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