Chapter 38

Two Hours Later

Somewhere on Highway 105

Near Pasadena, California

“Oh man! This is so exciting! I’ve never been to a real awards show. Just those stupid assemblies at school!” Jonas exclaimed from where he was wedged between Michael and me inside the back the large Cadillac Escalade that was transporting al of us from Neverland to The Paradiso Verde Hotel.

“Dude I know! And I get to ride in a real Escalade. Dang! And I’m up way past my bedtime!” Skylar commented from where sat across from us with his arm wrapped around Prince’s shoulders. Beside Prince, Paris and Blanket were snoozing , heads dipped. Blanket’s thumb was once again jammed into his little pink mouth.

“Thanks for letting us come Michael!” Jonas grinned up at his idol and rested his head against Michael’s shoulder.

“No problem. You’re nice kids.” Michael was answering Jonas, but I knew that his mind was on the crowd in front of the hotel.

I rubbed his knee and gave him a brave smile. I hoped that everything would run smoothly.

“I just can’t believe that I’m gonna be able to dress up and sit with all the celebrities. I feel like a star!” Skylar hugged Prince close to him and the boys giggled.

“I bet you’re gonna look really gorgeous Brynn. If we dance, will you dance with me, please?” Jonas questioned, his dark eyes wide and hopeful under the dome light illuminating the inside of the car.

“Oh thank you! And of course I’ll dance with you!” I giggled reaching and patting his bald head. I think the little guy was sweet on me.

“Man, an awards show and an after party at Elizabeth Taylor’s house. My mom has all her perfumes.” Skylar pointed out.

“She’s my godmother.” Prince bragged, running a hand through his blonde tendrils.

‘Dang really!” Jonas seemed amazed. “My godmother is just my Aunt Cynthia.”

As the boys continued chattering excitedly, I glanced over at Michael.

His face was heavily set. He was literally a million miles away.

“Shouldn’t you boys be getting some sleep?” I interrupted Prince’s rant about how Dame Elizabeth Taylor and Macaulay Culkin were his god parents. “It is after two a.m.”

I motioned to the slumbering Paris and Blanket.

“We’re too excited to sleep!” Jonas declared, hugging me tightly around the waist.

“Hey, where’s Rusty?” Skylar asked suddenly, peering around the car. Rusty was nowhere to be found. “Is he riding with the guards?”

Beside me, Michael leaned his head against the window and murmured something about choking Rusty and ditching the body.

“No, he’s watching the crowd at the hotel. Making sure it’s safe for us to go there.” I replied, reaching and tapping the boy’s chin gently.

“I bet there’s a million, billion, trillion fans there!” Jonas threw his arms into the air. “Michael’s got the most fans in the world. He is the King of Pop!”

“Ain’t it the truth!” Skylar held out his hand and Jonas high-fived him. “And he’s our friend!”

At that moment, from somewhere, Michael’s phone began playing The Blue Danube loudly.

It was a mad scramble as he shuffled to pull it out his pocket.

“Hello? Rusty?” He questioned. I watched as he squinted, trying to understand his assistant on the other end.

“Rusty! What? I can barely hear you!” Michael took the phone from his ear and turned the speakerphone.

The sound of a dull roar filled the inside of the car.

“What on earth is that?” I demanded, shocked.

“…I said the crowd here has doubled!” I just managed to make out Rusty’s shout.

“Oh my God!” Michael placed a shaking hand to his mouth. I was stunned.

There were over a thousand people at the hotel for Michael? This was rapidly getting out of hand.

“Michael it’s ugly over here. There’s police form three counties here trying to do crowd control and at least fifty kids have already fainted!”

“Oh God!” Michael gasped, and Rusty’s speech once again faded as a loud bellow began emitting over the phone.

“Rusty?” He shouted into the receiver.

I wrung my hands nervously in my lap. Fans were already fainting and Michael Jackson hadn’t even shown up yet? Just what kind of mayhem was ensuing at the Paradiso Verde Hotel?

I noticed that at the admission that things were getting so far out of hand, that Jonas, Skylar, and Prince had gone silent.

Looking around the car, I saw that all three boys were intently staring at Michael, faces somber. Paris and Blanket were still sleeping soundly, and I was glad that they had no idea what was happening.

My heart throbbed as I recognized the expressions.

Worry.

The boys were worried.

I knew that little Prince probably still hadn’t gotten over the crush at Aiken’s so long before and Jonas and Skylar, probably had never experienced anything like this in their short lives.

Leaning against Michael and clutching onto his free hand as a show of support, I could only listen as the frantic wail over Michael’s small silver phone became louder--as if Rusty were walking towards the Jackson-minded mass--and I was able to clearly hear a chant.

A chant a thousand voices strong:

“We Want Michael! We Want Michael! We Want Michael!”

For the first time that night, Michael turned and looked at me.

My heart twisted when I saw his eyes. Widened and glassy, Michael’s eyes were filled with unaltered, pure fear.

His hand in mine, went cold and clammy. It began trembling as he continued to stare at me.

Michael was frightened. My Michael Jackson was frightened.

I knew I had to do something. I just had to.

I snatched the phone from Michael, and near dropped it as it was covered in perspiration from his sweating hand.

