Chapter 35

Sometime Later

I sat at the island in the kitchen, drowning my sorrows in chocolate milkshakes.
Four empty glasses sat before me and I was halfway done with my fifth.
I didn’t know who I was more pissed at.
I had received the dreaded phone call from Michael--he was going to be staying the night in Beverly Hills at Jermaine’s house.
I saw no true reason for Michael to even be there.
The fight between Selena and Jermaine had nothing to do with him.
So what if Selena had spent two thousand dollars more than she was supposed to for a new necklace?
It was like she was using Michael’s Visa card; it was Jermaine’s.
And it wasn’t Michael that called her a gold digging bitch; it was Jermaine.
And it wasn’t Michael who had an angry Mexican woman letting the air out the tires of his green Jaguar--it was Jermaine!
I slurped on the remaining swallows of milkshake, and pushed the glass aside.
The drinks had merely offered a distraction. I hadn’t been thirsty; I had just wanted someway to deal with my frustration.
I just knew that if I had found alcohol instead of milk and Nesquik, I would have been a slurring, stumbling mess.
I felt so empty alone without Michael.
His house seemed so big without him in it. And without the screams and laughter of the Jackson Trio, the house was a shell of it’s former self.
I was outrageously bored and there seemed to be nothing to do beat the feeling of abandon I felt.
I mean sure, Michael hadn’t left me on purpose. He was going to help his brother. I couldn’t stop Michael from helping his brother. That’s the kind of man he was; if someone reached out for his help, he grabbed their hand.
But still, the feeling was that of an itching rawness mixed with disappointment.
I glanced up at the clock mounted to the wall over the French doors leading outside. (It was cute, in the shape a Swiss cottage with little owls hanging from it.)
The time read as half past one in the morning. I sighed and tossed my hair angrily.
I knew that if the trouble with Jermaine hadn’t broken out, I’d have been wrapped around Michael’s slim pale form like a flesh belt.
I sprang away from the table suddenly.
An antsy feeling was consuming me.
For some reason, I had to get out of the main house, or I knew my indignation would cause me to toss glasses around the way Michael had in his You Rock My World short film.
Rushing over to the phone next to the refrigerator, I picked up and dialed the hut that housed the bodyguard who kept a watch over the front gate.
It rang several times before he picked up.
“…Yes Miss McAllister?” The guard answered attentively, like a soldier to his commandant. It was nice to hear a man’s voice. Soft and baritone.
“Hi…Scott?” I questioned, twirling my hands in the beige cord that dangled from the receiver. I had an idea in mind.
(NOT THAT!!!!)
“Yes?” Scott replied.
I leaned against the fridge. “Scottie, do you know how to work the popcorn machine and projector in the theatre?”
“Yes, Miss McAllister.” Came the response.
“Well, would you please come and put on Gone With the Wind for me and make me some popcorn. Some popcorn for yourself too if you’re hungry.” I added, with a smile.
“Of course, I’ll be right around Miss McAllister.” Scott vowed.
“Okay, thank you Scott.” I smiled, and hung up.
I don’t know why, but when all else failed watching the exploits of Scarlett O’Hara seemed to make me feel better. Seemingly no matter how screwed up I got, nothing could top her.
But as I made my way to the Theatre Neverland, I had no idea how screwed up I was about to become.

　
* * *

A Couple of Hours Later

“Hmm…let’s see, do I want Jujubes or Skittles?” I wondered aloud to myself as I raided the expansive candy counter situated in the front of the theatre.
My movie had broken for intermission, and finding my popcorn tub empty, it was time to rely on a sustenance of the sugary persuasion.
I was once again on my own. Scott had disappeared back to his post once he had loaded my movie onto the projector and popped the corn. (He took none for himself.)
Finally choosing a bag of Skittles, I hoisted myself up onto the Plexiglas counter and ripped the bag open.
As I munched on the candies, I sighed angrily to myself.
I still felt the same empty sensation I’d had earlier.
I didn’t need candies or popcorn or an epic love story to fill the void.
I needed Michael.
A cold shiver wafted through my body as I thought of him.
I needed to feel his arms around me, lips pecking gently at me, hands running a marathon on my body…
I wasn’t sure how it happened, but somehow my mind drifted from Michael and over to Prince (Nelson).
The last conversation that I’d had with him.
A zealous shiver ran the length of my spine as I thought of how Prince had so blatantly told me that he’d want me… “on a bed of watercress.”
I wondered where he was. I hadn’t heard from him since I had gone to dinner with Selena.
Prince could fall off the face of the Earth and seemingly dissolve from mankind when he wanted to.
I had tried calling him numerous times and each time the phone would ring and ring.
But once again, the effect wasn’t wasted, I wondered about him, as I was sure was his true intention of being just out of reach in the first place.
I brought my knees up to my chest, which was heaving with the onset of arousal.
My mind drifted back to that night in Minneapolis--it often did. The expression on Prince’s face as he was eyeball deep in…me, and how he had paused to wink at me.
It had all be so outrageously naughty.
Just like Prince himself.
Click.
I jumped slightly at the sound of one of the double doors to the theatre closing.
Thankful that I finally had company, I hopped off the counter and whirled around.
“Hey Scottie, you came back! Let’s make some more popcorn--heavy on the butter.” I grinned. “I’ll help…”
I trailed off as all my bodily functions seemed to come to a screeching and rip roaring halt.
I felt as though I was dying, my chest was tightening up and my heart seemed to be throbbing somewhere behind my eyeballs.
A lone person loomed just inside the doors of the Theatre Neverland.
This wasn’t Scott.
This wasn’t Scott at all.
“Oh…no…” I gasped, bringing a shaking hand to my mouth and backing up until I collided with the old-fashioned popcorn machine behind me.
Framed perfectly by the teak doors of the building, was Prince.
I gazed at him unable to speak.
This couldn’t be happening.
This couldn’t possibly be happening.
There was no way in hell that Prince could have gotten into an all but empty Neverland Valley Ranch that had at least ten guards patrolling it at all times.
Had he killed them all?
I trembled as I continued to stare at him.
Prince was tantalizing in a lavender shirt, loosened to expose his chest tufts and third skin black trousers. A silver symbol twinkled at his waist.
The four inch heels of lavender boots clacked as Prince slowly sauntered over to the counter.
Each step was deliberate and each sound that the shoes made threatened to make my ears bleed.
His hair, sleek and glossy, fell into his eyes and bounced with every movement he made.
His expression was unmistakable and unnerving.
Eyes glowing emerald and outlined in purple, lips glossed and puckered, cheeks hollow and caved.
The man was horny personified.
Placing his hands on the counter--the rings on his hands tinkling against the Plexiglas--Prince leaned against it, acting as if the place were his own at Paisley Park.
His eyes seemed to devour me.
Silence filled the space between us.
Those eyes….
They seemed to take in my entire being, greedily.
Finally….finally, the man spoke.
“Hello my Pretty Brynn. Don’t you look cute in those pink leopard print pajamas.” He commented luridly, his voice dripping from those rose petal lips like honey.
“Prince…” My voice was strained as I tried to slide around the popcorn maker. “Why are you here?…Aren’t you supposed to be in Minneapolis?”
All I could think about was how the hell he gained access to the property.
A sly smile curled his mouth as he chuckled deeply.
“Does this look like I’m in Minneapolis, Baby?” He questioned, and the scent of his floral cologne invaded my nose.
He smelled so sweet.
“My, God…how did you get in?” I murmured, shaking my head at him.
This was unreal.
Prince started to inch his way around behind the counter, closer to me.
“It’s incredible what a thousand dollar bill can do. The big bastard at the gate with the blonde dreadlocks, started babbling like a bitch when I flashed the money at him. He even offered to park my Beemer for me.” Prince blew a stray lock of hair out of his face.
I was once again dumbfounded.
Prince was tossing around a grand to get into Neverland?
To see me?
Furthermore, just what kinds of characters did Michael have on his payroll when I knew he had given all his employees explicit instructions to beat the hell outta Prince and send him home in a gum wrapper if he appeared near the property?
I became aware of Prince coming dangerously close to me.
His aroma was engulfing me.
“Aren’t you happy to see me? I’m happy to see you.” He announced sweetly. Too sweetly. There was something perverse bubbling just below the surface--as always.
I stared down at my bare feet, to avoid looking into his face.
If I looked into his face….
Who knew what would happen.
“You wanna know something Sugar?” He whispered, his voice dropping several octaves.
I remained silent, too fearful to answer him.
“I was lying in my bed in my house in the Hills and all I could do was think about you my Sugar Doll…” He confided with a squeak.
“I always think about you Brynn…it…it helps me…to get off.”

My hands were twirling a mile a second in front of me as I began wringing them wildly.
Prince was thinking of me….as he masturbated?
“You should see me Brynn Baby, the way I go at the end…I think you’d like it. It’s so…messy.” He purred the last word at me, and I shuddered.
I was trying my best to not get pulled into this dirty realm that Prince seemed to be a permanent resident of, but it was proving so damn hard.
“I know you like it when I pull my candy cane out. You like that sweetness that you can get out of it.”
Soft fingertips brushed my chin as Prince gently tugged my face up, forcing me to stare into his.
Prince’s eyes, hazel and glittery washed over my face.
“You have such a pretty little mouth Brynn. I really liked the way you kissed my cane that night. So greedy, so hard. Best I ever had.”

“Please….stop.” I begged, pulling free from his grasp and turning my head away.
It was alarming how just moments before I had been happily reliving the tale in my mind, but now that Prince was there, speaking of it, it seemed like the tawdriest thing in the world.
My pleas fell on deaf ears.
“And when I got a hold of you…” Prince continued nastily,
“The taste…didn’t know a woman could be so sweet. Give a man cavities Brynn. Shee-oop!”
“Prince…” I started and a manicured finger was pressed to my lips.
“You were so ripe, so pure. I knew Michael Jackson couldn’t handle you.” He noted snidely. “He can’t handle you the way I can…”
Prince carefully looped his arm around my waist and began drawing me against his body.
I numbly let myself be brought to him.
“I bet Michael just messes over your body. He can’t possibly understand what it’s like to be with a woman built like you. Those plump titties and that bouncy ass…” He looked down and over my body. “And he probably turns into a blithering idiot when it comes to that treasure box of a p**** you have.”
His eyes locked with mine.
“I need to shut the fuck up.” He said quietly.
Nestling his hand in my flowing hair, Prince brought my mouth against his damp one and instantly he was smacking away at me like we were on the Titanic and had no life preserver.
At first I tried my best to resist the kisses.
But Prince’s mouth was so intoxicating and seducing and in sheer moments, I was submitting to him.
As I wrapped my arms around his slender figure, I felt a twinge of guilt. I knew I was doing incredibly wrong.
Horribly, incredibly wrong.
Kissing The Other Man on the property of The Main Man. I was really breaking rules left and right.
Reaching back, Prince took a hold of my hands and clamped them down on his abundant backside, steadily sucking away at my mouth, his tongue venturing inside several times.
I couldn’t seem to control myself.
I needed desperately to be touched and kissed and Prince was miraculously filling the void.
Prince broke his mouth from mine and his breaths, damp and leaden were puffing in my ear.
“Do…do you want me?”

He mumbled.
“Mmmmm.” I whined, resting my head on his sweet shoulder.
I wasn’t sure what to say.
Was I really about to get nasty with Prince?
At Michael Jackson’s home?
I was going to pull away from Prince, run and find a guard to toss him on his long face.
Do the right thing.
And then Prince spoke once more.
“Brynn…I want to drink you dry. Slurp you all up ‘til there ain’t no more.”

I don’t know where it came from, but I heard some voice reply,
“Do it! Do it Princey! Do it!”

