... And There She Was

Chapter 24

Her arm was fine.

The rest of Zoey—well, that was still up for debate. Shaken to her core, jumpy, and nervous, she hid her split lip as best she could when the group weaved through the "back of the house" of the hotel—kitchens and employee quarters, to get back up to their hotel rooms. Her days of going through the lobby were over—at least when she was with him.

Michael hadn't let her go since the moment she had come spilling into the limousine, looking like she'd just survived a mauling by a pack of rabid dogs. Scared stiff himself at the split second when having heard she had "been hit" while in the crowd, his insides were still twisted up into the types of knots even the most experienced Eagle Scout could ever hope to learn.

Mob scenes were old news. Tired. Been there done that. Once you've seen one, you've seen them all. Put your head down. Make each step count. Create a barricade, and get the hell through it. And whatever you do, don't ever...ever look back. The difference was however, that while mob scenes were of the norm for Michael, it was foreign territory to Zoey. Michael had wanted to keep it that way, perhaps foolishly, forever.

Her hand slipped from his the moment he opened the door to their hotel room, his warm palm now stinging from the coolness of the air conditioning, which they had put on full blast prior to leaving for the museum jaunt.

"I'd like a shower before we have to go," she mumbled, gently shutting the bathroom door behind her.

Alone in the room while the rumbling water pipes created a tranquil buzz, Michael began packing their things, though not nearly as nice and compacted as Zoey could do it. He tried to fold his pants the way she did, but the legs were off kilter. He tried to fold his tee-shirts in that funny way she liked to do them, with the sleeves facing inward, but they just ended up as a boxy wad. Somehow, his suitcase became full, and yet he still had tons more to put in it. Dejected, and feeling completely worthless at not even being able to pack his own luggage, he did a backwards spread eagle onto the bed, his mind reeling.

Letting the scalding hot water run down her tired body, Zoey leaned against the tile wall and held her arm up to look at her latest injury. Her wrist, though stiff and swollen, was mobile which was always a good sign. Her pale skin now had a foggy bluish green tint to it, nearly identical looking to when Joseph had squeezed her all those months ago.

She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't. She couldn't.

This was what rock and roll wives did, right? They brave the storm, right? They get pushed and pulled by overzealous fans and whacked by cops and dragged out of crowds by their hair, right? But that's all just part of bargain, right? They've just got to soldier on, right?

Right?

Having not grabbed any clothes before shutting herself in the bathroom, she toddled out into the main room of their suite, her body wrapped up in an impossibly plush towel.

"Do you hate me?" The motionless lump on the bed asked, as she pulled a brush through her damp locks.

"No," she whispered, looking at him through the reflection in the mirror. "You realize you asked me the exact same thing after the incident with your father?"

"I did?" He replied, hiking his torso up on his elbows to focus on her. "Really?"

"Mmm hmm," she hummed, pulling a pair of clean undies on. "That hurts me. That you could think I could hate you so easily," she said, not looking at him. She hastily slathered moisturizer on her face, then tossed the bottle in her cosmetics bag. "I'm just...confused, Mike. And a little rattled still. And..." she sighed. "...and I don't know. This is a lot to take in."

"You shouldn't have been at the back, that was a mistak—"

"I'm talking about....everything."

"Everything?"

"Yeah. Everything. Just, like...what life is going to be like now."

Michael swung his long legs over the side of the bed and sat upright, shoulders slumped. "I guess you hadn't really seen it first hand, until just now."

"No. No, I hadn't," she said, nestling down beside him. "I'm...I'm never going to be able to go to dinner with you and hold your hand, am I," she asked in a monotone voice, staring at her feet.

Swallowing hard, he answered. "Maybe not."

"We've spoiled ourselves, at the house. I didn't know how bad it was until today."

He nodded solemnly.

"No one knows you're there, and the neighbor that does, doesn't care. We do as we please. We've created our own little world. While your world erupted around you. We hid from it. We're still hiding from it. Don't you ever feel like we're...like we're...kidding ourselves? To think we can still keep sneaking around the city like we do, going unnoticed? We can't do this forever."

Again, he just nodded along.

"It's asking a lot. I know that." He turned his gaze to her. "I want to be worth it. For you. I know what its asking you to give up, and sometimes I hate myself for it. Like I'm a burden on you."

"You are worth it," she cooed, reaching up to trace the outside of his ear. "But it's going to take some time getting used to the idea that I won't always be able to go out and visit a museum with the man I married, because 200 girls are waiting out front, ready to tear us limb from limb."

"Maybe we should go public?"

Zoey pondered his suggestion. "You think? Really?"

Sitting side by side on the bed, Michael rested her head against hers. "No. I'm not ready to share you yet. And plus...today was nothing. Today was a misunderstanding. Imagine if that crowd knew who you were. That...Zo, that scares me."

"That makes two of us," she laughed, pulling his hands into her lap and craning her neck up to brush her lips against his. The pair nuzzled into each other, still sitting side by side, like two snuggling cats. He loved inhaling the sweet scent of her freshly washed hair, and staring at her bare face, which she never covered up with much make-up anyways. But seeing it totally natural was still the best.

"Come to Dallas with me," Michael whispered, after several moments of silence. His warm breath trickled down her cheek, giving her shivers all over.

"You know I can't," she said tenderly, feeling his brow furrow at her answer. He had hoped against hope in vain, thinking there existed a slight possibility she would say yes.

Defeated, but accepting of his fate to deal with the majority of the tour without her, he didn't want to dampen their few precious remaining moments together. "I tried to pack," he mumbled. "I suck."

"You do."

"Hey!"

"You said it, not me. What's so hard about putting your clothes in a bag?"

"You fold them a funny way. They all fit. Not when I do it."

"This your first tour, little boy?" She laughed. "Who packed your luggage before?"

"Me," he grumbled. "But it wasn't all organized and....warm. Like you do it."

She shook her head at his ineptness, knowing a fair portion of it was just him being lazy and wanting her to do things for him in the way that only she could. However, she loved taking care of him, nurturing and doting on him, so at the risk of him thinking she would jump at the snap of his fingers, she dumped his poorly stuffed duffle bag out all over the bed. Socks were mixed with undies, pants were mixed with shirts...it was chaos.

"Oh, Mike..." she sighed while trying to chew back her smile, perturbed but annoyingly charmed. He was just the cutest thing ever. Even when the things he did should piss her off.

"I guess now is the perfect time to segue into something that Branca told me the other day," he said, having flopped back onto the bed, his arms above his head. His royal blue t-shirt hiked up his stomach, giving a look-loo at his nubby little outie belly-button.

"And what would that be?" She asked, bucking her head back in horror after smelling a pair of socks that should most definitely go out for laundry first thing when he arrives in Dallas. For better or for worse, remember....

"You remember that ranch we went to last summer? When Paul and I were doing the short film for Say, Say, Say? Sycamore Valley something or other? "

"Yess..."

"Well, I had sorta, kinda, told Branca to keep an eye on it for me, just in case."

"In case what?"

"In...in case it ever went up for sale."

Zoey eyed him out the top of her lids. "...and you're telling me this because?"

His lips slid upwards into a mischievous smirk. "'Ever' is here. It's for sale."

"What, the house?"

"The house. And the 3,000 acres it sits on."

Zoey burst out laughing, then headed towards the bathroom to collect up his toiletry items. "Three thousand acres, you're funny."

"Zo, I'm serious! Remember how beautiful it was? Remember the house? How it was this perfect little thatched Snow White house? We'd hardly even have to do anything to it, except for the inside, of course. And the view of the mountains? Think of the privacy we could have there. No more holing up in the condo. No more worrying about even taking a walk outside. There's so many things we could do with all that land. I already have ideas. We could turn it into, like, a haven. Not just for us, but for our family and friends, and...and for other people. Other families. Think of what I did with Hayvenhurst, then multiply it by...10. No, a hundred!"

Slowly and hesitantly padding out from the bathroom, she eyed him suspiciously, her arms cradling his leather man-bag full of his shaving cream, razors, deodorant, hair and make-up products. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"Why wouldn't I be? This could be our little place in the world to do with whatever we want."

She nestled his toiletry bag into his suitcase and zipped it shut. All packed.

"C'mere," he said, pulling her in between his legs where he sat on the bed. "Remember how...quiet it was? Remember sitting under that big tree and talking about how great a "climbing" tree it was? Just...close your eyes. Picture the land, the area. Think of what all we could do with it. Think of how beautiful we could make it. Picture the trees, the mountains. It'd be like our own kingdom, Zo. And our babies! Our babies wouldn't have to worry about going outside and having their picture taken by a creepy man in the bushes. They could run around, enjoy the sunshine, enjoy life."

"What's wrong with a suburb area, like Encino?"

"Zo, the lots aren't big enough. The fans can still stalk out the fence line. I don't want us or our babies to be cooped up in a house, or always looking over their shoulder to see if fans are scaling the walls."

She wasn't sold. "It was beautiful..." she hesitantly agreed, which set off his internal bells of victory. "But let's look at this realistically. What about me? What about my shop? That place, wherever it was..."

"...Los Olivos. Well, Los Olivos, Santa Ynez area."

"Right. Los Olivos. I remember it taking me nearly 3 hours to get there. Mike, I can't commute 3 hours each way every day! And what about Maddie, I could never leave her. My shop, my house..."

"She can have her own room, because we can have the whole west side of the house! Remember the master bedroom was, like, two stories, almost a little apartment in and of itself," he pleaded, his chin rested on her stomach, looking up at her with those big brown puppy dog eyes. "And I hadn't figured out the shop situation yet, but I'm sure there's a way to do it. I would never ask you to give that up. I don't want you to give that up. Okay, so what I was thinking, was..."

"Hang on."

"Huh?"

Her eyes narrowed down at him. "You sound awfully...planned out about this already. Now, I'm gonna sniff it out, so why don't you just spill your secrets?"

Michael gulped hard and tensed up, and it didn't go unnoticed by his wife who knew all his quirks.

"What. Did. You. Do."

"Zoey, just...stay calm. It's nothing yet, really...."

"Michael."

"I had Branca send the owner's my offer this morning," he blurted out, then braced for her wrath. "For the whole ranch, all 3,000 acres," he added as an afterthought, before smushing his neck and head down into his shoulders, like a turtle cowering into its shell.

"Oh my GOD!" She squealed, whacking him hard on the shoulders as she shimmied out of his grasp. "Mike??!! Wha....how....where...."

"It's just an offer, Zo...we don't have to do anything."

"You never even told me of any interest in it!" She said, pacing around the room. "What if I had hated the idea?!"

"A-HA! So you are thinking about it," he countered, arching an eyebrow.

"I am most certainly not! What on EARTH would we do with all that land, Mike? Build an amusement park? Or....or....or....or a zoo? Let's be realistic here, I mean c'mon!"

His eyes grew as wide as saucers, and she knew she'd done the worst possible thing to do.

She'd given him more ideas.

Crap.

"Well, the offer is in," he said smugly, leaning back onto his elbows. "So...don't get your panties in a knot until we even know if they take a nibble at it."

"Do I want to even ask what you offered?" She mumbled wearily.

Michael looked up to the ceiling, his lips bunched up to one side. "Probably not," he replied with a tone of satisfaction.

"Jesus. And here I was, thinking the Beatles catalog was going to be your most ridiculous purchase this year."

"Don't think of it as a purchase, think of it as an investment..."

"Yeah, yeah yeah. Let's just wait and see Mr. Money Bags." Zoey surveyed the room, not seeing anything still lingering around that should be in a suitcase. The group's private plane was set to depart from the old Kansas City downtown airport, they had to leave in less than an hour. Her own flight didn't leave until 7:30 pm, so when everyone else was dropped off, she was just going to take a taxi cab up to the bigger, commercial airport. Michael wasn't too keen on this idea—but since she was going in an entirely different direction, there weren't many other options. He had asked to at least arrange for a private driver, but she pish poshed the idea.

"We're all packed and ready to go," she sighed sadly. "It's almost time to leave."

"Wanna create a delay?" Michael asked suggestively, giving his slender hips a little waggle.

"Stooop," she whined, barely able to hide her smirk.

"Oh, c'mon. I can be fast."

"I don't want you to be fast." Her face was as red as a beet, and she knew it.

"What if I did something bad and needed punishment?"

"Oh..my...Mike! You're too much."

"Tell me about it," he said, rolling his hips again.

"You behave yourself," Zoey sassily warned him. "I'm going to get a soda from the vending machine. You want?"

"You offering?" His voice called out after her, though the door had already shut behind her. Laughing, she padded down the plush carpeting of the s****y hotel, put her twenty five cents into the machine and received a chilled Diet Coke ("Suck it, Pepsi.") in return. She ran into Tito in the hallway and had a brief chat about what she thought about the tour, what their plans were for more visits, etc, then headed back to the room.

The soda nearly spilled from her hand once she crossed the distance of the suite's living area and into the bedroom.

Clothes were strewn everywhere. All over the bed, all over the floor. The headboard of the bed, the dresser. They had to leave in...40 minutes! And in the middle of the mayhem, was her husband.

"What did you do?! Why did you do this?!!" She breathlessly questioned, seeing the contents of her previously meticulously assembled suitcases back to every corner of the room.

"I bought us some extra time..." he cooed from his crossed legged position on the bed, his chest puffed out in pride at the execution of his superb plan.

"You....YOU....you're like a bad kitten!! What the hell?!" She shrieked, picturing a cat's body with Michael's head, batting around a ball of yarn and tearing apart a gift bag, gleefully dragging tissue paper all over the place. Or rather, digging into a suitcase and hurling clothes all over the room.

"Now you have to stay," he said. "...and re-pack."

"I could kill you, you know that right?" She fumed, though the sweetness of the situation was slowly overshadowing its annoyance.

"Nah, I'm stronger than you."

"Wanna bet?" She lunged at him and tackled him into a head lock, as they grunted and shrieked, laughing and lolling around on the bed (and on top of all the clothes).

