Work Text:
APRIL 10 , 1983
LOS ANGELES, CA.
When Michael stepped into some vinyl shop that he came across a year and a half ago named Phonograph, he was sure he would go unnoticed. On his face he wore his signature Ray Bans, sitting high on the bridge of his nose, a fake mustache, a pair of suspiciously dramatic sideburns that could barely pass for real, and an untamed afro wig. He was done up—to him, this was a real good disguise, and he had no choice but to wear it. Someone with a fame as potent as his own couldn’t be out and about with no security and no getup. It didn’t help that he hated having to always leave the house with security close behind. He had to choose, and he was going to choose his sanity. He found true solace in this place.
The bell atop the door rang, alerting the woman at the counter of his presence. He pretended to be smoothing down the hairs of his mustache, really pressing it more securely onto his face. She sent Michael a polite smile, and he nodded as a greeting, eyes lingering for a moment before he finally dropped them. He feared looking at her for too long would bring reveal his identity. After years of trial and error with disguises, he knew he could only hide behind one for so long before people realized it was him.
Michael looked around the store for a moment. This wasn’t the first time he’d been here. The first time he finally found it in him to get up, steal one of Joseph’s cars that was in Michael’s name, and drive around until he could find somewhere that looked interested him. This place happened to be exactly that. Spending his time here made him realize how difficult it was for him to sit down and just exist. He had to be out and about; it didn’t matter whether he was doing those stupid skits with his brothers, performing for the next celebrity’s show on live television, doing the moonwalk across somebody’s stage, in the studio, or visiting a hospital. It needed to be something, and on the rare occasion that he couldn’t find anything, he found himself feeling bored. Almost empty.
Whenever he found himself in those kinds of predicaments, this is the place he took to. The ambiance was nice, exactly what he needed to relax and feel like he was being productive without actually being productive. The perfect ensemble. Phonograph was a small, Black owned shop—which only added to Michael’s fascination with the place—that sold vinyl, CDs, recent newspapers and the month’s magazines, in addition to some cool knick-knacks that Michael had to force himself to leave where they lie. He knew of his tendency to hoard, and he couldn’t do anything with the random miniature statues he found. The shop was beautifully rustic, with timeworn wood paneling, dark and rich, and yellow lighting the shined dimly on the homely scenery. It was all like a breath of fresh air.
It gave him a sense of normalcy, which he sought out whenever he went somewhere that wasn’t for work or shaping his public image, and this was the perfect spot for lucidity.
He took to the same aisle he always did—the one with his own music. He liked to see it, to remind himself of his accomplishments when he questioned, on rare occasion, if it was worth all the mess he dealt with to gift his talent to the world. Of course, he wouldn’t buy his own vinyl. Michael was certain there were other people who wanted the vinyl far more than he did, but it was nice to look at. To pretend he was a real shopper, to imagine what that could be like.
Both Thriller and Off the Wall were there, making him smile proudly to himself. But his thoughts were brought to a sudden halt when he heard a strong but sweet voice behind him. He looked over his shoulder in a quick motion, so fast that his mustache could’ve flew off, and saw the beautiful woman that was once behind the counter standing there behind him.
His first thought was that she caught him, and he was moments from making a run for it. He didn’t care how crazy he would’ve looked running out of the store before she could utter a word. But it was like his feet were cemented to the ground, even more when she spoke.
“Hi. Do you need help at all?”
Michael had seen her face before, and as he stood in this very aisle pretending to look at vinyl he knew he had no intentions of buying, he stole a few fleeting glances. She never seemed to notice him, which he preferred, but that clearly didn’t last very long.
“Um… just looking for some new music, that’s all.”
She nodded. “Okay. Were you looking for anything specific?”
“Uh.” He scrambled, looking around for an album and picked up the first thing he saw, and picked up Hotter Than July.
She cocked her head to the side as if confused. “You haven’t listened to Hotter Than July?”
“I mean…” he trailed off. The album was released just two years ago, and if Michael was just some regular guy who really hadn’t listened to it, it would be such a crime. Stevland’s album was nothing short of a masterpiece, as were the rest of them. “I haven’t gotten around to it.”
She laughed a bit sardonically, glancing to the side as she forced herself to nod her head. “Huh. Okay…” She bit down on her lip in thought, and Michael’s eyes took to that very place. She had the most beautiful plump lips he’d ever seen. “Well, Stevie’s not new to you, is he?”
He almost told her ‘No’ faster than he could think about it but stopped himself quick enough to remember this façade he was trying to uphold. Michael Jackson would’ve listened to every piece of work his cousin put out, but he wasn’t Michael Jackson right now.
“I know a few songs of his.” He nodded, and when he saw the unfiltered shock on her face, he laughed as well. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”
“Sir, you just told me you know a couple songs by Stevie Wonder. And I can’t imagine what you listen to if you don’t listen to Stevie Wonder…” she trailed off. “Clearly not real music.”
He laughed at her statement, really seeing the irony of all this. “You’re a big fan of him?”
“Huge. He’s been my favorite since I was able to talk.” She smirked smugly.
“Hmm, what’s your favorite album of his?”
“Songs in the Key of Life, of course. I won’t take any other answer, they’re all wrong.”
