Chapter 34

A Few Days Later

“Do you wanna feed the llamas? Do you wanna feed the llamas? Yes you do! Yes you do! Come on!” I giggled running towards the habitat the housed the woolly creatures, located on the east end of Neverland.
“Yeah! I wanna feed’em!” Blanket exclaimed happily, running alongside of me. A large Ziploc bag of carrots jangled haphazardly in his little fist.
As we got to the gated area, I could make out Michael’s three exotic pets. Their mood seemed to perfectly reflect the day. They were all lying on their tummies in the hay scattered around the sandy/grassy mix of ground.
The male, a golden brown and white beauty named Louis, his “bride” a pure white stunner named Lola (Folana the Llama) rested cattycorner to one another.
Nestled in between Louis and Lola was their “baby”--a cute little gangly thing that was covered in the softest all over fur that matched the brown patches on her father.
Born just a few weeks before my arrival at Neverland, this little bit of llama fluff was Lena the Llama. (Allegedly Michael had named her after singer Lena Horne, who was one of his friends.)
“Are they sleeping?” Blanket whined as he hoisted himself up off the ground and onto the second rung of the fence surrounding the animals.
His sweet little face, with curly locks tumbling into it, was quickly turning into a scowl. All day he had wanted to come out and feed the llamas.
I gave them a once over; they did appear to be asleep.
And I wasn’t quite sure what the procedure was for waking them--if there was any.
Just as I was about to take a carrot from Blanket and try to toss it at one of the llamas, I saw it.
A hint of movement.
Lola’s right ear was wiggling back and forth like the last leaf on a tree during a hurricane.
I didn’t know about the rest of her family, but I knew that she was conscious.
“Honey, look! Lola’s awake. Offer her some food! She might get up!” I urged taking the bag from Blanket and handing him a carrot.
“Oh boy! Here Lola! Come get your carrot! Hey Lola!” Blanket cried out, leaning over the fence--I had a firm hand planted on the waist band of his jeans to keep him from tumbling in--and shaking the treat at the llama.
After a few moments, Lola climbed to her four feet, and after stamping around for a bit, she trotted over towards Blanket’s wildly flailing hand.
“Come on Lola, this is for you! Come get your carrot!”
The boy rejoiced gleefully as Lola began nibbling at the vegetable.
“Be careful Blanket.” I cautioned. “Don’t let her bite your fingers!”
“ I won’t!” The child replied and a moment later shrieked happily as Louis climbed to his feet and wandered over, looking for a meal.
Lena, on the other hand, remained firmly rooted to her spot and continued to slumber.
I occupied myself handing carrots off to Blanket. The llamas must have been famished, they were whizzing right through the carrots.
Everything seemed so cheerful.
Then a little storm blew in.
“Uh…hey Brynn.” A voice announced meekly from, somewhere behind me.
As I passed off another carrot, I glanced around.
Standing there, hands shoved deeply into the pockets of the red denim overalls he wore, Prince (Jackson) stood gazing up at me solemnly.
“Hey Sweetie!” I called giving him a small wave. “You wanna help your brother feed the llamas?” I questioned holding a carrot out to him.
“Nah…” Prince’s dark eyes darted around, seemingly nervously.
“Are you okay?” I wondered. Prince was normally a confident little boy and right then he seemed like he had something to get off his chest.
“Um…” The boy fidgeted a moment and ran a hands through his thick blonde hair.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” He snuck a peek over at Blanket.
“In private?”
I followed his gaze over to the toddler. A nuclear bomb could have dropped and I doubt he would have noticed he was so engrossed in his father’s pets.
“Sure Kiddo.” I nodded, draping my arm around his slim shoulders and starting to walk a few paces away. “Blanket, stay outside the gate. Don’t climb over it!” I advised over my shoulder,
“Okay!” The boy hollered back.
Prince and I walked a few more feet over to one of the large sycamore trees that dotted the property and took refuge in its shade.
“Alright, little man, what’s on your mind. You look troubled.” I pointed out, brushing a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. (I don’t know how he kept it so fair--I had never actually witnessed him getting his hair lightened.)
Prince shifted from foot to foot for a moment.
“Well Brynn, you know how you and Dad are getting ready to go to that awards thing in a couple of weeks?” He started, his voice cracking a bit.
“Yes” I nodded with a wide grin. I believe I was more excited about the HAA awards than Michael and I wasn’t even winning anything.
“Well…um, I was talking to Paris this morning and she said that Dad was taking Jonas and Skylar to the show with you…” Prince trailed off.
“That’s right.” I assured him. I had been there that morning when Michael had rolled out of bed and called the boys’ parents to invite them to the proceedings. “You father thought it would be sweet to invite them along.”
“Oh…” Prince was quiet for a long spell.
“Brynn…uh…” The child stammered and blinked his eyes as he tried to communicate the point he wanted to get across.
As he continued to mumble, my heart began to ache as I suddenly realized what it was he struggling to say.
“Prince, are you and Paris feeling left out because Michael is taking Jonas and Skylar to the show and not you?” I inquired softly.
Prince was once again quiet.
When he replied, I barely heard him.
“…yeah.”
It hurt my soul to see that Prince and probably Paris were unhappy about not being asked to go with their father to the HAA gala.
“Do you want me to talk to Michael and see if he’ll let you and Paris and maybe even Blanket come along with us?” I ruffed his hair.
“You’d do that for me?” Prince stared up at me with wide eyes full of disbelief.
“Sure little man, we’re friends right?” I gave him a warm smile.
“Oh thank you!” Prince gave me a hard hug. “You’re so cool!”
“No problem.” I giggled hugging him back. “Now you go watch Blanket and I’ll go talk to Michael right now.”
“Alright!” I watched as Prince, burden off his shoulders, ran to keep an eye on his younger sibling.
I looked towards the main house with a disdainful sigh.
I knew that Michael was somewhere inside.
And that I’d have to place his son’s burden on him.

* * *

Sometime Later
Inside The Main House
I found myself wandering the seemingly endless halls of Michael’s extensive mansion.
I didn’t really have a destination; I was just stumbling from room to room, my mind burning at a million miles a minute in my skull.
I just didn’t know what to do.
I was quite certain that Michael hadn’t intended to overlook his children. I knew that he just wanted to share some of the glitz and sparkle of his life with Jonas and Skylar.
Michael would be sorely hurt if I didn’t introduce the topic in just the right manner and the last thing I needed was to make the man I loved cry.
God I didn’t know what to do.
Walking into the living room and feeling utterly dejected, I dropped down onto the first chair available to me; a sturdy overstuffed Louis XIV chair.
With a troubled sigh, I gave the room a cursory glance, more out of indignation, than actually admiring the décor.
Michael’s living room was heavily decorated--almost littered-- with framed portraits of himself and his family in various sizes from a wallet sized photo of Mrs. Jackson to an extremely large headshot of Michael from when he was about thirteen years old.
But the portrait that caught my attention was about an eight by ten inch photo, in a heavy silver frame.
It sat a bit off to its self a few feet from me on one of the teak side tables that anchored the couch in the room.
Entranced, I rose to my feet, absently stumbling over and picking up the portrait for a closer inspection,
My heart melted.
In the photo, Michael was holding Prince, who couldn’t have been more than a few months old at the time. And the baby Prince was wearing an infant sized version of Michael’s iconic Billie Jean ensemble, complete with a white rhinestoned mitten on his right hand and glitter booties on his feet.
His hair, in it’s natural sandy brown color, danced across his forehead in curly wisps.
Michael was grinning proudly, like any glowing father would be.
Prince, in the photo, seemed groomed to be in the spotlight like his father.
(What other baby would be wearing his weight in sequins?)
As I continued looking at Prince, giving a gummy grin to the camera, I felt a tear starting to ooze its way out of my eye.
The boy didn’t just deserve to go to the awards, I felt he needed to go.
Prince Jackson needed the glitz as much as the other boys.
Paris too. (I knew because she lived in my make up case.)
Even little Blanket.
Setting the photo down with a mild clank, I turned on my heel, set on finding Michael and letting him know how his children felt.
I moved effortlessly through the room and up the stairs and before I knew it, I was landing on the second floor.
And a wave of sudden nervousness washed my newly found confidence away like a tsunami.
There at, at the end of the hall, stood Michael Jackson.
He was calmly picking through the tomes displayed on the bookshelf adjacent to his room.
He looked so at ease in a body hugging white shirt, and black slacks with his hair gathered behind him in a messy ponytail.
I found myself slowly walking towards him.
As I neared him, I could hear Michael softly singing.
“…satin lace and paisley cut top…the girl is wasting over…and she knows… what she’s got…”

