Chapter 20

The Next Morning

“Michael, which do you like better? This pink or this red?” I leaned out of the large walk-in closet in our suite, holding up two baby doll tops.
Michael glanced up from the cufflinks he was trying to put on.
He was already dressed in a wine colored button down shirt with black epaulets and armband, black slacks and black boots.
His hair was a bit mussed, but I knew he’d brush it down once he got done dressing.
“I think I like that pink best. It’s a good color on you.” Michael grinned.
“Okay.” I winked at him and disappeared back in the closet.
I stepped back out in the top, dark rinse blue jeans and a pair of pink ballet flats.
“How do I look?” I spun in a circle.
“Pretty. Really pretty.” Michael walked over and pecked gently at my cheek.
“Are you nervous at all?” Michael reached down and squeezed my hand.
I looked up at him.
It was going to be my first day going out in public in New York with Michael. He had wanted to take his children and me to a jewelry store to help him pick out a new watch.
I just hoped we wouldn’t be besieged by paparazzi.
“Quite a bit.” I admitted, bringing his hand up to my mouth and kissing his soft knuckles.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be right there with you the whole way. And we’ll probably be left alone. Nobody really knows we’re in town anyway.” Michael grinned at me.
“Do I look old enough? Should I put on more make up?’ I stared up at him. I really wanted to make things run as smoothly as possible and not screw anything up for him.
Michael giggled. “You didn’t have to put on that much. Half of your face is going to be covered.”
He pointed, indicating the black feathered mask on the dresser.
He had had Rusty run out and buy it early that morning.
I bobbed my head and gave Michael a brave smile.
Moving over to the dresser, I slipped it on, careful not to mess up my hair, which was loosely curled.
The mask covered my face from my forehead down to my nose. My mouth was exposed though and I was happy because I’d be able to eat.
I peered at myself through the eyeholes in the mask.
“I look like I’m go to Carnival!” I laughed.
Michael chortled from behind me. “You wanna go to Rio after we leave New York?” He suggested.
“Whatever you want.” I grinned at him, my mood lightening.
Michael shimmied and sang “Day-o! Me say Day-o! Daylight come and me wanna go…shopping! ”
I was up for anything and everything.
Well…maybe not everything.


Aiken Jewelers
Fifth Avenue
Thirty Minutes Later

“Oh my God!” Michael gasped staring out the tinted windows of the Land Rover.
“How the hell did that happen?” Rusty exclaimed leaning against Michael and peeking out the glass. “Somebody must’ve leaked the info--damn!”
Balancing Blanket on my lap, I joined them looking out the window.
My throat tightened.
We were about three blocks from the store.
Standing on front sidewalk were about forty photographers, all poised, and ready to take pictures. Large cameras shined in their grubby hands.
I had never actually seen the paparazzi before, in the flesh.
None of them looked professional; most of them wore rock t-shirts (no MJ shirts, mind you) and shorts. Some even wore Birkenstocks.
Prince and Paris started chattering nervously.
“Everyone stay calm.” Michael instructed gravely.
To the two large bodyguards he said,
“When we get up there, Luke, you hold the door to the store. Bo you hold the car door open. Rusty, get my children one by one and run then in. Then run Brynn. Then I’ll go is that clear?”
Michael looked around over the rims of his Armani aviator sunglasses at everyone.
We all agreed.
As the car pulled in front of the store, madness ensued.
Photogs were jumping all over like a fat man on the last pork chop.
The car was actually rocking.
“Michael! Michael! Mr. Jackson! Mike! Thriller man!” They were all calling, vying for the money shot.
The flashbulbs were blinding and popping like strobe lights.
Following Michael’s hasty instructions, Luke, a large Latin man jumped out and ran to get the store door.
The bulbs popped closer.
“Stay back! Get the hell out the way or I’ll clock your ass! Back up!”
Bo, a tremendous Italian man who was as big as a sumo wrestler, was pushing the stalkerazzi back, trying to clear a path for Rusty to run.
“Hold tight!” Rusty instructed to Prince hopping out the car, holding Prince’s hand, rather than him bodily because he was a bit too big to be carried. Prince held onto his Batman mask as they jogged past the horde. They disappeared into the building.
“Shit that was his son!” I heard someone yell.
“You ready Paris?” Michael asked as Rusty came running back.
“Yes Daddy.” Paris nodded grimly, her silver glitter mask sparkling.
She hastily hugged her father.
“Paris!” Rusty reached and scooped her up.
“Over here Paris! Little Miss Jackson!” The screams were more frenzied.
I heard her squeak in fright.
She held her face in her hands the entire run.
In they went.
What seemed like an eternity passed.
Rusty came jogging back.
Leaned into the car.
At that precise point in time, Blanket chose to start crying.
“Come on Blanket!” Rusty held out his arms.
“No!” The boy sobbed twisting around in my lap. Tears streamed out from under his green clown mask.
Rusty grabbed onto Blanket’s waist and tried to pull him off me.
“No! Don’t take me! Daddy! Brynn!” He screamed wrapping his arms around my neck so tightly I could barely breathe.
“Oh God!” I patted his back.
“He’s scared.” Michael said, his voice freezing me.
Somehow a photographer got past Bo and Luke, and knocked Rusty out of the way getting halfway into the car.
“Goddamn it!” Rusty yelled as he landed on his side, along side the car. I think someone even stepped on him.
Some jerk with a face full of pimples and an AC/DC cap actually got into Michael’s face with a Pentax.
“Ahh! Michael!” I shrieked and crumpled my body over Blanket to protect him. He’d have to go through me to get to that child.
“Move!” I heard Michael order, his voice high as the clouds.
“Get the fuck outta here!” Luke grabbed the man and physically threw him out the way.
Through the large display windows I could see Prince and Paris watching. Their mouths were poked out. Vexed, they were both wringing their hands.
“He won’t let go of me Michael! Blanket won‘t let go!” I screamed over excited shouts.
Michael, eyes wide with horror at the scene unfolding, screamed back,
“Carry Blanket and run! For God sakes, run and don’t stop!”
“Yes!” Fueled by pure adrenaline, I clutched Blanket tightly to me and slipped out of the car. The lights were blinding and all I could see were spots.
“Who’s that girl? Hey lady!’ Somebody shouted.
“That’s Michael’s other son! What a day!” Another person chimed in.
“NO!” Blanket held onto me so hard, his nails were digging into my flesh.
He wrapped his legs tightly around my waist.
“Come on! I got you!” Rusty had his hands on my back and was pushing me towards the door.
Inside I stood looking out the glass, trying to calm Blanket.
I had never seen him that out of sorts, ever.
His face scarlet as he continued to howl.
Paris and Prince rallied around me trying to shush him.
Even a couple of saleswomen where patting at the boy.
The crowd seemed larger than it had been when we had first pulled up a few minutes ago. There were about fifty more people. And more were running to join the mash.
Something wasn’t quite right. They didn’t look like photographers, but were fighting with them just as hard.
They didn’t have big professional cameras. Just toss-aways and camera phones.
One man wore a black and white version of Michael’s Thriller jacket. A woman wore a black sequined Billie Jean jacket. Many wore single white gloves on their hands and black fedoras on their heads. I even saw a red fedora.
Then it dawned me.
Those weren’t paparazzi.
Those were fans.
And then came the chanting.
“Michael! Michael! Show your face! Michael! Michael! Show your face!”
The door to the car remained open, but Michael didn’t make an appearance.
“Come on Michael.” I whispered, rocking Blanket back and forth.
“Is Dad coming Brynn?” Prince stared up at me. His large eyes were filled with too much worry for a nine year old boy.
At that moment, from somewhere in the back of the store about ten policemen came running, whipping past us and out to try to manage the crowd.
Paris screamed, startled, as they went by. She clung to her older brother.
They started supervising the crowd, and helping to keep them at bay.
Finally…finally, Michael emerged from the car.
The screams reached an ear splitting decibel and the crowd crushed in tighter, hands reaching for any kind of touch on Michael.
He started to run.
Hands seemed to jut out from all over. Wanting to hold him. Grab him.
Get a piece of him.
Blanket was still bawling in my ear.
From seemingly nowhere, a gloved hand reached in and snatched Michael’s sunglasses right off his face.
His eyes widened in surprise when he realized his shades were gone.
He actually touched his face with his hands to make certain they were really gone.
“Hot damn! Did you see that?” Rusty exclaimed behind me as the fan held the glasses in the air, before a policeman tackled him. “That’s a five hundred dollar pair of shades!”
“That guy took his glasses! Rusty, get out there and help him!” I yelled trying to put Blanket on the floor. He steadily clung to my neck, legs dangling and swinging.
“No Brynn! No!” He really didn’t want to be left.
Throwing his jacket off, to the nearest saleswoman, Rusty ran out into crowd and immediately was hit in the face with a pair of zebra print underwear. I only hoped that they were clean.
“This has never happened before!” One of the saleswomen exclaimed to me.
“Well it sure as shit is happening now!” I snarled at her.
It seemed surreal. I was holding a howling little boy, two more kids beside me biting their nails down to the skin and watching the man I loved being canvassed by enthusiasts.
It was something I had only seen on the news. Never in person.
And there it was, right before my eyes.
And as wild as the scene was, I knew that less that six months earlier, I would have been on the other side of the barricade, just trying to touch Michael. Get his attention. Something. Anything.
The fan and policeman rolled on the ground fighting over the shades.
The glasses snapped in half.
A dark lens flew.
A few other devotees joined in trying to snap up the pieces.
In another dimension, that fan could have been me.
A ten second run was taking over ten minutes.
Rusty threw the panties away back into the crowd and made it to Michael.
Threw his arm around him.
Both men bent down deeply and started to run again.
I actually saw someone smack Michael’s bottom as he went by.
They burst into the store.
Bo and Luke quickly brought up the rear and slammed the doors to the shop.
One sales woman rushed over and locked them.
“Daddy!” Prince and Paris nearly tripped each other racing to hug Michael.
He immediately dropped to his knees and embraced them.
They hugged like they hadn’t seen each other in decades.
“Look Blanket, it’s your Daddy. It’s Daddy.” I tried to turn Blanket’s head so he could see his father.
Michael finally got to his feet and approached me.
Bulbs continued flashing.
“Are you okay?” Michael asked wrapping his arms around me, Blanket caught between us. For the first time the boy was silent.
“Yes.” I looked back at the crowd.
Fans pressed against the window tapping it with balled fists, struggling for space among the photographers.
The policemen were still out there grappling with them all.
“That was pretty wild.” I gasped patting Michael’s back, not caring who took my picture. I had to be calm for him, even though I wanted to jump all over him and cry.
“If that ain’t the understatement of the century.” Rusty sank to floor leaning against a display of turquoise jewelry. His blonde tipped hair was a mess.
Michael gave me warm smile that seemed tinged with a bit of sadness.
I knew for him, this was just another day at the office that was Celebrity.


