Chapter Twenty-Five

ALL THAT GLITTERS

The small Eastender pub was filled with drunken men who played Bridge in the dim lighting and couldn't care less about a loner who was hiding in the corner behind a cloud of cigarette smoke and eyed them suspiciously.

Usually Freddie didn't care about places like this because he hated the random assholes that forced themselves on him and insisted on making him listen their meaningless life stories.

He sipped from his beer. And sipped again.

He was feeling bloody great.

He was having the time of his life.

And he was definitely going to forget about Michael and everything the doctor said to him for good because it didn't matter.

He was going to ignore it and make the most of this evening.

He was going to...

'Do you mind if I sit down in here?'

A switch flipped inside of him and his eyes shot up. He prepared to spat out something nasty that would make the annoying groupie turn himself in and disappear - both in a time frame of roughly five to six nano seconds, if possible.

But he didn't.

For as soon as he saw the person, a gentle-looking brown-eyed, slightly chubby man staring back at him he was totally disarmed by his bear-like charm.

'You look like you'd use some company.'

'Yes, why not?'

The man smiled and took his chair. He told his name was Jim and that he worked as a hairdresser not far away from the pub.

'...and what do you do for a living?' he inquired, genuinely oblivious to who he was talking with.

And Freddie liked that.

'I... am a musician.'

'How intriguing! What instrument do you play?'

'The piano. Though I mainly sing.'

'Oh, singer! Are you really? Well, you don't really look like a singer, I would've thought you were something of an accountant.'

The man smiled disarmingly and Freddie laughed straight from his heart. There was something about this man that put him instantly in a better mood.

'Accountant? Me?'

'Yes, you seemed so serious.'

Freddie snorted.

'No, really. You looked like you had just performed an autopsy to your best friend. What has gone awry in your life then?'

'Oh, it's nothing but bad news', Freddie said attempting to sound casual.

'Bad news about what?'

'My health. And my love life', Freddie confessed, surprising himself.

When ever did he even confide in total strangers like that?

But something in this man made him trust in him instantly. Talking to him was easier than talking to Peter. Or Michael, for that matter.

'Oh I see. That sort of problems never fail to bring a grown man down.'

After saying that he did ask no more about it. Which was much apprecitated by Freddie.

'So, what are you planning to do tonight? Just sit here and mope?'

Freddie shrugged.

'Well, if that's it, then I'll have something better for you. Come on, we're going to take another round of this fine ale. After we're done with that we'll take a walk at the river. Alright? Waiter!'

When another beer met Freddie's lips, he thanked God for sending him this angel in a bear's clothes to save his night.

January 1983

Michael's second solo album Thriller was released in November 1982 and ever since it had been like the Pandora's box was smashed into billions of pieces.

Everyone wanted to have a bit of him. The singles sold gold, the album sold platinum and Michael himself was suddenly more worth than all the bedrock gold and platinum of California put together. To sum it up: he was no longer just a popular singer. He was a worldwide superstar, more famous than Ronald Reagan or any other president for that matter.

'I can't believe it's happening to me', Michael said to an interviewer after being asked how it felt like to see the sales of his newly-released album rocketing. 'It's a dream come true, really. I'm really happy.'

'It sure is. But our readers surely would like to know who's the man creating this amazing music like behind the scenes. Could you give us a little little glimpse of that?'

Michael was unsure of what to answer to that. As long as it was about music and performing, he was eager to tell everything about it. Yet to this day he had never met a journalist that would've kept an interview at a professional level and professional level only.

'Not that long ago there was a rumor that you've a special someone? Do you have any comment on that?'

'I'd rather keep my private matters private, thank you very much', Michael stated politely. 'But yes, there's someone special in my life.'

'Can you even tell us whether it's a man or a woman?'

'You're getting nowhere 'cause I'm not saying anything.'

'Are you gay?'

Not again. As if he hadn't already answered to that question often enough, like in every single interview after Andy's article was released four months ago. It was like his music carried no meaning to them, the most important challenge appeared to be to dig out his deepest and darkest secrets in the most straightforward manner.

Well, straight-to-the-point strategy wasn't going to work out at all.

'That's a ridiculous question and I'm not going to answer it.'

Which was true, because it was none of his business. It was uncomfortable enough to live with the fact that he got away with it only because he paid off both Andy and Stevie.

Of course he wouldn't tell that to the reporter.

When the interview finally ended, Michael went straight to home and checked his voicemail. But there was nothing.

No phone call, no message.

Nothing from him.

Michael wasn't sure what had happened back in September, when they last met. Freddie had been so upset and claimed he had to rush to London immediately, because a family member of his had gotten terribly sick all of a sudden. Then he left, promising he would call him as soon as the plane landed but never did. And when Michael tried to call him, he only found out that Freddie had changed his phone number.

