Black Velvet
Down through the years, there have been only a handful of managers in the entertainment industry whose names became nearly as well known as those of the performers they represented. One was Andreas Cornelis van Kuijk, better known as Colonel Tom Parker, the man who helped crown Elvis Presley the King of Rock 'n' Roll. Another was Brian Epstein, the genius who discovered four long-haired lads from Liverpool playing in the Cavern Club and turned them into the Beatles, the most famous group in music history.
Charles "Chip" Beckwith, who hailed from Cambridge, Massachusetts, was a member of this small and elite group of impresarios. Beckwith's claim to fame was that he discovered, promoted and managed Black Velvet, the most commercially successful female recording artist of her day. At a time when rock 'n' roll was dominated by male performers, Black Velvet, who was often described by music critics as part Janis Joplin and part Billie Holliday, became a superstar by singing what she laughingly referred to as "rock 'n' roll with a rhythm and blues accent."
The multi-Grammy Award-winning vocalist known to the music industry only as Black Velvet was born Nancy Marie Thomas in the quaint seaside village of Rockport, Massachusetts. An exceptional young woman, gifted with talent, beauty and above-average intelligence, it's safe to assume that Nancy would have been a success in any profession she chose. Yet despite having a genius IQA and considerable scholastic achievements (she graduated from MIT with high honors), she turned down lucrative offers from several major hi-tech corporations, including both Microsoft and Apple, to pursue a singing career.
Nancy's natural talent notwithstanding, it's doubtful she would have achieved superstardom without the assistance of Chip Beckwith. After all, he was the one who had created the Black Velvet persona, which was a key element to Nancy's success. It had been Chip's suggestion that Nancy adopt Black Velvet as her stage name. It had also been his advice that she always wear black clothing—although not necessarily made of velvet. The black hair, however, was not Beckwith's idea; Nancy had been born with it. However, the unique, trend-setting short hairstyle, like her makeup and monochrome wardrobe, was Chip's doing.
Nancy had to admit that her manager's taste was impeccable. Everything connected with Black Velvet's image suggested style and sophistication. Even the singer's car—a black Lamborghini Diablo, which had been carefully chosen by Chip—fit her rock diva image.
Chip Beckwith had proved helpful to Nancy's career in several other ways, as well. For instance, it was his idea that Black Velvet start every concert performance with her own rock-and-blues rendition of the Rolling Stones' 1966 classic "Paint It Black" and end every performance with—quite naturally—Alannah Miles' 1988 hit, "Black Velvet." Eventually, to the younger generations, the two songs came to be associated exclusively with Nancy Thomas.
Yes, Chip had been indispensable during those early years of her career, when Nancy was just starting out and forced to play small clubs and shabby bars along the eastern seaboard. A keen businessman, he was able to successfully negotiate top-dollar engagements with the chauvinistic owners and booking agents who considered women second-class performers in rock 'n' roll, not worth the higher salaries paid to men.
Nancy had also depended upon Chip in ways not necessarily of a business nature. Like a father or a protective older brother, he could always be relied upon to rescue her from the unwanted attention of the occasional drunks and amorous Romeos who tried to make passes at her.
Even at the pinnacle of her success, Nancy found that she needed Chip as much as ever. Furthermore, since Black Velvet was his only client, the hardworking, devoted manager gave one hundred percent of his time and energy to safeguarding her interests. He handled all her business matters as well as her personal finances.
Thus, Nancy Thomas came to the conclusion that she would most likely always need Chip Beckwith in her life.
* * *
Then one night, while she was appearing as a presenter at the annual American Music Awards, Nancy Thomas met Tim Reilly, a public relations executive for Gold Medallion Records. An easy-going, charismatic young man with intelligence, old-fashioned values and a great sense of humor, Tim was a drastic departure from the addicts, neurotics, narcissists, drunks, psychos and downright criminals Nancy often met in her profession.
In a surprisingly short amount of time, the superstar fell head over heels in love with the handsome PR man. She adored everything about the charming Irishman, especially the fact that he loved her—Nancy Thomas—not the fabricated image known as Black Velvet.
