Chapter 1--Continued

The cabbie and I rode along for about an hour and half in perfect silence. The silence gave me more time to think. More time to pray. I must have covered ever Hail Mary in the book three times over and prayed to God and my favorite saint, St. Jude, the saint of lost causes. I just really hoped that this wasn’t going to be the last time anyone saw me alive.
Glancing out the tinted, dusty windows of the old cab, I saw that we had been going by a stretch of land that looked almost desert-like, it was so bare and sketchy. For a moment, I thought this guy had driven down into Mexico or at least over into the Nevada desert.
“Hey…” I looked at the cabbie’s license attached to the window, “Achmed, are we still in California?”
“Yes. You wanted Santa Ynez, we are in Santa Ynez. Almost to place you wanted to go.” He glanced back at me.
“Oh…ok.” I whispered, leaning my head back and closing my eyes.
A short time later, the cab came to an abrupt stop and I was jerked forward.
Achmed began ranting breathlessly in what I guessed was Arabic.
“Man what the…” I started and as I looked around, my vocal cords locked up.
There in front of me were a set of simple wooden gates and stuck to them were paper hearts and cardboard angels and the remnants of bouquets of flowers.
It was something I had seen for months on television.
It was the main gate to Michael Jackson’s Neverland Valley Ranch and the trinkets of love had been left by adoring fans during his eighteen-month long child molestation trial. It had been a little over a month since proceedings had ended.
(Trust me I had wanted to go, but as poor as I was, the only way I would have gotten there was to walk and I know in the blistering California weather, I would have died before I even got out of West Hollywood.)
“Get the hell out of here!” I shrieked and flung the door to the cab open and ran up to the gate.
“Hey! My money!” Achmed screamed running out behind me.
“I don’t believe it! It is Neverland!” I exclaimed and actually hugged Achmed.
“I don’t give damn if it’s Disneyland, I want my money!” He grumbled pushing me off of him.
“Have you no respect? This is where Michael Jackson lives!” I pushed him back.
Achmed stared at me a moment, then looked over at the gates in awe.
The screaming like a woman being knifed and raped, Achmed jumped against the gate yelling.
“Michael! Michael! Yo! Michael!”
From somewhere behind the gate, a voice cried,
“Hey! Get off that gate!”
Achmed jumped off and ran over to me. A second ago he had been shoving me away and now he was hugging me so tightly I could barely breathe.
“Michael Jackson!” He whopped bouncing up and down.
Sliding from Achmed’s grasp, I ran up to the gate. Standing on tiptoe and peering through the cut outs in the top of the gate, I saw Rusty and another man, presumably a Neverland security guard, approaching me. The “guard” a tall and hulking man with skin the color of oil walked up to the gate. When they were within a few inches of it, the gate started to swing open.
Luckily I dodged it. Achmed wasn’t so lucky.
He was knocked down by the gate. The large black man scooped him up as if he were a nothing but a feather and began toting him back to his cab.
Achmed was screaming louder than most of the Michael fans I had ever seen.
As the “guard” was trying to calm him, Rusty, in another snappy three piece suit, put his hand on my shoulder.
“Brynn! I’m so glad you came. I was really hoping you would.” He grinned broadly.
“Yeah! I am so glad. This is really the Neverland Valley Ranch?” I was bubbling with excitement.
“Yes it is. And Michael is really looking forward to meeting you. I talked you up all last night.” Rusty nodded leading me inside the gate.
I glanced back to see Achmed still wrestling with the “guard” and giggled.
“Michael’s looking forward to meeting me? But he’s the star.” I said quietly as the magnitude of the situation really began to set in.
“I know, but he’s always looking to work with someone new. And you’re about as new as they get little lady.” Rusty chuckled.
I walked a few feet to the “main” gate of Neverland. It was black and wrought iron with a huge gold emblem that said “Welcome to Neverland”.
As they opened and we passed through them, my eyes just about jumped out my head.
I could actually feel my eyeballs growing with mounting awe. I was just barely able to take in the expansive, almost three thousand acres worth of beautifully manicured lawns, littered with beds of thousands of colorful flowers. Then I caught sight of the amusement park rides, the huge Ferris wheel, the Spider, and the Zipper. Plus many more! Exotic animals, large and small from elephants to giraffes to even alligators, watched quietly from their habitats a few hundred yards away from me.
“Rusty…this is Heaven” I gushed almost unable to contain my happiness.
“Actually I think Heaven is much prettier.” A voice behind us commented.
I turned around and I clutched Rusty’s arm with sheer delight.
There standing in the open front double doorway was Michael Jackson.
I had never seen him before in real life before, but I can honestly say that he looked gorgeous. Even though he had thinned out almost severely--because of stress from the trial--Michael was so lovely.
His lean long body was clad in an fitted button down bright blue shirt, the top two buttons loosened. He also wore his usual black slacks, that stopped just high enough to show that he was wearing his loafers and oddly enough, bright yellow socks--not white ones.
His hair, jet black, and past his slender shoulders, fell in gentle waves in stark contrast to his angular, alabaster white face.
Michael’s eyes were hidden by a pair of large, blue tinted Ray Ban sunglasses.
Just looking at him made my heart pound and my knees weaken.
I couldn’t help it. He was so beautiful.
“H…Hi Mr. Jackson!” I gasped, looking down at my feet, suddenly shy.
