SEPTEMBER 29th, 1991
•LOS OLIVOS, CALIFORNIA•
NEVERLAND VALLEY RANCH
__________
˗ˏˋ MICHAEL 'ˎ˗
~★~
An incredible rush of unfinished business dealt its worst against me; I was still an impotent fool for her. The crevices and nooks of the love that had grown tainted over the course of almost a decade was delectably sugared with the brisk brushes of appeal that would seemingly bring resolve to the bitterness— almost like adding sweetener to a morning coffee. But coffee can only stay heated for a certain amount of time until it chills; although the sweetness still remains. What good is cold coffee if your palate yearns for it to be steaming?
Or maybe I had been asking for far too much. My desperation and need to belong once centered around a world of individuals who adore me and now, it circulates around one person.
"Good morning Michael."
You.
"Good morning Brooke."
My fingers tangled within her blonde, voluminous tresses. A playful fit of whining was displayed on her end, urging me to stop my attempts at soothing her scalp so that her bed hair wouldn't be too unruly. I watched as the sunrise peaked from the slots of the sheer curtains that draped overhead, casting onto Brooke's facial features and parts of her body. It was most certainly a sight to see.
"I wish we could stay like this... forever," she professed, snuggling her head into the one thing I knew she loved most about me; my chest. It was a safe haven for her— I recollect her saying. "Away from everyone... the fans... the media..."
"As nice as that sounds," my diaphragm relaxed, releasing the air that had been pent up within the walls of my lungs. "We both can't run away from what calls us. You're walking tonight, right?"
"Yes and I'd love for you to be there."
"I'm shooting for Black or White all day and night, I can make the next walk—"
"You're not going to come to Milan," she whined with a subtle growl, her blue irises coming in contact with the sunlight. Her well trimmed brows curved in the most perplexing shape as her manicured index finger traced along the brown patches of my skin. "You're still working on your album."
"A day or two away wouldn't hurt Bruce," I dragged with apprehension, knowing my absence would be an issue. "I've got a few demos to skim through and videos to shoot but you know I'd make time for you, right?"
"So you say," she huffed childishly, a ghost of a smirk etching on her pink, dried lips. "But remember when you ditched me for that— that charity thing? You were out all night."
"In my defense, I had no knowledge of it and it took up my recording time too. Sandy overbooked me—"
"And who's to say you won't get overbooked again?" she toiled, my eyes rolling at the use of her words. "I just want you to be there for me— organically."
"I'm always there for you organically Brooke. I've missed so much recording time just to see you— took flights to see you walk on countless occasions. Why are you pickin' at me this mornin'?"
"I'm not trying to pick a fight, I'm just saying that it would be nice to see the man I love in the crowd once in a while. You haven't been to a show in months—"
"I've been—"
"Recording, I know," she interrupted while raising her head from my chest all while her blonde tresses covered her nude upper body. "Call me selfish but I'd just want to have you there."
"What for, exactly?" my brow traced upward, my body doing the same motion as I raised from my laid position and against the wooden headboard of my bedding. "So you could treat me as if you weren't in my sheets the night before? Tch, I'll respectfully pass."
"You're being unfair—"
"And you're being unreasonable. I do these things— fly out to see you walk, support you during your campaigns— because I love you. However, I can't sit here and act like something I'm not in public. I want to hold you— damnit, kiss you. I can't even look at you a certain way without you side-eying me about being 'suspicious'. We kiss and touch in private but in public, I'm just a friend."
A friend, indeed. It was foolish of me to desire something more than that, desire something more than what I knew she could provide for me. So in that aspect, I was the one to blame. However, her actions behind closed doors have led me to become a believer in her— in us. With every gentle peck, lick, and suck of her presumably 'undying' love for me, I'm left wandering around her like a lost puppy. Even now, as I watch the woman that comfortably claimed my chest as her own within the walls of Neverland, I could see the uncertainty within her eyes.
"You know you're more than just a friend to me, how could you say that? Michael, if we ever came out about our relationship the media would have a frenzy."
"Let 'em!" a satirical chuckle slipped from my lips which already felt like they had dealt enough damage in this conversation. "What's the problem with a little heat, Brooke? If you love me like you so casually claim you do, why is it so hard for you to deal with press mentioning us? I can confidently tell them just how crazy you drive me, girl."
"You already cope with enough from them," she tried reasoning. "They ask you the most bizarre questions and I could see how uncomfortable they make you—"
"But I'm talking about you Brooke— us. I can handle a question or two about my skin but... why wouldn't you be able to handle a question about us?"
