The Emerson Theatre

Michael

Letting the taste of vodka slip down my throat, I solemnly swore I deserved the burn I got from it afterwards as it stung my insides with a fiery punch of pain. I scrunch my face at the taste of breaded nothingness. I didn't even know why I did that. I wasn't even a fan of the ghastly stuff.

"You're always so good. Treat yourself more, hm?" 'Friend' uses her index finger and draws lines on my stomach, topping her glass up with even more booze. "It's not like you come out all the time." I look up at the ceiling because her breath reeks. 

"Yeah, but I honestly could have done with plain old popcorn and soda and a movie. We should have done that instead," I gawk. I'm not the type of person who usually turns to alcohol, but tonight was different. Surrounding myself with very grown-up women such as 'Friend' and 'Flower' energised me and pushed me into a more typical way of life which, in turn, helped me to 'fit in' more and feel normal. And tonight the gut feeling of emptiness cut strong, and where I felt like that, I would also throw myself into doing activities the average adult liked to do. Mind you, the enjoyment was almost always short lived, leading to often apologies for excuses of "this just isn't me". I reach for the glass of vodka on the table to top up my unfinished drink. It's bottom's up. 

In the midst of my poor attempt to look like I was truly enjoying myself, the ladies to my sides break into a type of aimless laughing, which told me that they were one too many tipsy on their liquor.

La Falsa Moneda switches to Please don't stop the music; the sudden change from the soft performance catching us by surprise as my two guests bounce to the rhythm while I hold their waists to stop them from tripping over their own feet. It was my turn to laugh. I didn't tell them enough, but I thoroughly enjoyed their company whenever I needed to get away from the hustle and bustle of work and the house for a while. 

My cellphone began to ring.

 "Prince?" I smile into the phone. 

"BILL!!"

Krystal 

Prince and Paris sat with me on the floor as Blanket played with his prize, careful not to sail it too far out into the water a second time. I deserved the hell I was going to get. I still didn't know what I was thinking to bring them here. I'm sorry, Michael, I'm sorry, guys. I'm sorry that you are going to get in trouble and it will be because of me. 

Two, tall and heavy-looking men run towards us which signalled that he was also here. 

He sprinted towards the creek, following behind his bodyguards as time stood completely still. The children straightened their backs; the youngest stopped frolicking. I couldn't read his face because he still had on his sunglasses, but a shaking hand changes that so I could clearly see the horror, the disappointment, and the pain in his impatient eyes. 

With the curt motion of his head to the side, Mr Jackson dismisses his children and bodyguards so that he could talk to me alone. He wasn't afraid to confront me without any security, which made the experience for me all the more unnerving. This man wasn't afraid to come down on me like a ton of bricks.

"Make sure no one can see them. I'll catch up." 

"But Sir, should one of us stay to see you to the car safely?" One of them asks. 

"I told you I'll catch up," he spat. My heart almost stopped beating. 

Mr Jackson moves closer to me. I take this as a hint to stand up despite my difficulty to be mobile and decide to occupy myself with the details of the nature surrounding us. To say I was scared was an understatement. It was funny how the most peaceful of people can seem so scary when you strike a chord. I look at his shoes, ashamed of myself and how I risked his children's safety. His shoes were large and pointy. . . They reminded me of the Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland. I let my mind wonder over the stupid and irrelevant details of anything in my periphery to distract myself from fear. 

"Krystal." He pauses momentarily to close his eyes and holds the top of the bridge of his nose., My eyes cautiously move up to meet his, desperate to find a way out of this. Any way. He is going to shout at me. I know he is. Ugh. Way to blow it. 

Okay, I'll just apologise and come clean with the truth. What was there to hide? I'll tell him I'll leave before tomorrow night and thank him for all that he's done for me so far. God, for the kindness he's shown me, I've been nothing but an idiot. Thoughts about what to say race through my mind. But why couldn't I speak?! 

