Saturday Night
The Main Suite
6:30 p.m.
“Has anyone seen my shoe? It’s a black loafer with tassels!” I heard Taj shout from somewhere in the hallway.
The sixteenth floor of the Windbush Hotel was a madhouse as everyone trying to get dressed and coiffed for the Prince show.
“Damn a loafer! I can’t find my hat!” Tito yelled back.
It would be nearly impossible for fifteen people to all be ready to get down in cars in less than an hour.
Latoya, Selena and I were crowded into the bathroom of the main suite, because, apparently, the main suite had the largest counter space and largest mirror.
Sitting in the empty bathtub, in her own little world, Paris had gotten a tube of goldish pink lipstick from somewhere and was applying it.
Cosmetics covered every free surface and the scent of hairspray was thick in the air.
In the confusion, I was applying Dior mascara. I had no idea who the hell it was for, because I usually wore Maybelline mascara.
“Do I look fat in this?” Selena asked suddenly, backing up and spinning around in front of the mirror.
She wore a clingy, knee length long-sleeved white dress with a beaded red rose running up the side. Because of her red hair, if she wore something red close to her face, it would clash.
Her long hair was tied back into a French braid, held in place with a jeweled hair tie.
She tried to maintain her balance in red espadrilles.
It was the fourth dress she had tried on. Jermaine and Michael had nearly come to blows before deciding on the dress.
Michael had been all over the floor, examining everyone’s ensembles, wanting to put the best foot forward in front of Prince.
“No, girl, you look great!” Latoya patted her shoulder.
“What about me?”
Latoya wore a deep red, almost maroon, sleeveless silk minidress that had an extremely low, lace up back. Her hair had been straightened, and had been brushed over her left shoulder, exposing a huge ruby and diamond chandelier earring. A matching cuff bracelet shimmered on her wrist.
Crystal encrusted heels completed her look.
“Those shoes are nice.” I pointed out, spraying my hair.
Michael had insisted that I curl my hair. I think it was an effort to recreate the look I had had while in Minneapolis.
Michael was really going all out to spurn the hell out of Prince.
“Your shoes are great! Did Michael have those custom made?” Latoya, leaned into the mirror slicking blush onto her cheeks.
“I dunno.” I shrugged. “Where is Michael?”
I hadn’t seen him since the battle to get clothed started.
“I think he’s trying to help Tito find that damn hat.” Selena giggled, applying clear gloss to her pouty lips.
“I look okay?” I questioned, turning in a circle.
The top was okay, but my trousers felt like they were a size too small.
In the mirror, they looked almost painted on!
“Well…” Selena, paused, hand on hip, gave me a once over.
“You got your shirt buttoned up all the way.”
“Huh?” I glanced down at myself.
Selena trotted over and started loosening the buttons until the top of my bosom started to peek out.
“You got chi-chis, show’em off!” She grinned. “Isn’t tonight about making Prince mad?”
I glanced at myself in the mirror.
Prince wouldn’t be mad.
If anything, at the sight of my chest half way popping out of my top, he’d get horny.
But it seemed he was pretty much horny all the time.
“Prince would be kinda cute, if he wasn’t so small. I could put him in my purse!” Latoya joked and we snickered.
As I started to put a pair of diamond studs in my ears, a voice hooted,
“Smile ladies!”
We glanced up in time to see Marlon with a camera in hand, snapping a photograph.
He wore a red satin shirt and black slacks. An undone black and red dotted tie hung around his neck.
“Marlon! We’re not ready yet!” Latoya threw a make-up sponge at him.
It whizzed past his head.
“You all look lovely!” Marlon cackled and jogged away.
“The nerve of him!” Latoya huffed rolling her eyes, false lashes batting.
“Why didn’t Janet and Rebbie come?” Selena wondered, applying silver shadow to her lids.
“Well, you know Janet is tied up with Jermaine Dupri in Stockholm right now. He’s promoting some single, and Rebbie has a cold.” Latoya shrugged, examining her appearance again and fluffing her hair.
“Why can’t I go?” Paris whimpered suddenly, crawling out of the bathtub and walking over to me, fluffing out her yellow dress.
“Honey, a Prince concert is no place for a seven year old.” Latoya patted Paris’ head gently.
“Why, Auntie Latoya? Everyone else is going. ‘Cept me, Blanket and Prince!” She stamped her little foot, bottom lip quaking.
“The things he sings about, you’re not old enough to hear them.” Selena pointed out.
“I can’t help it if he has a potty mouth!” Paris wailed and ran out of the room.
Potty mouth? That was putting it mildly.
Teasing my hair, I wondered to myself.
What would Prince sing? I hoped that it wouldn’t be too raunchy.
Having a jam session at Paisley Park with friends and hanging in front of The Jacksons was a totally different story.
Maybe the clash wouldn’t be too great.
“You girls almost done?” Michael sauntered into the room.
I almost pulled a lock of hair out my own head at the sight of him.
Michael Jackson was sheer divinity in motion.
He was dressed in a crimson, crushed velvet jacket. Clear bugle beads crisscrossed the front of the coat.
A diamond tasseled pin was at the center of the stand up collar.
The ends of the sleeves were edged with black braid, and vented slightly so that if Michael wanted to, he could cuff them back.
The jacket was lined in black satin.
Michael wore tight black denim pants. Bright, highly polished silver shin guards covered his knees on down to the tops of his shoes.
Leather boots covered Michael’s long feet.
And Michael’s hair was another change.
Instead of being straight, Michael’s hair fell around his shoulders in glossy, almost wet looking loose curls.
His lightly lined eyes widened at the sight of me.
“Oh Brynn, Baby, you look gorgeous!” He gushed rushing over and hugging me.
If my cleavage showing bothered him, he didn’t mentioned it.
“You…look…sexy.” I was breathless.
Michael blushed sheepishly, tapping the tip of his nose shyly.
“You all look great.” Michael smiled at his sister and Selena.
“Thanks.” They replied, grinning.
“Come on, the limo’s here.” Michael wrapped his arm around my hips.
He wore a spicy, woodsy cologne.
I knew a limousine--or a bus--would be the only way to transport all of us.
As we joined the rest of the men in the hallway, whistles and catcalls ensued.
Most of the Jackson men wore red button down shirts and black slacks. Tito wore a black bowler on his head and Randy, a black newsboy cap.
The Jackson Trio stood pouting, with Bo, who was going to watch them that night.
Behind them, Rusty, in a bright red suit also pouted.
He was so sure that the night would be a terrible one.
I prayed he’d be wrong.
Taj, in a red shirt open over a white t-shirt and jeans, held his camera.
“Look at all of us! All this hotness in one room. ‘Bout to blow the roof off this place!” He laughed.
Someone started singing,
“I’m too sexy for my shirt/ Too sexy for my shirt/Too sexy yeah!”
Soon everyone was singing along.
As we piled onto the elevator, Michael paused to hug his children and tell them good night.
A good night was what I needed.
* * *
An Hour and a Half Later
Somewhere In Upper Manhattan
“What does everyone think Prince will sing tonight?” Taj asked from where he was seated at the far end of the limo near the driver.
Almost unanimously everyone replied,
“Purple Rain.”
“I bet he’s gonna wear something purple!” Jermaine cackled and his son snorted.
“Hey Michael, whatever happens, we’re behind you a hundred and ten percent man!” Tito reached out and slapped Michael’s knee.
“Tito, nothing is going to happen. That Damn Man is going to sing his little tunes and we’ll go back home.” Michael said calmly, peeking at his brother over the tops of his aviator shades.
Only Michael could wear sunglasses at night and not look silly.
“Do you want me to just bust his ass the minute we see him, then we can be outta there in fifteen minutes tops?” Jackie offered cracking his knuckles loudly and the Jackson men guffawed.
Rusty moaned in agony. In his eyes, Michael was probably sabotaging the best thing to happen to him since Thriller.
I was quite surprised that Rusty wasn’t airing his grievances like he had done earlier to Michael. But I supposed he didn’t want to get sucker punched by the Jackson closest to him.
“No! We’re not going in there to start anything! We’re going…” Michael noticed that Taj was still filming
“Turn that thing off!” He barked. . I was sure he didn’t want taped evidence if he was indeed plotting to kick Prince’s ass.
Hail Mary Full of Grace…
“Yes Sir!” Taj hurriedly put the camera away.
“Now like I was saying,” Michael tossed his head. “Jackie, we’re not going in looking for trouble, but if the Purple Prick brings it, we’ll throw it right back. We have class.” Michael instructed.
“I still can’t believe that Prince was so rude to you and Brynn at that restaurant…it’s amazing.” Latoya sighed, eyes wide from where she was wedged between me and Selena.
“It’s sickening is what it was!” Randy grimaced, adjusting his hat so that the front dropped between his eyes.
“You’re better than me Mike, I would’ve kicked him a new asshole--pardon me ladies.” Jermaine waved his hands apologetically.
I leaned my head against Michael’s shoulder.
This was going to be a long night.
“Now, we need to get serious.” Michael’s voice was heavy with sternness.
“We all have to be on our P’s and Q’s tonight. Remember, Taryll is supposed to be Brynn’s boyfriend--not me. So Taryll, stay close to her…I’ll be close to you too, Baby.” Michael leaned and softly pecked my forehead.
“I know you will be.” I murmured, not really noticing I was talking.
I wondered what kind of pep talk Prince was giving his cohorts, if any.
He always struck me as the type to scream, “Make it funky!” and then throw himself onstage.
“…you can’t really trust Prince. I’ve learned from talking to him, he seems very, um…” Michael stroked his dimpled chin, searching for a word.
“…very perverted.” He sighed, for lack of a better term.
“We have three ladies with us. Brynn, Latoya and Selena…we have to look out for them. Don’t put anything past Prince. He’s a sneaky little something. And that Morris jerk--”
“That guy made me wanna smack him into next year.” Taryll sneered and TJ giggled.
At that moment, the limo screeched to a halt, jostling everyone inside a bit.
Behind Taj, the privacy glass between us and the driver came down.
“We’ve reached Club Groovement, Mr. Jackson.” He said solemnly.
Straight away, everyone was pressed up against the left side of the limo, trying to see what the nightclub looked like.
Elbowing between Marlon, Jr., and Jermaine Jr., I finally found a viewing spot.
Looking around, I saw that Prince had chosen yet another secluded venue.
Club Groovement was a two-story brick building, that appeared the only structure on the side of the road.
It seemed appealing, painted a shade of light beige that made it stand out against its dark and somewhat gloomy surroundings.
The name of the club flashed in purposefully haphazardly set neon block letters extending from the roof.
“Man, this is wild, I’ve never seen a street in New York that had only one building on it.” Marlon mumbled from somewhere behind me.
“Looks like something in a horror movie.” Latoya chimed in, leaning over me, and gazing out, her chin on top of my head.
“Yeah, where’s Jason?” Selena simpered.
I glanced back and saw that she was pulling Jermaine’s arm around her.
“Oh shit! There’s your Jason, Selena!” TJ exclaimed, his hand shooting out from around Michael and pointing.
Directing my attention back to the front of the club, I saw a tremendous form hulking out of the double glass doors of the building.
A collective gasp swathed us like a cloud.
I could hear Selena praying quietly in Spanish.
“I, Tariano Adaryll Jackson, Jr., being of sound body and mind, do hereby bequeath--” Taj began reciting into the lens of his camera.
“Boy, shut up!” Jackie gave him a strict shove.
“I knew you should have left me at the hotel!” Rusty complained, fright in his voice.
“That’s one hell of a bouncer.” Marlon Jr., shook his head.
As the moving brick wall approached the car, a sigh of absolute relief escaped me.
“You guys…that’s no bouncer.” I half laughed/half cried.
“Who is it?” Michael questioned, resting his hand on the back of my neck; his touch was icy.
“That’s Jimmy, he’s Prince’s assistant.” I pointed out as Jimmy got to the door and held it open for us.
“Looks like a Neanderthal.” Rusty quipped sliding out first and holding his hand out to help everyone else out onto the sidewalk.
“Oh be quiet…Seacrest!” I sniffed, as he grabbed my hand and pulled me out onto the sidewalk. “You’d probably be happier at a Clay Aiken show.” I rolled my eyes at him.
I was worried enough to have a bunch of fight-ready Jacksons on my hands. The last thing I needed was Rusty’s bitching and going on.
Rusty turned as red as his suit, but held his tongue.
“Hello everyone. My name is Jimmy.” Jimmy grinned at us warmly, his grey eyes flashing.
“Mr. Jackson…” He held his hand out to Michael.
After a moment of hesitation, Michael reached out and shook it.
“Mr. Prince wanted me to welcome all of you and show you to your seats inside. My, there’s so many of you.” He laughed and a little ripple joined him from the rest of us. Jimmy started towards the building.
“Safety in numbers.” I heard someone stammer as we started following the mammoth man.
Jimmy turned and led us to the door, holding it open for us.
The Jacksons clustered together like bees around a honeycomb.
“That is one huge motherfucker.” I heard TJ snicker, as he went by.
(Other than Michael, he was the thinnest man in the group.)
“Watch your mouth boy!” Tito reprimanded him.
As we walked down the long dim hallway, which smelled of long smoked cigarettes and peppermint incense, I reached down and grabbed Michael’s hand. I knew I was supposed to hanging off of Taryll, but at that moment, I needed Michael.
At the far end of the hallway was the opening to the club, noted by a purplish-white light.
An unbearable tension seemed to have appeared out of nowhere and was filling every nook and cranny of the corridor. I could barely breathe.
If it was this bad with just Jimmy around, Lord help us when Prince appeared.
With every step I prayed vainly that the evening would go off without any incidents that would land the entire lot of us in the penitentiary.
It was so quiet; the only sounds came from our shoes clicking on the bare concrete floor.
“Oh, Miss Brynn.” Jimmy turned suddenly.
“Yes?” I stopped so swiftly, that I bumped against Taryll, who was in front of me.
“Um, Mr. Prince requested that he see you before his performance tonight.” Jimmy replied calmly, glanced around the crowd.
My blood stopped pulsing in my veins and dropped, like a red brick of lead.
Prince wanted to see me?
Was he crazy? I was up to my chin in Jacksons and he was singling me out?
Finding the courage from somewhere, I snuck a peep around.
All the Jackson men, first and second generations, were glaring at Jimmy with a such a quiet ferocity that it was maddening.
Please don’t shoot the messenger!
Nerves were running so high and hard that I knew that if Jimmy said the wrong thing, or even the right thing with the wrong inflection, ten men would be all over him.
“What…what does he want to see me for?” I stammered, looking up at Michael apprehensively.
His face was set harder than that of a marble bust. All the color seemed to have drained from him and white hot anger had set in.
Behind him, Tito and Jermaine shifted from one foot to the other, anxiously.
Another set of knuckles cracked loudly--thumb knuckles too.
The ten pops were barely audible over the thumping of my own troubled heart.
Michael had just gotten done prophesizing that we all stay together and already I was being plucked from the bunch.
“I don’t know Miss Brynn. He just wanted to see you before show time.” Jimmy shrugged helplessly.
I saw that where we had stopped, behind Jimmy an even dimmer hallway stretched behind him, marked by several doors on each side, all closed.
“Uh…uh…” I looked to Michael for guidance. He was adjusting his glasses on his nose. “…is it okay?”
Michael’s mouth tightened so much, that it all but disappeared off his face.
Glancing down at the diamond studded watch on his wrist, he instructed in a tone so serious that I couldn’t help but take heed,
“It’s fifteen to nine. Go see what That Damn Man wants. You be out there with us at nine. If a second past nine goes by, I’m coming for you. Understand?”
“That Damn Man.” Taryll echoed, rolling his eyes.
I stood for a moment, stunned.
Michael was actually allowing me to go see Prince?
Who was this man and what had he done with Michael Jackson?
The Michael I knew would have tossed me over his wiry shoulder and carried me off into the club without so much as an explanation to Jimmy.
I noticed that Michael was looking around at his brothers.
He must have been keeping up his front; showing his brothers that he didn’t care about Prince.
I knew he didn’t care about Prince. Even a blind man could see that!
He cared about me.
“Alright…” I was hesitant. “…are you sure?”
“Go!” Michael waved his hand over my head.
“If that midget tries anything, kick him in the nuts!” Marlon Jr. rooted from the back of the group and several supporters hooted in agreement.
“The club is right through that opening.” Jimmy pointed out the light at the end of the corridor.
Placing a beefy hand on my shoulder, he said to me,
“Come along Miss Brynn.”
I watched dejectedly as the Jacksons shuffled past me.
I just knew they hated me. I mean they had to.
The last thing I heard, was Jackie whispering to Marlon, loudly,
“Flirty ass motherfucker…needs to find his own woman. It’ll be a hot second before Michael busts his ass!”
I was walking away from Michael to see The Other Man.
I was so confused.
The only smile I got was from Selena.
But it wasn’t the same, she wasn’t a blood Jackson. She wasn’t even married to a Jackson!
A storm cloud of trepidation flashing above my head, I let Jimmy lead me down the dimmer hallway to the third door, on the right.
As he tapped the door, I stood wondering why I hadn’t broken and run off after Michael.
It seemed like the right thing to do.
Just as I was about to turn and take off like a track star, the door cracked open.
Mindy, smoking flat iron in her hand, stepped out.
A smile instantly creased her face at the sight of me.
“Oh hi Brynn!” She exclaimed jubilantly and wrapped her arms around me, hugging tightly. “You look great!”
Leaning back from her and trying regain the breath that had been pushed out of me, I managed to squeak,
“You look great too!”
At least her outfit was a bit more tame.
She wore a white fishnet blouse over a lime green bra and pair of white leather trousers. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, accenting the peridot earrings glittering in her ears.
And for once, she was wearing natural looking make-up.
“I do my best.” She giggled, pushing the door open further.
“Come on in,” Nestling her arm around my shoulders, she tugged me into the room.
Looking around, I saw that the dressing room definitely had Prince’s touch all over it.
Sequined pink and turquoise fabric had been draped all over the walls and every available surface, even the make up table.
One of Prince’s guitars, the White Cloud, was leaning against the wall.
On the far side of the room, the door to the changing stall was closed.
“Mr. Prince will be right with you, he’s changing into his stage costume.” Mindy giggled, walking over and setting the iron on top of the make up counter. On the counter, containers of concealer, foundation, and tons of eyeliners were strewn about. Prince was probably the King of Androgyny Land tonight.
I stared at the closed door, wondering what type of ensemble Prince would be changing into. I just hoped that it wouldn’t be anything offensive, or at least show any pubic hairs.
“Looking for someone?” A voice whispered into my ear hotly, and I jumped.
Startled.
I whipped around to face Prince.
I could feel my eyes widening at the sight of him.
Earlier that evening I had been sideswiped by Michael’s stunning appearance. Michael was incredibly handsome.
Prince on the other hand was stunning in that he was so pretty. If he were any prettier, Mindy would have been all over him like ants on a sucker.
Prince had an entirely new look.
His hair, normally black, was now streaked with shades of honey, cinnamon and sandy brown, warming his light skin.
Heightened at the crown and falling at an angle over his left eye, Prince’s hair was a lesson in the art of hair color.
Prince’s eyes were as usual, heavily lined with black. His ultra long lashes were crusted with mascara.
The rest of his facial make-up was fairly muted, except for the writing on his right cheek.
Scribbled in fanciful script with a black liner pencil was the word “Sexy.”
A long, floor sweeping black cloak covered Prince’s diminutive body.
The tips of snow white boots stuck out from under the cloak.
Please don’t this man be nude under that cloak!
“Hi…Prince.” I said nervously, as his large light eyes seemed to devour me.
“Damn…Brynn you look pretty.” Prince murmured, a smile creasing his face as Mindy came over and started putting a large gold hoop earring through his right earlobe.
“Thank you.” I whispered, feeling hot because Prince looked so good and cold because Michael was a few feet away.
“You came to my show…after dark…and Michael let you see me alone. What happened? He get drunk on the way here?” Prince chuckled, opening his arms and embracing me.
Lavender surrounded us.
“That man better be careful. You might come to the Penthouse with me tonight…we can have our own after show.” Damp lips pecked my cheek.
The man hadn’t even gotten onstage and already he was talking of sex?
