Chapter 41

Thirty Minutes Later

Near The Taylor Estate

Bel Air, California

“Is everyone ready to have a good time at the party?” Michael questioned, peeking over the top of the small compact mirror he held, checking his make up for smudges.

Michael Jackson was resplendent in his after party outfit, the tight, shiny blue silk satin ensemble. His hair even sparkled.

I was just happy that all the tightness that he’d had before the awards was gone and now he was his usual happy-go-lucky self.

That was my Michael.

“Yeah, I can’t wait to meet Elizabeth Taylor. She’s one of my favorite actresses.” I laughed, blowing a curl out of my eye.

I wore my after party dress, and not to toot my own horn, but damn, I was looking fine!

It fit me perfectly and was actually a minidress, the skirt stopping several inches above my knees.

My hair had been taken down and now flowed over my shoulders in loose waves.

“I’m proud of you Daddy!” Paris called leaning over and giving Michael and hug and kissing the dimple in his chin.

“Me too Dad.” Prince nodded. Beside him Blanket was giving Michael a thumbs up.

“You’re the man!” Jonas laughed and Skylar bobbed his head in agreement.

“I’m glad that you’re all so proud of me. I’m proud that I was able to share the night with all of you!” Michael beamed.

“You did good Uncle Michael. You didn’t even break a sweat when that chick came running at you. Very smooth!” Taryll, who was squished in beside me--furthering the boyfriend effect--commented, picking at his dark curls.

A point Michael harped on.

“Thank you, now Taryll remember, you’re supposed to be Brynn’s boyfriend. So try to kind of hang around her. And keep your flirting to a minimum. You have an image to uphold.” He instructed taking a small sponge and patting some of the powder on his nose which was shining a bit.

“Cool it. You know you can trust me.” Taryll assured him and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

“Ain’t that right…Baby?” He murmured seductively.

Maybe he was taking this boyfriend role just a tad too seriously.

Just a tad.

“Oh! There’s Liz’s house!” Michael said excitedly, pointing.

As the kids showed their awe by “ooh”-ing and “aahh”-ing, I let out an inner gasp.

Elizabeth Taylor’s home, named Molto Grazie Manor, was nestled at the top of a hill like a diamond. (I don’t know why rich people named their homes.)

As our car moved up the lane, her home suddenly came into view.

It was a beautiful, sprawling estate, made to look like an Italian villa, and was painted a warm terra cotta color.

Lights illuminated the pathway and the crown jewel in the center of the manicured lawn was a large fountain, in the center of it, a cherub spouting water.

As we pulled into the parking lot on side of the house, I saw that we weren’t the first guests to arrive.

Passing through the open double doors and disappearing inside were Lionel Richie and his family.

As our car came to a stop in front of the house, a valet quickly ran over and held the door to the car open for us.

He appeared to be a kid in his late teens with a face full of acne.

His pimply face lit up at the sight of Michael.

“Oh! Hello Mr. Jackson and company. Welcome to Molto Grazie Manor.” He chuckled, flushing, as he helped us up and out of the car.

“Thank you. Something for your trouble my man.” Taryll said confidently patting the kid on his back and handing him a twenty dollar bill.

“Gosh, thank you Sir!” The boy sniggled as he took the wheel from Scott, who had been driving, and proceeded away to park the car.

Looping his arm through my bare one, Michael chuckled,

“Come on, let’s get to partying!”

* * *

Sometime Later

The Grand Ballroom

Molto Grazie Manor (AKA The Taylor Estate)

“…and I’m telling you man, when I saw that girl running at you, I was like, aw hell, Mike about to be taken out!” Chris Tucker cackled nasally and took a sip of the tall glass of Port wine he was holding.

The ballroom on the ground floor of Elizabeth Taylor’s mansion was absolutely breathtaking.

The theme of the after party was “Golden Opulence.”

All around the marble covered room, bolts of black and gold fabric had been draped from the ceiling, and crystal chandeliers and was wrapped lazily around the pillars in the room.

Even the string quartet and DJ in the back of the room on a small platform were dressed in black tuxes and tails, all trimmed in gold.

All of the round tables had been painted black and were inlaid with a mosaic pattern of black and gold tiles, into the shape of an “E”. I guess it was so that no one forgot just who was hosting this shindig.

About three hundred people were attending the party.

The tables were made to seat about ten, but Michael’s table was especially crowded, because it seemed that everyone one wanted to be seated near him.

In addition to Michael, Taryll, the Jackson Trio, Jonas, Skylar and me, there was Chris Tucker who’d been running off at the mouth since we’d sat down.

There was Steve Harvey and his wife; Eddie Murphy, and Dave Chapelle.

It was a table full of comedians.

Rusty was nowhere to be seen. He was in Pasadena delivering Michael’s award to the hotel personally.

I was having the time of my life, I was nearly splitting my sides laughing at the men’s jokes and floating because I had never been surrounded by so much star power in all my life.

A whole parade of celebs had made their way to Michael to congratulate him, including Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, Mariah Carey, Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher and even Bruce Willis!

My mind was spinning!

I couldn’t wait to meet the hostess herself, Elizabeth Taylor.

But her appearance would be a while in waiting; Michael told me that she liked to be fashionably late for an event--even if it were hers!

“So, Miss Lady Ma’am, you’re Michael’s new little protégé? Hmmm?” Eddie Murphy questioned as the first course of the dinner started being passed out. He was handsome in a white smoking jacket and black trousers. (Everyone else was in simple black suits.)

It was a chilled lobster and lemon appetizer arranged delicately on a gilded platter.

“Yes, Michael just finalized signing me to Neverland Records earlier this week.” I nodded, sipping at my own wine. (Michael let me have it--we were celebrating!)

“Well you look like you have the star quality. Yes.” Dave Chapelle nodded before digging into his food.

“Thank you.” I could feel myself blushing. I couldn’t believe I was getting compliments from the funniest men in entertainment.

“She has a really good, pure unique sound. Very fresh. And she’s very young--only nineteen.” Michael pointed out, forking food into his mouth.

“Damn man, For real? You’re nineteen?” Steve Harvey stroked the thick mustache covering his upper lip.

“Yeah, I am.” I nodded. I didn’t mind admitting my age, because everyone around us thoroughly believed that Taryll was my boyfriend.

(Even though at the moment he was staring dreamily over at supermodel Petra Nemcova.)

“Michael be catching them new acts early!” Chris laughed loudly.

Michael hummed happily.

Our secret was safe.

As I busied myself helping Jonas to pluck his lobster out the shell, someone hooted.

“Michael Jackson! How are you doing man?”

I turned around in time to see that Michael was out of his seat and embracing another man warmly.

He was quite attractive with longish dark blonde hair falling into his wide sleepy blue eyes. His pink, plump lips were curled into a grin as he leaned back and continued conversing with Michael.

I had seen this man somewhere before. I knew he was an actor, but I couldn’t put my finger on his name.

“Brynn, Honey, I want you to meet a dear old friend of mine!” Michael tittered, reaching and pulling me to my feet.

“Brynn McAllister, this is Macaulay Culkin.” He snickered.

“You’re…Macaulay Culkin?” I gasped as the man took my hand and pulled me against him in a friendly hug.

I couldn’t believe it. This was one of Michael’s very best friends in the world. And one of the best former child actors. (Star of the first two Home Alone films.)

“Oh, we’re gonna be friends Brynn--call me Mac!” He laughed, leaning back and winking at me.

He waved a hand at everyone else at the table.

“Okay…Mac.” I grinned. “I really love your movies. I’m a big fan.”

It was all I could think to say to him.

Turning rosy Macaulay snickered once more. “Thank you. If you’re good enough to be working with Michael Jackson, then I know I’ll be a fan of your singing.”

I could only smile.

At that moment, the string quartet, which had been calmly playing classical pieces winded down and the DJ took over, and threw on a techno beat song.

As people started getting up and flooding by us to get onto the gold lighted dance floor in the middle of the room, Macaulay leaned over and patted Taryll on the shoulder.

“Hey Tar, could I possibly steal your girlfriend for a few dances? Hmm?” He questioned, raising a soft brown eyebrow.

Taryll in “Hawk Mode” jumped onto his case.

“You wanna dance with Brynn? Where’s your girlfriend? Milla?” He demanded, downing the remainder of his wine and motioning to the waiter for more. From what I knew Macaulay Culkin had been dating Milla Kunis one of the stars of That 70’s Show.

Macaulay ran a hand through his hair and groaned.

“She’s not here man. She’s off doing a photo shoot for Blender magazine. Come on! Let me dance with Brynn. I wanna dance, not steal her way. Geez.”

I noticed that Michael was staying out of the mix and was instead bending behind Paris and chatting with her and Blanket.

He really was leaving me to act like Taryll’s girlfriend.

Hell I didn’t have to impress Taryll. Michael was on the only Jackson I ran behind.

Grabbing onto Macaulay’s hand, I said,

“Come on, let’s go dance. I’ll be back Taryll!”

As I started leading a triumphantly laughing Mr. Culkin away, I heard Taryll call,

“You wouldn’t be doing this if I were Michael!”
“Sure!” I replied with a giggle as Macaulay and I joined the mass of moving bodies.

Near the back of the room, grooving on a tabletop was the Pink Heiress herself, Paris Hilton.

I was laughing then.

If only I knew.

If only I knew.

* * *

An Hour Later

“…Oooh she’s a Bad Mamma Jamma! She’s built…She’s staked!…”

“I love this song!” Macaulay exclaimed twirling in a circle.

“Me too!” I replied.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun.

Macaulay was an excellent dancer--he’d only stepped on my toe once, during Brick House--and we’d been keeping company well on the dance floor.

Looking around, I saw that the Jackson Trio and Jonas and Skylar had found their way onto the floor and were dancing amongst themselves a few feet away.

The men remained at the table.

I knew that Michael wasn’t going to dance. He’d already been on display earlier that evening and we both knew that if he got on the floor it’d go from an Elizabeth Taylor party to a Michael Jackson concert in ten seconds flat.

Oh, all night people had been trying to get him on the floor, but he wouldn’t budge.

Even Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie had tried to get him up. He tuned them down flat.

The crowd cheered as a Bad Manna Jamma came to an end and a lively guitar riff rang through the room on the speakers.

I recognized the riff instantly and almost tripped over my feet.

The opening bars to Prince Nelson’s song Kiss began blaring.

Part of me wanted to leave the floor immediately, out of respect to Michael. I knew he hated The Purple One with every fiber of his being.

And I was going to leave, but my dance card with Macaulay wasn’t quite full.

“I dig this jam too!” Macaulay confided, grabbing onto my arms and spinning me in a circle.

I wanted to leave but the lure of the dance floor proved to be too much for me.

I found myself wiggling along with Mac and I was even singing along to the music.

“…you don’t have to be rich to be my girl…you don’t have to be cool to rule my world!” Macaulay sang, a bit off-key, holding onto my waist and dipping me.

While I was down, I saw that Michael was full on frowning.

I knew I had to get off that floor--right then.

No one at the party other than those closest to Michael really knew about his distaste for Prince Nelson, but I knew just the same he’d be happy if I weren’t dancing to that song.

This was Michael’s night. Not Prince’s.

Using my better judgment, I patted my partner’s shoulder.

“Woo--hey Mac, would you mind if I sat the rest of this one out? I’m a little warm.” I questioned, and pretending to be hot, I fanned myself with my hand.

Running a hand through his thick sandy mane, Macaulay laughed.

“No. We have been going for a while. I should return you back to Taryll. He might have forgotten what you look like by now. Hey, do you want me to go to the bar and get you a drink?” He questioned as he took my arm and began escorting me off the dance floor.

The golden bar was in the center of the room, just off the dance floor.

“No, that’s okay. I can get it myself. Thanks for the dances, Mac.” I giggled, and hugged Macaulay.

“No prob. You just better send me a copy of your first CD when you make it!” He crowed, and he turned and started towards Michael’s table.

“You got it man!” Giggling to myself, I started towards the bar.

There were only two people there--the bartender and Paris Hilton’s younger sister, Nicky. (From what I knew at some point in time, one of Elizabeth Taylor’s eight husbands had been a Hilton.)

“Hi Brynn!” She greeted me as she sipped her martini.

“Hiya Nick.” I grinned.

It seemed as though everyone knew who I was. It was a lot to swallow, but I was just treating everyone like a normal person.

“What’ll it be ma’am?” The bartender asked.

“White wine spritzer, with a kiwi twist.” I nodded and the tender set to work.

“I’m gonna go dance. You think Macaulay will dance with me?” Nicky asked, tossing her long blonde hair and adjusting the top of her mint green strapless minidress.

“I think he’ll dance with anything on legs.” I giggled.

“That’s cool.” Nicky winked at me and setting down her drink proceeded onto the floor.

“Here you are ma’am A white wine spritzer with a kiwi twist. Enjoy.”

My drink was slid across the glass tabletop to me.

“Thanks.” I smiled and started sipping at the beverage. It was good.

I bounced against the bar to the music.

Over the speakers I could hear Kiss coming to an end.

“…all I want is your….KISS!” The last lyric to the song blared.

As I brought my glass to my mouth once more, I felt a strange sensation on my right cheek. A mild dampness.

Had someone just kissed me?

Curious, I spun around.

“Oh…God!” I gasped , my free hand flying to my mouth.

I could feel my eyes swelling with a mixture of horror and awe.

There, standing before me boldly, was Prince.

Not cute little blonde Prince Jackson either.

Prince Nelson.

I blinked. I had to make certain that my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.

The image in front of me remained the same.

This couldn’t be true.

This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t be!

What in the Blue Hell was he doing at Elizabeth Taylor’s party?

Maybe he’d crashed.

I didn’t know.

But there he was.

In the flesh and just as ravishing as ever.

Prince’s diminutive form was clad in a bright red button up silk shirt and matching trousers. The top was loosened as always to display his chest growths. A gilded symbol on a chain glittered.

The collar and cuffs were embroidered with dozens of little versions of his symbols, all in gold thread.

The look bled down onto his shoes, also red. on the tip of each boot a golden symbol had been embroidered and the four inch golden heels glimmered.

As I continued to stare at him, too stunned to speak, to even utter a sound, I noticed a sexy change to Prince’s appearance.

His hair, which was usually cut with a razor edge and left short had been lengthened--with what had to be extensions--and just brushed the tops of his shoulders. And shined and bounced even though he wasn’t moving. There were women who would have killed for hair like that.

It was curled slightly and teased, and ratted to get the most volume possible out of it.

A few strands hung into his eyes which were outlined heavily in Kohl.

Eyes that were fixated on me.

Silence filled the air between us.

It seemed as though time itself had slowed.

We just stood there staring at each other.

Finally…finally, Prince spoke.

“Hello My Pretty Brynn. My, don’t you look lovely this evening?” He mumbled, his voice hitting it’s deepest registers.

I truly had no words.

Prince was there, at the same party that Michael was attending!

And Prince was speaking to me as if it were his own party at Paisley Park!

Reaching with a ring laden hand, Prince took my glass from me.

“What are you drinking, my Pretty One?” He questioned and started sipping my damn drink.

I watched wordlessly as he proceeded to consume my entire drink and place the glass on the bar.

“That’s cute. Michael let you have a drink. He must really be out his mind tonight. Hmm…hmm…hmm. “ Prince chuckled lowly, his lips curling into a mousy grin.

At the mention of Michael, my tongue unglued itself form the roof of my mouth.

“Prince--what are you doing here?” I questioned breathlessly as Prince had the audacity to motion for a refill on the drink.

If he had indeed crashed, it would be a matter of time before security came around the threw him out. And that was if Michael didn’t notice him first and hang a rhinestoned foot up his ass.

Prince took the time to take a sip of the full glass before answering.

And the reply shocked me.

“I’m here for the same reason as you--I was invited.”

“You were invited?” I shook my head, not fully believing him. “How do you know Elizabeth Taylor?” I demanded placing my hands on my hips.

Raising his left hand, Prince pointed out the canary diamond ring highlighting his pinky finger.

“You see this ring? It was three hundred and seventy five thousand dollars. I bought it from a place in Beverly Hills calls Stars Hollow Jewelers. While I was in there having this little thing cleaned, Elizabeth came in to have a necklace cleaned. Who knows, she might have it on in her sagging cleavage tonight if she ever shows up. Anyway, she saw me and invited me. So here I am.” He tossed his hair arrogantly.

“Any other time, I knew that I would have skipped it, but I knew that Old Needle Nose would be here and wherever he is--you are.” Another mousy grin.

“And you look damn pretty tonight. All that blue and white. Shit.” A cool hand was placed on my bare arm.

“No!” I jerked free of his grasp. The last thing I needed was for Michael to not only see me conversing with his sworn enemy, but for him to be touching me too?

It was too much.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” Prince questioned leaning closer to me, his straight little nose bumping my cheek.

The scent of lavender was emanating from him in a violet colored cloud.

“I’m happy to see you. I’m always happy to see you.” His voice was soft as he spoke off into my ear.

His breath smelled of mints and kiwi.

Once more his hand was wrapped around my arm.

“There’s too many people in this room. Cramping my style. I wanna talk to you privately. Come on.”

With a sharp tug, Prince began leading me from the bar and along the east wall towards the open wrought iron adorned doors that led to the expanse backyard of Molto Grazie Manor.

I was led outside into the backyard, which was made to resemble a garden from the English countryside. Several paths split the yard, all accented with vine and rose covered walkways.

I knew I should have broken his manicured hand and ran away, but for some reason, I allowed myself to be led away from the crowd by Prince.

I only prayed that he left his clothes on.

Prince quietly picked a path and began leading me away, quietly until the sound of the party was but a faint whisper. The only sound was that of our heels on the cobblestones.

The walkway was dim, the only light coming from the moon.

