Chapter 32

Chapter 32

The Following Morning

I awoke with a rude start.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the bright, almost cheerful beams of sunlight pouring in through the open windows of Michael bedroom.

Glancing around the room, it almost seemed normal.

The Jackson Trio’s toys scattered about the floor, a video game projected on the large plasma screen TV, a half eaten Twix candy bar on the nightstand.

It all seemed, so truly, painfully, normal.

But one quick look across the room at Michael’s scarlet and gilded throne, and anyone could tell that something was amiss, if not downright chaotic.

Clad in a thin white t-shirt and black silk pajama bottoms, Michael was curled up in the massive seat, sound asleep.

A Louisville Slugger baseball bat was clutched in his smooth, pale hands tightly against his chest.

At the sight of Michael wielding the weapon, I stared down at my lap a mixture of grief and shame thundering over me.

The dancing Spongebobs and Patricks on my own pajama bottoms smiled up at me.

As I continued to look at the silly cartoon characters the events of the previous night began replaying in my mind like a record on a hellish broken player.

It seemed unreal, a nightmare that the likes of Wes Craven could only dream up.

After fully explaining to Michael that Prince had taken me away from Neverland--not the other way around--I had been led up into Michael’s boudoir where he proceeded to spend the following three hours all but lecturing me on not to be afraid to scream if I’m ever being abducted again.

(And as sneaky as Prince was, it wasn’t that big a stretch of the mind.)

Michael had even spoken of hiring a bodyguard for me.

Then came the rush of sadness.

Michael talking about how he was so worried, and scared for me to be away with Prince.

How he didn’t trust That Damn Man.

Michael asked me about twenty different times if Prince had violated me in anyway.

“Did he try to kiss you?”

“Did he try to touch you?”

“Did he try to force himself on you?”

“Did he threaten you?”

I believe that if he could have gotten away with it, he would have dusted my body for Prince’s fingerprints.

I knew that for five hours, Michael’s mind had been fevered and woolgathered with images of Prince’s diminutive body on mine, his stiletto boots in the air as he committed all sorts of unspeakable and lewd acts on me.

I had spent half the night tearfully confirming, reaffirming and reaffirming the previous confirmation that Prince I had merely driven through LA and Malibu, and that nothing obscene had occurred.

(Of course I left out the tidbit about Prince prancing around in the pond in a few spare threads of underwear. And that fact that I had joined him in my undergarments.)

Michael’s worry then gave way to pure, pulsating, unabashed anger.

I don’t think Prince will ever know just how alarming close he had come to sweeping his pearly whites up with a broom and picking a black loafer out of his backside.

Prince had a nauseating habit of nursing an unwelcome visit within an inch of death.

And he almost had a multiple orgasm when it came to plucking Michael nerves he got so much pleasure from it.

I noticed that when it came tine for Jimmy to bring Prince his beloved Beemer, instead of getting in the car and merely exiting, like any other normal human being on the planet would have done, Prince instead got into his car, cranked the stereo system somewhere between “Loudest” and “Bleeding Eardrums” and began blaring his song, My Name is Prince, almost as a proclamation against Michael that he couldn’t be touched.

Oh how he had almost gotten touched.

And punched.

And kicked.

And slapped.

I had been dragged halfway through the house, clinging to Michael’s hips trying to stop him from running out of the house and kicking Prince off the globe and onto Mars.

Michael would have gotten out the front door if, by some angelic force, he hadn’t tripped on a Barbie doll that Paris had left on the floor.

Sure, the doll got decapitated when Michael stepped on her, but better Barbie than Prince!

It took three body guards, all larger than Jimmy--who knew you could Super Size people?-- to tuck Prince into his car and see him off property.

They followed Prince to the gates in straining golf carts, just to make sure he was gone.

It was ten minutes before I was no longer able to hear his car stereo.

Somewhere in the middle of the din, the Jackson Trio were begging Michael, from their rooms, to stop the noise so they could sleep.

That’s where the Louisville Slugger came into play.

(The Jackson Trio really needed to stop leaving their toys around.)

Michael got to the door right as Prince sped out of Neverland, and found the baseball bat.

It was another cat and mouse chase to try to catch him as he ran, bat in hand, in a fruitless effort to catch Prince, and hit a home run across his forehead.

For as thin a man as Michael Jackson was, it took two of his beefy guards to restrain him and bring him back into the house.

To my dismay, I saw in a second story window that his children were watching the scene, a look of fear on their faces that I had only seen once before--during the clash at Aiken’s Jewelry Store.

I didn’t want the children to see their father like that.

Nobody should see their father like that.

And I had been sick the rest of the night.

I looked back up at Michael, still snoozing and cradling the baseball bat the way Blanket snuggled his favorite teddy bear.

Even Prince wouldn’t have been crazy enough to try to come back and take me from Michael, not from his bedroom.

Not unless he suddenly got an over whelming urge to try to breathe around a rhinestone glove as it pulled his spinal cord out through his eye.

I slowly, and tiredly rolled out of bed and walked up to Michael.

Gazed down at his fair, smooth face, as he snored softly.

His tendrils tumbling around his shoulders.

He was so sweet, and nice and unassuming.

It hurt me so badly that he was caught in the fight, and not really knowing what he was fighting for.

Like a soldier at war, he knew he was in battle, but the real struggle wasn’t happening in the foxhole.

It was on the home front.

It didn’t seem true at all.

I had a man ready to beat the holy shit out of another man with a wooden--not aluminum--baseball bat over me.

And the man was Michael Jackson.

And the other man was Prince.

Michael Jackson was trying to protect me.

Brynn Sue McAllister.

Trying to protect me from what Michael hailed as the Threat to Intimacy, Prince.

And once again, Michael didn’t blame me for anything other than being the victim of Prince’s hot perversion.

I found myself, kneeling at Michael’s side, inches away from his little pink toes.

I don’t know, maybe my subconscious was making me get down and almost beg Michael for his forgiveness.

I didn’t feel worthy of even kissing Michael’s little tootsies…

And yet it seemed like the right thing to do.

Kiss Michael’s feet.

At least to start the process.

I had been so wrong, done so wrong.

Treated Michael so horribly.

My lips hovered near his toes.

“Brynn? What are you doing?”

A voice asked suddenly and I jerked back on my heels, away from Michael.

Prince (Jackson) stood in the doorway, hands shoved deeply into the pockets of the Incredible Hulk robe he wore.

“Prince?” I gasped staring at the boy.

“Prince? What? Where? I’ll kick his ass!”

Jarred awake by my sudden utterance of his nemesis’ (and son’s) name, Michael hopped to his feet, bat clutched and ready to swing.

“Whoa!” Clearly frightened, Prince turned and dove behind the small coffee table in the center of the room that held an oversized chess set.

“Michael! Michael! It’s your son! Not Prince! Not that Prince. It’s your son!” I exclaimed jumping upright and placing my hands over the bat and trying to make him realize that he was about to strike his own flesh and blood!

“Yeah Dad!” Prince echoed from where he was peeking over the table top, blonde locks all over his head and falling into his eyes.

Michael took a quiet moment to glance from me to his oldest child, and back.

Even though he seemed calm, Michael’s eyes still had a wild glint to them.

“Give me the bat Honey, please. Prince is long gone. He’s probably halfway to Minneapolis right now.”

I could only hope that Prince (Nelson) was halfway to the Minneapolis.

“The only Prince here is your son.” I gently tugged the bat away from Michael.

Michael stared at me a moment longer, then crushed me against his body in a fierce hug.

“I’m going downstairs! Man, grown ups are weird!” I heard Prince call as he ran out of the room.

I knew that to Prince (Jackson) the hug appeared to be nothing more the an show of affection.

But I knew better.

It was him demonstrating that even though Prince might have taken me from him, that in the end, I was his.

It was Michaels’ equivalent of taking a victory lap.

Who knew that before the day was over, Prince (Nelson) was going to trip Michael up as he ran?

* * *

A Few Hours Later

“Wee-ooh! Wee-ooh! Firefighter to the rescue!” Blanket, dressed in a child sized version of a firefighter’s uniform came flying by me on his Granny Smith Apple Green bicycle.

“Ooohhh! Save us! Save us! Please!” Paris and Prince pleaded melodramatically from where they were splashing around in the shallow end of the swimming pool.

“I guess you really can buy a child anything his heart desires from Neiman-Marcus, huh?”

I giggled, squeezing alongside Michael on the deck chair he was lounging in.

Michael only replied with a shy chuckle of his own and sipped from the tall glass that contained his iced tea.

Another set of Not Over meetings had to wait until tomorrow, because after Prince’s little purple appearance, Michael was nowhere near in the mood to be stuck in a boardroom for endless hours.

A few feet beyond us, Rusty was dozing in another deck chair, the hand containing his Blackberry dragging the ground.

As Blanket made a show of tossing a small rope to his brother and sister, ‘rescuing’ them and pretending to give them CPR, I nuzzled closer to Michael, rubbing my nose against the soft flesh of his throat, taking in his musky, woodsy cologne.

He was finally starting to calm down.

So was I.

I liked the tranquil affect Neverland seemed to have on me.

On everyone.

No matter how mad or unhappy a person was, if they hung around Neverland long enough, they’d forget their troubles.

“Mikey, Baby?” I questioned, tucking a curl behind his peachy ear.

“Mmmhmm?” Michael mumbled taking another sip of tea.

“Do you have everything ready for Jonas and Skylar? Saturday is two days away.” I pointed out taking the glass from him and stealing a swig of tea for myself. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

I had an overwhelming need to do something, anything for Michael to make myself feel that he was satisfied with me.

Something besides just sit there in a light lilac bathing suit.

Michael gave me a cherubic smile.

It was like giving sugar cubes to a diabetic.

Seemed like a good idea, but ultimately hurt you in the end.

“No, Honey, everything is set. All I need you to do is show up with your Heal the World shirt on.” He giggled and pinched my chin.

“I can do that.” I grinned back at him.

“You’re so good.” Michael leaned and pecked at my mouth.

If only it were true!

“Ew!” I heard Paris call as Michael continued to kiss at me.

Leaning around Michael, I saw that the Jackson Trio had gathered close to us.

“Can’t I kiss your father in peace?” I asked, reaching and ruffling the little girl’s wet curls.

“Kisses are yucky! Cooties! Cooties!” Blanket chimed in pointing and the kids giggled.

“Kisses are yucky? Really?” I reached and grabbed the small boy in a hug onto my lap pecking at his round cheeks loudly.

“No Brynn! Hee-Hee! No!” Blanket screeched and laughed, flailing around in my arms.

Prince and Paris howled with laughter as I kissed on Blanket’s little face, knocking his firefighter’s hat to the ground.

“She’s got you now!” Michael teased as I finally let Blanket go.

He ran to his father, face red and still sniggling.

“Okay! Who’s next?” I exclaimed jumping up as the children tried to make a run for it.

“Not me! Not me!” Paris and Prince screamed, linking hands and storming towards the house.