Michael laughed a bit. Now, he found himself glad that she came over to him, though their conversation did start out a bit rocky. His hand struck his thigh as his laughter calmed, and he pointed at her.
“Oh, you’re funny.”
Her expression contorted in delighted confusion. She wasn’t quite following the conversation, but the fact that he was enjoying it so much pulled her further into it. “Am I?” she asked rhetorically, causing him to laugh again.
It made him very briefly ponder if she was truly being funny or if his laughter was a result of his attraction to her. He was doing his best to hide it, but his efforts weren’t being met with the best results.
“You are,” he assured her, though he was unsure himself, then they fell into a silence. But it didn’t last very long because his lips were moving once again. “You like any other artists?”
“Yeah, I like lots of artists. But we’re supposed to be talking about what you’re looking for right now, not my taste in music,” she reminded him in an attempt to redirect their conversation, but Michael completely ignored it. He was curious to get to know this elegant woman he found so mysterious.
“What’s your opinion on Michael Jackson? You like him any?”
Her expression only shifted in thought, void of admiration or the contrary. He licked his lips, watching her tongue poke her cheek. He was surprised to receive a shrug from her.
“He’s nice. Great voice.”
“Is that all?”
“I mean,” she laughed awkwardly, scratching her neck, “What else am I supposed to say? I think he’s a good singer.”
“How’d you feel about Thriller?” Michael followed up.
She hummed, peering at him with an amused grin. She squinted her eyes, studying his countenance for a moment before nodding her head. “Can I be honest with you?” she leaned in just a bit, arousing Michael’s hyperactive curiosity. “I haven’t listened to it yet. Never got around to it.”
“What?” He was shocked, not discerning the mockery.
“Yeah, I know. It’s so bad…” she expressed with playful regret, shaking her head.
“As well as it did, I’m surprised.”
“My parents are big on soul and R&B, so…” She shrugged. “We not big pop people.”
“Well, you’ve listened to him, right?” Michael asked.
“Sure, yeah. His brothers, too.”
“What’s your favorite album?”
“Hmmm,” she hummed, tapping her chin dramatically before biting down on her medium-length fingernails. His eyes flicked down, just an inch, but only for a short moment before she answered, “Victory.”
“Are you toying with me?”
“Why’s that so hard for you to believe?” her laugh was wry, which Michael also failed to realize. “Are you in some weird parasocial relationship with Michael Jackson?” She cocked her head to the side, and he was forced to bite back a smile. “Or…” Her expression flashed with realization similar to the lightbulb that went off above her head. “Do you know him personally?”
Michael paused for a moment, unsure of how to respond and whether she’d seen through his guise, and her enigmatic expression wasn’t very telling. He felt stuck in between a rock and a hard place.
“Why would I know him personally?” Michael slowly came out with, sure to choose his words carefully.
“You jus’ seem to have strong feelings about his music and how I feel about it.”
“Just making conversation. It doesn’t hurt to be curious.”
“Doesn’t it?” she asked him, to which he didn’t respond.
She watched him intently, her grin broadening with each second he seemed to cower beneath her hard stare before she was finally bursting into light laughter. He flicked his eyes up at her again, reaching up to scratch his upper lip, only to unintentionally adjust his false mustache. He quickly pressed his fingers against the faux piece, hoping it didn’t move enough for her to notice. But a large part of him felt she already realized who he truly was, though he would’ve found it really hard to believe given her lack of an outburst.
“I was just… wondering.”
“One of my girlfriends is a big fan, so I’ve heard a few songs through her. But I will say, Mr. Jackson, you have a beautiful voice.” His expression blanked. Her hands shot up and she gave finger quotations when she wished him, “Good shopping. Let me know if you actually need anything, okay?” the woman giggled before walking away, getting a glimpse of his surprised and sheepish expression.
Of course…
Michael took a quick look around the shop, making sure no one was within earshot to hear their conversation, and returned his gaze to the vinyl in front of him. He sighed heavily, only raising his eyes when he heard the door open, to which the woman behind the register greeted them in the same manner she had greeted him when he entered. The two of them made eye contact and a smug smirk spread across her face before she was returning to whatever it was that she was focused on in her designated area. Clearing his throat, Michael turned away and did his best to blend in with the rest of the small crowd again.
Michael had been reluctant to approach the counter when he grabbed the vinyl he wanted, the same way he was reluctant to leave the establishment, unprepared for the reality walking through the door of his family home thwarted him into. So reluctant that he spent the next few hours browsing all the vinyl Phonograph had to offer, little by little until there was nothing new to look at. It was when a man he assumed was the store’s manager appeared behind him, letting him know that there were five more minutes until closing and he should wrap up his time here. Michael apologized for his carelessness and looked over his shoulder, seeing the young woman at the counter. She looked tired, but she wasn’t drained; obviously counting down the minutes until she could clock out.
As Michael found it in him to approach the register, the cashier was just completing ringing up another customer. She had a lot more than Michael did, visibly eager to get home and listen to all her favorite works.
“Thanks so much!” she exclaimed on her way out.
“You’re welcome. Have a good night.”
The bell dinged and the door swung shut, leaving a peaceful silence and only Michael and the beautiful cashier in the room together. He licked his lips, staring at her as he slowly approached the counter. She smiled, and he couldn’t tell if she found him amusing or if she was being nice. He was betting on the prior.
