a bit of a dilemma for a recording/touring artist. While getting to watch videos on the Internet is cool, nothing compares to the feeling of seeing your favorite artist live. And when you come to their city one time around, even the most die-hards may not be able to make it to the show, or hear their favorite song. Next time, that song might not be in the set anymore. It's always possible to put old stuff back in now and then, and a medley is a great idea too. Even so, everyone's got their favorites, and especially as your career goes on and on, you can't get around to them all. So a couple years ago we came up with the awesome idea to dust off some of the older songs, see how they sounded years later, and work them into a two-part concert DVD. One disc was the regular set list with all the new stuff and big hits, the other an armload of older, semi-obscure tunes from the Voxe Vault, songs fans had been asking to hear live for a while, and some we also never tried before. Finally, we tossed in a few bonus features. Rainbow cranked out a bazillion copies of this two-disc beauty, and we gave away the first several thousand complimentary at VoxeCon 2013. It turned out to be so much fun, we might just have to make another video like that with even more obscure songs and fan-pleasers.

Speaking of songs...

*****

With a decade and change under my belt, I've written well over three, on the way to four hundred songs, registered at least three quarters of them with BMI, and out of those three fourths, most have been released on my albums, singles or somewhere else. Theoretically, were I to play every single one of my songs, back to back to back to back to back, it would take close to nineteen hours. That's a shitload of material by most standards, and yet every now and then on stage, I get a request to do a completely different song I didn't write at all. This normally happens for a lucky individual who ends up at my show on their birthday. I'll finish the show including the encore, introduce the band, make the birthday announcement, find and bring her (the birthday kiddo usually being a young lady) up on stage with me, and serenade her with her favorite song—which may be one of mine, or may not.

On January 16th, I threw a monster show at the beautiful Silverlight in Juniper, Minnesota, where I've helped quite a few fans celebrate their birthdays. This evening continued the pattern, culminating in the enchantment of a 20-something birthday girl called Maria. She had thick dirty-blonde hair, with prominent bangs draping down to her piercing, black-shadowed turquoise eyes. And she was rocking a bright tie-dye T-shirt with a picture of—whom else—yours truly, splashed across the front. And as the case with a lot of sweet birthday ladies I sing to, her favorite song was one with which she shared her name. In this case, Blondie's late '90s comeback hit.

This was the basic reason the band and I rehearsed as many of the classics—named for special girls—as we could dig up. I handed off my trusty six-string Sylvia to be taken away, signaled the band to start the intro, and called for Maria to come up on stage with me. Recognizing the opening chord progression, a big chunk of the audience started cheering wildly. Once she made it up, the drummer kicked in, getting me all set. I held onto Maria's hand with one of mine, mike in the other, and away I went doing my best Debbie Harry.

"'She moves like she don't care'..." my low register echoed into space. "...'Smooth as silk, cool as air...ooh, it makes you wanna cry-y...

"'She doesn't know your name...and your heart beats like a subway train...ooh, it makes you wanna di-ie...

"'Ooh, don't you wanna take her'—a'right, guys, get ready!" I called out to the crowd as the chorus approached.

"'Wanna make her all your own'—OKAY!" I shouted. "You know it, now sing it to her!...One! Two! Three!..."

I held the microphone out to the audience, like so many times before, as the tech guys threw the lyrics up on our stage screen.

"'Ma-RI-AAAAA'..." the crowd sang along with me like a choir of angels, as the birthday girl beside me began to cry. "'You've gotta see her!...Go in-sane and out of your mi-ind!...Re-GI-NAAAAA, Ave Maria!...A mil-lion and one candleli-ights!'"

The choruses of these songs, mainly when we'd hear the girl's name in the lyrics, made most of the guests of honor burst into tears of joy and disbelief. In rang the bells, and in rhythm with them, the spotlights changed color above us, delighting the crowd (no pun intended). After the third bridge, I turned to her. "Okay, Maria, your turn!" I encouraged her. "Sing the last verse with me, c'mon!"

The birthday girl was very shy to have the mike in her face, but with me guiding her along, she timidly joined.

"'She walks like she don't care'..." we sang together. "'Wal-king-on-im-por-ted-air...ooh, it makes you wanna di-ie'..."

Another chorus, and we concluded the song, and the show. At last slowing to a big finish, the tech crew sent the spotlights through another rainbowy flourish, and the big stage screen changed to a motion shot of exploding fireworks. Finally, we were done.

"Our birthday girl Maria, everybody!!" I announced, gesturing to her on my left. "Give her a hand! Let her hear it!"

I turned to collect Maria in my arms for a hug. As she came into my light, I saw that as with many I'd sung to over the years, I'd given her an Alice Cooper makeover. Her eyeshadow was in trails halfway down her face on both sides. I took her into my embrace and she me in hers.

