The Voxe: A Girl and Her Music

After shows, I try to meet-greet as many backstage as possible. And continue to be the least bit blown away at just how momentously my music and existence has impacted their lives. Fans of a wide range come up to me, and you can read it in their faces, just how unreal the moment is. They become tongue-tied, often in tears, not knowing what to say. And I give them a warm hug to let them know it's all right. You have to treat your fans like family as a celebrity. You have to understand what an incredible privilege it is for them just to get this close to you, and ask for an autograph or picture. You must realize they've taken you into their hearts and souls, spent time with you in their homes, cars, offices, gyms, fantasized and dreamt so longingly about just being able to talk to you. If only for ten precious seconds. I am not concocting these details of my own mind. I've culled them directly from letters they've written me. It strikes me they feel the way about Velette Voxe that I feel about Jodie Foster. Knowing this makes me wish I could sit down with each and every one individually, and tell them in return just how much they mean to me.

And so meeting fans on tour can be challenging in this one aspect. The most emotionally die-hard of fanatics—or "Voxers," as we call them—will approach, embrace me, and begin sobbing on my shoulder. Confiding just how much she (or he) loves me, and now that they've gotten this chance to meet me, they don't want it to ever end. They don't want to let go. And to tell you the truth...I don't either. I wish I could gather them all together and take them out with me. But I can't just let one person stay in my arms for the duration of the meet-greet. Dozens of others are patiently waiting their turns, and I have to be fair. I have to distribute my time evenly. And then I have to get back on the plane and hit the next city. Sometimes it can be a bit much to bear. Especially the flying. I'm not a huge fan of flying, but those two—or three—hours on stage make it all worth it. It's what it's all about: the fans. They're the whole reason I'm here. They've made me. Seriously, if it weren't for them, I'd be bagging groceries.

Back in '07, the fan mail began to pour in, both snail and digital. I was quite touched and flattered by them and natch, thought it was really cool. But around Christmas of the same year, after my second album was out and number three was almost done, one e-mail found its way to me, that I feel deserves special note. It was written by a young, at the time teenage girl called Patty Dimberg. She's granted consent to reprint it, so here it is.

Dear Miss Velette,

My name's Patty. I'm 15 years old. I didn't think I'd ever write something like this, but after I bought your albums I listened to them until I memorized them. I love them. I love you. I love every song I've heard from you. Please don't stop making your CDs.

I realized once I started listening to you that I'm gay. At least I'm pretty sure I am. And I wasn't happy before, but I'm not happy now either. I thought life was supposed to be simple when you're 15. But mine sucks. I hate school. I don't have any friends. People pick on me and make fun of me. They call me gay, meaning it as a bad thing. And I AM gay. My parents are divorced. I told my mom I'm a lesbian, and now I don't think she loves me anymore. She looks at me all different now and I think she feels like she did something wrong. It hurts so much. I'm crying as I'm writing this. I feel like I've made my mom hate me, and now I hate me too. I'm too scared to tell my dad. I don't want him to hate me too. I don't think I can tell anyone else, except maybe you.

The other day I was home alone, and I was so upset about everything I tried to kill myself. I swallowed a bunch of pills, but it didn't work. I threw up. But then I thought of one of your songs. It was "Stone Cold." I felt like the girl in it, who loses everything but just can't give up. I wanna give up so much, but now I feel like you'd be disappointed in me if I did.

I just put your first album on. Listening to them really makes me feel better. I don't know why. Life still sucks. I just want it all to go away, but now I feel like if I killed myself I'd let you down in some weird way. I know this may not mean anything to you. You don't know me, and I probably just seem like some crazy stupid girl with a lot of problems. I just want you to know I love you. You saved my life. I feel like you're the only one I can talk to.