“Find everything you were lookin’ for?” she asked gently, avoiding eye contact as she scanned the first of his three vinyl.
Michael nodded, saying nothing until she looked up at him, and he realized she hadn’t seen his gesture. “Oh, uh… yeah, I found everything. Thanks.”
“Sure…”
It was silent aside from the beep of the scanner as she rung him up. The third vinyl made her smile, and she briefly held it up for him, bringing the same smile from him. “Hotter Than July, huh?”
“I had to take your advice,” he told her, his eyes scanning her expression as she nodded, focused on doing her job. “I needed to buy the vinyl anyway. My last one got all scratched up.”
“So, you have listened to the album.”
“Yeah, of course.” He chuckled.
“Okay, good. I woulda thought you of all people woulda listened to it by now.” He chuffed, looking down at his hands as he waited for her to finish. The final beep came, and he looked up as she relayed, “Your total is 31.77.”
He nodded, pulling his wallet from his jeans to find his card. “I don’t know how you knew it was me.”
She giggled as if he’d told her the funniest joke. “With all due respect, sir, a mustache and some sideburns is not gonna save you. With them glasses and that face structure…” she trailed off, and Michael didn’t need her to divulge to understand what she was getting at. He had an unmistakable face with the most distinct features, just like the rest of his family.
“Not exactly what I wanted to hear, but…” He laughed gently, finding his black card. But before he handed it to her, he looked up and asked, “Can I ask you somethin’?”
“Okay.”
“What about Thriller wasn’t enough to make you wanna pick it up?” he asked. He always liked to hear criticism about his work. Of course, he preferred that everything be kept respectful but knowing what it was he needed to work on meant he could get it right next time. He could outdo himself when the time came.
Her laughter was like a cup of sunshine—it poured into him, and he wished he could spend all his days hearing such beautiful sound, which was funny considering he dedicated his life to making heavenly music. And she was just as beautiful as her laughter. It was almost impossible to keep his eyes off her. A gentle grin spread across his face.
“Sir, I jus’ haven’t listened to it.”
“Just Michael is fine. Please,” he requested, and she nodded her head with a smile, appreciating his humbleness. “Have you listened to any of it?”
“Sure. Like I said, my girlfriend is a big fan, so she made me listen to a couple songs.”
He paused, pondering her words. “Your girlfriend? Like… your friend that’s a girl, or-”
Her laughter made him stop, and his cheeks warmed in embarrassment. Michael was curious, it was in his nature, and anybody who knew him personally knew it.
“My friend, sir- Michael…”
“Oh,” he began, and nodded his head. “Oh, okay. Well…” Michael rubbed his chin, licking his lips. “Is your boyfriend a fan of the album?”
Her face brightened in amused delight, and she almost called herself laughing in his face again. But she figured he’d had all the embarrassment he could bear for today, so she responded with enlivened glee.
“If you wanted to know if I have a boyfriend, you coulda jus’ asked.”
“I mean…” he trailed off and took a second to find his words, “I just assumed you would be in a relationship.”
“Why? Are you in a relationship?”
“No.” He glanced to the side.
“Okay, then. Why assume I’m in with someone?”
“You’re attractive,” he told her lowly, almost embarrassed by his truth. She smiled shyly, and her cheeks would’ve been a bright shade of pink if her skin was less pigmented.
“Thanks, but you’re attractive as well and as far as anyone knows, you don’t got no girlfriend. Try not to make assumptions about pretty people.” He chortled while he poked the inside of his cheek. The woman sighed inexpressively, though the scant smile on her brown lips confirmed that his compliment was well-received. “Okay, quit playing. Lemme ring you up.”
“Everything I need is on the counter,” Michael said, and he gestured towards it. His next statement was mumbled and slick, as if he wasn’t trying to be heard by her, “and behind it.”
Her eyes flashed up towards him, and his countenance was unsuspecting. He passed his card to her, having forgotten it was just sitting there in his hand, and she slowly removed it from his hand. His eyes trailed down to the lowest point of her that he could see, then back up to her eyes that were watching him. She chewed on her lip and swiped the card, taking in and releasing a deep breath from her mouth. His gaze was fixed on her, even as she put the three vinyl into a plastic bag and slid it towards him.
“Have a nice night, Michael.”
“What’s your name?” he asked. She held his card out for him to take from her, saying nothing in response to his question. “You know mine, I think it’s fair.”
“Everyone knows yours already. I gotta close so I can get home.”
He smirked. Instead of prying, he let her play hard to get because he knew he would be back, and he knew he would get an answer out of her somehow.
“Have a good night,” he told her. He almost told her he’d see her again soon enough but kept that part to himself. He would’ve much rather shown her.
“Nice to meet you,” was the last thing she said to him before he exited the record store.
APRIL 16TH, 1983
LOS ANGELES, CA.
“I’ll take a strawberry Margarita and a water, thank you.”
Genie was the last to order her drinks, right after Mikaela and Nakiyah. She got comfortable in the cushioned Eames chair. She was running a little late for their weekly outing—LA traffic was the equivalent of a never-ending Baltimore rush hour. She’d been living here for a little over a year and still wasn’t used to it.
“Sorry I’m late, y’all. This traffic.”
