Chapter 23

Two Days Later
Master Suite
Windbush Hotel

“…I see your two Oreos and raise you three licorice whips.” Paris announced peeking over the tops of her Scooby-Doo playing cards.
“Red or black licorice whips?” Prince questioned, steadying his cards in his hands and staring across the coffee table they were kneeling in front of at his sister.
“Red. I hate the black ones.” She replied dropping her bet onto a large mound of sugary treats that included seven rolls of Sweet Tarts, five packages of unopened bubble gum and six regular sized Snickers bars.
“I don’t understand Poker.” Blanket said absently, chewing on a piece of saltwater taffy. He sat at the end of the table, not playing with his cards, but erecting a small building.
I looked over Paris’ shoulder at the her playing hand from where I was lounging behind her on a couch.
She had a pretty good hand; a Full House. Prince could only beat her if he had a Royal Flush. (I think, I wasn’t too good at card games.)
It was a particularly lazy day.
Michael and Rusty had left about an hour prior, destined for yet another meeting with some high powered record executives.
That left me to watch over the Jackson Trio. They had been playing cards and stuffing themselves with sweets since breakfast. At least they had eaten all of their oatmeal and fried sausage links.
Across the room, by the open front entry doors, Bo and Luke were playing real cards. A small pile of money sat on the floor between them.
And I needed some kind of distraction.
I was actually happy that Michael was gone.
For the last forty-eight hours, I had been listening to Michael go on and on…and yet, still on about how the dinner with Prince and Morris had been a complete and total disaster.
Michael commented about how he had regretted accepting the dinner date and that I had gotten caught in the crossfire when things got ugly. Michael had actually apologized to me for his behavior towards Prince. He wasn’t sorry that he had given Prince a dressing down, he was just unhappy that I had seen a meaner side of him.
It had surprised me into a new dimension to see Michael get down and as funky as Prince was. Well, as funky as Prince assumed he was.
The sheer thought of Michael looming over Prince a minute away from squishing him like a roach under his boot made me flame up with arousal.
I was so used to Michael being shy and sweet and for him to be essentially a jerk, was exciting.
Also shocking was the way that Prince had let Michael not only embarrass him in front of me, but also in the presence of Morris. And since I had met Morris, Prince had always seemed to try to be “Mr. It” around him. Show off and show out.
And then what was that miserable little rambling about how he’d kick Michael’s ass, just he didn’t want to ruin his suit? Like one suit would have mattered. I knew for that one grey suit he had had on, Prince had at least five hundred more in every shade of the rainbow just ready to be plucked and worn. He was like a Barbie doll, every time you turned around, he had a new article of clothing and matching shoes.
I didn’t know what happened to the demo CD. I hadn’t seen it or heard it. For all I knew Michael could have thrown it off our balcony while I was sleeping. He was so thoroughly disgusted with Prince it seemed like something he’d do.
Then there was the freeze out on Prince’s part. Since the argument, Prince seemed to have fallen off the face of the earth.
He didn’t call me, and I had broken a fingernail I had punched ‘Pound 31’ so many times. The phone had just rang and rang. It didn’t even go to voice-mail.
I even went so far as to call Paisley Park to see if he had returned to Minneapolis. The receptionist I had spoken to said that as far as she knew, Prince was still in New York.
I just wondered how and what Prince was doing. Sure Michael had made fun of him being short, but Prince was almost fifty, I was sure he’d heard more than his fair share of jokes.
But still he had looked truly sore when Michael referred to him as “sperm in heels”.
I just hoped he was okay.
Even though he was a little pompous arrogant flea, I still felt for him.
I couldn’t ride up to the Penthouse, because I knew that there was no way I could get in…
But I knew that the situation probably would have blown over anyway, because Prince had said, “I’ll see you later.”
Little did I know that things were about to get a little more complicated.
For me at least.
“Ha! I win!” Prince’s voice jubilantly shouting brought me back down to earth.
I saw his cards laid out on the table. He’d somehow gotten a Royal Flush.
Paris sat pouting as her brother was greedily grabbing at the candy.
“Aren’t you going to share that?” I questioned, afraid I’d have to scrape him off the ceiling if he ate all that candy and got a sugar high.
Prince squinched up his face, rubbing his chin. “But I won it, Brynn.” He whined.
“Yeah, but you should share. This was a friendly game.” I pointed out.
“Split it three ways.”
Prince’s turn to pout. He begrudgingly separated the candy into three separate piles and shoving them towards Paris and Blanket.
“Good boy. You’re a good big brother.” I smiled, tossing my magazine down and stretching.
“Yeah.” Prince said quietly, unwrapping a Snickers and taking a bite.
Blanket hoisted himself up and began toddling over to me.
“Brynn?” He asked, momentarily bending down to retie his Batman sneakers.
“Yes?” I ruffled his curls.
“Do you know where Daddy put my blue ball? I wanna roll it.” He straightened up and smiled at me. The bruise on his nose had lightened to a shade of pinkish lilac.
“It’s in the front closet. And I’ll get it for you, only if you promise not to kick it. I don’t want you to break anything or hurt anyone.” I admonished, rising to my feet.
“I promise I won’t kick it. Pinky swear!” Blanket exclaimed holding out his tiny pinky to me.
I linked it loosely.
“Okay, wait here. I’ll go get it for you. Michael put it on the top shelf.” I started out of the room.
It took me about ten minutes to locate the ball in the front closet, it was packed with so many toys for the children.
“Yay!” Blanket exclaimed running up to me at the sight of his prized ball.
“Here you are, Kiddo.” I tossed the ball at him.
He caught it in his tiny hands.
To my absolute horror, Blanket immediately drop kicked the ball.
And it flew out into the open hallway.
“Prince Michael Jackson, the third!” I scolded, throwing my hands up. “You just pinky swore that you wouldn’t kick the ball!”
“Oops!” Blanket covered his mouth with his hands. “I forgot!” He giggled and hugged me around my knees.
“You stay here, I’ll go get it.” I said, pulling the little boy off me.
“Alright.” He giggled again.
“Some help you guys were.” I simpered at Bo and Luke as went out into the hallway.
Their laughter followed me.
“Yeah, ha ha!” I called back, smiling.
I should have known that Blanket was going to kick the ball! That boy kicked anything that was round.
My eyes started searching the hallway for the blue ball.
The smile on my face quickly fell off.
At the end of the hall, near the elevators, I saw a man stooping and picking up the ball.
I had never seen him before.
He was tall with a somewhat thick body.
The man appeared to be about thirty, with a golden-tan complexion. He was dressed casually in a green button down shirt and dark khaki trousers.
Green and white sneakers covered his feet.
He had short, curly, deep reddish brown hair and wore a pair of dark Ray-Ban sunglasses.
My blooded chilled in my veins.
Was this a paparazzi that had managed to get past hotel security and access our floor.
If he was planning on trying to bother any of Michael’s children, he’d have to go through me first.
“Hey!” I called.
The man was visibly startled and fumbled the ball.
“Hi!” He grinned at me and started to walk over.
Pointing him out, I exclaimed, “Who are you?”
The man continued to approach me.
“Bo! Luke! Help!” I shrieked.
Instantaneously, Bo and Luke were at my sides.
“What is it ?” Luke questioned, both of them staring harshly at the man.
“Who the hell is that guy? And why is he up here?” I demanded, folding my arms over my chest.
The man put his hands out in front of himself, shaking.
“Cool it, Brynn!” He cried out, large pink lips thinning out nervously.
“How do you know my name? Just who are you?” I demanded, placing my hands on my hips, prepared to join Bo and Luke in beating him to a bloody pulp.
The man removed his shades, revealing large brownish-hazel eyes under thick, sharply arched black brows.
“I’m supposed to know your name. I’m Taryll.” He laughed.
“What?” My arms dropped to my side, limply.
“I said I’m Taryll…you know, Tito’s son, Michael’s nephew?” He chuckled and sauntered over to me.
“You’re Taryll?” I stared up at him. Yeah, he was definitely related to Michael. He did look like a lighter, thinner version of Tito.
“Yup.” He laughed, extending a large hand. “At ease boys.” He said to Bo and Luke who disappeared back into main suite.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call the hounds on you.” I apologized as I shook his hand.
“That’s okay. Uncle Michael said you might do that. That’s good, looking out for my cousins like that.” Taryll nodded.
“Well, I love those kids, I want them safe.” I grinned at him.
Behind us, the doors to the elevators opened.
Michael, in a brown suit, breezed off, followed by Rusty, who was loaded down with duffel bags and suitcases.
“Oh Brynn! I see you met Taryll!” Michael chirped joining us and wrapping his arm around my waist.
Rusty kicked the door to an unused room on the floor open and collapsed inside with the luggage.
“Hey Uncle Michael, she almost had your guards pulverize me!” Taryll laughed.
“Oh no!” Michael chuckled pulling me against him.
“Mike, why didn’t you tell me your nephew was coming?” I questioned, trying to shake off the feeling of embarrassment I had.
I still couldn’t believe I had almost had Michael’s nephew beaten.
“I was going to tell you, but his flight came in early. An early flight to New York, who knew?” Michael chuckled.
“What about your meetings?” I wondered as we started inside the main suite.
Over the minor stampede that was caused when the Jackson Trio saw not only their father, but their cousin Taryll, Michael managed to get out,
“I rescheduled them for tomorrow.”
After Michael had managed to herd his children off into what was Paris’ bedroom to watch a Dora the Explorer DVD, Michael explained,
“I know we’ve been spreading that story around that you and Taryll are a couple, I thought you could be seen around town a little.”
“Oh…ok.” I said nodding. I glanced at Taryll. “Are you alright with the whole arrangement?
“Heck yeah. I know this is all business. I don’t mind helping.” He grinned at me.
“You want to unwind, Taryll?” Michael asked, patting his shoulder. “I mean you just flew all the way out here from Los Angeles.”
“I’m fine.” Taryll assured him. “I’m just hungry. All I had on the flight was five bags of peanuts. That’s not enough to feed a two-year-old! Is it okay if I cut out and go to Ray Nay’s?”
“What’s Ray Nay’s?” I inquired.
Taryll stared at me with huge eyes. “You mean to tell me you’ve been in New York City this long and Uncle Mike hasn’t taken you to Ray Nay’s?” He shook his head and chuckled. “It’s only the best barbecue place on the east coast. Do you want to come? My treat!” Taryll’s eyes danced.
“Is it alright Michael?” I cautioned. Before I went anywhere, I always wanted to make sure I had his approval.
“Sure Honey.” Michael leaned and pecked at my cheek.
“Can I go too?” A small voice asked.
Paris was leaning against the doorframe, watching us.
Michael sighed and gazed at her. “You sure you don’t wanna stay? I was going to order a pizza for you and your brothers.”
“They can have the pizza. I want some barbecue…please?” She poked out her bottom lip and made it quiver.
Not the puppy-dog face!
“Can you two handle her?” Michael questioned, looking from me to Taryll and back.
I knew from experience that Paris could be the most rambunctious of the bunch, but I was sure that with Taryll’s help, we’d keep her in line and away from caffeine laden drinks.
“Yeah Uncle Michael.” Taryll told him and I bobbed my head in agreement.
“Alright. Fine.” Michael shrugged.
Little did I know that an overly active child would be the least of my worries.

