THIS IS AN ADAPTATION OF THE STORY I PERFORMED (VIDEO HERE) LIVE IN DC. YOU CAN READ MORE ABOUT ME AND ARETHA AT SMITHMAG.

“…

Why Doesn’t Aretha Pay Her Bills? That was the headline in the Detroit Free Press one day in 1999. They had done an in-depth investigation into the dozens of small-claims lawsuits against my childhood neighbor.

When I was growing up in the same area Aretha Franklin lived in, my friends’ parents would say they saw her here or there, like at the drugstore buying ice cream and paying for it. So I didn’t believe the story someone told me about her buying a 100-piece set of silverware at Tiffany’s, using it for a dinner party, washing it in the dishwasher and then returning it to the store for a refund.

The Free Press article talked about her allegedly stiffing, among others: her plumber, florist, caterer, dentist, accountant, lawyer, music arranger, moving company, dressmaker, limo drivers, landscapers…

Seemingly everyone in Detroit has an Aretha story!

I was working in a bookstore in Bloomfield Hills, about 20 miles north of Detroit, in 1994. One day I spotted the Queen of Soul standing in the periodicals section, “Googling” herself, 1994 style: Looking in out-of-town newspapers and foreign magazines for mentions of herself.

I told the other booksellers: “Get away from here, this is my customer.”

Like all famous people, Aretha’s a little shorter than I am. She had no makeup on, no wig, just her own short salt-and-pepper hair — she was feeling like a Natural Woman that day. She had on flats, fuchsia stretch pants, and a World Cup t-shirt… with a couple of small food stains on the front.

Hey! The Queen of England sits around in her ratty bathrobe eating out of Tupperware containers in front of the TV every night, according to one Buckingham Palace exposé.

Speaking of World Cups: I can tell you she was what I would call pleasingly plump, but not gigantic the way she looks on TV. I mean, even then her breasts looked like late-summer watermelons when you saw her on TV. In reality: Canteloupes!

She sauntered over to me and said, “I’m looking for that new Alice Walker book about Africa.” I thought: The last book by Walker was called Possessing the Secret of Joy, about ritual female circumcision in Africa. I said, “You mean the one about… female… mutilation?” (I couldn’t say “genital mutilation” to Aretha Franklin).

Impatiently, she said: “NO, the one about AFRICA!”

We looked around the store for a while, and I was in a state, I mean: I’m waiting on Aretha! But even back then it was important to me to play it cool, so I never let on I knew who she was. I never said, “This way, Miss Franklin,” or anything.

As I searched on the computer for the “right” Africa book, she asked: “Did you know that my son applied for a job here?”

I said no.

“His name is Kecalf.”

I shook my head.

“How much do you-all make, anyway?”

I said I wasn’t allowed to tell, but she gave me one of those come-on hand gestures.

“It’s not much!” I warned, because I was embarrassed.

“Just tell me,” she said. I said “We make $5.25 an hour.” She said, “That’s good enough for him!”

Her son and I had something in common: We were both adults living at home with our parents.

So I began the lengthy process of ringing her up. A coworker had told me how one time Aretha was trying to pay for her stack of newspapers and cookbooks, but she didn’t have enough cash on her. So she asked her assistant to put all of her money on the counter. That still wasn’t enough, so she sent the assistant out to the car to make the driver bring in all of his money, too.

With me, she paid in traveler’s checks, a huge amount of them. I said, “Since you’re signing things, would you please sign this for me?” She smiled a little half-smile because by asking for an autograph I finally was admitting I knew who I was waiting on.

We had a moment.

But her smile disappeared when she looked down at the card I had slid in front of her.

“Where did you get this?”

“We sell them.” I said. It was a photo postcard of Aretha, by the late Herb Ritts.

“I didn’t give them permission to sell this…”

I thought: Well, I think Herb Ritts, or his estate, actually owns the rights…

“I’m gonna talk to my lawyer about this.”

In the years since, I’ve heard lots of similar complaints from her, that people are cheating HER. Ironic, eh?

But she signed the card. That autograph (pictured above) is still one of my most treasured possessions.

So, bottom line, I had a hard time believing Aretha doesn’t pay for things, because she paid for all the stuff I helped her pick out! You can’t argue with traveler’s checks.

Some months later our general manager, who knew I loved Aretha, came up to me, gloating. “Hey, isn’t this your favorite person?” she said and showed me a letter. It was from the bank. It was a list of people who had bounced checks in the store.

I stared hard at that famous name, “Franklin, Aretha,” among all these check-bouncing nobodies.

So, why didn’t, or doesn’t, Aretha pay her bills? Well, first of all she’s a queen. I really think at heart she feels like these people who sued her should have been delighted to give her things, in exchange for all the musical pleasure she’s given all of us.

We do owe her! If you have to eat the cost of a dress you hand-beaded with pearls for her, hey: You’re still getting the good end of the bargain.

But there’s another explanation for her fiduciary foibles. She only trusts blood relatives with her money. So for years her brother handled all her finances. But then he died in 1989, and she’s been handling her own money ever since.

And that’s not her forte. Singing is. Possessing that voice is truly possessing the secret of joy.

But I do hope in the 10 years since that article came out that she’s hired an accountant. Come on, Aretha: You have to have a little faith in people.

SM Shrake tells true story on SpeakeasyDC stage from SpeakeasyDC on Vimeo.

____

Addenda:

The Smoking Gun has a collection of showbiz riders, and Aretha’s states that when she shows up for a gig she is to be presented personally with $25,000 cash right away. The balance can follow in the usual check form.

Here is the front page of the shocking investigative feature I reference in my talk. Here is a summary of the article, which appeared at the time.

Here is a response to the article “Why Doesn’t Aretha Pay Her Bills?”. The author, Aretha’s sister Erma, wrote the song “Piece of My Heart,” made popular by Janis Joplin.

Aretha responds: