Author's Note: For those who haven't read it, this chapter unfortunately includes some "Black Rose" spoilers. Regardless, enjoy more fictional tea!
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1983 – "Beat It" Shoot
MICHAEL
I'd finally stopped taping this project. To project authenticity, I even casted real Skid Row gang members. Police officers watched all over this location in the name of safety. So far, we only encountered peace. As far my own recruits, choreographers Michael Peters Vincent Paterson joined in to craft dance routines. Despite the long hours and repetitive song, I once again felt proud of this short film. Like any other perfectionist, I'd always nitpick. But at least the idea pieced together more and more.
Audiences would hopefully enjoy my work once more. As of late, "Thriller" still sold millions of copies and the entire globe to wait for me with baited breaths. Surely, the pressure was on in one way or another. Regardless, I feared nothing. Absolutely nothing.
On the other hand, press outlets swarmed here to catch "exclusives." Throughout the weeks, I braved more cameras and questions than expect. This time, Ebony Magazine correspondent Tom Joyner finished interviewing. . Between the shouted racket of nearby crew members, we stood up from chairs and shook hands. Tom exited with his own camera crew filed out before long.
Bill Bray and these close guards examined the area once more. I pushed these Aviators for the millionth time and walked toward an opposite direction. Excellent director Bob Giraldi and other staff huddled to observe my "film" playback as usual. Just when I planned to join in, Vince walked by and sported a jacket. I nodded behind these sunglasses and quickly greeted this collaborator.
His face glistened in the name of previous dancing. I understood that possible exhaustion in one way or another. Voices continued echoing as crew member began dismantling set pieces of out of requirement. A block antenna phone rested in his palm. For a moment, I snatched off these sunglasses. Puzzlement entered my mind before long. There was no other choice given my hectic situation right now.
"Sorry, but I couldn't reach one of your personal assistants right now, Mike. There's somebody on the phone for you." Vince spoke up before I could even respond this time. I quickly mumbled to acknowledge his quick thinking and swapped the phone away from him. This man soon walked off.
"Hello?" I stood in this corner and cleared my throat. Thankfully, I already sat down on a neighboring bar stool. The following voice prompted butterflies to reach me. In a cliché manner, I couldn't even fight the grin that snuck onto my face. Two crew members passed by and faked smiles while straining to hold bulky equipment.
"Hey, Michael. It's Kay. How are you?" Kim and I hadn't spoken face to face since the Motown afterparty. I scooted onto this bar stool once more. Before I could lean against the counter, Bill whispered toward my closest ear. I then left the stool and began walking toward an exit. Between steps, I waved to Bob Giraldi with his team and continued speaking to Kay on the other line. One more smile crept onto my lips.
"I'm great, girl. Just finished another short film and I'll visit the editing room soon. It's been a while since the party. What's up?" At this point, Bill reached the parking lot with me and the other guards. A driver raced around my limosuine to open the door. I'd already slipped these Aviators back on with my free hand. Bill designated passenger side. I ducked into a backseat. Within seconds, the nearby door slammed.
"Not much. I'm finally leaving the studio for tonight, but I wanted to ask you about something. For whatever, Kim calmed down her usual joy. I didn't what to think right now. Meanwhile, Bill turned up the radio and our driver rolled out of this lot. I leaned back against the leather headrest while listening to Kim once more.
Behind us, a motorcade formed in the name of extra protection. I understood in one way or another, but Bill sometimes implemented overkill. Especially this evening. Still, that man probably cautioned since gang members lined the set this week. On the other hand, I focused on Kay again to ignore the provisions of my father-figure. Bill controlled security measures since my Jackson Five days. The memories seemed countless between us.
"What did you need to ask me, girl? Is everything all right?" I yanked my sunglasses once more. My heart almost with anticipation right now. Anything could've taken place and I didn't realize the possible issues. For some odd reason, I suddenly felt uneasy throughout this instant. Music couldn't even distract me for once. My mind jumbled with nothing short of confusion.
"Oh, everything's fine! Don't worry. I was just curious about something that happened at the party. Did you and Brenda get along after I walked away?" Kay immediately reassured that nothing seemed In that moment, I almost dropped my jaw. Brenda crossed my mind all over again. My thoughts immediately recalled what happened that evening. Shy conduct washed over my entire body.
Shit! I thought to myself.
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1983 – "Motown 25" (California)
Help me, Jehovah! Please. I thought to myself.
I tapped my chin the moment Brenda walked closer and grinned while dancing with me. My heart pounded over and over. Lust had been surely possible during this first encounter, but I knew so much better and behaved like a gentleman. We'd embraced at this point and grinned for one another before I pulled away. I held her hand, not even resisting the urge to scope up and down.
"For some who dances on Soul Train, that dress is short! Damn!" I clenched my teeth through that response. Brenda puckered her dark lips and shook down those curls facing me this time.
"I didn't know you cursed, Michael." Brenda chewed her bottom lip yet again.
I'll always kick myself for at least not gaining her number that very evening. My next answer to this gorgeous woman forever plugged into my mind. Those same words appear every time I look back to this precise moment.
"There's a lot you don't know about me, "Mama." I'd whispered into her ear, but maintained this sense of authority.
