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Grammys were a stressful times for artists. This year was particularly exciting for Michael Jackson who had recieved close to ten nominations for Thriller.
He was, without a doubt, going. Only he wanted to take someone with him. After he talked to John about he, he recommended Myra. After all, they hadn't seen each other since the last day of filming.
So he gave her a call and asked her. She accepted but she knew she had nothing to wear. He had it all sorted out and he even bought her a plane ticket to come down.
At the night of the Grammys, Michael was nervous. He arrived at the hotel where Myra was staying and stood in the lobby. Everyone had since retreated to their rooms to watch the awards commence.
Myra sat upstairs, her room a mess of dresses and makeup. A white dress had been decided upon that went to the floor but revealed some of her cleavage. She wore a pair of white high heels to match and her hair was curled. A piece had been pinned back. Her makeup was done to almost perfection.
She left the room for elevators where she pressed the button for the lobby. She felt the sinking feeling that was associated with an elevator going down. Finally there was a sing and the doors slid open.
She stepped out of elevator warily. She didn't want to trip in her high heels. They made clicking noises as she walked along the tile floor. Her shoes had caught Michael's attention.
Behind his dark sunglasses he eyes widened for a brief second in surprise. A smile spread across his mouth and as did hers. Without a word they took each other's hand and went outside to the black Rolls Royce.
When they sat down he removed the sunglasses. He kept them in his hands, messing around with them. It took them both a little over ten minutes to even say one word to each other.
"You look nice," Michael complimented, taking Myra off guard.
"Thanks," she replied. "You look great too. Very sparkly."
Those were the last words they said to each other the whole car ride. All they shared was glances at one another the entire way.
When they got closer to the awards, paparazzi began running alongside the car. The camera flashes were visible even from the tinted windows. Michael noticed Myra's discomfort and offered some words of advice to her.
"Act like they're not there. Stay by me," he advised as he clasped her hands, their fingers weaving together.
The car came to a stop. The door on Michael's side was opened and he was the first to slide out. Myra followed but stopped short of the door. Michael noticed this and looked back down at her.
"It's okay," he said calmly as he took her hand. She looked up at him and he gave her a nod.
She allowed herself to be taken from the car. He kept her hand in his, his thumb rubbing small circles on the top of her hand. She put on a smile as the camera flashes greeted her.
Michael did her best to keep her shielded from the cameras. That didn't stop them from wanting to get pictures of the two who they thought were dating. In fact, they were only friends.
Myra knew that she would be in the tabloids a day or so after. She just held his hand and smiled. He did occasionally look down to make sure she was okay.
Michael was seated up front with Myra beside him. When they sat down she released the breath it seemed had been holding for months.
"That was. . . overwhelming," Myra sighed as she leaned back in the seat.
"I tried to keep you from them so they would know your identity," Michael told her as they continued to hold hands without even realizing it.
"Thanks, I owe you one for that," she laughed. "You know, I dont think that I really ever thanked you. You know, for Thriller and giving me a once in a lifetime experience. It was amazing."
"You don't owe me, and you're welcome," Michael replied as he smiled.
Soon enough the awards started. Michael held his breath each time the category he was nominated for was announce. When his name was called as the winner the applause from the crowd relaxed him like a drug.
At the end of the night he had won eight awards. Myra cheered for him each time he went up to the stage. After the awards they went to the house of Quincy Jones and celebrated.
Michael was beyond excited. Everyone cheered for him and Quincy had brought out a bottle of champagne. The three shared the bottle until both Michael and Myra were rather tipsy.
Quincy waved goodbye as they left his house, laughing and occasionally stumbling. They were driven back to the hotel where Myra stayed. The car ride had a completely different feel than the ride to the Grammys. This time it was a lot more touchy.
They held hands as they went to her hotel room. She fumbled with the room key, unable to get it in the keyhole. When she finally did the room was clean of everything. A hanger was on the closet for the dress.
The light was switched on and the door was shut. They laid in the bed, Myra still in her dress and Michael still in his outfit. They laid there and talked, staring at each other.
It wasn't until some time around two in the morning that things were slowly starting to escalate. The alcohol was still in their systems, coursing through them.
Michael, the alcohol have him courage that he didn't knew he had. He softly planted his lips onto hers, his hand moving to her waist.
The kiss grew in intensity. Michael found his hands fumbling with the dress carefully as he worked to get it off her. Myra's hands were at his outfit, shrugging it off of him and it landed on the floor.
Their shoes clattered on the carpet floors. The dress was cast aside as Michael found himself in top of Myra. He blocked whatever light was in the room with his shoulders.
Her hands skimmed his jaw lightly, her fingertips ghosting across his face. Their underwear was the only thing between them and soon that was gone.
As the night drew on they enjoyed each others company. What happened in that room that night was things that should only be shared amongst each other. It was a wonder what a little alcohol could do.
