Chapter 31

　

A Few Days Later

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

* * *

Two Hours Later

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

* * *

Nearly An Hour Later

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

* * *

Sometime Later

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

　

Chapter 30

The Next Day
Somewhere Downtown
San Diego, California

“Are you nervous at all?” Michael questioned shyly, patting at my hand.
Michael, Rusty, and I were all crammed into the back of Michael’s black SUV, en route to St. Matthew’s Children’s Hospital.
“No, not really.” I offered him a wide smile. “Are you?”
Michael returned my grin with one of his own. “Uh-uh!”
Rusty was on his own planet, chatting on his Blackberry.
Michael was dressed beautifully in a black blazer that featured two sterling silver buckles on the right shoulder and a royal blue band around the right bicep. Under the jacket, he wore a matching royal shirt, a diamond studded pin in the shape of an “M” at his throat. A pair of black pants with buckles down the legs and simple black boots completed the look.
His hair, in loose, springy curls, tumbled around his face and about his shoulders.
Dark glasses hid his eyes.
“Mike.” Rusty called, finally putting the doohickey down.
“I just got off the phone with Sister Mary Agnes--she says that they’re all ready for you at the hospital. We should be there in a few minutes.” He informed us The toys are bagged up and ready to be passed out. Candy too.
“How’s the security look? I don’t want a repeat of Aiken’s.” Michael cautioned.
I nodded, I didn’t feel like having Rusty carry me, anywhere.
“It’s perfect Michael. A few cop cars will be cruising around the hospital about every fifteen minutes and there’s two cops at every entrance and exit. It’s tight. Really tight.” Rusty smiled, smoothing the front of the navy suit he wore.
“And is Sam there?” Michael patting the tip of his nose.
“Yes, Michael, your videographer is there. Sister Mary Agnes says he got there about an hour ago.” Rusty nodded.
“That’s the man with the gold tooth, right?” I giggled, hugging Michael’s arm.
“That’s right, you met him a while back.” He smiled.
“Mike, what’s your story about Brynn?” Rusty questioned, glancing at me. “The Taryll thing?”
“Nope, just say she’s a friend.” Michael replied coolly, reaching down and taking a sip from the bottle of water that was at his feet.
“Do I look okay?” I wondered, wanting Michael’s approval. I wore the pink wrap dress he’d selected, paired with my cross necklace and a pair of heels that matched my dress. A pair of small diamond hoops and a diamond ring--on my right hand--rounded out my outfit.
My hair was smooth and was tucked back behind one ear.
I held my little red camera in my hands, ready to snap photos as keepsakes for the children.
(And of course, I was wearing make up!)
“You look wonderful. Stunning.” Michael assured me and pecked my forehead gently.
“There’s St. Matthew’s!” Rusty proclaimed, pointing.
Looking ahead, past him and through the windshield, I saw a small building coming over the horizon.
St. Matthew’s Children’s Hospital was comprised of a somewhat large square shaped, grey two story bricked building.
I saw that the front entrance was accented by two columns made of glass cubes. A policeman was leaning against each cube column.
As we pulled into the parking lot and up the door, a person came rushing out the door.
A nun.
As a policeman opened the door to the SUV and helped, Michael, Rusty and me out, the nun darted at Michael.
“Good Morning Mr. Jackson! Hello! I’m Sister Mary Agnes!” She exclaimed grabbing onto Michael’s hand and giving it a firm shake.
“It is such a pleasure to meet you!”
Sister Mary Agnes appeared to be in his early to mid-sixties. She was a pretty, rotund woman with a jolly red face, and dancing eyes that were more grey than green, behind a pair of wide rimmed, tortoise shell glasses.
She wore a simple brown habit. A wooden crucifix hung from around her neck.
“Hello Sister Mary Agnes. It’s wonderful to meet you too.” Michael’s voice slipped into its shy falsetto.
“This is my assistant, Rusty Ross--” Michael pointed at Rusty.
“It’s so nice to finally meet the voice I’ve spoken to for so long!” Sister Mary Agnes doled out another firm handshake.
“And this is my friend, Brynn McAllister. She wanted to come and help out with the toys and everything.” Michael patted my shoulder.
“Hello Sister.” I smiled as she shook my hand, hard.
I hid my pain with another smile.
“Please, Mr. Jackson, Mr. Ross, Miss McAllister, please come in and follow me!” Sister Mary Agnes swung around and led us into the hospital.
The cops were grinning like Cheshire cats at Michael. I knew they were excited to see a supernova go by.
I was surprised. I expected St. Matthew’s to be a desolate place, that would probably reek of the scent of antiseptic.
Instead, the entire place was painted a pleasing shade of pale blue and in the center of the entrance walk way was a large porcelain statue of Jesus with open arms. As we passed by it, I read the little plaque placed at Christ’s feet:
“No Prayer Goes Unheard, No Cry Goes Unanswered.”
And the place smelled like sugar cookies.
“Mr. Jackson. Our first floor is primarily for children in intensive care--we can hold up to fifteen children in the ICU, but thank the Good Lord, the ICU is empty at the present time. There are not children that sick.” Sister Mary Agnes grinned.
“That’s a blessing.” Michael agreed with a nod.
“Our general hospital area is on the second floor. It’s a big open space, so there’ll be plenty of room to go around and pass out toys and things of the like. We are so very glad that you want to help us.” Sister Mary Agnes stared at Michael with eyes flooding over with thankfulness.
“Think nothing of it. I live for this sort of thing. To help the children.” Michael gripped my hand loosely.
“Oh, and we absolutely adore the banner that your children did Mr. Jackson! It’s so beautiful! We hung it up right away!” The nun led us to an already summoned elevator.
“Oh I’m glad you like it. They wanted to help.” Michael smiled happily, as we piled onto the elevator and started to make our ascent.
“Bless their hearts!” Sister Mary Agnes clutched a hand to her ample bosom, and sighed at the Jackson Trio’s thoughtfulness.
The elevator came to a rest on the top floor and the doors popped open.
A familiar figure awaited us.
Sam the videographer.
“Hello Michael!” He called as we stepped off, focusing his large camera on us.
“Hi Sam.” Michael laughed as I waved.
“Mr. Jackson, all the toys are outside of the main ward as you can see.” Sister Mary Agnes pointed out as we rounded a corner.
“Everyone is inside, nobody knows that you’re here--they’ll be so surprised!”
Next to a set of closed blue metal doors and under a portrait of late Pope John Paul II was a huge cart loaded down with toys and goody bags.
“Gosh there’s so much stuff!” I gasped.
Had Toys ’R’ Us emptied out their entire inventory for Michael?
“I’ll push the cart.” Rusty volunteered getting behind it.
“Mr. Jackson was very generous.” Sister Mary Agnes boasted.
“Extremely.” Rusty huffed and I stomped on his foot.
I had seen the check that paid for the toys. The signature on the bottom of it read as “Michael Jackson” not “Russell Ross”.
“Please wait here, while I announce you!” Sister Mary Agnes pleaded, making her way into the room.
As the door started to close, I cracked it so I could peek in. Sam just managed to get his lens in.
I could hear Michael’s song, Black or White, playing faintly.
These were really some little hardcore fans.
I glanced around the ward. Lining the walls were children in hospital beds, most appearing happy at the sight of Sister Mary Agnes. Most of them appeared to have just broken limbs; a lot of them had their arms and/or legs in slings.
Next to each kid was at least one parent.
I saw that the Jackson Trio’s was hanging in a corner.
A little girl, about six years old, in the bed closest to the door, with her arm in a hot pink cast, waved her good hand at me.
I smiled at her and waved back.
“Everyone! Everyone! Please listen to me! I have an announcement. Turn that radio off!” Sister Mary Agnes was waving her hands around like a madwoman.
“As many of you know, last week, I reached out to the organization, Heal The World, in regards to seeing if I could get singer Michael Jackson to come and visit us--”
“Did you get him? I want to meet Michael Jackson!” A child stated from somewhere.
“This is gonna make their century.” I whispered, giddy as Michael took his place right outside the door, just out of view.
He just chuckled. I knew he was excited.
“This is too cute!” Sam commented.
“Well…” Sister Mary Agnes made her way to the door. “No.”
As disappointed chatter sprang up, Sister Mary Agnes flung the doors open.
“I was wrong!” She exclaimed in mock disbelief, as the disappointed chatter became cheers of glee and nearly drowned her out.
“Please welcome The King of Pop, Michael Jackson!”
Laughing and waving Michael entered the room.
“Oh my God! It’s Michael Jackson! Mommy it’s Michael! Oh wow!”
The cheers grew louder, and as Sam and I followed him in, Rusty bringing up the rear with toys, the screams grew yet louder.
I could see mothers overcome with joy, some hugging their children, and their husbands, all applauding.
Three nurses--two female, one male--stood in the far corner clapping.
“Settle down! Settle down! I have more to say!” Sister Mary Agnes tried to stop the sheer hysteria that was ensuing.
As the room started to quiet down, a little black girl, no older than twelve, with a bandage wrapped around her head, called out,
“I love you Michael!”
Automatically, Michael replied, “I love you more!” and more screams rocked the place.
“Children!” Sister Mary Agnes called sternly and order fell back into place. I wondered if she was like that nuns that had taught me in Catholic schools. The ones that talked softly and carried a big ruler.
Every child and parent were staring at Michael.
“Now Mr. Jackson was kind enough to take time out of his busy schedule to come and see you, and he has brought gifts!”
Applause.
“Mr. Jackson and his helpers, Rusty and Brynn, will be making their way around greeting each of you and hanging out gifts. Make sure you tell Mr. Jackson ‘thank you.’”
“Yes Sister Mary Agnes!” The children chorused. I was sure they couldn’t believe their luck.
Sister Mary Agnes, strolled over to me. “I’ll take the pictures for you, so you can pass out toys.” She offered, taking the camera from me.
“Okay, thank you.” I smiled, and walked over to the cart, getting a bag for two boys and a girl. (The bags were so heavy, that was all I could carry.)
I glanced over at Michael. He was across the room, giving a G.I. Joe action figure to a little boy and shaking hands with the boy’s seemingly single father.
They both seemed ecstatic.
I made my way across to the other side of the room, to the little girl I had first waved at.
“Hello Sweetheart. I’m Brynn, what’s your name?” I asked handing her the “girl’s” gift bag.
“This is Janelle.” The woman standing next to the little girl smiled. “I’m Alexia, Janelle’s mother. I just want to tell you that’s it’s so touching and means so much to both of us for Michael to be here. It really does!” The woman’s blue eyes were filled with tears of joy.
“It’s no problem. You can go tell that to Michael.” I grinned, her happy demeanor rubbing off on me.
“Oh, I can’t talk to Michael Jackson! I mean he’s Michael Jackson!” Alexia blushed, twirling her long dishwater blonde ponytail.
“You can talk to him, he’s totally normal.” I grinned.
“Look Mommy! It’s a Barbie and a Cabbage Patch doll! And candy! And a picture wow!” Janelle screamed gleefully as she ripped the Cabbage Patch Kids doll box open and hugged the toy inside.
“That’s nice.” Alexia was halfway across the room to Michael who was posing for a photo with the little girl who had told Michael she loved him.
As Janelle played with the doll, I learned that she had broken her forearm when she tumbled out of a bunk bed at a relative’s house.
“Hey thanks Miss Brynn!” Janelle exclaimed as I gave her a warm hug.
“You’re welcome Sweetie.” I grinned waving at the little girl in the next bed and searching for a little boy to give a “boy’s” bag to.
People were absolutely buzzing over Michael like bees over an orchid.
I spotted a young black boy sitting in his bed. Next to him was a boom box that was playing another MJ tune, Heartbreaker.
As I neared him, I saw that both his legs were in casts.
He was a cute little thing with a bald head, a huge eyes that were focused on Michael.
Next to him was a little white boy with a heavily freckled face and a shock of red hair. His arm was in a blue sling.
Their parents were a part of the crowd following Michael around with camera phones and telling him how they played Thriller oh so much as teens.
“Hi Dears.” I smiled slipping between their beds and handing a bag to each one.
The little redhead turned and stared at me, his pale green eyes widening at the sight of me.
“Oh man! Jonas! That lady is talking to us!” He gasped staring at the bald boy and back at me.
“I know Skylar! I know!” The bald boy, apparently Jonas replied.
“Hi. I’m Brynn.” I held my hand out to the bald child.
He just barely grabbed onto it, he seemed so shocked that I was talking to him.
“Hi! I’m Jonas Alexander Cartwright! I’m eleven!” He exclaimed, voice cracking.
“Nice to meet you Jonas Alexander Cartwright.” I shook his hand.
“And hello.” I held my hand out to the redhead, Skylar.
“Hi! I’m Skylar Dustin Brown. I’m ten! Gosh you’re pretty!” He blurted, and his face instantly matched his hair.
“Thank you!” I giggled ruffling his hair. “You’re cute too.”
“She said I was cute! Oh!” Skylar was bouncing he was so happy.
“Am I cute too?” Jonas stared up at me with begging eyes.
“Of course.” I patted his head.
Jonas laughed bashfully.
“Wow! Is that really, really Michael Jackson? That’s not a look alike?” Jonas questioned, rummaging through his bag and gazing dreamily at the autographed photo.
“Yes, that’s really, really Michael Jackson.” I winked at him.
“Brynn, does he really have that big house with an amusement park and a zoo and a movie theatre?” Skylar was almost tumbling out his bed as he leaned asking the question.
“Yes. That’s Neverland.” I nodded.
“He really lives there? That’s his house? He really bought it?” Jonas wondered, his eyes glimmering.
“Yes, he lives there. He really bought it.” I grinned and tossed my hair.
“And he had money left over?” Skylar blurted, reddening again.
These boys were too sweet.
“Yeah, he had money left over, he’s rich! Right!” Jonas reasoned.
“Right.” I smiled, taking a seat at his side.
“You’ve been to his house?” Skylar shrieked.
“Yep, plenty of times.”
“Are you Michael Jackson’s girlfriend?” Jonas asked, leaning towards me.
“Nope, just a friend.” I smiled, glad to play something that wasn’t the ’Taryll card’.
“Will you be my girlfriend?” Jonas grinned broadly. Nope this kid wasn’t pulling any punches.
“Nah, me! He snores when he sleeps!” Skylar accused.
“Do not Carrot head!” Jonas stuck his tongue out at his friend.
“I think I’m a little too old for you boys, sorry.” I gave them a sorrowful smile.
“Well, will you sign my cast? I wanna remember meeting you. I’ve never seen a lady as pretty as you, right Sky?” Jonas asked holding up a pen.
“That’s right!” Skylar agreed.
“Sure.” I took the pen and jotted on his left leg cast,
“To Jonas, All my love, Brynn McAllister.”
“Too cool!” Jonas exclaimed.
“How’d you manage to break both legs anyway?” I snickered, handing the delighted boy his pen back.
I assumed he’d had a mishap like falling out of a tree, something normal that happened to most little boys.
I stopped when I saw Jonas’ face start to droop. Next to him, Skylar was holding his face in his hands.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, hoping I hadn’t offended the children.
What Jonas told me next, struck me like an icicle through the heart.
“Um…” Jonas trailed off. “My dad ran over me with the car.”
Hugging Jonas and not really thinking, I said,
“I’m sure your father didn’t mean to accidentally hit you with the car.”
“Uh, yeah he did. He’s in jail ‘cause he hit me.” Jonas replied in my ear, squeezing me gently.
“What?” I drew back and stared at the boy.
This darling little boy’s father had hit him with a car, on purpose?
Tears of anger, and horror began springing to my eyes.
“Oh my God!” Truly mortified, and not wanting the boys to see me bawling, I turned to flee out the door.
“Brynn?” I heard Michael call as I ran from the room, sobbing.
I found the fire exit and stood in the stairwell, crying.
“Brynn? Brynn!” It was a moment before I realized there were a set of hands gently rubbing my shoulders.
I looked up to see Michael staring at me, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
Behind him, hanging in the doorway of the stairwell was Sister Mary Agnes, wringing her hands nervously.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Michael demanded, softly, wiping at my tears.
“Oh Michael! That little boy! That poor, poor, little boy!” I gasped burying my face into his chest, heaving.
“The little boy I spoke to, Jonas, he’s got two broken legs and he says his daddy is the one that broke them!” I gasped, as Michael placed his hand on the back of my head.
“Oh no!” Michael whispered. To Sister Mary Agnes he asked,
“Is she right? Does a little boy named Jonas have two broken legs because his father hurt him?”
“I’m afraid so Mr. Jackson. His father hit him with their car about a month and a half ago.” Sister Mary Agnes hung her head.
“Jonas has been in here a lot. His father was very abusive. He’s been in and out of here since he was about three. Busted lips, blackened eyes, broken bones…his father is in jail now.” She explained. “He hit Jonas with his car”
“His father hit him with a car?” Michael shrieked. “How does someone do that? How can someone be so cold and callous and evil as to hit a little boy with a car?”
Sister Mary Agnes just stared down at her feet.
She couldn’t answer.
“I want to meet Jonas right now. Right now.” Michael demanded as I came back down to earth and finally straightened myself out.
Shoulder’s square, and head up and taut, Michael started out of the room, the nun and me running behind him.
“What is he up to?” Sister Mary Agnes whispered to me as he made his way back into the ward.
“I don’ know!” I replied, swiping at my face, hoping I looked presentable.
Michael was sitting on Jonas’ bed, shaking hands with elated youngster.
Skylar was crying he was so wrapped up.
Skylar’s mother and father, a couple with hair as brilliant as their sons’ stood snapping photos.
As I stood watching Jonas converse with his idol apparent, a hand tapped my shoulder.
I turned to face a woman.
She appeared to be in her mid thirties with her reddish brown dyed hair gathered into a high ponytail. She was of the same pecan brown as Jonas’ and was giving me a sad smile.
“Hello, I’m Tequana Cartwright. I’m Jonas’ mother.” She nodded at me.
“You’re Jonas’ mother? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cry. But your little boy--his father really did those awful things to him?” I blubbered.
Tequana nodded. “As sad as it is, it is true. Jonas’ father wasn’t a good man. But he is going to be away for the rest of his life for hitting my Baby.”
“He’s so nice. I don’t’ know why anyone would want to hurt him.” I glanced back and saw that Michael was showing a group of children--Jonas included--how to do the Moonwalk. They were cheering blissfully.
“Thank you Brynn. That’s my one and only there. And the little redhead, Skylar, is his best friend. I haven’t seen my son this happy in years.” Tequana grinned. “And now for him to meet Michael Jackson, I’m surprised he isn’t floating around the room on a pink cloud.”
I watched as Michael hugged Jonas once again. Jonas grin wrapped around his head and then some.
“Tequana, your boy is floating on a cloud. Trust me, he is.” I assured her, patting her shoulder.
We smiled at each other.

