Art and Soul

Main Characters

Alem Kamau :21

Artist

Michael Jackson: 28

Legend

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Supporting Characters

Jolie Penn:26

MJ's Personal assistant

Zola Price :22

Alem's Best friend

Sandy Ortiz:22

Alem's Friend/Receptionist

Electric Lady Studios

Frank Dileo :44

Michael's Manager

LL Cool J:22

Alem's Friend/Rapper

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Chapter 1

".....Looking out across the nighttime"

Alem's P.O.V

The night was hot and sticky and sitting in the air conditioned room was a welcomed relief. She sat in silence gazing out of the large almost floor to ceiling windows that spanned the length of one wall of her newly finished loft overlooking the Brooklyn Bridge. She peered intently out over the Hudson River onto the bright lights of New York City. She loved the city but she had grown tired of the hustle and bustle she had experienced as a child growing up on the busy streets of Manhatten. She loved Brooklyn. It was laid back and she relished the more peaceful quiet. She needed the quiet now more than ever since the incident that ultimately changed her young life. She took a pull off of the long brown cinnamon flavored Indian cigarette that she held delicately between her index and middle fingers. She blew out small rings of smoke between her small but full lips.

She had been so exited when she first learned how to do it. She had a fierce love of all things from the Forties. Anything retro was her bag but the Forties held a special place in her heart. She believed that her past life most defiantly took place in this era. The women were so foxy and the men all debonaire with there pinstripes, fedoras and shiny wing tipped oxfords. Two words described this point in time classy and dangerous and she loved it all. Casablanca had inspired her to learn to blow smoke rings and she picked it up fast. She sat with her legs pulled up to her chest as her head laid delicately on her knees, a small salty tear slid slowly down her cheek. She missed them so much. It had been three years since her parents' untimely death.

She spun a round quickly stubbing out her cigarette and wiped her eyes. Can't think about that now she thought. Taking in the expanse of her new space she loved it, it was a unique mix of Mid-century modern furniture and Victorian era pieces. It was uncluttered, just how she needed her living space to be. It was in sharp contrast to her art studio that was wall to wall canvases, paint and art supplies. Her studio occupied the first floor of the converted warehouse she now called home. She had paid dearly for it all to come together just how she wanted it. Being independently wealthy had its perks. She never had to work another day in her life if she didn't want to. Sure she was no Donald Trump but she could live her life really comfortably.

She resented how she got the money in the first place. It all came from her parents. They were both very renowned fine artists. Her father was a famous painter and sculptor from Ghana and her mom was mixed media artist and painter from Ethiopia. Her dad by age 35 was already wealthy enough to live life as he wanted but he chose to teach in the end. He was a professor of Arts and Culture at one of the most prestigious art schools in New York City, the world at a matter of fact. That is how he met her mother. Her mother was on a scholarship that was given to her by the Emporer of Ethiopia. She was a student of her father's and they had fallen in love hard and fast. From there, there was no looking back. When she was born they dedicated most of their time to raising her. Growing up in it, art had become her whole life. She lived it and breathed it for the past 21 years and she was good, beyond good in fact. All her parents talent had trickled down into every fiber of her being.

She had had her first one woman gallery showing last year, it was a big success and she dedicated it all to the memory of her parents. She absentmindedly fingered the gold and silver locket her mother had given her for her 16th birthday. She looked down at it, opened it and gazed longingly at the pictures of her mom and dad nestled inside. Once again hot salty tears stung intensely at the back of her eyes. She closed the locket as her body racked violently with uncontrollable sobs. It was no use she was alone and that's when she missed them the most. Her mind drifted to when she heard the news.

She was in her senior year of High School. Her parents had gone on a charity mission to her mom's native Ethiopia. The trip was to last 3 months and they were to be back in time for her graduation from the Academy of Visual and Performing Arts. She had just returned home from school and checked the answering machine. A frantic message from one of the volunteers that went with her parents' group came over the speaker. She had to listen to the message 10 times before fully understanding what was actually said. Her ears flooded and her eyes went blurry as she plummeted to her knees. Sorrow had taken over her whole body. It was a freak accident, an explosion had ripped though the small hotel her parents' group was staying in in the middle of the night. Faulty gas line the message had said. 90 people including her parents had perished that night. She shook her head and swiped furiously at her eyes to stave off any more tears. She lit another cigarette to calm her nerves, taking a long drag and blowing it out slowly to settle her wits. She glanced at the large clock on the far wall and it read 12 am. She should really get some sleep. Maybe a glass of Tej (Ethiopian honey wine) would sooth the beast that was her ragged nerves and put her to slumber.