There was only one impediment that prevented Nancy from being deliriously happy with her new-found romance: Tim and Chip had taken an instant dislike to each other, an aversion that seemed to intensify with time.
Tim, on his part, felt that Chip was too possessive of Nancy. He believed that the manager often overstepped his bounds and tried to run her life, both professional and personal.
"Look, Nancy, honey," Tim explained, "I know that Beckwith has done a lot for your career, and I understand the gratitude you must feel toward him, but the manager-star relationship is a lot like that of a parent and child. Sooner or later, you have to cut the apron strings or at least loosen them a little. Chip has done his job. You're a big success. Now he's got to back off."
Chip, in turn, saw Tim as an opportunist who would take advantage of his client if she let her guard down.
"You're an intelligent woman, Nancy. Don't get taken in by his good looks and Irish charm," Chip warned. "You're wealthy, beautiful and famous. Tim Reilly not only wants to get his hands on your money, but he also wants to bask in the limelight of your success."
Chip went so far as to hire a private detective to try to find some weakness in Tim's character or a skeleton in his closet that would turn Nancy against him and put an end to the budding romance, but the manager's efforts proved fruitless. Tim was just what he appeared to be: a nice guy.
To add fuel to the already stoked fire, as Nancy's personal relationship with Tim blossomed, her business relationship with Chip deteriorated. Before meeting Tim, Nancy had unquestioningly agreed with all of her manager's decisions concerning her career. Once her feelings for Tim became romantic, however, she began to complain about the seemingly never-ending public appearances and concert bookings as well as the tight recording schedules. Chip expected her to work at a feverish pace, and Nancy wanted more time to spend with Tim.
This difference of opinion led to increased tension and frequent arguments between manager and client, which usually resulted in Chip's screaming, "Just remember, Nancy: I was the one who made you! Where would you be today without me?"
Her manager's increasingly frequent emotional outbursts disturbed Nancy.
"I don't get it," she confided to Tim after having a bitter exchange of words with her manager. "Chip has never been one to take credit for my successes in the past. I'm really worried about him. His recent behavior is completely out of character."
Not wanting to upset Nancy any further, Tim deliberately avoided getting involved in the business disputes between her and her manager. She was a grown woman, after all, and he trusted her to deal with the problem on her own. His good intentions came to naught, however, the day Chip made a guest appearance on The Oprah Winfrey Show.
"I discovered Black Velvet in a small bar just outside of Boston, Massachusetts," Beckwith told Oprah and her audience. "I knew the moment I first heard her sing that she had great talent. But let's face facts, Oprah, without the proper representation, Nancy's singing wouldn't have gotten her anywhere. So, I stepped in. I took an unknown college kid, molded her, trained her and turned her into Black Velvet, an international superstar. Now that she's a musical legend, however, she has turned her back on me. Talk about ingratitude! How quickly she forgot that I was the one who made her a success, that she owes everything to me."
Tim was livid with rage.
"Why, that son of a bitch! I think it's about time I had a nice, long talk with your manager," he shouted, his Irish brogue becoming more pronounced as his anger intensified.
"Please don't!" Nancy cried. "This isn't like Chip at all. I'm sure it's not his fault. Something must be wrong with him."
"You can say that again! That little creep has developed some serious delusions of grandeur. Well, it's about time someone brought that self-appointed god back down to earth."
"Let me handle it, Tim. I know Chip Beckwith; I know what makes him tick. Only I can make things right."
Chip had gone too far, however. He had insulted Nancy on national television and made her look like an ungrateful bitch in front of millions of TV viewers. Tim was too much of a gentleman to let his lady's honor go unchallenged.
* * *
When Tim arrived at Chip Beckwith's house the following morning, the disgruntled manager was busy trying to install a new home entertainment system in his living room. Standing amid scattered audio and video components, tools, schematic drawings, hard-to-understand written instructions and a wide variety of screws, nuts and bolts, he was not happy to see the unexpected visitor.
