Note From The Authoress...

Hey Y'all!

I just wanted to let you know that I am dilligently working on the latest installment of the story that I will, of course, post to Eternal when it is complete. I have been juggling alot of writing projects and making an effort to get them all put out and make sure they are up to the standard of work I'm used to producing.
I am juggling this chapter, some eroticas, and some horror stories, taking notes here and there.
It's all for Michael and all for love, L-O-V-E.

At the moment I am caught in a bit of a writer's block in my chapter. I am not sure if I want to do a dinner scene with Michael, Brynn, The Jacksons and thier women or if I should just gloss it over and move onward to the appearance at the Parisian Orphanage. I am test driving both ideas at the moment and whichever one reads better, I'll post. I hope the one with the brothers pans out because I do like writing interaction between all of them, even if it does direct hatred at Prince. LOL.

I am also still contemplating Michael's appearance for the visit. I have Brynn pretty well mapped out in my head, but Michael is giving me the business as I try to work with him.



I really kind of favor his hair style here, from the 96 WMA's. It's still long and straight, but a little different from what he was wearing later in life. I try not to mess with Michael's hair too much because I know his hair and looks are important to the fans. And it's important to me that even though this is a fictional tale to maintain the handsomeness Michael Jackson always presented in public.
I do put an exorbatant amount of thought into it, but I like thinking of Michael anyway. It's fun.

Well, more is on the way gang and whatever pops from my fingertips will be posted!

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 37

Early The Next Morning

I found myself nervously pacing the large living room of Michael’s house. I doubt I had slept thirty minutes if that much.
I had been a complete wreck since I had arrived back at Neverland from my dinner with Apollonia.
Michael had ridden my back for over an hour trying his damndest to extract every bit of information on our meeting that he could get. He’d asked me everything from how many drinks had we shared, to what we’d eaten to if That Damn Man had shown up. Even what she had worn. (I wondered if he really thought she was going to drop her breasts on the table during dinner!)
And I was busy playing soothsayer letting him know that our dinner had been, if anything, normal. I had told Michael everything.
(And he seemed relieved that I hadn’t been “soiled” in any way. I think he was just pleased that I didn’t flash my boobs at anyone.)
Everything except for one minor detail--that I had inadvertently agreed to go back to Paisley Park to remake a raunchy song.
I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that if I were going to work with Apollonia, I was going to end up back in Minneapolis.
As far as I knew, Prince had written Sex Shooter, or at least in some part had orchestrated the tune. Of course a remake would be recorded at his studio. And Apollonia still ran with Prince’s crowd--speaking regularly with Morris, and God knew who else from the movie. Who knew maybe the following night she’d be taking Wendy and Lisa out for drinks!
I had managed to do the one thing I had promised I wouldn’t do--and that was get anywhere near Prince.
And if I didn’t speak soon, I knew that Prince, or someone from his camp would come around Neverland and drop the violet bomb on him that I’d agreed to so Sex Shooter.
Without consulting him at all.
Michael would be sorely pissed. Enraged even to know that I’d told this woman yes.
He didn’t want Prince to even look at me, and the idea of me having to go back to him, to his studio, to his house, would probably have Michael climbing the walls with ire.
Oh I didn’t know what to do. Michael would be so angry with me, and the last thing I ever wanted to do was upset Michael. He had so much on his mind lately and he definitely did not need me to be a jackass and go off and do something stupid like this.
I threw myself down into one of the overstuffed armchairs and grunted angrily.
A thought haunted me like a ghost from a Stephen King novel.
I would have to tell Michael.
There was no other way out of it. If I waited until Prince most likely contacted Michael, he’d fly off the handle at me at being the last to know and I didn’t want Michael to look bad in anyway. I didn’t want him to feel silly or ignorant or anything. I loved him too much.
But I didn’t know what kind of wrath I’d incur if I did tell him.
I was so very frightened. Michael was a usually calm and sweet man, but at the mention of Prince, his seemingly sworn enemy, he turned into a pillar of stone, unbending and frigid.
I buried my face in my hands and whined loudly.
“Brynn? Are you okay?” A soft voice, full of concern, questioned.
Peeking through my fingers, I saw that Michael’s oldest son, Prince, stood at the base of the staircase, watching me solemnly. His hands were shoved into the pockets of the orange feet pajamas he wore.
“Yeah, I’m fine…” I tried to choke back an anguished sob and brushed my hair out of my eyes. “What are you doing up?”
I glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. “It’s three a.m.”
The boy shrugged and giggled. “I wanted a cookie.”
“Well, go get one. One! You hear me, one! It’s too late for sweets.” I called as the boy turned and started and towards the kitchen.
The light in there went on and I could hear Prince scuffling around in there.
I didn’t really care if Prince ate his weight in chocolate chips. I’d rather a tummy ache over having Michael scream at me any day.
I sat there a moment. While it wouldn’t help me, maybe joining the kid for a cookie would at least take my mind off things.
Hoisting myself up out of the chair, I wandered off into the kitchen.
Prince sat at the island in there, pouring himself a tall glass of milk. Next to him, a small plate was heaped with about ten large white chocolate chip cookies. And a fudge brownie.
So much for one cookie.
Pushing the milk carton aside, Prince quietly picked up a cookie, dunked it and started nibbling on it.
“Are you sick? You look upset.” He commented, taking a large bite and smacking on it.
Picking up my own cookie, I bit into it. It was fresh and very soft. I glanced at the boy.
He was staring up at me, his dark eyes shining. His father’s eyes.
Prince was truly interested in my problems.
And well, I need to talk to someone. Even if it was a nine-year-old kid. I’d just spare him all the details ands feed him a vague statement.
“Well, I am a little upset.” I admitted, carefully. “Prince, Sweetie, can I ask you something?”
“Yeah, sure.” He sipped loudly from the glass of milk.
“Okay.” I sighed. Had to talk to somebody. “Have you ever done something that you knew was bad, but at the time you did it, you thought it was right?”
“Uh…” Prince thought a moment and rubbed on his pointed chin. “I think so. Once when I was little, I ate two pounds of Milk Duds and I thought it was cool. Then I threw up.” He laughed and started chowing down on his brownie. “All over my dad’s shoes too!”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed too. I could actually imagine a little tow-haired Prince puking on Michael’s loafers. God, it felt so nice to laugh. I needed it.
“Well, Honey, this is a little more complicated than eating Milk Duds.” I picked up another cookie and broke it in half. “I did something your father wouldn’t like, and now I have to tell him before someone else tells him.”
“Oh, does it have something to do with that ‘Abracadabra’ lady?” .
The boy hit the nail right on the head!
“Her name is ‘Apollonia’ and yeah, it kind of does.” I whimpered, biting fiercely into my cookie.
Prince quickly put up his hands.
“Brynn, if you did something, you better tell Dad. He’s nice. I’m sure he won’t be too upset with you. He loves you.” Prince grinned broadly at me. Flecks of brownie were wedged in his teeth.
Oh, childish innocence.
I looked down at the marble countertop.
I didn’t think there was enough love in the universe to keep Michael from screaming like a banshee once I told him the news.
I turned my head from Prince so that he wouldn’t see the tears welling in my eyes.

