Detox

Chapter 05: Michael & Deja

I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited
But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it.
I hoped you'd see my face and be reminded
That for me it isn't over

Perth, Australia
October 1985

Falling in love was never part of the plan....

...but then again when was the time to do so in her whirlwind first few months of working with the juggernaut that was Michael Joseph Jackson?

No manual could have prepared her for what lay in store, and she wished she had taken his ‘warning’ a little more seriously, though it was hard to do considering they were in the midst of petting Louie and Lola (his pet llamas) at his Encino home during that particular conversation. It was weird enough spending an afternoon with him in his mini-zoo (and she would later have to admit that it was one of the more fun experiences in her life), but he was a little more ‘talkative’ than usual – at least compared to his monosyllabic shy comments when she arrived earlier. She was more herself this time, for gone were the prim and proper suits and high heels. For this particular visit, she had settled for a pair of old Guess jeans, a bright pink shirt by Donna Karan, and a multi-colored scarf (by Donna too) that was used as a bandanna. Michael apparently approved because he literally beamed and said,

“Now, that’s more like it.”

Her inner girl had screamed “Score!” in victory. Finally a boss that could appreciate her love of color! Since then she made a vow to wear something bright around him; not overdoing it though, but just enough to make her stand out from the other bland people he surrounded himself with most of the time.

“My life can be crazy,” he was saying as they sat on the lawn with Bubbles (a chimpanzee he purchased earlier in the year) running around him in circles, while Michael tried to entice him with a bottle of milk. “And the few assistants...okay, just one previous,” he confesses sheepishly. “Didn’t last long. “

“So why did you pick me?” she asked, grunting a little as Bubbles finally latched on to her; perhaps because she was female. She motioned for Michael to give her the bottle, which he did with a look of admiration in his eyes. If he was impressed that she did not seem frightened of his animals and was willing to get dirty with her so easily, he made no mention of it.

“Because you look like someone who can handle the...workload,” he admitted; leaning back and resting on his forearms as he watched her feed his pet with such expertise. He knew she was not married and that she had no children, but then again women were natural nurturers, so it really shouldn’t have been that surprising.

“Brian swears by it,” he continued; lips quirking into a light smirk as she rolled her eyes in response.

“Yeah right,” she muttered beneath her breath. “How much did you pay to get him to say that?”

He giggled; a happy sound that got Bubbles eager to be with him again. The chimp jumped off Deja to run back to its master, who welcomed him back with a hug. Gypsy (his elephant) apparently approved of the sound as well for her loud trumpeting had Deja wincing a little and raising her knees to her chest to wrap her arms around them.

“I wouldn’t have chosen you if I didn’t think you couldn’t do it,” he said with a small smile, sitting up now to allow Bubbles to run off toward the garden/pond. He raised a knee to rest his arm on it, and though he was not looking at her (his gaze seemed distant), she couldn’t help the rise of color to her cheeks at how...well...relaxed (handsome) he looked. He seemed to favor really tight jeans (today it was dark blue), and she would have been a monk (or really stuffy nun) not to notice the obvious bulge that clearly stated he was all male and damn proud of it.

She watched the near-hypnotizing motion of his long fingers caressing his clean-shaven jaw, the purse of his lips (which she hated to admit she had sort of dreamed about them one night....but we digress), the well-shaped nose – a clear sign he had some work done, but who was she to bring that up? And the piѐce de résistance; those brown eyes that were hooded with almost feminine lashes. The black curls of his hair danced gently against his scalp and cheeks with each light breath of breeze, and she idly wondered what it would feel like to touch it.

Does it still hurt? She would have loved to ask, but she knew it was going to be out of line to want to find out about the burn incident from last year. If he ever felt like talking to her about it, then it was completely up to him. She would not go out of her way to be too nosey. He was her boss first...and whatever else afterwards.

“I’m sure Tookie must have filled you in with all the boring stuff,” he finally said, still not looking at her.

Tookie = Frank DiLeo. Something she had picked up after hanging around the big guy and listening to others call him that. Funny enough, he hadn’t minded her calling him that too. Who knew beneath the tough Mafioso persona was the heart of a teddy bear?

“If you mean your crazy upcoming schedule,” she replied dryly. “Yes.”

He chuckled and scratched the bridge of his nose, before lowering his legs to cross them Indian style. He bounced them restlessly for a moment as if trying to form the words in his mind first before speaking to her again.

“I try to keep busy.” He gave a wry smile. “But I’m more concerned about my loyal fans, who I love very much.”

“Ah.”

“Ah indeed.” He cocked his head to give her a look that was a mixture of amusement and wariness. “They can be quite...eh...passionate about me.”

No kidding, she thought. She had seen videos and news footage showing the mania he tended to cause wherever he went.

“Must be hard,” she muttered aloud before she could control herself. She would have slapped a hand over her mouth and begun to apologize for putting in her two cents where it wasn’t needed, but all he did was shrug and give a small smile.

“It is, but I wouldn’t have it any other way, Deja.”

It wasn’t just in the way he said it, which was hardly with a tone of gloating, but it was the underlying current of desperation. It was as if he needed to latch on to the adulation for some reason.

“It’s all I know,” he finished quietly, picking absently at blades of grass and crushing them between his fingers. His gaze was lowered, as if speaking more to himself than to her. “Sure there are times when I just want to be left alone, but if I didn’t have that....my fans...if people didn’t love me...I wouldn’t know what to do...”

What about your family? What about their love? Isn’t that strong enough for you? She longed to ask. Or maybe you should just get yourself a nice woman who can settle down with you and...?

And what? Which woman in her right mind could handle the kind of life he lived? She was just his assistant and already she was feeling the pressures of dealing with his lifestyle. Was there any woman out there strong enough to shoulder his burden for the long haul?

“You must think I’m crazy, right?”

“Huh?” She blinked and forced herself back to the present; flushing as she noticed he was looking at her again.

“Go on, admit it. I’m working for a psycho.”

“Do you think you’re a psycho?” she asked.

He seemed to consider this for a second before replying with a slight sense of smugness. “I think I’m eccentric.”

“Well, there you go.”

He laughed and tossed a blade of grass at her. “All the greats had a little bit of eccentricity. Howard Hughes...do you know who Howard Hughes is?”

“Yes...he had all those planes, right?”

“He was more than just a plane owner, Deja,” he admonished with a wag of his finger as if lecturing a child. “I have several books about him that I think you should read. He was an innovator, a pioneer, an engineering genius, but no one appreciated that. All they remember is that he was addicted to drugs and that he used to urinate in milk bottles and had the most intense case of OCD ever.” He paused and eyed her. “I’m not freaking you out with this, am I?”

She shook her head and smiled. “It’s fascinating.”

And she really wasn’t saying that just to please him or kiss ass. With all the books in his office and the impressive library here at his home, there was no doubt she was dealing with a man who was smart as a whip. It was just a damn shame the rest of the world wouldn’t really get to know this, since they were so focused on the superficial -

“Really?” Michael interrupted; a brow rose as if in disbelief. “Most girls I try to talk to about such topics get a bored and zoned out expression on their face.”

Brook Shields? Tatum O’Neal? she thinks with an inner snort. Your choice of girlfriends are not exactly the sharpest tools in the shed if you know what I’m saying.

Instead, she said out loud. “I am not like most girls.”

“Oh?” He smirked and lowered his lashes, and not sure if it was done on purpose (not that it would matter anyway); the flood of heat that raced through her with that expression of innocent-seduction, took all of her non-existent acting skills to prevent her from pouncing on him. Good God! Did he have any idea how sexy that was? Add in the fact that his speaking voice was ‘normal’ - meaning not that shy, breathless-I-haven’t-even-seen-a-naked-girl-before voice that the rest of the world was used to - she was beginning to get the feeling that this man was actually trying to flirt with her...

