Shakespear's Sister - Hormonally Yours

Shakespear’s Sister – Hormonally Yours

Last night I came across a picture of her, so I called her. The phone rang four times before I realized how late it was. It was almost 2:35 am. I should have hung up, and I was about to when a groggy voice answered from the other side: “Hello?”

“Uh…Hello,” I said. It was a man’s voice. Was she married or something? I hoped not. I didn’t want to get her in trouble or something so I was very careful. “Sorry to be calling this late, sir. My name is Anthony Ferriola and I am the vicar of St. Andrew’s Church in Vancouver. Does someone by the name of Siobhan Fahey still live there?” Perhaps a bit too careful now that I think about it.

“Siobhan? Yeah. She’s sleeping though. What would you want with her at 2:30 am, father?” He chuckled and added: “Is her soul in danger?”

“Actually, son, it just might be. About four years ago she made a promise to our church that in four years from then she would return and do a week of missionary work. She was supposed to be here tonight and she never showed. Now, son, do you know how serious it is to break a promise to God?”

“I, uh… I guess I better wake her then. Hold on.”

“Bless you, son.” I had to struggle hard not to giggle.

After an undecipherable whispered conversation on the end, she finally came to the phone.
“Who is this?” she asked, obviously annoyed.

“Hi! It’s me. Play along, please.”

“Oh, that Father Anthony! How have you been? I’m very sorry. You see, I’m married now and I had forgotten about my ‘missionary’ work.”

“Funny. Listen I need to see you. We gotta talk.”

There was a momentary silence on the line and then she said: “Well, Father, Vancouver is very far away. I’m sure God will forgive me for not going if you pray for me, right?”

“I really need to see you. There are a couple of things I forgot to tell you before we broke up. I could meet you in Jersey somewhere?”

“Oh, you have a branch of your church in Jersey! Where? Hoboken! That’s great. What do you say I stop by tomorrow at about 1:00 pm?”

I sighed. I haven’t been to Hoboken in years. “Good. I’ll be at Pier Platters. Where we first met.”

“Oh, father. The past is the past. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I hung up the phone and smiled to myself. I pressed play on my tape player and listened to her band’s current hit “Stay.”

Wow! I couldn’t believe that her little side project actually took off. When I first met her, she was fresh out of Bananarama and she and her friend Marcella had been struggling to get some success with their new group. Their first CD tanked. But they kept it up and now they had a Top 40 hit and their photograph in Rolling Stone. Amazing!

I lay in bed all night listening to their new album Hormonally Yours, and though: My ex-girlfriend is in Shakespear’s Sister. Cool!

So, here I am now at Pier Platters waiting for her to show up. I casually look around the store and see her new album. I pick it up and see once more that she is wearing the “SEX” sweater that I gave her years ago. That’s one of the reasons I had for calling her. It made me nostalgic to see it again. That, combined with the lyrics to “Stay,” drove me to call her. I had to know once and for all if…

“A new fan?” a voice behind me asks.

I turn around and there she is, She is stunningly beautiful in her own funny way. My stomach does a flip as I look into her cool eyes. I am instantly reminded of how she looked in the video for “Stay” as the evil entity that comes to claim the dying man.

I muster a nervous “Hi” and quickly follow it with a “You look really good. How have you been?”

“Pretty good,” she smiles. “So, you going to buy that on record or CD?”

“I… I already have it. On tape.” I put the album back in its place. “Sorry about calling you so late last night.”

“It’s okay, ‘Father Ferriola.’ Anything for the clergy,” she laughs. “So, what’s up, you nut? Why did you want to see me so bad for?”

I love her British accent. Even the way she pronounced ‘nut’ was delicious. “I’ll tell you in a bit. Let’s get some coffee.”

We walk down the street, headed to the coffee shop. On the way, we exchange pleasantries and eventually she asks me what I think of her album Hormonally Yours.

“I really like it. The sound that you have developed in this tape is a blessed marriage between ‘alternative’ rock and dance music. It has many catchy hooks and beats that I predict will make it to most progressive dance clubs.”