Two Hours Later

“Once again, Mr. Jackson, I want to extend my regrets not only to you, but your children and companions.”
Walter Aiken, owner of Aiken’s Jewelers, apologized for what had to have been the thirtieth time since Michael and I had gotten in the store.
He was a short, round fat man, with tufts of white hair on his mostly bald head, who spoke with a bit of a Welsh accent.
And he had been profusely sweating like he was going to the electric chair and waiting to be pardoned by the governor. The collar of the blue shirt he wore was soaked with perspiration.
Michael nodded, only half listening to the man. He was too busy admiring the watch he was trying on.
It was a true beauty. It was made from one solid piece of silver and featured a mother of pearl face and diamond encrusted bezel. (And a five figure price tag.)
I don’t think anyone was really paying attention to Mr. Aiken. Rusty was seated in a corner, tapping at his Blackberry, a bandage on his hand where he had gotten a scrape from being pushed out the way.
Prince and Paris sat in the middle of the floor under a display of Tourmaline jewelry playing Patty-Cake. A few feet away, Blanket was snuggled into a ball on the carpet, napping, his thumb jammed in his mouth.
I glanced out the huge display window.
Even the crowd of Jackson followers were sedate; quiet and watching.
Every so often a flashbulb would go off or a fan would tap the glass trying to get Michael’s interest.
Michael, remarkably, was in good spirits. After being secured in the store he had actually waved to the fans and blown kisses before turning to his shopping.
“Brynn,” Michael tapped my shoulder.
Holding his wrist under my nose, he asked, “Do you like this?” He questioned, shaking his wrist, making the diamonds catch the light.
“It’s pretty. Really flashy.” I grinned up at him.
Michael reached and pinched my cheek.
He turned to Mr. Aiken who was still trying to offer condolences.
“I’ll take this too.” Michael said cheerfully, interrupting the man.
Michael slipped the watch off and handed it to Mr. Aiken who, still talking, added the watch to a pile that included no less than five sets of gold and silver cufflinks, gold chain link necklaces for his sons and a pair of pink diamond studs set in platinum for Paris.
I had been fighting the temptation to look at different trinkets. I really didn’t want Michael to spend that much on me.
“Mr. Jackson…” A saleswoman asked walking towards him, pushing a small cart. On top of it were several glasses and an ice bucket containing what appeared to be about five different bottles of wine.
“Mr. Jackson, may I offer you and your guest some refreshments?” She asked meekly, tucking a lock of coppery hair behind her ear.
Michael peered at the bottles in the cart. “What do you have?” He questioned.
“Um…” The woman bent and checked the bottles. “Pinot Noir, Pinot Grigio, and some Moet, Sir.” She smiled. I could tell by the way her pale cheeks were glowing, she was taken with Michael. I didn’t blame her. Michael was the catch.
“Could I get one glass of Pinot Grigio.” Michael motioned to me. “She doesn’t drink too much. I’ll share the glass with her.”
Michael smiled at me. “Or would you rather the Noir?” He questioned.
I was gob smacked. Michael had never offered me a (alcoholic) drink. The closest I had gotten to a drink was a Shirley Temple cocktail--which was Paris’ favorite drink--or a virgin Pina Colada.
Why was he offering me a drink then?
“Um, Grigio is fine, Mike.” I ran my fingers along the sleeve of his shirt.
“Grigio it is.” Michael grinned at the saleswoman who popped the cork and began filling a glass.
“Didn’t you tell me you and Taryll had this same kind of wine on your first date?” Michael asked out of nowhere.
Time to put the “I’m Taryll’s girlfriend” ball into play.
“Oh yes, so sweet, we went up to Napa Valley to an old vineyard. It was so romantic.” I grinned as Michael took the filled glass and sipped at the wine.
“Who’s Taryll?” The saleswoman asked.
“He’s my nephew…”Michael peered at the nametag on the woman’s blouse. “Deborah.”
“Oh that must be exciting.” Deborah smiled. “How did you meet?”
Michael glanced at me. I couldn’t fumble now.
I took the glass from Michael and swallowed the contents--more than half the glass--and replied,
“We met at a party Michael’s brother Marlon was throwing at his house. Turns out we had a mutual friend. You know Nicole Richie right?”
“Of course!” Deborah filled my glass again. Behind her, Michael was giving me an approving nod.
“Well, darndest thing, Nicole and Taryll went to the same prep school and Taryll noticed me across the room. I’ve known Nicole for a while now. We have the same manicurist. Anyway, Taryll asked to be introduced and the rest is history hon.” I sipped the wine again. “Good stuff.”
I handed the glass off to Michael, who downed the remainder.
He handed the glass to Deborah and she proceeded to make her way over to Rusty to offer him a drink.
Michael grabbed my shoulders and whispered excitedly,
“Where in the world did you pull that story from? That was brilliant!”
“Must’ve been the wine talking.” I giggled. “Mike, why’d you let me drink, I don’t usually drink with you.” I looked up at him seriously.
Michael eyes glittered as he exclaimed, “You managed to carry a screaming four-year-old boy through a crowd of paparazzi and my fans. If I could, I’d give you a medal!” Michael toyed with my hair.
I knew he wanted to kiss, but since his every movement was being captured on film, he instead, just made a kissing noise.
Turning back to Mr. Aiken he said casually,
“Hey Wally--”
“…and next time I’ll have better and tighter security, and the police! We’ll have the SWAT team…” Mr. Aiken was still mumbling.
“Wally.” Michael said seriously. Annoyance was in his voice.
“…your children will have security. Hell, security will have security…”
“Wally!” Michael snapped his fingers right between Mr. Aiken’s half-closed brown eyes.
“Yes Mr. Jackson?” Mr. Aiken jumped to attention.
“Will you go get that…thing? You know what we discussed?” Michael sighed and tossed his hair over his shoulder.
Behind us, the crowd roared.
A reaction to a hair flip.
God help us if Michael hopped onto the display case and Moonwalked!
But, I didn’t blame them. Anything Michael did was sexy!
“Oh yes! Mr. Jackson! Pardon me!” Mr. Aiken turned and bellowed,
“Deborah! I need you! Now!”
Deborah, abandoned the apparent conversation she was having with Rusty and literally ran behind Mr. Aiken off into the back off the store.
“What this thing that’s got them so excited?” I questioned, reaching up and tucking Michael’s hair behind his ear.
Flashes intensified.
Michael’s ear was almost as dark as the shirt he wore. He was blushing something fierce.
“Okay, what’s up? Your ears look like the burnt chip in the bottom of the bag they’re so dark!” I tugged the lobe making Michael giggle uncontrollably.
“You’ll see in a moment Honey.” Michael pulled my hand from his ear and stroked the top of it lightly.
“Here we are Mr. Jackson!” Mr. Aiken announced tromping over to Michael, followed by Deborah. Both held no less than five boxes in assorted sizes.
They spread them out on the top of display case and started opening them.
The array was breathtaking.
Diamonds, pearls, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires glittered at me from setting made of yellow gold, white gold and even rose gold.
Necklaces, bracelets, rings…a king’s ransom in baubles.
“Oh gosh.” I put my hands to my face.
“Which piece do you like best Brynn?” Michael asked, placing his hand on my back.
“Oh Michael.” I gazed up at his smiling face.
“Um…” I picked up a small box containing an impressive ring. A very large blue stone placed in a white gold setting sparkled at me. “I like this.”
Michael took the box from me and held it out to Mr. Aiken.
“Tell me about this. She likes this.”
Mr. Aiken peered at the ring.
“That Sir, is an eight carat London Blue Topaz ring, Emerald-cut stone in an 18 karat white gold setting. Would you care to try it on Miss McAllister?”
“Can I Michael?” I asked gazing up at him.
“Sure.” Michael took it out and placed it on my right ring finger.
I examined it. “It’s lovely.”
I held it up for the fans and paparazzi to see.
Flashes bathed us in light and fans banged on the glass.
I believe I heard a fan scream for Michael to buy them something.
“That’s the style now…huge cocktail rings. The bigger the better.” Deborah chimed in offering me another ring.
Mr. Aiken explained that it was a six-and-a-half carat Citrine in a 22 karat yellow gold setting. Cushion cut stone.
I was shown a matching necklace to the Citrine ring.
Then pear shaped, sapphire chandelier earrings.
Diamond tennis bracelets.
Canary diamond lariat necklaces with a matching pair of earrings and a bracelet, all with Rose cut stones.
My mind was spinning. There was so much to choose from.
An hour passed before I had made a decision.
Behind me, Paris and Prince had both joined Blanket in the Land of Nod. Rusty too. He dozed in the chair, gizmo still in his hands.
I picked up the Blue Topaz ring again. “I still like this best.” I announced, hoping I hadn’t taken too much of Michael’s or Mr. Aiken’s time.
“Your fans responded really well to it.”
Michael once again took the ring from me. “You want this ring?” He questioned raising one of his eagle’s wing eyebrows.
“Yes.” I nodded until my hair bounced. I planned to reconstruct my entire wardrobe so I could always wear the ring.
“Um…” Michael bit down on his lip. “I don’t think you can have this ring.” He said and looked at me, his dark eyes wide and wet.
“What?” I stared at him stunned. “I can’t have the ring? Michael? Why?” I grabbed onto his shoulders. I was already picking an outfit so I could wear the ring the next day. I felt tears of disappointment in my eyes.
“Why?” Michael turned and walked a bit from me, his legion screaming beyond the glass. “You can’t have the ring because…” Michael trailed off and glanced over his shoulder.
“Because why?” I stamped my foot, frowning bitterly.
Back still turned, Michael said so quietly, I barely heard him,
“You get it all.”
Had I heard him correctly?
“All of it? I get all of it? It’s all mine?” I felt close to fainting.
Hands clasped behind his back, Michael spun back around and mouthed the word, “Yes.”
My screams shook the rafters of the building and was louder than most of the devotees outside. The Jackson trio hopped to their feet, confusion on their faces and Rusty slid out his chair and onto the floor at my commotion.
“Michael!” I ran over and hugged him with such force he rammed into a display case, sending Hello Kitty watches flying.
“Oh you sweet, wonderful, beautiful man! I love you! You know that? I love you!” I yelled into his chest.
“Are you happy?” Michael chuckled holding my face in his hands.
“Delighted!” I smacked his cheek loudly, not caring who saw me do it.
Fans beat on the glass, cheering.
Michael laughed and enveloped me in another hug.

***

Three Days Later
Sometime in the Morning

“…Cherish the love we have….Cherish the life we live…”
I awoke to the sounds of the radio in the sound system across from the bed playing softly.
I was lying on stomach, nude, and covered in perspiration.
The bed was a semi-damp mess of wrinkled fabric.
Next to me, Michael snored lightly.
The sheets just barely concealed his bare hips. A light sheen of sweat sparkled on his uncovered top.
His long, thick hair was matted across his forehead.
He clutched my Citrine necklace in his hand, over his chest.
Close to his heart.
It was the only thing I had worn to bed the night before.
For the last seventy-two hours, the outside world Michael and I knew had ceased to exist.
He had been ravaging me on and off for that span of time.
Who knew that Michael’s one true sexual weakness in the world was the sight of a woman in nothing but fine jewelry?
Michael would send Rusty, his guards and his children off on various exploits--trips to Dylan’s Candy Bar, back to back musicals on Broadway, sprees at F. A.O. Schwartz--then he’d lock the door to the main suite and our room and a beast more fierce than his Thriller werewolf would come out.
He’d gotten me in diamonds in the shower, sapphires in the bathtub, citrines in the bed and emeralds on the floor along side the bed. (We had unexpectedly rolled out of the bed!)
It was wild. And I loved it.
I had several little bruises on my shoulders from where Michael had squeezed down on them to keep himself steady. (If you catch my drift.)
And he wore a few hickeys, his favorite being one I left on the inside of his right thigh. (I hadn’t yet enjoyed Michael’s “zipper” ride, but I got close enough to kiss on his thigh. If I had been permitted to go up about five more inches…)
As Michael slumbered comfortably, I gently pecked his wet forehead, slid out of bed, careful not to disturb him, and made my way to the bathroom, to clean up and try to order breakfast.
I emerged from the shower fifteen minutes later, feeling revitalized and happy.
As I stood in my robe drying my hair, a little noise caught my attention.
“Secret Lovers….Secret Lovers…”
Oh no! Not then! No!
Prince was texting me!
I ran over to the door and peeked out.
Michael had turned on his side, his little sweet, pale booty facing me.
He was still asleep.
Closing and locking the door, I went to my make-up case and picked up the phone.
Accessed my messages.
Prince had written:

Eye haven’t heard from U in a while. Heard Jacko bought U some nice things. He can’t buy U the nicest thing--ME. He can buy the planet, but he can’t satisfy U the way EYE can! & that sez what? That sez next time Eye C U, Eye’m gonna wreck that body!

Right soon.