I wasn’t the type of person to get shy, but I think that Michael Jackson could draw that reaction from even the toughest of souls.
“Mr. Jackson is my father. Please, call me Michael.” He walked over to me, a huge smile lighting up his already glowing face.
Some force made me stick my hand out to shake his.
“Aw…” Michael grabbed my hand and pulled me into a hug.
God, I could have died right there. Michael’s body was so warm and soft and the scent of his cologne was driving me up the freaking wall! It was a sweet, spicy smell.
“Welcome to Neverland Brynn.” Michael leaned back at held me at arm’s length. “Gosh, you’re a pretty girl.” He commented.
I squirmed under his compliment. “Thank you Michael.” I managed to whisper. “Your home is lovely.”
“Thank you.” Michael tossed his arm around my shoulders and began to lead me inside his huge, Tudor style mansion. Rusty tagged along on the other side of me.
“Rusty here talked you up half the night. How wonderful your voice is. I can’t wait to hear it.” Michael giggled.
I was just basking the glow of Michael Jackson. His voice was so remarkable. I was so used to hearing him talk in a shy squeak and to be honest, his “normal” speaking voice was a bit deeper.
That’s when it dawned on me that I had to sing for him! My heart thudded even harder. I was determined to take his ears off his head and make him soil himself with happiness at my voice.
Michael walked me into his living room, which was stuffed full of pricey antiques.
“Okay Brynn, just be calm. “ Michael advised sitting on his couch.
“Yes…what do you want me to sing?” I wondered as Rusty took at seat on the opposite end of the couch.
“Sing what you sang last night.” Rusty urged.
“Um…okay.” I drew a deep breath and closed my eyes.
I rattled off a few bars and the more I got into the song, the confident I felt and the stronger my notes came out. As I hit the big
“And IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII will always love you”
line, a loud squeal made me stop abruptly.
I opened my eyes to see that Michael had dropped his head between his knees.
My first reaction was that I had sounded horrible to him and he was trying to hide from sour notes.
“Michael….?” I questioned fearing the worst.
He looked up, his sunglasses falling to the large area rug. Tears were welling in his large dark, doe eyes and running down his sharp cheeks.
“Brynn…that voice…how old are you?” He questioned shakily, rubbing his small upturned nose and sniffling.
“I’m nineteen. Was I that bad?” I wrung my hands nervously.
“Bad? You thought you were bad?” Michael exclaimed. “Brynn, girl, you have an amazing voice. Jesus. I want you on my song. Say yes!” He jumped up and stood over me.
Michael Jackson was demanding I be on one of his songs! I wanted to pinch myself. My insides were screaming “Hell yes with cherries on top!” but I willed myself to be cool.
“Sure Michael!” I smiled.
“Alright!” Michael ran off.
“Brynn,” Rusty started, “You are about to be a part of history.”
“How so?” I inquired.
“People think that Michael is ruined since that damn trial. He is planning his comeback album. And you are gonna be on it. Mark my words, Mark’em.”
Flying on a happy high, I snapped back, “How can he be making a comeback if he’s never left. He just took a short hiatus.”
Rusty laughed heartily. “You got the goods girl.”
“Here we go Brynn.” Michael jogged back with a sheet of paper.
“This is the song. It’s called Not Over. And here’s the hook…I want you to sing. Just try it out.” Michael pointed at the mad scribbling on the paper.
Singing quickly he said, “ I’m back, geared for another attack. I’m here, forever. Never left, this isn’t over Never Over!”
I stared at Michael. His natural, non studio altered voice was so pretty.
He stared back expectantly. His eyes on me made me shiver with excitement.
“Michael…this is going so fast…I can hardly catch my breath.” I admitted and sat on the plush couch.
Michael chuckled to himself. “I guess I am kind of moving fast. It’s just that I want to put this ordeal behind me. I love music and I want to put out something…good… as soon as I can.” Michael looked down at his shoes.
“I’ll tell you what.” He reached and began to stroke my long ponytail. His touch was electric. “Why don’t I take you on a tour of Neverland. Where are my manners? I should have shown you around before I tried to shove this song down your throat. Come on.” Michael once again tossed his arm around my shoulders.
We walked out across his estate to the train that circled the property.
As we were seated and a silent conductor started the ride, Michael began pointing out attractions of his home.
I must have looked so pitiful next to him, but I was watching him as intently as a fat man watches the last pork chop on the dinner table . I was sucking up every word he was saying. I didn’t want the day, the simple moment to end.
After the initial show around, he treated me to rides and candy and anything anyone could have ever desired to do.
We had had some elaborate five star dinner prepared by Michael’s personal chef. I barely tasted it, I was so wrapped up in Michael’s aura.
But the day eventually had to end.
It was dusk and Michael had led me to the front gates.
“It was fun meeting you Brynn and I look forward to getting to work on that track tomorrow.” Michael put his hands in his pockets and looked around shyly.
“It was so wonderful meeting you. I enjoyed talking to you.” I had barely spoken the entire day, for fear that I would have said something dumb to him.
Michael smiled. “So where’s the car that’s gonna come pick you up?” He wondered quietly.
“Um, actually I don’t know how I’m getting home.” I said, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“You don’t have a way home?” Michael looked a bit shocked.