Yeah, that was exactly what I needed at the moment; Michael to be singing She Drives Me Wild.
If I didn’t speak just right, the tune would change to Cry.
I hovered just behind him, wringing my hands to the part where they should have been bloody.
Hand a tremble, I reached out and tapped Michael’s slim shoulder so timidly, I almost thought he didn’t feel it.
“Hmm?” He turned and smiled at me sweetly. “”Oh hi Bunny!” He giggled, finally selecting a leather bound book from the shelf.
Oliver Twist.
“Hi…hi Michael.” I stammered as he tucked the book under his arm.
Reaching with his free hand, Michael adjusted the pink and blue plaid headband I wore in my hair.
“You look cute today.” He commented pinching my chin gently.
The grin he wore wrapped around his face and his dark eyes danced gleefully in his head.
I dropped my eyes down. I couldn’t bear to look at his happy face when I was about to drop napalm on his happiness.
Michael could sense my uneasiness right off.
“Is something wrong Sweetheart?” He questioned seriously and long fingertips brushed my chin once more.
“Mike…I have to talk to right now….it’s really important.” I whimpered, still gazing down at the tops of my shoes.
“Um, alright.” Michael sniffed. “Let’s go in my room.”
Placing his spare hand on my back, Michael and I slowly walked through the double doors of his room.
I watched quietly as he closed the doors, secured them, and tossed Oliver Twist off onto the foot of his bed.
“Now what’s the problem?” Michael questioned, still a bit of curious cheerfulness to his voice, placing his hands on his hips.
“I’d really rather you sit down for this. Please?” I begged, motioning to his large red throne.
The corners of Michael’s pinky mouth drooped slightly.
“This must be something serious if you’re throning me. Oh gosh!” Michael gasped making his way over to his the seat.
Once settled, he draped one long leg over the other, hands clasped on the knee.
“You have my undivided attention Brynn. Lay it on me.” He nodded deeply.
I drew in a breath just as deep.
It was now or never.
“Well, Michael. You know how we’ve been going crazy making preparations for the awards gala right?” I ran a hand through my hair.
“Yes, of course. I think I’m getting grey hairs from all the stress.” Michael chuckled. He stopped when he realized I showed no intention of laughing.
“Ahem.” He cleared his throat and cracked his knuckles.
I forced myself to continue. “…and you know how you invited Jonas and Skylar to attend the awards with us?”
“Yes.” He gave me a confused glance. “You were lying right there in my bed when I called the boys parents about going to the show.”
“Michael, I think you left about three people off the list when you invited Jonas and Skylar!” I blurted, my remark overriding his.
Michael chuckled again. “If you mean the boys’ parents, they can’t attend. They all have to work the night of the awards. Bunny, I told you that.”
“I don’t mean the boys’ parents…” I sighed, walking over and kneeling at Michael’s side.
“I mean you left out…” I squinted my eyes closed. “You left out your kids.”
“Pardon me?” Michael’s voice took on a icy sternness. A sternness I hadn’t heard since he had ushered me away from Paisley Park.
It took a ton and half of effort, but I managed to make myself open my eyes.
Michael was staring down at me, his eyes leaden blocks in his head.