Luv
Ur little Orgasmatron!

PS--EYE MISS U!

I hung over the washbasin, speechless.
I had completely forgotten about Prince for almost a week.
But then again, it was kind of hard for me to even remember my name when Michael was loosening a necklace with his teeth.
Knees weakening, I staggered over to the commode, flipped the lid down and sat on top of it.
I had no idea when I was going to see Prince again.
If I could.
I reviewed the message again. Prince said he wanted to “wreck that body.”
I sighed and brought my knees to my chest. I was suddenly very cold.
Could I really do that? Let him have me again?
I ran a hand through my tangled hair.
I had come pretty close to stripping him down when he had danced for me.
It was by the grace of the Creator that I hadn’t tossed Prince in that bed.
My neck warmed as my mind replayed Prince’s little gyrations and spins and Lord, the thrusts.
Prince was sex in heels.
Those big moody eyes of his, that cunning, twisting mouth, little lithe, silky body…
It seemed he had been born to do “it”. Singing was a hobby; “wrecking” bodies was his real mission in life.
And while I had a still nude man less that twenty feet from me, I began wondering about Prince.
“Brynn?” A hard knock on the door roused me from my thoughts.
I flew off the commode, rushing to put the phone back into my make-up case.
“Brynn!” The knock was more persistent.
“Coming!” I slammed the case closed and locked it.
I ran to the door so swiftly, that I banged against it.
I opened it slowly, trying to calm myself.
Michael, covered in a plush red robe sauntered in, a content grin on his face.
“Morning, my Bejeweled Beauty.” Michael patted my head.
“Morning.” I stretched my mouth into a grin.
I was crying on the inside. How long could I keep this charade up?
My life was turning into a Lifetime Movie of the Week.
As he turned on the hot water in the in the deep sunken tub made of exquisite white marble perched on clubbed feet, Michael commented with a chuckle,
“We got pretty wild huh?”
He was in such high spirits. I felt terrible.
“Yeah…” I looked down at my hands.
“Is something wrong Brynn?” Michael stooped a bit and studied my face.
Was “Guilt” stamped on my forehead?
“Um…no. Just a little sore, that’s all.” I giggled stiffly.
“So…what are we going to do today?” I looped my arm around Michael’s slim form.
“Just resting. I have to go back to another meeting tomorrow.” Michael brushed his fingers along my hot neck.
“Oh you do?” I glanced around the room and my eyes landed on the make-up case.
Was I really going to see Prince that soon?
“Yeah Honey, but tomorrow, I want you to go out with Rusty and the kids. They’re going to see The Producers. I got really good seats. I think Matthew Broderick and that other guy are still in it.” Michael explained pouring peach scented bubble bath into the water.
It foamed and frothed under the spigot.
I heaved an inner sigh of relief.
Saved by a play that made a musical out of World War Two.
What were the odds?
“Why don’t you go phone room service. I’ve got a taste for some good old fashioned flapjacks and sausage!” Michael chuckled stepping over to the tub and talking his robe off.
He sank into a seated position sighing lightly. “This hot water feels wonderful.”
“Flapjacks?” I questioned. I had never heard Michael call pancakes that.
“Sure. That’s what you say in the South right? Or is it hotcakes?” Michael giggled beginning to lather up with a small blue towel.
“Either one.” I shrugged, taking in Michael’s sweet, sudsy body.
He was so beautiful.
The bubbles came up to shoulders and were wetting the very ends of his hair. They sparkled around him like gems.
I watched quietly as he picked up a small blue towel and started lathering his body with a bar of Dove soap.
It was strange, a dove symbolized peace--no worries.
And there I was, so wrapped up with turmoil that if it materialized, I’d be an off the charts tornado!
I knelt along side the tub, silently watching as Michael scrubbed away at his face, shoulders and underarms.
He was so innocent. Even at almost fifty years old--give or take a few years--he was so innocent. So sweet, so unjaded, unscathed by the truth.
The sweetest man in the world.
“Do you want to do my back?” Michael asked softly, holding the wet washcloth out to me.
I wordlessly took it and started gently rubbing at his back.
As I cleaned Michael, my mind ran over the conversation I had had with Prince.
“You spend your time with three children, a man who acts like a child with a house that has it’s own amusement park. You’re Wendy to Michael‘s fucking Peter Pan…”
I bit down on my bottom lip as I replayed the lines over and over again in my head. Not just the Peter Pan bit.
The parts about my not having any outside friends or having driven my car or anything.
Was Michael depriving me?
No! No! No! I screamed at myself. How could I even think such things? Michael had been so kind to me, taken me in, cared for me, loved me…
And I was so much younger.
“Barely past jailbait” as Prince had put it.
I knew I was young, and that’s why Michael had been looking out so hard for me. Sheltering me. It wasn’t him doing it on purpose, to shut me off from the world, it was just his way of protecting me.
Taking me out of clubs and placing me in Neverland.
But as much as I hated to admit it, Prince was right, in his own twisted, violet washed sort of way.
I never really spent any time to myself.
I was always with Michael or his children. Not that it was a bad thing. I loved Michael dearly and adored his children, but everything in my life at that point revolved around them.
But Prince wasn’t exempt. When I was in Minneapolis, I spent nearly all my time with Prince, give an hour in a heavy make-up session with Mindy.
Sure Mindy was a friend, but it wasn’t like we hung out together, we just spoke occasionally.
She was the closest thing to a “friend” I had in my world that wasn’t Michael or Prince or the Jackson trio.
Perhaps Prince was a hypocrite. He kept me around him as much as Michael had kept me around him.
I sat up, dropping the towel with a plop in the water.
“Brynn?” Michael turned and stared at me, concerned.
A new thought was looming in my brain.
Michael and Prince, in their own ways, were one and the same.
Both asking me to dress and behave how they wanted, me singing for both, sleeping with both.
That was why I loved both of them so much: They were two sides of the same man.
Michael, sweet, and coy and gentle. Prince, rough, vulgar and on the verge.
It was all too much to bear.
I couldn’t handle the truth!
And I truly couldn’t imagine my life without either one.
“Brynn!’ Michael exclaimed, frightened, as I crawled over to the commode, lifted the seat and commenced to vomiting.
A moment, he kneeling beside me, pulling my hair back, still nude.
“Baby! What is it? Are you sick? Is it something you ate? What’s wrong? Baby!” Michael begged wrapping his arms around me. “Do you want a doctor?”
“Michael…” I looked up as tears flooded from my eyes and made him a glowing white blur. “Michael…I…I…”
“What Baby?” Michael’s eyes were wide, skin ashen with horror.
Sinking to the floor, in a near fetal position, I managed to blurt out,
“I love you so much!”
I could hear Michael audibly crying.
“That’s it? You love me? I thought something was wrong!” He laid over me, hugging me and kissing at my neck. “I love you too!”
“If only you knew.”
I thought miserably.

Chapter 19

The Following Morning
Around Ten A.M.