"I'm still mad," she grunted through her laughter, when true to his word, Michael pinned her body underneath his in a secure hold. He was, and would always be, much stronger than her. She might lift 50 lbs bags of sugar and flour all the time, but compared to him, she was a weakling.

"Don't be mad," he said sweetly in a sing-song voice. "I'll help you re-pack. And now we have about 15 extra minutes."

"Mike," she whimpered. "I didn't want to re-pack. I hate packing. And I already did it once."

"I'm sorry," he said, nuzzling her nose with his own. "I can make it up to you."

"By re-packing everything you just undid? BY YOURSELF? Because we both know you fail at it miserably? Really, now."

"No....," his grin turned sinister. "I can do that...thing you like."

Annnnndddddd......her insides turned to mush.

"Wha...what thing?" She stumbled over her words. Grinning like the Cheshire Cat he was, Michael melted into her and whispered a few magic words into her ear.

"Oh. That thing," she tried to reply nonchalantly, trying to play it cool. "I don't know, now I've got all this extra work, and it needs to get done so you can catch your plane on time, and this is really all your fault you know, and I think it would be irresponsible of us to engage in sexual shenanigans, when you've just been a very bad boy..."

Michael's already chocolate eyes turned over black, as his mischievous lust took over. He dipped his mouth into hers, taking all of her lips in a lingering kiss. He shifted his body so that it effortlessly fell between her womanly thighs, as his sweet pink tongue taunted her with his proposal.

"Okay...maybe....maybe real quick," she mewled, after he had briefly pulled away.

"Nuh uh...when I do that thing....I take my time."

"Shut up and kiss me already!"

"You're so bossy toda—" he tried to say, but was muffled.

Needless to say, Michael and Zoey were late getting to the car that evening.

___________________

"He what?!?!

"Yeah, that's pretty much how I reacted, too."

"So, wait...he bought it, right?"

"Oh no. No. Just put in an offer."

"How much?" She whispered, after a lengthy pause.

"I honestly have no idea. I didn't ask."

"And you're saying that this place is, like, a three hour drive away?"

"Yup," Zoey said, nodding her head slowly.

"No," Maddie answered, matter-of-factly. "You're not allowed."

"Allowed to move?"

"Yes. I'm...I'm not allowing it," she said, sticking her nose up in the air and folding her arms across her chest.

"That's fine, 'cause I'm not really considering it."

"Good."

"I mean...I hate to sound selfish, but seriously. What about me?" Zoey huffed, then bolted up off the couch and stomped into the kitchen. Grabbing her step stool for a few extra inches of height, she stretched up on her tippy toes, reaching into the cabinets above the fridge, before pulling out what she sought. The bag of barbeque pork rinds crinkled in her hands as she wrestled it out from its secret hiding spot. Hopping off the stool, she hastily undid the twist-tie, tossed it aside, and dug in.

"I hawf my shlopp. I hawf my caweer," she slurred with a mouth full of barbeque goodness. Crumbs collected on her shirt and on the counter top as she pounded chip after chip. "My lifwe and fweends!" She gestured wildly with her hands as chips flew all over the kitchen. "I'm a big deal!! Bwides would kwill to get booked wiff me!"

Horrified at the scene of desperate gluttony, and with Sophie nestled on her lap, Maddie covered the piglet's eyes, much as you would a child's during a dirty scene in a movie. The pig squeaked and tried to wriggle free, but Maddie held tight.

It was just too scary.

"Zoey?"

"Whaff?" She mumbled, shoving a fresh handful of deep fried pork skin into her mouth.

"You live with a vegetarian and you keep a bag of pork rinds hidden in a cabinet?"

"Yeah? So?"

Maddie looked to the pink blob in her lap. "You own a pig as a pet."

Zoey looked to the little porker, her eyes covered by Maddie's hand, one ear perked upright in the air. She gave a quick snort, as if knowing she was being talked about.

"Sophie knows I'll never eat her," Zoey reasoned matter-of-factly, as if it were common knowledge.

"You understand how deranged this is though, right?"

"She understands I'm 'off'," she said, still confused as to what exactly the problem was. "I never eat them in front of her. That would just be...inappropriate."

"And...now?"

"This is an EMERGENCY," she hissed, before shoving more rinds in.

Sophie tried to squiggle free again. "No, Sophie. Don't look." Maddie whispered. "Mommy isn't well."

"Ya know...so what if *crunch* it's the most beautiful valley ever. And...*crunch* you know...like, the house is already perfect. *crunch* And...*crunch* it's totally private and away from the *crunch* city and we could have an actual...*crunch*....life there. Psssst." She dramatically rolled her eyes.

Maddie stared on wordlessly, listening to Zoey desperately try to convince herself that moving to this secluded utopia wasn't in their best interests.

"Oh, and THEN," she continued, still chewing away. "THEN, get this. He started talking about...wait for it...babies. BABIES. Yeah right, like we're even remotely ready for little...you know....little...toffee colored, curly headed, big browned eyed tubby little babies running around in their teeny tiny diapers. *crunch*"

"Zo..."

"And...and.......and.....and *crunch*.....I'm not ready to have kids just yet. I'm twenty-freaking-one. AND...you know what? I-I-I....I like my vagina the way it is. And Mikedefinitely likes my vagina. And I'm not ready for it to get all stretched out and saggy. Because you know that when I have Mike's gorgeous toffee babies they're going to be 30 inches long, and 20 of that? Is just going to be legs! No way, no, no, no. Not ready."

*crunch*

"I mean...really. Really? Really. I'm not ready for toffee babies!"

Huffing and pacing the kitchen, Zoey tossed the now empty bag of rinds into the trash can. Clutching her stomach, she groaned loudly. "I feel sick now."

"I'll bet. You just ate an entire pig," Maddie scoffed sarcastically. "I'd let Sophie go now, but I'm sure your breath smells like hog and I don't want her to be traumatized. What if just you, like....ate her aunt?"

"I'm gonna barf," Zoey whimpered, collapsing onto the sofa. Sophie waddled over to her, leaned her snout in to give her mom a kiss, then recoiled in horror, hopped off the couch with a thud and a squawk, and scampered away.

"See?" Maddie scolded. "She knows you eat her kind."

"Shut up please," she wailed, flopping her face into a pillow. "What am I gonna do?"

"I dunno, I guess you can stick your finger down your throat if you're that miserable."

"About the house, Mad. The land, the ranch."

Maddie scooched over to her, pulled her backwards so that her sweaty face rested in her lap and stroked her hair. "Look, from a best friend's perspective, of course I don't want you to move away. I would be just...gutted. Ripped to pieces. It's not like you were moving to Russia or something, but the thought of not seeing you everyday already makes my heart sick. You have the shop to think about, too."

Zoey belched loudly, the gassy odor of barbequed pig smacking Maddie square in the face. She gently rubbed her aching belly.

"But," she continued, shuddering and now choking back her own bile. "Your guy's number 1 concern is privacy. And this ranch, from the way you speak of it, was built for just that."

