Chapter 26

The Following Afternoon

“Michael Jackson! I still think you’re making a tremendous mistake! This whole “Jacksons meets Revolution” bull crap is gonna sever all the ties you’ve made to Prince!” Rusty scolded from where he was leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom.
“Rusty…” Michael sighed, annoyed, brushing and pulling my hair back into a tight ponytail on top of my head. “I keep telling you, I’ve got everything from Prince I wanted. The ball’s in my court now, and I intend to play.”
I kept my comments to myself and stared down at my hands like they were the most interesting things in the universe.
Michael had been doing a lot of moving and shaking, placing calls all over the country, getting a hold of his siblings and asking for them to come to New York to attend Prince’s show.
Michael hadn’t given me any specifics on who was coming or how many people there would be.
I knew one thing for sure: when one Jackson needed the others, they all fell in almost immediately.
Everyone that Michael could get a hold of and who was free was flying in that afternoon.

I knew the media would have had a massive heart attack if they knew that the sixteenth floor of the Windbush Hotel would be filled to the brim with Jacksons.
And I was panicky as sin.
With the way the story of Prince giving me a Ferrari was running rampant around the family like a malignant cancer, I wondered how I would be received. So far the only Jackson--outside of Michael-- to treat me with genuine niceness was Michael’s mother.
Taryll was kind enough, but I had an inkling that he didn’t quite trust me. And Tito and Jermaine were probably steering that boat.
But I tried to act cool and happy in front of Michael.
Rusty continued squealing a pig caught under a fence.
“…I’m not talking about what you’ve already gotten from Prince, I mean future projects. What if he wanted to do something for you in the future? You could blow it all to Hell!”
“Why don’t you go blow yourself to Hell?” I snapped, whipping around to glare at Rusty. I had enough troubles and his constant whining wasn’t helping anyone.
And once again, Prince was unreachable. I tapped sore fingertips on the counter. I knew he purposefully didn’t answer his phone just to aggravate me.
Rusty turned scarlet, as if on cue.

“Brynn!” Michael giggled, shocked, twirling a black elastic band around my hair, securing my ponytail.
Shooting me a stare of pure hate, Rusty retorted,
“Fine, go ahead and ruin everything. I’m staying here.”
“Oh, no you’re not.” Michael calmly picked up a bottle of hairspray and began misting my hair. “You’re tagging along too. And if you don’t, you’re no longer on my payroll.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Russell.” I winked at him haughtily.
With a cry of pure angst, Rusty ran away from the door.
“Won’t you tell me who you invited, so I can try to put names with faces?” I asked, looking up at Michael’s reflection in the mirror over the washbasin.
We were dressed somewhat alike.
We both wore oversized black t-shirts and black jeans.
The only difference was that Michael’s shirt had a white silhouette of Mickey Mouse on it and mine had a white version of Michael’s interlocked “MJ” symbol on the front of it.
Everything seemed to be an act of Jacksons solidarity.
Even though I was dressed so casually to the point of near boredom, Michael had made sure that I was wearing a considerable amount of cosmetics.
I was sure my age would be a flaming topic.

“Honey, there’s so many people coming in, I’ll just wait until everyone is here to go through intros.” Michael grinned bashfully as I reached down and started putting on a pair of large silver hoop earrings.
“Mike, I’m worried.” I blurted out, my fears popping up to the surface. “I know that you invited most all the Jacksons in this hemisphere, but I don’t want any trouble. You and Prince almost started fist fighting at The Ivy Lounge, and I don’t want a fight to happen at Club Groovement.” I lowered my head, the sordid events of that fateful evening rushing back to me.
“Stop worrying, Baby.” Michael reached down and rubbed my shoulders.
“Everything is going to be fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. I guarantee it.” Michael leaned and smooched the back of my neck.
I almost believed it.
At that moment, The Blue Danube started playing.
Michael reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone and put it to his ear.
“Hello? Oh hey Tito!” Michael chuckled.
I watched him in the mirror, so happy, so carefree.
The exact opposite of me.
As Michael hummed and nodded to the conversation, the more worried I became.
I just wanted everyone to like me.

“Hey Brynn.” My attention flooded back to Michael at the sound of his gentle voice.
He was tucking his phone back into his pocket.
“Yes?” I made myself look up at him.
“That was Tito, he’s says everyone is riding up on the elevator, right now. Come on…” Michael grasped my hand tightly. “Let’s go greet them.”
The Jacksons were here? Now? Already?
It was too soon.
But there I was, being dragged along behind Michael through our room, the foyer and out into the hallway where the Jackson Trio were already patiently waiting next to the elevator.
They were wearing child sized shirts with their fathers image on the front.
As we got to them, the doors to the elevator swung open and a crowd stepped off all dropping the luggage they carried into what became a massive mound in the corner near the elevator doors.
It was a swarm of smiling faces and I swept into a gaggle of hugs, cheek kisses and salutations.
I instantly recognized Tito, Jermaine, and Marlon, but there were at least ten more people whom I didn’t really know.
I couldn’t believe it. Michael had managed to round up a small army.
I also realized that just about everyone was male.

