1987
BRENDA
I slipped my keys onto the kitchen table, not even listening for the usual chime of them against that light wood. My eyes curiously looked in search of Michael, but I've realized that the bedroom door had been left ajar, which quickly brought a smile to my face. Michael had to have come here at this point. It was probably six in the evening.
We'd both busied ourselves in these recording studios on different sides of town and even then I'd spent the past few days here in California dealing with lucky interviews and photoshoots for all kinds of snooping television shows or magazines.
Despite the obvious media contempt, my agent Reggie declared one thing I'd never forget: all publicity was good publicity, no matter what. Visiting countless locations and crafting my music sure as hell beat pushing throughout college years ago.
I pushed open the bedroom door just a bit after some time. The covers and sheets of our bed still looked messy. I smirked, but my whole expression changed within seconds. My eyes bucked once I came face to face with a tasteful and blue dress that resembled the grace of Princess Diana. Even a scarf rested at its collar. I shook my head, almost feeling unworthy to be honest, but grinned bashfully from cheek to cheek.
Hershey Kiss candies had been placed not too far away from the dress and I picked up both one treat and a scribbled piece of paper. The chocolate soon popped into the mouth without shame as I read, looking back to the dress every so often.
Baby Girl,
Did you know you're loved by somebody? Be ready for the limousine around 7:15. I owe you bigtime. It's a miracle you haven't kicked my smart-ass to the curb yet, but that's one of the many reasons why I appreciate you. See you later.
-Mike.
I rolled my eyes, but chuckled laughing. No one else but him would do this for me out of nowhere. I puckered my lips nodding as I realized his increase in effort between us. My eyes shot toward the alarm clock and I nearly lost a sense of calm with less than an hour left to prepare myself.
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For once, I topped my curls leaving strands to fall around my face. A security guard and waiter stood on each side of me from the moment I reached the entrance all the way until now. We'd been standing with awkward silence except the occasional cough throughout that elevator ride. I carefully smooth out my blue as if Princess Diana had worn it the day before and gifted it to me for whatever reason. It wasn't even a replica.
The bell for that final floor chimes on and we all stepped out. I awkwardly shook hands with both men before the bodyguard vanished. Across the room, I grinned bashfully at the sight Michael, who already ha made small talk with the waiter as they anticipated my coming to the table.
Michael titled his once the waiter left out and rose from the table, opening his arms. I nearly squealed like a little girl at the sight of his actually lavender dress shirt. My dimples turned up with the most embarrassing just creeping onto my face. I covered my mouth with both hands, nearly crying at the scene around us. He'd chosen the top and private floor of the same exact restaurant we'd visited two years ago as friends.
This had also had been the same restaurant where Michael and I ran out like hell to escape barging paparazzi and reporters not even minutes after finishing dinner. I couldn't even blink and see Prince again once this journalist from Rolling Stone or somewhere locked eyes with the trio we'd formed by the table.