"So what are you saying?"

"What am I saying? Well, begrudgingly, I'm saying you should at least go check it out properly with him before you put your foot down, one way or the other."

Zoey sighed, her tummy calming down some. "I know. I mean, I remember the ranch from when I visited when Mike was doing the video with Paul McCartney..."

"...speaking of which, I heard a rumor that Michael is trying to buy a whole bunch of his music."

"Where did you hear that?"

"One of those dumb television shows. Entertainment Tonight, or something. So, is it true?"

"Yup."

"Aren't him and Paul friends? Isn't that kind of...shady?"

"It's just business," Zoey replied with a shrug. "According to Mike, Paul was offered the catalog, he passed it up, so now its fair game for whoevers gots the cash."

"Why would he have passed up taking ownership of his own music?"

"Don't ask me. I know nothing. I'm just the wife," Zoey laughed. "Anyways..yeah. I'll do it. If Mike had enough foresight to see this ranch as a place we can raise our toffee babies and grow old at, the least I can do is entertain his whims, ya know?"

"Right. And hey, you may actually hate it! So...chin up!"

"Mad...I don't think I will. At all. That's the problem."

____________________________

The weather was hot and sticky, and Zoey's green shorts were already chafing her inner thighs as she rolled her suitcase down the hallway of the luxury hotel in Jacksonville Florida. The first class plane ticket that had been waiting for her at LAX wasn't to arrive in Florida until 9 pm that evening, but a stand-by coach seat on an earlier flight was available, so she hopped planes and planned to surprise Michael by getting into town several hours earlier. Bill had met her in the lobby of the hotel and slipped her a room key.

Giddy as a little girl, she jangled the key in the lock as quietly as she could, then nudged open the door and stepped into the warm room. Michael didn't like to run the air conditioning very hard, even during the nasty summer months, as the cool, dry air was awful for his vocal chords. The heavy red curtains were drawn, those slivers of the mid-afternoon sunlight eeked through the slits, slashing the room with golden streaks of 'magic hour'. A pair of crossed, white socked feet became visible at the end of the bed, ankles lightly bouncing to an unheard beat while the television rumbled loudly from the entertainment chest.

"Surpri---," she started to shout, after jumping in front of him, when a large pillow hit her square in the face.

"Ooooh, in the face!!!" Michael laughed from the bed, rolling onto his stomach and sticking his butt up in the air like a cat.

"How did you know it was me?!" She pouted, her purse falling to the floor with an unceremonious 'thud'.

"I knew it was you the second you opened the door."

"But how?"

"My secret. C'mere," he cooed, having flopped back onto his back and holding his arms out for her to fall into.

"No. You hit me with a pillow. You come to me," she said, playing the pout game, knowing full well the second he got up she was going to pounce on him anyways.

"Oh, fine ya big baby," he grumbled with a sly smirk, easing up off the bed.

"Ahhhhh!!!!" Zoey shrieked once he had stood upright, her hands slapping her cheeks in horror.

"What? What?" Michael asked, frantically looking around him, thinking a fan had crawled out from under the bed or something.

"You're skin and bones!!!" She wailed, eyeing his frail frame from head to toe before making a beeline for the phone, searching the hieroglyphics of the menu then hastily jabbing a few numbers. "How could.....not possible....it's only been two weeks....hello, room service? Yes, I'm in room 2258 and I need, um....2 baked potatoes with extra butter and sour cream. Real butter, not that fake crap. And, um....onion rings, extra...fatty. And do you have sugar cereal, like Lucky Charms or Sugar Smacks? You do, great. Send up...I dunno, 3 or 4 boxes of those. Whatever cake you have in house. Chocolate is fine. Um....what else. SUNDAES! Ice cream sundaes. Lots of candies and hot fudge and caramel sauce. (pause) No, this is not a prank! This is serious! I need some calories up here!"

"Zoey," a low voice crooned from behind her, as a pair of hands wrapped around her waist from behind, which slowly began to travel to the parts of her body that had her stuttering into the phone. "It's good to see you, too," Michael said, his red corduroys having fallen off his hips and pooled at his feet after having undone the button and fly.

"Um...der....no...that....that'll be all," she stammered, her knees going wobbly when his large hands rubbed up the length of her body to cup her breasts. His body pressed up against the length of her backside, his warm breath trickled down her neck, just as his lips found that spot behind her ear. One of her "buttons", as he liked to call it. His hand slithered to another button, an actual button, as he expertly flicked loose her jeans as he slipped his hands down the side of her hips and underneath the waist band, the cursed fabric slipping down her toned thighs and settling at her own feet.

"Um...yes...that was room twenty...twenty two...fif.....fifty eight....."

His mouth continued to torture the smooth skin of her neck from his position behind her, his hands now toying with the side strings of her pink undies.

"Charge it to the room please!" She finally blurted out, slamming the phone down on the receiver and spinning into his arms. Their lips crashed into each others with the fervent want and need made more intense by their time spent apart.

"I told you I lose weight on tour," he muffled against their lips, carefully shuffling their bodies towards the bed as his wife hung from his neck, and his pants still cuffed his ankles.

"Mmmm.....mmmm...." she moaned, writhing against him as their bodies flopped onto the bed and they each kicked their pants off. Lolling around on the plush mattress, they came to a stop with Zoey perched above him, straddling his hips as he lie beneath her, helplessly.

"You miss me?" She asked with a sly smirk, tugging off her flowy turquoise blouse, then reaching back to yank her hair tie out, letting her wavy crimson mane cascade down her shoulders. Michael loved making love with her hair down.

Michael gazed upwards at the half-naked goddess sitting on his lap. Her flushed countenance, her pink, swollen lips. Her dark chocolate doe-eyes, hooded by lashes a mile long. He loved the way her supple belly puckered ever so slightly in this position. It was so womanly, so full. Flat and toned, yet still with a slight squishyness that made his heart skip a few beats. His huge mitts released their grip on her thighs, as he reached upwards to twist and curl his hands and wrists into her long mane, gently tugging her downwards when doing so.

"Mmm hmm...can I show you how much?" His voice rumbled suggestively, just before his lips melted into hers.

The knock on the door from room service went unanswered for obvious reasons.

Two Hours Later

"I can't move," she whispered, her body limp and still, nestled up next to his.

"Good. Stay next to me like this. Forever," his grumbly voice drawled, rolling his body onto his side to face her, his index finger drawing lazy circles all over her torso. "I like it when you do that one move, by the way."

"What move?"

"You know...." he said while smiling and nudging his nose into her neck. "When you....get on top."

"Oh...that," she blushed, feeling like a shy virgin all over again. The pair had added some new, shall we say, moves to their repertoire, and Michael had taken a particular liking to the ones in which Zoey took the lead. She too rolled over to face him, her legs effortlessly interlocking with his as their sweaty, bare bodies pressed against each other.