'Forget about him, he's nothing', Michael said to himself, once again swallowing the lump of disappointment down his throat.

'What are you rehearsing for?' Brooke inquired when Michael shut the car door and sat down in the back seat of his van.

'You'll see', Michael replied mysteriously and his eyes twinkled playfully.

When they got to Encino, Michael went straight upstairs to change and Brooke told him she would wait for him in the garden. So she went to the patio and by accident found Janet there leaning to the railing, singing.

'I'm sorry, am I interrupting?' Brooke apologized before Janet got to say anything.

'No, not at all', Janet said quietly. 'I was about to go feed Louis. Wanna help me?'

'I'd love to', Brooke replied and they walked to the stables.

'Hi, how are you', Janet greeted the furry animal and stroked its head. 'Aren't you just bored to death here? Yeah, I know you miss Michael. But you know what: he'll come down here as soon as he can.'

Brooke poured fresh water into Louis' bucket and crouched to wipe the rim of it with an old rag.

Janet, for her part, fetched the brush and started to untangle the knots in his fur. However, when she got to the legs, she suddenly noticed something glittering among the sawdust near to where Brooke was and picked it up.

A ring.

She looked over her shoulder at Brooke - who clearly hadn't noticed dropping it - and then took a better look at the amazing jewel that was made out of white gold with white and pinkish diamonds embedded in it. There was also a writing that ran inside the ring, which simply stated:

Michael, September 1982

Janet had to read it a couple of times before she comprehended what it stood for.

'You're engaged?' she asked outright. 'You and Michael are engaged..?'

Brooke shot up and when she realized what she was holding, she grabbed the ring and shoved it quickly into her pocket.

'Yes we are', she hissed. 'But it's supposed to be a secret, you know.'

'...for two months?'

'Keep it quiet.'

Janet's face was really worth seeing. She gaped at Brooke, her eyes wide open like tennis balls. All she could think was the conversation she had had with Michael in past September.

Also, she remembered all she had witnessed going on in the car the same evening and a bad feeling started to creep over her.

'You guys aren't serious with this, are you?' she questioned. 'You aren't getting married, right? Not for real?'

'Yes we are', Brooke insisted, although Janet could well hear from her voice that she was far from sure.

'Then why haven't you broken the big news to us? After all it should be a happy thing. Plus I'd like to know if my brother's getting married.'

'Well, Michael wants to keep it down. He's very busy right now...'

'...I know...'

'...and we're both very young...'

'...I know...'

'...so I don't mind him taking his time. I'm sure he'll tell you when he's ready.'

Now Janet saw the look in her eyes and got really sad. She was genuinely and blindly in love with him. Also, she clearly didn't have an idea.

It was heartbreaking to see.

'In that case, don't rush it. And I wish you all the happiness in the world', she wished flatly and they changed the topic.

'You're engaged?!'

Michael - who had just got out of shower - stood in the door frame of his room. His curly hair was dripping water as he stared at his enraged baby sister in utter astonishment.

'Have you lost your mind?' he asked nervously. 'Anyone can hear you here.'

He pulled her inside and the door had barely snapped shut behind them when Janet span around and slapped him.

'You so deserve this.'

Michael yelped in pain and held his cheek.

'That hurt!'

'Yes it did. But someone has to wake you up. She loves you.'

'And I'm going to marry her so what seems to be the problem?' Michael said angrily.

The red spot on the side of his head tingled and he wondered if he would get visible bruises that would be hard to cover with makeup.

'Doesn't your boyfriend have anything to say about that?'

Michael's shoulders slumped in defeat and his face turned grim.

'No he doesn't', he snapped.

'He doesn't know?'

Michael smiled wryly and shook his head. A deep crease formed in his forehead as he pulled the towel tighter around his body.

'Alright, so let me put this straight', Janet taunted. 'You have both a girlfriend and a boyfriend and because you can't marry the boyfriend whom you really love, you decided to take the easy way out, huh?'

'I don't have a boyfriend, Donk.'

'Gosh, Michael, you drive me out of my mind. We have talked about this before, don't you remember? You promised to tell Brooke. You promised to tell about you and Freddie and that you're sorry for being such an idiot to lead her on. Like I told you, I have no problem whatsoever with you and Freddie being together but you've had four months time to solve this out and you haven't.'

'It's not as simple as that.'

Michael was growing frustrated. He wiped his hair with the towel and when he was done, he walked angrily to the drawer, took out a jewelry box much like the one he gave to Brooke. He opened it and picked up his engagement ring.

'This,' he said holding up the ring, 'is what people expect me to do and I agree. I should get married, have a family... have children. I want children.'

'I know you want them, but what about Freddie?'

'Forget about him already. I did. I have moved on.'

'I don't believe you', Janet said calmly.

'Well, that's your problem not mine. Now excuse me, I've got to dry myself up before I get cold', Michael retorted in a cool tone and walked her out.