“Actually no. I took a cab here and I guess Rusty paid the driver. I live way over in West Hollywood.” Before I could stop myself I blurted, “I don’t want to go back to my apartment. It’s awful. I’d rather stay here.”
I clapped my hand over my mouth about ten seconds too late.
“I have an idea of where you live. Rusty told me all about the place you were singing in. You’re a teenager. You shouldn’t be in that type of place. Nobody your age should. You can stay here as long as you like. You seem like a nice girl. And I always have spare rooms. You’re welcomed to stay.” Michael nodded.
“I am?” I jumped on Michael, hugging him tightly and fiercely. “Thank you! Thank you!” I screamed.
Michael just laughed lightly.
* * *
“Are you sure I’m not putting you out?” I wondered following Michael up his large staircase to the second floor of his home.
Photographs of his family, himself and various children lined the walls
“No, of course not. I have plenty of room here. And I could use the company.” Michael paused to pick up a Barbie doll that was lying on the carpet.
“This is for my daughter.” He giggled showing me the slightly battered toy.
I nodded. Then it struck me: I had been there all day and hadn’t seen any of Michael Jackson’s three children.
“Um, Michael…” I said delicately, “Where are your children?” I asked.
“Oh, they’re at my brother Marlon’s house. Since I’m working, I thought it might be nice for them to see some of their cousins.” Michael continued walking and deposited the doll on a sideboard table in the wide hallway.
“Where would you like to spend the night? There’s the guest quarters a few feet from my house or you can stay in the house.” Michael walked towards two elaborately dressed child sized mannequins holding hands over the double doorway of Michael’s bedroom. (I knew it was his room because I had seen it in magazines.)
“Well since I’m already in the house, I’ll stay here.” I grinned starting to feel more comfortable being in the presence of a real live legend.
“Okay good. Now we have to find you something to wear to sleep in. That’s a cute outfit, but not for sleeping.” Michael opened the doors to his room.
Looking into it, I had to lean against the huge bookcase next to his mannequins for support.
Michael’s room wasn’t really a room, but more of a suite. It was large and filled with toys and actual arcade games and smaller game systems. There was even a small stair case leading to a second level when a second bed was situated. Michael’s main bed was so large, it appeared to be larger than King size. Simple floral bedclothes in manly, muted greens and burgundy were on the bed. Drawings of cartoons were strewn about.
“Make yourself comfortable Brynn, I’ll go look for something for you to wear.” Michael disappeared into his large walk-in closet.
I wandered around, taking in the room and riveting everything into my mind so I wouldn’t forget this experience and eventually sat on his massive gold and red velvet throne. (I’m not joking. What did you expect the King of Entertainment to sit on? A Lay-Z-Boy?)
I just felt an extreme sense of pleasure and peace and happiness to be there.
I guess that’s how visitors to Neverland always felt--blessed and special.
“Okay Brynn, here we go…” Michael exited his closet holding up a neatly folded, light blue, oversized nightshirt in what I thought might have been silk.
“I hope it fits.” He held it out to me.
As I took it from him, I giggled, “Do you always have women’s sleep clothes in your closet?”
Michael smiled broadly, “I always have people staying over, so I just keep extra clothes on hand.” He explained.
“Oh…where do I clean up at?’ I asked running the fabric through my fingers.
“You can use my bathroom.” Michael offered.
This was moving a bit too fast for me.
“Michael…I’m kind of shy and it is your bathroom, I wouldn’t want to mess up any of your belongings.” I said sweetly as a hot sweat began to roll down my back.
Michael squinched up his face. “Oh, I’m sorry Brynn. That must have sounded so forward. I’ll show you to another bathroom.” I noticed with a blazing shiver that his ears were turning red.
Michael led me out of his room and down the hall to another guest room.
“Now if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me. I’ll leave you to your business.” Michael edged out of the room.
I glanced around the room. It wasn’t as grand as Michael’s master suite, but it was still wonderful, done up in beige and creamy tones. I slipped my shoes off--my feet were aching--and walked across the plush carpet to the bathroom.
The bathroom was straight out of a high class hotel. Everywhere I looked my eyes were met by deep cream colored marble and all the faucets had gold fixtures.
I started running a hot bath in the sunken tub. As the water caught, I looked into the mirror.
I grinned at my reflection and laughed with a deep smugness and thankfulness.
“Gosh you’re a pretty girl.” Michael’s comment rang in my ears.
I looked into the mirror, feeling special. I had been told I was pretty many times before, but I think that was the first time I actually believed it.
Turning and twirling in front of the mirror, I examined myself.
I was tall, almost as tall as Michael, and had skin the color of cocoa, with just a hint of red to it.
I pulled my hair out of it’s ponytail and the long silky black strands fell over my shoulders, covering the greater part of my chest and back.
Even though I was nineteen, I figured I had the body of a more mature woman. I wasn’t skinny, but not fat, either. Let’s just say I was full in the right places. I had fabulous features, but still a touch of youth to my face. I think my large almond shaped brown eyes gave my true age away.
I sank into the water, flat out thanking God for Michael and his niceness. Any other day, I would have been snuggling up with the roaches at my apartment and if I played my cards right, I might have found myself snuggling up with the King. (And not Elvis!)
* * *

