True Affair

Como La Flor

Michael Jackson's Point Of View

The door opens. I only know of this because of the access light is shining onto my loafers - I'm starring at the leather loafers on my feet intently. My eyes travel up, and I see another pair of shoes. Chunky, golden heels that have multiple angular shaped cutouts, displaying midnight-blue painted nails. I gulp a bit as her legs seem to be endless and smooth. So smooth. There's a slit on the side of her dress that I decide to pay no attention to, a man can only handle so much.Her figure is curved, not perfectly shaped, as you would see on a magazine or commercial, but she still looks as if she was sculpted by Auguste Rodin himself. The blue looks beautiful on her as well. When I was younger, I had usually opted out of wearing blue on my dark complexion, but how good Isabelle looks right now, makes me regret that greatly.

She coughs, and my eyes shoot up towards her face. Her smirk causes my cheeks to flush. I've stared too long. "Isabelle.." I drag on to a single breath. "You look wonderful," I state as I look down at her attire once more.

"Thank you, Michael," she gushes. "We should go now?" she steps over the door frame.

"Yeah, yes, yes we should go," I continue an unwavering grin.

She pulls the door closed behind her, and I take the opportunity to glance at the slit on her dress, which results in me staring at her backside. I bite my lip harshly and close my eyes as I turn my head away from her body. I breathe in and think of horrible things; hangnails, stepping on lego blocks, overweight men in government sporting ugly hair-dos.

Then her hand touches my shoulder, and my eyes widen. "Are you okay?" she questions with a laugh.

"Yes, I'm just hungry" I smile when I face her.

"Me too," I hold the door for her, and she nods in acknowledgment.

"What kind of Mexican food do you like, hm?" She questions with a playfully skeptical look.

"Chilli, burritos, tacos, enchiladas, and other dishes, but... I can't pronounce them," I chuckle silently.

"You're a Mexican buffet type man, I respect that," she laughs as we walk by each other's sides down the staircase. "I like chilaquiles, they're my favorite."

My jaw drops at her pronunciation, even with all of my dictation lessons for the making of I Just Can't Stop Loving You in Español, I never managed to sound like that. "How did you pronounce that so well?" I await her answer as she walks through the front entrance door I am holding.

"Oh, that's chilly," she shivers at the cool breeze as she exits her building. I take my jacket off and extend it towards her. She shakes her head rapidly. "Oh, no," she chuckles. "Michael, it's fine."

"I'm too warm anyways," Not the whole truth, it's the beginning of fall in Los Angeles and nights have become colder. "And, I'm not going to hold it, so it's best you just put it on." I extend my arm further towards her.

She stares at me as she grabs it out of my hands and drapes the black fabric over her bare shoulders. "Thanks," I nod as she enters my security's car, I get myself seated after she is. She turns to buckle, and we catch one another's gaze. "I learned from my father by the way," she states.

I buckle myself in and cock my head right. "What do you mean?"

"The pronunciation, my father is from Guadalajara."

The darkness inside of the car makes it hard for us to see one another, so Isabelle cannot see my eyes widen at her statement. "You're half-Mexican?"