“What are you doing?” Michael hissed at me as I mashed the device to my ear.

I cast him a serious glance and he instantly understood. He gave me a stiff, yet approving nod.

“Rusty! Rusty Ross! Can you hear me!” I cried into the phone.

After much garbling, it seemed that the screeching and wailing over the phone was becoming subdued.

“Who is this?” I heard Rusty yell. “Michael?”

My mind was burning, but I’d rather have a headache that a stampede at the sight of Michael.

“It’s Brynn! Listen to me Rusty--where are you?” I called.

“What’s going on?” A sleepy voice whined and I saw that Paris was rousing from her slumber.

“Shh!” Prince swiftly pressed a finger to his sister’s mouth and began whispering at her, explaining the situation. Her light eyes grew in wonder at the tale.

“Brynn! I’m in the parking garage! Where the hell are you at?” Rusty shouted.

“Tell him we just got off the exit for Pasadena, we’ll be at the hotel in about thirty minutes.” Michael rapidly informed me and I relayed the message for Rusty.

What Rusty said next chilled my blood.

“You guys better put the petal to the metal! I already got attacked by a fan! She scratched me good before the police got her off me…I’ve never seen anything like this. My God…” Rusty’s voice was overridden by what sounded like a woman shouting.

“Rusty! Answer me!” I begged. “Are you okay?”

A long scream, I couldn’t tell whether it was Rusty or not, shook the phone in my hand, and the line went dead.

“Oh my gosh! I hope he’s okay…” Paris whined, nervously chewing on her nails.

“Somebody scratched Rusty? Dang…” Jonas remarked sedately, and shook his bald head sadly and poked out his bottom lip.

I sat a moment, clutching the phone. Even though Rusty and I weren’t bosom buddies, I certainly didn’t want him to get hurt.

“Oh Lord. I didn’t know it was going to be like this. I didn’t. Oh Lord.” Michael, reaching over Jonas, patted at my hair.

His hand was shaking so fiercely, I thought it was going to get tangled in my free-flowing locks.

“Michael, have you ever seen anything like this? Over a thousand fans?” I whispered, handing the phone back to him.

“Once…” Michael gulped and peered out of the window at the night. “Right after Thriller took off. My brothers and I were on the Victory tour--you know in ‘84--and we were playing a city. I don’t remember the town, they all looked the same to me.”

He paused and his entire body quivered as he heaved a forlorn sigh.

“I remember being in my hotel room, and looking down on the crowd. I know it sounds cliché, but it was truly a sea of faces. My brothers and I were watching the news coverage on the TV in our room. And I remember that the reporters were talking to these kids. Gosh, there were so many kids there that had skipped school to come see us…”

Michael paused, running his hands through his own curly locks. He had a dreamy, faraway look to his eyes.

“I remember they were talking to the kids at the front of the police barricade. And there was this girl. Couldn’t have been much older than you Brynn. A sweet girl named Abigail ,with this huge, curly red hair. Even had on the Billie Jean jacket. It was the ‘80’s. I remember she was just saying how much she loved me and my brothers and tried singing our songs…and then it happened…” Michael trailed off suddenly, and the wistful expression in Michael’s eyes dulled, giving way to a downtrodden one.

“What…what happened?” I whispered, grasping his hand in mine. It was so icy, you’d have sworn Michael were sitting in a meat freezer.

Michael gulped and turned to stare out the window. “She’s singing Beat It, and in the middle of the chorus, somehow the barricade came down and everyone was rushing forward. I was looking right at it on TV. That poor girl fell down and people were stepping on her…squishing her. Right on camera. The camera man got knocked down too. So, so many people…” In the reflection in the car glass, I could see that tears were running out of Michael’s eyes and wetting his cheeks.

I squeezed his hand and put it against my cheek. It was all I could do to keep myself from bursting into tears.

The car fell silent.

My heart was thudding in my ears. Michael had witnessed one of his own fans being trampled by others? On national television? It was too much to think about.

Finally, Skylar broke the silence.

“Mike…that girl…did she die?” He murmured timidly.

Eyes watched, ears strained at Michael.

I shivered as Michael replied. “No…but she did get a broken leg. I wasn’t able to visit her in the hospital because it would have turned into another scene, but I did send her flowers and spoke to her on the phone. And the amazing thing was, this girl wasn’t angry with me at all.”

“Angry? Why would she be angry with you?” I blurted. Why would Michael want her to be angry with him?

“Yeah!” The kids--minus a sleeping Blanket--echoed me.

Sniffling loudly, Michael answered,

“Because the people that stepped on her were people there to see me. If I hadn’t been there, she’d have probably been in school or someplace safe.”

“Michael, no.” I said tenderly. Standing in the car, I scooted Jonas out the way and took the seat next to him.

Gripping his slim shoulders gently, I said,

“Mike, you can’t stop your fans from coming to see you. They love you. They made you--you said that yourself. They just want to support you and show that they care. And what happened with that Abigail woman was twenty years ago…I’m sure no one else will get hurt.”

“No one else will get hurt?” Michael repeated sharply, whirling around and gaping at me so fiercely that I shrank back. “Brynn, you were here! You heard Rusty on the phone! Someone scratched him. And then he screamed like a banshee…he might be hurt right now!”

