One (A Michael Jackson Fan Fiction)

Chapter 5

Noise echoed from behind the door as I neared. With a short nod, the guard pressed it open. "Quinn!" Michael greeted as I stepped through the threshold. "You're just on time. We were about to begin. Grab some food if you'd like." he offered, gesturing to the counter full of random foods, none of them, I noticed, contained any meats. I grabbed a plate and filled it with some fruits then sat down on the floor as Bush tried to get the television set up.

"So what do you do?" Karen asked, settling down in the space beside me.

I hesitated for a moment. I hadn't expected to be spoken to. "Oh. Uh- I'm a Spot Op."

She smirked and nudged Michael's side with her elbow. "So you're the reason Michael was up in the catwalks earlier." He shifted nervously and smiled a bit.

"It's alive!" Bush shouted as the static on the TV formed into a picture. Everyone cheered and focus turned to the task at hand. Dissecting tonight's performance. Every few moments Michael would point out something in the production that would need to be addressed and fixed the next day, or mention something about a certain dance hitting perfectly or something being slightly off. He was attuned to a sense of detail not many others could even comprehend. Occasionally Bush would pitch in with something wardrobe related and Michael would smile. He had already noticed, he was just waiting for Bush to see it too. This was a method of training for all of them. Training to see the world through his eyes.

As the concert went on, my confidence grew and I began to pay attention to the lighting, mentioning times they were slightly off or that Michael was just a smidge off center of the beam we followed him with. Every detail counted.

There was a moment in Dirty Diana when the chorus drops and one spot turns to four, casting shadows of Michael on each side that danced and twirled flat on the stage beside him. Those shadows he could never escape. They reminded me of the crowd illuminated in the sun when we first arrived and it added more fun to the piece. He could play with those shadows, manipulate them as he pleased and nobody but a unique few would ever notice he was doing it. That was the power of lighting. It was the unseen magic that glued a show together.

We were on the last stretch home and the unmistakable rhythm of Billie Jean began to play. Then suddenly, as the vocals came in, Michael paused the tape. We all turned to each other, wondering what we had missed.

"Didn't you hear it?" Michael asked the three of us. So sound was what we were looking for. I replayed the last few seconds of tape in my head, searching for some abnormality I had overlooked before. None of us could conjure an answer so he played it again. "That grinding from the microphone." he said, rewinding it once more to play it again. I heard it now, and so did the others. It was the faintest of noises; one that hadn't been there before.

"It's the glove." Bush decided. "The rhinestones scrape against the microphone which creates that grinding sound." He jumped up excitedly now, as if he were a kid solving a puzzle. Looking around the room, he found what he needed. A random glove laying on a dresser. "See, your glove has rhinestones completely covering it." he explained, tracing over the surface of the glove with his index finger for visual support. "Including the palm. What we can do is chop out the one side of your glove and replace it with a white fabric. This way the outside remains covered in dust while the inside is smooth which will rid of that noise." Bush concluded, handing the glove to Michael.

"Good." Michael replied, try it on one of the gloves and we'll test it in Turin. If it works we'll transform the rest."

I sat there in awe of the transaction I had witnessed. It was fascinating how quickly their minds worked. Out of my lips came the only thing I could think of. "Dust?" I asked.

"It's what they call the rhinestones. They shine and glitter and catch light in a way that demands your attention; almost like a magic act. And anybody who has ever heard of Peter Pan knows that the only true source of magic is pixie dust." Karen elaborated while the guys still marveled over the glove.

"Faith, trust, and pixie dust." I recited to myself with a smile and the concert review jumped back into motion.

When finally it was over, the tape was rolled back to the start and we sat for a bit longer, finishing off our drinks and picking at the leftover food. As Bush and Karen spoke about some old memories, Michael took the moment to talk to me. "What did you see?" he asked. It was a test to figure out how closely I had been paying attention.

I didn't know where to start. So much had happened all within just one viewing. "Magic." I eventually muttered "With the shadows and the dust on the gloves; you manipulate light in ways I never imagined."

He smiled a bit, satisfied with my answer, but something in his eyes hinted at more I had yet to learn.

"You wanna know the secret to all of this?" he wondered.

Without a second of doubt, I nodded. Could there really be some secret... a method to the magic. Would the magician really reveal his secrets?

"I hinted at it once before. You already know the answer." he replied before standing to refill his cup, leaving my mind reeling to find the answer. Karen and Bush rose to call it a night and made their way to the door so I followed. "Good night, Cherries." he said with a smirk, knowing he had me exactly where he wanted me. Michael had this way of teaching you things. He hinted at a question but wanted to make sure your mind was asking the same thing, then he would bait you in with an answer, but wait for you to come to the conclusion first. It was fascinating.

I hardly slept through the night, my brain too focused on the puzzle, sifting through everything Michael had ever said to me, looking for pieces. I thought for hours on end until evening arrived once more and the shrill cry of the telephone pierced through the silence. I picked up the phone and Michael's soft voice spoke. "Did you find it?" he asked.

I thought for a moment, wondering if anything last minute would pop into my head. "I've got nothing, Michael, what is it?" I asked in defeat. The only answer I got was the click of the telephone. I wanted to throw the phone in frustration, but settled for a resentful groan.

"What's gotten to you?" Teagan questioned, popping a cherry into her mouth.

"That's it!" I shouted, picking up the phone to call him back. He had given me a hint last night when he called me Cherries. Michael had called me Quinn ever since he'd known my name. Bringing back that nickname was a reminder to look back at the day it was given to me. He picked up the phone, greeting me in a made up voice he used to deter people he didn't know. I didn't have time to reassure him though. "The greatest education in the world is watching the masters at work." I recalled. They were some of the first words he had ever said to me. There was a pause at his end of the line for a moment that seemed an eternity and I was afraid he'd hang up again, afraid I had gotten it wrong.

"Study the greats, become greater." he said in return. "Studying is the most important thing you can do in your field. Know everything there is to know about it. Know more about your trade than anyone in the world and be the best at what you do. Even if you're sweeping floors, be the best. Absolutely anything is possible if you want it bad enough." Click.