...or maybe not. She couldn’t afford to think that way. Things were strictly on the friendly side. It had to be for professionalism’s sake.

He finally broke the tension (thank God!) by laughing out loud and leaning back on his elbows again. “All right, I want to talk some more about Howard. You promise you won’t be bored.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?” he insisted with a playful pout.

She crossed her heart, which had him giggling at the childish gesture. “I promise.”

“All right then, let’s take a walk and then I can tell you all about him. Here, Bubbles!” he called out with a sharp whistle as he rose to his feet, and – much to her surprise – held out his hand to help her up. She was unable to stop the blush that filled her cheeks again as his firm grip steadied her, but much to her dismay, the moment was brief as he released her to cradle his pet chimp within his arms.

“Now, Howard was born in Texas to...” he began lecturing away, while leading the way back to the house where they’d spend the rest of the afternoon with the rest of his family until she had to say her goodbyes. By the way, getting to meet Mama Katherine and LaToya (Joseph was away on business apparently) was another highlight of her day. The women took to her and vice versa.

All the same, she was embarrassed to find herself reliving every moment spent with Michael later that night as if trying to imprint the more relaxed (natural) version of the man the rest of the world would never get to really see. Who knows? It might very well be the last time he ever showed this side of himself again. He might never invite her to Encino, or worse he could revert to becoming cold and distant, so she might as well enjoy the fact that he let her in...a little bit.

However, that visit had taken place nearly five months ago. This was the present and oh how things could change so quickly within that time frame.

Hadn’t they warned her to expect this? And hadn’t she braced herself – in some way – for this? Yet, this level of Michaelmania was something she just could not grasp or wrap her mind around.

I mean, she could understand being a fan of someone (and goodness knows if the lead singer of Led Zeppelin was to show up at her doorstep, she just might faint), but Michael seemed to bring out the ‘crazy’ in people and sometimes not in a good way. It was almost frightening how devoted they were; so much so she had come to realize just one of the many harsh realities of being in Michael’s Camp.

They could be brutal.

“Who do you think you are?!”
“You’re not a fan of his!”
“You couldn’t love him as much as we love him!”
“Let us see him! We’ve been standing here for hours!”
“You could never understand him like we do!”
“You’re just a gold digger!”
“You skank!”
“You bitch!”

Ah, the lovely curses that almost always came with having to put your foot down to remind these crazed women (and some men) that their idol did have the right to take a breather every now and then and did not have to cater to their every whim.

Not like whatever she said made a damn difference to these people. Their rose-colored glasses just couldn’t be cracked no matter what. Maybe that was another reason Michael hired her; that she wasn’t prone to reminding him of how ‘fabulous/amazing/such-a-freakin-genius’ he was every other minute. She had way too much on her plate right now to worry about such things.

Sigh.

She kicked off her heels and flopped onto the narrow bed in her hotel room; not even having the strength to take off her clothes for a much-needed shower. The itinerary for the day had culminated in a supposedly ‘brief’ appearance at the Channel Seven Perth Telethon, where she had watched from the wings as Michael ‘performed his duty’ in the most awkward way possible. Though he interacted with the children as much as he could (translated into ‘minimal’), part of the deal required he would not be asked to make any major declarations or speeches or asked to do any interviews.

This wasn’t public knowledge (yet), but she knew that Michael was only here as a part of an agreement with the Australian millionaire, Robert Holmes á Court, who owned the T.V. station as well as the rights to ATV Music Publishing. It was something that Michael had finally gotten his hands on (for a whopping $48 million) after supposedly ten months of intense negotiation. You’d hardly know all this was going down considering his public roles recently, including his acting stint in preparation for his role as Captain EO for the good folks at Disney.

It was like a freaking juxtaposition. On the one hand you had the smiling, happy, go-lucky wannabe actor who could charm the pants off mechanical robots on a massive set, have famous directors like Lucas, Coppola, and Spielberg eating out of his hands, and the greats like Angelica Huston and Elizabeth Taylor giggling like school girls, while behind the scenes, the ruthless business man lurked ready to be unleashed when needed.

A goddamn enigma he is.

She chuckled and shook her head in amusement at the major coup. She knew this deal was made possible by mostly Frank and John Branca, but there was no denying that with this major acquisition, Michael was literally sitting on a gold mine. With over 4,000 compositions and 251 songs by the Beatles (the Beatles for God’s sakes!), some buildings, a recording studio, some studio equipment and even a life insurance policies on said Beatles, Michael was pretty much in control of over 50% of a section of the industry many top executives would have killed or sold their souls to the devil for. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted with his new ‘toys’ and never want for money for the rest of his life. So what if the end result involved a compromise in his relationship with Paul McCartney, or that he had been given the run around a few times by some other bidders; at the end of the day, Michael still got what he wanted and that was all that mattered.

Amazing.

However, her smile faded and she captured her lower lip between her teeth at the memory of the conversation that was held in his office the day the good news was delivered. She could still remember how contagious Frank’s excitement had been as he literally lifted her into his arms to spin her around; cigar firmly clenched between his teeth, though his dark eyes were lit up with pleasure.

“We did it!” he bellowed. “That sucker thought he could take us for a ride, but we did it! We own half of the music world, baby!”

She could only laugh and try her best to keep up with the chattering conversation that revolved around her. Someone was opening up a bottle of champagne, while someone else was hunting around for glasses, and it was in the midst of them giving each other congratulatory toasts, sharing war stories, and making plans for their new acquisition, did she find the time to slip away from the chaos to knock on the door of his office.

“Heeeey,” she greeted slowly, pushing the door open (it was already ajar) when she got no answer. Though she had only worked for Michael for a few months, she had at least come to know he didn’t get too upset when she poked her head into his domain without invitation. “Michael?”

She was ignored; left to stare at the back of the leather seat which gave the illusion that there was no one in the room. Compared to the noise downstairs, it was quiet up here...except for the soothing notes of some classical piece she could not recognize seeping through the speakers. He had once tried to get her interested in Mozart, Chopin and all that stuff, but to be frank, classical music bored her to death. Try as she might, she just couldn’t get into it that much.

“Michael?” she tried again, while stepping into the room that she’s managed to organize, though he still had the tendency to litter it effortlessly.

“Congratulations!” she said aloud; putting as much enthusiasm and excitement in her tone. “I heard the good news from Frank.”

Nothing.

Just when she thought she’d slip out; perhaps sensing that Michael didn’t really want to be bothered right now, he finally swiveled around slowly to acknowledge her presence.

There was a small smile on his lips; though it didn’t quite reach eyes that were not hidden behind sunglasses today. Dressed in something rather ‘tame’, which comprised of a pair of black jeans and a long-sleeved blue denim shirt, his hands were linked on his torso; legs crossed with one above his other knee to reveal a white sock and black loafer. He raised a brow in silent query.

“What good news?” he finally asked as if being lured from deep sleep. His voice sounded drugged; lethargic -

(the kind of voice you wouldn’t mind waking up to first thing in the morning...oh stop it, Deja!)

“The...catalogue?” she reminded him with a bemused expression. “Surely you can hear them all whooping and hollering downstairs.”

Michael gave a barely visible shrug and swiveled back to stare out the window. “I see.”

Okay...why isn’t he thrilled to pieces? Shouldn’t he be jumping up and down in relief and excitement? He worked hard to get this, didn’t he? He’s shelled out a substantial amount of money for this, hasn’t he? Geez. If I was the one, I’d be running out on the streets hollering to whoever cares to listen!

“Is everything all right, Michael?” she asked quietly, now closing the door to block out the filtering sound of boisterous laughter from the others. “Is there something you want to talk about?”