* * *

Ray Nay’s Barbecue Pit
Lower East Side, Manhattan
Thirty Minutes Later

“So this is the infamous Ray Nay’s you’re so jazzed about?” I questioned as Taryll, Paris and I slid out of blue Hummer.
“Surely is.” Taryll smiled as we each took one of Paris’ hands.
She wasn’t going to wander away on our watch.
Ray Nay’s was a housed in a medium sized, square brick building, that seemed as old as New York itself.
Black, hickory scented smoke billowed out of several smokestacks located at the rear of the building.
“I’m telling you Brynn, my brothers and I found this place a few years ago while we were on vacation and I make a point to come here whenever I’m in town.” Taryll grabbed a hold of the heavy wooden door of Ray Nay’s and opened it for Paris and me.
“You gotta roll me outta here when I’m done!” Taryll laughed uproariously. Taryll was definitely Tito’s son, he had his great sense of humor.
Inside, Ray Nay’s had a simple décor, a few booths and tables surrounded by red vinyl seats.
Lighthearted rockabilly music played over speakers hanging from the four corners of the room.
The place was pretty much empty except for a toothless old man in the corner, who was gumming a piece barbecued chicken.
But it did smell wonderful. Almost reminded me of the barbecues my father would have in the summer when I was a kid.
We chose a booth near the back of the building.
From seemingly nowhere, a woman appeared and gave us menus.
Taryll already knew what he wanted.
“Gimme a slab of baby back ribs, heavy on the sauce, some potato salad--don’t be stingy--and a Cherry Coke.”
Paris and I took a little longer, before both deciding on pulled pork sandwiches with potato salad and Dr. Peppers.
(A caffeine-free one for Paris.)
As the woman went back to the kitchen to retrieve our food, Taryll questioned,
“Are you really nineteen Brynn?”
“Yeah, I am.” I nodded solemnly, wondering where the conversation would take us.
“God, I couldn’t believe it. I mean the whole family is buzzing about it. Grandma, Grandpa, my dad, my step-mom, everybody!” Taryll grinned.
“Uncle Mike is on the ball. I haven’t dated a nineteen year old since I was nineteen!” He guffawed and slapped the table.
“Taryll, tell me something…” I leaned across the rickety wooden table towards him. “You’re on the inside of the family, what do they think of me? I mean do they like me? Your grandmother, father and Jermaine were nice to me.”
Taryll blew out a puff of air. “Oh shit.”
“Aw! You said a bad word.” Paris said quietly, toying with the silverware.
“What?” I stared across at him.
“Well, my grandmother likes you. Thinks you’re nice, but my dad and Uncle Jermaine…”Taryll trailed off and cracked his knuckles.
“They told you about the car Prince gave me, huh?” I sighed, taking a knife from Paris.
“My father and Uncle Jermaine says it looks sticky, Brynn.” Taryll admitted running a hand through his hair.
I looked down at the scratched table top. “How so?” I peeped.
“Well, according to my dad, he says you went to St. Paul or wherever Paisley Park is, and stayed there for two weeks--alone--and then he pops up with a purple Ferrari for you? It looks sticky man. They think he was trying to flirt with you.”
“I like that car! It’s pretty!” Paris snickered.
“Look, Taryll, I can honestly tell you, nothing happened between me and Prince.” I said coolly. So coolly it scared me.
Who put that lie in my mouth!?!
“Really?” Taryll wore a skeptical expression on his attractive face. “My dad said he and Uncle Jermaine were about to stomp him. Was he really wearing make-up, looking like a drag queen?”
“Oh gosh.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Yeah, and he was wearing make-up. But that’s how Prince is.”
“Brynn!” Paris tugged at my arm. “I liked his shoes. I’ve never seen a grown up man in high heels before.” Her blue eyes glimmered.
Taryll tossed his head back and laughed so hard that someone peeked out the kitchen to scowl at him.
“He was wearing high heels? I heard he wore them. Is Prince really straight, or he fruity like a roll of Lifesavers?” Taryll snorted, wiping a laughter tear away.
The woman returned with our food, balanced on a large tray.
As she placed our meals in front of us, I pointed out,
“He is straight. He’s dating his hairstylist.” It hurt me to lie to Taryll so soon after meeting him. He seemed like a nice guy.
I actually felt ill.
“What about you Taryll, I know you’re playing Lover Boy now, but do you have a girlfriend?” I was anxious to steer this discussion as far away from me as possible.
“No.” Taryll shook his head. “Me and my girl, Tiffeny, broke up about two months ago. Don’t worry, it was a mutual deal.” He picked up a rib and started nibbling on it.
“I hate to hear that. How long where you together?” I wondered, breaking Paris’ sandwich into quarters.
“About two years. Just grew apart. You know how it goes.” Taryll shrugged and wiggled his eyebrows.
“I guess.” I chewed on my sandwich. “This is good.”
Taryll held his hands up, “What’d I tell you…” He stopped mid-sentence.
“What on earth just walked through the door?” He held his face in his hands, staring ahead at the door behind me.
I turned to look at the new patron.
I could feel my jaw sagging and my eyes swelling.
Taking a seat near the center of the room was none other than Morris Day!
He wore a loud, acid yellow suit with lime green lapels. A matching green shirt and shoes finished his look.
Had Sprite Soda hired a new spokesman?
I turned back and tried to slump down in my seat so he wouldn’t see me.
Maybe if I made myself scarce, he wouldn’t notice I was in there.
I wondered how far behind Prince was.
“Man, that guy looks like a clown!” Taryll snickered, picking up another rib.
This coming from the man who spent the greater part of the 1990s sporting pajama pants as outer wear.
“I like clowns!” Paris spoke up, turning and getting onto her knees in the booth, staring over at Morris.
“I just see a man in an ugly suit.” She whimpered.
“Little girl! Sit down!” I whispered harshly, grabbing her by her waist and pulling her down into a seated position.
I glanced back, praying that Morris hadn’t noticed Paris.
Oh shit!
Morris was up and strolling over to the table.
“Yoo-hoo! Miss Brynn!” He hooted as he got to us.
Taryll was staring, mouth agape, from Morris and back to me.
“Um…hi Morris.” I said meekly.
“Morris?” I heard Taryll repeat to himself.
“Now ain’t this funky?” Morris placed his hands on his waist. “I got a hankering for some B-B-Q and rolled over here, and who do I see? You!”
Somebody kill me now, please!
“Now Miss Brynn, you must introduce me to your friends…yes.” Morris eyed Taryll and Paris.
I decided now was the time to turn my negative into a positive. And I would be damned if I waffled in front of Morris E. Day!
“Morris, this is Paris, Michael’s daughter. Paris, this is Morris Day. He’s a friend of Prince. Say hello.” I patted Paris’ head.
“Hi Mr. Day. You’re my brother’s friend?” Paris raised a manicured eyebrow at him.
“Not your brother, the man in the heels!” I quickly whispered as she stuck her hand out at Morris.
I watched as Morris pecked the top of it. God, that man was sickening.
“You’re cute Miss Paris.” He smiled.
“Hee-hee. Thanks!” Paris blushed and went back to her meal.
“And Morris, this is…” I motioned at Taryll. Morris started to offer his hand.
“This is Michael’s nephew, Taryll Jackson.”
Morris’ eyes got wider than I had ever seen them. His hand fell limp. He was truly taken aback. I was sure he had assumed that Taryll was a person Michael had made up.
“You’re…you’re Taryll?” Morris was breathless.
“Yes.” Taryll beamed broadly. “Nice to meet you Morris.”
“Yeah…” Morris stared Taryll up and down. “You’re the Taryll that Michael said was Brynn’s boyfriend?” His mouth curled to the side. I could actually hear the gears in his brain churning.
“Well, I certainly hope so, or I’m wearing someone else’s underwear!” Taryll exclaimed and we all laughed.
“So, how’s your father?” Morris said seriously, cocking his head to the side.
“Oh, he’s fabulous. Got over that flu so fast. But we Jacksons are quick like that.” Taryll eyed Morris.
I don’t know how Michael had schooled Taryll so fast on all our fibs, but the man was smooth as cream and as believable as a nun on a witness stand.
Morris stroked his mustache. “Yes. Glad to hear that.”
Then Taryll went off on a tangent all his own.
“So I hear that you and Prince were giving my uncle a hard time the other night.”
My sandwich fell out of my hands and landed in my blob of potato salad.
“Taryll--” I started. What was this man trying to do.
“Brynn, please.” Taryll held his hand up.
“We didn’t give Michael a hard time, Taryll. We were merely having a discussion, and Michael got offended.” Morris explained.
Oh I was shocked.
“That is B.S.!” I pounded the table. “Your conversation could have been printed up in Playboy magazine!” I accused.
Taryll rose from the table. He and Morris were the very same height and were staring each other in the eye.
“Well, for future reference Morris, I’d appreciate it if you and Prince weren’t so vulgar around my uncle and especially my woman. Do it again and there’ll be problems…” He looked Morris up and down. “…yes.”
Morris reddened severely. I wanted to see if he’d ever try to go up against a man almost twenty years his junior.
“I’ll…try to do that.” Morris turned and quickly exited the building.
“Told him.” Taryll said smugly, taking his seat and beginning to eat again.
I watched as the door closed behind Morris.
All I could wonder was,
What is he going to tell Prince and how would Prince react to it?
* * *
The Next Morning

“So how do I look? Like a man who’s gonna be stuck in a stuffy meeting all day?” Michael asked strolling into the bathroom where I was putting the finishing touches on my hair.
I gave him a once over.
Michael Jackson was so handsome.
It was amazing that even though we spent nearly every night together, he could still make my heart stop on a dime with just one look.
Michael wore a plain black suit, accented by a grey satin band encircling the left arm, a white shirt with a grey necktie--in a Windsor knot--and a grey vest.
On a silver watch chain, hanging from his waist, several crown shaped jeweled charms dangled and reflected the light.
His long hair, fluffed and curled, floated softly around his face.
Even in a three piece, corporate suit, he was stunning.
“You look like a male model.” I replied, giving him a broad grin.
“A male model?” Michael wiggled his arched brows at me from the doorway. “Let’s see.”
Sucking in his cheeks, Michael placing one foot in front of the other, strutted over to me. He wore he his trademark white socks and black loafers.
“How was that?” He giggled placing his hand on his hip.
“Tyson Beckford has nothing on you.” I nodded with a giggle.
Michael pecked the top of my head gently.
“You look really cute today Brynn.” He commented, taking the brush from me and stroking my hair.
I looked up at my reflection.
The weather in New York was still unnaturally warm--way to go Hole in the Ozone Layer--I was dressed coolly.
I wore an aqua tank top, tucked into a yellow pencil skirt that was covered with matching aqua dots.
My hair was held back by a headband that matched my skirt.
“Thank you Michael.” I said shyly.
His compliments still made me quiver.
Pinching my cheek, Michael commented,
“Taryll told me you guys ran into that Morris guy yesterday at Ray Nay’s.”
My entire being turned to stone.
I had been so busy stressing over how Prince would perceive the Taryll situation, it had completely evaded me that Taryll would tell Michael what had happened.
And I couldn’t sack Taryll out for being a blabbermouth, because he had departed nearly an hour earlier, with the Jackson Trio, destined for the Guggenheim Museum to look at paintings or whatever they displayed at that place..
“Oh…I meant to tell you…Michael.” I stared into Michael’s doe eyes through the mirror. Guilt was making a hearty meal of me.
I watched the pools of brown soften with love.
“It’s okay, Brynn. Taryll said they had a few words and that you might have been a little scared to tell me about it.” Michael placed his hands on my shoulders and rubbed them.
“I just don’t care for those men at all. I still can’t get over how they were acting in front of you the other night. No scruples or couth at all. Did they really talk like that around you in Minneapolis?” Michael asked quietly.
I knew that if I told Michael it was commonplace for Prince and Morris to talk like they were lying face down in the gutter, Michael would have ripped the roof of the Windbush Hotel.
“No…but Morris has always run off at the mouth like that. It even annoys Prince sometimes and they’re like best friends.” Well, that was kind of the truth. A half-truth. At least it wasn’t a whole life.
Michael sighed disdainfully and continued to rub my arms.
“I hate that I’m working and networking and all.” Michael shook his head.
I reached up and clasped his hand. “Babe, you have to work. You’re making a comeback. Did you see how those fans swarmed you at Aiken’s? The people love you. And you’re just doing your job, laying the ground work to get your music to them.” I brought his hand to my mouth and pecked the knuckles.
Michael spun me around and gently cradled my face in his hands.
“Brynn, have I ever told you that you are so wise for your age?” He questioned, a broad grin creeping onto his lips.
“Everything, I’m learning from you.” I gazed up into his eyes.
Michael leaned and let our lips Moonwalk along each other.
His mouth tasted of cinnamon and sugar. So incredibly sweet.
I wrapped my arms around his waifish waist.
I never wanted the kiss to end.
“Mike!”
At the sudden call, broke Michael’s and my lip rhythm.
Rusty hung in the doorway, Blackberry in hand.
“Goddamn.” I whispered.
“What is it Rusty?” Michael asked out loud, peeved.
“Our car is here. We gotta go now or we’ll be late for our meeting!” He exclaimed, opening his suit jacket and depositing the gizmo inside.
“Oh gosh!” Michael gave me a sad gaze. “Baby, you want to walk me to the elevators?”
Nibbling my bottom lip, I nodded.
Gleefully, Michael grasped my hand and whisked me past Rusty, who gave a frustrated grunt as we went by.
“Sweetheart, I promise you, negotiations for a release date and everything are almost set, and I swear, when I have a free moment, I’m gonna spend it all with you. We’re gonna do something special.” Michael vowed as we trotted through the open hallway to the elevator where Bo and Luke were holding it for him.
“When is the release date?” I questioned as we got to the doors and he pecked at my cheek.
“Late December, virtually early January.” Michael grinned as he and his entourage got on the elevator.
“That’s soon.” December was just a few months away.
“I know!” Michael giggled. “Have fun shopping!”
He waved as the elevator doors closed.
The elevator hummed as it made it’s way down to the ground floor.
Turning and heading back to the master suite, I was excited.
Not Over was really going to get released in a few short months, and Michael, the man I loved, was making a comeback.
And just maybe, I was going to become a star. I didn’t mind playing second banana to Michael, he was the supernova.
Plus I knew any good that came to him would get spread around to everybody.
It was amazing to think that a song that I was a part of was going to be a hit.
I knew that the song would be a hit, anything Michael touched would automatically turn to gold, and then platinum!
Just as I reached the door to the I heard the distinctive ding of the bell signifying that a stop was being made.
Expecting to see that Michael had come back up to retrieve something, I spun around, smile on my face, poised to politely tease him.
When the doors popped open, the smile crumbled and landed on the floor.
Morris Day sauntered off the elevator.
I couldn’t help but stare at him in awe.
The man had some wicked nerve. First he had been pretty rude to Taryll, trying to start trouble and now, here he was on Michael’s private floor?
What the hell was the hotel security doing? Sitting and playing Parcheesi?
“Morris Day! What are you doing here?” I demanded, fuming at him.
Leaning against the closed doors of the elevator, Morris gave me a wide grin. Dark aviators hid his eyes.
He was the most dressed down I had ever seen him.
He wore a black button down shirt, white tapered trousers and a black and white hounds tooth plaid tie.
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants, he started strolling over casually as if he owned the hotel.
His black and white wingtips tapped lightly.
He stopped about a foot from me and held his stance, looking me up and down.
“Now Miss Brynn, you can’t even say ‘hello’ to me? I thought we were friends.” Morris continued to grin.
“No, you tell me what you’re doing here, or I’ll have security carry your Oreo looking ass outta here so fast, your head’ll spin.” I threatened, taking a step back towards the master suite.
I had seen that smile on Morris’ face before. It was the same one he’s given me before he had grabbed me in the dance studio at Paisley Park.
Who knew what types of perversion were coursing through his lopsided head?
I knew I’d pluck his every freckle off his face if he tried to manhandle me again.
“Cool it Brynn, alright?” Morris sighed and tossed his head. “The only reason I’m on Michael Jackson’s little candy apple ass floor is to get you. Prince wants to see you.”
He reached out and grasped my arm.
I quickly pulled away. Something didn’t seem right.
“Why didn’t he come get me himself? Huh? Why are you here and not him?” I sneered.
“I don’t know why his didn’t bring himself here. Shit, just come one.” Morris grabbed my arm again and began tugging me towards the elevator.
“Morris, if this is one of your tricks…” I trailed off and I was tossed into the reflective cubicle.
“Look Brynn, I really ain’t in the mood for all this shit. Prince said he wants to see you. Now shut the hell up and just go see him.” Morris shook his head and punched the Penthouse suite button.
“Don’t talk to me like that.” I crossed my arms and sniffed.
I could only imagine what Morris might have told Prince.
And I was terrified that Prince just might actually believe it.
At the Penthouse, Morris tapped in the code and the doors slid open.
We stepped off into the front room of the suite and I was momentarily blinded by all the sunlight streaming in through the three uncovered bay windows lining the east side of the room.
It was a while before I made out a form outlined in the middle window.
Prince.
He stood with his back turned to Morris and me and was gazing out and downtown New York.
His body was covered in a navy, sleeveless, ultra tight bodysuit and boots.
His hands, covered in cloth gloved that matched his outfit, were clasped behind him.
A gold metal symbol was on the top of each glove.
Prince was wearing a navy policeman’s type of hat. In the light reflection he was making in the glass, I saw that the hat had at least a dozen golden chains hanging from the brim of his hat, hiding his face.
The room was eerily quiet. I was used to there being some type of background music.
Now there was no sound whatsoever.
“Hey, man, I brought Brynn…” Morris called almost humbly.
Prince turned his head to the side. I wasn’t sure if he was looking at us or not.
“Leave us Morris, thank you.” Prince’s voice was heavy.
“No problem.” Morris grinned at me and turned to the elevator.
I could only watch silently and helplessly as Morris made a hasty and speedy exit.
I glanced back at Prince. He was once again staring out the window.
The silence was killing me.
Taking a few steps towards him, I asked meekly,
“Prince… are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Prince replied somberly, staring out the window.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, I haven’t heard from you in a few days. I kept calling and you never answered.” I explained, moving until I stood behind him.
I was truly worried about Prince. He was far too calm. Scary calm.
“It’s just that I’ve been taking some time for myself, doing some thinking. Some writing.” Prince glanced over his shoulder, the chains on his cap tinkling.
“It’s just that things were so bad with you and Michael--” I started.
Prince put his hand up swiftly, silencing me.
“I don’t want to talk about that bullshit, okay?” His voice was chilly.
I nodded, my eyes widened. Was Prince so disenchanted that he was really passing up the opportunity to badmouth Michael to me?
Maybe he was sick.
Or in the last seventy-two hours had lost his ever-loving mind?
“You look very pretty today. You always look so pretty, Baby.” Prince commented, turning and facing me. I saw that his outfit zipped up the front and the zipper was lowered just far enough for a peek of chest hair to be shown
Lavender surrounded me.
“I like that yellow on you.” He whispered.
“Um, thank you.” I looked down at my aqua pumps.
We stood quiet a moment, then Prince dropped a nuclear bomb on me:
“I had an interesting conversation last night.” Prince stated, folding his arms across his chest. “Morris says he ran into you last night at Ray Nay’s. Is that true?” He cocked his head to one side.
My body started trembling from nerves.
“Y-y-yes.” I managed to get out, my jaw clapping.
“Hmmm.” Prince stroked his chin, under the chains. “Morris said you had a little bit of company at your table. Jacko’s daughter and nephew.”
My heart dropped.
Morris had told on me! That slimy son of a bitch!
I remained quiet and dropped my eyes back to my feet.
“You were with Taryll Jackson?” Prince repeated.
“Yes, Prince but--” I began, desperation taking over me.
“Is he your man too? Michael seemed very quick to tell me you were dating him.” Prince got so close to me, our bodies bumped.
“He’s not my man, Prince!” Horrified, I grabbed onto Prince’s bare arm.
His skin was cold to the touch.
He glanced down at my hand on him, then back in my face.
I was so glad the chains hid his face, if I had to see his raging eyes, I probably would have fainted.
“Are you fucking him too? Keeping it in the family? Fucking with Michael and his nephew?” Prince jerked his arm from me, sending me lurching past him and against the glass.
“No! Prince! You’ve got it all wrong!” I whimpered, sinking to the floor.
“I just met Taryll yesterday!”
The walls of Jericho were tumbling around me.
He was actually believing the hype!
“Then why the hell did Michael tell that story about you and Taryll hooking up after you had left Paisley Park?”
Prince stood over me, hands on slender hips.
“Michael’s been telling that to everybody, since I’m younger than him. You know he just got out of trouble! It wouldn‘t seem right if he went around openly dating me!” I slapped the tile floor, angrily.
Prince paused and looked down at me. “So this is why you’re holed up in here: you’re hiding. That’s pretty damn bad. Michael’s little ass is acting like he’s ashamed of you. You’re a stunning woman, Brynn. I never treated you like that in Uptown. You came everywhere with me. I was and am proud of you. I liked to show you off. And everyone in Paisley Park knew you were mine.”
Prince squatted in front of me and grabbed my chin.
“Prince, you haven’t been in trouble like Michael was. The entire world is watching him. His every move. If he sneezes funny, someone is running a story on it.” I snarled through gritted teeth.
How dare he compare himself to Michael in that situation!
“Yeah, cause if he sneezes, his nose might fly off.” Prince chuckled and dropped to his knees.
“That’s not funny Prince.” I murmured, turning my head away from him.
“Oh, you want me to be nice about a man who said I could make a living modeling for trophies? I wanted to put my foot all up that flat checkerboard ass of his. But I’m classier than that motherfucker. He can’t even say ‘titties’!” Prince snorted.
“Prince, please. Michael is reserved about things like that.” I put my hand to my face, my head pounding. “He doesn’t talk dirty.”
Walking on his knees, Prince straddled my legs.
“I don’t know what you see in him. That’s no real man. Michael doesn’t deserve you. He’s not worthy of a woman like you.” Prince said lowly, removing his hat and setting it next to my hip.
Prince’s hair had been combed back and gelled down. His eyes were heavily lined and his lids covered with navy eye shadow.
And they were studying me intently.
“That’s not true. Michael is a very sweet man. He’s very shy.” I was shrinking under his glare. Bela Lugoisi had nothing on Prince.
Prince’s light eyes continued to burn into mine with a ferocity I had never before seen.
A moment later, his wet mouth was crushing mine.
Our tongues doing the mambo.
I sagged against Prince; he was such a powerful kisser.
When he pulled his mouth from mine, I let my head droop against his shoulder.
Why was it so utterly tiring to be in Prince’s presence?
“You should be mine. Completely mine.” Prince’s voice dropped about ten octaves.
“You know I can’t.” I felt a tear oozing down my eye.
Prince let loose an annoyed sigh.
“Maybe for now.” Prince smiled, leaned back on his heels.
He reached out and began squeezing on my bosom lightly.
His touch was warm.
“How’d you get such nice tits for a girl so young?” Prince chortled and I watched as his one of his gloved hands disappeared inside my top.
“So nice and plump.” His hand went inside my bra and was cupping my flesh.
Suddenly, he brought his hands out and tugged sharply on the front of my tank top, tearing it a bit.
“What are you doing?” I gasped, pushing Prince away.
I couldn’t believe he had torn my shirt!
“Well, your breasts looked like they were about to pop out of that top. I was just helping them.” Prince gave me a sly smile and climbed to his feet.
“Come on.” He held his hand out to me.
“Where are we going?” I asked, full of uncertainty.
“Some place fun.” Prince replied as I reluctantly took his hand and he pulled me up. “I’m gonna make your fun pillows bounce.”
Prince turned and started leading me towards the bedroom.
I knew I should have broken his fingers and run away, but there was something so drawing, so entrancing about him, I just couldn’t seem to refuse him.
Else I was incredibly weak, or sorely in love.

