Chicago 1990

On July 25th, at a hotel near Federal Plaza in Manhattan, an fbi officer pushed open the guest room door and signaled inward, "Mrs. Jovovich, miss, please come in."

A stool was placed outside the door, and a police officer in a New York police uniform was sitting there erect.

"You can find the police officer for daily trivial matters. If you think of anything, we will be next door." The fbi officer pointed to the police officer who was sitting. "There is a phone in the room. You can make outside calls after permission, but all calls will be recorded."

"Can't I go out?" Mira looked inside with the probe, and was still satisfied.

"No." The fbi official said stiffly: "You cannot step out of this room until your witness status is valid."

"How long will it take?" Mrs. Jovovich asked.

"It won't be long if it goes well," the fbi official replied.

"Is there no specific time? The agreement we reached in France is not like this." Mrs. Jovovich looked at the lawyer behind her.

"Let's bear it." The lawyer pointed to Mira's agent. "We will stare."

"My dear." Mrs. Jovovich nervously embraced her lover, who was the daughter's agent, "we have nothing again."

"It's already like this, can we still pick and choose? Let's be patient." The agent comforted her.

Mira rolled her eyes, took off her hat and sunglasses, and walked into the neat little suite.

"Persuade her more, those things." The agent said quietly to her back.

"I will." Mrs. Jovovich nodded, holding back tears.

"Then you guys rest first." The agent helped her carry the luggage in.

Settling down for a while, Mrs. Jovovich sent her lover to the door, immediately covered her face, closed the door and started sobbing.

Mila didn't come to comfort her, she opened the trolley case and took the clothes of the two people into the closet of the guest room.

Mrs. Jovovich wiped away her tears and went to help. The mother and daughter arranged their clothes silently, "I'm hungry," Milla said suddenly.

"Uh..." Mrs. Jovovich picked up the only phone in the room and dialed the reception. Unexpectedly, the voice of the fbi official just came from the receiver, "What's the matter?" he asked.

"We want to eat something."

"Remember what I just said? At the door." The fbi officer hung up the phone.

Mrs. Jovovich opened the door and repeated it to the police officer who was guarding outside.

The other party was expressionless and handed three takeaway flyers to her eyes, those in pizzerias, coffee shops and Chinese restaurants.

"Is there only these? I remember there was a hotel restaurant upstairs."

The other party did not respond, with an expression of liking to eat or not.

"Uh, then we want fried noodles and latte, two each." No way, she ordered Chinese food and coffee.

The officer pressed the intercom, "Bring double fried noodles and latte coffee to the two ladies."

"Come on first."

Mrs. Jovovich closed the door, Milla was already lying on the bed in the bedroom, silently looking at the book she brought, "You are stronger than I thought Milla."

Mira didn't speak.

She had to close the bedroom door and turn on the TV. The late night show of David Letterman was playing.

"Aplus, this is the second time you came to my show, remember? In 1991, you were still very young at that time." David Letterman asked Song Ya, who was clinging to Mariah Carey.

"Yes, but we went the wrong way when we came here. I thought you were..." Song Ya smiled and pointed his finger in other directions. The understanding audience immediately laughed.

David Letterman has just moved from nbc to cbs, and the style and popularity of the show have remained basically unchanged.

"I hope they still keep my studio." David Letterman lowered his head and smiled for a while before catching the stalk. "When did you and Kelly become good friends? How old are Kelly than you? ?"

"Uh, we actually debuted in the same year." Song Ya replied.

"Really?" Mariah Carey asked.

"Yes, 90 years." Song Ya looked at her, "Remember? The home court of the Detroit Pistons, when you were responsible for singing ‘Beautiful Amerika’."

"I remember it." As a diva, this kind of show is a small scene, and Mariah Carey's acting skills are not covered.

"Wait, wait." David Letterman counted with his fingers, "Aplus you were only sixteen years old then?"

The audience roared.

"Didn't you know the question just now? We were able to meet at that time." Song Ya said, "I went backstage and looked for her after listening to that song."

"So you take the initiative?"

"No, I was conquered by her singing. You know, pure creators are attracted by the talent of singers."

The three chatted like old friends, without too many spoofs, and the atmosphere was very warm.

"Mariah Carey, were you conquered by him at that time?" David Letterman shifted the subject.

"No, he was very impolite at the time. He smirked at me when he entered the door, like this." Mariah Carey imitated Song Ya's smile exaggeratedly.

The audience was amused by diva's rare ugly face again.

"Then when did you become friends?" David Letterman asked.

Song Ya made a reminiscence expression, "Later I went to Sony Columbia headquarters to record a song. A producer of her album lent me her studio for three days, but I was too involved and fell asleep in her studio. On the fourth day, then, she appeared."

"I was very angry at the time." Mariah Carey answered. "A stinking boy slept on the sofa in my studio and snored."

"Have it?"

"Have."

"I do not remember."

"What you should remember, you can hear it through the door."

The two looked at each other, their gazes gradually turned from questioning to affectionate, and the audience roared again.

"So then you finished empirestateofmind together?" The interview continued, David Letterman skillfully shifted the topic to music, and then began to help promote Mariah Carey's new album.

Mrs. Jovovich was fascinated until the end of the program, at the request of David Letterman, Song Ya picked up Princess Mariah Carey and ended the program with the audience's enthusiastic cheers and applause.

She sighed slightly, turned her head, and saw Mira was leaning against the bedroom door, also looking at the TV.

"You want to call him." She said to her daughter.

"Why!? You made me not embarrassed enough!" Milla screamed, smashing the book in her hand to the ground.

"That's your **** father's fault!"

Mrs. Jovovich also raised her voice, "We have to settle down in New York. The lawyer told me ~www.wuxiaspot.com~ some of your personal belongings can be retrieved, such as the expensive gifts he gave you. Very important."

"I won't fight." Mira slammed the bedroom door.

"Stop being wayward Milla." Mrs. Jovovich hurriedly opened the door to follow up, and persuaded Milla who was lying on the bed and covering her head with a quilt: "It won't cause him any trouble, just use him. Just provide testimony and relevant evidence to prove that those gifts were given to you by him and are your personal property."

"I made so much money, but now I still have to live on the gifts of my ex-boyfriend?" Mila yelled in the quilt, "No, I never, it's shameful."

"What's the shameless question now."

Mrs. Jovovich said: "You don't have to call, then Mark Horton's side..."

"I will not beg that old man."

"He is not yet forty years old. He likes you, I can tell," said Mrs. Jovovich.

"He's a married man!" Milla shouted out of the quilt.

"He is willing to help you complete the remaining album with sbk. We must hand sbk an album before you and the sbk singer contract expires next year! Otherwise we can't pay the penalty!"

"I can take anything to deal with the sbk contract."

"The liquidated damages issue is settled, what about our lives after that?"

Mrs. Jovovich reluctantly said, "You just hang Mark Horton, get his lyrics and music first. His creative ability is not as good as aplus, but after all, he can make records that sell money. He likes you very much. France, didn’t he listen to those songs to us? Didn’t you say that you like them very much? You should have learned women’s exclusive skills long ago. Those men are all..."

"Oh! Goodness!"

Mira put the quilt on again, "What kind of parents do I put on!"