Author's Note: Surprise! Guess who's back? Enjoy.
==
1985 – California
KIM
Operator, get my baby on the line.
'Cause just the other night, we had a horrible fight.
I admit that I, I was out of control.
But I still love my man with my body and soul.
When the road gets rough, we say things we should not say.
I never meant to treat my baby that way.
I apologize. (believe me I do) Oh, believe me I do.
I apologize. (honest and true) Oh honest and true.
Because I know I was wrong.
And so, I sing you this song.
And I'm tryna get through, and make it up to you, yeah...
For whatever reason, this song grew from issues with Michael. We still couldn't agree on the happiness of other people and Jackson still insisted on keeping me away from the press. As if I'd never dealt with cameras before. We couldn't even admit friendship, let alone romance. Still, I wanted him more than any other man. I'd never give up. I
In the middle a different recording session one night, the door creaked open. Once more, I didn't know what to think until another familiar face reached my eyes. The music cut off and I excused myself from those gifted producers. I couldn't help smiling for the millionth time. I hadn't seen my guest in quite some time. This woman didn't give me nostalgia like Brenda, but schedules finally cleared for us to meet in person again.
I stood out in the vacant hallway with Charlene Adams.
An off-shoulder blouse fell off her shoulders. Leather pants shaped around her dancing hips. Adams earned recognition as a "Soul Train" choreographer these days. We'd met at a club one night and exchanged numbers out of growing friendship. I'd never forget drowning shot with this woman and awkwardly dancing in overhead cages. We'd slumped onto the seats of limousine. My hangover punched without shame the next morning.
"Let's go out tonight. It's been a while since you and I caught up anyway." Charlene suggested an idea and quickly winked. Hell, I needed a drink or something at this point. Bickering with Michael again surely crossed my mind. I always knew that Jackson looked out for other people on a regular basis, but this constant hovering toward Brenda and her rockstar husband still irked me.
Again, it was as if he wanted to jinx the happiness of people other than himself. I didn't know what to think of course. Not everyone in Hollywood turned to be wild human begins. But I digress for the millionth time. There was no other choice. Otherwise, I'd lose my own marbles. The only joy I should've worried about pertained to my own. Without or without Michael, I needed my own form of sanity in one way or another.
__
Damn. I thought to myself.
Out of nowhere, Michael found us out at the club. He wouldn't stop staring at Charlene, either. It was as if he'd met her before. The possibility crossed my mind given that she worked in and out of entertainment before Soul Train. Yet, Michael revealed that Char auditioned for "Thriller" as a zombie-dancer.
Unfortunately, she didn't make the cut. Like everyone else in showbiz, I dropped my jaw. Char's talent range scattered all over the place, and that music-video plug would've skyrocketed recognition. Mike was a fool to reject that woman. I rolled my eyes. A neon lighter positioned in my hand. Before long, I sparked up this needed cigarette beside Michael. At this point, my thoughts couldn't give a damn for once.
How self-centered could this man be? Talent was talent, regardless of gender or anything else. Bass rumbled underneath my heels as usual. Michael scrunched up his face and walked off. I offered the middle fingers. Any love song I recorded earlier meant nothing. We both fell right back into the trap of bickering with arrogance.
Thankfully, even Brenda showed up and hugged Prince before walking toward us. Charlene sloshed dwindling wine in her glass nearby. All three of us turned heads in some of the baddest outfits. Charlene picked one sliver bustier and dark leggings. Brenda rocked this sheer fishnet dress. The ignited Newport cigarette place between nimble fingers of her gold wedding ring hand. And I selected a low-cut and black jumpsuit.
Of course, Michael and I bickered over the topic of decency before I could pick up my clutch bag. Jackson even called on the limousine phone line to keep yelling during my trip with Charlene to this same club. I wasn't five years old. Michael knew that. No one, especially men, could tell me what to do. Whether someone loved me or not, I could make my own choices.
Not even moments later, Michael returned. I leaned back on this couch and Charlene whispered for us to dance. Just when I planned to leave the couch with my friend, Michael cleared his throat. Charlene scrunched up her face. Brenda raised an eyebrow. I wanted to slap Mike this time around.
"What the hell are you guys doing? You might as well be naked. Have some self-respect. Damn." Michael snipped at us. His hand even motioned for me to get up from the couch. Still, I'd never move. I wasn't terrified. I wasn't submissive. Michael Joseph Jackson had lost his fucking mind right now.
Music rumbled and almost synchronized with the colorful strobes overhead. I tossed back my head laughing when Brenda offered to give Mike the middle finger on her own. Her gold wedding band shined once more. I could only imagine what would happen if Prince stood here. Especially given the fact that Michael ridicule Brenda of all people right now. Prince's wife, not girlfriend or protégée.
"You're not perfect." I cut anger right back to Jackson. My awkwardly grooving but sexy body ruled the dance floor with my girls below VIP. Michael and I wouldn't go home in the same limousine that night.
I couldn't love someone who controlled my every move.
