A Few Hours Later
Master Suite
Paradiso Verde Hotel
“….I’m telling you George, it is sheer pandemonium outside the Paradiso Verde Hotel here! Over fifteen hundred fans have all but shut down the road and surrounding areas for one man. And that man is the King of Pop, Michael Jackson! It is Thriller-mania!…”
“Golly, fifteen hundred people? That’s even more people than what were there last night--right?” Jonas questioned timorously from where he, the Jackson Trio, Skylar and I were all lounging casually, still in our sleepwear on the large Prussian rug between the foot of the huge canopied bed in Michael’s master suite bedroom and the wall containing the flat, sixty inch plasma screen television. (It was surrounded by a thick gilded frame, like a fine painting.)
Glancing at the bald boy, who was staring up at me expectantly I gave him a nod. I was more interested in watching the news broadcast on Michael’s being in Pasadena, rather than confirming the obvious to a kid.
The on the scene reporter, from the local Pasadena station K-PAS, Barbara Wiggins was at the forefront of the wriggling, glittery mass that was the sea of fans for Michael. Every shot that the roving cameraman took in featured the tear streaming, adoring faces of people of all ages, races and creeds wearing elaborate copies of outfits featured in all of Michael’s music films and performances, from an elderly gentleman well into his seventies wearing the black suit and bow tie, clearly ripped from Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough to a little girl, no older than maybe three in a pint sized pink version of Michael’s iconic Thriller jacket. The kid seemed aloof; I wondered if she truly realized the magnitude of the situation, that her mother, holding the child, in a matching jacket, had thrust her into.
Even Barbara, the reporter, had gotten in on the act, wearing a copy of Michael’s Black or White ensemble, from the white tee shirt and white over shirt to the black trousers. She even wore the white brace on her right arm.
She was quite pretty actually, and could have pulled off the look with a sort of amateur MJ look alike air, had her hair not been Barbie doll, platinum, artificial blonde.
And it wasn’t just Barbara who had dolled herself up in a Michael Jackson get up for the event. Nearly every news channel on TV was covering Michael at the Paradiso Verde.
If anything else happened in the world in the last thirty-six hours, I doubt it got reported on. All the local channels had Michael covered, as did all of the heavy hitters in the television journalism world: CNN, Fox News, NBC and MSNBC all had correspondents canvassing the area. Even my favorite TV journalist, Soledad O’Brien was there, in a vintage Victory tour T-shirt, interviewing devotees.
Barbara had located another fan to interview.
It was a girl, who couldn’t have been much older than me. She seemed calmer than most fans, the group around her were shouting and crying, and she was just grinning up a storm, and holding up a heart shaped cardboard poster, a picture of Michael pasted into the center of it. It sparkled with multicolored glitter.
The girl herself was dressed in a yellow button down shirt, over a white tee and black trousers, with a white ribbon cinching her tiny waist. (An obvious nod to Michael’s The Way You Make Me Feel look. )
Her hair, in an edgy black bob, was covered with a small black fedora.
Barbara Wiggins immediately shoved her microphone into the girls’ face. It was quite a feat actually, because she was held at bay by the human wall of police officers.
“What’s you name young lady?” Barbara all but shouted to be heard over the mash made by the fans once they realized they had air time.
“I’m Mya Daniels!” The girl replied happily leaning until her mouth bumped the microphone. I detected a something like a British accent from her right off the bat. How far had she come to see The King of Entertainment?
“Hello Mya! How old are you and where are you from?”
Barbara turned and winked at the camera.
“I’m seventeen and I came all the way from Auckland, New Zealand to see Michael! Woo!” Mya whooped and the people around her screeched.
“People are coming all the way from down under to see you Honey!” I giggled, turning and beaming at Michael, who was seated Indian-style on the large bed behind the rest of us.
I wasn’t sure if he’d heard me or not, he was so intently watching the news. I knew he wasn’t really paying attention to the fan. He was more into just how much the crowd was expanding with each passing hour.
His face was set, eyes solemnly flicking across the screen.
He already had Rusty in another room on the floor, hastily wrangling more security.
I turned my attention back to the television,
“…what made you come all the way from New Zealand to see Michael Jackson? Why’d you travel half way around the globe to see him?” Barbara inquired gaily, tossing her hair.
Green eyes widened and dancing in her head, Mya replied with a shaking of her poster,
“Cause he’s just great that’s why!”
Drawing a zealous shout from the other onlookers, she leaned and smooched the picture attached to her poster, a headshot of Michael from the cover of his Bad album.
Chuckling, obviously amused by Mya’s enthusiasm, Barbara kept dropping questions on the girl.
How long she’d been a fan (since she was two) , what her favorite album was (a tie between Bad and Dangerous) and what her favorite feature on MJ was (after a flurry of giggles, she admitted she liked his “little booty” the best.)
