Offstage || MJ

Offstage || Prologue

Author's Note: I'm back with a brand-new story for all of you. Thanks for the support and I hope you all enjoy reading this prologue. Feedback is appreciated as always. – Lavender.  

michaelscrown ToniJones232 ShonaShaniece keiathegypsy  indiii_bindiii

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1983 - Thriller" Short Film Dancer Auditions

CHARLENE

I flew across the country for this moment. Seemingly eager Individuals like myself crowded the vast waiting room. A number taped across my sleeveless chest. If fate succeeded, I dance alongside the biggest star on Earth right now. Michael Jackson of all people. Not to sound cliché, but I needed this. Most of the previous tryouts failed in a discouraging way, but I somehow felt optimistic regarding this one. For whatever reason, my gut told me this audition would launch my ambitious fame into realms I'd never seen before. There was no turning back if I prevailed now.

Lighting found directly above heated my skin, but never flamed. Ringlets of my hair drooped toward shoulder-length. I prayed quietly, mumbling to myself regardless of surrounding crosstalk. Before too long, a door creaked open on my right-hand side. The entire space silenced. Heads turned. I whipped my own curls in that same direction. At the open door, this male stagehand wore a headset and didn't even need to hush us all. His young eyes scanned the room, hesitating as if we'd all seen a ghost. He soon cleared his throat to break the reasonably awkward silence.

"All right. This is the last rotation today. Mr. Jackson and his team are exhausted. Please don't waste their time if you're not capable of doing this. I'm just warning all of you. Now, if people with the following tape-numbers could line up in order, I'd appreciate Numbers forty through fifty. The man quickly flipped over his page of a yellow notepad. His voice then became louder and much more confident as he pointed around the room.

I brushed off these spandex pants and prayed one last time before heading to the door. Number forty. Ladies and gentlemen who rocked neon among other flamboyant clothing lined up behind me. Some nearly tripped of legwarmers, but I wouldn't giggle. Professionalism ranked first. Especially right now.

So much depended on whether I achieved success in that dance studio. Again, I felt like a walking cliché, but joy raced through my heart. The stagehand quickly returned and creaked the door open once more. I stood up straight and flashed him a quick smile before walking over the threshold.

People trailed behind me not even moments later. some foolish people decide to chat up before noticing Michael and others in the room. I slyly narrowed both eyes, but insisted on finding a spot in at the forefront. From the corner of my eye, director John Landis scribbled something. Only a few others seemed to follow my example and review dance steps in the mirror. I'd seen the mailed dance routine videotape countless times before this point, but there was no trouble in refresh. All the same, I wouldn't exactly push too hard unless the music pumped.

"People, people! Thank you. Now, why you're hear is common knowledge. All you need to do is stand out in a good way. Don't let this moment intimidate you. This isn't a game. Once the butterflies stop, get to work. We only want the best for Michael." After several minutes, choreographer Michael Peters clapped for our attention.

I turned my curls toward him, prepared for anything. The chitchat paused. Heads turned for the second time that day. When Michael stood up from his chair at the cornered table, encouraging applause signaled. Jackson grinned in a bashful way, but the noise only heightened when he walked around the table.

Oh, shit! my thoughts cussed honestly. He's dancing with us. No one explained that detail. After mentally screaming with joy for the first time in years, I calmed down. The applause then stopped. Michael Peters, still the choreographer, suggested that we spread out all over the room. I still placed myself at the front. Not too far away from Jackson, of course.

"Like I said, give it all you got!" Michael Peters shouted at us with enthusiasm. He'd been standing quite a few feet away from us. For a moment, Michael turned to face me. I smiled right back, offering a high-five. Not even seconds later, we even shared whispering for a moment. Flirtation had arrived in one way or another. I just knew.

"What's your name?" Michael hushed close to my ear. He pulled away in enough time to remain polite. I smiled out professional behavior and kindly responded. There was no crime in telling anyway. I placed both hands on my hips while speaking.

"Charlene Adams." I answered with confidence. "It's great to finally meet you. I've respected your work for quite some time now."

"Thank you, Charlene." Michael smiled once and finally turned away from me. Once the music kicked on, I lost myself while dancing. I synced with Michael and everyone else. Nothing bothered me. Nothing distracted me. The clichés returned, but I honestly couldn't find solace anywhere else besides family. Yet, it was just a matter of time before destiny made that final decision.

I could only dance now and wait later. When the music silenced, this entire room cheered. My face and body trickled with dancing sweat. I could've cared less. While licking my lips and waiting for other announcements, Michael faced me again. His brown eyes proved almost lethal, but I wouldn't tremble. Men never shook me up. I knew better. Mom would've kicked my ass with a running mouth. Relationships weren't supposed to prioritize before myself. Independence reigned supreme to me.

Jackson stopped glaring long enough to walk backwards and rub his hands together. I didn't know what to think, but smiled once more. Michael Peters shouted across the room and we paused to listen again. Respect also listed as significant in my eyes.

"We'll announce the final dance-group in a couple of weeks. Thank you for coming." Peters mustered his final piece of enthusiasm. A Brooklyn accent partially croaked. John Landis encouraged applause as well. I understood. Jackson lightheartedly bowed amid the happiness. I nodded, understanding.

"Goodbye, everyone! No matter what happens, remember that you are talented. Hopefully, I'll see some of you again." Michael grabbed his Aviator sunglasses. Assumed bodyguards followed Jackson before long. At the door, he whispered to one older gentleman who seemed to direct security. A brittle hat scrunched his partially receding hairline. Wrinkles lined almost every corner of his face as well.

Before I could finally leave this dance studio in a cooling sweat, Michael winked toward me and walked out. I rolled my eyes, but smiled when the door shut.

What did that mean? I thought to myself.