Offstage || MJ

Offstage || Chapter 6

Author's Note: Prince is here! Enjoy the chapter, everybody.

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1986 – California

MICHAEL

Charlene didn't call me just yet. One of my assistants snuck backstage at Soul Train earlier that day to follow through with an errand. One of the stagehands would deliver my "care package." I'd finished a recording session at the studio and returned home when Charlene crossed my mind once more. Had she stopped taping an episode for the day? Would she step out to paint the town red this evening? I didn't know what to consider, but her possibilities seemed endless.

After these years, I'd finally moved out of Havyenhurst, eventually finding this great. condo. Most of the family had moved out anyway and I could only stay but so much longer. It was best to live somewhere else amid my hectic schedule. I'd spent all that time dodging that significant need to grow up in one way or another. Living with Joseph proved extremely draining for obvious reasons. Mother understood, and I shifted toward another place before long.

Of course, I'd visit whenever possible and include family if opportunities appeared. While my siblings branched to record their own work, or develop a family life, I'd especially felt proud toward Janet. My little sister helped the entire countries groove with her latest album. Some people didn't realize back then she'd released two earlier records years before "Control" even hit shelves. Her self-titled record "Janet Jackson" and later album "Dream Street" arrived with little fanfare. I didn't what to think, but remained proud of Dunk. There was no other choice given our closeness as big brother and little sister.

Even "What Have You Done For Me Lately?" among other records circulated airwaves. I gaped for a second in the limousine one day when the radio disc jockey announced that Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis produced some of Janet's songs as well. Jimmy and Terry worked with Prince for years, but I failed to collaborate with him on "Bad." Yet, that was another story entirely.

I moved on, allowing Prince to drown in that niche of sex, funk, and rock. While extremely talented, I never understood his raunchy but flamboyant style. All the while, women flocked toward that nearly androgynous man without even blinking. I rolled my eyes, but didn't hate him. His approach just wouldn't fly with me in the best way. I even began to wonder if Charlene met Prince, never ruling the idea given her career now.

Partly anxious, I waited by the phone. Insomnia kicked me down as usual. Still no television. The dimly lit room prompted me to feel secluded, but I refused to leave. I wasn't one to party like my peers, but enjoyed an occasional drink. I'd calmed down my own practices as a Jehovah's Witness, but still believed in higher beings. Mother hadn't wavered, always dodging major holidays, among enacting several of the other religious customs.

Fed up with the silence of my bedroom, I turned on that brightening televsion. After flipping through several channels I'd landed on this random entertainment program. Thankfully, anchors hadn't smeared my name, ether. Onscreen, a female correspondent discussed Prince. Moments later, footage of that news studio spun away from my view.

His second "film," "Under The Cherry Moon," showed in the town of Sheridan, Wyoming. His band "The Revolution" joined Prince, as well as actress Kristen Scott Thomas. Prince had also invited this radio contest winner as his date. The gesture seemed modest considering his playboy ways. I hadn't even the film, but giggled remembering "Purple Rain." Even though its music sounded honestly remarkable, the acting was never good. I walked out of the premiere halfway through. Each cast member seemed pathetically hilarious in my opinion.

Short footage clips of an exclusive performance reached my vision before long. Numerous people commented in between. It wasn't until the last person that I nearly dropped my jaw. I immediately recognized Charlene on the television. She stood in a possible backstage area at first, but footage cut to this woman nodding her head and singing along in the audience. A live version of "Raspberry Beret" overlapped her words.

"We met last year, and I think he's a genius. I've loved him since "Wanna Be Your Lover," you know? It's just amazing to watch his image shift all the time and hear chameleon music. I wish I was that good." She laughed while finishing the last sentence. I faked a smile observing her again. Blue and white lighting scanned her face between the camera movement toward Prince and his band.

Forget, Jeffery. I felt jealous of Prince for once. Another woman had raved about this man. When the footage cut back to a news studio, I cut off the television. Just when I wanted to call her now, I'd remember that we'd only exchanged work lines. I'd spent so much time acting tough for the sake of work that even simple flirting almost drifted away from my mind.

Damn. I thought to myself.

Right now, Prince could've walked into another party with the contest winner and Charlene latching onto him. I rolled my eyes without hesitation. His presence alone captivated an entire room. Paparazzi flocked me, but I wasn't exactly the ladies' man. Prince's charisma most likely fascinated Charlene.

I once again crawled back into a reclusive shell.