𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐄

―𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆⁶

interlude⁶ | ANY OTHER WAY

❝...when you see my baby, here is what you say.
Tell her I wouldn't have it, any other way.❞

●

Bill did not find Michael where he left him.

When he rolled through the gates of Hayvenhurst with the giant bag of junk food, drinks, and other nocturnal fancies rumbling in the seat next to him, he saw him seated at the water fountain, his back facing toward the driveway.

Dread swept over Bill faster than he could control.

No doubt he had let optimism get the best of him. He'd hoped that Michael and Ms. Ross's attempts at lowering their arms would come to pass, but hope be damned. When love was involved, there was no natural order to anger, forgiveness, acceptance, or whatever else they said went along with it. Pain did whatever it wanted, chewing on the same bone until something came along and convinced it to do otherwise.

He hoped the same would happen to Michael, that one of these days, he would realize he was on the dance floor. And he would get off the floor, go to the balcony, and see things for what they were.

But for now, it seemed none of that was happening, and until it did, Bill had made a silent commitment to stick around as long as he could. He'd already been doing it for decades, so how hard could it be?

Before Hollywood, much of his life had been regular 9-to-5s, working in warehouses or docks, anything that involved using his body as collateral. He'd known that sort of thing would eventually kill him faster than the bottle, so when he was offered what was essentially an extended babysitting job (with the added "bonus" of body armor and a concealed weapon), he jumped at the chance. Of course, you could also die a rough death as a bodyguard, but what real trouble could come from watching over a bunch of tykes from the Upper Midwest?

Oh, how wrong he'd been. It made him laugh now, but back then, when his shifts would "end", he'd lay his head down and wonder what the hell he'd been thinking. He figured the Jackson 5 would take the same route as Frankie Lymon and The Ponderosa crews: ascend to greatness, rapidly nosedive, and fade into Bermuda Triangle levels of obscurity. In hindsight, his assumptions had been ridiculous.

He had been right about one thing—they were a handful. They drove him nuts with their pillow-fighting, quarreling, and mischievousness. Michael and Marlon had enough in them to make Dennis the Menace look like an angel, and Jermaine, Tito, and Jackie were no better, sneaking around and coordinating rendezvous with enough girls to fill the ranks of an entire modeling agency. If those kids hadn't made it beyond Hollywood's playground, Bill would have looked forward to a life that hadn't involved being a part-time reprimander.

That wasn't how the chips fell, of course. The Jackson 5 catapulted to superstardom. They traveled the world, seeing places they would have otherwise never seen. Bill never thought he'd be able to go home and tell his folks that some parts of Paris stunk like an alley in Philadelphia or that the Japanese revered a tree enough to hold festivals in its honor.

Just as his world knowledge expanded, so did his understanding and patience. The boys grew on him. Whenever anyone asked who his favorite was, he always said all of them, but it wasn't true. Michael and Marlon were his little rascals of choice; after a while, when marriage had him seeing less of the other boys, Michael took the top spot, maybe for good reason. In the span of a few years, he had gone from being outgoing and confident to withdrawn and as quiet as a mouse. Puberty seemed to be the biggest culprit, but everything else—fame and family—probably didn't help.