Not reply, flat out demand.
With a satisfied snicker, Prince reached down and grasped my hand.
“Shall I lie you down right here?” He suggested, brushing my hair off my shoulder. As his fingers brushed my earlobe, I bounced with wanton.
Bringing his hand up to my mouth and pecking the knuckles, I shook my head, a smile creeping across my face.
“No, not here. But I know a place. Come on.” Tugging his hand, I pulled Prince along behind me towards a simple sliding door on the opposite side of the room.
“Holy shit!” Prince laughed as I slid the door open.
There lying before us, was what appeared to be a bedroom.
A king sized, freshly made bed stood just inside the room, lit by a lamp on a bedside table.
Through a large glass window, I could see that Gone With the Wind had resumed in the theatre.
“What in the hell is this? You and Michael be fucking and watching porno in here or something?” Prince cackled, doubled over as I led him inside, closing the door behind us.
Did everything have to smut laced for him?
“No Prince, “ I shook my head. “This is a room Michael has for sick kids who come and can’t sit in the theatre.” I explained, taking a seat on the side of the overly soft bed.
“Oh…” Prince paused and rubbed at a laughter tear.
“Speaking of old Needle Nose, was that babbling guard right? He really left you here all alone?” Prince sat and inched his booty closer to me.
“Um,…yeah.” I admitted, feeling a pang of pain. Why did Prince have to bring that up?
Damn Scott for telling Prince everything like a stool pigeon.
“That’s some bullshit for the chickens there. I tell you: You’re fucked up in this place. Michael going off and leaving a little lovely like you all by yourself.” Prince pecked my cheek fiercely.
“Michael Jackson doesn’t know what’s good for leaving at home, is even better for me.”
Prince passed his hands over my shoulders and down my arms.
“I’ve been thinking of this for weeks. Oh…shit.” His voice fell into it’s lower registers again.
His fingers flashed over and loosened the buttons of my top and a second later, the material was being pushed back, my breasts fully exposed to Mr. Nelson.
His eyes seemed to consume my chest.
“Goddamn, look at those tits.” Prince gasped, taking my shirt off me and tossing it behind him. “Bigger than I remember.”
Beyond us, Scarlett O’Hara kissed Rhett Butler passionately.
“You’re so pretty…Shee-oop!” Prince squealed as he laid me back against the pillows on the bed.
“Princey!” I exclaimed as he buried his face in my chest, heavily kissing and sucking away at my chest.
“Oh yes.” Prince kissing one breast, and massaging the other with his hands rejoiced.
My bottoms came off and I lay before Prince in a pair of barely there pink panties.
Prince leaned back long enough to rip his shirt off, breaking the chain of his symbol in the process.
His bronzy, tanned skin seemed to glow even though the lights were low.
He bent and started to take his shoes off.
“Prince--” I cautioned putting my hand up.
“What Sugar?” Prince glanced up at me, his hair falling into his eyes.
“Leave the shoes on…you left them on last time.” I pointed out.
“As you wish my little vixen.” His hands drifted to the waistband of his trousers.
“You ready for this? You ready for what I got Brynn? Cause once these pants come off, I’m not putting them back on until I get off, you understand?” An immaculate eyebrow was raised haughtily.
Prince was giving me a get out of jail free card.
I could have backed out of the situation, escorted him to his Beemer and forgot the whole idea.
I balled the card up and threw it away.
Eyeing Prince devilishly, I ordered,
“Take them off, or I’ll rip them off.”

“Oooh, you must be hornier than I thought Honey.” Prince teased, lowering the zipper on his trousers.
As the cloth slipped from his lower half, parts of him immediately sprang to life.
I drew in a shaky, shallow breath. Prince appeared to even more endowed and engorged that I had ever recalled.
What was I doing?
I knew it was terribly wrong, but I was mesmerized as Prince reached down and toyed with his pubic curls.
“You like what you see?” He questioned, arrogance oozing from him.
He spun around, pausing to jiggle his gigantic booty.
“Yes.” I hissed the word so lightly, I must have sounded like that creep Morris.
“I want the treasure.” Prince crawled across the bed to me.
Somehow my underwear came off in his hands. I don’t even remember how it happened. Did he slide them off or tear them like all the times before?
“I wanna try something crazy.” Prince announced suddenly, placing his hands on his hips, my panties still in his hand.
“What?” I asked tentatively. I knew that at it’s dirtiest, Prince mind could conjure up things that even the whoriest person wouldn’t do.
Pointing at me, Prince instructed,
“Flip over on your stomach.”
My erotica was overridden by a wave of pure, unaltered fear.
“No Prince!” I blurted, trying to curl into a ball. “You not doing me like that. I don’t do that!”
Laughter.
I was met with raucous laughter.
It was at the sound of the laughter, I truly felt awful.
For the way I was treating Michael.
For the way I was desecrating what was supposed to be a clean and pure place.
I should have been punished.
Once again, Prince spoke.
“I’m not gonna do you in the butt.” He snorted. “I love you--I won’t hurt you--unless you‘re into that.”
I looked up at Prince. He was grinning and glowing with perversion.
Maybe there was a way I could punish myself and still satisfy Prince’s needs.
“Princey…” I twisted my hands in my bare lap.
“Yes Darling?” Prince’s voice twanged with a hint of his Midwestern accent.
I barely heard myself.
“I want you to hurt me.”

Prince was wholly shocked.
“Oooh, this must be my lucky night! You’re into that! I knew Michael Jackson couldn’t handle you! You’re freakier than I ever thought Baby!”
Taking hold of my arm, Prince turned me over and gently positioned me on my hands and knees.
“Oh hell yes.” Prince whispered sexily, and he climbed into bed behind me. “Tonight, I get a nice, fresh bouncy ass…oh yes.”
An arm was wrapped around my waist.
“I’m sorry Michael.” I thought bitterly.
Positioning himself, Prince continued, “You’ll never be the same again Brynn. Trust me. This kind of shit changes people. But I like where you’re going.”
He smooched the back of my neck.
“I’ll be good to you…the best.”

He vowed.
And with that he roughly introduced himself to my hind quarters.
The pain was unrelenting.
“Ow! Stop! Prince! Stop! Wait!” I cried out as Prince started bumping his hips against me.
“You’re so tight….damn!” He grunted, driving himself deeper into me.
“Please…no!” I begged in a shrill squawk.
I knew I had wanted to be punished, but not like this.
I would have rathered Prince physically punch and kick me compared to this.
“Damn girl…damn!” He wailed, his hands seeking out my breasts and stroking them while pounding away so harshly at me.
“Princey!” I whimpered, trying to rise, in an effort to toss him off me.
I forgot how strong he was.
“You wanted this Brynn! Shut the fuck up and take it! Ugh!” Prince growled, angrily pushing me back down against the pillows.
“Stop…Stop…Stop…” I moaned as Prince brought his hand down and began pressing my face into the mattress, seemingly smothering me.
The thrusting against my backside quickened and I felt Prince’s mouth bump my ear.
“Tell me you love me.” Prince demanded, twisting my hair in his hand until my scalp burned. “Say you love you me.”
“I…I love you.” I managed to get out as tears began rushing from my eyes.
This was wrong. So frightfully wrong.
Prince huffed in my ear. Another word.
“Bitch.”
The word shattered my world and my heart.
I fell limply under his still gyrating form.
Prince had called me a bitch.
I thought he had cared for me.
And here he was blatantly abusing me.
My pain grew and I lay sobbing under him.
“Oh Baby shut up already! Damn!”

A swift punch was delivered to the center of my back.
Shock wearing on me, I struggled to get away from him.
Prince was beating me!

“Let me go! Stop it! Please! Let me go!” I screeched, trying to claw away from him.
“You want it rough? I can play that game!” Prince declared, grasping my shoulders tightly, and whipping me onto my back, one hand clutching my wrists together over my head.
His face was hardened, his features darker, eyes evil green slits in his head.
“No!” I screamed when I saw he had his hand raised to strike me.
In an instance of adrenaline, I broke a hand free and backhanded Prince across his face with every ounce of strength I could muster.
Prince whipped to the side and off onto the floor.
“Don’t you ever call me a ‘bitch’ you bastard!” I screamed, pulling myself up into a seated position.
On the floor, out of sight, Prince exuded an audible sob.
“I’ve never called you a bitch! What are you talking about?”

A voice, several octaves higher than Prince’s ,whined.
Confused, I leaned over the edge of the bed and looked on the floor.
Crouched on the floor holding his cheek wasn’t Prince.
My eyes swelled in sheer horror.
My heart seemed to stop in my chest.
Clutching his reddening face, was Michael Jackson.
“Michael! Oh my God! Oh no! Michael!” I cried leaping out of the bed.
As I stood, I realized I was still wearing my pajamas.
I looked around.
Prince was nowhere to be found.
Had he ran away when Michael arrived?
My attention flooded back to Michael who was still wiggling in agony on the floor.
“Michael!” I cried, dropping to my knees alongside him and hugging him. “I’m sorry! Oh! Michael!”
“Brynn, what on earth were you dreaming about?” Michael demanded, still patting his sore cheek.
It shone scarlet.
“What was I…dreaming?” I whispered the words more to myself that to him.
“Yes Baby, Scott told me you went to sleep in here watching a movie, and I could hear you hollering from outside. Then when I tried to wake you up, you tried to knock my teeth out.” Michael explained, running a hand through his curls. “What happened? You though the Confederates were coming for you?” He joked. “You shouldn’t watch a war movie that late.”
Tears of grief welled in my eyes.
“Oh Michael!” I gasped and embraced him tightly.
Even though I had just beamed him, Michael was still caring about me.
I looked back at the bed with a relieved sigh.
Dreaming, I had only been dreaming.
Prince hadn’t invaded Neverland and tried to assault me.
I had merely gone to sleep in one of bedrooms in the rear of the theatre.
The whole thing had been a figment of my imagination.
“Come on.” Michael stood and helped me to my feet. “Let’s go to the main house and eat breakfast. I wanna tell you about what happened at Jermaine’s”
“Okay.” I sighed, relieved that nothing dire had occurred. But still shaken that I had struck Michael.
“I’m so sorry I hit you.” I apologized again, patting at his back.
The man I Truly Loved.
Grasping Michael’s long hand, I started to follow him out of the room.
As I passed through the door, I could have almost sworn that I saw something silver glimmer on the floor.
I hoped that it was just my overactive imagination.
It had to be.

Chapter 34

A Few Days Later

“Do you wanna feed the llamas? Do you wanna feed the llamas? Yes you do! Yes you do! Come on!” I giggled running towards the habitat the housed the woolly creatures, located on the east end of Neverland.
“Yeah! I wanna feed’em!” Blanket exclaimed happily, running alongside of me. A large Ziploc bag of carrots jangled haphazardly in his little fist.
As we got to the gated area, I could make out Michael’s three exotic pets. Their mood seemed to perfectly reflect the day. They were all lying on their tummies in the hay scattered around the sandy/grassy mix of ground.
The male, a golden brown and white beauty named Louis, his “bride” a pure white stunner named Lola (Folana the Llama) rested cattycorner to one another.
Nestled in between Louis and Lola was their “baby”--a cute little gangly thing that was covered in the softest all over fur that matched the brown patches on her father.
Born just a few weeks before my arrival at Neverland, this little bit of llama fluff was Lena the Llama. (Allegedly Michael had named her after singer Lena Horne, who was one of his friends.)
“Are they sleeping?” Blanket whined as he hoisted himself up off the ground and onto the second rung of the fence surrounding the animals.
His sweet little face, with curly locks tumbling into it, was quickly turning into a scowl. All day he had wanted to come out and feed the llamas.
I gave them a once over; they did appear to be asleep.
And I wasn’t quite sure what the procedure was for waking them--if there was any.
Just as I was about to take a carrot from Blanket and try to toss it at one of the llamas, I saw it.
A hint of movement.
Lola’s right ear was wiggling back and forth like the last leaf on a tree during a hurricane.
I didn’t know about the rest of her family, but I knew that she was conscious.
“Honey, look! Lola’s awake. Offer her some food! She might get up!” I urged taking the bag from Blanket and handing him a carrot.
“Oh boy! Here Lola! Come get your carrot! Hey Lola!” Blanket cried out, leaning over the fence--I had a firm hand planted on the waist band of his jeans to keep him from tumbling in--and shaking the treat at the llama.
After a few moments, Lola climbed to her four feet, and after stamping around for a bit, she trotted over towards Blanket’s wildly flailing hand.
“Come on Lola, this is for you! Come get your carrot!”
The boy rejoiced gleefully as Lola began nibbling at the vegetable.
“Be careful Blanket.” I cautioned. “Don’t let her bite your fingers!”
“ I won’t!” The child replied and a moment later shrieked happily as Louis climbed to his feet and wandered over, looking for a meal.
Lena, on the other hand, remained firmly rooted to her spot and continued to slumber.
I occupied myself handing carrots off to Blanket. The llamas must have been famished, they were whizzing right through the carrots.
Everything seemed so cheerful.
Then a little storm blew in.
“Uh…hey Brynn.” A voice announced meekly from, somewhere behind me.
As I passed off another carrot, I glanced around.
Standing there, hands shoved deeply into the pockets of the red denim overalls he wore, Prince (Jackson) stood gazing up at me solemnly.
“Hey Sweetie!” I called giving him a small wave. “You wanna help your brother feed the llamas?” I questioned holding a carrot out to him.
“Nah…” Prince’s dark eyes darted around, seemingly nervously.
“Are you okay?” I wondered. Prince was normally a confident little boy and right then he seemed like he had something to get off his chest.
“Um…” The boy fidgeted a moment and ran a hands through his thick blonde hair.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” He snuck a peek over at Blanket.
“In private?”
I followed his gaze over to the toddler. A nuclear bomb could have dropped and I doubt he would have noticed he was so engrossed in his father’s pets.
“Sure Kiddo.” I nodded, draping my arm around his slim shoulders and starting to walk a few paces away. “Blanket, stay outside the gate. Don’t climb over it!” I advised over my shoulder,
“Okay!” The boy hollered back.
Prince and I walked a few more feet over to one of the large sycamore trees that dotted the property and took refuge in its shade.
“Alright, little man, what’s on your mind. You look troubled.” I pointed out, brushing a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. (I don’t know how he kept it so fair--I had never actually witnessed him getting his hair lightened.)
Prince shifted from foot to foot for a moment.
“Well Brynn, you know how you and Dad are getting ready to go to that awards thing in a couple of weeks?” He started, his voice cracking a bit.
“Yes” I nodded with a wide grin. I believe I was more excited about the HAA awards than Michael and I wasn’t even winning anything.
“Well…um, I was talking to Paris this morning and she said that Dad was taking Jonas and Skylar to the show with you…” Prince trailed off.
“That’s right.” I assured him. I had been there that morning when Michael had rolled out of bed and called the boys’ parents to invite them to the proceedings. “You father thought it would be sweet to invite them along.”
“Oh…” Prince was quiet for a long spell.
“Brynn…uh…” The child stammered and blinked his eyes as he tried to communicate the point he wanted to get across.
As he continued to mumble, my heart began to ache as I suddenly realized what it was he struggling to say.
“Prince, are you and Paris feeling left out because Michael is taking Jonas and Skylar to the show and not you?” I inquired softly.
Prince was once again quiet.
When he replied, I barely heard him.
“…yeah.”
It hurt my soul to see that Prince and probably Paris were unhappy about not being asked to go with their father to the HAA gala.
“Do you want me to talk to Michael and see if he’ll let you and Paris and maybe even Blanket come along with us?” I ruffed his hair.
“You’d do that for me?” Prince stared up at me with wide eyes full of disbelief.
“Sure little man, we’re friends right?” I gave him a warm smile.
“Oh thank you!” Prince gave me a hard hug. “You’re so cool!”
“No problem.” I giggled hugging him back. “Now you go watch Blanket and I’ll go talk to Michael right now.”
“Alright!” I watched as Prince, burden off his shoulders, ran to keep an eye on his younger sibling.
I looked towards the main house with a disdainful sigh.
I knew that Michael was somewhere inside.
And that I’d have to place his son’s burden on him.

* * *

Sometime Later
Inside The Main House
I found myself wandering the seemingly endless halls of Michael’s extensive mansion.
I didn’t really have a destination; I was just stumbling from room to room, my mind burning at a million miles a minute in my skull.
I just didn’t know what to do.
I was quite certain that Michael hadn’t intended to overlook his children. I knew that he just wanted to share some of the glitz and sparkle of his life with Jonas and Skylar.
Michael would be sorely hurt if I didn’t introduce the topic in just the right manner and the last thing I needed was to make the man I loved cry.
God I didn’t know what to do.
Walking into the living room and feeling utterly dejected, I dropped down onto the first chair available to me; a sturdy overstuffed Louis XIV chair.
With a troubled sigh, I gave the room a cursory glance, more out of indignation, than actually admiring the décor.
Michael’s living room was heavily decorated--almost littered-- with framed portraits of himself and his family in various sizes from a wallet sized photo of Mrs. Jackson to an extremely large headshot of Michael from when he was about thirteen years old.
But the portrait that caught my attention was about an eight by ten inch photo, in a heavy silver frame.
It sat a bit off to its self a few feet from me on one of the teak side tables that anchored the couch in the room.
Entranced, I rose to my feet, absently stumbling over and picking up the portrait for a closer inspection,
My heart melted.
In the photo, Michael was holding Prince, who couldn’t have been more than a few months old at the time. And the baby Prince was wearing an infant sized version of Michael’s iconic Billie Jean ensemble, complete with a white rhinestoned mitten on his right hand and glitter booties on his feet.
His hair, in it’s natural sandy brown color, danced across his forehead in curly wisps.
Michael was grinning proudly, like any glowing father would be.
Prince, in the photo, seemed groomed to be in the spotlight like his father.
(What other baby would be wearing his weight in sequins?)
As I continued looking at Prince, giving a gummy grin to the camera, I felt a tear starting to ooze its way out of my eye.
The boy didn’t just deserve to go to the awards, I felt he needed to go.
Prince Jackson needed the glitz as much as the other boys.
Paris too. (I knew because she lived in my make up case.)
Even little Blanket.
Setting the photo down with a mild clank, I turned on my heel, set on finding Michael and letting him know how his children felt.
I moved effortlessly through the room and up the stairs and before I knew it, I was landing on the second floor.
And a wave of sudden nervousness washed my newly found confidence away like a tsunami.
There at, at the end of the hall, stood Michael Jackson.
He was calmly picking through the tomes displayed on the bookshelf adjacent to his room.
He looked so at ease in a body hugging white shirt, and black slacks with his hair gathered behind him in a messy ponytail.
I found myself slowly walking towards him.
As I neared him, I could hear Michael softly singing.
“…satin lace and paisley cut top…the girl is wasting over…and she knows… what she’s got…”

Yeah, that was exactly what I needed at the moment; Michael to be singing She Drives Me Wild.
If I didn’t speak just right, the tune would change to Cry.
I hovered just behind him, wringing my hands to the part where they should have been bloody.
Hand a tremble, I reached out and tapped Michael’s slim shoulder so timidly, I almost thought he didn’t feel it.
“Hmm?” He turned and smiled at me sweetly. “”Oh hi Bunny!” He giggled, finally selecting a leather bound book from the shelf.
Oliver Twist.
“Hi…hi Michael.” I stammered as he tucked the book under his arm.
Reaching with his free hand, Michael adjusted the pink and blue plaid headband I wore in my hair.
“You look cute today.” He commented pinching my chin gently.
The grin he wore wrapped around his face and his dark eyes danced gleefully in his head.
I dropped my eyes down. I couldn’t bear to look at his happy face when I was about to drop napalm on his happiness.
Michael could sense my uneasiness right off.
“Is something wrong Sweetheart?” He questioned seriously and long fingertips brushed my chin once more.
“Mike…I have to talk to right now….it’s really important.” I whimpered, still gazing down at the tops of my shoes.
“Um, alright.” Michael sniffed. “Let’s go in my room.”
Placing his spare hand on my back, Michael and I slowly walked through the double doors of his room.
I watched quietly as he closed the doors, secured them, and tossed Oliver Twist off onto the foot of his bed.
“Now what’s the problem?” Michael questioned, still a bit of curious cheerfulness to his voice, placing his hands on his hips.
“I’d really rather you sit down for this. Please?” I begged, motioning to his large red throne.
The corners of Michael’s pinky mouth drooped slightly.
“This must be something serious if you’re throning me. Oh gosh!” Michael gasped making his way over to his the seat.
Once settled, he draped one long leg over the other, hands clasped on the knee.
“You have my undivided attention Brynn. Lay it on me.” He nodded deeply.
I drew in a breath just as deep.
It was now or never.
“Well, Michael. You know how we’ve been going crazy making preparations for the awards gala right?” I ran a hand through my hair.
“Yes, of course. I think I’m getting grey hairs from all the stress.” Michael chuckled. He stopped when he realized I showed no intention of laughing.
“Ahem.” He cleared his throat and cracked his knuckles.
I forced myself to continue. “…and you know how you invited Jonas and Skylar to attend the awards with us?”
“Yes.” He gave me a confused glance. “You were lying right there in my bed when I called the boys parents about going to the show.”
“Michael, I think you left about three people off the list when you invited Jonas and Skylar!” I blurted, my remark overriding his.
Michael chuckled again. “If you mean the boys’ parents, they can’t attend. They all have to work the night of the awards. Bunny, I told you that.”
“I don’t mean the boys’ parents…” I sighed, walking over and kneeling at Michael’s side.
“I mean you left out…” I squinted my eyes closed. “You left out your kids.”
“Pardon me?” Michael’s voice took on a icy sternness. A sternness I hadn’t heard since he had ushered me away from Paisley Park.
It took a ton and half of effort, but I managed to make myself open my eyes.
Michael was staring down at me, his eyes leaden blocks in his head.
His mouth had all but disappeared from his face.
“Explain yourself, Brynn. Now.” He instructed arms folding across his small chest.
And the floodgates opened.
Somehow I managed to babble out the whole story of how Blanket and I were feeding the llamas and how Prince had come along and told me that he and his sibling felt like they were on the back burner.
By the time I had finished, I sagged against the armrest of the chair, completely drained.
My body was bouncing violently with fear, because I was sure that Michael thought I was insulting his skills as a father.
And in truth, his fathering record was spotless. Impeccable even.
I stared vainly at the carpet, too terrified to even glance at Michael. I was sure that he was going to toss me out of Neverland on my face.
(And then I’d have to thumb a ride to get to Minneapolis.)
I jumped slightly when I felt Michael gently running his fingers through my hair, fingers caressing my scalp.
“Brynn, I want you to look up at me Honey, I have something that I want to tell you.” He murmured quietly.
Something in his voice, the sweetness of it, made me look up into his face.
A large smile was creasing it.
“Honey, this was supposed to be secret…hee-hee…”
Michael trialed off and patted the tip of his nose. “…but I am bringing my children along to the show. I just wanted them to be surprised when they saw their outfits and all.” He confided, with a shy giggle.
I sat back on my heels, wholly gaping at him.
“You…you’re taking Prince…and Paris…and Blanket?” I whispered, my mind not fully grasping the idea.
Michael nodded, ringlets bouncing.
“Oh!” I gasped jumping up and into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“I am so relieved. Mike, Prince was so sad, and this is so great!” I gushed. “You’re wonderful!”
“I have more wonderful news.” Michael’s lips brushed at my ear as he spoke, sending a zealous chill down my spine.
“What?” I chuckled, smooching his nose. Anything that Michael said now would just be gravy. I was just so happy and gosh-darned relieved that in the end the Jackson Trio would be elated.
“Well Brynn, Sweetness, what are you planning to do after the awards ceremony?” Michael questioned, picking at my hair.
“I dunno, help you polish your trophy? Go to sleep?” I offered, with a sly chuckle.
Michael eyes danced merrily as another giggle escaped him.
“Well we could do that, but I got a better offer.” Michael replied.
“You know my friend Elizabeth Taylor, right?”
I bobbed my head numbly. Though I had never met her in person, I knew that Michael and screen goddess Dame Elizabeth Taylor kept a close relationship--friendly--and she called Michael at least once a week just to catch up.
“Well, she’s attending the awards and she invited us to an after-party she’s hosting at her home in Bel Air. I told her of course we’d attend.” Michael chuckled.
“Are you kidding me?” I shrieked with a playful shove of his shoulders.
It was far too much for me to even imagine.
Not only was I going to be attending a star studded gala on the arm of The King of Entertainment, but now I was going to a party at the home of an Academy Award winning actress?
I was floating away on a pink, fluffy cloud.
“Nope Baby, I’m not kidding! We’re going to her after party.” Michael chuckled giving me a joyful squeeze.
Make that a pink fluffy cloud, in the shape of a nine.

