Chapter 39

A Few Hours Later

Master Suite

Paradiso Verde Hotel

“….I’m telling you George, it is sheer pandemonium outside the Paradiso Verde Hotel here! Over fifteen hundred fans have all but shut down the road and surrounding areas for one man. And that man is the King of Pop, Michael Jackson! It is Thriller-mania!…”

“Golly, fifteen hundred people? That’s even more people than what were there last night--right?” Jonas questioned timorously from where he, the Jackson Trio, Skylar and I were all lounging casually, still in our sleepwear on the large Prussian rug between the foot of the huge canopied bed in Michael’s master suite bedroom and the wall containing the flat, sixty inch plasma screen television. (It was surrounded by a thick gilded frame, like a fine painting.)

Glancing at the bald boy, who was staring up at me expectantly I gave him a nod. I was more interested in watching the news broadcast on Michael’s being in Pasadena, rather than confirming the obvious to a kid.

The on the scene reporter, from the local Pasadena station K-PAS, Barbara Wiggins was at the forefront of the wriggling, glittery mass that was the sea of fans for Michael. Every shot that the roving cameraman took in featured the tear streaming, adoring faces of people of all ages, races and creeds wearing elaborate copies of outfits featured in all of Michael’s music films and performances, from an elderly gentleman well into his seventies wearing the black suit and bow tie, clearly ripped from Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough to a little girl, no older than maybe three in a pint sized pink version of Michael’s iconic Thriller jacket. The kid seemed aloof; I wondered if she truly realized the magnitude of the situation, that her mother, holding the child, in a matching jacket, had thrust her into.

Even Barbara, the reporter, had gotten in on the act, wearing a copy of Michael’s Black or White ensemble, from the white tee shirt and white over shirt to the black trousers. She even wore the white brace on her right arm.

She was quite pretty actually, and could have pulled off the look with a sort of amateur MJ look alike air, had her hair not been Barbie doll, platinum, artificial blonde.

And it wasn’t just Barbara who had dolled herself up in a Michael Jackson get up for the event. Nearly every news channel on TV was covering Michael at the Paradiso Verde.

If anything else happened in the world in the last thirty-six hours, I doubt it got reported on. All the local channels had Michael covered, as did all of the heavy hitters in the television journalism world: CNN, Fox News, NBC and MSNBC all had correspondents canvassing the area. Even my favorite TV journalist, Soledad O’Brien was there, in a vintage Victory tour T-shirt, interviewing devotees.

Barbara had located another fan to interview.

It was a girl, who couldn’t have been much older than me. She seemed calmer than most fans, the group around her were shouting and crying, and she was just grinning up a storm, and holding up a heart shaped cardboard poster, a picture of Michael pasted into the center of it. It sparkled with multicolored glitter.

The girl herself was dressed in a yellow button down shirt, over a white tee and black trousers, with a white ribbon cinching her tiny waist. (An obvious nod to Michael’s The Way You Make Me Feel look. )

Her hair, in an edgy black bob, was covered with a small black fedora.

Barbara Wiggins immediately shoved her microphone into the girls’ face. It was quite a feat actually, because she was held at bay by the human wall of police officers.

“What’s you name young lady?” Barbara all but shouted to be heard over the mash made by the fans once they realized they had air time.

“I’m Mya Daniels!” The girl replied happily leaning until her mouth bumped the microphone. I detected a something like a British accent from her right off the bat. How far had she come to see The King of Entertainment?

“Hello Mya! How old are you and where are you from?”

Barbara turned and winked at the camera.

“I’m seventeen and I came all the way from Auckland, New Zealand to see Michael! Woo!” Mya whooped and the people around her screeched.

“People are coming all the way from down under to see you Honey!” I giggled, turning and beaming at Michael, who was seated Indian-style on the large bed behind the rest of us.

I wasn’t sure if he’d heard me or not, he was so intently watching the news. I knew he wasn’t really paying attention to the fan. He was more into just how much the crowd was expanding with each passing hour.

His face was set, eyes solemnly flicking across the screen.

He already had Rusty in another room on the floor, hastily wrangling more security.

I turned my attention back to the television,

“…what made you come all the way from New Zealand to see Michael Jackson? Why’d you travel half way around the globe to see him?” Barbara inquired gaily, tossing her hair.

Green eyes widened and dancing in her head, Mya replied with a shaking of her poster,

“Cause he’s just great that’s why!”

Drawing a zealous shout from the other onlookers, she leaned and smooched the picture attached to her poster, a headshot of Michael from the cover of his Bad album.

Chuckling, obviously amused by Mya’s enthusiasm, Barbara kept dropping questions on the girl.

How long she’d been a fan (since she was two) , what her favorite album was (a tie between Bad and Dangerous) and what her favorite feature on MJ was (after a flurry of giggles, she admitted she liked his “little booty” the best.)

And then Barbara Wiggins asked the question to end all questions:

“…so Mya, you’ve been out here since about five a.m., have you actually seen Michael Jackson yet?”

The people surrounding Mya appeared the inquiry as a group question and everyone began commenting that none of them had seen him. That they’d merely seen his car surrounded by a pack of police.