"I-- ju--"

"I did tell you. . ." He breaths in through his nose in a slow frustration as he gathered his thoughts. "What did I tell you? Why did you have to disobey me? I trusted you. Why did it have to be my children? Why not me? Can't you just be like everybody else? Can't you try to stay out of trouble for a day? I don't trust you with them! That's why I told you to leave them to Grace. She's older, more experienced and you're just a child." He places both of his hands onto his head. "I can't do this anymore. Why? Do you realise that if anything happened to them, it would destroy me?" 

I did it. I made Michael Jackson cry. I did disobey him, I should have been firmer with them, I am too young to know my limits and I never imagined, in my whole life, that I'd see Michael this upset and angry; myself being the reason. This was too much for me to take in. I wanted to hate myself forever knowing that this was my fault. I was sure I was going to break down and cry with him, but the conscience in the back of my mind reminds me of what I went through to get here, to bring them; to get myself this far. And, I hated how anger made me feel. I felt so overcome by the sudden need to defend myself, I suddenly didn't give two damns if he was Michael Jackson. I'm human too. I have feelings too. I didn't want anyone to suffer, neither. I'm fighting the good fight. 

I ball my fists. "Mr Jackson, I would apologise, but you practically stripped these children of any chance of a normal life and still put the blame on someone that you trusted to work for you. I am too young and too stupid to know right from wrong, and you barely know me, yes, but I know as much to say that you can't blame the tabloids for stirring so much wrong up about you when you, yourself, treat your family as if you are better than everyone else! I would have gone crazy-- You want normal lives for them? Then let them run free like normal little boys and girls. I know you've probably never had that yourself, but if you want them to love you-- If you want them to grow up in confidence and get the best chance at the most normal childhood, you have to trust that the world-- no, that not everyone has bad intentions!"

"Who are you to tell me what to do with my childre--" 

"Save it, Mr Jackson. I'll leave by tomorrow." 

Panting like I had just stopped midway through a run, I waited for more. I mean, I was ready for more. Where did this even come from? what I just said was definitely not like me. But if I were 'like' me, I'd probably be cowering and crying in a corner right about now, and that would make me look like the chicken that I know I was not. 

I still waited; to get fired officially, yelled at, just anything to fill the haunting silence of the woods and the darkening sky that was slowly begun to engulf us. However, I received nothing. It seemed like I had just rendered him speechless and I didn't know if it were a good or bad thing. Great, here comes a big slab of regret. 

*

Krystal stood on the edge of the stream running through the woods as she felt a few droplets of rain fall onto her skin. 

Before any other words were exchanged, Michael turns around and crouches with his back to her. 

"Get on," he orders, plainly.

She obeys his brusque demand and hesitatingly positions her legs on each side of Michael's back. She had no choice. Her ankle had been elevated from the floor to stop even the slightest bit of pain this whole time. Still, the ride was surprisingly pleasant with Michael making sure he walked steady enough to keep Krystal's ankle stay as stable as possible.

He takes out his iphone from his trouser-pocket and tells his bodyguard, Bill, to meet them by the exit. The sky was getting a lot darker now, making Krystal cling to Michael inevitably tighter. It was just them. Everybody else that was there during the day had already left. 

"Does it hurt?" 

"Does what hurt?" 

"Your ankle, silly." 

"Oh! I think it might be good by tomorrow. I just need some time for it to heal and I'll be good to go again."

Krystal began counting the many stars that were now in the sky, her eye lids becoming heavier and her vision clouding with missed sleep from this morning. A day's worth of play and panic had taken it's toll on the exhausted young girl, leaving her only partially conscious to the stimuli around her. 

They stop at the car where Bill was waiting for them. Javon had already followed Michael's orders to drive his children home where Grace was waiting for them. 

"I'll drive Bill, you go sit with her in the back. Make sure that she's wrapped up." 

"Yes, sir. But which ankle is it?"

"I think it's her right." Bill pulls out a first aid kit and unwinds a layer of sterile white gauze from a green box. 

"Sorry Miss, don't mind me."

After Krystal's ankle was stabilised with the bandage, Bill helps her body to sit so that her head was resting on his shoulder. Michael's curiosity pushes him to peer over his shoulder, taking in the scene behind him. 

"Looks like the little lady has passed out," Bill chortles, shaking his head.