When it was clear we were out of earshot and sight, Prince came to an abrupt stop.

He stood and silently looked up, through the hanging, intertwined vines, and gazed at the moon.

Is this what he’d wanted to do?

Play astronomer?

Find Orion’s Belt?

“What…what did you want to talk about?” I questioned, breaking the tranquil silence.

Plucking a pink rose and holding it under his nose, Prince replied luridly,

“Things.”

I watched as he began plucking the petals.

“You know, I was at the auditorium tonight.” He said suddenly, turning to gaze me. He dropped the naked stem to the ground.

In the moon glow his eyes shone green.

“You were?” I was shocked. Prince had been at the HAAs? I never saw him. No one mentioned him.

“Yeah, I didn’t hang around too long. Too boring for me. I cut out right after Jacko’s tubby ass nephew showed up. I saw that big bastard kiss you. Is he your man too?” Prince plucked another flower and began dismembering it.

Was he still hanging onto that story?

“Prince, what part of ‘it’s a lie’ is going over your head? He just did that to make the story that Michael’s been passing around seem real. It meant nothing. You know that.” I flipped my hair angrily. “What kind of person do you think I am. I’d never date an uncle and nephew.”

“Just checking.” Another stem hit the ground. “And what was that shit with you and that Culkin kid? You dating him? Y’all were dancing for quite a while.” Prince was tearing another flower to bits.

“Mac just wanted to dance. He’s just a friend--he has a girlfriend.” I couldn’t ‘t believe that Prince was thinking I was hooking up with any and everyone. “And just for the record, I’m not dating Eddie Murphy, Dave Chapelle, Steve Harvey or Chris Tucker either.”

“No, apparently, you only go for men who can glow in the dark.” Prince snickered.

“You’re not exactly a shadow yourself.” I pointed out. Prince and Taryll were about the same color. “Quit worrying.”

“I’m not worried. It’s just that there’s so many men buzzing around you. I’m already sick and fucking tired of Michael Jackson monopolizing your time. You’re my woman and you should be with me, damn it.”

A half killed rose was thrown down and stepped on.

“Michael Jackson doesn’t deserve a woman like you. He really doesn’t. He doesn’t know how to handle and treat a woman like you.” Prince latched onto my hand so hard I winced.

I was so tired of him insulting Michael.

“He doesn’t know how to treat me? Do I look mistreated to you? Do I?” I demanded.

“No…” Prince’s eyes, wide and glassy stared at me. “You don’t look mistreated. You look…you look…” He inhaled loudly. His glossy lips shined.

“You look delicious.”

Before I could stop him, Prince had slammed me against the vine wall and his mouth, wet, steamy and minty was crushing mine.

I flailed around trying to push him off me.

If Michael caught us kissing…

It’s be Hiroshima all over again.

My efforts were futile, Prince calmly reached up and grasping both my hands, held them back against the wall.

His mouth was ruthless, and he sucked and smacked away at my mouth mercilessly, his tongue flicking about and smacking against mine.

I could feel my body going limp as he continued attacking my lips.

After a while, Prince yanked his lips from mine and began kissing on my neck.

“Please…stop. You’ll give me a hickey! Stop!” I begged in a whisper trying to struggle against him to free my hands.

“If you get one, say Jacko’s nephew gave it to you. I don’t care. You taste so sweet. Damn. I like holding you down. Ha!” Prince cackled, his mouth rubbing my throat.

“Stop it! Please!” I begged. I was enjoying this a bit too much.

I tried to push against him.

“No. I’m not--” Prince stopped arguing swiftly and in the dim light, I saw his eyes widening at something.

Following his gaze, I saw that he was staring at the large diamond ring on my finger.

“Brynn, what the fucking hell is that on your hand?” He demanded, pulling himself off me and brining my hand closer to his face, examining the bauble.

“A…a ring.” I whimpered, his sudden change in demeanor scaring me.

“I’m not stupid I can tell it’s a ring. What in the hell is it doing on your hand? That’s a big ass ring.” Dropping my hand, Prince took a few steps back.

“Please, please don’t tell me you up and married Michael Jackson’s crazy ass. Don’t tell me you’re Michael’s wife.” He gasped, his jaw hanging.

“What?” I started at Prince. Gob smacked.

He thought I was married to Michael Jackson?

“No…” I chuckled. “Princey, I’m not married to Michael. This is just a ring. It’s just for pretty. I’m wearing it on my right hand. If I were married to Michael, it’d be on my left hand.” I explained, leaning against the flowers.

“I had to ask.” Prince wrapped his arms around my waist. “I knew you wouldn’t be insane enough to marry him. That’s no real man. I still don’t get what you see in him. What’s he do, fuck you on a bed of diamonds and feathers or something? Damn.” Prince shook his head.

“I don’t get it. After being with me, you go back to Michael. Makes no sense. He can’t treat you the way I can. I just hate you’re with him all the time. I want you back with me. Where you damn well belong. You belong in Uptown. Not in that child’s fantasyland playing surrogate mama--”

“Leave the children out of this. Okay.” I cautioned. It sickened me when he was evil about Michael’s children.

“It makes my ass itch something fierce when you defend those rug rats. Hell.” Prince lamented and started to kiss at me.

Placing my hand over his immaculately made up face, I proceeded to push him back, by way of squishing his nose into a mess of flesh.

“If your ass itches so bad, then scratch it! You hear me? Scratch your ass! Stop bitching about the children. They‘re nice.” I ran my hands through my curls and Prince felt his nose.

“You and those damn kids!” Prince gripped my arm with a crushing power.

“You’re hurting me!” I groaned as he tugged me back and forth a few times.

“You want a baby so bad…we can make one right now!” With a swift shove, Prince threw me on the cool ground.

I landed on my stomach with a dull moan.

I felt a weight on my back and it was a moment before I realized that Prince was lying on me.

Was this man going to rape me?

Right there?

In Elizabeth Taylor’s backyard?

With Michael a few yards away?

“No! Prince! Stop! No! Please! Don’t do this!” I pleaded, clawing the ground trying to get away from him.

His hand was on my thigh and traveling under my dress.

His hand was clutching my bottom.

“You got such a tight ass baby.” Prince snickered, running his spare hand down my neck. “Perfect for fucking.”

“Princey--no!” I begged, as his nails dug into my skin.

I needed help. This man was going to hurt me.

“Michael!” I cried out and in an instant, Prince’s hand was over my mouth and squeezing so hard, I thought he was gonna break my teeth.

I mumbled and tried to throw him off me.

“Brynn…Brynn, shit calm down!” Prince’s voice was hot in my ear. “ What kind of man do you think I am? You think I’d really rape you? In some old woman’s garden? Baby please.”

He had been joking?

What the hell?

Prince hopped to his feet.

My instance of fear was consumed by sheer anger.

“You ugly, long headed, horse faced son of a bitch!” I screamed climbing to my feet.

That Damn Man stood smiling at me.

“I was just kidding. Calm down.” He giggled reaching at me.

“Kidding? You’ve got a warped sense of humor, bitch! That’s funny to you? Go to Hell!” I leapt at him.

The nerve of him.

Prince yanked another rose down and held it out to me.

“I’m sorry…really Brynn. It was all in fun. I was just joking with you. I went too far. I’m sorry. Forgive me? I love you!” He widened his eyes and poked out his pink bottom lip.

I looked at the flower quivering in his hand.

Prince seemed sorry. And I knew that by nature, he was an extremely sexually unrestrained person. There had been times I had seen the man hump air.

Taking the flower and twirling it under my face, I said coyly,

“Okay Princey I forgive, but if you try a stunt like that again, I’ll castrate you.”

Placing his arm around me and kissing at my cheek, Prince laughed.

“You’ll do anything to touch my balls, huh?”

I elbowed him in the stomach.

* * *

Fifteen Minutes Later

Prince had made himself scarce since our little encounter in the garden and I had made my way back to Michael’s table, after stopping to clean up my appearance.

As I made my way back to the table, I saw that someone else had finally deiced to grace the party goers with her appearance.

Dame Elizabeth Taylor.

I could see her as I approached the table. Sure, she was older and bit plumper than she had been in her heyday, but she was still glamorous.

Standing over Michael, Dame Taylor was clad in a gorgeous, low cut black velvet dress covered with a gold lace overlay.

Diamonds glittered from everywhere on her, from her ears, in her cleavage, on his fingers.

Her hair, long and dyed black, had been gathered on top of her head into an elegant French twist with a gilded rosette attached to the side of it.

“Ah! There she is!” Michael exclaimed when he sighted me. Hopping out his chair and running over to me, he grabbed onto my hands.

“Bunny, where have you been? Look who wants to meet you!” He chuckled, pulling me over.

“Brynn, I’d like for you to meet Elizabeth Taylor.” He smiled.

Dame Taylor smiled warmly at me, her violet colored eyes glittering. Her lips painted a bright red parted in a smile.

“Hello Darling! It’s so nice to finally meet you. Michael’s been talking of you half the night. Seems smitten!” Dame Taylor teased and Michael’s ears turned red.