“Michael, I’m sure that Rusty isn’t hurt too bad. If he was, someone would have called us by now!” I offered. I had never seen Michael this worked up over something. (Not even when he was mad at Prince.)

I was truly worried.

Peeking out the window, Michael called,

“Scottie, where are we?”

Scott, who was driving us, called back.

“We just got off Highway 105, Mr. Jackson!”

“Stop the car!” Michael put his arms up.

“What?” I exclaimed as Scott slammed on the brakes bringing us to an abrupt halt on the shoulder of the highway.. I could hear the brakes of the car carrying the bodyguards behind us squealing to avoid hitting us.

I watched, shocked as Michael fumbled with the door handle for a few minutes and finally flung his door open.

“Michael! What the hell are you doing?” I cried as he loosened his seatbelt and slid out of the car.

Nearly throwing myself out behind him, I managed to clutch onto his thin arm.

“Where are you going?” I begged as Michael proceeded to yank me out of the car and I landed on the warm pavement.

“Brynn, please!” Michael ripped my fingers from his arm, and jogged around the front of the car and off the road--which thank God was all but deserted--and off into the thicket of trees next to the road..

“MICHAEL!” I screamed as Jonas, Prince ,Skylar and Scott jumped out of the car to help me up. Scott shone a flashlight on me until I was upright.

“Where is Daddy going?” Paris asked as she and a now fully awake Blanket hopped out of the car.

“Miss McAllister, what happened? Where’s Michael going?” Luke cried as he and the other bodyguards came running up to us from their car.

All of them seemed stunned that Michael Jackson had just ran off.

“Michael’s upset! Oh God!” I pressed my hands to my face, still not fully believing that Michael had just up and left.

I knew I had to act quickly because with each passing second, Michael was getting further and further away.

“Guards! I want all of you to stay with these kids! If Rusty calls back, tell him we’re on our way. Scottie…” I reached out and grasped Scott’s bulging arm.

“Scottie, I want you to come with me. We have to find Michael. Come on!” “But Brynn! We wanna help!” Prince shouted as Scott and I started to leave.

I ran over and hugged the child to my chest. “Prince, you can help--I want you to pray!” Looking over the concerned faces of the children, I advised,
“You all pray until we come back! You hear me? Pray!”

As the children knelt alongside the road with the guards, I took off into the thicket with Scott.

“I can’t believe that Michael just up and ran away like this. I don’t believe it.” I lamented as Scott and I made our way down an overgrown trail that was thick with tree roots and fallen limbs. “Michael! Michael answer me!”

“I’m sorry Miss McAllister. I really am.” Scott apologized, flashing his light across our feet. A jackrabbit hopped out of our way.

“Have you ever seen him do this before? Just run off? This is damn dangerous! Running off into the woods at night!” I wrung my hands nervously. Only God knew where Michael was, and I hoped like all Hell that he was alright.

“I haven’t seen it, but there are older guards who say they saw him do it once before. When Sammy Davis. Jr. died, they say Michael took off and they didn’t find him for six hours. When they found him, he’d cried himself to sleep in a tree on the east end of Neverland. Saddest thing I’d ever heard.” Scott puffed and shook his head, blonde dreads swaying.

I nibbled on my bottom lip. Was this what lay ahead of me? Combing the wilderness for who knew how long, only to find Michael passed out in a tree like a beaver? My poor Michael. My Michael.

A few yards in, I came to quick stop. “Scottie…listen.” I whispered lightly, holding my hand up to stop him.

I could just barely make out the sound of someone crying, a few feet away.

Taking the flashlight from Scott, I instructed, “Stay here…if I need you, I’ll call you.”

Picking my way down the sloping path, I quickly found a sign of life:

Seated at the base of a large redwood tree, curled with his back to me, was Michael.

My eyes welled at the sight of him.

He was hunched over, entire body shaking as he sobbed.

“Michael?” I said delicately as I approached him. I’d never seen Michael so completely distraught.

“Brynn! Please go away! I don’t want you to see me like this! Please!” Michael put his hand up, waving me away.

I dropped to my knees in front of him. He was convulsing he was crying so.

“Michael please…I want to help you, Talk to me…” I whispered, dropping the flashlight and cradling his wet face in my hands. It was extremely hot to the touch. Almost feverish.

“What is wrong? Are you scared of the crowd? Are you scared they’re gonna hurt you? Michael you have seven big guards to help us and more police than Cops have!” I assured him, brushing tears from his soft cheeks. It hurt my soul to see Michael so out of sorts. “You’ll be fine. You’re Michael Jackson. You’ll be taken care of!”

Peeking at me through a sheet of saltwater, Michael’s face, contorted and red.

“I’m not worried about me!” He sneered. “I’m worried about you, and the children! Rusty already got hurt. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. When I think of Abigail, I think about you--a nice sweet girl, caught up in a situation she can’t control. A victim caught in something she can’t control! I don’t want you to get hurt! I love you!” Michael collapsed against me, clutching me tightly.

I could only hug him. I was stunned beyond speech. Michael was carrying on because he was worried about the safety of everyone else. That was so like Michael. Think of everyone else, putting himself last.