She sat down on a chair and waited patiently. If he wanted her gone, he would have said so right away – something along the lines of ‘I need my thinking space, Deja’. However, he was still in his own world for now, which could be a sign that he really needed the company and just had to think over his words -

“To take something from a person and keep it for oneself: that is robbery,” he finally said slowly, as if reading from a book, though she knew he wasn’t. “To take something from one person and then turn it over to another in exchange for as much money as you can get: that is business. Robbery is so much more stupid, since it is satisfied with a single, frequently dangerous profit; whereas in business it can be doubled without danger.”

He stopped and then turned back to face her. “Octave Mirbeau from Torture Garden...have you read that?”

“...no. If I sat down to read every book you’ve recommended to me so far, Michael, I’d never get any work done.”

“You’re not working now,” he replied dryly.

“Touché. I came to see what was wrong,” she quipped back. “Maybe I should just go.”

“Sit down,” he commanded with a light wave of his hand, when she made the move to stand up. “Do you know what that quote means?”

She sighed and remained sitting. “I’m sure you’ll tell me anyway.”

His lips quirked upward in a semblance of a smile. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? Now that I own this...things are going to change.”

“Naturally,” she agreed with a nod. “You are in control of -”

“Yes, I control a lot of things,” he interrupted with a sigh; reaching out to select a stress ball from his collection. He squeezed hard enough to burst the object, but it stayed put; a clear sign that he was not exactly as relaxed as he presented himself. “But at the same time, I am now a target for many, Deja. I already have my enemies lining up.”

She shook her head in bemusement. “Lining up for what? What are you talking about?”

His smirk was bitter. “Look at me, Deja. I mean...really look at me.”

She looked and her expression must have conveyed her honest confusion because he sighed and arched his neck to stare at the ceiling as if unable to believe he was in the same room with such a moron.

“I received some phone calls from my mentors,” he began, lowering his head to pin her with a gaze so intense, it was all she could from withering. “Berry Gordy, Kenny Gamble, Leon Huff...just to name a few, and they all congratulated me on...you know.” He bit his lower lip. “I was happy to hear from them; really happy that these men could now consider me a peer of sorts, and I tried to explain what I hoped to do with the collection, but then...Leon said something to me that really had me thinking, Deja.” He squeezed the ball hard again. “I’m 27, right?”

“...yes?” she replied softly, not quite sure if that was supposed to be a rhetorical question or not.

“I’m 27,” he continued as if she hadn’t said anything. “I’m a successful entertainer. I have more money than I know what to do with. I now own publishing rights to the greatest musical collection ever...and...I am African American.”

“So?” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “What is there to -?”

“Did you hear the last bit?” he asked impatiently. “I’m African-American, Deja. A black man. Though it’s something I do not try to bring up too often as I try to embrace all races and hope everyone enjoys my music, not just the black community, I am still reminded of where I come from. Do you understand how precarious my position is? No other black man in history has acquired this much, and there are whispers out there of people trying to get their hands on it to take away what’s rightfully mine. They won’t rest until I’m destroyed.”

A pregnant silence descended on the room at the end of his impassioned speech, and Deja was not quite sure of what to make of this rather unexpected revelation. She looked into the fevered gaze and was not surprised to find that there was a sliver of fear within those brown eyes.

How dare they? She wanted to yell in frustration. How dare they implant the seeds of paranoia in him already?! Didn’t the man have the right to enjoy his success? He had worked hard all his life to get to this point, and now that he’s acquired something he hopes to make good with, they are eager to point out how ‘dangerous’ his position is? Is this the way he’s going to live for the rest of his life? Always being worried and scared about being attacked by some unseen foe?

“What?” he finally asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Why?” She gripped her hands tightly on her lap, trying to control her trembling. “Why? Because I hate what this is turning you into.”

He raised a brow in surprise at her blunt statement. He wanted to snap back at her to mind her own business, but he noticed that her eyes were too bright; a sign she was fighting back tears, and for the first time since he met her, he lowered his lashes in shame. He didn’t want to make her cry. He hated seeing anyone cry over him like this.

“You’re going to allow a few men to dictate your life?” she asked in a voice that was raw and rising with passion by the second. “You said it yourself, Michael! You bought the publishing rights for a reason! You just have to remember what that reason is and stick to your guts! Forget what anyone else says or thinks about you! You have earned the right to enjoy this, goddamn it! Why ruin it with...with...with your goddamn paranoia!”

“Deja-”

“I’m going home!” she cut in angrily, not even caring if she got fired. She knew she was throwing a hissy fit, but this wasn’t the time to be ‘polite’ and ‘nice’ and if Michael couldn’t deal with it, then fine, she’d start hunting for a new job first thing in the morning or hope Brian would take her back.

For three days, she remained at home with a stuffy nose and reddened eyes. Maybe she was being too melodramatic, but it was honestly alarming how much her feelings were more intensified when it came to Michael. She felt this overwhelming need to protect him, to shield him from the ugliness of the real world, and she knew he didn’t need her in that capacity...which made this whole thing even more frustrating. What the hell was she getting all worked up for anyway?

It didn’t help that her phone conversation with her precious boyfriend hadn’t helped her mood in the slightest.

“When are you coming home?” she had asked, cradling the phone against her ear while she was curled into a ball beneath her blanket.

“What’s the matter, babe? You sound funny.”

She rolled her eyes and sniffled; dabbing her nose with the piece of tissue. There was happy laughter in the background, and she couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like there were more females there. Whatever. Maybe the extras were having a party on location.

“I have a cold,” she admitted.

“Aww, you should be resting then. Get some medicine...you know...and sleep and stuff.”

“Thanks,” For nothing. “I’ll do that, but...isn’t the shoot over yet? I thought you said it would be over a couple of weeks ago.”

“You know how these things are, baby,” he cajoled. “This director is a pain in the ass. He wants us to re-shoot a couple of scenes.”

“Oh...” But you said that last time too.

She didn’t know too much about the movie-making business, though she had tried to pick up a few things here and there while hanging around the Captain EO set, but even she would have to realize that there was something fishy about the so-called ‘delays’ on this particular movie Miles was involved in. Maybe she should ask him if -

“Look, I gotta run, babe,” he cut in impatiently. “You...eh... take care of that cold, okay? Miss you, sweetheart. Kissy. Kissy.”

“Kissy. Kiss -”

But he was gone before she could finish their goodbye ritual.

I miss you too.

Sighing softly, she stuck her hand out of the blanket to replace the phone, nearly knocking over a few things on her dresser before she could finally find the damn device. Feeling even more miserable and sorry for herself, she sobbed softly into her pillow, while cuddling it against her as if desperately seeking a man’s warmth. She hadn’t seen Miles in over three months now, and each time she called, he sounded more and more distant. Even when she had broken the news that she was now working for Michael, he had sounded excited for about five minutes before he had to run off to shoot yet another never-ending scene.

Some of her girlfriends had told her she was latching on to something that wasn’t worth it, and each time she’d tell them of how much Miles loved her and how much he had sacrificed while she worked insane hours at Epic. Now, she was only returning the favor. She’d have be there and be strong for him while he strove for his dreams of becoming the next Robert De Niro.

So much for that. Three movies in and he was still at the bottom barrel of the D-List.

As her lashes grew heavier and she was this close to la-la-land, the sudden chime of her doorbell had her lifting them again with a groan of disbelief. She wasn’t expecting any visitors and she most definitely wasn’t in the mood to receive anyone anyway. She hadn’t taken a shower yet. Her hair was in disarray. Her face felt puffy, and she generally felt like shit. She closed her eyes and burrowed herself deeper amongst the gazillion pillows (Miles didn’t really understand her need to have so many), as if hoping to block out the sound, but after five long minutes, the incessant chiming was beginning to drive her insane.

Whoever the fuck this person was had better have a good explanation for why he or she was bothering her at this time of the day (though it was only seven in the evening on a cold and dreary Wednesday).

