Bound By Contract

Chapter Twenty Eight

Christina's P.O.V.

The birthday invitation I had been sent stated that Michael's party was to be a formal event. There would be a red carpet, cameras, a show and fans. So of course I dressed to impress. I bought an Armani dress, the bust gold and sparkly and the dress black and flowing. There is a slit that exposes my left thigh if I stand at the right angle. My golden locks are up in a fifties hairstyle with some curls close to my face. I went all out for this event so Michael could eat his heart out. 

As I get out of my car, a million flashes of light shine in my face all at once. I practically run down the red carpet, waiving and smiling at the cameras and the fans, careful not to stop and answer any questions.

Deciding against sitting in balcony reserved for Michael, his family, and his friends, I sit alone in a back room of the Orpheum Theater. It's been so long since I've seen him, I don't know how I will react when I see him again, and I don't want to find out in front of a crowd of a thousand people, either.

The roar of the multitude is intense, even back here. I slouch back in a snug black leather armchair, gripping the sides of it tightly. It has been my only friend the whole long night.

My stomach flutters as I hear Michael's voice for the first time, barely audible over the cheers of the crowd, but distinctly distinguishable to me. He speaks about projects he's working on, but he barely gets a word out edgewise and the fans go crazy. This is the first time in over a year I have heard his voice, and I feel every kind of emotion sweep through me at the same time; excitement, nervousness, fear, and even anger.

God, why am I even here? If it wasn't for this stupid contract, I wouldn't have to be here, feeling all these things. I could be safely back at my new house doing something productive, like painting my bedroom or doing some decorating. Or something. Anything but being here.

There is a tremendous applause and cheer from the crowd again, this time bigger than before. I begin to hear the footsteps of people coming backstage. I jolt up from the armchair, right when the door bursts open. A wave of people flow into the room, laughing and talking. I recognize some of them: Steve Harvey, a comedian, James Brown a legendary blues singer and an idol of Michael's,  and La Toya, Michael's sister and subsequently my sister in law. The other people I don't recognize and don't seem to notice me much, either. I see an awkward smile from Steve Harvey, and a sharp look from La Toya.

Time stops completely when Michael walks into the room. He freezes when he sees me as I do when I see him. He is extremely handsome wearing a sparkly white shirt, black fitted pants, sparkly knee pads, shin guards and hand guards.  He is shining head to toe. It is a look for him that even at his forty-five years, never goes out of style.

"You look beautiful," Michael proclaims. His eyes are wide, and he is smiling, looking genuinely surprised to see me.

"Thank you, Michael," I utter. I shift my gaze to the floor, not knowing what to do with myself in front of him, and in front of all these people. When I look up, Michael is in Steve's ear, and people quickly start to file out of the dressing room, leaving us alone.

"Christina," he laughs, "you were supposed to show up."

A warm feeling shoots through me seeing Michael smile again. His smile can melt an iceberg, can solve world hunger and even make world peace. It's been a long time since I have seen him, and when I saw him last, he was going through some really tough times. It's nice to see him happy, but I can't help the twinge of resentment that pierces me deep. I sigh.

"I am here, aren't I?" I can't bring myself to smile back. I'm too worn. I'm too tired.

"Well, yeah, but I meant with me in the balcony. And on stage," he reasons.