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"What?...What's going on?" replied Ty.

"I should not have had to convince Charlotte Faulkner to let me keep playing Michael's music...she should have KNOWN she was wrong about him from the beginning!" replied Renee. "So, for the next two weeks, instead of music by Michael Jackson, Charlotte Faulkner is going to hear nothing but dead air."

"Okay, but why go to all that trouble, especially if she relented and apologized?" Ty asked.

"Because, Cheri, I don't believe her sincerity." Renee replied. "I believe she only said what she said so I would shut up and leave her office. I'm going to see if George and Linda are available to discuss my plan with me." she continued as she picked up the receiver of the phone in their kitchen, and dialed a number.

"Hello?...Yes, this is Renee Alexander, I'd like to schedule a Skype conference for myself and George for tomorrow...Okay, that'll be fine." Renee continued, while making a note on the calendar she'd placed by the phone. "And if Linda is available, I'd like to include her...Okay, yes that'll be fine...Thank you..."

"How'd it go?" asked Ty as Renee concluded the call and placed phone receiver back on the cradle.

"Fine." replied Renee. "I have an appointment George and Linda tomorrow. Oh, and then I have my doctor's follow-up tomorrow afternoon."

"Ooh."replied Ty, remembering a prior commitment. "And I have that conference until five...sorry, babe."

"And Myka's taking some vacation days, so she won't be available..." replied Renee. "That's okay...I'll manage."

"You're sure?" replied Ty.

"Yes, Cheri, I'm sure...I'll be fine." replied Renee following her words with a reassuring kiss to her husband's lips...

"Charlotte Faulkner is a stubborn one all right." agreed Renee's boss George during the Skype conference call the following day.

"We're behind you 100 percent, Renee." added Renee's immediate supervisor Linda during the same call.

"Thank you." replied Renee. "And if it's okay with you, I plan to come back to the station in time to do my radiothon."

"Of course. That'll work perfectly." replied George.

"Merci, George...I only wish I could be a fly on the wall of her office to see her expression when she starts receiving calls from my listeners wondering why I'm not doing my broadcast...I expect she'll 'hem' and 'haw' a little bit as she tries to think up an explanation...an explanation that won't make HER out to be the guilty party in this; especially since everyone will know of my protest once the article is printed in the paper."

"An article !?!...Are you sure that's a good idea?" replied Linda.

"Don't worry, Linda, I'm not going to mention names." replied Renee. "Infact, all it's going to say is: "Local disc jockey to stage 'dead air' strike to protest mandatory restriction on broadcast of music." And she'll have no choice but to take the calls because it'll be her phone number that's given to everyone."

"Well, you certainly aren't afraid to take risks." replied George, impressed by Renee's gutsy move.

"I realize what I'm planning is risky." replied Renee. "But I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't have complete confidence in Michael Jackson's innocence, or if I didn't think the media has done Michael a gross disservice all these years by taking the word of two greedy criminals with no qualms about assassinating Michael's character for the sake of a few measly dollars. And if what I'm planning results in a backlash, I'm willing to take full responsibility."

"I wouldn't worry, Renee." George replied. "We're confident you have the best interests of the station at heart."

"Thank you, George." Renee replied.

"And we look forward to seeing you back at the station to broadcast your radiothon." George added.

"Good luck with this, Renee." added Linda.

"Merci, Linda." replied Renee just before ending the Skype connection. "I'll see you in two weeks."

After ending the Skype connection, Renee picked up the receiver of her phone, and dialed a number.

"Yes, I need someone to pick me up outside of the Wedgewood Manor Apartments...Renee...I'll be just inside the building...How long?...15 minutes?...That'll be fine, thank you...And I'd like the same driver for the return trip...That pick up will be from the Seventh Street Medical Center...the driver should be there at three o'clock...that sounds good...thank you so much."

Later, while at her doctor's office, waiting to see her doctor for a follow up appointment after having been taken to the emergency room, following the severe panic attack which caused her to lose consciousness, Renee went over to a nearby magazine rack hoping to find something to read. Looking through the selection, Renee was disgusted to find not one, not two, but three tabloid magazines, each with offensive, bogus headlines focusing on Michael Jackson's sexual orientation,-each magazine implying Michael was gay.

"King of Pop OUTED as "Queen" of Pop" said the first; "I'm Not Gay...I'm A Girl...Hee, Hee." read the words splashed across the cover of the of the second.

Upon leafing through the pages of one, Renee found a picture of Michael Jackson sitting beside a child Renee recognized as Gavin Arvizo, the boy whose mother had recently attempted to extort money from Michael with yet another bogus claim of child molestation.

"Merde!" Renee replied as she glimpsed the captions which read: "Gavin: "I'm in love with the King of Pop." Michael: "Young boys rock my world."

Although completely disgusted by the images, Renee found herself looking through each of the magazines more thoroughly than she had anticipated she would. Fed up with looking at two of the magazines, Renee stuffed the two magazines with the references to Michael's sexual orientation, and his assumed relationship with Gavin Arvizo under her arm, and proceeded to look more thoroughly at the third magazine.