"Don't get too close, Bill." Michael teases and makes a left turn. Krystal was a real deep sleeper; the soul opposite of himself. 

"Let her off this one."  He was unable to stop himself from touching her hair. She looked similar to an injured character from a fairytale with her smooth, thick hair and her full-lashed eyes peacefully closed shut.

Krystal wakes up just in time when they arrive back home, choosing to keep her peace by not uttering a word. Noticing how exhausted she looked made Michael want to help her to her room, regardless. He helped her to walk and made sure she was tucked up all snug into her bed. 

"But my teeth. . .I haven't brushed." 

The immaturity in her choice of phrasing made Michael chuckle through clenched teeth. She was so 'untainted', for her age. He couldn't get enough of her innocence despite absolutely everything that happened in a day. Today was crazy. Life was crazy.

"You can brush in the morning," he whispered. 

He fought the urge to peck her forehead, heading straight out of the door after turning off the lights. 

*

Luckily, it was Saturday and Krystal didn't need to work. She had the day completely to herself, which gave her a good chance to breath and forget about everything that happened lately. 

She yawns, fixing her bed sheets for the very last time for this afternoon, she planned to take her leave. As it was her first day off, Krystal hadn't been given the chance to properly unpack so most of her belongings stayed intact in their bags and suitcase.

Krystal groans realising she'd slept in her day clothes again. She whips them off and replaces them with a giant-T and leggings then braids her hair before turning it into a bun. 

The Korean-American slumps over the sink and roughly rubs off the remainder of yesterday's rebellious move which had turned into smudged makeup. She looked haggard. But she didn't care. She had no one to impress and living a life away from the publicity made her feel anything but uncomfortable in her own skin. 

Seoul, South Korea

 

"Stop! That was a mess. Luna, get behind me before you walk out. It looked like you were stealing my number," said Tiffany Hwang, member of South Korea's charting girl group, Girls' Generation. Her status in show business was not to be taken lightly. What Tiffany Hwang wanted, Tiffany Hwang got. 

"How did I look like I was stealing it? This is a called a collaboration, we're meant to improvise and then remember the damn steps because we're supposed to choreograph the whole thing alone!" Luna's patience with Tiffany was flaring, initially not wanting anything to do with a member of Girls' Generation. 

Feeling demotivated, Luna throws herself to the floor for a short break until the next round of hell begun. The standing ovation that she had initially hoped to get at tonight's showcase didn't seem so appealing anymore. 

"Fine! Go and be lazy." 

Luna rolls her eyes. She had zero patience for arguing with Tiffany. They had twenty minutes to come up with decent choreography or their assistant manager would bar them from performing with their group members for a year. 

"Why did you choose me to be in your dance duo anyway?" 

"No one else was available." 

As a member of Korea's leading girl group for two consecutive years, Tiffany never lived her position as a supporting vocal artist down. To Tiffany, performing was a job meant to be won. It was the equivalent of fame and fortune and those were the two key words in light that Tiffany Hwang thrived on. 

"I've been thinking. I think sales will sky-rocket if I collaborate on an album with an American artist. What do you think, Mr Kang?" Mr Kang was Girls' Generation's manager and one savvy business man with an eye for public demand. 

"Hmn. You know what? I like it. But you're going to have to pay for the stay over there yourself. Make sure it's a male and his agent agrees you can work with him. Once you're there, ask him to contact me and we'll get talking details. Sound good?" 

"That's what I was thinking, Mr Kang. See, this is why I like you," said Tiffany, showing off her infamous eye-smile that her fans gushed over. 

"I bet you won't. I think the fans would love to see you collaborate with an American artist. Think about the sales! the sales! but who have you got in mind?" 

Tiffany couldn't wipe her grin off her face. 

"I know! They'll love it. And well, I was thinking of going in two months after promotions for our new song with the girls have finished. I was thinking Michael Jackson."

Mr Kang's eyes danced twelve different emotions as he thought about the idea. 

"MJ?" It was a random choice, but he trusted Tiffany's decision because she was one of the main breadwinner's of the group. 