Too many nights had passed without feeling the other's warm form at their side. Tour was grueling. Tour was hell. In the physical sense as much as the debilitating distance it inevitably created between couples. Zoey had heard many horror stories about touring from Michael, but never regarding him. The way his father and his brothers were, the way they took advantage of the many, many women who had no problem handing over their bodies to a superstar for a few minutes of bliss and a lifetime's worth of one great story. Of one great lay. They had spoken for hours with Michael venting to her about how tour life had left such a sour taste in his mouth, because 5% of their time was actually performing for the fans, the other 95% was figuring out what the hell to do with all of your time in between. His brothers (at least back in the old days) had found a splendid way to watch the hours tick by, and Michael never wanted anything to do with it. Ever. In an odd way, having the warm body of his wife at his side made him a little gloomy, because in this moment, there was no where else in the country, in the world he would rather be. And yet...in a few days, he would have to go to these places. Without her by his side.

Touring sucked.

"Your hair is getting so long," she whispered, raking her fingers through his damp locks. "I like it."

"I'm thinking of keeping it longer."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mmm," he hummed, his body begging for some much needed sleep after having treated it so deliciously for the past couple of hours.

A while later, Zoey slipped out of the bed, tossed on a fluffy white robe courtesy of the hotel and fetched the room service food that had been left outside the door. Everything was fine for the most part, save for the ice cream sundae that had melted into a puddle of goo. After stuffing themselves silly on the mountain of junk, most of which she made Michael eat, she began to sift through his luggage.

"I need underwear!" he shouted, his head hanging out of the shower's sliding doors, shampoo running down his face and into his eyes.

"I see that!!" she hollered back, noticing only two pairs of drawers in his bag. Michael had a bad habit of treating undergarments as disposable items, throwing them away once having been worn. When at home, Zoey scooped them up and threw them in the laundry, like the majority of the population. But while on tour, Michael must have figured that sending out his dirty drawers for laundry service was a tabloid story in the making, and so he just would send someone out to buy new ones once he ran low.

Padding into the bathroom with her purse slung over her shoulder, Zoey pulled back the door to the shower, shamelessly oogling her hubby's (if at present, too thin) naked, soapy body.

"You're letting all the cold air in," he whined.

"I'm running to Macy's across the street to buy you undies."

"Thank you baby!"

"Hanes thirties, right?"

"Right!"

She shut the door and exited the bathroom, when Michael stuck his head out once again and yelled after her. "Baby! Make 'em thirty twos! I don't want 'em too tight!"

_____________________

Her Macy's bag in hand, full of goodies including brand spankin' new undies for her man, perfume, and a saucy little number she picked up for herself in the 'unmentionables' department, Zoey strolled down the street, walking the distance back towards the hotel. As usual, a crowd had gathered around the opening, waiting for a glimpse, ananything of one of the guys. Some were frantic, some were excited, all were happy. Off to the side, Zoey spotted a young girl, perhaps around 14 or 15, sitting off to the side of the lobby doors, head in hands. She looked...sad. Depressed. Two emotions not necessarily seen by fans waiting outside the hotel. For some reason, Zoey was drawn to her.

"Are you alright?" She asked the pretty brunette, who looked up at her, her dark brown eyes filled with gloom.

"No," she sniffled meekly, tucking a strand of her long hair behind her ear.

"Why are you out here all by yourself?" Zoey said gently.

"I wanted to ask someone a question."

"Who?"

"You know...them," she said, gesturing up to the building.

"Ahh," Zoey said, playing along. "The Jacksons are here, aren't they?"

"Uh huh."

"What did you need to ask?"

"Well," she began with a sigh. "I started saving up my money the moment I knew they were coming to town. I babysat whenever I could, I mowed lawns, I ran errands for people, I did everything. I saved up nearly $60! I thought that would be more than enough to buy two tickets, one for me and one for my friend. Then....then they announced that you had to buy at least FOUR tickets for over a hundred dollars! I don't have that kind of money!"

Zoey sat down next to the girl on the cool, shaded marble. "So, you didn't get any?"

"No! I couldn't!" Her eyes were now brimming with tears. "I had worked so hard to save up my money, and it was only half of what I needed."

"I can see why you're upset," Zoey coaxed, remember her conversations with Michael over how angry he was at this ticketing system. And sitting here, right before her, crying, was exactly what was wrong with it. A kid, working her ass off to save up enough money for tickets, only to get turned away, in a roundabout way, by that slug Don King. "So, who did you come here to talk to?"

"I dunno. Anyone," she shrugged. "I knew Michael would never come down, but I thought maybe the brothers would. I wanted to ask why they're being so selfish."

Ouch.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Selena."

"Selena, my name is Zoey. I'm sure the brothers don't mean to make you feel bad. With these big events and spectacles, there's so many people involved. From managers to promoters, to...to you name it! And a lot of ideas get throw around, and unfair as it sounds, sometimes the group doesn't really even have a say in it. Ya know?"

"Sorta."

"I know you're upset, believe me. When I was younger, Led Zeppelin came to the US to tour. I was obsessed with them. See, I grew up in Kansas City, and they were only coming to St. Louis, which was about a four hour drive away. I begged and pleaded to my parents to take me, but they wouldn't. I was crushed. Just devastated. The night they were in town, I remember looking up at the stars, actually being mad at the all the people in St. Louis who got to see them while I was stuck at home. I guess my point it....well, I don't really have a point," she laughed. "Other than...I know how you feel. Having a dream within your grasp, being so close to it, only to not see it come true."

"So...did you ever see them? That band?"

"No. Unfortunately, that turned out to be their last US tour. Okay," Zoey said, perking up. "Here's the silver lining I was trying to find. I don't know about the Jacksons, but Mike...uh, er...Michael will definitely do another tour. I promise you!"

"Yeah," she said, still dejected.

Wait a second. Wait just a darn second here.

"Selena, stay here for a second, okay?"

"Why?"

"Just...just don't leave. I'm going to go up to my room then come back and get you in a few seconds."

"You're staying here?"

"Sorta," she winked. Leaving Selena outside with the rest of the fans, Zoey flashed her room key at one of the hotel's doormen, gaining access to the building. Rushing up to her room and barreling through the door, she had worked out the plan on the long elevator ride up.

About twenty minutes later, Zoey, on cloud 9, rushed back outside, elated to see the girl had in fact stayed.

"Want to get a soda or a snack in the restaurant?"

"Nah, my mom said she'd pick me up in..." she glanced at her watch. "...she'll be here in 30 minutes."

"Oh, c'mon. If you can't go to the concert tomorrow, you can at least say you ate a meal in the 5 star hotel that the Jacksons themselves were staying at!"

Tugging back a smile, Selena stood up and followed Zoey through the crush of fans into the hotel lobby.

"You hair is pretty," she said, taking in her long red hair.

"Thanks," Zoey said, blushing.

Rounding the corner to the eatery, Zoey led the girl to a booth towards the back of the restaurant, quite secluded from the rest of the patrons, few as there were. The room was dimly lit, which added a lushness to the rich mahogany accented ambience.

"Just look through the menu and pick out whatever you want! I'm gonna rush to the bathroom."