* * *

A Few Hours Later
I stood fretfully outside the closed double doors to Michael’s bedroom, under the “London Bridges” canopy that two child sized mannequins were holding over my head.
I was haphazardly balancing a large white wicker tray in one hand while trying to open the door with the other.
After my little powwow with Prince Jackson, I had busied myself with making a from scratch breakfast for Michael.
I thought that maybe if he had a mouth full of food, he wouldn’t be able to yell at me as loud.
On a large platter, I had scrambled eggs, meatless sausage links, three blueberry pecan pancakes--topped with butter and maple syrup-- and couple slices of toast. A mug of coffee steamed next to the plate.
(Laden with cream and sugar, just how Michael liked it.)
Finally getting a grip on the knob, I swung the door open and hobbled into the room.
It was darkened, the only light coming from Michael’s bedside lamp.
The shade was tilted in his direction, casting a shaft of light onto his face.
Michael was slumbering in a pair of ivory pajamas and the color made his skin radiate.
He laid on his back, gripping the covers to his chest.
I looked at his face, sweet and serene, black tresses surrounding it. He looked as innocent as he had the first night I had spent in Neverland when I had kissed him.
God I hated to upset him.
But I knew I had to talk to him. It simply had to be done.
I just hoped the fall out wouldn’t be too bad.
(The Jackson Trio were downstairs eating their breakfast and I didn’t want them to hear Michael raising pure Hell.)
“Wake up Sleepyhead.” I cooed gently, reaching with my knee and nudging the bedside, making it rattle.
“Five more minutes Mother.” Michael whimpered, still half asleep and tried to flip over onto his side. After a half hearted flop, Michael landed on his back once more.
“Michael!” I chuckled, nudging the bed harder.
He was so cute when he was in the twilight of slumber.
After shaking for a while, the lids of Michael’s eyes began fluttering.
His deep eyes popped open and eventually focused on me.
“Oooh, my little PYT. Good morning.” He grinned, pulling himself up into a seated position.
Noticing the tray in my hands, his eyes widened with surprise.
“What’s this? Did you make me breakfast?” He gasped raking his hand through his hair.
“Yes, I hope you like it.” I whispered, placing the tray on his lap so as not to spill anything in bed.. He was so happy. I hated to be the one to hurt him.
My heart ached. Was nineteen too young to have a coronary?
“Gosh! Look at this! Eggs and sausage…and my favorite pancakes! Thank you Bunny. You’re such a sweetheart. I didn’t know you could cook.” Michael picked up his fork and knife and started digging in.
I knelt at his side and watched quietly as Michael poked a large helping of pancakes into his mouth.
“This is yummy. You’re a great cook Brynn! Gosh!” Michael chased the pancakes with a swallow of java.
“You even made my coffee the way I like it.” A large hand was extended and began rubbing at my tangled hair. “You’re so good to me.”
I looked down at the carpeted floor. More tears of despair had began to make their way to my eyeballs.
Michael removed his hand from my head and went back to eating, smacking loudly.
“Michael…” I began, trying to keep from crumpling to the floor in a bawling, heaving mess.
“Yes Honey?” His voice was so calm and assured.
Staring down at the floor, I shakily started. God I’d never been so scared in my life.
“Mike, you know how I went to dinner with Apollonia last night?”
“Uh-huh.” I could hear Michael lightly munching on something.
Silverware and flatware banged against each other noisily.
“And you remember how you gave me the third degree about everything that happened?” I winced and brought my knees up to my chest.
“Yes, Bunny. I’m glad that nothing strange happened. I was a little worried. That woman just is the sort of person I don’t like you keeping company with.” Michael admonished his voice stony.
“Taking her boobs out on camera--sickening.”
With that last statement, I trembled. Michael truly didn’t like Apollonia. And he hadn’t even met her. He didn’t care that I’d had a decent time with her or that she’d been extremely nice to me. All he could think of was her exposing her chest. And to Michael, a man as reserved as him, he perceived her as being something like a porn star.
Absolutely nothing that he wanted near his “PYT”.
But I had to do something because sooner or later, he’d know I’d agreed to work with her. And that I’d end up around That Damn Man, Prince.
“Michael, something happened between me and Apollonia last night and I need to tell you about it.” I blurted, staring off into space.
“That Apple Bottom or whatever her name is woman didn’t try to come on you did she?” Michael gasped.
I whipped around and stared at him open mouthed.
Why did Michael think that Apollonia was attracted to me? I’d already fucked up last night, I didn’t need anybody else rehashing the idea.
“Michael, Apollonia is not a lesbian! Why do you think she’d hit on me?” I questioned, for a second, forgetting that I was the bearer of bad news.
“Well, she showed herself to Prince. He looks like a little woman with all that make up and the heels and all. Doesn’t seem like that much of a stretch.” Michael shrugged nonchalantly.
“Listen to me. She’s not!” I reached up and grasped Michael’s hand. “I have something to tell you, and you probably won’t be too pleased about it.”
At the mention that what I was about to say wasn’t going to make him happy, I felt Michael’s hand go limp.
“What happened?” An eagle’s wing eyebrow was raised.
Perspiration began pouring down my back.
“Well…you see…” I stammered. “Morris Day sent Apollonia a picture of me and let her listen to some of Game…and she asked me if I wanted to do a cover of Sex Shooter--” I stopped speaking as Michael yanked his hand roughly from mine.
He sat shaking his head until his hair flew.
“She asked you to cover that dirty song? What?” Michael lifted his tray off his lap and put it to the side and began sliding out of bed and onto his bare feet.
“Michael--” I tried to scrambled to get out of his way so he wouldn’t step on me.
“How dare she? That’s so disgusting! Do you know what a Sex Shooter is? Did you listen to the lyrics of that song Brynn? It’s a whore!” Michael stamped his bare foot and rattled his fists at his sides.
“I’m your slave/Do anything I’m told--those are the lyrics. I don’t want you singing that!” Michael knelt and caught my face in hands, making me look into his face, which was growing rosier with each passing second.
“That’s an insult to you! Singing Sex Shooter. You told her no right?” Michael gazed into my face expectantly.
I remained silent.
“You did tell that woman no, didn’t you Brynn?” Michael demanded, his eyes turning to brown fireballs.
I tried to look away from him.
“You told her yes? Brynn!” Michael’s voice excelled in decibels. His eyes seemed to take up his face they swelled so with disbelief.
“Brynn! How could you? You said yes to singing that song? I don’t believe this!” Michael turned away from me and stomped over to one of the windows on the other side of the room that overlooked the backyard.
“Michael I’m sorry! I am!” A flood of tears and mucus descended on me.
I laid out in a heap on the floor.
“I just don’t believe that you said yes to singing smut like that.” Hand on hips, Michael stared out of the window.
My heart was breaking, Michael was so angry he couldn’t stand to look at me!
“It’s just that, Michael, I like singing, and I like the song, I do. Apollonia was so nice to offer the song. I just want to sing!” I sobbed, curling up into a ball.
“Brynn, if you wanted to sing, I’d have written something for you. Something nice. What are people going to think if they hear you singing that? It sure as hell won’t be ‘that girl has a nice voice’!” Michael shook his head, back still to me.
“Michael, that’s what I’m here to do. You brought me in here because you wanted me to sing for you. I warbled a few notes on Not Over and I haven’t heard anything else about music since.” I whined, my one true trouble with Michael Jackson sprouting up.
Michael next statement shocked me like a bolt of lightning.
“I’m going to call that Apple woman and tell her you made a mistake.” He said simply, glancing over his shoulder at me.
“What?” I shrieked, flying bolt upright and staring at him.
“Brynn, you’re a young artist. I’m trying to introduce you with a positive image. Not something where people think you’re loose.” His gaze returned to back outside.
“How can I be a young artist?” I snapped. “You haven’t even signed me to a contract!” I was bold and stupid.
“Do you know that when I was in Minneapolis, Prince offered to sign me to his label, but I declined because I thought you were going to sign me to Neverland Records. I haven’t seen shit!” I screamed.
Did I really just curse at Michael Jackson?
At the mention of Prince, Michael whirled around, face grey and set.
He turned blue he was sputtering so hard.
“That Damn Man wanted to sign you to his label? Have you seen the women he produces? Scantily clad and too much make up and tiny talent. More flesh than talent. You really wanted to waste your gift with him? He can’t mold and create another artist!” Michael accused. “He does alright for himself, but he can’t really craft another artist. And you don’t think I’m gonna sign you to Neverland Records?”
Michael stormed over to me. “Get up. Right now. Get up. Come on, get up! Stop crying!” He stooped down and grasping my arm tightly pulled me to my feet.
“I want to show you something, come on!” Michael dragged me across the room, out into the hall and down the stairs.
“Where are you taking me?” I snotted as I stumbled along behind him. I’d never seen this side of Michael, and I was afraid that he was going to kick me out of his home for daring to question him about a contract.
“You’ll see.” Michael yanked me through the kitchen where the Jackson Trio were finishing up their breakfast.
They stared at us quizzically as Michael and I passed them by.
I was pulled down another corridor and up to the doors to Michael’s office.
He kicked them open, startling Rusty, who sat behind the desk chatting on the phone.
“Michael…I was just talking to the car dealer about the Escalades!” He mumbled as Michael plunked me down into one of the guest chairs.
Making his way around the desk, Michael barked at Rusty,
“Move!”
Rusty quickly got out of Michael’s way, slamming the phone down.
Michael proceeded to kick his leather chair out of the way, opened a drawer and began digging madly through it.
“What the Hell is wrong with him this morning?” Rusty huffed smoothing the front of his suit and fiddling with his tie.
He peered at my face. “Are you crying Brynn?” He inquired, eyes wide.
“Why don’t you just shut the fuck up?” I jeered at him, not ready for his mess. I didn’t want to have to explain the terrible situation to anyone, much less him.
“It’s just you look a little less than stellar this morning.” He commented coolly.
Any other day, I’d have over looked the acknowledgement. But I was so full of rampaging emotions over fighting with Michael, I marched up to Rusty.
“Russell, if you don’t leave me alone, I’ll rip your balls off and shove them up your ass, do I make myself clear?” I glared up at him.
I was going to do him bodily harm if he rubbed me the wrong way.
Rusty’s jaw dropped. Placing his hands over his “boys” he slowly inched a few steps away from me.
“Mike, what are you doing?” He asked, his voice high with nerves. I’d scared him.
I followed his gaze to Michael, who was still rummaging through the deep drawer. He was digging so hard, sweat beads had popped up on his forehead.
“Daddy?” A child’s voice asked.
I looked to see that the Jackson Trio had gathered in the doorway sleepily watching the scene unfold.
Michael ignored the call.
“Found it!” He exclaimed, clutching a thick stack of papers in his hands.
Leaning across the desktop he shook the papers near my face.
“Brynn, you just never can let me do things on my own. You’re impatient, but that’s okay. This was supposed to be a surprise that had to wait until we got to Pasadena.” He shook his head and continued jangling the papers.
“What was supposed to wait?” I sniffed and rubbed at my wet eyes.
Michael quickly ran around the desk to me and held out the papers.
“This…this…” He shook them under my soggy chin. “This is your recording contract for Neverland Records.”
Shocked.
That’s what I was.
Purely shocked.
“That---it’s for---that!” I was a loss for words, as I stared at the sheets of paper. All over it, I could make out Michael’s handwriting and my name stated over and over.
“It’s a recording contract for me? You’re singing me to Neverland Records?” I put my hands to my face.
No way. This was too good to be true.
“Yes Honey! It’s taking so long because I still have to go over all the legal stuff, but this is your contract Baby.”
“Oh my God!” A new wave of tears--joyous ones--flooded my face and I ran into Michael’s arms.
Behind us the Jackson Trio cheered loudly and ran over to us, creating a group hug.
“You just should have waited another week. I wanted to surprise you. Brynn, I don’t want you to do that other song. I’m planning things for you. It just takes time. All these things take time, Bunny.” Michael sighed, looking down at me. His eyes, once stormy, were once again loving.
“You can call Apollonia. I don’t want her song. I want whatever you have for me! I love you!” I grabbed a hold of Michael’s head and smothered him in a tight kiss.
“Yuck!” I heard Blanket gag.
I finally had a recording contract!
And I still had the man I loved!

* * *

　
The Following Afternoon
“Alright, let’s see if I got this correct.” I commented, looking at the large platter of sandwiches setting on the island in the kitchen.
“That was two crunchy peanut butter and banana sandwiches for Prince, two creamy peanut butter and apricot jelly ones for Blanket, and two crunchy peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwiches for you--right?”
I glanced down at Paris, who was hastily screwing the lid back on the economy sized jar of marshmallow fluff.
(A lot of Fluffernutter sandwiches came out of that kitchen!)
“Yeah! That’s right! Thanks for helping me make them!” Paris giggled setting the jar down and trotting over, enveloping my hips in a tight hug.
“No problem Honey.” I reached and tugged lightly on her curly ponytail. “Are you going to be able to carry that big plate out to your brothers?”
The Jackson boys were over in the Game Room once again playing Darts.
Michael was elsewhere on the property, with Rusty finalizing the little details for our trip.
So I was left to play Betty Crocker . And I’d be playing Mr. Clean if Paris dropped the plate.
“Yes. I’m strong!” Paris reached and grabbed the huge platter of food, balancing it quite easily in her small hands. “See?” She laughed and started for the door.
“Alright. Don’t drop them!” I called after her, pulling two slices of bread out of the breadbox and starting to make a snack for myself.
My favorite: creamy peanut butter and grape jam.
I seated myself at the messy counter, overflowing with peanut butter and preserves jars and nibbled on the sandwich dreamily.
The last twenty four hours of my life had been absolutely remarkable.
I still couldn’t fully comprehend it.
I was actually signed to a music label.
Me.
Little Brynn Sue McAllister from Nowhere, Texas.
Signed to Neverland Records.
Michael Jackson’s label!
The King of Entertainment was actually going to manage my…dare I say it?
My career.
And once all the brouhaha over the HAAs and the cover shoot for Not Over was taken care of, Michael had promised to start making music for me.
Michael Jackson was making music for me!
Taking a larger bite of my food, I shook my head.
Throw in the idea of being included in the awards proceedings and invited to an after party at Dame Elizabeth Taylor’s house…
It was like a dream cone true.
And it was about to become a nightmare.
Ring! …Ring! ….Ring!

