by Franz Neumann
My parents naming me Royalty wasn’t enough. My praised voice and songwriting, and all the gigs—not enough. I needed to gild myself with an origin story to break through. I needed Touch Ferguson, music executive, to discover me.
I did my homework and had myself hired by Like Heaven, the service that cleaned Touch Ferguson’s house on the beach. I always brought my A game: hair, make-up, and as much allure as my Marian-blue maid outfit would allow.
“You got a date with a mop, Your Majesty? You trying to impress the bathroom mirrors, Princess?”
To clear the audition stage, I told my teasing co-workers that I’d clean the house solo. They didn’t need convincing to nap in the Like Heaven van. I sang as I cleaned, making certain to come off as genuine and not thirsty as I lingered near the security cameras. Touch who?
Hawaii Pacific Review 