“Yeah you!” I cried giving chase, running out of my clear flip flops near the house.

Prince and Paris were cunning little creatures.

Instead of blazing through the house as I thought they would, the kids split up, Paris going around the left side of the house and Prince around the right.

But that was alright. Catching one child was better than catching none.

And I knew that by far, Paris was a much slower runner than her older sibling.

Within a few moments, I had caught up to her as she was trying to open the front door to the main house.

“Ha-ha! Gotcha!” I whooped grabbing her around her waist and whirling her in the air.

“No cooties!” She snorted loudly as I set her back on the ground.

Holding her little face in my hands I kissed her damp forehead.

“You, Dear, are Cootie-fied!” I chuckled as she jumped up and down, whining. Not really angry though.

“I almost got away!” Paris persisted, placing her hands over her hips under the green and blue striped swimsuit she wore.

“Yeah almost!” I chuckled.

“Yahoo! I win! You didn’t get me!” Prince strutted over to his sister and me, chest poked out proudly.

“Oh yeah?” Running over to him, Paris leaned and smooched Prince’s cheek loudly.

“Now we’ve all got the Cooties!” He pouted crossing his arms over his chest.

“Excuse me, Miss McAllister?”

Laughing, I looked up to see one of the large bodyguards who routinely circled Neverland, keeping fans and paparazzi at bay.

He was also one of the guards who had seen Prince off the property only a few hours earlier.

“Yeah, Scott?” I giggled looking up at him as Paris threw her arms around my waist.

Pushing aside a couple of his (dyed) golden blonde dreadlocks, Scott replied solemnly.

“There’s a man at the front gate who’s looking for you. He says he has something for you and Mr. Jackson.”

“Something for me and Michael?” I repeated, vainly praying that Prince hadn’t been so haughty as to show his slim yellow face around our neck of the woods again. “Who is it?”

“Some doctor.” Scott narrowed his beady dark eyes as he tried to recall the name. “I think he said Dr. Mink or Dr. Link or something.”

I could feel my jaw dropping as Scott continued to mumble over the name.

“He sent Dr. Fink?” I spit out, not really conscious I was speaking and loosening Paris’ hands from my hips.

“Fink! That’s it! Dr. Matt Fink!” Scott grinned, not really understanding that he had unwittingly been cordial to one of His Royal Nastiness’ cohorts.

“Scott,” I placed my hand on one the biceps bulging from under the short sleeve of his white shirt that had “Neverland Security” emblazoned on it in green stitching.

(All Neverland bodyguards wore it.)

“Yes?” Scott smiled at me. He really had no honest clue.

“Go get Michael. I’ll take care of Dr. Fink.” I instructed, striking out towards the front of the estate.

I knew that Michael needed to be informed about any of “Prince’s People” who might drop by and I sure didn’t want a repeat of the night before.

“Yes ma’am!” Scott called back as I trudged onwards.

It was like walking the Green Mile.

My mind was suddenly electrified and pounding with dozens of thoughts, the main concern in my mind being,

Just what the hell had Prince sent Dr. Fink along for?

(Was Morris Day unavailable to do Prince’s bidding at the time?)

And just what did he have for Michael and me?

As I neared the front gates, which were open just a bit, I saw that Dr. Fink was standing just inside the perimeter of Neverland.

And as usual, he was in full physician attire from yellow scrubs, to a blue stethoscope dangling around his neck.

A pair of black Ray-Bans completed the look.

A plum faux leather portfolio was clasped in his hands.

A box, gift wrapped in shimmering purple paper was nestled at his feet.

“Hey Brynn!” Dr. Fink called with a wave as if it were commonplace for him to drop by Neverland bearing gifts with that certain Paisley Park aura about them.

“Hi…Fink.” I murmured placing my hands on my hips and giving him a once over.

I was in no mood for a social call. I was still trying to shake the shame and anguish I had.

“Who’s your friends?” Dr. Fink questioned and I noticed that he was looking around behind me.

Turning I saw that we had company.

Somehow I had missed the fact that two-thirds of the Jackson Trio had followed me to the gate.

Prince (Jackson) and Paris stood silently behind me, smiling shyly at Dr. Fink.

“Uh…” I stammered a moment, not really sure if it was in good taste to introduce him to Michael’s children.

Paris made the decision for me.

Putting out her little hand, she announced,

“Hello Dr. Fink. I’m Paris Jackson, and this is my brother Prince.”

Shaking her hand, and then Prince’s Dr. Fink laughed.

“Mike’s got some little polite ones huh?” He joked.

Enough of the dramatics.

“Okay Fink, why are you here?” I questioned, a bit rudely, but not really caring. Better I be rude to him, than Michael.

“I know Prince sent you.” I tossed my hair arrogantly.

“Can’t get anything past you, can I Brynn?” He grinned, punching my shoulder playfully.

“What’s going on here?” A new voice demanded.

From seemingly nowhere, Michael had appeared at my side.

And his cheeks were as rosy as the red shirt he wore.

Anyone could see he was disgusted almost to the point of regurgitating at the sight of the ‘doctor’.

“Hi Michael!” Dr. Fink stuck his hand out. “Remember me? I’m Dr. Matt Fink. You met me at the jam session in Paisley Park a while back.”

I shook my head, feeling nauseated.

That was the last thing I needed; someone reminding Michael of that train wreck, that resulted in my prompt ejection from Minneapolis.

Michael made no move to shake Dr. Fink’s hand.

“I…uh…played the keyboards.” He murmured, slowly taking his hand away as Michael regarded him with an icy stare.

Was it just me, or was the world coming to an end?

The chipper smile that had been creasing Dr. Fink’s face, tumbled off.

Nope, Michael wasn’t going for the Congeniality award today.

“Um, anyway, I have a couple of packages. One for Brynn and one for you.” He announced holding out the folder to me.

“This is for Brynn.”

I gazed up at Michael, wondering if he’d let me accept the portfolio.

I knew that he hated it when I accepted gifts from Prince.

That Damn Man.

“What is it?” Michael inquired, grasping my wrist and pulling me around behind him.

Dr. Fink struggled to explain,

“You know that Prince had Brynn sing on that new song he’s trying to put out--Game?”

“Yeah?” Michael shoved balled fists into the pockets of his blue jeans.

“Well, Prince took some test shots, for the cover of the single, and he wants Brynn to pick which photo she likes best.” He nodded, his brown tresses bouncing.

“What?” I exclaimed, leaning around Michael and nearly stepping on Prince (Jackson)’s toes.

Even though I was supposed to be upset, even angry that Prince was once again throwing a monkey wrench into Michael’s day, I was excited.

Genuinely excited.

Prince was allowing me, little Brynn Sue McAllister from Nowhere, Texas to pick the cover of his next single!

“Are you serious?” Michael’s voice escalated in decibels. “He’s letting her pick the cover?”

“Oh cool!” I heard Paris cheer from somewhere.

I don’t know what was pissing Michael off more: The fact that Prince had actually gotten around to shooting potential covers for his song, (while Michael was still talking distribution) or that he was once again going out of his way giving me an absurd privilege.

Dr. Fink looked over his shades at Michael, his pale green eyes twinkling.

“Yeah man. He claims she has impeccable taste.” He held the folder out to me.

“Get it over with Brynn, right now.” Michael whipped his head around and barked at me.

His tone immediately set my body to nearly convulsing with trepidation.

I almost dropped the folder as Dr. Fink handed it to me.

“Prince narrowed it down to four photos, so it shouldn’t be too hard to choose one.” Dr. Fink pointed out as I flipped the book open.

“Oh!” I gasped as I caught sight of the first photograph.

“Oh Lord.” I heard Michael mutter under his breath.

Beside him his children were perched on their tip toes, quietly straining to see the pictures.

In the first shot, Prince stood against a stark white backdrop. It was a full body shot and Prince’s body was clad in a sheer ruffled blouse and tight bottoms made of what appeared to be embellished red lace. Even his boots were covered in lace.

His hands were perched on his hips, hair brushed back away from his face.

His make up was minimal, and almost natural, give the heavy black liner circling his eyes.

A gold oversized symbol glittered near his waist and tangled in his black chest curls.

He looked as though he was gearing up for a fight, taunting someone (Michael?) with a self-absorbed smirk on his face.

“Does he still think it’s 1984? Gosh!” Michael sniffed, wafting an arrogance all his own.

I flipped the page and was met with a head shot of Prince.

At least his attire was much more sedate.

Instead of lace, he wore a dark violet suit over a gold shirt, loosened to show his chest, of course. A matching gold pocket square was jammed into the breast pocket.

His hair this time was artfully arranged in wispy curls that danced across his forehead.

If Prince continued with his supercilious smirk, I was certain his face was going to get twisted into that expression.
“Is that the only pose he knows? Reminds me of Zoolander.” Michael announced, reaching down and tapping the page.

Beside him, Prince (Jackson) laughed at the joke.

Paris was peeking curiously at the photograph.

“I like his hair.” She whispered sedately, trying not to let her father hear her approving of Michael’s enemy.

Prince changed up his look in the Picture Number Three.

His hair was slick and smooth, and he was grinning openly in a wild, multicolored Ikat print tunic.

“That shirt looks like throw up.” Prince (Jackson) declared in a hushed tone, running a hand through his still damp hair.

Everyone was a critic.

And then came the last photo.

“Oh my goodness!” It felt as though all the air was being sucked out of my body.

“What on earth?” Michael squawked before he coved his children’s faces with his hands and hugging them against him to shield them from the image before them.

The children protested loudly, pleading with Michael to let them go.

I continued to stare at the cellophane wrapped photo, my breaths becoming strained.

In the last photo…

Prince was….

Naked.

Well almost.
Lying on a bed of cobalt blue satin pillows, Prince was nestled, in the nude, clutching a gleaming white Model C guitar against his body.

The body of the guitar hid Prince’s crotch, and his leg was wrapped around the instrument, almost as if he were trying to hump it!

White, bejeweled boots encased his feet.

A seductive pout was on Prince’s face; he almost looked like a pin up from Playgirl magazine.

“Okay, this is too damn much!” Michael exclaimed snatching the folder from me and actually throwing it at Dr. Fink.

“Daddy!” Paris gasped, shocked that Michael had cursed right over her head.

I knew it was bad enough that Prince had sent along a nearly pornographic photo, but it was even worse that two of Michael’s children had gotten a glimpse of it.

“Brynn, take my children and go in the house.” Michael instructed scooting Prince and Paris into my arms.

“Y-yes Michael.” I replied, my chin quivering as the onset of bawling started to take me.

Giving Dr. Fink a sour glance, I started up the lane with the children.

Behind me I could hear Dr. Fink trying to offer Michael the box that contained his gift.

Michael swiftly replied,

“I want nothing from your kind! Take that package and tell Prince to shove it!”

By the time I reached the doors of the main house, tears were streaming down my cheeks, meeting under my chin and dripping down onto my chest.

I sank down onto the couch, wholly sobbing.

