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Story Notes:

Not to toot my own horn (toot toot!) but this is a good, withstanding Michael Jackson fic with longevity and a storyline that doesn't have too many OOC twists and turns and annoying plot over-complications. It was written over a span of about 6 yrs from 2005 onwards. 

So enjoy, I love to read reviews and honest feedback :) 

Author's Chapter Notes:

 

And there I lay, squished in to the tiny and battered-looking couch that I picked up cheap at a yard sale a few months earlier. I had spread over it a blanket that Grandma had crocheted so that the upholstery tears were no longer visible. I hated that couch, and even more I hated being a broke-ass that couldn’t afford something brand new. 

I was flicking through the static-filled television channels, trying to find something interesting to watch at such a ridiculous hour of the morning. 

Could life be any more boring? It was a question that seemed to be plaguing me so much lately. There had to be more to it than this. Sure, I had a reasonable job, I had decent friends, but I found myself to be more anti-social than not. I hated going out. It was easier just to stay inside. I couldn’t really articulate why I felt that way, but I just did. No one else understood around me either. I guess they just figured I was lazy.

I heaved a sigh and flicked the channel again. Stupid Infomercials; you are all the bane of my television existence! I thought with irate. Wow, the TV network really got it right in the programming department, just what I want to watch at 2:30am – some ditzy blond talking about a fail safe bronzing powder. Stupid orange bitch.

I resented the fact that I was still awake and more to the point, that I was at home on a Saturday night. I should have been out partying like all the crazy kids did these days… or something

My best-friend Gabrielle had invited me out to attend one of her infamous piss-parties but I’d refused – just like I had every other time she or one of my other friends extended an invitation to like-minded events. I hated that environment so much, and she knew it so she really had no right to be put out by my declining. 

And anyway, weren’t people supposed to start growing up at 23? I mean, I was never quite in to the whole, ‘let’s get pissed and boast about it to whoever looks polite enough to feign interest’ behavior, but mostly everyone else that I knew of had pretty much grown out of the smutty keg party lifestyle. 

Apparently my friends hadn’t. Apparently they thought that my own choice of lifestyle needed to be spiced-up a scooch by getting me, how did they put it? Oh yeah, ‘Soooo fuckin’ trashed!’

Idiots. 

I hated myself for being such a judgmental bitch. I mean, they were my friends and I loved them – I just loved them more sober, and I loved them more one-on-one because I could seek the real them without having to get through the layers of their so-called coolness factor. 

Speaking of coolness factors, mine had plummeted down to zero long ago; I knew that. Hell, they knew that, but I guess the only thing that kept them counting me as their friend was probably the fact that I was so damned honest with them. I always laid it out there, I was the one they’d run and cry to. You’d think I was a priest and my dinky little apartment was advertising confession hour. In a way though, I was kind of honored that people could trust me enough to come to me and tell me what was in their hearts. It made me feel wanted and needed and best of all, it made me feel useful – a feeling that I otherwise lacked.

Honesty, I found was such a trait that was so hard to come across – I suppose it was one of the reasons that kept me from bothering to make new friends or even go out of my way to bother with the ones that I already had. I hated having to work at getting under someone’s mask, finding out who they really were – it bothered me. And usually under that initial façade was a person that quite frankly, wasn’t worthy of my energy.

I had extremely unfair expectations of people, I knew that much – but it was something that I was working on. I’d been through a lot and I really didn’t trust anyone. I just knew that I needed to be more kind and tolerant, at least that’s what my heart told me. 

My head told me to tell everyone to fuck off and let me feel how I wanted to damn well feel.

**

“Ooh, Jade, I heard Danny talking to Marcus and he said that there’s someone staying in the Presidential Suite…” Melissa told me with so much curiosity in her tone, almost as if she expected me to care.

Super.” I replied sarcastically, but she was too dense to grasp the concept of it. 

“It could be someone famous.” She pointed out factually. I glanced at her in her smart Beverly Hills Hotel uniform. Unfortunately the smartness didn’t go any further than her attire. She was a nice girl, it wasn’t really fair of me to be so rude to her, but sometimes I couldn’t help it. Idiocy to me was like a red flag waving in front of a bull. I was the bull and I just happened to come across the red flag way too often.