I don’t know how long I stayed in that tub, but when I got out I was all pruney. I quickly dried off.
I went to pick up my night shirt and I stopped. A thought pulsed through my head. Michael had just lent me the shirt…but I didn’t have a spare pair of underwear!
I knew it would have been extremely poor taste and would have sent the wrong signal all over the place if I walked around with nothing on.
I picked up the shirt and held it up to me to see if it would cover my “shame”.
A piece of pink fabric tumbled to the floor.
A pair of underwear.
I smiled at Michael’s thoughtfulness and quickly got dressed.
After I was all dressed and had put every single item I had moved back into its place.
I then made my way back down the hall to thank Michael once again for his kindness and bid him good night.
The door to Michael’s room was slightly ajar. Pushing it farther open, I saw that it was dark in the room, the only light came from the small lamp on his bedside table. Michael was already sleeping soundly in his huge bed.
He was laid out on top of his sheets, in white pajamas, a thick leather bound book on his chest.
I made my way over to the side of the bed and looked down at him.
He looked so peaceful and sweet. Almost childlike.
Michael had his head turned away from me. I continued to watch him.
I reached out and brushed a lock of his hair out the way.
“Hmmm.” Michael moaned lightly and he turned his head in my direction.
I found myself staring at his lips.
They were a bright juicy pink and looked a bit glossy.
I couldn’t resist. I leaned down and ever so gently, as not to wake him, I pecked his mouth.
“Oh…” Michael whimpered and I jumped back.
He simply turned over and curled into a ball, his book falling to the floor.
I made my way over to his throne and sat in it. I felt compelled to watch him sleep.
When the lights went off, he wasn’t the King of Entertainment, or the best selling artist in the world.
Sleeping and lightly snoring, he was simply Michael.
And I loved him.

