Welcome to ⇂ ʞooᗺ sǝlɔᴉuoɹɥƆ
( Book 1 ) Is love ever wrong if it's real? This is precisely the dilemma Bianca " Bibi " Jackson faces in Taboo?, the first installment of the Chronicles Of Neverland series. Bibi is our beloved KOP's oldest daughter a...
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September 7th, 2001
Madison Square Garden, New York, New York
Michael Jackson's 20th Anniversary Special
"Do what you want to do! There ain't no rules, it's up to you. It's time to come alive and party all night through the night."
"Miss Jackson, you're on in five!"
A stagehand peeks into my dressing room, breaking through the music playing in my head.
I nod and wave them off. Butterflies flutter in my stomach as the reality sinks in—performing his songs in front of thousands. This moment has been thirty years in the making, and it has to be perfect. No, it will be perfect. I reach for the tarnished silver bracelet on my wrist, a grounding reminder of the one who would know exactly what to say right now.
You're worried for nothing, Bida. You're his daughter, trained by the best. You're the best act on the card, darling. Do me a favor and act like it.
"Okay, Bibs, you got this. These are songs you perfected years ago. This is going to be an amazing night... God willing," I whisper to myself, smoothing out my dress for what feels like the millionth time.
Knock, knock.
"Bianca? Wow, I love your dress. You're wearing my favorite color." My father's soft voice drifts from the doorway.
I smile and turn around. "This old thing? It's one of three costume changes," I joke, striking a playful pose.
He giggles and twirls me around. "I can't wait for this night to be over."
His reluctance to do this show has been clear from the start. The only reason we're here is because the fans wanted it so badly. And so, here we are.
"Are you ready for this?" I ask, more serious now.
"Of course. We've been through the rehearsals, so I'm confident it will be a great show. I just wish it were under better circumstances," he says, flashing that smile the world loves so much.
But then his expression shifts, more serious. "The question is, are you ready? You've been working on this album for a while now, and we never get to see you. Your siblings are growing every day and ask about you all the time."
Oh God, the guilt trip. "Daddy, you know how much I love PM and Paris. This is just something I need to do for myself."
"You can record an album anywhere. Why so far away from home?" he asks, for the fiftieth time since I told him I was recording at Paisley Park.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I groan. "Dad, I want this album to be better than anything I've done before. Something I can be really proud of. I don't care about the sales, I just want to shed my little girl image once and for all. I'm twenty-six, not thirteen anymore. You should understand how I feel better than anyone."
"I do know how you feel, Bianca. My point is that you have responsibilities, and running from them won't help you," he says, his voice tinged with frustration. "It's been like this since the divorce... I thought it was mutual."
These conversations about Mike and me always end up like this—irrational and regretful. When we announced our engagement, he was over the moon. A comedian for a son-in-law was appealing to him.
We made friends quickly when I was dancing with the ABT here in New York. He was doing SNL, and we hit it off. Mostly because I had a private studio rented in Rockefeller Plaza where they do the sketch comedy show. They are number thirty, and to this day, I still rent out number thirty-six. I've already renovated it into a dance studio, so it doesn't make sense to let it go. The marriage, on the other hand...
To be honest, I was never head over heels in love with the man. More like in love with the idea of him. He really had his shit together, you know? We're just too different to make it last, much to my father's disappointment.
To an outsider, my father and I's relationship might look strange. We're closer than most fathers and daughters. Not in that way—don't be nasty. The truth is, we're co-dependent. It's very unhealthy, and I've tried to break the pattern.
He sighs again. "Baby girl, I do know how you feel. I just miss you, that's all. Now let's forget this for now and go put on the best show ever... Oh, by the way, Britney's out for 'The Way You Make Me Feel.' She just doesn't have it in her tonight," he says, helping me adjust my earpiece.
There are a few things I don't agree with about this show, but I've kept it to myself. I love Liza, but 'You Are Not Alone' is not the song for her tonight. And Marc Anthony singing 'She's Out Of My Life'? Jehovah. Not my circus, not my monkeys.
"Damn these earpieces. I hate these things."
"I know, I do too, but times have changed. So has technology. It'll just take some getting used to," he sighs. "There, it's in place and ready to do its job."
I smile and kiss his cheek. "Let's go do this.""Slashy!" I squeal as I throw myself into his arms, my nerves momentarily forgotten.
He wraps me in a tight hug, burying his face in my neck. "Woah there, girl," he chuckles, holding me close.
"Where's Honey?" I ask, pushing him back playfully.
He smirks, that infuriatingly familiar grin stretching across his face. "She's in the audience with your dad."
Before I can respond, his hand darts out and gropes my ass, earning him a swift slap across the face. He rubs his jaw, the grin never faltering, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He just loves messing with me.
"Don't do it again, asshole," I warn, my voice firm.
His grin only widens as he moves in for another feel, but I raise my hand, and he backs away, laughing. "You know I'm just playing, Bibi. Honey's cool with it—you know that," he says with a nonchalant shrug.
I roll my eyes, half-amused, half-annoyed. "Mmhmm. I'm sure she is."
This playful back-and-forth isn't new. I love Honey like a sister—we've known each other since I was three—but sometimes, her husband can be a bit too handsy for my liking.
"Okay, so Honey's in the audience. And where should you be?" I ask with a bit of attitude, crossing my arms.
He smirks again, leaning casually against the wall. "Talking to you."
I shake my head, exasperated but unable to suppress a smile. "You know that's a lie. I'm about to get on that stage and bring the house down."
Just then, Usher jogs up, looking pumped and ready to go. "It's time, Bibi."
"Okay, I'm ready," I reply, taking a deep breath as I allow him to lead me to my position.
As we walk, I feel his hand slide lower than I'd like, so I elbow him in the side, causing him to hunch over in pain. A smirk tugs at my lips. Looks like I'll be singing my dad's parts while he catches his breath. Oops. Maybe men should be more careful about whom they grope.
The crowd's energy is palpable as I take my place. The lights dim, and the familiar intro to "I Just Can't Stop Loving You" begins to play. The stage is set, the band is ready, and the anticipation is electrifying.