All those men couldn’t possibly be Michael’s brothers. He had five brothers and there were at least double that amount of men there!
There only appeared to be two women.
And everyone was dressed in jeans and (matching) colorful t-shirts. The last time I had seen a show of unity like that, the Jacksons were escorting Michael to court, all dressed in white.
There was enough testosterone in the corridor to reach from the Earth and past the Moon.
Over the din of greetings, Michael yelled,
“Everyone! Hey! Everybody!” He was waving his arms like a maniac.
As the noise died down Michael reached out and wrapped an arm around my waist.
I was relieved to see that most everyone was smiling warmly at me.
“I want all of you to meet Brynn McAllister.” He chuckled like a child with a pocketful of candy.
“I love this little lady.” He grinned and ripple of laughter went through the group.
“Hi, everyone.” I waved meekly. “Mike, introduce me to everyone.” I beamed up at him, for the first time that day, feeling at ease.
I truly wanted to see if Michael would be able to correctly name all the people there.

“Okay…” Michael glanced around. “This is Jackie…”
Jackie stepped forward. I knew he was the oldest male Jackson. (Michael’s older sister Rebbie was the oldest of all the Jacksons.)
Like all the Jackson men, Jackie had very clean cut features and was very handsome, and appeared younger than his age which was some where in the mid-fifties. An orange cap that matched his shirt, was covering his black hair. He also appeared to be the tallest of the bunch.
“Randy…”
Randy looked almost as though he could be Tito’s twin. He was a bit pudgy, cute, and had a clean shaven head. It shimmered under the lights in the hall. His deep eyes danced happily at me.
“You know Marlon…” Michael smiled down at me.
“Hey.” Marlon grinned affectionately.
Yes, these people seemed to like me. I just hoped they weren’t fronting for Michael.
“…and this is Marlon’s son, Marlon, Jr.”
Marlon, Jr. appeared to be in his mid-twenties and was pretty attractive. He was a shade or so lighter than his father, and had thick black hair pulled back into braided cornrows. He definitely had a little hip-hop flair to him.
“Call me Mars Bar--like the candy--everyone does.” Marlon Jr. reached out and patted my shoulder with a large hand. A thick gold ring shined on his pinky finger.

“Okay, Mars Bar.” I nodded with a laugh.
“Tito of course, and these are his two other sons, Taj and TJ.” Michael pointed the two guys out.
Taj was a lighter version of Tito and had hair that was arranged in little braids and tumbled across his forehead. For the first time I noticed he was holding a little camcorder, filming the entire scene. (I’d have to keep a copy of that tape to remember everyone!)
And like most of the second generation Jacksons he was else in his twenties or early thirties.
TJ was a stunning man, tall and thinner than Taryll and Taj, with a deeper complexion. His hair hung down to his chin in loose, reddish-brown tendrils.
He smiled at me with a mouth that curled up at the ends like an elf.
“…Jermaine and Jermaine, Jr.”
Jermaine acknowledged me with a wave and his son did the same.
“Call me Junior.” Jermaine, Jr. suggested with a laugh.
He was about thirty-five with, thankfully, a natural short afro and a bit of a round face. He had glittery eyes like his father.
“And Jermaine’s girlfriend, Selena Yvez.”
Selena came forward and hugged me.
She was a pretty, petite Hispanic woman who looked a bit like Gloria Estefan. Her waist length pin-straight hair, was dyed a deep shade of auburn.

“Nice to meet you Brynn.” She whispered patting my back, her honey colored eyes wide.
“You too.” I beamed, elated that I was really being received well!
“And…” Michael waved the other woman forward.
“This is my sister, Latoya.”
I regarded Latoya, a bit shocked.
I had known that Latoya bore an extremely striking resemblance to Michael, but to see her up close and in the flesh was a different story.
She did appear to be a female version of Michael.
In every aspect: tall, particularly slim, fair-skinned.
She was very beautiful with long curly brown hair, streaked with blondish highlights.
And she was the only Jackson not wearing jeans; she wore a demin pleated miniskirt and was teetering in electric blue wedges that coordinated with her shirt perfectly.
I knew she was almost fifty years old, but actually had a figure that women half her age would commit Murder One for! She was incredibly fit.
“Oh Michael, she’s so cute. Hi Brynn!” Latoya enveloped me in a hug so tight that I was partially lifted off the ground. She even sounded like Michael when she spoke!
In hugging her, I discovered something else, she was wearing Women’s Armani perfume--Prince’s scent!