* * *

Three Days Later

“…are you writing this down? Pick up a pen and write what I’m telling you down!” Michael admonished, running a hand through his long, flowing locks.
“Yeah, I’m writing everything down!” Rusty replied from where he sat at the opposite end of the table in the formal dining room.
The Jackson Trio and I took up all the remaining chairs.
I looked around at the children.
Drooping faces were supported by balled up fists. The kids looked absolutely miserable. Far from the bright and shiny faces I had seen earlier when they had learned that Michael had included them in the awards plans.
And they had a right to appear downtrodden. We had been seated at the table for the last three hours, as Michael covered all topics surrounding the HAAs gala. How we would be transported there, who would transport us there. How many bodyguards we would have. (Michael explicitly requested seven guards.) Who would carry his acceptance speech. Who would carry copies of the acceptance speech.
And now Michael was describing in detail how he wanted each of us to be groomed for the ceremony.
“I’m hungry.” Blanket whined, before shoving the straw of a juice box into his mouth.
“Rusty, read back what I told you, from the top.” Michael requested suddenly.
“Oh!” Paris whimpered, twirling the end of the long French braid that extended from her head.
Prince just cracked his knuckles and rolled his eyes silently.
“Alright.” Rusty, red-faced, responded though gritted teeth and flipped back through his notes--ten pages worth.
I glanced over at Michael. He was staring plain faced across the table at his assistant.
I knew he wouldn’t care if the notes lagged on for a hundred pages, he wanted to make certain that everything met his specifications to the smallest detail.
Rusty exhaled.
“From the top:
--You have reserved the entire nineteenth floor of the Paradiso Verde Hotel in Pasadena.
--You will be transported by Cadillac Escalade to the hotel the day prior to the awards ceremony at approximately five-thirty a.m. to avoid getting caught in a crowd of fans.
--You will be transported with the following people: Brynn McAllister, Prince Jackson, Paris Jackson, Blanket Jackson, Jonas Cartwright and Skylar. Brown. Rusty Ross--that’s me--and the seven body guards will follow you in another Escalade.
--Same cars will transport all of us to the home of Elizabeth Taylor in Bel Air.
--The stylist will arrive at approximately four p.m. to get everyone ready for the awards, which commence at nine p.m.
--You acceptance speech will be in the pocket of your trousers.
--I will carry the back up in my jacket.
And that’s the list so far.” Rusty shuffled through the papers to make sure.
Michael, hand to dimpled chin needed before continuing.
“Keep writing, now we’re covering appearances.” Michael pointed out.
He reached and picked up my hand. “Brynn, I see you’ve got your nails painted red.” He observed, bringing my fingertips close to his cute face.
“Yeah Mike. My nails have been red since you met me.” I replied quietly, taking my hand from his.
Every week, without fail, I had been keeping my nails crimson because I knew it was Michael’s favorite color.
(Plus I just thought it looked cool.)
“Well, I’d like for you change them. Your dress is white, blue and black. Take the red off and get French tips put on.” He smiled warmly at me.
I glanced down at my nails. It was just color; and I wanted to make Michael happy.
“Okay, French tips it is.” I returned the grin.
“Daddy! Can I get French tips too? Please?” Paris begged, extending her hands, topped with neon pink nails, out at her father. “You said my dress would match with Brynn! I want my nails to match too!”
“Um…” Michael looked over at me. “Will you be able to handle her at the nail salon?” He question, his voice laced with uncertainty.
“Sure. No prob.” I nodded, draping my arm around Paris.
“Yay!” The little girl cheered and hugged me back. In her eyes, she had taken another step towards womanhood. Well as far as a seven year old could step.
“Okay, hair.” Michael turned his attention back to Rusty.
“Mine will be down, curled, simple. Brynn’s will be up off her face and showcasing her neck and gown and all. Paris’ will be down and curled, with a section held back with a crystal barrette. All the boys hair will be slicked back. Well, except for Jonas’, cause he’s bald.” Michael chuckled.
“And Rusty, I want your hair slicked back too. None of that spiky stuff you’re doing now. This is a formal affair--got it?” Michael wondered.
“I gotta slick mine back too?” Rusty lamented, and touched at his hair, which did yield a bit of a Ryan Seacrest spike.
“Yes.” Michael responded sternly and tossed his tendrils over his shoulder.
Grumbling to himself, Rusty wrote down how he was to wear his hair.
Turning his attention to me, Michael announced,
“Brynn, sometime tomorrow Wally--you know from Aiken’s Jewelers in New York--is coming tomorrow with the jewelry that I selected for you to wear.”
I stared at him with a raised eyebrow. “You already selected the jewelry for me?”
How had Michael had the time? Recently every time I saw him, he was busy yelling instructions at Rusty. Cars, hotel reservations, security. I’d never seen him speak to Walter Aiken. But he must have gotten in contact with him somehow. Maybe Rusty was doing more with that damned Blackberry than just playing Pac-Man.
“Yes Honey, he’s bringing some stuff I ordered. It’s nice-- you’ll like it.” Michael assured me, finally rising up from his chair.
I started to argue with Michael that I didn’t need any extra baubles, but he silenced with a raising of his hand.
I knew in his mind, Michael wasn’t going to let anyone go anywhere unless they were all wearing what he wanted. (Reminded me of a certain someone.)
“Are you done Daddy?” Blanket wondered, slurping his juice loudly.
Michael stared down at his youngest offspring.
“Yeah. Let’s go outside and watch a movie.” Michael giggled clapping his hands together and trotting towards the French doors on the opposite end of the room that led to the Amusement Park Neverland.
I followed behind Michael as the children ran ahead squealing gleefully, happy to be free from all the preparations.
Right then, as I reached out and held onto Michael’s warm hand, I had no idea that very soon, a Purple Typhoon was about to descend on Neverland and that I’d get caught right in it’s destructive path.

* * *

Later That Same Night

“Would you listen to that?”
I glanced up from the fashion magazine I was flipping through at the sudden question.
Across the room, Michael was emerging from his private bath.
He was delectable in a pair of navy and red hounds tooth plaid pajamas.
The top had been left open, revealing his creamy chest. A tender rosy nipple peeked out at me.
He was casually drying his still somewhat damp hair with a large fluffy white towel. Obviously post shower.
His skin glowed pinky and luminescent.
Leaning back on the pillows I smiled at him.
He was so sexy.
“I don’t hear anything.” I giggled, my ears straining to pick up any sound.
I was met with silence, the only noise was of Michael’s clothing as he swished towards me, and climbed into the large bed next to me.
“The sound that you hear…” He exaggerated his point by placing his hand to his reddening ear. “…is the sound of my children off in Sherman Oaks at Tito‘s house.”
Earlier that afternoon, Michael’s brother had shown up and offered to let the kids spend the night.
Out of the clear blue sky.
Judging by the way Michael was grinning at me, I kind of knew that Tito’s offer hadn’t been spur of the moment.
Reaching and pinching Michael’s cheek, I murmured seductively,
“That was really sweet of Tito. I’ll have to say ‘thank you’ the next time I see him.”
“You can thank me now.” Michael whispered shyly, and a moment later, his lips were pressed tenderly to mine.
And his hands were running a marathon all over my body.
“Mike!” I gasped as Michael dropped his hot mouth down and pecked at my neck.
Oh, I knew that Michael and I were about to do some major damage to each other…
Ring!…Ring!…Ring!

“What the hell?” I whined glancing over at the telephone next to the bed as it continued to ring. I was ready to have Michael make me climb the walls.
“Who on earth is calling now?” Michael questioned angrily, rolling onto his stomach and staring at the Caller ID screen.
“Who is it?” I demanded, pouting, making a mental note to do bodily harm to whomever had the audacity to interrupt us.
Michael glanced back at me, eyebrows to his hairline.
The phone rang incessantly.
“It’s Jermaine.” He whispered.
“Let it ring!” I exclaimed. “There’s a hundred Jacksons. He can call another one. Jackie, Marlon….Jesse!” I reasoned.
“No, let me get it. It might be important. That’s my brother.” Michael sighed, pulling himself into a seated position and picked up the receiver. “I’ll make it snappy.” He vowed.
“Right.” I fluffed my hair out, agitated.
“Hello?” Michael looked back at me with a wink.
I watched as a cloud came over Michael’s face, causing it to darken and a thousand wrinkles appear on his forehead.
“Mike…?” I questioned, hoping that nothing horrible had occurred.
Michael quickly raised his hand, a clear indicator to me to hush.
“Whoa, slow down Jermaine? What happened? What?” Michael cried out jumping to his feet.
“What’s wrong?” Immediately I was out the bed and by his side.
“Well, where is she now?” Michael demanded. “Oh, damn! Okay, okay! Calm down! I’ll be there in a few minutes. Bye.” Michael slammed the receiver down and jogged towards his closet.
“Mike! What’s wrong, what happened? Tell me!” I begged as Michael stripped out of his pajamas and quickly donned a pair of jeans and a button down shirt.
“That was Jermaine. He and Selena just got into a big fight. He called her a ‘gold digging bitch’ to her face and now she’s locked herself in one of the bathrooms at his house. She won’t come out. I gotta go over there and help.” Michael reached and began looping a large silver belt around his thin hips.
“He called Selena a ‘bitch’?” I felt my eyes widening. Jermaine didn’t seem the type to call a woman anything mean. They must have really tangled for it to come to that.
“Do you want me to get dressed? I’ll go with you!” I offered, following Michael as he rang downstairs, pausing to hit a button the wall that alerted someone to bring his car around.
“No Honey, this kind of thing can drag on all night and into the morning. I’ve been over at their house during a fight. It ain’t pretty. I just hope she didn’t throw any stemware. Last time I cut my foot on a piece of glass. Damn!” Michael and I emerged on the bottom floor, where a sleepy eyed guard met him at the door.
“Michael! You call me the first moment you know anything!” I called as Michael started towards the front door.
He paused a moment and ran back over to me.
Smacking my mouth, he replied, “Of course Honey. You go get some sleep. You’ve still got a busy day tomorrow. I love you!”
With that, Michael Jackson was whisked out the door and into the night.
“I love you too.” I called meekly after him.
As I climbed back up the stairs to go to Michael’s room, I sighed, wishing that Michael was back to ravage me.
I had no idea that my request was going to be met, but in a way I never expected.

　

Chapter 33

Chapter 33

The Fifty-Fifty Restaurant

Beverly Hills, California

An Hour and a Half Later

“Oooh! I’m so glad that you were able to come to dinner with me!” Selena giggled happily as we followed the maitre d’ through the already packed restaurant.

“I’m glad that you invited me.” I smiled, tossing my ponytail over my shoulder.

As we continued walking, I glanced around the restaurant. Michael hadn’t been lying, the Fifty-Fifty was a really nice, upscale place.

But I wasn’t dressed too casually, Selena was wearing a bright pink satin blouse and black and pink floral print trousers.

With it’s burgundy interior and gilded Etruscan furniture, it was easy to forget that I was still in the USA. I completely felt like I was in Venice.

I kept looking around for the gondola.

Light Italian music played from hidden speakers.

“Here we are ladies.” The maitre d’ spoke up, as Selena and I slid into our seats at a table on the east side of the eatery, situated a few feet from a large golden fountain the featured blue colored water spouting out of the mouth of a marble mermaid.

“Would you ladies like to order drinks and peruse the menu, or would you like to place your full order now?” He questioned, loudly tapping the two leather bound menus he was holding against his chest.

“We’ll order now…” Selena leaned and peered at the name tag attached to the pristine white shirt the man wore. “Mauricio.”

“I’ll have a the Veal Sicilian with baby carrots and a glass of White Zinfandel.” Selena nodded.

“What’ll you have?” She grinned around the lighted crystal candelabra in the center of our table at me.

“Ah…” I stared up at Mauricio. He was staring back at me, his dark eyes solemn. “My boyfriend said I should try the blackened cod?”