Why does everything have to hurt so bad? Why can't my mom love me? I hate myself so much. I wish you or someone would come take me somewhere else where I can be me and people will like me and everything will be okay. I wish you were my mom instead. I wish she was cool like you. I hope you don't hate me too. I love you. ~Patty Dimberg

When I finished reading, I realized my face too was awash in tears, and my heart cracked open, bleeding inside me. I felt so awful for this poor, sad, troubled young lady. What was more, I wanted to make it better. I wanted, like she said, to sweep her into my arms and take her pain away. Part of me also wished I could be her...big sister. Still, a person would have to be made of stone not to feel the heartfelt emotion into which she'd poured each word. I cannot begin to express how much it means that listening to my songs makes her feel better, especially that I saved her life. In all the time leading up to this particular day, I'd never dreamt my work held the power to do such magnificent things.

But that's the majesty of music, my friends. And that's why as long as there are fans, it can never go away. This e-mail also served as a wake-up call of sorts for me, in that as much as I hated to stop, eventually I couldn't answer all my fan mail anymore—except in brief snippets. I simply could not keep up; it poured in in such gigantic droves. But I'd also never received any correspondence which tugged at my heartstrings so desperately, so longingly, so deeply in need of friendship and compassion. I felt such an empathetic bond to this sweet, less than fortunate little girl. I had to write back. I had to let her know that she was not all alone, and that others as well as myself would always be there for her.

My dear Patty,

Thank you so very much for reaching out to me with your touching words and story. My own words cannot reflect my relief to read that you've survived and taken the courage to confide in me. I beckon you to conviction that taking our own lives is never the answer. Please, I beg you not to take yourself away from me and others to whom I know you mean so much. I hope you will find the strength and love you need, crave and deserve.

As to your misfortunes and disappointments upon coming out, Patty, I am terribly sorry. I would shed my own tears and blood to keep you from suffering this pain. But I want you to know, if there is one thing you are not, it's alone. Take it from me, to varying degrees, we have all been through it. It takes no less courage to come out, even to loved ones.

I don't know your mother so I can't say very much, but I wonder if she honestly believes she did something "wrong" per se, or if it's what she thinks she's supposed to believe. I'm sure this is relatively new, unfamiliar territory for her. I'm not trying to defend or take sides, Patty, but not a great deal of parents anticipate this type of news. It's no one's fault. If she truly loves you, and I'm positive she does, she'll come around in time. As for your father, I'll say this much. If he's anything like mine, he'll realize that no matter what, you're his daughter, and he's proud of you. As is and will be your mom. I'm sure of it.

I know the fact that they're divorced doesn't help. But take heart, Patty. Be easy on yourself. Don't assume blame for things you have no control over. I'm sorry you're having a rough time in school, but you're not alone there either. If anything, be happy you've found out who you are at such a young age. Between you and me, I wasn't sure I was 100% gay until just a few years ago. Had I known the truth at your age, I could've saved myself a lot of grief. Try your hardest, study, and soldier on. You'll get through it. I know reading this doesn't help much right now, and I know it's easy for me to say. But I promise you, it's true. You will get through it. You'll get through everything. I sensed your strength in your words. You're more resilient than you think.

Finally, reassurance. You say you hope I don't hate you, as you think others do. Patty Dimberg, read me very carefully. Not only do I not hate you, nor any of my fans, I deeply care about you. When my fans tell me they're suffering, I suffer with them. Let me share your hurt and lessen it on you. I couldn't hate such a lovely young person as yourself if I tried. Furthermore, I'm certain your mom doesn't. You're her little girl. I believe you mean the world to her. And you don't have to listen to your classmates in school. They're only lashing out at you to compensate for their own inadequacies. Deep down, they feel just as insecure as you do, if not more. They just haven't matured enough to relate to you on a more human level. If someone has only hostility for you, they're not worth it.

For now, Patty, just take life one moment at a time. And stop to take comfort in the little things. The beautiful things nature's given us. Flowers. Birds chirping. Trees swaying in the breeze. And do be yourself. Yes, I know life's an unfair mistress, but I refuse to believe she's just a bitch, and then we die. Don't give up, Patty. Happiness is out there. Things will start looking up. You'll see. And I'll give you something to look forward to. If you like my albums, you'll be pleased to know the third one comes out in February. And when it's time for the fourth one, you might just find a little song on there written with you in mind. But if you take your own life, you won't get to hear it.