Now happy as a clam, Selena picked up the large menu, held it upright in front of her face as she read through the dozens of menu items, thinking there was no way she could ever decide. A presence landed in the booth seat across from the table, and simply thinking it was the nice lady about to buy her a nice meal, she kept on reading.

"There's too much to choose from!"

Nothing.

"What should I get? I want to be fancy, but the fried chicken tenders just sound too good. I think I'll get them."

Settled with her choice, she lowered her menu.

And froze.

Across from her.

Was.

Michael Jackson.

"Selena, don't scream," he said softly to the trembling girl who muttered something inaudible in response.

"Are you okay?"

"Uh.....uh......," the beet faced girl stammered.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod.

"My name is Michael, it's nice to meet you," he said calmly, extending a large hand across the distance of the table. Meekly, she reached up to return his gesture, taking notice of how her hand was nearly enveloped by his.

"What...what's.....whats going on?" Was she on some sort of hidden camera show? Was this real? DID SHE DIE?!

"It's funny, I was walking down the hallway and some crazy redheaded lady was talking to herself about some nice girl who was waiting outside for one of us, because she didn't think the ticketing system was fair and was upset at us. Just water, please," he added to the waiter who had appeared tableside.

"It's...well, it's not." Selena said, a sudden wave of confidence showing up, as she straightened upright in her seat.

"I agree. I tried to get them to change it, but they couldn't. Or rather, wouldn't."

"But...but...but you're Michael Jackson!"

"Yes, but in a group, everyone is equal. And in the Jacksons, I'm just another vote. Sucks sometimes," he said, laughing. "How much money did you save for tickets?"

"I saved $60. I thought it would have been plenty."

"It should have been, Selena. Sometimes on these big tours, there's people who make up the rules who don't always have the fans in mind."

"That's the same thing Zoey said!"

"Zoey?"

"The lady. The lady who brought me here."

"Does this lady have bright red hair?"

"Yeah, long and wavy."

"Right, same lady I saw in the hallway talking about you. That's how I found you. I came straight down."

"Really?" Her eyes grew as wide as saucers, at the notion that Michael Jackson came, essentially, running to her rescue.

"You're a fan, and its you guys who are the most important. Which is why..." he hiked up his right buttcheek and reached for his back pocket. ".....I brought these for you."

He placed four strips of rectangle paper on the table and slid them her way. Selena looked down at the tickets, stunned and speechless.

"And..." he held up a finger, signaling her to wait. "...these." Four other passes appeared. "Backstage passes. After the show, which you'll now be attending, I want you to come back stage and hang out with me and my brothers. Can you make it?"

Selena reached out, grabbed all 8 tickets and clutched them tightly to her heart, looking at her hero. "Thank you," she whispered in a heart felt voice, her eyes wet and glassy, though this time with tears of happiness. "Thank you so much."

"Thank you, Selena. My fans are everything to me, and if you're upset, I hurt. Remember that."

"I will," she exhaled breathlessly.

"Okay.." Michael continued, suspiciously glancing around the room. "I have to go now before I create a scene."

"Can I have a hug?" She blurted out, not wanting her dreamlike encounter to end.

"You sure can," Michael said, sliding out of his booth, as she did the same. Selena gracefully slid into his outstretched arms and wrapped her own around his torso, planting her cheek into the soft fabric of his shirt as she nestled into his chest. Michael gently started swaying their bodies back and forth, his hand palming the back of her head and smoothing her hair down.

'You're so warm,' Selena thought to herself. 'And you give the best hugs ever.'

"All better?" He asked.

"Yes," she said, smiling from ear to ear. "Thank you Michael."

Flashing a wide grin, Michael started to turn away, but remembered something. "Oh, one last thing!" He said, moving back to her.

"What?"

"You have to close your eyes to get this one."

"Um...okay," Selena laughed, doing as he told. She felt his presence make a quick move past her and something on the table rustled. Then...a pair of soft lips upon her cheek.

"Enjoy the concert Selena, and I'll see you afterwards, okay?"

And just as quickly as he had appeared....he was gone.

Slumping back down in her seat, she stared googly eyed off into space, repeatedly looking at the tickets in her hand as some sort of evidence that what she thought had just happened, actually did.

Scurrying around the corner, he gave a playful wink at his beloved wife, who had orchestrated and watched the whole thing.

"You're a good man," she said, as he passed her.

"You think I'm good, you should meet my girl," Michael countered with a wink, before disappearing into the elevator.

Nonchalantly, Zoey sauntered back over to the table, trying not to giggle at the awestruck girl.

"Oof! Sorry it took me so long! Some lady was hogging the bathroom! So...what did you decide on?" She asked, flipping open her own menu.

Selena continued to wistfully stare off into the distance.

"Selena? Earth to Selena!"

"Sorry? What?"

"What do you want to eat?"

"Oh....um...." she picked up her menu, and when she opened up the flap, something fell into her lap.

"What was that?" Zoey asked, peeking over the table.

Slowly, Selena plucked the item out of her lap and with humongous eyes, and lifted it up for Zoey to see.

A single, white, left handed, sequin studded glove.

_______________________________


Two days later, two shows later, and one after-show meeting with a very star-struck Selena later, Zoey and Michael were back in their room, ready to hit the hay now that it was the wee hours of the morning.

"Do you go to bed at 2am on your off days, too?" She moaned, sliding in between the crisp satin sheets of the bed, snuggling into him, mindful of splaying her showered hair on the pillow behind her, rather than on his skin.

"Sometimes," he muttered, nearing sleep. He draped a long arm around her body. They were like lock and key. Every nook and cranny he had on his body, held the parts of hers perfectly. Her legs locked within his. Her hips into the dip of his abdominals. Her chest into his ribcage. Her head nestled on his shoulder. It was almost instantaneous; when they fit together, it was so natural, so comforting, that sleep generally claimed them immediately.

"Mike?" She asked. "You know the ranch?"

"Sycamore Valley?"

"Yeah. Well, I was thinking that...I'd....that I'd give it a chance."

"Really?" He said, his sleepy eyes fluttering open. "You want to visit?"

"I'll visit it. But it's just a visit, okay? There's still way, way, way too much to discuss before we make a purchase like that. So...don't get too excited just yet."

"I won't, I promise," he said, craning his head to kiss her forehead. "So...I should probably go ahead and tell you then, that they accepted my offer."

"Is that so. And?"

"They're sitting on it, because I had to tell them I'm not ready to finalize. I would never actually sign off on it behind your back. I knew just making an offer was going to get me into hot water."

"Which is why you seduced me right after you told me?"

"Partly," he chortled, his heavy eyes fluttering shut once again.

"Mike?"

"Yessssss?" He replied again, sort of wishing she'd fall asleep already.

"Are we...we're not....are...are you ready for toffee babies?"

"Toffee what? Is that some kind of a candy?"

"No, no," she laughed, realized that that nickname for their future little ones had only been between her and Maddie. "Um...real babies. Kids."

His eyes popped open, and his brows furrowed. "Are you?" He peeked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"I asked first."