“Hello, Front Desk, Claudia speaking.”
I sat in the front foyer of the large suite, twirling the cord of the clear and gold phone setting on a small table.
“Yes, I’d like to have a car pick me up and drive me over to Fifth Avenue. I, uh, I have some shopping I want to do.” I said quietly looking up at a painting of a dog with a dead duck clasped in it’s jaws.
I still felt weird about going off shopping. But I had no one to talk to. Michael had left at about six to get to the Upper East side of Manhattan for his meeting and Rusty and the Jackson trio had left about an hour later, destined for Brooklyn with the bodyguards.
“Name please?” Claudia had a heavy Brooklyn-ese accent.
“Brynn McAllister.” I replied.
“Oh you’re a guest of Mr. Jackson. He called a few hours ago and already arranged a car for you Miss McAllister. It’ll be around to pick you up in about forty-five minutes.” Claudia informed me.
“Michael already got me a car?” I was surprised, Michael had left no stone unturned.
“Yes, Miss McAllister. It’ll pick you up in the front of the building. You’ll be traveling in a red Land Rover. Just be down in the front lobby.”
“Thank you.” I said absently.
“You’re quite welcome Miss McAllister. Would you require anything else before you departure?” Claudia questioned.
“No, that’s all, thanks.” I hung up.
Standing I made my way over to a large mirror on the opposite side of the room.
I gave myself a once over. The weather New York was at unnatural highs for the fall--the temperatures were in the high seventies.
I wore white silk eyelet dress that buttoned up the front and white leather high-heeled sandals. My hair was pulled back into a ponytail exposing my made up face and silver hoop earrings. Silver bangles jangled on my right wrist.
I wondered if I gave off a sort of Charlotte from Sex and the City vibe.
Sweet and lady like.
I hoped I looked like the type of person who just naturally rode in Land Rovers around New York with a limitless credit card.
At the thought of the credit card, I pulled it out of the pocket hidden in my dress and stared it.
Anybody with a brain in their head knew that it was Michael’s unspoken attempt to keep up with Prince’s giving me a car. I didn’t know what to do with the car. I never even got to sit in it. I was certain that while we were in New York, the car was probably being chopped and sold for scrap.
Michael wasn’t going to buy another car--we had a driver at all times--but he was going to buy up most of the northern United States.
I hated that it seemed Michael felt like he was in competition with Prince.
There was no competition. Prince had been a fling--though it was flattering he considered my love making Ferrari worthy--but I was with Michael.
For the long haul.
Patting my hair, I gave myself one last look and made my way out of the room and into a main elevator to get to the lobby.
(If I tried to take a freight elevator, I’d never find the lobby!)
The elevator went down without stopping.
The lobby was totally different from the sixteenth floor. Instead of having an eighteenth century décor, the floor was totally modern and minimalist and in shades of black, white and red.
The lobby was pretty much empty except for a few front desk attendants.
A man sat in one of the square chairs that were scattered around the lobby. Behind him was a framed poster of Jimi Hendrix, in the middle of a wicked guitar solo. His face contorted to music long played.
Since it seemed he was the only form of life in the room, I went over to him.
Might as well make conversation.
“Hi, mind if I sit here? I’m just waiting on my ride.” I smiled.
The man looked up. He couldn’t have been any older than about twenty-five. He didn’t really look like a jetsetter.
He was dressed in a baggy yellow t-shirt with a black monogram of Bob Marley on it and baggy black shorts. Black flip flops covered his feet.
Thick, almost waist length dreadlocks tumbled around his caramel colored face.
“Yeah sure. I’m just killing time here too. Warren.” The man extended his hand to me.
“Brynn.” I shook his hand.
“So what are you doing a place like this? You look like a model.” Warren grinned, his grey eyes twinkling.
He unwittingly laid the ground work for a lie.
“Actually I am a model. I’m signed with Wilhelmina. I’m just crashing here until I got out on a job.” I nodded. All those months of watching America’s Next Top Model had paid off.
“Oh really? What are you shooting for?” Warren wondered and brushed a dreadlock out of his eyes. I noticed with an inner sigh of relief that he was wearing a gold wedding band on his left ring finger.
He was married.
The last thing I needed was some hound dog trying to hit on me.
“Oh, just a little Ralph Lauren thing. Nothing major.” I smiled.
“Oh cool. My wife wears a lot of Polo stuff.” Warren nodded.
He picked at his dreads again, trying to tuck them behind his right ear and an earring glinted at me.
My chest tightened when I noticed what the earring was.
A tiny gold version of Prince’s symbol.
“Uh, Warren…mind if I ask you a personal question?” I asked staring at the bauble.
“Shoot, I’m an open book!” Warren chuckled, crossing his legs.
“Are you a Prince fan?’ I sputtered.
Warren touched his ear. “Oh you saw this thing? Nah, that brother’s a little too out there for me. My wife, Ronesha, is nuts for the midget. That’s why I’m here now. Dragged me all the way from Yonkers here. She’s up trying to get onto the Penthouse floor. Word on the street is that he’s staying here.” Warren nodded and smiled warmly.
My heart quivered.
Prince was staying at the Windbush?
Of all the hotels in the state of New York, Michael had to pick the very same one Prince was in? And Prince was occupying the penthouse suite that Michael had wanted.
I looked at Warren with wide eyes. Maybe Warren was wrong.
Maybe his information was wrong. Maybe Prince was staying at the Ritz, or the Four Seasons, or not even in New York at all. Fans sometimes got information wrong and sometimes celebrities just liked goofing on their followers.
Maybe I was being Punk’d.
I looked around for Ashton Kutcher to jump out at me.
He never did.
I stared down as my hands started trembling so hard, my bracelets jingled.
“Are you okay?” Warren noticed I was shaking.
“Yeah, gosh, it’s really cold down in this lobby isn’t it?” I willed the muscles of my face to make a smile form on my face.
I wasn’t about to tell a total stranger that I was within an inch of soiling myself over the thought that the only thing separating Michael Jackson and Prince Nelson were a mere five floors.
The Penthouse occupied the twenty-fist floor of the Windbush Hotel.
I just hoped that one wouldn’t find out about the other staying in the next hotel.
I could just imagine the headlines:
King of Entertainment Slaughters His Royal Badness over Teen Lover.
I had to make sure that Prince never knew Michael and I were at the Windbush and that Michael never knew Prince was there.
I’d have to keep my nose clean and keep a low profile.
I had to make sure no one from Prince’s camp recognized me…
“Brynn?” A feminine voice asked and cool hand touched my bare arm.
I sighed. The driver of my Land Rover had arrived about twenty minutes early.
Now to get out of the hotel, onto Buyer’s Row and forget about the Purple Pimple.
(Or was it Purple Pimp?)
I grinned up to greet the driver.
It crumbled and fell off my face.
Standing over me, with a huge smile on her face was Mindy!
“M-Mindy?” I was breathless.
No! God No! It couldn’t be.
But it was her.
If Mindy was there…
Prince was there.
It was true.
“Yes!” Her smile was one of relief.
Leaning and embracing me, she said,
“I’ve been looking for you for the longest!”
I was speechless as she tugged me to my feet.
I could only look at her.
She was immaculately dressed in a deep yellow minidress covered with huge white polka dots.
Her hair hung in ringlets around her heavily made up face.
Chunky white bracelets covered her lower arms and a matching beaded necklace hung at her throat.
“Wow today must be my lucky day!” Warren exclaimed from behind me. “I get to see two models!”
“What?” Mindy was clearly confused and her pencil thin, light brown eyebrows furrowed as she tried to understand him.
“Yes, Warren, this is Mindy, she’s also shooting the Ralph Lauren ad with me.” I shot Mindy a stern look hoping that I could rope her into going in with the falsehood.
“Oh…” Mindy nodded, finally getting me. “Brynn, um, Mr. Nelson has been looking for you--” Mindy grinned a little too wide at Warren.
Prince was looking for me? He knew I was at the Windbush! How did he know?
I couldn’t go to pieces in front of Warren because he’d probably want to follow us to Prince and drag Ronesha, wherever she was, with us.
I had to keep up with my character.
“Our agent.” I explained. “It was nice talking to you Warren.” I said quickly grabbing onto Mindy’s hand and tugging her out of earshot as Warren bid us adieu.
Pulling her near the elevators I whispered.
“Mindy, please tell me that Prince is not here! Not in this hotel! Please?” I begged tugging her hand.
Mindy glanced around making sure no one was paying attention to us.
Seeing that no one was paying us any mind, she started to speak.
At that moment, the elevator doors behind us swung open.
“Put me down you big headed freak!” A woman screamed as a large White man who resembled Hulk Hogan, lifted her up over his shoulder and walked, with her kicking and flailing into the lobby.
The woman was very thin and light skinned. She couldn’t have been much older than me. Her outfit was unmistakable. She wore a black shirt with Prince’s symbol on the back of it in white. Long wavy auburn hair fell across her tear-stained face.
A symbol necklace swung from her neck as she continued raising hell.
“I know Prince is up there! Put me down you fat bastard! Ahhh! I saw him! I saw his shoe! Ahhh! Don‘t nobody else wear shoes like that!” She accused.
Across the room, Warren jumped out his chair and ran to the woman just as several hotel security men besieged her and took her from the large man.
The security men lifted who I presumed to be Ronesha up and quickly proceeded out the front doors with her.
Mindy and I stood and watched as they crudely dumped her onto the sidewalk in front of God and everybody.
I put my hands to my face. Prince really was there!
A fan had just gotten kicked out over him.
What was I going to do?
“Come with me.” Mindy grabbed at my hand. “Mr. Prince, is looking for you.” She repeated and led me into the still open elevator.
I didn’t know why I was going with her. I could have broken and run away.
Maybe I was afraid that if I didn’t go with her, Prince himself would come for me.
Then all Hell would have broken wild and loose.
She pressed a button marked ‘Penthouse’ and the doors closed around us.
After the doors had closed, I launched into her.
“Mindy, what the hell is Prince doing here? Why is he here at the Windbush? Michael Jackson is here!” I exclaimed leaning against one of the mirrored walls of the elevator.
A shiny, reflective coffin.
I slapped the ‘Stop’ button and we hung between the tenth and eleventh floors.
Mindy bit her bottom lip nervously.
“How did he know I was here?” I demanded.
I had only seen Prince two days ago when he had turned Neverland upside down and almost got beaten to a pulp by Michael and his brothers. There was no way I could think of that Prince could have found out that Michael was at the Windbush.
Liberty had said the day before that the hotel had a strict customer confidentiality policy.
“I don’t know.” Mindy shrugged. “He just did. When he got back to Minneapolis from Los Angeles, he said, ‘Pack up Mindy, we’re going to New York City.'” She explained.
The elevator spun under me.
How did he know so quickly that Michael was booked at this hotel?
Something didn’t add up.
“I can’t see him.” I looked down at my hands.
It wasn’t fair to Michael. In no way shape or form could I see myself going to see Prince at the Windbush. It just wasn’t right.
I was supposed to be on my way to go shopping.
This was a nightmare.
Mindy panicked.
“Oh Brynn! Please!” She exclaimed shrilly. “You have to! I’ve been walking around the hotel since five a.m. looking for you. And I spent all last night walking and looking. Mr. Prince says he’ll fire me if I can’t get you to him today!” Mindy sobbed, her mascara smearing, sending charcoal tears down her cheeks. “Brynn, I can’t get fired! I don’t want to have to move back to Staten Island and live with my mommy!” She pleaded.
I stared down at Mindy in shock.
I couldn’t believe Prince had put Mindy’s job on the line.
“Are you serious?” I just couldn’t form the idea in my head that Prince had threatened Mindy’s employment.
“Yes. Oh Brynn! Please go see him! I don’t want to move back to Staten Island! You’re supposed to be my friend! Please!” Mindy actually dropped to her knees and hugged my waist.
My mind was flying too fast. I couldn’t see Prince, but I didn’t want Mindy to be a casualty.
Prince knew exactly what his little ass was doing.
He knew I liked Mindy as a friend and wouldn’t want to jeopardize her in any way.
Damn, I was in a tight spot.
“All…all right.” I sighed heavily, feeling despair. “I’ll go see him.”
The weight of the world was on my shoulders.
Mindy looked up at me, her face glowing. “You’ll go? You will? Oh thank you!” Mindy dropped into a seated position and pulled a cell phone out of her pocket.
I stared ay my reflection.
What the hell was I doing?
Just what was I doing?
She quickly flipped it open and dialed a number.
“Mr. Prince?” She said quietly.
“Yes…yes sir, I found her! I’m bringing her up now. Yes sir, we’ll be there in a minute!” Mindy punched the ‘Penthouse’ button again, setting the elevator back into motion.
“Thank God! Mr. Prince is happy!” Mindy said closing the phone and climbing to her feet.
“He would be.” I thought bitterly.
“Brynn, are you really seeing Michael Jackson too?” Mindy asked after a silent moment.
I glanced at her. “Yeah.” I nodded grimly.
“Gee…” Mindy giggled. “I kind of figured that. The way he was pissed at Mr. Prince at Paisley Park.”
Yeah, that was good, bring that disaster in the time/space continuum back up.
“Mindy,” I glanced at her. “I know about your preferences, but would you do what I’m doing, seeing two men?” I questioned.
“I dunno. Maybe. Mr. Jackson and Mr. Prince are nice looking. They are pretty enough to be women.” Mindy blushed.
Yeah, that helped a lot.
We reached the all exclusive Penthouse suite and Mindy punched in a code on a small keypad that made the doors swing open.
Mindy led the way into the suite which yielded immediately to sitting area.
The room had a 1960s, futuristic feel to it.
The room was bathed in shades of blue, white and yellow.
Several egg shaped chairs hung from the ceiling, suspended by clear beaded ropes.
The room led off to a long hallway and end of the hall was a set of large blue double doors, funky star shaped figures protruding from them.
Mindy looked around.
“Mr. Prince? Mr. Prince--we’re here!’ She called out timidly.
A light rock instrumental played from somewhere.
Other than that, silence.
And just like Prince’s home and studio, the place was heavily scented with vanilla.
“Mr. Prince?” Mindy questioned again looking around.
“I guess he’s not here.” I said edging back towards the elevator.
At that moment, one of the egg chairs spun around.
Prince sat Indian-style in the chair.
I swallowed hard.
“Oh, Mr. Prince! I found Brynn!” Mindy exclaimed happily and threw her arm around my shoulders.
Prince dropped his feet from the chair and walked over slowly.
His head was lowered and I could see him licking at his lips.
He looked funkier than I had ever seen him.
He wore a long red lame trench coat that just brushed the tops of the black boots covering his feet. It kind of resembled the coat he had worn in his Purple Rain movie. A placket of pyramid shaped studs covered the right shoulder of the coat.
A black handkerchief was tied around his throat.
And his hair…oh Lord…his hair.
It was parted down the middle and appeared to have been crimped and fluffed a bit too much, yielding to a somewhat frizzed look.
His make up was fairly natural except for thick black liner rimming his eyelids and mascara crusting his lashes.
His light eyes glowed at the sight of me.
He glanced at Mindy. Her face was still streaked with black.
“Fix your make up, Mindy. You look terrible.” He commented snidely and picked at his hair.
“Hmmm…you brought my pretty little Brynn to me.” Prince smiled, getting a bit too close to me. His cologne was engulfing me.
What had he done, put it on with a plant sprayer?
“Hail Mary, Full of Grace, Pray for us Sinners…”
“Yes sir. She was in the lobby.” Mindy bragged as if I was a moose she had shot and strapped to the hood of her car.
“Yeah, I’m supposed to go shopping. There’s a car downstairs waiting to take me to Fifth Avenue.” I explained, once again inching towards to the elevators.
“Oh shopping. Mindy can do that for you.”
Prince indicated Mindy with a flick of his head.
“No, I have to go shopping.” I pulled my credit card out of my pocket and showed it to Prince. I hoped that he saw my name and realized only I could use the card.
Not a smart thing to do.
Prince quickly snatched it from me.
“Huh…Jacko gave you a credit card. That’s cute.”
He tapped the card with a manicured nail. “I’ve seen these before. They have no limit.” Prince chuckled. “Aw, Mindy, isn’t that cute, he’s trying to keep up with the car I gave her.”
Mindy head down, wiping at her cheeks, hummed in agreement.
I snatched the card back. “The name is Jackson, not Jacko. And he could care less about competing with you. He’s in his own league.” I replied coldly. It plucked my nerves that Prince was once again making fun of Michael.
“Yeah, it’s called ‘Extraterrestrial’!” Prince doubled over laughing and grabbed the card again.
Throwing it at Mindy, he instructed coolly, “Take this and go buy some things for Brynn. Bring them back here later. Get some shit that Michael would like. You know, like a nun’s habit.” Prince chuckled.
“Um…yes, sir.” Mindy started towards the elevator.
“Wait a minute!” I spun and grabbed Mindy’s shoulder. “You don’t have to go. I’ll go!” I insisted. I knew why Prince wanted me there.
You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to guess.
He was probably in the buff under that coat.
Prince’s lips brushed my earlobe as he whispered,
“You don’t let Mindy go, and I’ll give Michael a little call and let him know just where you are.”
I shook off the slight chill I got.
“You don’t know where Michael is.” I glanced back at him and tossed my ponytail arrogantly.
My heart rate plummeted when Prince replied.
“Oh, but I do. Trust me, I do. His ass is over in Manhattan now. In a meeting with some music execs.” Prince chortled and ran his hand down my back, causing me to jump.
Was Prince psychic? How did he know so much?
“Looks like you’re in a tight spot.” Prince giggled.