"I LOVE YOU..." she hollered into my ear amid the roar of the crowd. "...SO MUCH. I'M YOUR NUMBER ONE FAN."

I smiled with a bit of blush. As many times as I'd heard these exact words, they never lost an iota of impact. I kissed her cheek.

"EEEEEE!!" she squealed, kissing my cheek five or six times back. "OHMYGOD! I'M NEVER GONNA WASH THIS FACE AGAIN!!"

We broke the hug and I shouted back for her to hear.

"RIGHT BACK AT'CHA, SWEETIE...RIGHT BACK AT'CHA."

*****

Cut to a couple more hours later, and I had fallen to sleep in my hotel room in Juniper's own five-star Meridian Inn & Suites, before it was back off with me to the next city in the morning. Lisa-Anne was meeting with some executives for a late-night schmoozing, and hadn't returned to snuggle me in bed yet. I had no idea what I was dreaming about if even at all, I only knew it was deep. It was a deep, deep sleep I was lost in...but not deep enough to be jarred out of by...what I can only guess was a series of loud, disturbing sounds. I twitched, gave a shake, and sat up in bed. The digital LCD clock was across the room on the dresser. I rubbed my eyes several times, but still couldn't make out what it said. The only reason it was way the hell over there was so I'd have to get up in the morning to stumble over and turn off the alarm, and I wouldn't just fall right back to sleep.

But screw the time; it couldn't matter much less right now, as I still heard an indistinguishable noise coming from outside my door. Calvin was there to protect me, and he's a big ol' hell of a guy, so I didn't typically worry. But I did think I heard his voice.

Something told me I wasn't getting back to sleep just now. I whipped off the comforter, got up, and staggered towards the door, holding onto walls and furniture for support. I swiped at my eyes, letting my legs wake up as I shuffled over. I couldn't make out any words, but I was positive that was my bodyguard's voice. The other voice I did not recognize.

For sure this was not the first time a fan—if that's in fact who this was—attempted to find where I was staying and visit me in my hotel room. It might have been the first time it happened at whenever the hell it was right now. Sometimes they congregated outside the hotel under my room, and sang my songs up to me. Less likely (but existent) was the aficionado who made way into the hotel, trying to find me and...presumably just hang out. And if I'm to be honest, sometimes I wouldn't mind just spending a little one-on-one time with a fan. But—saying this as modestly as I can—if word got out that I was personally entertaining Voxers on my own free time...well...let's just say it would be a bad idea overall. So, that's a no-no in the Voxe camp.

Well, once again, this was why we had Calvin. I about-faced to return to bed.

KKKkkk—crash.

I whipped back around.

What in the...

That noise was alarming. But not quite so alarming as what came after. The next thing I knew, the door rattled. And the next thing I heard was a clickety-clicking of what I could only figure was...plastic...in the door lock.

...A credit card?

The credit card hack. The old trick to open a locked door.

Oh my God. Someone was trying to break in.

My heart began to pound. What the hell had happened to Calvin?! I was just hearing his voice thirty seconds ago! I became terrified. I looked around frantically, trying to find something light enough to lift, and heavy enough to strike and stun my attacker. God, where were the baseball bats and golf clubs when you needed them?? One of my Grammys might've done the trick...if I'd actually brought them.

I couldn't find anything, and I was running out of time here. Had I been fully awake, I probably would have yanked out one of the chairs from the little circular table bordering the kitchen, to either wedge under the doorknob or wing the uninvited guest. Had I been fully awake, in fact, I might've had the resourcefulness to come at any number of defenses. But, I wasn't.

To my horror, the door was unlocked, and opened. I backed up, finding presence of mind to put some distance between me and my intruder. Unfortunately, this plan knocked me on my ass. Literally. Not looking where I was going, I tripped backwards over one of the very same chairs I didn't think to pick up, and fell on my back.

Oh, that didn't play in my favor. I made myself even more vulnerable. The door pushed open from the outside, and the hallway light silhouetted the figure standing before it. I looked up with frightful eyes, more scared than performing my very first sold out super-concert.

For just a moment, the sight was so menacing I wanted to scream. But at second glance, the figure didn't look quite as I'd suspected. It looked...small, comparatively. Short. Petite. And with...banged dirty-blonde hair, and a...tie-dyed Velette Voxe T-shirt?

I flipped my memory Rolodex back about five hours.

"M—...

"...Maria?"

I couldn't believe it. It was the birthday girl I'd pulled up on stage with me and serenaded this evening. One and the very same.

She stepped inside and let the door swing shut behind her. I gasped, backing up on my hands, feet and ass.

"My God..." I heard her whisper sublimely.

"...The one, and only...Velette...Voxe.

"...Va-va-voom."

