Every time you make a move

Doing all right-part 1

Neverland Ranch, Los Angeles

"And I thought that I was normally the late one." Freddie murmured under his breath, flickering through his lyric notebook as he sat slumped at the mixing desk.

Michael was barely in the studio door when his personal assistant interrupted, "Mr Jackson, phone for you."

"I'm sorry, Freddie" he heard the singer's soft voice squeak behind him, and disappeared again.

Freddie muttered, dishing out some cash to Phoebe, "Get me another 20 pack, this is going to take a while."

"Alright, I'll be half an hour or so."

He waved him away, "Go go go.... I'll figure out what work Mike and I have to do."

Phoebe nodded, and obediently left the room.

"Hey, my manager just called. I'm meeting a journalist from NME here in five minutes," Michael reappeared at the doorway and looked at the clock on the wall. "I hope you don't mind me leaving you with Louie, only he hates the wind."

"Oh yeah, go ahead. Work away." Freddie put a cigarette between his teeth.

"Louie... I've completely forgotten who Louie is... the boy has too many bloody animals..." he thought as he sparked his lighter.

He heard Michael's footsteps fade down the corridor and not return until a minute later when in walked a stalky, furry llama on a reigns lead by his owner.

"Gotta dash!" The young man disappeared as his assistant ushered him out, leaving the large white animal standing and blocking the doorway.

Freddie was now sitting upright and jaw dropped, staring back at the beady black eyes hiding behind the long, thick lashes.

"He bloody stinks, I can smell him a mile away... doesn't it concern Michael in the slightest that the beast can leave a lovely large pat on the godforsaken carpet at any second?"

He looked around anxiously for an escape. Phoebe was out running an errand for him, and the technician wasn't there yet.

He slowly made his way to the nearest telephone, the only port of communication at that moment, wide eyes not leaving the animal as he crept across the room.

He quickly picked the receiver up as he had panicked thoughts, "Who do I call first... Monica... or Jim [Beach]-Oh hell, its nighttime in London, but I can't work in a petting zoo with this man anymore!"

He frantically dialled in the house number.

Garden Lodge

Monica sighed in relief as she folded the last piece of clean laundry onto the pile sitting atop the washing machine, mainly consisting of the twin's baby clothes.

She looked at copies of her CV sitting atop the kitchen table as she carried the laundry past in a basket under her arm.

Just another reminder that she really needed to find work, and to try to see if Christina would be willing to take her back again.

She quietly pushed the nursery door open and snuck in, setting the basket down beside the chest of drawers to unpack in the morning.

The landing phone started to ring, so she leaned down and quickly kissed their heads in the dark before the exited the room; at night, she never went out the door without doing so sentimentally.

She picked up the ringing telephone, "Hello?"

"MONICAAAAA!!"

The next evening