While she found the third magazine just as disgusting as the other two, Renee found the references in this tabloid magazine focused not only on Michael Jackson's sexual orientation, and his physical appearance, but also on his presumed mental state. On the front page of magazine number three, half way down, Renee found herself greeted by the following headline: "Jacko Moonwalks Shaky Line Between Reality and Madness Behind the Walls of Neverland." to which Renee replied with disgust: "There is no madness...Merde!"

"Renee." called a nurse, dressed in scrubs, who opened the door, and led Renee into the examination area, as Renee folded the tabloid magazines and prepared to throw them away, only to be required to hold on to them as the nurse had her weigh in on the scale, led her to an available examination room, and checked her blood pressure and other vital statistics.

"Your blood pressure's on the high side." commented Doctor Barkley a few minutes later, while checking Renee's chart.

"It could be because I've been reading this garbage." Renee replied, as calmly as possible but with a hint of sarcasm in her voice, as she tossed the tabloid mags on the exam table. " I found them in the magazine rack in your waiting room...and the most asinine thing...they're NOT even TRUTHFUL...or current."

"I'll speak to my office staff," replied Dr. Barkley. "Remind them of my policy prohibiting these. They certainly are not conducive to a healing environment."

"Thank you, Dr., I'd appreciate that." replied Renee.

After her appointment, Renee deposited the tabloid magazines in the garbage can just outside the entrance to the clinic, quickly climbed into the waiting taxi, and instructed the driver to give her a ride home where she paid the driver before moving quickly into the house.

"This should do it." said Renee pleasantly while handing money to the taxi driver. "Keep the change."

"Thank you, ma'am." replied the driver, taking the money as Renee climbed out of the cab. "Have a good day."

"You too." replied Renee before closing the car door, and moving quickly into the apartment building.

Once inside the house, Renee, annoyed by the tabloid articles, and needing to vent her frustration, set her handbag down roughly, tossed her keys aside, hunted for her journal and a pen, pulled out her chair at the dining table, opened the journal to a blank page, and began to write:

"Dear Michael,

Just what in the Hell, may I ask, is wrong with some people? Are these people-these idiots-as they say, "Stuck on Stupid?" Or are they so gullible as to believe anything and everything they see and or read? I just could not believe what I read about you today, Michael...Nor could I believe that someone had been so naive as to think anyone else would want to read that ridiculous pile of putrid pulp fiction, some brainiac somewhere had spent obviously endless hours writing down in order to empty the obviously over-crowded receptacle of lies and fabrications they call a mind. It's no wonder the writers of tabloid trash are complete idiots. The minds of those people are so cluttered with absurd ideas and nonsense, there's no place to put a brain! Nor is there room amid the clutter for reasoning, and at the very least COMMON SENSE!!! And those whose heads have room enough for a brain, probably only have room for a brain the size of a pin!

I'm just wondering, Michael, just what is it going to take for these...pinheads.. to stop spewing garbage all over the horizon? When will these idiots wise up and realize not everyone is a brainless worm who's willing to crawl through and eat up every piece of manure that happens to be shoveled out in front of them?...What's it gonna take, Michael!?! WHAT'S IT GONNA TAKE!!!...Merde...Merde...MERDE...MERDE...MERDE!!!"

Not knowing what else to write, Renee re-read the entry, and feeling satisfied with what she'd written, closed the notebook, and searched for the manila envelope she'd addressed days earlier to Michael Jackson when she'd decided to send her journal to Michael to share the journal entries she'd written to/about him with him.

Renee put her journal in the envelope addressed to Michael who she knew was now living somewhere in Ireland. However, before sealing the envelope, Renee re-read the recent entry and tore it out of the journal, thinking Michael might think an emotion-crazed fan, rather than a calm, rational woman wrote it, and threw away the page. Soon, Renee was interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on her door.

"Coming!...Coming!" replied Renee, crossing to the door. "Oui?"

"Hi there...package for Renee Alexander." replied the friendly individual clad in the uniform of a well-known delivery company.

"Merci." replied Renee, after signing for the package which the delivery person handed her.

After closing the door, Renee crossed over to the kitchen table, and unwrapped the package to find it contained two copies of a paperback book, and a note from her daughter Nicole-now in her twenties, and living in her home country of Nice, France. The book was written by Nicole herself, and was titled: "Weeding the Truth From the Garden of Lies." Nicole had dedicated the book to Michael Jackson, and had written the book as a commentary on the tabloid media's treatment of Michael over the past several years.

"Oh, she finished her book...magnifique." replied Renee with a pleased tone while examining the book.

While leafing through one copy of the book, Renee found a handwritten note which read: " Bonjour Mom, Please send one copy to Michael Jackson. Merci, Love, Nicole."...

"I will do what I can...I will definitely do what I can." replied Renee...


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