an evening with rihanna

I was told to meet her agent at 8:00pm outside the Four Seasons Hotel. I stood waiting under lamppost light like a noir detective stalking a lead. The agent was now five minutes late. I got the letter out and scanned to see if I’d misread something. All correspondences between me and Rihanna’s people had been written with letters cut out of what appeared to be a newspaper, like this was a hostage situation. The letter ended with “tell no one”. Maybe it was?

A throaty roar came from the side of a building and I jumped out of the light. A light came on and the shadowy outline of what appeared to be a crab in a man’s suit was projected large across a building. A demonic voice bellowed out: “Run now, bring me my cape. It shall be a long and treacherous night”. The light went out and a slithering sound was audible in the darkness. Then I heard approaching footsteps. I hesitated and wondered if I should run.

A timid looking man with Victorian spectacles wearing a luxury tux came into view. “Are you the man from Rolling Stone?” he said in a voice so light and child-friendly it would be perfect for voicing a cartoon mouse.

“Yes” I said. “Are you Rihanna’s agent?”.

“That’s me” he said. “Follow me this way.” We started to walk towards the hotel. “I’m sure the basic rules are obvious to you. You must not quote Rihanna on anything she does not say. Must not do anything to harm her. There is another rule that I think is the most important though”.

“What?” I said.

He stopped walking and looked into my eyes. “You must not talk about, not even mention, the rapper Drake”. As he said it all the love and childlike wonder disappeared from his eyes.

*  *  *

The agent told me Rihanna was currently having dinner with friends in the restaurant on the ground floor of the hotel. In the corridor I heard repetitive chanting from down the hall. The voices were deep and husky and a lot of it was hard to understand. I heard small swatches of what was said: “overlords”, “ancient prophecy”, “the crabs” and “the children must be sacrificed for the greater good”. I blame my hearing of that lost one on my minimal sleep the night before.

Inside the restaurant I saw Rihanna and her entourage were the only people there. She sat in the middle, on a seat slightly higher from the ground than the others like a throne, with around 20 middle aged white men, all bald, all with the look of ex-priests who no longer quite believed in Jesus. The second I entered every one of them stopped chanting and stared at me. “Leave us, brethren” whispered Rihanna, possibly with the intention of me not hearing. The men stood up in unison and dispersed in silence. Rihanna walked up to me and shook my hand. Her grip was stronger than a Silverback Gorilla’s choke-hold. “It’s lovely to meet you she said” in tones so lovely the whole world liked to hear to them.

“Lovely to meet you too” I said. “I hope I haven’t interrupted you. If you don’t mind me asking, who were these people”?

“Just some old school mates” she said with a shrug. “Now come this way, I always like doing interviews when I’m comfy in my room”.

*  *  *

The corridors of the hotel were empty and no noise came from the rooms. We walked into the hotel for so long I wondered if where we were wasn’t technically a physical anomaly due to the outside size of the building.

We reached the room eventually – inside was a luxurious suite, large and centred on a Queen-size bed, with a twisting patterned carpet and large portraits along the walls. One was a large topless picture of David Cameron at some sort of festival. There was also crab-memorabilia dotted around the room.

“Is this all your stuff” I asked.

“Uhmmm” she looked perplexed. “No. It came with the room”.

Rihanna settled into bed, tying the golden sheets around her waist as she sank into the mattress, while I set up my recording system. The agent, still nameless to me, walked into the bathroom at this point and never returned.

“Would you like anything before we begin?” Rihanna asked. “I’m gonna get myself a coffee”.

“Yeah I’ll have one too” I said.

She reached to the drawers by the bed where what I thought was an antique gong stood and banged her hand against it. Sound flooded the room. Immediately, so quick I jumped up, a strange creature ran in from the other room and kneeled in front of the bed. I inspected the creature and realised it was a human. A human with hair growing from all areas where there was skin. The hair being long sweaty and tangled. I never managed to work out its gender.

“Two coffees” Rihanna yelled, like a King laying out commandments to a servant.