Behind me, the large phone next to the refrigerator started jangling.
Smacking loudly on my sandwich, I hopped off my stool and lifted the receiver off its hook.
“Hello, Neverland Valley Ranch. Brynn speaking.” I chuckled, still chewing.
“I see that you’re incapable of answering your cell phone.”

A deep voice commented snidely into my ear.
My sandwich fell from my hand and bounced silently on the smooth stone floor.
This couldn’t be.
It couldn’t possibly be.

The person on the other end began breathing heavily into the phone.
Swallowing hard, I managed to squeak,
“Prince?”
I leaned against the fridge for support. My knees had suddenly jellified at the thought that I was communicating with Prince on the main line at Neverland!
The man must have had balls the size of Buicks to call the main line. There was no guarantee that I would answer and he had just as much of a chance getting me as he did Michael.
And having Michael curse him out!
“What’s this bullshit I’m hearing that you’ve turned down the offer to remake Sex Shooter?”
Prince demanded, his voice slipping down into its deepest registers.
I sank to the floor alongside the fridge as The Other Man continued huffing away in my earlobe.
I brought trembling knees up to my chest.
I had been secretly dreading this call.
Earlier that same morning, Michael had made me call Apollonia and politely decline covering her song.
Apollonia had taken the letdown nicely enough and assured me that we were still friends.
But I knew it was only a matter of time before word got around to Prince that I had said no.
But I didn’t think I’d be having this discussion this soon!
I’d just barely gotten over having Michael Jackson angry with me, and now I could hear nooses being tied as Prince grumbled on his end.
“Did you call Apollonia this morning and tell her you weren’t going to do Sex Shooter?” He repeated gruffly and I could feel my body temperature beginning to nosedive.
I mumbled incoherently. I was so shaken, I couldn’t link a sentence together.
“Answer me!” He growled. “Did you call Apollonia and tell her no?”
“Yes…” I whined, leaning my forehead against my knees. “I’m sorry.”
I yanked the phone from my ear as Prince proceeded to shriek shrilly and loudly.
“I’d love to know why in the hell you’d tell Apollonia yes one minute and then no the next!”

Came the sharp request.
Fear consumed me and before I could stop myself, I was tearfully recalling the previous events, everything from my dinner with Apollonia to my fight with Michael, to the revelation that I was going to be signed to Michael’s baby label.
After snotting and hiccupping the tale to Prince, I was met with abrupt silence.
My heart twisted at the thought that Prince had hung up me, he was so enraged.
I jumped when he finally spoke.
His voice was much softer.
“You’re signed to Neverland Records?”
The man actually sounded sad. Was Prince really hurt that Michael was indeed going to be in charge of my career and not him?
“Yes Princey.” I sniffled. “ I saw the contract. He’s ironing out all the legal jargon now.”
I could hear Prince smacking his lips on his end, evidently mulling over the idea that I was going to be Michael’s act.
“I’m so sick and tired of that skinny motherfucker with the high voice. Shit.” He lamented with a groan.
“I’m sorry. Really I am…” I shook my head, hopelessness consuming me. It seemed at every turn, I was jilting someone.
“I’m trying every which way to get you back to Uptown. You’re my woman too and I damn sure deserve to see you.” Prince’s voice, once rumbling like thunder, had softened to a whisper.
“I know…” I gasped into my kneecaps.
“Do you know what it’s like for me? To see you always with Jacko? To see you have to leave and go with Jacko? You don’t think it bothers me?” Prince declared. “To see you being held in Neverland like a prisoner and tending to three children that aren’t even yours.? You just can’t see it.”
“Prince…please….”I hiccupped. I hated it when he started jumping onto Michael’s case about the way things were conducted in his home. And I hurt me like a knife through my spine that he was upset and missing me.
“You don’t understand. I don’t mind it. Michael’s been so kind to me. I’ve told you how it was when he first found me. And I do care for him. I love him.”
Prince coughed and grunted angrily. Seething, his voice shot back up in decibels.
“I don’t understand? You don’t understand! You’re just hanging around playing nanny to those kids. I’m trying to give you opportunities to make music. Not that weak-ass Not Over mess Michael is shopping around. And sure, it’s a move to get you back to Minneapolis, but damn it, in Uptown you were your own person. You didn’t have wipe any kids snotty noses. And damn near every day you were in the studio with me. Don’t fucking tell me I don’t understand. Michael’s strangling you with a leash.”
I covered my head with my hands and Prince continued ranting so loudly that my eardrum began aching.
“…he’s not doing shit to forward his career. I’m working my ass off up here on my single. Trying to get an album off the ground. I’m writing more songs--stuff that includes you too--and I already shot the cover for Game and I was planning on helping you cover Sex Shooter, but you said no. Why’d you say no anyway? I know Michael‘s happy ass had a hand in it“”
He inquired in a tone so even, I didn’t know if he was still boiling or not.
“Michael doesn’t want me to sing that kind of stuff.” I sniffled loudly. “He thinks a Sex Shooter is a whore. He doesn’t want me to sing that. He thinks people will have a bad image of me…” I trailed off, overcome with emotions and cried more.
Prince scoffed. “That tight ass would think it’s a whore. A Sex Shooter isn’t a whore. It’s a woman who’s in charge of herself and knows what she wants. You met Apollonia--did she seem like a whore to you? No.” He answered for me.
“You listen to me Brynn.” He began, and something in his voice made me pay close attention. He sounded…determined.
“What?” I questioned, twisting the phone cord through my fingers.
“Michael keeps throwing a broken monkey wrench into my plans because he doesn’t want you near me. He knows he’ll never be the kind of man to you I can be. His little ass is threatened. But he doesn’t know that it’s still all good. So you can’t do Sex Shooter. Big fucking deal. Bitch keeps leaving me a loophole. I’m gonna get you back to Minneapolis. Mark my words. You belong in Uptown with me. And I’m gonna get you back there. You hear me?”
“Yes.” I whispered, my mind spinning and wondering just what Prince had up his sleeves. He was so tricky. Had so many things going on behind the scenes, I never knew what was next. I just hoped he wouldn’t cause any trouble, or get Michael sent to jail for manslaughter.
“You know I love you Brynn. I care for you Sugar.” Prince stated, his tone suddenly smooth and almost seductive.
“I know.” I admitted and heaved a shaky sigh.
“You love me Baby?” He questioned almost too sweetly, as if our dispute hadn’t occurred at all.
Bottom lip trembling, I was barely audible. “Yes.”
Damn, I was in a tight spot. I still did truly love this man.
But I also loved Michael.
And I didn’t want to hurt either one.
But it didn’t seem to matter, I was the one hurting like a steamroller had hit me.
Prince requested softly,
“Tell me something Brynn Doll, when do you leave for Pasadena for that stupid awards gala?”
“Tomorrow--why?” I rubbed at my surely red eyes. Why did he want to know when I was leaving?
“Just curious.” Prince commented and the line clicked.
I pulled the phone from my ear in shock.
My heart traveled from my chest and landed in my mouth. I would be in dire trouble if Prince showed up at our hotel.
I tried to shake the idea out of my head. Prince merely knew what town I was going to, he didn’t know that I’d be staying at the Paradiso Verde Hotel., I quickly realized.
There were too many hotels in Pasadena to count and it’d probably take him forever to find me, if he found me at all.
Yeah, Prince would never find out where Michael Jackson and I were staying. We’d be safe.
That was the one thing I needed: some security from the men who indirectly battling each other like gladiators.
“Brynn! Brynn!”