"Isn't he notorious for his eccentricities though?" 

He thought about the controversy that Tiffany was capable of generating and the money they could earn. "Are you sure?"He countered.

"Very sure, Mr Kang. You didn't believe the lies the media spread about him, do you?" 

"No I don't. And as a matter of fact, it would be great if you gave him a new image. Revive his image even and then get him to release an album with you. The two of you would make a fresh face on your new album. No more tinsel town business. I'm looking for a new concept." 

"Just you wait, Mr Kang." She leaps into her manager's arms, giving him a tight squeeze before she let go at the sight of a group of new trainees who had just arrived at the agency to use the dance room to practice. Tiffany skips out of the building excitedly, cellphone at the ready. All she had to do was get Mr Kang to make a few calls until she had Michael's manager's number. In around two months, she planned to book a flight to Los Angeles. 

***

Krystal had spent the whole day in her room, occasionally walking out to grab a bite to eat from the kitchen. Ms Dubois had begged her to stay for the remainder of the day so she could help out with some of the work since Joanne was off sick. 

With nothing to do but wait until the taxi service arrives at 5, Krystal thought about playing the piano but quickly erases that idea after remembering that it belonged to Michael and using anything of his made her feel worse. 

As for the children, she hadn't seen them since yesterday. It wasn't that she was was expecting to, anyway. 

"Why don't you spend your time taking a walk in the garden?" Ms Dubois had suggested after seeing how drained Krystal's face looked in comparison to before. She sighs, distantly looking Krystal up and down in sadness. She had come to like her in the last few days. "Still don't know why you're leaving so soon." 

Krystal stifles a weak smile. Perhaps getting some air would do her some good and maybe even help take her mind off of the turbulence of yesterday. 

She grabs a copy of The Grapes of Wrath which was the only thing she had forgotten to pack into her suitcase, and made her way out into the large and green enclosure at the back of the house. The air wasn't too hot or too cold, making it the perfect condition to read in. 

A large old oak tree caught her attention. 

She had to climb it.

After reaching a branch that looked sturdy enough to carry her weight, she props her back against the tree trunk and takes in the picture-perfect view from above. She takes this time to fully digest the worst of her circumstance and the best. At least she was going home. At least she was going back somewhere that she knew wouldn't test her. She was feeling better already, or was she?

"I just discovered a new therapy," she mumbles to herself before flipping to the page where she left off. 

"What therapy is that?" 

She followed the sound of his tenor voice, leading her to look up and see him resting on a larger branch that wasn't too far away from her sitting place, with his own book in his lap. 

"M-Mr Jackson?" She didn't expect to see him here. 

"Michael," he corrected her, setting his book aside. "Did I startle you?"

"Tree therapy," she remembered to answer. "Am I disturbing you? I'll leave." She steadies her foot down onto another branch, planning her route to the ground. Perhaps she could wallow her own embarrassment in peace.

"No-- wait. It's just that I'd never imagine someone climbing a tree to read a book. Don't leave. I could use the company." He fidgets guiltily in his seat. "I'm sorry if I scared you."

Krystal relaxes her frame again. "Well you came here, didn't you? Old habits die hard. I use to do this a lot at my first home when we had a tree in the backyard." He didn't want to point it out to avoid sounding ist, but seeing a girl climb a tree seemed out of the ordinary. "According to my mom, I use to be a tomboy."

"Then you have some competition," he responds. Krystal guffaws, temporarily forgetting about yesterday. "Don't you think that its kind of cool how we thought the same? You thought this was a good reading spot and so did I."

"I suppose we did." She was beginning to see her boss as less of Michael Jackson and more as just Michael. "The thing is though. . .Is your taste in books. What are you reading?" 

"My favourite book. It's called Jonathan Livingston Seagul by Richard Bach. You haven't heard of it, have you?" He closes the book and sits up straight to face his new staff member. He secretly burned with curiosity. 

"Never heard of it. How about we trade one day? I'll give you The Grapes of Wrath and you give me your book. You're making me interested to know what King of Pops are into." 

Michael bursts out laughing and proudly announces that he has read it, already.