And then Barbara Wiggins asked the question to end all questions:
“…so Mya, you’ve been out here since about five a.m., have you actually seen Michael Jackson yet?”
The people surrounding Mya appeared the inquiry as a group question and everyone began commenting that none of them had seen him. That they’d merely seen his car surrounded by a pack of police.
For a moment, the camera switched from Mya and pointed up to the Paradiso Verde street front (Michael’s balcony actually overlooked the mass) and it seemed for a scant second that they were waiting for Michael to appear.
Raising her voice to the point it was almost tinny, Mya was just barely audible,
“…I’d love to see Michael, even if just for a few seconds. Anything…”
With that soft and heartfelt confession, Mya began to quietly sob.
As onlookers and Barbara the reporter began to coo at her to calm her, I became aware of the sound of the springs of Michael’s bed gently squeaking.
Whirling around on my ass, I saw that Michael had stood and was hastily fastening the buttons on his still open pajama top.
“Hey…” I started when I noticed that Michael was hastily running his fingers through his tousled hair. “…what are you doing?”
Glancing at me, and the kids who were now staring curiously at him, Michael replied softly,
“There’s a little girl crying outside ‘cause she wants to see me, so, I’m just going to go to the window for a moment. It should make everyone down there happy.”
“You’re going to the window? To wave at the fans? No way! I wanna watch!” Jonas, Skylar and Prince quickly hopped to their feet, followed by a stumbling Paris and Blanket.
A sweet grin creasing his face, Michael offered giddily, “Would you kids like to go on the balcony and wave?”
As the kids roared their response, I heard Michael add with a titter,
“You too, Brynn Sweetie.”
Climbing to my feet as Michael began ushering everyone under eighteen towards the windows, I mumbled,
“Michael, I can’t…”
“Huh? Why?” A confused expression began clouding Michael’s deep, glistening eyes.
I felt a mischievous smile creeping across my face.
“For the last thirty-six hours you’ve been trying to keep sensationalism to a minimum and I know that all the news crews out there will have a cow if you appear at the window--with me--and we’re both wearing sleep clothes. They’ll have a flying filed day.” I pointed out as I made my way across the cool marble floor to him and busied myself fiddling with the buttons on the front of his shirt.
I could only imaging the speculation that would come from Michael’s being in my company…coming out his boudoir in the middle of the day and us both in our bed wear. Even Jonas and Skylar didn’t yet know that Michael and I were a couple. The boys were still under the assumption that I was merely Michael’s protégé, friend and nothing more.
It’d certainly shoot Michael’s “Oh, she’s dating my nephew” ploy down in flames.
At the realization that he could have easily and unwittingly outed himself in front of every major news distributor in the United States and most of the television watching world, Michael looked down over the excited and expectant faces of the kids and winked at me.
“Guys, I think we should all go put on some real clothes. I mean there’s a lot of media down there, and you wanna look your best. Put on some clothes, comb your hair…” Michael began steering everyone towards the doors that lead to the main hallway.
“I don’t have anything to comb! I’m bald!” Jonas whimpered as I helped Michael scoot the kids out the door.
Whining about having to wait to wave to the masses, the kids all began to retreat to their rooms.
“Quick thinking Brynn, that’s the second time you’ve saved my backside. Thank you.” Michael whispered, pulling me close and pecking at my forehead softly.
“Don’t mention it. The most important thing to me is helping you with your image and your career and anything else that you want me for.” I nodded, my knees buckling as I gazed up into his sweet, loving eyes.
There was just something so warm and peaceful in Michael’s eyes. Something so innocent, that I just wanted to care for him in any and everyway I could.
About thirty minutes later, Michael’s bedroom was once again milling with excited children.
The children were definitely little billboard for Michael, each one wearing an oversized shirt with his face emblazoned on it and black jeans. (Each shirt had a shot of Michael from each era, Off the Wall through Invincible) I wondered if they had picked the ensembles themselves or if they’d been laid out by someone else. (Michael?)
A simple black mask concealed each child’s face.
I was dressed as sedately (by my own choosing mind you) in an oversized white tee shirt with “Michael” splattered across it diagonally in a bright red. I finished the look with skinny blue jeans and red ballet flats.
My hair was smooth and held back on one side with a red hair clip and of course, my face was smothering under cosmetics. I wasn’t sure if the people on the ground would be able to tell I was wearing any, but I wasn’t going to run the risk of anyone thinking I was younger than what I already was.
“Hey, do you think my mom will see me on TV when I wave?” A voice asked and I felt a hand gently tugging my wrist.
Looking down, I saw that Jonas was at my side, beaming up at me.
He was obviously proud that the was going to get some air time with Michael Jackson.
