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( CHAPTER FOUR: REMEMBER THE TIME ) January, 1992
❝ this is the blackest video I've ever been on.❞
◯
"Morning, Mr. Emmet," the curt, monotone voice of the hired escort filled the air, diligently craning open the door as Devon stepped out of the car. The young man's spherical brown eyes bulged at the sight in front of him, feeling a weakening sensation rippling down his spine as he stared at the Universal Studio lot, the official building that Michael Jackson's new short film would be shooting at. The song was called 'Remember The Time', Michael had told him.
Although Devon hadn't been particularly up to date with fresh new music, he heard Michael Jackson's new album—'Dangerous'—everywhere. It was hard not to, since every radio station in the country blasted tracks from the highly diverse album, but Devon wasn't complaining, since he already knew the beat of the song going in.
Universal Studios was overbearingly large. Thankfully, the escorts were kind enough to lead Devon towards the soundstage that the video would be filming at. When Devon made his grand entrance, for the first time, he wasn't a raging ball of nerves. No, he was more than prepared to take on this challenge.
A week of endless planning, crazed brainstorms and wild experiments went into play when Michael Jackson had asked Devon for his help regarding the choreography. When a dancer with Michael's stature asked for his help, Devon knew he had to bring his A-game. He wasn't looking to waste any time, and as Devon Emmet entered the set, his eyes were set ablaze with complete and utter laser-focus.
The set was adorned like an ancient Egyptian palace, a golden pink colour scheme running across the building, from the dancers, actors and the main man himself—Michael Jackson. Devon walked towards the blaring lights, his hoodie propped over his face as he readied his mind into a dark, quiet place that balanced his practical thoughts.
He was prepared for this moment, his only concern was knowing how to channel all of his crisp, sharp energy in an effective way. As Devon calmly strolled passed the bulging cameras that were looming on the aesthetically pleasing Egyptian set, the young male spotted Michael vibrantly talking with who he assumed was the director.
Michael's long hair was curled just above his shoulders, and his slender figure was clad in a gold shirt, a matching breastplate and a traditional patterned tunic with black pants. When Devon began to confidently march in Michael's direction, someone suddenly shouldered passed him, causing for him to loose his footing. As a result, his sturdy figure accidentally bumped into a silky, poised body that stood a few paces next to him.
The person he collided with let out a small squeal, but that sound quickly shifted into an angered grunt. Devon squared his shoulders, his spine straightening as he attempted to offer a sincere apology to whoever he barrelled over. However, once again, Devon Emmet was deemed speechless the second he looked up. The woman that stood before him had the features of a goddess, everything about her so regal and poised that it made Devon feel a hundred times more shabby.
