Deborah has quite a number of juicy stories from her illustrious past that she keeps tucked away in her back pocket. Only when the planets are perfectly aligned does she take them out and share them with me. If I get greedy and ask for too many details, or ask her to repeat a particularly interesting part of the story, she clams up. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she says.
And it’s not just the scandalous stories she likes to keep hidden. For instance, we’d been living together for three years or more before I found out about a three song demo that she recorded while living in Los Angeles in the mid-nineties.
“Do you have a copy of it somewhere?”
Deborah moved around a lot in her youth, often under less than ideal circumstances, and she hasn’t always been able to hang onto things.
“Somewhere,” she said.
“Let’s find it, I want to hear it.”
“No.”
“Aw, c’mon.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
When I finally convinced her to let me hear it, I immediately asked if I could post a song or two.
“I knew you were going to ask me that,” she said.
A year or two later, and here we are:
