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Synopsis : Marriage with the king of pop is a dream on paper until you have to deal with the fact that you’re not the only woman in his heart or the constant loneliness of being home alone everyday without him. You didn’t know if it was the tabloids that only referred to you as “his little wife” (on a good day) or the fact you felt like a shadow in your own marriage; but, it didn’t really matter. One night you packed a suitcase, booked a flight, and just like that you were gone without a trace.

Seven Wonders - Fleetwood Mac

“ Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to France. It is 3 in the afternoon local time. Thank you for flying with us”

You begrudgingly wake up, your lips feel dry, and your face feels like paper-mache (your fault for not wiping off your makeup). If it wasn’t that announcement, the sun blasting in your face was definitely getting up. You rise from your seat and stretch, a 13 hour flight is gonna make you stiff. You made it, you were in a whole other country, a whole other continent at that. You grabbed your suitcase and you walked off the plane. 

It actually hits you like a brick. 3 facts about your current state. 

You have no money. Matter of fact, you didn’t bring any of your cards. The only thing you have is your passport.

Without any money, you have nowhere to stay, or money for food, or y’know any of the basic necessities to get by.

You barely know French, the most you know is the title of that ABBA song.

So you’re stuck in France until further notice. Which isn’t that bad if you think of these of 3 truths which is:

You’re away from the celebrity life.

You can’t go back, literally.

You’re in France

As you go through the airport you wonder if you can find a way to get a ride. You landed at the CDG which was fairly new as you’ve gathered from the architecture. You sat in a chair, trying to figure out your next moves. Maybe you can trade your jewelry? It wouldn’t hurt to do so. Maybe there’s an ad in the paper that could help, then again you can’t speak French. You watch as people walk with their suitcases. You could also just find an English speaker, but it felt like finding a needle in a haystack. You sighed, feeling a bit defeated until you could feel eyes on you. You turn around to see these two young women pointing at you and a TV. You move your gaze to the TV and there you are. Some fucker recorded you having yesterday and punching that reporter, which was predictable and embarrassing. The headline had subtitles, “Mrs.Jackson Gets Out Of Control”  Oh dear god, you have to get out of here. You got up and ran out of the airport with your luggage, holding up your dress in the process.  

Obviously you were insane as you ran into traffic. Horns honked, people yelled at you, you couldn’t understand them, but you could tell they meant ‘Get the hell off the road’ . You tripped and fell on the sidewalk. Damn it. This must be the worst day ever. You felt like shit. You were tired, hungry, and you felt like you were going to die.  You  wanted to cry right there and then until a car pulled up to the side laid pathetically.

“Need a ride?” An old man rolled the windows down.  I need more than just a ride. “More like a place to live”

“I can see what I can do, why don’t you get in?” Now you know  the whole stranger danger craze happening right now  but this is an old man. You could take him in a fight and honestly he didn’t look like there was an ounce of evil in him. Also it’s important to keep in mind, you had nothing currently, you were broke unless you wanted to call you know who and get home. However, that wasn’t an option currently so you grabbed your suitcase, threw it in the back of the truck and hopped in the car with…?

“Sorry I didn’t catch your name.” You asked, might as well since you’d be in a car with him for who knows how long. “My name is Hugo. I’ve met many Americans in my days so I’m somewhat fluent.” 

“How’d you know I was American?” Now that I think about it, he's been speaking English the whole time. 

“No one in France would wear what you’re wearing in daylight.” You laughed at his comment. The first time you laughed in a while.

“You don’t know, maybe I just want to stand out” Partially true.

“So? Why are you in France?” He asked.

“Um…” You tried to make an explanation. “I’m looking to find some meaning in my life I suppose. Meaning outside of my current life.” He nodded at the answer.

“Well how about you come to live with me for a while, I have an extra room in my house and I wouldn’t mind more company.”  He seemed lonely, it wouldn’t be so bad living with him, then again you had no other options.  “I’d be fine with that,” you agreed.  The ride became more lively. You started talking about your life, well vaguely. 

