Chapter 32

Chapter 32

The Following Morning

I awoke with a rude start.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the bright, almost cheerful beams of sunlight pouring in through the open windows of Michael bedroom.

Glancing around the room, it almost seemed normal.

The Jackson Trio’s toys scattered about the floor, a video game projected on the large plasma screen TV, a half eaten Twix candy bar on the nightstand.

It all seemed, so truly, painfully, normal.

But one quick look across the room at Michael’s scarlet and gilded throne, and anyone could tell that something was amiss, if not downright chaotic.

Clad in a thin white t-shirt and black silk pajama bottoms, Michael was curled up in the massive seat, sound asleep.

A Louisville Slugger baseball bat was clutched in his smooth, pale hands tightly against his chest.

At the sight of Michael wielding the weapon, I stared down at my lap a mixture of grief and shame thundering over me.

The dancing Spongebobs and Patricks on my own pajama bottoms smiled up at me.

As I continued to look at the silly cartoon characters the events of the previous night began replaying in my mind like a record on a hellish broken player.

It seemed unreal, a nightmare that the likes of Wes Craven could only dream up.

After fully explaining to Michael that Prince had taken me away from Neverland--not the other way around--I had been led up into Michael’s boudoir where he proceeded to spend the following three hours all but lecturing me on not to be afraid to scream if I’m ever being abducted again.

(And as sneaky as Prince was, it wasn’t that big a stretch of the mind.)

Michael had even spoken of hiring a bodyguard for me.

Then came the rush of sadness.

Michael talking about how he was so worried, and scared for me to be away with Prince.

How he didn’t trust That Damn Man.

Michael asked me about twenty different times if Prince had violated me in anyway.

“Did he try to kiss you?”

“Did he try to touch you?”

“Did he try to force himself on you?”

“Did he threaten you?”

I believe that if he could have gotten away with it, he would have dusted my body for Prince’s fingerprints.

I knew that for five hours, Michael’s mind had been fevered and woolgathered with images of Prince’s diminutive body on mine, his stiletto boots in the air as he committed all sorts of unspeakable and lewd acts on me.

I had spent half the night tearfully confirming, reaffirming and reaffirming the previous confirmation that Prince I had merely driven through LA and Malibu, and that nothing obscene had occurred.

(Of course I left out the tidbit about Prince prancing around in the pond in a few spare threads of underwear. And that fact that I had joined him in my undergarments.)

Michael’s worry then gave way to pure, pulsating, unabashed anger.

I don’t think Prince will ever know just how alarming close he had come to sweeping his pearly whites up with a broom and picking a black loafer out of his backside.

Prince had a nauseating habit of nursing an unwelcome visit within an inch of death.

And he almost had a multiple orgasm when it came to plucking Michael nerves he got so much pleasure from it.

I noticed that when it came tine for Jimmy to bring Prince his beloved Beemer, instead of getting in the car and merely exiting, like any other normal human being on the planet would have done, Prince instead got into his car, cranked the stereo system somewhere between “Loudest” and “Bleeding Eardrums” and began blaring his song, My Name is Prince, almost as a proclamation against Michael that he couldn’t be touched.

Oh how he had almost gotten touched.

And punched.

And kicked.

And slapped.

I had been dragged halfway through the house, clinging to Michael’s hips trying to stop him from running out of the house and kicking Prince off the globe and onto Mars.

Michael would have gotten out the front door if, by some angelic force, he hadn’t tripped on a Barbie doll that Paris had left on the floor.

Sure, the doll got decapitated when Michael stepped on her, but better Barbie than Prince!

It took three body guards, all larger than Jimmy--who knew you could Super Size people?-- to tuck Prince into his car and see him off property.

They followed Prince to the gates in straining golf carts, just to make sure he was gone.

It was ten minutes before I was no longer able to hear his car stereo.

Somewhere in the middle of the din, the Jackson Trio were begging Michael, from their rooms, to stop the noise so they could sleep.

That’s where the Louisville Slugger came into play.

(The Jackson Trio really needed to stop leaving their toys around.)

Michael got to the door right as Prince sped out of Neverland, and found the baseball bat.

It was another cat and mouse chase to try to catch him as he ran, bat in hand, in a fruitless effort to catch Prince, and hit a home run across his forehead.

For as thin a man as Michael Jackson was, it took two of his beefy guards to restrain him and bring him back into the house.

To my dismay, I saw in a second story window that his children were watching the scene, a look of fear on their faces that I had only seen once before--during the clash at Aiken’s Jewelry Store.

I didn’t want the children to see their father like that.

Nobody should see their father like that.

And I had been sick the rest of the night.

I looked back up at Michael, still snoozing and cradling the baseball bat the way Blanket snuggled his favorite teddy bear.

Even Prince wouldn’t have been crazy enough to try to come back and take me from Michael, not from his bedroom.