For a moment, the camera switched from Mya and pointed up to the Paradiso Verde street front (Michael’s balcony actually overlooked the mass) and it seemed for a scant second that they were waiting for Michael to appear.

Raising her voice to the point it was almost tinny, Mya was just barely audible,

“…I’d love to see Michael, even if just for a few seconds. Anything…”

With that soft and heartfelt confession, Mya began to quietly sob.

As onlookers and Barbara the reporter began to coo at her to calm her, I became aware of the sound of the springs of Michael’s bed gently squeaking.

Whirling around on my ass, I saw that Michael had stood and was hastily fastening the buttons on his still open pajama top.

“Hey…” I started when I noticed that Michael was hastily running his fingers through his tousled hair. “…what are you doing?”

Glancing at me, and the kids who were now staring curiously at him, Michael replied softly,

“There’s a little girl crying outside ‘cause she wants to see me, so, I’m just going to go to the window for a moment. It should make everyone down there happy.”

“You’re going to the window? To wave at the fans? No way! I wanna watch!” Jonas, Skylar and Prince quickly hopped to their feet, followed by a stumbling Paris and Blanket.

A sweet grin creasing his face, Michael offered giddily, “Would you kids like to go on the balcony and wave?”

As the kids roared their response, I heard Michael add with a titter,

“You too, Brynn Sweetie.”

Climbing to my feet as Michael began ushering everyone under eighteen towards the windows, I mumbled,

“Michael, I can’t…”

“Huh? Why?” A confused expression began clouding Michael’s deep, glistening eyes.

I felt a mischievous smile creeping across my face.

“For the last thirty-six hours you’ve been trying to keep sensationalism to a minimum and I know that all the news crews out there will have a cow if you appear at the window--with me--and we’re both wearing sleep clothes. They’ll have a flying filed day.” I pointed out as I made my way across the cool marble floor to him and busied myself fiddling with the buttons on the front of his shirt.

I could only imaging the speculation that would come from Michael’s being in my company…coming out his boudoir in the middle of the day and us both in our bed wear. Even Jonas and Skylar didn’t yet know that Michael and I were a couple. The boys were still under the assumption that I was merely Michael’s protégé, friend and nothing more.

It’d certainly shoot Michael’s “Oh, she’s dating my nephew” ploy down in flames.

At the realization that he could have easily and unwittingly outed himself in front of every major news distributor in the United States and most of the television watching world, Michael looked down over the excited and expectant faces of the kids and winked at me.

“Guys, I think we should all go put on some real clothes. I mean there’s a lot of media down there, and you wanna look your best. Put on some clothes, comb your hair…” Michael began steering everyone towards the doors that lead to the main hallway.

“I don’t have anything to comb! I’m bald!” Jonas whimpered as I helped Michael scoot the kids out the door.

Whining about having to wait to wave to the masses, the kids all began to retreat to their rooms.

“Quick thinking Brynn, that’s the second time you’ve saved my backside. Thank you.” Michael whispered, pulling me close and pecking at my forehead softly.

“Don’t mention it. The most important thing to me is helping you with your image and your career and anything else that you want me for.” I nodded, my knees buckling as I gazed up into his sweet, loving eyes.

There was just something so warm and peaceful in Michael’s eyes. Something so innocent, that I just wanted to care for him in any and everyway I could.

About thirty minutes later, Michael’s bedroom was once again milling with excited children.

The children were definitely little billboard for Michael, each one wearing an oversized shirt with his face emblazoned on it and black jeans. (Each shirt had a shot of Michael from each era, Off the Wall through Invincible) I wondered if they had picked the ensembles themselves or if they’d been laid out by someone else. (Michael?)

A simple black mask concealed each child’s face.

I was dressed as sedately (by my own choosing mind you) in an oversized white tee shirt with “Michael” splattered across it diagonally in a bright red. I finished the look with skinny blue jeans and red ballet flats.

My hair was smooth and held back on one side with a red hair clip and of course, my face was smothering under cosmetics. I wasn’t sure if the people on the ground would be able to tell I was wearing any, but I wasn’t going to run the risk of anyone thinking I was younger than what I already was.

“Hey, do you think my mom will see me on TV when I wave?” A voice asked and I felt a hand gently tugging my wrist.

Looking down, I saw that Jonas was at my side, beaming up at me.

He was obviously proud that the was going to get some air time with Michael Jackson.

“Yeah, Sweetheart, I’m sure you will.” I nodded, reaching and patting his bare head.

“Where is Daddy, I wanna go wave at the people!” Paris exclaimed, stomping over to me, and placing her hands on her waist. Her foot, enclosed in a black sneaker tapped impatiently.

“He’s in the bathroom, he’s still getting dressed. We have to wait.” Prince said matter-of-factly as he and Skylar strolled over, pulling a thumb sucking Blanket in tow.

Sniggling, I heard Skylar allege under his breath,

“As long as Michael’s taking, I bet he’s pooping!”

I don’t know what it was with kids and the mention of a bodily function, but the room erupted in laughs. I can’t lie, I was giggling too.

As the laughter waned, the main doors, across the room opened, and Rusty, followed by Scott, Bo Luke and two other body guards came lumbering in.

“Hey, Rust Bucket, what’s shaking?” I chuckled, bending down and picking up Blanket who was reaching at me.