“It’s so nice to meet you too, Dame Taylor.” I whispered, taking her hand and shaking it softly.

“Oh Darling, ‘Dame’ is just a title. Please, call me Liz, Honey.” She giggled, her voice highlighted by a tinkling English accent.

“Okay, Liz Honey.” I winked at her.

Everyone at the table burst into laughter.

“Oh Michael! She is a keeper! I like her! I like you!” ‘Liz’ cackled and pulled me against her in a warm hug.

I was a ‘keeper”.

Now there was a hell of a thought.

I glanced at the doors that led to the garden.

Yes, I was a ‘keeper’.

Keeper of Secrets.

673

Chapter 40

Very Early The Next Morning

Master Suite

The Paradiso Verde Hotel

　

“…my little P.Y.T…, time to wake up Bunny…”

I was roused from my slumber by a voice, just barely above a shy whisper, crooning close to my ear.

Groaning and grasping for the last little bit of sleep in my eyes, I tried to cover my face with one of the dozen throw pillows scattered across the top of the bed.

“It’s too early--please!” I whimpered as a hand pulled the pillow from my grip and tossed it out of the way. I snapped my eyes shut as the lamp on the bedside table was illuminated.

“Baby, you have to get up now. We’ve got a lot to do.” The voice, still at a whisper’s tone took on a stern edge.

I could feel soft, moist lips pecking my forehead.

Uttering a sigh of defeat, I finally opened my eyes.

Michael Jackson stood along the bedside, his long lean form in near silhouette from the lamplight.

He appeared to be post-shower; his long hair hung in damp tendrils, cascading over his shoulders.

His slim body was covered in a classy, plush silver and red quilted robe.

Clutched in his smooth, pale hands was a steaming white mug.

“Are you finally awake?” Michael giggled, sitting on the side of the bed.

Running my hands through my tousled hair, I merely nodded. I was somewhere between the Land of the Living and Dead, but there was no need to bog him down with that detail.

“Goodie…this is for you. Drink it all.” Michael extended the mug to me.

Peeking inside of it, I saw that it had been filled to the brim with coffee. And I knew that it was heavy with cream, the liquid in the cup was almost as light as Michael himself!

“Thanks Mike, you didn’t have to.” I said shyly taking the mug from him and sipping at the warm beverage. It made me happy when Michael took the time to do little extra special things. (Sure, he probably hadn’t brewed the coffee himself, but at least he went to the trouble of phoning Room Service.)

“Aw…hee-hee. It was nothing.” Michael reached and twirled a lock of my hair. “Drink it up, we’ve got a lot to do today. It’s five-thirty now and the manicurist is coming at seven. She’ll be doing everyone’s nails. And then Rene Francois is dropping in with our outfits and then Azalea is coming--”

“Azalea?” I cut Michael off. “Who is Azalea?” I questioned, staring at him. I had never heard such a name in my life.

Tittering, Michael responded, “Azalea is the stylist/make up artist.”

“Who the hell names their kid Azalea? Rose…Pansy, I understand, but Azalea?” I snickered.

“Well, I’ll admit, Azalea is a little quirky but she does great hair. She did my hair for the pictures I gave to the kids at the Children’s hospital. You’ll love her. Don’t be off put by her. The last time she did my hair, hers was orange and pink!” Michael laughed.

“Well, as long as my head doesn’t end up looking like a Snow Cone, I’ll be happy.” I winked at Michael and we began giggling.

“I promise you, you head won’t look like an icy treat. Hee-hee!” Michael chuckled, sliding off the bed and offering me his hand.

As I got out of bed, and set my empty mug on the bedside table, I warned with a snort, “I’m trusting you Jackson.”

Shaking his head until his long locks flew, Michael changed the subject,

“Come on Brynn, I ran a bath for you. I hope it’s hot enough.”

I was dragged along a few steps as Michael started towards the closed doors of the bathroom.

I stared at the back of his head, speechless.

Michael Jackson had drawn a bath? For me?

This was supposed to be Michael’s day--he was winning a major award, and he was busy getting coffee for me and filling bathtubs for me?

All at an ungodly hour of the morning!

It was almost too much.

Michael really was the sweetest man I’d ever known.

And Michael’s sweetness turned into a cavity when he giddily pushed the doors to the bathroom open.

“Oh gosh--Mike!” I squealed softly, peeking into the room.

Scattered on the floor around the tub and in the bubbly water were bright red rose petals.

I was truly flattered.

Roses in the bathtub?

Michael Jackson was too much.

I looked up and saw that Michael was smiling sheepishly at me.

“I just wanted you to be relaxed today Bunny. You get in the tub, I’ll be right back.” With a wink, Michael inched out of the room.

I stood a moment, grinning to myself, feeling truly spoiled. If I’d been a carton of milk, around Michael, I’d be a block of stinking cheese.

As I undressed and slipped into the deep sudsy water--that was the perfect temperature--I let out a sigh of happiness.

If anyone deserved a humanitarian award, it was Michael Jackson. With the way he was caring for me, on the cusp of making me into a singing star and then looking after Jonas and Skylar and his own children…

If you looked up “humanitarian” in the dictionary, there would be a large, full color spread of Michael.

He was just so nice and kind and loving…

“I’m back.”

Looking over my shoulder, I saw that Michael was closing the door behind him.

Clutched in one of his long hands was a round, pink sponge.

“What are you up to Mr. Jackson?” I questioned with a seductive chuckle as Michael slowly walked over to me.

My inquiry went unanswered as Michael stood, towering over me and looking down on me.

“You look so cute--all naked and alone.” Michael murmured sinking to his knees and picking up the peony scented bar of soap, began lathering the sponge.

“Michael…” Feeling myself blushing severely I stared down in the water as Michael began to lightly scrub at my back and shoulders.

The things this man could say. Those naughty things.

It was wonderful how such rude things could come out the man who had such and angelic face!

Plus Michael Jackson was actually sitting there bathing me.

It was the nicest gesture in the world.

“You’ve got the prettiest complexion…hee-hee. That sweet chocolate color. My little chocolate Bunny.” Michael dipped the sponge again and began rubbing near my bosom which was submerged in the hot water.

“You know…if we didn’t have to rush before the manicurist got here…”Michael trailed off thoughtfully as the sponge slipped from his hands and sank behind me.

A zealous thrill ran through me; Michael’s sexy was showing.

Grabbing onto Michael’s hands and guiding them over my breasts, I purred at him,

“…you’d do what you did to me last night?”

The night before, after Michael’s fans had retreated back to the mob outside and everyone else had gone off to The Land of Nod, Michael and I had been a tangle of arms and legs for most of the night. (Hee-hee!)

Michael snickered for the longest time before he finally squawked,

“Yeah!”

Smiling at Michael, I leaned up until our mouths bumped.

Our lips bounced against each other and Michael and I were greedily kissing away at each other.

Michael’s lips were so soft and his mouth was just the right level of dampness for me…

His thin pink tongue darted back and forth past my lips, gaining entrance into my mouth time and time again.

The moment was perfect…

“Whoa!”

At the sound of the abrupt shout, Michael and I jerked with a start.

Staring back at the door, I was shocked to see that it was slightly open and two small figures stood in the doorway, faces set to “stunned”.

Jonas and Skylar, both in matching Shrek feet pajamas, were standing there gazing at us, jaws drooped.

They’d seen us!

“Hey! Don’t you kids know how to knock?” Michael scolded quickly climbing to his feet.

I covered my chest with my arms as a precaution; the boys couldn’t see anything past my shoulders.

“Dang…“ Jonas cooed dreamily as Michael got to the door and grabbed each boy by their arm.

“I want to talk to the two of you right now.” He stated curtly and started dragging them out of the room.

As he disappeared around the corner, I heard Skylar exclaim triumphantly,

“I told you Michael was a pimp!”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

　

* * *

Three Hours Later

The Master Suite

“Oh my God! I feel like a grown up!”

An exuberant Paris screeched, grinning up at me, as Kiri Chang, the manicurist, sat leaning close to the child’s hands, painting pristine white half-moons on the tips of her fingernails. It was a wonder should could see Paris’ hands, her long, blunt cut black hair kept falling into her eyes.

Glancing down at my own newly polished nails, I returned the grin. Paris’ and my nails were the last to get done because ours were the most “labor-intensive”. Both of us had gotten French manicures and pedicures (Paris didn’t really need the pedicure, because she was wearing closed toe shoes to the event, but Michael saw to it that she got the same procedures that I did. I didn’t mind, it made me happy to know that the little girl doted on me. We were even wearing matching navy blue strapless cover-ups until our dresses arrived.)

All the men--Michael, Prince, Blanket, Skylar, Jonas and Rusty--had received buffing and clear polish manicures. Nobody really wanted to see a guy on the red carpet sporting a Kool-Aid colored fingernail.

The boys sat on the floor playing a game of Old Maid. Michael was elsewhere on the floor with Rusty tying up all the loose ends in security. He wanted the night to run as smoothly as possible.