“Prince…what are you gonna play tonight? Michael brought a lot of his family…” I trailed off as Prince raised and put a finger to my lips.
“Shh…it’s a secret. And I don’t care if I scare the shit outta Michael. If I sing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star it’ll probably be too raunchy for the man who can’t say ‘titties‘.” Prince blew at the lock of hair covering his eye.
“Speaking of titties, I’m surprised he let you come around with yours hanging out your shirt like that. Ha ha.” Prince wagged his head defiantly.
Mindy scurried to comb the hair he had shaken back into place.
“Please…be nice.” I begged looking down at my hands.
“I’ll think about it. You and Mindy go on off into the club. I’ll be onstage soon.” Prince nodded solemnly.
“Let’s go.” Mindy grinned putting a shaky hand on my shoulder and leading me to the door.
As I made my way past Prince, he clapped my bottom hard.
“And when I play, I wanna see that cute little ass of yours wiggling!” He called as the door shut behind us.
As Mindy and I picked our way down the dark corridor to the main club, I fretted,
“What is that man wearing under that cape? Minds, tell me please!”
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Prince told me not to tell you. But he’s not naked under that cloak. I can promise that.” Mindy chuckled.
“His ass cheeks aren’t gonna be hanging out? Or his balls huh?” I ran a hand through my hair, nearly pulling it out.
“No! His ass…and balls are covered. Calm down Brynn! You don’t usually care that much about what Mr. Prince wears.” We stopped in the door way of the club.
“Well, Michael and half the Jackson family aren’t usually around him. If it were just me, he could dance around buck naked with a Coke bottle up his nose for all I care, but Mike and his family are out there and if Prince does anything bad, it could be like pouring kerosene on a lit match. Oh I don’t know what to do…” I buried my face in my hands.
“Brynn…I know you’re upset because your two boyfriends are gonna be in there. Just play it cool because if you get all flustered, it’s all gonna go to hell really fast. I know, I got caught between two girlfriends and ended up losing both of them and getting my nose broken, just cause I lost my cool. Be calm…I’m there for you.” Mindy gave me a warm smile.
A broken nose? If Michael and Prince started doing the WWE dance, there would be more than a broken nose, especially if they both individually kicked me into the next hemisphere.
But it was nice to know that I had someone in my corner.
The hallway eventually opened up to the main club.
As Mindy and I passed into the club, and excited and awed gasp escaped me.
Now, I know when I had looked at the placard on top of the building, the name had read as Club Groovement.
But this couldn’t possibly be Club Groovement.
As I looked around, this place had to be Club Prince.
The entire interior of the club was decorated in shades of rich purple and silver.
The club stretched on for two stories, the dancers’ balcony on the second story highlighted by lilac neon tubes.
Decorative, open staircases leading to the balcony ended at each wall with a curve.
Silver beads and purple crystals hung from the ceiling just above our heads. A few strands swayed in the wind coming from the cooling units.
Across the room, a bar made of gleaming clear and lavender glass blocks gleamed.
A female bartender, in a plum vest over a white blouse and black trousers was wiping down the bar top.
And I saw that every bottle, glass and flute in the bar were also else clear or purple.
Before us, nearly thirty, small, round two seater tables dotted around the ground floor.
Each table was a covered a white table cloth. And the centerpiece of each table was a gleaming silver candlestick, featuring Prince’s symbol.
As we moved further into the club, I saw that in the center was a huge multicolored lighted dance floor, just like in Saturday Night Fever.
Every wall featured color and black and white portraits of Prince all from the early eighties to the present, encased in thick silver frames.
In front of the dance floor, taking up most of the west wall was the stage.
The stage was massive, and was hidden by a long, sweeping, plum velvet curtain.
It stood at least ten feet above the dance floor.
Michael and Co. sat at a grouping of tables to the left of the dance floor.
As I neared them, I saw that two extra people were standing and holding a lively conversation with Michael.
Upon closer inspection, I recognized them as Suki Yakamato and the Mouth On Legs himself, Morris E. Day.
Suki had totally revamped her look. Extensions brought her hair down to her waist. The blue rim was gone, replaced with sunny yellow framing her face. Not blonde, yellow.
And Suki looked as though she had come from a Cyndi Lauper garage sale.
She wore a bright pink crinoline skirt over a strapless yellow body suit that matched the streaks in her hair. Her face was heavily made up.
Pink ankle boots completed the ensemble.
“Brynn! Hi!” She exclaimed cheerfully rushing over with open arms. “You look great!”
“So do you.” I managed to giggle along with her.
“Wow, there’s a lot of Jacksons!” Mindy chuckled.
“I know! I said the very same thing. They’re all really nice.” Suki grinned.
Peeking over her shoulder, I saw that Morris was still chatting with Michael who looked as though he’d rather chew glass.
I knew that Michael detested that man with every inch of his nearly six foot tall being.
The rest of the Jacksons were talking amongst themselves.
Rusty sat a few tables away, by himself, sulking.
Morris looked like the love child of a tangerine and a peppermint stick.
He wore a green and orange, thick striped Zoot suit over an orange shirt.
Orange loafers, covering the schooners he called feet, squeaked loudly with every move he made.
“…and I said, you must be mistaken! I’m Morris Day! Not that dude from
A Different World! A-Ha!” Morris cackled loudly.
Michael offered a forced, strained and polite laugh and sipped at the tall glass of Shirley Temple he was holding.
A second glass of the same drink was next to him.
Obviously for me.
I was trying to make a beeline for Michael, but Morris noticed me and opened that Black Hole of a mouth.
“Well hello Miss Brynn!” He exclaimed abandoning Michael and running over to me.
“Don’t you look cute in all that red and zebra!” He gave me a soft pat on the back.
As Morris withdrew his arm, I saw that he was wearing a heavy gold watch.
“What time is it?” I questioned, wondering if I had made it back to the Jacksons before nine.
“Oh, well let’s see Miss Brynn…” Morris glanced at the watch face. “You like this? It’s Piaget. I got it from Harrods in London--”
“Yes, it’s lovely. What time is it?” I pushed, not caring if he was wearing a bargain basement piece with the Looney Tunes on it!
“It’s eight fifty-five…” Morris trailed off.
I had made it with a mere five minutes to spare.
“Oh hell! I gotta get on the bandstand! I’m doing drums!” He exclaimed and rushed back over to Michael.
“Hey, Thriller man! It was nice talking to you. Gotta get up onstage. Later man.” He grabbed Michael’s hand and shook it so violently that Michael cried out in pain. “Bye Jacksons!”
A few mumbled a good bye to Morris.
I was sure that he had annoyed them all to near tears.
Rushing to the concealed stage, Morris screamed at the barmaid, who was still wiping down the bar.
“Tara! Baby, ix-nay on that scotch on the rocks, I gotta play!”
“Okay Mr. Day!” Tara called back with a wave.
“Hi Michael.” I smiled as Mindy, Suki and I walked over to him.
“Hey…” His face brightened at the sight of me.
He then noticed Mindy.
“Hello Cindy.” His voice was like an arctic blast.
“Hi Mr. Jackson…uh…” Mindy picked at her ponytail. “My name is Mindy sir, not Cindy.” She gave him a weak smile.
“Oh…sorry.” Michael didn’t sound sorry.
“It’s okay Mr. Jackson.”
“Hey there…” Marlon Jr., a content smile on his face strolled over.
His eyes were fixed on Suki.
The man might have had a chance.
“Hi.” Suki flipped her hair and gave him a warm smile.
At the end of the table, Marlon Sr. shook his head with disapproval. I knew he didn’t want his son to mix with Prince’s crowd.
As Marlon Jr. started to “get his mack on”, the over head lights started to dim.
Michael quickly grabbed my arm and pulled me into my seat and Mindy dragged Suki away from Marlon Jr. and they found a spot behind Michael and me.
Defeated, Mars Bar returned to his seat next to Latoya.
Jermaine Jr. and TJ laughed at him.
“I guess That Damn Man is about to play his tunes.” Jermaine, seated on Michael’s other side, leaned in and whispered.
Michael nodded grimly, taking off his dark glasses and setting them on the table top.
His dark eyes were stormy with defiance.
“Hey…what did Prince want to talk to you about?” Taryll leaned his head on my shoulder, sipping at his Cosmopolitan.
He was taking this boyfriend role too close to heart.
“Nothing I can’t talk to you about.” I snipped, not in the mood to try to explain my brief encounter with Prince to him. My butt was still stinging.
“I got my zoom lens ready.” Taj announced, kneeling at Taryll’s side.
“It’s the only way I’ll be able to film Prince!” He snickered.
“Be nice!” Selena called from the other side of Jermaine.
“I’m trying!”
“Try harder!”
Everyone jumped at the sound of Prince’s voice suddenly booming over the sound system.
“Dearly Beloved/ We have gathered here today to get through this thing called life…OH NO! Let’s Go! ”
“What the hell is this? A wedding?” Jackie exclaimed from the other end of the table.
“I can’t believe he’s singing this song.” Michael laughed to no one in particular.
Yes, Michael was just there to take up a seat, he was there in no way shape or form to cheer on Prince.
I was just relieved that he was singing Let’s Go Crazy. The song was so docile, I could have played it for Blanket.
The curtain concealing the stage dropped.
A blinding spotlight illuminated the stage. I could make out Wendy and Lisa on the right of the stage.
Wendy wore a plain short, black minidress and matching knee high boots. A cross on a long chain hung at her throat. Her hair had been straightened and slicked back.
Her fingers moved effortlessly over her red bass guitar.
Lisa wore a see through turquoise button down blouse over a matching tank, all tucked into a pair of black wide legged trousers. Lisa’s hair had been tightly curled and was held back on side with a large white flower.
She was pounding away at her keyboard/synthesizer combo.
Both were so engrossed in their playing, they had their eyes closed and were gently swaying to the beat.
On the opposite side of the stage, Morris sat, jacketless, was thumping the drums, lips poked out with earnest.
At the other keyboard Dr. Fink, in black doctor’s scrubs with a white surgical mask tied at his throat was wiggling back and forth to the music, a large grin on his face.
And there…was Prince.
Standing under a larger than life, lighted version of his symbol, Prince was a vision in white.
Wearing a tighter than second skin body suit, Prince glowed.
The front of the suit dipped low in the front, exposing his tan hairy chest and abdomen. The deep “V” of the suit, rims of it’s bell sleeves and wide legged bottoms were trimmed with large golden hologram sequins.
They caught and threw the light back, making him glow.
Draped over Prince by a rhinestoned strap was the Yellow Cloud guitar.
Fingers a blur on the instrument, Prince half sang/half shouted into his golden gun microphone, mounted on a stand before him.
“If you don’t like the world you’re living in/ Take a look around you/At least you got friends!”
He was wiggling sexily in front of the mike stand, playing the fire out of the Cloud.
“Woo!” Behind us, Mindy and Suki were up and dancing to the song. Down the line, Selena was also up and jamming. I could see Jermaine trying unsuccessfully to get her to sit down.
In spite of themselves, I saw that most of the Jacksons were in some way chair dancing to the song.
Even Rusty was bobbing along, mouthing the words.
I stole a peek up at Michael.
His eyes were locked on Prince. Studying him, looking for any flaw in his performance.
“Let’s Go Crazy!/ Let’s Get Nuts Y’all!/ Look for the purple banana ‘til they put us in the truck!”
Mindy and Suki ran around us to the dance floor and began grooving.
I wanted so badly to rush out there and join them, but I knew Michael would have probably pulled my hair out if I tried to dance.
“Are we gonna let the elevator bring us down?/OH NO! Let’s go!”
With a high leap into the air and devilish grin on his face, Prince landed on his knees and wrestling with his guitar violently, sent out a whining and encapsulating solo.
I had seen him fight with a guitar like that since Paisley Park where he had made water shoot out of his Hohner.
“Damn! That man can play!” Taj whispered, still kneeling between me and his brothers.
I saw that his eyes were wide as saucers as he stared into the little screen on his camera.
“I’ll say.” Taryll set his glass down and was clapping along to the beat.
“That’s an amazing guitar!” I heard Tito murmur to himself.
“Dig them shoes!” Marlon exclaimed shaking his head.
Was Prince actually starting to win over some of the Jacksons?
As the song winded down, Prince rose to his feet and approached the microphone again, a smirk on his face.
Polite applause greeted him.
“Thank you!” He exclaimed kissing his fingertips and opening his arms.
I saw that Prince was surveying the crowd, for the first time seeing just how many Jacksons Michael had brought along.
“Hey Morris!” Prince called, lifting his guitar off over his head and handing it off to Jimmy who had appeared at the base of the stage.
I saw that the front of his suit dipped so low that that a small amount of his pubic hair was peeking out. And a gold symbol, hanging on a chain glimmered near his belly button.
Please don’t let Michael notice.
It’d be a miracle if he could perform without an extra band mate making a “special appearance“.
“Yeah Prince?” Morris tapped the snare drum lightly.
“Look at all the people that came to my party man! All the Jacksons! So many of them…” Prince squinted out at us.
“I see Michael…Latoya…Tito…Dopey, Sneezy, Bashful! Hell there’s so many of y’all out there!” Prince laughed deeply and Morris crowed.
“Dopey, Sneezy and Bashful? Must have us mixed up with his tiny ass.” Taj commented, the amazement over Prince’s guitar skills waning quickly.
“I’m just joking with y’all.” Prince winked directly at me. “Y’all know how I am…arrogant!”
The opening bars to Arrogance began to play.
Grasping the gun, Prince lifted it up and began to walk back and forth across the stage, golden heels of his shoes glinting under the lights.
“What makes a man wanna rule the world?/ Make him man enough to say he’s fifty-fifty girl?/What make a man wanna curse and swear?/ Then blame it on Heaven cause he’s already there?” Prince whipped around and shook his booty. It jiggled so true to life, that it took me a moment to realize he was actually wearing trousers.
“Pimp Rag/Tootsie Pop/And a Cane.”
Not really paying attention, I heard myself singing the chorus,
“A-Double A-Double Arrogance!”
Prince may have been arrogant, but he was sure talented.
Nearly everyone around me was starting to loosen up.
Maybe.
And I was thankful.
An Hour Later
“…I guess must be dumb/Because you had a pocketful of horses/Trojan and some of them used…”
I looked around me, an assured and relieved smile inching onto my face. I wasn’t sure how it had happened, but everyone was jammed onto the lighted dance floor, grooving the night away.
Tito, Jackie, Randy and Marlon dancing among themselves, Jermaine boogying with Selena, the second generation Jacksons taking turns with Latoya. Even Rusty was over twirling Tara the bartender in circles.
“I’m actually have a good time!” Michael exclaimed drawing me close to him before leaning me back. Dipping me.
He was truly a vision, his tendrils bouncing as he danced casually. Not the full out Moonwalk, just a superstar at ease.
He hadn’t even broken a sweat.
Giggling as he brought me back up, I glanced at Prince.
He was clinging to the mike stand, wailing the chorus to Little Red Corvette.
I wanted to kiss that man. Not because he was perspiring and looked like a slippery treat, but since the performance had started, he had sang nothing but a tirade of clean hits. Everything from Let’s Go Crazy, to Thieves in the Temple, to now, Little Red Corvette.
Not a single curse word had crossed the threshold of his mouth, and he had been thrilling the entire group more with his guitar riffs and splits, rather than gyrating and being obscene.
And somehow he had managed to entice everyone out of their seats and had them shaking their money makers for all they were worth.
“Little Red Corvette! Yeah!” Taryll and TJ sang in unison as they boogied past Michael and me.
Behind them, Mindy and Suki were cheering Prince on at the base of the stage, on either side of Jimmy.
Taj was bobbing off in a corner filming the whole scene.
I was just so utterly pleased that Michael was having a good time. He had been so sour on the entire idea and now he was whipping me around him, as if we were partying at Neverland.
But like the saying goes, all good things must come to an end.
Prince was about to lose his mind and morals.
And I was going to get caught in the crossfire.
In the middle of the second verse of Little Red Corvette, Prince suddenly cried out.
“Stop! Quit playing! Stop!”
The music came an abrupt and off-key mangled halt.
Nearly all of us danced on for a few extra steps before we realized that there was no longer any tunes being played.
“Aw gee!” Selena whined, throwing her arm around Jermaine’s midsection.
Michael tugged me close to him, the first smile I had seen on him since we had gotten to Club Groovement lighting his beautiful, sharp features.
Breathing heavily into microphone, Prince paused to wipe perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand and fluff out his highlighted hair.
Droplets of sweat glistened all over his chest and down his tight stomach.
“I must be outside my mind tonight.” Prince commented, drawing a chuckle from the crowd.
“How so?” Wendy dared to question, steadying her guitar against her body.
“I got my friend in here…been jamming for over an hour and I haven’t invited them up onstage.” Prince grinned like a mouse.
I raised an eyebrow.
Was Prince really about to invite Michael up onstage with him?
“Alright Mike, show’em how it’s done.” Marlon came up and tapped Michael’s shoulder approvingly.
Beside him, his son gave Michael a thumbs up.
“Who’s your friend?” Dr. Fink pushed.
Prince was smiling at Michael so hard, I thought his little cheeks--all four--were going to pop.
I nearly fainted when Prince replied haughtily.
“Miss Brynn!”
“What?” I exclaimed as Morris began banging on the drums to accent Prince’s point.
From somewhere a spotlight found and illuminated me.
Prince wanted me to sing with him?
Me?
Little Brynn Sue McAllister from Nowhere, Texas?
I gazed at Prince, pointing to myself, not truly believing he wanted me to share the stage with him.
A jam session in Minnesota was one thing, a real live show in front of a real crowd was something totally different.
“Come on Brynn! I refuse to let you leave the building without singing something with me!” Prince was waving at me.
“Go on Honey!” Michael whispered, his hot lips touching my ear. “Get up there and show everyone just how great a performer you are!”
His encouragement and sweetness were exactly what I needed.
“Thank you!” I hugged Michael tightly, elated.
“Someone help Brynn up here!” Prince cackled.
Real applause surrounded me as I jogged up to the front of the stage and Jimmy, big old Jimmy, lifted me up onto the stage, just a few feet away from Prince.
“Way to go Brynn! Yay!” Suki screamed, throwing her hands in the air.
“Turn it out!” Mindy agreed.
Prince approached me, a happy glint in his clear eyes.
“Doesn’t Brynn look pretty everyone?” Prince questioned, pinching my chin.
More applause.
I blushed nervously. I was used to playing second banana to Prince and Michael, and here he was making me feel like a real star.
“Hey kid, you with the little plaits!” Prince motioned at Taj. “Make sure you get some good shots of this lady!”
“You got it man!” Taj came running, camera in hand.
I glanced out and saw that Michael was at the base of the stage, eyes wide and aglow with adoration at me.
It was almost too much.
“You ready to jam?” Prince questioned, and held the gun mike under my mouth.
“Yes.” I beamed at him.
“Just a minute.” Prince stood and pretended to study my appearance for a moment.
“Something’s missing. You can’t sing up here, without this!” Prince lifted his necklace off and draped it over my head.
Oh no! He put another symbol on me.
I stared down at Michael. He was rolling his eyes, but still smiling.
I made a mental note to give the necklace back to Prince as soon as I got done singing.
“Get over there with Wendy!” He instructed, giving me a light hug.
I floated over to Wendy to share her microphone.
Turning back to the crowd grouped at the front of the stage, Prince shrieked,
“Shut up already…damn!”
Doop! Doop-Doopity-Doop! Morris started cranking out the opening beats to one of my favorite Prince jams, Housequake.
Even though I was happy, I was a little worried, Prince did swear in this song.
“Tell me, who in this house know about the quake?” Prince questioned, replacing his mike on the stand.
“We do!” The Revolution and I replied.
“Bullshit!” Prince remarked.
An audible gasp escaped the Jacksons.
“I said really?” Prince flipped his head, hair swirling.
“Really!”
“You ain’t hip to that rare Housequake!”
Another split.
The man was in rare form tonight.
After the initial shock of Prince cursing wore off, I saw that Michael and the Jacksons were once again dancing along, and Prince even pulled me out and had me dance along side him for my favorite part of the song.
“Everybody do the Twist/A little bit harder than you did in ‘66/A little bit faster than you did in ‘67/Twist little sister and go to Heaven!/Come on y’all let’s jam/’Fore the police come!”