“Yes ma‘am, that’s our Cod Tuscany. What would you like to drink?” Mauricio ran a hand through his heavily oiled black hair.

I stared straight ahead. I wasn’t so sure about what to get, I was still underage!

Luckily Selena saw that I was floundering and tossed me a lifesaver.

“What do you suggest?” She grinned up at the man.

“I find that peach schnapps marries quite well with the delicate flavor of the cod.” He pointed out.

“Well, peach schnapps it is!” I put in.

“Very well, I shall alert the chef of your order. Thank you.” Mauricio turned on his heel and started away.

“Thanks for helping me!” I gasped at Selena. “I didn’t know what to say, I don’t drink that much.”

“Oh no prob. I love this place. I eat here all the time. You know I actually met Jermaine here.” Selena giggled again, fluffing out her auburn curls.

“Really?” I was starting to loosen up and feel more at ease in her company. She truly was a sweet person and very easy to get along with.

Selena’s honey colored eyes widened. “Yes. Four years ago! I was in here eating lunch and he was in the back corner eating too. We couldn’t stop looking at each other…then he came over and point blank asked for my number. Took some nerve.” Selena chuckled. “And we’ve been together ever since. I mean I’ve been dating Jermaine Jackson for four years. It’s crazy. Doesn’t seem real.” She sighed contentedly.

“I totally know what you mean. Sometimes I wake up, and have to physically reach out and touch Michael. From time to time I worry that I’ll go to sleep and wake up to find that it was all a dream!” I laughed.

Selena and I really were on the same wavelength. We were both dating stars.

Selena tapped herself in the chest. “Me too! Me too! Right now I live with

Jermaine in his big house here in Beverly Hills. You know where I used to live?”

“No, where?” I questioned.

“I used to live in a crowded, five story walk up in East Los Angeles. The only reason I was in here the day I met Jermaine was because I had won a free lunch here in a raffle!” Selena exclaimed.

“No!” I grinned. “It was like fate?”

“Totally!” Selena snorted as a waitress who introduced herself as Isabella presented us with our drinks and assured us that our meals would be out within the next ten minutes.

If I had known what kind of night I was going to have, I would have ordered something stiffer than a peach schnapps!

* * *

Forty Five Minutes Later

“Michael was so right about this cod. It’s awesome.” I announced, taking another bite of my half eaten fish.

“I like that too, but the veal is my favorite.” Selena chuckled. “Hey, what’s the plans for tomorrow? I think Jermaine mentioned that you and Michael were hosting those two little boys tomorrow at the ranch?” She sipped at her White Zinfandel. (Her third glass.)

“Yeah, we have a jam-packed day. The caterers and people that run the rides are coming at like four a.m. and then Mike’s videographer is coming at seven. Then I have to get up at seven also, because I gotta get dressed and all gussied up. Because he wants me to look older than what I am…of course.” I chuckled, thinking of how whenever someone outside our secure circle had to encounter me, Michael insisted I pile on the cosmetics.

“When do the boys come?” Selena wondered.

“Around ten. Michael wanted to make sure that some of the food was cooked and all. Mike is going all out. The boys are coming in a red stretch Hummer limo.” I shivered, just trying to imagine how elated Jonas, Skylar and their folks would be to see their “chariot”.

“That is so cool. Michael is a really generous person. Oh, are you excited about the HAAs?” Selena pushed.

“Don’t even get me started Honey.” I threw my hands up. “I can’t wait to go. I felt like royalty in that dress man! It is amazing!” I shook my head, feeling lightheaded and happy about the impending awards.

“Well…Michael is the King of Pop.” Selena pointed out and we giggled like schoolgirls. “You should feel like royalty!”

“It feels surreal you know? I mean first I get to sing with Michael and now I’m, going to an awards show as his date? I mean get out of town.” I shook my head until my ponytail flew.

“Yeah, I know I mean it’s so breathtaking…” Selena stopped short, staring past me.

“Um, Brynn, there’s a woman over there and I think she’s trying get your attention.” She said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

“What?” I dropped my fork. Who would possibly trying to attract my attention?

“Over there.” Selena pointed a fuchsia tipped finger.

I twisted in my seat and followed the direction Selena was indicating.

I almost ralphed up my entire meal all over the stucco floor when I saw a woman rushing over to me, from the back of the restaurant.

She almost looked like a supermodel, in a clingy blue minidress, and strappy gold heels, pale blonde waves floating around her face.

I knew this woman.

I knew this woman.

And I wished I didn’t.

It was Mindy!

“Oh my gosh! Hi Brynn!” She exclaimed as she got to the table and leaning, gave me a soft hug. (And gave most of the people sitting behind her a view of her panties.)

“Hi…Mindy.” I said haltingly, sneaking glances all around the building. I knew that if Mindy was somewhere, Prince wasn’t usually too far behind.

I hoped I was hallucinating.

Maybe this wasn’t Mindy. Maybe this was the schnapps distorting a person.

Maybe I was really hugging Paris Hilton.

I looked at the woman.

No, this lady had boobs.

It was Mindy!

I heard Selena clear her throat loudly.

“Oh, um…Mindy, this is my friend Selena Yves. Selena, this is Mindy--” I paused. I didn’t know Mindy’s last name.

“I’m Mindy Batalli, nice to meet you.” She extended her hand to Selena who shook it lightly.

“You too.” She echoed.

Not being able to stop myself, I blurted,

“Mindy, what are you doing here?”

Dropping into the other empty seat at our table, Mindy grinned broadly.

“Well, I got the night off. And I wanted some good Italian food--I’m half Italian. This place makes me think of home. Hee.” She chuckled.

“You’re by yourself?” I whispered, hoping that Prince was on a flight to Minneapolis or Abu Dhabi, or someplace far away from California.

“Yeah, Mr. Prince wanted to be alone so he could write some songs in peace…” Mindy started.

“I thought your name sounded familiar! You’re Prince’s make up artist right?” Selena butted in.

I stared at her, horrified. Prince wasn’t there! There was no need to talk about him!

“Yes. Brynn spoke about me?” Mindy seemed flattered at the thought that I had been talking about her.

“Not exactly. My man, Jermaine, said Michael had mentioned you a few times.” Selena set the record straight.

“Oh that’s cool. Michael Jackson spoke about me.” Mindy’s cheeks turned scarlet. “You know actually, I was supposed to drive up to Neverland after I got done with my dinner here.”

Was it just me, or had the temperature dropped to a negative eighty?

What in the hell was Mindy doing going to Neverland? Was Prince slowly trying to send everyone he’d ever met in his life to Michael’s house?

He really did want Michael to kick his abundant yellow ass.

“Why was Prince sending you to Neverland?” Selena beat me to the punch. I noticed that she was staring at Mindy the way a woman stared at another one before they commenced to pulling each other’s hair out.

“Um…” Mindy stared down at her French tipped nails. “Well, Mr. Prince said that Brynn had told him that she and Michael were hosting two little disadvantaged boys at Neverland and he wanted to send a gift along to them too.” Mindy rose suddenly. “I have it out in my car. Let me go get it! I’ll be right back.” She was halfway across the room before I could speak to stop her.

I buried my face in my hands.

This was rapidly spinning out of control like a demon possessed Merry-Go-Round.

Prince was already a thorn in Michael’s cute booty and I knew that Michael’s cool would go AWOL if he was presented with a gift to give the boys that he hadn’t bought.

And it was about to get worse.

“Brynn…how did Prince know that you and Michael were having those kids over at his house tomorrow?” Selena inquired in a low, serious tone.

Face still covered, I replied,

“I told him when he showed up to the house the other day. He invited me to a basketball game, and it was Saturday, the same day as the boys’ visit. I had to tell him.”

“Is that the same day, he, like, kidnapped you?” Selena pushed further.

“Yeah…” I peeked through my fingers at her.

She was staring at me curiously.

“Prince invited you to a basketball game? Like a date? Prince asked you out on a date?” She remarked.

“No! No! It wasn’t a date!” I snapped, fighting off a wave of tears. “It was an outing, like this is an outing! But I couldn’t go! I’m not going!”

“Yeah, but you disappeared with him for hours.” Selena retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Michael called Jermaine and he was crying his eyes out. I mean really.”

I was struck speechless. Michael had been crying over me while I had been off frolicking with Prince like a character in a Disney movie?

Great, now I felt even worse.

(If that was possible.)

“He was crying?” I whimpered, my bottom lip quivering.

Selena nodded deeply, her light eyes wide. “Yes. I heard him on the phone. He said his kids told him they saw Prince drive away with you. He thought that Prince was going to rape you or something. He didn’t hurt you…did he?” She was wringing her tiny hands over the remnants of her dinner.

Good God, did the whole Jackson clan believe I had done “the marshmallow” with Prince?

“No…” I shook my head. “He was test driving the Ferrari. We went around Los Angeles and Malibu. Just talked. I sat in the car the entire time. He never once touched me. Never.” That was sort of the truth.

Selena sighed deeply. “Can I be honest with you about something?” She asked.

I nodded, almost too weak to speak.

“Okay, I feel like you’re a nice friend Brynn, and I think it’s best that I say this, you know, since I’m not a blood Jackson or anything. A lot of the family thinks that there was something that happened between you and Prince in Minneapolis when you were up there recording with him. And he keeps showing up bearing gifts, especially that car. It looks kinda shitty--pardon the expression.” Selena looked down at her hands. “And you know he kept popping up in New York and all that…”

I was struck speechless yet again. Was the veil that I shrouded my secret with Prince that transparent?

Just how many people thought--knew--that there was something going on with the little minx in heels?

I could have fallen apart at that admission.

I really should have.

But I didn’t.

Frowning until I felt wrinkles on the back of my head, I sneered,

“How dare you or anyone else speculate that I did anything with Prince? How can any of you even start to think that I’d treat Michael like that? I love Michael. Sure Prince may have a little crush on me--hell if I know--but he believes that stupid story that I’m dating Taryll. And do you think he’s crazy enough to risk getting a new hole kicked in his ass by every member of the family? I don’t think so! And that’s an insult to me. Does the family just think that I’m a groupie who’ll sleep with anything that makes a record? I do have scruples you know!” I slammed my hand on the table and all of the flat ware jingled.

“Now wait a minute!” Selena threw her hands up, her face paling. “Don’t lump me in with the rest of them! I never said I believed that shit. I personally think that you’ve been true to Michael. Lord knows Michael is in love with you. Ay Dios Mio. I see how Michael looks at you. How he glows. The man glows! It’s just that it looks bad. It looks really bad.” Selena fluffed her hair out again. “Brynn, I like you. And I like Michael too. And I like that you two are together and love each other. But Prince seems like a sneaky little man. Jermaine says that. Jermaine said he saw the way Prince looks at you. It’s different than how he looks when he’s talking to someone else. He says it looks like Prince is fucking you with his eyes!” She exclaimed so loudly a couple at the next table glanced at her.

“He can look all he want!” I rose to my feet, ready to storm out of the place. “I haven‘t done anything with him! Are you kidding? There are kindergartners bigger than him! I am not attracted to him in anyway. And you can tell all the Jacksons that. Jesse too!”

“Hey Brynn--” A new voice started.

“What?” I snapped, whirling around.

Mindy gave me a sour look. “It’s just me. Are you okay? You look angry.” She pointed out.

“I’m fine.” I tossed my hair and gave Selena an evil stare.

She avoided my eyes.

“Here are the gifts for the boys.” Mindy held out two small white boxes, both wrapped with bright violet bows.

I could make out the boys’ names written on the boxes in Prince’s handwriting.

“What are they?” I was skeptical. I hoped that it wasn’t wallet size versions of Prince’s nude photo.

“Little guitar picks. They’re white with his symbol on them and he signed each one. He told me to tell you to tell the boys he hopes they like them.” Mindy smiled openly at me and wrapped her arms around me in another hug.

I glanced over her shoulder and saw Selena giving me a anxious stare.

Just what had I gotten myself into?

How deep was this grave I seemed to be perpetually digging?

And if Prince kept cutting up, would Michael kick him off into it?

Ay Dios Mio!

　

* * *

　

The Following Morning

　

“…Brynn? Brynn? Hey wake up Sleepyhead.” A warm voice gently crooned and I could feel my shoulder being shaken lightly.