I looked up at the sudden shouting of my name.
Paris, followed by Prince (Jackson) and Blanket came skidding into the kitchen.
“What is it?” I asked, picking my sorry self up off the floor and hanging up the receiver.
It was then I noticed the look of absolute panic on the children’s faces.
Something was up.
“Brynn1 Come quick! Please!” Paris begged running over and grasping my arm. “It’s Daddy!”
“What’s wrong?” My worries over Prince’s arrogant ass and my troubles with him swiftly left me at the mention that something was the matter with Michael.
I hoped he wasn’t hurt.
Paris began tugging at my arm and leading me out of the house and into the Amusement Park Neverland.
“We were playing in the Game Room with Dad and Rusty came in and told him something and Dad started yelling at him.” Prince explained as he got behind me and to hurry me along, was pushing me in the back.
“Daddy’s mad.” Blanket put in, sucking loudly on his thumb.
“What did Rusty say to him?” I demanded looking around at the kids.
“We don’t know!” Paris exclaimed and was yanking my arm so hard, it threatened to become dislodged from the socket. Her blue eyes were wide with worry.
As we neared the Game Room, I could hear Michael shouting at the top of his lungs though the open French doors.
I stopped a few feet away and threw my arms around the alarmed kids.
“I want you kids to go over into the theatre and watch a movie. Watch Dumbo or something. I’ll take care of this…understand?” I announced. I knew Michael would be easier to deal with if I didn’t have his children getting underfoot.
“You sure Brynn?” Prince stared up at me, dark eyes glimmering. He truly appeared to be worried.
“Yes. Take your brother and sister to the theatre. Stay there. I’ll get you when this is over. Now go--Vete! Vete!” I pointed in the direction of the Theatre Neverland.
Reluctantly the children started walking away, all holding hands.
I slowly made my way over to the open doors.
“…what the deuce am I paying you for man? I ask you to do one simple thing, and you managed to mess that up!” Came Michael’s shrill and blistering accusation.
“Look Michael, man I said I was sorry. I have no idea how it happened!” Rusty retorted.
Hanging in the doorway, I saw Michael and Rusty standing toe to toe, squaring off.
Michael, arms folded tightly against his lime green shirt, was staring grimly at Rusty who was sweating so profusely, the collar of his pink shirt and brown suit were soggy.
“Michael…what’s wrong?” I interrupted lowly, so as not to incite more anger. He’s already yelled at me once, I didn’t need an instant replay.
At the mention of his name, Michael’s head popped up, disheveled curls falling across his troubled visage.
“What’s wrong? You wanna know what’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong!” He stomped over to me so hard, his shoes made loud clacks the entire way.
“I left Rusty in charge of keeping my whereabouts prior to the HAAs a secret. You know since I’m traveling with you and my kids and Jonas and Skylar…well somehow, word got out that we’re all gonna be at The Paradiso Verde.” Michael whipped around to glare at Rusty.
My heart dropped at the mention that word had gotten out.
I knew that in the Michael Jackson fan world, word of an appearance grew legs and ran like it was in the Olympics.
“Well, maybe not too many people know--” I started, placing my hand on his icy arm.
“Not too many people know?” Michael glared down at me. “Rusty just got a call from the concierge at the hotel saying that fans are starting to camp outside the place already. Now I don’t mind my fans. I love them, they made me, but I worry for the safety of everybody. I keep thinking of how it was a madhouse at the jewelry store in New York. One simple thing, and Rusty managed to screw it up.” Shaking his head, Michael placed his hands over his face.
“I can’t book another hotel. Every place is packed and overrun because of the awards. Damn it.” He whimpered.
I stared over at Rusty, who was nervously dabbing his face with his pocket square.
“Rust Bucket, how did word get out? Who’d you tell?” I demanded, placing my hands on m hips.
“Oh hell no, don’t blame this on me!” He threw his hands up and waved the square in the air. “I’ve kept my mouth shut. It was someone at the hotel with loose lips!”
“Don’t you dare say that!” Michael snapped and pointed a quivering finger at his assistant. “You were supposed to tie up all the ends and now it’s a media circus over at the hotel!”
Michael lunged at Rusty.
“Mike! No!” I shouted, grabbing him around the waist and being dragged several paces.
“I’m sorry Michael. I really am. You think I wanted this to happen? Hell no! If there’s anything I can do to make this go easier, tell me!” Rusty clutched his hands together under his chin, begging.
Michael staggered a few more steps. “You carry yourself to Pasadena right now and see what’s really happening down there. See just how many people have showed up. I got some calls to make.” Michael gave Rusty a strict shove.
“Go man! Go!”
“Yes Michael! Of course!” Italian leather loafers squeaking, Rusty fled the room.
Digging in his pocket, Michael produced his cell phone and began dialing wildly on it.
“Mike, what are you gonna do?” I whispered, staring up at him. It made me nervous to see Michael this completely frantic.
His eyes were huge as he looked down at me.
“I want you to get my children and go start packing. We’re not leaving in the morning. We’re leaving at midnight tonight. Get them! Go!”
I was pushed away.
As I ran across the open field towards the theatre, I could only wonder what kind of adventures lay before me in Pasadena.

595

　

