Chapter 23

Two Days Later
Master Suite
Windbush Hotel

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

* * *

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

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

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

* * *

A Few Hours Later

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