* * *

That Night

I sat at the island in the kitchen, a mug of warm tea in front of me, untouched.
All I could think about was that darling little boy. I just couldn’t believe how someone could be such an asshole as to try to kill their own child.
Even when I was on the outskirts with my mother and father, I never once thought that they’d do me physical harm. I just couldn’t see how a person can purposefully harm their child and still look at themselves in the mirror.
I wouldn’t have been able to face myself.
“Brynn?”
I looked up to see Michael standing at the other end of the island, in his pajamas and slippers.
“Oh, hi Mike.” I said quietly and stared down into my mug.
“Are you still thinking about Jonas, Honey?” He asked, taking a seat on the stool next to mine.
“Yeah.” I admitted. “I mean it’s so sad. I was looking at Prince as I said goodnight to him earlier tonight, it made me think of Jonas. He and Prince are about the same age. And I just looked at Prince, Michael. Prince is such a happy boy. Never been hit in his life. I’ve never heard you raise your voice at the boy. And Jonas, that little boy has had nothing but pain all his life Michael. It’s just not fair.” I sniffed, and stared into Michael’s concerned face.
“I just feel useless. I want to do something special for him, and his little friend Skylar, the little redhead.” I sighed.
Michael ran a hand through my hair, “Well Bunny, do you think it would be nice maybe if we invited Jonas and Skylar here?” He suggested, putting his forehead against mine.
“What? Really? Michael, for real?” I questioned, not truly believing it.
“Yes. I don’t want you to feel unhappy, and if I could, I’d bring every sick and unhappy child here to forget their troubles, at least for a few hours. I’ll call Sister Mary Agnes in the morning and discuss it.” Michael nodded sucking his bottom lip in.
I loved that gesture.
“Oh I love you! I love you! I love you!” I screamed, wrapping my arms around Michael.
Michael Jackson was improving the world, one…um two, kids at a time.
He was really “Healing the World.”

* * *

　455

Chapter 29

Neverland Valley Ranch
Santa Ynez, California
Two Days Later

“…so you mean to tell me you’re back in California right now? I don’t even get to tell you good-bye?”
Prince’s voice cracked over the receiver of my purple phone. I couldn’t tell if he was still suffering from laryngitis of if the crack in his voice was from sheer disappointment. Either way, the sound of him was tearing my heart to bits. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been that miserable.
“I know and I’m sorry. But as soon as you left yesterday, someone called and told Rusty that Michael had gotten an award from the Humanitarianism Association of America and we had to come back home right quick. I’m sorry.” I repeated, dropping into an Indian-style seated position on a pile of hay in the far back corner of the animal habitat that housed some of Michael’s giraffe’s and llamas.
(In the main house Paris was playing ‘beauty salon’ with my make up, so I had to find yet another hiding place in which I could communicate with Prince in assured secrecy.)
The line fell silent.
I could hear Prince breathing heavily.
Angrily.
Finally he spoke.
“You’ve been gone two days and just NOW you call me to let me know that you’re gone? Are you aware that I’m still in this goddamned penthouse in New York?” He remarked hotly, irritation sparking his prickly tone.
“Prince I’m so sorry. I’ve been moving so fast. We left at an ungodly hour the next day, and I’ve been busy helping Michael try to write an acceptance speech.” I glanced down and knocked a caterpillar crawling up my thigh across the room. I wished I could curl up and fly away like that little green vermin, rather than face the wrath that was spewing from Prince’s lips.
“Why the hell is he writing a speech? All he has to do is take the award, say ‘thank you’ and get his funny looking ass off the stage. Taking shit to the extreme!” Prince alleged matter-of-factly with a hard cough.
“Please don’t be that way. Michael works hard to help the needy.” I admonished calmly even though I was burning with a fiery anger. How could Prince be so callous about Michael’s good deeds?
Sometimes I just didn’t understand that little man.
“All he does is put his John Hancock on a check and stick it in an envelope.” Prince scoffed. “And they give him an award. Any fool can sign a check. Where the fuck’s my award? I donate money too. This might surprise you Baby, but every year, I donate money to my old high school in Uptown. I was on the basketball team and in the band. I donate money for uniforms and instruments and equipment for the kids there. Does anyone honor me with anything? Hell no! That’s too much like doing the right damn thing! No-- they hop all over to give that pasty faced son of a bitch an award. ”
I held the phone away from my ear as Prince continued ranting and raving.
Prince was right; I was shocked. I had no idea that he actually contributed money to his old alma mater!
I could barely believe it. Prince was so stuck up, I doubted he toss a nickel into the paper cup of a bum, much less give funds to a school. Why the hell was everyone keeping their charitable efforts from me?
While Prince paused to catch his breath, I interjected,
“Well, maybe someone from the HAA will call you too. The awards aren’t until the middle of next month. You could get honored too.” I was trying anything to soothe the savage beast.
Prince laughed as if he’d heard the funniest joke in the universe.
“That’s cute. And if I get honored, who’s going to be my date? I assume that you’re going to be Needle Nose’s date, right?” He snickered.
“Prince…you would have taken me as your date?” I questioned, flattered that’d he’d even consider it. And pissed that he’d referred to Michael as ‘Needle Nose’.
“Sure…if I could loosen that chastity belt Michael has tied around you. He wets himself if I come within ten feet of you. He’ll be swimming in his own piss if I take you out someplace. Hell, I’d be worried if my woman were on a date with me too.”
Oh, Arrogant Prince had entered the building, riding a very high horse.
“Watch it. If your head gets any more swollen, you’ll be orbiting the moon.” I pointed out.
It really did dance on my nerves when Prince got into his self worshipping mode.
Prince just chuckled lowly.
I jerked when I felt something cold suddenly touch my shoulder.
I gazed up to see Blanket standing at my side, sucking on a small red Popsicle.
“Hi Brynn! Daddy wants you! He’s waiting at the Ferris Wheel for you.” The boy grinned at me.
“Okay, I’ll be right there. Gimme a sec.” I patted Blanket’s head as I rose to my feet.
Blanket stood waiting, and nibbling on his cold treat.
“I see you’re still playing surrogate mama to Michael’s kids.” Prince observed, his voice crackling and spiking.
Why did he have such an aversion to my bonding with Michael’s children?
“Yeah, I am. And you be nice. I’ll talk to you later. Okay?” I questioned as Blanket started tugging at my free hand.
I didn’t mind Blanket seeing me on the purple phone because he was too young to really understand what was going on.
“Okay. I love you Brynn…Baby.” Prince purred. It would have been sexy, except his voice popped on the very last word.
The line went dead and I deposited the phone into a pocket on the yellow overalls I wore.
The situation had been rectified. I think.
“Come on Brynn!” Blanket exclaimed yanking me past the exotic animals who gazed at us lazily. If those creatures could talk…
“Okay! Slow down! I’m gonna fall!” I chuckled as I tried to keep up with the high strung tot.
Now there was a level, paved lane that led from habitat to the Ferris Wheel, but with Blanket as my escort, I was led stumbling over every grassy bump and dip between the two points.
As we neared the Wheel, I saw that Michael was seated in the grass near it, twirling a pink daisy in his hands, and appeared to be deep in thought.
“Daddy! I found Brynn!” Blanket called happily as if he’d discovered The Holy Grail.
Michael glanced up with a smile.
He got to his feet as his son and I made it to him.
“Daddy, where’s Prince? I wanna play with him. Paris is playing in make up and doing girly junk…yuck.” Blanket commented, poking out his pink bottom lip.
“He’s watching a movie in the theatre. You can go on over there. I want to talk to Brynn.” Michael murmured, placing a hand on my wrist and drawing me to him, tucking the daisy behind my ear.
“I bet you’re gonna kiss her!” Blanket teased before turning and scampering away, headed towards the theatre.
The boy was too adorable.
“He’s a little spitfire.” I chuckled glancing up at Michael.
He was actually blushing.
“You can say that again.” He giggled.
“You wanted to see me Mike?” I reached up and toyed with a curl that had worked its way out of the loose ponytail that Michael’s hair had been gathered into.
“Yes Baby,” Michael turned and walked a few paces from me. “You know the HAA Awards are a few weeks away and I was wondering, do you know what you’re wearing to the ceremony?” He questioned over his shoulder.
“Um, no. I’ll probably have to go into Beverly Hills or something and get a dress, right?” I shrugged.
This was my first awards deal. I just didn’t want to end up on a ‘worst dressed’ list or make Michael look bad. The last thing I ever wanted to do was embarrass him.
“Oh.” Michael flipped his hair. “You’re gonna go to the Hills for your dress.”
Something about his oh-so-casual tone didn’t set well with me.
“You don’t want me to go to Beverly Hills? I’ll go wherever you want me to. I don’t mind.” I suggested, trying to appease him.
“Well anyone can go buy a dress, Brynn.” Michael turned and glanced back at me, bottom lip sucked in. “You’re not just anyone.”
A smile eased its way onto his face. “You’re my woman, and I think you deserve a custom designed and created dress.” Michael said so quietly, I just barely heard him.
I could feel my eyebrows rushing up to my hairline as a wave of disbelief washed over me.
“Michael Joseph Jackson! Are you serious? A custom dress? Oh gosh!” I cried out running over to him and wrapping my arms around his slim figure.
As Michael joyfully laughed, I questioned,
“Who’s making the dress? Versace? Chanel? Gucci? Who? Tell me!”
“Try François.” Michael replied patting my head gently.
I leaned back and stared up at Michael.
“Who is François? I’ve never heard that name before.” I wondered, hoping I didn’t come off as totally ignorant for not knowing of a designer that Michael did.
Wearing a pleased grin, he explained,
“I’m sure you haven’t Honey. Rene François is a designer based in Nice, France. I met him a few years ago when I was on vacation there. I like his work, because not everyone gets his clothing, and I want to make sure you don’t end up wearing something another lady has on at the HAA Awards. Everyone woman hates that! Ha ha! ”
I continued to gaze up into Michael’s adoring, loving face.
My heart pounded. It was astonishing how much thought Michael had put into my outfit. Had he given himself that much consideration?
Michael was spoiling me so rotten that if I had an expiration date, it would read as B.C.
“He’ll be designing both our outfits for the awards.”
Well, that answered my question.
“That’s spectacular Michael! When do I get to meet this man?” I sighed, relieved that he was thinking of himself.
Tapping my nose, he replied sheepishly, “Right now, he’s in the house. Come on.”
Tugging on my hand gently, Michael started leading me back towards the main house.
“Cool beans!” I grinned. I could barely contain myself. Michael was truly pulling out all the stops. I couldn’t believe he had commissioned a French designer to make our outfits. Well, I could believe for his outfit--he was Michael Jackson.
But for little old me, it was incredible!
“I told him to set up in my office, you’re going to love his clothing Sweetheart.” Michael assured me as we passed into the house and slipped down the hall to where the doors to Michael’s office stood closed.
“Anyone you like is good with me.” I replied, floating.
As Michael pushed the doors to the office open, a man seated in one of the armchairs before Michael’s tremendous desk, quickly hopped to his feet, a thick sketchpad tucked under one arm.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Jackson!” He chirped happily with a wave and strode over to us, smiling broadly.
“Brynn McAllister, I’d like you meet Rene François. Rene, this is Brynn.” Michael announced crisply, giving me a soft push towards Rene.
Rene was quite ruggedly handsome, a few years older than Michael. He was about six feet tall with deeply tanned skin, thick white hair moussed back neatly and a matching goatee. His extremely lanky form was clad in a thin pale blue sweater that matched his eyes perfectly and khaki trousers. A plaid ascot circled his throat. A tiny gold hoop glimmered in his right ear lobe.
He kind of seemed like a cross between James Stewart and George Hamilton.
“Hello, it’s nice to meet you.” I put my hand out.
“Mon Dieu! Michael, this stunning creature is the Brynn you spoke of? It will be an honor to outfit her!” Rene exclaimed, his voice heavy with a lilting French accent, taking my hand and pecking the top of it.
“Enchantee beaucoup.” He grinned. “Ca va?”
“Ca va bien, merci.” I smiled back at him, with a raised eyebrow. Michael had managed to track down France’s answer to Morris Day. (At least he was dressed better.)
Rene’s pale eyes widened. “Mon Dieu! Michael didn’t tell me you spoke French, Mademoiselle Brynn!” He declared.
“I didn’t know. Gosh.” Michael wore his surprise like a shroud.
“I know a little bit. I took French in high school. But I’m not fluent.” I admitted.
“Your tone and inflection are fantastique!” Rene complimented.
“Ha ha…thanks.” I looked down at my feet, a shyness consuming me.
“She keeps surprising me.” Michael smiled, motioning for Rene and me to sit in the armchairs and seating himself behind the desk.
“Now let’s get down to the business, shall we?” Rene suggested, placing his portfolio on the desk.
“Monsieur Jackson, when we last spoke, you told me you wanted a military style jacket for yourself and also that you wanted you and your petite fille to match, correct?” He questioned.
“That’s right.” Michael clasped his hands together on his desktop and nodded deeply. “Brynn is going to be my companion to the HAA Awards and I thought it would be a much more cohesive look if our outfits coordinated--that’s okay with you?” Michael’s eyes darted at me for a split second.
“Sure, I don’t mind.” I nodded, just happy I was being included at all.
“I have generated several sketches, and I hope that you and your petite fille find something you agree on.” With that Rene flipped the pad open.
On the first page were little two figures.
A male and a female.
On the male was a somewhat plain lilac military style jacket that was accented with gold braiding across the front and on the ends of the sleeves. Plain black trousers covered the bottom half of the figure.
On the female was a matching lilac dress that fell to the knees in an A-line with an extremely low neckline accented by what appeared to be gold sequins.
“Monsieur, the jacket will be made out of a heavy satin and embellished with a silk braid. And the girl’s dress will be made of the same material…” Rene looked up expectantly at Michael.
Michael was studying the drawings.
“I don’t care too much for this Rene. I don’t really wear purple too often, and the jacket's a little too bare for me. I don’t like the dress at all for Brynn. She’s only nineteen Rene, and we’re going to a Humanitarianism event, so that cocktail length is a little too casual. I want something more embellished for me and more sophisticated for Brynn. It’d be okay if it were the Grammys, but the HAA Awards are different.” He concluded in a low tone.
“That is okay. If at first you don’t succeed…” Rene chuckled, a bit defeated.
Michael proceeded to reject the next five sketches, citing else that the color didn’t suit him, the dresses were too skimpy for me, and that the jackets still left something to be desired.
I sat quietly and let Michael call the shots.
Since I was certain he was footing the bill and taking care of everything else that went with the program, his word was the law.
“Well, sir, this is the last sketch. I do hope that you fancy this one.” Rene looked hopeful as he flipped the page.
My heart swelled at the sight of the images.
On the male figure was what appeared to be a heavily stoned white jacket accented with thick black braiding across the front and on the sleeves. Matching epaulets covered the shoulders and draped from the lest shoulder was a black and white stoned sash. Black bottoms completed outfit.
On the female was a one shouldered mermaid silhouette dress that faded from white to blue and finally to black. A large bow accented the shoulder and it was drizzled with stones.
“Rene…this…this is nice.” Michael whispered, like a child who had found the toy of his dreams. “Tell me about this.”
Face aglow with pride, Rene explained,
“Pour vous, is a jacket that is covered from tip to toe with Swarovski crystals and beads in black and white. Hand sewn of course. The fabric is silk that I import in from China.
The trousers are leather--”
“From Italy?” Michael put in.
“Mais oui, only the best.” Rene replied quickly.
“And the dress if of the same Chinese silk and also is decorated with crystals. And the fabric will be hand dyed. Very couture, very now.”
“I like it, it’s wonderful. Do you like it Brynn?” Michael’s eyes were dancing in his skull.
“Michael, it’s stunning. May I have it, please?” I begged, prepared to drop to my knees and cling to his thigh if I had to.
My heart leapt when Michael responded,
“You will have it. I like the whole set up. A heavy jacket for me--the awards are in Pasadena, it‘s cool around those parts, so the jacket won‘t be too heavy--and a nice long dress for you. It’s great.” Michael grinned, satisfied with his selection.
“Thank you!” I cheered jumping from my seat, rounding the table and hugging Michael around the neck.
“Monsieur Jackson, your girlfriend is absolutely darling.” Rene chuckled, flipping his pad closed.
“Thank you, but Rene, she’s not my girlfriend, just a friend. She’s dating my nephew Taryll.” Michael swooped in, tossing the Taryll card on the table.
“She’s accompanying me as a favor.”
Michael was lying better than the rug on the floor.
“Oh, pardon my mistake. I’ll return tomorrow to record your and Brynn’s measurements, and immediately start work on the ensembles. It is a pleasure to work with the both of you.” Rene rose and shook our hands.
“Excuse me, am I interrupting anything?” On the other end of the room, Rusty was poking his head through the door.
“No, we’re just finishing up, come on in.” Michael motioned at Rusty.
“Hello Monsieur Ross.” Rene greeted Rusty.
“Hello.” Rusty nodded.
“I’ll see myself out. Nice meeting you Brynn.” Rene almost skipped out the room.
“You too!” I called after him, elated.
“What’s up Rusty?” Michael wondered, drawing me into his lap.
“While you were in here with that guy, I got a call from someone at the Heal The World Foundation.” Rusty replied dropping into the chair that Rene had been sitting in.
“Is something wrong?” I questioned, glancing back up at Michael.
“Not really…it’s just that the person I spoke with said they received a call from a nun named Sister Mary Agnes at the St. Matthew Children’s Hospital down in San Diego. It’s pretty small specialized place, with only about fifty children.” Rusty sighed, and ran a hand through his hair before continuing. “They were wondering if you maybe you’d come and see the children, you know hand out toys, things like that. Sister Mary Agnes says that they’ve saved up some money to buy the toys and are offering to pay you five grand to appear at the hospital. Says the kids all like you a lot. I told the people at Heal The World that I’d talk with you about it…” Rusty looked down at his hands.
It warmed my heart to know that even when they were concerned with illness, some children were fans enough of Michael to have somebody reach out to him.
Michael heaved a sigh of his own. “Well Rusty you have my schedule. Do I have an open spot? I want to help those children. Please tell me I have free day since we moved negotiations for Not Over here to California…”
“If Michael can’t go, I’ll go pass out the toys and stuff for him.” I volunteered, the story of the children really getting to me.
“Give me a second.” Rusty pulled his Blackberry out of jacket pocket and started scrolling through it.
“You’re packed pretty tight Michael…” He stammered, and Michael whimpered.
I knew that deep in his heart, Michael wanted to help.
I did too.
“Oh wait…you have next Thursday, all day, free! That‘s about it until the HAA Awards.” Rusty announced, turning his gizmo around to show Michael.
“That’s perfect!” Michael giggled and gave me a squeeze. “You get Heal The World on the phone right now. Tell them to call Sister Mary Agnes, and let her know that Brynn and I will be there!”
“Yippee!” I exclaimed and squeezed Michael back, delighted that I was going to have the opportunity to help him brighten the day of his little fans.
“I’ll go call them right now!” Rusty started for the door.
“Wait!” Michael called.
“Yes Mike?” Rusty spun back around.
“Tell Sister Mary Agnes to keep her money. I’ll supply the toys and show up for free--I can’t take money from a nun and some sick kids. It’s ungodly. And get some photographs printed up so I can give the kids autographs too.” Michael called.
“Of course Michael! Anything!” Rusty ran out the room.
I was truly gob smacked. I had never seen Michael this generous.
It was almost unreal that so much warmth and devotion were pouring out of one person.
Kissing on the dent in Michael’s chin, I asked luridly,
“Do you rent or own Michael?”
“Do I rent or own what?” Michael chuckled, stroking my hair.
“Those wings, you angel, you! You are gonna make those kids so happy! I love you…” I whispered, pecking his chin again.
“I’m glad that you love me. I just felt that I have to do something.” Michael said suddenly serious.
“I’ve been blessed with so much. God has blessed me with so much, wonderful family, wonderful kids, you, my career. And I know He’s given me everything for a reason. He didn’t have to bless me like this, and He did, I feel it is my mission to try and help others. You’ve heard me say it before, Brynn, that I want to be like Him and help others if I can. And it would have crushed me if I wouldn’t have been able to help a nun. A nun is a holy vessel. I think it’s a mission from up Above. It’s the right thing to do.”
Michael tugged on my hair gently.
I smiled up at Michael, a tear running out my eye and dampening my cheek.
“You are amazing Michael!” I whimpered and hugged him tightly.
Kind, wonderful, charitable, giving…
That was who Michael Jackson really was.

* * *

The Following Wednesday Afternoon

“Ah! Another cramp! Another cramp! I got another cramp! Ow!” Michael exclaimed, dropping the Sharpie pen he was holding, and grasping his hand to his chest, grumbling in pain.
“I told you not to try to sign fifty autographs in one setting, but do you listen to me? Nah, I’m only your girlfriend!” I teased, grasping onto Michael’s hand and gently starting to massage the cramp out. It was so bad, his thumb and index finger had become wedged together.
Sniggling, Michael commented, “I know you told me not to, but I’m almost done. I have three more to sign and I’ll be finished.”
“Let me see one.” I reached onto the desk in Michael’s study and picked up a glossy eight by ten photograph.
It was a gorgeous headshot of him. In it, Michael’s hair was straight--as it had been when I first met him--and he wore a black satin shirt with a diamond crown pin twinkling at the collar. A soft smile was on his face.
Absolutely gorgeous.
And every photo was signed,

May God Bless You!
All My Love,
Michael Jackson

Setting the photo back on the table, I questioned,
“Did the toys for the kids arrive at St. Matthew’s yet?”
Michael had called one of the Toys ‘R’ Us warehouses in California and bought a truckload of goodies for the ill children.
“Yup, Rusty said someone called him about it this morning. They’re in storage now. The kids don’t even know we’re coming. It’s going to be a surprise. It’ll be great!” Michael exclaimed jubilantly, picking his Sharpie up and scribbling on the last three photos, adding them to the stack of completed photos.
“What all are you giving away?” I twisted a lock of my hair, thinking of how happy the children were going to be to see the King of Entertainment.
“Well, Sister Mary Agnes says there’s twenty-seven little girls and twenty-three little boys, ranging from about two years old to fourteen. For the girls, they’re getting a Barbie and a Cabbage Patch Kids doll, and the boys are getting some G.I. Joes, and else a fire truck or police car. And a photo. And um, a bag of candy.” Michael smiled.
“You’re a kind, kind man.” I reached over and held onto Michael’s hands.
“Hee-Hee. Thank you.” Michael ducked his head flushing violently.
“You’re welcome.” I winked at him. I loved watching his reaction when I‘d compliment him. “What do you want me to wear tomorrow?”
“Um, I don’t know, Something pink. You look so cute in pink. Wanna go raid your closet and see?” Michael suggesting, rising to his feet.
“Okay.” I followed him stairs to the second floor where Prince and Blanket sat in the hall playing a quiet game of Jacks.
“Dad! You wanna play with us?” Prince asked, catching the red playing ball in his hand and holding it out to his father.
“Save me a game, I’m helping Brynn right now, but I will play. Promise.” Michael reached down and ruffled his oldest child’s blonde locks.
“Cool!” Prince grinned, before returning to his game.
Michael led me over to the door to my room.
Though I regularly slept in Michael’s room, I had so much clothing and junk of my own that I just kept it in a separate room.
We swung the doors to the room open…
And stood stunned for a moment.
Sashaying around my room like a supermodel was Paris.
Hand placed on tiny hip, and just barely staying upright in a pair of my high heeled shoes, the child was wafting back and forth.
And she had gotten into my make up again; she wore enough cosmetics to make up the faces of twenty women!
“Paris Katherine! What are you doing?” Michael demanded, folding his arms over his chest, not really angry.
Paris whirled around, her light eyes swelling.
“Daddy! Brynn! Oooh!” She squinched her face up when she realized she had an audience. “I wasn’t doing anything. Just playing make believe.” She grinned, loud red gloss on her pouty lips.
“And who were you making believe you were? Tammy Faye Bakker?” I giggled sauntering over and tugging on one of her braided ponytails.
“Who’s Tammy Faye Bakker?” Paris stared up at me through lashes caked together with mascara.
“She’s a nice lady preacher who wears too much make up. Like you little lady.” I explained.
“Oh…ladies can be preachers? Cool!” Paris giggled throwing her arms around my waist.
“You can be anything you want.” Michael added, dropping to one knee and hugging her. “Now go wash your face, I wanna see you…I know you’re under there somewhere.” He chuckled.
“Okay Daddy!” Paris turned and streaked into my bathroom, still teetering in the heels. I could hear the faucet start running.
Michael got back to his feet.
“She’s sweet.” I smiled up at him.
“Can I tell you something?” Michael inquired as we strolled over to my closet and started picking through it.
“Sure.” I nodded.
“Paris really looks up to you. You’re pretty much the only woman around here, since, you know, Debbie isn’t in the picture. And I’m glad that she likes you. You’re a very sweet woman. A good role model.” Michael gave me a gentle hug.
“Thank you…but I’m not trying to be a role model…I’m just being me.” I shrugged, my turn to be shy at a compliment. And it made my glow that Paris looked up to me. But Michael was right. Just about everyone else roaming the house was male--Michael, Prince, Blanket, Rusty…
“That’s what I like. You don’t put on airs or anything. You’re showing Paris that being real is a good thing. And I like that.” Michael produced a light pink wrap dress from my closet. “And I like this.”
“I like it too. What do you want me to wear with it?” I wondered, taking it from him and hanging on a hook I used when I set out my clothes to wear.
“It’s up to you, but I would like to see you wear that silver cross I gave you. I mean it is a religious hospital…” Michael tapped my chin with a long finger.
“Of course. What are you wearing?” I didn’t want to clash with My Man.
“You’ll see.” Michael chortled.
“You’re no good.” I kissed his juicy mouth.
I may have been Paris’ role model when it came to things like make up and hair, but I was about to find out that it was Michael’s giving heart that inspired the Jackson Trio.