“Michael…it’ll be okay. I promise…I promise Baby.” I pecked the top of his curly head as he leaned against me. “It’ll be okay.”

“I just love everyone so much….you, Prince, Paris, Blanket, Jonas and Skylar…and I want you all safe. And if the crowd is a thousand strong…oh Lord…” Michael hiccupped, and his tears ran down my arm.

I continued clinging to Michael.

“I love you too…It’ll be okay…”

I vainly wished that everything would be truly be okay.

* * *

Forty Five Minutes Later

About Twenty Blocks From The Paradiso Verde Hotel

Downtown Pasadena, California

“…I’m telling you Michael. It’s ugly as sin over here. Sorry my phone cut out earlier…” Rusty’s voice crackled over the receiver of Michael’s phone once more. “…while I was talking to you, a man passed out and fell on me.”

The roar of the crowd was still at a fever pitch and we could just make out what he was saying.

“Are…are you okay?” Michael questioned timidly, holding the phone up to his mouth. Just looking at him, I could tell he was drained. Pale and fragile, he wore a pair of dark Armani aviators to hide his still-reddened eyes. His mouth was a bare pink line.

“Oh yeah,R lucky for me, the guy was skinny.” Rusty chuckled.

Seriously he added, “A few squad cars have been dispatched to escort everyone to the hotel. They should get to you soon. I just hope you can get in the garage. God.” Rusty sighed unhappily and I noticed that Michael’s bottom lip began quaking.

Taking the phone from Michael, I replied. “Thanks Rust Bucket, we’ll see you in a few.”

“Yeah…” The phone line clicked off.

“Michael are you okay?” Skylar wondered, scratching at his red hair.

As Michael mumbled incoherently, I answered,

“Yes, he’s just had a rough night, Honey. He’s a little tired that’s all. We’ll get some sleep at the hotel.”

“How are we gonna sleep? All those people hooting and hollering.” Jonas poked my shoulder.

The Jackson Trio voiced their agreement.

“I dunno…” I shrugged. I wondered if a person could even get in a catnap with a thousand people shouting at them.

“Um, pardon me, Mr. Jackson?” Scott putt in from the driver’s seat.

“Yes?” Michael questioned weakly, reaching up and tapping the tip of his upturned nose--a clear sign he was still filled with trepidation.

“Sir, I see some police cars heading towards us.” He replied and glancing over the Jackson Trio’s heads, I could see two Los Angeles Police Department and one Pasadena Police Department squad cars rapidly approaching us on the open stretch of road on the outskirts of the town.

Their red and blue flashing lights were on, but the siren’s were not.

It was like watching a movie in slow motion, just seeing the lights without any sound.

“Wow-ee! Real cops!” Skylar exclaimed, twisting on the seat and staring out the front window.

All the cars came to a stop right there in the middle of the road and stretched all over the highway, like left over toy Hot Wheels. I felt bad for anyone who happened upon this impromptu road block.

I figured that maybe three or four policemen would be escorting us to the hotel.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong!

I could feel my jaw dropping as the doors to all the squad cars opened and fifteen policemen exited the vehicles.

“That…that’s a lot of cops.” Jonas pointed out as the men, all dressed in dark blue and grey uniforms complete with glistening brass badges on their breast pockets began sauntering over to our car.

Scott quickly made himself useful by jumping out the car and opening the door for us.

And there we all gathered on the side of the road, a motley crew of sorts. Michael in shades, a black button down shirt with a white arm band and black trousers, everyone else in tank tops and jeans and a group of cops and security men.

The policeman leading the pack approached us, a large grin on his face. He appeared to be in his late thirties with a highly freckled face--even more freckled than little Skylar’s--and a shock of platinum blonde hair in a buzz cut. Thick white blonde brows hung over his bluish-grey eyes.

He extended a large, rough red hand at Michael.

“Hello Mr. Jackson. My name is Officer Hank McKinney. I’m with the LAPD--Precinct 128. It’s a pleasure to meet you Sir.” He greeted Michael warmly and behind him, the other officers grinned bashfully at Michael. And with due cause, they were in the presence of the King of Entertainment, for Pete’s sake!

Michael, for the first time that night appeared to be calm. He reached out and shook Officer McKinney’s hand as warmly as he did one of his brothers’.

After Michael had introduced everyone (me strictly as a friend!) to the group of officers, and all fifteen had introduced themselves in a flurry of handshakes and smiles, I got down to business. The salutations and gallantries were nice, but we had a tremendous situation at hand.

“Officer McKinney…” I started quietly. I didn’t want to do or say anything that would warrant a .357 magnum to be pointed at me. “…what can you tell us about what’s happening at the Paradiso Verde? We’ve conversed with Rusty, Michael’s assistant, and he says it’s pretty bad.”

“Mmm-hmm!” Michael agreed and I felt his clammy hand on my back.

“Oh man…” Officer McKinney’s happy face, quickly became grim at the mention of the Paradiso Verde.

“Miss McAllister, it is quite a scene over at the hotel. As Mr. Ross has probably informed you, there’s well over a thousand people there. But we are getting the crowd under control. Around sixty people have passed out from the heat and just plain screaming too much…paramedics are working that angle. We’ve made about three arrests tonight--”

“Three arrests?” Michael interrupted, waving his hands in alarm. “Who got arrested?”