She grabbed a pink house coat, ran her fingers through her hair to get it into some semblance of normalcy, shuffled down the hallway in her Bugs Bunny slippers, where a brief look in the lobby mirror pretty much told the story. She looked terrible.

“Who is it?” she asked; hating how her voice sounded like a frog on its last legs.

“Delivery for Miss. Deja Rogers?” came the unfamiliar nasal voice.

Delivery? What delivery? Unless it was a time bomb, then who the fuck was delivering anything to her? She took a peek through the peephole and was met with a man in oversized sunglasses wearing a Los Angeles Dodgers hat over shaggy dirty blond hair with a rather ridiculous mustache to match. However, his ‘delivery’ was what took her breath away. He was holding onto the biggest bouquet of red and white roses she had ever seen which could only mean...

Miles! It’s Miles! He must have had this sent to me as a surprise!

That sneaky lovable boyfriend of hers.

Suddenly feeling lighter than she had in the past three days, and making a mental note to call him as soon as she put the roses in water, she opened the door with a ready smile on her visage.

“Oh thank...” she began, only for the words to remain stuck somewhere in her throat as familiar brown eyes (filled with sheepish contrition) stared back at her as the sunglasses was slowly lifted.

Are you fucking kidding me?

“Hi,” came the shy, barely audible greeting.

When she remained gawking at him in disbelief, he cleared his throat and stuttered out an “Uum...” which stalled into nothingness.

An awkward silence fell in which Michael (or this version of him) shuffled from one foot to the other in embarrassment, while she remained holding the door knob dressed in her housecoat, and looking as if she had just gone through the wringer. There was no time for her mind to process that concept of Michael Jackson (her boss!) – albeit in disguise – standing out here; obviously driving here by himself as she had noted the familiar sight of his Mercedes in the parking lot, or that he even knew where she lived (which shouldn’t have been a surprise anyway), but still...

...here she was looking like hell. He looked like a cheap, white trash bum and...and...

“Fffft!”

He raised a brow at the sudden sound, which soon erupted into...

“Hahahaha!”

...uncontrollable laughter from her. She couldn’t stop it even if she tried. Nearly doubling over in her mirth, she tried to wave a hand to tell him she was okay, but no...the more she thought about their ridiculous situation, the more amusing it became.

“Well, I’m glad I could amuse you,” he muttered; his cheeks clearly burning beneath the layer of white powder on his cheeks. “Can I come in? It’s cold out here, and I’m soaking wet.”

Not trusting herself to speak, she stood aside and watched him make his way into her (definitely not that tidy) apartment. He politely took off his sneakers, not before handing her the flowers she managed to hold onto without tossing them to the floor.

She sniffed the flowers...and then sneezed...which had him covering his nose and mouth playfully as if afraid she’d give him germs. She shook her head and tried to swat him, but he ducked (almost gracefully at that) and gave a sheepish smile before reaching out to touch her forehead gently.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered softly, and she cursed herself for wanting to burst into tears in front of him again. He knew he wasn’t just saying ‘sorry’ for showing up unannounced, but for everything else that had transpired in his office the other day.

“I didn’t mean to make you sick.”

“It’s okay,” she whispered with a light shrug. “I was coming down with the flu anyway...and you’ll catch it if you hang around me.”

“I’m Captain EO remember?” he teased, seeming to relax a little more when he realized she wasn’t going to bite his head off. “In my planet we don’t get colds.”

“Oh yeah?” she laughed. “Peace and love cures all illnesses, right? I don’t see your rainbow shirt on today.”

He giggled and tried to duck as she made a move to open the baseball jacket he was wearing. “That’s because I left it at home.”

Their mock play led them into her living room, where he ‘wowed’ as if unable to believe she could actually live in such a place. “Your apartment is really nice, Deja.”

“Thank you,” came the bashful response as she shuffled her way into the kitchen to find a big enough vase (or vases in this case) to keep all the flowers.

“Very quirky and cute,” his voice floated into the kitchen. “And why do you have so many pillows?”

“Stay out of my bedroom, Michael!”

“Ooops! I thought it was the bathroom. Honest.”

“Liar!”

“Dejaaaaaa,” he whined, even as the sound of the T.V coming on told her he was already making himself comfortable. “I hate when you call me that. Oh! Dynasty is on! Come watch with me! Come on, hurry!”

“All right, already! God, you’re worse than Bubbles.”

It would be the first of many other random visits he’d make, each time appearing in a ridiculous costume (or one time he was more daring as he showed up with just a hat, sunglasses and a really heavy coat). They would watch movies and eat popcorn, argue over story lines in famous soap operas, or she’d work on some things while he’d write songs for his upcoming album.

“I have over sixty songs already,” he’d brag as he lay on the floor of her living room, scribbling or sketching something while she’d gnaw her fingers over his appearances and other events planned. “I think this album is going to be even bigger than Thriller.”

“Anything bigger than Thriller and I think the whole world would explode,” she replied with a laugh.

To that, he’d simply wink and smile as if keeping some secret from her, and try as hard as she might to get him to talk ‘seriously’, he’d always brush her queries aside and instead focus on the more trivial/light matters. He never seemed to want to talk about himself, and was more content to have her spill her guts to him without stopping her. She hated to admit it was therapeutic for her, but at the same time, she really wished he’d be more open with her. She had a feeling her outburst at his office was the cause. If she could get that emotional when he finally decided to confess his fears, what on earth would make him want to risk doing that again?

“When I’m here,” he’d finally confess as he lay on her sofa with his eyes closed. “I don’t want to think about anything, Deja. Please...just let me...think about nothing.”

How could she say no to that? She really did love having him around, even on the days when they’d do nothing but ‘work’. It made her feel special; that despite his stardom and how extraordinary his life was, he could still find the time to sneak into her home to find some sense of ‘normalcy.’ She taught him how to cook a few things, showed him her guitar, where he’d make her play something for him (or he’d try to strum some random tunes on his own) and in return, he’d bring some interesting books that he would read aloud to her even if they sometimes put her to sleep. They would play chess (she never won) and he had an insatiable inquisitive nature about different things in her home. Where did she buy that painting? Or where did she get that ballerina figurine from? Or is that really your boyfriend? You look so happy together.

“How come he’s never here?” he asked one day.

“He’s busy...acting...” she replied with a light shrug.

“Really? What movies?”

She was almost too embarrassed to list them since they were never box office hits.

“You must be really proud of him,” Michael said as he put back the photograph, of her and Miles posing in front of the Statue of Liberty, on the mantle piece. In that picture, they were smiling so wide, it was a miracle their jaws hadn’t fallen off. How happy and innocent and in love had they looked back then?

“Is he going to propose to you?” came the blunt question that had her blushing and slightly flustered.

“Wh...why do you ask that?”

Michael gave a small (sad?) smile. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

She smirked and decided to play around a little. “What if he does? Are you going to be jealous?”

She expected him to laugh it off, or to blush and mask his discomfort with some other topic. She was most definitely not prepared for the matter-of-factly stated,

“Probably.”

Talk about getting the wind knocked out of your sails.

Her heart now beating so hard and fast, she was sure it was going to fall out of her chest. She opened her mouth to say something; unable to look into those eyes that were now studying her as if waiting for something to happen. Again, and despite all the times he’s been here, he had made no overt passes at her. There was playful teasing every now and then, but not enough to cross ‘that line’ where professionalism was compromised. In a way she was grateful for that, and yet...

(even if it’s a little bit)

“Is that what you wanted me to say?” came the amused follow up that dashed her daydream faster than a horse on acid. She caught his eyes now sparkling with mischief, and she gave an inward sigh. He was just kidding around...as usual.

“Pfft. I wouldn’t even marry you if you asked,” she retorted and tried to mask her disappointment with a show of shuffling through some documents.

