Detox

Chapter 09: Michael

That ordinary people have extraordinary love
A million little miracles far beneath the stars above
The greatest gift that I could ever wish for you and me
Is a life as ordinary as can be.

New Haven
Fall 1999

The Smoldering Cauldron – subtitled ‘Costumes n’ Things’ – sat nestled amongst a myriad of historic buildings in downtown New Haven. Since its humble beginnings in 1890 as a tailor shop for the city and Yale University's elite, the Smoldering Cauldron had evolved over the years to become a caboodle of knick knacks; the go-to place for the college’s Drama Society, curious tourists, or those eager to celebrate that one time in the year when ghouls came out to play.

Its dingy-like exterior (complete with a wrought iron sign of a – yes, you guessed it – a cauldron) gave one the nostalgic illusion of stepping into Ollivander’s Wand Shop (for those with overactive imaginations and fans of the Harry Potter novels). In fact, since the publication of the first book, and its befuddling popularity since then, the Smoldering Cauldron had done its best to pattern its interior and atmosphere - in general - to cater to fans who sought for a reality based on J.K Rowling's fantasy.

So no, you wouldn’t exactly find wands that ‘spoke’ to you, but the shop did sell quite a lot of them, along with broomsticks (regular and Quidditch-style), wizard and witches robes, hats, Hogwarts gear (separated by houses), those famed Potter glasses, while still remembering that there were those who just didn’t quite get the craze. For those customers, there was a section devoted to dramatic costumes, where one could find vintage wear dating back to the Elizabethan era. You could get those for a loan as long as they were returned with no damage. There were of course your zombies, werewolves, mummies, monsters, and if you were feeling particularly adventurous, you could get your own ‘Carrie’ outfit complete with the blood-drenched prom dress and tiara from the Stephen King classic.

It wasn’t a very large shop, hence once stepping within its doors, you were prone to feeling claustrophobic at the ‘junk’ that surrounded you. Shelves went as high as the ceiling filled with either clothing, décor, masks, or props necessary to give one a distinct look. The aisles were narrow, and policy forced customers to have to shop in groups of ten at any one time lest problems arose from people stepping on each other’s toes.

Halloween was still a month away, but already the excitement of the holiday season was thick in the air. The sales rush hadn’t officially begun, however it still didn’t stop die-hard Halloween freaks to begin preparing their costumes for the many parties that would be hosted around the college town come the weekend of October the 31st.

Behind the counter, Mitch Sanders –all of eighteen and bored out of his skull - yawned and struggled to stay awake as he thumbed through the Playboy magazine. It was his shift tonight, and though the day ended for him at midnight, it still felt like an eternity away. He glanced at the dusty Victorian-era clock that was sandwiched between a wax dummy of a zombie and a werewolf mask. It was past ten in the evening, and the store had just two customers browsing through the vintage clothing section at the back of the store. His co-worker for the evening (Allen the Nerd) was currently on break, so Mitch was left to his devices. It was a slow night, so it was all good. He could handle the traffic. If he was lucky, he’d not have to deal with any more customers tonight; though it was a Friday evening and that probability was next to impossible. He expected to see a bunch of semi-drunk college kids dragging their asses in here when it was approaching closing time, and those were always the worst customers to deal with. Not only were they belligerent and annoying, they tended to make fun of the costumes the sales people were forced to wear.

The owner of the Smoldering Cauldron believed in the complete customer service experience (whatever the fuck that meant), and it included making his employees dress in ridiculous costumes whenever possible. Tonight, Mitch was in a velvet purple wizard's robe complete with silver lame stars and moons embroidered all over it. He had long taken off the stupid pointy hat, but as the chime of the door signaled another customer's arrival, he reached for it quickly and tossed the magazine to the floor to begin the ritual.

“Welcome to the Smoldering Cauldron,” he greeted with a fixed smile on his visage. God, he was so tired of this fucking routine. He pretended to wave his ‘magic’ wand as he bowed before lifting his gaze to continue his spiel ...

...only the words seemed to die in his throat at the sight of the man with the black fedora perched on his head, a surgical mask over his nose and mouth, wearing a varsity jacket over a dress shirt and a pair of jeans. It didn’t take a scientist to figure out who the man could possibly be, after all many people around town said they had noticed him showing up every now and then in the last few years.

Still...it was shocking to the senses to have the ‘KING OF POP’ (for fuck’s sake!) showing up in this little store with his kids in tow and no fanfare (no bodyguards, though Mitch was sure they were probably guarding the store outside). And speaking of the kids, both were on either side of their father; their eyes as wide as saucers as they took in the sights and sounds of the costume shop.

“Ooooh, so cool!” the bigger kid said as he let go of his father’s hand to move toward what looked like a glowing crystal bowl. It was a prop for those who wanted to play the role of gypsy or just wanted some spooky light in their home.

“Be careful with that now, David,” came the muffled warning from the man before he turned to give Mitch a soft nod in acknowledgment.

