Saved By Your Love

6. Price of Fame

Sunday 12th April 1987

Michael's POV

I had gotten an unexpected call from Diana the other night. I didn't answer, but she left a message urging me to call her back, saying that she was desperate to meet me. Of course, I wanted to see her too, even though it wouldn't be a good choice to make. I knew what she wanted from seeing me, but I was not going to play a supporting role in infidelity. The message was deleted off of the phone using all the willpower in me, and I tried to make the most out of what was left of the weekend. I had no plans. The majority of my life revolved around the recording studio and getting the album done. I had to outdo myself. I was fighting a one-man battle.

On that calm Sunday night, I found myself walking down a quiet avenue where Sheri had asked me to see her after she finished work. She convinced me to ditch the major disguise--all my trust was put into the hood that I wore, seeing as she promised me that the street would be vacant of people. Sheri was standing there in the near distance, looking out into the open with her hands deep in the pockets of her long black coat. A couple of strands of her hair were dancing freely in the gentle breeze. As I approached her, she must have sensed my presence, as she turned and smiled when she saw me.

"Hey, hotshot."

"I have wondered why you call me that."

"You're skilled and successful," she shrugged. "If you don't like it I can change it--"

"No, no." A minute into seeing her and she already had me laughing. "No, it's good. I like it."

"Good. Just waiting on my special nickname now."

We started to walk together. "I'm working on it, I promise."

"Anyway, glad you could make it out. I was starting to think you weren't gonna show up."

I agreed to meet with Sheri because she's not Diana. If anything, she would help me forget about the woman who left me yearning and heartbroken.

"I got your call as soon as I got back from the studio," I said.

We continued to walk down the long avenue, the only sound other than that of our voices was the light rustle of the leaves in the trees.

She asked, "how's that going?"

"It's going pretty good," I half-lied. "We hope to have it finished in the coming months." But not even optimists expect a new record from Michael Jackson this summer.

"Well, you can bet I'll be one of the first to get a copy soon as it hits the shelves."

I gave a small smile, "what about you? How was work?"

She tilted her head left, then right. "Same stuff, different day."

"Honestly, Sheri, I don't think that place isn't all that bad." Needless to say, I liked it there.

"Easy for you to say...you ain't been clocking into that place for the past six years."

"Six years?" I repeated in astonishment.

"Right on. I still remember my very first day. I broke every rule in the book and by the end of my shift, Sam was so furious with me, he fired me."

I was intrigued. "So, what did you do?"

"I went back the next day as if nothing happened. I put on my apron, started taking the customers' orders and I proved to him that I could get the job done. All I needed was a little polish. I think that's when Sam knew I was just what he was looking for. It's funny, 'cause I'm the only one who works there now. Everyone else has either quit or been given the sack," she explained.