It was as if suddenly I could see him. Derek was definitely no longer pedestrian; he was closer to a Prince Charming. This first moment of connection was so profound. I had created an endless number of romantic moments in my songs, and I had been incredibly sad for so long. Finally, it was if I was actually living a dream. I saw his eyes—enormous twinkling jade pearls floating in a golden-brown pool. It was as if there was no one else in the restaurant or the universe. We began talking across the table; the banter was lightweight, sparkly, and deeply flirtatious. I couldn’t recall the last time, if there had ever been one, that I’d felt butterflies talking to a man.
The rest of the evening we talked, soft and easy. Eventually I realized how aware everyone was of our attraction, but I didn’t care. This was my night out, and I was feeling the sweetness of freedom, the rush and allure of it all. I knew I was being watched, but to hell with that. Derek was young, mixed, ambitious, and doing his dream job, just like me! In the midst of all the people, lights, and music, it felt like we were the only ones in the world. Even though it was just a flicker, it was still fire.
Brazen as it was, I allowed Derek to walk me to the car, where a driver—aka Tommy’s agent, of course—was waiting. Being with him in that moment felt like living. I’ll never forget walking next to him that night, looking up at him, with his height and the way his athletic body moved. I felt diminutive next to him. It was such a different experience. This two-minute stroll on the pavement was more exhilarating to me than walking a thousand staged red carpets. It was a real moment. I was loose on the streets of New York, the sultry late-night breeze blowing my hair and pressing the delicate jersey of my dress against my body. I actually felt good. Unencumbered.
SHOOK ONES
Standing alone
Eager to just
Believe it’s good enough to be what
You really are
But in your heart
Uncertainty forever lies
And you’ll always be
Somewhere on the
Outside
—“Outside”
Knowing there were eyes on us, my assistant discreetly exchanged information with Derek’s friend. I’d been in such a dark and lonely place for so long in my relationship. I finally had some hope, because I had found someone like me who existed in this world. As a child I used to pray I would meet someone who would understand me for what I was and not feel superior to me.
Our encounter also had a genuine air of innocence. It reinforced the many pure ways I wrote about romance in my songs. It was like the movies I idolized. But though it felt that way to me, it turns out Derek hadn’t just walked into a room and into my life. My manager knew Derek really wanted to meet me; he had begged me once to sign a photo for “this kid who’s crazy about you” so he could get World Series tickets—an incident I totally forgot about. That night he and I met, he told me “Anytime You Need a Friend” was his favorite song and that he listened to it before every game.
Anytime you need a friend
I will be here
You’ll never be alone again
So don’t you fear
Even if you’re miles away
I’m by your side
So don’t you ever be lonely
Love will make it alright
If you just believe in me
I will love you endlessly
Take my hand
Take me into your heart
I’ll be there forever baby
I won’t let go
I’ll never let go
Among all of my songs that one was especially significant, because I was desperately alone, removed from friends and full of fear. My belief in God kept me alive—I wrote that song thinking about what I thought God would say to us in times of fear.
When the shadows are closing in
And your spirit diminishing
Just remember
You’re not alone
And love will be there
To guide you home
—“Anytime You Need a Friend”
It was uplifting, rooted in spirituality and a message of faith, and that, too, made me feel safer and connected to Derek. It also let me know he was actually a fan—and the fans were the only people I really trusted.
We started a clandestine communication, texting each other cute, short messages whenever we could and planning times to talk. Needless to say, I was terrified to talk to him if Tommy was anywhere near. But I would steal moments. If we were at the studio or at dinner, I would pretend to need to use the bathroom. I enrolled my assistant. We’d stage an errand and leave in her car, and I would talk to him. Sometimes we would go to her house, and I’d sit in her modest little living room and talk to him in a whisper—I was that afraid of Tommy. Every call was brief. I was riddled with fear, but it was thrilling. While the energy was definitely exciting and romantic, our actual conversations were on the light and banal side. I didn’t care; it was something. Planning and communicating with Derek felt like someone had smuggled a file into my jail cell. Each time we connected, it was as if I had worn down a bit more of the bars that held me captive.
Every little move we made built toward a bigger idea: freedom. I had become completely accustomed to nonstop work, looking over my shoulder, and warding off despair; it was life affirming, as a young woman, to feel giddy and girlie. Through all the darkness, I discovered I still had some whimsy reserved for me and my own heart.
