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I’d felt so foolish for breaking down while in the company of Michael, but I’d just seen so much of myself in him when he blurted out all those private things about his father. It took me by surprise because he didn’t know me very well. Part of me admired his ability to be so forthright, to be able to just not care what I thought of him… The other part of me thought he was a bloody idiot, and wondered if he did other blindly naïve and bone-headed things, like write his phone number down on a public toilet stall door.

 

I kept replaying the night over in my head and thinking about the way Michael had reacted to my brief mention of Aaron. Inside of me yearned to tell someone everything, and as much as I tried to deny it to even myself, I knew that that someone had to be Michael, or no one else. I felt like he would understand and even if he didn’t, he seemed interested enough about everything that went on in my life and I knew he would at least try.

 

I didn’t want to trust him though. I wanted to keep myself guarded and make sure my heart remained at bay to prevent anyone from ever breaking it again.

 

Michael had asked me if he could come and see me at my place some time, and it took me off guard. I wanted to say no, but it was purely to save my self esteem. Compared to his apartment, mine was pretty damn dodgy. I liked my place, though. It was something to call my own and the repayments were extremely affordable. My parents had helped me out with the decorating and turned it in to a nice neat little place. I was by no means rich, or even well off, but I did have a habit of impulse buying things outside of my means, which, probably made the apartment seem more expensive than it really was – but it was nothing compared to Michael’s, obviously.

 

For instance, there was my beaten-up, second-hand couch. If anyone pulled off the crocheted quilt that my Grandma made from off of it, they’d see what a piece of shit it was. I reminded myself that Michael probably wasn’t going to walk around my house with a forensics kit and a microscope to make sure my home was up to his standards.

 

I had two bedrooms and a bathroom. I loved my bathroom the most. Most bathrooms in the apartments I had looked at were the dinky kind that had a bathtub and a shower together as one, but mine was separate, and my tub was spacious. The shower recess was a bit small, but it’s not like I cared. I had decorated it with vanilla scented candles, and all of my décor was deep red and crème, including the candles.

 

Yeah, I was happy to admit that I had good taste. So what?

 

It was a bit of a mess, but that was only visible in my bedroom. I didn’t really have all that much because I hated clutter. I had a double bed, nothing special, it was pretty small, if I lay in the middle and spread my arms out, I could reach either side. Ha! I thought, Another valid reason never to get a boyfriend, he’d never have anywhere to sleep.

 

I had a small TV on a shelf in my room, and built-in cupboards. The only mess I really had was a habit of throwing clothes off and leaving them on the carpet or the middle of my bed. I found myself tidying up, not because I ever thought for a second Michael would come in, but because it did look a sight for sore eyes.

 

My spare room was one that I turned in to a study, I guess you’d could have called it, but ironically, I didn’t study, so there sat my desk with a little radio. I also had a spare bed in there, God knows why. Only once it had been used when Gabrielle decided on a whim to spend the night after we pigged out and watched movies. That was the type of fun I valued with my friends… hanging out, eating like fat bitches until we were ready to pop, and not moving from the couch unless to use the bathroom.

 

I smiled. Gaby had been the best at hanging out with. Too bad that she was so obsessed with her weight, these days.

 

While I tidied I began to think of how once, while I was recovering from my accident we both lay head-to-toe on Mom’s couch and watched ten movies straight, and ate possibly the most disgusting, unhealthy meals, drank bottle after bottle of Coca-Cola and moved only for two reasons. To get more food or drink, or to use the bathroom. Our laziness became a joke between us for so long.

 

Another time we both searched the cupboards for food at my Mom’s just before I moved out. I opened the fridge and smiled, “Gab… there’s strawberry cheese-cake!” I exclaimed with a grin. I had completely forgotten about it, Mom and I had made it about a week earlier and more than half was left. I paused and sighed as my enthusiasm deflated. “It’s probably off. Damn.” I muttered.