Not unless he suddenly got an over whelming urge to try to breathe around a rhinestone glove as it pulled his spinal cord out through his eye.

I slowly, and tiredly rolled out of bed and walked up to Michael.

Gazed down at his fair, smooth face, as he snored softly.

His tendrils tumbling around his shoulders.

He was so sweet, and nice and unassuming.

It hurt me so badly that he was caught in the fight, and not really knowing what he was fighting for.

Like a soldier at war, he knew he was in battle, but the real struggle wasn’t happening in the foxhole.

It was on the home front.

It didn’t seem true at all.

I had a man ready to beat the holy shit out of another man with a wooden--not aluminum--baseball bat over me.

And the man was Michael Jackson.

And the other man was Prince.

Michael Jackson was trying to protect me.

Brynn Sue McAllister.

Trying to protect me from what Michael hailed as the Threat to Intimacy, Prince.

And once again, Michael didn’t blame me for anything other than being the victim of Prince’s hot perversion.

I found myself, kneeling at Michael’s side, inches away from his little pink toes.

I don’t know, maybe my subconscious was making me get down and almost beg Michael for his forgiveness.

I didn’t feel worthy of even kissing Michael’s little tootsies…

And yet it seemed like the right thing to do.

Kiss Michael’s feet.

At least to start the process.

I had been so wrong, done so wrong.

Treated Michael so horribly.

My lips hovered near his toes.

“Brynn? What are you doing?”

A voice asked suddenly and I jerked back on my heels, away from Michael.

Prince (Jackson) stood in the doorway, hands shoved deeply into the pockets of the Incredible Hulk robe he wore.

“Prince?” I gasped staring at the boy.

“Prince? What? Where? I’ll kick his ass!”

Jarred awake by my sudden utterance of his nemesis’ (and son’s) name, Michael hopped to his feet, bat clutched and ready to swing.

“Whoa!” Clearly frightened, Prince turned and dove behind the small coffee table in the center of the room that held an oversized chess set.

“Michael! Michael! It’s your son! Not Prince! Not that Prince. It’s your son!” I exclaimed jumping upright and placing my hands over the bat and trying to make him realize that he was about to strike his own flesh and blood!

“Yeah Dad!” Prince echoed from where he was peeking over the table top, blonde locks all over his head and falling into his eyes.

Michael took a quiet moment to glance from me to his oldest child, and back.

Even though he seemed calm, Michael’s eyes still had a wild glint to them.

“Give me the bat Honey, please. Prince is long gone. He’s probably halfway to Minneapolis right now.”

I could only hope that Prince (Nelson) was halfway to the Minneapolis.

“The only Prince here is your son.” I gently tugged the bat away from Michael.

Michael stared at me a moment longer, then crushed me against his body in a fierce hug.

“I’m going downstairs! Man, grown ups are weird!” I heard Prince call as he ran out of the room.

I knew that to Prince (Jackson) the hug appeared to be nothing more the an show of affection.

But I knew better.

It was him demonstrating that even though Prince might have taken me from him, that in the end, I was his.

It was Michaels’ equivalent of taking a victory lap.

Who knew that before the day was over, Prince (Nelson) was going to trip Michael up as he ran?

* * *

A Few Hours Later

“Wee-ooh! Wee-ooh! Firefighter to the rescue!” Blanket, dressed in a child sized version of a firefighter’s uniform came flying by me on his Granny Smith Apple Green bicycle.

“Ooohhh! Save us! Save us! Please!” Paris and Prince pleaded melodramatically from where they were splashing around in the shallow end of the swimming pool.

“I guess you really can buy a child anything his heart desires from Neiman-Marcus, huh?”

I giggled, squeezing alongside Michael on the deck chair he was lounging in.

Michael only replied with a shy chuckle of his own and sipped from the tall glass that contained his iced tea.

Another set of Not Over meetings had to wait until tomorrow, because after Prince’s little purple appearance, Michael was nowhere near in the mood to be stuck in a boardroom for endless hours.

A few feet beyond us, Rusty was dozing in another deck chair, the hand containing his Blackberry dragging the ground.

As Blanket made a show of tossing a small rope to his brother and sister, ‘rescuing’ them and pretending to give them CPR, I nuzzled closer to Michael, rubbing my nose against the soft flesh of his throat, taking in his musky, woodsy cologne.

He was finally starting to calm down.

So was I.

I liked the tranquil affect Neverland seemed to have on me.

On everyone.

No matter how mad or unhappy a person was, if they hung around Neverland long enough, they’d forget their troubles.

“Mikey, Baby?” I questioned, tucking a curl behind his peachy ear.

“Mmmhmm?” Michael mumbled taking another sip of tea.