“Good...good evening, sir,” Mitch stuttered; completely forgetting his role as magic wizard for a minute. He tried to hide his excitement, or to call up his friends to let them know...or worse beg Michael for a picture. “Can I help you with anything?”

“We’re just looking around,” Michael replied; his voice barely audible, though his dark eyes were lit with a childlike curiosity that was almost contagious. It was clear the guy liked places like this, and who could blame him. This was the guy who made Thriller and that movie Ghosts, for crying out loud, so hell yeah! The man knew all about his monsters and ghouls. It was something Mitch could appreciate.

“My sons want costumes for Halloween,” Michael further explained as an eye darted toward his boys who had long left to explore the rest of the shop for themselves, while he was eagerly absorbing the other oddities around him. Lean, pale fingers absently caressed the bust of a man with a disfigured face.

“Of course. I’d be glad to...” Mitch would have continued, but the other two customers were approaching the counter to check out, which ruined his opportunity to assist Michael. Luckily, they were going to be the last to leave, though Mitch grumbled inwardly as he forced himself to smile and quickly scan the items. Did they really have to buy so many items? What the hell did they need all this stuff for? Were they hosting the entire block?

From the corner of his eye, he watched as Michael – with hands clasped behind his back – stroll casually between the aisles as if he owned the place. Every now and then, one of his kids would run up to him with a wrinkled old hand or a bloody mask and pretend to scare him with it. Being the good sport, Michael would scream (just lightly though) and try to look scared, and at one point, he even tried hiding behind a figure of a mummy, which delighted his boys (especially the youngest) who would make growling noises and try to attack his Dad. Mitch found the scene touching, which was weird considering he had been working here for so many years and was jaded to such things. Maybe it was because this guy was supposed to be the ‘weirdo’ to the rest of the world, or that he was such a huge star sharing such an intimate and ‘normal’ thing with his children....and there was no doubt those were his kids. He didn’t care what those damn rumors and tabloids were saying. Hell, the oldest kid was a carbon copy of Michael when he was back in the Jackson 5! How could anyone not see that? And the younger one looked more like his mom, who was a fox in Mitch’s humble opinion.

“That’s gonna be fifty-five sixty-eight,” he said absently while stuffing the purchased items in plastic bags with a speed his boss would not have appreciated.

“Isn’t that Michael Jackson...?” one of the customers (some bimbo from the way she looked) was asking as she glanced toward the back of the store where Michael was now admiring a werewolf mask that looked eerily like the one he had worn during the making of Thriller.

“Looks like him,” her boyfriend was saying in that slow way where you weren’t quite sure. They were both now sneaking glances, but Michael was now hidden away from view. “Maybe we should...”

Mitch shoved the bags into their hands; a clear sign that they were not going to be hanging around here trying to get pictures of anyone. “Thanks for coming,” he said in a loud and dismissive tone. “We’ll see you next time.”

The couple looked aghast at being chased out so quickly, but Mitch was already making his way around the counter to literally show them the door. He even added a cheerful wave and smile as they stepped outside, and once they were out of sight, he all but dashed toward his special guest to offer his services.

“Found anything you like, Mr. Jackson?” he began to ask as he made the turn towards the zombies and mummies aisle, only to nearly pee his pants as he was confronted with a snarling life-like werewolf.

Jesus fucking Christ!

“Hehe,” David giggled. “Daddy’s a werewolf!”

Michael – for he had been trying the mask on actually – took it off with a sheepish expression on his visage. It was then that Mitch noticed he had at least taken off the fedora and surgical mask; though the hat was on Prince’s head now and the mask was sticking out of the man’s back pocket.

“Sorry about that,” Michael apologized; as he fiddled with the wolf’s large whiskers. “How much is this?”

“Twenty-nine ninety-nine,” Mitch replied. “I think it was actually based off the one you wore in...eh...Thriller. It’s a best seller. The mask I mean...not the album...you know...” He stopped as he noticed he was blabbering like an idiot.

“Really,” Michael mused with a small smile, and Mitch wondered if the man didn’t like to talk about that anymore. Couldn't blame him. He had made other great albums since Thriller and yet folks seemed to want to keep bringing that all the time. It must be a little annoying by now.

“GRRRR!” came the growl from below them. Prince was trying on a zombie mask that was just a little too big for his face.

“Zombies don’t go grrrr, Prince,” David corrected. He was trying on the Harry Potter glasses, and though it was non-prescription, it didn’t stop the kid from squinting behind them.

“What do zombies do then?” Michael asked.

David, ever willing to oblige anyone willing to watch him, held out his arms; rolled his eyes and staggered a little. “Ooooh,” he droned. “I’m gonna eat your braaaaains, Prince.”

Even Mitch had to laugh a little at how good the kid was, considering he couldn’t be older than what? Seven? Eight?

“That’s a pretty good zombie,” he praised; noticing that Michael was literally preening with pride at his boy’s antics. “You should be an actor.”