“It could be just some snotty rich family too.” I replied with disinterest as I answered the ringing telephone.

Melissa gave me a roll of her eyes and immediately I felt bad. She always made the effort with me. She was always nice even when I was being the biggest bitch on the face of the Earth. Very few people at work liked me, but I was fine with that – it meant that no one would attempt to socialize with me. She flicked her blond bangs out of her eyes and walked off to take something upstairs.

I focused my attention on the phone call. “Hello, Jade speaking, how may I help you?” I asked in my sugary-sweet voice. For some reason when it came to my job, I didn’t mind playing the part. 

“Hi there…” came a shy and uncertain voice. “I was wondering if I could uh, order something from room service.” 

“Certainly Sir.” I answered coolly, “What can I get for you?”

The male voice went through his order with me. A chicken salad sandwich on whole meal bread, a glass of sugar-free Coca-Cola and a pot of tea with honey. 

“No problem sir, it’ll arrive shortly.” I assured the patron as I looked down to see that the call had come from the presidential suite. I turned to see if Melissa was back so I could give her the message, perhaps she could have taken it up to find out who the patron was, it was almost my way of saying sorry. 

She wasn’t anywhere to be seen. “Who you lookin’ for?” Danny, a co-worker asked me, noticing that I was craning my neck around.

“Melissa.” I replied. “Hey, do you want to take this?” I asked holding out the message that I’d taken. “It’s gotta go to the kitchen.” 

Danny laughed at me. “What do I look like, your little slave man?” He joked. 

Danny and I got along well. He had a great sense of humor and he was pretty darn cute – but besides that he had a pretty unscrupulous personality. Danny was West Indian. He had beautiful dark skin and a beautiful smile, the first time I met him, he actually made my knees go weak – of course I would never have admitted it to anyone at all. 

“Bitch, you’d be damn lucky.” I laughed as I took the room service request to the kitchen. 

The afternoon seemed to float by pretty easily. It was rare that we dealt with disgruntled clients, The Beverly Hills Hotel was much too swanky for any old rogue to pass through, and I was okay with that. I spent a lot of time going out of my way to be nice to Melissa, feeling bad for being such a bitch in the morning – my pleasantness seemed to brighten her mood which in turn made me feel like less of a jerk. 

It was so ironic how even a good intentions were selfish. 

“The weirdest thing just happened.” Melissa remarked, passing me by as I went to enter the kitchen to grab a drink to go with my afternoon tea. Sometimes us sneaky employees did that—helped ourselves to hotel food. 

“What?”

“I was just relieving Danny from front desk for a few minutes and this annoying little brat came up and asked me which room Michael Jackson was staying in. She was wearing a T-shirt with his face and everything.”

I raised my eyebrow – or at least I tried, I could never succeed in raising just one. “Weird.” I agreed, “but funny.” 

She gave a laugh. “Yeah…” She stopped, “Oh… could you do me a favor before you go to lunch, and take these towels to room 501?”

Give ‘em an inch and they take a fucking mile. I thought bitterly. I smiled and said I’d be happy to. Of course I was lying.

 

**

 

“When you go up there,” Marcus, our manager spoke quietly to me, “you are to conduct yourself in nothing but a professional manner, okay?” 

I looked at his old ass as if he were crazy. “Who do you think I am?” I wanted to ask, “Melissa?” He’d just asked me to stay back and work a double shift, and hey, since I had no life, I agreed. I just nodded, daring not to speak back to my stern-faced boss.

He’d pulled me aside and confided in me that Michael Jackson was the man staying in the presidential suite. Of course I was a little bit surprised and part of me was extra curious, but it really wasn’t a big deal, we had celebrity guests all the time. It did explain a lot, though. 

I remembered the polite and shy phone call earlier in the day for room service, and realized I’d already spoken to him. I stifled a little knowing smile. I kinda wished that I could tell Melissa, she’d have been able to find excitement in it and would probably relish the slight brush with fame more than I, but Marcus had made it clear that I was to tell no one. 

I was a highly trusted employee, just like I was with everything else in my life. Mr. Jackson had requested some extra linen and I had been assigned to take it up to him, since he couldn’t very well come down and get it himself. 

There should have been at least some sort of personal satisfaction from knowing that I was the only employee that my boss saw worthy of being in the presence of Michael Jackson – but funnily enough, I felt nothing. 