* * *

“I guess you really like my throne.” A voice somewhere far off snorted.
I opened my eyes to see Michael standing over me. I had fallen asleep in his throne!
“Oh God, this is so embarrassing.” I stared up at Michael.
“Don’t be embarrassed. I got that chair for people to enjoy and I’m glad you like it.” Michael pulled the quilted, dark green robe he wore closer to his still pajama clad body. He eyed me quietly.
I started to move and saw that he had thrown a blanket over me.
“So are you hungry for anything? It’s after ten o’clock.” Michael wondered sitting on the arm of the chair.
“Ten o’clock?” I questioned. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been able to sleep that late.
“Yes, you looked so rested, I didn’t want to wake you up too early.” Michael smiled.
“So are you hungry?” He repeated.
My stomach let loose a little rumble.
“I guess you are.” He laughed.
I smiled weakly.
“How do pancakes and sausage sound?” Michael wondered standing up.
“Good…” I paused, “But I thought you were a vegetarian”
“I am…I eat meatless sausage. Tastes pretty good. But if you prefer I do have the real sausage if you want that.”
“No, that’s okay.” I waved my hand rising to my feet. “I should be getting home.”
Michael’s smile fell away and a stern look took it’s place.
“Brynn, I don’t want you to go back to that place. While you were sleeping, I had Rusty take me to look at your place and it’s not good at all for a girl your age. It’s not safe. It couldn’t possibly be safe. It was so awful. I almost cried when I saw that.” Michael said seriously. “You’re a young pretty girl, you could get robbed, raped or killed out there. I want you be safe. You’re staying here.” He nodded solemnly.
“What?” I shook my head not fully understanding. “You want me to live at Neverland? Permanently?”
“If you want or until you find a better place to stay. You are too sweet and I refuse to see you living in a place like that damn apartment.” Michael admonished.
My ears perked up at him swearing.
“But Michael, this is too much, sure this place is outrageous, but you just met me yesterday. Don’t you think this is too fast?” My voice shook.
Michael walked over to me and looked me harshly. “Brynn, I want you to look me in the eye and tell me you want to go back to that apartment. Tell me.”
I wasn’t prepared for this. I was so used to hearing that Michael Jackson was a shy man and here he was laying down the law, kicking ass and taking names.
It was an amazing exchange and I could feel my throat tighten and my heart pound. I liked the idea of Michael being an unbending, forceful man.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down for a hug.
“I’ll stay here.” I felt a hot tear slide down my cheek. “I’ll stay.” I vowed.
Michael pulled my hands from his neck. “Come on, let’s go eat breakfast.”
* * *
Rodeo Drive
Beverly Hills, California

Michael decided that if I was going to work with him and sing under him, that I look like a true star. And that meant every girl’s favorite hobby (if they have the means) shopping! (Rusty was nowhere around, Michael claimed he was networking for the new song.)
And Michael wasn’t cheap either. If he was in financial ruin like the papers had said, he sure didn’t act like it.
Michael was a one man wrecking crew. He’d enter a store that had closed exclusively for him and just pull things off the rack, ask if liked the outfit--even if it sucked eggs, I told him I liked it--and the next thing I knew it was being packed into a bag and getting carted out. He covered everything from casual to dressy to formal wear. And swimwear! (I had been eyeing his pool since I’d arrived at Neverland.)
I kind of felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, except I wasn’t hooker. (Thank God!)
And it was amazing, there was no paparazzi jumping like a bunch of scared jackrabbits trying to get a shot of Michael. I don’t know why, but there were none as far as the eye could see.
“Michael! I can’t thank you enough!” I smiled as we rode along in the back of his stretch limo--white no less--surrounded by dozens of clothing bags.
“Aw…it was nothing. I was glad to do it.” Michael whispered in his trademark falsetto. “But there is one thing I want you to not do.”
“What?” I was game for just about anything he said I was so happy. I felt like Cinderella!
“Please, don’t wear make up. You’re so young and you have good skin. There is a time for you to wear it but don’t wear it daily. I like your face. Don’t do anything to it.” Michael was literally pleading.
“Um… sure Michael.” I had never been asked to NOT wear make-up.
And this was coming from a man who was sitting and wearing no less than at least foundation and eyeliner. Maybe even mascara. It looked great on him!
Michael pinched my cheek. “You’re such a nice girl.” He smiled.
“Can I ask you something?”
“What?” I leaned my head against his shoulder.
“Are you from California?” Michael gazed at me.
“No, I’m actually from Texas.” I looked away from him.
“I thought you had a little bit of a drawl.” Michael smiled. “A little southern belle.”
We both laughed.
“What made you come to California?”
My laughter subsided. If I told Michael the real reason why, he probably would have became a crying mess. And I wasn’t emotionally ready to tell him.
“I just came to sing. That’s all I wanted to do.” I said instead.
I think Michael sensed my tenseness.
He quickly changed the subject. “So, I think we’ll be able to record later this week. The musical arrangements are being made. All you’ll have to is just sing.”
“When do you expect your album to come out?” I ran my fingers along his slender arm.
“Hopefully in the fall, the beginning of next year at the least.” Michael sighed. “I’m releasing it off my label since…you know I split from Sony.”
In 2001, Michael’s album Invincible--he last all new music album--had only sold two million copies. That’s a paltry number for Michael Jackson. That’s a paltry number for LaToya Jackson! And he had left the company after suing them for less than stellar advertising for the album.
“Yeah I know.” I said sullenly.
“Right now all I want you to is relax and have fun. You’ll record better happy.” Michael once again stroked my hair.
I felt a surge of heat as I remembered kissing him the night before.
Leaning away from him, I asked, “When do I get to meet your children?”
“After we’re done recording. I always want to make sure they’re away when I’m working. I don’t ever want them to feel I’m neglecting them.” Michael confided.
Squeezing Michael’s hand, I whispered,
“You’re a great father.”
“Thank you.” Michael leaned and pecked my forehead.
Oh, how I wished his lips had dropped a few inches lower and had touched mine.

