25 - Nikki & The Flies

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Monday, April 26th, 1982

The Ol' Place Bar & Grill

Los Angeles, California

7:45 P.M.

It's the week of Brian and Mary Anne's wedding. Did I mention they're having it in Connecticut? No? Well, that's where Mary Anne's family is from, and since her familia is marginally broader in size than his, they decided to have it over there. We all had to book flights ahead of time, though Michael tried his best to insist we take a private plane - he even offered it open to Brinley, Mary Anne, and Brian too - but I told him no. Shockingly, he caved and let it go. 

Also, it's four days before their wedding! We leave the day after tomorrow for Connecticut by plane, and it seems as though everything is going as planned. Though I'm not in charge of anything other than getting myself and Michael there on time for check-in at the Inn, Mary Anne has kept me posted about the catering, the reservations, and everything else that gives a normal bride a headache. Mary Anne can handle it, she's a strong-minded individual... regardless, I worry about her anyway. She's my friend, and no regular person should be able to handle planning a wedding and reception for about 450 guests by themselves.

Should they? I've never planned a wedding before, so I have no place to talk. Brian had professed a couple weeks ago that he'd tried to hire a wedding planner for her - that guy was even willing to work more like an assistant for her - but she refused. As I stood, leaning against the bar I shook my head ever so slightly.

Brian had called me the other day, wanting to get together like old times once more before he became a married man. As if we wouldn't go to the bar ever again... Yeah, ok. Anywho, here I was waiting for him, taking in the familiar surroundings and atmosphere. It felt calming to be back somewhere I used to frequent before I met Michael, like a return to different lifetime. Like time traveling! Oh, man. If only time travel was real, that would be so cool.

The ironic thing about all of this was that I didn't have a drink in my hand, and before you get all up in my face and ask, no. I haven't looked at the pregnancy test. Shame on me, I know, I know. Sooner or later, I knew I would have to take another one and find out the truth of my current situation, but I enjoyed not knowing. Being slightly in the dark made it seem like it's only an idea, and right now with everything that I have going on... that's exactly what I need. A maybe, not a definitive. It's only a matter of time; however, before someone notices my aversion to alcohol and certain foods, like Thai. 

That's right. I can't hold my Thai food anymore. Michael and I had went out for food yesterday and foolishly, I suggested we try that Thai place once more. It was like I signed an unofficial contract with the toilet. Uhg.

"Brain! Thank god." I wrapped my arms around his tall figure, thankful I was no longer left to be alone with my thoughts. 

"Hey Briggs. How you been?" He gave me a friendly squeeze back before we let go. Brian didn't take his usual seat on stool like we both used to do, instead he waved for the bartender and began to order a drink. "You want anything?" He asked me.

"Nah, I already ordered." I held up my Pepsi in a glass with ice, which he acknowledged. Hopefully he wouldn't notice the lack of scotch in my beverage; besides a Manhattan, my other go-to order was a Pepsi with scotch. Don't ask, don't tell. I took a sip. "So, you want to sit at the bar tonight?" He shrugged.

"Eh, not tonight. Chef Lee told me about their switch to live music, and I guess there's going to be a performance tonight at 8:30. I think a booth would be better suited." I pursued my lips, nodding genially.

"Live music you say? Nice, that means they're finally going to use the stage! I've been telling Lee -" The bartender handed Brian his poison of choice, "Been telling Lee they should come up with some way to utilize it for years! It's gorgeous. All that oiled hardwood and Hollywood lights gone to waste until now..." Brian chuckled as he gestured to a curved booth to sit in. The booth had a perfect vantage to the stage, you could see everything from here, but not everyone could see you. 

"You've been telling the chef here, that?" I nodded at his raised eyebrow, Brian shook his head. "I knew you were something else, but jeez..." I smiled genuinely, enjoying the conversation with the man who had become a big brother figure to me over the years. "You didn't answer me earlier, how are you, honestly?" He set his drink down on one of the many cardboard coasters the bar provided at every table, I did the same.

"Honestly?" He nodded again. "I think I should be asking you that question, shouldn't I?" I tried to divert the conversation, failing as he gave he a stern look. I held up my hands, "Ok, ok. I've been alright. I'm back in the studio with Michael, but that's all I can tell you about that really."

"Oh? Quincy Jones in the studio with you guys again too?" I folded a leg under my other knee, getting comfortable.

"Yeah..."

"And?"

"And what?" I asked, meeting his eyes.

"Sorry, you don't seem that excited about it is all." I don't? That's weird.

"Well, I guess I'm excited. I haven't really thought about it to tell you the truth, Bry." I paused, lifting the cold glass to my lips to take another drink. Setting it down, I spoke again. "We've been working on the same damn song every since we started recording again on the 14th, and there's over three hours of audio for it already and I just..." I groaned loudly, comprehending why Brian had asked me what he did seconds ago. He stayed silent, knowing I needed to process my tiny revelation for a moment. "I don't like it. Shoot." I met his eyes.

"I can't tell Michael I don't like the song! He's my boyfriend, the only thing I can say that's even remotely close to that is: maybe you should change or tweak this." I made my voice become deeper one the last part of my sentence, leaning for forward to emphasize the absurdity of my situation before crossing my arms and leaning against the crushed velvet of the booth seat in a huff.

"Sounds like you've got a real problem on your hands... Besides, how bad can the song be?"

"You really want to know?"

"Lay it on me, Briggs." He gave me his signature smile as he leaned on the table with his elbow. My shoulders lifted and fell.

"Alright. If that's want you want, I'll bring you with me when they're not there sometime soon." His eyes widened

"When they're not there?"

"Yup."

"Should I even ask?"

"They're territorial, I..." My words ceased as I stared at a spot on the wall far in front of me. "I don't know." Brian shifted in his seat.

"You know what you need?"

"Hmm?"

"Another drink." He began to motion to the bartender, whose attention he gained quite easily. My face quickly contorted to one of discomfort. "Can we get another round, please? Thanks!" He turned his attention back to me after the bartender nodded. "Alright. So, you obviously need another project to balance out the work you're doing with MJ because it sounds like he's doing a damn good job of driving you up the wall - and not in a good way either."

"Ew, Brian. Let's not talk about Michael 'driving me up the wall', capeesh?"

"Well, at least he's not driving you Off The Wall... Heh." 

"Ha. Ha. Very funny." Just then the bartender walked over with our new round of drinks, setting Brian's down first on a new coaster.

"A bourbon on the rocks for the gentleman," The glass made a gentle thudding sound as it was set down on the table, "And a Pepsi for the lady. Let me know if there's anything else I can do for you two, hm?" With that, the nicely dressed man walked away leaving Brian to question my drink of choice.

"Pepsi? There's something else in there, right Briggs?" I couldn't meet his eyes, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and unsure of how to answer my good friend without giving anything away. My hands gripped each other, weaving my fingers in and out of place.

"I -" I dragged out the beginning of my sentence, "...didn't feel like a drink tonight, that's all." My eyes finally met his, but Brian didn't look convinced. Instead of interrogating me like a cop, he simply leaned forward to grab my full attention.

"Give me your hand, Astoria." He never calls me by my full first name unless he's being serious or having a moment, which is why hearing my name slip from his lips gave me a sensation of bewilderment. My fingers untangled from one another, my right hand reaching out to be held by Brian's larger one. "Whatever may, or may not be going on between you and Michael, I just want you to know that I'm here for you if you need absolutely anything. It doesn't matter what it is, or what time of the day or night it may be, I'm your bro. We may not be related by blood, but I'm much closer to you than I'll ever be to any of my actual sisters... and I like to think that you'd do the same for me too if the opportunity presented itself."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I absorbed his loving words, I didn't want to cry but it was going to happen even if I tried to hold the reaction back. There's really no question, now is there? You've been emotional, you're napping, you can't hold your Asian cuisine anymore... A tear fell as I replied, though the words were mostly to myself.

"I'm pregnant." A whisper is all that departed up through my throat, and out my from between my lips, now in the open. It's real, now that I've spoken it aloud. The sound was almost nonexistent, though as I looked up from my lap it was crystal clear across Brian's face that he'd heard me. Before I could register what he was doing, he pulled me close, wrapping me in his protective embrace. We stayed like that for an immeasurable amount of time. Tears fell hotly down my cheeks, trailing along my neck as I let them be, choosing to instead hold onto my friend. My brother.