“Yeah right,” he drawled and flopped back on the couch. “You’d come running to me in a heartbeat if I did. Admit it, Deja. You’ve fallen in love with me.”

Her entire being flamed with heat. “Shut up!”

“Ouch!” he whined as he rubbed his arm where a pillow had been chucked at him. “I was just kidding -”

“It wasn’t funny, Michael.”

There was a tense silence and then a muttered, “I’m sorry”, which had her hiding a reluctant smile. He really could be adorable when he chose to be.

“Anyway,” he continued in a much louder tone. “If he’s dumb enough not to have proposed to you by now, then it’s his loss. I’m sure there’s bound to be better guys out there just waiting to make you happy.”

She was about to blurt out ‘what makes you think I’m not happy?” but he was already making himself comfortable in readiness to take a nap (tossing and turning on the narrow sofa, though she had invited him to use the guest bedroom and he declined), so she held back her tongue and found herself musing on his words.

A man to make me really happy...maybe...you?

She blushed at her errant thought and shook her head; short of slapping her cheeks to get her back to reality. In about ten minutes, his light snoring told her that he was finally asleep, and not for the first time, she found herself tiptoeing closer to watch him in repose. How innocent and like a child he appeared to be, and it was in moments like these that her heart would swell to bursting point until she could take it no more.

She knew he never knew she did this, and she was glad it was a little secret she could take along with her to her grave, for as she tucked one of her favorite blankets around him to make him more comfortable, she planted a chaste and very loving kiss on his forehead before tiptoeing back to her desk to force herself to concentrate.

I am happy, Michael, she thought with a soft sigh as she read through another page of his expected dinner dates with Sophia Loren and Elizabeth Taylor. I am happiest when I’m with you.

__

You know how
The time flies
Only yesterday
It was the time of our lives
We were born and raised
In a summer haze
Bound by the surprise
Of our glory days

New York City
November, 1986

He walks into the cramped but tidy apartment. He looks around, hoping to find her familiar face to greet him, but there is no one home. It shouldn’t have been much of a surprise, after all Momma working late was the norm and he never knew his father, so no loss there. He made his way into his bedroom, which looked unchanged from the day he left for school. His faded posters of his idols were still attached to his wall. His record player and meager record collection lay beside a pile of books next to his trusty ol’ typewriter.

Sitting on it was a note that he picked up to read; her familiar scrawl matching the echo of her voice within his mind:

Hi Daryl
Welcome home
I’m at work
Sandwich in the fridge
Be home at seven
Love, Mom

He gave an inward sigh and looked out the window; lips tightening at a familiar sight he was slowly beginning to detest ever since –

“CUT!” came the loud bellow that jarred the young man from his thoughts.

Michael shook his head as if to gather himself, as Martin (Scorsese) walked up to him with a fervent expression on his visage. “That was great, Michael,” he was saying. “But I need you to look a little more disappointed, okay? When you look out the window, you have to look as if you’re...uumm...”

“I’m disappointed, right?” Michael offered with a raised brow. “So I should look sadder? Or upset?”

“A mixture of both. You’re disappointed she’s not here, yet you’re looking out there and wishing you were back in Duxston.”

Michael did his best not to roll his eyes at that, but he respected Mr. Scorsese too much to give him the impression that he wasn’t trying. Although to be honest, he was tired as hell and wanted to put his feet up. However, ever the consummate professional, he couldn’t let on that he needed a break. If the crew could put up with the extra hours, then so could he. This movie was going to put him over the top. He wanted it to be even better than Thriller, and besides, it was going to show the world a whole new side of him; an edgier side so to speak.

As Martin ran around barking orders for the shoot to be restarted again, Michael rubbed his gloved hands together and tried to blow some warm air into them. At the side of the building, a throng of fans were gathering to watch the shenanigans; many of them entertaining the crew (during lulls) by mimicking his dance moves or singing his songs. It amused him, yet made him extremely flattered at how devoted his fans were. And though he had tried his best to make the actors on the set feel at ease – insisting that he was the beginner here and he was only learning from the best – there was still that ‘thing’ that kept them away from him at times.

Thank goodness he had Karen (his personal makeup artist) and Deja to keep him company at such moments. It made it worth his while to tease them whenever he could, especially Deja...since the last few days have been spent being a shadow of her former self. It was hard to get her to smile, and when she did, it was a brief motion of her lips that disappeared as soon as it appeared. Was she coming down with something? He sincerely hoped not. He needed her for –

“We ready, Michael?!”

“Yea...yeah!” he yelled back and tried to get his head back into his role. This was no time to worry about his assistant. He had to think like Darryl; be Darryl. Deja would come later.

And so taking a deep breath, he prepared himself for take #8.

__


“Here you go,” Karen offered as she held out the steaming cup of coffee to Deja.

“Thanks,” came the quiet reply as they both sat on their chairs to watch the filming of the ‘mugging’ scene. She accepted the drink and stirred it absently with the red straw; her gaze trained on the guy playing ‘Mini Max’. His name was Wesley Snipes, and he was a pretty damn good actor from the little work he had done so far. Part of her role was to spend hours going back and forth with his agent about being a part of this mini-movie. Okay, so Wesley had actually agreed on the spot (after all who could say no to Michael Fucking Jackson), but Hollywood agents were such assholes compared to music managers. She had thought no one could top that breed, but boy! was she wrong with her assessments.

And of course there was the go-between with Scorsese, Frank, Harry Ufland, Barbara de Fina, Quincy, Richard Price (guy who wrote the script) and so many others, it was enough to make her head spin. Between phone calls, meetings, and trying not to get Michael pissed off when things weren’t done on time or according to schedule, she had found herself curled up in bed at night wondering just when the time would come to turn in her resignation.

Where the fuck had 1986 gone to? Time seemed to zoom right by in Michael’s world and thanks to Frank, there was always something to do at any given time. Michael could not afford to rest on his laurels. He had to keep his name out there by any means possible, even if it came to fueling the media’s frenzy for sensationalized stories. That tactic was nothing new, after all many celebrities in the industry did that often. The crazier the story, the more interesting you became. In Michael’s case, it was a delicate balance between keeping the fans wanting more and giving them just enough to keep them salivating. ‘Tookie’ was clearly an expert at that, and it was something he made clear from the beginning. Let him handle all that came with Michael Jackson the Superstar, and the rest could take care of itself.

“Is everything okay?” Karen’s voice seeped into her muddled thoughts. “You’ve been pretty quiet lately. Not getting a cold, are you?”

Deja shook her head and managed a small smile. “I’m okay. I mean...I’ll be fine, thanks for asking.”

“I know it can be stressful working for Michael,” Karen continued with an understanding smile – which Deja had come to realize was actually one of pity. Karen was a nice woman with a wicked sense of humor, but Deja seemed to get the sense that just like her (well in the beginning at least), her ‘crush’ on Michael was downright near possessive. At times whenever she was making up Michael and Deja would have some important news to impart to him, Karen would almost always chime in with her two cents whether it was warranted or not. It was as if she was sending the subliminal message that ‘she was his choice first’ and everyone else would have to look up to her or else.

Or maybe she was just reading too much into it.

“...will get easier in time,” the woman was saying and Deja nodded absently; her mind already drifting to what was making her ‘grieve’ in silence.

Miles was breaking up with her.

No, correction. Miles had broken up with her, and in the most painful way possible.

It was inevitable; had been inevitable with their conflicting schedules. She was hardly ever at home now either due to trips around the world, or long hours at the office. When he did return from his movie, there was a month or two of ‘make-up’ time when she had done her best to be there for him whenever he needed. However, his attitude began to change gradually. The work wasn’t coming in for him, and his frustration and anger was taken out on her because she was obviously doing much better. She had tried to let him know that she was fine taking care of them with the money she made, but she guessed her suggestion was the torch that lit the embers of his jealousy because he literally threw the mother of all tantrums that night.