* * *

Later That Night

“…and that’s why I am so deeply delighted to be an honoree. Once again, thank you Carmen Alonzo, and members of the Humanitarianism Association of America for this lovely award. Thank you.”
Michael squinted at the small sheet of paper in his hands, reciting the speech he and I had been working on for almost two weeks.
“How was that? Did it sound good?” He asked from where he stood at the foot of his bed.
“Yes Honey! That was awesome!” I gave him a thumbs up from where I was snuggled under the covers of his bed.
“You really think so? It isn’t too long? I hate to make a speech and then they play the ‘Get off the stage’ music before I’m finished.” Michael chuckled tossing his curls over his shoulder.
He looked good enough to eat in a set of mint green pajamas, the top completely unbuttoned, and open, exposing his soft creamy chest and abdomen.
“They shouldn’t play the ‘Get off’ music. You’re Michael Jackson. You should be able to talk until your tongue falls out and lands on the floor.” I huffed, and ran a hand through my hair.
Michael tittered and crawled across the bed over to me.
“How about I talk and you knock out the music man, so I can speak as long as I like?” He joked, pulling at the strap of the camisole I was wearing.
“You got a deal.” I replied patting his cheek.
“Shh! Wait!” Michael put his hand up.
“What?” I watched as Michael’s eyes went around the room, ears straining to listen.
“I heard something.” He continued to look around and noticed that he was leaning his head into my chest.
Wearing a cool, wicked smile, Michael concluded,
“Your boobies are screaming, ‘Let us out! Let us out!’ Hee-hee!”
I giggled when I realized he was joking. “You’re silly.”
Michael started pulling the straps of my top down.
Eventually my bosom popped out.
“I love your little melons.” Michael chuckled as his big hands cupped them, sending ripples through me.
I watched as he bent to kiss one.
His lips pursed to prettily.
“Daddy!”
At the sudden shout, Michael’s concentration was broken and he fell face first between my breasts as someone started pounding on the closed doors to the room.
“Michael are you alright?” I gasped, helping him back into a seated position.
“Yeah, luckily your little airbags caught me.” Michael chuckled, helping me back into my top.
“Daddy! Open the door!” The voice screamed again.
“We’ve got company.” Michael slid out of the bed and jogged across his room to the double doors, unlatching and opening them.
Prince, flanked by Paris and Blanket walked into the room, all three clad in pajamas and little robes.
All three of them stood grinning at their father and me, almost as if they knew what we were doing.
(But I was sure they were too innocent to really know.)
“What is it?” Michael asked, running his hands over his hair.
Prince spoke up. “Dad, we know you and Brynn are going to visit those sick kids tomorrow, and Paris, Blanket and I want you to do something for us.” He grinned.
“What’s that?” I asked rolling out the bed and walking over to them.
Prince leaned and whispered something to Paris, who grabbed Blanket and they both ran out of the room and into the hallway.
When they returned, I had to lean against Michael, I almost fainted.
Paris and Blanket were carrying a white poster on which they had stenciled “Get Well Soon!” on it in bright colors. Glitter and stickers adorned the poster.
“We want you to give this to the kids, please?” Prince looked from his father to me and back.
“Oh my God.” Michael whispered, taking the poster from his two younger children and examining it.
“Do you like it Daddy?” Blanket asked, before jamming his thumb in his mouth.
“Yes, it’s beautiful.” Michael’s voice broke and I watched as his eyes became moist and tears started tumbling down his sharp cheeks.
I patted his back feebly, unable to speak.
I was purely, naturally, completely stunned. It was one thing for Michael to be open and charitable, but it was a totally different tangent that the Jackson Trio had gotten together and taken the time to hand make a poster for the children at St. Matthew’s. it warmed my hard a thousand fold to see that the Jackson Trio were being so caring about people they had never even met.
We fell silent and the only sound was of Michael weeping quietly.
Finally Paris said sweetly,
“Don’t cry Daddy, we’re sure the kids will get better.”
“I know…” Michael trailed off and rubbed at his eyes.
Stepping behind the children and wrapping them up into a huge hug, I said,
“That’s really a sweet thing to do. You are very, very nice kids. I want you to all go downstairs and make your selves a huge bowl of ice cream. You deserve it!” I announced, bending and kissing the tops of their heads.
“Yay!” Blanket was the first one out the room.
“Thanks!” Prince smiled, grabbing onto Paris’ hand and they exited the room.
Michael was still sobbing.
“Are you okay?” I asked, throwing my arms around his waist and leaning my cheek against his dampened one.
“Yes.” Michael sniffled. “I just can’t believe they did this. I didn’t tell them to. Did you?” Watery eyes sought out mine.
“Nope.” I shook my head. “You’ve got three special little ones Michael. Very special ones. You’re raising them right.” I poked Michael in his bare chest.
“Thank you, Brynn. Sometimes they just amaze me, you know?” Michael shook the poster, bits of glitter falling to the carpet. “They just amaze me. Gosh!”
He threw his arm around me and wept more, head resting on my shoulder.
Tears of my own found their way out of my eyes.
“They amaze me too…”