Rusty, a serious glint in his cool blue eyes walked up to me.

“Where’s Michael at?” He counter asked, shaving his hands into the pockets of his grey pinstriped suit.

The guards greeted me with polite smiles.

“He’s poo--” Skylar started and I shot him a disapproving glance. This wasn’t the time for foolishness.

Smiling broadly, the boy instead began whistling.

Looking back at Rusty, I quickly answered, “He’s in the bathroom, still getting ready. What’s with all the guards?”

“They have to be here, Michael is about to make a public appearance on the balcony and anything can happen. We don’t want to leave anything to chance, Brynn.” Rusty explained, turning and starting over to the bathroom door.

Jiggling Blanket on my hip, I stumbled behind, him, the rest of the kids following me.

“Rusty, we’re on the nineteenth floor! Nothing could possibly happen up this high.” I shook my head and tried to put Blanket down.

He continued clinging to me.

“Oh yeah, tell that to JFK and John Lennon.” Rusty mumbled and ran a hand through his hair.

“Wait a minute? What?” I demanded. Why the hell had Rusty just named two famous people who’d been shot?

I tried to put Blanket down. “Prince, get your brother now!” I nearly shrieked and Prince quickly seized his sibling from me when he realized I was starting to get mad.

The children stood silently watching.

“Rusty, why did you mention JFK and John Lennon? If somebody out there is trying to hurt Michael, you damn well better tell me, or I’ll hurt you myself.” I put my fists in front of me, ready to do a battle royale with Rusty. If something was up with Michael, I wanted to know first and foremost.

I glared at the guards behind him.

“If you big lummoxes are holding back, don’t think because I’m thin I won’t jam on y’all either. Now somebody talk. Is something up with Michael?” I demanded.

Much to my displeasure, the guards remained calm faced, and continued staring straight ahead.

Rusty sighed loudly. “Damn it Brynn. No, there’s nothing wrong at the moment. We just do this as a precaution. You know it’s insane down there. And besides, you’re what? A hundred and five pounds soaking wet? I’d kill you if we fought.” He chuckled. “Furthermore, I don’t hit women.”

Rolling my eyes and fluffing my hair, I corrected him,

“I weigh one-oh-one.”

“Well excuse the shit outta me.” Rusty shook his head and tapped the door.

“Mike you okay in there? It’s Rusty.”

From inside, I heard Michael reply, “I’m almost done!”

I heard a toilet flush and behind me, the kids snickered.

“Did I lie?” Skylar gloated.

“Shut up with that, Carrot-Top.” I shook my finger at the boy, not really mad. I was just relieved that there was no real threat.

A moment later the door to the bathroom slowly swung open.

And Michael Jackson emerged.

“Gosh…” I heard myself murmur.

By comparison everyone else was severely undressed to Michael. The kids and I in our jeans, the security in khakis and even Rusty in his suit all were barely dressed compared to him.

Michael was clothed effortlessly in a light grey silk shirt, buttoned to the top with a diamond crown pin at the throat, black rhinestoned sprinkled trousers with a heavily stoned belt cinching his slim waist.

Even his feet glittered in rhinestoned covered boots.

Michael’s hair, in waves, cascaded around his shoulders. The look was completed by a pair of aviators on his face. All he needed was a single white glove.

Was Michael merely going to wave, or was he going to perform? This was more concert wear than casual wear.

“You all look so cute.” Michael commented, clasping his hands in front of him and walking over to us, pausing alongside me to smooch my cheek lightly.

“Um, Michael….” Rusty began, reaching out and tapping onto his boss’ slim shoulder.

“Yes?” Michael tilted shades and peeked at him over the tops of them. Heavily lined eyes fluttered.

“We’ve got everything together for your appearance. The balcony outside is wide enough for you and Brynn and the children to all be on there at once. Me, Bo, Luke, Scott, Riley and Joel will be just inside the doors if anything happens--we hope it doesn’t. And you know you got cops from all over the state canvassing the area on the ground. You’re pretty much secure man.” Rusty assured him as we walked over to the closed double doors that led onto the large balcony.

“That’s good. I think it’s a good thing to let them see me for a bit, right?” Michael smiled shyly and placed his hands on the shiny brass knobs of the door.

“Yeah man.” Rusty nodded.

“This is so exciting!” I heard Skylar chatter behind me.

A sudden wave of nervousness swept me I only hoped that everything would be alright, and that nobody would really think that I was anything more to Michael than a friend.

“Are you ready Mr. Jackson?” Bo questioned from behind us.

“Yes.” Michael replied and flipped his hair over his shoulder. “I’ll go out first and then I’ll motion for Brynn and the kids. Understood?” He instructed.

“Yes sir!” The guards chorused.

With that, the Michael pulled the doors open and bright sunlight spilled into the room, warming all of us and bathing us in a shimmery glow.

I squinted for a minute, as Michael, now in silhouette, moved out onto the balcony, timidly.

At the sighting of Michael, the screams down below reached an even higher pitch than what I’d heard in the motorcade.

“Oh my God! Listen to that crowd! Dang!” I saw Jonas hugging Paris excitedly.

“I feel like a star man!” Skylar, face matching his hair with enthusiasm exclaimed to the person closest to him--Rusty.