I felt a hand rub soothing circles along my back as we rocked ever-so-slightly back and forth in the cozy booth seat. Slowly, I pulled away as my tears subsided. Once parted from each other, I wiped away the now cold moisture from my face and neck, using my long sleeves as an inappropriate napkin. My nose had chosen to run too, leaving a clear trail of snot from my nostrils to the edge of my top lip. I grabbed the napkin that Brian held out for me, feeling grateful.

"When?" Came his simple question. My back leaned up against the deep burgundy velvet of the booth seat, feeling the slight fuzz of the velvet through my thin shirt.

"I haven't confirmed it yet, but Brinley brought it up to me yesterday."

"You haven't taken a test or something?" He took a sip of his drink, leaning back as well. 

"Um, I tried to last night. Michael, he became concerned and I had to hide it..." I waved a hand dismissively through the air. He hummed in response before the lights of the bar dimmed, a voice filling the sudden void of sound throughout the bar and stealing our attention. One of the waiters stood behind a single mic stand with his hands awkwardly at his sides, gripping the fabric of his pitch black trousers. "You should tell him."

"On behalf of the owners and employees, welcome to The Ol' Place Bar and Grill, and welcome to our newest addition to our itinerary: Live. Local. Music. Without further ado, here is a band called:" The man looked down at a note card he held in his hand briefly, "The Flies." There was polite clapping throughout the bar as the employee walked offstage, Brian and myself exchanged a glance as we clapped. 

"You heard of these guys?" He asked. I shook my head 'no' as we watched the group enter from stage right. There where four members total, three guys, and the front-man...

...was a front-woman.

My curiosity peaked as I studied her along with the other band members. Her voice sounded like something you'd expect when making dirty, rough love to someone. The muscles in my legs contracted, as my thighs pressed together. 

"I'm Nikki Taylor, and we're the Flies." They began to play after her short intro, immediately going into an upbeat rock song. I couldn't look away from the group, especially her. Nikki... I rolled the name around in my mind several times as I listened to their raw sound, the grimy slide of the strings on the electric guitar had my mind ablaze, while the heavy pounding of the drums was making my heart flutter in anticipation. 

"Listen, to my words... This pain ain't nothing like you said it would be, darling, I'm hanging by a thread..." The lyrics spoke to me on a level I didn't understand, but there was one thing I knew for certain before they had even finished their first song in the set: I want to sign them.

Can I do that? I don't have a record company by any means... I could start my own, couldn't I? Briggs Records? Nah. How about, AB Records? Bleh! I stuck out my tongue, giggling directly after like a little girl. I knew for certain I had stars in my eyes as I watched them perform, and I couldn't help but think: I could make them into something big. They're exactly what I've been looking for this entire time - and what a time for them to show up in my life, indeed. Here I am, tied to no record label, freelance, most-likely pregnant with Michael Jackson's unborn child, and about to go to my best friend's wedding in Connecticut. Boy, do I sound domestic.

They finished their first song and were halfway into their second when I turned to look at Brian, I found him slumped down in his seat. His nose barely made it above the table, making me wonder what the big deal was. His eyes were unwavering from their target, narrowed like shining glass beads. I followed the direction they were almost glaring toward, quickly finding that he was looking at the lead singer. Wait. He's glaring at her like she did something truly abhorrent to him, like when he talks about the night he first met Michael... Nikki? THE FONDUE PARTY!

I whipped my head back around to Brian, realizing who the singer was. I slumped down in the booth like Brian had, shifting closer to him in the process. "Psst! Hey, Bry!" I whispered loudly, but no one would be able to hear my obvious whisper over the loud rock music. His eyes shifted over to me, making contact.

"What?" He almost sneered. Wow, he must still be mad about his fondue pot... I blinked.

"Is that who I think it is?" I asked, knowing the answer was 'yes' but still being undoubtedly curious. He rolled his eyes, obviously not wishing to talk about it. He didn't answer me right away either, I had to prompt him by elbowing his rib cage. Brian flinched, using a hand to rub the now tender area on the side of his torso. 