All this being said, Patty, God bless you. Hang in there. I'm here if you need someone. One day in your future, when you least expect it...you'll hear someone laugh, and you'll see them smile. And you'll turn around...

...And it'll be you. I love you too, sweetie.

—V

I didn't want to stop writing, but if I never stopped, she'd never get to read it. I sent it, and a few days later, she wrote back. She was still crying, but now, she told me, her tears felt a little happier. Patty's kept in semi-constant touch the seven years since, and I'm thrilled to report that her 20s are treating her gentler and nicer than her teens. I may or may not have had something to do with it, but I maintain she made her own better version of life what it is. I'm so happy for her. In the time since then, I've received many other such Ve-letters, and tendered loving replies of encouragement and hope to these just as with Patty.

In the meantime, the career must go on. Album three, Breathless Kisses, indeed crashed to Earth in February of '08, and with it, my biggest world tour yet. But just as the tour was getting underway...something magical happened.

Breathless Kisses...hit #1.

And...resulted in a Grammy, for Best Pop Vocal Album, just barely beating out my pal Amy Winehouse, rest her soul.

What we got near on album two, we absolutely perfected on album three. Everything fell into place. It was brilliant. An exhausting record to make, with thirteen tracks altogether, but when we were done...wow. We knew we had something big on our hands. The first two albums, Velette and Voxe Around The Clock, made us proud, but...I dunno, I guess I felt something was lacking just a little bit. Once at work on Kisses, we took onboard an outside rock guitarist, who we all felt was the direct descendant of Tommy Shaw. He gave us a swift kick in the ass and ratcheted everything up a few notches. Our pop transformed into powerpop. Our ballads metamorphosed into power ballads. You get the idea. We knew we'd achieved something a level above our previous efforts. And sure enough...

Boom: top of the charts.

Hell, this time we were the lucky ones, that he agreed to go on tour with us.

Lisa-Anne had been right multiple times. First, I did find it hard to believe she was going to make me as acclaimed and renowned as she said. But second, she did. A few weeks into the Breathless Tour, I started to realize the enormity. I had to be escorted around by a bodyguard. Is that really necessary? I thought.

Yes, he was. I was not prepared for the screaming.

Suddenly, everywhere I went, I was literally mobbed. Hounded after for autographs and pictures. Headlines, magazine covers, top entertainment news stories. Voxe Fever had gripped the planet. Television invites flooded our mailbox. I was summoned to an Angels game to sing the anthem. I should have known what was going on by the shows home in the States. I arrived at the Beacon in New York, and pranced on stage to a sold-out, standing-room-only Voxe-a-thon. I'd have sworn fucking Elvis came on with me.

It, was, DEAFENING. Even with earpieces in, we could barely hear ourselves. Almost three thousand seats, and I'm willing to bet not one person was actually sitting. Ticket demand was so extreme we had to add another entirely sold-out show. Fans camped out in front of the box office. Die-hards drove day and night on three-day road trips just to see me sing. They knew every lyric by heart. They knew the original recordings even better than we did. We'd begin playing the songs just to let the audience take over. They didn't even need me. At one point I actually forgot a line, and no one noticed.

Holy hell, I thought to myself. Bet my friend Patty Dimberg's proud of me right about now. I hoped Patty got to see me when I dropped by her city. I told her I'd set aside tickets for her and a couple friends, just as with my personal friends and family at the Ohio shows.

But if I'd thought for a moment before this there was still a chance of going back home, as it were, there sure as hell wasn't now.

*****

As electrified as I was by the explosive back-to-back Beacon shows, that second night...

...My "Forbidden" dream came true.

We threw back champers like it was New Year's. After my I-couldn't-even-tell-you-how-many-eth glass, I ended up somewhere I didn't recognize.

"Wh—...where am I," I think I slurred.

"Don't worry about a thing," purred a voice.

I turned around and blinked a face into focus.

The irresistible face of a green-eyed Jodie Foster.

"We're gonna have some fun tonight, babe."

I couldn't believe it. It was about to happen. She'd taken me to her hotel room. On the way through the lobby and up the elevator, it was all I could do not to rip our clothes right off. She made me wait, patient, yearning...till we were safely behind her locked door...