“I’m already an actor,” David clarified. He was now trying on a Spider Man mask. “I was in the school play and I played the prince in Snow White.” He turned to his father. “How do I look, Dad?”

“You wanna be Spider Man now?” Michael asked as he lifted Prince into his arms. “I thought you said you wanted to be Harry Potter?”

The boy stood indecisive for a minute, and Mitch noticed it was taking all of Michael’s strength not to laugh as the kid tried to make this life-changing decision. He hid his amusement by tickling Prince’s chin; a tactic that had the boy laughing and trying to pull away while going ‘Daddy, stop. That tickles” at the same time.

“All right,” David said as he took off the mask and reached for the glasses again. “I’ll go as Harry this time, and next time, I’ll go as Spider Man.”

“Well, there you have it,” Michael said with a solemn nod. “That’s a wise choice, young man. Shall we shake on it?”

Father and son gave each other a firm handshake as if agreeing to a deal of sorts, and Michael shrugged at Mitch with a twinkle of amusement in his eye. “Let’s have the Harry Potter stuff, then. David?”

“Yeah, Dad?”

“Stop trying to crawl up the ladder and give the nice man the things you need, okay? Prince and I are going to pick his costume.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

While Michael and Prince made their way to another section of the store, David seemed more content to watch Mitch at work...which was slightly unnerving at first because the kid had those kinds of eyes that could look right through you. There was no doubt he was the inquisitive type, and Mitch never got along with kids like that. They were always touching things and wanting to know about this thing and that thing. Though he was sure he wouldn't mind chatting with the King of Pop's son.

“There,” he said as he arranged the pile of Hogwarts robe, shirt, tie, shoes, glasses and flying broomstick. “We’ve got everything I think.”

“Are you supposed to be Dumbledore?” came the sudden question that had Mitch blinking in surprise.

“Uum...well...eh-”

“You’re dressed like a wizard. Like in the book,” David explained as he sat on what looked like a pirate’s treasure chest. “And your hair is white.”

Mitch resisted the urge to tell the kid that it was a wig, but hey, why spoil the boy’s fantasy? “You like Harry Potter, huh?”

David nodded firmly. “Daddy and Mommy read the books to me. I don’t understand all of it, but it’s great! Daddy says when next we go to London, we might see Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.”

“No shi....I mean, no kidding.” He glanced toward the back of the store, where Michael was now browsing through some old books (they were more props than actual literary significance) as Prince admired what looked like a statue of a gargoyle. “That sounds like it’s going to be fun.”

“Yup.” David paused and then spoke again in earnest. “Daddy says it really exists if you believe in it. He says there’s magic all around us, if you really look for it...or sometimes you don’t even have to look that hard and it’s there.”

Whoa. What could one say to something like that? He had never really given the book much thought besides it being some kiddie book about magic and fantastical creatures, and here was this kid trying to make it seem like it was-

“...candy that tastes like boogers,” David was saying as he gave a dramatic shudder. “I’m never buying that.”

“No...it would definitely taste nasty,” Mitch agreed with a smile.

The sudden chime of the door behind them signaled the arrival of new customers, and if the boisterous sounds of laughter and conversation was any indication, it was clear that there were at least five of them strolling in at this hour.

Fuck! Guess this meant the fun with the Jacksons was over. Even the kid must have felt the change in atmosphere, because he stopped talking, hopped off the box, and was already running toward the back of the store to find his father.

Must be hard being the son of the most famous man in the world.

Allen the Nerd was finally dragging his lazy ass out of the back room, perhaps realizing he was actually supposed to be working instead of dozing off. Fortunately, his attention was drawn to the new customers who were already calling out for help, which prevented him from noticing the quieter group at the other end of the store.

Michael, for his part was already making his way to the front with his items for purchase. He hadn’t bothered putting on the surgical mask, but the fedora was back on his head.

“We’ll be taking these,” he said quietly; his voice almost getting drowned in the cacophony of the younger patrons acting like jackasses.

Mitch, aware of the superstar’s need to leave the scene before he could be noticed, began to ring up the items quickly; regretting he wouldn’t have more time to spend with the family. They were really cool cats and –

“Oh my God!” came the breathless squeal that had them turning toward a pretty African-American girl who had her hands over her mouth and her eyes filling with tears. It looked like she was this close to passing out as she waved her hands before her face and struggled to find the words.

Michael, ever gracious, flushed a little at the attention and in the next five or ten minutes, Mitch could only watch (with a little bit of annoyance and frustration on the man and kids’ behalf) as they all began to clamor for pictures and autographs. Michael obliged politely, accepting the hugs and kisses, and taking the pictures as they wanted; though he had to apologize eventually because of his boys.

“They are tired and we really must be going,” he stated softly, which earned nods of understanding (thankfully) from the overenthusiastic fans.

Mitch, assuming his role in all this was forgotten, was stunned when Michael stopped at the door to turn to him.

“One more thing I forgot,” he said with a smile and a wink to the flummoxed cashier.