“Do you have everything ready for Jonas and Skylar? Saturday is two days away.” I pointed out taking the glass from him and stealing a swig of tea for myself. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

I had an overwhelming need to do something, anything for Michael to make myself feel that he was satisfied with me.

Something besides just sit there in a light lilac bathing suit.

Michael gave me a cherubic smile.

It was like giving sugar cubes to a diabetic.

Seemed like a good idea, but ultimately hurt you in the end.

“No, Honey, everything is set. All I need you to do is show up with your Heal the World shirt on.” He giggled and pinched my chin.

“I can do that.” I grinned back at him.

“You’re so good.” Michael leaned and pecked at my mouth.

If only it were true!

“Ew!” I heard Paris call as Michael continued to kiss at me.

Leaning around Michael, I saw that the Jackson Trio had gathered close to us.

“Can’t I kiss your father in peace?” I asked, reaching and ruffling the little girl’s wet curls.

“Kisses are yucky! Cooties! Cooties!” Blanket chimed in pointing and the kids giggled.

“Kisses are yucky? Really?” I reached and grabbed the small boy in a hug onto my lap pecking at his round cheeks loudly.

“No Brynn! Hee-Hee! No!” Blanket screeched and laughed, flailing around in my arms.

Prince and Paris howled with laughter as I kissed on Blanket’s little face, knocking his firefighter’s hat to the ground.

“She’s got you now!” Michael teased as I finally let Blanket go.

He ran to his father, face red and still sniggling.

“Okay! Who’s next?” I exclaimed jumping up as the children tried to make a run for it.

“Not me! Not me!” Paris and Prince screamed, linking hands and storming towards the house.

“Yeah you!” I cried giving chase, running out of my clear flip flops near the house.

Prince and Paris were cunning little creatures.

Instead of blazing through the house as I thought they would, the kids split up, Paris going around the left side of the house and Prince around the right.

But that was alright. Catching one child was better than catching none.

And I knew that by far, Paris was a much slower runner than her older sibling.

Within a few moments, I had caught up to her as she was trying to open the front door to the main house.

“Ha-ha! Gotcha!” I whooped grabbing her around her waist and whirling her in the air.

“No cooties!” She snorted loudly as I set her back on the ground.

Holding her little face in my hands I kissed her damp forehead.

“You, Dear, are Cootie-fied!” I chuckled as she jumped up and down, whining. Not really angry though.

“I almost got away!” Paris persisted, placing her hands over her hips under the green and blue striped swimsuit she wore.

“Yeah almost!” I chuckled.

“Yahoo! I win! You didn’t get me!” Prince strutted over to his sister and me, chest poked out proudly.

“Oh yeah?” Running over to him, Paris leaned and smooched Prince’s cheek loudly.

“Now we’ve all got the Cooties!” He pouted crossing his arms over his chest.

“Excuse me, Miss McAllister?”

Laughing, I looked up to see one of the large bodyguards who routinely circled Neverland, keeping fans and paparazzi at bay.

He was also one of the guards who had seen Prince off the property only a few hours earlier.

“Yeah, Scott?” I giggled looking up at him as Paris threw her arms around my waist.

Pushing aside a couple of his (dyed) golden blonde dreadlocks, Scott replied solemnly.

“There’s a man at the front gate who’s looking for you. He says he has something for you and Mr. Jackson.”

“Something for me and Michael?” I repeated, vainly praying that Prince hadn’t been so haughty as to show his slim yellow face around our neck of the woods again. “Who is it?”

“Some doctor.” Scott narrowed his beady dark eyes as he tried to recall the name. “I think he said Dr. Mink or Dr. Link or something.”

I could feel my jaw dropping as Scott continued to mumble over the name.

“He sent Dr. Fink?” I spit out, not really conscious I was speaking and loosening Paris’ hands from my hips.

“Fink! That’s it! Dr. Matt Fink!” Scott grinned, not really understanding that he had unwittingly been cordial to one of His Royal Nastiness’ cohorts.

“Scott,” I placed my hand on one the biceps bulging from under the short sleeve of his white shirt that had “Neverland Security” emblazoned on it in green stitching.

(All Neverland bodyguards wore it.)

“Yes?” Scott smiled at me. He really had no honest clue.

“Go get Michael. I’ll take care of Dr. Fink.” I instructed, striking out towards the front of the estate.

I knew that Michael needed to be informed about any of “Prince’s People” who might drop by and I sure didn’t want a repeat of the night before.

“Yes ma’am!” Scott called back as I trudged onwards.

It was like walking the Green Mile.

My mind was suddenly electrified and pounding with dozens of thoughts, the main concern in my mind being,

Just what the hell had Prince sent Dr. Fink along for?

(Was Morris Day unavailable to do Prince’s bidding at the time?)

And just what did he have for Michael and me?

As I neared the front gates, which were open just a bit, I saw that Dr. Fink was standing just inside the perimeter of Neverland.