“We’ll be celebrating our 2nd anniversary in late September. He’s a singer and a really good dancer. I’m a songwriter so it just worked out. Actually he’s from a family of musicians, so you could say I lucked out.” You smiled. “Maybe you could play me one of your songs.” That’s an odd comment, nobody really asks about your work, then again you’re just a song writer, people remember who sings the songs, not who writes it. “I don’t really sing.” “Nonsense, if you can write songs, you can sing them.” You smiled at his persistence. 

“Sure, I’ll sing you a song one day”.

…

“This is my home, I live with my wife Margot, and my daughter Edith.  She’s about your age.” Wow, cultural differences right there. The estate was adorned with flowers, irises. It was beautiful the way nature took over the estate, the vines decorated the walls, blossoms hanging from window sills, and of course the fields of high grass and irises. It didn’t feel like California, at least where you lived to say the least. Maybe one day you’ll retire somewhere like this, somewhere calm and silent.  Though those days are far ahead of you. “Let me show you around.” We went through his house; the dining room was a small room connected to the kitchen that had an old oven that you had to feed the fire with wood, the garden was filled with mostly vegetables and this one lemon tree. He showed you the upstairs which consisted of four bedrooms, one that you will now occupy for some time. “You’ll stay here.” The room was smaller than yours in Encino, not a complaint just an observation. It was pretty cute with the floral wall paper and the slanted window gave the perfect amount of natural sunlight to light up the room. The only furniture in the room was a twin size bed, a desk, and a wardrobe.  You dropped your suitcase and started walking down stairs with Hugo.  He then showed you the lounge. It was cozy, similar to your new room. It has a floral wallpaper, just with a richer evergreen accent. It had a fireplace, but it looked like it hadn't been cleaned out in a while. The chairs were made of wood and the sofa looked like it could be a periodic film.  It felt like every surface had a vase filled with flowers, maybe Hugo was a botanist of some sorts.

“And this is Margot” He grabs an urn with a floral pattern. 

Oh.

You stood in silence for a while with the realization that Margot was dead. This is just an old man that really missed his wife. “She must’ve really enjoyed flowers.” You said. There really wasn’t much you could say that he probably hasn’t heard before. “The prettiest.” You saw a faint smile on his face as his fingers lingered on the urn.  He finally looks up at you, like he was taken out of a trance. “Right, well the bathroom is down the hall to your right, if you need any clothes Edith can lend you something more comfortable. I’ll start making lunch.” He walked past you as you nodded. You walked through the hall, slowly looking at the pictures on the wall. It started with a wedding photo, a black and white photo of who you suspect is Hugo and Margot. She had beautiful, dark hair, a bright smile, and soft eyes. A key detail that stood out was the flower in her hair.  You smiled at that, this empty house wasn’t really empty, it was filled with love. Every vase, every wall, it was in remembrance of her. That’s a new level of care you haven’t experienced, yet at least. Of course your marriage was still young and Hugo was married for decades, till this day. You wonder if your marriage will ever get to that point. You sighed and entered the bathroom, finally you can get rid of this makeup and this dress that was beyond cleaned. You turn the faucet of the sink, cold water flows out. You started rinsing the makeup of your face, watching it run down the drain. You looked in the mirror, and for the first time you could recognize the girl in the mirror, something real. “I better get cleaned off.”

…

You knocked on a door, you assumed it’s Edith. All you knew about her was she was the same age as you, maybe she’s as kind as her father. The door opened, revealing a slim, tall woman who in your opinion could be a model. She had long brown hair and the darkest eyes. You were about to speak, but she cut you off. “You look terrible.” Okay meaner than her father. “Uh… Hi, your father said I should ask you if I needed any clothes?” You had clothes, you’ve remembered to pack that,  just not clothes you’d wear in Europe when summer is about to begin. She rolled her eyes and handed you a shirt and overalls. “They’re my mother’s clothes, these may fit you since..” She looked you up and down. “Mine wouldn’t fit your.. figure.” Bitch. You grabbed the clothes and thanked her regardless of her ‘hospitality’. You began to walk away until she grabbed her shoulder. “Hey, don’t think I don’t know who you are. Your face has been plastered everywhere since this morning.” Wow, and they say news isn’t a wildfire. “My father is a good man, he’s humble and kind, but he can be naive. Do not take his kindness for granted.” You moved away from her grasp. Who the hell does she think she’s talking to? “For your information, I’m not some snobby spoiled trophy wife who went on a shopping spree in France. Okay, I paid to be here and in return for your father’s kindness I will repay him.” You walked close to her. “You don’t know me, all you know is what the press says. You don’t know my life or my marriage. So I’d appreciate it if I was treated like a normal person.” You walked into your room and closed the door.