Little did I know it would only go downhill from there.
After a rousing rendition of Alphabet St. (in which he let me rap at the end, drawing screams from everyone) Prince donned a new guitar, The Black Symbol.
Leaning into Wendy’s and my microphone, he announced with a smirk,
“That song was dedicated to all the girls who like boys….this is dedicated to all the girls who like girls!”
Under him Mindy and Suki whooped.
A few Jacksons looked confused. Latoya just looked disgusted.
I stared at Prince in blinding horror.
Never mind that at some point in the future I’d have to explain to Michael how Prince could be dating Mindy if she was dating Suki.
There was only one song in Prince’s repertoire that he introduced as being the song for “girls who like girls.”
My entire body stiffened as the seventies-funk infused riff to the song Bambi began oozing from Prince’s fingertips.
“I knew from the start/That I loved you with all my heart/But you were untrue/You had another lover and she looked just like YOU!”
Cold beads of perspiration were streaming down my back.
I was afraid to even think of looking at Michael.
“All your lovers/They look just like you/But they can only do the things that you do…ooh!”
Prince stalked across the stage, face contorted as he whipped into another blazing solo.
I couldn’t believe That Damn Man was performing this song.
In front of Michael and Family.
I finally dared to look at Michael.
He was staring at Prince, mouth agape. I didn’t know what is jaw was hanging from--the awesome solo or the tawdry lyrics.
A hundred on Tawdry Lyrics to win.
Behind him, Tito and Jermaine were having a powwow, heads close together as the rest of the group moved around them.
Latoya still looked disgusted.
I could only imagine what was being said.
Then for a hot second, I thought Prince had regained sanity, luridly rattling off his ballad, Damn U.
That all went to hell.
Prince stared clapping loudly, rhythmically, and started in on a tune I had never heard before, Broken.
It started out as another simple sweet ballad, then Prince warbled off one offensive line,
“Lonely/I’m so lonely/Lonely/Until you bring your sweet pussy/ Bring it on home to me!”
I banged into Wendy, I was so startled at the lyric.
Michael was on the floor, mouth twisted, eyeing Prince angrily.
The dirty lyrics kept pouring. Every so often Prince would glimpse at me, and I just knew I had to sing back up, or I’d be pulling a huge guitar out of my forehead.
I nearly threw up during Gotta Stop Messing About:
“…I’ve been playing with my toy so much/ I’m gonna go blind!”
Then came Come:
“…with my tongue in the crease/Baby I go around/When I go down!…”
With each passing smut laced song, a Jackson would stop dancing and just stand there, staring in shock.
Eventually the only people bopping were Rusty, Tara, Mindy and Suki.
I was trembling so badly, it was a wonder I was still upright.
Once again, Prince shouted for the music to come to a cease.
“Morris!” Prince said into his microphone.
“Yes?” Morris wiggled his eyebrows.
“You got The Time?” Prince asked with a grin.
“No…but I got The Revolution!” Morris exclaimed hopping up and catching Prince’s microphone as he threw it.
“Brynn!” Morris pointed me out. “I dedicate this song to you and those zebra print pants you’re wearing out!”
“Oooh-Oooh, Ah! Ah! Ah!” Morris screeched like a monkey and the band launched into his hit, Jungle Love.
As Morris sauntered and strutted around the stage, dancing poorly, I noticed that Prince had disappeared from the stage.
“Brynn! Brynn!” At the sound of my name, I saw that Michael, Jermaine and Tito were huddled at me end of the stage.
“Get the hell off of there now! We’re going home! Now!” Michael called through gritted teeth, his face red.
I had never seen Michael that perturbed. Not even when Prince and Morris were a couple of gutter mouths at The Ivy Lounge.
Nodding, with heart broken tears in my eyes, I started towards them to hop off.
“To the sauce!” Morris suddenly grabbed me around my waist and was bumping his hip against mine.
I watched helplessly as Michael tried to get Tito and Jermaine to lift him up onstage. I just knew he was going to drag me offstage.
After several tries, Tito lost his balance and tumbled to the floor, Michael landing on him.
Morris didn’t notice; he was basking in his fifteen nanoseconds of fame.
Then Prince’s voice, louder than I had ever heard it, drowned out the song,
“That’s enough Morris--shut the fuck up!”
Entering stage right, I saw that Prince had changed costumes.
He wore an oversized purple tunic, over matching wide bottomed trousers and black boots.
Extending from around the neck and pointing at a bit of an angle Prince’s symbol was printed on the front in black. The left sleeve of the tunic was also black.
Tucked under his arm was a large white box.
“I need everybody to quiet down. I have something to say.” Prince declared taking the gun from Morris.
“Brynn get off!” I heard Michael yell.
“I’m doing Gett Off later Michael, calm down!” Prince cackled and the Revolution chuckled.
“Now I wanna tell you guys something funny.” Prince said seriously and trotted over to me, an evil grin on his face.
“When I first met Brynn at my studio, Paisley Park, we had a little argument. You remember our argument Pretty Lady?” Prince patted my cheek gently.
“Yeah.” I leaned away from him. Just what did he have in that box?
Behind me, Michael was trying again to get a leg up onstage.
Surveying the crowd, That Damn Man continued,
“Brynn had a little aversion to wearing make-up and she thought that I made women look like Barbie dolls.”
Giving me once-over he giggled, “As you can see, she’s over her aversion, now.”
The Revolution laughed and Morris crowed.
“You don’t look like a Barbie, you’re much cuter.” Prince winked at me through his streaky hair.
“Damn it!” Michael’s foot slipped and he landed back on the floor.
“Uh…thanks.” I replied shakily. What was he going at?
The rest of the Jacksons were watching solemnly.
Annoyed.
Michael stumbled.
Holding the box out to me, Prince quipped, “This is for you. And I hope it finally puts our little argument to rest.”
I hesitated; I didn’t want to make the situation any worse than what it was.
“Take it.” Prince urged.
Finally just to wipe that holier-than-thou expression off his face, I grabbed the box, my mind made up that no matter what was inside, I’d act unmoved.
I ripped the top on the box open and discovered a smaller, pink box inside.
Lifting the pink box out, I wheezed.
Through a clear front panel on the box was a doll.
About the same size of a Barbie, the doll was black with long curly hair and wore a green and blue dress matching gloves. A little gold symbol was attached to the right glove.
It was me.
A doll version of me in the outfit that was in my photo from Paisley Park.
“I…I don’t believe it.” I whispered, staring at the figure.
I was a doll. Prince had had a Barbie doll of me created?
“You like that? I had the nice people at Mattel create a little Brynn.” He chuckled taking the doll from me and displaying it to everyone.
“Brynn’s a Barbie!” Latoya exclaimed, wedging in between Mindy and Suki.
“Damn, that dude is going all out!” Taj said to TJ, a little too loudly.
“Do you like that?” Prince’s voice floated near me.
“Yes…” I stared up at him. “Thank you.”
Prince smothered me in a tight hug.
It was then I felt a hand grip the back of my shirt, scratching my skin in the process.
Michael loomed over Prince and me.
A wild look was in his eyes.
“We’re leaving Brynn, come on.” He gripped my arm so tightly, I felt blood vessels constricting.
“Mike, you can’t leave now, the show is just getting good.” Prince commented innocently, reaching out and putting his arm around my waist.
Putting the microphone to his mouth, Prince exclaimed,
“Enough of that tame shit, who wants some Head?”
Michael looked as though he’d been slapped.
Shocked and stunned gasps and exclamations dotted the room.
On cue, the Revolution launched into the opening bars of Head.
Prince, brimming with smugness, began singing, skipping the first verse and chorus and went directly to the second verse.
“You know you’re good girl/I think you like to go down/You wouldn’t have stopped but, uh, I came all over your wedding gown/But I must confess…”
Prince pulled his top off, exposing his still shining upper body.
“I wanna get undressed/And go to bed…”
Michael grabbed me around my waist and lifted me up.
“That’s it. I’m sick of his little ass. We’re going home. Sickening!” Michael shook his head.
I frowned at Prince, brimming with a hot anger. He just couldn’t leave well enough alone, he just had to try to pluck Michael’s nerves and gross out everyone in the place.
Then Prince had to go there.
“Don’t take her away…let her give me some Head.” Prince cooed seductively.
The entire room came to a standstill at the statement.
Wendy and Lisa shook their heads, frowning.
“Did he just say what I thought he said?” Taj groaned looking into his camera.
I felt Michael’s total being go cold.
Pushing me aside, he screamed in an almost unearthly tone,
“I’m gonna kick your little nasty ass up and down the street then around the corner!”
Michael Jackson whooshed past me and lunged at Prince.
Prince didn’t stand a chance.
“No Mike man! No!” Jermaine and Tito rushed around me as the rest of the Jackson brood pressed up against the stage rooting on the impending fight.
Jermaine and Tito were about a second too late.
Michael bitch slapped Prince and sent him whirling into the drum set
“Aw fuck no!” Morris threw down his drumsticks and rushed at Michael, grabbing onto Tito and punching him in the face.
“You asshole! That’s my father!” Taryll and TJ hopped up on the stage, Taj trailing behind.
Before I knew it, every person in the place was fist fighting.
Michael beating on Prince, yanking his hair mercilessly. Dr. Fink going at it with Randy. Latoya doing a battle royal with Mindy and Suki.
Wendy and Lisa joined in, fists landing blows everywhere.
Bodies rolled all over the stage and most of the dance floor.
Selena was begging Jermaine to stop clobbering Jimmy.
This was a nightmare.
“Brynn…Brynn…”
I opened my eyes to find myself still inside the limousine, the Jacksons packed in around me.
Michael was tapping my cheek gently.
“Baby, you fell asleep.” He grinned at me, warmly.
“Honey, I have some bad news.” He said softly.
All around me, the Jacksons groaned unhappily.
Rusty, though, was beaming like he’d just inherited a billion dollars.
I glanced out the window. We were crossing the Brooklyn Bridge.
“What?” I questioned. Michael looked so fresh and well groomed, how could he look that nice after beating Prince to a stump?
Not a hair was out of place.
“The concert got cancelled, Prince came down with laryngitis. We’re going home.” He ran a hand through my hair. “Sorry you got all done up for nothing.”
I stared at Michael, bewildered.
The concert? It had been cancelled? So Prince didn’t get nasty? And Michael didn’t knock him into another galaxy?
It had all been a dream?
“There’s no concert?” I whispered, my mind not truly grasping the idea.
“No, how does someone the size of a tonsil get laryngitis? Damn, I was geared up for the show!” Marlon, Jr. whined.
“I guess we won’t be able to kick his little ass tonight.” Jackie remarked and the limo laughed.
I snickered, not because Jackie had made a cute joke, but because if my dream had been anything like a premonition, we’d have had the local precinct filled to the brim, all on assault and battery charges.
I had never been so thankful for a sore throat in all my life!
Snuggling up close to my Main Man, I planned to make sure we had a party of our own and if Michael did get hurt, it would be a sexy hurt.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
Chapter 26
The Following Afternoon
“Michael Jackson! I still think you’re making a tremendous mistake! This whole “Jacksons meets Revolution” bull crap is gonna sever all the ties you’ve made to Prince!” Rusty scolded from where he was leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom.
“Rusty…” Michael sighed, annoyed, brushing and pulling my hair back into a tight ponytail on top of my head. “I keep telling you, I’ve got everything from Prince I wanted. The ball’s in my court now, and I intend to play.”
I kept my comments to myself and stared down at my hands like they were the most interesting things in the universe.
Michael had been doing a lot of moving and shaking, placing calls all over the country, getting a hold of his siblings and asking for them to come to New York to attend Prince’s show.
Michael hadn’t given me any specifics on who was coming or how many people there would be.
I knew one thing for sure: when one Jackson needed the others, they all fell in almost immediately.
Everyone that Michael could get a hold of and who was free was flying in that afternoon.
I knew the media would have had a massive heart attack if they knew that the sixteenth floor of the Windbush Hotel would be filled to the brim with Jacksons.
And I was panicky as sin.
With the way the story of Prince giving me a Ferrari was running rampant around the family like a malignant cancer, I wondered how I would be received. So far the only Jackson--outside of Michael-- to treat me with genuine niceness was Michael’s mother.
Taryll was kind enough, but I had an inkling that he didn’t quite trust me. And Tito and Jermaine were probably steering that boat.
But I tried to act cool and happy in front of Michael.
Rusty continued squealing a pig caught under a fence.
“…I’m not talking about what you’ve already gotten from Prince, I mean future projects. What if he wanted to do something for you in the future? You could blow it all to Hell!”
“Why don’t you go blow yourself to Hell?” I snapped, whipping around to glare at Rusty. I had enough troubles and his constant whining wasn’t helping anyone.
And once again, Prince was unreachable. I tapped sore fingertips on the counter. I knew he purposefully didn’t answer his phone just to aggravate me.
Rusty turned scarlet, as if on cue.
“Brynn!” Michael giggled, shocked, twirling a black elastic band around my hair, securing my ponytail.
Shooting me a stare of pure hate, Rusty retorted,
“Fine, go ahead and ruin everything. I’m staying here.”
“Oh, no you’re not.” Michael calmly picked up a bottle of hairspray and began misting my hair. “You’re tagging along too. And if you don’t, you’re no longer on my payroll.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Russell.” I winked at him haughtily.
With a cry of pure angst, Rusty ran away from the door.
“Won’t you tell me who you invited, so I can try to put names with faces?” I asked, looking up at Michael’s reflection in the mirror over the washbasin.
We were dressed somewhat alike.
We both wore oversized black t-shirts and black jeans.
The only difference was that Michael’s shirt had a white silhouette of Mickey Mouse on it and mine had a white version of Michael’s interlocked “MJ” symbol on the front of it.
Everything seemed to be an act of Jacksons solidarity.
Even though I was dressed so casually to the point of near boredom, Michael had made sure that I was wearing a considerable amount of cosmetics.
I was sure my age would be a flaming topic.
“Honey, there’s so many people coming in, I’ll just wait until everyone is here to go through intros.” Michael grinned bashfully as I reached down and started putting on a pair of large silver hoop earrings.
“Mike, I’m worried.” I blurted out, my fears popping up to the surface. “I know that you invited most all the Jacksons in this hemisphere, but I don’t want any trouble. You and Prince almost started fist fighting at The Ivy Lounge, and I don’t want a fight to happen at Club Groovement.” I lowered my head, the sordid events of that fateful evening rushing back to me.
“Stop worrying, Baby.” Michael reached down and rubbed my shoulders.
“Everything is going to be fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. I guarantee it.” Michael leaned and smooched the back of my neck.
I almost believed it.
At that moment, The Blue Danube started playing.
Michael reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone and put it to his ear.
“Hello? Oh hey Tito!” Michael chuckled.
I watched him in the mirror, so happy, so carefree.
The exact opposite of me.
As Michael hummed and nodded to the conversation, the more worried I became.
I just wanted everyone to like me.
“Hey Brynn.” My attention flooded back to Michael at the sound of his gentle voice.
He was tucking his phone back into his pocket.
“Yes?” I made myself look up at him.
“That was Tito, he’s says everyone is riding up on the elevator, right now. Come on…” Michael grasped my hand tightly. “Let’s go greet them.”
The Jacksons were here? Now? Already?
It was too soon.
But there I was, being dragged along behind Michael through our room, the foyer and out into the hallway where the Jackson Trio were already patiently waiting next to the elevator.
They were wearing child sized shirts with their fathers image on the front.
As we got to them, the doors to the elevator swung open and a crowd stepped off all dropping the luggage they carried into what became a massive mound in the corner near the elevator doors.
It was a swarm of smiling faces and I swept into a gaggle of hugs, cheek kisses and salutations.
I instantly recognized Tito, Jermaine, and Marlon, but there were at least ten more people whom I didn’t really know.
I couldn’t believe it. Michael had managed to round up a small army.
I also realized that just about everyone was male.
All those men couldn’t possibly be Michael’s brothers. He had five brothers and there were at least double that amount of men there!
There only appeared to be two women.
And everyone was dressed in jeans and (matching) colorful t-shirts. The last time I had seen a show of unity like that, the Jacksons were escorting Michael to court, all dressed in white.
There was enough testosterone in the corridor to reach from the Earth and past the Moon.
Over the din of greetings, Michael yelled,
“Everyone! Hey! Everybody!” He was waving his arms like a maniac.
As the noise died down Michael reached out and wrapped an arm around my waist.
I was relieved to see that most everyone was smiling warmly at me.
“I want all of you to meet Brynn McAllister.” He chuckled like a child with a pocketful of candy.
“I love this little lady.” He grinned and ripple of laughter went through the group.
“Hi, everyone.” I waved meekly. “Mike, introduce me to everyone.” I beamed up at him, for the first time that day, feeling at ease.
I truly wanted to see if Michael would be able to correctly name all the people there.
“Okay…” Michael glanced around. “This is Jackie…”
Jackie stepped forward. I knew he was the oldest male Jackson. (Michael’s older sister Rebbie was the oldest of all the Jacksons.)
Like all the Jackson men, Jackie had very clean cut features and was very handsome, and appeared younger than his age which was some where in the mid-fifties. An orange cap that matched his shirt, was covering his black hair. He also appeared to be the tallest of the bunch.
“Randy…”
Randy looked almost as though he could be Tito’s twin. He was a bit pudgy, cute, and had a clean shaven head. It shimmered under the lights in the hall. His deep eyes danced happily at me.
“You know Marlon…” Michael smiled down at me.
“Hey.” Marlon grinned affectionately.
Yes, these people seemed to like me. I just hoped they weren’t fronting for Michael.
“…and this is Marlon’s son, Marlon, Jr.”
Marlon, Jr. appeared to be in his mid-twenties and was pretty attractive. He was a shade or so lighter than his father, and had thick black hair pulled back into braided cornrows. He definitely had a little hip-hop flair to him.
“Call me Mars Bar--like the candy--everyone does.” Marlon Jr. reached out and patted my shoulder with a large hand. A thick gold ring shined on his pinky finger.
“Okay, Mars Bar.” I nodded with a laugh.
“Tito of course, and these are his two other sons, Taj and TJ.” Michael pointed the two guys out.
Taj was a lighter version of Tito and had hair that was arranged in little braids and tumbled across his forehead. For the first time I noticed he was holding a little camcorder, filming the entire scene. (I’d have to keep a copy of that tape to remember everyone!)
And like most of the second generation Jacksons he was else in his twenties or early thirties.
TJ was a stunning man, tall and thinner than Taryll and Taj, with a deeper complexion. His hair hung down to his chin in loose, reddish-brown tendrils.
He smiled at me with a mouth that curled up at the ends like an elf.
“…Jermaine and Jermaine, Jr.”
Jermaine acknowledged me with a wave and his son did the same.
“Call me Junior.” Jermaine, Jr. suggested with a laugh.
He was about thirty-five with, thankfully, a natural short afro and a bit of a round face. He had glittery eyes like his father.
“And Jermaine’s girlfriend, Selena Yvez.”
Selena came forward and hugged me.
She was a pretty, petite Hispanic woman who looked a bit like Gloria Estefan. Her waist length pin-straight hair, was dyed a deep shade of auburn.
“Nice to meet you Brynn.” She whispered patting my back, her honey colored eyes wide.
“You too.” I beamed, elated that I was really being received well!
“And…” Michael waved the other woman forward.
“This is my sister, Latoya.”
I regarded Latoya, a bit shocked.
I had known that Latoya bore an extremely striking resemblance to Michael, but to see her up close and in the flesh was a different story.
She did appear to be a female version of Michael.
In every aspect: tall, particularly slim, fair-skinned.
She was very beautiful with long curly brown hair, streaked with blondish highlights.
And she was the only Jackson not wearing jeans; she wore a demin pleated miniskirt and was teetering in electric blue wedges that coordinated with her shirt perfectly.
I knew she was almost fifty years old, but actually had a figure that women half her age would commit Murder One for! She was incredibly fit.
“Oh Michael, she’s so cute. Hi Brynn!” Latoya enveloped me in a hug so tight that I was partially lifted off the ground. She even sounded like Michael when she spoke!
In hugging her, I discovered something else, she was wearing Women’s Armani perfume--Prince’s scent!