“Yeah, Sweetheart, I’m sure you will.” I nodded, reaching and patting his bare head.
“Where is Daddy, I wanna go wave at the people!” Paris exclaimed, stomping over to me, and placing her hands on her waist. Her foot, enclosed in a black sneaker tapped impatiently.
“He’s in the bathroom, he’s still getting dressed. We have to wait.” Prince said matter-of-factly as he and Skylar strolled over, pulling a thumb sucking Blanket in tow.
Sniggling, I heard Skylar allege under his breath,
“As long as Michael’s taking, I bet he’s pooping!”
I don’t know what it was with kids and the mention of a bodily function, but the room erupted in laughs. I can’t lie, I was giggling too.
As the laughter waned, the main doors, across the room opened, and Rusty, followed by Scott, Bo Luke and two other body guards came lumbering in.
“Hey, Rust Bucket, what’s shaking?” I chuckled, bending down and picking up Blanket who was reaching at me.
Rusty, a serious glint in his cool blue eyes walked up to me.
“Where’s Michael at?” He counter asked, shaving his hands into the pockets of his grey pinstriped suit.
The guards greeted me with polite smiles.
“He’s poo--” Skylar started and I shot him a disapproving glance. This wasn’t the time for foolishness.
Smiling broadly, the boy instead began whistling.
Looking back at Rusty, I quickly answered, “He’s in the bathroom, still getting ready. What’s with all the guards?”
“They have to be here, Michael is about to make a public appearance on the balcony and anything can happen. We don’t want to leave anything to chance, Brynn.” Rusty explained, turning and starting over to the bathroom door.
Jiggling Blanket on my hip, I stumbled behind, him, the rest of the kids following me.
“Rusty, we’re on the nineteenth floor! Nothing could possibly happen up this high.” I shook my head and tried to put Blanket down.
He continued clinging to me.
“Oh yeah, tell that to JFK and John Lennon.” Rusty mumbled and ran a hand through his hair.
“Wait a minute? What?” I demanded. Why the hell had Rusty just named two famous people who’d been shot?
I tried to put Blanket down. “Prince, get your brother now!” I nearly shrieked and Prince quickly seized his sibling from me when he realized I was starting to get mad.
The children stood silently watching.
“Rusty, why did you mention JFK and John Lennon? If somebody out there is trying to hurt Michael, you damn well better tell me, or I’ll hurt you myself.” I put my fists in front of me, ready to do a battle royale with Rusty. If something was up with Michael, I wanted to know first and foremost.
I glared at the guards behind him.
“If you big lummoxes are holding back, don’t think because I’m thin I won’t jam on y’all either. Now somebody talk. Is something up with Michael?” I demanded.
Much to my displeasure, the guards remained calm faced, and continued staring straight ahead.
Rusty sighed loudly. “Damn it Brynn. No, there’s nothing wrong at the moment. We just do this as a precaution. You know it’s insane down there. And besides, you’re what? A hundred and five pounds soaking wet? I’d kill you if we fought.” He chuckled. “Furthermore, I don’t hit women.”
Rolling my eyes and fluffing my hair, I corrected him,
“I weigh one-oh-one.”
“Well excuse the shit outta me.” Rusty shook his head and tapped the door.
“Mike you okay in there? It’s Rusty.”
From inside, I heard Michael reply, “I’m almost done!”
I heard a toilet flush and behind me, the kids snickered.
“Did I lie?” Skylar gloated.
“Shut up with that, Carrot-Top.” I shook my finger at the boy, not really mad. I was just relieved that there was no real threat.
A moment later the door to the bathroom slowly swung open.
And Michael Jackson emerged.
“Gosh…” I heard myself murmur.
By comparison everyone else was severely undressed to Michael. The kids and I in our jeans, the security in khakis and even Rusty in his suit all were barely dressed compared to him.
Michael was clothed effortlessly in a light grey silk shirt, buttoned to the top with a diamond crown pin at the throat, black rhinestoned sprinkled trousers with a heavily stoned belt cinching his slim waist.
Even his feet glittered in rhinestoned covered boots.
Michael’s hair, in waves, cascaded around his shoulders. The look was completed by a pair of aviators on his face. All he needed was a single white glove.
Was Michael merely going to wave, or was he going to perform? This was more concert wear than casual wear.
“You all look so cute.” Michael commented, clasping his hands in front of him and walking over to us, pausing alongside me to smooch my cheek lightly.
“Um, Michael….” Rusty began, reaching out and tapping onto his boss’ slim shoulder.
“Yes?” Michael tilted shades and peeked at him over the tops of them. Heavily lined eyes fluttered.