And as usual, he was in full physician attire from yellow scrubs, to a blue stethoscope dangling around his neck.

A pair of black Ray-Bans completed the look.

A plum faux leather portfolio was clasped in his hands.

A box, gift wrapped in shimmering purple paper was nestled at his feet.

“Hey Brynn!” Dr. Fink called with a wave as if it were commonplace for him to drop by Neverland bearing gifts with that certain Paisley Park aura about them.

“Hi…Fink.” I murmured placing my hands on my hips and giving him a once over.

I was in no mood for a social call. I was still trying to shake the shame and anguish I had.

“Who’s your friends?” Dr. Fink questioned and I noticed that he was looking around behind me.

Turning I saw that we had company.

Somehow I had missed the fact that two-thirds of the Jackson Trio had followed me to the gate.

Prince (Jackson) and Paris stood silently behind me, smiling shyly at Dr. Fink.

“Uh…” I stammered a moment, not really sure if it was in good taste to introduce him to Michael’s children.

Paris made the decision for me.

Putting out her little hand, she announced,

“Hello Dr. Fink. I’m Paris Jackson, and this is my brother Prince.”

Shaking her hand, and then Prince’s Dr. Fink laughed.

“Mike’s got some little polite ones huh?” He joked.

Enough of the dramatics.

“Okay Fink, why are you here?” I questioned, a bit rudely, but not really caring. Better I be rude to him, than Michael.

“I know Prince sent you.” I tossed my hair arrogantly.

“Can’t get anything past you, can I Brynn?” He grinned, punching my shoulder playfully.

“What’s going on here?” A new voice demanded.

From seemingly nowhere, Michael had appeared at my side.

And his cheeks were as rosy as the red shirt he wore.

Anyone could see he was disgusted almost to the point of regurgitating at the sight of the ‘doctor’.

“Hi Michael!” Dr. Fink stuck his hand out. “Remember me? I’m Dr. Matt Fink. You met me at the jam session in Paisley Park a while back.”

I shook my head, feeling nauseated.

That was the last thing I needed; someone reminding Michael of that train wreck, that resulted in my prompt ejection from Minneapolis.

Michael made no move to shake Dr. Fink’s hand.

“I…uh…played the keyboards.” He murmured, slowly taking his hand away as Michael regarded him with an icy stare.

Was it just me, or was the world coming to an end?

The chipper smile that had been creasing Dr. Fink’s face, tumbled off.

Nope, Michael wasn’t going for the Congeniality award today.

“Um, anyway, I have a couple of packages. One for Brynn and one for you.” He announced holding out the folder to me.

“This is for Brynn.”

I gazed up at Michael, wondering if he’d let me accept the portfolio.

I knew that he hated it when I accepted gifts from Prince.

That Damn Man.

“What is it?” Michael inquired, grasping my wrist and pulling me around behind him.

Dr. Fink struggled to explain,

“You know that Prince had Brynn sing on that new song he’s trying to put out--Game?”

“Yeah?” Michael shoved balled fists into the pockets of his blue jeans.

“Well, Prince took some test shots, for the cover of the single, and he wants Brynn to pick which photo she likes best.” He nodded, his brown tresses bouncing.

“What?” I exclaimed, leaning around Michael and nearly stepping on Prince (Jackson)’s toes.

Even though I was supposed to be upset, even angry that Prince was once again throwing a monkey wrench into Michael’s day, I was excited.

Genuinely excited.

Prince was allowing me, little Brynn Sue McAllister from Nowhere, Texas to pick the cover of his next single!

“Are you serious?” Michael’s voice escalated in decibels. “He’s letting her pick the cover?”

“Oh cool!” I heard Paris cheer from somewhere.

I don’t know what was pissing Michael off more: The fact that Prince had actually gotten around to shooting potential covers for his song, (while Michael was still talking distribution) or that he was once again going out of his way giving me an absurd privilege.

Dr. Fink looked over his shades at Michael, his pale green eyes twinkling.

“Yeah man. He claims she has impeccable taste.” He held the folder out to me.

“Get it over with Brynn, right now.” Michael whipped his head around and barked at me.

His tone immediately set my body to nearly convulsing with trepidation.

I almost dropped the folder as Dr. Fink handed it to me.

“Prince narrowed it down to four photos, so it shouldn’t be too hard to choose one.” Dr. Fink pointed out as I flipped the book open.

“Oh!” I gasped as I caught sight of the first photograph.

“Oh Lord.” I heard Michael mutter under his breath.

Beside him his children were perched on their tip toes, quietly straining to see the pictures.

In the first shot, Prince stood against a stark white backdrop. It was a full body shot and Prince’s body was clad in a sheer ruffled blouse and tight bottoms made of what appeared to be embellished red lace. Even his boots were covered in lace.