Mostly dazed from our scorned discussion, the supermodel kissed her teeth while collecting the duvet to appropriately cover her nude body. In typical fashion, she grew flustered and did what she knew how to do best; flee. It was in her nature. There was never a time discussions such as this could be resolved within the same day, no. It took days— sometimes weeks for a reconciliation point to be reached. That was the least of my worries at the moment, though.
After hearing the bedroom door slam, I took the liberty of preparing myself for today's shoot. It was something that I had gratefully looked forward to since the past few days have been smooth sailing in terms of recording the film. It was quite pleasing to know that at least one aspect of my life hadn't gone sour, although very much pressed for time.
Strolling down the staircase, a few maids greeted me with humbling "good morning's" in which they received the same gesture. I could tell by the looks on their faces that they had just witnessed yet another temper tantrum thrown by one of Los Angeles' finest supermodel's. But of course, there was no room for verbal conversation on that front. Our eye contact was enough to speak the unspoken.
I checked my wristwatch, knowing that Bill had already been waiting for me an hour prior and possibly, just like the maids, witnessed Brooke's exit. Exhaling, I opened the front door and was met with by of my two bodyguards. They escorted me to the vehicle we'd be taking to set and upon entering, the radio proudly boomed UB40's Red Red Wine.
"Nuh uh," I immediately shut Bill down before his lips could quiver. "Don't even."
"What? I was just goin' to say top of the mornin'," he teasingly raised his hands in defense. "But uh now that you mention it—"
"I haven't mentioned anything Bill," I dragged before placing my arm on the passenger side's arm rest and leaning against the window. "Please, for the love of—"
"So, let's talk about what you decided to brush off at that charity ball," he smirked while taking the vehicle out of park. "How's Brooke doin'?"
The studio paneled lighting that emitting overhead felt as if it was seeping into my pores, suffering from the muggy feeling of being too "cakey"— at least, that's the term my makeup artist Karen Faye would use. After every take it seemed that my body was suited for another powdering and with each touch up Karen would apply, I could feel my patience wearing.
"You alright?" Karen generously patted the sweated areas of my forehead with a creme colored powdering pad, a few of the substance's particles scattering into the air. The powdery scent tickled my nose, a sneeze daring to release as she continued her application.
"Y-Yeah Turkle, I'm fine. Is it me or is it a bit stuffy in here?"
"Hm, probably just you. John made sure to have these A/C's cranked up to the highest setting and the fans— you're hot, aren't you?"
"Yeah."
"I'll see what I can do, maybe get you an extra large fan or somethin'. Have you eaten anything?"
"No mother, I haven't," I snickered. "I'll be sure to eat after these last few takes. Macaulay has to film his scenes so I'll have some free time to eat and observe, promise."
"Speakin' of that little rascal, where is he? I heard he's been drivin' everyone up the walls with his pranks. I think he made John slap himself with whipped cream earlier."
"He did?!" I excited questioned as amusement played against my expression.
"T'yeah," Karen giggled lazily. "And then started runnin' away like a chicken without a head."
"I always miss the fun stuff."
In truth, I did. It seemed as if I was never around to witness any of the things Karen would mention. But of course, it wasn't intentional. I had been too focused on the production aspect of the music video that I had forgotten to do what I had promised myself I would; have fun. However, the throbbing thought of my altercation with Brooke had made my tensions grow. In an effort to redirect my focus, hyper fixating on work seemed to be the easiest to do— and it was.
As promised, I helped myself to a light meal after recording the few takes that I had left and sat down with John, discussing a few ideas that would be beneficial for the music video.
SEPTEMBER 29th, 1991
•LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA•
11779 SHELDON STREET
__________
˗ˏˋ SERAFINA'ˎ˗
~౨ৎ~
The unruly winds of early fall whistled calmly as I walked along the sidewalk of Sheldon street, which was blocked off at the intersection by various orange traffic cones. Large jib arm camcorders were scattered around the street but no one was there to man them— assumingely because of the light rain that had picked up a few minutes ago. I could feel the humidity from tonight's mist absorb into my spiraled curls, my hair frizzing uncontrollably in response.
The dazzling blue leotard that I had worn for tonight's showcase was still an active part of my wardrobe, as well as creme colored stockings and nude pointe shoes. I could feel the premature blisters forming at my heels, which was always the consequence of wearing pointe shoes that weren't the proper fit.