“Are you excited about the awards tonight?” I asked, reaching and tugging on the curly ponytail trailing down Paris’ back.

With a small sigh, Paris replied.

“Nah.”

“Nah?” I stared at the little girl in shock. “You’re not excited about seeing your Daddy get an award?”

How could she not be excited? She was going to an awards proceeding! I knew I was within an inch of bursting like the waistband on a fat man’s pants aT the thought of being surrounded by all the glitterati.

Oh, childish innocence!

“Brynn, I don’t like awards shows. They’re long and boring. Daddy gets to talk for five minutes and then we’re stuck listening to everyone else. It makes me sleepy.” Paris protested, as Kiri picked up a yellow emery board and began filing down the tips of Paris’ nails.

“Besides, I’m more excited about Miss Taylor’s after party. I like her she’s really cool and she wears really, really big diamonds all the time. She’s super nice.” Paris bobbed her head happily.

At the mention of the after party, my heart sailed. I couldn’t believe I was going to a real celebrity studded affair after the party. And on Michael Jackson’s arm no less!

It was unbelievable!

“Hey Brynn…”

My train of thought was broken by a timid tapping on my bare shoulder.

Looking down, I saw that Jonas and Skylar--still in their jammies--had appeared by my side.

“Yes?” I questioned, tossing my hair over my shoulder.

“Um…” Jonas started and sheepishly stored down at his bare feet.

“Uh, Michael spoke to us and told us what was going on…and we just wanted to say we were sorry we busted in on y’all this morning.” Skylar spit out and his face began growing rosy.

“Yeah, we’re sorry. We shoulda knocked.” Jonas nodded, his dark eyes glowing.

The boys truly were remorseful.

I couldn’t stay mad at such cute kids.

Reaching and patting their cheeks, I giggled,

“Okay, apology accepted. But next time, you boys knock!”

“Oh we will Brynn! We will!” Skylar, elated, vowed and began jogging back over to Prince and Blanket who were still seated on the floor, playing cards in hand.

I noticed that instead of following his friend, Jonas remained rooted to the spot, eyes fixed on me.

A wide grin was plastered on his face.

“Did you want something else Jonas?” I questioned, patting the top of his bald head.

“Gee…” Jonas guffawed. “You’re a pretty lady.”

With that, the boy flushed a dark purple and turned to join his friends.

“Boys are strange!” I heard Paris whisper.

“Ain’t it the truth Honey.” I chuckled.

Still filing her nails, Kiri snickered to herself.

But who knew that men could be stranger than boys?

* * *

One Hour Later

“….keep on, with the force Don’t Stop….Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough!”

“Dance with me--come on!” I urged reaching out and grabbing onto Blanket’s hand and whirling him around so hard that his little feet left the tiled marble floor.

The boy screeched giddily and I continued tailoring him. Bunched closely to me, the older children--Prince, Paris, Skylar and Jonas were wiggling in beat to the music that was blaring from the large sound system situated under the television in the Master Suite.

(Rusty was still somewhere double checking security.)

“Man! I love this song!” Skylar exclaimed and I just barely heard him over the roar of the tunes.

“Hey I thought I said you could listen to the music! Not dance to it!” Michael called from where he was seated in an armchair near the closed French doors that led to the balcony.

“Aw Michael, you know we can’t listen to your music without wanting to groove!” Jonas lamented from where he was bending and dipping Paris. (I didn’t even know you could dip someone to Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough!)

“I know, but I can’t be taking a bunch of sweaty people to the awards. Don’t sweat!” Michael pointed out and ran a hand through his somewhat tangled hair.

“Cool your jets Honey!” I giggled, finally setting Blanket on his feet. The poor kid was so dizzy, he almost immediately dropped onto his bottom.

I skipped over to Michael and wrapped my arms around his long neck. He smelled ever so lightly of his musky cologne. I knew he’d pour more of it on before we left for the night though. (Hee-hee!)

“Nobody’s gonna get sweaty. Besides, it’s almost time for Rene to show up with our clothes, hmmm?” I leaned and smooched Michael’s soft cheek ever so gently.

It was cute that Michael actually seemed so nervous. I thought that by now awards shows would be old hat for him. Michael had won just about every award known to man--so many that a few had had to be created especially for him!

“Not quite…” Michael replied in a hushed tone and pushing back the curtain to the window, peeked out. “Rene phoned about fifteen minutes ago. He’ll be a little late; his car has a flat tire. I just want everything to run smoothly. He bringing the outfits and the shoes and the jewelry and all…it’s a lot.”

He glanced at me, and I saw that his large doe eyes were brimming with worry.

“Mikey, it’ll be okay Baby. We still have to get our hair and make up done too. That Azalea person is still coming isn’t she? Her hands will be full for a while. Besides, the awards don’t start until eight pm tonight. We still have plenty of time.” I assured him, reaching up and smoothing his hair.

I saw the beginnings of a bashful smile starting to creep onto Michael’s peachy lips.

“Thanks Bunny. You always say the right thing when I need to hear it.” he whispered and pinched my cheek.

Giving Michael a wide grin I responded,

“That’s my job, I love you.”

“Hey Michael, you busy?” A voice asked meekly.

Looking up I saw that Rusty, in a particularly beat up pair of grey sweat pants and white t-shirt was making his way across the room to Michael and me. His rubber flip-flops squeaked annoyingly with every step.

He looked ready to clean out someone’s garage.

“No, what is it?” Michael questioned, calmly folding one slim leg over the other under his robe. For a moment of flash of white thigh was exposed until he covered himself. (He was wearing underwear though!)

“I just got off the phone with Officer Kristopher, he said that um, Azalea Duffer was on her way up.” Rusty nodded producing his Blackberry from his pocket and peeking at it.

“Oh goodie!” Michael exclaimed clapping his large hands together merrily. “And you already briefed her on all the looks I wanted to achieve? Mine and Brynn’s and the kids?” He wondered shoving his hands into his robe pockets.

“Yes Michael, I faxed her all the points this morning, right to her apartment. She should have it with her. Mike, it’s under control.” Rusty beamed at his boss.

“It better be. Rene Francois is already tied up and I can’t have another mishap.” Michael cracked his knuckles loudly.

“Michael Jackson! Is that you?!?” Someone cried cheerfully.

Peering around Rusty, I saw that two new people had appeared at the open doorway to the Master Suite.

It was a man and a woman, both of whom looked as though they were extras from the film Purple Rain.

The woman appeared to be in her late twenties and wore a pink and green window pane check sleeveless shift dress. She was kind of pretty with skin the color of a pecan and dancing dark eyes, heavily coated with pink glitter. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. For the most part her hair was black--the last five inches though were dyed a shade of pink that matched her outfit.

No doubt this chick was Azalea.

The man was a bit cute and appeared a few years older than Azalea. His skin was of the same shade as Azalea. He wore a white t-shirt with a green cross on and matching army camouflage pants. The lens of green sunglasses his eyes. His hair, long and naturally curly, was parted on the right side and teased up almost into a halo that circled his head. He held a huge make up case in his hands, that featured a large diamond ring on the left pinky.

At the sight of Michael, the woman raced over to him, hand tipped with hot pink nails, extended to him.

“Hi.” Michael nodded with a smile and shook her hand.

She turned and grinned at me. “Oh! Are you Brynn?” She questioned, her voice high with happiness.

“Yes, hello.” I smiled as she reached and shook my hand hard.

She seemed nice enough.

“Hi Brynn! I’m Azalea Duffer. That guy over there with the hair--” She turned and pointed at the man who was lugging the make up case over to us.

“That’s my big brother Sage. He’ll be helping me today. I see I have a lot of hair and make up to do. Brought out everyone, huh, Mr. Jackson?”

“Yeah, we’ve got quite a brood.” Michael chuckled as the children, now politely silent, made their way over to us.

“No problem, Sage and I will start on you and Brynn, ‘cause you’ll take the longest, and then we’ll move onto the kids. No problem.” Azalea nodded, ponytail bouncing.

No problem?

Huh, if only I had known!

　

* * *

Three Hours Later

“Oooh, girl, you have got to tell me what you do to your skin! Aw! Soft as a newborn’s bottom!” Sage gasped, as he came at my face with a small sponge and began spreading foundation on me.

I sat in the chair at the vanity in Michael’s bathroom with a head full of hot rollers. Across the room, Michael stood glowing rosy with embarrassment in his little briefs as Azalea went around him, covering all the Vitiligo spots on his skin with an airbrushing machine filled with peachy white colored concealer.

“I, uh I don’t’ really wear make up that often. Michael prefers I not wear it unless we’re going out to a big event like tonight.” I explained as Sage put down the foundation sponge and began applying false lashes to my upper lids.

“Yeah, she’s a natural beauty, she doesn’t really need all that stuff.” Michael put in and immediately sputtered as he inhaled some of the make up mist being blown on him.

“Well that’s really a good thing. Too much of that stuff can ruin your skin, but Brynn Baby, your skin is like butter. Damn I am so jealous of you!” Sage flipped his wrist at me in mock disgust.