I kept the little tidbit to myself and instead replied,
“Nice meeting you Latoya.”
She seemed really sweet.
“I think that’s everybody.” Michael announced as Latoya finally let go of me.
Laughter erupted again.
“Hey Uncle Mike!” Taj called as the laughter subsided.
“Yeah?” Michael questioned, still chuckling and grasping my hand warmly.
“What’s a man gotta do to get some decent food? All they fed us was freeze dried crap on the plane!” Taj replied.
“But you ate like a champ!” TJ snickered slapping Taj on the back so hard, he nearly dropped his camera.
“So I was hungry! And those rations didn’t hit a lick at a snake man!” Taj poked out his bottom lip, his chubby chipmunk cheeks jiggling.
“You’d probably eat the snake if it was deep fried!” Taryll hooted and the Jackson men laughed.
Taj became burgundy around the neck, and seemed a little embarrassed.
“Okay, why don’t you all spread out, pick your rooms, and I’ll go order room service?” Michael suggested, happily.
I saw that his eyes were flashing all over the place; this man definitely had it in for Prince.
“Ha! Ha! That’s the ticket! Yeah man!” Marlon exclaimed as the group broke up and started to retrieve their luggage, the Jackson Trio following Tito’s three sons.
While they scrambled to pick their prospective rooms, Michael wrapped his arms around me, and drew me close.
He smelled so wonderful. Could I get him in a bun to go?
“You think they really like me?” I questioned, tapping the end of Michael’s nose with my finger.
“Honey, if you were a record, you’d be solid gold right now.” Michael smooched my forehead.
“Now let’s order that food…”
Gleefully, I followed Michael back to the main suite.
* * *
An Hour Later
The sixteenth floor of the Windbush had calmed down considerably. After a large lunch that covered everything from a Sloppy Joe burger for Blanket to Fois Gras for Marlon, most of the Jacksons had retired to their rooms for a nap.
The only ones still awake were the Jackson Trio, still at the dining table playing Jenga, Latoya, at the other end of the table, flipping through an Elle magazine.
Taj, Taryll, TJ, Marlon Jr., and Jermaine Jr. sat on the floor on the other side of the room, shooting dice. Well, not Taj; he was busy filming the game.
I leaned against the wall, watching the game. I didn’t join in because they were playing for money and I knew about as much about shooting dice as I did about flying a Boeing Jet.
“Nah son! I told you don’t mess with me!” Marlon Jr. cackled, tossing the dice down with a loud snap of his fingers.
Snake eyes.
“Damn!” He exclaimed angrily.
“No, we’re not gonna mess with you--you keep losing!” Taryll snickered tossing a dollar into a pile that held at least a hundred dollars and started rattling the dice in his hand.
“Oh, you’re funny.” Marlon, Jr. quipped sarcastically.
“If I roll a twelve, I’ll be richer too,” Taryll grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Less talk, more shooting!” TJ lightly punched Taryll in the shoulder.
Snap!
Eleven.
“Oh shit.” Taryll shook his head as Jermaine, Jr. danced to his feet.
“I won! Ha! Ha! Oh yeah!”
“Brynn?” A hand tapped my shoulder.
I turned to see that Michael had appeared behind me.
“Hey, Uncle Mike, you wanna play?” TJ offered, holding the see through green dice in the palm of his hands.
“Not right now.” Michael smiled, clutching my wrist. “I’ll be right back.”
“Honey, I want to show you something.” He mumbled, pecking at my cheek.
“Sure Mike.” I giggled, blushing a bit. It was still new for him to kiss me in front of other people.
He started leading me back towards our room.
If Michael was planning on getting nasty with a floor full of Jacksons, I didn’t know what I would do.
As we passed through the doors to the bedroom, a voice very close behind us, narrated,
“Here they are, the happy couple, Michael and Brynn!”
Michael and I spun like tops to find Taj standing there, camera poised on us.
Michael placed a large hand over the lens. “What are you trying to do Tajjy? Be a paparazzi?” He teased.
“Nope, just filming y’all. I can’t be a paparazzi, I don’t feel like getting kicked in the nads all the time.” Taj chuckled.
“Smart cookie.” I nodded in agreement.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Taj wondered, fiddling with the buttons on his camera.
“Nah,…he wants to be a director.” Michael explained as the three of us walked into the room.
“Oh cool.”
“Yeah, I could be the next Spike Lee. I look great in a baseball cap!” Taj snickered.
“Wait here.” Michael stopped me and disappeared into the closet.
“So Brynn…what’s it like dating Michael Jackson? Everything it’s cracked up to be?” Taj questioned focusing his lens on me.
I decided to mess with him.
“Oh it’s great. Michael is sweet and kind…” I paused dramatically.
“…with a body that won’t quit.” I winked at him.
“Oh man! I can’t believe you just said that!” Taj laughed so hard, he jostled his camera.
“Yup.” I batted my lashes at him innocently.
Taj actually began playing along.
“You mean to tell me that despite the age difference between you and my uncle, things are…hot?” He murmured.
“Wanna see my bruises?” I grinned mischievously at him.
“You’re killing me girl!” Taj busted up.
“What’s so funny?” Taj’s brothers, Marlon Jr., and Jermaine Jr., trotted into the room.
“I wanna laugh too.” TJ’s mouth curled up into that elfish grin again.
“Well, Brynn was telling me that she and Uncle Michael are…active.” Taj switched the lens around to TJ.
“Oh…” TJ seemed confused. Then the meaning hit home. “Oh!”
“Uncle Mike is a pimp!” Marlon Jr. exclaimed and the room filled with laughter.
“You’re really just nineteen?” Jermaine Jr. questioned, skepticism in his voice.
“Yeah.” I smiled.
“Uncle Mike is a pimp! Man I tell ya! I can’t even get a nineteen year old!” Marlon Jr. rushed over and hugged me.
“Are y’all exclusive?” He giggled spinning me in a circle. “You’re kinda cute Brynn!”
“Yes Mars Bar!” I chuckled, lightly tapping his forehead.
I knew that Marlon Jr.’s ‘flirting’ was harmless. (He had mentioned during lunch that he was dating a girl named Eliza.)
“Well, I tried.” Marlon Jr. shrugged nonchalantly.
The Jackson guys laughed insanely.
“Hey, what’s Prince like? I’ve never seen him in person before. My dad says when he gave you that car at Neverland, he looked like a real Fruit Loop.” TJ, hunched over, gasped for air.
The mood was so intensely light, I honestly didn’t mind the question.
“Prince is okay. And he just likes playing that androgyny card a lot. He’s not fruity--he’s straight.” I flipped my ponytail.
“Uncle Tito said he looked like a drag queen with all that make up and heels on!” Marlon Jr., shook his head sadly.
“Somebody needs to tell his little ass androgyny went out in the eighties!” Jermaine Jr. snapped and laughed loudly, stomping his foot.
“He really gave you a purple Ferrari?” Marlon, Jr. inquired, camera back on me.
“Yeah, it’s a sweet ride…I haven’t actually driven it yet.” I admitted, remembering with a pang of guilt how Michael had looked so utterly dejected when Prince had handed me the keys.
“Man, I might date him if he gave me a Ferrari!” Taryll snorted.
“I always wondered about you!” TJ gave Taryll a playful shove in the chest.
“I’m joking! I’m joking!” Taryll jumped in front of the camera, wildly waving his hand under his chin.
I tossed my head back, laughing.
“So, does Prince date normal sized women, or midgets, y’know, since he’s like only five feet tall?” Marlon Jr. asked, snatching the camera from Taj.
More chuckles.
Before I could answer, Taj wisecracked,
“He could date normal sized women if he stood on a soap box!”
“Wait! Wait! Look!” Taryll dropped to his knees at my side.
“Don’t I look just like Prince?” He squinched up his face and pouted, tilting his head to the side. “I’m tiny and purple and probably should be examined by a doctor.” He dropped his voice, making a sloppy attempt to mimic Prince’s deep speaking tone.
“Shee--oop!”
“Oh man, if Prince sees you doing that, he’d kick your yellow ass!” Marlon Jr. doubled over.
A giggle escaped me.
“Please! He comes up to my navel!” Taryll rose back to his feet, grinning.
“He can kick me in the big toe!”
“I can do the Prince too.” TJ volunteered and made a feeble try at Prince’s shuffle dance, tripping and falling to the floor in the process.
I knew Prince would be red hot if he saw Michael’s nephews making fun of him like that.
I wasn’t really offended--Prince had been pretty nasty about Michael in the past.
“I’m actually looking forward to the concert on Saturday.” Jermaine Jr. announced seriously.
“Really?” Eyebrows around the room went up.
I didn’t think anyone was really interested in seeing Prince, just showing up to back Michael.
“Hell yeah man, brought my magnifying glass and everything!” Jermaine Jr. chortled.
“Stop it!” TJ cried out from where he was still lying on the floor, curled into a ball, sniggling.
“Here we go!” Michael flounced out of the closet, a pink garment bag on a hanger in one hand and a shoe box in the other.
“What’s that?” I wondered as Michael held the items out to me.
“I got your outfit for the concert.” Michael explained handing the shoebox to Jermaine Jr.
“Oh you already got me something?” I took the garment bag from Michael, wondering what was in the bag.
“Do we all still have to wear something red to the show?” TJ said, finally climbing to his feet.
“Yeah, blood is thicker than water.” Michael nodded dourly.
Damn! Michael was leaving no stone unturned.
He was really going for a rock solid, united front.
I unzipped the garment bag and immediately gasped.
In side was a heavily jeweled and embellished red blouse and a pair of black and white zebra print skinny legged trousers.
“Michael…this is really cute!” I reached out and embraced him.
“I love it.”
“Dig the shoes. Only the best for my woman.” Michael took the box from his nephew and opened it.
Inside were a pair of red stilettos, accented with zebra print toes and heels, that matched my outfit perfectly.
His dark eyes glowed with a mixture of admiration and determination.
“Prince is gonna be green like a leprechaun when he sees Brynn on your arm, Uncle Mike.” Taj threw an arm around Michael’s shoulders.
“That’s what I’m counting on.” Michael smiled devilishly.
Somehow I knew that more would go on at the concert besides Prince kicking his hardest grooves.
I just prayed that Club Groovement didn’t turn into Club Torture.
391
“Michael Jackson! I still think you’re making a tremendous mistake! This whole “Jacksons meets Revolution” bull crap is gonna sever all the ties you’ve made to Prince!” Rusty scolded from where he was leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom.
“Rusty…” Michael sighed, annoyed, brushing and pulling my hair back into a tight ponytail on top of my head. “I keep telling you, I’ve got everything from Prince I wanted. The ball’s in my court now, and I intend to play.”
I kept my comments to myself and stared down at my hands like they were the most interesting things in the universe.
Michael had been doing a lot of moving and shaking, placing calls all over the country, getting a hold of his siblings and asking for them to come to New York to attend Prince’s show.
Michael hadn’t given me any specifics on who was coming or how many people there would be.
I knew one thing for sure: when one Jackson needed the others, they all fell in almost immediately.
Everyone that Michael could get a hold of and who was free was flying in that afternoon.
I knew the media would have had a massive heart attack if they knew that the sixteenth floor of the Windbush Hotel would be filled to the brim with Jacksons.
And I was panicky as sin.
With the way the story of Prince giving me a Ferrari was running rampant around the family like a malignant cancer, I wondered how I would be received. So far the only Jackson--outside of Michael-- to treat me with genuine niceness was Michael’s mother.
Taryll was kind enough, but I had an inkling that he didn’t quite trust me. And Tito and Jermaine were probably steering that boat.
But I tried to act cool and happy in front of Michael.
Rusty continued squealing a pig caught under a fence.
“…I’m not talking about what you’ve already gotten from Prince, I mean future projects. What if he wanted to do something for you in the future? You could blow it all to Hell!”
“Why don’t you go blow yourself to Hell?” I snapped, whipping around to glare at Rusty. I had enough troubles and his constant whining wasn’t helping anyone.
And once again, Prince was unreachable. I tapped sore fingertips on the counter. I knew he purposefully didn’t answer his phone just to aggravate me.
Rusty turned scarlet, as if on cue.
“Brynn!” Michael giggled, shocked, twirling a black elastic band around my hair, securing my ponytail.
Shooting me a stare of pure hate, Rusty retorted,
“Fine, go ahead and ruin everything. I’m staying here.”
“Oh, no you’re not.” Michael calmly picked up a bottle of hairspray and began misting my hair. “You’re tagging along too. And if you don’t, you’re no longer on my payroll.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Russell.” I winked at him haughtily.
With a cry of pure angst, Rusty ran away from the door.
“Won’t you tell me who you invited, so I can try to put names with faces?” I asked, looking up at Michael’s reflection in the mirror over the washbasin.
We were dressed somewhat alike.
We both wore oversized black t-shirts and black jeans.
The only difference was that Michael’s shirt had a white silhouette of Mickey Mouse on it and mine had a white version of Michael’s interlocked “MJ” symbol on the front of it.
Everything seemed to be an act of Jacksons solidarity.
Even though I was dressed so casually to the point of near boredom, Michael had made sure that I was wearing a considerable amount of cosmetics.
I was sure my age would be a flaming topic.
“Honey, there’s so many people coming in, I’ll just wait until everyone is here to go through intros.” Michael grinned bashfully as I reached down and started putting on a pair of large silver hoop earrings.
“Mike, I’m worried.” I blurted out, my fears popping up to the surface. “I know that you invited most all the Jacksons in this hemisphere, but I don’t want any trouble. You and Prince almost started fist fighting at The Ivy Lounge, and I don’t want a fight to happen at Club Groovement.” I lowered my head, the sordid events of that fateful evening rushing back to me.
“Stop worrying, Baby.” Michael reached down and rubbed my shoulders.
“Everything is going to be fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. I guarantee it.” Michael leaned and smooched the back of my neck.
I almost believed it.
At that moment, The Blue Danube started playing.
Michael reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone and put it to his ear.
“Hello? Oh hey Tito!” Michael chuckled.
I watched him in the mirror, so happy, so carefree.
The exact opposite of me.
As Michael hummed and nodded to the conversation, the more worried I became.
I just wanted everyone to like me.
“Hey Brynn.” My attention flooded back to Michael at the sound of his gentle voice.
He was tucking his phone back into his pocket.
“Yes?” I made myself look up at him.
“That was Tito, he’s says everyone is riding up on the elevator, right now. Come on…” Michael grasped my hand tightly. “Let’s go greet them.”
The Jacksons were here? Now? Already?
It was too soon.
But there I was, being dragged along behind Michael through our room, the foyer and out into the hallway where the Jackson Trio were already patiently waiting next to the elevator.
They were wearing child sized shirts with their fathers image on the front.
As we got to them, the doors to the elevator swung open and a crowd stepped off all dropping the luggage they carried into what became a massive mound in the corner near the elevator doors.
It was a swarm of smiling faces and I swept into a gaggle of hugs, cheek kisses and salutations.
I instantly recognized Tito, Jermaine, and Marlon, but there were at least ten more people whom I didn’t really know.
I couldn’t believe it. Michael had managed to round up a small army.
I also realized that just about everyone was male.
All those men couldn’t possibly be Michael’s brothers. He had five brothers and there were at least double that amount of men there!
There only appeared to be two women.
And everyone was dressed in jeans and (matching) colorful t-shirts. The last time I had seen a show of unity like that, the Jacksons were escorting Michael to court, all dressed in white.
There was enough testosterone in the corridor to reach from the Earth and past the Moon.
Over the din of greetings, Michael yelled,
“Everyone! Hey! Everybody!” He was waving his arms like a maniac.
As the noise died down Michael reached out and wrapped an arm around my waist.
I was relieved to see that most everyone was smiling warmly at me.
“I want all of you to meet Brynn McAllister.” He chuckled like a child with a pocketful of candy.
“I love this little lady.” He grinned and ripple of laughter went through the group.
“Hi, everyone.” I waved meekly. “Mike, introduce me to everyone.” I beamed up at him, for the first time that day, feeling at ease.
I truly wanted to see if Michael would be able to correctly name all the people there.
“Okay…” Michael glanced around. “This is Jackie…”
Jackie stepped forward. I knew he was the oldest male Jackson. (Michael’s older sister Rebbie was the oldest of all the Jacksons.)
Like all the Jackson men, Jackie had very clean cut features and was very handsome, and appeared younger than his age which was some where in the mid-fifties. An orange cap that matched his shirt, was covering his black hair. He also appeared to be the tallest of the bunch.
“Randy…”
Randy looked almost as though he could be Tito’s twin. He was a bit pudgy, cute, and had a clean shaven head. It shimmered under the lights in the hall. His deep eyes danced happily at me.
“You know Marlon…” Michael smiled down at me.
“Hey.” Marlon grinned affectionately.
Yes, these people seemed to like me. I just hoped they weren’t fronting for Michael.
“…and this is Marlon’s son, Marlon, Jr.”
Marlon, Jr. appeared to be in his mid-twenties and was pretty attractive. He was a shade or so lighter than his father, and had thick black hair pulled back into braided cornrows. He definitely had a little hip-hop flair to him.
“Call me Mars Bar--like the candy--everyone does.” Marlon Jr. reached out and patted my shoulder with a large hand. A thick gold ring shined on his pinky finger.
“Okay, Mars Bar.” I nodded with a laugh.
“Tito of course, and these are his two other sons, Taj and TJ.” Michael pointed the two guys out.
Taj was a lighter version of Tito and had hair that was arranged in little braids and tumbled across his forehead. For the first time I noticed he was holding a little camcorder, filming the entire scene. (I’d have to keep a copy of that tape to remember everyone!)
And like most of the second generation Jacksons he was else in his twenties or early thirties.
TJ was a stunning man, tall and thinner than Taryll and Taj, with a deeper complexion. His hair hung down to his chin in loose, reddish-brown tendrils.
He smiled at me with a mouth that curled up at the ends like an elf.
“…Jermaine and Jermaine, Jr.”
Jermaine acknowledged me with a wave and his son did the same.
“Call me Junior.” Jermaine, Jr. suggested with a laugh.
He was about thirty-five with, thankfully, a natural short afro and a bit of a round face. He had glittery eyes like his father.
“And Jermaine’s girlfriend, Selena Yvez.”
Selena came forward and hugged me.
She was a pretty, petite Hispanic woman who looked a bit like Gloria Estefan. Her waist length pin-straight hair, was dyed a deep shade of auburn.
“Nice to meet you Brynn.” She whispered patting my back, her honey colored eyes wide.
“You too.” I beamed, elated that I was really being received well!
“And…” Michael waved the other woman forward.
“This is my sister, Latoya.”
I regarded Latoya, a bit shocked.
I had known that Latoya bore an extremely striking resemblance to Michael, but to see her up close and in the flesh was a different story.
She did appear to be a female version of Michael.
In every aspect: tall, particularly slim, fair-skinned.
She was very beautiful with long curly brown hair, streaked with blondish highlights.
And she was the only Jackson not wearing jeans; she wore a demin pleated miniskirt and was teetering in electric blue wedges that coordinated with her shirt perfectly.
I knew she was almost fifty years old, but actually had a figure that women half her age would commit Murder One for! She was incredibly fit.
“Oh Michael, she’s so cute. Hi Brynn!” Latoya enveloped me in a hug so tight that I was partially lifted off the ground. She even sounded like Michael when she spoke!
In hugging her, I discovered something else, she was wearing Women’s Armani perfume--Prince’s scent!
I kept the little tidbit to myself and instead replied,
“Nice meeting you Latoya.”
She seemed really sweet.
“I think that’s everybody.” Michael announced as Latoya finally let go of me.
Laughter erupted again.
“Hey Uncle Mike!” Taj called as the laughter subsided.
“Yeah?” Michael questioned, still chuckling and grasping my hand warmly.
“What’s a man gotta do to get some decent food? All they fed us was freeze dried crap on the plane!” Taj replied.
“But you ate like a champ!” TJ snickered slapping Taj on the back so hard, he nearly dropped his camera.
“So I was hungry! And those rations didn’t hit a lick at a snake man!” Taj poked out his bottom lip, his chubby chipmunk cheeks jiggling.
“You’d probably eat the snake if it was deep fried!” Taryll hooted and the Jackson men laughed.
Taj became burgundy around the neck, and seemed a little embarrassed.
“Okay, why don’t you all spread out, pick your rooms, and I’ll go order room service?” Michael suggested, happily.
I saw that his eyes were flashing all over the place; this man definitely had it in for Prince.
“Ha! Ha! That’s the ticket! Yeah man!” Marlon exclaimed as the group broke up and started to retrieve their luggage, the Jackson Trio following Tito’s three sons.
While they scrambled to pick their prospective rooms, Michael wrapped his arms around me, and drew me close.
He smelled so wonderful. Could I get him in a bun to go?
“You think they really like me?” I questioned, tapping the end of Michael’s nose with my finger.
“Honey, if you were a record, you’d be solid gold right now.” Michael smooched my forehead.
“Now let’s order that food…”
Gleefully, I followed Michael back to the main suite.
* * *
An Hour Later
The sixteenth floor of the Windbush had calmed down considerably. After a large lunch that covered everything from a Sloppy Joe burger for Blanket to Fois Gras for Marlon, most of the Jacksons had retired to their rooms for a nap.
The only ones still awake were the Jackson Trio, still at the dining table playing Jenga, Latoya, at the other end of the table, flipping through an Elle magazine.
Taj, Taryll, TJ, Marlon Jr., and Jermaine Jr. sat on the floor on the other side of the room, shooting dice. Well, not Taj; he was busy filming the game.
I leaned against the wall, watching the game. I didn’t join in because they were playing for money and I knew about as much about shooting dice as I did about flying a Boeing Jet.
“Nah son! I told you don’t mess with me!” Marlon Jr. cackled, tossing the dice down with a loud snap of his fingers.
Snake eyes.
“Damn!” He exclaimed angrily.
“No, we’re not gonna mess with you--you keep losing!” Taryll snickered tossing a dollar into a pile that held at least a hundred dollars and started rattling the dice in his hand.
“Oh, you’re funny.” Marlon, Jr. quipped sarcastically.
“If I roll a twelve, I’ll be richer too,” Taryll grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Less talk, more shooting!” TJ lightly punched Taryll in the shoulder.
Snap!
Eleven.
“Oh shit.” Taryll shook his head as Jermaine, Jr. danced to his feet.
“I won! Ha! Ha! Oh yeah!”
“Brynn?” A hand tapped my shoulder.
I turned to see that Michael had appeared behind me.
“Hey, Uncle Mike, you wanna play?” TJ offered, holding the see through green dice in the palm of his hands.
“Not right now.” Michael smiled, clutching my wrist. “I’ll be right back.”
“Honey, I want to show you something.” He mumbled, pecking at my cheek.
“Sure Mike.” I giggled, blushing a bit. It was still new for him to kiss me in front of other people.
He started leading me back towards our room.
If Michael was planning on getting nasty with a floor full of Jacksons, I didn’t know what I would do.
As we passed through the doors to the bedroom, a voice very close behind us, narrated,
“Here they are, the happy couple, Michael and Brynn!”
Michael and I spun like tops to find Taj standing there, camera poised on us.
Michael placed a large hand over the lens. “What are you trying to do Tajjy? Be a paparazzi?” He teased.
“Nope, just filming y’all. I can’t be a paparazzi, I don’t feel like getting kicked in the nads all the time.” Taj chuckled.
“Smart cookie.” I nodded in agreement.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Taj wondered, fiddling with the buttons on his camera.
“Nah,…he wants to be a director.” Michael explained as the three of us walked into the room.
“Oh cool.”
“Yeah, I could be the next Spike Lee. I look great in a baseball cap!” Taj snickered.
“Wait here.” Michael stopped me and disappeared into the closet.
“So Brynn…what’s it like dating Michael Jackson? Everything it’s cracked up to be?” Taj questioned focusing his lens on me.
I decided to mess with him.
“Oh it’s great. Michael is sweet and kind…” I paused dramatically.
“…with a body that won’t quit.” I winked at him.
“Oh man! I can’t believe you just said that!” Taj laughed so hard, he jostled his camera.
“Yup.” I batted my lashes at him innocently.
Taj actually began playing along.
“You mean to tell me that despite the age difference between you and my uncle, things are…hot?” He murmured.
“Wanna see my bruises?” I grinned mischievously at him.
“You’re killing me girl!” Taj busted up.
“What’s so funny?” Taj’s brothers, Marlon Jr., and Jermaine Jr., trotted into the room.
“I wanna laugh too.” TJ’s mouth curled up into that elfish grin again.
“Well, Brynn was telling me that she and Uncle Michael are…active.” Taj switched the lens around to TJ.
“Oh…” TJ seemed confused. Then the meaning hit home. “Oh!”
“Uncle Mike is a pimp!” Marlon Jr. exclaimed and the room filled with laughter.
“You’re really just nineteen?” Jermaine Jr. questioned, skepticism in his voice.
“Yeah.” I smiled.
“Uncle Mike is a pimp! Man I tell ya! I can’t even get a nineteen year old!” Marlon Jr. rushed over and hugged me.
“Are y’all exclusive?” He giggled spinning me in a circle. “You’re kinda cute Brynn!”
“Yes Mars Bar!” I chuckled, lightly tapping his forehead.
I knew that Marlon Jr.’s ‘flirting’ was harmless. (He had mentioned during lunch that he was dating a girl named Eliza.)
“Well, I tried.” Marlon Jr. shrugged nonchalantly.
The Jackson guys laughed insanely.
“Hey, what’s Prince like? I’ve never seen him in person before. My dad says when he gave you that car at Neverland, he looked like a real Fruit Loop.” TJ, hunched over, gasped for air.
The mood was so intensely light, I honestly didn’t mind the question.
“Prince is okay. And he just likes playing that androgyny card a lot. He’s not fruity--he’s straight.” I flipped my ponytail.
“Uncle Tito said he looked like a drag queen with all that make up and heels on!” Marlon Jr., shook his head sadly.
“Somebody needs to tell his little ass androgyny went out in the eighties!” Jermaine Jr. snapped and laughed loudly, stomping his foot.
“He really gave you a purple Ferrari?” Marlon, Jr. inquired, camera back on me.
“Yeah, it’s a sweet ride…I haven’t actually driven it yet.” I admitted, remembering with a pang of guilt how Michael had looked so utterly dejected when Prince had handed me the keys.
“Man, I might date him if he gave me a Ferrari!” Taryll snorted.
“I always wondered about you!” TJ gave Taryll a playful shove in the chest.
“I’m joking! I’m joking!” Taryll jumped in front of the camera, wildly waving his hand under his chin.
I tossed my head back, laughing.
“So, does Prince date normal sized women, or midgets, y’know, since he’s like only five feet tall?” Marlon Jr. asked, snatching the camera from Taj.
More chuckles.
Before I could answer, Taj wisecracked,
“He could date normal sized women if he stood on a soap box!”
“Wait! Wait! Look!” Taryll dropped to his knees at my side.
“Don’t I look just like Prince?” He squinched up his face and pouted, tilting his head to the side. “I’m tiny and purple and probably should be examined by a doctor.” He dropped his voice, making a sloppy attempt to mimic Prince’s deep speaking tone.
“Shee--oop!”
“Oh man, if Prince sees you doing that, he’d kick your yellow ass!” Marlon Jr. doubled over.
A giggle escaped me.
“Please! He comes up to my navel!” Taryll rose back to his feet, grinning.
“He can kick me in the big toe!”
“I can do the Prince too.” TJ volunteered and made a feeble try at Prince’s shuffle dance, tripping and falling to the floor in the process.
I knew Prince would be red hot if he saw Michael’s nephews making fun of him like that.
I wasn’t really offended--Prince had been pretty nasty about Michael in the past.
“I’m actually looking forward to the concert on Saturday.” Jermaine Jr. announced seriously.
“Really?” Eyebrows around the room went up.
I didn’t think anyone was really interested in seeing Prince, just showing up to back Michael.
“Hell yeah man, brought my magnifying glass and everything!” Jermaine Jr. chortled.
“Stop it!” TJ cried out from where he was still lying on the floor, curled into a ball, sniggling.
“Here we go!” Michael flounced out of the closet, a pink garment bag on a hanger in one hand and a shoe box in the other.
“What’s that?” I wondered as Michael held the items out to me.
“I got your outfit for the concert.” Michael explained handing the shoebox to Jermaine Jr.
“Oh you already got me something?” I took the garment bag from Michael, wondering what was in the bag.
“Do we all still have to wear something red to the show?” TJ said, finally climbing to his feet.
“Yeah, blood is thicker than water.” Michael nodded dourly.
Damn! Michael was leaving no stone unturned.
He was really going for a rock solid, united front.
I unzipped the garment bag and immediately gasped.
In side was a heavily jeweled and embellished red blouse and a pair of black and white zebra print skinny legged trousers.
“Michael…this is really cute!” I reached out and embraced him.
“I love it.”
“Dig the shoes. Only the best for my woman.” Michael took the box from his nephew and opened it.
Inside were a pair of red stilettos, accented with zebra print toes and heels, that matched my outfit perfectly.
His dark eyes glowed with a mixture of admiration and determination.
“Prince is gonna be green like a leprechaun when he sees Brynn on your arm, Uncle Mike.” Taj threw an arm around Michael’s shoulders.
“That’s what I’m counting on.” Michael smiled devilishly.
Somehow I knew that more would go on at the concert besides Prince kicking his hardest grooves.
I just prayed that Club Groovement didn’t turn into Club Torture.
391
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Chapter 25
A Few Hours Later
“I can do the Moonwalk better than you!”
“No way! Keep dreaming!”
“You keep dreaming!”
I glanced up from the light pink polish I was putting on Paris’ fingernails at the sudden argument.
Across the dining room, Prince and Blanket stood toe to toe, scowling at each other.
“I can do the Moonwalk better than you. Dad taught me!” Prince continued, tucking his hands into the kangaroo pocket on the front of his green hooded sweatshirt and smiling smugly.
“Shows what you know Cheese head, Daddy taught me too!” Blanket stuck his tongue out at his big brother.
“Hey! No name calling!” Michael warned from where he, Taryll and Rusty sat at the other end of the dining table from me and Paris playing cards.
“Why don’t you two have a dance off? That’s what me and my brothers used to do.” Taryll suggested, placing his cards out on the table.
“Gin!”
“Darn it! Shoot!” Michael and Rusty exclaimed throwing their cards down.
“A dance off? What’s that?” Paris questioned to no on in particular, examining her nails before blowing on them to start the drying process.
“Paris, it means that your brothers will get to show off their best moves and we get to say who does the best.” I explained, screwing the top back on the polish.
“Cool! Brynn, Daddy, can I dance too?” Paris begged, her eyes large as saucers.
“Sure!” Michael giggled. “We can play music in my room. Come on!” with a wave of his arm, Michael lead the way, the rest of us jogging to keep up.
As we all found places to sit around the room, Taryll and me sitting at the foot of the bed and Rusty in an armchair, Michael made his way over to the large sound system, the same one that had been spilling the Billie Jean instrumental the day before.
“Now here are the rules: I’ll start the music and one by one, you guys come forward and do your best and at the end we’ll say who did the best. And whoever wins get free run of Dylan’s Candy Bar this weekend.” Michael grinned, slipping a CD into the player.
As the Jackson Trio cheered, Taryll elbowed me in the ribs lightly,
“You know all three of them are going to wring Dylan dry, right?” He whispered under his breath, wiggling his eyebrows. “Yeah, I got the memo.” I smiled. Michael never showed favoritism towards any one child, all three were treated the exact same.
Michael pressed “Play” on the boom box and a lively techno tune started fill the room.
“Who wants to go first?” Michael called over the din.
“Me! Ladies first!” Paris volunteered putting her hands up and strolling to the center of the room.
“Boo!” Blanket shouted but quickly stopped when Michael shot him a disapproving glance.
Paris stood a moment, and I could tell she was getting a feel for the beat.
When Paris started dancing, it was evident she was a Jackson.
Swinging her arms from side to side, she began to execute the dance from Michael’s Thriller film.
It was truly stunning to watch a seven-year-old little girl in a Tom and Jerry t-shirt dance like a twenty-five year old.
Everyone else cheered her on; I watched gape mouthed, just astounded.
Paris spun, her two ponytails swinging, she kicked her little leg and ended, raising her arm over her head.
“That was awesome!” Michael clapped happily as Paris, breathless, stumbled over and dropped between Taryll and me.
“Thanks Daddy!” To Prince and Blanket she challenged, “Top that!”
Blanket rushed over to me.
“Help me Brynn!” He begged tugging at my hands until I stood.
“What do you want me to do? I questioned, following the little boy to the center of the room.
“Hold the back of my shirt, please.” Blanket grinned turning his back to me.
“Uh, okay.” I glanced at Michael and grasped onto the boy’s baggy shirt.
Blanket dropped away from me suddenly, his body forming a straight line at a forty-five degree angle.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph!
This little boy was doing the Smooth Criminal lean!
“Thanks Brynn!” Blanket chuckled standing back upright and continuing to do the dance.
Once again I was wowed. Michael Jackson’s children were just bubbling over with the talent, Blanket was doing things one would find coming from a seasoned performer who had been dancing for decades, not a child who still had a The Wiggles poster in his room! “No autographs please!” Blanket snickled walking over and dropping next to Paris.
“Good job son!” Michael cried out.
I glanced back at Prince. He was lingering in the doorway, his brow furrowed deep in thought.
“You gonna dance?” Michael questioned, clapping along to the music.
Squaring his shoulders boldly, Prince replied,
“Yes sir!”
Half strutting/half dancing, Prince made his way to the middle of the room.
One hand on his head and the other on his waist, he began gyrating his hips, obviously starting the Billie Jean dance.
As Prince danced, every moment, so clean, so sharp, so precise, it was almost scary.
It was like watching a small blonde version of Michael Jackson.
I reflected a moment, thinking of an old clip I had seen of Michael, years before I had met him. The audition he and his brothers had taped for Berry Gordy when they were first trying to make a big break.
Michael had been the exact age as his oldest son. The similarities were so strong, like a steel cable. The expression, the grace, the ease of movement.
Had Prince Moonwalked out of his birth mother’s womb?
Prince back slid across the room with such finesse that Paris and Blanket, who had been squabbling, were watching, enraptured.
As Prince switched gears moving into “The Worm” from the Beat It video, his siblings joined him, all three dancing like little professionals, I made my way over to Michael.
He was lightly dancing along to the tune, eyes glimmering at the sight of his children. His long shiny hair flounced with every move he made.
“Mike.” I tugged at the sleeve of his shirt.
“Hmm?” He glanced down at me.
“Do they always dance that well?” I wondered as Michael pulled me against him, our hips bumping.
“Yes.” Michael nodded. “Amazing huh? And none of them have had a lesson, just watching me.”
Bewildered. That’s what I was--bewildered.
“Your kids are gifted Michael.” I said into his ear.
Michael grinned down at me, glowing.
I gazed back at the Jackson Trio.
All three were free styling, doing Michael influenced moves. Kicks, spins, wiggles. Little Blanket even attempted to perch on his toes--he fell, but got right back up and continued dancing.
I was truly tied up in a monstrously talented family.
Who knew a storm was about to blow in?
“Excuse me.” Michael kissed the flesh behind my ear and made his way over into the bathroom.
As he disappeared inside, closing the door, I focused back on the kids dancing.
Taryll had joined them, holding Paris up and twirling her around.
“Miss Brynn?” A hand tapped my shoulder.
Bo stood hulking over me.
“Mmm-hmm?” I hummed, watching Taryll successfully pull off the toe stand that Blanket had tried.
“You have company in the foyer.” Bo replied solemnly.
“What?” I stared up at him. “I have company?”
“Yes.” Bo nodded grimly.
I had company? My heart instantly plummeted.
Oh God, please don’t let Prince be standing his little minute butt in the foyer.
I prayed deeply in my mind as Bo led me back into the front of the suite.
A wave of nausea hit me when I saw that Mindy was standing just inside the double doors of the main suite.
This was even worse, Prince had sent her down.
And she looked “loose”.
Did she have to dress so scantily? My mind blared as I approached her.
Mindy wore a fuchsia minidress that looked like a belted t-shirt and matching stilettos. And of course her make up was on the edge of tranny.
I was sure that Prince had selected the outfit just to make anyone who saw her wonder if she charged by the hour.
“Hi Brynn!” She smiled and rushed over, embracing me warmly. The clear Lucite bracelets lining her left arm tinkled.
“Hi…Mindy.” I hiccupped sadly as her curls brushed my face.
“He sent you, didn’t he?” I questioned, my stomach turning at a threatening pace.
If Michael caught me associating with Mindy, who knew what would have happened?
“Yes.” Mindy grinned, her lips, painted a deep shrimpy color, shining.
She bent and started digging through the large pink Louis Vuitton tote.
“Hey…Brynn, who’s your friend?” A voice crooned.
Taryll was sauntering over to us, eyes fixed on Mindy.
I could tell by the way they were shimmering; he was instantly attracted to her. Still rummaging through the bag, Mindy flashed him a shy smile.
“Taryll, this is Mindy. Mindy, Taryll Jackson.” I mumbled the introductions almost incoherently.
A cool grin lit Taryll’s face. Yup, this man was over the moon.
“Oh, you’re Taryll. So you’re Brynn‘s ‘boyfriend’ ‘?” Mindy commented, glancing at him and then turned back to her bag. I could tell by the way she said ‘boyfriend’ she didn’t believe the lie.
The man’s ears turned red. “Well, we’re not that exclusive.” Taryll chuckled and I shot him an angry stare. He could mack on his own time.
And if he really did flirt like that in front of his girlfriends, no wonder he and Tiffeny were Splits-Ville!
I finally caught Taryll’s eye and he mouthed his apology.
I hoped he’d start thinking with his head and not his…
Mindy giggled. “That’s nice.”
Time to stop Taryll before he worked himself into a golden lather.
“Tar, you know Mindy is Prince’s hair and make-up artist?” I said, my voice blistering with sarcasm. That was sure to propel him off Planet Arousal.
“Huh?” Taryll wore his shock like a jacket. “You work for Prince?”
I was sure if was hot for Mindy, the mention of his uncle’s nemesis would chill him down.“Yeah.” Mindy nodded, her hair bouncing. “Found it!”
Mindy produced a thin red envelope from her purse.
“This is for you and Mr. Jackson--Michael.” Mindy winked, holding the envelope out to me.
The jewels attached to her French-tipped nails glittered.
“Thanks.” I said leadenly, taking it from her.
“I gotta go, Mr. Prince is waiting for me. It was nice meeting you Taryll.” Mindy beaming, hugged me again. “Bye Brynn.”
Taryll and I stood quietly for a moment as Mindy exited the room.
“Brynn…is she involved with Prince at all?” Taryll finally broke the silence.
I glanced up at him; he was blushing.
“No.” I said raising an eyebrow. “Why?”
“That chick could kick start a 747 jet. Damn.” Taryll smiled gleefully.
“Put your tongue back in your head Tiger, you’re not her type.” I shook my head.
If only he knew…
“What? She only dates White guys?” Taryll wondered picking at his curls.
“Nope…” I ginned up at him, deciding to inform him of the real deal before he made a fool of himself. “I’m more her type than you are.”
The sheen in Taryll’s eyes dulled. “You mean that chick digs chicks?” He murmured, clearly crushed.
“Yeah.” I patted Taryll’s broad shoulder.
“Oooh!” Taryll put his hand to his chest and shook his head, disdainfully. “I was wondering where you two were.” Michael appeared behind Taryll.
“What’s that?” He questioned, pointing at the envelope.
“Prince’s stylist just dropped that off for you.” Taryll remarked bitterly.
Dang, that man was really upset over Mindy.
At the reference to Prince, Michael’s sweetly smiling face tightened like the skin over a snare drum.
“That Cindy woman was in here?” Michael repeated, snatching the envelope out of my hands. A frown was denting his features.
“Yes…” I braced for the dam to break.
“Who sends a stylist to deliver things? Taryll, I told you that man was strange. Can’t stand his tiny ass.” Michael puffed shaking his head and ripping open the envelope. “I wonder what he wants, now.”
Taryll scoffed and crossed his arms, waiting to see what was in the letter.
