Reverie - Michael Jackson Imagines

Native New Yorker✨

Jacksons Era

"Y/N, Y/N!"

You sat a freshly cleaned glass down on the countertop at the mention of your name that managed to carry over the loud driving base of the disco song pulsating throughout the club. Through a haze of colorful lights, you spotted your co-worker and friend, Beverly, enthusiastically bouncing over towards the bar.

"Y/N, I've got a table you'd just love to take!" the blonde squeals, leaning over bar top you'd just wiped down.

You sighed, sometimes you envied Beverly's vigor and energy. It was barely ten o'clock and already your feet hurt, your head was pounding and there were at least four more hours left on your shift, maybe more.

You'd been bartending and serving at New York's trendiest and most scandalous club, Studio 54, for the past three months. The wild, loud and lewd nature of the club wasn't your scene, but you'd learned to ignore it all as you were in desperate need of another job.

"You know I mostly wait tables at my day job, Bev. But humor me." You reply, choosing to ignore the new smears on the once immaculate countertop.

"There's a private table on the second floor that's just fabulous," she spoke in her charming southern drawl. "get this: Quincy Jones, Sidney Lumet, Diana Ross,"

"If David Cassidy's not sitting there ready to marry me, I'll pass." You quip.

Beverly rolls her eyes.

"You didn't let me finish, Y/N. Guess who else? Michael Jackson!"

You can't help but giggle at your friend's excitement. Celebrities didn't really impress you. Having lived in New York all your life, it wasn't uncommon to catch celebrities out and about. Working at the celebrity populated disco had made the aura of stardom all the more stale to you. Just last week, Bianca Jagger had celebrated her birthday at the club and rode a white horse straight through the dancefloor. You hadn't even blinked.

"Isn't he a bit young to be here?" you question as you toss a damp towel over your shoulder.

Despite your remark, you knew a lot of child stars often got into the club, even if they far too young to drink, smoke and party.

"He's at least 20 now and very handsome. I got a peek of him." Beverly squealed. "sure, he can't compete with Keith Partridge but look at it this way: there's a movie role and a record deal just sitting there waiting for you to grab it."

You chew the corner of your lip, taking in Beverly's words. You were working two dead-end jobs to push yourself through performing arts school with the hopes of making it big in the entertainment world. So far, you'd had no luck at all and were beginning to feel the devastating burnout that comes with deferred dreams. The city you'd called home was a city of dreams for so many people but the reality of the price one had to pay to pursue them was weighing heavy on you. You'd left your parent's house in Brooklyn to assert your independence and were doing a bang-up job of it. They didn't believe in your frivolous dreams and thought you should come back home to get a realistic job, but you didn't want to give up just yet.

There was still a glimmer of hope left in you but with each passing day, New York was no longer the big, bright juicy apple to take a bite out of, just a brown, hollow core that had left you with nothing.

You sigh.

"Fine, fine. But just this once."

"Fabulous!" Beverly exclaims. "I'll cover the bar for you. Besides, you're way too pretty to hide behind here all the time."

A grin threatens to tug at your lips.

"Whatever,"

"You thank me for this one day, Y/N." she drawls.