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.