* * *

A Few Hours Later

The doors of the elevator swung open on the sixteenth floor. Every muscle in my body ached. Prince had thoroughly worn me out. He had done things to me…I couldn’t speak of them.
I was absolutely exhausted.
As I stepped off onto Michael’s floor, I saw that Taryll, Prince and Blanket were all playfully wrestling around in the hallway.
“Ha! Ha! I got you!” Taryll chuckled pinning Blanket to the floor.
Blanket giggled gleefully.
Prince came up behind him, apparently poised to catch him in a chokehold.
As he raised his arms, he glanced at me.
His dark eyes tripled in size at the sight of me.
Stumbling around Taryll, he jogged up to me.
“Brynn!” He exclaimed, alarmed. “Are you okay?”
Taryll looked up at me, the smile on his face being replaced with a look of worry.
I knew I looked awful.
Prince had a nasty habit of just ripping the clothes off a person, rather than let them undress like a normal human being.
My tank top was still torn near the chest area and my skirt had been ripped up the side, exposing most of my thigh.
“Brynn?” Taryll asked in a hushed whisper, quickly getting to his feet.
“Damn! What happened to you? Did someone attack you?” He questioned, putting his arm around me. “Are you hurt?”
Blanket stood sucking on his thumb, watching, a confused expression on his face.
“No…” I racked my brain for a lie that would fit my poor condition.
“I got into a little fight in Macy’s. Over a handbag.”
Taryll let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God. You got messed up like this over a handbag. The things women fight over. Gosh. I’d love to see how you explain this to Uncle Michael.” He patted my back.
I would have rathered explain a fight over a dumb purse than tell the real, hurtful, burning truth any day.
　

Chapter 22

Somewhere in Soho
The Next Night

I sat in the back of the Land Rover, grimly wringing my hands.
I was festering with worries. How would Michael and Prince interact with each other? Would Prince try to move in on me? Would Michael move his foot in up Prince’s butt? Would Michael like the songs Prince wrote for him? And most importantly, would the night end well, or end in manslaughter with else Michael or Prince being incarcerated?
I glanced over at Michael.
He was occupied, looking into the mirror of the small compact he held.
Michael had truly left no stone unturned when it came to getting ready for this dinner meeting.
All day since noon, we had both been getting coiffed and made up by professional stylists that he had hired.
My hair had been curled and piled into a loose updo on top of my head, showcasing the back of my dress.
I wore a mask of cosmetics that seemed thicker than what Mindy had ever put on me.
My eyes were smoked to the max with black shadow and my lips painted scarlet.
Diamond earrings dangled in my lobes, a matching cuff bracelet twinkling on my right wrist. An Asher cut diamond ring glittered on my right ring finger.
Black stilettos, crusted with glimmering stones covered my feet.
It was evident that Michael was trying to show me off in front of Prince. (Which actually seemed like something I’d see Prince doing, not Michael.)
Michael was just as stunning.
His long hair had been straightened, and flipped away from his face in layers. His face bore a minimal amount of cosmetics--concealer, eyeliner, and mascara. His pinky lips, glossed to a subtle sheen.
Michael was dressed up in a red silk shirt, dotted down the front with rows of Swarovski crystals. A few buttons were loosened, exposing his long, graceful neck. The shirt was tucked off into a pair of black trousers covered with more crystals.
Black leather boots completed the look.
And even though the sun was starting to sink over the horizon, he wore round sunglasses with mirrored lenses.
“Honey, are you nervous?” I realized that Michael was gazing at me over the tops of his shades.
“Um, a little.” I admitted. “I just hope that you and Prince get along, that’s all.”
Forget getting along, as long as both men left the dinner alive and with all their limbs intact I’d be happy.
“This is strictly business.” Michael reached out and tapped my knee.
“At the end of the night, you come home with me. Not ‘That Damn Man’” Michael chuckled leaning his head against mine.
I may have been going home with Michael that night, but first I had to survive the night.

