The Phone Call Chronicles

Prologue: 1984

The album of the century they were calling it. A masterpiece. A work of divine art. The album no one would be able to touch, not even its creator. Michael had read the reviews and saw the world bow down to him for creating his version of the Sistine Chapel. He loved it all and he was even a little impressed with himself. All the accolades and praise from his fellow artists and art world was enduring. Brook Shields was even looking at him a little differently. She was the girl next door and every guy was trying to date her. He had the popular girl on his arm. And he liked it. Life was finally rewarding him for all his hard work.  Off the Wall was his baby and the music world ignored it. He was furious. He knew the white music world would never respect a black musician unless they fitted into their category. Out anger and spite, he made the perfect album. Now everyone wanted to be like Michael Jackson. He was sitting at the throne and the view was pleasant.

He had everything. Almost everything. The thing he wanted the most had eluded him for various reasons. Mainly, a ten year age difference and an overbearing nosey mother. 

Michael was having lunch with his lawyer John Branca. Michael liked John. He felt he was as honest as an entertainment lawyer could be. His father actually told Michael about Branca and he gave him a test run to see if he would fit or if he was the kind of lawyer who was only in it to make money. When Michael found out that Branca represented Priscilla Presley, Branca's stock went up. If anyone could get him close to Lisa Marie Presley it would be him. Michael saw a few photos of her and saw her once or twice in public. She was cute. She had a look he liked. It was something about a petit girl he was drawn too. Stephanie Mills was petit, so was Tatum O'Neal. Diana Ross was too. He remembered the night Diana took his virginity. It was in a studio booth. They were working on a song and Diana said she wanted to feel his genius. She felt-

"Michael! Did you hear anything I said?" Branca asked while stuffing a piece of lox in his mouth. Branca and Michael were having brunch at Branca's law office. Michael wasn't really hungry, but he didn't want to be rude or come across as a snob. He ate a few grapes, a half of a blueberry muffin and smoked salmon. 

"Yeah." The memory of Diana kissing him and unbuttoning his pants always sent him into another place. 

"What did I say?"

"I don't know." Michael said with a grin. 

"Take off your shades, man. We're indoors.

"I like my shades."

"You've been drinking? Is that what it is?"

"No. The aviators are my thing now. A trademark."

"Whatever. I was saying I can't meet you for awhile. I gotta head to Memphis." Michael perked up and took off his shades.

"Why Memphis?"

"Look at this! The mention of Memphis is the secret word to get you to drop the shades." Branca said teasingly.

"Shut up. And you got a piece food stuck between your teeth. Answer my question, Branca. Please." Michael said nervously touching his nose.

"Priscilla needs me to renegotiate a contract.  Between you and me, she's trying to get a larger cut from her daughter."

"Hmm. Can you get me her number?"

"You want Priscilla Presley's phone number?"

Michael put his shades back on and shook his head 'no.'

"Lisa Marie's. Can you get if for me?"

"She's fourteen, Michael."

"Wasn't Priscilla that age when she met Elvis?"

"That was a different time. Again, she's a child."

"I just wanna talk to her. See how's she's doing."

"I see what I can do. Priscilla keeps her locked away."

Michael sat in his bedroom looking at a Godzilla movie when his phone rang. Without thought he picked up the phone.

"Yeah?"

"Nice to hear from you too." Branca said.

"John! Are you back?" Michael excitedly asked. He had been waiting on his call for a week. 

"No. There's a lot of work to be done. Listen, I can't give you a number for Lisa Marie. Sorry, kid. Stick with Brook. I gotta go. I only called to tell you it's a no go. Later, gator."

Michael slammed the phone down on the receiver and turned off the TV.

"I can have anything I want except a fuckin phone number! I'll get what I want!" Michael yelled into the empty room.