Always || Prince/MJ

Always || Chapter 7

1995

Nicole "Nikki" Foster

I'd go to the wedding, but only because of my daughters. No matter how estranged Dad and I had been these days, my angels still deserved to meet their grandfather. I wasn't stupid enough to block my girls away from family and couldn't just act bitter.

"I'd go with you for support if it wasn't for this tour." Skip cleared his throat and soon mentioned my father's upcoming nuptials. Silence fell between us as he turned off playback  and sat down, leaving me to sit in one of the paired swivel chair here.

"I know, Baby." I kissed his cheek. Yet, my own y eyes took this quick double-take as I realized one new detail. He'd sported one piece of jewelry that I hadn't seen in quite some time. My heart both dropped and raced all at once. I knew what it was.

One golden piece from 1986: his wedding band.

"I've hid the ring ever since we divorced." There was a smile on his face, but this hint of sadness. I only viewed that kind of regret after he mailed our separation documents. My heart thumped with guilt again as he twisted the ring for a moment.

"Why wear it now? We're not married anymore." I scrunched my face and then listened to him. There was no other choice and I tuned in to hear his response. For all I knew, anyone could've interrupted just minutes later. I'd cherish this time.

"I've said that we'll always be best friends. Marriage didn't work out, but I still miss you. A lot." His low voice became a whisper, but he chose not to cry. I kept myself together as well, even as we both sat in silence. We both really needed this talk.

"I miss you too, but she..." I trailed off my voice when someone knocked on the door. It was Mayte, as usual. It took everything in me not to yell in her face again, but her timid presence shut me up in one way or another. Skip then confronted her with this low tone, almost inaudible. My mind jumbled with so many questions.

"She wants to talk to you, but I'm staying here." Skip revealed something that I never expected. Before I could face Skipper with another death glare, Mayte entered the studio. Of course, I remained calm and she stood here, frozen.

"Yes?" I asked, glancing between Mayte and Skipper. There was only a matter of time before my patience ran low and I'd take off these earrings for an old-school fight. I'd learned to scrap in Junior High. Even at that time, other girls in the schoolyard would bully my dark complexion. I'd never forget those harsh days.

Now, times were different. If Mayte tried to judge my personal choices again without ever knowing us, I'd snap. She had no business telling me what to do, even if we both crossed paths with Skipper. She didn't really know him, not even close.

"Why are you here, is there another session?" Mayte asked me, but looked towards Skip at all once. Silence fell in this recording studio once more. I didn't know what to think, but anger still fumed within me by now. I still responded to her, though.

"No, but my reason to be here is none of your business." Skipper moved his chair near me and looped his arm around my shoulder. I soon realized what he meant to show: the ring on his hand shined under the dimness of this space. Mayte stared.

"All right, then. What's the story behind you two? Exes don't usually hang around each other." Mayte smirked. I soon rolled my eyes, wishing that Skipper didn't actually let this girl speak with me. Beyond dance, there was nothing in common other than the man sitting here with us. As I've said, she'd never understand me.

"1978, record store." It wasn't long before Skipper finally chimed in. I then gaped, looking back and forth between him and Mayte. Another round of silence fell in the room this time, but my mind drifted back to the day Skip changed my life forever.

All the way back then, I used chump change to book a flight for Minnesota. I even shacked up in this dingy motel near town just to keep some kind of roof over my head. It was the best I could do, especially since I knew little to no one at the time.

My instruments piled and cornered into the day room as different cords sprawled every direction to stay plugged in. Armed with my electric guitar, this tiny keyboard, a cheap synthesizer, and my tape recorder, I tried to make music.

Ready to hopefully dazzle "First Avenue," I only visited that record store in hopes of finding "For You" on the shelves. Momma had played her vinyl throughout the house, but I wanted my own copy of the record.

If someone had told me that day Skipper would cross paths with me too, I wouldn't believe that person. Not in a million years. Unlike countless other women, I kept cool and didn't trip that one of my favorite artists stood in the same building as me.

His wide Afro and medallion around his neck caught my eyes first, but I kept quiet, giving him space. This was his turf and girls had no right to invade his bubble. I still grinned, but still introduced myself. Other customers remained calm near us both.

"Hi," I said, reaching out to shake his hand.

"Hey," he smiled back.

"Great job on the album. It's really tight." she whispered, glancing around to see if other customers would hear my own comment.

"Thanks." He faced my compliment with an adorable smile.

"No problem. Best of luck to you." I glanced over my left shoulder and began to leave the record store.

Yet, he almost whispered to call my attention again. It wasn't long before I turned around and crossed arms, but faced him on my own.

"Wait, sorry to stop you, but what's your name?" Skipper asked me. Even workers paused responsibilities to watch us. Customers silenced themselves to hear us talk. Everyone knew his name and his album completely solidified his presence here.

"Nikki." I said. Before Skip could whisper anything else, I left the record store, and chimed the door frame bell on my way out.

Outside, I stood on the block and pocketed my bell bottoms to find cigarettes. Lighting up in public or just smoking around other people wasn't healthy of course, but everyone had vices.

Fear was another vice of mine.

"That day was how I met Nikki. Please leave us alone. Anything you say from now on might be used against you. She's not like everyone else around here." Skip used his low voice to warn Mayte in real time. My mind had returned to the reality of 1995. 

Seeming to finally understand what Skip meant, Mayte walked out of the recording studio.