I knew that the last thing he wanted to think about was something that could make the situation even more hazardous.

“Um, Mr. Jackson…” Officer Tonkawa, a beefy Asian man with a reddish dyed hair stepped up along side Officer McKinney. “We apprehended the woman that scratched Mr. Ross, and we also took in two paparazzi who were trying to get inside the hotel. Very simple, cautionary procedures. Nothing to be worried about Sir.” His eyes twinkled as he beamed at Michael.

As Michael quietly mulled over the exchange, I pushed.

“Will we be able to get into the garage safely? As you can see, we have all these kids with us, and we need to get to a place where we can all get to sleep.”

Officer Tonkawa gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“I’ll give you personal promise that you’ll get into your hotel safely.”

“That’s good, cause I’m sleepy!” Prince announced and everyone laughed.

God it felt so good to laugh.

If only the feeling lasted.

* * *

　

Twenty Minutes Later

Five Blocks From The Paradiso Verde Hotel

“We Want Michael! We Want Michael! We Want Michael!”


Mayhem.

Hysteria.

Madness.

It was the only way I could even begin to describe the scene surrounding the Paradiso Verde Hotel.

People.

There were so many people crowding the downtown streets of Pasadena.

The hotel wasn’t even in view and yet, the motorcade of police cars and Michael’s and the guards Escalades had slowed to a caterpillar’s crawl.

“We Want Michael! We Want Michael! We Want Michael!”


This was truly a Michael Jackson fan crowd.

Everywhere I looked, I saw men, women and children of all ages wearing white and rhinestoned gloves, black, white, and brown fedora hats and even a few sequined renditions of the Billie Jean jacket.

It was like something I had only seen on TV, in newsreels from Michael’s Thriller, Bad and Dangerous days.

Lining the sidewalks and spilling halfway into the street were legions of screaming fanatics, being held at bay be metal barricades, reinforced by a human chain of policemen, all linking arms.

Around them arms stretched displaying everything from handmade posters declaring love for Michael to posters emblazoned with the image of his face.

Every so often, on the pavement, I’d see a person laid out on the ground, on a gurney in an “I Heart Michael” shirt, obviously the causality of a faint, being tended to by frazzled paramedics.

The screaming was loud and when it became apparent that the Escalades passing by at a snail’ pace was carrying the man that everyone wanted to see, all Hell broke loose, wicked and wild.

Police sirens blared and police demands were barked over garbled bullhorns.

“MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL!”

The chant hit a frenzied pitch. Looking through the dim glass, even in the pre-dawn hours of the morning, the fans were insatiable.

Gloved fists waving, tear streaked faces contorted, voices shaking the heavens.

“Man…that’s…that’s a lot of people…” My attention reverted back to the happenings inside the car at the speaking.

I saw that Jonas was pressed up against the window of our now darkened car interior. His eyes were wide with wonder.

I glanced around the car; all the children were peeking curiously out the windows, surely not being able to comprehend what was going on.

All the children except Blanket were looking out the windows.

Blanket was cuddled in Michael’s lap, arms thrown around his long neck, hiding his face, in his father’s hair.

My heart sank. The poor boy was frightened again.

Michael was patting at the boy. His face was ashen.

“MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL!”

“I love you Michael Jackson!”

From seemingly nowhere, a woman, about Michael’s age, clad in a Dangerous tour shirt slammed against the passenger side glass, sending Jonas flying into my lap. All the children gasped in surprise.

I held him against me and began reciting Hail Mary’s at breakneck speed. I noticed that Jonas was also saying them.

“Oh my God!” Michael peeped as the woman held her hand over her eyes trying to peek inside and jogged to keep up with the car.

Banging on the glass, I heard her call,

“Hi Michael! Michael! I love you!”

Her eyes were wide with passion under her long coppery bangs.

“MICHAEL!” She screeched as an officer appeared behind her and began to take her down to handcuff her. “Michael! Help me! Michael!”

Came the beg as we passed her by.

“Wow, she just got arrested!” Skylar shook his head, eyes glassy.

“It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay!” I heard myself say.

I don’t think I even believed it anymore.

The closer we got to the hotel, the worse it got.

By the time we were within a block of the Paradiso Verde Hotel, a large building constructed of green marble--hence the name--the motorcade was barely moving.

There were people crowding the car on every side. Pushing the car until it was rocking!

People were reaching around each other, shoving each other out the way, trying to peer into the van, and once they spotted Michael, they began pounding on the glass so hard I thought it would break.

The children seemed consumed with anxious gasps.

“MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL!”

As far as the eye could see, sobbing, elated, and even fearful faces were pressed against the glass, waving and shouting. I even saw a Michael Jackson doll being pressed against the glass with such force that much to his owner’s dismay, he broke apart.

My heart was skipping Hopscotch in my chest. It appeared that we would never make it to the garage under the hotel.

It seemed that as some people saw Michael, and freaked out even more, somebody would shove them out the way, and take a glimpse. It was truly an unending cycle.

It was an eternal struggle and the car rocked once more, when a large male fan, easily four hundred pounds if he was an ounce, began fist fighting with a couple of Pasadena cops.