Prince may have sent the last obscene photograph as gadget to irk Michael.

But he didn’t realize…

When he hurt Michael Jackson…

He also hurt me.

* * *

The Next Afternoon

“Ouch! You stuck me!”

“Monsieur Jackson! Please, you’re going to have to hold still Sir, or I’ll continue to jab you.” Rene François mumbled through a mouthful of pins from where he knelt at Michael’s side.

“Stuck, jabbed, whatever--they all hurt!” Michael grumbled, rubbing the sore patch near his wrist where the designer had mistakenly nabbed him.

(He was supposed to be standing absolutely still, with his arms at his sides.)

Michael’s black and white formal jacket for the Humanitarian Association of America Awards was slowly coming together on his slim form.

Even though the coat was in its early stages, I knew that the finished product was going to be mind blowing.

The fabric, white and studded with tens of thousands of Swarovski crystals, caught light at every angle and threw it back and forth, turning Michael Jackson into a human diamond.

Rene was calmly trying to pin thick, black crystal braid to the cuffs of the coat. More braid had already been attached down the front, and was accented by wide, heavily tasseled epaulets on Michael’s slim shoulders.

Michael Jackson truly looked like a stroboscopic military man.

“Brynn, do you like the way my outfit is coming together?” Michael asked after a while, as Rene, waddling on the knees of another pair of khaki trousers, topped off by a red and white striped tee began pinning the braid to the other cuff.

“It looks lovely.” I grinned at him from where I was lounging casually across his throne.

“Merci, Mademoiselle.” Rene put in before Michael could reply.

Giggling, Michael managed to get out, “Merci to you too Rene. You‘re doing excellent work.”

“I can’t wait to see how my dress looks.” I sighed, glancing longingly at the silver garment bag carefully placed across Michael’s bed, that contained my ensemble.

“Me either.” Michael admitted, picking at his long, spirally ponytail. “How far along is Brynn’s dress?” He reached down and tapped the top of Rene’s pristine white hair.

Still speaking around a mouth of stickpins, Rene replied, “Almost completed. Though I still have to attach the shoulder bow and few more crystals.”

“That’s splendid!” Michael exclaimed clapping his hands together suddenly.

“Ouch!”

“By the time Rene gets done, you’ll look like Swiss cheese Mike.” I teased, hopping up and strolling over to one of the windows near his bed.

Peering out as Michael laughed sarcastically, I saw that the Jackson Trio were crouched down on the east side of the ranch, sprawled out on part of the pavement that made up the front driveway. I could make out a large magnifying glass clasped in Prince’s (Jackson) hands.

I wondered if they were trying to fry the defenseless ants that happened to be walking by.

“Oh Brynn…” My attention was drawn from the children and their insect torture techniques, but a hand softly touching my shoulder.

I looked up into Michael’s bright and smiling face.

“Yes?” I grinned up at him.

“It’s your turn up on the ‘chopping block’” Michael snickered pulling me against him in a quick hug.

Behind him, Rene was lifting the bag holding my dress in it up and beginning to unzip it.

“I’m sure I won’t be made into Swiss cheese--I know how to be still!” I cackled reaching up and tapping Michael’s nose.

“You’re too much!” Michael chortled and pecked my forehead.

* * *

Fifteen Minutes Later

“Oh my God! I feel like Princess Diana!”

I exclaimed in an excited whisper, spinning around in front of the floor length mirror just inside of Michael’s walk in closet.

Michael and Rene, hanging in the doorway to my side, just smiled contentedly at me.

I felt like true royalty in my gown. I had known that my dress was going to be spectacular, because the sketch had been flawless…

But to see the dress near completion and for real on me, against my body…

It was magic.

The Chinese silk clung and skimmed over me in the right places, totally setting off my figure. And the way the cloth faded from snow white, to midnight blue to deepest black made my skin glow.

Strategically placed stones twinkled and glittered at me.

“You look really fantastic. It’ll be an honor to have you on my arm at the HAAs” Michael announced walking up behind me and patting my bare shoulders.

“Michael…” I blinked at his reflection through a sheen of happy tears that were starting to dampen my eyes. “Thank you so much…!”

I spun around an swiftly embraced him.

“Oh you’re welcome. You deserve it.” Michael whispered softly, pulling my hair back from my ear and his plump lips bumped the lobe.

I quivered at the sensation. I only hoped that Rene wouldn’t notice that I was blushing.

“Mademoiselle, you shall love the garment even more once I attach the bow.” I heard Rene say.

I half laughed/half cried into Michael’s chest as he continued to squeeze me against his soft form.

It was almost too much to imagine. Me going to an awards banquet in a custom made gown…

On the arm of Michael Jackson, the biggest star in the history of the world.

Things like this just didn’t happen to kids like me who came from The Sticks.

It was a dream come true.

I came back down to reality as The Blue Danube began to play ever so softly from the right side of Michael’s groin.

I leaned back against the mirror and wiped at my face as Michael produced his cell phone from his trouser pocket and flipped it open to his ear.

“Hello?” He answered, lightly cracking his knuckles.

“Oh hey, Jermaine!” A wide smile creased his face as he began chatting with his older sibling on the other end. “What’s up Big Bro?”

“Let me help you out of that.” Rene offered as Michael dropped into an Indian-style seated position on the cool tiled floor of the closet.

“Mmmhmm…” Michael mumbled as Rene began loosening the hidden zipper on the back of the garment. “We’re just getting out HAA outfits refitted…”

Before the dress could drop and expose my undies, I quickly slipped on my green sundress that fell into place as I stepped out of my gown.

I didn’t want Rene to see me in front of Michael in my panties, since I was only supposed to be Michael’s “friend”.

(And I didn’t mind being in my underwear in front of Rene, because he already had a ‘partner’. If you catch my drift.)

I didn’t want to take it off. I feared dress post-partum depression.

“…okay, if that’s what she wants to, then. Sure. Good-bye.” Michael quietly hung his phone up and sat twirling it in his hands. He seemed troubled.

“Is everything alright?” I questioned, handing my dress off to Rene.

After a moment, Michael appeared to hear me.

“Oh! Yeah.” He quickly got to his feet. “That was Jermaine. He says that Selena wanted to invite you to dinner tonight at the Fifty-Fifty Restaurant in Beverly Hills. You know, a girls’ night out thing. She’s coming for you around eight o’clock. That’s if you want to go?” Michael gingerly ran his fingers through my hair.

“Um…” I glanced over at Rene; he was busying himself loading my gorgeous gown back into its bag.

I wasn’t really sure about what to say to Michael, because I wasn’t really used to going anywhere without him, especially at night.

“Is it okay with you?” I looked down and realized I was unconsciously shuffling me feet.

Michael chuckled and threw his arm around my waist. “Of course Honey! Selena is your friend. You don’t need my permission to go to dinner with your friend. Just try to be home a little early, you know we have a long day with Jonas and Skylar coming tomorrow.” He pointed out.

I grinned up at him, feeling relieved that he didn’t mind me going out ‘alone’.

“Thanks Michael.” I nodded, giving him a gentle hug.

Michael shook his head until his curls flew. “No need to thank me. You have a good time. Now come outside with me, I have a hankering for some cotton candy!” He chortled, escorting me past Rene and out of the closet.

As made our way out of the house, I was feeling happy, and good that I was going to go out “on the town.”

If I had known any better, I would have been nervous.

　

* * *

Later That Same Evening

“…so, my Pretty Brynn…what did you think of the photos I sent you? Hmmm?”

Prince hummed seductively into my ear over the receiver of my ‘secret’ purple phone.

Much to my displeasure, Prince hadn’t yet made his tracks back to Minneapolis. He claimed he was calling me from his ‘other’ home in the Hollywood Hills.

(I only prayed that Michael wouldn’t find this out and rush over with another baseball bat!)

Pulling myself up onto the counter of the washbasin of my bathroom, I heaved an annoyed sigh and fastened my red robe around my body. Leave it to Prince to conveniently call me as I was trying to get myself together to go out with Selena.

“That was a rotten thing to do Prince, you know Michael was already up in arms from you snatching me away and then along came that little care package!” I replied, tapping my fingernails on the countertop.

“Whatever do you mean?” He quipped in mock innocence.

(Prince probably hadn’t been innocent since before he had lost his baby teeth.)

I stifled an anguish riddled howl and hissed,

“You know full well what I mean! Sending that naked picture of yourself--” I was cut off by Prince laughing hysterically.

“Dr. Fink told me about that! Said Mike almost knocked his damn teeth out when he threw that binder at him! That was some funny ass shit. I almost pissed myself laughing.” Prince gasped loudly and busted up some more.

“It’s not funny Princey!” I admonished, slamming my fist down. I’m sure the effect would have been better had Prince been in the same room with me.

“Yeah it is!” Prince insisted, and continued caterwauling.

“Two of the kids saw that picture of you. That’s what got Michael all bent outta shape. That wasn’t cool, they didn’t have to see that.” I whined remembering how quickly Michael has nearly smothered Prince-Michael and Paris at the sight of Prince’s just barely covered form.

“Oh please. That’s bullshit Baby. Jacko wasn’t worried about that. He was worried about you seeing me. He knew I was reminding you what a real man looks like. Not that wicked hermaphrodite mess Michael’s made himself into. I still don’t understand what you see in him. It must be like sleeping with another woman to be with him.” Prince chuckled, his swollen head surely soaring higher than the Goodyear blimp.

“It’s Jackson, not Jacko.” I retorted coldly. (Why did he insist upon insulting Michael at every turn?) “And Michael is a man. All man.”

“Please, Michael is two tits shy of a full blown sex change!” Prince cackled wildly.

“If you’re going to be this way, I can hang up. I’m going out for dinner with a friend, and I still need to get done getting ready.” I simpered, thoroughly burning from Prince’s stinging comments about Michael.

“You’re going out to dinner? Michael’s letting you out after dark? Is he high or something?” Prince’s voice seemed to weaken at the mention of plans--that didn’t include him.

“Who are you going to dinner with? Who’s this friend? Your other man? Terrence or whatever the hell his name is?”

“No! I told you Taryll is nothing to me. Jermaine’s girlfriend Selena invited me to dinner…why?” I wondered timidly, praying to God and all of Heaven that Prince didn’t plan to crash dinner. And probably get sent to the emergency room in a gum wrapper.

That man was sneaky and I knew he’d probably shake out the continental United States to find my whereabouts.

“Hmm…Jermaine’s little woman taking you to dinner. That’s so sweet I’m getting a toothache.” Prince teased in a high pitched tone.

“Can’t you be nice?” I begged, beads of cold sweat starting to trickle down my back. I had a feeling that if I did rub Prince in the wrong direction, I’d find an extra RSVP at the dinner table.

“Not about anyone concerned with the bitch that called me ‘That Damn Man’. You can forget that Baby.” I could just imagine Prince scowling the way his spiking voice indicated.

I stared across the room as Prince began to breathe heavily into the receiver, and my ear was actually starting to feel damp.