“We’ve got everything together for your appearance. The balcony outside is wide enough for you and Brynn and the children to all be on there at once. Me, Bo, Luke, Scott, Riley and Joel will be just inside the doors if anything happens--we hope it doesn’t. And you know you got cops from all over the state canvassing the area on the ground. You’re pretty much secure man.” Rusty assured him as we walked over to the closed double doors that led onto the large balcony.
“That’s good. I think it’s a good thing to let them see me for a bit, right?” Michael smiled shyly and placed his hands on the shiny brass knobs of the door.
“Yeah man.” Rusty nodded.
“This is so exciting!” I heard Skylar chatter behind me.
A sudden wave of nervousness swept me I only hoped that everything would be alright, and that nobody would really think that I was anything more to Michael than a friend.
“Are you ready Mr. Jackson?” Bo questioned from behind us.
“Yes.” Michael replied and flipped his hair over his shoulder. “I’ll go out first and then I’ll motion for Brynn and the kids. Understood?” He instructed.
“Yes sir!” The guards chorused.
With that, the Michael pulled the doors open and bright sunlight spilled into the room, warming all of us and bathing us in a shimmery glow.
I squinted for a minute, as Michael, now in silhouette, moved out onto the balcony, timidly.
At the sighting of Michael, the screams down below reached an even higher pitch than what I’d heard in the motorcade.
“Oh my God! Listen to that crowd! Dang!” I saw Jonas hugging Paris excitedly.
“I feel like a star man!” Skylar, face matching his hair with enthusiasm exclaimed to the person closest to him--Rusty.
I watched, admiringly with my hands clasped to my chest, as Michael began to wave and blow kisses at the crowd.
“Whoa! Look at that!” My attention was drawn from My Man at Prince’s sudden shouting.
Turning, I saw that the boy was standing in front of the television, staring.
I could feel my eyes widening at the scene on the screen. People screaming and shouting and jumping around ad against each other at the sudden appearance of the King of Entertainment.
The human police barricade was struggling to maintain their footing.
It seemed nearly impossible.
Much to my surprise, Mya, the seemingly cool-tempered girl I had seen a short while earlier, was now being piled onto a stretcher. She clung limply to the paramedic holding her, and seemed a few moments away from a full on faint.
Just as they were strapping her into place, behind the medic, I saw another woman drop into a heap along side the road between the spread legs of a cop. Clutched in her hand was a copy of the Invincible CD.
As a cop stooped the help the woman, a male fan, in his mid-thirties, hopped clean over the 5-0 and started to make a mad dash at the front of the building.
Right on camera, the man made it about five steps before what seemed like and entire police force jumped on him and cuffed him, and struggling and cursing, they carried him away.
“Psst! Hey Brynn!” I felt a hand clamp down on my shoulder.
I looked up into Rusty’s nervy face.
“Michael is motioning for you to lead the kids onto the balcony. Go on!” He announced and grabbed the two children nearest him, Paris and Blanket and shoved their tiny hands into mine and I was being pushed towards the open doorway, Jonas, Skylar and Prince scampering to keep up with us.
I saw that Michael was grinning broadly and waving me on.
“Come on Honey!” He encouraged as I brought his children outside and we all grouped together near him on the wide, marble terrace, that was flanked by two large, gothic gargoyles.
“Ooh-wee! Dig that crowd!” Jonas and Skylar were already peeking over the edge, and waving like they were the celebrities. And since they were in Michael Jackson’s company, they kind of were.
I watched as all the children went immediately to the railing of the balcony and began waving.
I hung back a bit, feeling a bit nervous.
This was my first actual, true appearance in Michael’s company.
“Come on Bunny” Michael’s warm hand was gripping my wrist and pulling me up alongside him.
A warm breeze blew softly as I got the railing, Michael placing an assuring hand on my back.
I forced myself to look over the side.
“Damn!” I gasped, eyes mounting in size.
Everywhere I looked below me, I saw a wriggling, mingling mass of faces, all colors all sizes jumping, waving and hooting.
Here and there, I could see a huge banner proclaiming love and adulation for Michael.
A crowd fifteen hundred strong. So many people that I couldn’t see the street.
Police and ambulance sirens blared and lights flashed.
Flashbulbs popped like fireworks.
Michael was King and he definitely had his subjects.
And a chorus, fifteen hundred strong was chanting one name:
“MICHAEL JACKSON!”
“There’s so many people here, all for you…” I commented, raising my hand and waving limply.
“That’s life Bunny…and I love everyone of the people down there. They made me and I appreciate them all. Even that guy they’re arresting.” Michael sighed and pointed at another man being tossed into the back of a squad car.
“You’re one-of-a-kind Mikey baby, one-of-a-kind.” I snickered, starting to finally feel at ease. And it warmed my heart to know that Michael truly cared about everyone of the screaming teenyboppers down there.
And then came the suggestion.
