“During an Eddie Kendricks and David Ruffin performance, almost right smack in the middle, an older woman barged up to me and demanded, “I must speak to Eddie Kendricks at once,” to which I replied, “Miss, can’t you see Eddie is still on stage.” The woman threw back her shoulders haughtily and said, “I must be taken backstage. Immediately.” She was in the company of another female, somewhat quieter but just as old. They were both dolled up with tons of blatantly synthetic hair weaved on in the wrong way, and the uppity one had taken it upon herself not to be just an Eddie Kendricks groupie but Eddie Kendrick’s sister. I stared at her and knew decisively that this crass and vulgar woman was probably no sister to anybody, and especially not to Eddie Kendricks. “I won’t be kept waiting!” she screamed. “You will be sorry. Do you understand who I am?” Smiling, I replied, “I’m trying.” She made an attempt to force her way through security while lunging at me, all the while swearing that she was going to get backstage, no matter what .
“Fine, I told her. But let me tell you something. You’re going to wait here until we say you can go up, if and when.” ”I’ll have your job for this!” she screamed. After many vulgar displays of screaming and pushing, the women finally did get into Eddie and David’s dressing room. How, I never found out. The uppity one approached Eddie and said, “Eddie, I don’t know who this motherfucking boy is you have working for you but you need to fire him because I’m sick of his shit and I want you, Eddie Kendricks, to fire him.” Eddie, very elegantly tall and trim, just turned to her and said, “Who are you talking about?” “The one over there,” she said, pointing at me. I was talking to David at the time. A few hours later, back at the hotel, I had an urgent call from Eddie. “Tony, he whispered, “would you please come up here and throw these women out of my room.”
Excusing myself from the crowd in David’s suite, I immediately changed into my throwing-her-ass out outfit.–a dramatic raw silk suit and high, fringed suede boots–and dashed into Eddie’s suite, where I found both women ensconced. Miss Fake Fur and Hair had taken off her shoes, she had her stockingless feet up on the glass and chrome coffee table, and she was looking over the room service menu, fixing to order for everyone like she was paying the bills. The other woman had already unbuttoned her blouse. They were in there for the kill. I informed Eddie that we were due in a staff meeting in Dennis’ suite in five minutes. The women begged to stay but I politely stated that our meetings could go on for hours on end and I didn’t think they were the type of ladies, as lovely as they may be, to let harsh morning light find you in a gentleman’s suite. I told them to please leave! This time Thundermouth didn’t try me, nor did her partner. They just got up on their too small high heels and left in a hurry.
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