Well, that wasn’t exactly true, I felt an inferno of nervousness filling my body. It’s strange, you know, I had no problem judging other people around me, but when I felt like someone was judging me adversely in any sense I just felt myself shrink into a scared child. It was the feeling that I loathed most in the world. 

With those thoughts now swirling around in my head, I took the linen gingerly, heading toward the elevator. I wondered to myself what he would look like up close, what he would be like – He seemed polite on the phone. 

I knocked twice on the door and waited. I felt my hands trembling slightly and couldn’t help but to wonder what had come over me. I’d worked at this hotel since I was 19 and served and worked directly for lots of celebrity patrons – but for some reason, this felt different. I guess it didn’t help that Michael was the most famous celebrity in the entire world and Thriller had just been announced as the biggest selling record.

I was by no means a Michael Jackson fan. I didn’t believe everything that I read about him, only mindless, gullible twits and young children truly believed the shit the media came up with. I listened to his music with a pretty neutral attitude when I heard it on the radio and I actually did own the album – but that was no surprise; 2 out of every 10 people in America owned that record according to MTV. It was some kind of phenomenon. I hadn’t really spent too much time listening to it, so I never quite saw the greatness for what it apparently was. I felt pretty bad for Michael, he was in the news a lot – they loved to pick on him.

My thoughts came to a stop as the door opened halfway.

My heart felt it was a good time to stop then too. He glanced at me with huge brown eyes. I tried my best to give him a smile. Give him the linen and leave. Give him the linen and leave. OH FOR GOODNESS SAKE JUST GIVE HIM THE LINEN! I could hear my subconscious screaming at me. “Hello Mr. Jackson.” I could barely squeeze from my mouth.

Oh, good going twit features.

He eyed me warily. I could feel those eyes all over me. I quite frankly loathed that feeling. I didn’t know how to handle it. He slowly pressed his finger to his lips. “Shhh.” He ushered me; “I’m signed in as Peter Pan.” 

I felt foolish for saying his name out loud, as if it were some kind of brief lack of professionalism. “I’m sorry. Mr. Pan, here is your linen.” I re-gathered myself, ignoring his piercing stare. Hmm, unfortunately it didn’t feel as foolish as calling him ‘Mr. Pan’.

“Thank you.” He replied quietly, opening his door wider so that he could take it all. I looked in behind him curiously. From what I could see, he’d made quite a mess all on his lonesome. Instead of looking in nosily, I should have turned and continued on my merry way, but I lacked professionalism again. 

He turned around, following my eyes to see what I was looking at. He gave a small smile. “I know, it’s a mess.” He said, almost apologetically – as if it were actually my business. He paused for a moment, his eyes just falling over my shoulder length dark hair, and my smallish frame. “Can I um… ask for your help with something else?” He inquired, his eyes finally meeting mine. He looked sheepish, as if he were about to share something that could possibly get him in to trouble.

“Sure Mr. Jacks-“ I shook my head and clapped my hand against my forehead, “I mean – Mr. Pan.”

He giggled shyly as he turned to invite me in to his suite. “Doesn’t matter.” He murmured. 

What the hell? He wants me to come in?

He closed the door behind me as I looked around dumbly. I felt as though I was no longer an employee of this Hotel but a secret visitor of Michael Jackson.

Shut up, twit. I scolded myself for having such idiotic thoughts. 

“I did something a bit stupid…” He admitted, “Can I trust you not to tell your boss?” He asked.

Yeah right, just cause you’re Michael Jackson doesn’t mean I’m not gonna squeal on you, bitch. “Sure.” I lied convincingly. 

I looked around as we headed in to the master bedroom. I’d never actually been in to the bedroom of this suite, and boy was I shocked. I stifled it well. It was massive. It was possibly the biggest “bedroom” I had ever seen. The walls were a pristine white color, and the carpet was a royal red. Everything looked so grand and the room had an antique feel to it. It looked possibly as if Jackson had been there for some time. He had things strewn from wall to wall, suitcases of clothes and video games and – every imaginable gadget that was available. I tried not to act so shocked, but I’m not sure I was as convincing with that. 

