Chapter 18

The Next Afternoon

“I have an announcement to make.”
I looked up from the blob of ketchup I was squirting onto Prince’s French fries.
We were all outside at the barbecue area, eating a lunch of grilled cheeseburgers and French fries.
(Well, Michael was eating a grilled veggie dog.)
Michael rose from where he sat next to me at the picnic style table and stretching long legs over the bench walked to the head of the table.
The Jackson trio and I all looked at Michael earnestly.
He wore a sheepish look on his pretty face as if he were about to let us in on a big secret.
“I’ve been doing some thinking…” Michael looked at us each in turn.
“Neverland is a nice place, but I think that we should get out, and move around. You know, stretch our legs.”
“What do you have in mind?” I asked as Prince grabbed my hands making me squirt more ketchup on his place. He couldn’t eat his fries unless he couldn’t see them!
Michael grinned broadly.
“A trip to New York City!” He exclaimed and a stream of ketchup hit Prince in the face.
“Hey!” He cried surprise.
“Sorry!” I started mopping his face with a napkin.
Blanket and Paris laughed and pointed.
“Mike, we’re really going to New York City?” I questioned, amazed.
I had never been to the “Big Apple”.
Michael nodded. “Yes! We’re going to go shopping and have fun! We leave tomorrow morning!”
“Daddy can we go to F. A .O. Schwartz?” Paris jumped up and ran over to her father, blue eyes wide with excitement.
“We can go wherever you want baby!” Michael scooped her up in a hug.
“Brynn!” Prince tugged at my hair gently. “You’re gonna love F. A .O. Schwartz, they have all the coolest toys!” He grinned at me. Next to him, Blanket was nodding in agreement.
“Who wants to start packing?” Michael questioned.
With a jubilant screech the kids abandoned their food and blazed off towards the main house.
Michael walked over slowly and put his arm around me.
“Are you excited Honey?” He questioned as we moved towards the house.
“Hell yes! I’ve never been to New York! It’s amazing…” I trailed off when I thought of the ‘talk’ Michael had had with his brothers about getting me away from Prince.
“Mike, does this have anything to do with what happened yesterday?” I questioned as we neared the house.
Michael stooped and plucked a small pink flower from a bed growing alongside the walk.
“Well…kind of. But before that weirdo showed up, I had been working up some meetings with distributors to get Not Over around. The little cricket was talking about an exclusive online release, well I’m releasing online and in stores too. Well, if everything goes right.” Michael twirled the flower in his fingers.
I kept my mouth shut about Prince.
“I’m sure everything will be peachy. Is that why Rusty was wearing that Blackberry out the other day?” I asked as we went into the house.
“Yup.” Michael giggled.
“Now let’s pack.”


Two Hours Later

Michael and I stood in my room, about seven huge Louis Vuitton suitcases spread on the bed and floor.
He was going through my closet selecting things for me to wear while in New York.
(Kind of reminded me of someone selecting my outfits.)
“The weather in New York should be nice. A little cool. If it gets colder, you can just buy a jacket or a fur or something.” Michael said quietly.
A new thought sprang up on me.
“Michael…how are we supposed to go around New York and even get there. I mean won’t your fans know you’re there and the paparazzi?” I questioned, folding a blouse and putting it in a suitcase.
“I don’t think so. Everything we’re doing is private. I mean a private plane and stuff. I reserved an entire floor at an exclusive hotel called the Windbush. It’s super nice. I tried for the penthouse suite, but someone had already rented it out.” Michael flipped his hair over his shoulder.
“How long are we going to be in New York?” I folded another shirt.
“A few weeks at least. But don’t worry. We can go shopping and maybe see plays or something.” Michael pecked my cheek as he dropped a pair of jeans in a bag.
“What are we gonna do…about us? I mean if people see us together, they might start speculating.” I wrung my hands worried that our relationship might come to light. I was as worried about that as I was Michael finding out about me and Prince.
“I got that figured out. You wanna wear a mask like my kids do?” Michael grinned. He was extremely protective of his kids’ identity and every time they went out in public he hid their faces with masks or scarves.
“Yeah…that’ll be fun.” I smiled. I liked the idea of a mask. It was cute.
“But what do we say if anyone asks who I am?” I questioned.
I knew Michael wasn’t going to say,
“Oh, this is Brynn, my teenaged girlfriend!”
“I fixed that too. I phoned one of my nephews, Taryll. He’s about twenty- eight or twenty-nine years old, and we’ll just say you’re his girlfriend.
And since people always check around I thought I’d fill him in.” Michael giggled.
“Whose son is Taryll?” I questioned.
So many of Michael’s siblings had so many kids it was hard to keep track of who belonged to whom.
“Taryll is Tito’s middle son. He has two other brothers--Taj and TJ.” Michael beamed.
I remembered the way Tito and Jermaine had looked at me after ‘meeting’ Prince. I was sure that if Tito had told his sons anything, Taryll probably already disliked me.
“They sing right?” I wondered, loading my make-up case into a bag. I vaguely remembered some second generation Jacksons song group in the nineties when I was a kid.
“Yeah, 3T. But, they don’t sing anymore. They’re doing their own things. It was hard finding someone to fib on.” Michael chuckled. “All my nephews are else too young for you or involved with someone. Ha-ha. But I don’t mind telling a fib, to stop the tabloids from lying first. I wanna give them the run-around.” Michael hugged me.
“We’re gonna have so much fun!” I snickered wrapping my arms around his neck.