“Oh Honey, don’t hate me cause I’m beautiful!” I chuckled and winked at him. Sage doubled over laughing.

“Man! I like her!” Azalea pointed out, finally putting the air brushing machine down and picking up a sharp eyeliner pencil began filling out the sparse places in Michael’s eagles’ wings eyebrows.

Mike snorted lightly.

I noticed with an inner chuckle that Michael was covering his groin with his hands. He was damn near naked and still modest. I was trying my best not to laugh because all over his head, Michael wore tiny pink hot rollers, that were molding his hair into the million and three curls he wanted to wear on the carpet.

As Sage began spreading navy blue and silver eye shadow onto my lids, there was a soft knock on the door.

“Who is it?” I heard Michael call.

“It’s Rusty!” Came the reply. “Just wanted to let you know that security just told me that Rene Francois arrived with your clothes. He’ll be up in a moment.”

“Okay, we’re still busy in here. Just let him sit and wait. Give him a drink in the meantime or something!” Michael called back.

“You got it boss!”

“Oh my God! I can’t wait to see my dress. I just know it’ll be so awesome!” I snickled as Sage began spreading blush on my cheeks.

“I bet you’ll look amazing. You’re a really pretty woman.” Sage smiled and pushed his sunglasses up into his hair. His eyes, made green by contact lenses glimmered at me.

“Thank you.” I could feel myself flushing. Compliments always made me shy.

“She’ll be the envy of every woman on the carpet. Not only is she gorgeous, but she’s going with Michael Jackson! Hello--can I get a witness?” Azalea laughed loudly and began smoothing a reddish pink blush onto Michael’s cheeks.

“You’re doing what everyone wants to do Brynn, go on a date with Michael Jackson!” Sage’s eyes danced.

“Hee-hee. I know.” I giggled and glanced at Michael. He was smiling lovingly at me.

If only Azalea and Sage knew.

It was our own private joke.

* * *

Two More Hours Later

“Bonjour Monsieur Jackson! Mademoiselle McAllister!”

Rene Francois exclaimed as Michael and I emerged from the bathroom, our prepping and coifing finally complete.

Michael’s hair bounced in springy ringlets around his face while mine had been curled and piled up, with a few stands left loose for a soft effect.

The children, who were seated at Rene’s feet sprang to life at the sight of us. The cooed about our appearance for about five minutes before Azalea, Sage and Rusty herded them into the bathroom to have their hair done.

“Mon Dieu! Don’t you both look just fantastique!” He cried out as he rushed and shook both our hands.

Once again, Rene looked fresh and French in a light yellow sweater over a pair of unwrinkled navy slacks with a blue and white plaid ascot tied at his throat.

And his skin seemed deeper than ever. Did that man sleep on a tanning bed? But the caramel color suited him wonderfully.

“Good to see you Rene. You have our completed outfits?” Michael questioned as Rene walked over to the large walk in closet on the opposite side of the room and opened the sliding door, revealing several mint green garment bags hanging in the closet.

What Rene said next sent me into orbit around the globe.

“Oui Sir. I have all four outfits for your and la petit fille and les enfants.”

My ears instantly perked up, and I gripped onto Michael’s slim arm through his robe.

“Mike…did that man just say he had four outfits for us?” I gasped, not sure I’d heard correctly.

“Oh…”Michael murmured coyly and put a hand to his mouth. “I thought I had mentioned it to you Sweetie.” He chuckled.

“No! Oh my God!” I cried and gave Michael a light shove. “You got me another outfit. What’s the other outfit? I wanna see! Somebody show me!” I exclaimed clasping my hands together in front of my chest.

“Mademoiselle, if it will please you, I’ll show you the outfit after I get you and Monsieur Jackson into your awards outfits.” Rene pointed out approaching me with a selected bag in hands.

I put my hands to my mouth excitedly. The bag contained my awards dress.

Rene proceeded to unzip the bag and let it float to the floor. It landed with a soft sigh.

“Oh…goodness.” I gasped feeling my eyes starting to glaze over.

The dress, in its completed form was a true work of art. Thousands of crystals glittered all over the dress and the large bow on the one shoulder was heavy with them.

I don’t even remember disrobing.

I just remember the feeling as the silk came into contact with my skin, it took all the willower in the universe not to cry happy tears. Sage had worked on my face for nearly three hours and I didn’t want to cry his work off.

“Brynn….oh gosh…Brynn you look darling.” Michael whispered, fully gob smacked , taking my hands in his and looking me up and down as Rene zipped me into my gown.

“I feel like a princess.” I shook my head overcome with emotion.

And I was kind of like royalty. Rene was there every step of the way helping me into my five inch navy stiletto shoes and fastening all my jewelry on me.

I teetered in the shoes, afraid to sit for fear of wrinkling my gown as Rene began helping Michael into his outfit.

It was quite funny. Michael’s Italian leather trousers were so tight that the only way he could get them on was to spread baby powder on his thighs. On went the pants and the white undershirt and finally, the crème de le crème, the heavy, black and white crystal jacket. The completed product was gorgeous and I could tell that just by the way the fabric twinkled under the hotel lights, when a spotlight hit Michael, he’d be blinding!

His feet in another pair of stoned boots glittered just as hard. The look was finished with a pair of black and silver aviator glasses and a pair of simple black silk gloves.

Michael was truly a wondrous sight to behold.

“You look very handsome Michael Jackson.” I laughed, giving him a gentle hug so as not to ruin our clothing.

“Thanks--”He started as I whirled around to Rene.

“Now show me the other outfits, please!”

“As you wish Mademoiselle.” Rene laughed, his white teeth gleaming and came up with another garment bag

I skyrocketed once again as the bag fell to the floor.

There suspended on a padded hanger was another dress. It appeared to be cocktail length (just at the knee) and was made of a pristine white silk. The only color on the dress was at the neckline which was made of an electric blue and white feathered high collar. It was sleeveless and sprinkled with clear stones all over.

“Holy shit! That’s for me?” I jumped up and down.

“Yes--” Michael gripped my arm to keep me from mussing my hair. “That’s your dress for the after party. I see you like it.” Michael beamed at me.

“I love it!” I gushed grasping his hand and squeezing it.

Michael’s after party outfit consisted of a simple navy blue silk/satin shirt and matching trousers.

Hugging onto Michael, I knew that this was going to be a night I wasn’t going to forget.

* * *

Forty Five Minutes Later

Near The Pasadena Civic Auditorium

“Dude! I can’t believe that I’m going to a real awards show! This is amazing!” Skylar panted excitedly from where he was wedged between Prince and Jonas in the back of the main Escalade.

All the boys were adorable in matching black tuxedos and matching bowties and cummerbunds. Their hair had all been swept back, and gelled down. Except for Jonas and Blanket. Jonas’ bald head had been buffed to a dull sheen and Blanket’s curly mane had been tamed into a ponytail.

“I think everyone looks nice!” Paris giggled merrily from where she was squeezed in next to me. The girl was stunning in a sleeveless dress that matched mine in that faded from white to blue to black and was sprinkled with crystals. It featured a very full tulle skirt and it had taken Michael forever to get her to stop twirling in it. And as requested, her hair had been painstakingly curled with a hot curler, a section held back with a crystal covered barrette.

In addition to all their finery, all the children wore simple white masks that concealed their faces from their foreheads to their mouths.

Michael had told me that we would be walking the red carpet and he knew that the paparazzi descended on the carpet like ants on a sucker.

“Brynn, let me see that sick rock you’re wearing!” Jonas exclaimed grabbing onto my right hand and peering down at the large diamond adorning my ring finger.

“Man, that sure is a tight ring. That’s a real diamond? I’ve never seen one so big!” Skylar pointed out.

“Yeah, it’s real.” I giggled, looking over at Michael. He wasn’t really paying attention to me; he was busy mouthing the words to his acceptance speech.

I knew he had the speech in his pocket and Rusty, riding in the following Escalade with the hired guards was carrying a spare copy.

I knew that he was just hoping that everything went smoothly. It had already been pandemonium trying to leave The Paradiso Verde. People chased our motorcade for about five blocks and I personally saw the police arrest at least seven people. Not to mention the countless more fans that dropped like flies when Michael took the time to roll down his window a smidge and wave a gloved hand.

“Are you nervous Brynn? You’ve never been on a red carpet huh?” Prince questioned, rubbing at his little nose.

“Uh-uh. This is my red carpet debut.” I shook my head, hoping that I could move smoothly and not embarrass Michael. That’s the one thing I was worried about. I really wanted to hold it together for Michael.

“Just smile real big at the reporters, and let Daddy talk. And tell people you’re dating Cousin Taryll.” Prince coached me calmly. It was hard to believe the boy was only ten years old. He had the sensibility of a man twice his age.

“I know Sweetie. I got everything locked.” I nodded and gave him a brave wink.

Just don’t screw up!

That was my mantra.

Suddenly from somewhere Michael’s phone began ringing The Blue Danube.