I wanted to pull every kinky strand of hair out his head.
To Mindy he instructed, “Go ahead on down to that car. Brynn’s not going anywhere. This Pretty Baby is staying with me today.”
“Yes, sir.” Mindy pressed the button opening the door to the elevator and got on.
I watched helplessly as she waved feebly and the doors closed.
She actually had the nerve to mouth the words “I’m sorry.”
I was once again alone with Prince.
I stared at the closed doors.
Prince stepped around me and stood in front of the doors making it clear that I wasn’t going to get away from him.
“Why are you here? How did you know Michael was here?” I questioned, feeling as though I was going to ralph up everything I had ever eaten in my life all over the aqua tile floor.
Prince ignored my inquiry.
“You look nice today Brynn. That dress suits you.” He remarked placing his hand under my chin and causing me to look up at him.
I regarded him icily.
“What? Aren’t you happy to see me?” Prince teased in a singsong voice.
“I’m happy to see you.” He leaned and his lips sought out mine.
I forgot how Prince’s mouth was. How rough and rouge it was. How it seemed to perpetually taste of mints.
Prince raised his arm and put it around my neck pulling me in closer against his slim body.
The kisses he showered on me came even harder. My lips felt sore and raw.
My heart pounded as Prince wrapped his other around me.
Suddenly Prince pulled back and smooched the tip of my nose.
Gave me a sly smile. I was quite sure he had something obscene in mind.
“How did you know Michael was here?” I whispered, trying to catch my breath. I couldn’t let Prince seduce me again. I just couldn’t. I had to be stronger for Michael. I just had to.
“I’ll tell you later. Right now, I wanna show you something Ba-aby.” Prince murmured the last word and kissed my cheek again.
He started to tug at my arm.
“Show me what?” I cautioned. I could only imagine what Prince wanted to do. And for how long.
“Something special.” Prince winked at me. “Follow me.”
He dropped my arm and started swaggering towards the double doors at the end of the hall, hands shoved in the pickets of the coat.
I remained rooted to the spot.
A little nagging voice in the back of my head was telling me not to go after this man. It was too peculiar.
Midway down the hall, Prince realized he was the only one walking.
He spun and motioned at me with his finger.
“You don’t really want me to go in there and call the Missoni Grill. That is where your dear Michael is making his negotiations today. I’ll bet he’s right in the middle of the salad course now.”
Every hair on my head stood on end.
How in the hell did he know that Michael was at the Missoni Grill Restaurant?
And was this man really trying to blackmail me?
“You know Michael is at the Missoni Grill?” Not really thinking about it, I stalked over to Prince, worries consuming me.
“I know lots of things.” Prince giggled. Why was everything a riddle with him?
“Now I got something to show you.” He placed his hand on my back.
It slid down and patted my butt.
“Prince!” I cried and stepped back from him.
“What?” Prince squinted at me and placed his hands on his hips.
His jacket glittered.
“I…I can’t do this…” I stared at him.
Prince stared back plainly. All readable emotion disappeared from his face.
“I…can’t have sex with you. I can’t keep doing this to Michael. I owe Michael so much, Prince. And I love Michael.” I shook my head feeling a wave of tears starting to make their way up from their ducts to my eyes.
Prince’s face hardened and he reached out and grasped my shoulders firmly.
“Brynn…” His voice was like ice in the air.
His eyes widened as he looked me up and down.
“This might come as a shock to your system…but I’m not gonna fuck you.” He said solemnly.
I gazed at him in wonder. He wasn’t going to try anything nasty with me?
Who was he and what had he done with Prince?
“You’re…you’re not?” I wasn’t sure I could trust him. I mean, I was talking to Prince.
“Yes Brynn. I love you. Sex isn’t everything to me, you know.” Prince rolled his eyes. “What I feel for you, it goes deeper than the flesh. And besides I like a challenge.” His eyes danced with a wildness I hadn’t before seen.
“A challenge?” What was this man talking about? Had he had a few too many of those rum spiked apple ciders he’d fed me in Minneapolis?
“Yes. You’re scared to even really touch me. I can tell.”
Prince ran a hand under his nose, curving up and pushed it through his hair.
“The way Michael Jackson was holding onto you when I gave you the car. If he had you around the throat any tighter, he’d have choked you to death.” Prince chuckled.
‘But I’m not even gonna touch you--maybe--but trust me, when I get done, I might have to knock you off with a crowbar.” A mousy grin.
I felt my eyebrows going up.
So many unanswered questions.
“Come on Sugar.” Prince interlocked his fingers with mine and led me to the double doors.
I tottered along behind him.
He pushed the doors open with toe of his boot.
I gazed into the master suite of the Penthouse.
I felt like I had stepped into an Austin Powers movie.
The room was papered in a deep tone of blue, highlighted by white lacquered furniture. The focal point of the room was a large round bed, swathed with spangled white and yellow gold sheets. There was even a lava lamp on the bedside table. The windows on either side of the bed were opened and I could see a part of Central Park through them. The view was almost nicer than the one in Michael’s room.
The guitar music seemed to be louder and I noticed as Prince led through the doors that a large stereo occupied an entertainment cabinet.
A white chair was setting just in front of the bed and at the base of it off to the side was a blue pitcher of iced water and a matching blue tumbler.
“Take a seat Brynn. The show is about to start.” Prince said deeply, pushing me towards the chair.
“Show? What show?” I wondered.
Prince puckered his lips at me slyly for a moment and then made his way around the room, shutting the curtains.
The only light came from the recessed fixtures half hidden in the ceiling.
He then closed the double doors.
I brought my hand to my mouth and began nibbling my nails.
If Prince wasn’t going to “do” me, just what was up the sleeves of that gaudy coat he wore?
His back to me, Prince fiddled with the knobs on the stereo.
Another funky-fused upbeat instrumental, composed mostly of a bass guitar screeching and drums playing.
“This is a special piece I created for you.” Prince announced walking over.
He stopped several feet in front of me.
Placing one hand on his tiny hip and the other behind his head, Prince began rolling his hips about in a circle to the music.
“Oooh yeah! Oooh yeah! I’m gonna bust that body! Oooh yeah! I’m gonna bust that body right!” Prince sang in a chant. Every three beats he alternated his arms.
This is what Prince wanted to do? Dance?
Was he kidding? Even though I had never really seen Prince dance before, I knew Michael could out dance him any day of the week. (Because, he was Michael Jackson!)
Prince jumped into the air and turned his back to me, shaking his bottom back and forth in beat.
His head dipped down and I could hear him fumbling with the buttons on the coat.
He jumped back around, a smirk on his face.
He held the coat closed tightly.
“I got a gift for you…all the way from Minneapolis! Ooh--ooh! Uptown!” He wailed and snatched the coat open.
And let it drift to the marble floor.
A startled gasp escaped my mouth.
Under the coat, he wore a long red t-shirt that had been cut along the bottom and sleeves and tied off with black and silver beads into a makeshift fringe. A silver chain belt cinched the waist of shirt. Under the shirt he wore a skimpy pair of black bikini underwear.
(Who knew he actually possessed a pair of underwear?)
A familiar bulge swung with his every movement.
His legs were covered up to the thighs with black stockings.
A black lace arm sock covered his right arm from the wrist to the elbow.
His gender-bending attire intrigued me. I was trying my hardest to not be sucked in.
He looked like he should have been somewhere on a street corner in Soho with a price tag attached to him.
Kicking the coat aside, Prince kicked his leg out and dropped to the floor in a split, bouncing several times before hopping back to his feet.
The beat of the music changed. Slowed a bit and a piano laced tune faded in.
Accommodating his movements to the new sounds, Prince turned his back to me again and rocked his hips again.
He brought his hands up rubbed his ripe, plump booty.
It seemed larger and firmer than I had remembered.
“Pardon me--my ass has a mind of it’s own!” Prince chuckled.
He spread his legs and bent down a little, hands on his knees, swirling his bottom.
I clasped my hands so tightly together, I heard the bones pop and I think a nail pierced my skin.
All of sudden I wanted to reach out and grab his butt.
The feeling was overwhelming.
Oh why did I find his best feature to be his butt?
Prince straightened back up and I noticed that a bit of fabric had wedged into the crevice of his bottom.
Taking his index fingers, Prince ran them underneath the fabric pulling the material out.
Not that it really helped. The bottoms of his cheeks were exposed and wiggling with every movement.
Prince dropped into a split and somehow threw himself in the air and he was facing me again.
“Hoo! Shit, this music is getting to me! How about you Baby?” Prince wore a wicked expression all over his face.
His eyes were mesmerizing. There was something so lower-level, sexual, and nasty about them. He hadn’t given me a look like that since I had “kissed” him in Minneapolis.
I could only nod. I had lost my ability to speak.
Prince pulled himself into a squatted position.
Moaning, he thrust his hips. His ‘junk’ jangled.
I covered my face, oceans of heat washing over me.
Prince continued making rude noises.
I dared another peek.
He was spread out like a crab on the floor, legs opened to me.
He was thrusting his hips even harder, making his ‘scepter’ bounce up and down.
Still pumping, Prince managed to hold himself with one hand and with the other was fanning his hand over his groin.
“Ugh! Oh shit.” He murmured.
The underwear was sliding off to the side a little and part of his “jewels” were peeping out. A thatch of hair gleamed at me.
I bit down on my finger to keep from screaming.
This dance! Why?
He flipped over onto his stomach and supporting himself with his arms, began pumping at the floor.
“Oh!” Another lusty wheeze evaded me. “God!”
I shut my eyes, trying to erase the obscene vision from my brain.
“I love you Baby…” Prince’s voice was soft as cotton.
I slowly opened my eyes.
Prince was lying at my feet, eyes huge and watching me.
With a self righteous grin, Prince brought a finger up to his mouth.
Extending his tongue, he swabbed his finger, his tongue flopping around like a rosy fish out of water.
He stroked my knee with the dampened fingertip.
His touch was pure fire.
I munched on my lip and twisted to the side, just out of his reach.
“You look hot Brynn…you want a drink of water?” Prince smoothly slid back onto his feet.
His heels clicked as he walked to the water pitcher beside me and poured a frosty glass of water. He stared me down, taking in my soul. My very fiber of being.
“Here.” He held the glass out to me.
I was afraid to grab at it.
“It’s just water, take it.” Prince shook the glass and the ice cubes tinkled.
I reached.
At the last second, Prince pulled the glass against him and turned it upside down, splashing his chest with cold water.
He squeaked. “Shoo…”
“Oh look at that.” He looked down and shook his head. “I’m all wet.”
A smile creased his face. “Are you wet, Brynn?” He snickered. He dropped the glass. It must have been plastic, because it merely bounced on the floor rather than breaking.
“No,” I said stubbornly. I wasn’t, but if this man kept this flash dance up…
“Aww, I’m not working hard enough.” Prince sighed, hands behind his back, looking up at the ceiling. He was oozing perversion.
Prince loosened the chain belt and brought it up, clenching the metal in his pearly little teeth. He growled at me and winked.
Then he tossed it across the room. It landed with a solid clank.
Gripping the shirt with his hands, Prince ripped as easily as if it were a sheet of paper, exposing his damp and sparkling chest.
Droplets in his chest hair twinkled.
He whipped the shirt over his head several times like a stripper before slamming it to the floor.
I put my hands to my mouth, captivated.
He yanked the handkerchief from his throat and tossed it in my lap.
“Put that where you want to Baby.” Prince snickered.
The music segued again. Now a drum was solidly tapping.
“Aw!” Prince screeched arm over head, and dramatically fell to the floor, rolling in the puddle of water he created when he dumped the glass.
A new expression of depravity washed over his face, making his eyes glow green. On other people, the green eyes may have been envy, on Prince, it was horny.
I put my hands on top of my head. I couldn’t believe that I was getting turned on by the display of filth.
But I was.
My heart was pounding, chest heaving…
Prince rose to his knees looking up at me innocently.
His eyes shone so fair.
Poking his tongue out again, licked his fingertips and ran then through his hair.
His light eyes flicked up and down, taking me in.
He was acting as though it was normal for him to be behaving this way.
Pretending to be a Chippendales dancer.
Perhaps it was normal for him.
He pursed his lips and rimmed them with his index finger several times.
Ran his hands down his slick, tight, little body down to his crotch.
Puffed and I could clearly see all of his ribs.
Prince reached out and placed his hand on my knee again, and with the other, rubbed at the fuzz on his chest.
“I know I’m nasty…are you nasty?” He questioned his voice otherworldly.
I gulped.
He was too fine. He was powder fine.
He fell back to the floor, and began pumping against it again, this time accenting ever pump with a scream.
“Ah! Ow! Ah! Ow!”
The music faded out.
Prince stared at me, moving his tongue around his mouth, making weird, semi circles.
His glare was deadly. Was he going to kill me?
“Stand up.” He ordered. His eyes were wide and demanding.
Something deep inside made me obey him.
How my legs supported me, I’ll never know.
Smirking, he turned away, his round booty about a foot away from me.
He was steadying himself on widely spread legs.
Slickly, Prince dropped at the waist.
Swirled his ass again.
I almost went through the roof when his hand shot out from between his legs and up my skirt.
“No!” I exclaimed as his fingers wiggled against my underwear. So close to my personal space. Too close.
“Damn, you’re wearing panties!” Prince stood.
He looked back and rubbed his nose.
“Of course I am! Did you think I was gonna walk around New York without them?” I gasped angrily still feeling his touch.
Prince ground his teeth into his bottom lip, eyeing me hungrily over his shoulder.
He backed up until his sinewy posterior collided against me.
“Oh yeah!” Prince put his arms over his head and bumped his booty against me. “I’m busting that body right!” He yelped.
And then I snapped. I don’t know what happened.
A wave of fire consumed me and I lost it.
I lost it.
“Prince!” I whined and wrapped my arms around his midsection which was starting to perspire. I tugged him against me.
Prince continued rolling and wiggling his hips.
I found myself kissing at the back of his moist neck and at his ears.
Fondling his chest. Even tweaking his little nipples.
Prince dropped his arms, and grabbed my hands, placing them over his “scepter and jewels”.
Holding my hands, he rubbed himself against my palms, through the wafer-thin black fabric. His voice slowed and a loud blare of unorganized notes spilled from the stereo.
He was completely aroused. And certain parts of him felt as if they had been stricken with rigor mortis they were so stiff.
“Ooh…yeah! Ooh!” Prince panted, pushing my hands up and down. “Bust that body…Baby.”
His genitals we so very hot.
Instead of trying to pull from him, I clutched at him, my own groans becoming louder.
Absently, I lifted one leg and rested it on his hip.
Round and round…up and down.
“UGH!” A loud moan escaped Prince and he squeezed down on my hands and wrists so hard, they momentarily numbed.
He threw his head back and smacked me in the face.
“Ouch!” I exclaimed as my forehead throbbed.
He grunted loudly for a few spare seconds, body quivering.
The gyrations came to a stop.
“Ew!” Prince sighed almost in disgust. “Brynn…you got me…even wetter.”
He panted.
For the first time I noticed a warmness on my hands.
I sprang away from Prince.
A light dampness was on my palms and fingertips.
Head drooped, Prince slowly twisted to me and looked up through his long lashes.
“Thank you.” He whispered and kissed my mouth. “I love you.”
I squinched my face up at him. What the hell?
Had I just masturbated Prince?
I studied my hands again.
He had…climaxed on me!
I glanced down and stifled a squeal of surprise.
A line of liquid--that wasn’t water!--was rolling down the inside of his left leg.
Prince chuckled in a low tone. “Hmm, hmm, hmmm…You might wanna wash your hands. I don’t think Jacko wants to know what my juice smells like.”
With that Prince spun away from me and walked over to the open door of the bathroom, hands on hips, booty swaying.
He disappeared inside, pushing the door partially closed.
As water started running inside, I looked down at my hands.
Mortified. Horrified.
He had done it again. Prince had seduced me again!
The sneaky bastard. I couldn’t believe it.
Was I that weak? It was pathetic.
I knew I should have been remorseful, even frightened, but I wasn’t.
I was…in love.
Really in love with Prince.
I was warm with my own sensation of being turned on.
That he had really gone through all the trouble to make up a little dance for me.
It was flattering. Almost as flattering as the Ferrari.
But it was all so wrong!
I slowly wandered over to the bathroom door.
And slipped inside.
I discovered Prince’s boots, stockings, soiled underwear and arm sock on the floor. On the other side of the room, hidden behind blue frosted glass, I could make out his figure, taking a shower. Steam rose from the top of it and billowed across the ceiling.
I looked down at my hands again. My fingers were starting to stick together.
Disgusting.
I found the washbasin and turned on the hot water.
In the shower, Prince screamed.
“Now wait a minute Baby! I ain’t into all that. I don’t need a cold shower now!”
The remark made me laugh.
The first time I had laughed all day. It felt so good.
I picked up the bar of soap and began scrubbing at my hands.
“Brynn, Lover, why don’t you go out there and order up some room service?” Prince suggested. “I’ll be out in a few.”
I suddenly felt so calm. I didn’t know why.
“All right!” I called back.
For the moment, I did feel “all right”
Nothing seemed to make sense anymore.