There was no way of getting through to him.

He just didn’t give a hoot in Hell about Michael, and it seemed the more they ran into each other, the more their distaste for each other grew.

What was I going to do?

Prince continued huffing at me.

“Pretty Brynn?” He questioned after a spell.

“Yes?” I twirled a lock of my semi-damp hair, wondering why his voice had suddenly gotten so soft.

He almost sounded sincere.

“Do you know what my ideal dinner date with you would be, Sugar?”

Prince’s voice was so even, I couldn’t tell if he was putting on or being for real.

“No…what?” Somehow I knew that by the way Prince’s breaths were increasing in frequency,

“Brynn…” His voice was strained. “…I’d have you on a bed of watercress… eat you up ‘til there ain’t no more.”

“Prince!” I gasped at the expression of the sudden dirty thought. And yet I was charmed. He had made a meal of me once before, I knew it would have been nothing for him to do it again.

“You know I like that. I love you. You’re so sweet. You look sweet…and smell sweet…and taste so damn sweet. Shee-oop!” Prince moaned erotically and I wondered if he was doing something obscene on his end.

“Oh God.” I mumbled, burying my face in my hands.

“I just wanna get you wetter than the morning dew Baby.” He crooned nastily.

Did the man know I was only wearing a robe?

“You’re a grimy man…humph.” I snickered, trying to fight off the thought of the dirty acts that Prince could perform.

“I know.” Prince replied with a chuckle. “Just thinking about all that sweet, sticky, goodness…” He trailed off.

I found myself leaning in, waiting anxiously for his next words.

“…If I was there with you right now…” He began.

“Yes?” I whispered, my body bouncing with the onset of arousal.

I jumped as the line clicked and went dead.

“Prince?” I whimpered. “Prince?”
I pulled the phone from my ear and stared at it.

I couldn’t believe That Damn Man had gotten me going like that, only to leave me hanging.

Once again.

But the effect wasn’t wasted.

If his intention was to leave me wanting me more, he had succeeded.

I wanted more.

My mind flashed back to that night in Minneapolis, where Prince had indeed roughed me up, but had me climbing the walls for him.

The mixture of his butterscotch body against my chocolate one.

The things that man could do with his mouth…

“Hey Brynn!”

I was snapped from stroll down Muck Lane at the hasty pounding on my bathroom door.

I hopped off the countertop and for a moment almost fell as I scrambled to stow my phone back away in my make up case.

I knew that voice anywhere!

Michael was just on the other side of the door!

If he knew I had just received a dirty phone call from his arch-nemesis…

“Brynn!” He knocked on the door once more.

“Just a minute!” I called impatiently, giving myself a glance.

I looked normal enough, save for a couple of extra rosy cheeks.

Again I collided with the door as I ran to open it.

(If this continued, Prince would inadvertently be responsible for me having a broken nose.)

Making sure my robe was secured and squaring my shoulders, I slowly pulled the door open.

I was met by Michael leaning against the door frame, arms folded across his chest, a cool smile on his face.

“There’s my little P.Y.T.” He chuckled, reaching and embracing me. “I was wondering where you had gone to Sweetie.” He smooched my cheek softly.

“Um, I was just getting done with my shower.” I explained hastily, pecking the dimple in Michael’s chin. “It’s tricky tying this robe.” I said quickly, glad that my bedroom was chilled.

Sometimes it amazed me how well I moved so seamlessly from one life to the other.

From being Michael’s woman, to Prince’s side dish and back to Michael.

David Copperfield had nothing on me.

“You look lovely Dear.” Michael gave me a warm squeeze. “I came up to see if you wanted any help picking an outfit to go to the Fifty-Fifty.” He offered, arm around my waist, strolling over to the closet.

He really had no true clue.

My heart ached, and it took a ton of willpower to fight off the urge to tell Michael the truth.

Instead, I heard myself ask,

“What kind of place is the Fifty-Fifty Restaurant? Is it dressy or casual?”

“It’s a nice place. I’ve been there a few times.” Michael sighed picking through the racks of clothing in my closet. “It’s kind of dressy, but you can wear pants if you want. “ He continued shuffling through the clothing.

“You have to try the blackened cod fish. It’s really good.”

“Okay, I will.” I agreed, some of Michael’s easy going spirit finally rubbing off on me and I was finally shaking the aroused glow Prince had bestowed up on me.

“This is cute.” Michael turned, holding up two garments: a pair of white silk trousers and a turquoise and white giraffe print blouse. “You want to wear this?”

“If you like it.” I shrugged reaching and taking the pieces from him.

“I like all your clothing Brynn. You look pretty in everything.” Michael murmured, kissing the top of my head.

“Now you go ahead and get dressed, Selena should be here soon.” He smiled making his way to the door.

“Don’t forget to bring me a doggy bag!” He called cheerfully as he closed the door behind him.

Smiling, I turned to get dressed.

If I only knew what the night held for me…

Chapter 31

　

A Few Days Later

“Gosh…this is the first time in almost a week that I’ve been able to do absolutely, positively, nothing.”
Michael Jackson whispered happily from where he was resting his head in my lap.
“I know Sweetie.” I giggled, brushing a few stray curls off his forehead, and bending down to peck at it ever so softly.
He looked like he needed to be kissed.
He deserved to be kissed.
It was a sweet quiet moment in what had been a pretty hectic week.
Over the last few evenings Michael had been moving and shaking endlessly to find an opening in his erratic schedule so that he could free up a day where Jonas and Skylar could visit Neverland and forget all their troubles.
For a few hours, anyway.
During the last four or five days, Michael Jackson had barely been seen around his home, cramming a set of meetings and negotiations that would have normally taken at least two weeks into such a short span of time.
But Michael was determined to be at Neverland and a gracious host of the two disadvantaged boys.
And that wasn’t the only tune Michael was dancing to. He was also trying frantically to close negotiations for the distribution and marketing of Not Over. Then throw in fittings and refittings for the clothing for the HAA Awards, it was a wonder Michael didn’t resemble a zombie from the Thriller short!
I continued to stare into Michael’s face, mulling over the seemingly limitless generosity that flowed so freely from him.
If only people knew what he was going through to help Jonas and Skylar.
On the other side of the Ranch, in a storage shed, piles of new clothing and toys were put away for the boys. Michael had been working days and shopping nights for the kids. And somehow, even if Michael’s plate wasn’t already overflowing like Niagara Falls, he had taken the time to create a menu for the boys visit and personally taste test everything that was going to be served from burgers to pizzas to Snow Cone flavors.
If Michael’s heart got any bigger, it would need it’s own Zip code.
It seemed to be a miracle that he wasn’t in a meeting at that present time.
(The only reason he was at home at was because the wife of one of the music execs he was negotiation with had gone into labor and their meeting had to be cancelled.)
Michael and I were relaxing on the east side of Neverland, just beyond the tennis court--that I had never seen anyone play on!--on a blanket, sharing a platter of assorted cubed fruit.
Even though he was dressed comfortably in an oversized black sweatshirt and black jeans, and wore an exuberant expression on his face, you could see Michael’s seemingly imminent exhaustion bubbling under the surface.
“How’s everything going with the single?” I questioned, tugging a curl that fell into Michael’s eyes. It was actually stuck to one of his long eyelashes!
“It’s going okay…I’m just going to have to find time to shoot a cover for the single…I’ll consult with Rusty, and we’ll see.” He replied pressing a square of watermelon past my lips.
“Oh, a photo shoot! How fun! Can I help pick your wardrobe?” I begged, rubbing at his sweet, soft chest through the thick fabric covering it.
Visions of mesh, lace and leather were dancing through my head.
“Of course my little Dear.” Michael replied, grinning broadly.
“When do you plan on having the shoot done?” I picked at the dent at the base of Michael’s throat.
“Oh Gosh! A long time from now. Sometime after the awards, at least.” He chuckled again.
“Maybe you should take the rest of this week off and just sleep or something. I don’t want you to get too tired.” I whispered, and smooched the cleft in his chin. I just knew he’d be back in the boardroom the next day.
“I’ll get my day off this Saturday.” Michael stated matter-of-factly and blew a stray tendril out of his eyes.
“Really? What’s this Saturday?” I sighed, happy that he was going to be “resting”.
“Jonas and Skylar are coming to visit--duh.” An amused look to his face, Michael tapped my nose gently.
“This Saturday? The boys are coming this Saturday? You’ve managed to slap things together for them for Saturday?” I stared at Michael astounded.
Michael sucked in his bottom lip and nodded sheepishly.
I knew the boys were coming soon, but not that soon.
Michael Jackson was a true one of a kind.
“Saturday was the only time I could find that would accommodate everyone. I don’t have to work, the boys’ parents are off from work, the boys are out of school, my kids aren’t being schooled.” Michael patted my head as he raised up into a seated position.
(The Jackson Trio got home schooled by a tutor who came by every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.)
“Alright, I just didn’t think it was this soon.” I smiled. “But I look forward to seeing Skylar and Jonas. They need this.”
“I think every child needs a place where they can go and just be a kid. Not worry about war or poverty or illness or anything--just how many cheeseburgers they can eat in one sitting.” Michael giggled and leaned his forehead against mine.
Reaching down and grabbing one of Michael’s long hands in my own, I confided,
“You’re the nicest person I know.”
Michael blushed heavily at my compliment.
“Oh…Brynn…” He whimpered and ducked his head.
His dark eyes took a slightly devilish glow and I became aware of him peeling back the thin white denim jacket I wore over the top my navy and white polka dotted dress.
As Michael proceeded to greedily bury his face against my neck, coving it with little hot kisses, a small voice cried out loudly.
“Ewww!”
We jumped a moment, startled.
Standing at the edge of the blanket was little Miss Paris.
Her face was still contorted with childish disgust at Michael’s kissing me.
“What is it Darling?” Michael sighed, a spark of disappointment in his voice.
I knew he wanted to “neck” in private.
And I wanted him to!
“Uh…” Paris looked up at the sky as she struggled to remember what she was going to say to us.
“Oh, yeah! I wanted to ask Brynn something.” She trotted across the blanket over to me and threw her tiny arms around my neck.
“Yes?” I glanced up at her, wondering just what she had under the sleeves of the Smurf’s t-shirt she wore.
“Well, Brynn, you know how you have such really pretty, straight hair?” Paris questioned intertwining a strand of my hair in her fingers.
“Yup.” Michael and I exchanged knowing stares.
“What are you gunning for Paris Katherine?” Michael asked, patting his daughter on the back firmly.
“Well, I was wondering…” Paris giggled slyly, “ Brynn, will you straighten my hair for me?”
Flipping her hand downwards, she sighed,
“Curly hair is so passé.”
“Hey!” Michael exclaimed, in mock anger and indicated his own curls.
“Oops! Sorry Daddy! I like your hair! But I want my hair straight--please?” She batted long lashes at me.
“Well, I don’t know.” I mumbled glancing over at Michael.
Though I usually helped comb Paris’ hair--and her brother’s hair--in the morning, brushing curls and putting them in scrunchies and actually taking a hot flat iron to her tresses were two totally different deals.
And Lord knows we didn’t need a mini repeat of Michael’s Pepsi Cola commercial incident.
“Is it okay with you, for me to straighten her hair?” I questioned, reaching out and patting Michael’s arm. I wanted to pass all matters concerning his children by him before I took on anything.
Michael grinned at me gleefully.
“Sure Honey, I don’t mind. Just use a low setting on the flat iron, her hair scorches really easily.”
He cautioned rising to his feet and helping me up.
“While you’re doing her hair, I’m gonna go in a take a nap.” Michael announced as we started back towards the main house.
“You need it.” I concurred, playfully punching his arm.
Paris, in sheer delight at the thought of having straight hair, skipped merrily around us.
It seemed like such a happy moment.
Who knew that in a short matter of time, a lilac colored, lavender scented tornado was about to descend on the Neverland Valley Ranch?