 

Gaby came to survey the cake beside me. “Do you think it’d be okay?” I asked, explaining that it’d been there possibly longer than a week.

 

We both stared at each other for a few moments and as if we were sharing the same thought, we both shrugged and laughed. “Let’s eat it anyway!” I suggested. Shit, it made my stomach churn to think about it now. There was no doubt about it; we were fucking disgusting.

 

“If we get sick from it, it’ll be worth it, cause bitch, that cheese cake looks fucking awesome!” She added, cracking me up again. We didn’t even get a knife or separate plates. We just grabbed forks, no, actually. We used parfait desert utensils, only the best for such ladies. We took the whole thing to the living room and devoured the cake in its entirety. We made a vow that eating almost an entire strawberry cheesecake that was possibly off, would remain our dirty little secret.

 

 

Man, I missed Gaby. Not the person she was these days, but the friend that she used to be to me, before the booze and the drugs… I needed to give her a call; I worried about her. I think that I needed to have a talk with her, I had a sixth sense when it came to our friendship… I knew things were getting out of hand in her life. It was easier for me not to see what was going on, to pretend that she only may have been doing recreational drugs. I realized that what I did to her, turning a blind eye to deeper issues, was exactly what those had done around me when I was with Aaron.

 

And all I wanted, was for someone to notice and take action, instead of just asking me questions. I wanted to be protected, not to just talk about it, and admit he was beating me.

 

I decided that I would call her through the week and organize for a time for us to get together. At that moment, though, my sole purpose was making sure my apartment was clean for Michael. I was so nervous about having him over. I wanted everything to be perfect. I guess it was okay for me to quietly admit that a little bit of a crush was forming. It wasn’t a huge one, it was just the idea of finding someone who understood me…

 

What I found to be the most refreshing was that he had made it clear that he wasn’t the type of person who just met up with any old fan and took her back to his apartment or hotel suite. It was the era of groupies and Michael complained to me about how he had been on a hiring and firing stampede after finding out that a few of his employees were taking sexual favors in return of introducing his own fans to him.

 

I was disgusted that his employees would take advantage of their position. Michael laughed at my naivete and said that nothing surprised him when it came to the actions of people around him, which was why, he explained, that it was hard to trust anyone.

 

I felt that the comment was a bit cheap though, after all he obviously did trust me. It was again, one of those things where a person claimed to me that they entrusted their issues in no one, but they did. I, on the other hand, was true to my word—but I had a feeling that with the more Michael trusted me, the harder I was finding it to keep everything about me, to myself.

 

So Michael arrived and I felt nervous. He gave a knock at the front door and I opened it. I was almost shaking. I knew it was dumb, as I’d never had a desire before to impress anyone, really, but I felt so worried that my place wouldn’t be good enough for him. Surprising me, before even stepping inside, he gave me a hug. I was so stunned that I awkwardly hugged him back, feeling stupid and clumsy.

 

I pulled away almost faster than I’d leaned in. If Michael noticed my immediate hostility, he didn’t say anything. I welcomed him anxiously inside. “How are you?” He asked warmly, concentrating more on me than the interior of my house. We hadn’t spoken since the week before when I had been at his place. He had left me a message on my machine confirming his visit, and I’d left one on his just to confirm that I’d received it.

 

It was kind of hard to get a hold of Michael, and generally I learned that there were a lot of people that got in the way of the message. The first time he wanted me to call him he had given me the number of his personal assistant, who had interrogated me before deflating my mood by insisting that Michael wasn’t in. I’d later learned that he was. After he learned about that episode, he had supplied me with his direct number to his house. I was well aware that this number was about as elite as I could get with him.

 

Not that I really gave a shit if I were the only one who had it or the billionth, as damn long as I got through when I wanted to, I didn’t care.