...At which point, everything was fair game.

We were splashed, randy, and ever so in the mood. This much I knew. What I didn't know was that she'd been wanting it just as much as I had. She grabbed me aggressively, and pinned me against the nearest wall. I surrendered at her marvelous seduction. Again, her intoxicating perfume assaulted my nostrils as I pushed back. My senses flew into a dizzy frenzy. And then I knew...that nothing would ever be the same again...as our lips met.

The next several moments were loaded with hungry moans through hot lips, fumbling paws, clothes stripped, and unsteady footing in the direction of the bed, bumping furniture along the way. Such encounters with tables and chairs which otherwise would leave us groaning in agony bore no effect. Our groans remained purely lustful.

Narrowly avoiding ruining our outfits by way of tearing them off our bodies, we staggered our silly way to the mattress. My heart rocketed to the undersides of my tits. Lisa-Anne's everpresent cleavage revealed she was at least a 36. My own rockin'—no pun intended—38Ds bounced off her with craving ferocity. I burned with passion as columns of sweat ran my nose and cheeks. We had no lights; I could not discern, even by touch, whether Lisa-Anne was sweating like I was, or as psyched up. But I liked the way this was looking.

I could make out zilch in the darkness and had her goddesslike face memorized anyway. I shut my eyes. She caught me by surprise as she abruptly detached, and got rough. She placed her hands on my shoulders, and shoved me right into the bed on my back.

My breath caught in my throat as I sank in. One moment later, my eyelids brightened. Lisa-Anne had flipped on the lights. I cautiously blinked open my baby blues, and focused my vision to see my manager leering down on me. She spoke, strict and ominous.

"Don't you dare even fucking think about moving from that spot, young lady."

My pussy leaked.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll do exactly as I say, exactly when I say. I remind you your life is in my hands."

A chill ran through me. She was right. What a hell of a way for her to get what she desired. I'd be terrified if I wasn't burning with hot lust to fuck her. I knew she could see the wet spot generating between my thighs. God, why'd she have to be so damn bewitching?

I couldn't fight it. She held all the cards. Tonight, my pussy belonged to her—a declaration whose truth was only figurative until a moment later...when she broke out her cuffs.

My eyes popped open. She smiled, sly and sinister, a pair dangling from her digits.

"Now hold still...

"...Slave."

*****

Fifteen minutes later, Lisa-Anne Lucy Brockton, my sex-oozing manager, had me shackled to her hotel bed, front paw and hind.

I was clothed, but had a feeling I wouldn't be for long. My...gulp...manager was looking like she planned to do things I'd either love, or...uh...let me get back to you on that.

"Right then..." she cooed with a wicked smirk. Now in her conniving hand was a pair of tweezer-like clamps. I wondered, naïve and oblivious, just what these were, to what use they should be put. They didn't look like the sort of instruments one used to pluck away hairs. Her next statement brought out the kinky devil in me, and filled my head with deliciously naughty possibilities.

"...Time for me to earn my ten percent."

She almost made me cum on the spot, without even touching me. I forced myself to hold back, to not spoil the fun. She perched beside my sprawled bod on the bed...took me beneath the neck...gripped me by the hair...forcing a gasp from my lungs...and sizzled my senses, with the wildest kiss ever laid on me. My eyes spun, clockwise and counter.

I did not observe where she placed the clamp-tweezer objects. All I noticed was the smoothing of her palms over my ripe hide. I wore only my undershirt and sky-blue panties, darkened to royal blue by my rapidly dampening pussy. She made me unbearably hot. I couldn't take the inability to touch her with my own predatory paws. But my immobilization also lit a fire under the intensity, bringing it to a level I'd never played before.

I still had my panties on, but my breasts were commando. She slipped her literally titillating hands under my shirt, dancing up my tummy, making me wait infuriatingly long before reaching my hungry waiting boobies. She knew how I needed her to love them. It was impossible for anyone to not notice the two stiff erect nubs protruding under my shirt. She was messing with me: mocking, taunting, tormenting me with her sadistic teasing.