* * *

Two Hours Later

“Oh my Gosh! Wow! Yay!” Paris exclaimed shrilly, dancing and prancing around in front of the mirror in my bathroom, marveling at her new, needle-straight hair.
“So, you like it?” I giggled, hoisting myself up onto the counter of the washbasin, tucking a still warm flat iron into the drawer that housed it and my curling irons.
I was thoroughly tired. I knew that Paris had a lot of hair, but to actually sit straighten it section, by section, by yet another section was wholly time consuming.
But it was all worth it to see the smile that was wrapping itself around Paris’ little face. (And I was glad that I hadn’t burned her or her hair.)
“Brynn! I love my hair! I love you!” The child cried out, reaching and wrapping her arms around my waist in a tight hug.
“I love you too,” I smiled patting the top of her head.
Paris grinned up at me before squeezing my waist again.
“You really are the coolest grown-up in the world! Besides Daddy!”
She gushed resting her head against my arm and mumbling happily.
“Now my hair looks just like yours!”
I smiled at her, warm with pride. Michael was right; his sweet little girl did look to me as a role model.
“Hey, Brynn, are you busy?” A new voice asked meekly.
I glanced up to see Michael looming in the doorway to the bathroom, arms crossed firmly over his chest.
Before I could answer, Paris shrieked,
“Daddy! Look at my hair! It looks so cool! Brynn is the best!”
She raced over and wrapped her arms around her father.
“You hair looks nice.” Michael said seemingly absently and tapped her cheek.
I hopped down from the countertop.
“Michael Jackson, what are you doing up? You know full well that you should be taking a nap.” I nagged with a smile waving a finger at him.
Michael was supposed to be somewhere over the rainbow in the Land of Nod, not up and about, probably working himself into a listless stupor.
(Somehow I just knew Rusty the Rat had a hand in this.)
A serious light lit Michael’s dark eyes as he bent down and picked Paris up.
“We’ve, um…we’ve got a little situation downstairs in my office.” He announced, turning and leading the way out of the room and off into the hallway.
I instantly knew something was amiss just by the leaden way Michael’s voice was leaving his pretty plump lips.
“Michael, what’s wrong?” I gulped, worried.
I vainly hoped that it wasn’t any legal troubles. Lord knew that was the last thing that man needed.
“You’ve got a visitor.” Michael started down the stairs, Paris clinging to his neck.
I stopped a moment.
“I’ve got a visitor?” I raised a curious eyebrow. I didn’t generally get visitors. Anyone who came to Neverland were usually seeking Michael and passed me over to get to him.
I tugged at Michael’s sleeve. “Who is it?”
Michael stopped and turned to look at me.
His eyes were so stormy they could have rated as a Category Five hurricane.
When he replied, I almost fainted dead away on the stairs.
“Prince.”
“What?!?” I shook my head and even banged on one of my ears, just to make sure I had heard Michael Jackson correctly.
Michael’s mouth formed a pink line.
“You heard me: that little Purple Punk is in my office right now. He says he has something he wants to ask you and he wants to ask you in person.” I heard a low rumble and swiftly realized that Michael was grinding his teeth.
“Mr. Prince is here? Can I say hi to him, please, Daddy? I like his shoes! They’re cute!” Paris said suddenly, twirling a lock of her hair.
Michael turned pink at the compliment Paris had paid Prince.
I knew it was bad enough for him to even have Prince on his property, but then to have his only daughter cooing over him, was probably an inch within ‘too much’.
“No Honey, you can’t. Prince is here on what he claims is business. I want you to go outside and play with your brothers.” Michael set Paris on her feet.
“Aw Daddy! Please!” Paris whined and poked out her bottom lip.
Usually the puppy dog face swayed Michael.
But not today.
“Paris Katherine Michael Jackson, go on outside, please.” Michael gave Paris a soft push.
Grumbling to herself, she trudged downstairs and out of sight.
Michael continued down the stairs, the only sound emitting from him was of enamel grating.
I followed him, my mind ablaze with sheer horror.
Why was Prince there?
What did he have to ask that was so important it had to be done in person?
Please don’t let it be anything scandalous!
I wrung my hands to the point I thought they’d start bleeding.
Prince was so eerily unpredictable, I just couldn’t measure him.
He was a five-foot-two inch question mark. (Five-foot-six if you counted his shoes.)
Michael rounded the corner and we started towards his office.
The double oak doors stood closed.
It was so quiet.
So painfully, ear-shatteringly quiet.
As I neared the door, Michael grabbed onto my shoulder.
“Brynn, I want you to listen to me.” He cautioned, his tone inky.
“Yes, Mike.” I looked up into his widened eyes.
“I don’t know what that little weirdo is about to ask you, but I want you to turn him down. I don’t trust him at all. You understand?” He explained, eyes flashing.
I stared down at the tops of the white flip flops I wore.
“Of course, Michael.” I whispered, feeling a bit sick.
What had I gotten myself into?
Satisfied with my agreement, Michael turned the knobs on the doors and pushed them open.
Prince had been seated in one of the overstuffed leather chairs that sat opposite Michael’s large desk, but at the sight of me in the door, he swiftly rose to his feet.
My breath turned to ice cubes in my windpipe at the sight of him.
Even though I was near insanity with worry, I couldn’t help but notice how truly, wonderfully good he looked.
Prince was resplendent in a turquoise suit, over a tangerine shirt, loosened just far enough to expose his tuft of chest curls. A matching handkerchief was tucked into his front breast pocket.
Tangerine heels completed the outfit.
His hair was immaculately coiffed, curled slightly, and combed slickly back on the left side.
Dark Versace sunglasses hid his eyes, but I could feel his gaze just the same.
“Hello Pretty Brynn.” He announced, strongly, full-voiced as he sauntered towards me. I could tell his bout with laryngitis was long over with.
The golden rings that lined his fingers--except for his bare wedding finger--glittered.
A gold symbol hung near his tiny waist.
A cloud of cologne covered me, as Prince gently wrapped his arms around me in a gentle hug.
Damn it, he smelled so nice!
It was almost intoxicating.
“Hi…Prince.” I managed to choke out, staring over at Michael.
Michael looked as though he had sucked on a hundred lemons; his mouth was twisted to the side, and hands planted firmly on his hips.
His eyes were little brown fireballs in his head.
Prince had to be the bravest--or stupidest--man God had ever put breath into. He was actually hugging me in front of Michael Jackson!
The Other Man was hugging me in front of The Main Man!
(I noticed he was making a point of blatantly squishing his chest into mine.)
Prince withdrew his embrace and leaned back, a small smirk/smile on his tanned face.
Though the grin seemed innocent, I could detect something vaguely nasty looming just underneath the surface.
We all stood in silence for a moment.
Michael glaring at Prince, Prince smiling at me, and me trying to avoid eye contact with both men.
“Let’s all have a seat.” Michael said suddenly, ending the silence that was breaking my eardrums.
I don’t recall walking across the room, just sinking into the chair like I was drowning in a black abyss of sorrow.
Michael leaned against the front of his desk as Prince sat in the other chair, crossing one slender leg over the other as if the office were his own at Paisley Park.
“Go ahead and ask the question.” Michael urged, his voice seeming to strain each word out like noodles through a colander.
“Uh, Brynn.” I turned my attention to Prince as he cleared his throat.
He leaned in towards me, clasping his hands together over his knee.
“You see…” He purred, “I’m in town because I got tickets to a Los Angeles Lakers/Minnesota Timber Wolves game. I was supposed to go with Morris…” Prince was momentarily interrupted by Michael sighing loudly, obviously airing his grievances about his feelings towards Morris Day.
All that bad blood…
He glanced at Michael, then turned back to me.
“…but unfortunately, he had to back out at the last minute. I was wondering, would you like to go with me? I remember when you were in Uptown with me, you said you liked Shaquille O’Neal. He plays for the Lakers.” Prince’s little glossy pink mouth curled up into a mischievous grin.
I stared at him in disbelief, mouth agape.
Was Prince really asking me out on a date?
In front of Michael Jackson?
In Michael Jackson’s house?
How many bottles of Liquid Idiotic had he been drinking?
What contest in Hell had I lost?
“Um, Prince…” Michael said slyly, softly tapping Prince’s shoulder.
I hoped the touch wouldn’t spark a knock down, drag out brawl.
“Yes?” Prince answered him, but continued to look at me.
“Shaquille O’Neal doesn’t play for the Lakers anymore. I heard he got traded to the Miami Heat.” A smug smile plastered itself on Michael’s giddy face.
Prince’s face grew rosy at being corrected by his rival.
But the man didn’t lose his cool.
“My mistake. But Brynn did express a liking for the Lakers. And I’ve got good seats--courtside. We’ll probably be right between Spike Lee and Jack Nicholson.” His grin grew even wider.
He was a mouse in shades.
“So what do you say?” He wondered, allowing his voice to drop to a sexy octave.
“Uh…” I looked to Michael for assistance.
His eyes bulged, and nostrils flared.
I knew he wanted me to turn Prince down fast, quick and in a hurry, but unless I had a good excuse, I knew that Prince would pick me apart until he got a yes.
Or until Michael kicked him in the eye, whichever happened first.
“Um…” I searched vainly for a loophole that I could wiggle out of.
“When is the game?” I whispered, feeling cold.
Michael cocked his head to the side, mouth slightly open with dazed fury.
“It’s Saturday night at eight. But since you live here in the Valley, I’ll have to come pick you up at about six-thirty.” Prince proceeded to keep talking, but I didn’t hear anything past “Saturday night.”
The loophole I was looking for came in the form of a noose that Prince had unwittingly wrapped around his own long throat.
An inner gasp of relief flooded my body.
But now I had to gracefully turn Prince down.
And he was smiling so hard.
“Princey?” I began, my hands jittering in my lap.
“Yes Pretty Brynn?” Prince’s grin grew yet wider. The man was close to licking his own ears.
“I can’t go…to the game…” I murmured haltingly, waiting for Prince’s head to blow off with purple sparks.
“What?” Prince tilted his shades and stared at me over then.
His large, heavily made up, glistening eyes were jade green with surging anger.
“I can’t go to the game.” I repeated, feeling nauseous. I couldn’t remember the last time I had said no to Prince.
Or if I had ever said ’No’ to him at all.
“I’d like to know why not.” His voice was tight.
I snuck another glance at Michael.
He was looking down, calmly, cleaning under his fingernails.
A content smile had his delicate features glowing like a radioactive beacon.
“Well…Prince…Saturday, Michael and I are hosting two little inner city boys here. I have to be here because the boys will be here all day. It’s an agreement I made with Michael, and I have to honor it. I’m sorry…” I dropped my head back down feeling defeated.
It was one thing to have to turn down Prince’s invite, but to do it in front of Michael…I knew his ego had to be somewhere between downtrodden and hell ridden.
“Shit.” I heard Prince remark under his breath.
Out loud, he said,
“Well, that’s okay. I just wanted to offer the ticket to you. But if you’ve got a prior engagement, then, I can’t make you break it.” Prince removed his shades and hung them from the pocket on the front of his jacket.
His eyes showed his hurt. The corners were dipping down.
He sucked his lips in.