A Short While Later

“Here…put it in your mouth.” Prince urged quietly.
“I can’t. It’s too hot!” I remarked leaning away from him.
“Then let me blow on it for you.”
Prince brought the fork up to his mouth, a cube of bread covered with hot melted cheese poised on the end of it.
I watched, a smile on my face, as he pursed his pretty pink lips and puffed on the food.
On a table in front of us, two different fondues bubbled. A cheese one surrounded by cubes of French bread and deli meats and a white chocolate one surrounded by assorted small fruits.
“Here.” He held the fork out to me.
I ate the food and beamed at him.
He looked nice. After the shower to get the dirty boy clean, Prince had changed into a low cut black tunic trimmed with green piping and matching black trousers. A black scarf was tied around his hair which he had combed back.
“Let’s try the chocolate.” I offered, dipping a ball of honeydew melon into the white chocolate and holding it out to him.
Prince licked it up off my hand. “I’m glad you washed that hand” He chuckled.
“Prince?” I said dipping another melon ball.
I wanted to know something. Needed to know.
“How did you know that Michael was staying here? I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you and he are at the same place. Especially only two days after you last saw each other.” I looked up at him weakly.
Prince leaned back and crossed his legs staring at me. He was working his tongue around his mouth again.
“You really want to know?” Prince folded his arms over his chest. He seemed annoyed I was even asking.
I didn’t care.
“Yes.” I nodded and my ponytail bounced.
“I’m a star, Baby.” Prince glanced over my head. “I have contacts all over the place and I can keep tabs on anyone I want with a simple phone call.”
He continued. “And I’m watching Michael like a hawk because he has the one thing I want--you.” Prince dunked a banana slice in the chocolate and ate it.
He really wanted me. Gosh.
“I don’t know why you want to stay with him, Brynn. It’d be a hell of a lot easier if you dumped his weird ass and moved to Minneapolis.” Prince shook his head brow furrowed.
I started to object, but Prince shot his hand up, silencing me.
“And he’s got all that baggage. Three children. None of them are yours. You shouldn’t have to play surrogate mama to them--”
I cut Prince off. “Hold it Slick. I love Michael’s children. They love me. Those are the sweetest children I’ve ever met and they accepted me right off the bat. And I can’t leave Michael. Because I don’t just love one person. I love four--Michael, Prince-Michael, Paris and Blanket. And you of course.” I shook my head.
Prince grunted and got up.
“You’re too young to be bothered with children. You’re barely past being jailbait yourself.”
“This coming from the man who just ejaculated on me.” I retorted hotly without thinking.
Prince sucked in his lips and his eyes bulged.
I thought he was going to start yelling at me.
Why did I suddenly envision him knocking the taste out of my mouth like he had done to Apollonia?
Instead, he tossed his head back and laughed wildly.
“You’re good Brynn. Real good.” He staggered over and dropped into my lap.
He nestled his face against my neck.
He smelled so sweet.
“What is that cologne you wear?” I asked, inhaling his trademark scent.
Prince chuckled into my throat. “It’s a perfume, Women’s Armani. I’ve been wearing it for years.”
Hmmm….Prince wore women’s perfume.
At that point, nothing much he said could shock me. Even if he sprouted a second head, turned green and proclaimed he was a spaceman from Jupiter.
“Why don’t you come back to Minneapolis? For real?” Prince tapped a finger around my face. His eyes dipped at the corners; he looked gloomy.
“Prince…” I searched his eyes. “I can’t hurt Michael. I promised him I wouldn’t. And I will not hurt those kids.” I explained quietly.
“Prince, you don’t understand. Michael is very different from you. He’s been hurt so many time by different lovers. I don’t want to hurt him.”
“Don’t you think it bothers me when you leave me and go back to him? I want to keep you with me. Treat you like a real woman. Not a child. He almost shit when I gave you that car. Kinda funny that you’re almost twenty and didn’t have a car. And that says what? ” Prince cracked his knuckles. “That says you’re being babied.”
“We have a driver, Prince.” I pointed out.
“I wonder what Michael would think of his driver bringing you to see me.
I bet you haven’t even driven that car yet--have you?”
Prince eyed me, the color of them darkening from hazel to almost brown.
I couldn’t answer him. I hadn’t touched the car.
He took my silence as an response.
“I knew it.” Prince scoffed and shook his head, appalled.
“Do you go out at all? Do you have any friends that aren’t Jacksons or work for a Jackson?” He questioned.
I looked away from him, simmering. “I’m happy with how I am. The way things are.”
“Sounds pretty fucking lonely to me. In Uptown you had friends. Me, Mindy, even Morris. And you don’t have to sit and baby-sit any of us or play Barbies with us, because we’re all goddamned adults. Think about your life, Brynn. You spend your time with three children, a man who acts like a child with a house that has it’s own amusement park. You’re Wendy to Michael's fucking Peter Pan. God help us if y’all learn to fly. End up somewhere over the rainbow.” He poked his hand into my chest.
“I know Michael doesn’t like me. I don’t give a flaming flying fuck. He knows that I treat you like a woman and not a kid. That’s why he was so quick to get you out of Paisley Park. Because I had you looking like a woman. And you were acting like one. He’s threatened.” Prince ran his hand under my chin.
I slapped it away. Why did Prince always have to go from being so nice and sweet to being an absolute puke bag at the wrong time?
“Michael’s got nothing to be threatened by. A man, who, if he jumped off a street curb will have committed suicide?” I snapped.
“Ha…ha…you’re funny.” Prince laughed mockingly. “And I’m not that fucking short. I’m big where it counts.” He indicated his crotch.
“Please.” I turned from him.
I liked the way my life with Michael was. The closeness, the quietness. I didn’t need a billion people around me like Prince.
And to be honest, the only other person I had seen him with in New York was Mindy. I hated that Prince was always trying to shoot me down.
I wasn’t going to let him.
Behind him the doors to the elevator opened up and Mindy, laden with about thirty different shopping bags entered the room.
She looked a bit frazzled.
“Ah, I see our handy, dandy shopper is back.” Giving me a haughty flip of the head, Prince swung off my lap and helped me up.
“Yes, sir.” Mindy smiled dropping the bags to the floor. She returned my credit card to me.
“What all did you get?” I asked, hoping she hadn’t spent too much money.
“I got lots of things. Shirts, pants, dresses, shoes, lingerie…” Mindy fluffed her hair.
“Lingerie? Ow!” Prince picked up a pink bag with “XXX” printed on the front.
Digging around, he picked out a lilac lace bra and matching panties.
“I think I’ll keep this here. Wear this for me Brynn. Jacko can have the rest of that. ” He grinned devilishly at me. Flipping the bra over, he glanced at the tag on the bra.
“Damn! I didn’t know your tits were that big.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Shut up Prince! And, it’s Jackson, okay?”
I gave a few bags a cursory glance; Mindy had done a pretty good job. Most of the garments were in the line of what Michael would buy.
Hip, but classy.
“What time is it?” I questioned, looking at a blouse with Marilyn Monroe on the front in blue glitter.
Mindy picked up her phone and opened it. (There were never any clocks around Prince, because I had heard he didn’t believe in time.)
“It’s a quarter to six.” She said.
“A quarter to six?” I dropped the shirt. “Michael’s gonna be back to the room by six! I have to be there. Oh my God!” I scrambled to pick up the bags. I knew I’d have to ride the elevator down to the lobby and back up to make it look as though I had entered from down there.
Instead of leaving the Penthouse.
I gave Mindy a jumbled hug. “Thanks for shopping for me.”
“No problem.” She grinned. “Anytime. You saved my job!”
I started for the elevator.
Prince tugged me lightly by my hair.
“When will I see you again?” He wondered deeply , eyes searching my face.
“I don’t know.” I looked up at him, feeling sad. I didn’t know if I was sad to leave him or to have to face Michael.
“You bring the phone I gave you?” Prince twirled my hair.
“Yeah--it’s in my make-up case. But I can’t talk on it. Michael will hear me.” I fretted.
“I’ll text you then. Just text to me what happens. I wanna see you again and soon.” He yanked my head back and kissed me passionately.
We were both gasping for air when he let me go.
I bumped his nose with mine. “Bye, Sexy Dancer.”
He giggled.
I stepped into the elevator.
“Bye Sweet Baby.” Prince blew a kiss as the doors closed around me.
As I rode down to the lobby, I stared at myself in the mirrors.
It was odd, I had two faces, but looked as normal as the next woman…