 

“I’m okay.” I replied. There was something in his eyes that I found myself drawn to, immediately. He looked at me with a lot of compassion, with fondness and concern. Part of me wanted to set it aside, and pretend that it wasn’t there – but I couldn’t. I didn’t mind when he continued to look at me, rubbing my upper arms, as if waiting for me to say something else.

 

“How are you?” I asked, gently shrugging from his touch, slipping behind him to close the front door.

 

“I’m great.” He assured me with a smile. He took off a fedora that he wore on his head. It was the kind that I’d seen him wear when he performed only months earlier at the Motown 25 anniversary. “I’ll take that for you.” I offered. He thanked me and let me have it. I twirled it around in my hands, looking at the inside a little curiously before putting it on a hat and coat rack.


When I turned around, I found him looking around my place the same way I had been looking at his hat. I felt gold fish swimming around in the pit of my stomach and dared myself to lead him in to the living room. “Hey… this is real nice!” He complimented me. “It’s so homely!”

 

I wondered if there was something more to the comment as in, nice ghetto apartment. “It’s no palace, that’s for sure.” I replied, feeling so vulnerable for the first time in God only knew how long. “But it’s mine.” I added in a smaller voice, feeling like a pauper.

 

“Are you kidding?” He asked, glancing at me as if I was crazy before turning his gaze back to the crammed, but well-decorated living area. “Jade, your place is gorgeous. It looks so cozy and warm… Man….” His voice trailed off as he headed over to a shelf that was on the other side of the room. It was crammed with books and photo frames and 12” LPs. He didn’t even ask before he started sifting through things. I liked that he didn’t ask, it affirmed the fact that his social skills were about as blunt as mine. He probably wasn’t used to having to ask anyone’s permission to do anything.

 

“You right there?” I asked him with an amused smile as he fingered the LPs, looking to see what was in my collection. “Just helping yourself to my things…”

 

He quickly whirled around giving me a sheepish look. “Oh, I’m sorry!” He turned a shade brighter. I knew I’d embarrassed him. “Sorry, I just get excited when I see-“

 

I gave a laugh, “Go right ahead, Michael, I’m just messing with you.”

 

He chuckled and turned back to the shelf, giving nods of approval when he came across something that he liked. “Oh come on!” He groaned, pulling something out that clearly he didn’t like at all.

 

“What?” I asked, moving closer toward him to see what he was looking at. He showed me the cover of a Prince LP that I just bought only a week earlier. I laughed. “Hey, I like Prince.” I told him.

 

“Pffft!” Michael sounded, “Midget man….” He mumbled under his breath.

 

“What was that?” I shot back playfully, “What did you have to say right there about your arch nemesis?”

 

“I called him Midget Man.” He said a little more clearly, showing me a smile so that I knew he was just trying to razz me. Suddenly so much ammunition came to play, but I bit my tongue hard, fighting it off. I knew I had so much material to work with, but I told myself that there was absolutely no reason to be spiteful.

 

“Don’t like a bit of healthy competition eh? Can’t stand the heat, huh?” I nudged him jokingly. I felt a smile on my face, and it felt so good, and the night was only just young!

 

“Competition?” Michael scoffed, “That’s a term you could use loosely.” I knew his ego was mock-seriousness. We both laughed and finally he came across what I knew would boost his ego just a tad more.

 

“Oh well, well, looky here…” He pulled the Thriller album out of the pile. “I’m so honored that you own my album.” He was being sarcastic and he was making no effort to hide it.

 

“Yeah, what can I say?” I asked rolling my eyes so that he could see, “I couldn’t resist – I was one of the 2 fools out of every ten American homes that bought the thing…”

 

He burst out laughing at my monotone reaction. “Seriously though, do you like it?”

 

I decided I should be honest. “Michael, I’ve only heard it a couple times…but I love the last song, and I’ve heard the songs on the radio, what I know of it, it’s great.”

 

He smiled and put the LP back, “Well just make sure you give it more of a chance than that crappy Prince album.” He winked. I laughed, and rested my hand on his shoulder as he knelt down to look at my books.