“Girl, it’s all good,” Mikaela assured her, flipping through the pages of the menu in front of her. “You’re just in time. We still don't know what we want.”
Genie followed suit and grabbed her own, delicately flicking through the options though she had an idea of what she wanted to get. Not a picky eater, but she was inclined to choose a safer option. Only when she was forced would she go out of her comfort zone.
"Speak for yourself," Nakiyah began calmly in response, "I know what I'm getting."
It was a warm morning, and the three women decided that a Saturday breakfast would be the perfect way to end the week and bring in the next one. With clear minds and sated appetites. Even with all their busy schedules, they made the time once a week to hang out and catch up if need be.
Mikaela, a senior sales rep for a luxury car company, Lamborghini, was well-paid and lucky to have a high position. But long hours were demanded of her; work duties took up much of her time. That left her with not too many days off, so when she did get them, she made sure to take advantage. Unironically, she was on her way to work right after their brunch ended, shattering the illusions of what a break could have looked like.
Nakiyah was different from Mikaela in many ways. Besides being less impulsive and more quietly assertive, she also made sure to avoid working under someone at all costs. As an aspiring makeup artist, it was easy for her—up-and-coming would be a better description since she was now doing makeup for other up-and-coming celebrities—singers and magazine models mostly. Lately she’d had a lot on her plate and that made her life consistently busy, but all was well so long as her clientele was growing.
“How’s work been, girl?”
Genie looked up after a few moments of silence, realizing Mikaela was talking to her. Compared to the two sitting around the circular table, she felt her ‘work’ was mundane compared to theirs. It sustained her and it was low-energy; that was all the credit she could give it. Well, that and now the fact that it put her in positions to meet pop stars.
“The same.” She exhaled. Her eyes scanned the menu with purpose as she spoke easily. “Nothin’ to call home about, as always.”
Nakiyah was next to ask, “Have you thought more about going back to school?”
Genie shrugged. Her eyes lit up when she came across the meal she was going to satisfy her hunger with today. “Eh, a little bit. I’m still undecided. Should I get an omelet or French toast?” She looked up at her friends.
They simultaneously recommended, “Omelet.”
“Okay.” She exhaled again, expressionlessly, before looking at the rest of her options to be sure she hadn’t missed anything. “But, yeah. College is still jus’ a thought, nothing I’m committing to. Maybe when I get tired of ringing up vinyl for a living.”
“Well, you know I’ll support if choose not to. I didn’t…” Nakiyah spoke with a shrug.
“Shit, I did. My momma made sure I graduated early, too,” Mikaela exclaimed with a laugh before palming Genie’s shoulder. “But, seriously—like Nakiyah said. If you don’t go and find another way, you have our support. If you wanna be a cashier at Photograph for the rest of your life, we got your back—”
“Girl, it’s Phonograph.”
“Same thing.” Mikaela waved her friend off. But her teasing was brought to a quick end as their waitress walked over to them with their drinks on a black tray that she balanced like a pro. Mikaela and Genie bounced in excitement as the waitress set their respective drinks in front of them before pulling her notepad from her back pocket.
“What can I get you ladies to eat today?”
Genie ordered the omelet Nakiyah and Mikaela recommended, Mikaela ordered pancakes, eggs, sausage, and grits. The mimosa in front of her was all the orange juice she needed to wash it. Nakiyah decided on waffles, scrambled eggs, and turkey bacon. They were informed that their meals would be to them shortly before it became just the three of them again.
Music played softly from speakers strategically placed so those eating outside could still hear. It wasn’t enough to distract anyone in the group from their conversation until Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean came on. The glances casted in between Nakiyah and Genie were almost instantaneous when the well-known bassline made Mikaela move in her seat.
“Oooooo!” she squealed and bobbed her head when the bass began. Genie stared, her expression deadpan. “Oh, they messed up playing this around me. She was more like a beauty queen—”
“They sure did.” Nakiyah pretended to look around for a waiter, pulling a laugh out of Genie. “I need somebody to go ahead and turn this off. Uh, excuse-”
“No, let everybody experience the genius that my man has been endowed with after being touched by God himself.” Genie rolled her eyes when Mikaela closed her eyes and took a deep breath in. Her posture straightened, her fingers joined at the tips, and she nodded slowly. Mikaela opened an eye to peek at her girlfriends, both of which were unamused. “I’ll start floating in a second, hold on. Give it some time.”
“Girl, please. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
As if Mikaela’s bubble had been burst by Nakiyah’s unceremonious truth, she dropped her arms and opened her eyes again. Her lips fell into a slight frown. “I hate that you both act like you’re too good to listen to Michael.”
Genie jerked her head back. “I didn’t say anything.”
“I saw the look on your face.”
“Actually, I did listen to the album,” Nakiyah hurried to her own defense, leaving Genie in her pregnable plight. “And I think it’s good, I just think you’re doing too much.”
“When something is that good, there’s no doing too much.” Mikaela made a mockery of what she felt like was bullshit leaving her best friend’s mouth. “Michael put absolutely everything into this album. Y’all just don’t know how to appreciate real art. Especially you, Genie.”
“Once again; I haven't spoken.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Your actions speak for you.”
“Girl, it’s not a crime that I haven’t listened to it yet. I’ll get around to it.” Her lips kicked up into a slight smirk that she hid by dropping her head. She stirred the straw in her mimosa.