He pulled up a towel that was on the floor by his unmade bed. “I uh… was doing some painting…” He began. And it was obviously true – there was an Easel with a paint palette fixed to it, and the makings of a beautiful painting of Charlie Chaplin.

Instantly, I was intrigued. His talent obviously extended further than music – I was impressed. But like every other emotion, I chose not to show it. I glanced back at him, trying to ignore how awkward the situation felt. “And—“ he continued, trying to look past the fact that I was being so standoffish and unfriendly. “My palette fell face down on to the carpet.”

He showed me the mess it left. Obviously he’d tried scrubbing the stain out, but it hadn’t worked, it had just made matters worse. 

My mouth fell open in shock. I once remembered that Motley Crue had trashed the presidential suite after a concert one night, and the damage bill had been a huge kick in the nuts for them. I knew Michael would be rolling in money, but still – The Beverly Hills Hotel were not about to fix things cheap. It was going to cost thousands of dollars to re-carpet. I actually felt sorry for him; he seemed to be genuinely upset with himself.

“Oh no…” I murmured. I must have made a facial expression that showed my concern. 

“Money isn’t an option, I can pay for repairs – it’s just…” He paused, glancing up at me with those damn fucking intrusive eyes that I was beginning to hate. I felt like they were stealing my friggin’ soul. I looked back down at the carpet just so as he couldn’t read me as I felt like he’d been trying to do from the moment he had opened the door. “I don’t want it to get on the news.”

You self-involved prick. I almost rolled my eyes but I caught myself just in time. 

“Is there any way that I could get you to organize getting it cleaned without anyone else knowing?” He further inquired. 

I gave a nod. “Sure Mr. Pan. I’ll get someone in immediately.” I felt incredibly stupid calling him Mr. Pan. 

“Thank you.” He smiled happily, “I really appreciate that.”

I politely smiled in return and began to head out the same way that I came in, ignoring the scattered mess everywhere that I looked. “Enjoy your stay.” 

“Oh, just a second.” He stopped me as I was about to close the door behind me. 

I turned around to face him. I noticed traces of eye makeup that I longed to see him without. I considered that feeling for a moment before I quickly pushed it to the back of my head and wrote it off as a temporary bout of stupidity. He was wearing a pair of stone wash jeans that made him look incredibly lanky and skinny. I don’t know why I was surprised so much by the hideous orange sweater that he wore – his choice of clothing was always eyebrow raising. His complexion wasn’t as smooth as it looked in photographs, his skin down under his chin seemed almost patchy. I found myself frowning at it by accident. Immediately he raised his hand to his neck where I had been staring in a self-conscious manner. 

I felt like an asshole for making it so obvious. I quickly averted my eyes away from his skin and back up to his face. He was so much better looking in person; I had to admit – not that I ever thought he was bad looking though. He had a little bit of a five o’clock shadow, now that was damn sexy on any guy, but I couldn’t find it sexy on Michael. 

“I didn’t get your name.”

Cause I didn’t give it, dumb ass. 

“Jade.” I replied. 

“Ok, thank you so much for your help, I truly appreciate it.” He said with honesty in his tone. I felt bad because he meant it and I knew he was genuinely sorry for the mess he had caused. 

“No problem. Mr. Jackson.” I answered him heading in to the corridor. I slapped my head again, realizing I’d just said his name out loud for the third time.

Michael closed the door behind him and I went back to work, writing a reminder to make some calls for his little accident. 

I felt a strange sensation in the pit of my stomach that I couldn’t quite place my finger on. I suppose it was my own twisted and conflicting feelings from coming face to face with Michael Jackson. I wasn’t sure if I had liked him or not. He was seemed nice enough—but then again, I’m sure even a Hannibal could come across as ‘nice enough’ on the first occasion. I tried to play off the niggling feeling and finish my work for the night, but I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about what had happened in his room. 

I didn’t intentionally mean to be rude – I never did. It was just something that came naturally. I hated myself for it. I really did. I knew it was behavior stemming from the knowing in my heart that there was no one in my life that I trusted.

When I told people openly that I trusted nobody, they’d agree and tell me the same – but from them it was just words – they liked to believe that they didn’t trust anyone, but they did. And when they got hurt, they’d have a wet eye over it and then touch the burning pot again so to speak. I, on the other hand, was true to my word when I said that I didn’t trust a single person. There was no one in my life that I trusted with any of my deepest darkest secrets or thoughts. 