Automatically Michael pulled it from where he had it wedged in the other pocket on his pants.

He flipped it open and activated the speakerphone.

“Hello?” He questioned, the first time he’d spoken the entire ride.

“Hey Mike! It’s Rusty! Just wanted to let you know were about three blocks from the Auditorium, and the guards and I have been going over the procedure.” Came the calm reply. So much less frantic than the first call we’d gotten from him when he’d first descended on Pasadena.

“Lay it on me!” Michael nodded, his mouth forming a serious pink line.

“Okay! When we get to the venue, the guards and I will come to the car and open the door, we’ll get the kids and Brynn out first, then you get out. Make your grand entrance. Ham it up boss!” Rusty laughed.

“Sounds good to me! Thank you!” Michael hung up.

Finally taking notice that he had company in the car, he instructed,

“Everyone bow your heads, I wanna say a quick prayer. Come on heads down.”

Hands were clasped and eyes lowered as Michael whispered humbly,

“Dear God, please keep a watchful eye over me and my kids and our friends and protect us from any hurt, harm or danger and please. Please allow us to have a wonderful time tonight. Amen.”

“Amen!” We all chorused.

Before the night was over, I’d definitely need God.

And any other deity that was available.

* * *

Ten Minutes Later

Outside The Pasadena Civic Auditorium

A roar.

That was the only way to describe the sound coming from the motley crew of paparazzi and assorted fans being held at bay by steel barricades and another human chain of police officers that were lining the red felt carpet that led from the street up to the entrance of the auditorium.

It was a dull freaking roar.

And as our Escalade pulled to halt at the carpet, I saw that the bulk of the onlookers were indeed Michael Jackson fans. At least six hundred people were lining the walkway. Were there going to be any other celebrities there, or was the entire fete for Michael Jackson?

It was actually kind of romantic looking, if you blocked out all the screaming faces and hands waving banners.

It was crisp, clear night and swaying above the walkway were little round red Chinese lanterns.

Flashbulbs were popping at a lightening fast pace.

“Is everyone ready?” Michael questioned cautiously glancing around the inside of the car. I saw that outside the car, Rusty and the guards were crowding around our door.

“Yes…” I heard myself answer. My pals were clammy and my breathing strained. But yeah. I was okay.

“Just remain calm. It’ll be okay. We’ll be inside soon.” Michael nodded and made an OK signal towards the window.

Heeding the sign. Rusty pulled the door open.

“Stay together!” Michael instructed as Rusty began helping the children out.

The kids instantly fell into superstar mode, waving and grinning like mini-celebrities.

“Come on Brynn!” Rusty’s hand was extended to me.

With one last look at Michael, I took Rusty’s rough hand and slid from the car and onto the red carpet.

I could feel a bright smile lighting my face. I knew that even though I wanted to run and hide from the hysteria, I had to remain calm for Michael’s sake.

Paris must have sensed my apprehension; I felt her tiny hand gripping mine.

I was grateful to have her support. Someone else was grasping my other hand.

I looked down to see Jonas beaming up at me.

As we gathered there on the carpet, guards surrounding us, everyone turned and stared at the still open door of the car, anxiously awaiting Michael’s exit and entrance on the carpet.

Rusty stood, patiently in his tuxedo--who knew the man cleaned up so well?--patting at his gelled down hair.

The time seemed to stretch on like an eternity.

Behind me the crowd continued howling.

And finally…

Michael’s long rhinestone crusted feet popped out the car and grabbing onto Rusty’s awaiting hand, Michael appeared.

His exit from the car was so effortless and liquid, it almost seemed as though Michael were dancing out the car.

The screams reached a fevered wail as Michael casually waved a hand, blew a kiss and bending, picked up Blanket and balanced him on his hip.

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

The chanting resonated around us we slowly began making our way up the carpet to the towards the entrance.

Several reporters tried to jam a microphone into Michael’s face for an impromptu interview, but he just kindly smiled at them and passed them by.

A few asked me who I was and if I were I girlfriend, to each one, I responded simply and politely,

“No comment.”

Around us, fans were reaching, their fingertips grabbing air as The King of Entertainment passed by.

“Michael Jackson! Mary Hart! Entertainment Tonight!” A woman, tall, pretty and blonde, dressed in a sky blue frock came running down the carpet fleeted by two cameramen.

Michael stopped, obviously ready to speak. I didn’t mind. I was just rolling with the flow.

“Hello Michael! May I have a word with you?” Mary, one of the head reporters for the entertainment news show for over twenty years, grinned, holding her microphone out to Michael.

“Yes, but just a few.” Michael replied, his public falsetto taking the place of his usual speaking voice.

“Thank you! First of all, I’d like to say congratulations from me and all the folks at Entertainment Tonight on your win as Humanitarian of the Year.” Mary beamed, her heavily made up face glowing.

“Thank you very much.” Michael mumbled, bouncing Blanket on his hip.

“I see you have a lot of people with you tonight, who are all your friends?” Mary questioned and I could see the camera people panning us.

Michael, in an almost inaudible tone, began naming names.

Mary instantly latched onto me.

“Brynn, I see that you are apparently Michael Jackson’s date to this soiree. Is there any chance that you’re romantically involved with him?”

Damn, the woman wasn’t pulling any punches.

Smiling like Miss America, I responded mellifluously into her microphone,

“No, Mary, I’m just friends with Michael. I’m actually dating his nephew Taryll.”

There it was, loose in national and international airwaves--the lie about Taryll.

Mary seemed surprised. “Oh really? Will Taryll be joining your party tonight?” She questioned, the false lashes on her eyes fluttering.

“Yes--he will be joining us later in the evening.” Michael put in flipping his hair over his shoulder. (At the motion, a fan dangled limply over the barricade.)

I could only stare wordlessly at Michael as Rusty and guards began leading us from Mary Hart, who was calling her thanks to us.

“Taryll’s coming?” I whispered to Michael quietly as we finally were ushered inside the large building.

“Yes, he couldn’t ride with us, but he’ll make it. I needed him to come and mesh our story together.” Michael giggled, finally setting Blanket on his feet on the inside of the theatre.

Looking around I had to admit, the place was pretty swanky, the front lobby was done up in an Art Deco style of red, black and silver, featuring posters advertising the event all over. Under the large crystal chandelier was a huge poster of the award.

It was the first time I’d seen it,

It was lovely, a set of golden hands, and in the palms of them were a huge glass in the shape of a diamond.

Yes, that’s look spectacular on Michael’s trophy shelf.

“Dang this place is fancy.” Jonas whispered in awe, looking around. I saw that his dark eyes were wide behind his mask.

“Hello Michael Jackson and company.” A feminine voice called.

I looked up in time to see a woman passing by.

Clad in a long dark green evening down with long dark hair tumbling around her face, my breath caught in my throat as she paused at the open doors to the auditorium itself to smile at us, her large pouty lips painted a sheer shade of pink.

“Hi Ange!” Michael called calmly as the woman disappeared inside.

“Was…was that Angelina Jolie? Cause if it was, kill me now. I’m in Heaven.” Skylar whimpered, staring up at me in disbelief.

I couldn’t wrap my head around it. The chick from the Tomb Raider movies had just spoken to Michael and me!

It was gonna be a cool night!

* * *

Three Hours Later

I had barely heard the awards being rattled off that night. I was too busy doing my own star gazing.

Michael, the kids and I were seated third row center, the perfect place to watch the festivities and see all the celebrities.

And there were so many, I could barely keep track of them all.

Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt were seated about five rows behind us, right next to Gwyneth Paltrow.

Across from them were Madonna and her brood of children and her husband, Guy Ritchie. Behind them was Lionel Richie, and his three kids, Nicole, Sophia and Miles.

Seated immediately behind us were three of Michael’s comedian friends, Eddie Murphy, Chris Tucker and Steve Harvey. (Eddie Murphy had actually gotten an award earlier that evening for his LA Laughs Foundation, a group that taught inner city children to be comics.)

Hell, I even saw Oprah Winfrey and her main squeeze Steadman Graham!

And behind us taking up the massive second tier, five hundred lucky ticket holders (AKA fans) were permitted to sit through the proceedings and every five minutes someone was shouting Michael’s name.

His name was called so frequently, that the host of the awards, famous playwright Tyler Perry had joked,

“Has this become the Michael Jackson Awards and nobody told me?”

It certainly seemed like that, half the acceptances speeches had been drowned out be exclamations of devotions to Michael. But he totally deserved it. He was Michael Jackson.

Glancing about me, I saw that there was a empty seat on my left side between me and Prince; it had been left open for Taryll, wherever the hell he was.

I knew Michael’s award would be a long time coming. The Humanitarian of the Year Award was the last token of the evening to be given out.

“Hey! Sorry I’m late!” I heard a voice whisper as Morgan Freeman was making an acceptance speech on behalf of his organization that helped impoverished families afford decent homes.

Glancing up, I saw that Taryll, clad in a black tuxedo of his own was sliding past Michael and starting to hobble over me.