I kept the little tidbit to myself and instead replied,
“Nice meeting you Latoya.”
She seemed really sweet.
“I think that’s everybody.” Michael announced as Latoya finally let go of me.
Laughter erupted again.
“Hey Uncle Mike!” Taj called as the laughter subsided.
“Yeah?” Michael questioned, still chuckling and grasping my hand warmly.
“What’s a man gotta do to get some decent food? All they fed us was freeze dried crap on the plane!” Taj replied.
“But you ate like a champ!” TJ snickered slapping Taj on the back so hard, he nearly dropped his camera.
“So I was hungry! And those rations didn’t hit a lick at a snake man!” Taj poked out his bottom lip, his chubby chipmunk cheeks jiggling.
“You’d probably eat the snake if it was deep fried!” Taryll hooted and the Jackson men laughed.
Taj became burgundy around the neck, and seemed a little embarrassed.
“Okay, why don’t you all spread out, pick your rooms, and I’ll go order room service?” Michael suggested, happily.
I saw that his eyes were flashing all over the place; this man definitely had it in for Prince.

“Ha! Ha! That’s the ticket! Yeah man!” Marlon exclaimed as the group broke up and started to retrieve their luggage, the Jackson Trio following Tito’s three sons.
While they scrambled to pick their prospective rooms, Michael wrapped his arms around me, and drew me close.
He smelled so wonderful. Could I get him in a bun to go?
“You think they really like me?” I questioned, tapping the end of Michael’s nose with my finger.
“Honey, if you were a record, you’d be solid gold right now.” Michael smooched my forehead.
“Now let’s order that food…”
Gleefully, I followed Michael back to the main suite.

* * *

An Hour Later

The sixteenth floor of the Windbush had calmed down considerably. After a large lunch that covered everything from a Sloppy Joe burger for Blanket to Fois Gras for Marlon, most of the Jacksons had retired to their rooms for a nap.

The only ones still awake were the Jackson Trio, still at the dining table playing Jenga, Latoya, at the other end of the table, flipping through an Elle magazine.
Taj, Taryll, TJ, Marlon Jr., and Jermaine Jr. sat on the floor on the other side of the room, shooting dice. Well, not Taj; he was busy filming the game.
I leaned against the wall, watching the game. I didn’t join in because they were playing for money and I knew about as much about shooting dice as I did about flying a Boeing Jet.
“Nah son! I told you don’t mess with me!” Marlon Jr. cackled, tossing the dice down with a loud snap of his fingers.
Snake eyes.
“Damn!” He exclaimed angrily.
“No, we’re not gonna mess with you--you keep losing!” Taryll snickered tossing a dollar into a pile that held at least a hundred dollars and started rattling the dice in his hand.
“Oh, you’re funny.” Marlon, Jr. quipped sarcastically.
“If I roll a twelve, I’ll be richer too,” Taryll grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Less talk, more shooting!” TJ lightly punched Taryll in the shoulder.
Snap!
Eleven.

“Oh shit.” Taryll shook his head as Jermaine, Jr. danced to his feet.
“I won! Ha! Ha! Oh yeah!”
“Brynn?” A hand tapped my shoulder.
I turned to see that Michael had appeared behind me.
“Hey, Uncle Mike, you wanna play?” TJ offered, holding the see through green dice in the palm of his hands.
“Not right now.” Michael smiled, clutching my wrist. “I’ll be right back.”
“Honey, I want to show you something.” He mumbled, pecking at my cheek.
“Sure Mike.” I giggled, blushing a bit. It was still new for him to kiss me in front of other people.
He started leading me back towards our room.
If Michael was planning on getting nasty with a floor full of Jacksons, I didn’t know what I would do.
As we passed through the doors to the bedroom, a voice very close behind us, narrated,
“Here they are, the happy couple, Michael and Brynn!”
Michael and I spun like tops to find Taj standing there, camera poised on us.
Michael placed a large hand over the lens. “What are you trying to do Tajjy? Be a paparazzi?” He teased.
“Nope, just filming y’all. I can’t be a paparazzi, I don’t feel like getting kicked in the nads all the time.” Taj chuckled.