* * *

Forty-Five Minutes Later
The Ivy Lounge Restaurant

“It is now eight twenty-five p.m. Where is that little cricket?” Michael mumbled, agitated, glancing at the face of the diamond time piece he had bought at Aiken’s. It was circling his right wrist and gleaming in the light.
I stared down into my drink glass. Half of my Long Island Iced Tea was gone. I hadn’t even tasted it.
A tall glass filled with a Shirley Temple sat unsipped in front of Michael.
I was so full of nerves I don’t think I would have even been able to spell my own name.
One pulsing, obsessive, throbbing, pounding thought consumed me like a flame in a Molotov cocktail.
How would Michael and Prince treat each other? I just hoped I wouldn’t have to be posting anyone’s bail and appearing in a clip on Celebrity Justice.
Michael was already stewing.
He had a right to be a little miffed. We had been sitting in the VIP room of in the back of The Ivy Lounge for over thirty minutes awaiting Prince’s arrival.
Looking around the room though, I had to admit, Prince’s choice in restaurant was pretty spectacular.
Michael and I were seated in a pentagonal shaped room that was painted a deep shade of metallic gold.
Giving the room depth, and ambiance, beige-gold fabric was hanging from the ceiling, giving the room a soft glow.
Our table was a glass topped rectangle, perched on thick gold feet.
Michael and I sat side by side in armless overstuffed chairs that featured a tone on tone cream plaid pattern.
Soft classical Mozart and Debussy pieces were playing from hidden speakers.
It was so romantic, actually. God only knew why Prince wanted to converse in such an intimate setting.
“I’m giving that man five more minutes, then I’m leaving. I got better ways I could be spending my evening.” Michael grumbled, finally picking up his tumbler and sipping at his beverage.
Michael had been so pissed at Prince’s being late that he hadn’t noticed when I had ordered an alcoholic drink.
I knew he probably frowned on it--me being around Prince with a buzz.
In my heart, I prayed that Prince wouldn’t show and that maybe Michael would get Rust Bucket to get the demos with out the men having to see each other.
I knew only bad would come from it.
As I sat praying to high Heaven that Prince wouldn’t show, I became aware of a little tune--different from the music in the room--playing.
I soon realized that Michael’s cell phone--in his pants pocket--was ringing.
The Blue Danube was playing.
Michael produced the phone from his pocket and checked to see who was calling.
“Oh…why is Rusty calling me now?” Michael whined shaking his head until his long hair swayed.
I could only offer Michael a shrugging of the shoulders.
“Hello?” Michael asked sharply into the receiver.
I saw his eyes widen behind his sunglasses.
“What? Why is his nose bleeding?” Michael exclaimed hopping to his feet.
“Whose nose is bleeding?” I questioned, grabbing onto Michael’s arm.
I hoped one of his children weren’t hurt.
Michael stared down at me. “He says that Blanket was jumping on the bed. And he fell off.” He said quietly. I noticed that all the pinkness in his skin was quickly fading to grey.
To Rusty, Michael growled, “What the hell was my son doing jumping on the bed? He should be asleep. His bedtime is at eight o’clock!”
Michael put his hand to his forehead and sighed.
“Did you put something cold on it and make him tilt his head back?” Michael wondered.
“…Good.”
“Stay here, Brynn. I gotta find a regular phone.” Michael pointed at me, and started towards the doors. “Put Blanket on the phone! Now! What am I paying you for Rusty? You’re supposed to watch my kids when I’m away! What am I paying you for man? To let my baby play Human Cannonball? He’s four!”
“I hope Blanket’s okay!” I called as the double doors opposite my seat closed silently.
I sighed unhappily and polished off my drink.
It was bad enough that I’d have to sit with an already seething Michael Jackson him being mad about Prince’s tardiness, and now Michael’s hair was practically standing off his head because across town his youngest son was nursing a busted nose when an incompetent idiot was supposed to be tucking him into bed!
How could the night possibly get any worse?
I sat for a few moments, contemplating trying to hail the waiter, wherever he had disappeared to, and get another tea, but I was sure I didn’t need another drink.
I occupied myself twirling the straw coming out the tall glass coming from Michael’s drink.
“Hello Brynn.” A deep voice murmured and roused me from my thoughts.
I looked up with a start.
Leaning casually against the door frame was Prince.
My heart pounded at the mere sight of him.
Oh why did he have that affect on me?
Prince looked at though he had strolled off the cover of GQ magazine.
He was dressed sharply in a heather grey and periwinkle blue pinstriped tailored suit. Under the suit jacket he wore a matching blue shirt, unbuttoned to the middle of his chest and a blue ascot was tied around his neck.
Perched on his head was grey wide brimmed fedora accented with a blue band around the top. And from somewhere under the brim, a piece of light blue lace hung and partially covered his right eye.
It made his golden skin pop.
I noticed that his goatee was gone; his face was shaved clean.
A purple rose was clasped in his hands.
“Prince.” I said quietly as he started to make his way across the room, heels of blue boots clacking on the slate floor.
As he neared me, I was overtaken by the scent of Women’s Armani. Had he applied the perfume with a plant sprayer?
“Pour vous.” He held the rose under my nose.
“Thank you…” Staring down, I took the flower from him.
Did he have a private nursery manufacturing these purple flowers?
I had been all over the city and had yet to see one.
I hoped Michael wouldn’t mind me taking a rose from Prince. Red roses meant love, yellow ones sorry. I wasn’t sure what a purple rose meant.
And I was afraid to find out.
“You look nice. Michael actually let you wear women’s clothes.” Prince observed.
I was mildly burned by the comment.
It was amazing how Prince could compliment and insult you in the same breath.
Prince chuckled. “Get up, I wanna see this!” He gently grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet.
He circled me slowly. “Damn, you look fine. Powder fine.”
Facing me once more, Prince gazed into my face.
His eyes seemed lighter than ever. The green flecks in them glimmered at me.
I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t there was something so hypnotic about his eyes.
“Do I get a hug?” Prince laughed, opening his arms.
“Um…” I managed to squeak. I had promised Michael that I wouldn’t hug Prince since I was “free-boobing” it.
Prince didn’t wait for an answer and reached out, wrapping his arms around me.
I felt his warm hands sliding up and down my exposed back.
Without really thinking about it, I wrapped my arms around his diminutive frame.
“Baby, you look so good. What is that perfume you’re wearing?” Prince whispered into my ear, making me shiver in his arms.
“It’s called--” I started and abruptly stopped when I felt Prince’s little damp lips pecking my cheek.
I sagged in his arms.
Lord help us--me--if Michael found Prince with his mouth on me!
“Woo! Don’t y’all make a pretty couple!” Someone hooted, causing me to spring away from Prince and bump against the table.
My stomach dropped.
Morris Day hovered just beyond the door.
I couldn’t believe it. Prince had brought Morris along?
Oh, this was a disaster.
Michael’s dislike of Morris was just as strong--if not more so--as his dislike of Prince. He thought of Morris as a loudmouth and vulgar windbag.
For Michael to be in a room not only with Prince, but Morris too…
And once again, Morris was making a not a fashion statement, but a fashion shout.
His tall, thick form was clad in a turquoise Zoot suit covered in a pink windowpane check. Under the knee length jacket, he wore a matching pink shirt and turquoise tie.
Pink leather shoes--not Stacey Addams though--covered his schooner feet.
(I didn’t even know they made pink leather shoes for men!)
“Well hello Miss Brynn!” Morris exclaimed breezing across the room enveloping me in a hug.
“Hi…Morris…” I tried to loosen his grip from around me.
“I can’t believe Michael left you all alone by yourself like this. A-Ha!” Morris cackled.
“Doesn’t Brynn look pretty as hell?” Prince laughed.
Morris’ large eyes widened as they swept up and down me.
“Yes.”
“Michael better be careful.” Prince gazed slyly through the lace on his hat at me. “I might take you home with me.”
“Prince…please.” I put my hands up and dropped into my seat.
“You’re one slick motherfucker man!” Morris cackled again as he and Prince took seats across from me.
I was a little surprised that Prince sat in the chair opposite Michael’s and not mine.
“What was Mr. Jackson drinking?” Prince wondered, reaching over and grabbing Michael’s glass.
“Don’t!” I warned. I knew Michael wouldn’t want to be drinking something with Prince’s spit floating in it.
He took a sip and immediately cringed.
“What is this shit? I’ve never tasted anything like this!” He groaned sliding it back across the table.
“It’s a Shirley Temple.” I sighed, and held my head in my hands.
“He ordered a non-alcoholic drink? Figures.” Prince scoffed and shook his head as Morris laughed.
“Hey Brynn! Blanket’s okay now…” Michael sauntered into the room, cell phone in hand. He trailed off at the sight of Prince and Morris sitting at the table with me.
Like a cloak covering us, trepidation and tension began filling the room to the point where I thought it would burst.
Morris and Prince quickly stood.
Michael’s stance became threatening: feet apart, hands clenched at his sides in tight fists, his mouth a bare pink line.
Silence hung in the air.
I held onto the side of the table for dear life.
The quiet seemed to last an eternity.
Prince and Morris stared at Michael. Michael stared at Morris and Prince.
Glaring.
Sizing up and down.
The first bit of noise came out of Morris’ mouth.
“Michael Jackson! Thriller man! How are you?” Morris exclaimed walking over to Michael, hand extended.
Michael barely grabbed his hand.
“A-Ha! Good to see you Brother!” Morris shook Michael’s hand so hard, he actually bounced.
“Thank…you!” Michael’s voice bobbed as he bounced.
Both men approached Prince who limply put out his hand.
A sapphire ring glinted on his pinky finger.
After a moment, Michael gripped it.
They shook lightly. I had seen infants with a tighter grip than those men.
“Hi Michael, good to see you again.” Prince’s voice had dropped so much, he sounded like Barry White.
“You too.” Michael’s voice was also deep.
Please don’t kill each other. Please don’t kill each other…
“Sorry I’m late.” Prince gave Michael a mousy grin. “Traffic in this town is a bitch, right?”
“Yeah.” Michael said after a moment.
“I don’t know about y’all…” Morris clapped his hands together, “But I’m hungry over here. Let’s order some food? This man has to get his grub on!”
“Sure.” Michael quickly got over to my side and dropped into his seat.
I gave Michael a brave smile.
I just hoped he didn’t smell Prince’s perfume on me.

* * *

An Hour Later

“So…Michael. I heard that a few days ago you had a little trouble at one of the jewelry stores a while back.” Prince said calmly as he forked a bit of his smoked salmon into his mouth.
I was finally starting to relax.
Michael, Prince and Morris had managed to carry on a halting, yet amicable, conversation. I stayed quiet and out of the mix as an attempt to keep everything rolling smoothly.
Michael glanced up from the broiled sturgeon he was eating. The CD containing six demo songs was tucked underneath his plate.
“Oh yeah, someone leaked to the fans and media that I was there and they swarmed the place. Scared my youngest son to the point where he cried.” Michael nodded.
“Really? I didn’t hear that. Must have been hard.” Morris sipped from a flute of champagne.
“Not really, someone snatched my glasses that’s all. Brynn was a little hero though.” Michael reached and patted my shoulder.
“She carried Blanket all through the crowd. Very brave.” He grinned at me.
“Hey, man I’ve been meaning to rap with you about that. Why do you call your kid ‘Blanket’?” Morris questioned quietly.
As Michael proceeded to explain that “Blanket’ was a label of affection, like you ‘blanket’ someone with love, I gazed over at Prince.
He was staring rudely at me.
I tried to avoid his eyes.
Prince buttered a small piece of bread and ate it, making sure to slowly lick the butter of his thumb.
What was he doing? If Michael caught him making obscene gestures at me, he’d been picking his butter knife out from deep in his ass.
I mouthed the word “pig” at him.
The wrong thing to do.
“So, Michael, tell me something.” Prince leaned on the tabletop towards Michael.
Michael stared over at Prince as he stuck a roasted potato cube in his mouth.
“How did you manage to hook up with Brynn over here? You got me and Morris looking bad in here. Dating a woman that young.”
Prince elbowed Morris in the side.
I whipped my head around to look at Michael.
He was calmly chasing his potato with a mouthful of another Shirley Temple.
He was definitely gearing up to play the ‘Taryll’ card.
“Brynn’s relationship with me is strictly professional. She’s dating my nephew Taryll.” Michael was cool as ice.
Morris snickered at the notion.
“Taryll? I’ve never heard any mention of anybody named Taryll when you were in Minneapolis.” Prince raised an eyebrow at me.
“They weren’t together then. The just got together before we came to New York.” Michael speedily replied.
“Oh shame Taryll didn’t join us tonight.” Prince said in mock sadness.
Time to take charge of this lie.
“Taryll couldn’t come because he’s helping take care of his father. You know, Tito, chubby fellow you met when you dropped by Neverland.” I crossed my arms and scowled at him. “Tito has a touch of the flu.”
A content smile crossed Michael’s face.
“Hate to hear that.” Prince picked up an asparagus spear and nibbled on it.
“You would have had me beat Michael. I’ve dated--and hell, even married--some women who were younger than me. But I’ve never dated a woman as young as Brynn. Nineteen? Just barely past jailbait.” Prince tipped his hat me with the last statement.
Michael grunted and turned his attention back to his fish.
Damn, I hated that ‘jailbait’ remark. I wanted Prince to shut up and would have gladly put my fist down his throat, but I knew it wouldn’t be well received.
Prince had found his topic of choice.
“Morris, isn’t there something special about dating a younger lady?” He put his arm around Morris’ shoulders.
“Oh yeah…” Morris patted at his rock hard hair. “Ain’t nothing like a young woman. Especially the ones that don’t know anything. Gotta teach them stuff. Woo!”
“That’s what I’m saying. Taking a lady that hasn’t experienced the real fun and turning her little ass out.” Prince cackled.
I heard Michael choke.
I stared over at him, mortified. He was staring at Prince, open mouthed and shocked. I was certain he had never been a part of a dinner conversation like this!
And neither had I!
Morris nodded in agreement, sipping his champagne.
“Yeah man, nothing a young springy body. Everything is perfect. Nice round, plump titties and bouncy little ass. Drive a man crazy.”
“Hey!” Michael cried out sharply.
“What?” Prince and Morris stared at Michael, annoyed.
“We’re in mixed company! You forgot Brynn is here?” Michael cautioned, raising his huge hands and covering my ears with them.
“Michael loosen up man!” Prince winked. “We’re all adults here. And it’s not like Brynn hasn’t spoken about sex before. I’m sure she and Taryll have probably done ‘the marshmallow’ a few times.” Prince chortled.
Did he just use our lie against us?
“I’m aware that we’re all adults.” Michael said through clenched teeth.
“It’s just not polite conversation.” His face was increasing in shades of red by the second.
“They don’t call me a ‘rude boy’ for nothing!” Prince laughed and Morris guffawed.
“Mike, don’t go getting all red on us.” Morris shook his head. “You act like you’re a virgin--we know your happy ass ain’t--you’ve got three kids!”
“Oh God!” I closed my eyes.
This was not happening. This was not happening!
“Look, it wouldn’t matter even if I was. It’s my personal business!” Michael rattled my head as he spoke.
“We don’t mean any offense Michael. Take it down a thousand. Shit.” Prince snorted.
Turning back to his conversation, Prince said,
“Now back on the titties: I like a girl with those big ones you can swim in. I really like those. Especially fucking them. Bouncing all over the place.”
Michael rose suddenly and in the process yanked an earring out my lobe.
“I can’t sit and listen to this.” Michael announced and snatched the CD out from under his plate. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this with a lady in the room. Thanks for dinner. Thanks for the demos. Come on Brynn.” Michael jerked me to my feet.
“Michael!” Prince hopped up and put his hands up. “Man, calm down. Why can’t you sit and talk with me and Morris?”
Michael tossed his arm around my shoulders and held me close to him.
“Because I have morals. That’s why. And I refuse to talk about sex and boobies with Brynn around.” Michael looked down his thin nose at Prince.
“Good night.” Michael began ushering me towards the door.
“Pfff! I’m getting preached to about morals from a man who can’t seem to keep his hand off his nuts when he’s performing!” Prince commented snidely as we got to the door.
“Oooh shit!” Morris cackled.
Michael’s entire being stiffened. He spun around so quickly I smacked into the doorframe.
“That’s why it’s called performing! Grabbing my crotch. The music compels me to do it! I don’t go all out the way like you do. Rolling around the stage licking and fondling guitars and stuff.” Michael stamped his foot, lip poked out.
“That’s called performing too.” Prince placed his hands on his hips and wagged his head.
“No that’s called five seconds away from pornography. I’m still surprised you haven’t been banned in most parts of the country!” Michael took his sunglasses off and tossed them at me.
Was he really about to first fight with Prince?
I held onto the door to keep from passing out on the floor.
“Like your skinny ass would know anything about pornography. You can’t even say the word ‘titties’. Hell I stopped saying ‘boobies’ when I was ten, motherfucker.”
Prince removed his hat and tossed it on the table, revealing a head full of gelled back hair.
“Don’t you call me a motherfucker, you…you…” Michael stammered angrily.
Prince waved his hand at Michael, indicating he finish the sentence.
“You little sperm in heels!” Michael exclaimed.
I stared at Michael. I was utterly, totally, and completely shocked.
I had never seen this side of Michael. He was kicking Prince at his own game.
And my God, was it ever sexy.
Prince tossed his head back and crowed.
“Sperm in heels. Never heard that one. You’re funny.”
Prince was laughing, but I could tell by the dullness in his once vibrant eyes that he was hurt by the last comment.
Michael had Prince down and he was about to start Moonwalking on him.
“Yeah I am funny. But not half as funny as your little ass. Where do you shop? Baby GAP?”
“Oh shit!” Morris slapped his hand to his forehead, stunned.
Gone was the royal smirk that had been on his face in the beginning.
Prince sucked in his mouth, eyes widened angrily.
“Oh and I love that last movie you were in. Which Oompa-Loompa were you, again?” Michael tossed his hair, dark eyes blazing.
Wow, Michael was getting him at his height and his movies.
“And you’re the only man I know who struts around in high heels. Well, you and Napoleon.” Michael laughed.
Prince was still quiet. Had Michael stuck him that badly?
That was the first time I had ever seen Prince speechless.
Michael went in for the kill.
“But look on the bright side, if you ever hang up this entertainment thing, you could make a living posing for trophies. Who knows? You might show up on an award that I receive!” Michael clapped his hands together.
Prince was white.
Not yellow, not pale, but actually milky, Elmer’s Glue white.
Michael got Prince in the one place Prince could never get him.
Awards. For every one award Prince had, Michael had five standbys.
With that last comment, Michael turned on his heel and brushed past me.
“Brynn, we’re going home.” He called as he made his way down the hall.
I stared at Michael, then glanced back at Prince.
He stood, growing rosy.
“Prince, you’re gonna let him talk to you like that? Are you fucking crazy?” Morris questioned, shock still in his voice.
Prince stomped over to me, his heels clicking so loudly I thought they’d break.
He puffed into my face angrily.
“I could have whipped his ass easy. I really could have. But I didn’t want to drop his ass in front of you.” He explained. “Or mess up my suit. This shit is custom made Versace.”
Was he trying to convince me, or himself?
“Right.” I nodded, not truly believing him.
Prince heard my note of doubt.
Grabbing me by my shoulders he pressed me against the door.
“He thinks he’s so cool just cause he insulted my height? Dangerous things come in small packages Baby. Like dynamite. If I blew up on his ass, it’d be a hell of a mess, You understand?” He banged me against the door.
“You’re hurting me!” I exclaimed and slapped his face. Hard.
The clap echoed around the room.
It had no effect on Prince at all.
“That son of a bitch makes me so fucking mad. I’m gonna punch that bitch one day! I am!” Prince vowed resting his head on my shoulder.
Giving me a firm shove into the hallway, he instructed,
“Go on behind that bastard. I’ll see you later. Without him!” Prince slammed the door.
I stood staring at the door.
I could hear him and Morris loudly arguing behind it.
I knew that this fight was about more than talking vulgar or idle insults.
Michael and Prince were indirectly fighting over me.
I staggered over and leaned against the wall, the hallway swirling around me.
It was a nightmare.
And I couldn’t pinch myself or wake up.
It was real.