“It should be considered a crime. That album has been out damn near five months—it doesn’t cost but eight dollars, and I’m sure you can get a discount at your job. But let it be Stevie Wonder releasing something…”
Genie nodded, full of pride. “You goddamn right. I’m the first in line to buy it every time.”
In the same way everyone who knew Mikaela knew about her love for Michael Jackson, everyone who knew Genie knew how much she adored Stevie Wonder. She could remember the day she bought Songs In The Key Of Life; freshly sixteen, the record store was just up the road from the high school she attended in East Baltimore. After being picked up by her older, recently graduated best friends, Daze and Papa, the three of them drove to the store to pick it up. She’d been talking about it for weeks—she made them promise to get her before the place closed, and they kept that promise.
Daze paid for the vinyl and a few others as a late birthday present, then had to put up with that being the only music playing in the house whenever they invited themselves over. For months, she replayed her favorite songs, exhausting even the ones who introduced her to Stevie Wonder. Genie didn’t know a single person who loved him more than she did, so she couldn’t say she didn’t understand Mikaela’s fondness of Michael. But he just wasn’t as good as Stevie was.
“Stevie has never had numbers like Michael.”
“That don’t mean Michael has better music.”
“Oh, you do not wanna go there with me, Jennifer!”
“Okay, Mikaela,” Nakiyah stressed as she looked around, checking if anyone was sending them sideways glances for the noise. “Inside voice, please. We can agree to disagree.”
Mikaela squinted at Genie, who was unfazed by the twenty-year-old’s dramatics. “Consider yourself lucky.”
May 05th, 1983
LOS ANGELES, CA.
This was the first time entering Phonograph with a purpose other than stepping out of his glamorous reality for a while. The beautiful woman behind the counter who occasionally left it to assist customers was his target. She’d been lingering in his thoughts since their first meeting just last month. Even after a long month and plenty of distracting work obligations, there she was. Her face, her voice, her laugh—he couldn’t figure out why the entirety of her being lagged in his mind the way it did.
Maybe it was the way she didn’t bow and kiss his feet or try her hardest to flatter him. Or how she wasn’t so quick to give him her first name. Or even how she’d never listened to his album all the way through. Perhaps it was a combination of all those things and more. Maybe it was the chase that aroused his interest. He couldn’t remember the last time he had to chase a woman he knew it was completely plausible he could win over if he tried hard enough.
The doorbell rang when he entered, but she was busy so she could only offer him a polite smile and welcome him to the store as her eyes returned to whatever she was doing at the counter. He didn’t bother wasting precious time loitering in the aisles leafing through vinyl he’d seen plenty of time when the store was empty and he could converse freely with this young beauty, unsuspecting and worried about her job.
She looked up as he grew nearer. Her brows perking was clearly reflexive because the dropped the moment she discerned it was him.
“Jeez, am I really that recognizable like this?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“That’s beside the point.” He licked his lips to buy time. He needed just a moment to give her a long once over. There was still over a month left of spring, yet summer’s weather was forcing its way through May’s cracks and warming the west coast. It was enough to bring out smaller shirts and jean shorts. He liked Genie’s outfit in particular. Even from where he stood, he could see her midriff and the way her white cropped shirt hugged her curves that she clearly had no desire to cover up. He could appreciate that.
Politely, of course.
“You look nice.”
She peered down at her clothes. Her features curved in what presented as surprise and confusion, but she nodded anyway. “Thanks. I kinda jus’ threw this on, but…”
“Are you gonna tell me your name now?”
She snorted and returned to her original task before he joined her at this counter. Her body leaned just slightly to the side to reach something beneath the counter, but her eyes never left him. She retrieved a thick roll of blank receipt paper. “Oh, is that your game? Compliment the cashier and see if you can get a name?”
There was silence as the pair stared at each other. Michael wore sunglasses, but even through them he felt as if she peered into the depths of his soul, as if trying to weed out even a hint of an ulterior motive. It intimidated him; hardly, but enough, her eyes’ intensity unnerved him.
“I mean, are you?”
She squinted before a playful grin spread across her mouth. She popped the receipt machine open and removed a small black cylinder. “My name is Genie.” Michael watched as she dropped the cylinder on the floor and stepped on it. There was a loud crack and once she slid the new receipt roll inside the machine, she bent down to swipe the cylinder and throw it out.
“Is that your real name?”
“Do I have a reason to lie to you about my name?”
“How would I know it if you did?” he inquired. Her shrug and smirk, and the way her eyes focused on everything that wasn’t him, offered him nothing more than an ambiguity that roused his interest in her. “Well, you have a beautiful name. I’ve never heard anything like that.”
“Special thanks to my parents,” Genie responded, humdrum, and finally lifted her gaze to look at him. Then she laughed and covered her mouth. “Sorry, you jus’ look so stupid with all that stuff on. God.”
“Hey,” Michael twined in entertained offense. "That's not nice."
The doorbell rang again, the first time since Michael entered. He didn’t turn—if he was really so recognizable in the disguise that took time and effort to create, he wasn’t going to subject himself to being noticed by someone who might not have been as quiet about his presence as Genie had been.
“Oh my gosh, what are you doin’ here?”