“Smart cookie.” I nodded in agreement.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Taj wondered, fiddling with the buttons on his camera.
“Nah,…he wants to be a director.” Michael explained as the three of us walked into the room.
“Oh cool.”
“Yeah, I could be the next Spike Lee. I look great in a baseball cap!” Taj snickered.
“Wait here.” Michael stopped me and disappeared into the closet.
“So Brynn…what’s it like dating Michael Jackson? Everything it’s cracked up to be?” Taj questioned focusing his lens on me.
I decided to mess with him.
“Oh it’s great. Michael is sweet and kind…” I paused dramatically.
“…with a body that won’t quit.” I winked at him.
“Oh man! I can’t believe you just said that!” Taj laughed so hard, he jostled his camera.
“Yup.” I batted my lashes at him innocently.
Taj actually began playing along.
“You mean to tell me that despite the age difference between you and my uncle, things are…hot?” He murmured.
“Wanna see my bruises?” I grinned mischievously at him.

“You’re killing me girl!” Taj busted up.
“What’s so funny?” Taj’s brothers, Marlon Jr., and Jermaine Jr., trotted into the room.
“I wanna laugh too.” TJ’s mouth curled up into that elfish grin again.
“Well, Brynn was telling me that she and Uncle Michael are…active.” Taj switched the lens around to TJ.
“Oh…” TJ seemed confused. Then the meaning hit home. “Oh!”
“Uncle Mike is a pimp!” Marlon Jr. exclaimed and the room filled with laughter.
“You’re really just nineteen?” Jermaine Jr. questioned, skepticism in his voice.
“Yeah.” I smiled.
“Uncle Mike is a pimp! Man I tell ya! I can’t even get a nineteen year old!” Marlon Jr. rushed over and hugged me.
“Are y’all exclusive?” He giggled spinning me in a circle. “You’re kinda cute Brynn!”
“Yes Mars Bar!” I chuckled, lightly tapping his forehead.
I knew that Marlon Jr.’s ‘flirting’ was harmless. (He had mentioned during lunch that he was dating a girl named Eliza.)
“Well, I tried.” Marlon Jr. shrugged nonchalantly.
The Jackson guys laughed insanely.

“Hey, what’s Prince like? I’ve never seen him in person before. My dad says when he gave you that car at Neverland, he looked like a real Fruit Loop.” TJ, hunched over, gasped for air.
The mood was so intensely light, I honestly didn’t mind the question.
“Prince is okay. And he just likes playing that androgyny card a lot. He’s not fruity--he’s straight.” I flipped my ponytail.
“Uncle Tito said he looked like a drag queen with all that make up and heels on!” Marlon Jr., shook his head sadly.
“Somebody needs to tell his little ass androgyny went out in the eighties!” Jermaine Jr. snapped and laughed loudly, stomping his foot.
“He really gave you a purple Ferrari?” Marlon, Jr. inquired, camera back on me.
“Yeah, it’s a sweet ride…I haven’t actually driven it yet.” I admitted, remembering with a pang of guilt how Michael had looked so utterly dejected when Prince had handed me the keys.
“Man, I might date him if he gave me a Ferrari!” Taryll snorted.
“I always wondered about you!” TJ gave Taryll a playful shove in the chest.
“I’m joking! I’m joking!” Taryll jumped in front of the camera, wildly waving his hand under his chin.
I tossed my head back, laughing.

“So, does Prince date normal sized women, or midgets, y’know, since he’s like only five feet tall?” Marlon Jr. asked, snatching the camera from Taj.
More chuckles.
Before I could answer, Taj wisecracked,
“He could date normal sized women if he stood on a soap box!”
“Wait! Wait! Look!” Taryll dropped to his knees at my side.
“Don’t I look just like Prince?” He squinched up his face and pouted, tilting his head to the side. “I’m tiny and purple and probably should be examined by a doctor.” He dropped his voice, making a sloppy attempt to mimic Prince’s deep speaking tone.
“Shee--oop!”
“Oh man, if Prince sees you doing that, he’d kick your yellow ass!” Marlon Jr. doubled over.
A giggle escaped me.
“Please! He comes up to my navel!” Taryll rose back to his feet, grinning.
“He can kick me in the big toe!”
“I can do the Prince too.” TJ volunteered and made a feeble try at Prince’s shuffle dance, tripping and falling to the floor in the process.
I knew Prince would be red hot if he saw Michael’s nephews making fun of him like that.