"I can't answer that, what if my answer isn't what you want to hear and I crush your feelings? You first."

"What if my answer isn't what you want to hear?"

"On the count of three."

"One...two...three..."

"No," they both answered in unison.

"Really? Really?" He asked, perching up on his elbow. "You're not?"

"You're not either? I thought for sure you'd be itching to do that as soon as possible."

"What's your reason?" Michael asked.

"Honestly? I just...I just want to be married to you and not jump straight into kids. I love them dearly and that's obviously in the cards, but they're so much work and I'm not ready to give up us just yet. Am I a selfish cow?"

"No more than I am. I've been thinking about this too, and Zo...I need to prove that Thriller wasn't...isn't just some fluke and that I can do it again. I need another album. I need to concentrate on one more before I'll be ready. I want to be a good father to our babies, and that's all I want to do. For awhile, anyways. Then I can think of another album in the distance, after they're a little older. I don't want them to not know who their daddy is because I've buried myself in my studio."

"I'm so RELIEVED," she wailed, smashing her face into his chest. "I got completely freaked out when you were talking about the ranch back in KC and immediately jumped to babies. I thought you were wanting to get cracking on that asap, and I felt like such a jerk for not wanting to."

"Nope," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "No babies just yet. Deal?"

"Deal."

They shook on it.

"In the meantime, we can just practice for when we need to," he growled, rolling atop her as she giggled helplessly beneath him.

"A lot."

___________________________

It didn't take long for them to break their 14-day rule of not seeing each other, but in the short space between shows in New York and Knoxville, Michael jetted back to LA, for they had set up a time to visit Sycamore Valley Ranch with Michael's lawyer John Branca.

"Are we not talking to a realtor?" Zoey asked, as Bill drove the car through the winding roads leading into the mountains and valleys of the Santa Ynez area.

"Not this time," John said with a smile. "Michael wants you two to get a feel for the house just by yourselves. If we want to move further, we'll move further."

After nearly 3 hours of driving, the car finally came to a stop in front of a large iron gate, where Branca, keys in hand, got out of the car and unlocked the gate so the "tour" could continue.

Smushed up against the window like a curious puppy, Zoey immediately remembered the rolling hills and lush greenery of the land from when she visited Michael on the Say, Say, Say set. The summertime had done the area justice, as the grass and trees were in full bloom of vibrant greens, reds, yellows and pinks. The gravel pathway they were driving on added a rustic feel to the land, though it already felt very much "country"—an ambiance Zoey was quite familiar with having grown up in the Midwest. Horses wandered the property, their shiny brown coats gleaming against the afternoon sun as they grazed peacefully wherever they pleased on the 3,000 acre lot. The sky was a brilliant baby blue with fluffy popcorn clouds, free of the ever increasing layer of smog that was inescapable in the city. You could actually take a deep breath out here without smelling either pollution or ethnic food of some type. She rolled down her window and let the clean, fresh wind whip her face, inhaling the intoxicating scent of wildflowers and freshly mown grass.

"Well?" Michael asked from his seat beside her, her childlike joy of nature not going unnoticed to him.

"It's beautiful," she cooed, now being able to fully see the property while not obscured in any way by a production set with video cameras, lighting equipment and 100 workers.

"See that big well of land over there?" He nestled up behind her and pointed his finger out the window while his chin rested upon her shoulder. "We could put a lake in that little dip of an area."

The further in they moved, the more the mountains enclosed them on either side. They were hilly, green mountains, not snowcapped ones. She immediately understood the exact definition of "privacy", now being in this gorgeous valley.

A house came into view in the distance. They had briefly visited the house and its owner William last summer when they were here. The house, for all of the riches of land it sat on, was relatively modest. It was a mansion, no doubt, but it wasn't so sprawling that it felt unwelcoming or too vast, but rather...just right. Enough room to never feel like you were cramped or living atop one another, but small enough to still feel like a "home", much in the way her own condo did. It wasn't too small, it wasn't too big. It was just right.

The Tudor style home, much like...well, almost exactly like Hayvenhurst, sat on a grassy knoll of land centered towards the middle of the entire property. Several mature oak trees shrouded the home with its scraggly branches and large leaves, which was flat and sprawling with several different sections of bay style windows and individually tiled roofs. A romantic mix of stone and woods in a monochromatic brown color scheme made Zoey feel like she had stepped into the pages of a fairy tale.

The car came to a stop and the foursome exited. Michael took Zoey's hand and led her up the cobblestone walkways.

"Lots of room for gardening. You'll probably not want to do it all yourself, but look at all the space you could have."

She only nodded, her eyes still scanning the property, which was basically move-in ready.

They entered the foyer of the house, the earthy smell of polished wood permeated her senses, as the meticulously architected house introduced itself to her, once again. Ornate, shiny wood lined nearly any corner or straight line, while the parquet flooring sent her geometry loving heart into a tizzy. The walls were an off-white color which she generally couldn't stand, she had to have color, but for the overall design of the house, nothing could have looked better. Large golden chandeliers hung from the ceilings, which were tall in the foyer, yet low and cozy in rooms like the main family room.

"And...the kitchen is through here," John said, ushering them into the open kitchen with a large center island, perfect for party hosting, or for little kids to sit at and eat waffles on a lazy Sunday morning. The cabinets were of glass and the same dark wood through the entirety of the house.

"It's like...almost a commercial kitchen," she gushed, checking out the 8 burner gas range and double stacked ovens. "Oh, but this will need to change. Probably to copper," she added, pointing to the stainless steel hoods that offered little to the décor.

Michael and Branca exchanged a knowing glance at each other at Zoey already pointing out things she'll redecorate.

The master bedroom was something else just on its own. Two floors, split level and open, complete with its own private patio, fireplace and master bathroom, equipped with a king-sized bathtub against a wall of windows. The master bed alone was as big as her whole house.

"It's so big," she said with an air of uncertainty, which Michael caught onto.

"Yeah, but there's so much we could do with just this one space. We could make a whole 'nother living room just down here."

"Then what about the regular living room?"

"That'll get used when guests or family come over."

"I 'spose..." she continued, still wanting to peruse the area, so they took another spin around the house. There were plenty of guest rooms, plenty of bathrooms. Enough for Michael's entire family to come over and visit, enough for Maddie to come and spend as much time here as she wanted to.

"We could put in an entirely different guest house, too," Michael had said. "Sky's the limit, Zo."

Branca cleared his throat. "It's worth mentioning that our contractor checked out the place, and he said that save for a few minor exterior issues with the wood, the house is in otherwise top-notch condition. Foundation is good, plumping is good, the roof was re-done just last winter. Not to mention the privacy is just unheard of. Certainly nothing you could ever find in LA proper."

With arms folded and mind racing, Zoey traced her hand along the gorgeous mantle above the fireplace in the main living room, where they had now returned to.

She loved it. It was gorgeous. It was perfect. It was everything they needed to remain private, to remain sane in the harsh face of Michael's superstardom. It scared her to admit how much the entirety of the ranch was tugging on her heart strings. It scared her to admit how she felt like weeping, right here and now, for reasons she couldn't even pin point.