She had started working on a commission for the recording studio Electric Lady Studios in the East Village. It was started by Jimi Hendricks in the early Seventies sometime before his death and it had blossomed into one of the most prestigious recording studios in New York City. In fact she was working on a mural of Jim Hendricks and some of the other artists that had recorded there over the years. Jimi and the now owner Don Stork had been close personal friends of her parents. Don Stork had been to her gallery opening and fell in love with her work and immediately hired her to work on the mural after he revamped the studio interior. She was only 2 weeks in but she was progressing nicely. It would be at least another month and a half of non stop work before she would be finished. She took a sip of the sweet liquid and it slid languidly down her throat easing some of the tension in her shoulders.

"Mmmmmm sweet sweet honey wine, how I love thee." She chuckled bitterly as she walked lazily to her bedroom wine glass and bottle in tow.

She placed them both on her night table and flopped on to her king sized Canopy bed. Pouring herself another glass she pressed the remote to close the massive blinds on her windows blocking out the lights of the City that never sleeps plunging her room into virtual darkness save for the lamp on her side table. She emptied her glass in one final swig and buried herself under the cool cotton sheets. Her eyes drifted closed. Goodnight Alem, my sweet Alem, my world. The voice of her father echoed through her head lulling her to sleep.

Michael's P.O.V.

"Frank...Frank I know, I know. I just got here 5 hours ago give me a break. I need to at least settle in." Michael had hunkered down into one of the frequent back and froths he had with his manager.

Work work work that was his motto but he sometimes needed a break after 23 years in the music business he needed to exhale a bit. He had already started to write and record material for his new album for the past two years now. He was determined to top 'Thriller' no matter the cost. He had decided to move the rest of his major recording sessions to New York City. The record company had set him up in the best Studio in the country Electric Lady Studios. He had also purchased an apartment in the exclusive Trump Towers. He fell in love with the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked Central Park. The view was breathtaking and it served to lighten his mood every time he gazed out the window. There he sat in his new penthouse digs with one elbow on his knee, eyes closed pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefingers and a phone to his ear.

"Frank its 11 o'clock at night can't we just talk in the morning?" He sighed heavily listening intently as the older man droned on and on about his schedule for the next day.

"Frank, I got it. Bye Frank." He returned the phone to the cradle and stood up strolling over to his beloved view.

He was happy with his choice. Sure he would miss Hayvenhurst and even the comfort of his hideout but he needed the change of scenery. He tried his best to control as much as he could in his life. God knows so many aspects of his life seemed out of his hands. The media made sure of that. His beloved fans also played a role. He loved his fans to the bottom of his soul but they made his venture out into the world virtually impossible without being surrounded by a swarm of large burly men. This was another reason he was relishing the time he would spend here. No one knew he was here and maybe his disguises would fair better here. They had stared to be very unsuccessful in L.A. A small smile was tugging at his lips at the thought of getting away with walking freely around the city. It would be over Bills dead body. Bill Bray was Michaels head of security and had been with him since the Jackson 5 days. He also served as the father Joseph Jackson failed to be to him. It was comforting to know he had people who had his back but it did not ease the impending loneliness that plagued his life.

He was 28 years old and he had accomplished quite a bit in life already. Music Was his life and he was good, more than good in fact. He thanked the heavens everyday for his many talents. He had a pension and warm place in his heart for art as well. His mentor and long time love of his life Diana Ross had introduced him to the world of art and he immediately fell in love with it along with Diane. The very name had him wincing and his heart broke a little each time she came to mind. As a teen he fell insanely in love with her and it had only served to shatter him to bits. She had made him a "man" after all. No! he would not think of that woman right know. He closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Women, He got his share but he always kept his emotions in check. "She" did that to him. He turned and glanced at the clock it was 1am but his eyes were far from closing curtesy of his insomnia. Sleep was always eluding him. A little pill would serve to help him to slumber. His mind was always going a mile a minute, always flooded with ideas and worries. He climbed the stairs to his bedroom. Completing his nightly routine, he slipped on his silk PJ pants and a T-shirt and removed his makeup. He sat up in his bed and decided to watch one of his favorite movies. He popped in "The Kid" with Charlie Chaplin and watch intently. He dry swallowed two sleeping pills and beaconed sleep to his eyes. Surprisingly enough it came quicker than expected. Tomorrow, another day of meetings and studio work. Bring it on!