Two days later as he’d stare in disbelief at the photograph of him, the man, and his two boys mugging for the camera, clenched like a lifeline in his hands – Mitch would marvel again at how surreal that night had all seemed. For not only had Michael insisted he take the final photograph (and with his sons no less! He hadn’t even allowed the fans to get pictures of his boys), he had left the nicest message within the inside jacket of Mitch’s weathered copy of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets:

To Mitch
Thank you for helping my sons and I pick the greatest Halloween costumes ever.
We can’t wait to see you again next year.
God bless you.
Love,
Michael, David, and Prince Jackson.

Fucking awesome!

Even his boss would be stunned at the teen’s sudden vigor and enthusiasm in working for the store, and who could blame him? Mitch had made the vow to keep this job for as long as it took, if only to see the man he admired more than anyone else in the world, show up again this time next year.

He’d definitely be waiting.

__

Now we all like to watch and by the time the movie ends
Who of us hasn't wished to be a little more like them
But I bet every time two stars are breaking up
That they wish somehow, someway they were a little more like us

New Haven
Halloween Night, 1999

At first we see nothing but a blurry dark image – a giggle – and then the figure moving backwards to reveal a painted tiger face and a tongue sticking out to wiggle up and down playfully.

“And who are you supposed to be, sweetheart?” comes the amused feminine voice; clearly the person handling the camera.

“Captain Tiger!” Prince announces proudly. “How do I look, Mommy?”

Captain Tiger’s bouncing on his parents’ bed, the bright red cape flying behind him with each leap. A black leotard with a silver belt and matching silver boots complete the costume. Oh, and of course the painted face which he had wanted after one of his classmates birthday party he attended a couple of weeks ago. The original costume of being Batman had to be discarded as Prince had fallen in love with the concept of becoming an animal with just face paint. At the party he had been a zebra and getting the boy to take a shower to get the paint off had been a battle in itself. Mommy and Daddy had been forced to find the artist responsible for it, and he had willingly driven over to do the job earlier in the day.

“You look scaaaaaaaary,” comes the frightened voice, which earns a laugh and a growl (roar) from the tiger.

“Let’s go find Daddy and David, hmm?”

“Okay!”

Prince leaps off the bed, and with arms spread, zooms out of the room (complete with sound effects), which has the camera operator chuckling as she tries to keep up with the little bundle of energy. As the camera pans along the hallway, we can see the house is decked out with Halloween decorations; black and orange streamers in the shape of skeletons and bats line the balustrades, walls and windows, while fake cobwebs give one the illusion of a haunted house. The ‘Monster Mash’ fills the air to add to its ambiance, and as she walks down the stairs, other voices become louder; a clear sign that there are guests in the Jackson home.

Two little Power Rangers dash around her legs and into the kitchen, and a woman dressed as Cruella de Vil wanders past with an air kiss blown in the camera’s direction. She’s chewing on a cookie in the shape of Frankenstein while sipping on some orange concoction.

“The party is adorable, Stephanie,” Cruella says with a grin. “Just lovely.”

“Thank you, Megan.”

Megan is one of David’s classmate’s mother – a neighbor to be exact. In fact, most of the people here – about five families in all – are either close friends from various PTA meetings at the boys’ schools or next door neighbors. The gathering is for them to have a group trick or treatin’ night where they would lead the children door-to-door for the Halloween ritual. This year, the Jacksons are the designated hosts, hence the organized chaos.

“All right everyone!” Mrs. Polanski – who is dressed as the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz - bellows as she claps her hands and urges everyone to gather round in the main lobby. “Let’s get this show on the road. I wanna be back here no later than nine.”

The guests begin to trickle out from the rooms (mostly living room), and the camera pans to the laughing group of men led by Mr. Jacobs – who is dressed as Elvis Presley – as they make their way to join the eclectic crew. The focus shifts to the ‘werewolf’, who has stubbornly refused to take the damn mask off for a while now, and the camera operator is sure the man behind it is laughing at her, because he holds up a hand to give a thumbs up sign in her direction.

Camera pans down to the Harry Potter clone he’s holding on to, and at the playful command of “Smile at the camera, honey,” David turns to wave his wand at his mother, before pushing up the glasses that would have fallen off his nose.

“You look wonderful, honey,” his mom praises which has him blushing in embarrassment and turning away to poke at the little pink Princess standing before him with his wand....though he is chided patiently by his father as the Princess turns around to glare at David.

Mrs. Polanski – ever eager to wield her power as head of the Home Owners Association – outlines the route they will take and so on and so forth. The plan is for them to at least cover several blocks so the kids can get the full experience of Halloween and return before nine, after all some grown-ups had parties to attend tonight including the host and hostess of the evening.

As they begin to file out of the house – one parent designated to each set of children – and there are about eight kids in all, she takes the time to lower the camera to attend to her sons with last minute instructions.