Chapter 36

That Afternoon
“I’m gonna beat you!”
“No way! I’m gonna whoop your head girl!”
Paris and I playfully taunted each other was we sat side by side, beating the natural hell out of one of my favorite arcade games in Michael’s extensive Game Room on the west side of Neverland.
Extreme Roadster 3000.
It had to be one of the best car racing games I had ever played in my life.
Up to two opponents could compete against each other in very realistic looking (3D) vehicles and run tracks covering a variety of different landscapes including the Brazilian Rainforest, the Sahara and even the surface of the Moon!
And it wasn’t a silly stand up deal where you just punched at random buttons.
Little Paris and I were seated in leather car bucket seats each equipped with their own steering wheels, gear shift and pedals.
And the seats bounced with ever bump we hit.
My red speeder was racing just a few feet behind Paris’ orange one as we tore up a particularly rough patch of the Moon.
“I’m gonna win! I’m gonna win!” Paris teased with a childish giggle as the blue and white strip marking the Finish Line came into view.
“It ain’t over, till it’s over!” I replied, mashing down on the gas and starting to inch past her.
“No!” Paris shrieked as my car started to gain a last minute lead!
It was then a tiny foot, covered in a yellow Chuck Taylor sneaker leapt onto my side of the car and squished onto the brake bringing my car to an abrupt halt.
“Paris Kate! You’re cheating!” I accused , not really upset, as her car sailed smoothly over the Finish Line and a triumphant fanfare tinkled.
“Ooops! My foot slipped.” Paris declared innocently, and held out her arms to hug me.
I held up my hand.
“Oh no, you’re not getting off that easy. I don’t hug cheaters.” I said in a singsong voice and slid out of my seat.
“Aw Brynn!” Paris cried running after me as I crossed the room to where Prince and Blanket were tossing safety darts at a foam dart board.
While most of Prince’s darts were at least hitting the board, Blankets darts all sailed just below the board and were littering the hardwood floor.
Well, at least the boy was trying.
As I retrieved the fallen darts and began tossing them, Paris looped herself around my hips.
“I didn’t mean to cheat--” She started softly.
“You always cheat on the racing game.” Prince put in matter-of-factly, calmly tossing a bull’s eye.
Blanket giggled merrily.
“Shut up! I was talking to Brynn, not you!” Paris snapped harshly and stuck out her tongue at her brother.
Rolling his eyes, Prince returned to his game.
Gazing back up at me, her voice turned sugary once more.
The girl could have made a great actress, the way she could switch between emotions so seamlessly.
“I didn’t mean to cheat.” She repeated sweetly. “It’s just you’re such a great driver, and I wanted to win. Forgive me?” She squeezed my hips again.
I couldn’t stay “mad” at her for long.
“I forgive you, you little Speed Demon.” I chuckled, leaning down and embracing her.
“Girls are weird.” I heard Blanket mumble.
“Yeah, but we gotta marry one, one day.” Prince shrugged., nailing another bull’s eye.
“Yeah, you do!” I reached over and mussed his fair hair.
“Hey!” The boy laughed, slapping at my hand.
“Brynn! There you are!” A new voice exclaimed.
Glancing up, I saw that Rusty was leaning against the French doors on the other end of the room, blue clipboard clutched in his red hands.
“Well you found me, what’s up Rust Bucket?” I questioned, ruffling Prince’s hair again, against his cries of protest.
“I’ve been all over the property trying to find you. Michael needs you in his office right now.” Rust sighed, glancing at his clipboard. Something about his voice seemed strange. He almost sounded nervous.
“Oh…is something wrong?” I wondered, peeling Paris off me and straightening up.
I knew that Michael had been in over his head with Jermaine and Selena the night before as he’d told me, and I hoped the dueling duo hadn’t brought their argument to Neverland.
According to Michael, the couple hadn’t really stopped fighting, just kind of retreated to neutral corners once Selena had run out of china, crystal and glass objects to throw at Jermaine. (She’d tried to throw a computer tower at him, but it was too heavy for her to hurl since she was so petite.)
Turning to the Jackson Trio who stood watching our exchange quietly, I said,
“I’ll be back to play with you kids later. You behave, and no cheating!”
Amongst garbled agreements, I followed Rusty out of the room and into the bright sunshine.
When the children were out of earshot, I inquired carefully,
“Rusty, what’s up? Jermaine and Selena aren’t in the main house causing trouble, are they?”
Rusty raised a curious eyebrow at me as we entered Michael’s mansion.
“No Brynn, if Jermaine and Selena were in there, I’d tell you. Now go over into office, I got some phone calls to make.” He instructed giving me a slight shoved down the hallway at the end of which Michael’s office stood.
The doors to the office were closed.
I stood there a moment, a feeling of trepidation starting to wash over, me.
I looked around for Rusty and saw him as he rounded the corner, abandoning me in the hallway.
I glanced back at the doors.
I prayed with every inch and fiber of my being that Prince (Nelson) wasn’t sitting behind those doors with another outrageous, bullshit offer on his lips.
After the nightmare I’d had about him--and inadvertently slapping Michael in the process--Prince Nelson was one of the last people on the planet I wanted to encounter that day.
But I also knew that had Prince Nelson shown up on the property, Michael would have come and retrieved me himself, and probably given me a long list of “Do’s and Don’ts” for him.
You know, aside from turning him into a purple bloody pulp on the concrete somewhere.
I wasn’t in the mood for any more trouble.
The last thing I wanted was to have to break up a fight between the King of Entertainment and His Royal Badness.
And dislodge Michael’s foot from Prince’s throat.
As I stood arguing with myself and contemplating whether or not to do into the office, I became aware of one of the doors slowly swinging open, nearly silent on its hinges.
I was rooted to the spot as Michael’s head, a few springy curls draping around it, peeked out into the hallway.
I watched as his doe eyes widened at the sight of me.
“Brynn, Honey come here! I have something I wanna show you! Hurry!” He called cheerfully, waving one of his large hands at me.
I couldn’t flee now.
I had no choice.
Putting on a brave front, I slowly walked over to him.
“Ah, there’s my girl!” Michael tittered, draping his arm around me and leading me into the room.
“Hi.” I said meekly, my mind a million miles away.
I just wanted to see who was in the room with Michael, if anybody.
Peering around the room, I saw that Michael did indeed have company.
But as a sigh of sheer relief exuded me, I realized that the guest wasn’t Prince Nelson!
Seated in one of the chairs across from the desk, was an ever-jumpy looking, Walter Aiken, the jeweler I had met New York a couple months earlier.
“Honey, you remember Wally, right?” Michael grinned as I took a seat in the spare chair.
He appeared so happy, I thought he might take to moonwalking on the ceiling at any moment.
I knew something was up, but I didn’t know that I was going to be the one dancing like I was in a Lionel Richie music video.
Michael closed the door to his office and leaned against the front of his desk, casually as if it were normal to have a jeweler from the opposite coast bringing a bagful of gems. (Maybe for Michael Jackson, it was!)
“Hi Mr. Aiken.” I cooed, a cheerfulness all my own oozing form me. I was happy to see anyone that wasn’t Prince.
Mr. Aiken’s dark eyes lit up as he smiled at me. “Hello Brynn, it’s nice to see you again.” I loved the musical way his Welsh accent highlighted his somewhat deep voice.
“Now Brynn, I know you’re wondering why Wally is here, right?” Michael reached back and picked at his hair, which was gathered into a messy ponytail and tumbled down the back of the bright blue shirt he wore.
“A little bit.” I shrugged crossing my legs and pulling at the violet shorts I wore.
“Well, as you know, we have the HAAs coming up very soon, and you know Rene is making your dress and all, but no ensemble is complete without the icing.” Michael chuckled. “Wally….”
On cue, Wally reached down and picked up the large blue duffel bag--with the Aiken’s logo embroidered on it--from under his chair.
He unzipped it and began placing blue satin jewelry boxes on the desktop.
He laid down five boxes in all.
“I had Wally fly out here from New York with the baubles I picked for you to wear with your dress. I don’t really need anything, my outfit is so heavily stoned, but I wanted you to be sparkly too.” Michael slipped off his desk, and picked up a box.
“You already picked something for me?” I questioned as a flattered warmness spread through me like a lightening bolt.
I couldn’t believe it. How had Michael found the time to pick jewelry when he was already being spread wafer thin?
“Hee-hee. Yes Sweetie. You’re gonna be on my arm on the red carpet and I really want you to sparkle.” Michael giggled shyly and picked up a box.
“These are the earrings I picked.” He flipped the box open.
I felt my breath leaving me.
There, nestled in the box were a pear of dangling, diamond encrusted teardrops, suspended by a gleaming silver cord.
“Gosh.” Was all I could gasp, hands to my face.
“Tell her about this Wally my man.” Michael snickered, pulling one of the earrings loose and holding it up to the light.
It glittered more than Michael’s trademark glove.
“These are pavé diamond drop earrings, set in platinum. That’s about four and a half total carat weight there.” Mr. Aiken rattled off the information.
All that registered to me was the word “bling”.
“You like those Brynn?” Michael question, reaching a pinching my chin.
All I could muster was an approving nod. I was gob smacked.
“Excellent choice you made Mr. Jackson.” Mt. Aiken commented as I was presented with another box.
Inside lay a somewhat thick pavé bangle that matched the earrings.
(At a total of seven carats, and Michael had plucked three of them for me to wear on my bare arm.)
“These are gorgeous Mike.” I whispered, my body tingling.
“I aim to please.” Michael pinched at my chin once more.
Mr. Aiken picked up the final box, and it was the smallest one.
I knew it contained a ring.
“And this is the show stopper for sure.” He announced and with a small squeak, the box was opened.
I could feel my eyes bulging right away.
“Oh my God!” I shrieked in awe leaping out of my chair and spinning in a circle.
Inside the box was the probably the most obnoxiously large diamond cocktail ring I had ever seen.
The stone was just massive.
“This…Brynn settle down…” Mr. Aiken stammered.
“I’m sorry! Gosh! Oh!” I gushed, taking the box in my trembling hands and gazing adoringly at the ring.
“Honey, that’s a ten carat pear shaped flawless diamond there. There’s only nineteen like it in the world. Two in the United States. You have one--” Michael started.
“Who has the other one?” I interrupted, taking the ring out of it’s setting and trying it on for size. It was spectacular and I made a mental note to be buried in it when I died.
“I dunno, but you have this one.” Michael pecked the top of my head.
“Ivana Trump has the other one.” Mr. Aiken put in and Michael shot him a disapproving glance.
“Michael, as huge as this ring is, it must have cost a bundle…” I trailed off, feeling a little guilty that Michael was spending so much on trinkets for me.
I knew the price must have been other worldly if Donald Trump’s ex-wife had one. And Donald Trump was a billionaire!
“Oh, don’t worry about that. The ring is paid for,” Michael tossed his hair.
I knew he hated discussing how much things cost--he thought it was tacky to do so.
“I’d like to know what the ring cost, Michael. Please.” I batted my eyes at him and stuck my lip out in the patented Paris Jackson Puppy Dog face.
“No Honey, you shouldn’t worry with things like that. Just enjoy the ring.” Michael patted the top of my head.
“You’ll be the envy of every woman at the awards.” Mr. Aiken called with a laugh.
“Ain’t it the truth!” Michael agreed with loud clap of his hands.
I looked back down at my ring.
It glittered so prettily on my hand.
“Michael…” I started, shaking my head, a new wave of emotion and adoration consuming me as I looked from the ring and up into his happy, glowing face.
Forget the rest of the other jewelry, I just couldn’t believe that not only would I wear a ten carat diamond, but that I owned it!
It was almost too much to take.
He was obviously proud that I was so elated.
“Yes Brynn?” He chuckled, shyly touching the tip of his nose.
“Thank you so much. You didn’t have to do this for me. It’s wonderful!” I gushed, tears of happiness beginning to spring from my eyes.
“I didn’t have to…” Michael pulled me against him in a warm hug. “I wanted to. I love to see you happy Brynn, Honey.” A soft kiss was planted on top of my head.
I knew that if Mr. Aiken hadn’t been sitting there, Michael’s sweet, rosy lips would have been pecking mine instead of my hair.
“Thank you Michael!” I continued to cry and his arms held me tighter.
“I love you Bunny.” Michael whispered sedately, yet tenderly in my ear.
“I…I love you too.” I whimpered, resting my head on his thin shoulder.
Oh I didn’t want the moment to end.
I just wanted to hang onto Michael and be in his arms forever.
It was almost as if Michael had proposed to me. (If he ever did get around to proposing I wondered just what that ring would look like!)
Who knew that at that moment, that a cold front, by way of Minneapolis was about to lay a frost all over the Neverland Valley Ranch?
“Michael!” Still clutching onto My Main Man, I saw that Rusty was hurriedly rushing across the room to us, blue clipboard hugged to his chest. (His beloved Blackberry bulged in his right front pants pocket.).
He wore a look of what appeared to be amazement on his face, his light eyes wild.
“Ugh, Rusty, what is it?” Michael questioned, agitated spinning around, and dragging me along with him, since I was still hugging on him.
“I don’t mean to interrupt your meeting with Walter…” He paused, gasping for air. He must have really been running, the collar of the ecru shirt he wore was dampened with perspiration. (Or was he really that nervous?)
“And?” Michael asked, raising a slanted eyebrow at his assistant, indicating that the man finish the rest of his statement.
“Well, I was using the main phone and organizing your bodyguards for the awards and this call came in…” Rusty heaved again for air.
I loosened my arms from around Michael’s neck and placed my hands on my hips, interested in seeing just what kind of call had Rusty freaking out like this. Had Dame Elizabeth Taylor called?
“…Geez….it’s a call for Brynn.” Rusty wheezed and ran a hand along his wet forehead.
“A call for me?” I repeated more to myself than anyone else. Who on earth would be calling for me?
At the mention of a call for me, Michael immediately went on the defensive.
“Who is it Rusty? Don’t tell me That Damn Man has the nerve to call my house for her.” Michael sneered, clearly forgetting that Mr. Aiken was in the room.
I was just thankful that he didn’t know Michael was referring to Prince.
And a rush of worry was washing over me like a tidal wave. I sincerely hoped that Prince didn’t have the audacity to be calling the main line for me.
He had to have better sense in his long head than that!
I dared a look up at Michael. His arms were folded across his slim chest, his face grin. His mouth, once playfully kissing at me had thinned out into a barely visible pink line.
“No, it ain’t That Damn Man!” Rusty waved his clipboard in the air. “It’s a woman--”
“Dame Elizabeth Taylor?” I blurted, my hopes soaring. It would definitely be the icing on the proverbial cake for me if she was indeed calling specifically to speak with me.
“Elizabeth Taylor?” I heard Mr. Aiken echo with a lusty sigh. (ET definitely had an admirer!)
“Will you let me finish?” Rusty demanded, face reddening. “It’s not Liz Taylor.”
“Well, who called for me? Selena?” I tossed my hair, starting to get fed up with this wild goose chase Rusty was pulling.
“Who?” I repeated, tapping my foot.
Eyes ablaze, Rusty approached me and got so close to me, our bodies nearly touched.
What he said next almost laid me out on the pretty hardwood floor.
“Apollonia.”
I could feel my eyebrows touching my hairline with astonishment.
“Shut up! Apollonia? Apollonia called for me? Shut up!” I gasped putting a hand to my mouth.
I couldn’t believe it.
Not Apollonia. Not the Apollonia that had co-starred next to Prince in his smash hit, Purple Rain.
What on earth could she have possibly been calling me for?
“What’s an Apollonia?” I came sailing back to the planet when I heard Michael’s soft and clearly confused question.
He really had no clue as to who she was.
Rusty completely forgot his place. “Mikey, where you been man? Apollonia? That pretty chick that was in Purple Rain…” He trailed off when he realized he’d let it slip to Michael that she was another person from Prince’s little glittery world.
I snuck another look up at Michael. I could literally hear the gears in his mind whirring as he tried to figure out who Apollonia was. Had Michael even ever seen Purple Rain?
Rusty offered another clue. “You know, the pretty woman with the big…ahem.” He held his hands out in front of his chest to mimic Apollonia’s ample bust.
At the mention of Apollonia’s chest size, it seemed to click for Michael. Much to my dismay.
“Apollonia? That’s the woman that was singing in her underwear!” Michael declared with a gasp of disgust.
Great just what I needed. Michael had to remember that she was the front woman of Apollonia 6, a girl band that Prince had formed for his movie that featured Apollonia and two other women singing in lingerie and performing racy songs. (Their most memorable was aptly titled “Sex Shooter”.)
“Um, yeah.” Rusty, seemingly embarrassed that all Michael could remember was the woman dancing in her panties.
“And she’s on the phone for Brynn? What does she want with her?” Michael stared down at me, an unsavory look to his eyes.
I shivered under the gaze. I knew that in Michael’s mind, he was seeing images of me dancing proactively in underwear--probably for Prince.
I couldn’t help but wonder, if this was indeed Apollonia, and if it were her, was she calling me from her own interest or at the nudging of Prince as part of another elaborate cover to see me.
“I dunno!” Rusty shrugged. “She’s still on hold!” He pointed to the large phone on Michael’s desk. Sure enough the light indicating Line Three was flashing, showing a call on hold.
Michael frowned at the phone.
He glanced around the room and his eyes landed on Mr. Aiken, who still sat, quietly watching the scene unfold.
Michael appeared deep in though for a moment, and for a spit second, I thought he was going to disconnect the call.
“Rusty, please see Wally to the door.” He spun and limply shook Mr. Aiken’s hand, more as a gesture to get him out of there than a true friendly shake. “Thank you for the jewelry. I’ll be in touch.”
“Yes, Mr. Jackson. Thank you!” Mr. Aiken called as Rusty began whisking him out of the room.
Rusty closed the doors behind him, leaving me and Michael alone with the flashing phone.
I stared at the little flashing red light silently, wondering if Michael was going to let me answer it.
I was dying to answer the call, because I really wanted to know if it were truly Apollonia calling me, and if she was, what did she want?
But for fear of Michael yanking my hair out, I remained planted to the spot, wringing my hands behind my back.
I jumped when Michael suddenly spoke up.
“Brynn, I want you to answer that phone and put it on speaker so I can hear what she’s talking about. And I want you to find out just what she wants, and if That Damn Man is involved in anyway. You understand me?” Michael raised a large hand and clutched my shoulder tightly. His voice was like icicles in my earlobes.
I nodded numbly, nearly trembling with trepidation.
The bit of excitement I had felt before left me as I made my way around the desk and dropped into Michael’s leather seat.
He sat opposite me in one of the guest chairs.
I just hoped Apollonia had all the right answers or Michael would be on the first thing with wings to harm Prince.
Sighing sadly, I lifted my hand and punched the activating Line Three and the speaker phone.
“Hello?” I questioned meekly.
“Hello? Is this Brynn?” Came the cheerful voice. It was warm and a bit dusky. I knew that voice anywhere, it was definitely Apollonia. I had seen Purple Rain enough times in my life to know her voice. I could hear light disco music playing in the background. Sounded like K.C. and the Sunshine Band.
“Yes, is this Apollonia?” I asked, knowing that Michael wanted a vocal confirmation.
“Yes! Hi! How are you?” Apollonia sounded nice enough.
“I’m good. How are you?” The conversation was cordially sufficient. Even though I said I was ‘good’ my soul was trembling.
“Oh I’m fabulous. I’ve been trying for the longest to get a hold of you.” She giggled happily on the other end as if we were best buddies and had no connection to Prince at all.
“I’ll bet.” Michael whispered, scowling.
He began motioning for me to ask what she really wanted.
“So Apollonia--” I started.
“Please call me “Apple” all my friends do.” More giggles.
“Okay, “Apple”, I can’t help but wonder, why would you be calling me? I mean just out the blue, you know?” I forced a soft chuckle. I was slowly having heart attacks from the glare Michael was giving me.
He was so pissed.
“Oh!” Apollonia laughed once more. “Morris Day called me and told me that I should call you. He told me that you were a really good singer and dancer and that we’d have a lot in common. He’s always doing things like that.”
Michael sighed loudly at the mention of Morris Day.
Morris Day had called Apollonia? Not Prince? What?
My mind was truly spinning. And it was about to skid out of control.
“Brynn, I was wondering, if you’re not busy tonight, would you like to meet me in Beverly Hills for dinner at the Golden Palm Grill? It’s a nice little place off the main strip. I’d like to meet you.” Came the soft offer.
“Uh…” I stammered, staring across the table at Michael.
He couldn’t have appeared more upset if someone had spit in his eye.
Eye bulged, nostrils flared and his mouth was absent.
The last thing he wanted was me schlepping around at night with Prince’s friends.
“Ask if Prince will be there!” Somehow the command leaked from his face. I just barely heard him. It was nearly inaudible over the sound of his nostrils flapping angrily.
“Um, sure “Apple“, can I ask a question?” How I managed the request was beyond me, my teeth were chattering so hard.
“Yeah, anything.” Apollonia said and sneezed.
“Bless you…um, at dinner tonight, Prince won’t happen to be there, will he?”
Apollonia snickered at me.
“Prince? Of course not! I haven’t seen Prince in over ten years! It’ll just be me. You know, a girl’s night out. Will you meet me at the Grill at, say, 8:30?”