“Am I interrupting anything?”
We turned to see Rusty, who was poking his highlighted head into the room.
“No, what is it?” Michael questioned, cracking his knuckles loudly over Prince’s head.
“Rene François is on my phone. He’s saying something about having a problem with some fabric.” Rusty announced.
“I’ll take it.” Michael stood. “Please excuse me.” He inched out of the room.
As the doors closed behind him, I peeked up at Prince.
He was silently focused on me, making semicircles under his lips with his tongue. He truly looked unhappy.
For a moment, I thought he was simply going to get up and leave.
But that was too much like doing the right damn thing.
Instead of walking out the door, Prince leapt onto my case.
“So you can’t go to the ballgame with me because some little boys are coming to Neverland? Why do you have to be here?” He demanded, twisting his mouth to the side.
“Prince I told you, I made an agreement with Michael to be there. Those two little boys were in a children’s hospital. I personally invited them to the Ranch. I have to be here.” I whimpered and gazed down at my hands.
Prince exhaled quietly.
“See, I told you, when you’re locked away in this fucking fantasyland, you lose all sense of reality. You turned down an outing to a game with me, a man, to sit here and play with some kids.”
I shook my head at Prince, a pang of anger sticking me.
“Prince, it’s not about whether I’m playing or not. I’m doing a good deed. Helping two disadvantaged kids, to have a good time.” I rose to my feet.
“This might shock you, but one of the little boys got two broken legs from his father running over him with his car. On purpose. So you can send my condolences to Spike and Jack for not being able to share a bottle of Cristal with them. I think this is a little more important.”
Prince pouted up at me, and patted at his hair.
“Are you serious? No bullshit? Some guy ran over his kid?” He asked after a hot moment. There was a note of doubt in his voice.
“You think I’d lie about something like that?” I threw my hands up.
Prince looked me up and down.
“Damn it, Brynn, I wanted to see you and spend some time with you.” He mumbled standing up and shaking his jacket off.
He draped it on the back of his chair.
“Princey…” I reached out and grabbed his hand.
“I really wish I could go, but I’m tied up with this and it’s tied into the deal with the Heal the World Foundation.”
(Not to mention that even if it wasn’t tied into that, Michael Jackson wanted me to tell him no!)
“Michael’s got you captive in this place. You’re my woman, too. I deserve some time with you.” Prince brought my hand to his mouth and moist lips pecked it.
“Prince…” I averted my gaze.
It was proving extremely hard to make him understand that I couldn’t just up and leave Michael to be with him.
Even if I could leave, it would be in Michael’s private car and of course the driver would fill Michael in on everywhere I’d go.
And I knew that Michael would tear California and most of the western seaboard apart if he knew I was using his vehicles to participate in trysts with His Royal Nastiness.
“ I just can’t. Please believe me. If I could go, I would…but I can’t.”
I whimpered, ready to cry.
Prince was strangely quiet.
Peering at him, I saw that Prince had his head down a bit, eyes studying the floor.
“Tell me something Brynn Baby.” His voice was so deep I barely made out his words, patting my hand in his own.
“What?” I questioned, slowly taking my hand from his. His sheer touch was almost too much to take.
“As I drove up in my Beemer, I noticed that your little plum Ferrari was still sitting where I had parked it. Has it been driven yet?” He toed a tile on the floor with the tip of his boot.
Leaning against the desk, I merely shook my head.
Since I had been given the sports car I hadn’t even had the pleasure of sitting in it. Every time I went near it to even gaze at it, Michael would call me away.
Michael couldn’t sell the car because it was in my name, and though he had spoken of torching the car, he was afraid the gasoline tank would ignite and leave most of Neverland as a crater.
So it sat, untouched, its Firestone tires probably rotting on their rims.
“You haven’t driven the car since I gave it to you?” Prince repeated, and made a loud popping noise with his mouth.
“No…” I made myself reply, nauseous.
Prince was within an inch of getting vomit all over his pretty orange shoes.
“How’d you like to take a spin in that car, see what it can do?” He chuckled tapping his heel.
“Prince! I can’t! And besides I don’t have the keys!” I responded mortified at the idea of leaving with him.
Michael taken them from me moments after I had been given the car and I had no idea where he had placed them, or if he’d simply thrown them away.
Prince tossed his head back and laughed maniacally.
“Hold it.” He reached into his pocket and dug around for a moment.
I watched as Prince, wearing a smug smile of his own, brought a curled fist out of the pocket.
Holding it under my nose, he opened his hand.
Balanced on his palm were two small keys.
“What are those?” I asked weakly, fully supporting myself against Michael’s desk.
“Keys to your car.” Prince chortled. “Do you honestly think I’d give you a car and not have copies of the keys for myself? Please.”
Prince’s ego had rebounded and his arrogance was once again at an all time high.
He reached out and grasped my arm so tightly, a bruise immediately formed.
Prince leaned forward and blew a wisp of minty breath into my face.
“We’re going for a drive.”
I stumbled as he dragged me towards the doors.
“Prince! Are you crazy? You can’t take me from here! You want Michael to kick your ass?” I gasped as Prince shoved the doors open and proceeded to pull me out into the empty hallway.
“I’d love to see him try. He’ll get some black added to the white face of his when I dot his eyes.” Prince snickered as he roughly led me down the hallway.
I glimpsed around the hall for any sign of life.
Where on Earth had Michael gone to receive his call from Rene Francois?
All the way to France?
I gawked at Prince.
His look was almost frantic.
Hair bouncing across his forehead, eyes bulging and wild, lips gnarled open and bearing his teeth in a sneer.
“You can’t do this! Please let go of me!” I tried to loosen his grip on my arm, but Prince’s hand seemed meshed to my bicep.
“I can do whatever the hell I want. This is a free country. Unless I missed the report that Neverland had become its own country. It could happen--Michael is the King of Strange.”
We passed off into the kitchen where finally, finally, there was a sign of life.
The Jackson Trio were huddled around the island in the center of the room, wrestling over a pink ice cream scooper.
I saw that a few bowls had been arranged on the island in the middle and were surrounded by several different containers of ice cream, a jar of chocolate syrup, a bottle of whipped cream and another jar of Maraschino cherries.
Prince-Michael noticed me first.
“Hi Brynn! Hi Mr. Prince! We’re making sundaes. Do you want one?” He called, calmly yanking the scooper out of Blanket’s hands.
He seemed oblivious to the fact that I was practically being kidnapped from under his little upturned nose.
“Hi Mr. Prince! Cute shoes!” Paris giggled giving Prince a thumbs up.
Blanket waved.
“Not right now kid.” Prince sniffed and stared at me.
His eyes were so haunting.
“Brynn and I are a little busy.”
I could have easily screamed at the children to run and find Michael, but something in Prince’s glare kept me quiet.
I just knew if I tried to shout for Michael, he’d probably yank my vocal cords out and strangle me with them!
“Before you go, will ya get the sprinkles off the top cabinet, Brynn? We can’t reach it. Please?” Prince-Michael questioned innocently, turning and pointing at the long cabinet that ran alongside the refrigerator.
Prince answered for me curtly,
“Little Susie Homemaker is coming with me. Why don’t you go down the street and see if Wally or the Beaver can do it for you?”
Prince-Michael wore his confusion all over his face.
Eyes opened, mouth agape.
“Who?” He snapped staring at his siblings.
“I don’t know!” Paris threw her tiny hands up.
As Prince tugged me through the living room and into the foyer towards the front doors, I grabbed onto the only surface available to me, a large painting of Michael, that showed him sitting under a tree, reading from a large book to a group of children.
I clung to the portrait’s thick gold frame for dear life.
“Prince stop this! Please! I begged, my voice shaking.
Prince’s mouth bumped my ear.
“You’ve really gotten yourself fucked up and out of touch in this place. You think this place is real fun. No, this is a child’s playground. I’m gonna take you where adults have fun.” He vowed and ripped my hands from the frame, bringing the picture off its peg and crashing to the floor.
I was tugged to the front doors where Prince had yanked them open and was shoving me out onto the front walk.
“Come on Pretty Baby.” Prince grabbed my arm and was leading me towards the parking lot on side of the house.
As we approached the lot, I saw that Prince’s yellow BMW had been parked along side my purple Ferrari.
Big Jimmy was leaning casually against the BMW.
“Jimmy…” Prince called as we got to the vehicles.
“Yes Sir?” Jimmy snapped to attention at the sight of his boss.
“Brynn and I are going for a drive in the Ferrari, if Jacko comes looking, tell him, she took the car.” Prince chuckled tossing me against the car and opening the driver’s side door.
I glowered at Prince weakly.
I had to be dreaming.
This couldn’t be real.
Not only was Prince yanking me from right under Michael, but telling Jimmy to blame it on me at the same time!
“Get in.” Prince commanded, reaching for me.
“Prince…no.” I gasped, running a hand through my hair nervously, looking over his head, scanning the windows for any sign of Michael.
Hell, I would have settled for Rusty, just anyone to stop Prince from taking me away.
I was truly frightened of him at that moment.
Prince’s eyes seemed to dwarf the rest of his features they swelled so large.
“Brynn, get in the goddamned car!”
His shriek of anguish was nearly unintelligible, but scared me so much, that I remained rooted to the spot.
Unfortunately, Prince took my fear for defiance and grabbing both my shoulders, literally threw me into the black leather interior of the Ferrari.
Taking note of my surroundings, I quickly began fumbling for the tab I could pull that would allow me to open the passenger side door and flee.
I didn’t have a chance to find it, because the moment I landed as ’shotgun’, Prince slid into the driver’s seat, slamming the door.
“Ready to go cruising?” He asked in a cocky tone, as he slid the key into the ignition and the car purred to life.
Somewhere the locks clicked.
I was trapped.
“Prince, please, let me go. I’ll do anything you want, just don’t take me from here, please.” I fretted, not only afraid of Prince, but on the verge of a mental breakdown at my terror of how Michael would act to my leaving and being with Prince.
I knew he hated That Damn Man with a passion and this would just pour a bucket of lighter fluid on the fire.
Hands gripping my black and purple steering wheel, Prince turned and stared at me, arched eyebrow raised.
“I might take you up on that ‘anything’ offer, Baby. And trust me, I’m one creative Brother.” His pink lips formed a roguish leer.
I lurched forward as Prince put the car into a swift and roaring ‘Reverse’ and then, tires squealing, spun the car around and gunned it for the open gates of the Neverland Valley Ranch.
If it wasn’t terrible enough that Prince was wholly abducting me, the one person who could have stopped him cold in his tracks, the security guard who usually manned the from gate, was nowhere to be found.
And it was pretty hard to miss him since he resembled a skyscraper on legs.
As we passed through the gates, I turned in my seat to take one last look at “home”.
Who knew when I’d see it again?
If I ever would see it again.