The Next Day
The Windbush Hotel
New York City, New York

“Hello Mr. Jackson! Welcome to the Windbush Hotel!” A tall thin, Hispanic man greeted Michael as he we all unfolded out of a large white Range Rover. He appeared to be in his early thirties. “I’m Liberty Corona, your personal guide, sir.”
I was extremely happy to get out in the private parking garage underneath the Windbush.
For over four hours, Michael, his children, Rusty and two hired bodyguards had been crammed into a private plane flying from LAX to La Guardia Airport.
Then it had been another hour-long drive from La Guardia to the Windbush located just south of Central Park.
I could tell that the Windbush was going to be a totally ritzy upscale appearance, just by looking at Liberty.
Liberty was dressed down in a formal deep burgundy jacket that was trimmed around the lapels with gold. A gold braided roped looped itself around his left shoulder and through an epaulet.
Under the jacket he wore a crisp white shirt and black tie, all tucked neatly into a pair of slim black trousers. White gloves covered his hands.
“Hello…Liberty. Thanks for meeting with us.” Michael smiled, adjusting his dark glasses on the bridge of his nose.
They shook hands.
Paris and Blanket clutched at my hands while Prince stood along side his father, looking sleepily up at Liberty.
All the children wore masks. Michael didn’t feel it was necessary I wear one in the hotel since we were alone.
“Mr. Jackson, your belongings are being put away in your suite right now sir. We here at the Windbush understand your need for privacy and we are doing everything we can to ensure it. You will have your own private elevator and we have arranged for cars to carry you, your lovely children and your companions wherever they need to go in the city.” Liberty spoke quickly. I liked the way he spoke, he had a campy, sort of lisp-y voice.
“Which floor will we be staying on?” Michael questioned, as Liberty, walking briskly led us over to what looked like a freight elevator.
“The sixteenth floor sir. The entire floor is cleared for you and your family.” Liberty pressed the up button. A moment later the doors opened and we all crowded into the small cube of an elevator.
“I tried to reserve the penthouse suite, but I was told that the floor was already occupied by someone else.” Michael blew a lock of hair out his eyes.
“Yes sir. We are sorry sir, but that floor has been rented out since last year by the same person. There is no way that we could have them leave. Again, I’m sorry.” Liberty ran a hand over his thick black hair which was moussed and slicked back wetly.
“Who rented out the penthouse?” Michael tilted his glasses and winked at me.
I blushed. I wondered what it would be like to “get wild” in the elevator with him.
“I’m afraid I can’t disclose that, sir. Hotel policy. But I assure you, the sixteenth floor with suffice.” Liberty grinned nervously. I was sure his employment rode solely on the grounds that Michael remained happy.
A bell dinged, signifying that we had reached our floor.
As we stepped out, excited ooh’s and ahh’s escaped us.
The sixteenth floor was decadent with a capital “D”.
All around us, everything was gilded. It looked at though we were in a French chateau.
Versailles even.
Painting of landscapes and various animals hung on walls, edged with thick gold frames. The walls were papered in a rich blue fleur-de-lis pattern.
Every so often we’d pass a Louis XIV or Louis XV (whoever got beheaded with Marie Antoinette) table.
Plush carpet cushioned our every step and caught Blanket when he tripped on his untied shoelace.
Liberty led us to a set of double doors.
“This is the master suite and includes three bedrooms for your children. Your companions can pick their own rooms. There’s fifteen other ones ont his floor.” Liberty smiled.
Pushing the doors opened, we gasped.
Through the doors lay…a veritable Versailles.
Everywhere the eyes could look I saw marble, silk, carpeting, rich woods.
All of us filed in. Michael was taking all of the opulence in stride, while I was turning into a glassy eyed hillbilly.
I held my tongue, but I was screaming on the inside from excitement.
“There is a refrigerator of incidentals and alcohol in the master bedroom and if there is anything at all you require, sir, please feel free to call me at the front office. Thank you once again for choosing the Windbush” Liberty started towards the door.
“Thank--” Michael started.
Liberty turned back. His bugged dark eyes were pleading.
“Mr. Jackson, if it’s not too much trouble, could I bother you for an autograph? My mother loves you and your music. Please sir?” Liberty reached into his jacket producing a small notepad and pen.
“Hey, cool it with that kid,” Rusty put his hands up, “Michael is here for a semi-vacation. He doesn’t need to be bothered with that.”
“Rusty.” Michael shot him an angry glance.
He shrank back.
“You were so nice to all of us, I’ll give you an autograph.” Michael took the pad and pen.
Liberty appeared shocked that he was going to receive an autograph from the King of Entertainment.
“My mother’s name is Louisa--L-O-U-I-S-A.” Liberty hummed gleefully as Michael started scribbling on the paper:

To Louisa,
All my Love,
Michael Jackson

Michael returned the pad to an excited Liberty.
“Thank you Mr. Jackson! Nobody in Spanish Harlem is going to believe my mother has this!” Liberty shook Michael’s hand hard and made a run for the door.
“That was very nice Michael.” I smiled patting him on the back.
“Thanks…” Michael ran his hand over the back of my head. He was always shy about the good deeds he did.
Doing a dance step spin, Michael questioned,
“Who wants to go shopping?!?”
“We do!”
That Night

“Oooh! My dogs are barking!” Michael giggled sitting on the edge of the our bed in the master bedroom.
It was so ostentatious it was insane. The room coordinated with the rest of the French inspired décor in that it was blue and gold.
The bed had to be double the size of Michael’s at Neverland and covered with a velvet comforter and silk sheets and it even had a padded, upholstered headboard.
Michael was kicking off his loafers and wiggling his socked feet in the air. I knew his feet had to be on fire. He had been up and standing for over six hours. He, his children, and I had toured several boutiques that had closed especially for him and he had been on his feet selecting everything from a jacket embroidered with Spiderman on it for Prince and Blanket, to a pair of shoes encrusted with red glitter for Paris and several dresses for me.
Michael didn’t go unattended.
He had purchased several oil paintings and a statues for his home. (Most of his clothes were custom made, so he didn’t usually buy them.)
“Do your feet hurt, Babe?” I asked taking a seat next to him.
I just wanted to be sweet to him. It wasn’t hard at all.
I loved him.
“A little.” Michael touched his nose softly.
“Here, let me massage them for you.” I giggled pulling his feet into my lap.
“Oh Brynn!” Michael covered his face with his long hands and chuckled.
“Shhh!” I pulled the socks off exposing his tootsies.
As I started rubbing on the bottoms of them, Michael moaned happily.
“You, my little darling, have the hands of a miracle worker.”
“Michael…where are the kids?” I asked quietly, pinching at his toes.
“Asleep. Why?” Michael had a devilish grin to his face.
His ears shone red, he was getting…there.
“Just curious.” I said innocently. “You know I like this place--this room. All this French stuff makes me want something.” I blew a lock of hair out of my eyes.
“Yeah? What?” Michael chuckled. “French Fries? French Toast?”
I pushed Michael’s feet away gently and leaned against him.
“Oh… I dunno…how about a French…kiss?” I looked up at him.
If Michael’s smile were any wider, he’d have swallowed his ears.
“A French kiss…I think I can manage that.” Michael reached out and grabbed onto my face, bringing me in and pressing his tender lips against mine.
Our lips bounced against each other for several moments.
And then I felt the dampness of Michael’s thin pink tongue trying to gain admittance to a taboo show.
I pulled from him. “No…don’t put it in mine.” I waved my finger at him.
Michael bit his bottom lip and nodded earnestly.
“Brynn, this is a side I’ve never seen.” He confided, twirling his thumbs.
“Do you like it?” I wondered, looking down.
Michael cupped my chin in his soft hand.
“I like everything you do. I love you, Baby.” He divulged.
Our lips mashed again.
Working up the nerve, I found my tongue in his sweet mouth, gently flicking around.
His mouth tasted of warm cinnamon.
(I knew it would, the last store we went to was Dylan’s Candy Bar--owned by clothing designer Ralph Lauren’s daughter Dylan Lauren--and he ate what had to be over a dozen cinnamon fireballs.)
Somehow the taste was just right.
Sweet and hot. If Michael were a flavor, he’d be a hundred and twenty pounds of pure cinnamon.
Michael mumbled through our kiss and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer and on top of his body.
“I…I want you…Honey.” Michael whispered hotly into my ear. And I could feel him undoing the zipper on the back of the pink sheath dress I wore.
“And I…you.” I replied, slipping the dress from my upper body, exposing my matching pink bra.