I wasn’t really offended--Prince had been pretty nasty about Michael in the past.
“I’m actually looking forward to the concert on Saturday.” Jermaine Jr. announced seriously.
“Really?” Eyebrows around the room went up.
I didn’t think anyone was really interested in seeing Prince, just showing up to back Michael.
“Hell yeah man, brought my magnifying glass and everything!” Jermaine Jr. chortled.
“Stop it!” TJ cried out from where he was still lying on the floor, curled into a ball, sniggling.
“Here we go!” Michael flounced out of the closet, a pink garment bag on a hanger in one hand and a shoe box in the other.
“What’s that?” I wondered as Michael held the items out to me.
“I got your outfit for the concert.” Michael explained handing the shoebox to Jermaine Jr.
“Oh you already got me something?” I took the garment bag from Michael, wondering what was in the bag.
“Do we all still have to wear something red to the show?” TJ said, finally climbing to his feet.
“Yeah, blood is thicker than water.” Michael nodded dourly.
Damn! Michael was leaving no stone unturned.
He was really going for a rock solid, united front.
I unzipped the garment bag and immediately gasped.
In side was a heavily jeweled and embellished red blouse and a pair of black and white zebra print skinny legged trousers.
“Michael…this is really cute!” I reached out and embraced him.
“I love it.”
“Dig the shoes. Only the best for my woman.” Michael took the box from his nephew and opened it.
Inside were a pair of red stilettos, accented with zebra print toes and heels, that matched my outfit perfectly.
His dark eyes glowed with a mixture of admiration and determination.
“Prince is gonna be green like a leprechaun when he sees Brynn on your arm, Uncle Mike.” Taj threw an arm around Michael’s shoulders.
“That’s what I’m counting on.” Michael smiled devilishly.
Somehow I knew that more would go on at the concert besides Prince kicking his hardest grooves.
I just prayed that Club Groovement didn’t turn into Club Torture.

391

Chapter 25

A Few Hours Later

“I can do the Moonwalk better than you!”
“No way! Keep dreaming!”
“You keep dreaming!”
I glanced up from the light pink polish I was putting on Paris’ fingernails at the sudden argument.
Across the dining room, Prince and Blanket stood toe to toe, scowling at each other.
“I can do the Moonwalk better than you. Dad taught me!” Prince continued, tucking his hands into the kangaroo pocket on the front of his green hooded sweatshirt and smiling smugly.
“Shows what you know Cheese head, Daddy taught me too!” Blanket stuck his tongue out at his big brother.
“Hey! No name calling!” Michael warned from where he, Taryll and Rusty sat at the other end of the dining table from me and Paris playing cards.
“Why don’t you two have a dance off? That’s what me and my brothers used to do.” Taryll suggested, placing his cards out on the table.