* * *

Nearly An Hour Later

I had no idea as to where I was.
Fifteen minutes earlier, Prince had been driving along Highway 69, somewhere in the direction of Los Angeles, but before we actually got into the city, he had taken an exit and for the last few minutes, we had been careening down a wooded road that appeared to be the true Middle of Nowhere.
I could only imagine what kind of storm was brewing at Neverland.
I half expected to see a police chopper following us.
I knew that Michael had to be freaking out.
And he was probably firing every bodyguard in a five hundred mile radius for letting Prince slip away with me so easily.
At the thought of Prince, I looked over at him.
He was silently looking ahead at the seemingly endless road stretching on before us, steering the car.
“Where…where are you taking me?” I wondered hoarsely, taking in the dire surroundings.
Nothing but trees and foliage as far as the eye could see.
Still looking ahead, Prince replied deeply,
“Someplace special. You’ll like it. You’ll see.”
Someplace special.
Who knew what that meant where Prince was concerned.
It could have been a whorehouse.
A cage lined in silk.
Any guess could have sufficed.
We drove on a while longer and I saw that the road gave way to a grassy clearing that sat a few feet from a substantial babbling brook.
Prince brought the car to the water’s edge and put it in ‘Park‘.
And shut off the engine.
Quiet surrounded us.
The only sounds around were of the brook bubbling and Prince’s fingers tapping the steering wheel.
“You know, I like this place a lot.” Prince announced suddenly. “I like to come out here and just sit and think when in in Cali. Contemplate life. Contemplate love.”
I stared down in my lap.
I could feel his eyes on me.
I flinched when his wet lips pecked my cheek.
“I love you, you know that.” He whispered luridly.
“And I know you love me.”
I looked up at Prince, my bottom lip quaking. I was doing my best to fight off a wave of tears that were ready to wash my eyeballs away.
He wore a sexy pout on his face.
Mouth puckered, cheeks caved…
I hadn’t seen that expression on his face since the first time we…
My heart was truly aching.
I really did love that man.
That Damn Man.
“Say you love me Brynn…say it.” Prince urged, picking at the curls clinging to his chest.
“I…I do love you…”
I whimpered and dropped my head down so far it touched my knees.
What was I doing?
“It makes my heart glow to hear you say you love me.” Prince confided and another kiss was planted on my cheek.
“I’m sorry for throwing you around like a bastard stepchild earlier. It’s just, I wanted to be alone with you, and I couldn’t do it Camp Jackson.” He apologized and patted my arm softly.
“You really have to stop that.” I cautioned. “I’m not Apollonia and this isn’t Purple Rain.”
Even though I hated it when Prince roughed me up, at least he was man enough to take time to apologize to me.
Prince chuckled. “You’re one-of-a-kind Brynn.” He reached and twirled a lock of my hair. “I like that.”
A small bell dinged as he opened the driver’s door.
I watched, a small smile on my face as Prince slid out and made his way around the back and to my door.
He always seemed to know what to say to keep me from knocking his teeth crooked and adore him.
He opened it for me.
“Come on Pretty Brynn, let’s stretch our legs.”
He suggested, taking my hand and helping me out.
“Um, okay…” I said reluctantly, standing alongside him.
“Aren’t you worried?” I questioned, after a moment.
“About what?” Prince gave me a bemused giggle.
“Walking around alone without a bodyguard. I mean you are Prince.” I shrugged. I knew that big stars like him just couldn’t wander around the woods like a glittery boy scout.
“Honey, this stretch of land is pretty much abandoned. And if you see a drifter, just walk away. It ain’t that hard.” Prince replied coolly, placing an arm around my waist and leading me to where the water met the land.
“Now this is perfection to me. A perfect landscape and a perfect woman.” He chuckled, and smooched at my neck.
“Oh Princey…” I chuckled, suddenly bashful at him calling me perfect.
“This is anything but perfect. You had to seize me to get me away from Michael. That’s not perfect Baby.” I tapped his little straight nose.
How was it that just seconds before I had wanted to run from Prince, and now I was totally at home with his arm about me, damp rose petal lips kissing at me.
Just what kind of power did this man have over me?
“Brynn, you can’t possibly be happy with Michael. He keeps you stowed away in Neverland. It’s just not healthy.” Prince took his arm from around me and stepped a few paces away.
“Prince, you don’t understand. It’s just fine. It’s a lot of fun. All the games and rides and everything…” I trailed off when Prince raised his hand to silence me.
He stood staring out across the surface of the water.
“You think it’s great because you don’t know any better Brynn. That’s not real life. You think when I get up in the morning and step out the front door of my house, I bump into a lighted Ferris Wheel? Hell no. That’s the little Land of Pretend that Michael has created for himself and he’s sucked you off into it. Who else do you know that puts masks on their children to take them out?” Prince glanced over his shoulder.
I walked up behind him.
“Michael does that to protect their privacy. You know that.” I patted his shoulders.
“And I don’t like you spending so much time with Michael’s children. They’ll start calling you ‘Mommy’. You aren’t those kid’s mama. The oldest two are for that whale looking chick and wasn’t that youngest one grown in a test tube or something?” He quipped with a half-hearted chuckle.
I gave Prince a shove so hard he almost toppled into the water.
“Don’t talk about Blanket like that. He wasn’t ‘grown in a test tube’!” I said through gritted teeth, infuriated that he would even insinuate such a thing.
“That sweet little boy has a mother!”
“Oh yeah?” Prince whipped around, light eyes blazing.
“Who’s his mother? What’s her name? What’s she look like?”
“I don’t know.” I admitted angrily. “All I know is that Michael hired a surrogate. I don’t know anything about her.”
Prince sucked on his teeth.
“Figures, and it burns the hell outta me that you defend those kids like they’re your own flesh and blood. None of them are yours. You didn’t squeeze any of them out. I know--you’re way too tight where it counts.”
He explained, indicating my nether regions with a flick of his wrist.
“I love those kids Prince. I mean I live at Neverland and those kids are always there. Of course I formed some kind of a bond with them. You think I’d just walk around and ignore them? I’m not that kind of person.” I shook my head.
“I never said you were Brynn.” Prince put in, his voice spiking.
“And besides if there were a little Baby Nelson, I’d be nice to him or her too. I’d treat them just as nicely as I do the Baby Jacksons.” I vowed reaching out and grasping Prince’s hand.
“Hmm…a Baby Nelson…” Prince said more to himself than to me.
I noticed for moment that the arrogant glint in his eye dulled at the mention of an infant to carry on his name and his Purple Empire.
Prince stooped and picked up a hand full of smooth stones, tossing them each one by one into the pond, disrupting its tranquil, almost mirror like surface.
“Princey, if you had a child, wouldn’t you want me to be nice to them, and spend time with them, just like I do Michael’s kids?” I inquired, surprised to see that he was actually mulling over the notion.
Another stone plopped into the water.
“I suppose so Brynn, but I don’t have any children, so I don’t really know.” His voice dropped an octave on every other word.
Another stone plopped.
“Well, I’m sorry you don’t. I’m sure you’d make a pretty cool father.” I rested my chin on his shoulder.
Prince giggled a moment and intertwined his fingers with mine.
“You think so? Really Brynn?” He questioned swinging my arm back and forth.
“Sure. You’re a little quirky, but I think you have a good heart. And besides, while all the other babies are wearing booties, your kid will be wearing heels.” I sniggled and kissed the nape of Prince’s soft neck.
Prince pulled me against him.
“Brynn…” Pretty hazel eyes searched my face. They appeared…hopeful.
“You’re wonderful.”
His lips mashed mine with a new, fresh passion.
I hung against him limply as his tongue picked around inside my mouth.
After a while, with my lips pounding, raw and sore, Prince leaned back and announced,
“I’m so hot, I’m going for a dip in the lake.”
Giving me a wicked look he added,
“If I don’t, I’ll probably turn that cute dress of yours into confetti.”
I watched as Prince kicked his leg up, unzipping the side of one of his orange boots and pulling it off, revealing a black sock.
Off went the other boot, both dropped along the waterside.
Smiling, Prince removed the socks.
For a moment, I stared at his feet.
I had never seen them before.
And I was kind of surprised his feet weren’t bent in a curve from wearing heels all the time. They were actually sort of pretty.
And Prince was no stranger to a pedicure; his toenails gleamed with clear polish.
He unbuttoned and wiggled out of his shirt, his pale, bronzy skin shimmering in the sunlight.
He was beautiful.
As his hands went to the waist band of his trousers, I blurted,
“You’re not really about to go skinny-dipping in that pond, are you?”
I knew he was an “undies optional” person.
A smirk.
“No…” Prince dropped trou, revealing a small pair of black and white zebra print bikini underwear just barely containing him. Pubic curls peeked out on both sides of the drawers, fanning on his toned thighs.
“I thought you didn’t wear underwear.” I pointed out as Prince stepped out of the pants.
Prince waded out into the pond until the water wafted near his fuzzy abdomen.
“I like to shake things up!” He called back with a splash. “Come on in Brynn! The water’s fine! Not as fine as you though!”
“I‘m not getting in that water! I don‘t know what kinds of creatures are in it!” I laughed waving at him.
“Oh come on! The only thing that’ll nibble on you will be me!” Prince cackled, and splashed again.
I don’t know what came over me, but before I knew it I had stripped out of my jacket and dress, down to my skivvies--and bra!--and was waddling out towards Prince.
The water was just right, nice and warm.
A sheer shade of blue-green.
We floated in a small circle.
“Brynn, Baby, you look so cute in that blue lingerie. I like how you always have your underwear match your outfits.” Prince pulled one of my bra straps down and kissed on my shoulder.
God he smelled so awesome.
I nestled my face against his neck, taking in the scent greedily, like a fat person at the smell of fried foods.
Hugging me tightly against him, Prince pulled my hands around him and made my hands grasp his plump bottom under the water.
“I know you like my ass.” He murmured hotly and made his excessive bottom jiggle against my palms.
I nodded numbly as his own hands slid down and cupped my butt.
“Your ass is so tight. I love it.” He mashed down on my bottom fiercely and I gasped.
“I can’t help myself around you.” Prince confessed, resting his head on my shoulder. “You make me so horny I can’t see straight. I just want to be with you. Near you. Touching you, looking at you. You wanna know something funny…?” He trailed off and sighed contentedly.
“Hmm?” I nibbled on my bottom lip, Prince rarely opened himself up like this.
Maybe there was something strange in the water that made him show a softer side.
“Some nights, when I’m alone in my bed in Minneapolis, I dream of you.” A shy grin touched his mouth.
“You do?” I ran my hands over his bottom, a bit stunned.
Prince was dreaming of me?
Just how far over the moon was he?
“Yeah.” Prince tugged my yet closer, his ‘package’ gently bumped my legs.
“It’s the same thing all the time. You in some pretty red lace…dancing around me…kissing at me…teasing me. I always wake up drenched.”
He was having wet dreams about me?
Moving back from me, Prince dipped under the surface.
He reemerged, brushing soggy curls back.
“I dozed off during the flight to California. Almost messed myself on the plane.” He laughed.
He said seriously.
“I can’t stand the thought of you with Michael Jackson. It’s like watching a dog walk on its hind legs--its unnatural. You really should be in Uptown with me. I keep thinking about it when I’m walking around my house. We had some nice times while you were there.” Prince started for land.
I reflected on the times. Some were indeed nice.
“You know I can’t just up and jet away to Minneapolis.” I whined, shaking out my hair. The ends were damp.
“I have no reason to go there and Michael would freak the hell out if you pulled ‘Brynn Heist’ like you did today.”
“You should jet to Uptown, and if I could smuggle you over state lines without the L.A.P.D. screwing with me I would. I’m surprised the National Guard isn’t combing the state for you right now” Prince shook his head, sending droplets flying. “Michael’s little fruity ass better worry.”
“I’m gonna get you back to Minneapolis. I am. I haven’t figured it out just yet, but I’ll get you back there.” His face was grim as he cracked his knuckles.
I stared down at the soft waves crashing into me.
The question was of how to get to Minneapolis to be with Prince. I knew he was a crafty little man and that soon a plum light bulb would light above his head in due time.
The question was if I did go to Minneapolis, would I have a place to come back to in Santa Ynez?
(And would Prince’s legs still be attached to his body?)