“You’re so cute. And you’re mine. All mine!” Michael exclaimed and started to unhook the back of my bra.
Michael was a natural when it came to the task of undressing the female form. His hands moved swiftly, but gingerly, his fingers brushing my bare back. I gasped every time his fingers touched me.
“Oh…” Michael moaned, slipping the bra from over my breasts, exposing them.
“I love your boobies…hee-hee.” Michael grinned bawling up the scrap of fabric and dropping it to the floor.
“Oh you do?” I loved ‘teasing’ Michael. I put my hands up in my hair and shook my shoulders, making my ‘fun pillows’ wiggle.
I was ready and willing for him.
“Gosh!” Michael put out his hands, poised to fondle me.
It thrilled me whenever he said ‘gosh’ like that. Sounded like all the wind was coming out of him with one word.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
“No!” Michael whispered angrily. “Not now!”
“Who is it?” He growled springing up from the bed.
“It’s Rusty.” Came the reply.
“What does that bitch want?” I sneered, angry that Rusty would dare interrupt what was bound to be an earth-shattering experience.
“Don’t swear Sweetie.” Michael cautioned.
“He is a bitch!” I argued back.
As I shuffled to cover my body, Michael went to the door.
He opened it just a crack.
“What is it Rusty? I’m busy.” Michael’s voice took on the pallor that it had when he addressed, ‘That Damn Man’.
“I got that thing you wanted Michael.” Rusty handed Michael a small, shiny red object.
“Oh, thanks.” Michael took the object and closed the door on him.
“I got something for you.” He gave me a boyish smile and sat back on the bed.
“What? A subpoena?” I fluffed my hair as Michael stopped and stood over me.
He extended his hand, the little red thing balanced on his palm.
I was stunned to see that it was a credit card, with my name emblazoned on it in silver lettering.
“This is for me? Why?” I stared up at Michael in shock.
“Yes Brynn. It’s yours. You know tomorrow I’m going to be tied up in meetings all day and Rusty is taking the kids to take the kids to The Brooklyn Zoo. I want you to take that card and go do some shopping.” Michael grinned and pressed the card into my lap.
“Michael we already shopped today. You know you don’t have to get me things. I told you that all day.” I shook my head. “You don’t have to keep buying me things. I love you.”
I still felt weird when Michael bought anything for me. Even if it was a dirty water hot dog at a vendor in Central Park.
He had been so nice to me already, I felt odd taking money from him.
“I love you too. I want you to have a little bit of time to yourself. You’ve been working so hard and helping with my children and being bothered with that little Purple Idiot. You’ve earned it.” Michael kissed the top of my head.
“Buy to heart’s content. The card has no limit. I just ask a few things of you.” Michael cautioned.
Strings.
“Please wear make-up and try not to mention me. I’ve learned from experience that if somebody tells someone else they’re with me, you’ll have a few hundred new ‘friends’ following you home. That one guy, Liberty was alright, but I don’t want you in any danger.” Michael looked down at his bare feet.
“If anything happened to you…” Michael trailed off. “You just get a private car to carry you over to Fifth Avenue and don’t walk anywhere. Okay?” Michael looked down at me, his doe eyes filled with seriousness.
“Yes, Michael of course. What do you want me to buy? We bought a lot of stuff today.” I spun the card in my fingers. I never in my life had owned a credit card.
“Buy something pretty to show me…only me.” Michael tossed his head and winked at me. “And some other things. I know I won‘t be back until at least six or seven at night. Maybe later.”
“Okay, but there’s something I want to do before I go shopping tomorrow.” I grabbed the front of Michael’s shirt, tugging him off into bed with me.
Snapping out the light I whispered,
“Let’s start back where we were before Rust Bucket came in…”