I glanced at Michael.
I could see he was clearly mulling over the offer. He was stroking the dimple in his chin so hard, I thought he was going to rub it off his face.
The dinner meeting seemed harmless enough.
Just me and Apollonia in a public setting with no Prince.
And she seemed friendly enough.
“Can I go?” I mouthed the words and Michael and found myself utilizing Paris’ puppy dog face.
“Brynn? Are you coming or not?” Apollonia wondered quietly and sounded a bit unsure. A whimsy of hopefulness could be detected.
It seemed as though she truly wanted to meet me.
Michael nodded. If you could call it that. It seemed more like a spastic jerk than a nod. But yes, he was granting me permission to go spend time with Apollonia!
“Yeah, I’m coming.” I replied, and felt the corners of my mouth tilting into a smile. Relief. I was relieved.
“Oh goodie! I’ll see you then! Can’t wait to meet you! Bye!” With that the line went dead.
I watched as Michael reached over the phone and punched the button, disconnecting Line Three.
While “Apple” was off probably picking her ensemble for the night, I still had to contend with a less than delighted Michael Jackson.
“Michael…” I began gently, so as not to rile him up more. “You’re really going to let me meet Apollonia for dinner?”
Michael, lovely face caught in a tight frown, groaned. “Well, so far it seems pretty innocent. You and her and none of That Damn Man. I just hate that lately all the people you’ve been meeting and talking to are connected to Prince. It had better just be her at that Golden Palm place. If Prince is there, I want you to leave. I don’t want you near him. He’s a dog and I don’t trust him as far as I can toss his little ugly ass.” Michael rose from his seat and cracked his knuckles. The sound hurt my ears.
“Yes, Michael, I know.” I lowered my head and looked down at my hands. They were twirling in my lap. I vainly hoped that Prince wouldn’t show up at all. Or even be mentioned.
“Rusty will drive you to the restaurant and he’ll wait outside for you. If at any moment, That Damn Man shows his face, he’ll see you out.” Michael turned and started for the door.
“Where are you going?” I called as he got to the doors and pushed them open. Was he going to walk the state to find Prince and pummel him, himself?
“Going to see if I have a copy of Purple Rain. I wanna see about this Apollonia person…” Michael called as he started down the hall.
As the doors closed behind him, I buried my face in my hands.
What had I gotten myself into?
And was Prince attached to it?

* * *

A Couple of Hours Later

“….Let’s see, am I in a Tropical Passion or a Notorious Nights mood?” I questioned to myself as I stood in front of the wash basin in my bathroom, trying to decide on a perfume to spritz myself with.
Reaching into the array of bottles that littered the counter top, I decided on Tropical Passion, a sweet, coconut smelling scent. I figured that with all the trouble I’d caused earlier, the last thing I needed was a Notorious Night!
As I covered myself in a cloud of the fragrance, I gave myself a once over.
I had to admit, I looked kind of nice.
I wore a knee-length off the shoulder black tee-shirt dress, the waist cinched in by a silver, chain link belt. silver hoops hung from ears and a bunch of bangles tinkled on my right wrist.
My hair had been pulled back into a high ponytail, a few wisps framing my face.
A pair of black and silver chained boots completed the look.
(And of course a mask of make up.)
As I finished misting myself, I set down the perfume bottle--appropriately in the shape of a parrot--and sighed.
Even though Michael was highly displeased with the idea of my meeting with Apollonia, I was actually looking forward to it.
No one really knew it, but in a way, ever since I’d gotten involved with Prince, I had kind of looked up to her.
Admired her. I was kind of inspired by her.
She was the ultimate “Prince Girl”. She was a talented singer, and dancer and of course, like every other woman Prince had ever kept company with, she was pretty.
Even Prince’s two ex-wives, Mayte and Manuela, kind of resembled her.
As I stared at my reflection, I could feel my eyes widen as a new thought dawned on me.
Apollonia was one of Prince’s ex-girlfriends!
A fresh worry began gnawing at me.
Did she know that Prince and I had a thing going on?
She said that Morris had told her about me. I knew that large mouth bass couldn’t keep a secret to himself even if the Pope’s life depended on it.
Had he told her about Prince and me?
Or worse, about Michael, Prince and me?
I knew that it was fairly common knowledge in Uptown that I was seeing Prince and Michael at the same time.
What did Apollonia think of it? I hoped she didn’t think I was a bad person with loose morals for dating two men--one knowing about the other and the other knowing nothing.
Was she going to call me out on it?
Suddenly, the excitement I felt over being able to go meet this woman was driving me up the wall with anxiety.
Oh God, if she called me out on it I wouldn’t know what to.
I struggled to regain my composure. Looking down, I saw that my hands were once again wringing violently.
I yanked my hands apart and tried to convince myself that I was going to have a pleasant time that night.
Apollonia had sounded very welcoming on the phone. Not malicious in any way.
Perhaps she did just want to be friends.
And if the ultimate “Prince Girl” wanted to be my friend, who, I dare you who, was going to stand in my way?
“Brynn?”
My rampaging train of thought was broken at the gentle uttering of my name.
Through the reflection in the glass, I saw that Michael had appeared behind me.
“Hi, Mike.” I started with a smile.
The smile on my lips shrank when I saw the worried expression that had Michael’s gentle visage wrapped up like a cobra around a mouse.
“Bunny, I want to talk to you--you know about this Apollonia woman.” He started, and placed his hands on his slender hips.
“Wh-what about her?” I whispered, turning to face him. Michael’s voice had a chilly note to it and I feared that he would forbid me from going to dinner.
“You know I had my doubts about you going to dinner with her, since she’s associated with Prince, right?” Michael blew a stray curl out of his eyes and sniffed.
“Yes, Michael. I know.” I whimpered, feeling as though the floor was seeping out from up under me.
“Do you know where I’ve been the last two hours?” Michael wondered, walking over and taking a seat on the side of my sunken bathtub.
“Uh-uh.” I shook my head, really afraid to speak to him. My hands trembled at my sides and threatened to fly off my wrists.
“I’ve been in the theatre. I found a copy of Purple Rain and watched it. That woman’s role in the movie…gosh.” Michael shook his head, and bit on his bottom lip, and for a moment I thought he was at a loss for words.
(Not that that was a good thing.)
“Do you know she gets hit in the face twice? Prince smacks her twice and she still goes back to him at the end!” He gasped, placing an astonished hand to his sharp cheek.
“Yes, I’ve seen the movie before. Michael it’s just a movie. It’s not really real.” I reasoned. I knew that Michael disapproved of any kind of domestic violence whether it was real or make believe.
“But women were getting punched on all in that film. The man playing That Damn Man’s father, keeps hitting the mom…and then that jerk Morris has a lady thrown in the trash! A lady thrown in the trash! I mean, ladies were getting beat on. I don’t care if it was fake. I hope no guy watched that movie and thought it was okay to hit a woman. Just shameful.”
Michael nibbled on his bottom lip some more and I could tell he was trying hard to control his temper.
“Prince never hit you while you were in Minneapolis, did he?” He inquired suddenly.
I stared down at the tops of my boots to avoid eye contact with him.
“No, of course not.” I said quickly. (I thought it was best to keep the times that Prince had gripped my arm and poor Mindy’s wrist to myself.)
“He’d better not. Geez.” Michael chuckled, but I could tell by how leaden it was, that if he had the slightest idea that Prince had put his hands on me to harm me, he’s probably rip him limb from limb.
Michael moved back onto the main topic: Trashing Apollonia.
“You know that ‘Abracadabra’ person? She got half naked in the film!” Michael gave a sharp intake of breath. “You know she took her boobies out in the film?” He demanded.
Michael was referring to one scene where Prince’s character ,The Kid, made Apollonia strip down and jump into a lake. You could see her chest for less than a second. But that less than a second was enough to knock the curl out of Michael’s hair.
“Michael--” I started, fearing the situation was spinning out of control.
The movies Michael generally watched never included nudity.
Hell, he thought Ariel in The Little Mermaid showed too much cleavage!
A thin alabaster white hand flew up, cutting me off.
“Is that the kind of person you want to eat dinner with? A woman who lets her chest get filmed? Anytime someone watches that movie, they’ll see her boobies, Brynn. Forever and ever.” He whined, his dark eyes wide and glimmering.
I don’t know why, but I blurted,
“Michael, I’m just going to eat dinner with this lady. It’s not like she’s going to say, “Hi” and drop her tits on the table!”
I slapped my hands over my mouth, a few moments too late.
Had I really just back-talked to Michael Jackson?
My Michael.
The comment seemed to fly over his head.
Mr. Jackson was hell-bent on talking me out of dinner.
“And she was just tossed around between That Damn Man and That Jerk (Morris) like a sex object. To take a role like that, to play a man’s plaything in a film, the woman has to be really loose. And you’re not a loose kind of woman Brynn.” Michael got to his feet and approached me.
“I just don’t like the idea of you being around a person like that. I’ve just tried to look out for you because I love you. You know I love you Honey. And she just seems kind of, um, wayward. That’s all.” Michael’s warm hands rubbed my shoulders gently.
I stared up into his sweet face, his eyes, those pretty dark pools, searching my face.
I knew that Michael wanted the best for me. He was always looking after me.
But I wanted to go to the dinner, and if I could I was going to talk my way to the Golden Palm Grill.
I was interested in seeing what Apollonia wanted with me.
“Michael, it’s okay. It’s just dinner. I’ll nibble an appetizer, the main course, dessert and maybe sip a drink or two and then I’ll come home. Then I’ll be with you, like normal. And nothing bad will happen. You said that Rusty would be right outside.” I reasoned, trying to make my expression hopeful.
“Yeah, but I just wonder what you’ll talk about. I don’t want you to be exposed to another gutter mouth conversation like the one we got trapped in, in New York.” Michael whimpered and tugged me against him fiercely.
Oh why did he have to bring up that fateful nightmare with Prince and Morris and the near-fight that ensued?
“Mike, I’m sure the conversation will be polite.” I talked through the sheet of his thick hair falling in my face.
“I’ll be okay. I was able to handle myself in Minneapolis alone. Beverly Hills will be a breeze.” I giggled, trying to soothe his nerves and loosen his grasp, he was choking me!
(I knew that dinner with Apollonia would be a walk in the park; in Minneapolis, I wore Prince like a purple belt. I knew nothing would happen between me and Apollonia, besides splitting a food bill.)
“Okay…” Michael reluctantly leaned back and held me at arms length.
“But if that woman makes a pass at you, I want you to smack her!” Michael advised.
Michael was afraid that Apollonia was going to hit on me?
Well, I guess with people from the Prince world you had to watch your back…and your front.
I laughed.
A relieved, lightened giggle.
“Okay, I’ll smack her.” I agreed, pulling Michael closer to me and planting a kiss on his neck.
Victory !
* * *

