Chapter 21

The Next Afternoon

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

* * *

Three Hours Later
Dining Room of Master Suite
Windbush Hotel

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

* * *

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


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