Strawberries--Chapter 1

It is a widely known fact that two of the world’s most talented performers are also perceived as the most bizarre: Michael Jackson and Prince. But not too many people know who the real men are, what makes them tick. Very few people have had access to the private and reclusive worlds of these men. I was granted the opportunity to see both these men at work, at play, for real and unleashed. This is my story.
　

“Strawberries”

A Michael Jackson and Prince Fan Fiction Story By:

Tiffeny Butler

　

Minneapolis, Minnesota
September 2007
“…But I love you both! I don’t know what to do!” I exclaimed burying my face in my hands.
“You better get an idea of what to do. You’re only leaving with one of us. That’s how it’s supposed to be. I’ll be damned if I share.”
“I agree. This deceit and madness has got to stop right now.”
I looked up, as tears stung my eyes like red hot pokers.
Michael Jackson and Prince, standing a few feet apart loomed over the couch I was sitting on, staring rudely at me. I knew that my crying wasn’t moving them at all.
I had screwed up something awful. I should have known better than to get involved with the two of them. For all the men on Earth, roughly three billion, I had to mess with the King of Entertainment and the Funky One!
“Brynn, we want your decision, right now.” Prince frowned at me even harder, his light eyes getting stormier by the second.
“I keep telling you! I love you both!” I bent over until my forehead touched my knees.
“Maybe we should give her a moment to gather herself.” Michael’s voice, once hard, had lightened and softened a bit.
“Bullshit!” Prince exclaimed and I felt his hands gripping my shoulders tightly.
He pulled me to my feet so quickly that I barely felt them hit the floor.
For a man as short of stature as he was, he was incredibly strong, a fact I had forgotten until he began to rattle me.
“Damn it! You make up that little mind right now or I‘ll shake it right out your damn head!” Prince snarled and his eyes swelled with unrestrained anger.
“Hey! Stop that! You don‘t hit a woman!” Michael shouted and grabbing Prince by the neck, literally threw him back.
Prince landed against an armchair across his large living room and sunk down to the carpet.
“Are you alright?” Michael wrapped his arms around me. I could barely believe it. Though he was at the brim of insanity with fury at me, he was still worried about my welfare and feelings.
I nodded feebly, holding him closer to me.
I looked up in time to see Prince streaking at Michael, his golden face burgundy with rage.
“Michael!” I warned and before he could spin around, Prince caught him in a full Nelson pulling him to the floor.
“I don’t play this shit! Hell no! You ain’t about to try to start a fight in my house! I’m gonna finish this shit!” Prince screamed in a voice so shrill I barely recognized it. “This is Paisley Park! This ain’t no fucking Neverland. Peter Pan ain’t gonna save your ass now!”
With a sickening thunk thunk thunk!, he punched Michael on top of his head three times.
“Stop! You’re hurting him!” I screamed and grabbed Prince by his short cropped hair.
He had been yanking on Michael’s long free flowing hair, but at my feverent tugging he had let Michael go. Michael laid on his side coughing.
“What the hell?!?” Prince managed to pull free of me.
“Don’t you ever put you hands on me!” He gave me a back handed slap so hard that I fell on my stomach, my head and the room spinning.
“Don’t hit her you bastard!” Michael’s voice boomed as he pounced on Prince, knocking him to the floor and turning over a purple lacquer end table in the process.
As he hit Prince at a law of physics defying rate of speed, I tried to stand.
Still dizzy, I fell again.
“Get off me you pasty faced son of a bitch!” Prince put his hand squarely in Michael’s face and pushed him away.
Both hopped to their feet and Prince got a punch across Michael’s chin.
“Let’s see how much of your face is still real!” He taunted and geared up for another punch.
Michael, using one of his dance step kicks, knocked Prince in the face. His nose gushed blood all over the white tunic he wore and his nose began to puff up almost immediately.
“My nose! You bitch!” He bum’s rushed Michael and they were on the floor once again.
As they rolled around beating the pure hell out of each other, I could only watch as their fighting became more frenzied. Their punches became harder. Blood spurted freely.
The realization that this entire ordeal was my fault finally hit home.
It was all my fault.
But it hadn’t always been that way…