“What do you think are the strongest tracks,” she asks.

“I really love ‘I Don’t Care,’ ‘My 16^th Apology,’ ‘Black Sky,’ and ‘The Trouble with Andre.’ But of course, my favorite track is…”

“I bet it’s ‘Stay’ isn’t it?”

“You got it. It’s fantastic! Marcella sounds just like Kate Bush. From hearing the single, one would assume that she is the lead singer. But you actually do most of the singing on the record and she just backs you up and plays guitar. As a single, ‘Stay’ was a wise choice for commercial success. But as representation of the album, it is quite misleading. The album itself, however, has a lot of potential. It wouldn’t surprise me if it topped some charts.”

“I’m glad you like it. I’m really pleased with it myself. Like the band name?”

I laugh. “Yeah, Shakespear’s Sister. I always knew you were a Smiths fan, but to name your band after one of their songs? It’s great! Plus, I like the double reference to the person that supposedly wrote all of William Shakespeare’s works: A woman. Clever. Oh, here we are.”

We arrive at the café, and ordered two cappuccinos. We sit by the roadside in silence. Suddenly, she looks at me in her gorgeously weird way. I can feel her stare, but I do not acknowledge it with a stare of my own. Instead, I look at the passing cars. I know that I will not find peace until I ask her my burning question, but I don’t know how to approach the topic.

“So,” she breaks the silence. “Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind, or what?”

“Not much,” I lie. “I just wanted to discuss the album with you. Maybe get an interview for The Independent, or something…”

“You called me at 2:30 am for a fucking interview? I don’t believe this! Here I am, thinking that you have a problem and need a friend to talk to, and all you want is to use me for your damn newspaper! You are an opportunistic bastard. You haven’t changed a bit. I’m leaving!”

She gets up from the chair and my heart sinks. I must stop her. So, I give it a shot.

“Wait! The reason I asked you here is… I really need to know. Is ‘Stay’ about me?”

She freezes in her tracks. She slowly sits back down as a smile spreads across her face. It is a very amused, yet chilling smile. The way that only a woman, in her infinite complexity, can smile.

I smile back at her. “Is it?”

“You are so conceited. What makes you think that I would write a song about you?”

“Because you still love me, perhaps?”

She throws her head back and laughs.

“You pompous ass! That’s very funny, but quite untrue. I don’t love you anymore. It’s been four years since we broke up. I moved on. You really treated me like shit and I fell for it. You never took me, or my band seriously. It was always you first. You newspaper. You. It’s always about you. Why can’t you just drop it? I don’t love you anymore. It’s over. I am my own person now. I depend on no one but my music and myself. Besides, if I remember correctly, it was you who dumped me.”

“An honest mistake, I assure you.” I smile a smug smile and look down at her hands. “Besides, it’s not too late, is it?”

“What do you mean?” She looks nervous. “Of course it’s too late. I’m married.”

“No you’re not! You’re not wearing a wedding ring. Nor and engagement ring. Listen, I don’t care who that guy was that answered the phone last night. I forgive you. I know you still love me, so what do you say? Let’s give it another try.”

“You are fucking crazy! Listen and get it through your thick skull: I DON’T LOVE YOU! I’m married to Dave Stewart from the Eurythmics. You remember: Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This? That’s my husband; you prick! I’m out of here!” She gets up and starts to walk away.

“What about the interview?” I scream after her.

“Screw your interview!”

This is my last shot. I think fast.

“You better hope and pray/You make it safe back to your own world,” I sing out to her. “Remember? You used to always say that to me before I left your apartment! And now it’s one of your song lyrics! It can’t be a coincidence! ‘Stay’ is about me, isn’t it?”

From halfway down the block she screams: “That was a long time ago! I was young and stupid. You meant something to me. But it’s over! Over! You are nobody to me now. Lose my fucking number!” She turns the corner and disappears.

I knew the song was about me! Ha! She still loves me!

I lean back in my chair and sip my cappuccino, amidst the bewildered looks of the other coffee patrons.

“She’ll be back,” I inform everyone around me.

She’ll be back.