His mouth had all but disappeared from his face.
“Explain yourself, Brynn. Now.” He instructed arms folding across his small chest.
And the floodgates opened.
Somehow I managed to babble out the whole story of how Blanket and I were feeding the llamas and how Prince had come along and told me that he and his sibling felt like they were on the back burner.
By the time I had finished, I sagged against the armrest of the chair, completely drained.
My body was bouncing violently with fear, because I was sure that Michael thought I was insulting his skills as a father.
And in truth, his fathering record was spotless. Impeccable even.
I stared vainly at the carpet, too terrified to even glance at Michael. I was sure that he was going to toss me out of Neverland on my face.
(And then I’d have to thumb a ride to get to Minneapolis.)
I jumped slightly when I felt Michael gently running his fingers through my hair, fingers caressing my scalp.
“Brynn, I want you to look up at me Honey, I have something that I want to tell you.” He murmured quietly.
Something in his voice, the sweetness of it, made me look up into his face.
A large smile was creasing it.
“Honey, this was supposed to be secret…hee-hee…”
Michael trialed off and patted the tip of his nose. “…but I am bringing my children along to the show. I just wanted them to be surprised when they saw their outfits and all.” He confided, with a shy giggle.
I sat back on my heels, wholly gaping at him.
“You…you’re taking Prince…and Paris…and Blanket?” I whispered, my mind not fully grasping the idea.
Michael nodded, ringlets bouncing.
“Oh!” I gasped jumping up and into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“I am so relieved. Mike, Prince was so sad, and this is so great!” I gushed. “You’re wonderful!”
“I have more wonderful news.” Michael’s lips brushed at my ear as he spoke, sending a zealous chill down my spine.
“What?” I chuckled, smooching his nose. Anything that Michael said now would just be gravy. I was just so happy and gosh-darned relieved that in the end the Jackson Trio would be elated.
“Well Brynn, Sweetness, what are you planning to do after the awards ceremony?” Michael questioned, picking at my hair.
“I dunno, help you polish your trophy? Go to sleep?” I offered, with a sly chuckle.
Michael eyes danced merrily as another giggle escaped him.
“Well we could do that, but I got a better offer.” Michael replied.
“You know my friend Elizabeth Taylor, right?”
I bobbed my head numbly. Though I had never met her in person, I knew that Michael and screen goddess Dame Elizabeth Taylor kept a close relationship--friendly--and she called Michael at least once a week just to catch up.
“Well, she’s attending the awards and she invited us to an after-party she’s hosting at her home in Bel Air. I told her of course we’d attend.” Michael chuckled.
“Are you kidding me?” I shrieked with a playful shove of his shoulders.
It was far too much for me to even imagine.
Not only was I going to be attending a star studded gala on the arm of The King of Entertainment, but now I was going to a party at the home of an Academy Award winning actress?
I was floating away on a pink, fluffy cloud.
“Nope Baby, I’m not kidding! We’re going to her after party.” Michael chuckled giving me a joyful squeeze.
Make that a pink fluffy cloud, in the shape of a nine.