Genie’s eyes and smile brightened as she started around the counter, arms opening for a hug. Michael’s gaze followed her, and an unwonted feeling of envy panged in his chest. He could’ve sworn there was a conversation about boyfriends and girlfriends between them a month ago, where she explicitly stated she had no man. Yet, as they hugged in Michael’s peripheral, he was questioning the truthfulness of her words.
He noticed the way this guy held Genie’s waist. Michael looked away and down at the floor, rubbing his lips with his index and middle fingers. The two conversed; something about school, something else about food, and somebody’s boss. Michael didn’t care to listen to what it was they were saying. He was too focused on ignoring their closeness and suppressing the feeling of possessiveness he knew was gratuitous.
“I’m not gonna hold you up.”
Michael discreetly glanced their way again. He attempted to seem occupied and made himself busy with the magazine stand angled at the end of the counter. Brooke Shields was plastered on the cover of a LIFE magazine from last month. The heading: Brooke Brings Back the Bikini. He furrowed his eyebrows. Had the bikini not always been around?
“You leaving soon?”
He was surprised to see himself on the cover of the next magazine he picked up. MICHAEL JACKSON Discusses Career on Ebony Jet Television Show. Ebony JET had really pushed their luck asking so much of him—an interview and a photoshoot, both of which he hated doing. But Joseph, the cold man who’d always played more into the managerial role than the paternal one, told him to suck it up and do the job he signed up for.
Only, he hadn’t signed up for it.
“Yeah, I get off at six.”
“Alright, I hear that. I’m only here to drop this off to Jerod, then I’m on my way. You gotta let me cook for you one day, girl. I got skills.”
Michael chewed his lip. How could he compete with that? He couldn’t cook worth a damn.
Genie laughed vacantly and stepped away from her guy friend. It was missing that flirty, giggly component that would’ve made Michael’s ears listen closer—maybe he was reading too far into their interaction. He hoped he was.
“I don't doubt that. Maybe someday.”
The man bit down on his lip, his stare washing over the length of her body. Michael's top lip rose in disdain, and again, he had to force himself to look away. “I’ll see you around, Genie.”
“Mhm. Bye, Lamar.”
He stepped through the record store with wide strides, eventually disappearing in the employees only room. Genie’s palms touched the counter when she reclaimed her spot behind it, and she leaned over just slightly, looking across the span of the small shop. Her gaze flicked over to Michael, who was already staring at her.
“You’re still here?”
“Am I not allowed to be?”
“I mean you’re not shopping.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I didn’t come here for that. Who were you just talking to?”
“An old coworker.”
“Oh.”
Michael nodded slowly, lowering his gaze again. He could still see her, and her head cocked to the side. Before he could open his mouth to pierce the silence between them, Lamar emerged from the back. Michael couldn’t not stare as he sent Genie an ambiguous grin. If not for his disguise, Lamar might’ve discerned the unintentional scowl that curled Michael’s lips into an unnatural, defiant frown. He looked Michael’s way; his eyes glanced off to the side.
Soon enough, it was only them again. Michael exhaled sharply and lifted his arm to check the time on the watch around his wrist. It wasn’t long before she would be getting off work, according to what she told Lamar, and there was no telling when he’d find the time to see her again.
“Am I allowed to ask you on a date?”
Genuine surprise widened her eyes from their usually thin, hooded state. “Wait, say what?” Shaking her head as if rebooting her brain, she leaned closer.
A mischievous smile crossed Michael’s face at her reaction to his inquiry. “Would you go on a date with me? A dinner date.” She hesitated and blinked. So, he felt the need to clarify, “It wouldn’t be anything crazy. Just us, I promise. But I would love to take you on one.”
“I—you don’t even know me, Michael.”
“I know your name. That’s a start.” Her lips parted just for a moment before they clenched together and she pensively scratched where her hair met her neck. “I can’t cook like Lamar can, but—”
She released a single, boisterous laugh that cut his slightly self-deprecating sentence short. “Really? You can’t cook like Lamar can?”
“It’s the truth. I heard him say he wants to cook for you, and I don’t cook.” But Michael was certain he could do everything else far better than he could. She covered her mouth as quiet laughter left her. “I’m being honest.”
“So, you wanna take me on a date because I might let Lamar cook for me?”
“If you go on a date with me, Lamar wouldn’t need to cook for you at all.”
He couldn’t miss the intrigue in her smile. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” he stressed in a way that didn’t match the wisp of Genie’s playful teasing. “That’s why I’m asking.”
It grew silent as she sighed amusedly, shaking her head. Michael stood there. He waited for her to tell him yes, because he was going to get a yes. Solemness and incredulity bled into her words when Genie realized it. “Wait, you’re genuinely asking me out right now? I thought you were playin’.”
He was shocked, and even a bit offended, that she thought he was playing games. “Yes, I’m really asking,” Michael laughed, brows knitted together at the center of his forehead. As beautiful as she was, he couldn’t figure out why, for the life of him, he would be pulling her leg as some cruel hoax. He wasn’t that kind of man.
“Why?”
“I could go down a list, but we don’t have time. Aren’t you about to get off work soon?” He checked his watch again and got just a glimpse of Genie’s flattered smile. He looked up again and sighed. “Do you have pen and paper?”
