Matriarch: Oprah's Book Club: A Memoir

by Tina Knowles

One afternoon we realized Solange had slipped out of an open door. We all took over the place in a panic, enlisting everyone to look for her in the halls and the bathroom. “Solange! Solange!” we yelled. There was one last closed door to one of the studios. We walked in and found her sitting in a chair, smiling ear-to-ear and holding court as two young guys smoking Marin County’s entire supply of weed hung on her every word. “Hi,” said Solange, looking dreamier than usual. “This little girl is a trip, man,” one of the men said, smiling just as much as her. He looked to be around nineteen or twenty. “She’s been in here talking and dancing!” It was Tupac Shakur. He was there with Shock G, recording with Digital Underground, who the girls were more excited to see because of “The Humpty Dance.” “She’s really special,” Tupac told us as I hustled her out the door before she really got a contact high. “Come on, Punkin’,” I said to Solange, grabbing her hand as she turned to say in her Texas sweetness, “It was nice meeting you!” When Tupac got big, it was Beyoncé who recognized Solange’s buddy. I didn’t see anyone that cute in the studio, but she remembered him. “Solange was in there probably telling Pac all these stories about us.”