“So you think I can’t make money to take care of us, baby? Is that it? You think that just because you work for Michael fucking Jackson, I’m now your charity case?!”

“That’s not what I’m saying, babe,” she tried to appease him; her arms wrapping around his broad shoulders. He was built like a linebacker and that was one of her weaknesses when it came to guys. Besides Michael (who was an exception in itself), she had always had a love affair with well-built men. It was a guilty pleasure to watch football on Sundays, just so she could admire the players. Hell, if she could get season tickets for the Chargers, she’d be set.

“I just suggested that until you get another acting gig, we can live off my pay check, I don’t mind at all. If we’re going to get married, we have to do things together, right? What’s mine is yours and vice -”

“Oh spare me the bullshit,” he growled and pushed her off him to rise to his feet. “You’re just saying that, Deja. You don’t really mean it.”

“I do mean it!” she cried out, watching as he reached for his pants to slip into them. “Where are you going?!” she asked in panic.

“Out!” came the roar from the bathroom he had stalked into. “Staying around here is bound to give me a fucking headache.”

“Miles! Don’t you do this to me!”

“Good night, Deja!”

She jumped off the bed to run after him, even going as far as clutching his shirt in desperation, but he was big...he was strong, and lifting her as if she weighed nothing more than a toothpick, he tossed her onto the couch and with a glare that spoke volumes, left the apartment with a resounding slam of the door behind him.

He would not return for almost two weeks, in which she spent every free moment she had calling his apartment and getting no response.

It was her rash decision to visit him during one of her lunch breaks that finally sealed the deal for their already doomed relationship. Seeing him in the arms of not one, but two very naked blond bimbos, had caused her to have the mother of all hissy fits. She could remember yelling at the girls to get their asses out of there and then throwing things at Miles with whatever she could find, hoping she could make him bleed as much as her heart was.

Oh God. Why?!

“Oh, dear,” Karen’s voice came from somewhere before she found her face pressed against the blond’s bosom. “There, there now,” Karen was shushing in a soothing voice. “Don’t cry. It can’t be that bad.”

It is that bad, her mind screamed. I loved that asshole! I gave him everything I had, and this is the thanks I get!

“I’m okay,” she sniffled and tried to push herself away from Karen’s embrace. She could hear Scorsese telling the crew to wrap it up for the night. Tomorrow they’d begin shooting the subway scene. “I’m okay...really.” She tried to smile, digging into her purse for a handkerchief so she wouldn’t look too much of an emotional wreck in front of everyone. It was a good thing it was nighttime and cold. Most would mistake her sniffles for the weather playing a role.

However, as she quickly dabbed her eyes and took a deep breath to compose herself, she felt that familiar prickle of awareness that could only come from one person. Even before lifting her gaze, she knew it would be him, and though he was surrounded by people talking to him about one thing or another, it had to take only a brief glance– a glance that conveyed silent understanding and warmth – to leave her trembling with the depth of her misery.

It was only a painful reminder of how alone she was again. The man she once loved had slipped away, and the man she did love... she could never really have.

__

I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited
But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it.
I hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded
That for me it isn't over.

Los Angeles
June, 1987

1987 was already turning into a monster year for ‘Team Michael’ or as he affectionately called it ‘The Choo-Choo Brigade’ (don’t ask).

“Where mah Choo-Choo Brigade at?” he’d bellow as he waltzed into Westlake Studios to either do a recording for the upcoming album, or onto the set of Moonwalker, or when feeling particularly good-natured about anything.

His Choo-Choo Brigade was to always get ‘the train moving’, never stopping unless there was some technical breakdown that needed fixing. The Choo-Choo Brigade was to be a smooth, well-oiled machine, and at its helm was the conductor – Mr. Jackson if you please – with his henchmen, Captain Tookie, Captain Bill, Captain Quincy (who was only available if paid well) and Captainess Deja. Though she tried to tell him several times there was no such thing as Captainess, he’d stick his hands in his ears and “la-la-la-can’t hear you!” his way out of the conversation.

“Captainess, my Captainess!” he’d greet with a mock salute; earning a dark blush from his assistant and giggles from Siedah Garrett – who was there on that day to record “I Just Can’t Stop Loving You”. It was Deja’s favorite song on the album, and her heart would flutter every time they sang it, no matter how crude or raw it sounded. It really was beautiful music; the kind that you could sing to the one you loved beneath the moonlight or something romantic like so. Pity Michael almost always felt embarrassed having to be alone and so close to Siedah most of the time. He would ease the tension by playing pranks (as usual) or making faces to keep her laughing.

However, it wasn’t just the song that made her heart flutter and it wasn’t just her crazy ass schedule either. She was currently in a meeting with the Epic and Pepsi execs as they discussed the launch of the new album and the upcoming tour that was to begin later this year.

A world tour! Imagine that! Just the idea of traveling to all the different places with Michael and his entourage and getting to feel the frenzy of his performances live...whew! That was one experience she was definitely looking forward to.

Sitting between Frank and Branca, she tried to concentrate on the discussion, though her gaze would – every now and then – drift to the poster of Michael dressed in the now familiar black leather outfit with excessive buckles that was staring right back at her. it was going to be the cover of the new album, and goodness knows he couldn’t have chosen a better way to launch the ‘new Michael’ to the masses.

He looked freaking....beautiful! There was just no other way to put it.

Though she was still in the depths of her misery back when the video was shot, even she couldn’t deny how sexy he looked when his designer, Michael Bush, had presented him on set with the finished product. However, she had to confess that one could hear him from a mile away with all the clicks and clacks made by the buckles as he walked (it could get annoying after a while), it was still a firm statement. One that everyone on set took note of and admired in some form or another.

For the ‘transformed’ Michael, they had to apply extensions to his hair to make it longer, but since then either Michael decided to keep them or had simply allowed his hair to grow out a little longer; something she was definitely not complaining about. He had now taken to wearing fedoras as well – all part of the new persona he was building for himself.

“Do you like it?” he had asked her as he poked his head into her office one day with a grin on his visage. “What do you think?”

He paraded and pranced in front of her, and for a long minute, she allowed herself to drool (inwardly of course) at how cool he looked though he was doing a little jig every now and then as if channeling Charlie Chaplin. Of course he had to ruin the whole picture by suddenly kicking out a leg to dance a little and she noticed...

“What happened to your socks?”

“Hmm?” He blinked and lifted his pants to eye the mismatched pair. “Ooh. Well wouldn’t you know? One is red and one is yellow. Reminds me of someone, doesn’t it?”

He winked and burst into laughter at her pout.

“I do not wear mismatched socks!” she complained, though she understood where he was coming from. Last week she had worn a sweater with one half of it in bright neon pink and the other half in fluorescent green....with red tights. Someone had been kind enough to leave a note on her desk saying she was blinding everyone in the building with her outfits, and she had nicely stuck her middle finger up in the air in the hallway to no one in particular. She had a feeling it was that new receptionist, but she couldn’t be sure. Well, they could all suck it for all she cared.

Either way, the overall package was a complete 180 from the man she had met nearly two years ago. It didn’t seem possible, but she was sure he was one of those rare individuals who looked better with age. There was a new swagger and confidence about him that was absent in those early days, and though he still let Frank call most of the shots, there was an inkling that Michael was coming into his own and beginning to decide what was really best for him and what wasn’t.

She liked this Michael version 2.0.

It was nearly midnight when she pulled into the parking lot at Westlake Studios, and it was not surprising to see their cars still there; a clear sign they were hard at work on the finishing touches of the album. It had taken a lot of negotiation and bickering back and forth to wheedle down sixty songs to only nine. Something she was sure that Michael still wasn’t all too thrilled with, though he had complied with Quincy’s decision. Why did she get the feeling they wouldn’t be working again anytime soon on another collaboration?