His hands were perched on his hips, hair brushed back away from his face.

His make up was minimal, and almost natural, give the heavy black liner circling his eyes.

A gold oversized symbol glittered near his waist and tangled in his black chest curls.

He looked as though he was gearing up for a fight, taunting someone (Michael?) with a self-absorbed smirk on his face.

“Does he still think it’s 1984? Gosh!” Michael sniffed, wafting an arrogance all his own.

I flipped the page and was met with a head shot of Prince.

At least his attire was much more sedate.

Instead of lace, he wore a dark violet suit over a gold shirt, loosened to show his chest, of course. A matching gold pocket square was jammed into the breast pocket.

His hair this time was artfully arranged in wispy curls that danced across his forehead.

If Prince continued with his supercilious smirk, I was certain his face was going to get twisted into that expression.
“Is that the only pose he knows? Reminds me of Zoolander.” Michael announced, reaching down and tapping the page.

Beside him, Prince (Jackson) laughed at the joke.

Paris was peeking curiously at the photograph.

“I like his hair.” She whispered sedately, trying not to let her father hear her approving of Michael’s enemy.

Prince changed up his look in the Picture Number Three.

His hair was slick and smooth, and he was grinning openly in a wild, multicolored Ikat print tunic.

“That shirt looks like throw up.” Prince (Jackson) declared in a hushed tone, running a hand through his still damp hair.

Everyone was a critic.

And then came the last photo.

“Oh my goodness!” It felt as though all the air was being sucked out of my body.

“What on earth?” Michael squawked before he coved his children’s faces with his hands and hugging them against him to shield them from the image before them.

The children protested loudly, pleading with Michael to let them go.

I continued to stare at the cellophane wrapped photo, my breaths becoming strained.

In the last photo…

Prince was….

Naked.

Well almost.
Lying on a bed of cobalt blue satin pillows, Prince was nestled, in the nude, clutching a gleaming white Model C guitar against his body.

The body of the guitar hid Prince’s crotch, and his leg was wrapped around the instrument, almost as if he were trying to hump it!

White, bejeweled boots encased his feet.

A seductive pout was on Prince’s face; he almost looked like a pin up from Playgirl magazine.

“Okay, this is too damn much!” Michael exclaimed snatching the folder from me and actually throwing it at Dr. Fink.

“Daddy!” Paris gasped, shocked that Michael had cursed right over her head.

I knew it was bad enough that Prince had sent along a nearly pornographic photo, but it was even worse that two of Michael’s children had gotten a glimpse of it.

“Brynn, take my children and go in the house.” Michael instructed scooting Prince and Paris into my arms.

“Y-yes Michael.” I replied, my chin quivering as the onset of bawling started to take me.

Giving Dr. Fink a sour glance, I started up the lane with the children.

Behind me I could hear Dr. Fink trying to offer Michael the box that contained his gift.

Michael swiftly replied,

“I want nothing from your kind! Take that package and tell Prince to shove it!”

By the time I reached the doors of the main house, tears were streaming down my cheeks, meeting under my chin and dripping down onto my chest.

I sank down onto the couch, wholly sobbing.

Prince may have sent the last obscene photograph as gadget to irk Michael.

But he didn’t realize…

When he hurt Michael Jackson…

He also hurt me.

* * *

The Next Afternoon

“Ouch! You stuck me!”

“Monsieur Jackson! Please, you’re going to have to hold still Sir, or I’ll continue to jab you.” Rene François mumbled through a mouthful of pins from where he knelt at Michael’s side.

“Stuck, jabbed, whatever--they all hurt!” Michael grumbled, rubbing the sore patch near his wrist where the designer had mistakenly nabbed him.

(He was supposed to be standing absolutely still, with his arms at his sides.)

Michael’s black and white formal jacket for the Humanitarian Association of America Awards was slowly coming together on his slim form.

Even though the coat was in its early stages, I knew that the finished product was going to be mind blowing.

The fabric, white and studded with tens of thousands of Swarovski crystals, caught light at every angle and threw it back and forth, turning Michael Jackson into a human diamond.

Rene was calmly trying to pin thick, black crystal braid to the cuffs of the coat. More braid had already been attached down the front, and was accented by wide, heavily tasseled epaulets on Michael’s slim shoulders.

Michael Jackson truly looked like a stroboscopic military man.

“Brynn, do you like the way my outfit is coming together?” Michael asked after a while, as Rene, waddling on the knees of another pair of khaki trousers, topped off by a red and white striped tee began pinning the braid to the other cuff.

“It looks lovely.” I grinned at him from where I was lounging casually across his throne.

“Merci, Mademoiselle.” Rene put in before Michael could reply.

Giggling, Michael managed to get out, “Merci to you too Rene. You‘re doing excellent work.”