* * *

Three Days Later

“…are you writing this down? Pick up a pen and write what I’m telling you down!” Michael admonished, running a hand through his long, flowing locks.
“Yeah, I’m writing everything down!” Rusty replied from where he sat at the opposite end of the table in the formal dining room.
The Jackson Trio and I took up all the remaining chairs.
I looked around at the children.
Drooping faces were supported by balled up fists. The kids looked absolutely miserable. Far from the bright and shiny faces I had seen earlier when they had learned that Michael had included them in the awards plans.
And they had a right to appear downtrodden. We had been seated at the table for the last three hours, as Michael covered all topics surrounding the HAAs gala. How we would be transported there, who would transport us there. How many bodyguards we would have. (Michael explicitly requested seven guards.) Who would carry his acceptance speech. Who would carry copies of the acceptance speech.
And now Michael was describing in detail how he wanted each of us to be groomed for the ceremony.
“I’m hungry.” Blanket whined, before shoving the straw of a juice box into his mouth.
“Rusty, read back what I told you, from the top.” Michael requested suddenly.
“Oh!” Paris whimpered, twirling the end of the long French braid that extended from her head.
Prince just cracked his knuckles and rolled his eyes silently.
“Alright.” Rusty, red-faced, responded though gritted teeth and flipped back through his notes--ten pages worth.
I glanced over at Michael. He was staring plain faced across the table at his assistant.
I knew he wouldn’t care if the notes lagged on for a hundred pages, he wanted to make certain that everything met his specifications to the smallest detail.
Rusty exhaled.
“From the top:
--You have reserved the entire nineteenth floor of the Paradiso Verde Hotel in Pasadena.
--You will be transported by Cadillac Escalade to the hotel the day prior to the awards ceremony at approximately five-thirty a.m. to avoid getting caught in a crowd of fans.
--You will be transported with the following people: Brynn McAllister, Prince Jackson, Paris Jackson, Blanket Jackson, Jonas Cartwright and Skylar. Brown. Rusty Ross--that’s me--and the seven body guards will follow you in another Escalade.
--Same cars will transport all of us to the home of Elizabeth Taylor in Bel Air.
--The stylist will arrive at approximately four p.m. to get everyone ready for the awards, which commence at nine p.m.
--You acceptance speech will be in the pocket of your trousers.
--I will carry the back up in my jacket.
And that’s the list so far.” Rusty shuffled through the papers to make sure.
Michael, hand to dimpled chin needed before continuing.
“Keep writing, now we’re covering appearances.” Michael pointed out.
He reached and picked up my hand. “Brynn, I see you’ve got your nails painted red.” He observed, bringing my fingertips close to his cute face.
“Yeah Mike. My nails have been red since you met me.” I replied quietly, taking my hand from his.
Every week, without fail, I had been keeping my nails crimson because I knew it was Michael’s favorite color.
(Plus I just thought it looked cool.)
“Well, I’d like for you change them. Your dress is white, blue and black. Take the red off and get French tips put on.” He smiled warmly at me.
I glanced down at my nails. It was just color; and I wanted to make Michael happy.
“Okay, French tips it is.” I returned the grin.
“Daddy! Can I get French tips too? Please?” Paris begged, extending her hands, topped with neon pink nails, out at her father. “You said my dress would match with Brynn! I want my nails to match too!”
“Um…” Michael looked over at me. “Will you be able to handle her at the nail salon?” He question, his voice laced with uncertainty.
“Sure. No prob.” I nodded, draping my arm around Paris.
“Yay!” The little girl cheered and hugged me back. In her eyes, she had taken another step towards womanhood. Well as far as a seven year old could step.
“Okay, hair.” Michael turned his attention back to Rusty.
“Mine will be down, curled, simple. Brynn’s will be up off her face and showcasing her neck and gown and all. Paris’ will be down and curled, with a section held back with a crystal barrette. All the boys hair will be slicked back. Well, except for Jonas’, cause he’s bald.” Michael chuckled.
“And Rusty, I want your hair slicked back too. None of that spiky stuff you’re doing now. This is a formal affair--got it?” Michael wondered.
“I gotta slick mine back too?” Rusty lamented, and touched at his hair, which did yield a bit of a Ryan Seacrest spike.
“Yes.” Michael responded sternly and tossed his tendrils over his shoulder.
Grumbling to himself, Rusty wrote down how he was to wear his hair.
Turning his attention to me, Michael announced,
“Brynn, sometime tomorrow Wally--you know from Aiken’s Jewelers in New York--is coming tomorrow with the jewelry that I selected for you to wear.”
I stared at him with a raised eyebrow. “You already selected the jewelry for me?”
How had Michael had the time? Recently every time I saw him, he was busy yelling instructions at Rusty. Cars, hotel reservations, security. I’d never seen him speak to Walter Aiken. But he must have gotten in contact with him somehow. Maybe Rusty was doing more with that damned Blackberry than just playing Pac-Man.
“Yes Honey, he’s bringing some stuff I ordered. It’s nice-- you’ll like it.” Michael assured me, finally rising up from his chair.
I started to argue with Michael that I didn’t need any extra baubles, but he silenced with a raising of his hand.
I knew in his mind, Michael wasn’t going to let anyone go anywhere unless they were all wearing what he wanted. (Reminded me of a certain someone.)
“Are you done Daddy?” Blanket wondered, slurping his juice loudly.
Michael stared down at his youngest offspring.
“Yeah. Let’s go outside and watch a movie.” Michael giggled clapping his hands together and trotting towards the French doors on the opposite end of the room that led to the Amusement Park Neverland.
I followed behind Michael as the children ran ahead squealing gleefully, happy to be free from all the preparations.
Right then, as I reached out and held onto Michael’s warm hand, I had no idea that very soon, a Purple Typhoon was about to descend on Neverland and that I’d get caught right in it’s destructive path.