Just as I approached the building Michael described, I could see a plethora of men dressed in black attire standing outside of the building— some leaned against the wall with slouched posture while others stood with their hands behind their backs. Their focus soon registered onto me and for some reason, my heart sank as I continued to inch closer. But, standing within the corner stood Bill who seemed to be in a laughing fit with a few other bodyguards, his hands comfortably tucked within his pockets as his hysteria played through. Midway, he caught notice of me and cleared his throat before extending a proper greeting.
"Hey Serafina, I didn't expect to see you this evening."
"Well I honestly didn't expect to come on such a gloomy night," I referenced the spotty raindrops that were still falling from the night sky. "But I was in the area and Michael had invited me a few days ago."
"Makes sense, I can take you to him if you'd like. I think he's takin' a small break at the moment."
With that, Bill escorted me around to where he had last seen Michael and thankfully, he was still there. He sat within a corner of an empty room, quietly indulging in what seemed to be sliced apples and a cup of water. Taking Michael out of his fixed daze, Bill released a short whistle from his lips. His head instinctively turned toward us and his thin lipped expression immediately raised into a rather jolly one.
"Sera!" he excitedly raised from his seat and jolted over toward me, his fresh scent overtaking my sensory. Upon our embrace, a few of his defined curls tickled against my cheek, the sensation sending my heart into a whirlwind. "I didn't know you were coming, especially now that its nighttime. How was your performance?"
"I kind of wanted to surprise you," I admitted bashfully. Bill excused himself before I could continue my speech. "And as for my performance, it went amazing. I'm happy I took the opportunity—"
"Told ya so," he interrupted while flashing a dazzling smile. His eyes then trailed away from mine, admiring my attire. Michael's smile seemed to fade while his deep brown irises settled onto the goosebumps raising from my bare arms. "Hey, you're cold aren't you Sera?"
"A bit."
"I can grab a jacket from my dressing room," he humbly offered while wrapping his right arm around me and placing a hand directly on my upper arm which harbored the risen flesh. The tender touch of his large hand was mellowing and in an instant, I could feel my body reacting to his instinctive act of kindness. "It's not an issue."
The battering and aching had become quite vigorous. I could feel my beating organ being pulled in whatever direction it desired and then, being weighed down by the shackles of affinity. There was an airiness that my mind couldn't wrap around; nor could my fluttering heart. My head raised upward to meet the pop star's gaze but arguably, it made matters for my conundrum of feelings worse.
"You don't have to," I anxiously curved my mouth upward. "I'll be fine."
"Sera, you're practically shivering," he noted while his hand gently cascaded down my arm and then returning to its original position. His vocal register had drastically shifted into a more bass-filled, low-pitched tone that took me by surprise. "Let me get my jacket for you, please?"
It was difficult to deny a persistent man, especially when that man was one of the world's most beloved. His charm radiated through his words with the upmost finesse that I had ever witnessed. My head involuntarily nodded, giving him the answer that my lips and voice box couldn't. I had become too transfixed within his magnetic aura to even realize that his grip around my arm had loosened— my senses not returning until his body's warmth was felt no longer.
"'lright, stay right here and I'll be back with it. Once we get you warm I can show you around," Michael assured me with a heartfelt smile, his voice returning to the vocal color that the world and I were used to.
The pop singer left me alone with my thoughts and risen flesh. Within his absence, I searched within myself to figure out why my heart felt weightless within his grasp. In his absence I had time to think but ultimately, my pondering shriveled into a ball of uncertainty and confusion.
"For you, m'lady." Michael's body emerged from the door he had exited from moments ago as he held a red letterman jacket. He playfully spoke with a southern accent, which caused a genuine giggle to escape my lips.
"Thank you," I obliged. In an attempt to take the jacket out of his hand, he immediately retracted the garment and raised a brow at me.
"Turn around," he ushered. "What kind of man would I be if I didn't help you put this on?"
I stayed silent and did as he instructed. I could feel the warmth of his body along my backside and in an instant, he began to put the hefty garment on my body.
"Has no one ever done this for you?" he questioned, his voice lowering back to the bass-filled tone he had once before.
"My mother did," I answered truthfully.
"No— I mean a man. Has a man ever helped you put something on?"
"No," my voice cracked as I felt his breath fanning along the crevice of my neck. "There's no man in my life to do so."
"Hmph. Well, now there is." After he finished placing the jacket onto my body, his serious tone diminished all at once. "C'mon, let me show you around."
I was perplexed; mostly by his switching of tones and demeanor. Michael has stated numerous of times that he intends to be an honorable friend and so far, he had been holding up his statement with much truth. I can only hope that this friendship of ours remains this way, for it would be a tragedy to experience losing someone as beguiling as him.