After a still slumber heavy moment, I allowed my eyes to flutter open.

I giggled when I saw that Michael’s lovely, smiling face was just a few inches away.

He looked almost good enough to eat with his body wrapped in his plush navy robe.

“Good morning, my little PYT. It’s seven a.m. Time to get up.” He grinned, leaning in and smooching my forehead.

“Oh gosh, it’s seven already?” I groaned, reaching up and toying with the curls that danced across his smooth cheeks. I could tell he had just gotten out of the shower; his hair was still a little damp and he was fragrant with the scent of his spicy cologne.

“Yes Baby.” Michael replied with a bemused chuckle and slid off of the bed.

“You must have been really tired from your dinner with Selena last night. You came right up to your room. I came in here about ten minutes later to ask you about your meal and you were knocked out.” Michael laughed again as he made his way over to one of the large windows in my room, pausing to open it.

Down below from the amusement park portion of Neverland, I could hear calliope music playing faintly.

“Did you and Selena have that much fun last night?” He questioned.

“Um…”

I looked down and saw that I was wringing my hands violently in my lap.

If only it were true. If only the night had indeed been uneventful, with just Selena and me going to dinner and chatting the night away.

Why did we have to run into Mindy?

Why did she have to forward a Prince laden gift to us?

It wasn’t fun that had sent me to bed as soon as I had gotten home, it was sheer worry.

The only pit stop I had made before collapsing in my bed was running to my closet to hide the guitar picks until I could think of what to do with them.

If Michael knew that I had something from That Damn Man in my possession…

At the thought of Michael, I glanced over at him.

He was still standing at the window, calmly gazing outside.

I didn’t want to ruin what was supposed to be a stress-free day, but something was compelling me to tell Michael what had happened at the Fifty-Fifty Restaurant.

Keeping secrets seemed to only complicate things and at the moment, I had more secrets that the government.

“Uh, Mikey, Sweetie?” I began tentatively, pushing the covers back and getting out of bed.

“Hmm?” He looked over his slender shoulder at me.

My nerves shook when I took notice of the affection spilling from his dark, doe eyes.

Selena was right, Michael really was in love with me.

And I was really, really in love, out of the park, over the moon, stupid for him.

I had to tell him.

“About last night…” I started, slowly walking over to him. “I want to talk to you about it.”

“Did you try the blackened cod? It was good, huh?” Michael grinned broadly, pushing my tousled hair back.

“Yes, the food was yummy--” I reached out and grasped his thin arm. “Michael, something happened last night and I need to tell you about it.” I quickly blurted, fearing I’d lose my nerve.

Realizing that what ever I was about to say was truly of importance to me, Michael’s face took on a serious pallor and he placed his arm around my hips.

“What is it Brynn?” He questioned, eyes searching mine.

I drew in a breath so sharp, my throat ached. It was now or never.

Do or die.

(And Michael did get supremely angry, he’d probably kill me, then turn Prince into a Purple Stain on the concrete.)

“Well, uh, last night while Selena and I were eating, we kind of ran into somebody.” I was surprised my hands weren’t bloody, I was twirling them so rapidly.

“Really?” Michael’s voice dropped a couple of octaves and for a moment, I almost lost my cool. “Who?”

“Yes…um, Mindy showed up and--” I was cut off by Michael exclaiming disdainfully,

“That Mindy woman showed up? Oh Lord.”

“Yeah, and um, she gave me a couple gifts from Prince.” I spit out and inwardly hunkered down, bracing for the impending explosion.

Before Michael could whip himself into a lather, or just plain whip me, I added hastily,

“They weren’t for me. They were for Jonas and Skylar. He sent the gifts for the boys. Mindy said they’re little guitar picks that Prince autographed.”

I stared up at Michael, praying that he wouldn’t be too angry.

Michael Jackson was quiet for an extremely long moment.

I turned my gaze away from him and looked over the expanse estate where I could see many of the rides were already in motion.

Bright, shiny and inviting, it all seemed the complete and total opposite of what I felt.

When he finally spoke, I almost tumbled out of the window in shock.

“I know that Prince sent some gifts for the boys.” He announced almost grimly.

“Y-y-y-you do?” I sputtered, waves of shock running the length of my spine several times over.

How did he know?

Michael nodded solemnly.

“Like I said, you must have really been tired last night.” He commented and a small smiled crossed his plump little lips.

“I--I don’t understand.” I whimpered, peering into Michael’s pretty face, trying to grasp his meaning.

Wiggling a thin white finger at me, Michael instructed.

“Follow me.”

Truly dumbstruck and starting to perspire with trepidation, I could only shuffle along behind him as he led me to the closet and pushed the doors to it open.

Directly in the center of the closet, a long white garment bag hung, a matching white shoebox nestled under it.

“Well, earlier, I was in your here, putting away your outfit for today--Rusty brought it from the cleaners--and I saw the little presents in a corner on the floor.” Michael noted with a light tap to the tip of my nose.

I was shocked wordless.

I had tossed the presents on the floor?

I could have sworn that even in my semi-awake state, I had hidden the gifts on the top shelf.

“See Honey?” Michael asked pointing towards the back of the large closet.

With a painful gulp, I let my eyes follow to where he was pointing. Sure enough, in the back corner, next to a yellow duffel bag, were the presents.

Oh, nothing made sense anymore.

I stared up at Michael. He seemed so calm.

And his skin had its usual beautiful , milky translucent white cast to it.

There was no sign of a raging red marring it’s surface.

“Are--are you angry with me? I mean for accepting the gifts from Prince? I know you and he aren‘t exactly the best of friends.” I inquired, turning my attention to staring at my feet, unable to bear looking at Michael’s sweet, trusting face anymore.

He continued,

“I have to admit, I was a little shocked to find the presents in there, because Prince never struck me as the type of man to want to do anything nice. You know, he’s such a little conniving piece of slime.” Michael sighed.

“But for him to send those little things makes him seem…almost human.”

I brought my head up so fast, my neck popped.

Michael Jackson was actually alright with my having gifts from Prince Nelson on my person?

Was this the Outer Limits?

I was surprised that Michael hadn’t burned the gifts then had a priest sprinkle Holy Water on the ashes.

“What do you want me to do with the picks?” I whispered, almost inaudibly.

Michael put his long hand up and softly stroked my chin.

“You can give them to the boys. I’m still a little surprised that Prince humbled his haughty ass enough to do that, but if it’s a gift for the boys, go ahead and give it to them.” He pecked my forehead again.

I could gaze at him, stunned, as Michael reached and removed the garment bag from the closet.

Michael Jackson was truly the kindest man in the world.

“Now, that the trouble about the presents is over, would you like to look at the outfit I brought? I designed it myself.” He inquired bashfully, nibbling on his bottom lip.

“Sure!” I exclaimed excitedly as he started to unzip the bag. It was astonishing to me that Michael had found the time to personally design my outfit. He was in such a whirlwind from all of his other activities, it seemed nearly impossible that he’d find the time.

The man was a living superhero.

“Ta-da!” Michael sang triumphantly, letting the bag drift to the floor.

“Oh Mike! I love it!” I shrieked, and unable to control myself, I was bouncing up and down like a five year old.

There, suspended from the hanger, was an oversized hot pink and white tie dyed shirt.

On the front of the shirt in a sort of silver glittery decorative paste was a the outline of the globe--with all the continents noted--and the words “Heal the World” circling the globe.

Also dangling from the hanger was a matching tie dyed stretchy headband and a pair of dark rinsed skinny jeans.

“Mike! It’s so cute! I really like it! Thank you!” I leapt into his arms and gave him a loud kiss on his sweet cheek.

Chortling and guffawing, Michael tried to loosen my grasp.

“Wait until you see the shoes Bunny.” He cautioned, and stooped to retrieve the shoe box.

While he was bent over, I softly patted his derrière.

“Brynn!” Michael snickered jumping up and pausing to smack at my mouth.

“What can I say, you’re just as cute coming as you are going!” I teased, taking the box from him and lifting the top off.

I stopped laughing when I saw the shoes.

Inside was a pair of Converse high-tops that had been tie dyed to match my shirt.

“Mike, these shoes are cool! I’ve never seen shoes like these. They’re awesome!” I gasped lifting one out.

There was even a tiny glitter globe on the side of it.

“I’m glad that you like them. You and the kids will be wearing shirts like that--all different colors. I have a shirt--it’s a little different, but I think you’ll like it.” Michael was chewing on his bottom lip again.

I grinned at him broadly. Michael wanted all of us to match. I liked when he wanted things to be a sign of solidarity in the Jackson household.

Rubbing my hair, Michael suggested,

“Why don’t you go get dressed? It’s almost a quarter to eight and the boys should be here around ten or ten-thirty.” He pointed to the clock on my bedside table. “Sam--the videographer--will be here at nine.”

“Okay.” I agreed. “Anything special you want me to do with my make up or my hair?” I wanted to look absolutely perfect for Michael.

This was his day to show out.

And I was proud to be a part of it.

Michael drew me close against him.

“Do whatever you see fit Sweetie. You look so pretty and cute no matter what you do.”

Tilting my head back, Michael’s soft lips mashed mine.

I truly loved him.

* * *

Thirty Minutes Later

“…she’s just a P.Y.T.--a pretty young thing…”

I sang quietly to myself as I stood in front of the large mirror in my bathroom, putting the finishing touches on my look.

I had to admit, I looked good. Michael Jackson had wonderful taste when it came to putting clothes on me. Everything fit me perfectly.

I had to hand it to Michael, he really knew how to dress me. The color of the shirt complimented my skin and everything.

I was just dying to see what he had on!

And I wouldn’t have to wait long…

Tap!…Tap!…Tap!

I looked up from the little diamond studs I was putting in my ears at the sound of someone mildly knocking on the door to my bathroom.

“Come on in! The door’s open!” I called, picking up my brush and raking it through my hair again.

“Hi, Honey, you look wonderful.” Michael commented as he calmly sauntered into the room.

“So do you…” I gasped, hand to my ear lobe, slowly turning to gaze at him.

“Wow!”

Michael was so hot he was almost blinding!

He wore a crisp white button up shirt, that was accented with a black and white tie-dyed cuffs, collar, epaulettes and front pocket. On the pocket was the silver glitter globe motif.

A tie-dyed band encircled his right arm.

The look was completed with a pair of sharply creased, black ankle trousers, a peek of white socks and highly polished black loafers.

Michael’s long, thick mane cascaded around his shoulders in loose, springy tendrils that framed his lovely sharp face beautifully.

His facial make up was minimal, just a touch of foundation with his usual Kohl outlining his eyes.

His superb, slim lips were glossed to a light sheen.

“Now Brynn, I have a special thought, and I hope you’ll go along with it.”

Michael announced approaching me, and placing his long, fair hands on my shoulders.

His touch was so warm.

“Sure, what?” I smiled up at him, ready to go along with anything he suggested.

“Well, you know that big red Hummer limo that’s supposed to pick up Jonas and Skylar and their parents?” Michael almost whispered, toying with my loose hair. A large smile was creeping across his mouth.

“Yes, of course.” I nodded, wondering just Mr. Jackson had up his sleeve.

“Well, the Hummer is parked outside. I was thinking it’d be pretty cool if you rode in the car and met the boys at their house. You know since the whole visit was your idea.” Michael chuckled and carefully kissed at my cheek.

Another gasp escaped me.

Michael Jackson was sending me along to pick up the boys in the red stretch Hummer limo?

“Are you serious? I really get to go and greet them? Really?” I could feel myself glowing.

“Yes Dear, I’d like for you to go. And it’s not too far away. The boys live in Van Nuys. Will you go Sweetie?” He questioned, hope in his gentle voice.

“Yes Michael! I’d love too! Oooh!” I exclaimed jumping up into his arms.

As excited as I was, I knew the boys were probably bonkers with pleasure.

　

* * *

Forty Five Minutes Later

Some Residential Neighborhood

Van Nuys, California

　

“Don’t laugh at me…I’m warning you Brynn. You laugh at me, and you’ll have to walk back to Neverland!” Rusty grunted from where he sat across from me in the large back seat of the stretch Hummer limousine.

