Publication: New York Daily News [US]
Date: October 20, 1996
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Title: "Into Each Life A Little Purple Rain Must Fall"
Written By: A.J. Benza

A fella can run into and run away from a lot of people in my line of work. It’s one thing coming face to face with today’s icons. But it’s quite another going head to head. Either way, you’ve got to save face while not losing your head. Let me show you what I mean.

I am sitting at my spot --atop the piano at Spy-- minding my own biz when a suit with an earpiece taps my shoulder and says, "My boss is ready to see you now."

Now, I know I have one prior to my record, I sometimes drive without a license and quite possibly I could be the city’s most-wanted scofflaw, so I’m assuming this suit is one of Rudy Giuliani’s [New York City’s mayor] boys. I mean, the guy is cracking down on everyone but Chinese menu-droppers.

"Who’s your boss?" I say.

"He’s right over there. He’d like to talk to you."

"Well, tell him to come here if he want to talk to me," I say.

"No, sir, he’d like you to go to him. He’s a very private man."

This had better be Don Corleone, I’m thinking. So I turn around and it’s The Artist Formerly Known as Prince, slouching down in a couch with sky-blue velvet pants and matching shoes.

"We gotta straighten this stuff out," Prince said to me. "I don’t want to turn on TV anymore and see you dissin’ me, saying it’s time I come out with another hit record."

There was only one way to get over the shock that Prince --I’m sorry, I’m old-fashioned-- was actually talking to me. So I immediately ordered a double Wild Turkey.

Essentially, Prince was upset that I "flaked" him for walking into Spy with three bodyguards a few weeks back and not letting anyone near him while he drank chamomile tea. My argument was, if big stars like Jack, Mick, Mel and Bobby can mix, why can’t he?

"First of all," Prince said to me. [sic] "if I did everything you asked of me, I’d have to write ‘SLAVE’ across my face again. And I’m done with that. As far as the hits go, I’ve been playing rope-a-dope with my label for the last five years. You just wait until my new stuff comes out."

"So, the next time you come in," I asked, "can you leave your three goons at home and talk to me like a regular guy, Prince?"

"No. Next time I might bring five guys. And stop calling me Prince. That’s not my name."

"Listen," I said. "With that attitude and those goons, you’re lucky anybody calls you at all."

For some odd reason, I decided to call him "Baby," and he seemed to like it. We shook hands, and just as I was walking away, I heard the unmistakable sound of a new Prince song that’s sure to be a hit.

"Is this your new s---?" I mouthed to him across the room. He shook his head "yes" real slow. "I told you, I was playing rope-a-dope. I’m back."

Then he split, in the midst of his entourage, with his new record whipping Spy into a frenzy.