On the other side of the car, two Michael Jackson look-a-likes, both coincidentally wearing red Beat It jackets engaged in their own war fare, resulting in one of the men unfortunately getting his curly haired wig snatched off and tossed to the ground.

Beside them, a cop was snatching a camera from a paparazzo.

“People aren’t supposed to fight.” I heard Paris remark from where she was clinging to Prince. He sat clutching Skylar’s hand tightly. Everyone seemed to be silently supporting each other.

I don’t know why, but I remarked,

“Well it could be worse.”

“Yeah? How?” Michael challenged next to me, cradling a whimpering Blanket.

“Well…nobody would show up.” I shrugged over Jonas who was still praying.

“Hee-Hee.”

I jumped at the sudden sound. Over the din of wailing I heard it.

Michael Jackson was laughing.

Not a cute snicker, but a full blown, full bodied, loud cackle.

“Thank…thank you Bunny!” He continued to chortle, bumping his shoulder against mine lovingly. “I needed that!”

With Michael’s sudden laughter, it was as if a release valve had been pressed on the inside of the car and suddenly the tension that had threatened to make the car burst seemed to be oozing away like a primordial sludge.

Everyone seemed to become more relaxed.

It made my heart sing to see that Michael was finally, finally, at ease.

After what seemed like an eternity shrouded in screams and cries, the motorcade started making its descent into the lighted underground garage of the hotel.

The police officers were really doing their jobs. Even though we’d gotten in a mad crunch in front of the hotel, by the time we started going underground, most of the people had been pulled and shoved away from the vehicles.

About five Asian people--perhaps the aforementioned people from China--were running behind our car, madly waving a Thriller poster as our car sped up and left them in the dust.

“I can’t believe it. We actually made it into the garage in one piece!” I giggled, reaching and pulling Michael against me in a warm hug, squishing Blanket between us.

“Thank God!” Michael replied and gave me a soft peck on my cheek.

After such a bumpy night, I felt even closer to my Main Man.

“Hey look! There’s Rusty!” Prince exclaimed, pointing.

Following his thin arm, I saw that near an open freight elevator, standing with about ten of his own police men, was Rusty.

Never had I been so happy to see Rusty Ross.

And never had I see Rusty look so razzed. The man must have gone through Hades.

We weren’t even that close to him and I could see that the jacket of his grey suit was ripped, one of the sleeves missing. His tie was completely shredded and his shirt hung open.

As we rode along towards him, everyone in the car--even steel-willed Scott--uttered a gasp.

On Rusty’s bare chest, a large piece of gauze had been taped to him. It ran from right between his fuzzy pink nipples almost to his belly button.

It was obvious that the woman who scratched him had really gotten him. Spots of blood seeping through the gauze were visible.

It was with a sigh of relief when our cars finally came to a stop and once the area was absolutely secure, Officer McKinney opened the door and personally helped everyone out.

“Damn man! I never thought you were gonna come!” Rusty called rushing over and slapping Michael on the back.

“Rusty, are you alright? That looks nasty…” I observed, picking at the bandages concealing his wound.

“Yeah, did you get scratched, or cut?” Jonas wondered, clutching at my hand.

“Aw, it looks worse than what it really is.” Rusty shrugged it off. “I’ve had worse, really…”

“Well I’m glad that everyone is alright.” Michael remarked bouncing a now cheerful Blanket on his slender hip.

“Yeah man.” Rusty laughed. “Come on, everything on the nineteenth floor is ready for you. The concierge said he’s meet you up there. He says he’s scared of the crowd.”

We chuckled as we started towards the large elevator.

Then a sound made my spine twist with sheer terror.

“MICHAEL!”

From somewhere, I heard a girl’s voice--in close proximity--shout.

Everyone spun on their heels, trying to pinpoint the source.

Darting from around the cars, was a girl, running frantically towards us. She was in her late teens, maybe a couple of years younger than me.

She was actually kind of cute, with long dark hair, held on top of her head by a white butterfly clip, that matched the white Bad tour tee-shirt she wore.

She was waving her arms wildly to catch his attention.

Tears were streaming from her wide, brown eyes as she scampered towards her idol, two police officers struggling to keep up with her.

As she got to us, Officers McKinney and Tonkawa, immediately stepped into her path and grasped her arms, lifting her up, kicking and flailing.

“Michael! Michael please! I love you! Please! Just let me touch him! Please!” The girl pleaded red-faced, struggling against the obviously more powerful cops. “Please! I’ve come so far! Please Michael!”

“Brynn.” Michael said coolly and gently handed Blanket off to me.

I stared at him in wide eyed wonder. No he wasn’t about to…

“Hank, Yoshiro, it’s okay. It’s just one girl. Let her loose.” Michael asked politely as the girl continued fighting.

“Are you sure Mr. Jackson?” Officer Tonkawa questioned.

“Yes.” Michael’s word was law and he was obeyed.

The girl was set back on her feet, and stood there a moment, seemingly stunned that she was about to meet her idol.

“Oh my God! It’s you! It’s really you!” The girl ran up to Michael, staring. Not really believing that she was in the presence of the King of Entertainment.