* * *

Sometime Later

“I really hate that I have to take you back to Neverland.” Prince commented in a deep tone as he drove my car back up the highway.
I knew it was late. The sun had long disappeared over the horizon and moon was starting to rear its sleepy head.
I gazed out of the window at the landscaped speeding by.
I was dreading setting foot back on Neverland because I knew Michael was probably in a blue rage.
And incredibly, nothing sexual had occurred between me and Prince.
After splashing around the pond and doing a considerable amount of smooching and necking, we had actually fallen asleep, curled on the hood of the Ferrari.
I don’t know why we went to sleep, maybe the circumstances surrounding our impromptu trip were just wearing on us.
I knew that it was certainly beating on me then.
Prince seemed so frighteningly calm.
Surely he knew he was speeding back into a firestorm at Michael Jackson’s mansion, but he was cruising along like we were on a trip to Disneyland.
I knew Michael wanted to pound Prince’s skull into his shins.
I just knew it. Michael didn’t want me to even talk to Prince and I had been away most of the day alone with him.
I had frolicked so freely with him. As if I were really in Minneapolis. As if I weren’t with Michael Jackson and a part of his world.
It was so stressing.
I enjoyed both sides of the double life I seemed to be living.
The sanctity and quietness of dwelling in Neverland. Not really lifting a finger, except to watch the Jackson Trio. The most work I had done was maybe twelve hours of background work on Not Over. Michael was taking care of me. I was his woman.
On the other end of the spectrum, Prince had also taken care of me in ‘Uptown’. But in the area of work, Prince was constantly jotting lyrics, some that included me, and he was not only treating me as a girlfriend but as a fellow artist, outfitting me with star-quality clothing and cosmetics.
My mind drifted to the first conversation Prince and I had had in Minneapolis where Prince had asked if Michael had signed me to his label--Neverland Records.
Though Michael had been zealous with the release of his single, he hadn’t once mentioned signing me to his label.
And I knew Prince was itching until he had a rash to sign me to Paisley Park/NPG Records.
I had life made with either man. Michael was wonderful man and Prince was too.
I just wondered how long I could go before the true situation came to light and I would have to choose.
If I would be able to choose.
And who I would choose? On either end there would be a broken heart and infuriated man.
The load was heavy.
Almost too heavy for a nineteen year old to bear.
Neverland loomed in the distance.
In the darkness I could see the grounds fully lit, all the rides and attractions in motion.
It seemed so queer to see the place lit up like the Las Vegas Strip.
I was looking for a SWAT team and cops and armed forces.
Neverland appeared to be calm.
Too calm.
As my purple car neared the Ranch and the front wooden gate came into view, my stomach very suddenly dropped to my toes.
A person stood in front of the gates.
Not an excited fan.
Not a bothersome photographer.
Planted in front of the open gates, arms scrunched over their chest and face in a scowl was Michael Jackson.
“Well look who waited up for you Brynn! Michael Jackson actually stayed up past his bedtime.” Prince snickered, slowing the car.
At the sight of the car, I saw that Michael was frantically searching the car’s tinted window, trying to figure out if I were driving or not.
Prince brought the car to halt about five feet from Michael.
He instantly stomped over to the driver’s side.
He wore a wild look in his eyes I had never seen.
Maniacal.
Lethal.
Deadly.
He was pounding on the window so hard it actually rattled.
“Get a load of this! I told you Michael was shitting himself with you gone!” Prince cackled slapping the steering wheel.
I stared ahead, too horrified to speak.
I heard the mechanism whir as Prince let the driver’s side window down.
“Hey Michael.” His voice was syrupy sweet as he addressed the Torrent Jackson.
I peeked at Michael.
He was looking past Prince and fixated on me.
His eyes…Lord, his eyes.
“Brynn…” An icy shock came out his mouth as he spoke over Prince to me.
“Where the hell have you been for the last five hours?” He demanded leaning into the car.
I could only stammer incoherently. My brain had stopped functioning.
Terror was controlling me.
Prince spoke up for me.
“Mikey, calm down. Little Miss Brynn and I have been test driving her Ferrari. We went up to LA and into Malibu. Lost track of time. I don’t wear a watch, so the sun set on us before we got back.”
How the man was so smooth was beyond me.
Michael gave Prince a stony glare.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” His voice dropped a dozen octaves. “I was talking to Brynn.”
Prince regarded Michael with a sour sulk.
“That big behemoth Jimmy said that you drove away with This Damn Man in the Ferrari.” Michael blinked, still not believing that I had left with Prince.
“’This Damn Man‘? Now wait a motherfucking minute--” Prince, ears blazing purple, started, punching the steering wheel.
It was his first time hearing Michael’s ‘pet name’ for him.
Michael completely ignored Prince’s getting hot under the collar.
“Get out of that car right now Brynn Sue McAllister. NOW!”
Michael growled so gruffly that I was at his side so quickly, I nearly bumped into him.
Prince gave me a sad gaze.
He didn’t want me with Michael.
The downtrodden appearance in his eyes was swiftly washed away by pure arrogance.
“Michael Jackson, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were Brynn’s boyfriend. Shouldn’t Taryll be the one yelling at her?” He squawked in a high voice.
Michael stiffened.
Michael was in full “I’m her man” mode and acting like a truly jilted lover.
“Speaking of Taryll, where is he? Does he know his girlfriend drove around Southern California with me?” Prince pretended to look around. “Or is he so mad, he’s got to be kept away from me because he’ll try to do me bodily harm?” He giggled, opening the driver’s door and getting out.
“The latter. The latter.” Michael replied through gritted teeth.
“Oh, well keep him away from me long enough to get my Beemer. Not really in the mood to get into it tonight, you know?” Prince grinned up at Michael.
Michael’s complexion was milky with rage.
I knew it was taking all the willpower in the world for him not to annihilate Prince.
“Jimmy can bring you your car. Come on Brynn.” Michael gripped my hand.
Prince reached at me for his usual final embrace.
“No.” Michael sneered, whirling around and pulling me out of the way.
I looked back at Prince as Michael dragged me up the lane.
Prince stood, hands shoved in his pockets, watching.
Sullenly.
I glanced up at Michael.
His face was whiter than ever as he made his way up to the front door of his house and pushed it open.
As he slammed it with a loud BANG, three figures skidded into the hall.
The Jackson Trio.
“Daddy! You found Brynn! Yay!” Prince-Michael exclaimed and the children cheered.
Michael’s demeanor remained frigid.
“Go to bed.” He ordered, pulling me along into the living room and plopping me down on the couch.
“But Daddy…” Paris started to protest. “It’s only eight o’clock.”
“NOW!” Michael shouted and the children scattered.
Michael turned his back to me and placed his hands on his hips.
“Brynn, why in God’s name would you leave with that little bastard in that eyesore of a car?” Michael asked, shaking his head until his curls bounced.
Tears of shame were meeting underneath my chin. I had never seen Michael so riled up.
“Michael, I didn’t leave! Prince made me go. He just wanted to drive the car around. He…he thought he was doing something special.” I blubbered and sniffled loudly.
Michael sighed.
“I know that son of a bitch made you go.” He spun around to face me, doe eyes brimming with trouble.
I stared up at Michael in curious wonder, but remained silent.
How did he know?
“The kids found me upstairs and told me that they had seen Prince pull you out of the house and throw you into a car. And that you were gone.”
Michael dropped to his knees at my side.
“Then that fat guy, Jimmy claimed that you took the car and invited Prince along. How stupid does that man think I am? You know I hate him, and that you don’t care for him. You don’t want much of anything to do with Prince, much less drive around for half a day.” Michael rubbed my knee.
“Baby, I was so worried. He didn’t try to hurt you or anything, did he?”
His eyes roamed my face.
A face I was sure that wore guilt all over it.
“No…no Michael. We just drove around and talked. Stopped by the water in Malibu. That’s all. He didn’t try anything.”
At least that was a sort of half-truth. We had been by some water.
“I’m glad he didn’t, or I’d walk to Minneapolis and beat him bloody. He’s taking this entirely too far Brynn. I could understand him having a crush on you. You’re a very pretty and sweet girl, but damn it, you’re taken. And if he slinks he short, ugly ass around this place again…” Michael stopped, fists clenched and waving at his sides.
“Michael. I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I should have screamed or something. I was too scared, it all happened so fast. Please forgive me!” I cried, apologizing more for the entire situation rather than my brief vacation from Neverland.
I doubled over sobbing.
I felt Michael gently running his fingers through my hair.
Even through all of the worry, and fear and arguing and near ass kicking, the man still cared.
He still cared.