1987– The Penthouse, California (Before "Angel" Breakup)
BRENDA
This was no publicity stunt. I joined Prince onstage for a reason. "Sign Of The Times" now fascinated the music industry. A concert film even encouraged hordes of fans to observe my past love. As one "honorary" member of his enormous band, my presence seemed included for the first time in years. Not once did thumbs twiddle, though. I laced up my sneakers and headed toward a musically organized approach.
My body and directions sometimes helped choreograph Cat and Shelia, or the show itself. My voice guided the background singers many times over. My watchful eyes even reviewed performance footage in editing rooms with Skip. On and on. In short, Prince made damn sure that my touring experience advanced with him, not failed. Unlike Michael.
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My career hauled through such a noticeable dry spell that I gave up recording the album and flew toward Paris almost immediately. Band photoshoots and even interviews from the curious media flooded my life. Everyone in the band, including Shelia and Cat, appeared onscreen first most of the time. When my name and lipstick-coated grins popped onto the television, joy overflowed. Meanwhile, Prince jogged away from cameras as usual. I rolled my eyes, but understood. Unless truly interested, there was no reason for him to stop creating magic in one way or another.
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I didn't even care if Michael grilled me for connecting with my old flame later. This had been my choice above anyone else. Not even my own employees could drum up such a wonderful opportunity. I hadn't felt this pleased since the Soul Train days anyhow. At this point, no one questioned my talent anymore. I felt extraordinary again. To be honest, work had given me a purpose as soon as relationships declined. Collaborating with a genius only increased this joy.
Unfortunately, I left this tour after one month. Prince and the others squeezed me during the best largest embrace. I teared up before boarding a plane that led back to my second home. Skipper promised to call time and time again. I understood and we fell back into a usual routine. Distance separated me from my old flame and previous best friend, but I quickly moved on. There was no other choice for obvious reasons.
When I finally returned home, Michael folded his arms while sitting on my couch. The living room suffocated with silence. His brown eyes hid right underneath a fedora. I wouldn't cringe around Jackson anymore. I wouldn't even regret joining forces with Prince again.
As I've said, this old flame gave me so much more responsibility than waking up in his arms every morning. While tempting, Prince and I never crossed the ultimate line during that tour. I honestly wanted things to work out with Michael. As distant as we'd been to each other recently.
"Fix your face, Nigga. Don't say anything to me." My voice snipped at him immediately through clenched teeth. I'd had quite enough of his argumentative foolishness. At the same time, Michael's ego would emerge as usual. I rolled my eyes and stomped toward the bedroom door in these favorite boots. My luggage slumped onto the wooden floor right now. I could've cared less.
"Why the fuck would you tour with an ex, but we can't see each other once I leave Japan or Australia?" Michael stood up and folded his arms once more. I then walked back over to the luggage and dragged accordingly. The pull alongside this same wooden floor somehow distracted me from his noticing his confidently irritable response.
"With him, I did something other than lay on my back. Shut up. If I ever toured with you, what would've happened, Michael?" I titled my head and these curls swung. My heel clicked backwards for the moment. Michael just lowered his eyes. As intelligent as this man was, I knew his answer involved that bloated ego.
"All you'll need to do is ask me and we'll do whatever you want." Michael offered one his trademark grins. Yet, I wouldn't even smile. Another bout of silence fell in the living room now. I understood why. I rolled my eyes once more. While touring with Skipper, I pulled my weight without asking.
One minute I'd sit down during those rehearsals, and the next, I'd sweat through dance routines onstage. This man immediately recognized my talent and capitalized on those gifts. Knowing Michael, he'd spoiled me when I could get anything myself. Jackson never understood my viewpoint right now. I earned my shit through and through.
"You don't understand what I'm saying. You would never allow me to help with these concerts. It's your show. I only went on tour with Prince because he knew how to compromise. I can't do anything with you. And don't use the shopping spree excuse, either. Don't you know that I make payments here myself? No one bought this place for me. Everything was on my hands. Prince didn't even help. I'm not as dumb as you think, remember? We've been through this too many times." I tossed up both hands and finished ranting.
"You still love him. That's why you were so quick to go on tour like that. I wouldn't be surprised if he slept with you either, girl. Stop playing games with me if you're so invested in my relationship with you. Do you want this to work with me or not? I really don't know what to think anymore." Michael finally took off his fedora. My eyes widened. My complexion somehow paled.
Michael Jackson had officially lost his damn mind.