 

“You like History…” his voice trailed off, “I love reading about History.” He said, browsing my World War 2 books.

 

“I sure do.”

 

He took a few books from the shelf and browsed them before sliding them back in. “Maybe I could borrow a couple of these to read some time when I’m not so busy.” He suggested.

 

It’s not like you don’t have enough money to buy your own. I thought but immediately I wanted to kick myself in the crotch for thinking like such a bitch. I had a thing about other people loaning my books. I begrudged it, because I was one of those anal types that didn’t like it when my books were dog-eared, grubby or… my worst pet peeve of all, when the spines had creases. I liked my books to remain in perfect condition and I didn’t think that I knew Michael well enough to divulge how fastidious I was over silly things.

 

“Sure.” I smiled, knowing that there was no way unless hell froze over, that he was going to be taking home any of my books. He got up back to his feet and continued looking around my apartment. He glanced at the photos on the wall of my Dad, Mom and I.

 

Immediately my heart beat harder when I saw him staring at one photo in particular. I was lying flat on my back in hospital with tubes and machines hooked up to me and Mom was sitting to my left, leaning in close. I looked like absolute shit, but I was smiling. I kept the picture up to remind myself that I was a survivor and that I never ever had to endure the pain inflicted by another male on to me again.

 

“Oh my goodness…” Michael looked shocked. I wanted to rip the frame down and toss it in to a drawer. But what would have been the point? He’d already seen it now. “That’s you?” he asked looking down at me. We both knew it was a stupid question, it was clearly me. “What on Earth happened to you?” He wanted to know. I looked him in the eye and felt flooded with a feeling of shame and had to turn away.

 

“I just had an accident, but I made a full recovery.” I replied, my tone immediately changing.

 

“In a car?” He wondered. I nodded and left him standing by himself, glancing back at the photo in obvious shock.

 

“I don’t like talking about it.” I replied, making sure I avoided his eyes. “I shouldn’t even keep that picture up. It’s a bad memory.”

 

Michael stepped away. I could tell he was a little confused and wanted to ask a thousand questions, but he didn’t. He said nothing and followed me through the living room to the kitchen. “Hey, this is so cute!” He pointed to my very-tacky Cookie Monster cookie jar on the counter. It was filled with choc-chip cookies that my Mom had baked for me. “I need one of these!”

 

I smiled, “My Dad bought it for me… It doesn’t really go, but it’s cute and I couldn’t bare to just shove it away.”

 

Michael gave a little laugh, “I love it. I’d put it in my house if it were given to me.”

 

“Haha, lucky no one buys things like that for you, or else you’d have tacky ass décor.” I joked. “So anyway…I have this rule in my house…” I began, “If you want something, be it a drink, food or whatever, you’re welcome to it. My house is your house. So don’t be shy.”

 

He grinned. “What, you expect me to root around your cupboards and help myself?” He asked seriously.

 

I laughed and nodded, “Yeah, sure, help yourself.” I opened the fridge and got out a bottle of coca-cola so that I could get us both a drink.

 

“So how was your week?” I inquired, changing the subject as I handed him a tall tumbler with coke. He thanked me. We retreated back to the living room while he answered my question.

 

“It’s been hectic.” He answered honestly, “I’ve spent most of the time in meetings and doing promotion and stuff. It’s long hours and it’s so boring.” He explained. “I’m just happy to have this weekend free.”

 

Quite frankly, it did sound mundane and boring. If the word meeting had made my mind wander off with boredom, sitting in on one must have been torture. “Mmm. That does sound… mighty exciting.” I pretended to nod off. He nudged me with his elbow, as if telling me to shut up.

 

I set my glass down on the coffee table on a coaster. We were now sitting in my beat up old couch. He hadn’t noticed how pov it was, thankfully. “So how was your week? Tell me you did something more exciting than work.”