“Remember what I told you now,” she says as she stoops to straighten out the Gryffindor-themed tie.

“No eating of candy before we get home,” David recites dutifully.

“And hold onto your brother’s hand all the time, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy. We’re gonna be late already.”

“I’ll be there with them,” the ‘werewolf’ says, forcing his wife to rise to her feet to raise a brow at him.

“You? Who are you?” she teases.

“That’s Daddy!” Prince offers with a laugh. He can’t believe his mother doesn’t know who that is.

Stephanie pretends to be shocked and slaps her hands on her cheeks. “Really? I had no clue!”

Though the mask is humongous (and pretty damn life-like), she can still see those familiar, beautiful brown eyes filled with amusement and an emotion that makes her feel funny sensations in the pit of her stomach. Blushing prettily, she leans forward to wrap her arms around his neck to plant a hard kiss on the area where his mouth is supposed to be. Pity it tastes like plastic and fur.

“Have fun with the boys,” she whispers thickly.

“We will,” he promises as he wraps an arm around her waist to hold her closely for a minute longer. He nuzzles her, which ends up making her laugh as the whiskers interfere with what should have been a romantic gesture. However, at Mrs. Polanski’s yell of “What’s keeping us?!”, Michael rolls his eyes and releases his woman reluctantly. His boys are already dashing out the door to join the others.

“See you later, babe,” he says as he waves and skips backwards with a mock salute.

“Right back at you,” she replies with a smile; though she ends up waving goodbye as the group make their way down the driveway and out the gate in a flurry of excited voices.

She would have loved to join them, but she has her role to play as hostess extraordinaire, and besides this is going to be Michael's first time taking the kids out this time of the year. He deserves to enjoy the experience to the fullest.

__

That ordinary people have extraordinary love
A million little miracles far beneath the stars above
The greatest gift that I could ever wish for you and me
Is a life as ordinary as can be.

Halloween was clearly a blasphemy; a night of devil-worship when all things evil were celebrated.

At least that was the popular misconception when growing up in 2300 Jackson Street.

On those nights, his mother would usually shepherd them to Kingdom Hall for a night of prayers, deliberately preventing them from watching the other children running around in their costumes screaming ‘Trick or Treat’ at the top of their lungs in an attempt to get free candy. Perhaps it was another one of the reasons he liked wearing costumes so much since he was denied that pleasure as a child (and no, those costumes he wore while performing on stage did not count either). Wearing outfits to present a certain persona to the world was one thing, but wearing costumes for your personal gratification was something else entirely. It was fun to pretend to be something or someone different even if for a few hours. Wasn't that the whole point and fun of Halloween?

To be completely honest, his little self had not really seen anything wrong with that. Same as the situation with having birthday parties. While other children spent the weeks and days before Halloween talking about what costumes they were going to wear and just how much candy they planned on getting, he and Marlon would sit morosely at their desks unable to join in the conversation for fear God might smite them dead for even being willing to partake in such sinful topics.

However, the frightful fascinated him; the darkness and the macabre. He could watch Creature from the Black Lagoon or one of his favorites The Wolf Man whenever he could. Vincent Price was his idol, and Rod Serling made the world of The Twilight Zone magical and mysterious to him. There were nights he would have nightmares of being attacked by some gruesome monster, but the little him had always tried to see things from the monster’s perspective. I mean...they didn’t all start out as monsters and horrible creatures, did they? Something must have happened to them to make them turn bad. Like the Wolf Man for example. He didn’t ask to be bitten, did he? It just happened and then everyone makes him out to be the bad guy. He can’t help it if he ends up having wolf-like tendencies.

And look at poor Frankenstein; a creature out of the mind of a mad man, made into a monster because he didn’t know better.

Forced into a corner, society tends to bring out the darkness in you; warp all that is good to make you into this horrific creature you are not. Who are we to label others as ‘monsters’? Who are we to deem others unfit for society just because they do not go with what you consider normal.

At the sixth (or is it seventh?) house – and one has to admire how far some of their neighbors have gone to get into the Halloween spirit (some had smoke machines for goodness sakes!) – four of the parents stand at the bottom of the steps while one leads the others to the front door where he or she presses the doorbell and all the children scream “TRICK OR TREAT” at the top of their lungs when the door finally opens. The home owners coo with delight at the sight of the miniature princesses or action heroes, and disperse desserts of all sorts into the waiting plastic containers the kids hold out. Not forgetting their manners, they each say ‘Thank You” before dashing off to the next victim...eh...house.

Michael has been taking pictures of his boys as often as he can; wanting to capture these moments in time for his scrapbook of memories. He watches as his children blend in with the others effortlessly; no one pointing them out as being ‘The Jackson Kids’ as they might have been subjected to if they had grown up in Neverland. At first he had been a little upset at the notion of his children not being raised in the West Coast, but as the years have gone by, he has to admit that this is the best idea his wife could have possibly come up with.