Chapter 21

The Next Afternoon

“How did that song go? The one Matthew ‘Bolderick’ was singing?” Prince asked dancing around behind me and Rusty as Rusty was trying to pick out candies for everyone.
We were once again visiting Dylan’s Candy Bar. I felt that if we logged in any more time in that place, Dylan Lauren could have started charging us rent.
“I don’t know. I went to sleep.” I heard Paris reply with a giggle. “It was kinda boring.”
Blanket sat on the floor, cheerfully eating a small bag of Cherry Sours.
Nobody had really paid attention the play other than Prince. He had seen it before when he was younger. And while his siblings were nodding like newborns in the theatre--Rusty fiddling with his Blackberry, of course--Prince had been sitting at full attention, mouthing the words to every song.
Who knew, in a future year, he might have had Matthew ‘Bolderick’s part in the play.
Um, Broderick.
“Okay, Paris, what’d you want Gummy Worms or Gummy Dinosaurs?” Rusty questioned, opening a large plastic bag.
“I wanted Gummy Bears, Rusty. Only orange ones.” Paris grinned up at him, taking a Sour Ball from Blanket and eating it.
“Right, I’m an idiot.” Rusty murmured under his breath, starting to fill the bag.
“You know I’m Bad, I’m Bad--Bad, Bad! Really, really Bad!…”
I jumped as my cell phone (that Michael had given me) started to ring.
“Is that Daddy?” Paris inquired, shoving a fistful of bears into her mouth.
“I wasn’t expecting a call from him.” I shrugged opening the phone and looking at the screen, expecting to see “Michael” written in the ID box.
Instead, it read as, “Unknown Number”.
“Unknown Caller”? I thought to myself. Nobody besides Michael had my cell number.
I quickly deduced that it must have been a misdialed number and shut the phone back, disconnecting the call.
“It wasn’t Daddy?” Paris looked up at me, a half of a bear stuck to her cheek.
Picking it off and dropping it into her open mouth, I replied,
“Nah, I think it was a wrong number.”
“You know I’m Bad, I’m Bad--Bad, Bad! Really, really Bad!…”
“Maybe that’s Dad.” Prince pointed out, heading over to a station where you could make five foot long Pixie Styx.
I flipped my phone open again.
“Unknown Caller, again?”
Just who was calling my damn phone? I put the phone to my ear, poised to set whoever was on the other end straight about not phoning me.
“So now you don’t want to talk to me?” A voice on the other end asked nastily.
I froze.
Prince!
He breathed heavily into the receiver.
How had he gotten the number to the cell phone Michael had given me?
“Are you there, Baby?” Prince’s voice remained heavy, but the sting that had come with the first remark was gone.
He almost sounded sincere.
“Yeah, I’m still here.” I glanced back at Rusty, who was now filling a bag with licorice whips for Michael’s Prince.
I couldn’t address ‘That Damn Man’ in front of Rusty.
He’d probably Blackberry the whole event over to Michael before I could choke him to death.
“Hey Rust Bucket.” I said casually. I had to keep my cool. I couldn’t blow this.
Pretending the close the phone, but keeping it connected, by placing my thumbnail between the flip part, I announced,
“I’m going to the second floor, and get some chocolates. Can you watch the kids?”
“Aren’t I watching them now?” Rusty rolled his eyes at me and huffed.
Any other time I would have sacked him out with his Ryan Seacrest wannabe looking self, but time was of the essence.
“Bring me some malted milk balls please!” Blanket called as I hightailed it up to the second level.
It was mostly deserted up there except for a little Asian boy who was busy eating handfuls of green M&Ms.
He wouldn’t be any trouble. Else a tummy ache or sugar high would keep him occupied.
I took a seat under a shelf that dispensed large Snickers bars.
“Prince?” I whispered.
“Get me some malted milk balls too.” He chuckled. “So this is why you’re not with me? You’re babysitting those kids again, aren’t you?”
“I’m not babysitting…I’m shopping. I just came from a Broadway play.” I said quietly, praying not to be overheard.
“I know, you saw The Producers. I like Rent better myself.” Prince remarked. This holier-than thou act was getting old fast.
“How do you keep knowing where I am? Do you have a private eye following me?’ I demanded so harshly, that the little boy looked over at me.
Then he moved onto a container holding what had to be thousands of chocolate Turtles. And began eating noisily.
Where he had the room in his tiny body was beyond me.
“I told you I have contacts all over. Look around, anyone in the room with you could be looking out for you.” Prince gave me that silly hmmm…hmmm…hmmm laugh.
“Shows what you know! The only other person here with me is a little Japanese boy!” I snapped.
“Hey, I’m Korean lady!” The boy stuck his tongue out at me, then went back to his candy.
“Sorry kid.” I called back.
“That’s okay!”
Prince’s voice softened. “I was hoping to see you today. You should have seen what I did.”
“Yeah? What?’ I asked absently, pulling a Snickers bar out the container and chewing on it.
“Well, I’m lying here…all alone…in this cold, cold bed. Not even the sheets can keep my naked body warm. It’s so sad really.” Prince sighed.
I could actually see him on those blue sheets in his hotel room. Lying on his tummy, round gluteus maximus in the air.
“Yeah?” I was listening now, my breathing slowed.
“Yeah, I tried everything. I even drizzled nice hot baby oil all over my body. You should have seen how I shined, Baby. I looked like the Oscar statuette.
I started rubbing it in, all over my body. Rubbing the oil into my skin. My chest…my thighs…and I know you love my ass. I really wanted you to oil my ass. Can you imagine that?” Prince paused and squeaked. “Shoo…”
I held the candy bar in midair.
“My ass all covered with oil and you rubbing and massaging these cheeks of mine…oops! Maybe your hand might have slipped in! I won’t tell anyone. Shoo…shoop!” Prince squeaked again in my ear.
The candy fell from my hand and rolled away.
I could actually see myself rubbing and pressing on his booty, Prince producing that little squeaky, mouse run over by an eighteen-wheeler sound.
“I could be your slave. Tie me up and whip me. Until my ass is red. You like that idea? A cherry red ass!” Prince snorted.
I fanned myself. He was doing this on purpose.
And it was working.
“Brynn…I will see you again, okay?’ Prince asked cheerfully.
Too cheerfully.
He sounded five seconds from yelling, “Ready Okay! Go Team Go!”
“Okay…” I was numb. What was this man planning? Prince always seemed to have a hundred different things going on behind the scenes.
Prince kissed the receiver loudly, making a smacking noise in my ear.
“I’ll do that to you soon. Just pick the place you want me to put that! Can‘t wait to wreck that body!” Prince hung up.
I snapped my phone closed, drained.
But at the same time delighted.