“Gin!”
“Darn it! Shoot!” Michael and Rusty exclaimed throwing their cards down.
“A dance off? What’s that?” Paris questioned to no on in particular, examining her nails before blowing on them to start the drying process.
“Paris, it means that your brothers will get to show off their best moves and we get to say who does the best.” I explained, screwing the top back on the polish.
“Cool! Brynn, Daddy, can I dance too?” Paris begged, her eyes large as saucers.
“Sure!” Michael giggled. “We can play music in my room. Come on!” with a wave of his arm, Michael lead the way, the rest of us jogging to keep up.
As we all found places to sit around the room, Taryll and me sitting at the foot of the bed and Rusty in an armchair, Michael made his way over to the large sound system, the same one that had been spilling the Billie Jean instrumental the day before.
“Now here are the rules: I’ll start the music and one by one, you guys come forward and do your best and at the end we’ll say who did the best. And whoever wins get free run of Dylan’s Candy Bar this weekend.” Michael grinned, slipping a CD into the player.
As the Jackson Trio cheered, Taryll elbowed me in the ribs lightly,
“You know all three of them are going to wring Dylan dry, right?” He whispered under his breath, wiggling his eyebrows. “Yeah, I got the memo.” I smiled. Michael never showed favoritism towards any one child, all three were treated the exact same.
Michael pressed “Play” on the boom box and a lively techno tune started fill the room.
“Who wants to go first?” Michael called over the din.
“Me! Ladies first!” Paris volunteered putting her hands up and strolling to the center of the room.
“Boo!” Blanket shouted but quickly stopped when Michael shot him a disapproving glance.
Paris stood a moment, and I could tell she was getting a feel for the beat.
When Paris started dancing, it was evident she was a Jackson.
Swinging her arms from side to side, she began to execute the dance from Michael’s Thriller film.
It was truly stunning to watch a seven-year-old little girl in a Tom and Jerry t-shirt dance like a twenty-five year old.
Everyone else cheered her on; I watched gape mouthed, just astounded.
Paris spun, her two ponytails swinging, she kicked her little leg and ended, raising her arm over her head.
“That was awesome!” Michael clapped happily as Paris, breathless, stumbled over and dropped between Taryll and me.
“Thanks Daddy!” To Prince and Blanket she challenged, “Top that!”
Blanket rushed over to me.
“Help me Brynn!” He begged tugging at my hands until I stood.
“What do you want me to do? I questioned, following the little boy to the center of the room.
“Hold the back of my shirt, please.” Blanket grinned turning his back to me.
“Uh, okay.” I glanced at Michael and grasped onto the boy’s baggy shirt.
Blanket dropped away from me suddenly, his body forming a straight line at a forty-five degree angle.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph!
This little boy was doing the Smooth Criminal lean!
“Thanks Brynn!” Blanket chuckled standing back upright and continuing to do the dance.
Once again I was wowed. Michael Jackson’s children were just bubbling over with the talent, Blanket was doing things one would find coming from a seasoned performer who had been dancing for decades, not a child who still had a The Wiggles poster in his room! “No autographs please!” Blanket snickled walking over and dropping next to Paris.
“Good job son!” Michael cried out.
I glanced back at Prince. He was lingering in the doorway, his brow furrowed deep in thought.
“You gonna dance?” Michael questioned, clapping along to the music.
Squaring his shoulders boldly, Prince replied,
“Yes sir!”
Half strutting/half dancing, Prince made his way to the middle of the room.
One hand on his head and the other on his waist, he began gyrating his hips, obviously starting the Billie Jean dance.
As Prince danced, every moment, so clean, so sharp, so precise, it was almost scary.
It was like watching a small blonde version of Michael Jackson.
I reflected a moment, thinking of an old clip I had seen of Michael, years before I had met him. The audition he and his brothers had taped for Berry Gordy when they were first trying to make a big break.
Michael had been the exact age as his oldest son. The similarities were so strong, like a steel cable. The expression, the grace, the ease of movement.
Had Prince Moonwalked out of his birth mother’s womb?
Prince back slid across the room with such finesse that Paris and Blanket, who had been squabbling, were watching, enraptured.
As Prince switched gears moving into “The Worm” from the Beat It video, his siblings joined him, all three dancing like little professionals, I made my way over to Michael.
He was lightly dancing along to the tune, eyes glimmering at the sight of his children. His long shiny hair flounced with every move he made.
“Mike.” I tugged at the sleeve of his shirt.
“Hmm?” He glanced down at me.
“Do they always dance that well?” I wondered as Michael pulled me against him, our hips bumping.
“Yes.” Michael nodded. “Amazing huh? And none of them have had a lesson, just watching me.”
Bewildered. That’s what I was--bewildered.
“Your kids are gifted Michael.” I said into his ear.
Michael grinned down at me, glowing.
I gazed back at the Jackson Trio.
All three were free styling, doing Michael influenced moves. Kicks, spins, wiggles. Little Blanket even attempted to perch on his toes--he fell, but got right back up and continued dancing.
I was truly tied up in a monstrously talented family.
Who knew a storm was about to blow in?
“Excuse me.” Michael kissed the flesh behind my ear and made his way over into the bathroom.
