Belinda’s POV
I am sitting in the middle of the bed in Michael’s suite and I can still hear Frank’s roars…5 doors away from here. He is not pissed….no, it’s beyond that…If he could walk in this room, he’d put his hands around my neck and throttle the life out of me. I start to think that maybe I did wrong….I should have told him…He is Michael’s manager, after all, this is Michael’s tour and Frank worked a lot to make this possible. I don’t know…Maybe I crossed the line and I will apologize. But not right now, after Michael calms him down. And now Michael is roaring with anger….boy, he surely has a powerful, manly voice when he’s pissed off. I mean, it’s such a far cry from his high pitched note in interviews. I know that it is his nervous voice – when he’s insecure, uncomfortable and nervous he always slips into this high pitched voice and I know that it’s time to do something and get him out of that situation. But right now the man is pissed off and showing it big time. Note to self: never make him so pissed off. I know that I have my temper and my choleric outbursts, but so far I managed to avoid any big clash of wills with Michael, except for that fight we had over my security. He won that time, but only because I realized, too, that I needed that. God help us when we really get to disagree on something!
Finally, the shouting subsides. I hear determined footsteps in the corridor and seconds later Michael shuts and locks the door behind him.
“Count on Frank to ruin my mood for good news!” he says in frustration, running his hands through his hair.
“Come here, Michael. Let me help you relax a little.”
He crawls in bed and hugs me.
“Just seeing you relaxes me. I want to thank you, Belinda, for what you did tonight. It was beyond amazing. We already have $300,000 in donations. I had this show broadcast live back home in US, and in Germany, too…and people are just cramming in with donations. We already have a winner for the T-shirt…everything is beyond my most optimistic predictions.”
I smile and hug him back, giving him a kiss. His hands cup my face and he takes control of our kiss, gently laying me down on the bed and crawling over me. I stop him pushing his chest gently.
“Michael…I…”
“What baby?”
I turn my face away and bite my lip, I never had problems getting horny on spot when Michael starts kissing me like this, but tonight I have a funny and jittery feeling inside me.
“What is it, Belinda? Is anything wrong?”
“I am sorry, Michael….it’s just…I’m not feeling…you know…I am sorry.”
He turns my face to him and looks at me earnestly.
“Belinda…never feel sorry, OK? Never! I understand, baby. It’s OK, never feel sorry, or ashamed or anything like this. Come here, you must still be nervous a little.”
“A little? I heard Frank. I think he’d kill me if he could.”
“But he can’t. Because we were right and he was wrong. We tried this stunt, and it worked big time. People loved you…adored you for what you did, Belinda. You were amazing!”
I smile weakly. I am definitely feeling these 8 months of touring and changing time zones. I’ve resisted remarkably so far, but the stress has caught up with me finally.
During the next days, things are getting worse. I am sleepy, moody, I don’t like any kind of food we’re having and every thing that everyone says or does gets on my nerves. I started snapping from everything and poor Michael is starting to worry about my sanity, I think. He ordered me to stay in the room and rest whenever we are not rehearsing and he is not taking me with him to orphanages and hospitals anymore. I nearly fought with him on this, but he stood his ground.
“I’m doing this touring thing since I was 12, for you it is the first time. So don’t push yourself too much. You are not helping anyone, yourself, the band, me, if one evening you faint on stage.”