* * *

Three Hours Later
Dining Room of Master Suite
Windbush Hotel

“These are nasty Daddy! I don’t want to eat them!” Blanket folded his tiny arms across his chest and shook his head defiantly.
“Son, you have to eat these. Don’t you want to grow up big and strong?’ Michael asked directing a fork at his son’s frowning face. A Brussels sprout was skewered at the end of it.
“No Daddy! They taste like throw up!” Blanket whined tossing his head back.
“How do you know Blanket, you’ve never tried them before!” Michael accused trying to force the food past Blanket’s pink lips.
He mashed his lips tighter together and whimpered.
“I like them Daddy.” Paris said quietly forking a few into her mouth.
“Me too.” Prince grinned.
“There are people all over the world starving who’d want to have this dinner.” Michael admonished, shaking a long finger at his youngest offspring.
“ That never works!” I chuckled, running a hand through my hair.
“It’s true.” Rusty chimed in from the other end of the table, playing with the Blackberry. His plate remained untouched. If he didn’t leave that contraption alone, it was going to have to be surgically removed from his hands!
“Do you want me to try?” I offered, patting Michael’s hand.
Michael shrugged and sighed. “Good luck. When he wires his mouth shut, it’s shut.” He handed me the fork and we switched seats.
I eyed the small boy and he eyed me back seriously.
This was going to be easy as homemade apple pie!
“Blanket, don’t you like your dinner?’ I questioned, ruffling the boy’s curls and putting the fork down.
“No, Brynn! They taste like throw up. Yuck!” Blanket stuck his tongue out.
“Okay little man, let’s try out foods you do like…you like roasted chicken don’t you?” I pierced a small cube of chicken and held it out the Blanket.
“Yeah!’ He eagerly gobbled it up.
“And you like honey glazed carrots, right? Bugs Bunny eats them!” I giggled as the boy chewed a few.
I glanced back at Michael as Blanket took a sip of grape juice to wash the food down.
I gave him an approving nod.
“Do you like cabbage?” I pinched his cheek gently.
“Yeah! I love cabbage! I could eat it all day!” Blanket clapped his hands together, eyes wide.
“Well, Blanket, don’t you know what Brussels sprouts are? They’re little bitty cabbages!” I asked innocently, leaning my chin on my hand.
Blanket’s eyes literally did the Sidefloat in his head.
“They’re little cabbages?” Blanket reached out and tugged at my arm. “Really?”
“Yes!” I grinned.
“Oh boy howdy!” Blanket discarded his fork on the table and began picking the sprouts up with his hands and shoveling them away.
“Wow!’ Prince chuckled.
“You got him to eat those! I don’t believe it! Ha-ha!” Michael, hand on top of his head exclaimed before reaching out and hugging me.
“All in the technique.” I chuckled, blowing on my knuckles.
“…if I was invisible, then I could just watch you in your room…”
Everyone at the table glanced up as Rusty's Blackberry began ringing in his hands.
“You have a Clay Aiken song as your ring tone Rust Bucket? The things I have seen in this lifetime.” I snorted snidely as the phone continued to play the song.
“Rusty! I thought I told you to turn that thing off at the table! Geez!” Michael tsk-tsk’ed.
“I’m sorry Michael! It won’t happen again.” Rusty apologized answering the phone. “Rusty Ross’ phone, Rusty speaking.”
“I wanna throw that thing out the window sometimes.” Michael chuckled.
“Michael! Michael!” Rusty hissed, hopping to his feet and running around the table.
“What?’ Michael tore a piece of his roll and started chewing on it.
“Prince is on the phone for you!” Rusty replied mutedly.
My blood chilled and I glanced at Michael, trying to gauge his reaction.
Michael stared at Rusty, a low flame burning in his dark eyes.
I decided to keep my mouth shut.
What did Prince want? Why would he call Michael?
My mind was racing and leaving skid marks in my skull.
Please God don’t let the midget expose me in front of a room of people!
“Put it on speaker.” Michael instructed quietly, voice lethal.
Rusty did as he was told and the sound of light breathing was amplified.
He held the Blackberry under Michael’s mouth, which had flattened out into a thin line.
After a moment of silence, Michael said stiffly,
“Hello?”
“Michael?” Prince’s voice was mysteriously deeper than usual for him.
“Yeah.” Michael nodded and glanced down at me.
The Jackson trio calmly ate their food, Prince quietly chatting about Matthew ‘Bolderick’ to a less than interested Paris.
“Yeah, hey man, how are you?”
“Fine…you?” Michael flipped his hair.
I knew he in no way or fashion wanted to talk to Prince, especially at dinner.
“I’m good. Real good.” Prince’s voice dripped with self-absorption. “Listen, man, I’ve been putting pen to paper and banging out some demos of those songs we agreed on, you know?”
“Right.” Michael nodded.
“Well, I heard that you were in New York--I called Neverland first and somebody told me you were up in NYC. I’m going to be coming to New York in the next few days, doing some shopping, unwinding. Um…” Prince coughed. “Anyway, I wanted to invite you and Brynn to dinner at The Ivy Lounge Restaurant over in Soho. Very informal. Let’s say Saturday night? Eight-ish? Is that cool with you Michael?”
A restaurant in Soho? Why couldn’t we eat someplace closer to downtown--like Tavern on the Green?
Michael rolled his eyes for a moment and asked me in a hushed tone,
“You wanna go eat with ‘That Damn Man’?”
Before I could answer, Rusty put in,
“You should go Michael. I mean the man is bringing the demos and we need the demos!”
“Who the hell asked you? Vete! Vete!” I exclaimed and threw a Brussels sprout at Rusty. The last thing I wanted to do was be in the same room in the middle of Michael and Prince. I remembered how tense and sour things had been at Paisley Park….
I didn’t need a repeat of that.
“He’s got a point Brynn.” Michael said softly, as though he didn’t believe it himself.
“Yeah on his head!” I sighed and put my head in my hands as Michael said to Prince,
“Yeah, Saturday around eight is fine.”
“Good. It’s cocktail attire. I’ll phone you later on with the address to the Ivy Lounge. It’s pretty well hidden. Right now I’m riding from Kennedy. We‘ll discuss the music and all that sort of things.”
Prince laughed lightly as if making dinner dates with his lover and her Main Man was something everyone did for fun.
And riding from Kennedy airport my ass. I was sure he was dialing from the Penthouse.
“Okay.” Michael thumped his fingers against my shoulder.
“Great! I’ll see you then. Good bye.” Prince hung up.
Rusty took the phone from under Michael’s face.
He twisted his mouth from side to side, as if he weren’t truly sure he’d go through with the date.
“Mike, you aren’t really going to do this? Are you?” I stared up at him, still horrified at the thought of Michael and Prince in the same room.
At a table loaded with knives, forks and other objects they could use to gouge each other with.
It was a bloodbath in the making.
“Brynn, Michael has to go get the music from Prince, it’s imperative he does it.” Rusty ran a hand through his hair.
“Oh yeah? Then why can’t you drag your funky carcass over to that greasy spoon in Soho?” I challenged getting to my feet and glaring at Rusty.
“He’s trying to probably make amends for what happened in Minneapolis. From what I heard, things kind of went downhill…” Rusty deposited his Blackberry into his pocket.
“He already did that, remember? The picture and the…the…car…”
I clapped my hands over my mouth at the last statement.
Michael stared up at me, aggravation in his eyes.
A low rumbling sound emerged from him--he was grinding his teeth again.
I knew Michael to some extent was still stewing about the car.
“Are you guys fighting?” A voice asked.
Paris appeared behind Michael’s chair.
“No, we’re just having a loud conversation.” Michael shook his head and started hugging his daughter.
“Use your ‘inside’ voice Daddy.” Paris whispered.
I ran my hands into my hair, half tempted to pull it out.
What was I going to do? What if Prince hinted that he and I had done something.
The universe was crumbling around my ears!
“Excuse me!” I needed to get some air. I felt like I was suffocating.
“Brynn! Brynn! Wait!” Michael called after me, as I went out into the from foyer and out the double doors where Bo and Luke sat sleeping in chairs on either side of it.
I went to the elevators and punched the down button. I wanted to go up to the Penthouse and rip every hair off Prince’s chest, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to access the floor.
“Hey!” A voice called.
I turned to see Rusty angrily trudging towards me. He was redder than a boiled beet.
The doors behind me opened.
“You leave me alone Rust Bucket!” I warned and stepped into the mirrored box and slapping the First Floor button.
“Hell to the nah!” Rusty exclaimed jumping into the elevator with me, just as the door shut.
“What are you trying to do? Fuck up everything for Michael? You know that man is trying to rebuild his name and image since that damn trial.” He slapped the ‘Stop’ button making us teeter around the eighth floor.
“Tell me something I don’t already know! It’s just I don’t want to see Prince! I really don’t want to see him! Not in that setting, not with Michael!” I stammered and turned my back to Rusty, leaning in a corner.
I could feel tears squirming out from around my eyes and down my cheeks.
Rusty was quiet for a long moment.
“Brynn…” Rusty placed a hand on my shoulder. His tone had changed; he sounded concerned. “Did something happen in Minneapolis? Did…did Prince hurt you? I know we’re not exactly B.F.F.’s forever, but if Prince did something to you , you can tell me.”
“What?” I glanced over my shoulder at Rusty. Did Rusty really think that Prince had violated me? But no, Prince hadn’t violated me, everything that happened, happened because I wanted it to happen.
The only thing that had been violated was Michael’s trust.
“No Rusty…it’s just that Michael doesn’t really like to be in Prince’s company and I know that he doesn’t really want to do this. That’s all.” I sighed and looked down at my feet.
“But Brynn, Prince extended the invite…it’d be bad form if Michael didn’t show.” Rusty put squeezed my shoulder. “You know that. Like with Quincy’s party.”
Oh hell no, not the party--where all this began!
“Why can’t there be a breach of etiquette, just once? Huh?” I whined like a child.
“That’s not the way things are done. And if Prince pulls out of this deal, we’re all screwed over…understand?”
“Yeah…” I nodded grimly, wiping at my eyes, “I understand.”
I was already “screwed over”.

* * *

Ursula’s Finer Things Clothing Boutique
Lower Manhattan, New York
Two Days Later


“I cannot believe that Michael sent you along with me to go shopping.” I complained leaning my head against the dim window of the Land Rover.
“Since when do you know anything about women’s fashion?” I glanced over at Rusty who was tapping away on his Blackberry.
I could not believe that I was going to spend the entire day in his company.
“I know a lot since I grew up in a house in Atlanta with a mother, grandmother and four sisters.” Rusty chuckled. “And besides Michael wanted to make sure someone was with you, you know, since that little scare at Aiken’s.” He shrugged as the driver hopped out and opened the car door for us.
I would have much rather shopped by myself, than have old Rust Bucket throwing a crick into things. It was already hard enough having to find a dress that suited Michael’s tastes.
“Yeah, I know.” I sighed recalling the screams of the fans and little Blanket in my ear. It had been frightening.
Rusty and I walked up to the pink frosted doors of the store.
It stretched upward for two stories.
The name was stenciled on in ice blue.
“So what kind of dress am I supposed to get?” I questioned.
“All Mike told me was make sure that the skirt came down to your knees. He’s still wigging over the dresses you wore in Minneapolis.” Rusty chuckled. “You got free reign on color and that sort of thing.”
“Why is he so worried about that? I mean they’re just legs.” I shook my head, pushing the doors to the shop open. A little bell dinged.
I knew Michael wouldn’t want me to wear anything that’d make Prince’s ‘one-eyed anaconda’ pop up to say hello. But still, I mean for cocktail attire, you kind of had to be flirty.
“Well, you are his…ahem, woman.” Rusty said from behind me.
The store seemed pretty cool, with an open floor plan and racks of clothes lining the walls.
A glass surrounded counter displayed dozens of beaded baubles.
As the doors shut behind us, a lady approached us. She was very pretty, with olive skin and long black hair falling over one shoulder. She wore a strapless blue minidress with a rhinestoned belt cinching her tiny waist.
She looked to be about twenty-five, tops.
“Hello, I’m Dana DiScala. Are you Miss McAllister?”
The woman grinned extending her hand.
“Yes, call me Brynn. Hi Dana.” I shook her hand. “This is my, um, friend, Rusty Ross.” I jerked a thumb indicating Rusty.
Dana gave him a small smile.
“Okay Brynn. I’ll be your consultant today. Mr. Jackson gave us your measurements and I have pre-selected some dresses for you. If you don’t see anything that you like , I’ll be more than happy to find whatever will please you.” Dana reached out and grabbed my arm.
“Please follow me to a fitting room.”
Rusty and I followed Dana up a silver painted staircase to a large door.
“This room is reserved for our most special clients.” Dana giggled leading us in.
“Oh!” I gasped.
Five racks of loaded with dresses stood before me.
“You set all this aside for me?” I asked sinking onto a chair in the shape of a pair of lips.
“Yes, Mr. Jackson said to make sure you had plenty of options.” Dana nodded.
“Too bad Michael is in a meeting, I’m sure he would have wanted to see the dresses. I’d really appreciate his opinion.” I said staring at the racks. I knew that there was no way I’d be able to choose an appropriate dress on my own.
“I’m sure you’ll do fine.” A new voice tittered.
On the far end of the room, from behind a rack of floor length gowns, Michael stepped out.
“Mike!” I hopped up. “What happened to your meeting?”
Michael grinned. He looked luscious in a French blue striped shirt and khaki slacks.
A new pair of aviators were perched on his nose.
“This is my meeting. Helping you pick a dress.” Michael sauntered over and gave me a soft hug.
“Thank you, Dana. I’ll let you know if we need anything else.” He smiled letting go of me and sitting next to Rusty.
“Of course Mr. Jackson.” Dana started for the door.
She turned back to him.
I knew what was coming--the girl wanted an autograph.
“Mr. Jackson, could I get a picture with you, please?” She asked, pulling a cell phone from a small pocket on the dress.
“Damn, lady, we’re here to shop!” Rusty jumped up and tried to snatch the phone away.
“But I’ve been a fan since I was two!’ Dana argued, eyes pleading.
“Rusty, let her have her picture.” Michael said calmly taking the phone from Dana and giving it to Rusty.
I stepped back as Michael put his hand on her shoulder and they both grinned.
Rusty snapped the shot and began shooing Dana away.
“Thank you Mr. Jackson! Oh my God!” Dana exclaimed, red-faced, as Rusty shut the door.
“Bye.” Michael called calmly.
Clapping his large hands, Michael suggested,
“Let’s find that dress.”
As we started picking through dozens of dresses, I asked,
“Is there any particular color you want me to wear?”
“Nope…you look so sweet in everything.” Michael slid his arm around my waist and pecked at my neck. “My little model.”
“What do you want the look to be like?” I held a green and white dotted dress against me.
“Sophisticated and classy. Not too exposed.” Michael ran a hand through his hair.
The dress trials were arduous.
Michael had some sort of standard in his mind--what it was exactly, I didn’t know, but he’d pick out everything wrong with the dresses I tried on:
One dress’ neckline plunged too low.
(Michael said that I’d be able to put cream in my own coffee in that dress. Had Michael made a dirty joke?)
The skirt was too high on one. (I agreed, my bottom was barely covered.)
The top of a strapless number kept slipping down.
I must have gone through about thirty different gowns.
Rusty who was bored from the very beginning, had once again dozed off, Blackberry clasped in his rough, red hands.
“Michael…do you think we’ll ever find a dress?” I asked slipping off a gold sequined dress that had made me look like a young Tina Turner.
Michael took the dress from me and handed me another.
I examined the dress. I had to admit, it was pretty cute.
It was made of silk chiffon and printed with a wild, abstract, black, white, and red pattern. It was sleeveless and the back dipped low and was rimmed with thick ruffles in alternating colors that matched the pattern. And thankfully, the skirt hit me directly on the knee.
As soon as I slipped it on, I knew the dress was the one. I didn’t care if I’d have to cling to Michael’s leg and cry like an infant, I was going to get that dress!
“Mike, I like this one a lot.” I said quietly, stepping out of the dressing stall and twirling before Michael.
Michael quietly rose to his feet and began circling me, taking in the dress.
“That is nice…” Michael rubbed his chin. “But, don’t you think it dips a little low in the back? I can see your bra.” Michael snapped the back strap making me jump. “You won’t be able to wear one in that dress.”
“I won’t hug Prince. I want this dress. Please!’ I tugged his arm. “I feel like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s!”
Michael laughed out loud.
“Okay my little Darling. You can have the dress. You look lovely.” Michael pecked my mouth.
“Rusty…” Michael glanced over his shoulder.
Rusty was sleeping soundly, mouth agape. I think I saw drool on his chin.
“Russell Ross!” Michael tapped Rusty on the shoulder.
At the sound of his full name, Rusty jumped to attention.
“Go tell that nice lady we’ve selected a dress.” Michael instructed.
“Right away!” Rusty ran out of the room.
A huge smile lighting his face, Michael motioned me over to him.
“Prince is gonna be green when he sees me with such a gorgeous girl. Hee-hee.” Michael chuckled and wrapped his arms around me. “And I’ll kick him in the face if he tries to flirt with you.”
I sighed lightly. I hoped that it wouldn’t have to come to that.

Chapter 20

The Next Morning

“Michael, which do you like better? This pink or this red?” I leaned out of the large walk-in closet in our suite, holding up two baby doll tops.
Michael glanced up from the cufflinks he was trying to put on.
He was already dressed in a wine colored button down shirt with black epaulets and armband, black slacks and black boots.
His hair was a bit mussed, but I knew he’d brush it down once he got done dressing.
“I think I like that pink best. It’s a good color on you.” Michael grinned.
“Okay.” I winked at him and disappeared back in the closet.
I stepped back out in the top, dark rinse blue jeans and a pair of pink ballet flats.
“How do I look?” I spun in a circle.
“Pretty. Really pretty.” Michael walked over and pecked gently at my cheek.
“Are you nervous at all?” Michael reached down and squeezed my hand.
I looked up at him.
It was going to be my first day going out in public in New York with Michael. He had wanted to take his children and me to a jewelry store to help him pick out a new watch.
I just hoped we wouldn’t be besieged by paparazzi.
“Quite a bit.” I admitted, bringing his hand up to my mouth and kissing his soft knuckles.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be right there with you the whole way. And we’ll probably be left alone. Nobody really knows we’re in town anyway.” Michael grinned at me.
“Do I look old enough? Should I put on more make up?’ I stared up at him. I really wanted to make things run as smoothly as possible and not screw anything up for him.
Michael giggled. “You didn’t have to put on that much. Half of your face is going to be covered.”
He pointed, indicating the black feathered mask on the dresser.
He had had Rusty run out and buy it early that morning.
I bobbed my head and gave Michael a brave smile.
Moving over to the dresser, I slipped it on, careful not to mess up my hair, which was loosely curled.
The mask covered my face from my forehead down to my nose. My mouth was exposed though and I was happy because I’d be able to eat.
I peered at myself through the eyeholes in the mask.
“I look like I’m go to Carnival!” I laughed.
Michael chortled from behind me. “You wanna go to Rio after we leave New York?” He suggested.
“Whatever you want.” I grinned at him, my mood lightening.
Michael shimmied and sang “Day-o! Me say Day-o! Daylight come and me wanna go…shopping! ”
I was up for anything and everything.
Well…maybe not everything.