As he disappeared inside, closing the door, I focused back on the kids dancing.
Taryll had joined them, holding Paris up and twirling her around.
“Miss Brynn?” A hand tapped my shoulder.
Bo stood hulking over me.
“Mmm-hmm?” I hummed, watching Taryll successfully pull off the toe stand that Blanket had tried.
“You have company in the foyer.” Bo replied solemnly.
“What?” I stared up at him. “I have company?”
“Yes.” Bo nodded grimly.
I had company? My heart instantly plummeted.
Oh God, please don’t let Prince be standing his little minute butt in the foyer.
I prayed deeply in my mind as Bo led me back into the front of the suite.
A wave of nausea hit me when I saw that Mindy was standing just inside the double doors of the main suite.
This was even worse, Prince had sent her down.
And she looked “loose”.
Did she have to dress so scantily? My mind blared as I approached her.
Mindy wore a fuchsia minidress that looked like a belted t-shirt and matching stilettos. And of course her make up was on the edge of tranny.
I was sure that Prince had selected the outfit just to make anyone who saw her wonder if she charged by the hour.
“Hi Brynn!” She smiled and rushed over, embracing me warmly. The clear Lucite bracelets lining her left arm tinkled.
“Hi…Mindy.” I hiccupped sadly as her curls brushed my face.
“He sent you, didn’t he?” I questioned, my stomach turning at a threatening pace.
If Michael caught me associating with Mindy, who knew what would have happened?
“Yes.” Mindy grinned, her lips, painted a deep shrimpy color, shining.
She bent and started digging through the large pink Louis Vuitton tote.
“Hey…Brynn, who’s your friend?” A voice crooned.
Taryll was sauntering over to us, eyes fixed on Mindy.
I could tell by the way they were shimmering; he was instantly attracted to her. Still rummaging through the bag, Mindy flashed him a shy smile.
“Taryll, this is Mindy. Mindy, Taryll Jackson.” I mumbled the introductions almost incoherently.
A cool grin lit Taryll’s face. Yup, this man was over the moon.
“Oh, you’re Taryll. So you’re Brynn‘s ‘boyfriend’ ‘?” Mindy commented, glancing at him and then turned back to her bag. I could tell by the way she said ‘boyfriend’ she didn’t believe the lie.
The man’s ears turned red. “Well, we’re not that exclusive.” Taryll chuckled and I shot him an angry stare. He could mack on his own time.
And if he really did flirt like that in front of his girlfriends, no wonder he and Tiffeny were Splits-Ville!
I finally caught Taryll’s eye and he mouthed his apology.
I hoped he’d start thinking with his head and not his…
Mindy giggled. “That’s nice.”
Time to stop Taryll before he worked himself into a golden lather.
“Tar, you know Mindy is Prince’s hair and make-up artist?” I said, my voice blistering with sarcasm. That was sure to propel him off Planet Arousal.
“Huh?” Taryll wore his shock like a jacket. “You work for Prince?”
I was sure if was hot for Mindy, the mention of his uncle’s nemesis would chill him down.“Yeah.” Mindy nodded, her hair bouncing. “Found it!”
Mindy produced a thin red envelope from her purse.
“This is for you and Mr. Jackson--Michael.” Mindy winked, holding the envelope out to me.
The jewels attached to her French-tipped nails glittered.
“Thanks.” I said leadenly, taking it from her.
“I gotta go, Mr. Prince is waiting for me. It was nice meeting you Taryll.” Mindy beaming, hugged me again. “Bye Brynn.”
Taryll and I stood quietly for a moment as Mindy exited the room.
“Brynn…is she involved with Prince at all?” Taryll finally broke the silence.
I glanced up at him; he was blushing.
“No.” I said raising an eyebrow. “Why?”
“That chick could kick start a 747 jet. Damn.” Taryll smiled gleefully.
“Put your tongue back in your head Tiger, you’re not her type.” I shook my head.
If only he knew…
“What? She only dates White guys?” Taryll wondered picking at his curls.
“Nope…” I ginned up at him, deciding to inform him of the real deal before he made a fool of himself. “I’m more her type than you are.”
The sheen in Taryll’s eyes dulled. “You mean that chick digs chicks?” He murmured, clearly crushed.
“Yeah.” I patted Taryll’s broad shoulder.
“Oooh!” Taryll put his hand to his chest and shook his head, disdainfully. “I was wondering where you two were.” Michael appeared behind Taryll.
“What’s that?” He questioned, pointing at the envelope.
“Prince’s stylist just dropped that off for you.” Taryll remarked bitterly.
Dang, that man was really upset over Mindy.
At the reference to Prince, Michael’s sweetly smiling face tightened like the skin over a snare drum.
“That Cindy woman was in here?” Michael repeated, snatching the envelope out of my hands. A frown was denting his features.
“Yes…” I braced for the dam to break.
“Who sends a stylist to deliver things? Taryll, I told you that man was strange. Can’t stand his tiny ass.” Michael puffed shaking his head and ripping open the envelope. “I wonder what he wants, now.”
Taryll scoffed and crossed his arms, waiting to see what was in the letter.
I wondered what the odds of the envelope suddenly bursting into flames before it got read would be.
I hid my trembling hands behind my back as Michael pulled a sheet of thick, lacy white paper out.
“Oh Gosh!” Michael exclaimed, his dark eyes turning stormy as they scanned the paper which was covered in fancy writing in a red font.
“It’s an invitation. Listen to this…”
An invitation? To what?
Michael began reading aloud: You are cordially invited to a private performance to be given by His Royal Badness himself, Prince.
The performance is to be held the night of the Sixteenth at Club Groovement located in Upper Manhattan.