I watched, admiringly with my hands clasped to my chest, as Michael began to wave and blow kisses at the crowd.

“Whoa! Look at that!” My attention was drawn from My Man at Prince’s sudden shouting.

Turning, I saw that the boy was standing in front of the television, staring.

I could feel my eyes widening at the scene on the screen. People screaming and shouting and jumping around ad against each other at the sudden appearance of the King of Entertainment.

The human police barricade was struggling to maintain their footing.

It seemed nearly impossible.

Much to my surprise, Mya, the seemingly cool-tempered girl I had seen a short while earlier, was now being piled onto a stretcher. She clung limply to the paramedic holding her, and seemed a few moments away from a full on faint.

Just as they were strapping her into place, behind the medic, I saw another woman drop into a heap along side the road between the spread legs of a cop. Clutched in her hand was a copy of the Invincible CD.

As a cop stooped the help the woman, a male fan, in his mid-thirties, hopped clean over the 5-0 and started to make a mad dash at the front of the building.

Right on camera, the man made it about five steps before what seemed like and entire police force jumped on him and cuffed him, and struggling and cursing, they carried him away.

“Psst! Hey Brynn!” I felt a hand clamp down on my shoulder.

I looked up into Rusty’s nervy face.

“Michael is motioning for you to lead the kids onto the balcony. Go on!” He announced and grabbed the two children nearest him, Paris and Blanket and shoved their tiny hands into mine and I was being pushed towards the open doorway, Jonas, Skylar and Prince scampering to keep up with us.

I saw that Michael was grinning broadly and waving me on.

“Come on Honey!” He encouraged as I brought his children outside and we all grouped together near him on the wide, marble terrace, that was flanked by two large, gothic gargoyles.

“Ooh-wee! Dig that crowd!” Jonas and Skylar were already peeking over the edge, and waving like they were the celebrities. And since they were in Michael Jackson’s company, they kind of were.

I watched as all the children went immediately to the railing of the balcony and began waving.

I hung back a bit, feeling a bit nervous.

This was my first actual, true appearance in Michael’s company.

“Come on Bunny” Michael’s warm hand was gripping my wrist and pulling me up alongside him.

A warm breeze blew softly as I got the railing, Michael placing an assuring hand on my back.

I forced myself to look over the side.

“Damn!” I gasped, eyes mounting in size.

Everywhere I looked below me, I saw a wriggling, mingling mass of faces, all colors all sizes jumping, waving and hooting.

Here and there, I could see a huge banner proclaiming love and adulation for Michael.

A crowd fifteen hundred strong. So many people that I couldn’t see the street.

Police and ambulance sirens blared and lights flashed.

Flashbulbs popped like fireworks.

Michael was King and he definitely had his subjects.

And a chorus, fifteen hundred strong was chanting one name:

“MICHAEL JACKSON!”

“There’s so many people here, all for you…” I commented, raising my hand and waving limply.

“That’s life Bunny…and I love everyone of the people down there. They made me and I appreciate them all. Even that guy they’re arresting.” Michael sighed and pointed at another man being tossed into the back of a squad car.

“You’re one-of-a-kind Mikey baby, one-of-a-kind.” I snickered, starting to finally feel at ease. And it warmed my heart to know that Michael truly cared about everyone of the screaming teenyboppers down there.

And then came the suggestion.

“Brynn, I have a special thought.” Michael confided, bending to pick up Blanket, who was giddily blowing kisses to the masses.

The crowd roared even louder. ( I doubted he’d hold his son over the barricade like he done a few years earlier when Blanket was an infant.)

“Yeah? What?” I grinned out at the crowd and even blew a kiss.

“Bunny, how would you like to go down and maybe pick two or three fans to come up and say hello? I’d like to meet a few of them.” Michael’s patted my back softly.

“Say what?” I could only stare at him. Michael Jackson was sending me down there, into the eye of the proverbial storm, to pluck some fans loose to meet him?

Was that why he was dressed like this was the Grammys?

“Are you sure? Who do I pick? There’s so many people.” I whispered, gazing back down at the screaming jumble.

“Just pick someone that looks like fun. Not somebody too, too wild though. Hee-hee.” Michael tittered.

No one too wild. Sure.

I looked at the crowd once more.

That’d be like finding a needle in a haystack for sure.

* * *

North Parking Garage

Paradiso Verde Hotel

Twenty Minutes Later

“…leave it to Michael to take a difficult situation and make it even more harder…the things I do…” Rusty lamented through gritted teeth as he, Scott, Luke and I quietly made our way through the mostly empty garage, making our way to the street.

And for the whole time, Rusty Ross had been complaining once he got out of Michael’s earshot. And I was rapidly growing tired of his moaning.

“Rusty, could you put the brakes on your incessant bitching for about five minutes? Geez. Michael is trying to do something nice, and you’re acting like he stuck a live grenade up your butt. Shut up.” I sneered up at him and flipped my hair arrogantly.

“Brynn! That man is throwing us into the belly of the beast! How in the hell are you gonna pick someone out of fifteen hundred people? Should we hold auditions?” Rusty scoffed and shot him an icy glare. “If I were you, I’d put my hands on the first people I see.”