I was honestly trying my best not to laugh at the man, but it was proving incredible hard.

Rusty Ross had an entirely new look. Instead of his usual three piece business suit, he was dressed in an orange shirt that matched mine. The only difference between his outfit and mine was that he wasn’t wearing a head band and instead of fancy sneakers, he wore a pair of plain brown Earth Shoe sandals on glowing--tanless-feet.

A pair of rose tinted sunglasses were perched in his highlighted hair.

The man was one bong away from being ready for Woodstock.

“I’m sorry!” I snorted and doubled over laughing. “But you look like you’re about to play a Beatles 8-track and light up a doobie.”

“That’s it! Get out this car right now!” Rusty scolded, slamming his fists into his lap.

“Calm down Rust Bucket, I’m just ribbing you. Jeez.” I sighed, running a hand through my hair.

“Yeah, whatever.” Rusty replied coolly, rolling his blue eyes.

“Oh Rusty, be happy. We’re about to make the century for Jonas and Skylar. At least try to crack a smile, hmm?” I winked at him with a giggle.

Rusty merely sulked. It seemed whenever the man had to be without one of his tailored suits, he turned into a crybaby.

(Kind of reminded me of a certain purple someone.)

As the limo turned onto another street, dotted here and there with cute, trimmed lawns and neat, well kept one story homes, I became aware of the sound of faint cheering.

Looking past Rusty’s frowning mug and through the front window of the limo, I could make out two small figures on the corner at the end of the street, jumping and clamoring and screaming.

As we neared them, I could make out the boys, Jonas and Skylar shrieking elatedly.

When the car came to a stop, the boys ran up around it , vainly trying to peer into the heavily tinted windows.

“Those little guys sure are happy, huh?” Rusty chuckled, pushing the door open, and hopping out.

“Oh man! It’s Mr. Rusty and Brynn! Look!” I heard Skylar exclaim, as he and Jonas rushed towards us.

“Hi Brynn!” Jonas made it to me first, and threw himself into my arms in a warm hug.

“Hi Jonas! Hi Sweetie! Oh you’re walking!” I giggled picking him up and spinning him in a circle. “That’s so good!”

“Yeah! I can walk. It’s so cool. I was hoping my casts came off before we went to Neverland and they did--last night!” Jonas grinned up at me, his large dark eyes dancing wildly in his head.

“My turn! My turn!” Skylar declared, pushing his friend out of the way and wrapping his arms around me.

“Hiya Brynn!” He chuckled, nestling his head near my shoulder.

“Hey Skylar! I see you got the cast off your arm. It looks great.” I noted, ruffling his red locks.

I stood back and looked them over. They looked like two MJ peas in a pod wearing oversized Bad tour T-shirts and jeans.

“I like your shirts. Very cute.” I grinned, their energy perking me up even more.

Who needed a Red Bull?

“Thanks! My mom got them on eBay. She’s in the house with Mr. Brad and Miss Susan. I’ll get them.” Jonas giggled, turned and running towards to his quaint, pink and bricked home.

He screamed “Mom!” the entire way.

“Man this is so wicked awesome. I mean not only do I get to go to Neverland and see Michael Jackson, but I get to go in a red stretch limo? That’s a Hummer right?” Skylar questioned, gazing longingly at the car.

I almost presumed he liked the thought of riding in the car more than he liked the notion of spending the day with Michael. (Hee-hee.)

“Yes, son, it is.” Rusty replied, sliding his sunglasses down and onto the bridge of his nose.

“Man, that’s a sweet ride. Does Michael own that?” Skylar, reached up and fingered the chrome handle of the door delicately.

“Nah, Michael has a black stretch limo--something like Chrysler or something. But it’s being repainted now.” I smiled. I had a feeling Skylar was a vehicle buff.

“Oh cool. I bet Michael Jackson has a bunch of nice cars. He’s cool like that.” Skylar grinned at me, his freckled turning scarlet.

“Here we are!” Jonas cried out running up to us as his mother, and Skylar’s parents walked over, waving calmly.

I could see that Tequana Cartwright had had a field day over on eBay. She and Brad and Susan Brown all wore various MJ tour shirts from the Dangerous and HIStory tours.

After our drawn out salutations, everyone piled into the limo and we started on our merry way.

“Wow, I knew that we were going to be going to Michael Jackson’s house, but in a Hummer limo? Wow!” Brad gasped, running a hand through his thinning, carrot colored hair.

“It’s so amazing.” Susan agreed, twirling the long French braid that tumbled down her back.

“You got that right.” Tequana laughed.

“I’m glad that everyone is happy.” I smiled, wrapping my arm around Jonas as he leaned his head against my shoulder.

I had truly taken a shine to this kid.

“Happy isn’t the word to describe it. The boys didn’t go to sleep until after three a.m. and were bouncing off the walls three hours later.!” Tequana put in reaching and patting her son’s knee.

“Mom! We’re really excited. It’s not everyday you get to go to a real superstar’s house. And Michael’s about as super as they come!” Jonas cried out, slapping his hands together in his lap and beaming up at me.

I returned the smile, knowing just how super his day was going to be.

* * *

A Short While Later

Near The Neverland Valley Ranch

Santa Ynez, California

“Oh man, I’m ‘bout to burst! I can’t believe were almost there!” Skylar shook his head, as he pressed himself against one of the windows, peering out at the bare landscape going by.

“I still can’ believe I’m rolling in a Hummer limo! Dang!” Jonas whispered to no one in particular.

“Mike lives pretty far out doesn’t he?” Susan questioned, her steely eyes wide with what I took to be wonder.

“Yes, Michael is a very private man…he likes to do things off on his own. Neverland is his own private world.” I smiled more to myself than to her, thinking about how nicely secluded Michael Jackson’s home was.

“I think it’s cool. He really, really has all those animals and things?” Jonas stared up at me hopefully.

“Yup, really, really.” I nodded.

“And you stay with Michael there?” Tequana put in, picking at her hair, which had been arranged in what looked like hundreds of micro braids.

“Uh…” I glanced over at Rusty. He was staring at me with wide eyes.

His expression told me to choose my response carefully.

I knew that these people were “near friends”, but they weren’t far enough in the circle to know that I was Michael’s girlfriend.

“Well, yes, I stay with Michael. He and I have been working on a new song together.” I made myself say.

“You’re doing a song with Michael Jackson? Oh wow!” Skylar looked up from the window.

“You sing?” Brad questioned.

I nodded, feeling myself blushing. Michael was the real star and I felt weird getting notoriety.

“Dang! Brynn is going to be a star too--” Jonas started but was cut off by Skylar shouting at the top if his little freckled lungs:

“I SEE THE GATES! I SEE NEVERLAND! LOOK! IT’S NEVERLAND!”

Almost instantaneously, the boys and their parents were pressed up against the windows, looking at the plain wooden gates that were beginning to swing open.

As the driver guided us up the path to the second, gold crested gates, the shouts within the car hit a fevered pitch.

“I SEE MICHAEL JACKSON! OH MY GOD! IT’S MICHAEL! LOOK MOM! IT’S MICHAEL!”

Jonas wailed, bouncing on his knees in the seat, pounding against the window.

Peeking around the jumping beans that were the boys, I saw that Michael, and his children, all dressed in multicolored tie-dyed shirts that matched mine, standing just outside of the opening golden gates, all waving.

Sam the videographer stood off to the side, filming the entire scene.

The limo had barely come to a stop before the boys had kicked the door open and were racing to Michael, with open arms.

“This is making their lives!” Tequana confided, as us adults hopped out of the car and started making our way towards where Michael was hugging the boys tightly.

“You got that right!” Brad chuckled.

“Hello! Tequana! Susan! Brad! Welcome to Neverland!” Michael laughed, reaching and hugging everyone each in turn.

“Hi Michael!” Tequana and Susan gushed, obviously star struck. (As long as they kept their hands to themselves, we’d be all right!)

“Are these your kids?” Brad wondered, glancing down as the Jackson Trio each took turns reaching and shaking his hands.

“Yes! These are my children--Prince, Paris and Blanket.” Michael nodded.

“Are you all ready to have fun?” Michael pulled Jonas and Skylar close.

“Yes sir!” The boys chorused.

“Goodie.” Michael reached over and pinched my cheek. “We’re gonna walk over to the train--”.

“You got a train?” Skylar interrupted and his face instantly matched his hair in embarrassment.

“Yes.” Michael replied with a grin. “I’ll take you on a tour of the grounds. Then we can play anything you want.” He explained, taking each of the boys hands in his own and leading all of us past the gates and into the wonderland that Neverland.

“Oh man look! An giraffe! And a Ferris wheel! Gosh!” Skylar exclaimed.

“Mom look! He’s got the Spider and the Zipper. I’m in Heaven!” Jonas cried bouncing up and down.

Not missing a beat, and quoting the first words Michael had ever spoken to me, I said,

“Actually, I think Heaven is much prettier.”

“Man, I swear, I’m going to Mass tomorrow. That’s a promise.” Skylar laughed.

“You and me son. You and me!” Brad giggled.

“It’s so amazing that one person could have accumulated the wealth to fund this--and still be so generous!” I heard Susan comment to Tequana.

“There’s only one Michael Jackson.” She replied with a sigh.

My head was becoming so swollen with elation, I could barely keep my toes on the ground.

From all around us, vendors dispensing everything from flavored popcorn to Sno-cones to cotton candy were issuing out samples and everyone was nibbling on some type of treat by the time we reached the train that circled all over Neverland.

As we crowded onto the train, which was styled like a turn of the century locomotive, I felt a hand grab mine.

“This is better than Disneyland!” Skylar crowed, tossing his arms above his head and claiming the first available seat behind the conductor.

(The conductor was so cute, a man in his sixties, dressed in overalls topped up with a large red hat.)

Jonas was staring up at me, his eyes wide as saucers.

“Sit next to me, please Brynn?” He begged.

“I get dibs on the other side!” Paris chimed in as we all squished into the seat behind Michael.

“I see little Jonas found the prize seat on this train.” Michael teased glancing back at me with wink.

“Yeah…” Jonas nodded, and was settling next to me.

Moments later, his hands were pressed to his bald head as he, his best friend, and their parents marveled at the exotic sights that greeted them.

It was such a happy time.

Why was it that whenever a good time started happening it started raining purple on the parade?

* * *

Two Hours Later

“…woo, man I told you that Spider ride was nothing nice!” Michael chuckled, placing his hands on the shoulders of Skylar’s father. It was his first time ever riding the wild and out spinning whirly-gig and his pale skin had an unusual, sickly green cast to it.

“We call it the ‘Puke Bucket’!” Prince laughed before taking a bite out of the large cloud of orange cotton candy he was sharing with Blanket.

“Don’t say puke!” Brad Brown warned and staggered over to the closest seat--a wooden bench a few feet from the Ferris Wheel--and dropped onto it.

“I don’t know why you got on that ride. You get motion sickness so easily!” His wife scolded him.

“Well I wasn’t gonna come to Neverland and just stand around!” Brad stuck his tongue out at Susan like a child.

Neverland was working it’s magic.

I looked around me.

Paris, Tequana, and Rusty were screeching happily on the Zipper ride, and Prince was tugging Blanket towards the “Puke Bucket”.

“What should we go on next?” Jonas was asking Skylar, who was trying to eat a sucker that was larger than his head.

“I think we should go on…” Skylar trialed off and I noticed that he was staring just past the main house, at the collection of cars parked alongside it.

“Oh man! Look Jonas! Look at the cars! Ooh-wee!” Skylar started to run towards the cars, but thinking better of it, turned to me.

“Brynn, can we go look at the cars? We promise to God and Jesus we won’t touch anything.” Skylar begged, his minty green eyes huge. Next to him, Jonas was clutching his hands together, eyes pleading.

I glanced over at Michael. He was seated next to Brad, patting him on the back and trying to help him ward off nausea. (And the vomiting that went along with it.)

“Well I could show you the cars, but only if you really promise not to touch. Pinkie swear.” I announced, holding my pinky up.

“We swear!” Jonas linked his pinky with mine.

“Follow me.” I grinned and led the way to the side parking lot.