"What do you want?" Chip asked angrily.
"I think it's time you and I had a little talk about Nancy."
"I've got nothing to say to you."
"But I've got a few things to say to you. Nancy and I watched you on Oprah the other day. I think you owe your client an apology after what you said during that interview."
"That's between Nancy and me; it has nothing to do with you."
"Nancy is my wife," Tim countered. "That makes it my business."
"Your wife?" Chip repeated, shocked and horrified at the news.
"That's right. We've been married for three months already. Nancy was waiting for the right time to make the announcement."
"She couldn't have married you. I told her to stay away from you."
"What right have you got to tell her what she can and can't do?"
"I have every right. I was the one who made her the success she is today! Do you hear me? I MADE HER. And I was supposed to protect her from men like you."
Chip, who had worked himself up into a bona fide temper tantrum, began kicking and throwing his stereo and video equipment around the room, eventually sending a bass speaker through his custom-built bay window.
"You're nuts!" Tim declared, heading toward the door. "Do you know that? You need professional help. I'm going to see to it that you stay away from my wife from now on."
Chip reached out, grabbed Tim's arm and spun him around.
"Nancy won't listen to you. She needs me, and she knows it. I made her. She'd be nothing without me—nothing!"
The fight quickly escalated from words to fists. As the punches flew, Chip's T-shirt was torn open in the scuffle.
Tim stepped back and stared at his opponent's chest.
"What the hell?"
Chip picked up a long-handled screwdriver and, with inhuman strength, drove it through Tim's eye and into his brain.
The last thing Tim Reilly ever heard before death took him was Chip's triumphant cry, "I made her; you can't have her."
* * *
Black Velvet finished her recording session on schedule. Chip, who had faithfully attended his client's sessions in the past, had never shown up nor had he called the studio. Nancy felt her nerves tingle with apprehension.
Has something happened to him? she wondered.
She had always felt responsible for Chip, and considering the bizarre behavior he'd recently exhibited, she had good reason to worry.
Nancy tried phoning him several times, but he didn't answer. Where could he be? He had no friends and no interests other than managing Black Velvet's career.
When Nancy left the studio, she got into her Lamborghini Diablo and drove toward Chip's house. As she turned the corner of his street, fear struck her deep in the pit of her stomach. Tim's Porsche was parked in the driveway.
Nancy ran up the steps and through the open door. At first, she didn't even notice Chip; all she could see was Tim.
"Oh no!" she screamed, as she ran to the man she loved and took his lifeless body in her arms, crying uncontrollably.
Nancy was devastated, and compounding her grief was the added pain of guilt. Tim had been her husband. He had loved her and trusted her. Why hadn't she told him the truth about her relationship with Chip? If she had, her husband would probably still be alive.
Chip, who still clutched the bloody screwdriver in his hand, looked pitifully at his client.
"I did it all for you, Nancy," he sobbed like a contrite little boy. "I was supposed to protect you, wasn't I? Isn't that what you wanted?"
Nancy, her heart a leaden slab in her chest, walked slowly toward her manager.
"Everything I ever did was for you."
As Nancy reached out and took the screwdriver away from him, he put up no resistance.
"I was the one who made you," he repeated, "and I never asked for anything in return."
Nancy didn't reply; she simply put the screwdriver into his chest.
Chip cried out, "I was the one who made you, Nancy. Why do you want to destroy me?"
"I'm sorry it has to be this way," she said, putting the screwdriver into his chest a second and then a third time. Now she was crying, too—crying for Tim, for Chip and for herself.
"I was the one who made you," Chip moaned again and again as if chanting a mantra.
Then his eyes fluttered briefly as Nancy deftly worked the screwdriver and removed the fourth and final screw that held the access panel in Chip's chest in place.
"You're wrong," she said sadly, as she reached inside and pulled out the human-like robot's central processing unit. "I was the one who made you."
No, Salem, I didn't know that Black Velvet was the name of a cat food when I wrote this story.
