XTINA (AGUILERA, CHRISTINA)

Dirrrty Burlesque, Genie Voice Singer

With certain divas, time is also a powerful decongestant.

When I met the enormously talented Christina, who was in her first flush of “Genie in a Bottle” stardom, I was hosting the Billboard Awards at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, and she was, frankly, young and ridiculous. At a primetime awards show like the Billboards back in the day, there were so many stars, backup dancers, and posses that shuttles were needed to ferry everyone between the MGM Grand and their hotels, so no matter how big you were—and I was the damn host—at some point you were probably on that shuttle and sitting next to a Backstreet Boy or a Lisa Loeb. Well, one time, I was on that bus when Christina boarded. She’d just finished her sound check, and I’ll never forget her charging the entire length of that shuttle down the center aisle like it was an effing Naomi Campbell catwalk. Nobody said a word, so I couldn’t resist an opportunity to try to get the people around me to crack up. So I shouted, “It’s a bus, honey!” She just looked at me with a withering sneer that said, “Ugh, is it talking?” She probably had no idea who I was. That’s fine. I thought it was funny.

Over ten years later, we had a similarly funny exchange that indicated how much she’d grown. One was at a Grammy nomination announcement event. CBS turns these into full-on televised concerts with a red carpet and everything, so fans can see their favorite singers perform and also find out who got nominated. I was doing the red carpet, and knowing I would run into Christina—who I’d seen off and on over the years—I did my homework and filed away in my brain that her son’s name was Max. When we had our exchange, there was none of that artifice from when she was a teenager. She was a working-stiff pop icon, a star, a diva, but with a much more mellow “been there done that” vibe.

I said, “Hi, Christina. Good to see you.”

“Hi, Kathy. Good to see you, too.”

I said, “I’m really hoping I get nominated for Best Comedy Album. Fingers crossed.”

“Oh, I hope you do! I’m pulling for you.”

“How’s Max?”

“Good.”

Pause.

She said, “You don’t really care about my kid, do you?”

“No,” I said. “I just looked it up before I got here.”

And she … laughed! The look on her face was priceless. That bus sneer had transformed over the years into a knowing, between-us smirk. And it was really sort of touching. She realized that now that she’s a mom and a household name and a music fixture, she can laugh at the funny redhead because she’s got nothing to lose. I think when you’re young and going places, you must believe you have to keep the act up every second. The real stars know how to turn that diva thing into a talent that excites the atmosphere rather than poisons it or makes it absurd.

My shtick with her now when I see her at a dinner party or nonperformance event is to say, “Here’s the thing. I don’t want you to sing. No one here does. But if you feel like you have to trot out ‘Genie in a Bottle,’ I’ll give you a pity clap,” and she just laughs.