Fourteen Months Earlier
West Hollywood, California

When I first met Michael Jackson, I was a struggling, really down on her luck, second rate singer. I was just barely nineteen and barely living above the poverty level. I had moved to California from Texas in hopes of scoring that big record contract and fame that most people only dream of.
So far, for me, it had been a major nightmare. I was living in a slum in West Hollywood, a pitiful one room hole in the wall with one deplorable bathroom shared by over thirty tenants in the building. Yes, that’s right, thirty. And the only singing gigs I was scoring were in little no-name bars that nobody who was anybody wanted to be caught dead in at the lowest of pay.
I thought that I was just going to be another statistic of people who have a dream but never ever achieve it and end up with a countless life.
Then Michael Jackson walked into my life.
Well, not exactly.
It was a Thursday night and I was singing to a handful of half drunk and totally stoned patrons in a joint called, Sadie’s Soul Shack.
Let me tell you, all of the souls in that place had to be bound for Hades!
I had just finished a rendition Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You” and was resting just off stage, trying to down water to soothe my vocal cords.
Although I was working in the worst of places, I always sang like I performing for a sold out crowd at Madison Square Garden.
It was then I noticed a man walking towards me. I automatically knew that he was different; that he didn’t belong in the club. Most of the people in Sadie’s were of the denim and leather set and this man wore a fancy, expensive looking three piece suit. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties.
“Excuse, Miss, I was wondering if I could have a word with you.” He said standing a few feet from me.
I sighed heavily. I was tired and in no mood for a man to be hitting on me, especially if he was one of the slime balls that thought I was a hooker.
“Okay, what do you want?” I asked gazing up into his watery blue eyes.
“I just wanted to tell you that you have an amazing voice. I’ve heard dozens of people sing that song and that was the first time I ever felt it.” The man’s voice was a bit hoarse, as if he were a heavy smoker.
“Thanks man.” I said a bit stiffly. I was used to guys complimenting my singing to try to get close to me. (It never worked and I wasn’t about to let it start working either!)
“Look I have business proposition for you.” The man took a few steps closer.
“And what would that be?” I was readying my self to curse him out if he mistook me for a “woman of the night”.
“Well, my name is Rusty Ross and I have been scouting around most of Southern California looking for a girl to sing a hook on my client’s new song.” The man ran a hand through his blonde tipped brown hair.
“Alright. Just who is your client?” Part of me wanted to hug the man for the opportunity and part of me was still skeptical. You didn’t know what kind of ulterior motives these jokers were working with.
What the man said next took my breath away.
“Michael Jackson.”
My water bottle fell to the floor and rolled away.
“M-M-Michael Jackson? Billie Jean Michael Jackson? Thriller Michael Jackson? Best selling artist of all time Michael Jackson?” I sputtered.
“Yes” The man nodded solemnly.
“But isn’t he out the country since his trial ended?” I demanded.
For over a year, Michael had been in court over accusations of child molestation and since the trial was over, I had heard that he was overseas in some Middle Eastern country.
I finally got a grip on my senses. Why the devil would someone who was supposedly associated with someone as renowned as Michael Jackson be looking for a singer in a cheesy bar?
“No, we just said that to keep the media off his neck. The person that has been getting trailed is a look alike.” Rusty replied calmly. “He is at home at Neverland.”
“Wait a minute…why doesn’t Michael want somebody like Beyonce or Mariah Carey or somebody that’s already big to sing with him?” I asked cautiously. My head was spinning a mile a minute.
“Frankly, I don’t know. But all I know is that he said to find someone with explosive talent and have them show up here--” He handed me a scrap of paper with an address scribbled on it. “--at one o’ clock tomorrow. Now your name is Brynn McAllister, right, how do you spell the first name?” Rusty produced a small notepad.
“B-R-Y-N-N” I said quietly fingering the paper.
He jotted my name down. “Okay this is so the security man can let you in.” He explained.
I looked at the paper more closely.
“Where the hell is Santa Ynez?” I asked.
“That’s where Michael Jackson’s home is.” Rusty deposited the notepad in an inside pocket on his jacket.
“Dude, this is West Hollywood. I have no car! How am I supposed to get to Santa Ynez, wherever that is?” I demanded putting my hand to my forehead.
“I’ll tell you what. You take a cab over there and we’ll cover the costs. I’m sure Michael won’t mind paying once he hears you.” The man smiled.
“Um…okay.” I stared back at the paper.
“Good, well we’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night.” Rusty walked away, as quietly as he had approached me.