And you know what? I felt as though I was much more superior to everyone I ever met for being able to rise above human nature to live true to the once bitten and twice shy adage. 

Deep down inside though, somewhere that I hadn’t quite realized yet, there was a part of me that was yearning for someone to trust. There was loneliness in the abyss of my heart and a void that I felt could never ever be filled.

“Oh it was so bad, Jade…” Gabrielle relayed the story of the party that had gone on the previous weekend. The party sounded just like every other that she hosted. She and everyone else would turn up, get drunk, pass out or end up in bed with someone and then they’d all freak out the next morning when they awoke next to someone they’d never met before.

I didn’t care about her party. In fact, I was repulsed by the fact that she even had thegall to invite me to it. She knew better than anyone that I was on a bit of a moral high ground when it came to booze, sex and drugs, why did she always try to solicit me in to it? And sometimes she accused me of looking down my nose at our friends, but wasn’t she basically doing the very same thing by trying to coerce me in to her own little world?

I tried not to show my repulsion, because I loved her, I really did, but it’s not like her behavior was getting any better, it was spiraling downward and I suspected she had begun using drugs more regularly than just the odd occasion. 

“You should have come along.” She told me matter-of-factly.

Oh yeah, I should have come along to a party that was sooooooo bad. I thought to myself as I rolled my eyes on my end of the line. “Sounds like you had a great time.” I pitched in trying to do my absolute best to sound interested. I tried to think of something to tell her to change the subject, but the truth was—I was as uninteresting as she was. I had been doing absolutely nothing. I thought about telling her that I’d met Michael Jackson, but I’d heard her mocking him on numerous occasions and for some strange reason, I didn’t feel like listening to her do that either.

“Yeah it was fantastic. There was this guy – he’s a friend of Kyle’s and I think we’re gonna get together some time next week.” She informed me. 

Maybe I was living in a parallel universe or something, but for real, was I the only one left on the planet that didn’t sleep around? What was this? Fuckfest ‘84? Gaby had a new fling almost every week; I couldn’t keep up anymore. It made me feel sorry for her. I don’t know why, though. She seemed happy enough. 

Gabs was gorgeous. She was the typical Californian prototype with ocean blue eyes, beautiful long sunny hair and such a hot body that I had always envied. She had the longest legs in the friggin’ world—seriously. It was as though they stopped under her chin. She had a great set of lungs on her, as we would joke… On top of that, she was so intelligent. 

Most of all, despite the shortcomings that I couldn’t understand—Gabrielle was a goodperson. If she knew I was upset she would be the first one to comfort me. She was fun too when she wasn’t talking about who she’d had sex with last or stories of who rolled the first joint at what party. We both had other things in common, but for some reason, it seemed as though the bad things about her far outweighed the good and I just couldn’t muster up the energy to tolerate the bad anymore. 

“That’s great Gabs.” I told her, feigning as much enthusiasm as I could. “I’m glad you had a good time.”

“Yeah.” She answered brightly, agreeing with me. “So anyway, what are you doing tonight? Do you want to catch a movie?” She asked almost hopefully. “I miss you Jade, I haven’t seen you in weeks. I hope you’re not becoming a hermit again.” She tried to joke.

Ugh, not funny.

I went through on and off bouts of depression quite frequently—but it wasn’t a big deal, depression was something that I’m sure everyone suffered, they just dealt with it probably better than I did. Most people, I found, had the ability to push it away and hide it from the world. I hid it well too, but I didn’t really push it away. I normally threw myself in to bed for a couple of days, or however long it took to leave me. I’d pretend I was ill and I’d lie in bed and cry for hours over… well, that was something that I wasn’t entirely sure of.

I suppose life sometimes felt so stagnant to me; it was as if I was hanging in limbo. There was nothing good or bad happening. Nothing ever got better nor did it get any worse. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t…I’m working.” I lied. I would have preferred sticking dressmaker pins into the pupils of my eyes over spending an entire night listening to her inane chatter. 

Oh man, I was such a bitch. It was definitely going to be an eternity in hell for me – Oh well, I shrugged, at least it’d be warm down there.