Reaching out and clutching his hand the girl gushed,

“Hi Michael! I’m Amanda Collingsworth! I came all the way from Tucson, Arizona to see you! Oh God! It’s Michael Jackson!”

With that she jumped into his arms in a tight hug.

“It’s nice to meet you Amanda.” Michael nodded and hummed, hugging her back.

My heart warmed at the sight.

Even though Michael had just been through one of the most stressful ordeals of his life, he was still taking time to meet with a fan.

“Oh my God! Michael Jackson is hugging me!” Amanda shouted and began to cling tighter to Michael. “I love you! I love you!”

Michael took it all in stride and replied. “I love you more.”

Amanda smooched his cheek loudly and began to cry once more.

“Michael said he loved…me….” She sobbed.

“Okay young lady that’s enough.” Officer McKinney advised, as it was quickly becoming apparent that the girl was holding onto Michael a bit too strongly.

As he went to pull her from Michael she clung to him tighter.

“No! No! NO!” She cried as she was pried from Michael. “Damn it, no!”

As she continued to howl in protest, Michael blew her a soft kiss and we were all ushered to the elevator.

“MICHAEL! MARRY ME!” Amanda called as the elevator doors drew closed.

Leaning against Michael’s shoulder, I heaved a sigh of relief.

Thank God we were all okay.

* * *

Later That Same Morning

Nineteenth Floor of the Paradiso Verde Hotel

I stood in the bathroom of my own room--one of about twenty-five that Michael had rented out --quietly brushing out my hair.

For the first time in several hours, I felt refreshed. Probably because as soon as the doors opened on the elevator to our reserved floor, everyone dove into the first rooms they could get their hands on and went to sleep.

I really had no clue as to what time it was. I was sure that by the time I had gotten up to take a shower and change into a nightgown it had to have been late morning. If not sometime in the afternoon!

I glanced around the bathroom with a content smile.

Michael had once again selected an absolutely extravagant five store hotel to hang his hat.

The entire floor was decorated in a style that Michael seemed to highly favor--the gilded, turn of the (last) century look. Certainly befitting of a man of Michael’s renowned stature.

My bathroom--as did every one on the floor--boasted black and white marble floors and dark polished wood furniture. A pristine white commode and bidet were tucked behind a privacy panel across the room from a large sunken tub, nestled on clubfeet. Next to it was a frosted glass enclosed shower, still steaming because I had exited it only moments before. Brass fixtures glittered all over and a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling.

The elegance didn’t stop in the bathroom. My bedroom was very lovely, decorated in deep shades of emerald green and gold.

(I had my own room because Michael wasn’t sure it was proper time to let Jonas and Skylar in on our little secret.)

But the best feature of the room wasn’t the tub or the super soft bed, it was the silence.

I just knew that Michael’s crowd of devotees--now numbering somewhere around fifteen hundred--were shouting their lungs out and yet, I couldn’t hear a single peep. The floor was soundproof. You’d have guessed all of mankind had simply melted off the Earth it was so quiet.

Michael really had covered all the bases.

“Bunny?”

I started slightly at the sound of my pet name.

Hovering in the doorway, clad in a pair of navy blue pajamas, was the man himself.

Michael Jackson.

His pale face glowed and a few strands of his hair, gathered into another messy ponytail, framed his face softly.

A soft smile was creasing his pink lips.

He was so handsome.

“Hi Mike.” I giggled, continuing to brush at my hair.

“Brynn, I wanted to talk to you…” Michael explained quietly, walking over to me, his bare feet slapping on the floor.

Stepping behind me he took a hold of the brush and began stroking my hair gently with it.

“What about?” I questioned, staring at his reflection in the gold-rimmed mirror. I noticed that Michael wasn’t looking directly at me, just down into my hair.

“Well…” He huffed. “I wanted to thank you for all you did last night. You know, kind of taking charge of things when I got a little wiggy.”

“Michael…I’m your girlfriend. I’m supposed to pick up the slack for you. You’d have done it for me.” I squirmed under his compliment. It was nothing for me to help Michael. He’d done so much for me.

“Still it was a sweet thing and I appreciate it Honey.” Michael pecked the top of my head softly.

“I like that gown you’re wearing…that ivory color is very becoming on you.” He commented and reaching around me, set my brush on the counter top.

“Thank you Michael.” I looked down at my own bare feet.

Patting my shoulders, Michael’s voice was barely perceptible.

“Are you wearing underwear?”

“What?” My head snapped up at the inquiry.

Had Michael Jackson just asked…

I quivered as he bent behind me, dark eyes glowing with a mixture of mischief and adoration and his moist lips bumped my ear.

“I said, are you wearing panties?” He repeated and pecked my cheek. Drawing a shiver from me.

Just what did Mr. Jackson have in mind? ( And I was dying to find out!)

Suddenly flustered at the naughty question, I mumbled,

“Yes….yes I am.”

Hand on my arm, Michael slowly turned me to face him.

I dared a peek up at him; he wore a large mischievous grin across his sexy face.

What he said next sent shock waves through me.

“…take them off. I wanna see you take them off.”

I stared up at Michael, admittedly speechless. I had never seen Michael this outwardly sexual. And truth be told, the sudden showing of Michael’s inner porn star was doing a major number on my hormones.