“Brynn, I have a special thought.” Michael confided, bending to pick up Blanket, who was giddily blowing kisses to the masses.
The crowd roared even louder. ( I doubted he’d hold his son over the barricade like he done a few years earlier when Blanket was an infant.)
“Yeah? What?” I grinned out at the crowd and even blew a kiss.
“Bunny, how would you like to go down and maybe pick two or three fans to come up and say hello? I’d like to meet a few of them.” Michael’s patted my back softly.
“Say what?” I could only stare at him. Michael Jackson was sending me down there, into the eye of the proverbial storm, to pluck some fans loose to meet him?
Was that why he was dressed like this was the Grammys?
“Are you sure? Who do I pick? There’s so many people.” I whispered, gazing back down at the screaming jumble.
“Just pick someone that looks like fun. Not somebody too, too wild though. Hee-hee.” Michael tittered.
No one too wild. Sure.
I looked at the crowd once more.
That’d be like finding a needle in a haystack for sure.
* * *
North Parking Garage
Paradiso Verde Hotel
Twenty Minutes Later
“…leave it to Michael to take a difficult situation and make it even more harder…the things I do…” Rusty lamented through gritted teeth as he, Scott, Luke and I quietly made our way through the mostly empty garage, making our way to the street.
And for the whole time, Rusty Ross had been complaining once he got out of Michael’s earshot. And I was rapidly growing tired of his moaning.
“Rusty, could you put the brakes on your incessant bitching for about five minutes? Geez. Michael is trying to do something nice, and you’re acting like he stuck a live grenade up your butt. Shut up.” I sneered up at him and flipped my hair arrogantly.
“Brynn! That man is throwing us into the belly of the beast! How in the hell are you gonna pick someone out of fifteen hundred people? Should we hold auditions?” Rusty scoffed and shot him an icy glare. “If I were you, I’d put my hands on the first people I see.”
“Forget it you Seacrest drone! Michael specifically asked me to find somebody suitable and I plan to do that. And you better stifle yourself before I lay my hands on you.” I warned, wagging my finger at him.
“Whatever.” Rusty shook his head.
“Mr. Ross! Miss McAllister!”
Turning from Rusty, I saw that an old friend, Officer Hank McKinney was jogging towards us. A few feet behind him, another cop, a huge black man with an S-curl and thick mustache was trying to keep up.
“Hi!” I smiled waving at them.
“Hello, Rusty Ross, Brynn McAllister, meet my working partner Officer Mark Kristopher.” Officer McKinney smiled.
“Nice to meet you.” I greeted Officer Kristopher, shaking his hand.
As he shook hands with Rusty, Officer McKinney continued,
“Mr. Jackson asked us to escort you and Mr. Ross out to the street to select some fans. Please follow us.” Taking my arm in his rough hand, Officer McKinney began leading us towards the opening of the garage.
I was actually a bit shocked. Michael had pulled four guards to just walk me to the street?
At first I thought that Michael was just being his usual slightly over protective self.
That all changed when I actually emerged on the street.
“We Want Michael! We Want Michael! We Want Michael!”
Screams.
That’s all I remember.
Screams, shouts, chants, hysteria.
Pure hysteria.
There I was, little Brynn Sue McAllister, face to face with it all.
To be honest, it seemed more like the fall out after a disaster, rather than a fan gathering.
Looking around, I saw that policemen were still struggling to control the crowd. Some were still a living barricade, while more were riding by, mounted on horses, shouting over megaphones for order.
Their shouts fell on deaf ears and into the open mouths of the shouting, insatiable crowd.
“We Want Michael! We Want Michael! We Want Michael!”
“Stand back! Coming through!” A voice called and Scott quickly pulled me back as a paramedic, pushing a man with a busted nose on a stretcher came running past.
“Yo, Hamilton, what the hell happened to him?” Officer McKinney called as they went by.
The medic paused long enough to turn and shout back,
“Two guys got into it over one of Michael’s song. I don’t know all the details, but this guy got his ass kicked! The arrested the other dude!”
People were coming to blows over songs? What was I doing out there?
“Damn, it’s already hard enough trying to control a crowd like this and then your have a rowdy ones wanting to fight. I shoulda been a veterinarian like my Mama wanted me to be!” Officer Kristopher lamented as we began walking past the crowd again.
“…yes! I love Michael Jackson! He is so hot he makes my teeth sweat!” I heard a fan giggling into a reporter’s microphone.
I glanced at the girl. She looked a bit too wild to take to Michael. She had wild, curly blonde hair, streaked with pink and had Michael’s name scrawled all over her face in black eyeliner pencil. Not to mention the neon pink bodysuit she wore. (Without a bra, mind you!)
Yeah, she was a little too over the top for Michael.
“Michael! Michael! He’s our man! If he can’t do it, no one can! WOO!”