But...her shop? Her business? Her career? What was to become of that? She'd be fooling herself if she said that not having such a heavy hand as of late wasn't of some minor relief. Business was still booming and the new decorators she had hired were doing spectacular jobs on carrying out her visions. But...when she was with Michael, she could only think about how loved she felt and how complete she felt when with him, even doing silly mundane things like curling up and watching movies and eating pizza. And when she was away from him? She thought of him even more. Missing him, wanting him. Even when he did things that drove her nuts like leaving apple cores all over the house, or wet towels on the floor, or trapping her against his body while under the bed covers and tooting. She even missed that, crazy (and gross) as it sounds.

But those were the things that made their relationship, their marriage. The little things, that only the other knew.

That's what made them each other's. This was her life. This was her husband. They could have a life here, free from hiding, free from the press, the photographers wanting to hunt them down. They could take a walk whenever they wanted to, rain or shine, day or night.

This could be their paradise. She remembered talking to Michael long ago, nearly after they had first met, about their shared love of J.M Barrie and his play Peter Pan. Michael had told Zoey, quite bashfully, that he had felt like Peter Pan, because he never wanted to ever become so serious that he forgot how to play, how to live, how to have fun. And that if paradise existed, it existed as Neverland, a place of freedom and innocence, where the only rule is that those who are lost are to help others who are lost to create their own perfect world. Their own magic world.

What was right?

What was the right choice?

_______________________

Fall, 1970

"Oh, baby give me one more chance, toshowyouthatIloveyou, won't...you...please...let...me...backinyourarms , duh na na na..."

The pig-tailed girl sang and bopped along to her record player, continuing to work on her masterpiece.

"Hello, my little Zoja!" The man called out, walking into the room and tossing his tan jacket over the back of the chair.

"Kazzzikkkk," her mother whined, picking up the offending article. "Coat rack! Please!" She said with a smile while exiting the room.

"Hi, daddy!"

"What are you doing my love?" He said, crouching down to sit next to her at the coffee table. She was a floor-sitter. Hardly ever used furniture. Her dad always liked to call her a "weird little child", though with love behind it.

"Coloring," the little voice squeaked as she dragged the red stick of wax across the page of her book, putting the finishing touched on her rainbow unicorn.

"Oh, very pretty Zoja. Why is your horse red?"

"Cause she wants to be red. Like in the Wizard of Oz."

"Ah, I see," Kazik said with an amused smile, watching his precious girl meticulously stay in the lines, even at all of her 8 years.

"How are you?"

"How am I? Well, daddy had a bad day today, Zoja."

"Why?" She began stuffing her crayons back into her box (organized by colors, of course—some things never change).

"Well, my favorite worker in the whole world has to leave. You remember Miss Kathy?"

"Uh huh," she nodded her head, her pigtails bouncing on her shoulders.

"Well, Kathy was so good to daddy. She helped him pay bills and she helped him organize all his papers and answered the phone and just did so many things," he continued.

"I know, she always gives me candy!"

"Yes, yes this is true. My little candy monster," he said chuckling. "Well, Miss Kathy's husband got a different job and they have to move away to Chicago. I am very sad about that." His accent, even after all his years in the states, still had a thickly lingering tinge of his native Polish.

"I'm sorry, daddy," she cooed, poking her lower lip out. "I liked Miss Kathy. Why can't she just stay by herself?"

"Yes well, Miss Kathy was very important to the company, but remember little Zoja, family always comes first."

"Like you and mommy?"

"Exactly like me and mommy. And other kids and their mommies and daddies. Family is more important than anything little Zoja."

"Is that why you and mommy don't have any family? Did they have to move?"

The question unsettled him. "Well little Zoja, maybe when you're older you'll understand why it's just me and mommy and you. But not now, okay?" He pinched one of her pigtails and waggled it with his fingers.

"Okay," she shrugged. Ah...the attention span of an 8-year old.

"If you had to move would you take me with you?" Her eyes grew wide with worry, and Kazik burst out laughing.

"Of COURSE, Zoja! What, you think we'd just...leave you behind? Silly girl. You'd be the first think we'd pack!" He reached out to pinch her freckled nose between his curled middle and index fingers, making a "bonk bonk" clown sound.

"Ouch!" She laughed, taking a lunge at him, but he was too quick, and he pulled the little girl into his lap and began to relentlessly tickle her tummy.

"We'll never leave you behind little Zoja! Weird little child!" Kazik chuckled, as she howled with laughter.

"What is going on in there?" Liddie hollered from the kitchen, as father and daughter quit their horsing around.

"Promise?" She asked, beet faced and out of breath from laughing.

"Promise! No matter how big or small, family comes first, little Zoja."

_________________________

The three men chatted in the distance, Bill Bray putting in his two cents to Michael about the house and the land, which Michael listened to intently, for he always had and always would respect Bill's opinion on anything.

Zoey had drowned out their voices as she stood quietly next to the fireplace in the grand living room. She heard only their echoes, and then nothing but the sound of laughing ringing through the halls. The laughter of little children as they rode tricycles through the halls of the house, or squirted each other with water guns out on the front lawn. She could smell the aromas of meals being cooked in the kitchen, she could already taste the flavors of hearty meals like stew and roast, meals she would cook for her family, as they nestled into a life away from life, a haven of land, of mountains and of privacy. She already felt the lollipops that would be stuck in her hair, or the cool water of the pool as she dangled her feet off the ledge as Michael swam by, holding one of their toffee babies afloat as he or she learned to put their face in the water and blow bubbles. She could feel the fire that would roar as they sat in this very room and opened Christmas presents under their Christmas tree.

Her life was staring her right in the face, and she knew better than to ignore it.

"We'll take it," she said quietly as the three men, still huddled several feet away, suddenly went silent as they all glanced in her direction.

"Zo?" Michael asked hesitantly, a smile immediately tugging on his luscious, dark lips.

"We'll take it," she repeated towards Branca, her own face now breaking out into a smile. "We'll take it. The house, the land. Everything."

Michael crossed the distance to her, and took her hands in his. "Zo...I want you to be sure. I don't want you to feel pressured—"

She cut him off, shaking her head back and forth. "No. This...this can be our life. This is our home. This is where we can have babies. Whenever that day comes," she added with a laugh, her teary eyes squinting happily. "We can do like you said, turn it into a haven for other people to come and visit. I think we...I think we can make this place magic."

"Your shop...your business?"

"I'll figure it out," she said with a shrug, still grinning. "I'll....I'll figure it out."

"Zoey..."

"John? We'll take it," she said once more for emphasis, before turning back to Michael, whose eyes now sparkled with tears of his own.

He enveloped her in a tight squeeze before pulling back to press his lips against hers.

Resting her forehead against his in the living room of what was soon to be their new home, she whispered to him the words ingrained into her since her youth.

"Family comes first."

Four months later and just shy of Christmas 1984, only days after the final date of the Victory Tour, Michael and Zoey moved into their new home.

They renamed it Neverland Valley Ranch.