“Forget it you Seacrest drone! Michael specifically asked me to find somebody suitable and I plan to do that. And you better stifle yourself before I lay my hands on you.” I warned, wagging my finger at him.

“Whatever.” Rusty shook his head.

“Mr. Ross! Miss McAllister!”

Turning from Rusty, I saw that an old friend, Officer Hank McKinney was jogging towards us. A few feet behind him, another cop, a huge black man with an S-curl and thick mustache was trying to keep up.

“Hi!” I smiled waving at them.

“Hello, Rusty Ross, Brynn McAllister, meet my working partner Officer Mark Kristopher.” Officer McKinney smiled.

“Nice to meet you.” I greeted Officer Kristopher, shaking his hand.

As he shook hands with Rusty, Officer McKinney continued,

“Mr. Jackson asked us to escort you and Mr. Ross out to the street to select some fans. Please follow us.” Taking my arm in his rough hand, Officer McKinney began leading us towards the opening of the garage.

I was actually a bit shocked. Michael had pulled four guards to just walk me to the street?

At first I thought that Michael was just being his usual slightly over protective self.

That all changed when I actually emerged on the street.

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

Screams.

That’s all I remember.

Screams, shouts, chants, hysteria.

Pure hysteria.

There I was, little Brynn Sue McAllister, face to face with it all.

To be honest, it seemed more like the fall out after a disaster, rather than a fan gathering.

Looking around, I saw that policemen were still struggling to control the crowd. Some were still a living barricade, while more were riding by, mounted on horses, shouting over megaphones for order.

Their shouts fell on deaf ears and into the open mouths of the shouting, insatiable crowd.

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

“Stand back! Coming through!” A voice called and Scott quickly pulled me back as a paramedic, pushing a man with a busted nose on a stretcher came running past.

“Yo, Hamilton, what the hell happened to him?” Officer McKinney called as they went by.

The medic paused long enough to turn and shout back,

“Two guys got into it over one of Michael’s song. I don’t know all the details, but this guy got his ass kicked! The arrested the other dude!”

People were coming to blows over songs? What was I doing out there?

“Damn, it’s already hard enough trying to control a crowd like this and then your have a rowdy ones wanting to fight. I shoulda been a veterinarian like my Mama wanted me to be!” Officer Kristopher lamented as we began walking past the crowd again.

“…yes! I love Michael Jackson! He is so hot he makes my teeth sweat!” I heard a fan giggling into a reporter’s microphone.

I glanced at the girl. She looked a bit too wild to take to Michael. She had wild, curly blonde hair, streaked with pink and had Michael’s name scrawled all over her face in black eyeliner pencil. Not to mention the neon pink bodysuit she wore. (Without a bra, mind you!)

Yeah, she was a little too over the top for Michael.

“Michael! Michael! He’s our man! If he can’t do it, no one can! WOO!”

A group of elderly women were raising a ruckus.

Part of me wanted to take all these women, who looked like extras from The Golden Girls to Michael, but I used my better judgment. Maybe their fragile hearts might not have been able to handle the shock of meeting him.

“You see anybody worthy of the cause yet?” Rusty’s voice, hot and pungent, bounced against my ear.

“Not yet you dill weed, when I spot the right person, I’ll clue you in.” I sighed and moved ahead of him a bit.

His breath was kicking like a Rockette. Hadn’t he ever heard of a Tic-Tac?

Walking along, I passed by kid after kid, fan after fan, and yet, I didn’t really seem to get that vibe that I wanted to feel from a fan. The loyalty, the devotion. Sure it was there. Oh hell yeah it was there. But I had yet to see the magnitude and caliber of admirer I’d wanted to take to Michael.

And that’s when I saw it.

“…You‘re just the product of loveliness! I like the groove of your walk, your talk your dress!…!”

I could hear a man, clearly singing the lyrics to Michael’s hit, The Way You Make Me Feel.

His voice was so high and sweet, for a moment, I looked around, half expecting to see Michael coming from somewhere singing.

I had to find the source of that alluring voice.

Without warning, I took off running.

“Brynn! What the bloody hell are you doing?” I heard Rusty cry as I left him and guards to flee behind me.

I ran what had to be at least a block when I found the crowd.

Assembled in the middle of the street was a gathering of people forming a circle around someone.

Pushing my way through the crowd, and probably being rougher than I should have been, I forced my way to the forefront of the crowd. I think I stepped on a policeman’s foot!

And that’s when I saw him.

A full fledged Michael Jackson impersonator was in the zone, still warbling off lyrics.

The man was tall and thin, with a complexion that was more olive than milky. Long, naturally curly black hair bounced over the man’s shoulders and was springing out of the ponytail it was gathered in.

The man was clad in a jazzy version of Michael’s TWYMMF ensemble, complete with a shiny blue satin shirt, skinny rhinestoned belt and black leather pants.

And of course the pristine white socks and loafers.

I was captivated a bit. The man so closely resembled Michael facially, that I wondered if the look was natural or “enhanced”.

He had high cheekbones like Michael and heavily outlined doe like eyes and even plump lips. His lips were a bit of a disaster. Michael’s lips were naturally pink and this man’s lips were a shade of frosted red. He’d obviously wondered into someone’s make up case for the color.