“Taryll!” I heard Paris coo softly as Taryll finally got past me without ruining my dress and plopped into his reserved seat.

“Hey Brynn.” He grinned at me, his light eyes flashing.

“Hi.” I nodded at him as Steve Harvey reached and shook hands with him, followed by slaps on the back by Eddie and Chris. The couldn’t make too much noise.

Taryll leaned in close to me with a strange request.

“Hey Brynn, let me kiss you, I have to make it look like we’re really together. Uncle Mike said it was okay.” He whispered with a soft laugh.

Taryll wanted to kiss me? What?

I looked to Michael for guidance.

Much to my distaste, he was leaning back and giggling at something Chris Tucker was whispering in his ear.

It didn’t seem so bad, I knew that it was just for show, and besides, Michael was right there on my other side.

“Okay.” I shrugged and leaned towards Taryll, my cheek ready.

To my absolute horror, Taryll surpassed my cheek and lightly pecked my lips!

What. The. Hell.

I sat stunned for a moment, just staring at him.

I hoped on all things holy that man was just putting on, because if he wasn’t…

I already had enough men problems! Taryll was cute, but I didn’t need him!

* * *

An Hour Later

“Psst! Hey Brynn! Taryll! Hey!”

Tearing my eyes away from Angelina Jolie’s riveting speech about how children in third world countries needed “our” help, I looked over to see that somehow Rusty had materialized at the end of our row standing over Michael, who was patiently unwrapping a Certs mint and eating it.

“What?” I demanded in a strained whisper. What was this man doing disrupting my evening?

“I need you and Taryll right now, come here!” Rusty instructed motioning me with his finger.

“Come on!” Taryll urged rising from his seat and we passed over Michael’s knees.

“We’ll be right back, Dear.” I gave Michael a sweet smile before scowling at Rusty.

“Okay.” Michael grinned as his nephew and I got out into the main aisle and Rusty began rapidly leading towards the back of the auditorium and past the large teleprompter supplying Tyler Perry with all his jokes.

Once we were back in the lobby, I tore into him.

“What are you doing dragging us out of the show, they’re this close to giving Michael his award!” I scolded, placing my hands on my hips.

“If you’d shut the hell up, I’d tell you that’s why I brought you and Taryll out here. We have a problem with the award.” Rusty lamented with a groan leaning against the doors.

“A problem? What kind of problem man?” Taryll’s eyes became honey colored slits in his head. “Please tell me my uncle is still getting his award.”

I nodded; I knew Michael would be shattered if his award got revoked.

“No, he’s still getting the damn thing, but that’s the problem. Elizabeth Taylor was supposed to present Michael with his award, but she’s not here. Her Rolls got stuck in traffic, she can’t even get out of Bel Air. I need you two to give Michael the award!” Rusty shook his head and some of his hair danced across his forehead.

“Say what?” I exclaimed jumping back and sending Taryll recoiling in pain as I stepped on his foot.

Rusty wanted me to present Michael with his award?

“Yes. It’s super easy. All you have to do is read the stuff off the teleprompter in the back of the room, then they’ll play a little clip of Michael helping kids and then he’ll come up and bust out his speech, then we can get the fuck outta here.” Rusty explained, his eyes wide with hope.

I was floating.

Grinning at Taryll, I said, “Let’s go give a man his award!”

* * *

Fifteen Minutes Later

“Please welcome Taryll Jackson and Brynn McAllister!” Tyler Perry cried out onstage, into the microphone attached to the dark green Gucci suit he wore.

“You ready to do this?” Taryll questioned from where we stood stage right.

He was clutching my hand with a friendly force.

Beaming at him, I replied,

“As ready as I’ll be!”

To the sound of thunderous applause, I followed as Taryll, still clutching my hand, led me out onstage.

My heard soared at the sight of Michael’s truly surprised expression. His jaw was swaying in the wind. Next to him the children were on their feet clapping and whistling.

We made our way to the gold and glass podium in the center of the stage as Tyler moved off to the side. The large trophy glittered off to the side of the microphone.

I didn’t know what was happening, all I knew was that Taryll was going to speak first.

Eyeing the prompter, Taryll drew a deep breath and began slowly--he’d had no time to prepare for this at all!

I just hoped that neither of us would screw up.

“What exactly is a humanitarian? If you look in the dictionary, it states that a humanitarian is simply a person who performs a charitable act. By that definition, any person could be a humanitarian--”

I was given a nudge signaling I pick up the next phrase.

“But to the Humanitarian Association of America, everyone in this room is a Humanitarian, so what set our Humanitarian of the Year recipient apart from all these other people in the room? Was it his charitable acts? No. Was it his willingness to give of himself? No. It’s a combination of that and so much more--”

The fans in the balcony were shouting at the top of their lungs. Banners and oversized pictures of Michael were being swayed

I was softly pulled aside by Taryll as a wide, silk screen began descending from the ceiling.

To the tune of Michael’s song Heal The World, clips taken from when Jonas and Skylar first visited Neverland began flickering on the screen, being projected from somewhere in the back of room.

It was rather cute, the boys, hugging on Michael and everyone running around Neverland. Michael trying to pick cotton candy off Jonas’ face; him giving Skylar a piggy back ride, and footage of the impromptu dance off in the theatre, which drew applause from the general crowd and more screams from the balcony.

I giggled to myself at a shot of me hugging Michael as the boys marveled over their mountain of gifts.

I was pulled back to the microphone as the music swelled and the film came to an end.

In unison, Taryll and I exclaimed,

“Please join us in congratulating this years recipient of the Humanitarian of the Year Award for 2006, the King of Pop, Michael Jackson!”

It was a poignant moment.

As one fluid wave, everyone was on their feet, clapping and hooting as Michael, obviously overcome with his trademark shyness, rose to his own feet, his bottom lip sucked in. the children were hopping all over each other.

As Taryll continued clapping, I reached and lifted up the heavy award. I wanted to be the one to give it to him.

Michael left his seat and tentatively made his way up onstage, his jacket sparkling like a million stars.

“Congratulations Michael Jackson.” I whispered giddily as he took the award in one hand and pulled me against him in a hug.

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

The fan’s cries shook the rafters as Michael let go of me and hugged Taryll and shook hands with Tyler Perry.

Handing the award off to his nephew Michael fished his speech out of the tiny picket on his trousers. We moved to the side.

This was Michael’s moment.

“MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL”

“Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!” Michael giggled chipperly as he unfolded the small scrap of paper.

Looking up at the crowd, I saw that another girl had fainted and was hanging over the balcony.

Gloved hands waved eagerly.

“Woo! Gosh! Well, first I’d like to thank God. Without him, none of this would be possible. It’s a very wonderful thing to be able to help people, the less fortunate. I believe sincerely that everyone should have the opportunity to have a nice time without worrying about wars or poverty or anything like that. That was my intent in 1991 when I established the Heal The World foundation and year earlier when I opened my home, the Neverland Valley Ranch. Thanks to everyone at the organization…” Michael proceeded to call a few names.

“I LOVE YOU MICHAEL!” From seemingly nowhere, a woman, near my age and dressed in a green version the Billie Jean ensemble came running down the aisle at top speed towards Michael.

I grabbed onto Taryll, shocked that this woman was going to tackle Michael.

Two security men stepped into her path and swiftly picked her just within steps of the stage and lifted her up.

“MICHAEL! NO! I LOVE YOU! MICHAEL!” The woman screamed flailing.

“I love you more.” Michael paused and blew a kiss as the guards began escorting her away. In the rafters, fans cheered on the scene.

At the acknowledgement from The King of Entertainment, the woman fainted and was half carried/half dragged from the arena.

Undaunted, Michael continued his speech.

“I’d like to extend my deepest thanks to my parents for helping me channel my talent here on Earth, my family for supporting me tonight--my three children are here with me Prince, Paris, and Blanket my nephew Taryll--” Michael paused to wave at the kids. “And their two friends, Jonas Carmichael and Skylar Brown. I love you all!”

The children were besides themselves clapping and blowing kisses.

“ Thank you to Carmen Alonzo and Humanitarianism Association of America for this prestigious honor…”

For a moment I thought Michael was done with his speech, and then he dropped a bomb.

“I’d also like to thank and introduce everyone to my new protégé--” Michael turned and motioned me over.

“Oh my God!” I gasped, stunned.

Michael wanted to share his spotlight with me.

A pink cloud carried me over to his side.

Michael wrapped an arm around my shoulders,

“This is Miss Brynn McAllister, and I’m pleased to announce that she is the first artist to be signed to my Neverland Records Label. Thank you!”

A roar of applause greeted us as Michael turned and led me and his nephew backstage.

“That was freaking incredible! I loved it!” I screamed hugging Michael, not caring who saw me.

“Hee-hee. I’m glad you’re happy Bunny!” Michael snickered, pecking my cheek.

“I’m elated!” I smooched his cheek back.

Michael had just introduced me to the public.

Little did I know that there was a member in the audience that I hadn’t wanted.

* * *