The truth is, you weren’t a normal person, not anymore. You were married to a celebrity, you belonged into one of the most famous families in America, you were so important that your face traveled from California to France in less than 24 hours. In the past two years, or just after you met Michael, you felt like this image was thrust onto you. This woman you had to be, the woman that people cared to notice. You tried to be that woman and look where you ended up. The worst part about being here is, you don’t know what awaited you when you inevitably came home, if there was a home waiting for you. Will Michael still love you when you are back? That’s something you couldn’t answer. You got dressed, feeling the same pit in your stomach you felt when you left that award show. You finally walked down stairs to meet Hugo at the dining table. He had made boeuf Bourguignon which in your opinion looked like a roast, smelled great though.  You washed your hands and sat down at the table. “So as I mentioned before, I won’t stay here without repaying you for your kindness and also making the money to go home.”

“I’m aware,” he nods. “So, what can I do for you?” You smiled. “I can tend your garden, clean up the house, anything really.” Usually Michael would have people around to do all these things, he didn’t want you to lift a finger. Hugo stared at you for a long time, thinking of an idea. “Well I have this property, I’m thinking of selling it. It used to be a pub that I used to run, but business has been slow for a while and it’s becoming a financial burden. I can possibly make some money from selling it. How about after lunch you go down there and clean it up, make it look presentable to buyers.” You nodded. That sounds interesting, it should be hard right?  What’s a bit of cleaning?

…

You were scared to walk in. This place looked like a haunted house and that is an understatement. The cobwebs were bigger than your head, you could see piles of dust, the room was dark and dirty. You flicked on a switch, only one light bulb turned on. You looked around. “Kind of hard to believe this was an establishment.” You looked around some more. Seems like a bar, you went behind the counter and investigated. You find a bottle of wine, still full. “1956?” You opened it and took a swig. Rich, disgusting, but rich in flavor. You looked up and saw a stage, and by it a picture of what looked to be Margot dancing. You stared for a while. She must’ve loved this place. It would be a shame to sell it. “Unless..” 

…

Warning: Diana Ross(?)

Garden (Say it Like That)- SZA

Honestly if anyone had to live like that, they would have gone insane. Look past the mansion, or the fame, or the luxury. You would spend 24/7 alone most of the time. Sure there were days where you were with Michael, but they were occasional. He’d be touring and when he wasn’t then he’s in the studio and if he wasn’t doing that there was something else. You couldn’t hold that against him. However, it was the feeling of being an afterthought that made you resent him. It was the letters you found one day addressed between him and Diana, it was the lipstick on his jaw that Grammy night, it was the fact that despite your engagement, he kept more photos of her than you. It’s crazy

to be competing with a woman for a man that put the ring on your finger and losing.

Aside from that, it was the fact that he would go for days without telling you where or what he was up to. Then, he’d stroll in like nothing ever happened. He left you on your toes and not in a good way. You understood he was fighting his own battle, but the one battle he refused to fight was for you. It felt like you weren’t in the equation of what was important to him. And on top of that, the media drove you to the edge. The truth about getting married to a celebrity is that the world is going to hate you. Now, being married to a celebrity everyone wants to be with, they might as well burned you to the stake. You’ve been called a witch, a gold digger even though you’ve written songs for people so that one makes no sense, and the most common one, “his little wife”. At first, that last one wasn’t degrading, until people didn’t even address you by your name, just by a title. Less than an individual, only a possession.