It made a gibbering noise, nothing resembling language, and ran lankily back into the other room. I took a moment to collect myself. I began to ask Rihanna a question but only a few words in and the hair-monster ran out and handed us our steaming coffees then ran away again.

We made small talk then I motioned I was about to hit “RECORD” and the interview began.

INTERVIEWER: So how’ve you been finding the tour?

RIHANNA: Great so far. We’ve been doing a few shows a week. The crowds here in London are always fantastic, they really get into it.

IN: That’s great. Have you got long left on the tour?

RI: A few weeks left in England and then onto the American leg. It’s non-stop.

IN: There’s been a bit of trouble here I heard. A lot of fans have been waving burning effigies around at your concerts. A saw a Youtube clip of a burning Christ on a cross at one show. What are your thoughts on mad behaviour like that?

RI: I’m gonna have to stop you there. I wouldn’t say it’s mad behaviour at all. I mean people turn up to the concerts with water pistols, I’ve had a kid turn up with a remote control truck and try and ride it on stage, people just like to bring accessories and memorabilia with them, I’m in support of that.

IN: Memorabilia? I heard at one concert a burning pig on a pike was wielded by some fans.

RI: See, stuff like that, I’m really in support of pro-active fans bringing stuff they think will be fun to a concert.

IN: I see. Well what’s your favourite thing someone has brought to a show?

RI: I’ll have to think. A group of fans once came dressed as the Ninja Turtles, with props and all. I adored it. But I think my all-time favourite was when one of my boys brought a floating statue of The Great Crab Overlord Hontegur Alissif-----

The doorbell rang, the phone began to ring, a clunky battering sound rumbled from the cupboard and the light flashed. This lasted a few seconds then stopped.

RI: As I was saying, the Ninja Turtles.

IN: Okay. On the topic of fans, do you speak to a lot of fans or does your work require you to stay separate from them?

RI: Oh Jesus, not again. I don’t want to go into these rumours about fans disappearing at my shows again?

IN: What rumours? I didn’t know there was any.

RI: Oh, no there wasn’t really rumours, it’s just something my brother’s cousin’s best friend’s Golden Retriever’s original owner mentioned once. Nothing of any importance.

IN: Out of interest, what was it that he mentioned?

RI: I can’t remember now. Something about my fans. About their juicy, voluptuous life-filled bodies being squeezed from their mortal coil by the hands of a being far superior to anything they could ever dream of.

Rihanna started to dribble and went into a daze-like state for about a minute.

IN: Are you okay?

RI: Yes, yes, I’m great. Like I say, nobody knows what he was on about. What was the next question?

IN: What about a new album. Are you working on anything at the moment?

RI: Not yet but I can’t wait to get back to the studio soon.

A bell rang on my device signalling I had limited time left for the interview. I decided I wanted to end on something juicy.

IN: You don’t have to answer anything, but… how are you and Drake these days?

A screaming noise protruded from the walls and filled my ears. I flopped to the floor like a fish on land, my hands against my ears not suppressing the sound at all. I feared I’d go deaf. Red light filled the room. Rihanna wasn’t affected by the sound. She slowly walked over to me. The hairy creature lurched in from the other room and began to do a sort of tribal-dance in front of me. Rihanna joined in. The patterns of the carpet seemed to spring to life around me. I heard a tribal chant, heard as if it was shouted from inside my own head, yelled out in an ancient dialect. I lay trembling and nauseated, then fainted.

*  *  *

I awoke on a beach in Scotland a few days later, the morning light seeping in from the sky. I was fully naked. My mouth was clenched around a letter. I opened it to find it was written in the same clipped-out lettering as the other letters. It said:

We are sorry the interview went badly. Rihanna was simply not comfortable with the line of questioning you gave her. On your person you will find an interview we have written, more to her tastes, to hand in to Rolling Stone. Along with some cash for your troubles. Thank you. Also, your life will now be monitored forever.

20 minutes later I found their typed-out interview along with a handful of blood-stained 50 pound notes clenched between my arse cheeks.