Cursing beneath her breath as she had the task of lifting a ginormous gift basket Jane Fonda had left at the Epic offices for Michael, she had to balance that between her briefcase and handbag, and she just had to wear her fucking heels to top it all. She could barely see in front of her, and she nearly twisted an ankle while staggering her way into the studio.

The familiar chords from Dirty Diana (another favorite) was heard faintly, and as she dropped off her ‘luggage’ in the lounge, Michael looked up from the console to wave at her in greeting. She could only nod since her hands were full and a piece of paper (actually a card) was stuck between her teeth.

“Whatchu got there, girl?”Greg (Phillinganes) asked as he stepped out of the studio and shrugged into his jacket in readiness to call it a night. “Looks like you went shopping, eh?”

Deja laughed and kicked off her shoes as she sagged onto the couch and stretched out her legs. “Nope. Jane Fonda’s assistant dropped it off at the office today. It’s one hell of an expensive gift basket though.”

“No kidding,” he said with a whistle. “I see Cristal in there, man. Two...nah...three bottles. Does Michael even drink that stuff? Worked with the guy for a while now, never seen him drink anything stronger than...”

She was about to say that he had taken a sip or two of vodka during a party with some friends about a year ago, but she had signed a vow to keep her damn mouth shut even if Greg was a ‘friend’.

“I guess we’ll find out,” she said aloud with a laugh and a wave. “Say hello to the wife for me!”

“Will do,” he hailed as he walked out the studio, leaving her alone again – well out here at least. In the studio proper, Quincy, Ken Caillat and Tom Jones were still working hard, and after doing her best to keep her eyes open...

(man what a long day it had been)

...a light tap on her shoulder had her jerking alert with a soft gasp of shock.

“Wha...what is it?”

“The studio’s on fire. Quincy, Ken, and Tom are dead. We’re the only survivors,” Michael stated in such a deadpan tone, it took her a second longer to realize that he was actually kidding. Could be because he couldn’t maintain the serious expression for too long. He giggled and straightened up, hands in the pockets of his black pants.

“You jerk,” she muttered beneath her breath and tried to stand up. “What time is it?”

Michael lifted the sleeve of his right arm to eye his watch. “Three-fifty-seven.”

Good grief! She had slept for almost three hours? She yawned and stretched, unaware of the way her blouse had opened a little wider to reveal the black lace bra she wore beneath. She usually left the two top buttons undone anyway, so forgive our sleepy assistant if she wasn’t aware of the effect she was having on her boss at the time.

“They’ve left already?” she asked, looking over his shoulder to be sure. The studio was now dimly lit and there was a calming silence in the once boisterous room that could house as much as an entire choir (which had been the case for the recording of Man in the Mirror).

“Yeah,” came the slightly gruff reply that had her looking up quickly to notice him now examining the gift basket. He picked up the card to read it, a small smile coming to his visage at whatever message was written for him. “I told them not to wake you up. You looked dead tired.”

“Oh...”

“This is nice of her,” Michael murmured as he began to tear open the clear wrap around the basket. In addition to the bottles of expensive champagne, there were packets of rare chocolate and cookies with French-sounding names she couldn’t recognize. There were also crackers and cheese, some rare tea blends, a book that looked like it was written in French (but actually wasn’t), and cans of caviar. Wow. Talk about a loaded goodie treat.

“Care to join me for a picnic?” Michael asked with a cock of his head and a mischievous glint in his eye. “Looks like we’ve got everything here.”

She laughed softly and shook her head. “Yeah right. Let’s go ho-”

“I’m serious,” he insisted and before she could try to talk some sense into him, he was sitting on the floor and patting the space next to him. “Have a seat. I can’t eat this all by myself.”

“Michael...” It’s almost four in the morning, she wanted to say. I have to get up in less than four hours to do this all over again.

And yet she found herself sitting down as carefully as she could considering her skirt was a little short and she didn’t want to give him any reason to think she was being slutty.

“We have no glasses,” she muttered as she watched him unwrap the bottle of champagne with an expertise that surprised her. For a guy who didn’t drink too much alcohol, he was doing a fine job of showing her how it was done.

“No problem,” he replied with a smile. “We can drink it straight from the bottle.”

Ooookay.

“Think I can’t do it?” he asked as he held the bottle close to his lips; a brow raised as if daring her to argue with him.

“Show me,” she teased.

He smirked and taking off his hat to toss it to the couch, he took a deep breath and...well...chugged for almost a full minute.

Holy shit!

His following belch was so unlike him, she burst into laughter before she could control herself. This was just too much. In fact, maybe she was still dreaming and she’d pinch herself and discover she was still fast asleep.

“Your turn,” he rasped, trying to control himself from coughing and gagging at the same time, though he was giggling too.

“All right.” She accepted the bottle. “Here goes!”

She placed the bottle against her lips; a part of mind screaming that the warmth of his lips was still felt and that she was indirectly kissing him -

(about as close to doing the real thing as I’m ever going to do)

....and with gusto began to drink thirstily. The beverage burned a little, but it wasn’t so bad and the longer she kept drinking, the more her eyes began to water, and it sure as hell didn’t take long for the buzz to begin. It didn’t help that she had no dinner and was basically functioning on fumes, her body was more prone to getting drunk easily.

“Buuuuuuuuuuuuurp!”

“Gross, Deja!” he laughed and snatched the bottle from her to drink again, and though he took pauses this time, it was impressive to watch him letting go like this. Perhaps his decision to quit being a Jehovah Witness earlier this year had given him more freedom, because she had noticed the change when he made the announcement to her. It wasn’t that he was now completely godless, but there was a sense of ‘release’ he was expressing now; in his work, his attitude, his very soul.

“Me next!” she cried out and tried to snatch the bottle from him. He held it out of reach and tried to duck, but the motion caused her to fall across his body, which in turn sent them toppling back to the floor in a semi-tangled heap. Some of the beverage spilled on their bodies, but they were too busy giggling and laughing to focus much on the damage caused.

“I think...I think you’re drunk,” Michael drawled; a light slur in his voice though he was making no attempt to tell her to get off his prone form. He liked the way she felt against him, and though he had hugged her several times in the past, it was nice to have her like this...so warm...so...woman...

“I think you’re drunker,” she slurred and hiccupped; her head against his chest as she listened to his heart beat. It felt sooooo fucking good. “We finished a bottle already.”

“Yup. We did.”

“Why...why are we celebrating anyway?”

“Because...because my magnum opus is almost finished and besides...we’re...we’re having a picnic-”

“Who has a fucking picnic in a studio at four in the morning? What if...” She burped lightly. “What if someone walks in and catches us?”

“Let them catch us,” came the low reply that was accompanied by his hand finding the curve of her hip to settle on it heavily. “I don’t give a fu...dam...darn.”

She giggled at his choice of curse words before sighing. She wiggled against him (more to make herself comfortable), though she ended up smiling a little at the soft gasp this elicited in return.

Aaaah yes. Even if he was her boss, and their relationship was purely on the professional/friendly side, there was no denying the result of her little stunt. He was not as immune to her femininity as he liked to portray. Now feeling bolder than ever, she decided to confront him with an observation.

“Can I...can I say something, Michael?”

“Mmmm...”

“That girl...that one you’ve been seeing...what’s her face? Her name I mean?”

“What girl?” he muttered; the hand he had placed on her hip now sliding down a little lower and toward her ass.

She liked that.

“The one you were working on for the video-”

“Ah...Ta...Ta....” Shit. What was her name again? Awfully hard to concentrate with Deja’s breasts pressed against his chest like this.

“Tatiana,” she finished for him.