 

We both laughed, a comfortable, almost kind of knowing, laugh. As if I had gone to do something out of the ordinary, adventurous or anything remotely out of my own skin. “I worked six days this week and they wanted me to work tonight too, but there was no way I was gonna make it seven.”

 

“Do you like it?” He asked, “I mean, you seem to work pretty hard…”

 

“I have to, I have bills, Mike.” It was the first time I ever shortened his name. He smiled, but I couldn’t tell if it was because I’d just given him a pet name in his own right, or because I was so blunt. I was going with door number one.

 

“But, why didn’t you just finish college?” He wondered, “Surely you could go back and finish your degree.”

 

“College won’t pay my bills.” I replied very logically. “And there’s no way I want to move back home after having my freedom.” I glanced at him briefly in his rose red knit sweater and ugly stone-wash jeans that screamed fashion victim. I was being serious; I wasn’t trying to put a dampener on the mood. It was the truth, as much as I would have loved to have finished my journalism degree, I was trying to be realistic.

 

“Did you quit because you moved out of home?” Michael asked, probably thinking that it was too straining financially.

 

I shook my head. “I had to take a lot of time off school during my last year and I couldn’t really bring myself to go back. It was a wise choice at the time.” I tried to explain as little as possible.

 

I hated being so vague and giving him absolutely nothing to work with, but I couldn’t help it. There was so much to say about my reasons for giving up, but I couldn’t bring myself to share it. He stared at me curiously and said nothing. “But to answer your question, I don’t particularly love my job. But they have looked after me well and have always paid me really well.” I replied.

 

He nodded with understanding. I leaned back in to the couch and gave him a stare. He looked so handsome and sweet. It was hard to believe that I considered him to be any sort of threat to me. I didn’t know him so well, but I just felt something inside my heart that told me that it was okay to trust him, that he wasn’t going to radically change in to some sort of psycho.

 

“Michael, why are you here with me?” The question that had been plaguing my mind escaped my lips. I was tired of shooting the breeze with him, but hated that I kept flinging myself from one extreme emotion to the next. “I mean,” I started again gently; it had come out a whole lot harsher than I had intended. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

 

He gave an almost jaded-sounding scoff and gave me his full attention. “I don’t know why I don’t have a girlfriend.” He replied, “I should have a girlfriend, right?”

 

“Right.” I relaxed.

 

“I want a girl, but I’m so picky and I want it to be right. You know?” I was surprised by how serious and literally he was taking my question. I expected him to get a little defensive the way he had on the phone. It’s not like I wanted to hear a buttload of insincere compliments as to how oooh I seemed like such a nice person and why shouldn’t he want to get to know me, blah, blah… I hated to hear the sounds of any guy trying to get their mack shit on. I did, on the other hand, want him to be honest with me. There was a part of me that wanted him to assure me once more that he could be trusted.

 

Shit, I was so high maintenance even just as a friend. Imagine how insecure I would have been as a girlfriend?

 

I nodded. I did know how it felt. I knew I would be picky as hell. You know, deep down inside I could have played up my front as well as I wanted but I knew that in the abyss of my heart lied a lonely little bitch that wanted more than anything else to be loved in that perfect way every hopeless romantic dreamed of. It was just easier to hide it under debris of cynicism and coldness.

 

“Have you ever had your heart broken?” I asked gently. Michael seemed pretty sensitive, I figured he was probably one of the good guys that let girls walk all over him – or at least that’s how it seemed.

 

He gave me a little smile. For some reason, I felt like I was shrinking in to myself. My cheeks went a little pink, I realized how personal I was about to make this conversation, how he was going to be honest, answer my question and then would ask me the same. I could either lie, or be truthful. I could either elaborate … or not.

 

It was about to be a moment of truth.

 

“Maybe not broken as in, I’ve been so deeply in love that someone has ripped my heart out of my chest and hammered it… but I’ve had my heart broken by people in other ways.” He replied, taking a moment to answer me. “I don’t think I’ve ever been able to let my heart be completely free enough to fall in love.”