A group of elderly women were raising a ruckus.
Part of me wanted to take all these women, who looked like extras from The Golden Girls to Michael, but I used my better judgment. Maybe their fragile hearts might not have been able to handle the shock of meeting him.
“You see anybody worthy of the cause yet?” Rusty’s voice, hot and pungent, bounced against my ear.
“Not yet you dill weed, when I spot the right person, I’ll clue you in.” I sighed and moved ahead of him a bit.
His breath was kicking like a Rockette. Hadn’t he ever heard of a Tic-Tac?
Walking along, I passed by kid after kid, fan after fan, and yet, I didn’t really seem to get that vibe that I wanted to feel from a fan. The loyalty, the devotion. Sure it was there. Oh hell yeah it was there. But I had yet to see the magnitude and caliber of admirer I’d wanted to take to Michael.
And that’s when I saw it.
“…You‘re just the product of loveliness! I like the groove of your walk, your talk your dress!…!”
I could hear a man, clearly singing the lyrics to Michael’s hit, The Way You Make Me Feel.
His voice was so high and sweet, for a moment, I looked around, half expecting to see Michael coming from somewhere singing.
I had to find the source of that alluring voice.
Without warning, I took off running.
“Brynn! What the bloody hell are you doing?” I heard Rusty cry as I left him and guards to flee behind me.
I ran what had to be at least a block when I found the crowd.
Assembled in the middle of the street was a gathering of people forming a circle around someone.
Pushing my way through the crowd, and probably being rougher than I should have been, I forced my way to the forefront of the crowd. I think I stepped on a policeman’s foot!
And that’s when I saw him.
A full fledged Michael Jackson impersonator was in the zone, still warbling off lyrics.
The man was tall and thin, with a complexion that was more olive than milky. Long, naturally curly black hair bounced over the man’s shoulders and was springing out of the ponytail it was gathered in.
The man was clad in a jazzy version of Michael’s TWYMMF ensemble, complete with a shiny blue satin shirt, skinny rhinestoned belt and black leather pants.
And of course the pristine white socks and loafers.
I was captivated a bit. The man so closely resembled Michael facially, that I wondered if the look was natural or “enhanced”.
He had high cheekbones like Michael and heavily outlined doe like eyes and even plump lips. His lips were a bit of a disaster. Michael’s lips were naturally pink and this man’s lips were a shade of frosted red. He’d obviously wondered into someone’s make up case for the color.
“Gosh, that guy’s good, isn’t he?” I questioned to the person nearest me, a girl about my age.
“That is my brother.” The girl informed me, proudly.
I stared at her. With her long, swirls of dark hair and happy brown eyes, it was easy to tell that she and the man were related.
The girl was dressed coolly in a red tee-shirt with Michael’s name in a white heart on the front and white jeans. She wore a black Kodak camera around her neck attached with a hot pink cord. I also noticed that draped around her shoulder was the Italian national flag.
“You’re brother’s awesome. Brynn McAllister.” I introduced myself, holding my hand out to the girl.
“Hello! I’m Ashley Clementi. It’s nice to meet you.” She smiled. Ashley had a heavy accent. How far had she and her brother come to see Michael?
Glancing back at her brother I asked, “What’s his name?”
“Antonio.” Ashley giggled. “Would you like to meet him?”
“Sure.” I grinned as Ashley led me into the cheering circle where Antonio was spinning like a top.
“Antonio…” She started and spoke swiftly to her brother in pure Italian. I think I heard my name mentioned in there somewhere.
Antonio stopped on a dime facing us.
Taking my hand, he brought it to his lips and pecked it lightly.
“Hello Miss.” He grinned.
“Where do you guys come from?” I questioned as Antonio’s crowd dispersed and resumed cheering at the hotel front.
“We traveled all the way from Florence to be here. We love Michael and we try to go everywhere he goes.” Antonio ran a hand through his long hair.
“That’s cool.” I smiled.
“Yeah, we usually spend everything we have to come see him when we can afford to. But it’s worth it. Michael is just so great and yummy looking.” Ashley chuckled nodding.
These kids were perfect.
“Where do you come from ah, Brynn?” Antonio wondered. To say he sang in English so well, I was having a hard time deciphering his speech, his accent was so thick.
“I live in California.” I admitted grabbing a lock of my hair and twirling it.
“You live here in California?” Antonio and Ashley seemed shocked. “You are so lucky. I bet that you get see Michael Jackson all the time.”
“Oh more than you’d guess.” I giggled when I saw that Rusty and the other guards were running over to me.
“You are so lucky.” Ashley shook her head. “I got to see Michael when he came on the balcony. And then a girl fainted and knocked me down. By the time I got back up, he was gone. But I saw all his kids too. It was sweet!”