I ended the conversation pretty soon after only to see that I’d missed a call from work. It seemed that I actually was going to take a shift after all. My damn lie came back to bite me in the ass. Good one, Jade

**

“Jade, this was left at the front desk for you.” Danny told me as he handed me an envelope. It had my name carefully printed on to the front of it. “I tried to open it and spy what was in it, but I couldn’t figure out how to do that without unsealing it – and then you would have found out.”

I raised my eyebrow at my co-worker and just laughed. “I’ll be sure to inform you if any of it concerns you.” I joked as I curiously took the letter to our main office and opened it. The envelope was a vanilla color and the handwriting was so scratchy and capital letters were used where they weren’t needed. I mean, seriously, how hard was it to learn the rules of punctuation? I was already annoyed by it. 

I pulled out a thin sheet of paper and opened it up. It was a short note. My heart beat a little quicker than usual because the content of it was something that I was certainly not expecting.

Dear Jade,” It read.

I come across a lot of women, but you … there is something different about you. I don’t know what it is; but it’s been on my mind and I feel as though I can’t settle until I figure it out. Each time I look at you, Jade I feel intrigued. You hold so much mystery and handle yourself with such care. I feel drawn to you and I’ve been watching you. I will be anticipating the next time we get to talk.

Sincerely yours
…”

Freak. I mumbled to myself, wondering who the hell could have sent it and what kind of perve would be watching me. Come across a lot of women? I guffawed to myself,Yeah right. Where? Club XXX on a Friday night? Loser.

I stuffed the stupid letter in to the pocket of my black vest and headed back to front desk where I was assigned for the evening. 

Danny asked nosily what the note had been about and I’d lied, telling him it was from a happy patron. He left it alone, thankfully and I began to grow suspicious of all the males at work who would even throw a sideways glance at me. 

**

“Hi there.” I did a double take. I had been busy taking inventory of linen when someone standing before me spoke up. He rested his dark hands on my desktop and smiled at me. He was wearing a baseball cap pulled right down almost completely over his eyes. 

“Hello Sir, how may I help you?” I asked assuming my professional role. 

He avoided my eyes, I could tell he was nervous. I used the same mechanism when I was feeling particularly vulnerable. 

“Jade, right?” He asked, as if he were unsure. I gave him a nod and the same fake ass smile that I gave every other client. I hated my own smile. 

“I’m hosting a get-together up in my room tonight and I was wondering if I could maybe have someone from your staff assist me?”

“I’m not quite sure.” I answered honestly, wondering why the hell he would want one ofour staff to wait his stupid little parties. Couldn’t he just call up one of his little midget buddies? 

Stop it, Jade. I told myself crossly, Even midgets have feelings too.

“I’ll just check with my boss.” I picked up the phone to dial in to the main office to find out from Marcus if Michael Jackson was allowed to hire one of his very own employees. As I dialed the number, I had a sneaking suspicion that he would be appointing me to do the dirty work. The thought displeased me immensely.

Michael waited patiently and strummed his fingers on the desktop. I stole a glance of his attire, and almost shook my head. Did this guy want to look like nobody owned him? It was certainly the look he was achieving. 

If I could ignore his hideous sense of fashion then I was able to concentrate on his good looks. I even liked his crazy hair. It was kinda boofy and out there at the moment, it stuck out from under his cap. He also smelled pretty good; like a soft scent of vanilla. 

He licked his thin lips and looked around self-consciously. I wondered why he had come downstairs to the front desk to ask, rather than just phoning up, but I didn’t say anything. I directed his question to Marcus and tried to sound as at ease with his answer as I could.

I put down the phone and gave Michael a tight smile. “Sure Mr. Pan, the Hotel Manager would be happy to assign someone to you. What time would you be needing the assistance?” I asked far too coolly than I had intended.

“In about one hour if that’s not too much short notice.” He replied. “Who will I be expecting?” He remained very polite and calm, but I could tell that he was out of his own depth and he knew it, just by the way he craned his neck around making sure no one had recognized him.

“I will be.” I answered keeping a tight expression. 

A smile spread across Michael’s lips and judging by the creases at the corners of his big, dark brown eyes, I knew it was genuine. “Great.” He replied. “See you in an hour.”

“Yes, great.” I muttered under my breath as he walked off.

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