There was no doubt he had plans to home school the children if they had been in Neverland, as the notion of sending them to a public school would have been chaotic in itself. Hell, just the few times they had gone out in L.A. had caused mini-riots; something he had come to realize his children did not really understand or appreciate.

But here...here in the little cocoon of New Haven – far from the curious eyes of the world (for the most part), his children were normal...happy...just...

Children

They were not confronted with the pretentiousness and falsities of Hollywood. They could interact with others without the fear of being singled out for being who they were. They could go to neighbors’ houses for sleepovers or playtime. He could walk with them down the street and go into local stores without the fear of being accosted by fans (well unless they went downtown and it got a little more noticeable) or hungry paparazzi. To everyone else in their neighborhood, they were just another family albeit famous.

Michael had found himself eager to return here more often than not; where not only did he get to spend the time with his family, but got to enjoy the fruits of being a father. He got to hang out with other fathers in the neighborhood; getting to play touch football on Saturdays or having a simple barbecue in their backyards. The men did and said nothing to make him feel uncomfortable, and not once did he ever feel as if he were being treated any differently (though they did tease him a little about his lack of football knowledge initially). However, he established his 'cred' by showing up with Chris for one such get together, and since then, no one dared mock Michael for not knowing anything about the sport.

It is something he appreciates more than anything else in the world; being considered ordinary and just one of the guys.

In L.A. he can revert back to what the world expects him to be, but over here...

“Daddy. Daddy,” comes the low whine as his pants is tugged a little.

“What is it, honey?” he asks softly, stooping down to face his youngest, who looks exhausted. It has been a pretty excitable day for his baby after all. “Are you tired?”

Prince nods and wraps his tiny arms around his father’s neck; a clear sign he wants to be carried the rest of the way. With a light grunt, Michael obliges, but not before placing a soft kiss on his son’s cheek and holding on to the semi-full basket of candy. It doesn’t take long for him to finally fall asleep, with his head on his father's shoulder, and they haven’t even gotten to the third block yet.

However, by the time they begin to make their way back to the Jackson home, at least two other parents have sleeping children in their arms, and the others are less excitable though they are eager to see which candy they can have. They make it in record time too. Almost eight-thirty and all houses they planned to visit were covered.

“We’re home!” Mrs. Polanski announces, causing the other parents who had been lounging in the spacious living room to file out and welcome the weary warriors.

Michael smiles at the sight of his wife, who has outdone herself in the ‘costume’ department. In a long-sleeved hobble black gown, hair so sleek and black, it literally shimmers beneath the light, blood red lipstick and a lighter shade of foundation, it’s as if he is looking at the original T.V. version of Morticia Addams come to life.

“Hey, Sexy,” he drawls as she moves close enough to reach out for their son. “You look good enough to eat.”

“Hey yourself, you horny bastard,” she whispers with a smirk of amusement as she taps his furry nose. “How was it?”

“Not too ba -”

“Mommy! Look what I got!” David cries out as he slips between his flirting parents to hold up his basket of goodies. “Sooooo much candy!”

“That’s right, honey, and you know what we’re going to do with all that candy, right?”

“Aww.”

“You can have only one thing, David,” Michael insists as he releases Prince to Stephanie to take off his mask - which he wouldn’t admit is a relief because he was getting pretty damn hot in it. “Pick one thing and take the rest to the kitchen.”

“But Daddy-”

“David.”

He pouts at the single word, knowing when his father called him in that manner, he meant business. He eyes the basket of treats and closing his eyes, dips into it to rummage around for a while before plucking out a Kit Kat bar.

When he opens his eyes to see what he had got, he looks about ready to burst into tears.

“You can get another one tomorrow, sweetheart,” Stephanie tries to appease him, but her attention is quickly diverted as many of the guests are beginning to say their ‘goodnights’ while thanking them for a fantastic evening.

While Stephanie takes the boys upstairs to prepare them for bedtime, Michael is left to be the host to escort the rest of the visitors to their cars. He spends about ten more minutes in idle chit chat with the fellas, with a promise to join them at the Jacobs residence next Sunday to watch a football game. Michael, who would have rather spent it doing absolutely nothing, didn’t have the heart to say no, and so gave in with a promise to provide the beers.

Guess he’ll have to send one of his security team to purchase the damn things because he sure as hell wasn’t walking into a liquor store to order a six pack anytime soon.

Chuckling softly at the image of himself strolling into a convenience store to order something like that, he makes his way upstairs and to the sounds of his boys giving their mother hell.

Well ...not really.

Prince is already fast asleep, of course, and not even a bulldozer running through the bedroom, he shares with his brother, can wake him up right now. David, on the other hand, is just running out of the bathroom still wet with Stephanie chasing after him with the towel. His father catches him in a fireman scoop that has the boy giggling with delight, though he stops wiggling around long enough to allow his mother to help him into his favorite Spider Man pajamas.

“Did you have a fun day today?” she asks as she tucks the themed super hero blanket around him in.

“The best,” David agrees with a firm nod. “Is tomorrow Halloween again?”

