elizabethlevett

         I think it’s about time I make up with Madonna. We used to be so close, Mo and me. People couldn’t tell us apart. No kidding. Lots of people thought we were sisters. When that “Desperately Seeking” poster came out, my friends (Katherine and Kathy) both thought it was me. They put the poster up in their kitchen.

         We shared everything. Anything was possible. We broke rules, broke hearts and got away with it. We were ready to take on the world–music, art, fashion, love. That whole wearing underthings on the outside–you know what I mean–that was my idea. Then all the girls started doing it. Probably Exene did it first, but she was in L.A. and we were in New York. (Exene is very special. She gave me my first Hank Williams record. We’re still very close.) 

         Anyway that’s how it all got started. We looked like movie stars. I was kind of a Grace Kelly, or maybe Gene Tierney. Mo was more like Marilyn. Marilyn or Harlow. I remember a billboard shot of Mo when she first broke big. A lady on the street was saying, “Who does she think she is, Marilyn MONroe?” She was working our old schtick – performance art. All our drag queen pals come over, get dolled up and have cocktails with us. Our collection of vintage lingerie was prodigious in those days. You should have seen our record collection! Most were mine, though. I had a lot of imports, obscure, hard to find stuff. You may have read Madonna used to live in a loft. Actually it was we, we lived in a loft. As a matter of fact it was mine. I found it and she moved in with me after awhile.

         In those days all Mo wanted to do was dance. She was so good – so disciplined. For me it was much more conceptual. We were one of those seamless sets of young women who travel in packs and burst through doorways bringing the whole room to life. People couldn’t tell where one of us left off and the other began. We were serious too. As exhilarating as the good times were, that’s how deep went the dark questioning. Maybe it became too serious for her. Maybe that was it. 

         What hurt for so long was that she never mentioned me – us. That’s what I couldn’t believe. But I’m over it now. I’m not bitter. Anyway, if she said anything about me she’d have had to bring me along and that would never have worked. One of us would have to be the sidekick, the plucky comic relief. We all know who that would have been. It would have been her. I’m taller. Plus my looks are more classic, more complex. But the public loved her mercurial approach to persona. They didn’t understand it. But they loved her.

         I still have all those memories and my paintings. We took a film class in college. The professor, with his perpetually buttoned down shirt and messy hair saw himself as a kind of verile Svengali. We were not impressed. We’d stay up late studying Garbo, Dietrich, all of them. Remember that “Like a Virgin” video? That whole look, even down to the little black dress, that was from a painting I’d done. And the little boat going under the little bridges? My idea too. I meant that as a campy metaphor—you know, like the train in the tunnel at the end of “North by Northwest.” I didn’t believe she’d actually do it but she insisted. I used to think she underestimated people’s intelligence. Boy was I wrong. 

After awhile I’d had it. My work was more artistic and yet she was more successful. We drifted apart. I used to get notes and little gifts from her but I was very rude. Immature I guess. She worked hard and she made it. Year after year I heard about her in the news, saw her on the cover of everything, and everybody talked about her. I couldn’t stand it. I’d say, “Come on, that song is soooo trite, so disco!” But it’s been so long. So much water under the little bridges.

         I have to say I have done pretty well for myself, what with my books, the film and of course, the gallery. There’s been plenty of media coverage. But there were big changes in the NEA and man, if you weren’t squeaky clean (I wasn’t) you could forget your grant. I’ve had to eat plenty of rice but the artistic credit is there. That Terry Gross interview didn’t hurt a bit even if NPR has gotten a lot more mainstream over the years.

         My neighbor says Madonna is a nice person. She was floored when I told her we’d been close all those years ago. My neighbor is young, bright, on the go. She models a little, has a Podcast called “What’s New Pussycat?” She even has a band of her own, the “Eric Estrada Experience.” Reminds me of our youth, Mo’s and mine.

We’ve all made choices. And sacrifices. We’re older. We have to work harder to keep our abs in shape. (She does have killer arms, don’t you think?) And then there’s love. Talk about desperately seeking. Jesus. She’s been through a lot and she’s kept her head up. I have to admit I suddenly respect Madonna more than I ever thought I could have.

         I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I’ll probably get sued if I publish this. Or worse, ignored. Maybe Madonna’s boyfriend will beat up my boyfriend. Maybe she’ll squash me like a slug in the press. But actually, you know what, she won’t. She’s not like that, never was. See, it’s true what everybody says. She really is a very nice person. I might send her a note or maybe I’ll just call her up today. I have some material I want show her. I think it’s probably about time we make up, don’t you?

*This is a work of fiction. Please don’t sue me. Please. And I’m not even mad.