A Half Hour Later
The Golden Palm Grill
Downtown Beverly Hills, California
“I still can’t believe that Michael’s making me play babysitter tonight. The things I do to collect a damn paycheck.” Rusty simpered sourly as a doorman opened up one of the gilded glass doors to the eatery for us.
Pausing at the doors, I spun towards him and hissed,
“I don’t know what the hell you’re doing with me anyway--you’re supposed to be waiting in the car!”
I pointed out the tail lights of Rusty’s deep blue Audi that was rolling away from us, driven by a valet towards the parking lot in back of the restaurant.
Rusty picked at the highlighted tips of his hair and replied snidely,
“You know I have instructions to look and make sure that Prince is nowhere around. Now I have to go in to see that.”
“No, you could look through a window Sherlock!” flipping my ponytail, I whisked past the doorman and into the Golden Palm, Rusty rushing to keep up with me.
As we got to the host/hostess booth in the front lobby, Rusty grabbed my arm and pulled me close to him.
“Bullshit Brynn. I’m not about to get fired for half-assing my job. Give me two seconds to look, and I’ll be out your hair. I don’t wanna be here.” He whispered hotly in my ear.
Jerking free of him, I retorted,
“What do you have to do that’s so important? Watch American Idol reruns on TiVo? Learn how to enunciate ‘Seacrest out’?”
“Why I oughta--”Rusty started, his blue eyes bulging with fury. He looked like a boiled beet his face redden so.
“Table for two?” A new voice asked.
During our heated exchange, a hostess had taken her spot at the booth. She was dressed crisply in a dark gold colored blouse with a black palm tree embroidered on the front breast pocket and black trousers.
“No.” I replied giving Rusty a stony glare. “I’m meeting a friend for dinner--uh, Apollonia?”
“Oh, Apollonia.” The woman grinned, pushing a few strands of dark blonde hair that had worked its way out of the messy bun on top of her head from her eyes and peeked down at the roster lying open on the top of the booth. “Are you Brynn McAllister.?” She questioned.
“That’s me.” I grinned.
“Please follow me.” The woman gave Rusty a strange look--as if she knew he didn’t belong--and started leading us into the main dining room.
As Rusty and I followed her, I saw that Apollonia had exquisite taste when it came to picking nightspots.
The Golden Palm Grill had the most darling theme--opulent Tiki.
Palm trees and parrots and Tiki figures adorned the walls and hung from the ceiling, all glittering bright gold.
All the tables had gilded straw hanging from them.
Over hidden speakers, ukulele music tinkled merrily.
I had a sudden urge to slather my body with coconut oil and lie on someone’s beach!
Muscular waiters wearing lei’s and straw skirts rushed around serving tables left and right. (And they all looked like contestants from the Mr. Olympia pageant!)
I actually felt out of place in a black dress. With all the tropical accents, I felt as though I should have worn a pool blue or a fuchsia!
Rusty blended a bit better than me; he wore a light grey suit.
I saw that the hostess was leading us to a table that near the center dance floor where a few couples were dancing and making horrible attempts to do the Hawaiian Hula dance.
It was then I saw her.
Apollonia.
She was seated with her back to Rusty and me, watching the dancers.
I could see that she was wearing a green abstract, swirl print dress, her hair, long and straight, tumbling down her back. It swayed as she bobbed her head to the music.
God, I hoped that the night would go well, and that I indeed wouldn’t have to “smack” her. (I was sure I wouldn’t.)
“Um, Miss Apollonia? Your guest is here.” The hostess announced meekly, patting her shoulder.
At the mention of my arrival, Apollonia swiftly rose to her feet--in five inch platforms no less--and whirled around to greet me.
I stood for a moment, truly stunned.
Apollonia was…pretty.
From what I knew, she was about a year or so younger than Michael (and Prince) but honestly didn’t appear to be a day over thirty. If that old.
I guess it was true: no one in California aged!
Apollonia was a few inches shorter than me--but not as short as Mr. Nelson.
Her skin was smooth, so smooth, that even at nineteen, I was a little jealous of her!
She actually kind of looked like a female translation of Prince, with high, deftly arched eyebrows, deep, wide eyes (that were brown instead of hazel), high cheek bones and plump lips.
And much like every other “Prince Girl” I’d ever seen a photo of, she wore alot of make up--heavy on the blush. Almost on the verge of tranny.
But it kind of seemed appropriate. You expected a “Prince Girl” to wear a lot of cosmetics. It went with the territory.
And of course in the tradition of all the “Prince Girls” her dress clung to her body like Tyson to Holyfield’s ear.
The front of her busy dress dipped just far enough to give her um, two “friends” breathing room.
The tops of her “friends” peeked out of the dress and were sprinkled with a smattering of freckles--the only telltale of her true age.
(I really didn’t want to know what she had done to keep them perky after twenty plus years.)
“Oh! Hi Brynn!” She greeted me with a warm grin and before I could respond, she was pulling me against her in a cheerful hug.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” She giggled squeezing me as if we were the best of friends and hadn’t seen each other since the dawn of time.
Her perfume, whatever it was, was a strong vanilla scent. It was just a tad overpowering. Just a tad.
“Nice to meet you too!” I wheezed. The woman was small, but was crushing my ribcage.
Finally, finally, Apollonia let go of me.
“It really is nice to finally meet you. Morris spoke very highly of you--”
Her eyes drifted over to Rusty.
“Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to not speak to you.” She held out her hand--tipped with green nails!--to Rusty.
“Apollonia Kotero.” She grinned, her white teeth gleaming.
For a moment, Rusty seemed speechless. (And his eyes were slipping and drowning in her “friends”) If he was looking for Prince like he was supposed to, I was sure Prince wasn’t hiding there.
Or knowing Prince, maybe he was!
“Russell Ross, I’m Michael Jackson’s assistant.” He spoke in a phony voice, that was about ten octaves deeper than his natural tone.
Was he really turning into a blithering idiot just because the woman had boobs?
Men.
Apollonia tittered. “You’re Michael Jackson’s assistant? That’s neat. I thought you were Brynn’s boyfriend.”
The cool grin Rusty had been wearing disappeared when Apollonia mentioned that she thought he was involved with me.
I was just trying not to vomit on her shoes at the notion.
“Boyfriend? Me and her?” Rusty glanced at me and shuddered, like it was a disgusting thought for someone to date me.
“What, it could happen Rust Bucket.” I winked at him, just to rile him up. He gave me a look of indignation.
“No, ‘Apple’, I’m as single as they come.” Rusty grinned openly at her and I really had to put the brakes on my gag reflex.
And after all this time, I thought Morris Day was nauseating. Rusty was what Morris wanted to be when he grew up--an international puke bag.
Apollonia giggled politely and gently pulled her hand from Rusty’s.
“That’s very sweet, but I‘m not really into dating right now.” She revealed and Rusty deflated like the Hindenburg.
“Oh…” Rusty turned scarlet with embarrassment.
I tried to control my snickering. This was too much. Not only had he’d been shot down by Apollonia in record time, but I had witnessed the entire going down in flames.
“Well, I just wanted to throw it out there.” He stammered, running a hand through his hair nervously.
To me he said, “You, um, eat your dinner, I’m gonna go…bye.” Rusty made a stumbling exit.
“I hated to turn him down.” Apollonia explained as she and I took our seats.
“He kind of had a cute Ryan Seacrest look to him.”
“Yeah.” I chuckled. Rusty had been this close to getting his foot in the hypothetical door.
Instead of watching Rusty’s feet, I should have been watching mine, because I was definitely about to step into it.