“Gosh, that guy’s good, isn’t he?” I questioned to the person nearest me, a girl about my age.

“That is my brother.” The girl informed me, proudly.

I stared at her. With her long, swirls of dark hair and happy brown eyes, it was easy to tell that she and the man were related.

The girl was dressed coolly in a red tee-shirt with Michael’s name in a white heart on the front and white jeans. She wore a black Kodak camera around her neck attached with a hot pink cord. I also noticed that draped around her shoulder was the Italian national flag.

“You’re brother’s awesome. Brynn McAllister.” I introduced myself, holding my hand out to the girl.

“Hello! I’m Ashley Clementi. It’s nice to meet you.” She smiled. Ashley had a heavy accent. How far had she and her brother come to see Michael?

Glancing back at her brother I asked, “What’s his name?”

“Antonio.” Ashley giggled. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Sure.” I grinned as Ashley led me into the cheering circle where Antonio was spinning like a top.

“Antonio…” She started and spoke swiftly to her brother in pure Italian. I think I heard my name mentioned in there somewhere.

Antonio stopped on a dime facing us.

Taking my hand, he brought it to his lips and pecked it lightly.

“Hello Miss.” He grinned.

“Where do you guys come from?” I questioned as Antonio’s crowd dispersed and resumed cheering at the hotel front.

“We traveled all the way from Florence to be here. We love Michael and we try to go everywhere he goes.” Antonio ran a hand through his long hair.

“That’s cool.” I smiled.

“Yeah, we usually spend everything we have to come see him when we can afford to. But it’s worth it. Michael is just so great and yummy looking.” Ashley chuckled nodding.

These kids were perfect.

“Where do you come from ah, Brynn?” Antonio wondered. To say he sang in English so well, I was having a hard time deciphering his speech, his accent was so thick.

“I live in California.” I admitted grabbing a lock of my hair and twirling it.

“You live here in California?” Antonio and Ashley seemed shocked. “You are so lucky. I bet that you get see Michael Jackson all the time.”

“Oh more than you’d guess.” I giggled when I saw that Rusty and the other guards were running over to me.

“You are so lucky.” Ashley shook her head. “I got to see Michael when he came on the balcony. And then a girl fainted and knocked me down. By the time I got back up, he was gone. But I saw all his kids too. It was sweet!”

“Brynn, what is your main problem? Running off like that? Are you crazy?” Rusty admonished as he and the guards finally got to me.

The cry went over my head.

“Rusty, I’d like for you to meet Ashley and Antonio Clementi. They came all the way from Florence, Italy to see Michael. Ashley, Antonio, say hello to Rusty Ross.”

Ashley’s eyes bulged in her head. “Rusty Ross? He’s Rusty Ross?” she pointed at him.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Rusty nodded and I beamed as red flags in her head started going off.

“But he works for…that means…” She stared at me. “You’re with…you’re the girl from the--” Ashley started to scream out that I was the girl on the balcony with Michael, and using his better judgment, Antonio quickly covered her mouth with a large hand.

“Are you really who you say you are?” Antonio raised an immaculately plucked eyebrow.

“Yes.” I nodded and at the confirmation, Ashley began flailing wildly against her brother at the realization that she was conversing with someone from Michael Jackson’s inner circle.

“What is it that you want with us? I’m not in trouble for singing his song, am I?” Antonio’s eyes were wide as he continued to keep his sister quiet.

“On the contrary my friend.” I chuckled. “He asked me to select a couple of people to come up and say hello. How would you and your sister like to come up?”

Ashley finally broke free and reached out and frantically grabbed my shoulders. Shaking me to the point where my head bobbed, she shrieked,

“Yes! Take us there. Please! Please!”

Taking her hand in mine and grabbing her brother’s with the other I turned to Rusty.

“I want to take these two people back with me.” I told him.

“You sure?” Rusty cautioned running his hands through his hair.

“No, I’m just yanking your chain--yes these nice people!” I rolled my eyes at him. Why did that fool always have to question my judgment?

“Fine, just don’t run like a madwoman this time. Come on.” Rusty and the guards crowded around us and we started making our way from the parking garage.

Antonio and Ashley walked along glassy eyed and wordless. I believe they were just to incredibly shocked that their dream had come true.

Once we got into the safety of the garage though, they found their voices.

“I just can’t believe it! I get to meet Michael Jackson! Me, Ashley Marie Testolini Clementi! It’s too much!” Ashley dropped my hand and sank to the cool pavement, resting on her knees.

“Holy Hell” I heard Rusty grunt under his breath.

“How do you know Michael Jackson? Do you work for him?” Antonio was much more sedate as he bent over to help pull his sister to his feet.

“Yeah, I do…um, he and I are working on some music together.” I admitted looking at the rosettes on the tops of my shoes shyly.

“You’re singing with Michael Jackson!!” Antonio, stunned by the news, let go of Ashley and she plopped back down on the ground.

Officer Kristopher stepped in and yanked her to her feet.

“Yeah.” I nodded.

“Oh my God, you must really be good if you’re singing with Michael. He always has the best people on his side. The man is a genius.” Antonio laughed and clapped his hands together.

“Are you dating Michael?” Ashley asked pointedly, and behind me, Rusty groaned.