Aiken Jewelers
Fifth Avenue
Thirty Minutes Later

“Oh my God!” Michael gasped staring out the tinted windows of the Land Rover.
“How the hell did that happen?” Rusty exclaimed leaning against Michael and peeking out the glass. “Somebody must’ve leaked the info--damn!”
Balancing Blanket on my lap, I joined them looking out the window.
My throat tightened.
We were about three blocks from the store.
Standing on front sidewalk were about forty photographers, all poised, and ready to take pictures. Large cameras shined in their grubby hands.
I had never actually seen the paparazzi before, in the flesh.
None of them looked professional; most of them wore rock t-shirts (no MJ shirts, mind you) and shorts. Some even wore Birkenstocks.
Prince and Paris started chattering nervously.
“Everyone stay calm.” Michael instructed gravely.
To the two large bodyguards he said,
“When we get up there, Luke, you hold the door to the store. Bo you hold the car door open. Rusty, get my children one by one and run then in. Then run Brynn. Then I’ll go is that clear?”
Michael looked around over the rims of his Armani aviator sunglasses at everyone.
We all agreed.
As the car pulled in front of the store, madness ensued.
Photogs were jumping all over like a fat man on the last pork chop.
The car was actually rocking.
“Michael! Michael! Mr. Jackson! Mike! Thriller man!” They were all calling, vying for the money shot.
The flashbulbs were blinding and popping like strobe lights.
Following Michael’s hasty instructions, Luke, a large Latin man jumped out and ran to get the store door.
The bulbs popped closer.
“Stay back! Get the hell out the way or I’ll clock your ass! Back up!”
Bo, a tremendous Italian man who was as big as a sumo wrestler, was pushing the stalkerazzi back, trying to clear a path for Rusty to run.
“Hold tight!” Rusty instructed to Prince hopping out the car, holding Prince’s hand, rather than him bodily because he was a bit too big to be carried. Prince held onto his Batman mask as they jogged past the horde. They disappeared into the building.
“Shit that was his son!” I heard someone yell.
“You ready Paris?” Michael asked as Rusty came running back.
“Yes Daddy.” Paris nodded grimly, her silver glitter mask sparkling.
She hastily hugged her father.
“Paris!” Rusty reached and scooped her up.
“Over here Paris! Little Miss Jackson!” The screams were more frenzied.
I heard her squeak in fright.
She held her face in her hands the entire run.
In they went.
What seemed like an eternity passed.
Rusty came jogging back.
Leaned into the car.
At that precise point in time, Blanket chose to start crying.
“Come on Blanket!” Rusty held out his arms.
“No!” The boy sobbed twisting around in my lap. Tears streamed out from under his green clown mask.
Rusty grabbed onto Blanket’s waist and tried to pull him off me.
“No! Don’t take me! Daddy! Brynn!” He screamed wrapping his arms around my neck so tightly I could barely breathe.
“Oh God!” I patted his back.
“He’s scared.” Michael said, his voice freezing me.
Somehow a photographer got past Bo and Luke, and knocked Rusty out of the way getting halfway into the car.
“Goddamn it!” Rusty yelled as he landed on his side, along side the car. I think someone even stepped on him.
Some jerk with a face full of pimples and an AC/DC cap actually got into Michael’s face with a Pentax.
“Ahh! Michael!” I shrieked and crumpled my body over Blanket to protect him. He’d have to go through me to get to that child.
“Move!” I heard Michael order, his voice high as the clouds.
“Get the fuck outta here!” Luke grabbed the man and physically threw him out the way.
Through the large display windows I could see Prince and Paris watching. Their mouths were poked out. Vexed, they were both wringing their hands.
“He won’t let go of me Michael! Blanket won‘t let go!” I screamed over excited shouts.
Michael, eyes wide with horror at the scene unfolding, screamed back,
“Carry Blanket and run! For God sakes, run and don’t stop!”
“Yes!” Fueled by pure adrenaline, I clutched Blanket tightly to me and slipped out of the car. The lights were blinding and all I could see were spots.
“Who’s that girl? Hey lady!’ Somebody shouted.
“That’s Michael’s other son! What a day!” Another person chimed in.
“NO!” Blanket held onto me so hard, his nails were digging into my flesh.
He wrapped his legs tightly around my waist.
“Come on! I got you!” Rusty had his hands on my back and was pushing me towards the door.
Inside I stood looking out the glass, trying to calm Blanket.
I had never seen him that out of sorts, ever.
His face scarlet as he continued to howl.
Paris and Prince rallied around me trying to shush him.
Even a couple of saleswomen where patting at the boy.
The crowd seemed larger than it had been when we had first pulled up a few minutes ago. There were about fifty more people. And more were running to join the mash.
Something wasn’t quite right. They didn’t look like photographers, but were fighting with them just as hard.
They didn’t have big professional cameras. Just toss-aways and camera phones.
One man wore a black and white version of Michael’s Thriller jacket. A woman wore a black sequined Billie Jean jacket. Many wore single white gloves on their hands and black fedoras on their heads. I even saw a red fedora.
Then it dawned me.
Those weren’t paparazzi.
Those were fans.
And then came the chanting.
“Michael! Michael! Show your face! Michael! Michael! Show your face!”
The door to the car remained open, but Michael didn’t make an appearance.
“Come on Michael.” I whispered, rocking Blanket back and forth.
“Is Dad coming Brynn?” Prince stared up at me. His large eyes were filled with too much worry for a nine year old boy.
At that moment, from somewhere in the back of the store about ten policemen came running, whipping past us and out to try to manage the crowd.
Paris screamed, startled, as they went by. She clung to her older brother.
They started supervising the crowd, and helping to keep them at bay.
Finally…finally, Michael emerged from the car.
The screams reached an ear splitting decibel and the crowd crushed in tighter, hands reaching for any kind of touch on Michael.
He started to run.
Hands seemed to jut out from all over. Wanting to hold him. Grab him.
Get a piece of him.
Blanket was still bawling in my ear.
From seemingly nowhere, a gloved hand reached in and snatched Michael’s sunglasses right off his face.
His eyes widened in surprise when he realized his shades were gone.
He actually touched his face with his hands to make certain they were really gone.
“Hot damn! Did you see that?” Rusty exclaimed behind me as the fan held the glasses in the air, before a policeman tackled him. “That’s a five hundred dollar pair of shades!”
“That guy took his glasses! Rusty, get out there and help him!” I yelled trying to put Blanket on the floor. He steadily clung to my neck, legs dangling and swinging.
“No Brynn! No!” He really didn’t want to be left.
Throwing his jacket off, to the nearest saleswoman, Rusty ran out into crowd and immediately was hit in the face with a pair of zebra print underwear. I only hoped that they were clean.
“This has never happened before!” One of the saleswomen exclaimed to me.
“Well it sure as shit is happening now!” I snarled at her.
It seemed surreal. I was holding a howling little boy, two more kids beside me biting their nails down to the skin and watching the man I loved being canvassed by enthusiasts.
It was something I had only seen on the news. Never in person.
And there it was, right before my eyes.
And as wild as the scene was, I knew that less that six months earlier, I would have been on the other side of the barricade, just trying to touch Michael. Get his attention. Something. Anything.
The fan and policeman rolled on the ground fighting over the shades.
The glasses snapped in half.
A dark lens flew.
A few other devotees joined in trying to snap up the pieces.
In another dimension, that fan could have been me.
A ten second run was taking over ten minutes.
Rusty threw the panties away back into the crowd and made it to Michael.
Threw his arm around him.
Both men bent down deeply and started to run again.
I actually saw someone smack Michael’s bottom as he went by.
They burst into the store.
Bo and Luke quickly brought up the rear and slammed the doors to the shop.
One sales woman rushed over and locked them.
“Daddy!” Prince and Paris nearly tripped each other racing to hug Michael.
He immediately dropped to his knees and embraced them.
They hugged like they hadn’t seen each other in decades.
“Look Blanket, it’s your Daddy. It’s Daddy.” I tried to turn Blanket’s head so he could see his father.
Michael finally got to his feet and approached me.
Bulbs continued flashing.
“Are you okay?” Michael asked wrapping his arms around me, Blanket caught between us. For the first time the boy was silent.
“Yes.” I looked back at the crowd.
Fans pressed against the window tapping it with balled fists, struggling for space among the photographers.
The policemen were still out there grappling with them all.
“That was pretty wild.” I gasped patting Michael’s back, not caring who took my picture. I had to be calm for him, even though I wanted to jump all over him and cry.
“If that ain’t the understatement of the century.” Rusty sank to floor leaning against a display of turquoise jewelry. His blonde tipped hair was a mess.
Michael gave me warm smile that seemed tinged with a bit of sadness.
I knew for him, this was just another day at the office that was Celebrity.


Two Hours Later

“Once again, Mr. Jackson, I want to extend my regrets not only to you, but your children and companions.”
Walter Aiken, owner of Aiken’s Jewelers, apologized for what had to have been the thirtieth time since Michael and I had gotten in the store.
He was a short, round fat man, with tufts of white hair on his mostly bald head, who spoke with a bit of a Welsh accent.
And he had been profusely sweating like he was going to the electric chair and waiting to be pardoned by the governor. The collar of the blue shirt he wore was soaked with perspiration.
Michael nodded, only half listening to the man. He was too busy admiring the watch he was trying on.
It was a true beauty. It was made from one solid piece of silver and featured a mother of pearl face and diamond encrusted bezel. (And a five figure price tag.)
I don’t think anyone was really paying attention to Mr. Aiken. Rusty was seated in a corner, tapping at his Blackberry, a bandage on his hand where he had gotten a scrape from being pushed out the way.
Prince and Paris sat in the middle of the floor under a display of Tourmaline jewelry playing Patty-Cake. A few feet away, Blanket was snuggled into a ball on the carpet, napping, his thumb jammed in his mouth.
I glanced out the huge display window.
Even the crowd of Jackson followers were sedate; quiet and watching.
Every so often a flashbulb would go off or a fan would tap the glass trying to get Michael’s interest.
Michael, remarkably, was in good spirits. After being secured in the store he had actually waved to the fans and blown kisses before turning to his shopping.
“Brynn,” Michael tapped my shoulder.
Holding his wrist under my nose, he asked, “Do you like this?” He questioned, shaking his wrist, making the diamonds catch the light.
“It’s pretty. Really flashy.” I grinned up at him.
Michael reached and pinched my cheek.
He turned to Mr. Aiken who was still trying to offer condolences.
“I’ll take this too.” Michael said cheerfully, interrupting the man.
Michael slipped the watch off and handed it to Mr. Aiken who, still talking, added the watch to a pile that included no less than five sets of gold and silver cufflinks, gold chain link necklaces for his sons and a pair of pink diamond studs set in platinum for Paris.
I had been fighting the temptation to look at different trinkets. I really didn’t want Michael to spend that much on me.
“Mr. Jackson…” A saleswoman asked walking towards him, pushing a small cart. On top of it were several glasses and an ice bucket containing what appeared to be about five different bottles of wine.
“Mr. Jackson, may I offer you and your guest some refreshments?” She asked meekly, tucking a lock of coppery hair behind her ear.
Michael peered at the bottles in the cart. “What do you have?” He questioned.
“Um…” The woman bent and checked the bottles. “Pinot Noir, Pinot Grigio, and some Moet, Sir.” She smiled. I could tell by the way her pale cheeks were glowing, she was taken with Michael. I didn’t blame her. Michael was the catch.
“Could I get one glass of Pinot Grigio.” Michael motioned to me. “She doesn’t drink too much. I’ll share the glass with her.”
Michael smiled at me. “Or would you rather the Noir?” He questioned.
I was gob smacked. Michael had never offered me a (alcoholic) drink. The closest I had gotten to a drink was a Shirley Temple cocktail--which was Paris’ favorite drink--or a virgin Pina Colada.
Why was he offering me a drink then?
“Um, Grigio is fine, Mike.” I ran my fingers along the sleeve of his shirt.
“Grigio it is.” Michael grinned at the saleswoman who popped the cork and began filling a glass.
“Didn’t you tell me you and Taryll had this same kind of wine on your first date?” Michael asked out of nowhere.
Time to put the “I’m Taryll’s girlfriend” ball into play.
“Oh yes, so sweet, we went up to Napa Valley to an old vineyard. It was so romantic.” I grinned as Michael took the filled glass and sipped at the wine.
“Who’s Taryll?” The saleswoman asked.
“He’s my nephew…”Michael peered at the nametag on the woman’s blouse. “Deborah.”
“Oh that must be exciting.” Deborah smiled. “How did you meet?”
Michael glanced at me. I couldn’t fumble now.
I took the glass from Michael and swallowed the contents--more than half the glass--and replied,
“We met at a party Michael’s brother Marlon was throwing at his house. Turns out we had a mutual friend. You know Nicole Richie right?”
“Of course!” Deborah filled my glass again. Behind her, Michael was giving me an approving nod.
“Well, darndest thing, Nicole and Taryll went to the same prep school and Taryll noticed me across the room. I’ve known Nicole for a while now. We have the same manicurist. Anyway, Taryll asked to be introduced and the rest is history hon.” I sipped the wine again. “Good stuff.”
I handed the glass off to Michael, who downed the remainder.
He handed the glass to Deborah and she proceeded to make her way over to Rusty to offer him a drink.
Michael grabbed my shoulders and whispered excitedly,
“Where in the world did you pull that story from? That was brilliant!”
“Must’ve been the wine talking.” I giggled. “Mike, why’d you let me drink, I don’t usually drink with you.” I looked up at him seriously.
Michael eyes glittered as he exclaimed, “You managed to carry a screaming four-year-old boy through a crowd of paparazzi and my fans. If I could, I’d give you a medal!” Michael toyed with my hair.
I knew he wanted to kiss, but since his every movement was being captured on film, he instead, just made a kissing noise.
Turning back to Mr. Aiken he said casually,
“Hey Wally--”
“…and next time I’ll have better and tighter security, and the police! We’ll have the SWAT team…” Mr. Aiken was still mumbling.
“Wally.” Michael said seriously. Annoyance was in his voice.
“…your children will have security. Hell, security will have security…”
“Wally!” Michael snapped his fingers right between Mr. Aiken’s half-closed brown eyes.
“Yes Mr. Jackson?” Mr. Aiken jumped to attention.
“Will you go get that…thing? You know what we discussed?” Michael sighed and tossed his hair over his shoulder.
Behind us, the crowd roared.
A reaction to a hair flip.
God help us if Michael hopped onto the display case and Moonwalked!
But, I didn’t blame them. Anything Michael did was sexy!
“Oh yes! Mr. Jackson! Pardon me!” Mr. Aiken turned and bellowed,
“Deborah! I need you! Now!”
Deborah, abandoned the apparent conversation she was having with Rusty and literally ran behind Mr. Aiken off into the back off the store.
“What this thing that’s got them so excited?” I questioned, reaching up and tucking Michael’s hair behind his ear.
Flashes intensified.
Michael’s ear was almost as dark as the shirt he wore. He was blushing something fierce.
“Okay, what’s up? Your ears look like the burnt chip in the bottom of the bag they’re so dark!” I tugged the lobe making Michael giggle uncontrollably.
“You’ll see in a moment Honey.” Michael pulled my hand from his ear and stroked the top of it lightly.
“Here we are Mr. Jackson!” Mr. Aiken announced tromping over to Michael, followed by Deborah. Both held no less than five boxes in assorted sizes.
They spread them out on the top of display case and started opening them.
The array was breathtaking.
Diamonds, pearls, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires glittered at me from setting made of yellow gold, white gold and even rose gold.
Necklaces, bracelets, rings…a king’s ransom in baubles.
“Oh gosh.” I put my hands to my face.
“Which piece do you like best Brynn?” Michael asked, placing his hand on my back.
“Oh Michael.” I gazed up at his smiling face.
“Um…” I picked up a small box containing an impressive ring. A very large blue stone placed in a white gold setting sparkled at me. “I like this.”
Michael took the box from me and held it out to Mr. Aiken.
“Tell me about this. She likes this.”
Mr. Aiken peered at the ring.
“That Sir, is an eight carat London Blue Topaz ring, Emerald-cut stone in an 18 karat white gold setting. Would you care to try it on Miss McAllister?”
“Can I Michael?” I asked gazing up at him.
“Sure.” Michael took it out and placed it on my right ring finger.
I examined it. “It’s lovely.”
I held it up for the fans and paparazzi to see.
Flashes bathed us in light and fans banged on the glass.
I believe I heard a fan scream for Michael to buy them something.
“That’s the style now…huge cocktail rings. The bigger the better.” Deborah chimed in offering me another ring.
Mr. Aiken explained that it was a six-and-a-half carat Citrine in a 22 karat yellow gold setting. Cushion cut stone.
I was shown a matching necklace to the Citrine ring.
Then pear shaped, sapphire chandelier earrings.
Diamond tennis bracelets.
Canary diamond lariat necklaces with a matching pair of earrings and a bracelet, all with Rose cut stones.
My mind was spinning. There was so much to choose from.
An hour passed before I had made a decision.
Behind me, Paris and Prince had both joined Blanket in the Land of Nod. Rusty too. He dozed in the chair, gizmo still in his hands.
I picked up the Blue Topaz ring again. “I still like this best.” I announced, hoping I hadn’t taken too much of Michael’s or Mr. Aiken’s time.
“Your fans responded really well to it.”
Michael once again took the ring from me. “You want this ring?” He questioned raising one of his eagle’s wing eyebrows.
“Yes.” I nodded until my hair bounced. I planned to reconstruct my entire wardrobe so I could always wear the ring.
“Um…” Michael bit down on his lip. “I don’t think you can have this ring.” He said and looked at me, his dark eyes wide and wet.
“What?” I stared at him stunned. “I can’t have the ring? Michael? Why?” I grabbed onto his shoulders. I was already picking an outfit so I could wear the ring the next day. I felt tears of disappointment in my eyes.
“Why?” Michael turned and walked a bit from me, his legion screaming beyond the glass. “You can’t have the ring because…” Michael trailed off and glanced over his shoulder.
“Because why?” I stamped my foot, frowning bitterly.
Back still turned, Michael said so quietly, I barely heard him,
“You get it all.”
Had I heard him correctly?
“All of it? I get all of it? It’s all mine?” I felt close to fainting.
Hands clasped behind his back, Michael spun back around and mouthed the word, “Yes.”
My screams shook the rafters of the building and was louder than most of the devotees outside. The Jackson trio hopped to their feet, confusion on their faces and Rusty slid out his chair and onto the floor at my commotion.
“Michael!” I ran over and hugged him with such force he rammed into a display case, sending Hello Kitty watches flying.
“Oh you sweet, wonderful, beautiful man! I love you! You know that? I love you!” I yelled into his chest.
“Are you happy?” Michael chuckled holding my face in his hands.
“Delighted!” I smacked his cheek loudly, not caring who saw me do it.
Fans beat on the glass, cheering.
Michael laughed and enveloped me in another hug.