“No, honey,” Stephanie replies with a laugh. “Not sure I can handle that every day.”

She leans close to place a kiss on his forehead, before playfully rubbing his tummy. “Goodnight, honey.”

“Goodnight, Mommy. I love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”

With a final kiss, she gets off the bed to allow father and son to bond, but not before running her fingers through her husband’s hair in a tender motion of encouragement before leaving the room.

She fully expects them to spend a long time together, since David never did fall asleep until an entire story was finished, so she takes the time to search through the two pumpkin-shaped containers to find a particular sweet treat she can have for herself. The heels she had been wearing had long been taken off (you didn't dare bathe the kids with those on), and as she perches on the kitchen stool to help herself to some Milky Ways, she absently stares at the mess that's to be cleaned up first thing in the morning. She had given the maids a night off, though Grace was still around to take care of the kids, and she had absolutely no plans to lift a finger tonight. Do you know how difficult it is to host a party? She had been planning this thing for weeks, and now it was time for her to enjoy the fruits of her labor...by doing absolutely nothing.

Oooh...gummy worms.

Milky Way finished, she reaches for the small pack of the sweet and sour treat and is just about to pop a colorful worm into her mouth when a light cough has her spinning around with guilt written all over her features.

“Mi...Michael,” she gasps and swallows the worm quickly. “Wha...what are you doing down here?”

He's leaning against the door way, arms folded across his chest (and goodness knows how long he had been standing there) with unbridled amusement and glee etched on his features. He has taken off the varsity jacket and dress shirt, and now stands in only a plain white tee shirt, his black jeans and bare feet. No wonder she hadn't heard him. For a man who proclaimed he walked like a drunken gorilla, he had the lightest steps known to man.

“David went to sleep before I could even finish the first page,” he says quietly. He then nods towards the two brightly-colored evidence behind her with a raised brow. “Enjoying yourself babe?” he asks.

She clears her throat and tries to push the containers away from her. “Uh...yes...and...eh...you?”

“Stephanie. Stephanie. Stephanie. And here you are, telling the kids to behave themselves,” he says with an expression as if greatly disappointed with her antics. He purses his lips and tsks in dismay. “Someone's being a naughty girl.”

“As if you wouldn't have done the same thing,” she argues weakly; trying to ignore the way his eyes are darkening with something other than amusement now. Her stomach gives that oh-so-familiar lurch of arousal, and with monumental effort, she forces herself to turn away to sweep up the pieces of chocolate, on the counter, into a pile. “Are you not getting ready for the par...aaah....”

It's a breathless sigh of pleasure at the sudden (and not unwelcome) sensation of his lips against her neck, which she arches to give him better access. They get bolder; nibbling, sucking, and kissing the exposed flesh while strong, calloused yet gentle hands travel down her sides...and then upward...slowly...searching...cupping and cradling her much fuller breasts beneath the molded gown. She whimpers as his fingers find her nipples to thumb them to sharp relief; tugging, pinching, rubbing them to hard nubs of desire. The subsequent low sound of need she makes – a sound that drives him absolutely crazy - elicits a growl of hunger from deep within him.

“Michael...baby...”she moans as trembling fingers desperately trace the hardened lines of his jaw and cheek before sinking into his hair to tug hard on it.

It's enough for him to release her neck and to turn her around completely to claim those blood-red offerings in a kiss that leaves them breathless and weak-kneed. She has no idea how the stool is no longer a factor, but that is the least of her worries now. Every fiber of her being is like a flame that's impossible to control. It was incredibly hard to find time to become intimate especially with children around, hence these precious moments were only intensified with their hunger for much-needed satisfaction.

“You...taste...like...heaven...” he groans into her mouth as he begins to lead them upstairs with her cradled like a baby against his chest. Since the dress is so tight and long, there is no way he can rip it off, neither can she do her usual leg wrap around his waist, which he would have loved even more.

“Milky Way,” she corrects him breathlessly as she sucks on his swollen lower lip; arms clasped tightly around his neck.

“Well...close enough,” he replies with a chuckle, now kicking the door to their bedroom open, and fumbling for a moment to find it again to close it behind them. It doesn't shut all the way, but he's so far gone in his lust for his woman, he hardly gives a damn if even the Pope decides to wander in to catch them in the act.

He lowers her to the bed, only to straddle her in one swift move. His eyes light up with a dark mixture of passion and mischief that makes her blush ten shades of red yet burn with excitement. She writhes sensuously and reaches up to tug at his shirt, which he obliges by straightening up a little more to pull it off completely. His pale skin seems to glow beneath the dim orange glow of the bedside lamps; their shadows dancing across the closed Venetian curtains as he leans down to nuzzle her neck. The curly strands of his hair tickle her sensitive flesh, only heightening her awareness of him.

“I need to take this off,” he groans as he grazes her shoulder gently. “Is this stretchy material, babe?”