Chapter 28

The Following Afternoon


“…come on! Come on Prince…answer!” I whispered quietly, sitting on the washbasin counter, purple cell phone mashed to earlobe.
Much to my aggravation, the other end just rang endlessly. Since the previous night, when the concert had been cancelled I had been calling Prince, vainly trying to get in touch with him.
Dozens of dialings.
Part of me wanted to believe that he had cancelled the concert simply to send Michael and the Jacksons on a wild goose chase. It would have been the perfect prank--have a busload of Jacksons all dressed up, ride across the state and then end up with nothing at all to attend.
But another part of me really thought that Prince was actually sick.
That was one way that Prince and Michael were alike--they both loved performing and adored being onstage.
And they’d have to really be out of sorts to cancel a performance.
If Prince was indeed sick, I wanted to know how he was doing. If he was in any pain.
I cared for him too, even though he was The Other Man.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
A light knocking on the door jarred me from my battle with the phone.
“Just a minute!” I called, hopping off the counter and momentarily skidding in the pink roller skates I wore.
For the biggest part of the afternoon, the Jacksons had been amusing themselves by running skating races up and down the long corridor to the elevator.
(Michael always seemed to come up with unique ways of having fun.)
After stashing the phone in my make up case, I checked myself, straightening my pink t-shirt and dusting off my white and pink pinstriped jeans. I had to look normal.
I skidded over to the door and opened it.
Taj, camera in hand, stood idling in a pair of black and silver skates.
“Hey Brynn! I was wondering where you disappeared to.” He chuckled as we started gliding through the suite.
“Can’t I go to the ladies’ room without a paparazzi following me?” I giggled, reaching up and tapping the lens of his camera. “How do you film and skate the same time anyway? I’d have busted my butt by now!”
Taj laughed heartily. “You see, Young Brynn, I am a master at multi-tasking. You are looking at a man who can drive his car, talk on a cell phone and comb his hair--in downtown LA mind you--without crashing.”
“Okay, you are NEVER driving me anywhere man. I’d rather walk.” I remarked and we busted up.
As we reached the front corridor, excited shouts and cheers began reaching us.
“Sounds like they’re turning it out in there.” I chuckled as we passed through the doors.
In the hallway, the adult Jacksons, and Selena, were lining the walls hooting as Prince, Paris and Blanket were skating earnestly towards the elevator, racing to see who would reach it first.
Rusty was off in a corner playing with that damned Blackberry.
Paris was the clear winner, not only reaching the elevator doors first, but slamming into them.
She sank to the floor laughing.
“Are you okay Baby?” Latoya called, teetering in her own green skates that matched the minidress she wore. I hadn’t seen Latoya in a pair of pants yet.
“I’m good!” Paris exclaimed as her older brother helped her to her feet.
“I wondered where you went off to.” Michael slid over to me and gave me a warm hug.
He was beautiful in a red and white plaid shirt and blue jeans. Red skates contained his large feet.
“Well here I am” I beamed up at him, and picked at a curl that had worked it’s way out of the ponytail at back of Michael’s head.
Such a lovely man.
“Yo Brynn!” Marlon Jr. came flying at me.
“Yeah?” I questioned as Michael wrapped his arm around my hips.
Selena and Latoya were skating wildly towards the elevator.
“You wanna race me? I bet I can beat you!” He grinned, tugging at the large diamond stud in his left earlobe.
“The only reason he’s asking is cause damn near everyone else has whipped him!” TJ put in as he sashayed by smoothly.
“Hey man! Shut up!” Marlon Jr. snarled and gave TJ and firm push, sending him flailing over into his father and against the wall.
“And I was just letting you win! Felt sorry for you!” He continued, his dark eyes flashing under his thick eyebrows.
“Yeah right!” TJ struggled to pull himself and Tito back upright.
Patting his shoulder, I challenged, “Don’t let me win. Bring your A-game.”
“Oooh!” The Jacksons jeered.
“Wow Mars Bar, what are you gonna do?” Michael chuckled, winking at his nephew.
“I guess I’ll have to bring my A-game. Come on Brynn!” Marlon Jr. tugged at my arm and led me to a starting spot that had been marked with a piece of masking tape on the floor.
Beyond us, Marlon Sr. skated in front of us.
“Okay on the count of three, you take off. And no tripping or dirty work--that’s grounds for an automatic forfeit!” He grinned, his mustache glimmering.
“Alright Dad! Just count!” Marlon Jr. whined shrilly.
Marlon Sr. just wanted to mess with us, instead of counting, he merely screamed “THREE!”
“You got a head whooping coming Mars Bar!” I called as we bore down the hallway--I pitied the maids of the Windbush, it would take them forever to get the skid marks off the floor.
“Not if I whip your ass first!” Marlon Jr. laughed maniacally.
Marlon was a good skater. He had a nice lead.
But he wasn’t a great skater.
As I started inching past him, Marlon Jr. reached out and pushed on my shoulder. I was sure he wanted me to go away from him.
But the exact opposite happened.
As a result, I was actually drawn against him.
“No Marlon! No! Aaah!” We both screamed as I collided and fell down in a mangle of arms, legs and wheels on the hard cool floor, a few feet from the elevator.
Marlon was sprawled on his back and I was laying across him.
“Oh God! What a wipeout!” Taj was the first one to get over to us, camera thoroughly focused on us.
“Are you alright?” Michael questioned, worried.
I waved my hand to let him know I was fine.
Michael fretted over the slightest things--he cared do much.
“Man, get that thing out of my face, or I’ll make you eat it!” Marlon growled, placing his hands over the lens and shoving Taj back. “I could have won that!”
Laughter surrounded us. The Jackson Trio were even doubled up on the floor at Michael’s feet.
“Your braids must be too tight Marlon! Your daddy just said no dirty tricks and you did it anyway!” I punched him lightly in the chest and struggled to get up.
“Ha! That means you forfeit!” Taryll and TJ came over and helped me back to my feet.
“Hell! Brynn is smaller than me--less wind resistance! I had to do something!” Marlon Jr. poked out his bottom lip like a toddler.
I was having such a good time, I just wanted to continue vexing him.
“Uh! I win! Make me wanna do a little James Brown!” Pulling away from TJ and Taryll, I placed my hands on the waistband of my pants and attempted to do the fancy footwork The Godfather of Soul was noted for. “In your face!” I cackled and the rest of the Jacksons joined in.
“Man, forget this! I’m going to order room service! I‘m hungry anyway.” Marlon Jr. swiftly climbed to his feet, slapping Taryll’s helping hand out the way.
As he skated off into his room, I couldn’t help hitting him with one more zinger:
“How can you want room service? You’re already full of prunes!”
More jeers and snickers.
“Let’s go get some room service too. I’m kinda hungry.” Michael admitted waving everyone into the master suite.
“Brynn, are you sure you’re okay?” His dark eyes sought me out.
“Yes Michael. I’ll be in there soon.” I winked and bent to start loosening the laces on my skates.
“Okay.” Michael glided into the suite, bringing up the rear, leaving me, Taj, TJ and Taryll in the hall. And Taj’s omnipresent camera, of course.
“So Brynn, what was it like being one half of the best roller skating collision I’ve ever seen?” TJ grinned, the corners of his mouth soaring northward.
“Pretty much the same if you’re on the receiving end of my fist colliding with your face.” I replied sharply and stuck my tongue out at him.
“Damn, she got you!” Taryll chuckled and rolled his eyes at his baby brother.
“I wouldn’t mind losing to a cute girl.” TJ shrugged and gave me a soft push.
“Watch it TJ. Don’t push me and flattery will get you nowhere!” Balancing in my untied skate, I gave TJ a firm shove, sending him flying backwards.
“I’m sick and tired of y’all pushing me!” TJ tore at me, grabbing me around my waist, and whirling me around in a circle.
“TJ! Quit!” I exclaimed as he started playfully wrestling with me.
“No way! You got me mad now!” TJ refused, laughing loudly.
“Oh yeah?” In a free moment, I reached up and caught TJ in a headlock.
“Who’s laughing now! Who’s laughing? Say ‘My name is Sally and I like boys!’” I instructed, tightening my arm around his skinny throat.
“Holy shit! This is gold!” Taj gasped and I could hear his Zoom lens whirring.
“I ain’t saying that! Taryll help me! Taj put down the goddamned camera!” TJ wheezed, trying desperately to shake free.
“Oh right!” Taryll rushed over and actually started giving TJ a noogie.
He was really grinding his knuckles against his brother’s curls.
“Say it!” I yanked on TJ again, making him cough.
“No!” TJ suddenly lurched forward, dropping me to floor.
I landed on my abdomen and was momentarily winded.
And then the fool sat on me!
“TJ! Get off! I didn’t sit on you!” I grunted as he reached and grabbed my arms, tucking them behind me. I wasn’t really angry.
“Brynn, you say, um…” He thought a long moment.
“Say “My name is Buzz and I like girls!”
“Buzz!” Taryll doubled over.
“I am so kicking your ass when I get out of this!” I vowed fighting against him.
“That’s what they all say Baby!” TJ poked me on the back of the neck with a cold finger.
“Uh, guys…”Taj started, standing over me.
“Shut up Taj, I’m doing something right now!” TJ snarled, continued to poke at my neck.
“I’m gonna annihilate you TJ!” I screeched. “Don’t make me call Michael!” I threatened.
“He can’t hear you! He’s on the phone!” Taryll snorted crouching down next to me.
“You guys! We got company!” Taj sputtered.
I watched as Taryll looked up. His eyes quadrupled in size in his head.
“Oh no way!” He whispered, awed. “TJ, get up! Now!”
“What is going on?” I demanded as TJ finally, finally got off my back. For such a slim dude, he was really heavy.
“Holy Toledo!” I heard TJ comment.
“Tell me what’s happening!” I sighed, finally starting to get upset.
I hated being left out of a loop.
Rolling onto my side, I saw that all three of the “Teez” were staring towards the elevators.
Captivated.
I followed their gaze and froze dead cold in my tracks.
At some point during our “fight” the doors to the elevator has opened up.
A single person was in the reflective rectangle--Prince.
And he was gazing directly at me.
I shrank under his glare. I could only wonder what he was thinking, finding me consorting on the floor with two men and third filming everything.
“Hi…hi Prince.” I managed to mumble, climbing to my feet.
At my acknowledgement, Prince casually sauntered off onto the main floor. The doors closed behind him.
His ensemble was another one for the record books.
He wore a very brightly colored polka dot suit, mainly hot pink and purple with a little bit of lime green thrown in for good measure.
