e emailed me saying she wasnt going to talk to me until I “got my act together.”
Little did she know that weeks previous I had signed her up under her fake name, Julie Van Maldegaim, into the BMG Music Club. You know the famous record and cd club where they give you 4 free cds, then you buy one, then they give you 5 more free cds. I chose all my cds to be Carey’s much-mailgned “Glitter”.
When my caller-ID said, “Mariah,” last night, I knew that the package had arrived at her Manhattan apartment.
“You’re so crazy,” she said.
“You’re so rich,” I said. “Nice job getting that free $28 million.”
“It wasn’t free, honey. That’s for sure.”
“Well I’m glad you didnt listen to me when I said for you to sell out for $25 million.” I said. I was cleaning my apartment.
“Don’t worry, I never listen to you,” she teased.
She was making towers with $20 bills in her boudoir. Her assistant was making towers with $20s in the guest room. They were competing. Every once in awhile Mariah would yell at her girl down the hall, “I’M UP TO FORTY-FIVE GRAND!”
“I’m sorry your record only went double platinum, Mariah.” I said.
“Yeah, I suck,” she giggled.
“Your career is over.” I said.
“Uh huh, nobody ever wants to hear me sing again.”
“I bet if you went into a mall no one would even recognize you.” I said.
“And if I announced a concert tour, I bet it only sells out in 4 hours.” she said.
“Real divas sell out in minutes.” I added.
“FORTY-SIX THOUSAND!” Mariah yelled. And then she squealed. “Oh poo, my tower fell over.”
“Ok, baby, ‘Undeclared’ is on,” I said.
“Aw shit, I hope I Tivo’ed it. Bye sweetie.” Mariah said, and had her girl hang up the phone.