You loved Michael; he was gentle, kind, funny, but he could be secretive, stubborn, and inconsiderate. To deny those flaws would make you feel more of a fool. You could feel like this, then he could say “I love you” and you would disregard the issue. Though, pushing it down doesn’t get rid of it, which you learned the hard way. Which leads you to tonight, you left in the middle of the award show. It started out as a good night until you both encountered Diana. Now, you didn’t want to make a fuss about whatever they are, but she said something that made something go off in your head. “Good luck Michael, and your friend.” It wasn’t the fact she degraded you in front of him like it was nothing, it was the fact he chose to say nothing to defend you or correct her.

So you decided to leave mid-show. You told him that you were going to the restroom, which you partially felt bad for lying to him,but you weren’t thinking of his feelings, or anyone besides yourself at the moment. It was impulsive, yes, but if you were being disrespected by everyone around you, you’d spiral too. You ran for an exit door, not caring about ruining the expensive dress you were wearing or messing of your heels. You hear the cameras of the paparazzi go off, and the confused conversations of the crowds who are so loyal to stay. The flashes almost blind your vision, but you kept moving. A reporter tries to stop you and tries to ask you questions, “Is it true you are using Michael for the money and the publicity? What do you genuinely do in your life besides being with Michael?” You slapped her without hesitation. It was wrong, but you weren’t in the mood. This would be the first thing on the papers tomorrow morning, but you didn’t care. You went for a pay phone and called a taxi to get you. Once it arrived. you jumped in. The moment you sat down you broke down. “Where to?” You said the address and drove off.

Once you arrived you ordered him to wait for you. You didn’t have anything in your clutch purse, but lip gloss. You buzzed in and one of the security guards opened the door. You walked in without greeting, you ran upstairs and took out a suitcase. You filled it with clothes, some money, your journals, and anything that seemed important at the moment. You didn’t have time to change, by now he probably has figured out something was wrong. You moved quickly, closing the luggage, grabbing your passport, and finally leaving your bedroom. You didn’t know the next time you’d see it.

Before you left the mansion, you saw as security looked at a loss for words. You wiped your tears and tried to compose yourself. “..I will be away for a while, if Mr. Jackson asks where I am, tell him…that I am on a trip. I can’t tell you when I’ll be back, but it won’t be soon. Take care while I’m gone and I’m sorry.” Before you step outside, you leave your engagement ring on the counter before loading your suitcase in the taxi and giving the man his money. “To the nearest airport.” You looked at the mansion for the last time for driving off.

Your head was spinning. You left, without a second thought. Allowing chaos to unleash without fear. For the first time in a while, you could exhale. The only thing is you had no plan. You didn’t know where you’re going or what you’re about to do, but here you are pulling to the airport. You think about Michael. His face when he realizes that you are gone and even worse, he doesn’t know where you were going. What you were doing was nothing short of cruel, but what was the other choice. To sit down and take the bullshit like it was nothing, to feel like you were more of a trophy than a person. Actually, you felt less than a trophy, people felt proud when they win a trophy, sometimes it felt like he wasn’t even proud to be married to you. “If it’s too personal to ask,” the driver snaps you out of your thoughts. “Where are you going?” None of his business, but then again it’s not like you’ll see him again.

“To be honest I’m not sure.” Truth.

“..you know a lot of people when they don’t know where to go, they go to Europe. They work random jobs, some giving them a place to stay for free. My cousin is a traveler at heart, they started in rural France. Beautiful place in the summer.” I’ve never been out of the country much, actually I’m not very “well travelled” to be honest. However, the idea isn’t a bad one. I mean it’d be a nice place to hide, and I would be making my own money.

“I’ll consider it.” The car stopped and you tipped him most of your cash, you didn’t know why, but you did nonetheless. You grabbed your suitcase and you walked in. This was it, you couldn’t really turn back now (especially not after punching that reporter). You walked up to the counter.

“What’s the earliest ticket I can get to France?” The attendant looked at you with disbelief. You didn’t blame her, you looked like Princess Barbie at the moment. “We have one last minute seat in economy for a flight departing in 15 ..” You put the rest of your cash on the table. “I’ll take it.”

“It’s one way” She recognized me.

“I’ll take it” She nodded and processed the ticket. You grabbed it and started to make your way through TSA without giving her a second glance. By the time you were done, you boarded the plane.

For now at least, you were not “Mrs.Jackson”