Much to my displeasure, the boys zoomed right past Michael’s SUV, half painted limousine and made a beeline over to my Ferrari.
“Woo-wee! Michael’s got a Ferrari! And it’s purple! I’ve never seen a purple car before!” Jonas gaped, running around the sports car.

“Man, a Ferrari. That’s one expensive car. If I ever get crazy rich like Michael, I’m gonna get me one. Candy apple red though.” Skylar snickered.

“I’d get me a black one.” Jonas nodded his head with a contended sigh.

“That car’s not for my Dad.” A new voice pointed out.

I turned to see the Jackson Trio standing behind us.

“It’s not Michael’s car?” Skylar gasped before his car obsessed mind flew off onto another tangent.

“Is this car for Mr. Rusty?” He questioned gazing at everyone, searching for an answer.

“No, that car’s for Brynn.” Prince smiled, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.

“I love that car!” Paris giggled.

“Me too!” Blanket chimed in before shoving his thumb into his pink mouth.

The point seemed to blow the minds of the boys, who stood staring at me in pure shock for several minutes.

“That’s your car Brynn? Michael bought you that car? Gosh.” Jonas slapped his hands to his bald head once again.

“Daddy didn’t buy that car. Mr. Prince did.” Paris pointed out and I whipped around to stare at her.

Not today.

Today was going too good.

No need to drag Prince Nelson into it kicking and screaming.

Too late.

At the mention of the Purple One, Jonas and Skylar became almost deliriously belligerent.

“Oh man! You know Prince? The little Purple Rain dude? Wow!” Jonas’ face was the color of a radish he was so enthralled.

“My mom loves Prince. She has like three of his albums on vinyl. They don’t make vinyl anymore.” Skylar noted staring up at me with adoring eyes.

And Paris wouldn’t shut her little glossy mouth for anything in the world.

At the sudden interest in Mr. Prince, all the facts of my working with him spilled from her mouth like word vomit.

“Brynn is the absolute coolest! I tell you, she’s gonna be a star. Making songs with Michael Jackson and Prince!” Jonas cried, throwing his arms around my waist.

“When you make your first CD, will you autograph one for me?” He questioned, his face brimming with a smile.

“What’s going on over here? A little powwow?” I became aware of a soft hand grasping my shoulder.

I looked up into Michael’s smiling face.

Behind him Jonas and Skylar’s parents were walking towards us, divvying up a huge puff of blue cotton candy.

“Nothing, Mike, we’re just talking.” I said quickly, hoping that no one would bring up the topic of Prince.

No such luck.

“She was telling us that she got to make a song with Prince.” Jonas grinned, thinking he had unleashed a bit of good news.

Did I have an upside down thirteen tattooed on my ass?

At the mention of Prince, Michael’s mouth flattened out into a thin pink line.

I knew he was stewing because this day was supposed to be about Michael Jackson and Michael Jackson’s good deeds not anything having to do with Prince. (Unless it was Michael’s son.)

And then Skylar asked a question that almost brought me to smacking his teeth out. (And I had never hit a child in my life!)

“Hey Brynn, since Prince bought you a Ferrari, does that mean he’s your boyfriend?” He questioned running his hands along the front fender of my car.

Blue veins appeared on Michael he paled so harshly. He looked like a map of Route 66.

I stared up at him afraid to speak, to move, to even breathe.

As sore as Michael was about the topic of Prince Nelson, to be asked point blank--without warning--whether I was Prince’s woman was probably a slap across his pointy cheeks.

But Michael was quite the rebounder. As quickly as he paled, he pinked back up. And he never lost his composure.

“Skylar, Brynn merely received the car as a payment for the vocals she did on the song with Prince. She’s actually dating my nephew Taryll.” Michael spoke so easily, every hair on my head stood.

Even though Michael was calm, I could see the muscles in his jaw standing up like worms on a marble table.

Jonas was opening his mouth to ask another question Prince and I thought enough was e-damn-nough!

“Um, Michael…” I started, reaching out and grasping his icy hand in mine. “Weren’t you going to show a movie in the theatre right about now?” I asked, putting on my sweetest smile and flashing it at him.

(I knew that at some point Michael had wanted to herd everyone into the theatre so that a few of his employees could bring out the gifts he had gotten for the boys. What better time than now?)

Michael seemed relieved that I had brought up the theatre.

“That’s right. What would you boys like to watch? I have any movie you could want to see.” Michael placed took his hand from mine and wrapped his arm around me. “I got the Three Stooges, Charlie Chaplin, Dumbo…” He suggested, the tension easing off and a tiny grin lighting his face.

“Give us a minute please.” Jonas smiled, grabbing a hold of Skylar.

Both boys lowered their heads and conversed for a while, trying to decide what to watch.

“Come on boys, Michael doesn’t have all day.” Tequana urged impatiently.

“Really, I don’t mind. Let the boys talk.” Michael smiled at her over his shoulder.

Tequana blushed as Michael’s grin.

“Okay, okay, we know what we wanna watch.” Skylar finally announced.

“Oh…what?” I sighed, glad that Prince-gate seemed to be winding down.

The boys smiled and replied in unison:

“Michael Jackson videos!”

* * *

An Hour Later

The Theatre Neverland

“…you been hit by…Ow! You’ve been struck by…A Smooth Criminal…”

The lyrics to Michael’s hit blared over the loud speakers as a larger than life image of Michael Jackson illuminated the huge screen stretched across the back wall of Michael’s huge private theater.

“Dang! This song is the jam!” Jonas declared from where he was chair dancing between Prince and Skylar. On the other side of Skylar, Blanket was happily clapping--at times offbeat--to the song.

“Whoa! Look at that move!” Skylar replied pointing as the onscreen Michael executed the famous forty-five degree angle lean.

“I like the outfit the Asian lady is wearing.” Paris whispered loudly into my ear from where she sat behind me and her father.

Glancing back at her, I gave her a wide smile. “I like it too.”

The woman wore a flapper style hunter green dress.

As Paris returned to her seat, I looked over at Michael.

His eyes were glued to his video image, and he was quietly mouthing the words to the song.

Behind us about three rows back, the parents were chair dancing and mouthing the words too.

Sam was lurking back and forth, quietly filming.

Everything seemed a little too tame for my taste.

Everybody’s booty was still in the seat.

Time to make this party noteworthy.

As Smooth Criminal ended, I saw my chance began to flicker on the screen.

The short music film for Beat It was starting.

Jumping out of my seat, I spun around and faced the children.

“Whoever wants to dance with me better get up on stage right now!” I announced, before making tracks up the small staircase to the stage.

There was a minor stampede as all the children--and Michael--followed me up onstage.

Hand held camera from the parents immediately began flashing as Michael grabbed onto Jonas and I grabbed Skylar and we began instructing the steps to the video as the Jackson Trio danced around us.

“…Beat It…Beat It…No one wants to be defeated…”

I sang jubilantly as I fell into step with everyone doing The Worm.

“I’m dancing with Michael Jackson! And Brynn!” Jonas shrieked as Michael whirled him around.

“This was a good idea Honey!” Michael cackled.

“You like dancing with Michael and Brynn and the kids?” Sam called to Skylar from where he had crouched in front of the stage.

Wearing a grin that wrapped around most of his head, Skylar replied.

“Yes sir!”

We proceeded to dance through Beat It, Thriller and Rock With You.

“Woo! That was fun huh?” Michael gasped for air as he bent and picked up Blanket.

“Yeah Daddy!” The boy nodded, his ringlets bouncing around his face.

“I just danced with a star Mom!” Jonas cried into his mother’s bosom as she greeted him offstage.

“Is anyone hungry?” Michael questioned bouncing his youngest son on his hip.

I could tell by the glimmer in his eye that he was excited about unveiling the presents to Jonas and Skylar.

“I could use some ice cream. The ice cream man out there thirty-six different flavors. I thought they only made thirty-one.” Prince chuckled, draping his arms around the necks of Jonas and Skylar.

“Me too, man.” Jonas laughed.

I could tell that the boys were becoming fast friends.

“Will you share a big sundae with me?” Paris questioned, twisting the hem of her blue tie-died shirt.

“Of course!” I ruffled her curls.

As all of us filed out of theatre, past the candy counter and statues of E.T. and Pinocchio, and out back onto the main paved walkway of Neverland.

“Um, we’re eating over by the Ferris Wheel!” Michael called, shooting me a broad smile.

The moment seemed almost too perfect.

The sun was beginning to set and as we neared the Wheel, it suddenly lit up, followed the rest of the attractions as the Amusement Park Neverland.

“Oooh! It’s so pretty Honey.” I heard Susan gush to Brad.

The boys ooh’d and aah’d along with their parents.

But their gasps turned to screams as the Wheel came into full view.

Rusty stood, hands on his waist, a grin on his face. Behind him a mountain of gift wrapped treasure glittered under the ride lights.

“Oh my God!” The boys shouted. “Is that for us?”

Michael nodded deeply and in an instant, the boys were digging through the pile, unwrapping gifts that bore their names.

“Dang! I got a bicycle! And look a Neverland shirt! Gosh! Thanks Michael!” Jonas jumped up and into Michael’s arms.

“Oh wow-wee! I got a bicycle too! Look man! I got a X-Box game system! Mike you rock!” Skylar gave him a thumbs up.

The Jackson Trio was on their hand sad knees helping the boys tear into their prizes.

“Michael, Brynn, is all that really for our children?” Tequana wondered, in an astonished tone, patting our arms.

“Yes, Michael hand picked every gift for the boys.” My heart warmed when I saw tears of happiness starting to spring up in her eyes.

“This is almost too much!” Susan cried from behind her and I could see Brad comforting his wife.

“Jonas and Skylar have been through so much, I just wanted to treat them.” Michael responded shyly and hugged each woman.

“Thank you so much! My son has never been this happy in his life. Oh God!” Tequana sobbed as I embraced her.

“It’s okay. Jonas is a good boy, and good things happen to good people.” I assured her.

“That’s right.” Michael concurred, as the boys continued to clamor over their gifts. “Those are good boys.”

Susan sniffed.

“I’m glad there’s still nice people in the world.”

* * *

Late That Night

“Well, I think the boy’s visit to Neverland went splendidly. Don’t you?” I sighed, settling under the thick covers of Michael’s bed.

Across the room, Michael, clad in cherry red, tone on tone windowpane checked pajamas stood dabbing cologne from a clear bottle onto his long swanlike throat.

His still damp hair--fresh from another shower--was held back in a ponytail.

“I had a really great time. It really warmed my heart to see how happy Jonas and Skylar were. It makes me feel great when I can use my money and things like that for good, you know?” He turned, and slowly sauntered over to the bed, a grin on his face.

As he snuggled up next to me, I pecked at his soft and sweet smelling neck.

“Michael, I just want to thank you for making my idea of bringing the boys here to life. I knew that they’d have a good time, but you really rocked their worlds. They’ll never forget this.” I whispered, with a smile, thinking of how the boys had hugged on Michael and me for almost a full ten minutes when it came time for them to go back to their hones in Van Nuys.

“I know, those are great kids. Nice and polite. And I think my kids made friends with them. I like for my kids to meet other nice children.” Michael commented and hugged me against him.

“You know Brynn, I have a special thought about Jonas and Skylar and I want to bounce it off you.” He smooched the tip of my nose.

“Bounce away.” I giggled.

“Well, seeing how happy Jonas and Skylar were when they came here, it just made me want to make them happy again, and I was…um…” Michael trailed off and chuckled shyly.

“What?” I gazed up at him, “Out with it Jackson. It must be good--your ears are turning red!”

“Well, I was wondering wouldn’t it be nice if we took the boys along with us to the HAA awards?” Michael finally blurted and patted at my back.

I could feel my eyes swelling in my head.

“Really? You want to bring the boys with us? That’s great! Oh Mike! You lovely, lovely man!” I threw my arms around his neck and pressed mouth to him smacking at him greedily.

“I knew you’d agree!” Michael chuckled and buried his face in my neck, starting a hickey on me.

As he sucked on my throat, I just beamed at the top of his curly head.

I know it’s becoming repetitious in my saying it, but Michael Jackson really was the kindest man.

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