I wondered what the odds of the envelope suddenly bursting into flames before it got read would be.
I hid my trembling hands behind my back as Michael pulled a sheet of thick, lacy white paper out.
“Oh Gosh!” Michael exclaimed, his dark eyes turning stormy as they scanned the paper which was covered in fancy writing in a red font.
“It’s an invitation. Listen to this…”
An invitation? To what?
Michael began reading aloud: You are cordially invited to a private performance to be given by His Royal Badness himself, Prince.
The performance is to be held the night of the Sixteenth at Club Groovement located in Upper Manhattan.
Please RSVP as soon as possible with the number of people in your party that will be attending and for directions.
Funky/cocktail attire required.
Festivities start at nine p.m. sharp and ends…
Michael paused and rolled his eyes,
“…when the police throw us out!” My heart plummeted.
Oh no! Oh God no!
It couldn’t possibly be true!
Prince was trying to see me again?
And using the elaborate cover of a concert to do so?
Just what the hell was this man trying to prove?
I staggered over and dropped into the nearest chair, next to the side table that held the telephone. I knew that if I stood a second longer, I would have fainted.
Why was Prince being so over the top? He could have just as easily asked me up to the Penthouse, like a normal human being.
Lord knew what he was up to. After that disaster at The Ivy Lounge, it was anyone’s guess.
“So what are you gonna do Uncle Mike? The little Purple Pipsqueak invited you to a show.” Taryll inquired taking the invite from Michael and examining it for himself. “His Royal Badness…more like His Royal Smallness.” He scoffed rolling his eyes.
My attention was drawn to them at the sound of feet running.
Rusty was rushing over. I knew that Big Mouth Bass was about to toss his two unwanted cents into the ring. Michael lowered his head, deep in thought as Rusty skidded to a stop beside him, his polished Italian loafers squeaking.
Silence filled the room; all of us were awaiting Michael’s decision.
I was hoping against hope that Michael would turn down the invite.
So much for hopes.
After a long while, Michael, poked the toe of his shoe at a tile and announced confidently,
“I‘m gonna accept the invitation.”
Rusty and Taryll stood staring at him, mouths hanging.
Their voices may have evaded them, but not mine.
“What? Michael! No! “ I shouted jumping up. My legs were so weak, I sank back down to the chair. “Not after the way things went at The Ivy Lounge! Why are you going? You don’t like Prince!” I moaned putting my head in my hands.
“Brynn, the man has clearly made his mind up and I assume Prince wants to make up for what happened at the restaurant.” Rusty nodded, blue eyes flashing defiantly. Like he had an in over Michael.
That burned me.
Stumbling over to Rusty, I cried,
“Who in the hell asked you? You don’t know how ugly it got. I don’t recall your presence at the table…” I quipped snidely.“Oh that’s right! You were here, letting Blanket fall and almost break his little nose--Rust Bucket!” I shoved Rusty so hard he fell back against Taryll.
“Stop pushing on me woman!” Rusty shouted, his highlighted hair falling across his forehead.
“ No pushing? Fine! I’ll punch you!” I threatened, curling a fist.
Rusty pushed up the sleeves of his suit jacket, and started to wave me on.
It would have been my pleasure to knock the shit out of him.
Taryll laughed insanely at the scene.
“Hey!” Michael said sharply causing all of us to jump.
Michael finally focused on me, his dark eyes blazing. He seemed to know something that no one else did.
“Stop worrying, Baby. I’ve got this figured out quick.”
His voice was so cool, I got chills.
Had Michael taken a tranquilizer and nobody had noticed?
Usually at the mention of Prince (Nelson) he blew up into the stratosphere.
“Yeah, how?” I mumbled, not truly convinced.
Hand shoved into his trouser pockets Michael began slowly walking across the room.
“What do you have in mind Uncle Michael?” Taryll wondered, his voice full of curiosity. “Every time I’ve seen That Damn Man, he’s got his entourage with him. That Morris jerk, his stylist, his band, whatever. And I usually go alone with Brynn. He keeps using numbers to try to intimidate me. ” Michael pointed out, back still to us, moving across the room.
“I’ve been doing this wrong. But not any more.” Michael spun on his heel. “That little Purple Paisley Punk doesn’t know who he’s messing with. I’m Michael Jackson.” Michael huffed and flipped his hair over his shoulder.
“I’m taking my own crew, and he won’t be able to touch me.”
Taryll, Rusty and I all exchanged glances.
Michael was being sneaky?
Michael Jackson was being underhanded?
If I could have gotten away with it, I would have stripped Michael down right there.
This new conniving Michael that Prince was bringing out was hot as fire!
“Uncle Michael, if you want me to go along with you, I will. I totally got your back.” Taryll volunteered.
“Taryll…” Michael waved at his nephew. “Get Tito on the phone. I want to talk to him.”
“Yeah!” Taryll ran across the room, picked up the phone and began dialing on it like a madman.
“Just what are you gonna do?” Rusty wore a skeptical expression. I was sure he had never seen Michael act like this before. “Don’t do anything that’ll jeopardize your negotiations with Prince!”
“What negotiations?” Michael laughed wildly, a glint of wickedness in his doe eyes. “That cricket got Brynn to sing for him, and I got the demos. There’s nothing else left to negotiate.”
At the announcement that Michael and Prince no longer had any musical ties between them, I rushed Michael and hugged and kissed at his cheek fiercely.
“It’s about time for The Revolution to meet The Jacksons.” Michael whispered nastily.
“Just how are you gonna pull the Jacksons together? The sixteenth is three days away! It’ll take a miracle.” Rusty argued, beads of sweat springing up on his forehead. This man was really nervous.
And so was I.
I wasn’t used to Michael having little things going on behind the scenes.
Michael held a hand up. “I don’t need a miracle Rusty. I’ve got family.”
He said hotly and bent to brush his ripe lips against my neck.
If only I knew how much family Michael was about to get a hold of…
“I can do the Moonwalk better than you!”
“No way! Keep dreaming!”
“You keep dreaming!”
I glanced up from the light pink polish I was putting on Paris’ fingernails at the sudden argument.
Across the dining room, Prince and Blanket stood toe to toe, scowling at each other.
“I can do the Moonwalk better than you. Dad taught me!” Prince continued, tucking his hands into the kangaroo pocket on the front of his green hooded sweatshirt and smiling smugly.
“Shows what you know Cheese head, Daddy taught me too!” Blanket stuck his tongue out at his big brother.
“Hey! No name calling!” Michael warned from where he, Taryll and Rusty sat at the other end of the dining table from me and Paris playing cards.
“Why don’t you two have a dance off? That’s what me and my brothers used to do.” Taryll suggested, placing his cards out on the table.
“Gin!”
“Darn it! Shoot!” Michael and Rusty exclaimed throwing their cards down.
“A dance off? What’s that?” Paris questioned to no on in particular, examining her nails before blowing on them to start the drying process.
“Paris, it means that your brothers will get to show off their best moves and we get to say who does the best.” I explained, screwing the top back on the polish.
“Cool! Brynn, Daddy, can I dance too?” Paris begged, her eyes large as saucers.
“Sure!” Michael giggled. “We can play music in my room. Come on!” with a wave of his arm, Michael lead the way, the rest of us jogging to keep up.
As we all found places to sit around the room, Taryll and me sitting at the foot of the bed and Rusty in an armchair, Michael made his way over to the large sound system, the same one that had been spilling the Billie Jean instrumental the day before.
“Now here are the rules: I’ll start the music and one by one, you guys come forward and do your best and at the end we’ll say who did the best. And whoever wins get free run of Dylan’s Candy Bar this weekend.” Michael grinned, slipping a CD into the player.
As the Jackson Trio cheered, Taryll elbowed me in the ribs lightly,
“You know all three of them are going to wring Dylan dry, right?” He whispered under his breath, wiggling his eyebrows. “Yeah, I got the memo.” I smiled. Michael never showed favoritism towards any one child, all three were treated the exact same.
Michael pressed “Play” on the boom box and a lively techno tune started fill the room.
“Who wants to go first?” Michael called over the din.
“Me! Ladies first!” Paris volunteered putting her hands up and strolling to the center of the room.
“Boo!” Blanket shouted but quickly stopped when Michael shot him a disapproving glance.
Paris stood a moment, and I could tell she was getting a feel for the beat.
When Paris started dancing, it was evident she was a Jackson.
Swinging her arms from side to side, she began to execute the dance from Michael’s Thriller film.
It was truly stunning to watch a seven-year-old little girl in a Tom and Jerry t-shirt dance like a twenty-five year old.
Everyone else cheered her on; I watched gape mouthed, just astounded.
Paris spun, her two ponytails swinging, she kicked her little leg and ended, raising her arm over her head.
“That was awesome!” Michael clapped happily as Paris, breathless, stumbled over and dropped between Taryll and me.
“Thanks Daddy!” To Prince and Blanket she challenged, “Top that!”
Blanket rushed over to me.
“Help me Brynn!” He begged tugging at my hands until I stood.
“What do you want me to do? I questioned, following the little boy to the center of the room.
“Hold the back of my shirt, please.” Blanket grinned turning his back to me.
“Uh, okay.” I glanced at Michael and grasped onto the boy’s baggy shirt.
Blanket dropped away from me suddenly, his body forming a straight line at a forty-five degree angle.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph!
This little boy was doing the Smooth Criminal lean!
“Thanks Brynn!” Blanket chuckled standing back upright and continuing to do the dance.
Once again I was wowed. Michael Jackson’s children were just bubbling over with the talent, Blanket was doing things one would find coming from a seasoned performer who had been dancing for decades, not a child who still had a The Wiggles poster in his room! “No autographs please!” Blanket snickled walking over and dropping next to Paris.
“Good job son!” Michael cried out.
I glanced back at Prince. He was lingering in the doorway, his brow furrowed deep in thought.
“You gonna dance?” Michael questioned, clapping along to the music.
Squaring his shoulders boldly, Prince replied,
“Yes sir!”
Half strutting/half dancing, Prince made his way to the middle of the room.
One hand on his head and the other on his waist, he began gyrating his hips, obviously starting the Billie Jean dance.
As Prince danced, every moment, so clean, so sharp, so precise, it was almost scary.
It was like watching a small blonde version of Michael Jackson.
I reflected a moment, thinking of an old clip I had seen of Michael, years before I had met him. The audition he and his brothers had taped for Berry Gordy when they were first trying to make a big break.
Michael had been the exact age as his oldest son. The similarities were so strong, like a steel cable. The expression, the grace, the ease of movement.
Had Prince Moonwalked out of his birth mother’s womb?
Prince back slid across the room with such finesse that Paris and Blanket, who had been squabbling, were watching, enraptured.
As Prince switched gears moving into “The Worm” from the Beat It video, his siblings joined him, all three dancing like little professionals, I made my way over to Michael.
He was lightly dancing along to the tune, eyes glimmering at the sight of his children. His long shiny hair flounced with every move he made.
“Mike.” I tugged at the sleeve of his shirt.
“Hmm?” He glanced down at me.
“Do they always dance that well?” I wondered as Michael pulled me against him, our hips bumping.
“Yes.” Michael nodded. “Amazing huh? And none of them have had a lesson, just watching me.”
Bewildered. That’s what I was--bewildered.
“Your kids are gifted Michael.” I said into his ear.
Michael grinned down at me, glowing.
I gazed back at the Jackson Trio.
All three were free styling, doing Michael influenced moves. Kicks, spins, wiggles. Little Blanket even attempted to perch on his toes--he fell, but got right back up and continued dancing.
I was truly tied up in a monstrously talented family.
Who knew a storm was about to blow in?
“Excuse me.” Michael kissed the flesh behind my ear and made his way over into the bathroom.
As he disappeared inside, closing the door, I focused back on the kids dancing.
Taryll had joined them, holding Paris up and twirling her around.
“Miss Brynn?” A hand tapped my shoulder.
Bo stood hulking over me.
“Mmm-hmm?” I hummed, watching Taryll successfully pull off the toe stand that Blanket had tried.
“You have company in the foyer.” Bo replied solemnly.
“What?” I stared up at him. “I have company?”
“Yes.” Bo nodded grimly.
I had company? My heart instantly plummeted.
Oh God, please don’t let Prince be standing his little minute butt in the foyer.
I prayed deeply in my mind as Bo led me back into the front of the suite.
A wave of nausea hit me when I saw that Mindy was standing just inside the double doors of the main suite.
This was even worse, Prince had sent her down.
And she looked “loose”.
Did she have to dress so scantily? My mind blared as I approached her.
Mindy wore a fuchsia minidress that looked like a belted t-shirt and matching stilettos. And of course her make up was on the edge of tranny.
I was sure that Prince had selected the outfit just to make anyone who saw her wonder if she charged by the hour.
“Hi Brynn!” She smiled and rushed over, embracing me warmly. The clear Lucite bracelets lining her left arm tinkled.
“Hi…Mindy.” I hiccupped sadly as her curls brushed my face.
“He sent you, didn’t he?” I questioned, my stomach turning at a threatening pace.
If Michael caught me associating with Mindy, who knew what would have happened?
“Yes.” Mindy grinned, her lips, painted a deep shrimpy color, shining.
She bent and started digging through the large pink Louis Vuitton tote.
“Hey…Brynn, who’s your friend?” A voice crooned.
Taryll was sauntering over to us, eyes fixed on Mindy.
I could tell by the way they were shimmering; he was instantly attracted to her. Still rummaging through the bag, Mindy flashed him a shy smile.
“Taryll, this is Mindy. Mindy, Taryll Jackson.” I mumbled the introductions almost incoherently.
A cool grin lit Taryll’s face. Yup, this man was over the moon.
“Oh, you’re Taryll. So you’re Brynn‘s ‘boyfriend’ ‘?” Mindy commented, glancing at him and then turned back to her bag. I could tell by the way she said ‘boyfriend’ she didn’t believe the lie.
The man’s ears turned red. “Well, we’re not that exclusive.” Taryll chuckled and I shot him an angry stare. He could mack on his own time.
And if he really did flirt like that in front of his girlfriends, no wonder he and Tiffeny were Splits-Ville!
I finally caught Taryll’s eye and he mouthed his apology.
I hoped he’d start thinking with his head and not his…
Mindy giggled. “That’s nice.”
Time to stop Taryll before he worked himself into a golden lather.
“Tar, you know Mindy is Prince’s hair and make-up artist?” I said, my voice blistering with sarcasm. That was sure to propel him off Planet Arousal.
“Huh?” Taryll wore his shock like a jacket. “You work for Prince?”
I was sure if was hot for Mindy, the mention of his uncle’s nemesis would chill him down.“Yeah.” Mindy nodded, her hair bouncing. “Found it!”
Mindy produced a thin red envelope from her purse.
“This is for you and Mr. Jackson--Michael.” Mindy winked, holding the envelope out to me.
The jewels attached to her French-tipped nails glittered.
“Thanks.” I said leadenly, taking it from her.
“I gotta go, Mr. Prince is waiting for me. It was nice meeting you Taryll.” Mindy beaming, hugged me again. “Bye Brynn.”
Taryll and I stood quietly for a moment as Mindy exited the room.
“Brynn…is she involved with Prince at all?” Taryll finally broke the silence.
I glanced up at him; he was blushing.
“No.” I said raising an eyebrow. “Why?”
“That chick could kick start a 747 jet. Damn.” Taryll smiled gleefully.
“Put your tongue back in your head Tiger, you’re not her type.” I shook my head.
If only he knew…
“What? She only dates White guys?” Taryll wondered picking at his curls.
“Nope…” I ginned up at him, deciding to inform him of the real deal before he made a fool of himself. “I’m more her type than you are.”
The sheen in Taryll’s eyes dulled. “You mean that chick digs chicks?” He murmured, clearly crushed.
“Yeah.” I patted Taryll’s broad shoulder.
“Oooh!” Taryll put his hand to his chest and shook his head, disdainfully. “I was wondering where you two were.” Michael appeared behind Taryll.
“What’s that?” He questioned, pointing at the envelope.
“Prince’s stylist just dropped that off for you.” Taryll remarked bitterly.
Dang, that man was really upset over Mindy.
At the reference to Prince, Michael’s sweetly smiling face tightened like the skin over a snare drum.
“That Cindy woman was in here?” Michael repeated, snatching the envelope out of my hands. A frown was denting his features.
“Yes…” I braced for the dam to break.
“Who sends a stylist to deliver things? Taryll, I told you that man was strange. Can’t stand his tiny ass.” Michael puffed shaking his head and ripping open the envelope. “I wonder what he wants, now.”
Taryll scoffed and crossed his arms, waiting to see what was in the letter.
I wondered what the odds of the envelope suddenly bursting into flames before it got read would be.
I hid my trembling hands behind my back as Michael pulled a sheet of thick, lacy white paper out.
“Oh Gosh!” Michael exclaimed, his dark eyes turning stormy as they scanned the paper which was covered in fancy writing in a red font.
“It’s an invitation. Listen to this…”
An invitation? To what?
Michael began reading aloud: You are cordially invited to a private performance to be given by His Royal Badness himself, Prince.
The performance is to be held the night of the Sixteenth at Club Groovement located in Upper Manhattan.
Please RSVP as soon as possible with the number of people in your party that will be attending and for directions.
Funky/cocktail attire required.
Festivities start at nine p.m. sharp and ends…
Michael paused and rolled his eyes,
“…when the police throw us out!” My heart plummeted.
Oh no! Oh God no!
It couldn’t possibly be true!
Prince was trying to see me again?
And using the elaborate cover of a concert to do so?
Just what the hell was this man trying to prove?
I staggered over and dropped into the nearest chair, next to the side table that held the telephone. I knew that if I stood a second longer, I would have fainted.
Why was Prince being so over the top? He could have just as easily asked me up to the Penthouse, like a normal human being.
Lord knew what he was up to. After that disaster at The Ivy Lounge, it was anyone’s guess.
“So what are you gonna do Uncle Mike? The little Purple Pipsqueak invited you to a show.” Taryll inquired taking the invite from Michael and examining it for himself. “His Royal Badness…more like His Royal Smallness.” He scoffed rolling his eyes.
My attention was drawn to them at the sound of feet running.
Rusty was rushing over. I knew that Big Mouth Bass was about to toss his two unwanted cents into the ring. Michael lowered his head, deep in thought as Rusty skidded to a stop beside him, his polished Italian loafers squeaking.
Silence filled the room; all of us were awaiting Michael’s decision.
I was hoping against hope that Michael would turn down the invite.
So much for hopes.
After a long while, Michael, poked the toe of his shoe at a tile and announced confidently,
“I‘m gonna accept the invitation.”
Rusty and Taryll stood staring at him, mouths hanging.
Their voices may have evaded them, but not mine.
“What? Michael! No! “ I shouted jumping up. My legs were so weak, I sank back down to the chair. “Not after the way things went at The Ivy Lounge! Why are you going? You don’t like Prince!” I moaned putting my head in my hands.
“Brynn, the man has clearly made his mind up and I assume Prince wants to make up for what happened at the restaurant.” Rusty nodded, blue eyes flashing defiantly. Like he had an in over Michael.
That burned me.
Stumbling over to Rusty, I cried,
“Who in the hell asked you? You don’t know how ugly it got. I don’t recall your presence at the table…” I quipped snidely.“Oh that’s right! You were here, letting Blanket fall and almost break his little nose--Rust Bucket!” I shoved Rusty so hard he fell back against Taryll.
“Stop pushing on me woman!” Rusty shouted, his highlighted hair falling across his forehead.
“ No pushing? Fine! I’ll punch you!” I threatened, curling a fist.
Rusty pushed up the sleeves of his suit jacket, and started to wave me on.
It would have been my pleasure to knock the shit out of him.
Taryll laughed insanely at the scene.
“Hey!” Michael said sharply causing all of us to jump.
Michael finally focused on me, his dark eyes blazing. He seemed to know something that no one else did.
“Stop worrying, Baby. I’ve got this figured out quick.”
His voice was so cool, I got chills.
Had Michael taken a tranquilizer and nobody had noticed?
Usually at the mention of Prince (Nelson) he blew up into the stratosphere.
“Yeah, how?” I mumbled, not truly convinced.
Hand shoved into his trouser pockets Michael began slowly walking across the room.
