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…