Oh no! I had never expected this question from a fan.

“Please excuse my sister. She thinks everyone is dating Michael.” Antonio glared at Ashley and she stuck her tongue out at him in defiance.

Time to throw out the “Taryll” card.

“I’m not dating Michael. He’s very sweet, but he’s just my friend. I’m actually dating Michael’s nephew Taryll.” I replied quietly and tried not to let on I was lying.

Ashley screamed, “You’re dating Taryll Jackson? Oh my God! He is too fine! You really are so lucky! I‘d die if I was dating a Jackson! ”

I heard Antonio mumble under his breath, “I wonder if LaToya is single…”

Now that Ashley was situated on her feet, we proceeded to the freight elevator and started our ascent.

“God, I hope I don’t do or say anything stupid. I’ve wanted to meet Michael since I was seven years old. Oh Lord.” Ashley whimpered before crossing herself and reciting a prayer. In Latin.

“So how old are you kids?” Officer McKinney asked as Ashley continued praying.

“I am twenty-six years old and my sister is twenty-two years old.” Antonio replied with a grin.

“And you’re from Florence, Italy? That’s quite a jump kiddo.” Officer Kristopher guffawed.

“Yes Sir. My sister and I were raised in Sicily and then in Crete and we moved to Florence to go to university. And now here to see Michael. I can’t believe that I get to see Michael. Me, Antonio Alonzo Gianni Rudolpho Valentino Testolini Clementi! Thank you God!” Antonio raised his hands above his head and then reached out and hugged me. “And thank you Brynn! You are a true friend!”

“No problem Antonio Alonzo Gianni Rudolpho Valentino Testolini Clementi!” I chuckled. “Is that really your full name?” I wondered.

“Yes Miss.” Antonio laughed.

His laughter was abruptly cut off when the bell dinged signifying that we had reached the nineteenth floor.

“Y’all ready?” I asked as the doors to the floor slid open.

A lone figure stood in the hallway.

Skylar.

His mask was crooked on his grinning freckled face.

“Oh you’re back!” He chuckled goofily before turning and running back to the Master Suite, shouting,

“Hey Michael! Brynn’s back!”

“Was that Prince? I thought he had blonde hair.” Ashley inquired as we stepped off the elevator and into the hallway.

“Wow, this place is pretty.” I heard Antonio comment.

“That wasn’t Prince. That was Skylar, his friend.” I explained as Skylar returned to the double doors of the Master Suite.

“He’s coming! He’s coming!” The boy cheered before disappearing once more.

Ashley began rattling off prayers in Latin again.

Rusty offered a valid piece of advice.

“Just be calm. Michael is a normal person. Just be calm.”

And to this piece of advice, Antonio replied with a convincing smirk.

“Michael is not normal Sir. You and me, we’re normal. My sister, Brynn. They’re normal. Michael is a musical genius and if he were normal he’d be down on the ground cheering at another star. Normal didn’t make him a star. Michael is something special Sir. Something, someone very special.”

And it was so true.

My heart ached at the thought. My mind drifted to the thought of The Other Man, and my head spun.

Michael was indeed someone very special and I was happy that Prince was on the other side of the globe in Minneapolis.

He could stay there.

Antonio’s words hung in the air.

“Hi.” A soft falsetto broke the silence that was cloaking us.

Looking up, I saw that Michael, in all his shining splendor had appeared in the doorway.

“Oh Jesus Mary and Joseph. It’s Michael!” Antonio’s voice, now a shaky whisper was muffled as he brought his hands to his face in amazement.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t cry…” He whimpered as his eyes welled and the tears made their way down his sharp cheeks.

Michael started slowly sauntering over to us, his long lean form swaying.

Looking over at a now silent Ashley, I saw that she was just staring at Michael.

Mesmerized.

“Who are your friends Brynn?” Michael asked, stopping close to us and a smile creased his delicate features.

“Michael, I’d like for you to meet Antonio and Ashley Clementi. They came all the way from Florence, Italy to meet you.” Rushing over behind Michael I said,

“Ashley and Antonio, this is Michael Jackson.”

“Mr. Jackson, Sir. It is a true honor.” Antonio, fully weeping, snotted, reaching his hand out and grasping Michael’s.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” Michael’s timid side was showing.

“Sir, I have looked up to you since I was a small, small boy. You are the ultimate entertainer Sir. Your dancing, your singing. I have all your music. You make wonderful, wonderful music Sir.” Antonio embraced Michael.

“Well thank you. You’re very kind Antonio.” Michael tittered and let go of Antonio who was still sniffling.

Michael then approached Ashley.

“Hello Ashley.” He extended his hand.

Ashley continued staring at him.

“Ashley?” Antonio wondered, rubbing at his eyes.

And then down she went.

Everyone kind of jumped back as Ashley’s pretty brown eyes rolled back in her head and she topple down to the ground with a faint THUD.

“Holy shit! She fainted!” Rusty exclaimed as he and Officers McKinney and Kristopher dropped to their knees next to the girl and started waving at her. Fanning her, patting her cheeks, trying to revive her.

Antonio offered no help, besides standing there, looking stricken as Michael squeaked,

“Gosh! Is she okay? Let me see.” Walking over Michael dropped to his knees and began smoothing her hair back with a large hand.