The jacket was cropped very high up, exposing his fuzzy abdomen.
Matching trousers just barely clung to his hips.
A hot pink hanky hung out of a pocket on the front of the jacket.
Perched on Prince’s head was another unique hat. It was bright pink and had an extremely wide brim.
Lime buttons adorned the front of the jacket and three more were on the fly of his pants.
Dotted boots clicked as he walked to me.
He looked like a walking bag of Skittles. He was darling.
“Hello Brynn.” He announced seductively, without so much as a sideways glance to the guys. I noticed that his voice seemed dry and cracked a bit.
Did he really have laryngitis?
“Are you alright?” I questioned, uncertainly, wondering if he was truly ailing.
“I’m fine, sore throat. Other than that, I’m fine.” Prince gave me a mousy grin.
I saw that pink and purple shadow adorned his lids and his lips shine with clear gloss.
My chilled blood turned to ice as he wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug and his wet lips pecked my cheek.
Prince had to have had the nerve of ten men to arrive alone on a floor just busting with Jacksons and kiss me in front of three of them.
Was he even aware of what kind of beat down he could incite?
“So, introduce me to your friends.” Prince whispered, picking at the two strands of hair that were falling into his face from under the hat.
“Uh, these are Tito’s three sons, Taj, Taryll and TJ.” I don’t know how I managed to correctly name them, I could barely remember my own name.
“Nice to meet you.” Prince smirked at them, tepidly shaking their hands, momentarily rolling his large eyes at Taryll. I don’t even think he noticed.
“Are you really Prince?” Taj questioned, star-struck.
“No, I’m just a shocking simulation.” Prince chuckled and coughed.
The Teez laughed, stiffly.
Tension was starting to fall into place like a Tetris game, filling every conceivable space. If it was this bad with just the Teez…
And at that moment, another piece of the Tetris puzzle fell in.
“Alright you guys, let’s have a rematch.” Marlon Jr. announced suddenly, skating into the hallway.
He almost fell on his ass when he caught sight of Prince.
“Oh! You’re Prince! Hi! I’m Marlon Jr.” He stammered, jamming a large hand in Prince’s face.
What the hell was he doing? I thought the Jacksons ALL hated Prince!
Smiling coolly, Prince shook his hand too.
“I see that Miss Brynn seems to have her fair share of boyfriends up here.” Prince observed snidely, glancing around at the Jackson guys.
Did he think I was messing around with all of them?
“Oh nah, it’s not like that. Brynn’s got one boyfriend--me!” Taryll fell back into boyfriend mode, sliding his arm around my waist.
“Not bad…” Prince looked him up and down. “…you kind of look like me.” Prince commented.
Taryll actually smiled until Prince added, duskily “…if I was about a hundred pounds heavier.”
Taryll’s nails dug into my side. Prince had just called Taryll--who was a bit on the hefty side--fat!
I thanked God that Taryll kept his hair trigger temper in check.
“Brynn! Taj! Taryll! TJ! Mars Bar!” Paris came flouncing out of the main suite in her socks, skates in her hand. “Daddy wants to know…” She trailed off when she laid eyes on Prince.
Why was everyone getting speechless around him?
Her blue eyes seemed to consumed her face, they grew so large.
And the shrieking commenced.
“Daddy! You friend who wears the high heels is here! Daddy! It’s the man in the heels!” Her voice made my eardrums ache.
From somewhere inside, I heard Michael scream “What?”
Paris ran over to Prince like she was his number one fan.
“Hi Mr. Prince! I’m Paris Katherine Michael Jackson! And I like your shoes! They’re cute!” She exclaimed, grabbing Prince’s hand and shaking it until Prince rattled. “I’ve never seen a grown up man in high heels!”
“Thanks.” Prince rolled his eyes again. I was certain he didn’t like to have a seven year old exclaiming that he was the first man in heels she’d ever seen.
“Oh shit.” I whimpered under my breath and The Teez and Marlon Jr. laughed.
I’d hate to send Prince on a first class trip back to Minneapolis via my fist if he was rude to Paris.
Paris gasped as she stood on tip toe to peer into Prince’s face.
“You’re wearing make up too! Wow! My Daddy wears make-up but you’re wearing make-up like Brynn--”
“That’s enough!” I gently grabbed Paris’ hand and pulled her behind me.
I had to stop this girl before I really did have to punch Prince.
“Nice kid.” Prince commented, a bit annoyed.
“Paris, Michael wants to know what you said.” Selena came strolling out of the suite.
A flurry of excited mash of English and Spanish exploded from her red lips when she caught sight of Prince.
At her sudden bi-lingual conversion, the rest of the Jacksons--and Rusty--appeared at the doorway.
“Oh Hell no!” I heard someone chatter as a space cleared for Michael to come forward.
At the sight of a dozen new faces, Prince gave a sharp take in of breath.
I knew that even in his wildest dreams he didn’t expect to see that many people.
I glanced at Prince; he appeared worried.
I had never seen Prince look scared before and it terrified me.
But Prince quickly regained his composure and exhibiting another broad smile and waved as Michael strutted over.
I had never seen Michael look so confident. Head up, body straight, shoulders back. There were students at West Point that could learn from him.
But then again, Michael had an army backing him.
“Ah, hello Michael, long time no see.” Prince laughed dryly and put his hand out.
“Hello Prince.” Michael touched Prince’s hand like he was contagious.
His voice was like ice.
I felt as though I was going to pass out. And vomit.
“I see you have the entire family here…nice.” Prince smiled as the crowd led by Jermaine, Tito and Jackie bled into the hallway, all of them vying to get a look at the man. Rusty had even left his Blackberry alone for once.
By the lethal looks on their faces, they were all mentally squishing Prince under their shoes.
Please don’t fight. Not in front of the children!
“How’s your throat? I heard you got laryngitis.” Michael went right for the jugular.
“That’s right. Got into a minor argument, screamed and fucked up my voice…” Prince explained.
“You said a bad word, Mister.” Paris put in. No one really paid her any attention.
They were all focused on the exchange of The King of Entertainment and His Royal Badness.
“…and I wanted to apologize for ruining the concert last night. I didn’t realize there were so many of you. But I can’t help my voice. Maybe when I’m feeling better, we can reschedule?” Prince stared up at Michael, his hazel eyes almost emerald.
“I’m sure that can be arranged.” Michael nodded. Michael’s mouth was saying yes, but his body was saying no. I knew he’d have to be dragged kicking and clawing into another Prince engagement.
“Okay. I have to go now, but I wanted to apologize in person. Good bye.” Prince waved at everyone.
“Bye Mr. Prince!” Paris waved happily, unaware of the magnitude of the situation.
Prince reached and embraced me again.
Over his shoulder, I saw that Michael was smoldering.
“Good bye Pretty Brynn.” He murmured quietly.
“Bye.” I replied somberly, as he let go of me, and summoned the elevator.
I was relieved to see him go. By the grace of God, he’d been blessed to get out of there in one piece.
As he stepped on and it swallowed him up, Jermaine burst up behind Michael.
“Mike! That little bastard has got some nerve coming up here! Damn! Ooh!” Jermaine jumped up in a circle.
“Did you get a load of that get up he was wearing? What rainbow puked on him?” Tito chimed in joining them, Jackie trailing behind.
“Well I think it was nice that he came an apologized. He didn’t have to do that.” Latoya called from where she hung in the door way.
“Toy, please. He didn’t drag his funky little self up here to apologize. He came to see Brynn. You saw how he hugged on her. Geez.” Marlon patted Latoya’s arm. “Got the hots for her.”
I couldn’t believe they were discussing the matter as if I weren’t in the room.
“Brynn, are you okay? That skunk didn’t try anything, did he?” Michael cautioned, twisting my ponytail in his hands.
“No…” I started.
“Of course not Uncle Mike, we were here!” Taryll grinned triumphantly.
“And he called you fat!” TJ pointed out.
“Prince called you fat?” Tito demanded, placing his hands on his love handles. I knew he was prepared to follow Prince on the elevator and put a dent into his face.
“I didn’t call anybody fat!” Prince (Jackson) exclaimed before running back into the main suite, Blanket following him.
“He didn’t call me fat!” Taryll exclaimed agitated. “Not in so many words. But I’d rather be fat that a damn midget!”
“You’re saying bad words!” Paris whined, shaking her finger at them.
As a commotion, most siding with “Prince has the hots” angle and a mere few--mainly Selena--going with the notion of “Prince was just apologizing.” I could hear that silly Clay Aiken ringtone on Rusty’s Blackberry chiming.
“Yeah, Mike, I’m telling you, if you want that man outta your hair, I’ll help you kick his ass. I swear Man.” Jackie confided.
“Too many bad words!” Paris moaned and ran off.
“What, so you can go to jail? I’ve been to jail, it’s not a nice place. Don’t do anything stupid Jackie!” Michael poked Jackie in the chest.
“It won’t be stupid Michael.” Jackie rolled his eyes and patted at his hair.
“You saw how he looked when he saw all of us. Scared as shit.” Jermaine laughed.
“Hey! Hey! Michael! Michael!” Rusty suddenly screamed, a smile wrapping itself around his face. If his grin were any wider, he’d have swallowed his neck.
“What is it?” Michael questioned as his brothers continued irritating him.
Rusty came stumbling over, Blackberry in hand.
“We have to go back to California! Now! Right now!” He declared.
Michael paled harshly as the room came to a halt, ears straining.
“Is something wrong? Did something happen to my house?” Michael whispered.
I prayed that it wasn’t more legal problems.
“I just got a phone call from Carmen Alonzo, he says that the HAA is honoring you!” Rusty exclaimed.
“Who’s Carmen Alonzo and what’s the HAA?” I asked no one in particular, not understanding what was going on.
“It’s the Humanitarianism Association of America. And Carmen is the head of the organization! They’re gonna give Michael an award for all the contributions he made with his Heal the World foundation over the years! Yeah!” Rusty actually grabbed Michael and hugged him fiercely.
The story finally hit home for me.
“Michael won an award! Oh my God!” I shoved Rusty aside, taking my turn hugging Michael and topping it off with a deep, sweet kiss.
Way to go Uncle Mike!” Taj chortled recording the kiss.
(He might have wanted to censor that bit--I was fully Frenching Michael!)
“I won? Oh gosh! Oh God! Woo! Hoo! Hoo!” Michael whooped cheerfully as I pulled my lips from his and everyone else rushed over to pat his back and hug and celebrate.
“Someone call room service and have them send up their best bottles of champagne, we’re about to par-tay!” I shouted.
It was finally official: Michael Jackson truly was the kindest man and was getting his accolades for it!