* * *

An Hour Later

So far my time with Apollonia had been extremely cordial and just the kind of meeting that Michael would have been dreaming of.
Apollonia and I had been making light, friendly conversation and were discussing little things like what places we liked to shop at and what brands of shoes were our favorites.
There were, Apollonia and me, nibbling at platters of grilled tuna and veggies and frosty margarita glasses, giggling like two little schoolgirls.
I was even starting to consider this woman to be a potential friend.
The conversation hadn’t been heavy.
And then Apollonia had to show her inquisitive side.
“So Brynn…”She started, and paused to sip from her drink glass. “Morris tells me that you’ve been making music with both Prince and Michael Jackson. Must be pretty exciting.”
“It’s okay. They do most of the grunt work. I just fill in the back up.” I replied simply, forking a baby carrot into my mouth.
I generally downplayed the music I made and who I sang with, because Michael and Prince were the real stars, I just did the doo-wop.
“I don’t know. Morris played a little bit of one of the songs you did for Prince--Game--you’ve got a really nice voice.” Apollonia commented with a large smile.
I stared up at her, and gulped hard.
Just what the hell was Morris doing?
Who gave him the green light to pass Prince’s (and my) music around?
“Morris played Game for you?” I questioned, not sure I had heard her correctly.
I had never even heard the completed version of Game myself!
“Yeah.” Apollonia nodded until her hair bounced. “And he sent me a photo of you.”
I could feel one of my eyebrows rising up with curiosity.
Why did he send along a photo of me to this woman?
Was this dinner really a…date?
“Morris Day sent you a photo of me?” I dropped my fork to the glass tabletop with a clatter.
My sudden change in demeanor had no affect on “Apple”.
“Yes.” Apollonia leaned and retrieved her green patent leather clutch purse and began to rummage around in it.
A moment later, she produced a wallet sized photo out of her bag.
Not really wanting to, I reached and snatched it from her.
The picture was a candid taken during the ill-fated jam session at Paisley Park. Prince and I were dancing back to back, me gyrating in the sparkly pink and blue ensemble, Prince caught in the middle of a fevered guitar solo.
“When I first saw the picture and heard your voice, I knew that you were perfect. You’re very pretty.” I heard Apollonia titter merrily.
I stared over the photo and across the table at her.
Did this woman just say I was very pretty?
Just what in the hell was going on here?
Rising from the table, I began squishing the photo into a tiny ball in my hand.
“Look Apollonia, I don’t exactly know what’s going on here, but I can tell you one thing--I don’t date women. I’m sorry, but I’m a heterosexual woman.” I declared, my eyes searching for the nearest exit.
“Pardon me?” Apollonia stared up at me as if I’d slapped her. (I hoped I wouldn’t have to.) “You think this is a date?”
I was on a rampaging high and it was going to take a lot to bring me down.
“Yeah. You just said that I was perfect and that I was very pretty. I’ve been on enough dates in my life to know when someone is hitting on me.” I shook my head and my ponytail slapped me in the face.
“Oh my God!” Apollonia laid her head on the table, laughing loudly.
Several people turned to glare at her.
“You think this is a date. That is so cute! You’re a laugh riot Brynn!” She continued crowing.
“I’m not trying to be cute.” I sneering, gearing up a fist for a punch to be felt around the globe.
Apollonia raised her head and wiped at the laughter tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Brynn, you are cute, but you’re not my type. I prefer my lovers to be tall, dark and most importantly, male.” She sniggled, and ran her hands through her hair.
Well, I felt like a horse’s ass.
“You mean this isn’t a….?” I questioned, my own feeling of embarrassment nagging at me.
“No.” Apollonia shook her head.
I sunk into my seat. “And you’re not a…”
“Sorry…no.” She smiled warmly at me. “I’m sorry if it sounded like that.”
“That’s okay, that’s my imagination for you.” I quickly downed the rest of my margarita and tried to calm my nerves.
She wasn’t hitting on me. And I was about to knock her pearly whites out for no reason. Boy, did I ever feel stupid!
“Morris had me under the impression that you and Prince had a thing going on.” Apollonia pointed out.
Damn that man spoke too much!
“Well, not really, I mean…Prince is good-looking and all, but I try to keep our relationship professional.” That sounded like something I was supposed to say. I almost believed it myself.
Licking margarita salt off her finger, Apollonia leaned across the table to me and mumbled,
“You mean Prince didn’t try to make a pass at you or anything? You seem like you’re right up his alley--pretty, talented, younger than him. Morris told me you stayed with Prince for two weeks in Minneapolis.” She batted thick false eyelashes at me.
“Nothing really happened?”
I could feel my heart thundering in my chest. I had been in Apollonia’s company for less than three hours and already she was pretty much on to my having a relationship with Prince.
No, I couldn’t crack under the pressure.
“Nope, nothing really happened. Prince might have said a few things in passing, but I was there to work. Isn’t he coming off a divorce anyway?”
That’s right, play it innocent.
“Mmm-hmm.” Apollonia nodded in agreement. “I kind of feel bad for the man. But he kind of always had a player reputation. He tried to hit on me when we were doing Purple Rain, but I wasn’t hearing it.”
My ears perked up at this. Apollonia hadn’t been one of Prince’s girlfriends?
“You didn’t date Prince?” I had to repeat it, just to hear it in the open air.
“No, he’s not what I go for. Sure he’s cute as a button, but he was a little wacky for me. All that wearing women’s perfume and the heels and the makeup. He was like a drag queen, without the “queen”.”
“Gosh.” I shook my head, and started to take a sip of my drink.
I nearly spit in Apollonia’s heavily made up face wit her next remark.
“Not many people know this, but for a while, Morris and I were an item.”
“You…you dated Morris Day?” I set my glass down hard, gazing at her in disbelief. “You dated Morris A-ha Day?”
My mind couldn’t process it. Apollonia was an attractive woman with a pleasant attitude, with knockers to her knees and the best she could do was Morris Day?
Was I on Candid Camera?
“Yeah.” “Apple” gave me a complacent sigh and forked some fish into her mouth. “I know Morris seems like a loudmouth jerk--”
( A resounding DUH!)
“But back in those days he was just so sweet and nice. Sending me cards and flowers and teddy bears. We were hot and heavy until about ‘86.” She chased her fish with more drink.
“What happened?” I pried, truly spellbound by the idea that Apollonia and Morris had been a couple. I couldn’t see anyone standing his company for longer than five minutes without trying to murder him.
“We drifted apart. Our careers went in two different directions and we just thought it was best that we split. We’re still good friends though.” Apollonia flicked her nails together producing a loud popping noise. She wore a sorrowful look to her face. Maybe she had really been in love with Morris. I knew that at times Prince could be a pompous ass and the next, almost human.
I glanced down at the half eaten food on my plate and pondered her last statement. It was hard to picture Morris as the kind of person to send flowers. He seemed more the like dirt water type to throw a girl around and manhandle them--like he’d done with me.
“Brynn, Morris tells me that you’re living with Michael Jackson at his place. Is that true?” Apollonia hailed the waiter and got a refill on our drinks.
“Well, yes, I’m staying with him. I did a song with him. He’s working on some other tracks for me to be on too.” Okay, so I lied a little. Who in California didn’t?
If I went around telling her that I had merely done one track for Michael and he was smothering me in gifts, she’s probably be trying to find a wedding planner for me right then.
“That’s really cool. I know he’s getting over that awful trial and all. I don’t think he did those things they said.” She sipped her drink.
“He didn’t.” I said firmly. Why did people have to keep bringing up that ugly episode in Michael’s life. It was over Michael was diligently trying to move past it.
“So are you dating Michael Jackson? I mean, you are living with him.” Apollonia snickered matter-of-factly. (God the woman loved gossip.)
Time to play the cards.
“Nope, I’m not dating Michael. Some people think that, but it’s not true. I’m seeing his nephew Taryll. I can’t stay with Taryll just yet because he’s having his condo redecorated. So I’m hanging out at Mike’s place for now.” I shrugged it off as if staying with the King of Entertainment was a natural occurrence.
“Oh…” Apollonia said thoughtfully. “Uh, Brynn, I know that you’ve got your plate pretty much full with working with Michael and Prince, but I was wondering, would you be interested in working on a side project?”
“A side project? What kind of side project?” I asked, slurping my beverage.
“Well it’s kind of the reason I asked you here. You know why I had your picture and listened to your singing voice?” She exhaled deeply and tossed her hair off her shoulders.
“No…” I trailed off. At this point, anything seemed possible. But I was happy that her only interest in me was as a friend.
“Brynn, well…” Apollonia flicked her nails together once more.
“I was really impressed with your sound and look and I was wondering, would you like to do a remake of my song “Sex Shooter”?”
I was aware that Apollonia was still talking, but I heard nothing she said after Sex Shooter.
This couldn’t be real.
There was no way that Apollonia was asking me to remake her song!
That was like Michael asking me to remake Billie Jean.
Or Prince asking me to remake Purple Rain.
I was being asked to remake a signature tune!
This was too much!
Oh God! Remaking the “Prince Girl’s” song--
“Brynn? Brynn?” I was jarred back to reality by Apollonia gently patting my hand.
“Uh, what?” I focused back on her bright, happy face.
“Please say yes! ” She urged, grasping my hand in hers and squishing it.
I heard myself agree through a flurry of flattered chuckles.
I was sailing high then what Apollonia said next made my heart drop out of my backside.
Leaping from the table and momentarily staggering in her heels, Apollonia exclaimed,
“That’s great! Let me go call Morris, so he can get a hold of Prince and they can get a studio at Paisley Park ready! I‘m so excited!”
A studio at Paisley Park?
“Wait!” I called, reaching after her. I had to grab her arm, or her dress or something!
Before I could stop her, Apollonia was yards away from me, across the room in search of a phone to call Morris Day.
I watched her as she got farther and farther away.
My arm dropped limply to the table.
What had I just agreed to?
And more so, what was I going to do?
God, what was I going to do?