“What do you have in mind Uncle Michael?” Taryll wondered, his voice full of curiosity. “Every time I’ve seen That Damn Man, he’s got his entourage with him. That Morris jerk, his stylist, his band, whatever. And I usually go alone with Brynn. He keeps using numbers to try to intimidate me. ” Michael pointed out, back still to us, moving across the room.
“I’ve been doing this wrong. But not any more.” Michael spun on his heel. “That little Purple Paisley Punk doesn’t know who he’s messing with. I’m Michael Jackson.” Michael huffed and flipped his hair over his shoulder.
“I’m taking my own crew, and he won’t be able to touch me.”
Taryll, Rusty and I all exchanged glances.
Michael was being sneaky?
Michael Jackson was being underhanded?
If I could have gotten away with it, I would have stripped Michael down right there.
This new conniving Michael that Prince was bringing out was hot as fire!
“Uncle Michael, if you want me to go along with you, I will. I totally got your back.” Taryll volunteered.
“Taryll…” Michael waved at his nephew. “Get Tito on the phone. I want to talk to him.”
“Yeah!” Taryll ran across the room, picked up the phone and began dialing on it like a madman.
“Just what are you gonna do?” Rusty wore a skeptical expression. I was sure he had never seen Michael act like this before. “Don’t do anything that’ll jeopardize your negotiations with Prince!”
“What negotiations?” Michael laughed wildly, a glint of wickedness in his doe eyes. “That cricket got Brynn to sing for him, and I got the demos. There’s nothing else left to negotiate.”
At the announcement that Michael and Prince no longer had any musical ties between them, I rushed Michael and hugged and kissed at his cheek fiercely.
“It’s about time for The Revolution to meet The Jacksons.” Michael whispered nastily.
“Just how are you gonna pull the Jacksons together? The sixteenth is three days away! It’ll take a miracle.” Rusty argued, beads of sweat springing up on his forehead. This man was really nervous.
And so was I.
I wasn’t used to Michael having little things going on behind the scenes.
Michael held a hand up. “I don’t need a miracle Rusty. I’ve got family.”
He said hotly and bent to brush his ripe lips against my neck.
If only I knew how much family Michael was about to get a hold of…
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Chapter 24
Three Days Later
“…the wheels on the bus go ‘round and round….the wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round…all through the town…”
I was roused by the sounds of the little childish tune playing.
I sat up in the bed and it was several moments before it came to me as to where I actually was.
As I glanced around in the dusky light from shaded windows, I caught sight of several posters tacked to the walls.
Transformers, The Wiggles, a poster of Kelly Clarkson…
This wasn’t the room I shared with Michael in the master suite.
I glanced down and saw that I was covered by a small quilt embroidered with little yellow ducks.
I was in Blanket’s bed.
Over the last few nights, Michael and Rusty had been clocking extremely long hours in the city wheeling and dealing on the Not Over single.
Michael would often be gone before I awoke in the morning and wouldn’t be back until after I had gone back to sleep.
And I was once again left with the task of watching over the Jackson Trio.
But luckily I had Taryll along with me to help.
It was a full time job trying to keep Paris from all things caffienated and Blanket from jumping on and/or off of the furniture.
And Prince kept to himself a bit, playing with a Game Boy system to the point his thumbs had little blisters on them!
I chuckled to myself, remembering how I had ended up in Blanket’s bed.
The night before, Taryll and I had somehow, by the grace of God, managed to get the Jackson Trio fed, bathed, and into bed by their eight-thirty bedtime.
Taryll and I were in the middle of a heated Poker game--for a pile of Twizzlers--when a little face had appeared next to us.
Blanket.
He claimed he didn’t want to go to sleep until someone had read a bedtime story to him.
Easier said than done.
For the next two hours, Taryll and I had to have read over fifteen little books; everything from The Little Engine That Could to Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.
I had hummed to him; Taryll sang to him.
We even sat and played Old Maid.
Eventually, Taryll went to sleep at the dining table smack in the middle of the game.
Tired myself, I picked the boy up--Blanket, not Taryll!--and put him bed, vowing that I wouldn’t leave until he dozed off.
I think I dozed off before the child did!
Rolling over, I expected to see a snoozing Blanket next to me.
I was surprised to find that, lying on the pillow next to me, was a blush pink rose.
Nestled under the rose a little note written on a sheet of thick, almost lacy paper that matched the rose.
In the dim light I quickly made out Michael’s tiny script on it:
Honey,
I know that you’ve been busy taking care of the children these last few days and I truly appreciate it. There’s a special gift for you in our room.
Michael
A special gift? For me?
Oh Michael was kind beyond words!
Intrigued, I hopped out of the bed, rose in one hand, note in the other, and jogged across the room, wondering what my gift was.
Michael had already given me so many things, his most impressive so far being a king’s ransom in jewelry. If the man had bought me a Lear Jet, I’d just go ahead and faint!
I flung open the doors to Blanket’s room and immediately felt my heart swelling.
“Oh my God!” I whispered, putting my hands to my face.
The sight lying before me was truly one for the record books.
Extending from Blanket’s doorway to the bedroom was a path made of fresh pink rose petals, lined with tall, glowing, lit pink and red candles.
The petals sparkled with silver and gold glitter.
The entire room was filled with the scent of light rosewater.
I jumped slightly as the sound of soft music began playing.
Regaining my composure, I recognized the melody as an instrumental version of Billie Jean.
The music was coming from behind the closed door to the bedroom.
Excited and giddy, I tiptoed, barefoot across the petals to the bedroom door, careful to keep the hem of my nightgown free of the flames.
I timidly tapped the door.
“Michael?” I called softly, curiosity burning in me.
“You may enter…hee-hee.” Came the reply.
My hands trembled as I turned the brass knobs and pushed the doors open.
All the air in my lungs whooshed out at the sight that met my eyes.
Lying on a bed covered with rose petals, perched on a stack of throw pillows, was Michael Jackson.
He was truly a beautiful vision in a somewhat erotic take on his traditional Billie Jean ensemble.
Setting on his head, and pulled down to cover his eyes, was a black fedora. A large peacock shaped pin was hooked to the side of it and caught the candle light.
Michael’s slim, sexy frame was clad in a black sequined jacket, but wore no shirt under it.
His sleek, soft, tantalizing alabaster skin shimmered.
A pink nipple peeked out from behind the cloth.
As my eyes traveled down his body, a gasp caught in my throat.
Michael’s privates were just barely covered by a scrap of white cloth, fashioned as a pair of bikini style underwear and was studded with rhinestones.
His right hand, encapsulated with a glove that matched the underwear, rested on his bare, milky thigh. His feet featured bespangled socks and shiny black loafers.
The shoes had to be brand new; they showed no signs of wear on the bottoms.
“Michael!” I exclaimed, hands to my face again, completely stunned.
Shocked.
Astonished.
Arousal hit me like an A-bomb.
Oh, I was burning.
The instrumental continued to play.
Silently, Michael slid from the bed and began walking towards me.
Every step was deliberate, his long body swaggering and swaying.
Michael’s crotch gently swung.
His head was still lowered.
Stopping a few feet in front me, Michael tucked his bare hand behind his head, the gloved hand pointing at me and quickly swirled into a spin.
As he twirled before me, I made another shocking discovery:
Michael wasn’t wearing bikini underwear; he was wearing a thong!
A jeweled line glittered from between his soft, luminescent cheeks.
I leaned against the door frame for support.
Popping his long, lean legs back and forth, Michael scooted side to side in front of me, his gloved hand wigging over his flapping groin.
His leg kicked, and for a second, a soft pink jewel was exposed.
Instantly, Michael was back in the beginning position, a grin creasing his features.
“Hi Sweetie.” Michael murmured sheepishly, whisking his hat off and tossing it over my head and into the front foyer.
Michael’s long locks had been slicked back into a ponytail, making his taut, chiseled face stand out all the more.
His eyes, lightly lined in Kohl, shined under his perfectly arched brows.
His lips, bending up into a wide smile, were a bright juicy red.
“Oh God, Mike!” I squeaked, my heart throbbing in my chest.
The man was sexy personified.
Taking my rattling hands, Michael continued talking in a shy falsetto.
“You look so gorgeous, Brynn. I’ve missed you so much these last few days…and nights.”
“I…I missed you too.” I whispered as Michael pulled me against, his soft, precious chest in a strong hug.
“Honey…” Michael’s soft lips brushed my lobe and I feared I’d soil myself.
“I want to make love to you.” He confided, his voice dropping in octaves.
He leaned back, his warm eyes searching out mine.
“You want to make love to me?” I giggled, a rush of horniness washing over me.
Biting his bottom lip, Michael nodded, “Mmm-hmm!”
Pulling me forward a bit, Michael closed and locked the doors behind me.
Michael gave me a bashful grin,
“I sent Rusty, Taryll and the kids to a huge film festival, they won’t be back until late. I’ve got you to myself.” Michael rubbed his large hands together greedily.
I looked at my feet, a sudden shyness taking me.
I wondered just what Mr. Jackson had in mind for me.
And I was dying to find out!
I became aware of Michael’s hands on my shoulders, pushing aside the thin straps of my green nightgown.
A moment later, my gown fell at my feet.
I stood before Michael, in nothing more than a pair of mint green and white dotted panties.
“You are so beautiful.” Michael whispered, and wrapped his arms around me, the sequins mildly scratching my skin.
His touch was so kind, his body smelling of a just a hint of musky cologne.
His soft lips pecked at mine, almost fearfully for a while.
The pecks soon melted away, as true, long, deep kisses took their place.
Michael’s mouth was more intoxicating that a bathtub of bootleg whiskey.
I encircled my arms around his waist, my hands finding their homes on each of Michael’s sinewy buttocks. I even fingered the jeweled line.
“Oh gosh!” Michael gasped into my mouth as his continued to kiss me.
His tongue picked at mine for a moment and my knees weakened at the effect.
Drawing his mouth from mine, Michael stooped and quickly picked me up, cradling me in his arms like an infant.
“Oh Mike, Honey.” I tittered, wrapping my arms around his sweet neck.
He carried me and gently laid me on the bed, rose petals soundlessly being crushed under me.
I nibbled nervously on my own lips as Michael dropped his jacket to the floor.
The only thing separating us from nudity was the sparkly tissue of a thong.
“I want to love you…” Michael announced, crawling across the petals to me. “…until I don’t know how.”
Michael giggled and pushed my back against the pillows, making my chest pop up.
He bit his glove off and threw it across the room.
“Hee-hee. I love you boobies, Brynn.” He confided as his hands slid over them and began to gingerly massage them. “They’re so cute.”
Once again, goose pimples appeared all over my body at his touch.
“Mike…”I whimpered and rubbed his long ponytail as he bounced them.
Oh, I wanted this man to “wreck” me.
An intelligible shriek escaped me as Michael leaned and began kissing on them, his tongue darting out ever so often to meet my nipples, standing at full attention.
“Please!” I groaned and Michael’s mouth continued to peck and pick around my bosom.
As he continued to smooch away, I felt one of Michael’s hands finding a new residence in my undies, his fingers seeking out my special areas.
He tapped my love button several times.
“No…please.” I whimpered, covering my face with my hands and trembling against the pillows.
“You’re still so tight, Baby.” Michael chuckled, raising his mouth and sucking on my neck.
“I’ll fix that.”
Leaning off of me, Michael deftly stripped me of my underwear, dropping them to the floor alongside the bed.
I was once again nude.
In front of Michael Jackson.
The red hot lover.
I watched, speechless, as Michael stood and removed his own underwear.
Michael’s “little” (or large rather) Jackson was saluting me, and was the same shade of blushing pink as the rose I had found earlier.
I was ready, raw and burning for Michael.
I started to part my legs for him.
Time to get this party started.
“Brynn! No!” Michael reached out and grabbed onto my knee.
“Not like that. Turn over.”
“What?” I shook my head, not fully understanding him.
Michael Jackson…
Want to do me…
From behind?
“I said ‘turn over‘.” Michael repeated, his neck and shoulders beginning to glow red.
Nodding, I obeyed, rolling onto my stomach.
“You’ve never wanted to do this before…Michael.” I said, feeling a surge of heat.
I was so excited, I was shaking. I had seen Michael get dirty, but not like this.
“I know…I wanted to do something different.” Michael hee-hee‘d.
He definitely had his “freaky” hat on and I hoped he never took it off!
Michael, leaned over me and tucked a pillow under my chest.
The bed squeaked as he climbed in behind me, his ample genitals bopping against bottom, sending electricity through me.
Michael’s lips touched my ear again as spoke.
“I love you…”
Famous last words.
I screamed as Michael entered me with such force, I flew face first into the pillows.
Had he somehow managed to get even bigger?
As Michael steadied himself behind me, his thrusts, once soft and tender, turned to pounding.
“Michael…! Michael! Oh no! Mike!” I wailed as Michael placed his hands around my hips, drawing me up and down on him.
More than once I felt the rude sting of him slapping my bottom.
The sting made me even crazier with carnal pleasure.
He could have beat me with nun-chucks and I would have been happy.
“Michael!” I moaned as I felt him leaning onto my back, his head a few inches above mine.
I felt a nail break as I clutched onto the pillow under me for dear life.
Then Michael found his zone of true, unabashed sexiness.
“Who’s Bad?” Michael asked suddenly, voice heavy with grunts of his own.
“Ugh…” I sighed twisting under him.
“Who’s Bad, Baby? Who’s Bad?” Michael yanked my hair, bringing my head up. “Tell me!…Oh!” He demanded.
“You…” I felt tears streaming out of my eyes and meeting under my chin.
“Who?” Michael gasped. “Ugh!”
“You are!” I screeched, starting to feel myself giving into the heat of the passion.
Another stinging slap to the ass.
Droplets of sweat dropped off Michael and onto my back and neck.
Unable to control myself, I squealed,
“Fuck me Michael!”
To which Michael, even in a torrent of hot and heavy nastiness, noted,
“I don’t fuck…I make love!”
His hips began flopping against my buttocks wildly.
“Oh…oh! Ugh! Damn! Oh!” Michael whined, and I felt his hands slipping up my perspiring back to grip my shoulders tightly.
His hands dropped down and cupped my breasts again.
Michael pulled me up until I almost stood on my knees.
With a wild cry, Michael pulled himself from me, his love soiling the sheets.
“I love you!” Michael declared, pulling me tightly against his wet body.
Sobbing, I managed to get out,
“I love you too Michael! I love you!”
As Michael kissed at my wet neck, I knew that he was the one I truly loved.
And I knew he loved me.
“Brynn…” Michael’s voice trailed off, shyly as he pulled me off the bed into a full standing position.
“Yes Michael?” I struggled to catch my breath.
“Um…” Michael let go of me and walked around me, a small smirk on his face. “I wanted to try something else. If you want to, of course.”
From his head to his waist, Michael was flushed.
He was so pretty.
Michael had me so wrapped up and hyped that I would have done just about anything he wanted.
I was at his disposal.
“What did you want to try?” I giggled, running a hand through my tangled hair.
Michael’s tight little ass bounced as he walked across the room and sat in an overstuffed arm chair.
“I want you to uh, hee-hee.” Michael pointed down at his groin.
I stared at Michael, stunned.
Did Michael Jackson, the king of all things conservative really want me to… “go down” on him?
“Are you serious?” I squinted at him, wondering if he was joking.
For Christ sakes, the man couldn’t even say ‘titties’!
The smile on Michael’s face formed a straight line and his eyes glazed over with worry.
“Oh… Brynn! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to offend you!” Michael blabbered, clearly embarrassed. He rested his head in his hands.
“Mike…” I flaunted over to him and knelt before him.
“Huh?” He peeked at me from around his fingers.
It turned me on even more when Michael was withdrawn to the point where it was almost painful.
Taking hold of his male member and resting it between my breasts, I whispered luridly,
“I want to do it.”
“Woo…” Michael covered his face with one of his hands. “Are you sure? I won’t force you.”
He was so meek.
“Yeah.” I smiled up at him. “I’m sure.”
Lifting Michael’s thin legs, I parted them and set them so that they hung over each arm of the chair.
“Gosh!” Michael exclaimed as I bent and softly pecked at his “soul pole”.
As went after his, making sure I was gentle as possible, I stole a peek up at Michael.
His head was tossed back, mouth opening and closing in silent screams.
“Oh God! Oh…! Baby!” Michael gasped, placing his hand in my hair and pulling down on to him more.
His little booty was wiggling with ecstasy.
His groin smelled heavily of this musky, woodsy cologne.
He was so sweet and lovely.
“Damn! Brynn! Whoa!” Michael was tugging on hair hard and my scalp was actually starting to go numb.
I tickled at his pink “jewels”.
Michael’s moans and groans were escalating in pitch and decibels as I continued suckling and feeding off of him.
“Love me…” Michael begged weakly, his hands tremoring in my hair.
Michael was rocking and nearly kicking in the chair, sinking down so low that he was actually starting to slide out of the seat and onto the floor with me.
His face was contorted, beet red, and his teeth were grinding loudly.
He was close to the end, so very, very close. I could tell by the way he was rattling.
“Aaow…shit!” Michael screamed suddenly and with a sharp tug, pulled my head away from him.
A hot dampness covered my neck and chest.
He sank into a pile of nude flesh in front of me, covering his head with his arms.
Spent.
I glanced down at myself; Michael’s love was dripping down me.
“Michael…” I pouted, not really angry. “…you got me all wet.”
Michael chuckled from under his arms and slowly got into a seated position, facing me.
“That’s my job…” He tapped my chin with soggy fingertips, “I’m your man.”
We both laughed.
Michael Jackson was indeed The Man.
Little did I know that soon I would get more trouble from The Other Man.
* * *
The Next Morning
“…I always love looking at you when the sun is coming up…”
Michael whispered, gently brushing a strand of hair o ff my forehead.
“Really? Why?” I sighed happily, wrapping my arms around his nude torso and snuggling closer to him under the covers.
Behind us, the first rays of light were peeking around our closed curtains, sending shafts around the room.
“It makes the day the best ever and I get to feel that way every morning, Honey.” Michael rubbed my shoulder. “I have a calendar of best days ever.”
I giggled. “You’re too sweet.” I looked up at Michael.
His dark eyes were watching me intently.
Lovingly.
Michael’s eyes always read his emotions.
And this morning, Michael oozed love.
“Do you have to go to a meeting today?” I questioned, tracing the pink flesh around Michael’s left nipple absently.
It felt so good to be held, just the two of us alone in a soft bed.
It was almost as if the world could cease spinning; time stood still when I was with Michael.
Michael smiled sheepishly. “No, one of the executives had to go out of town and won’t be back until Monday, so you have me for the rest of the week.” He tapped the tip of my nose with a long index finger.
“That’s good.” I hugged Michael tightly and kissed his neck.
I felt Michael running his hand down my back. He eventually cupped my bottom.
Even though Michael was showing me enough sweetness to give me a toothache, there was a thought that had been nagging at me since the day before.
“Michael…” I paused, trying to organize the question just right in my head.
“Yes?” Michael looked down at me. “What is it Brynn?”
“About last night…what I did to you…um…” I stared of across the room, a sudden shame blazing across me.
“You mean the, uh, going down?” Michael questioned with a small chuckle, twirling a lock of my hair.
“Yeah.” This was hard. “I know that I did that to you last night, and I just don’t want you to think any less of me. I know that’s a pretty…dirty thing to do and I’m not the kind of girl who just goes and does that with anyone.”
I puffed.
“Just you and Prince” I added in my mind bitterly.
I just couldn’t get my mind around the idea that I managed to put my lips anywhere near Prince’s genitals and then went to Michael. And now I had done the same to Michael--made a meal of him.
“Brynn, I know you’re not that kind of girl.” Michael pulled himself into a seated position, and ran a hand through his own tangled mane.
“You’re nice and sweet. And it’s okay if we do some naughty stuff. We’re a couple, we can.” Michael nodded. “I like to get naughty sometimes.”
Since when was one plus one plus one just a couple?
I turned away; I suddenly couldn’t bring myself to look at Michael.
“Are…are you mad at me?” Michael’s voice was barely perceptible.
A wave of shock hit me. Michael thought I was mad at him?
I glanced over my shoulder.
Michael’s dark eyes were rapidly turning red.
Michael Jackson was crying!