* * *

That night I paced around my apartment, dodging large cockroaches and contemplating what had happened at Sadie’s. I honestly had no idea what to think.
On one hand, this could really be a deal to work with the biggest name in music and could make me a star virtually overnight.
On the other hand, the whole exchange could have been an elaborate scheme to get me away from my “home” and I could find myself dead and lying in a gutter somewhere.
The very thought of putting myself in harm’s way was teeth-chatteringly frightening, but my gut was telling me that I should try to go and see what would happen.
If this was the real deal, I’d be kicking myself in the ass forever more if I let a chance at fame slip from my fingers.
Plus I was almost trembling with excitement over the thought of maybe meeting Michael Jackson.
Ever since I was a child I had been a huge fan of his music and just him as a person, and the thought of being anywhere near him always gave me palpitations.
Running over to my tiny, ratty bed, squishing an unlucky six-legged freak on the way, I fell asleep thinking of what amazing things might happen the next day.
Or the horrible things.

* * *

The next day, I stood on the curb outside my shantytown of an apartment building, trying to hail a cab. It was a humid, hot day. I think the temperature was well over a hundred degrees. On any other day, I would have been decked out in a tank top, shorts and flip flops, but since I might have been singing to the King of Entertainment, I actually had to dress “nice” for a change.
So instead, I was sweltering in long-sleeved white blouse and simple black trousers. The only punch that I had given the outfit was the pair of high-heeled zebra print pumps I wore. Cool and classic with a twist, just like Michael Jackson himself.
I stood there and thought about him. Michael was always pushing the fashion envelope from wearing high water pants, to a single glove on his hand to heavily embellished military style jackets. And he always managed to look amazing! He always made it seem effortless and simple.
Toot! Toot!
I was wrenched from my thoughts at the sound of a tooting horn. A cab had pulled up along side of me.
The driver, a man of Middle Eastern descent, asked in broken and heavily accented English,
“You want cab ride lady?”
“Oh yeah!” I replied and slid into the backseat. I really hated cabs. It seemed as though all the ones I had ever been in smelled of the same combination of stale burritos and urine.
“Where to lady?” The driver asked.
I fished out the scrap of paper that Rusty had given to me the night before and handed to the cabbie.
“Take me to this address, please.” I instructed.
The cabbie read the paper and I saw his sleepy dark eyes widen up. “Santa Ynez? You know how far that is? You got money to pay fare?” He demanded.
“I wouldn’t be in the cab if I didn’t have money man.” I rolled my eyes arrogantly.
“That’s long way away from West Hollywood.” The cabbie was really starting to get on my last good nerve.
“Man will you just drive? I have an appointment at that location for straight up one o’clock and I don’t intend to be late, arguing with you. Now please, let’s go.” I ordered hoping that I was really going to Michael Jackson’s house and that I wouldn’t have an outstanding cab fare to pay.
“Alright, but I want my money.” The cabbie whined turning his meter on and pulling his car into drive.

“I want to come out of this alive.” I thought soberly as my apartment building became a tiny speck in the distance.

My New Blog!

Hi Everyone!

This is the new blog I am dedicating to my long running fan fiction featuring the King of Entertainment, Michael Jackson  and His Royal Badness, Prince.
Recently the board I had my story on was shut down and in transferring the story over to a second one at MJJEternal.com, I am placing the previous chapters here for those who have never read the story or who would like to catch up to the point in the story where I am currently posting. Please enjoy!

Your Author, Tiffie B.