After a moment, the girl’s eyes fluttered open.

At the sight of Michael, she gasped.

“It’s you. It’s really you Michael! I love you so much!”

Reaching up she wrapped her arms around Michael’s neck and hugged him close to her.

Michael returned the favor by squeezing her back.

“I love you more.” Michael giggled.

Ashley leaned back and for a moment, softly pecked Michael’s plump lips.

“I love you. I love you Michael. You’re wonderful.” She confided, as happy tears started springing from her eyes.

“You’re wonderful too.” Michael chuckled getting up and pulling Ashley to her feet.

“I’m sorry I fainted. It’s just so exciting to meet you. You mean so much to me and my brother and all the fans. We just love you so much Michael.” Ashley shook her head as more tears spilled forth.

And I think that ten minutes later, Ashley and Antonio were loving Michael on a pink fluffy cloud floating around Heaven.

Michael had posed for pictures with the Clementi siblings, issued a signed photograph to them and given Ashley another kiss. Introductions to all the kids…

And just as quickly as they had come, the Clementi siblings were gone. Back on the elevator and back down to the real world.

The real world.

I barely knew what it was any more.

And as different and complicated as my life already was, it was about to become even more so.

* * *

Chapter 38

Two Hours Later

Somewhere on Highway 105

Near Pasadena, California

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I motioned to the slumbering Paris and Blanket.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rusty?” He shouted into the receiver.

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

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

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

My heart throbbed as I recognized the expressions.

Worry.

The boys were worried.

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

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

A chant a thousand voices strong:

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

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

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

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

Michael was frightened. My Michael Jackson was frightened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What Rusty said next chilled my blood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The car fell silent.

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

Finally, Skylar broke the silence.

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

Eyes watched, ears strained at Michael.

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

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

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

Sniffling loudly, Michael answered,

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

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

Gripping his slim shoulders gently, I said,

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

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

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

I was truly worried.

Peeking out the window, Michael called,

“Scottie, where are we?”

Scott, who was driving us, called back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My eyes welled at the sight of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I continued clinging to Michael.

“I love you too…It’ll be okay…”

I vainly wished that everything would be truly be okay.

* * *

Forty Five Minutes Later

About Twenty Blocks From The Paradiso Verde Hotel

Downtown Pasadena, California

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah…” The phone line clicked off.

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

As Michael mumbled incoherently, I answered,

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

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

The Jackson Trio voiced their agreement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong!

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

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

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

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

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

He extended a large, rough red hand at Michael.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As Michael quietly mulled over the exchange, I pushed.

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

Officer Tonkawa gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

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

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

God it felt so good to laugh.

If only the feeling lasted.

* * *

　

Twenty Minutes Later

Five Blocks From The Paradiso Verde Hotel

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


Mayhem.

Hysteria.

Madness.

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

People.

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

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

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


This was truly a Michael Jackson fan crowd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All the children except Blanket were looking out the windows.

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

My heart sank. The poor boy was frightened again.

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

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

“I love you Michael Jackson!”

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

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

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

Banging on the glass, I heard her call,

“Hi Michael! Michael! I love you!”

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

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

Came the beg as we passed her by.

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

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

I don’t think I even believed it anymore.

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

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

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

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

The children seemed consumed with anxious gasps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don’t know why, but I remarked,

“Well it could be worse.”

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

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

“Hee-Hee.”

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

Michael Jackson was laughing.

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

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

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

Everyone seemed to become more relaxed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Never had I been so happy to see Rusty Ross.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We chuckled as we started towards the large elevator.

Then a sound made my spine twist with sheer terror.

“MICHAEL!”

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

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

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

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

She was waving her arms wildly to catch his attention.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reaching out and clutching his hand the girl gushed,

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

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

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

My heart warmed at the sight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank God we were all okay.

* * *

Later That Same Morning

Nineteenth Floor of the Paradiso Verde Hotel

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

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

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

I glanced around the bathroom with a content smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michael really had covered all the bases.

“Bunny?”

I started slightly at the sound of my pet name.

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

Michael Jackson.

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

A soft smile was creasing his pink lips.

He was so handsome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you wearing underwear?”

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

Had Michael Jackson just asked…

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

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

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

Suddenly flustered at the naughty question, I mumbled,

“Yes….yes I am.”

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

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

What he said next sent shock waves through me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man was toying with his nipples!

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

Swaggering deliberately, Michael approached me once more.

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

I know that Michael wasn’t….!

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

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

Eventually my lower regions were exposed to him.

I put a hand to my mouth in shock…

Michael Jackson was going to make a meal of me!

The man was freakier than I had ever envisioned.

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

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

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

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

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

Face hovering around…me, Michael commented,

“I can’t wait to taste you….”

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

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

Taking in my scent.

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

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

It was a pleasant pain.

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

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

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

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

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

This blatant act of nastiness was almost too much.

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

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

Too close. Too fast…

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

The feeling…the feeling….

Overwhelming….

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

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

He was slurping!

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

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

I was speechless.

I just couldn’t believe it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So many unanswered questions….

Straightening back up, Michael winked at me.

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

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

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

I stared after him.

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

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

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

* * *