She glances at him and then at the sky as flashbacks from yesterday fill her mind once more. After all of that, he was still so welcoming. The guilt hit her hard, causing her to feel slightly light-headed. Michael Jackson was an impressive man and appealed to her from his music to his taste in literature, to his unorthodox approach to life. She knew she was going to miss him very much after she leaves. 

"Are you okay?" he asks after catching her off-guard in her own world. 

"Yes. Mr Jackson--"

"Yes?"

"I'm really sorry about yesterday. I didn't mean to sound insulting. I know you're sick of me apologising so much by now, but I totally respect you and always did. I hope you didn't take my words to heart. You love your children and they love you almost as much as I ever imagined. It really is a huge honour that I got to meet you. It really was."

"It's okay. There was a little bit of truth in there somewhere," he stopped her from speaking. "I'm sorry if I frightened you. I overreacted. Some things are better left behind us. And, I think I'd miss you if you left." He smiles. "And it is an honour to know that you were honoured to meet me," he adds. 

Although he wouldn't admit it, Michael secretly admired Krystal's boldness from the other night. Many things in his life were so black and white before she had come along; with people doting on him as if he were a God or on the opposite end of the spectrum, rude and crass towards his sensitivities. Krystal seemed to simply be herself, and her blunt honesty but humble disposition was in someways, dare he think, attractive.

He begins to talk about his 'giving tree' at Neverland and about how sitting at the top of one helped spur on so many of his great ideas. Likewise, she tells him about her passion for design as a hobby and how she would spend hours in the attic of her house coming up with new creations to add to her existing collection as she looked down from the best view from her house. They also delve into more pronounced discussions about the characters in their books and their importance to the plot. And of course, music; the first love in the lives of both. Being a people-observer, it was to Michael's surprise that she thinks and constructs concepts in her head that were very alike to him. He found it fascinating that someone of her age marvelled at some of the more elementary things in life. He had a hunch they were going to grow very close due in time. 

 

"So, you said your name was Krystal?"

She hesitated, that being half of the story. "It's actually Soojung," she said, unable to hide her crimson cheeks. "It's a translation of Crystal in Korean. My parents wanted to be unique and replaced my English name with the letter 'K' instead of 'C'."

"That name; that is a very unique name. You must be the apple of your parent's eye with a name like that." 

Krystal laughs. 

"And your last name?" 

She briefly felt a wave of anxiety course through her. Not wanting to disclose too much about her real identity, she picked at the lose bark of the branch in uneasiness. 

"It's Jung. Spelt like Carl Jung but pronounced with a 'J', like Jackson."

Michael gravitated with finesse to another branch to physically be closer to her. 

"Krystal Jung, young lady who reads books like The Grapes of Wrath, likes characters like Laura Ingalls, Jo March, and some Natasha Rostova; plays the piano with skill, and spells her name with a 'K' instead of 'C'," he says aloud to no one in particular. A twinkle in her eyes form because he knew who some of her favourite female characters were to begin with. He was obviously very well-read. 

So this indescribable beauty was also a lady of good taste and intelligence. 

"Mr Michael Joseph Jackson," she introduced him, trying not to crack into a giggle. She sounded ever so slightly British. "Guinness World records, thirteen grammy awards-winner, one of the best selling artists in modern music history." She caught him sink back into his seat and wondered why he looked desperate to be unostentatious about something so many could dream of. She decides to narrow their proximity by moving closer, herself. ". . .Captivated by airline instructions by stewardesses, inspired and identifies with James Brown and Jackie Wilson, loves Chaplin, wants me to play Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun. Oh! And - loves Mexican." 

He wasn't shy anymore, letting himself be less intimidated by what they talked about other than what the world knew about his professional achievements. While she was talking, one of her hands slip and Michael quickly catches it. They both laugh. 

---------

A/N: I really hope you enjoyed this one. There are just so many things that I'm planning to put in here and the fact that Krystal and Michael consider themselves actually friends now marks a very important chapter in their lives.

Please remember Tiffany's character. I think she'll be a pretty important persona to recognise later on.