“Sure.” She disappeared when she crouched behind the desk and came up moments later with exactly the two items he requested, which she slid over to him. His hand moved quickly to grab the pen and grazed her fingers as she pulled them back. He didn’t look up at her but could feel her eyes boring holes through his head. He almost smirked. On the tiny paper she must’ve ripped off the corner of a larger one, he wrote his number and initials on it.
“Can I trust you to call me, or should I ask for your phone number instead?” There was that hesitation again and she glanced between the tiny slip of paper in his hand and his face. She was very obviously searching for any sign of deceit. “I’m serious, Genie.”
“I wanna believe you, but—”
“So, believe me then. What would I get out of inviting you to a fake date?”
“A laugh?” her words came out, sounding more like a question than a statement. “I don’t know. A confidence boost knowing you can have any girl you want?”
“You sound like you’re making stuff up. I’m not a jerk.” He hoped the solemn monotony of his tone would convince her that he was being serious. “Please take it.”
She sighed and slid the slip from between his fingers, then placed the pen somewhere under the counter again. She chewed on her bottom lip, staring cynically at the information he scribbled carelessly in blue pen.
“I…” She cut herself off. Michael, with his hands placed on the counter, fixed his gaze on her and waited for her next excuse. “I’m sorry, I jus’—I really don’t understand. I’m a cashier.”
A stunning one, he thought to himself but kept it to himself. Too many compliments and he might’ve come off as insincere. He needed her to believe him.
“So?”
“Okay,” Genie relented and tucked the portal into his world inside her pocket, pushing it as far down as it could go to assure it was safe and secure there. “Fine. Okay. I’ll call you.”
“Do you really mean it?”
She just barely grinned. “I don’t lie.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
May 17th, 1983
LOS ANGELES, CA.
Mondays always sucked—this was nothing new. The first day out of the week where you returned to reality; waking up early to get to work or get the kids to school if you had them, perhaps both. The errands, and don’t forget the lack of sleep caused by unchecked freedom the weekend gave you, which called for a jarring change, particularly unenjoyable for most. But Monday was Tuesdays scapegoat. For Genie, Monday was just full of expectations. Tuesdays were Mondays’ expectations, coupled with hours that dragged on, and on, and on. The days were longer, the shifts were longer, the people were crankier, and work was harder.
Yet Genie was scheduled for work every, single Tuesday. It drove her crazy, and the only thing that kept her going most days was coming home afterwards. It was fulfilling, like she’d accomplished something nobody else could. And just knowing that she made it through another long and boring Tuesday was enough to keep her head screwed on tight to make it to Saturday.
Genie dropped her keys in her purse and tossed the bag on her sofa nearby when she stepped into her house. Her door’s weight closed it on its own, leaving her just with the responsibility of locking it after her. She could feel a yawn coming and lifted her hand to cover her mouth when she finally did. The time on the clock above her year-old 20-inch television read 8:24. That meant she had just enough time to cook herself a small but fulfilling dinner, shower and complete her hygiene routine for the night and get in bed for her next shift tomorrow. She wouldn’t be going in so early this time or leaving as late. That freedom gave her something to look forward to.
Before anything, though, she needed to use the bathroom, get out of these work clothes and into something more comfortable, and then she could return to the kitchen to cook. On her way to the back of the house, she rushed and bumped into the accent table next to another couch pushed against the wall, right next to the entrance into the hallway that led to the two other rooms in her home. She cursed, catching the round table and her cordless landline before they could fall to the floor.
She paused for a moment as both leaned on her leg, simultaneously cursing her preference for maximalist décor and priding herself on her quick reflexes. Some furniture was just too expensive to afford breaking, especially her new and increasingly popular phone. Whoever had come up with the innovative idea that was a cordless phone, she sent them many thanks any time she was busy and taking a call.
Once her table was back in place and she was sure her phone wouldn’t end up in pieces, she lifted her foot again to step into the hallway and go to her bathroom. But something drifting to the floor caught her eye, pulling her to a stop. She bent down a bit and squinted, and realized it was the little slip of paper Michael Jackson gave her a week and a half ago when he asked her on a date.
She sucked in air between her teeth and swiped it off the floor. The paper was crumbled a bit from the few hours it’d spent in her pocket the day he passed it to her and days of neglect afterwards. Genie read his number twice before glancing at the phone. She questioned whether to call. She'd told him she would.
It wasn’t like it’d slipped her mind, not in the beginning anyway. She had every intention that night of just taking the chance and calling his number. She had the option, and she couldn’t see why not. Just like he’d told her two Thursdays ago; he had nothing to gain from lying about asking her on a date with him. He seemed genuine enough. She didn’t get the impression that she had anything to lose by accepting.
But it was having the option that kept her from dialing the number on that ripped piece of paper. Until today.
She blew air from puffed cheeks, picked up the pearl white push-button landline, and she carefully dialed his number. There was but a second of hesitation before forced her hovering finger to push the dial button. It rang for a while—for so long that she didn’t expect an answer. She was just a moment from placing the phone back on its hook when the call went through. Stiffening, she pressed her lips together and waited.
“Hello?”
The voice that answered was surprisingly deep. She expected to get right through to Michael. Maybe she read it wrong and dialed whatever she thought he wrote down.