She took another step, prompting me to back up some more. I knew I should at least attempt to get up, but I was still in a compromising position, and I didn't want to turn my back on her. Her somehow getting not only past my bodyguard but into my room had me just a bit rattled. Calvin wouldn't just let her pass. He'd been approached by fans outside my door in the past, and he knew better than that. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what she'd done to Calvin, nor was I inclined to find out what she might do to me, especially if I tried to run for the phone or the door. Oh, I hoped Lisa-Anne rushed back here soon. I was scared. I thought I might piss myself. Or worse. I glanced to the side, where I'd just reached one of the twin hotel room beds. I gripped the base and fulcrumed myself up, one eye on Maria all the time.

"Wha—...what're you doing here?"

She cocked her head.

"Why, but don't you remember...Velette?" she queried, ominously sauntering closer. Her eyes widened.

"I'm your number one fan."

A chill hit me like a whip in the back. Suddenly, I was very freaked.

"H—...how-how'd you get in here?" was my next question. "...What did you do to my bodyguard?"

A smile. A cold, frightening smile.

"I'm sure, wouldn't you like to know...Velette Voxe."

"I-I would, yes," I stammered, angling around one of the beds, trying to stay away. "It's-it's not right for you to do this, I'm afraid, Maria. You can't be in my hotel room."

Her eyes widened once again, as her grin spread ear to ear. She followed.

"You remembered my name."

"W-well, yeah...that tends to happen when I sing an entire song built around it. But I'm-I'm serious, Maria. You have to leave, please."

The girl clasped her hands to her heart and shut her eyes with a ecstatic-sounding gasp.

"OH...say my name again."

She had me backed up to the nightstand between the beds. Facing her, I grabbed around behind me for the phone receiver.

"Please, again, I'm-I'm asking you nicely. If...if this is so important to you, you can go to my web site, and-and book a visit from me at some point in the future," I nervously lied, making a point not to say her name. "But, right now isn't the time. I need to insist you leave. I don't wanna do this, but you're gonna force my hand here."

I made a 90° slip between the nightstand and bed, picking up the phone and feeling for the buttons. Undaunted, she closed in.

"I'd put down that phone if I were you, Velette," she murmured.

"Yes, well, you're not me, and you're not honoring my request." I found the rectangle of buttons, positioned my fingers and began dialing.

9...

A hand touched my shoulder.

"Hang up."

She must have thought I was as nuts as she seemed to be if she expected me to obey this command.

1...

A moment later, however, her argument became more persuasive...as she produced and brushed my cheek with a single, terrifying object.

"Velette...don't make me use this again."

*****

Her taser sat on the nightstand beside me, just out of my reach, as I lay sprawled out in my bed stripped naked. It worked to her advantage that my room was in a tucked-away corner of the hotel's seventh floor, lessening possibilities of anyone finding Calvin's stunned body outside. After she'd taken control from my hands, she'd forced me onto the bed and crawled on top of me, straddling me, whipping out a small roll of duct tape and a wad of neckties. These she put to work respectively over my mouth and around my wrists, before going to work on my legs. When she got up, my first instinct was to kick her away. But my position was even more compromising than before, and my mouth had been gagged with the tape. Even if I did hypothetically manage to kick her hard enough to knock her out—which wasn't likely—what the hell could I do then? She'd evidently figured out this scheme pretty thoroughly.

And so as she took me by the ankles to pull my feet to the corners, I evaluated I couldn't very well bargain here.

"Now be a good mega-pop goddess...and let your beloved number one fan finish tying you to bed."

My God...the girl was crazy. This was not split-second immediate news, as she'd already basically admitted to tasing my bodyguard. And this wasn't the first time I'd been restrained and bound in bed either...but I'd thought it was scary when my manager did it to me. This was a new level of terror and insanity we achieved here tonight. Once she had my feet equally secured, she returned to the nightstand and clicked on the lamp. Now that she'd let there be light, I saw that she'd wiped off her eyes from the Alice Cooper eyeshadow trails. Standing over my torso level, Maria reached for my nightgown, and tore it open down the middle, turning it into a backwards hospital gown. The garment itself was immaterial (no pun intended), and easy to replace. My consternation surfaced in the exposure of my genitals, and their visible betrayal. My brain screamed overriding commands at them, but they refused to listen. I could not believe this captress, self-proclaimed as my number one fan had broken into my room, kidnapped me, and unearthed a secret arousal in doing so.

Oh, Lisa-AAAAAaaanne...where in the fucking hell AAAAARE yooooouuu??...

She peeled the duct tape off my mouth, but kept it adhered to my cheek in case I tried to scream for help. When she caught sight of my twitching nipples and reddening pussy, I knew I was in trouble. Her reaction was predictable.

"...WOW."

This was quickly turning into Stephen King-land. I had my very own Annie Wilkes, who found her way into my life, now having me confined in bed. I did not want to put myself in Paul Sheldon's place, wondering what sort of intolerable torments she had in store for me. Instead, now that I could speak again, I attempted a verbal plea, as she marveled at my nude features.