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After Calista's concert was over, all of the celebrities that had attended her concert were invited backstage to drink, laugh and chat for a couple hours. Although all of the other celebrities were backstage in the common area being served, Calista was in her dressing room, knocked out on the couch the venue provided for her.
She was almost asleep when the door to the dressing room slowly creaked open. "Go away Penelope, I'm sore, exhausted and hungover." Calista had a feeling that Penelope was going to go after her at any minute to force her to socialize with the fellow artists.
A small cough came from the doorway and Calista tiredly opened her eyes, moving them to focus on the figure standing in the door frame. "Hey, Michael." Calista lazily smiled, closing her eyes again.
"I just came to say goodbye since I'm not able to stick around for much longer." Michael waved briefly before stepping back to exit the room.
"Wait. I'm sorry that I called you out in front of the crowd like that. I think I may have ruined your Calista Experience." Calista spoke slowly and prolongedly.
Michael shrugged. "Calista, you're always making me feel like I'm some special one-of-a-kind artist." Michael scoffed, underestimating himself.
"Michael, there is something special about you. I know it. I always knew it. And you proved it when you released Thriller. We need more black excellence in our community, especially since we African Americans are so belittled." Calista began to rant, yet her sloth state remained untouched.
Michael chuckled. "You think so highly of others, but forget that you're the biggest star on the planet." He reminded.
"Michael, you're going to create a whole new definition of what a superstar is. I can feel it." Calista clicked her tongue is disapproval of his statement. Michael simply smiled small and exited the dressing room, contemplating the prediction Calista had shared with him for the rest of the night.