A zealous tremble shook my heart. Michael was nibbling shyly on his bottom lip, in anticipation.

He took a couple steps back, watching anxiously, I lifted up the bottom of my gown and began peeling off my small pair of underwear.

“Slowly…slowly….” Michael instructed, putting a large hand up, to stop me from simply stripping them off.

After a few tense moments of soft pushing to get them over my slim hips, the cream colored fabric fell at my ankles with a sigh.

I timidly stepped out of them and slipped them away with my toe.

I stood silently, not really sure if Michael wanted me to make a move or not. I hadn’t felt this shy around Michael since the first night we had “been together”.

“I like that.” Michael pointed out, breaking the silence and began loosening the buttons on his top. A moment later the blue fabric cloth fell from his upper body and his creamy, smooth chest and abdomen were exposed.

“You’re so pretty Brynn…” Michael confided and I could feel my jaw sagging as he reached up and began tweaking his small, rosy nipples to full ripeness.

The man was toying with his nipples!

I didn’t know what the hell had gotten into Michael, but I hoped it never got out! For Michael to be this open, this tawdry…I didn’t know what to think.

Swaggering deliberately, Michael approached me once more.

“You’re my little chocolate Bunny.” He whispered, pinching my cheek and I noticed excitedly that he was dropping to his knees before me.

I know that Michael wasn’t….!

Fingering the lace hem of my gown, Michael continued,
“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while, and wasn’t sure if you were ready….you know, if you could quite handle it. But after all you did last night….I think anything is possible.”

I flinched as Michael’s large hands clasped my thighs and began pushing my gown up.

Eventually my lower regions were exposed to him.

I put a hand to my mouth in shock…

Michael Jackson was going to make a meal of me!

The man was freakier than I had ever envisioned.

“You look so cute from this angle….gosh.” He chuckled, taking his index finger and slowly wetting it with a flick of his sharp pink tongue.

“Michael--wait!” I started and banged into the countertop as Michael, using one hand to push my soft folds back, began poking at my “love button” with his damp fingertip.

“Oh!” I gasped as Michael’s long slim finger disappeared inside of me.

Michael then lifted my left leg so that it rested on his cool, smooth shoulder.

“Michael please!” I begged, as I watched him heavily moistening his lips.

Face hovering around…me, Michael commented,

“I can’t wait to taste you….”

With that, Michael’s steamy and damp mouth collided with me.

“Oh my God!” I cried out nestling my hands in Michael’s curly mane as he began slowly moving his finger in and out of me, his tongue swabbing areas of me I didn’t know existed. His small nose was bumping all around me and I could hear him inhaling….smelling me.

Taking in my scent.

His free hand clamped on my thigh as I bounced against him.

“Michael…Michael!….Mike!” I moaned tossing my head back and banging it against the mirror as Michael took the liberty of sucking loudly on my “button.”

It was a pleasant pain.

“Please! Stop!” I wailed, reaching and clutching down on his hand.

As the rate Michael was going, I was going to unleash a torrent in his face.

For a bare moment, Michael took his lips from me and I could see a devilish smile curling his face and he continued working his finger around.

“Come on….come on Brynn. Shamone…” He urged nastily and I saw beads of perspiration springing on his brow.

He was staring deeply into me, eyes shining with wanton.

This blatant act of nastiness was almost too much.

“Ugh…oh Michael….ugh!” I could feel tears starting to well in my eyes as he continued to dig away inside me.

I was so close….so close to the end. So close.

Too close. Too fast…

I wasn’t ready yet. It had never been like this before.

The feeling…the feeling….

Overwhelming….

“No!…No!….No! No! No! NOOOO!” I whipped my head from side to side as I felt myself succumbing to Michael’s dirty actions.

A warm wetness spilled from me and giggling giddily, Michael greedily swooped in, partaking of the carnal mess.

He was slurping!

A wet and sticky hand gently pushed my thigh off his shoulder.

I stood on shaky legs and leaned against the washbasin for support.

I was speechless.

I just couldn’t believe it.

Michael Jackson, the King of All Things Conservative, had just performed oral sex on me!

It was almost too much for my poor mind to process.

And yet there he was, timid as ever, sitting on his heels on the floor, licking at his damp fingertips.

“Did you like that Sweetie?” He asked putting his hands into his hair and drawing the elastic in it out, causing his curls to tumble around his bare shoulders.

Body bouncing down to my soul, I merely nodded. It was all I could do to keep from screaming. So many emotions were gnawing at me--desire, elation, arousal, surprise.

“What…what made you do that?” I whimpered as Michael climbed to his feet and bent to retrieve his pajama shirt.

So many unanswered questions….

Straightening back up, Michael winked at me.

“We’re a couple…and I told you, couples are supposed to do naughty things. And besides…” Michael paused and put his shirt, but left it open.

“I’m not as timid as I appear…” He started for the door and stopped.

“I’m going to bed…shamone.” He opened the door and exited the bathroom.

I stared after him.

Michael Jackson not as timid as he seemed. It was quite a thought.

But once again, in my world, nothing quite made sense.

A large grin wrapping around my head, I jogged after Michael.

* * *