AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a fantasy based on Madonna's public persona. It is in no way intended to defame the character of the real-life Madonna Louise Ciccone.
* * * * *
Hannah and I were just so pleased for Madonna when she started going places with that band of hers. She always said it would happen, and did it ever!
What was her first big single? 'Holiday' was it? That was kind of a fun disco thing, I suppose. I had to laugh, though, when she brought out that 'Like A Virgin' song. Hahahaha. Yeah, right, SURE, Madonna! You know, I always thought that she'd called herself that as some kind of ironic joke because she was such a little devil in the sack. It was only years later I realised it was her real name.
To be honest, though, I always preferred her earlier stuff, anyway - those new wave rock songs she demoed before she got signed up. Don't you just hate it when people say that? It's like saying "I know more about her than you do. I've been her biggest fan right from the start". But in this case it's true. I really liked her rock stuff.
I always was more of a punker at heart, which is how I ended up dropping out of University in 1976 and flying out to New York to check out the scene that was happening at this sleazy little club on the Bowery called CBGBs. I watched all the bands there: Patti Smith, Talking Heads, Television, Blondie, The Ramones, Richard Hell and The Voidoids. And that's where I met Hannah Fitzpatrick, a fiery red-head sex-bomb that claimed to be a porno star and threw a glass of Jack Daniels in my face two minutes after introducing herself. But, that's a whole other story. You don't need to know about that. You want to hear about how Hannah and I ended up getting jiggy with Madonna Louise Ciccone.
Well, here's a little background first. When she first came out to New York, after she finished her dance scholarship at the University of Michigan, Madonna was in this new wave band called The Breakfast Club with her boyfriend, Dan Gilroy. I think at that time she and Dan were living in some converted Synagogue out in Corona, Queens. She'd been studying dance with the choreographer, Pearl Lang, and working different jobs - the Russian Tearooms, glamour modeling, a donut shop in Times Square - but then she just decided to pack all that in, shack up with Dan and become a rock star. That was her new thing. Can you believe, she actually started off playing drums? Don't know if she was any kind of Keith Moon but the Breakfast Club certainly played quite a bit around town, so she must've been passable. Of course, being Madonna, she soon argued her way to the front of the stage, into the lime-light where she belonged.
We didn't meet her till later on, though - 1980. By that point she'd split with Dan Gilroy and was really struggling for money. She was in this tight little ska band, Emmerson, with an old boyfriend from Detroit - this cool black kid called Steve Bray, who later went on to co-write some of her early hits. Emmy was a fine little band - real British 2-Tone type stuff. We saw them play a couple times. Steve was there on drums and Madonna sang and played guitar. I've still got tapes of some of those early songs: 'Do You', 'Hothouse Flower' and 'Laugh To Keep From Crying', which was really more of a Pretenders kind of thing.
At that time, Madonna was so poor she was sleeping rough in this dingy place, several stories high, called The Music Building, where bands used to rehearse and record, or whatever. It was right outside there that I first laid eyes on her.
It was a cold but vivid Autumn day and the whole city had this golden hue over it. I like days like that, when everything seems so clear and crisp and bright. When you breathe out, your breath lingers in the air like mist. Anyway, I'd just not long parked my yellow cab down this side-street so I could eat my sandwich, listen to the radio and read my book (probably something like 'On The Road' or 'Dharma Bums'), when there was a tap on the window. "Hey, you awake in there?"
I glanced out the window into the evil grin of this real bad-girl bit of skirt with pale blue eyes and shoulder-length raven hair. I noticed she had a cute little beauty spot just above her lip that reminded me of that painting Hannah still has of a buxom Elizabethan courtesan.
"Why you got the door locked, pal?" she asked, pulling at the handle up back. "I want a ride." She obviously enjoyed the inuendo of this and her lips curled up at the corner as she leaned in towards me, crossing her arms so that her breasts squashed up together in such a seductive way it couldn't possibly have been accidental.
"I'm on my break," I said, biting into my sandwich.
"Do you know who I am?" she persisted. Her eyes smouldered as she stared at me. The intensity was actually a little unsettling.
"No, I can't say I do," I said, brushing breadcrumbs from my lap.
"You will," she said, reaching her arm in the window and holding it regally out before me.
I didn't know whether she expected me to shake it or kiss it. I shook it, firmly.
The girl laughed. "That's a forceful grip you've got there, Mr Cab-driver. And you look so... so... English. I'm Madonna."
"Pleased to meet you, Madonna. Now, do you mind? I'm trying to read here."
"My friends call me Em. That's short for Emmy."
I nodded. "Pleased to meet you, Madonna." I turned the page of my book and bent back the spine so it'd stay open resting against the steering wheel.
"Oh, you think you're so European, don't you? Well, I've been to Europe, pal. I was in the Patrick Hernandez Review in Paris. Ever heard of him? 'Born To Be Alive'?"
I said nothing.
She leaned in closer, so I could smell her fragrance - an arousing combination of exotic perfume and her own female scent. "Do you think I look like a ballet dancer?" she asked. "Probably not in these clothes, right? Well, I am. I'm an excellent dancer. I studied at Alvin Ailey's studio."
I was trying to ignore her but there was something about the girl's arrogance that really made my loins tingle with excitement. Hannah's got that same radiant self-confidence, which is why I fell for her so bad.
"I'm an actor too," she continued. "Ever heard of Stephen Lewicki? Well, I've got the lead part in his new film - 'A Certain Sacrifice'. It's gonna be huge."
"Good for you," I said, a little more sarcastically than I'd intended. 'Look, darling, whatever it is you're trying to do here, it isn't working. I'm not starting this cab till I've finished my sandwich and read to the end of this chapter at the very least."
Out of the corner of my eye I could see her stiffening, ready to explode.
I heard her breathe in deeply through her nose, obviously opting for diplomacy over the theatrical foul-mouthed tantrum she really wanted to lay on me. "I love dancing and acting but my band's the number one thing. Have you heard of us?"
"No. I'm sure I will, though," I mumbled.
She ignored my retort. "We're called Emmerson."
"But friends call you Emmy?"
She laughed out loud at this. "Aha! So, you were listening," she purred. "Come on, baby, just let me in will you?" She nodded down at my book. "I'm sure Jack Kerouac can wait. My appointment can't."
I sighed heavily. "Hell, just get in if it's going to shut you up for two seconds," I said, flicking open the lock at the back. I hurled the remains of my sandwich into a nearby trash bin, folded over the page in my book and stuffed it down the side of the seat.
"Can't I ride up front with you, Daddy?" she giggled, swinging a big bag up into the cab and getting in beside it.
"Don't push your luck. Where are we going?"
Madonna gave me an address in Manhattan. "My friend has a penthouse suite over-looking Central Park," she said "It's so beautiful."
I was impressed. This girl knew people with money. I wondered what she was doing living out in this neighbourhood. I started up the cab, pulling out of the side street and edging my way into the line of heavy traffic.
"Hey, who's that little cutie," she said, pointing at the photograph of Hannah I had taped to the dashboard. "Is she your girlie-girl?" she teased, tickling her finger over my earlobe.
"Cut that out," I said, brushing her hand away. "She's my wife."
