Book 5- 1969 (Michael Jackson)

Chapter 4- The Proud Family

                Chapter 4- The Proud Family

                Date: Tuesday, March 11, 1969

                Time: 6:26PM

                MICHAEL'S POV

Oh... this is so much nicer than being with all of the equipment. I was snuggled into one of the back seats of the Buick, comfortably nestled between Jackie and Marlon. Inside, I could still feel the slight jolt the car gave when it stopped, but it wasn't nearly as severe inside. In fact, the only thing that made me cringe even the littlest was the crash and bang of the instruments and microphones behind us.

"Okay, it's time to rise and shine! We're at the studio." Joseph jerked his keys out of his poor, worn ignition and crammed them into the depths of his pants' pocket.

My mind was still half-asleep from the nap I took on the way here. "Already?... We're in Michigan?"

"We have been for a couple hours," he explained blankly. "Come on, we've got to get up. Who wants to see Mr. Gordy. Maybe if we're lucky, we can watch one of the Greats in the studio today."

That was enough to wake me up. Joseph's brusque words were enough to zap me to life, make me scramble past my brothers, swing open the creaking Buick's ancient door, and fly out of the car.

"Yeesh, not so fast," Jackie scolded. "Someone's sprightly today, huh?"

"You bet it," I said, my eyes doing all of the real speaking. With that, I impatiently waited for everyone else to sluggishly get out of the car. Once everyone had congregated outside, we formed a group and strode to the front door of Hitsville, USA.

Needless to say, I felt like a king. The King of Motown, that was.

Once inside, we could already view the bustle and hustle of men and women inside. Some were carrying papers, occasionally shuffling them around between their hands. Others were holding equipment and instruments. Their feet scooted across the polished wooden floor in a rhythmic pattern. Some glided across the floor in a light, dainty style; others clunked their way across the room, obviously on some very important adult business. They may sound as though they contradict each other, but the mixture created an oddly harmonious beat that flowed together.

I liked it a lot. 

Everyone filed into the third room to the right as we entered the building. Inside stood two men in rather professional suits and white gloves. Despite their official, authoritative demeanors, they wore friendly, hospitable smiles.

When I watched them, a funny thought passed my mind. Last week, as Randy and I were watching an episode of our favorite television show, Maverick, a commercial about criminal offenses aired. The cheesy grin that the officer wore has had Randy thinking that policemen and people from the FBI, CIA, and other organizations are all nice, friendly people who want to be chatted with. 

I chose to take my chances here. "Hiya," I said, waving my hand as a gesture. "We're getting signed to Motown."

They simply nodded, keeping their hands and comments to themselves. There was no hand-shaking, no welcomes, no nothing. They simply laid back and said nothing as Joseph and the rest of us waited for someone to come in and get our signing finished with.

Of all people who I expected to walk through the doot, the least probable ones did. I watched tentatively as Mr. Gprdy and Miss DePasse casually ambled through the walkway, broad smiles on their cheery faces. They seemed to be in a great mood.

Was it because of us?

"Hello there," Miss DePasse welcomed. "Excited to be here?" She plopped a gargantuan book filled- no, brimming- with papers. In all honesty, it looked half as heavy as I was.