Love from Another (A Michael Jackson FanFic)

Chapter 1: Indecent Proposals and Burnt Toast

Did the sun have to be so obnoxiously bright?

Ugh.

My hair ensnared me as it always does, in a nest of long brown curls. Sticking to my face as if to rouse me from my long slumber.

It was summer 1987 and I had just lost my second job.

Yeah. SECOND job.

I couldn't help it, I had an uncanny knack for doling out swift sarcasm, even if the recipient just so happened to be my employer. My mother said that's been a problem of mine since I was a child. I was always so observant and curious about any and everything.

The California sun moved higher in my small studio apartment catching the reflection of my Polaroid camera atop my desk sending flecks of light throughout the room. This was my sign to get up and get moving. Good sleep be damned.

I've always been statuesque for my age, 26. All brown skinned and leggy. I rubbed my head and looked at the reflection in the mirror. A mirror I might not be able to call my own if I didn't find means of employment.

As all women do, I assessed my figure and face. Sticking out my tongue as if performing my own personal physical. Two green eyes? Check. High set cheekbones? Check. Unemployed and desperate? Check and check.

*knock knock*

I grabbed an oversized sweater that swallowed my slim frame as it fell around my thighs. Padding quietly over to the door, I peeked out the peep hole and there stood my landlord. All sweaty and hairy...and irritated again.

I opened the door with a smile, "Mr. Patel! Hey, er, I know I'm a little late with rent but---" he stopped me waving his chubby finger, "Alex, you cannot do this to me again. You have until the end of the week or you're OUT." He spoke so forecfully that his garlic and cigarette breath danced under my nostrils causing me to silently gag.

I feigned innocence and a small pout spread across my face. He, as he always did, backed off and revisited with his long-standing indecent proposal. "You know Alex, we can always settle this rent situation in another way." He smiled lavisciously eyeing me up and down as I stood in the doorway.

Were men really this predictable? Could a little smile from a pretty girl really cause them to bend their will? Compromise the law even? This was an act I pulled several times on Mr. Patel. Don't get me wrong, I would feel bad if he didn't play into it so damn much. I never crossed the line with him, of course, but I think a part of him was just happy to be receiving any attention from the opposite sex.

"What a generous offer", I cooed, "but I'll have your rent by weeks end. I promise!" I said closing the door. I really had to find some cash--and quick.

I clicked on my alarm radio and set it to FM to hear Whitney Houston crooning about dancing with somebody. Unemployed or not, music was my retreat--my escape if you will. I ripped back the curtains on the kitchen window and opened the patio shades to let the sun in at all angles.

"Oh, I wanna dance with somebody," I squealed as I bit into my burnt toast. Dancing to the fridge, I grabbed the carton of orange juice skipping the cup altogether. I plopped down onto my kitchen chair and grabbed the newspaper to start my job search.

After tons of ads for dog walkers, pet sitters, and nannies, the Whitney-high was soon fading. I sighed propping my feet onto the table. There has got to be something.

At the bottom of the want ads, was an ad asking for a 'jack-of-all trades'--I was intrigued. I mean, since high school I've worked as a cruise ship performer, a waitress, a call center operator, dog walker, nanny, well-- a aforementioned jack-of-all trades! The ad wasn't fancy in the least, it had a local number and touted 'serious inquiries only'.

If being homeless or sleeping with your sweaty landlord wasn't considered serious, I don't know what else is! I grabbed the paper and went down three flights of stairs to the pay phone in front of the leasing office. I put a quarter in the booth and punched in the number with a weird excitement building in my belly.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rings. I bit my lip and anxiously scraped the ruby red finger nail polish off of my nails.

Six rings.

The leasing office had a huge clear window showing the musty couch for potential tenants and Mr. Patels desk with his moth eaten red chair. As if on queue, Mr. Patel came into view just as the caller on the other end answered.

I must have seen my future and my present clashing because the woman on the line repeated "hello" in an irritated tone.

"Sorry!", I blurted into the phone coming back to reality. "I saw your ad in the paper for help wanted. I'm, uh, Alex. I'm a hard worker I can do anything if given the chance!"

The caller fell quiet on the other line.

Great.

I fucking blew it. I had literally fifteen seconds to make a case for myself and my desperation sent this lady running for the hills. I was ready to hang up the receiver when I heard the woman say, "2891 Chestnut Pine Avenue Building 2. Three o'clock."

*click*

I looked at the phone in disbelief and smiled as I hastily scrawled the address on my forearm.