***

Three Days Later
Sometime in the Morning

“…Cherish the love we have….Cherish the life we live…”
I awoke to the sounds of the radio in the sound system across from the bed playing softly.
I was lying on stomach, nude, and covered in perspiration.
The bed was a semi-damp mess of wrinkled fabric.
Next to me, Michael snored lightly.
The sheets just barely concealed his bare hips. A light sheen of sweat sparkled on his uncovered top.
His long, thick hair was matted across his forehead.
He clutched my Citrine necklace in his hand, over his chest.
Close to his heart.
It was the only thing I had worn to bed the night before.
For the last seventy-two hours, the outside world Michael and I knew had ceased to exist.
He had been ravaging me on and off for that span of time.
Who knew that Michael’s one true sexual weakness in the world was the sight of a woman in nothing but fine jewelry?
Michael would send Rusty, his guards and his children off on various exploits--trips to Dylan’s Candy Bar, back to back musicals on Broadway, sprees at F. A.O. Schwartz--then he’d lock the door to the main suite and our room and a beast more fierce than his Thriller werewolf would come out.
He’d gotten me in diamonds in the shower, sapphires in the bathtub, citrines in the bed and emeralds on the floor along side the bed. (We had unexpectedly rolled out of the bed!)
It was wild. And I loved it.
I had several little bruises on my shoulders from where Michael had squeezed down on them to keep himself steady. (If you catch my drift.)
And he wore a few hickeys, his favorite being one I left on the inside of his right thigh. (I hadn’t yet enjoyed Michael’s “zipper” ride, but I got close enough to kiss on his thigh. If I had been permitted to go up about five more inches…)
As Michael slumbered comfortably, I gently pecked his wet forehead, slid out of bed, careful not to disturb him, and made my way to the bathroom, to clean up and try to order breakfast.
I emerged from the shower fifteen minutes later, feeling revitalized and happy.
As I stood in my robe drying my hair, a little noise caught my attention.
“Secret Lovers….Secret Lovers…”
Oh no! Not then! No!
Prince was texting me!
I ran over to the door and peeked out.
Michael had turned on his side, his little sweet, pale booty facing me.
He was still asleep.
Closing and locking the door, I went to my make-up case and picked up the phone.
Accessed my messages.
Prince had written:

Eye haven’t heard from U in a while. Heard Jacko bought U some nice things. He can’t buy U the nicest thing--ME. He can buy the planet, but he can’t satisfy U the way EYE can! & that sez what? That sez next time Eye C U, Eye’m gonna wreck that body!

Right soon.

Luv
Ur little Orgasmatron!

PS--EYE MISS U!

I hung over the washbasin, speechless.
I had completely forgotten about Prince for almost a week.
But then again, it was kind of hard for me to even remember my name when Michael was loosening a necklace with his teeth.
Knees weakening, I staggered over to the commode, flipped the lid down and sat on top of it.
I had no idea when I was going to see Prince again.
If I could.
I reviewed the message again. Prince said he wanted to “wreck that body.”
I sighed and brought my knees to my chest. I was suddenly very cold.
Could I really do that? Let him have me again?
I ran a hand through my tangled hair.
I had come pretty close to stripping him down when he had danced for me.
It was by the grace of the Creator that I hadn’t tossed Prince in that bed.
My neck warmed as my mind replayed Prince’s little gyrations and spins and Lord, the thrusts.
Prince was sex in heels.
Those big moody eyes of his, that cunning, twisting mouth, little lithe, silky body…
It seemed he had been born to do “it”. Singing was a hobby; “wrecking” bodies was his real mission in life.
And while I had a still nude man less that twenty feet from me, I began wondering about Prince.
“Brynn?” A hard knock on the door roused me from my thoughts.
I flew off the commode, rushing to put the phone back into my make-up case.
“Brynn!” The knock was more persistent.
“Coming!” I slammed the case closed and locked it.
I ran to the door so swiftly, that I banged against it.
I opened it slowly, trying to calm myself.
Michael, covered in a plush red robe sauntered in, a content grin on his face.
“Morning, my Bejeweled Beauty.” Michael patted my head.
“Morning.” I stretched my mouth into a grin.
I was crying on the inside. How long could I keep this charade up?
My life was turning into a Lifetime Movie of the Week.
As he turned on the hot water in the in the deep sunken tub made of exquisite white marble perched on clubbed feet, Michael commented with a chuckle,
“We got pretty wild huh?”
He was in such high spirits. I felt terrible.
“Yeah…” I looked down at my hands.
“Is something wrong Brynn?” Michael stooped a bit and studied my face.
Was “Guilt” stamped on my forehead?
“Um…no. Just a little sore, that’s all.” I giggled stiffly.
“So…what are we going to do today?” I looped my arm around Michael’s slim form.
“Just resting. I have to go back to another meeting tomorrow.” Michael brushed his fingers along my hot neck.
“Oh you do?” I glanced around the room and my eyes landed on the make-up case.
Was I really going to see Prince that soon?
“Yeah Honey, but tomorrow, I want you to go out with Rusty and the kids. They’re going to see The Producers. I got really good seats. I think Matthew Broderick and that other guy are still in it.” Michael explained pouring peach scented bubble bath into the water.
It foamed and frothed under the spigot.
I heaved an inner sigh of relief.
Saved by a play that made a musical out of World War Two.
What were the odds?
“Why don’t you go phone room service. I’ve got a taste for some good old fashioned flapjacks and sausage!” Michael chuckled stepping over to the tub and talking his robe off.
He sank into a seated position sighing lightly. “This hot water feels wonderful.”
“Flapjacks?” I questioned. I had never heard Michael call pancakes that.
“Sure. That’s what you say in the South right? Or is it hotcakes?” Michael giggled beginning to lather up with a small blue towel.
“Either one.” I shrugged, taking in Michael’s sweet, sudsy body.
He was so beautiful.
The bubbles came up to shoulders and were wetting the very ends of his hair. They sparkled around him like gems.
I watched quietly as he picked up a small blue towel and started lathering his body with a bar of Dove soap.
It was strange, a dove symbolized peace--no worries.
And there I was, so wrapped up with turmoil that if it materialized, I’d be an off the charts tornado!
I knelt along side the tub, silently watching as Michael scrubbed away at his face, shoulders and underarms.
He was so innocent. Even at almost fifty years old--give or take a few years--he was so innocent. So sweet, so unjaded, unscathed by the truth.
The sweetest man in the world.
“Do you want to do my back?” Michael asked softly, holding the wet washcloth out to me.
I wordlessly took it and started gently rubbing at his back.
As I cleaned Michael, my mind ran over the conversation I had had with Prince.
“You spend your time with three children, a man who acts like a child with a house that has it’s own amusement park. You’re Wendy to Michael‘s fucking Peter Pan…”
I bit down on my bottom lip as I replayed the lines over and over again in my head. Not just the Peter Pan bit.
The parts about my not having any outside friends or having driven my car or anything.
Was Michael depriving me?
No! No! No! I screamed at myself. How could I even think such things? Michael had been so kind to me, taken me in, cared for me, loved me…
And I was so much younger.
“Barely past jailbait” as Prince had put it.
I knew I was young, and that’s why Michael had been looking out so hard for me. Sheltering me. It wasn’t him doing it on purpose, to shut me off from the world, it was just his way of protecting me.
Taking me out of clubs and placing me in Neverland.
But as much as I hated to admit it, Prince was right, in his own twisted, violet washed sort of way.
I never really spent any time to myself.
I was always with Michael or his children. Not that it was a bad thing. I loved Michael dearly and adored his children, but everything in my life at that point revolved around them.
But Prince wasn’t exempt. When I was in Minneapolis, I spent nearly all my time with Prince, give an hour in a heavy make-up session with Mindy.
Sure Mindy was a friend, but it wasn’t like we hung out together, we just spoke occasionally.
She was the closest thing to a “friend” I had in my world that wasn’t Michael or Prince or the Jackson trio.
Perhaps Prince was a hypocrite. He kept me around him as much as Michael had kept me around him.
I sat up, dropping the towel with a plop in the water.
“Brynn?” Michael turned and stared at me, concerned.
A new thought was looming in my brain.
Michael and Prince, in their own ways, were one and the same.
Both asking me to dress and behave how they wanted, me singing for both, sleeping with both.
That was why I loved both of them so much: They were two sides of the same man.
Michael, sweet, and coy and gentle. Prince, rough, vulgar and on the verge.
It was all too much to bear.
I couldn’t handle the truth!
And I truly couldn’t imagine my life without either one.
“Brynn!’ Michael exclaimed, frightened, as I crawled over to the commode, lifted the seat and commenced to vomiting.
A moment, he kneeling beside me, pulling my hair back, still nude.
“Baby! What is it? Are you sick? Is it something you ate? What’s wrong? Baby!” Michael begged wrapping his arms around me. “Do you want a doctor?”
“Michael…” I looked up as tears flooded from my eyes and made him a glowing white blur. “Michael…I…I…”
“What Baby?” Michael’s eyes were wide, skin ashen with horror.
Sinking to the floor, in a near fetal position, I managed to blurt out,
“I love you so much!”
I could hear Michael audibly crying.
“That’s it? You love me? I thought something was wrong!” He laid over me, hugging me and kissing at my neck. “I love you too!”
“If only you knew.”
I thought miserably.