* * *

“Yay! It’s Brynn!” Paris screamed as I entered the master suite.
She actually jumped into my arms knocking the bags I was holding out my hands and onto the floor.
“Hi!” I hugged her back.
“She’s been bouncing off the walls all day. Rusty bought her an iced latte from Starbucks.” Prince smiled from where he sat in the middle of the floor playing Old Maid with Blanket.
“You had coffee?” I stared down at Paris. She gazed up at me a huge grin plastered on her face. Yup, she was loaded with caffeine--the pupils of her eyes were dilated.
“Yes!” She exclaimed.
“How big a coffee did she have?” I questioned. No seven year old needed coffee. Not even coffee flavored ice cream.
“The biggest one they had.” Prince shuffled cards. “I didn’t have any. Me and Blanket had a smoothie.”
“Rusty!” I called trying to walk with Paris still hanging onto me.
The skunk came walking calmly from down the hall, tapping away on his Blackberry.
“Oh you’re back. Did some damage shopping huh?” He smiled at me.
“You let this little girl have an iced coffee?” I motioned to Paris who was clinging to me.
“The lady who made it said it was decaf. Chill out Brynn.” Rusty shook his head.
“Does it look like she’s had decaf? I’m wearing her like a belt! Where is Michael? Does he know she had coffee?” I argued.
“Who had coffee?” A voice behind questioned.
Michael, in a black three piece suit, was entering the room with his two hired guards.
“Daddy!” Paris shrieked and leapt from me into Michael’s arms.
“Take a wild guess.” I crossed my arms and glared at Rusty.
He almost dropped Paris.
“You let Paris have a coffee? I didn’t even have coffee this morning and I’m a grown man!” Michael’s eyes swelled as he looked at his daughter.
Rusty sputtered.
“This is Paris Jackson! Not Paris Hilton! Next thing I know you’ll be telling me she was dancing on a table somewhere!” Michael picked Paris up and cuddled her close to him.
“Uh, Dad…” Prince waved his hand to get Michael’s attention.
“She did dance at the zoo, but they played a Britney Spears song.” Prince put in. “We were on the sidewalk though. I danced too.” He grinned at Michael openly.
Michael stared harshly at Rusty.
“Right Michael, it won’t happen again.” Rusty made a speedy exit.
Michael walked over and pecked my cheek.
It was amazing he couldn’t smell Prince on me. I was sure some of his perfume had rubbed off on me.
“How was your day Honey? Had fun shopping? I see a lot of bags.”
“Good. How was your meeting?” I tried to change the subject.
The less we chatted about me, the better.
“Alright. I think I gained ten pounds I ate so much. We’ll meet later this week to discuss packaging and a release date for the song.” Michael nodded excitement in his eyes.
“That’s great.” I patted his back as Michael tried to loosen Paris’ arms from him.
He finally managed to get Paris off of him and she ran to join the Old Maid game.
“Did you eat something with cheese?” Michael questioned and I tensed up immediately.
Oh, God in Heaven! He knew! Who told him?
Had Prince really called the Missoni Grill and told on me?
No, Michael was far too calm. Most people blew their stack before murdering a lover.
If he knew I had gotten a semi lap dance from one of the people he detested most in the known universe…
“Cheese?” I repeated breathlessly, lungs deflating.
“Yeah. See?” Michael pointed to my chest.
A blob of yellow cheese stained my dress.
It must have plopped on me while Prince and I were sharing fondue.
“Oh…I uh, had a chili cheese dog at Nathan’s.” I put on a smile, my heart darkening from lying to Michael.
“Cool.” Michael grinned, whipping his jacket off and giving me a warm hug. “Bet that was yummy.”
“The best…” I mumbled quietly.
How long could I keep my cool?
* * *
　

Chapter 18

The Next Afternoon

“I have an announcement to make.”
I looked up from the blob of ketchup I was squirting onto Prince’s French fries.
We were all outside at the barbecue area, eating a lunch of grilled cheeseburgers and French fries.
(Well, Michael was eating a grilled veggie dog.)
Michael rose from where he sat next to me at the picnic style table and stretching long legs over the bench walked to the head of the table.
The Jackson trio and I all looked at Michael earnestly.
He wore a sheepish look on his pretty face as if he were about to let us in on a big secret.
“I’ve been doing some thinking…” Michael looked at us each in turn.
“Neverland is a nice place, but I think that we should get out, and move around. You know, stretch our legs.”
“What do you have in mind?” I asked as Prince grabbed my hands making me squirt more ketchup on his place. He couldn’t eat his fries unless he couldn’t see them!
Michael grinned broadly.
“A trip to New York City!” He exclaimed and a stream of ketchup hit Prince in the face.
“Hey!” He cried surprise.
“Sorry!” I started mopping his face with a napkin.
Blanket and Paris laughed and pointed.
“Mike, we’re really going to New York City?” I questioned, amazed.
I had never been to the “Big Apple”.
Michael nodded. “Yes! We’re going to go shopping and have fun! We leave tomorrow morning!”
“Daddy can we go to F. A .O. Schwartz?” Paris jumped up and ran over to her father, blue eyes wide with excitement.
“We can go wherever you want baby!” Michael scooped her up in a hug.
“Brynn!” Prince tugged at my hair gently. “You’re gonna love F. A .O. Schwartz, they have all the coolest toys!” He grinned at me. Next to him, Blanket was nodding in agreement.
“Who wants to start packing?” Michael questioned.
With a jubilant screech the kids abandoned their food and blazed off towards the main house.
Michael walked over slowly and put his arm around me.
“Are you excited Honey?” He questioned as we moved towards the house.
“Hell yes! I’ve never been to New York! It’s amazing…” I trailed off when I thought of the ‘talk’ Michael had had with his brothers about getting me away from Prince.
“Mike, does this have anything to do with what happened yesterday?” I questioned as we neared the house.
Michael stooped and plucked a small pink flower from a bed growing alongside the walk.
“Well…kind of. But before that weirdo showed up, I had been working up some meetings with distributors to get Not Over around. The little cricket was talking about an exclusive online release, well I’m releasing online and in stores too. Well, if everything goes right.” Michael twirled the flower in his fingers.
I kept my mouth shut about Prince.
“I’m sure everything will be peachy. Is that why Rusty was wearing that Blackberry out the other day?” I asked as we went into the house.
“Yup.” Michael giggled.
“Now let’s pack.”


Two Hours Later

Michael and I stood in my room, about seven huge Louis Vuitton suitcases spread on the bed and floor.
He was going through my closet selecting things for me to wear while in New York.
(Kind of reminded me of someone selecting my outfits.)
“The weather in New York should be nice. A little cool. If it gets colder, you can just buy a jacket or a fur or something.” Michael said quietly.
A new thought sprang up on me.
“Michael…how are we supposed to go around New York and even get there. I mean won’t your fans know you’re there and the paparazzi?” I questioned, folding a blouse and putting it in a suitcase.
“I don’t think so. Everything we’re doing is private. I mean a private plane and stuff. I reserved an entire floor at an exclusive hotel called the Windbush. It’s super nice. I tried for the penthouse suite, but someone had already rented it out.” Michael flipped his hair over his shoulder.
“How long are we going to be in New York?” I folded another shirt.
“A few weeks at least. But don’t worry. We can go shopping and maybe see plays or something.” Michael pecked my cheek as he dropped a pair of jeans in a bag.
“What are we gonna do…about us? I mean if people see us together, they might start speculating.” I wrung my hands worried that our relationship might come to light. I was as worried about that as I was Michael finding out about me and Prince.
“I got that figured out. You wanna wear a mask like my kids do?” Michael grinned. He was extremely protective of his kids’ identity and every time they went out in public he hid their faces with masks or scarves.
“Yeah…that’ll be fun.” I smiled. I liked the idea of a mask. It was cute.
“But what do we say if anyone asks who I am?” I questioned.
I knew Michael wasn’t going to say,
“Oh, this is Brynn, my teenaged girlfriend!”
“I fixed that too. I phoned one of my nephews, Taryll. He’s about twenty- eight or twenty-nine years old, and we’ll just say you’re his girlfriend.
And since people always check around I thought I’d fill him in.” Michael giggled.
“Whose son is Taryll?” I questioned.
So many of Michael’s siblings had so many kids it was hard to keep track of who belonged to whom.
“Taryll is Tito’s middle son. He has two other brothers--Taj and TJ.” Michael beamed.
I remembered the way Tito and Jermaine had looked at me after ‘meeting’ Prince. I was sure that if Tito had told his sons anything, Taryll probably already disliked me.
“They sing right?” I wondered, loading my make-up case into a bag. I vaguely remembered some second generation Jacksons song group in the nineties when I was a kid.
“Yeah, 3T. But, they don’t sing anymore. They’re doing their own things. It was hard finding someone to fib on.” Michael chuckled. “All my nephews are else too young for you or involved with someone. Ha-ha. But I don’t mind telling a fib, to stop the tabloids from lying first. I wanna give them the run-around.” Michael hugged me.
“We’re gonna have so much fun!” I snickered wrapping my arms around his neck.