“Yes,” she gasps and sits up a little to show him how easy it is to tug the sleeves off her shoulders. She lowers it just enough to reveal the top of her breasts; now trying to act coy at the notion of him seeing her naked. “Should I...should I strip tease for you, baby?” she asks shyly.

It's all an act. They both know it's an act; a role-play if you will, and he loves it. He pauses as if considering this very dire situation, but with a smirk, he shakes his head and captures her hands; pinning her back to the bed and effectively holding her prisoner.

“Michael,” she gasps, only to nearly buck him off as his lips suddenly find her left nipple to suck hard on it through the silk-like material.

“I'm...we....dress I'm wearing to the party....oh shit...!”

He's not paying any attention, and with the way he grinds her hips on hers; there's no doubt her man has no intention of going anywhere tonight. They might as well send in their RSVPs now, though she's sure that the Pattersons won't be too happy with them not showing-

“Oooh Gooood,” comes the guttural growl (from her? How shameful) as she feels the growing bulge within his pants making her wet...wet...wetter still. She must be soaking the sheets by now with how much heat he is generating with each simulated thrust. She's dying here and needs relief so bad, she's this close to tears.

He finally releases her swollen nipple to trail his lips close to her ear, and in two simple whispered words “Permission, babe?”...

Oh God yes

…a costume she had purchased for about two hundred bucks at a vintage store becomes history with the undeniable sound of the material being ripped with a strength she's come to realize is no fluke.

“You barbarian,” she growls as she is finally able to wrap those long legs around his waist; a move that brings a smile to his face as his fingers make quick work of the clasp of his belt and pants to release what had almost ripped a hole through the cloth.

His fingers are the first to find the moist heat; and he needn't have explored anymore to know she is more than ready for him, but to torture her, he continues to tease, to stroke, to please, to take her to those heights that will make her melt completely in his arms. He watches her expressions range from pained pleasure to flushed ecstasy. He feels the inner muscles clench, tighten yet soften around his probing digits and just when he feels them getting soaked with her orgasm, he withdraws only to swiftly bury himself into her welcome warmth....

I'm home.

...and allows himself to simply let go.

It never got old, or boring, or tiresome. He has assumed, as some of his family members have insinuated, that being with the same woman for so long would get stagnant, but perhaps it is the distance between them sometimes; his travels around the world while she is stuck here – those long agonizing months of phone calls and emails that simply make each moment with his wife even sweeter. Even if they do nothing but lie in bed and stare into each other's eyes for the better part of the night...it all seems new and exciting to him.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Each thrust goes deeper, harder, more frenzied as his unspoken mantra is reflected in their eyes. His heart seems to swell to bursting point, and he feels he will break down like a baby if this continues. She made him feel so weak, yet so damn strong; it was a contradiction even he could not comprehend at times.

She hangs on for dear life as her climax approaches; her fingernails digging into his upper arms as the first shot of sweet adrenaline rushes to the nerve endings of her hair, down to her toes and right back to the fiery center of their communion which causes her to arch like a swan into his sinewy length. She cries out (albeit as quietly as possible) when she comes and as she tries to get back down to earth; tries to get her bearings together, she holds on still to his slender, heaving shoulders – guiding him...helping him...until he buries his face against her neck and grunts his completion into her flesh as if hoping to embed his release into the very pores.

Ohfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuuuuck

Stephanie...my God...you are...my life...

They are limbless in each other's arms; sweat-drenched and unable to move a muscle. He has no intention of withdrawing just yet; simply content to remain this way for a little longer before he can force himself to roll off her pliant body.

As they wait for their rapid breathing to slow down, he closes his eyes and moans in satiated pleasure as he feels her fingers run tenderly through his scalp over and over and over and over and over and over....

“You're going to have to call the Pattersons to apologize to them, babe,” she finally says lazily to break his temporary haven of nirvana. His warm breath tickles her left breast, and his low groan of misery brings a smile to her face.

“Do I have to?” he mumbles.

“We promised we'd go to their party tonight.” She glances at the clock. It's almost eleven. “If we take a shower and get dressed, we can make it before midnight, babe.”

“Do we really have to go? I ruined your costume.”

There is a heartbeat of silence before she says softly,

“We can always go as normal people.”

His breath seems to hitch in surprise at her statement, before he lifting his head to look at her through the strands of hair that have fallen over his eyes. “Normal...people?” he asks slowly.

She blushes and wraps her arms around his neck. “Yes, baby. We just go as Michael and Stephanie. No make-up, no costumes, no masks...just ...us.”

He knows exactly what she means, and he is almost ashamed to feel his eyes stinging with those tears he had assumed he could hold in check.

He settles for burying his face against her neck again and holds onto her so tightly, he faintly worries he might break a few bones, but when he feels her responding grip, he knows that she understands just how much her words mean to him.

To go as ordinary normal people amongst the masked and the costumed. What, in their charmed yet chaotic life, could possibly top that? Nothing, in his honest opinion.

Absolutely nothing at all.