“I can’t wait to see how my dress looks.” I sighed, glancing longingly at the silver garment bag carefully placed across Michael’s bed, that contained my ensemble.

“Me either.” Michael admitted, picking at his long, spirally ponytail. “How far along is Brynn’s dress?” He reached down and tapped the top of Rene’s pristine white hair.

Still speaking around a mouth of stickpins, Rene replied, “Almost completed. Though I still have to attach the shoulder bow and few more crystals.”

“That’s splendid!” Michael exclaimed clapping his hands together suddenly.

“Ouch!”

“By the time Rene gets done, you’ll look like Swiss cheese Mike.” I teased, hopping up and strolling over to one of the windows near his bed.

Peering out as Michael laughed sarcastically, I saw that the Jackson Trio were crouched down on the east side of the ranch, sprawled out on part of the pavement that made up the front driveway. I could make out a large magnifying glass clasped in Prince’s (Jackson) hands.

I wondered if they were trying to fry the defenseless ants that happened to be walking by.

“Oh Brynn…” My attention was drawn from the children and their insect torture techniques, but a hand softly touching my shoulder.

I looked up into Michael’s bright and smiling face.

“Yes?” I grinned up at him.

“It’s your turn up on the ‘chopping block’” Michael snickered pulling me against him in a quick hug.

Behind him, Rene was lifting the bag holding my dress in it up and beginning to unzip it.

“I’m sure I won’t be made into Swiss cheese--I know how to be still!” I cackled reaching up and tapping Michael’s nose.

“You’re too much!” Michael chortled and pecked my forehead.

* * *

Fifteen Minutes Later

“Oh my God! I feel like Princess Diana!”

I exclaimed in an excited whisper, spinning around in front of the floor length mirror just inside of Michael’s walk in closet.

Michael and Rene, hanging in the doorway to my side, just smiled contentedly at me.

I felt like true royalty in my gown. I had known that my dress was going to be spectacular, because the sketch had been flawless…

But to see the dress near completion and for real on me, against my body…

It was magic.

The Chinese silk clung and skimmed over me in the right places, totally setting off my figure. And the way the cloth faded from snow white, to midnight blue to deepest black made my skin glow.

Strategically placed stones twinkled and glittered at me.

“You look really fantastic. It’ll be an honor to have you on my arm at the HAAs” Michael announced walking up behind me and patting my bare shoulders.

“Michael…” I blinked at his reflection through a sheen of happy tears that were starting to dampen my eyes. “Thank you so much…!”

I spun around an swiftly embraced him.

“Oh you’re welcome. You deserve it.” Michael whispered softly, pulling my hair back from my ear and his plump lips bumped the lobe.

I quivered at the sensation. I only hoped that Rene wouldn’t notice that I was blushing.

“Mademoiselle, you shall love the garment even more once I attach the bow.” I heard Rene say.

I half laughed/half cried into Michael’s chest as he continued to squeeze me against his soft form.

It was almost too much to imagine. Me going to an awards banquet in a custom made gown…

On the arm of Michael Jackson, the biggest star in the history of the world.

Things like this just didn’t happen to kids like me who came from The Sticks.

It was a dream come true.

I came back down to reality as The Blue Danube began to play ever so softly from the right side of Michael’s groin.

I leaned back against the mirror and wiped at my face as Michael produced his cell phone from his trouser pocket and flipped it open to his ear.

“Hello?” He answered, lightly cracking his knuckles.

“Oh hey, Jermaine!” A wide smile creased his face as he began chatting with his older sibling on the other end. “What’s up Big Bro?”

“Let me help you out of that.” Rene offered as Michael dropped into an Indian-style seated position on the cool tiled floor of the closet.

“Mmmhmm…” Michael mumbled as Rene began loosening the hidden zipper on the back of the garment. “We’re just getting out HAA outfits refitted…”

Before the dress could drop and expose my undies, I quickly slipped on my green sundress that fell into place as I stepped out of my gown.

I didn’t want Rene to see me in front of Michael in my panties, since I was only supposed to be Michael’s “friend”.

(And I didn’t mind being in my underwear in front of Rene, because he already had a ‘partner’. If you catch my drift.)

I didn’t want to take it off. I feared dress post-partum depression.

“…okay, if that’s what she wants to, then. Sure. Good-bye.” Michael quietly hung his phone up and sat twirling it in his hands. He seemed troubled.

“Is everything alright?” I questioned, handing my dress off to Rene.

After a moment, Michael appeared to hear me.

“Oh! Yeah.” He quickly got to his feet. “That was Jermaine. He says that Selena wanted to invite you to dinner tonight at the Fifty-Fifty Restaurant in Beverly Hills. You know, a girls’ night out thing. She’s coming for you around eight o’clock. That’s if you want to go?” Michael gingerly ran his fingers through my hair.

“Um…” I glanced over at Rene; he was busying himself loading my gorgeous gown back into its bag.

I wasn’t really sure about what to say to Michael, because I wasn’t really used to going anywhere without him, especially at night.

“Is it okay with you?” I looked down and realized I was unconsciously shuffling me feet.

Michael chuckled and threw his arm around my waist. “Of course Honey! Selena is your friend. You don’t need my permission to go to dinner with your friend. Just try to be home a little early, you know we have a long day with Jonas and Skylar coming tomorrow.” He pointed out.

I grinned up at him, feeling relieved that he didn’t mind me going out ‘alone’.

“Thanks Michael.” I nodded, giving him a gentle hug.

Michael shook his head until his curls flew. “No need to thank me. You have a good time. Now come outside with me, I have a hankering for some cotton candy!” He chortled, escorting me past Rene and out of the closet.

As made our way out of the house, I was feeling happy, and good that I was going to go out “on the town.”

If I had known any better, I would have been nervous.

　

* * *

Later That Same Evening

“…so, my Pretty Brynn…what did you think of the photos I sent you? Hmmm?”

Prince hummed seductively into my ear over the receiver of my ‘secret’ purple phone.

Much to my displeasure, Prince hadn’t yet made his tracks back to Minneapolis. He claimed he was calling me from his ‘other’ home in the Hollywood Hills.

(I only prayed that Michael wouldn’t find this out and rush over with another baseball bat!)

Pulling myself up onto the counter of the washbasin of my bathroom, I heaved an annoyed sigh and fastened my red robe around my body. Leave it to Prince to conveniently call me as I was trying to get myself together to go out with Selena.

“That was a rotten thing to do Prince, you know Michael was already up in arms from you snatching me away and then along came that little care package!” I replied, tapping my fingernails on the countertop.

“Whatever do you mean?” He quipped in mock innocence.

(Prince probably hadn’t been innocent since before he had lost his baby teeth.)

I stifled an anguish riddled howl and hissed,

“You know full well what I mean! Sending that naked picture of yourself--” I was cut off by Prince laughing hysterically.

“Dr. Fink told me about that! Said Mike almost knocked his damn teeth out when he threw that binder at him! That was some funny ass shit. I almost pissed myself laughing.” Prince gasped loudly and busted up some more.

“It’s not funny Princey!” I admonished, slamming my fist down. I’m sure the effect would have been better had Prince been in the same room with me.

“Yeah it is!” Prince insisted, and continued caterwauling.

“Two of the kids saw that picture of you. That’s what got Michael all bent outta shape. That wasn’t cool, they didn’t have to see that.” I whined remembering how quickly Michael has nearly smothered Prince-Michael and Paris at the sight of Prince’s just barely covered form.

“Oh please. That’s bullshit Baby. Jacko wasn’t worried about that. He was worried about you seeing me. He knew I was reminding you what a real man looks like. Not that wicked hermaphrodite mess Michael’s made himself into. I still don’t understand what you see in him. It must be like sleeping with another woman to be with him.” Prince chuckled, his swollen head surely soaring higher than the Goodyear blimp.

“It’s Jackson, not Jacko.” I retorted coldly. (Why did he insist upon insulting Michael at every turn?) “And Michael is a man. All man.”

“Please, Michael is two tits shy of a full blown sex change!” Prince cackled wildly.

“If you’re going to be this way, I can hang up. I’m going out for dinner with a friend, and I still need to get done getting ready.” I simpered, thoroughly burning from Prince’s stinging comments about Michael.

“You’re going out to dinner? Michael’s letting you out after dark? Is he high or something?” Prince’s voice seemed to weaken at the mention of plans--that didn’t include him.

“Who are you going to dinner with? Who’s this friend? Your other man? Terrence or whatever the hell his name is?”

“No! I told you Taryll is nothing to me. Jermaine’s girlfriend Selena invited me to dinner…why?” I wondered timidly, praying to God and all of Heaven that Prince didn’t plan to crash dinner. And probably get sent to the emergency room in a gum wrapper.

That man was sneaky and I knew he’d probably shake out the continental United States to find my whereabouts.

“Hmm…Jermaine’s little woman taking you to dinner. That’s so sweet I’m getting a toothache.” Prince teased in a high pitched tone.

“Can’t you be nice?” I begged, beads of cold sweat starting to trickle down my back. I had a feeling that if I did rub Prince in the wrong direction, I’d find an extra RSVP at the dinner table.

“Not about anyone concerned with the bitch that called me ‘That Damn Man’. You can forget that Baby.” I could just imagine Prince scowling the way his spiking voice indicated.

I stared across the room as Prince began to breathe heavily into the receiver, and my ear was actually starting to feel damp.

There was no way of getting through to him.

He just didn’t give a hoot in Hell about Michael, and it seemed the more they ran into each other, the more their distaste for each other grew.

What was I going to do?

Prince continued huffing at me.

“Pretty Brynn?” He questioned after a spell.

“Yes?” I twirled a lock of my semi-damp hair, wondering why his voice had suddenly gotten so soft.

He almost sounded sincere.

“Do you know what my ideal dinner date with you would be, Sugar?”

Prince’s voice was so even, I couldn’t tell if he was putting on or being for real.

“No…what?” Somehow I knew that by the way Prince’s breaths were increasing in frequency,

“Brynn…” His voice was strained. “…I’d have you on a bed of watercress… eat you up ‘til there ain’t no more.”

“Prince!” I gasped at the expression of the sudden dirty thought. And yet I was charmed. He had made a meal of me once before, I knew it would have been nothing for him to do it again.

“You know I like that. I love you. You’re so sweet. You look sweet…and smell sweet…and taste so damn sweet. Shee-oop!” Prince moaned erotically and I wondered if he was doing something obscene on his end.

“Oh God.” I mumbled, burying my face in my hands.

“I just wanna get you wetter than the morning dew Baby.” He crooned nastily.

Did the man know I was only wearing a robe?

“You’re a grimy man…humph.” I snickered, trying to fight off the thought of the dirty acts that Prince could perform.

“I know.” Prince replied with a chuckle. “Just thinking about all that sweet, sticky, goodness…” He trailed off.

I found myself leaning in, waiting anxiously for his next words.

“…If I was there with you right now…” He began.

“Yes?” I whispered, my body bouncing with the onset of arousal.

I jumped as the line clicked and went dead.

“Prince?” I whimpered. “Prince?”
I pulled the phone from my ear and stared at it.

I couldn’t believe That Damn Man had gotten me going like that, only to leave me hanging.

Once again.

But the effect wasn’t wasted.

If his intention was to leave me wanting me more, he had succeeded.

I wanted more.

My mind flashed back to that night in Minneapolis, where Prince had indeed roughed me up, but had me climbing the walls for him.

The mixture of his butterscotch body against my chocolate one.

The things that man could do with his mouth…

“Hey Brynn!”

I was snapped from stroll down Muck Lane at the hasty pounding on my bathroom door.

I hopped off the countertop and for a moment almost fell as I scrambled to stow my phone back away in my make up case.

I knew that voice anywhere!

Michael was just on the other side of the door!

If he knew I had just received a dirty phone call from his arch-nemesis…

“Brynn!” He knocked on the door once more.

“Just a minute!” I called impatiently, giving myself a glance.

I looked normal enough, save for a couple of extra rosy cheeks.

Again I collided with the door as I ran to open it.

(If this continued, Prince would inadvertently be responsible for me having a broken nose.)

Making sure my robe was secured and squaring my shoulders, I slowly pulled the door open.

I was met by Michael leaning against the door frame, arms folded across his chest, a cool smile on his face.

“There’s my little P.Y.T.” He chuckled, reaching and embracing me. “I was wondering where you had gone to Sweetie.” He smooched my cheek softly.

“Um, I was just getting done with my shower.” I explained hastily, pecking the dimple in Michael’s chin. “It’s tricky tying this robe.” I said quickly, glad that my bedroom was chilled.

Sometimes it amazed me how well I moved so seamlessly from one life to the other.

From being Michael’s woman, to Prince’s side dish and back to Michael.

David Copperfield had nothing on me.

“You look lovely Dear.” Michael gave me a warm squeeze. “I came up to see if you wanted any help picking an outfit to go to the Fifty-Fifty.” He offered, arm around my waist, strolling over to the closet.

He really had no true clue.

My heart ached, and it took a ton of willpower to fight off the urge to tell Michael the truth.

Instead, I heard myself ask,

“What kind of place is the Fifty-Fifty Restaurant? Is it dressy or casual?”

“It’s a nice place. I’ve been there a few times.” Michael sighed picking through the racks of clothing in my closet. “It’s kind of dressy, but you can wear pants if you want. “ He continued shuffling through the clothing.

“You have to try the blackened cod fish. It’s really good.”

“Okay, I will.” I agreed, some of Michael’s easy going spirit finally rubbing off on me and I was finally shaking the aroused glow Prince had bestowed up on me.

“This is cute.” Michael turned, holding up two garments: a pair of white silk trousers and a turquoise and white giraffe print blouse. “You want to wear this?”

“If you like it.” I shrugged reaching and taking the pieces from him.

“I like all your clothing Brynn. You look pretty in everything.” Michael murmured, kissing the top of my head.

“Now you go ahead and get dressed, Selena should be here soon.” He smiled making his way to the door.

“Don’t forget to bring me a doggy bag!” He called cheerfully as he closed the door behind him.

Smiling, I turned to get dressed.

If I only knew what the night held for me…