* * *

Later That Same Night

“Would you listen to that?”
I glanced up from the fashion magazine I was flipping through at the sudden question.
Across the room, Michael was emerging from his private bath.
He was delectable in a pair of navy and red hounds tooth plaid pajamas.
The top had been left open, revealing his creamy chest. A tender rosy nipple peeked out at me.
He was casually drying his still somewhat damp hair with a large fluffy white towel. Obviously post shower.
His skin glowed pinky and luminescent.
Leaning back on the pillows I smiled at him.
He was so sexy.
“I don’t hear anything.” I giggled, my ears straining to pick up any sound.
I was met with silence, the only noise was of Michael’s clothing as he swished towards me, and climbed into the large bed next to me.
“The sound that you hear…” He exaggerated his point by placing his hand to his reddening ear. “…is the sound of my children off in Sherman Oaks at Tito‘s house.”
Earlier that afternoon, Michael’s brother had shown up and offered to let the kids spend the night.
Out of the clear blue sky.
Judging by the way Michael was grinning at me, I kind of knew that Tito’s offer hadn’t been spur of the moment.
Reaching and pinching Michael’s cheek, I murmured seductively,
“That was really sweet of Tito. I’ll have to say ‘thank you’ the next time I see him.”
“You can thank me now.” Michael whispered shyly, and a moment later, his lips were pressed tenderly to mine.
And his hands were running a marathon all over my body.
“Mike!” I gasped as Michael dropped his hot mouth down and pecked at my neck.
Oh, I knew that Michael and I were about to do some major damage to each other…
Ring!…Ring!…Ring!

“What the hell?” I whined glancing over at the telephone next to the bed as it continued to ring. I was ready to have Michael make me climb the walls.
“Who on earth is calling now?” Michael questioned angrily, rolling onto his stomach and staring at the Caller ID screen.
“Who is it?” I demanded, pouting, making a mental note to do bodily harm to whomever had the audacity to interrupt us.
Michael glanced back at me, eyebrows to his hairline.
The phone rang incessantly.
“It’s Jermaine.” He whispered.
“Let it ring!” I exclaimed. “There’s a hundred Jacksons. He can call another one. Jackie, Marlon….Jesse!” I reasoned.
“No, let me get it. It might be important. That’s my brother.” Michael sighed, pulling himself into a seated position and picked up the receiver. “I’ll make it snappy.” He vowed.
“Right.” I fluffed my hair out, agitated.
“Hello?” Michael looked back at me with a wink.
I watched as a cloud came over Michael’s face, causing it to darken and a thousand wrinkles appear on his forehead.
“Mike…?” I questioned, hoping that nothing horrible had occurred.
Michael quickly raised his hand, a clear indicator to me to hush.
“Whoa, slow down Jermaine? What happened? What?” Michael cried out jumping to his feet.
“What’s wrong?” Immediately I was out the bed and by his side.
“Well, where is she now?” Michael demanded. “Oh, damn! Okay, okay! Calm down! I’ll be there in a few minutes. Bye.” Michael slammed the receiver down and jogged towards his closet.
“Mike! What’s wrong, what happened? Tell me!” I begged as Michael stripped out of his pajamas and quickly donned a pair of jeans and a button down shirt.
“That was Jermaine. He and Selena just got into a big fight. He called her a ‘gold digging bitch’ to her face and now she’s locked herself in one of the bathrooms at his house. She won’t come out. I gotta go over there and help.” Michael reached and began looping a large silver belt around his thin hips.
“He called Selena a ‘bitch’?” I felt my eyes widening. Jermaine didn’t seem the type to call a woman anything mean. They must have really tangled for it to come to that.
“Do you want me to get dressed? I’ll go with you!” I offered, following Michael as he rang downstairs, pausing to hit a button the wall that alerted someone to bring his car around.
“No Honey, this kind of thing can drag on all night and into the morning. I’ve been over at their house during a fight. It ain’t pretty. I just hope she didn’t throw any stemware. Last time I cut my foot on a piece of glass. Damn!” Michael and I emerged on the bottom floor, where a sleepy eyed guard met him at the door.
“Michael! You call me the first moment you know anything!” I called as Michael started towards the front door.
He paused a moment and ran back over to me.
Smacking my mouth, he replied, “Of course Honey. You go get some sleep. You’ve still got a busy day tomorrow. I love you!”
With that, Michael Jackson was whisked out the door and into the night.
“I love you too.” I called meekly after him.
As I climbed back up the stairs to go to Michael’s room, I sighed, wishing that Michael was back to ravage me.
I had no idea that my request was going to be met, but in a way I never expected.