“Ah yeah, that’s the one. She’s a nice girl.” Nice was putting it mildly. Tatiana was...well...eager to say the least, and boy had he been more than tempted to -

“She’s so stupid,” came the petulant and drunken argument. “She’s literally riding your...your-”

“Shssh. You’re not making any sense.” He giggled and smacked her ass gently. “Behave yourself.”

“I don’t like her.”

“Well, I didn’t like what’s his face either.”

She lifted her head to peer at him with curiosity. “Who?”

“That boyfriend of yours. What was his name again?”

“Miles.”

“Right. Miles.” He said the name as if saying something disgusting and he made a face before pouting. “He was an asshole to leave you like that.”

“He...” He didn’t leave me, she wanted to say. “He cheated on me.”

“Exactly.” He nodded firmly and with a sigh dropped the now empty bottle. Together they watched it roll for a bit before it hit the side of the couch as it came to a stop.

“Miles was no good for you,” Michael murmured; his attention now focused on the woman whose features he studied intensely...well as intensely as he could with his mind a little fuzzy.

“Tatiana’s no good for you either,” she whispered. She was finding it a little hard to breathe now, and tried to blame the alcohol for the way her pulse was beginning to race and her heart beginning to pound ever so much harder with every passing second. She was drowning in his eyes...becoming hypnotized by the spell he was casting...

(blame it on the alcohol later...later...later...much later...we’ll regret this and...)

“I don’t like her like that,” came the drawled statement. “She’s just a nice girl -”

“Who has the hots for you.”

“You sound jealous.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Maybe I should stop seeing women altogether, right?”

“Maybe you should.”

“And maybe you should stop dating any other guy that I do not approve of.”

“I’ll think about that.”

“No can do.” He smirked and reached up to cup her nape in a grip that was just firm enough to exhibit domination. It forced her closer to him; close enough that their lips were now barely a finger width apart. “You don’t date anyone or be with anyone unless I say so,” he whispered thickly against her lips. “And I won’t see any other woman besides you. Deal?”

Whatever you say, you sexy bastard, her mind responded, though it was her lips that finally did the talking for her...in a whole other way.

Dreams were one thing, but to actually experience it in the flesh...that was a whole other matter entirely.

It was a groan of resignation and determination that was soon buried within the warmth of his mouth; his lips parting willingly to accept her open invitation. He tasted of wine and mint; of sweetness and heat; of fire and passion that had her whimpering in complete surrender. Her entire body tingled with a shock that seemed to start from the roots of her hair to the nerve endings in her toes which curled with pleasure as Michael took the initiative to deepen their forbidden communion.

Not sure who gave the groan (growl) of pleasure, Deja gasped as she felt his hand slide down from its possessive position around her neck to the curve of her breasts beneath the white Anne Klein silk blouse. She wanted to feel more of him. No, she wanted him to feel more of her. It didn’t matter anymore. Regrets would come later in the day when they were sober and more in control of their emotions. Right now, all she wanted...needed and craved was this man.

“Jesus,” Michael gasped as they finally broke apart for much-needed air. His half-lidded smoking gaze scorched her soul, and with another low growl, she dove in again to taste more of what he had to offer.

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou, she wanted to say. I love every single thing about you. I love how kind and loving and wonderful you are. I love how you can spend afternoons getting dirty in a zoo with animals, and turning around to give hugs to those who are less fortunate. I love how you care so much and how you cry on my sofa when you watch sad movies or talk about things that are passionate to you. I love how you get so intense about your music and your craft, and how funny you are and how corny some of your jokes are, and how there are times you drive me nuts with your need for perfection, yet you remind me of just how imperfect you can be. I love you so much it hurts. Iloveyouloveyouloveyou...

“Sto...stop,” came the shaky gasp as Michael finally broke the kiss again.

They were both panting harshly; their bodies still clearly roaring with a need for completion of this thing they had started, and yet-

“We...we can’t...” he croaked; his voice breaking a little as if hoping not to cry. He licked his swollen lips and tried to sit up, forcing her to finally get the message and to slide off him with her gaze lowered in complete and utter humiliation.

“Deja...”

She shook her head firmly; not wanting to hear his apology or the reasons why they couldn’t. She knew. He didn’t have to spell it out for her.

I won’t cry. I won’t cry. I will not cry.

She slapped her trembling hands over her face, counted to ten slowly, removed them and took a very deep breath.

“I’ll clean up,” she stated softly. “You...you can go home.”

“You can’t drive in your condition,” he murmured. “I’ll have Bill and the driver take you back home...I’ll wait until he returns.”

He tried to stand, nearly fell, but managed to do it right the second time around as he held onto the couch for support. A barely audible ‘shit’ escaped his lips before he flopped gracelessly on it. He groaned and covered his eyes with an arm, before remembering he had to place a call to the limo to get the driver in here at least.

He could hear her moving around in the background, and his heart sunk a little further still as he wondered why he allowed himself to go that far (drinking was no excuse in his opinion) and how he could repair what could possibly be a breech in their relationship. He respected Deja and yes, in some way did love her dearly. However, he had betrayed her trust by crossing that invisible line he had drawn in the sand, and he wouldn’t be surprised if she decided to quit working for him. It would definitely hurt to lose a hard-working and loyal friend like her, but he knew he had to face reality. There was just no way-

“Don’t forget you have a meeting with Will Vinton tomorrow,” her voice interrupted his troubled thoughts. She sounded a little more in control, and from the direction of her voice, he had a feeling she was standing again. “He wants to look over the final shots for that Speed Demon video, and then you have-”

“Deja-”

“-lunch with Miko and his dad and-”

“I’m sorry,” came the soft whisper.

She captured her lower lip between her teeth and cursed him for doing this to her. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she replied with a gaiety she did not feel inside.

She walked up to him and reached out to lower his arm, forcing him to look at her. To her surprise (and heartbreak) there were tears in his eyes, and she realized just how much this must hurt him as well.

“Oh, Michael,” she sighed and motioning for him to scoot a little, she sat gingerly at the edge of the couch, holding on to his hand while reaching out to wipe off the smudge of lipstick from the corner of his lips.

“What happened tonight,” she began. “I mean...whatever it was that happened here tonight was a mistake and nothing more. It doesn’t change my opinion of you in the slightest, and I doubt it ever will.”

She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it tenderly. “I love you, and I guess I always will...in my own way, but like you, I don’t want to ruin the friendship we’ve established. That means more to me than a romp in the sack.”

He blushed at the term, causing a small smile to come to her visage. “I might not be your dream girl, and I’m sure someday she’ll come along – and God knows I’m going to test her to make sure she’s perfect for you, Mister.”

He groaned and shook his head, but she stopped him by cradling his cheeks and holding his gaze steady. “And I’m holding onto your promise of finding me a man that will make me happy. If not you...then...I need a man who will love and respect and appreciate my love of color. Got it, Michael?”

He gave a small nod. “I got it, my Captainess.”

She chuckled and leaned close to kiss his forehead. “All right. I’m gonna stagger out of here and hope to find the limo. If you don’t hear or see me in the daytime, know I’m probably in some sleazy hotel making out with a gigolo.”

“Deja!”

She laughed and rose to her feet, glad she could at least leave him with a smile on his face and the promise that their relationship was still going to be the same if not stronger than ever.

And though she would still end up crying herself to sleep within the warm confines and hidden safety of her blanket, she knew these were simply tears to bring closure to the turbulent feelings she had for one man, and perhaps the chance for her heart to find love anew.

Whatever the future held for her from here on out, she was ready to tackle it standing at Michael’s side until the day he would finally have no need for her services.

She just hoped that day would be a long time coming.

Never mind
I'll find someone, like you
I wish nothing but the best for you, too
Don't forget me I beg
I remember you said
"Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead"