Dear Chris,
I really did not want to write this open letter, and would have preferred to speak to you in person, in private. Indeed, ever since the domestic violence incident with Rihanna two years ago, there have been attempts, by some of the women currently or formerly in your circle -- women who love and care deeply about you -- to bring you and I together, as they felt my own life story, my own life experiences, might be of some help in your journey. For whatever reason, that never happened. By pure coincidence, I wound up in a Harlem recording studio with you about three months ago, as I was meeting up with R&B singer Olivia and her manager. You were hosting a listening session for your album in progress, and the room was filled with gushing supporters, with a very large security guard outside the studio door. I was allowed in, as I assume you knew my name and my long relationship to the music industry. I greeted you and said I would love to have a talk with you, but I am not even sure you heard a single word I said above the loud music. I gave your security person my card when I left and asked him to ask you to phone me, but you never did, for whatever reason. And that is fine.
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