The Next Day
The Windbush Hotel
New York City, New York

“Hello Mr. Jackson! Welcome to the Windbush Hotel!” A tall thin, Hispanic man greeted Michael as he we all unfolded out of a large white Range Rover. He appeared to be in his early thirties. “I’m Liberty Corona, your personal guide, sir.”
I was extremely happy to get out in the private parking garage underneath the Windbush.
For over four hours, Michael, his children, Rusty and two hired bodyguards had been crammed into a private plane flying from LAX to La Guardia Airport.
Then it had been another hour-long drive from La Guardia to the Windbush located just south of Central Park.
I could tell that the Windbush was going to be a totally ritzy upscale appearance, just by looking at Liberty.
Liberty was dressed down in a formal deep burgundy jacket that was trimmed around the lapels with gold. A gold braided roped looped itself around his left shoulder and through an epaulet.
Under the jacket he wore a crisp white shirt and black tie, all tucked neatly into a pair of slim black trousers. White gloves covered his hands.
“Hello…Liberty. Thanks for meeting with us.” Michael smiled, adjusting his dark glasses on the bridge of his nose.
They shook hands.
Paris and Blanket clutched at my hands while Prince stood along side his father, looking sleepily up at Liberty.
All the children wore masks. Michael didn’t feel it was necessary I wear one in the hotel since we were alone.
“Mr. Jackson, your belongings are being put away in your suite right now sir. We here at the Windbush understand your need for privacy and we are doing everything we can to ensure it. You will have your own private elevator and we have arranged for cars to carry you, your lovely children and your companions wherever they need to go in the city.” Liberty spoke quickly. I liked the way he spoke, he had a campy, sort of lisp-y voice.
“Which floor will we be staying on?” Michael questioned, as Liberty, walking briskly led us over to what looked like a freight elevator.
“The sixteenth floor sir. The entire floor is cleared for you and your family.” Liberty pressed the up button. A moment later the doors opened and we all crowded into the small cube of an elevator.
“I tried to reserve the penthouse suite, but I was told that the floor was already occupied by someone else.” Michael blew a lock of hair out his eyes.
“Yes sir. We are sorry sir, but that floor has been rented out since last year by the same person. There is no way that we could have them leave. Again, I’m sorry.” Liberty ran a hand over his thick black hair which was moussed and slicked back wetly.
“Who rented out the penthouse?” Michael tilted his glasses and winked at me.
I blushed. I wondered what it would be like to “get wild” in the elevator with him.
“I’m afraid I can’t disclose that, sir. Hotel policy. But I assure you, the sixteenth floor with suffice.” Liberty grinned nervously. I was sure his employment rode solely on the grounds that Michael remained happy.
A bell dinged, signifying that we had reached our floor.
As we stepped out, excited ooh’s and ahh’s escaped us.
The sixteenth floor was decadent with a capital “D”.
All around us, everything was gilded. It looked at though we were in a French chateau.
Versailles even.
Painting of landscapes and various animals hung on walls, edged with thick gold frames. The walls were papered in a rich blue fleur-de-lis pattern.
Every so often we’d pass a Louis XIV or Louis XV (whoever got beheaded with Marie Antoinette) table.
Plush carpet cushioned our every step and caught Blanket when he tripped on his untied shoelace.
Liberty led us to a set of double doors.
“This is the master suite and includes three bedrooms for your children. Your companions can pick their own rooms. There’s fifteen other ones ont his floor.” Liberty smiled.
Pushing the doors opened, we gasped.
Through the doors lay…a veritable Versailles.
Everywhere the eyes could look I saw marble, silk, carpeting, rich woods.
All of us filed in. Michael was taking all of the opulence in stride, while I was turning into a glassy eyed hillbilly.
I held my tongue, but I was screaming on the inside from excitement.
“There is a refrigerator of incidentals and alcohol in the master bedroom and if there is anything at all you require, sir, please feel free to call me at the front office. Thank you once again for choosing the Windbush” Liberty started towards the door.
“Thank--” Michael started.
Liberty turned back. His bugged dark eyes were pleading.
“Mr. Jackson, if it’s not too much trouble, could I bother you for an autograph? My mother loves you and your music. Please sir?” Liberty reached into his jacket producing a small notepad and pen.
“Hey, cool it with that kid,” Rusty put his hands up, “Michael is here for a semi-vacation. He doesn’t need to be bothered with that.”
“Rusty.” Michael shot him an angry glance.
He shrank back.
“You were so nice to all of us, I’ll give you an autograph.” Michael took the pad and pen.
Liberty appeared shocked that he was going to receive an autograph from the King of Entertainment.
“My mother’s name is Louisa--L-O-U-I-S-A.” Liberty hummed gleefully as Michael started scribbling on the paper:

To Louisa,
All my Love,
Michael Jackson

Michael returned the pad to an excited Liberty.
“Thank you Mr. Jackson! Nobody in Spanish Harlem is going to believe my mother has this!” Liberty shook Michael’s hand hard and made a run for the door.
“That was very nice Michael.” I smiled patting him on the back.
“Thanks…” Michael ran his hand over the back of my head. He was always shy about the good deeds he did.
Doing a dance step spin, Michael questioned,
“Who wants to go shopping?!?”
“We do!”
That Night

“Oooh! My dogs are barking!” Michael giggled sitting on the edge of the our bed in the master bedroom.
It was so ostentatious it was insane. The room coordinated with the rest of the French inspired décor in that it was blue and gold.
The bed had to be double the size of Michael’s at Neverland and covered with a velvet comforter and silk sheets and it even had a padded, upholstered headboard.
Michael was kicking off his loafers and wiggling his socked feet in the air. I knew his feet had to be on fire. He had been up and standing for over six hours. He, his children, and I had toured several boutiques that had closed especially for him and he had been on his feet selecting everything from a jacket embroidered with Spiderman on it for Prince and Blanket, to a pair of shoes encrusted with red glitter for Paris and several dresses for me.
Michael didn’t go unattended.
He had purchased several oil paintings and a statues for his home. (Most of his clothes were custom made, so he didn’t usually buy them.)
“Do your feet hurt, Babe?” I asked taking a seat next to him.
I just wanted to be sweet to him. It wasn’t hard at all.
I loved him.
“A little.” Michael touched his nose softly.
“Here, let me massage them for you.” I giggled pulling his feet into my lap.
“Oh Brynn!” Michael covered his face with his long hands and chuckled.
“Shhh!” I pulled the socks off exposing his tootsies.
As I started rubbing on the bottoms of them, Michael moaned happily.
“You, my little darling, have the hands of a miracle worker.”
“Michael…where are the kids?” I asked quietly, pinching at his toes.
“Asleep. Why?” Michael had a devilish grin to his face.
His ears shone red, he was getting…there.
“Just curious.” I said innocently. “You know I like this place--this room. All this French stuff makes me want something.” I blew a lock of hair out of my eyes.
“Yeah? What?” Michael chuckled. “French Fries? French Toast?”
I pushed Michael’s feet away gently and leaned against him.
“Oh… I dunno…how about a French…kiss?” I looked up at him.
If Michael’s smile were any wider, he’d have swallowed his ears.
“A French kiss…I think I can manage that.” Michael reached out and grabbed onto my face, bringing me in and pressing his tender lips against mine.
Our lips bounced against each other for several moments.
And then I felt the dampness of Michael’s thin pink tongue trying to gain admittance to a taboo show.
I pulled from him. “No…don’t put it in mine.” I waved my finger at him.
Michael bit his bottom lip and nodded earnestly.
“Brynn, this is a side I’ve never seen.” He confided, twirling his thumbs.
“Do you like it?” I wondered, looking down.
Michael cupped my chin in his soft hand.
“I like everything you do. I love you, Baby.” He divulged.
Our lips mashed again.
Working up the nerve, I found my tongue in his sweet mouth, gently flicking around.
His mouth tasted of warm cinnamon.
(I knew it would, the last store we went to was Dylan’s Candy Bar--owned by clothing designer Ralph Lauren’s daughter Dylan Lauren--and he ate what had to be over a dozen cinnamon fireballs.)
Somehow the taste was just right.
Sweet and hot. If Michael were a flavor, he’d be a hundred and twenty pounds of pure cinnamon.
Michael mumbled through our kiss and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer and on top of his body.
“I…I want you…Honey.” Michael whispered hotly into my ear. And I could feel him undoing the zipper on the back of the pink sheath dress I wore.
“And I…you.” I replied, slipping the dress from my upper body, exposing my matching pink bra.
“You’re so cute. And you’re mine. All mine!” Michael exclaimed and started to unhook the back of my bra.
Michael was a natural when it came to the task of undressing the female form. His hands moved swiftly, but gingerly, his fingers brushing my bare back. I gasped every time his fingers touched me.
“Oh…” Michael moaned, slipping the bra from over my breasts, exposing them.
“I love your boobies…hee-hee.” Michael grinned bawling up the scrap of fabric and dropping it to the floor.
“Oh you do?” I loved ‘teasing’ Michael. I put my hands up in my hair and shook my shoulders, making my ‘fun pillows’ wiggle.
I was ready and willing for him.
“Gosh!” Michael put out his hands, poised to fondle me.
It thrilled me whenever he said ‘gosh’ like that. Sounded like all the wind was coming out of him with one word.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
“No!” Michael whispered angrily. “Not now!”
“Who is it?” He growled springing up from the bed.
“It’s Rusty.” Came the reply.
“What does that bitch want?” I sneered, angry that Rusty would dare interrupt what was bound to be an earth-shattering experience.
“Don’t swear Sweetie.” Michael cautioned.
“He is a bitch!” I argued back.
As I shuffled to cover my body, Michael went to the door.
He opened it just a crack.
“What is it Rusty? I’m busy.” Michael’s voice took on the pallor that it had when he addressed, ‘That Damn Man’.
“I got that thing you wanted Michael.” Rusty handed Michael a small, shiny red object.
“Oh, thanks.” Michael took the object and closed the door on him.
“I got something for you.” He gave me a boyish smile and sat back on the bed.
“What? A subpoena?” I fluffed my hair as Michael stopped and stood over me.
He extended his hand, the little red thing balanced on his palm.
I was stunned to see that it was a credit card, with my name emblazoned on it in silver lettering.
“This is for me? Why?” I stared up at Michael in shock.
“Yes Brynn. It’s yours. You know tomorrow I’m going to be tied up in meetings all day and Rusty is taking the kids to take the kids to The Brooklyn Zoo. I want you to take that card and go do some shopping.” Michael grinned and pressed the card into my lap.
“Michael we already shopped today. You know you don’t have to get me things. I told you that all day.” I shook my head. “You don’t have to keep buying me things. I love you.”
I still felt weird when Michael bought anything for me. Even if it was a dirty water hot dog at a vendor in Central Park.
He had been so nice to me already, I felt odd taking money from him.
“I love you too. I want you to have a little bit of time to yourself. You’ve been working so hard and helping with my children and being bothered with that little Purple Idiot. You’ve earned it.” Michael kissed the top of my head.
“Buy to heart’s content. The card has no limit. I just ask a few things of you.” Michael cautioned.
Strings.
“Please wear make-up and try not to mention me. I’ve learned from experience that if somebody tells someone else they’re with me, you’ll have a few hundred new ‘friends’ following you home. That one guy, Liberty was alright, but I don’t want you in any danger.” Michael looked down at his bare feet.
“If anything happened to you…” Michael trailed off. “You just get a private car to carry you over to Fifth Avenue and don’t walk anywhere. Okay?” Michael looked down at me, his doe eyes filled with seriousness.
“Yes, Michael of course. What do you want me to buy? We bought a lot of stuff today.” I spun the card in my fingers. I never in my life had owned a credit card.
“Buy something pretty to show me…only me.” Michael tossed his head and winked at me. “And some other things. I know I won‘t be back until at least six or seven at night. Maybe later.”
“Okay, but there’s something I want to do before I go shopping tomorrow.” I grabbed the front of Michael’s shirt, tugging him off into bed with me.
Snapping out the light I whispered,
“Let’s start back where we were before Rust Bucket came in…”