“Brynn, what is your main problem? Running off like that? Are you crazy?” Rusty admonished as he and the guards finally got to me.
The cry went over my head.
“Rusty, I’d like for you to meet Ashley and Antonio Clementi. They came all the way from Florence, Italy to see Michael. Ashley, Antonio, say hello to Rusty Ross.”
Ashley’s eyes bulged in her head. “Rusty Ross? He’s Rusty Ross?” she pointed at him.
“Yeah, that’s me.” Rusty nodded and I beamed as red flags in her head started going off.
“But he works for…that means…” She stared at me. “You’re with…you’re the girl from the--” Ashley started to scream out that I was the girl on the balcony with Michael, and using his better judgment, Antonio quickly covered her mouth with a large hand.
“Are you really who you say you are?” Antonio raised an immaculately plucked eyebrow.
“Yes.” I nodded and at the confirmation, Ashley began flailing wildly against her brother at the realization that she was conversing with someone from Michael Jackson’s inner circle.
“What is it that you want with us? I’m not in trouble for singing his song, am I?” Antonio’s eyes were wide as he continued to keep his sister quiet.
“On the contrary my friend.” I chuckled. “He asked me to select a couple of people to come up and say hello. How would you and your sister like to come up?”
Ashley finally broke free and reached out and frantically grabbed my shoulders. Shaking me to the point where my head bobbed, she shrieked,
“Yes! Take us there. Please! Please!”
Taking her hand in mine and grabbing her brother’s with the other I turned to Rusty.
“I want to take these two people back with me.” I told him.
“You sure?” Rusty cautioned running his hands through his hair.
“No, I’m just yanking your chain--yes these nice people!” I rolled my eyes at him. Why did that fool always have to question my judgment?
“Fine, just don’t run like a madwoman this time. Come on.” Rusty and the guards crowded around us and we started making our way from the parking garage.
Antonio and Ashley walked along glassy eyed and wordless. I believe they were just to incredibly shocked that their dream had come true.
Once we got into the safety of the garage though, they found their voices.
“I just can’t believe it! I get to meet Michael Jackson! Me, Ashley Marie Testolini Clementi! It’s too much!” Ashley dropped my hand and sank to the cool pavement, resting on her knees.
“Holy Hell” I heard Rusty grunt under his breath.
“How do you know Michael Jackson? Do you work for him?” Antonio was much more sedate as he bent over to help pull his sister to his feet.
“Yeah, I do…um, he and I are working on some music together.” I admitted looking at the rosettes on the tops of my shoes shyly.
“You’re singing with Michael Jackson!!” Antonio, stunned by the news, let go of Ashley and she plopped back down on the ground.
Officer Kristopher stepped in and yanked her to her feet.
“Yeah.” I nodded.
“Oh my God, you must really be good if you’re singing with Michael. He always has the best people on his side. The man is a genius.” Antonio laughed and clapped his hands together.
“Are you dating Michael?” Ashley asked pointedly, and behind me, Rusty groaned.
Oh no! I had never expected this question from a fan.
“Please excuse my sister. She thinks everyone is dating Michael.” Antonio glared at Ashley and she stuck her tongue out at him in defiance.
Time to throw out the “Taryll” card.
“I’m not dating Michael. He’s very sweet, but he’s just my friend. I’m actually dating Michael’s nephew Taryll.” I replied quietly and tried not to let on I was lying.
Ashley screamed, “You’re dating Taryll Jackson? Oh my God! He is too fine! You really are so lucky! I‘d die if I was dating a Jackson! ”
I heard Antonio mumble under his breath, “I wonder if LaToya is single…”
Now that Ashley was situated on her feet, we proceeded to the freight elevator and started our ascent.
“God, I hope I don’t do or say anything stupid. I’ve wanted to meet Michael since I was seven years old. Oh Lord.” Ashley whimpered before crossing herself and reciting a prayer. In Latin.
“So how old are you kids?” Officer McKinney asked as Ashley continued praying.
“I am twenty-six years old and my sister is twenty-two years old.” Antonio replied with a grin.
“And you’re from Florence, Italy? That’s quite a jump kiddo.” Officer Kristopher guffawed.
“Yes Sir. My sister and I were raised in Sicily and then in Crete and we moved to Florence to go to university. And now here to see Michael. I can’t believe that I get to see Michael. Me, Antonio Alonzo Gianni Rudolpho Valentino Testolini Clementi! Thank you God!” Antonio raised his hands above his head and then reached out and hugged me. “And thank you Brynn! You are a true friend!”
“No problem Antonio Alonzo Gianni Rudolpho Valentino Testolini Clementi!” I chuckled. “Is that really your full name?” I wondered.
“Yes Miss.” Antonio laughed.