Please RSVP as soon as possible with the number of people in your party that will be attending and for directions.
Funky/cocktail attire required.
Festivities start at nine p.m. sharp and ends…
Michael paused and rolled his eyes,
“…when the police throw us out!” My heart plummeted.
Oh no! Oh God no!
It couldn’t possibly be true!
Prince was trying to see me again?
And using the elaborate cover of a concert to do so?
Just what the hell was this man trying to prove?
I staggered over and dropped into the nearest chair, next to the side table that held the telephone. I knew that if I stood a second longer, I would have fainted.
Why was Prince being so over the top? He could have just as easily asked me up to the Penthouse, like a normal human being.
Lord knew what he was up to. After that disaster at The Ivy Lounge, it was anyone’s guess.
“So what are you gonna do Uncle Mike? The little Purple Pipsqueak invited you to a show.” Taryll inquired taking the invite from Michael and examining it for himself. “His Royal Badness…more like His Royal Smallness.” He scoffed rolling his eyes.
My attention was drawn to them at the sound of feet running.
Rusty was rushing over. I knew that Big Mouth Bass was about to toss his two unwanted cents into the ring. Michael lowered his head, deep in thought as Rusty skidded to a stop beside him, his polished Italian loafers squeaking.
Silence filled the room; all of us were awaiting Michael’s decision.
I was hoping against hope that Michael would turn down the invite.
So much for hopes.
After a long while, Michael, poked the toe of his shoe at a tile and announced confidently,
“I‘m gonna accept the invitation.”
Rusty and Taryll stood staring at him, mouths hanging.
Their voices may have evaded them, but not mine.
“What? Michael! No! “ I shouted jumping up. My legs were so weak, I sank back down to the chair. “Not after the way things went at The Ivy Lounge! Why are you going? You don’t like Prince!” I moaned putting my head in my hands.
“Brynn, the man has clearly made his mind up and I assume Prince wants to make up for what happened at the restaurant.” Rusty nodded, blue eyes flashing defiantly. Like he had an in over Michael.
That burned me.
Stumbling over to Rusty, I cried,
“Who in the hell asked you? You don’t know how ugly it got. I don’t recall your presence at the table…” I quipped snidely.“Oh that’s right! You were here, letting Blanket fall and almost break his little nose--Rust Bucket!” I shoved Rusty so hard he fell back against Taryll.
“Stop pushing on me woman!” Rusty shouted, his highlighted hair falling across his forehead.
“ No pushing? Fine! I’ll punch you!” I threatened, curling a fist.
Rusty pushed up the sleeves of his suit jacket, and started to wave me on.
It would have been my pleasure to knock the shit out of him.
Taryll laughed insanely at the scene.
“Hey!” Michael said sharply causing all of us to jump.
Michael finally focused on me, his dark eyes blazing. He seemed to know something that no one else did.
“Stop worrying, Baby. I’ve got this figured out quick.”
His voice was so cool, I got chills.
Had Michael taken a tranquilizer and nobody had noticed?
Usually at the mention of Prince (Nelson) he blew up into the stratosphere.
“Yeah, how?” I mumbled, not truly convinced.
Hand shoved into his trouser pockets Michael began slowly walking across the room.
“What do you have in mind Uncle Michael?” Taryll wondered, his voice full of curiosity. “Every time I’ve seen That Damn Man, he’s got his entourage with him. That Morris jerk, his stylist, his band, whatever. And I usually go alone with Brynn. He keeps using numbers to try to intimidate me. ” Michael pointed out, back still to us, moving across the room.
“I’ve been doing this wrong. But not any more.” Michael spun on his heel. “That little Purple Paisley Punk doesn’t know who he’s messing with. I’m Michael Jackson.” Michael huffed and flipped his hair over his shoulder.
“I’m taking my own crew, and he won’t be able to touch me.”
Taryll, Rusty and I all exchanged glances.
Michael was being sneaky?
Michael Jackson was being underhanded?
If I could have gotten away with it, I would have stripped Michael down right there.
This new conniving Michael that Prince was bringing out was hot as fire!
“Uncle Michael, if you want me to go along with you, I will. I totally got your back.” Taryll volunteered.
“Taryll…” Michael waved at his nephew. “Get Tito on the phone. I want to talk to him.”
“Yeah!” Taryll ran across the room, picked up the phone and began dialing on it like a madman.
“Just what are you gonna do?” Rusty wore a skeptical expression. I was sure he had never seen Michael act like this before. “Don’t do anything that’ll jeopardize your negotiations with Prince!”
“What negotiations?” Michael laughed wildly, a glint of wickedness in his doe eyes. “That cricket got Brynn to sing for him, and I got the demos. There’s nothing else left to negotiate.”
At the announcement that Michael and Prince no longer had any musical ties between them, I rushed Michael and hugged and kissed at his cheek fiercely.
“It’s about time for The Revolution to meet The Jacksons.” Michael whispered nastily.
“Just how are you gonna pull the Jacksons together? The sixteenth is three days away! It’ll take a miracle.” Rusty argued, beads of sweat springing up on his forehead. This man was really nervous.
And so was I.
I wasn’t used to Michael having little things going on behind the scenes.
Michael held a hand up. “I don’t need a miracle Rusty. I’ve got family.”
He said hotly and bent to brush his ripe lips against my neck.
If only I knew how much family Michael was about to get a hold of…