"Yes, it's the Nikki I dated. Now, will you drop it. I don't want to talk about it, that bitch still owes me a new fondue pot..." He recrossed his arms, frustrated.

"Dude, you never told me she had serious bars! She's good- no, she's great. Holy, mother of -" 

"Don't you dare start cursing, you're carrying a child. Think of the baby!" I scoffed, elbowing him again. "OW! You stop that!"

"Don't tell me what to do, Whitland! Look at us, cowering like a couple of kids in a rated R movie." He let out a heavy breath, knowing I was right. "That was what, four years ago? Don't ya' think you should be over it by now?"

"Maybe." He paused, watching Nikki interact with the drummer during a solo. "But she put Frankfurt up a tree!" My head bobbed backward, taken aback.

"'Frankfurt'?"

"My fondue pot!" He whined.

"Whitland, you sound like the mean kid on the playground just kicked over your sandcastle..."

"Shut up, Briggs." We fist-bumped, dragging our attention back to the performance that was giving me the full-body tingles as I listened on. 

This was just like old times when Brian and I would get into some seriously weird situations. Before Michael. Before Off The Wall. Before I left Capitol Records. Back when I was still chilling in my combustible Ford Pinto, and my apartment with cracked walls. I wanted more of this feeling, more fun. I found myself giggling again like a young girl; I wasn't sure how to process all of this giddiness, so it came out in laughter.

God, their music is like a sound orgasm! What the actual hell? Not to skew reality here, because they needed some refining - which is something I can totally give them - but they're right there, so close to where they need to be. It's clear that all they need is someone willing to give them a chance at the big time, and I think I might be that person. Possibly.

"Hey -"

"What'd -"

We spoke at the same time.

"You go first." I told him, he gave me a single nod.

"What'd you think the chances are of getting out of here without them noticing?"

"What? Bry, I'm not leaving. I need to introduce myself to them!" He looked like I had just told him I was getting a face tattoo or something.

"WHAT?" A couple of people turned their heads our direction at his exclamation. I shushed him, hoping he wouldn't make more of a scene.

"Keep your voice down. If you really want to not be noticed, you're sure not acting like it." His shoulders slumped before he adjusted himself to be sitting normally again. I did the same. "Now that I have your attention - and your silence - what do you think of their sound?" I gripped his upper arm, giving it a mild shake in excitement.

"I wasn't really listening to the music, in all honesty. I was more concerned with not having to engage with Nikki in any shape or form. I want nothing to do with her after she had her friends trash my house." He paused, holding back.

"And your fondue pot?" I asked, deadpan.

"And my mother-fucking fondue pot!" I would have laughed at Brian's incessant affection for his fondue pot, but I'd heard this all before.

"Are you done? You feel better now that people are staring at us, rather than the boisterous rock and roll performance?" My arms were crossed as I glared at my friend, he needed to learn how to let go of the past and quick. Brian nodded, smoothing out his once pressed shirt. "I wanna sign them, Whitland."

"What?" 

"You heard me."

"But you don't have a record label! You're not even affiliated with one to begin with. How're you thinking you'll pull this one off?" Now done with talking about his beloved fondue pot, Brian and I could really get down to business talking about reality. I told him about the sizable amount of money I had began saving since 1976, and once I began receiving payments from Off The Wall and Belladonna I'd put over 40% of my earnings with it too. I had the means to start a label. It would be small at first - as most labels begin - but I was willing to jump off of the figurative cliff. Everything in my being was telling me to do this, I can't explain why I felt like I was at a steep set of crossroads, but here I am - ready to jump.

"Would you want to join me?" I asked him without thinking.

"Help you start a label? Right now?" His index finger pressed against the table. I nodded vigorously at him, meaning every word.

"Who else? I know all of your credentials, who you've worked with," I gave him a friendly nudge continuing, "Name one other person who would be better helping me with this than you, Bry. Right now. Tell me." His mouth opened and closed as he tried to vocalize an answer.

"I - I don't know. Michael?" My head moved back and

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