His laughter was abruptly cut off when the bell dinged signifying that we had reached the nineteenth floor.
“Y’all ready?” I asked as the doors to the floor slid open.
A lone figure stood in the hallway.
Skylar.
His mask was crooked on his grinning freckled face.
“Oh you’re back!” He chuckled goofily before turning and running back to the Master Suite, shouting,
“Hey Michael! Brynn’s back!”
“Was that Prince? I thought he had blonde hair.” Ashley inquired as we stepped off the elevator and into the hallway.
“Wow, this place is pretty.” I heard Antonio comment.
“That wasn’t Prince. That was Skylar, his friend.” I explained as Skylar returned to the double doors of the Master Suite.
“He’s coming! He’s coming!” The boy cheered before disappearing once more.
Ashley began rattling off prayers in Latin again.
Rusty offered a valid piece of advice.
“Just be calm. Michael is a normal person. Just be calm.”
And to this piece of advice, Antonio replied with a convincing smirk.
“Michael is not normal Sir. You and me, we’re normal. My sister, Brynn. They’re normal. Michael is a musical genius and if he were normal he’d be down on the ground cheering at another star. Normal didn’t make him a star. Michael is something special Sir. Something, someone very special.”
And it was so true.
My heart ached at the thought. My mind drifted to the thought of The Other Man, and my head spun.
Michael was indeed someone very special and I was happy that Prince was on the other side of the globe in Minneapolis.
He could stay there.
Antonio’s words hung in the air.
“Hi.” A soft falsetto broke the silence that was cloaking us.
Looking up, I saw that Michael, in all his shining splendor had appeared in the doorway.
“Oh Jesus Mary and Joseph. It’s Michael!” Antonio’s voice, now a shaky whisper was muffled as he brought his hands to his face in amazement.
“I promised myself I wouldn’t cry…” He whimpered as his eyes welled and the tears made their way down his sharp cheeks.
Michael started slowly sauntering over to us, his long lean form swaying.
Looking over at a now silent Ashley, I saw that she was just staring at Michael.
Mesmerized.
“Who are your friends Brynn?” Michael asked, stopping close to us and a smile creased his delicate features.
“Michael, I’d like for you to meet Antonio and Ashley Clementi. They came all the way from Florence, Italy to meet you.” Rushing over behind Michael I said,
“Ashley and Antonio, this is Michael Jackson.”
“Mr. Jackson, Sir. It is a true honor.” Antonio, fully weeping, snotted, reaching his hand out and grasping Michael’s.
“It’s nice to meet you too.” Michael’s timid side was showing.
“Sir, I have looked up to you since I was a small, small boy. You are the ultimate entertainer Sir. Your dancing, your singing. I have all your music. You make wonderful, wonderful music Sir.” Antonio embraced Michael.
“Well thank you. You’re very kind Antonio.” Michael tittered and let go of Antonio who was still sniffling.
Michael then approached Ashley.
“Hello Ashley.” He extended his hand.
Ashley continued staring at him.
“Ashley?” Antonio wondered, rubbing at his eyes.
And then down she went.
Everyone kind of jumped back as Ashley’s pretty brown eyes rolled back in her head and she topple down to the ground with a faint THUD.
“Holy shit! She fainted!” Rusty exclaimed as he and Officers McKinney and Kristopher dropped to their knees next to the girl and started waving at her. Fanning her, patting her cheeks, trying to revive her.
Antonio offered no help, besides standing there, looking stricken as Michael squeaked,
“Gosh! Is she okay? Let me see.” Walking over Michael dropped to his knees and began smoothing her hair back with a large hand.
After a moment, the girl’s eyes fluttered open.
At the sight of Michael, she gasped.
“It’s you. It’s really you Michael! I love you so much!”
Reaching up she wrapped her arms around Michael’s neck and hugged him close to her.
Michael returned the favor by squeezing her back.
“I love you more.” Michael giggled.
Ashley leaned back and for a moment, softly pecked Michael’s plump lips.
“I love you. I love you Michael. You’re wonderful.” She confided, as happy tears started springing from her eyes.
“You’re wonderful too.” Michael chuckled getting up and pulling Ashley to her feet.
“I’m sorry I fainted. It’s just so exciting to meet you. You mean so much to me and my brother and all the fans. We just love you so much Michael.” Ashley shook her head as more tears spilled forth.
And I think that ten minutes later, Ashley and Antonio were loving Michael on a pink fluffy cloud floating around Heaven.
Michael had posed for pictures with the Clementi siblings, issued a signed photograph to them and given Ashley another kiss. Introductions to all the kids…
And just as quickly as they had come, the Clementi siblings were gone. Back on the elevator and back down to the real world.
The real world.
I barely knew what it was any more.
And as different and complicated as my life already was, it was about to become even more so.
* * *
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