“Oh,” she paused, confusion taking her words away for a second. “I might have the wrong number. I was… told to call this one.”
“Well, who am I talking to?”
Her words stalled for a few seconds as she pressed her phone further against her ear. She held the handle with both hands and said, “It’s Genie.”
“Genie.”
Just the way he said her name told her that she was wrong. This was exactly who she meant to call.
“It’s good to talk to you. How’re you doing?” His voice was softer now.
“I’m good. Um…” She glanced around her living room as she tried to come up with something to say. “How are you?”
“I’m fine. Glad you actually called.”
“Yeah, it kinda slipped my mind. I only jus’ saw the paper by my phone, so.” She trailed off and laughed clumsily. “And I know I said I would call.”
“I’m happy you did, and it’s fine if it slipped your mind. I’m sure you can be busy. I know I am.”
“I can only imagine.”
Silence. She wondered if it was just as difficult for her to sit in as it was for him. She’d never been the type of find herself nervous conversing with men, yet Michael had her reaching to fiddle with a cord that was no longer there. She dug her right toe into the carpet at her feet and fidgeted with the hem of her untucked shirt that rested just below her belly button.
“So, have you given my inquiry any more thought?”
“Your inquiry?” she questioned before she could give her mind a moment to recall their previous conversation. “Oh, you talkin’ about the date you asked me on.”
“Yeah. The one you thought was fake.”
She chuckled gently. She discerned his indirect criticism, but also the fact that it was lighthearted. “Can you blame me? Honestly.”
“Yes and no. I’m sure you don’t get famous people asking you on dates too often, but I’m curious; what would I need to lie for?”
“How would I know it if you did?” she mimicked him from their last conversation, when she finally revealed to him her name.
Michael chuckled upon recognizing her banter. “Using my own words against me.”
She breathed a laugh. Again, a thick quiet filled the line and Genie could only be grateful that Michael knew how to move the conversation along in the moments that she couldn’t think of what to say.
“I can tell you’re tryna avoid giving me an answer.”
“What? No, I’m not!” she squeaked and chuckled.
“Would you go on a date with me, Genie?”
K9s sinking into the pink flesh of her lip, she asked, “What do you have in mind?”
“Still the same as last time. Dinner. Have you ever been to Roosevelt?” Quickly he realized she might’ve needed more context, and clarified, “Hollywood Roosevelt. The hotel.”
“Uh, no.”
“I was thinking I order food and… ya’ know, we just talk a while. It would be just us—and my security, but they wouldn’t be in the room with us. Sitting outside in case you try to, I don’t know, rob me or kill me. Just in case.”
“Wow,” she laughed, “in case I try to rob or kill you, huh? You’re askin’ me on a date, and you get the feeling I might try to rob or kill you?” Husky laughter of his own made her grin as she went on, “That’s a lil’ reckless, Michael.”
“Certain precautions I just have to take. You can never be too careful around women like yourself.”
“Women like myself?” She questioned with a cocked brow. “That means?”
She could hear the smile in his tone. “Beautiful, but you’re purposely getting off topic. This date…” Humming, Genie wordlessly urged him to go on. “I get a suite at Roosevelt, order dinner, we talk, and if you don’t like me, that’d be the last you hear from me. I won’t bother you again. Does that sound like a good compromise?”
“Why would I not like you?”
“I mean, I dunno,” he told her sheepishly. “Maybe I’m just not your kind of guy, but how would you know if we don’t get to know each other?”
Genie exhaled wryly, shaking her head. “You’re really asking me on a date right now.”
“How many times are we gonna have to go over this ‘til you believe me?”
The corners of her mouth kicked up in a smile. “Okay, Michael. I’ll go on this date with you.”
“Really?” He seemed almost shocked by her decision. Michael cleared his throat. “Okay, then. How’s this Saturday sound?”
She thought about it for a moment, finding her voice to hum and let him know that she was actively giving it some thought. “Well, I usually spend time with my girlfriends every Saturday. Let me see if we’re together this weekend; gimme one second.”
“Sure, take your time.”
With her phone still against her ear, she hurried into her bedroom and found the bedside table that had her calendar inside. It was already opened to the month of May, making it easy for her to find her scrawl on Saturday’s date.
“Yeah, I’m busy that day. Doctor’s appointment and drinks.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard those two things in one sentence before.”
She laughed. “I’m free the next day.”
“I’m sadly not. What about that next Sunday? The twenty-ninth, since you said you’re busy most Saturdays.”
She glanced at the date and saw that she had no commitments scribbled there. “Yeah. That works.”
“Great.” He exhaled in relief. “I’ll see you on the twenty-ninth then.”
Genie nodded and grabbed the pen inside that same drawer to pen their date in her calendar before she could let herself forget, a narrow grin gracing her face. She bit down on her lip as she focused before dropping the pen on the calendar and tucking it back into her nightstand.
“Jus’ put it in my calendar.”
“Good, I’m glad. Maybe that’ll make it real for you.”
“That terrible disguise won’t be there with us, right?”
A scoff dismissed her implication. “My disguises are great, and no. I wouldn’t be dressed up. It’s just us.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but they aren’t very good. You should consider somethin’ other than sideburns and the afro you used to wear ten years ago. I’m sure it would do you better.”
“How about you give me your phone number and address instead of insulting me.”