* * *


Later That Same Night

“Are you comfortable Honey?” Michael questioned softly, pulling the thick velvet and silk sheets around my shoulders, tucking me in the bed close to him.
“Of course…I’m with you.” I whispered, smiling up at him.
Michael was truly a tender vision in dark yellow, tone on tone striped pajamas. The color made Michael’s already luminous fair skin radiate even more.
His curls, now in just bare waves, tumbled around his chiseled face.
If Michael were a drink, I’d make him a double.
A triple even.
“I don’t know if I ever told you this Brynn Baby, but, um…” Michael trailed off sheepishly, and ran a hand through his thick mane.
“Yes, Michael?” I searched his deep, seemingly unending eyes, wondering what he was going to say.
“It just seems like everything is turning good since I’ve met you.” Delicate lips tapped my forehead. “I’m on my way to having a hit with Not Over, and then I met you and fell in love…” Another giggle escaped Michael as he wrapped his arms around me under the covers, drawing me even deeper into the folds that was his body. “…and now, I’m getting an award from the HAA. It’s wonderful. Ooh!”
Poking Michael gingerly on his head and down to his dimpled chin, I chirped,
“I’m proud of you Michael Jackson.”
A wide-eyed grin plastered itself on Michael’s face.
As Michael buried his face into my neck, smothering it with smoldering and simmering kisses, a new thought began to form in my mind.
“Mikey?” I questioned, trying to arrange my next inquiry just right, to avoid offending My Man.
“Mmm-hmm?” Michael continued smacking away at my throat.
The sensation was so good; I almost forgot what I was about to say.
“I know that you’re getting a humanitarianism award, but I’ve been with you for the longest, and I…um, I haven’t seen you do anything…”
A small pang of guilt instantly ran through me like an Ex-Lax through a person’s bowels.
The kisses came to a slow halt.
Looking down at his hands, Michael commented quietly,
“Well…I have been doing some work. While you were working in Minneapolis with that Three Inch Creep, I donated some money to a few orphanages in California and a couple in Nevada too. It’s just I’m shy to talk about things like that. I mean you know, I don’t really like to broadcast everything I do.” Michael glanced off to the side and fiddled with his hair.
I stared at Michael.
Dumbstruck.
I had heard that Michael often downplayed his philanthropic endeavors, but it was incredible that he had even kept his donations a secret from me.
“Mike, why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t know. I mean I’ve known about the Heal the World Foundation since I was a kid, but I didn’t know you had done anything as recently as when I went to Minneapolis!” I sighed, reeling in the notion that I was indeed, probably the last to know.
“I don’t know. You were so busy. And it’s nothing for me to donate the money. If someone with a good cause comes along, I help.” A small smirk/smile crossed Michael’s pink lips. “Especially sick or impoverished children…I am so sensitive to their pain.”
Placing a hand on his slim shoulder, I chuckled, “Well next time tell me. I want to help too.”
Michael’s face brightened. “Really?”
“Yes!” I threw my arms around his neck. “Anything that concerns you concerns me. Especially the children!”
Michael was so endearing when he was shy.
“Brynn…” Michael wrapped a lock of my hair around his long, thin fingers.
“I’m glad that you feel the same as I do about helping the less fortunate.”
“Of course, Baby. It’s one of the reasons I love you so much, your giving heart.” I grinned and pecked the tip of his impish nose.
“Well, there was something I wanted, and I wanted to ask you properly…” Michael drew a deep breath and grabbed onto my hands.
My own breaths quickened.
Was Michael Jackson about to pop the question?
Not quite, but the question he asked instead was just as thrilling.
“Brynn, would you honor me by being my date to the HAA Awards?”
My jaw dropped.
Michael Jackson was inviting me to share in the awards proceedings with him!
“Yes Sweet Baby! Yes! I’ll go!” I gushed and pressed my lips to Michael’s, triumphantly.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had been that happy.