“Michael! No! I’m not mad at you! I just didn’t want you to be mad at me!” I gushed and quickly reached out and embraced him. “Don’t cry, please!”
“I…I don’t want you to think that I’m using you or taking advantage of you. I’m not. I love you. I really do love you.” Michael’s voice broke tearfully. “I’d never do anything to hurt you. I swear.” A tear tumbled down Michael’s cheek. “I just wanted to do something different and special.” He hung his head.
“It was special!” The situation was rapidly spinning out of control. I had forgotten how sensitive a man Michael was.
I grasped his hands in my own.
“Michael, it was special. Every moment with you is special.” I said quietly, truly meaning every word.
“Really?” Michael peeked at me through his hair. He sniffled.
“Yes, really.” I reached up and tucked his hair behind his ear, exposing his wonderful, creamy face.
I leaned and kissed Michael’s damp cheek.
“Oooh!” Michael wrapped his arms around me, resting his head on my shoulder and laughed, happy and relieved.
A tear streamed down my own cheek.
Not from knowing that Michael loved me.
But from knowing how I was hurting him.
* * *
“…the wheels on the bus go ‘round and round….the wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round…all through the town…”
I was roused by the sounds of the little childish tune playing.
I sat up in the bed and it was several moments before it came to me as to where I actually was.
As I glanced around in the dusky light from shaded windows, I caught sight of several posters tacked to the walls.
Transformers, The Wiggles, a poster of Kelly Clarkson…
This wasn’t the room I shared with Michael in the master suite.
I glanced down and saw that I was covered by a small quilt embroidered with little yellow ducks.
I was in Blanket’s bed.
Over the last few nights, Michael and Rusty had been clocking extremely long hours in the city wheeling and dealing on the Not Over single.
Michael would often be gone before I awoke in the morning and wouldn’t be back until after I had gone back to sleep.
And I was once again left with the task of watching over the Jackson Trio.
But luckily I had Taryll along with me to help.
It was a full time job trying to keep Paris from all things caffienated and Blanket from jumping on and/or off of the furniture.
And Prince kept to himself a bit, playing with a Game Boy system to the point his thumbs had little blisters on them!
I chuckled to myself, remembering how I had ended up in Blanket’s bed.
The night before, Taryll and I had somehow, by the grace of God, managed to get the Jackson Trio fed, bathed, and into bed by their eight-thirty bedtime.
Taryll and I were in the middle of a heated Poker game--for a pile of Twizzlers--when a little face had appeared next to us.
Blanket.
He claimed he didn’t want to go to sleep until someone had read a bedtime story to him.
Easier said than done.
For the next two hours, Taryll and I had to have read over fifteen little books; everything from The Little Engine That Could to Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.
I had hummed to him; Taryll sang to him.
We even sat and played Old Maid.
Eventually, Taryll went to sleep at the dining table smack in the middle of the game.
Tired myself, I picked the boy up--Blanket, not Taryll!--and put him bed, vowing that I wouldn’t leave until he dozed off.
I think I dozed off before the child did!
Rolling over, I expected to see a snoozing Blanket next to me.
I was surprised to find that, lying on the pillow next to me, was a blush pink rose.
Nestled under the rose a little note written on a sheet of thick, almost lacy paper that matched the rose.
In the dim light I quickly made out Michael’s tiny script on it:
Honey,
I know that you’ve been busy taking care of the children these last few days and I truly appreciate it. There’s a special gift for you in our room.
Michael
A special gift? For me?
Oh Michael was kind beyond words!
Intrigued, I hopped out of the bed, rose in one hand, note in the other, and jogged across the room, wondering what my gift was.
Michael had already given me so many things, his most impressive so far being a king’s ransom in jewelry. If the man had bought me a Lear Jet, I’d just go ahead and faint!
I flung open the doors to Blanket’s room and immediately felt my heart swelling.
“Oh my God!” I whispered, putting my hands to my face.
The sight lying before me was truly one for the record books.
Extending from Blanket’s doorway to the bedroom was a path made of fresh pink rose petals, lined with tall, glowing, lit pink and red candles.
The petals sparkled with silver and gold glitter.
The entire room was filled with the scent of light rosewater.
I jumped slightly as the sound of soft music began playing.
Regaining my composure, I recognized the melody as an instrumental version of Billie Jean.
The music was coming from behind the closed door to the bedroom.
Excited and giddy, I tiptoed, barefoot across the petals to the bedroom door, careful to keep the hem of my nightgown free of the flames.
I timidly tapped the door.
“Michael?” I called softly, curiosity burning in me.
“You may enter…hee-hee.” Came the reply.
My hands trembled as I turned the brass knobs and pushed the doors open.
All the air in my lungs whooshed out at the sight that met my eyes.
Lying on a bed covered with rose petals, perched on a stack of throw pillows, was Michael Jackson.
He was truly a beautiful vision in a somewhat erotic take on his traditional Billie Jean ensemble.
Setting on his head, and pulled down to cover his eyes, was a black fedora. A large peacock shaped pin was hooked to the side of it and caught the candle light.
Michael’s slim, sexy frame was clad in a black sequined jacket, but wore no shirt under it.
His sleek, soft, tantalizing alabaster skin shimmered.
A pink nipple peeked out from behind the cloth.
As my eyes traveled down his body, a gasp caught in my throat.
Michael’s privates were just barely covered by a scrap of white cloth, fashioned as a pair of bikini style underwear and was studded with rhinestones.
His right hand, encapsulated with a glove that matched the underwear, rested on his bare, milky thigh. His feet featured bespangled socks and shiny black loafers.
The shoes had to be brand new; they showed no signs of wear on the bottoms.
“Michael!” I exclaimed, hands to my face again, completely stunned.
Shocked.
Astonished.
Arousal hit me like an A-bomb.
Oh, I was burning.
The instrumental continued to play.
Silently, Michael slid from the bed and began walking towards me.
Every step was deliberate, his long body swaggering and swaying.
Michael’s crotch gently swung.
His head was still lowered.
Stopping a few feet in front me, Michael tucked his bare hand behind his head, the gloved hand pointing at me and quickly swirled into a spin.
As he twirled before me, I made another shocking discovery:
Michael wasn’t wearing bikini underwear; he was wearing a thong!
A jeweled line glittered from between his soft, luminescent cheeks.
I leaned against the door frame for support.
Popping his long, lean legs back and forth, Michael scooted side to side in front of me, his gloved hand wigging over his flapping groin.
His leg kicked, and for a second, a soft pink jewel was exposed.
Instantly, Michael was back in the beginning position, a grin creasing his features.
“Hi Sweetie.” Michael murmured sheepishly, whisking his hat off and tossing it over my head and into the front foyer.
Michael’s long locks had been slicked back into a ponytail, making his taut, chiseled face stand out all the more.
His eyes, lightly lined in Kohl, shined under his perfectly arched brows.
His lips, bending up into a wide smile, were a bright juicy red.
“Oh God, Mike!” I squeaked, my heart throbbing in my chest.
The man was sexy personified.
Taking my rattling hands, Michael continued talking in a shy falsetto.
“You look so gorgeous, Brynn. I’ve missed you so much these last few days…and nights.”
“I…I missed you too.” I whispered as Michael pulled me against, his soft, precious chest in a strong hug.
“Honey…” Michael’s soft lips brushed my lobe and I feared I’d soil myself.
“I want to make love to you.” He confided, his voice dropping in octaves.
He leaned back, his warm eyes searching out mine.
“You want to make love to me?” I giggled, a rush of horniness washing over me.
Biting his bottom lip, Michael nodded, “Mmm-hmm!”
Pulling me forward a bit, Michael closed and locked the doors behind me.
Michael gave me a bashful grin,
“I sent Rusty, Taryll and the kids to a huge film festival, they won’t be back until late. I’ve got you to myself.” Michael rubbed his large hands together greedily.
I looked at my feet, a sudden shyness taking me.
I wondered just what Mr. Jackson had in mind for me.
And I was dying to find out!
I became aware of Michael’s hands on my shoulders, pushing aside the thin straps of my green nightgown.
A moment later, my gown fell at my feet.
I stood before Michael, in nothing more than a pair of mint green and white dotted panties.
“You are so beautiful.” Michael whispered, and wrapped his arms around me, the sequins mildly scratching my skin.
His touch was so kind, his body smelling of a just a hint of musky cologne.
His soft lips pecked at mine, almost fearfully for a while.
The pecks soon melted away, as true, long, deep kisses took their place.
Michael’s mouth was more intoxicating that a bathtub of bootleg whiskey.
I encircled my arms around his waist, my hands finding their homes on each of Michael’s sinewy buttocks. I even fingered the jeweled line.
“Oh gosh!” Michael gasped into my mouth as his continued to kiss me.
His tongue picked at mine for a moment and my knees weakened at the effect.
Drawing his mouth from mine, Michael stooped and quickly picked me up, cradling me in his arms like an infant.
“Oh Mike, Honey.” I tittered, wrapping my arms around his sweet neck.
He carried me and gently laid me on the bed, rose petals soundlessly being crushed under me.
I nibbled nervously on my own lips as Michael dropped his jacket to the floor.
The only thing separating us from nudity was the sparkly tissue of a thong.
“I want to love you…” Michael announced, crawling across the petals to me. “…until I don’t know how.”
Michael giggled and pushed my back against the pillows, making my chest pop up.
He bit his glove off and threw it across the room.
“Hee-hee. I love you boobies, Brynn.” He confided as his hands slid over them and began to gingerly massage them. “They’re so cute.”
Once again, goose pimples appeared all over my body at his touch.
“Mike…”I whimpered and rubbed his long ponytail as he bounced them.
Oh, I wanted this man to “wreck” me.
An intelligible shriek escaped me as Michael leaned and began kissing on them, his tongue darting out ever so often to meet my nipples, standing at full attention.
“Please!” I groaned and Michael’s mouth continued to peck and pick around my bosom.
As he continued to smooch away, I felt one of Michael’s hands finding a new residence in my undies, his fingers seeking out my special areas.
He tapped my love button several times.
“No…please.” I whimpered, covering my face with my hands and trembling against the pillows.
“You’re still so tight, Baby.” Michael chuckled, raising his mouth and sucking on my neck.
“I’ll fix that.”
Leaning off of me, Michael deftly stripped me of my underwear, dropping them to the floor alongside the bed.
I was once again nude.
In front of Michael Jackson.
The red hot lover.
I watched, speechless, as Michael stood and removed his own underwear.
Michael’s “little” (or large rather) Jackson was saluting me, and was the same shade of blushing pink as the rose I had found earlier.
I was ready, raw and burning for Michael.
I started to part my legs for him.
Time to get this party started.
“Brynn! No!” Michael reached out and grabbed onto my knee.
“Not like that. Turn over.”
“What?” I shook my head, not fully understanding him.
Michael Jackson…
Want to do me…
From behind?
“I said ‘turn over‘.” Michael repeated, his neck and shoulders beginning to glow red.
Nodding, I obeyed, rolling onto my stomach.
“You’ve never wanted to do this before…Michael.” I said, feeling a surge of heat.
I was so excited, I was shaking. I had seen Michael get dirty, but not like this.
“I know…I wanted to do something different.” Michael hee-hee‘d.
He definitely had his “freaky” hat on and I hoped he never took it off!
Michael, leaned over me and tucked a pillow under my chest.
The bed squeaked as he climbed in behind me, his ample genitals bopping against bottom, sending electricity through me.
Michael’s lips touched my ear again as spoke.
“I love you…”
Famous last words.
I screamed as Michael entered me with such force, I flew face first into the pillows.
Had he somehow managed to get even bigger?
As Michael steadied himself behind me, his thrusts, once soft and tender, turned to pounding.
“Michael…! Michael! Oh no! Mike!” I wailed as Michael placed his hands around my hips, drawing me up and down on him.
More than once I felt the rude sting of him slapping my bottom.
The sting made me even crazier with carnal pleasure.
He could have beat me with nun-chucks and I would have been happy.
“Michael!” I moaned as I felt him leaning onto my back, his head a few inches above mine.
I felt a nail break as I clutched onto the pillow under me for dear life.
Then Michael found his zone of true, unabashed sexiness.
“Who’s Bad?” Michael asked suddenly, voice heavy with grunts of his own.
“Ugh…” I sighed twisting under him.
“Who’s Bad, Baby? Who’s Bad?” Michael yanked my hair, bringing my head up. “Tell me!…Oh!” He demanded.
“You…” I felt tears streaming out of my eyes and meeting under my chin.
“Who?” Michael gasped. “Ugh!”
“You are!” I screeched, starting to feel myself giving into the heat of the passion.
Another stinging slap to the ass.
Droplets of sweat dropped off Michael and onto my back and neck.
Unable to control myself, I squealed,
“Fuck me Michael!”
To which Michael, even in a torrent of hot and heavy nastiness, noted,
“I don’t fuck…I make love!”
His hips began flopping against my buttocks wildly.
“Oh…oh! Ugh! Damn! Oh!” Michael whined, and I felt his hands slipping up my perspiring back to grip my shoulders tightly.
His hands dropped down and cupped my breasts again.
Michael pulled me up until I almost stood on my knees.
With a wild cry, Michael pulled himself from me, his love soiling the sheets.
“I love you!” Michael declared, pulling me tightly against his wet body.
Sobbing, I managed to get out,
“I love you too Michael! I love you!”
As Michael kissed at my wet neck, I knew that he was the one I truly loved.
And I knew he loved me.
“Brynn…” Michael’s voice trailed off, shyly as he pulled me off the bed into a full standing position.
“Yes Michael?” I struggled to catch my breath.
“Um…” Michael let go of me and walked around me, a small smirk on his face. “I wanted to try something else. If you want to, of course.”
From his head to his waist, Michael was flushed.
He was so pretty.
Michael had me so wrapped up and hyped that I would have done just about anything he wanted.
I was at his disposal.
“What did you want to try?” I giggled, running a hand through my tangled hair.
Michael’s tight little ass bounced as he walked across the room and sat in an overstuffed arm chair.
“I want you to uh, hee-hee.” Michael pointed down at his groin.
I stared at Michael, stunned.
Did Michael Jackson, the king of all things conservative really want me to… “go down” on him?
“Are you serious?” I squinted at him, wondering if he was joking.
For Christ sakes, the man couldn’t even say ‘titties’!
The smile on Michael’s face formed a straight line and his eyes glazed over with worry.
“Oh… Brynn! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to offend you!” Michael blabbered, clearly embarrassed. He rested his head in his hands.
“Mike…” I flaunted over to him and knelt before him.
“Huh?” He peeked at me from around his fingers.
It turned me on even more when Michael was withdrawn to the point where it was almost painful.
Taking hold of his male member and resting it between my breasts, I whispered luridly,
“I want to do it.”
“Woo…” Michael covered his face with one of his hands. “Are you sure? I won’t force you.”
He was so meek.
“Yeah.” I smiled up at him. “I’m sure.”
Lifting Michael’s thin legs, I parted them and set them so that they hung over each arm of the chair.
“Gosh!” Michael exclaimed as I bent and softly pecked at his “soul pole”.
As went after his, making sure I was gentle as possible, I stole a peek up at Michael.
His head was tossed back, mouth opening and closing in silent screams.
“Oh God! Oh…! Baby!” Michael gasped, placing his hand in my hair and pulling down on to him more.
His little booty was wiggling with ecstasy.
His groin smelled heavily of this musky, woodsy cologne.
He was so sweet and lovely.
“Damn! Brynn! Whoa!” Michael was tugging on hair hard and my scalp was actually starting to go numb.
I tickled at his pink “jewels”.
Michael’s moans and groans were escalating in pitch and decibels as I continued suckling and feeding off of him.
“Love me…” Michael begged weakly, his hands tremoring in my hair.
Michael was rocking and nearly kicking in the chair, sinking down so low that he was actually starting to slide out of the seat and onto the floor with me.
His face was contorted, beet red, and his teeth were grinding loudly.
He was close to the end, so very, very close. I could tell by the way he was rattling.
“Aaow…shit!” Michael screamed suddenly and with a sharp tug, pulled my head away from him.
A hot dampness covered my neck and chest.
He sank into a pile of nude flesh in front of me, covering his head with his arms.
Spent.
I glanced down at myself; Michael’s love was dripping down me.
“Michael…” I pouted, not really angry. “…you got me all wet.”
Michael chuckled from under his arms and slowly got into a seated position, facing me.
“That’s my job…” He tapped my chin with soggy fingertips, “I’m your man.”
We both laughed.
Michael Jackson was indeed The Man.
Little did I know that soon I would get more trouble from The Other Man.
* * *
The Next Morning
“…I always love looking at you when the sun is coming up…”
Michael whispered, gently brushing a strand of hair o ff my forehead.
“Really? Why?” I sighed happily, wrapping my arms around his nude torso and snuggling closer to him under the covers.
Behind us, the first rays of light were peeking around our closed curtains, sending shafts around the room.
“It makes the day the best ever and I get to feel that way every morning, Honey.” Michael rubbed my shoulder. “I have a calendar of best days ever.”
I giggled. “You’re too sweet.” I looked up at Michael.
His dark eyes were watching me intently.
Lovingly.
Michael’s eyes always read his emotions.
And this morning, Michael oozed love.
“Do you have to go to a meeting today?” I questioned, tracing the pink flesh around Michael’s left nipple absently.
It felt so good to be held, just the two of us alone in a soft bed.
It was almost as if the world could cease spinning; time stood still when I was with Michael.
Michael smiled sheepishly. “No, one of the executives had to go out of town and won’t be back until Monday, so you have me for the rest of the week.” He tapped the tip of my nose with a long index finger.
“That’s good.” I hugged Michael tightly and kissed his neck.
I felt Michael running his hand down my back. He eventually cupped my bottom.
Even though Michael was showing me enough sweetness to give me a toothache, there was a thought that had been nagging at me since the day before.
“Michael…” I paused, trying to organize the question just right in my head.
“Yes?” Michael looked down at me. “What is it Brynn?”
“About last night…what I did to you…um…” I stared of across the room, a sudden shame blazing across me.
“You mean the, uh, going down?” Michael questioned with a small chuckle, twirling a lock of my hair.
“Yeah.” This was hard. “I know that I did that to you last night, and I just don’t want you to think any less of me. I know that’s a pretty…dirty thing to do and I’m not the kind of girl who just goes and does that with anyone.”
I puffed.
“Just you and Prince” I added in my mind bitterly.
I just couldn’t get my mind around the idea that I managed to put my lips anywhere near Prince’s genitals and then went to Michael. And now I had done the same to Michael--made a meal of him.
“Brynn, I know you’re not that kind of girl.” Michael pulled himself into a seated position, and ran a hand through his own tangled mane.
“You’re nice and sweet. And it’s okay if we do some naughty stuff. We’re a couple, we can.” Michael nodded. “I like to get naughty sometimes.”
Since when was one plus one plus one just a couple?
I turned away; I suddenly couldn’t bring myself to look at Michael.
“Are…are you mad at me?” Michael’s voice was barely perceptible.
A wave of shock hit me. Michael thought I was mad at him?
I glanced over my shoulder.
Michael’s dark eyes were rapidly turning red.
Michael Jackson was crying!
“Michael! No! I’m not mad at you! I just didn’t want you to be mad at me!” I gushed and quickly reached out and embraced him. “Don’t cry, please!”
“I…I don’t want you to think that I’m using you or taking advantage of you. I’m not. I love you. I really do love you.” Michael’s voice broke tearfully. “I’d never do anything to hurt you. I swear.” A tear tumbled down Michael’s cheek. “I just wanted to do something different and special.” He hung his head.
“It was special!” The situation was rapidly spinning out of control. I had forgotten how sensitive a man Michael was.
I grasped his hands in my own.
“Michael, it was special. Every moment with you is special.” I said quietly, truly meaning every word.
“Really?” Michael peeked at me through his hair. He sniffled.
“Yes, really.” I reached up and tucked his hair behind his ear, exposing his wonderful, creamy face.
I leaned and kissed Michael’s damp cheek.
“Oooh!” Michael wrapped his arms around me, resting his head on my shoulder and laughed, happy and relieved.
A tear streamed down my own cheek.
Not from knowing that Michael loved me.
But from knowing how I was hurting him.
* * *
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)