 

I was surprised by his answer. It was obvious then that he too, had reasons to remain guarded. “Why not?” I wondered. He made eye contact with me and swallowed hard. I could tell something brutally honest was about to leave his mouth.

 

“Because I’m scared of having someone reject me. I’m scared of having my heart torn to pieces. And what would happen if I fell in love and my lifestyle became too much for my girlfriend to bare? My schedule isn’t fair on any woman.” He told me. What struck me the most was his consideration for others. He was putting his own wants and needs aside because it wasn’t fair on the woman?

 

“But, I’m pretty sure she’d know who you are and what she was getting herself in to…” I replied logically.

 

“Some people think that my career is always glamorous, Jade, but it’s not. It’s so time and energy consuming. Sometimes when I’m ‘there’, I’m not really all ‘there’.” He explained.

 

I gave a shrug. “Well women are stupid creatures.” I replied, making a face. I could only imagine what type of dumb broads he came across wanting to get him in the sack on a daily basis. “What about you and Brooke then, what happened there?” I asked, “I mean, if you don’t mind…”

 

I knew it was getting really deep and personal, and Michael was becoming more reluctant to answer me, but he was a much better sport at this game than I was. I suppose he trusted me for whatever reason. He started to answer the question four times, each time using a different word to begin the sentence, as if he couldn’t choose what he wanted to say.

 

“Oh, I’ll just be blunt.” He finally gave up. “Brooke was all over me like a rash on a hooker and it made me uncomfortable.”

 

I cracked up laughing, not expecting an expression quite like that to come out of his mouth. He laughed with me, clearly a rare occasion when he was so crass. I loved it. What I didn’t get though, was what the big issue was. “And what about it? Isn’t that like every male American dream to bang Brooke Shields?”

 

Michael made a disgusted face. “It’s not mine, that’s for sure. I don’t take well to women who want to lay down on the first or second date.” He explained. “Or even the third, forth or fifth.”

 

I was surprised, but really proud of him for not being a misogynist, horny shit. “But it’s okay on the sixth date, right?” I winked, making a joke.

 

He laughed but shook his head, “No. I don’t sleep around. I ain’t my brother’s or Joseph, Jade. Those jerks…” He thought of them and obviously felt disgust, “Hoes…” He mumbled. “I can’t stand that shit, I have to know the girl is the right girl before I lay down with her.”

 

I felt my lips curling in to a smile. I was so very proud of him for being able to admit it. “Yeah. You’re right.” I added. “You can’t just go jumping in to bed with the first person you meet.”

 

“Every girl I meet wants to do it right away, and they think I’m a freak or a sissy or something if I don’t wanna go there, you know?” He explained. There was some emotion in his eyes that I took as sincerity. I knew that he was telling me things from the heart, and by God, I appreciated it so much. It was such a relief to know that I was not alone with my sentiments.

 

My smile must have been so broad, because he looked a little bit offended. I hadn’t meant to feel so bright about his predicament, but I was so happy that I was able to level with him. “Why are you smiling?” He asked with a frown.

 

“Aw, I’m sorry. I’m just smiling because it’s rare to come across a guy who doesn’t place such an importance on having sex; but rather, not having sex. It’s so amazing that you recognize how important it is not to jump in to it…”

 

His expression relaxed and he smiled back at me. I was carefully governing my feelings for him right at that moment. I knew that a rose inside of my heart had just went in to bloom, and I was okay with admitting it to myself. “Do you remember when I asked you if you were sure that there wasn’t even just one itty bitty bit of belief within you that true love existed?” He asked. I gave a nod, remembering that quite well. I’d blatantly lied to him.

 

“And you said no…” He continued. I wondered what he was getting at. I wanted to correct him and tell him the truth, but it seemed he was ahead of me. “I think you lied to me.”

 

I chuckled. “Maybe.”

 

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