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Chapter One – Who is it?

I laughed loudly at my make up artist as she roughly padded my cheeks with a foam make up sponge that was a little heavy handed with the foundation. This was stage make up, though it was meant to be.

“I know right,” Rosa laughed too, “disaster.” 

“Why do you keep dating these shmucks?” I asked her, staring brazenly at my reflection in the mirror as she primped me ready for my sell-out concert.

Ah, the dating game, I’d never understood it because I’d never had the opportunity to play it for myself, but I loved to hear stories of the real world. Even though there was some true sadness to Rosa’s story, it still all seemed like a lot of fun.

“I don’t know… Hope, I guess,” she shrugged.

I chewed on that thought for few moments. Despite both our differing lifestyles, she still had the same problems I had. She got home to her apartment at the end of each day without anyone waiting for her or even caring that she got back safely. 

The only reason why people cared for my safety is because I made them money, otherwise, I could have been home for months before hearing from another soul. 

“Don’t worry,” I assured her, “you’re beautiful, Rosa, you will find the perfect man, I’m sure of it. And when you do, you’ll probably leave my pot-holed face far behind…” I smiled. 

“Never Mr. Jackson,” she replied a little embarrassed by my compliment, “and your skin is fine, you don’t have pot-holes, don’t be so silly. Next time you say that, I’ll slap you upside your head and I won’t even care if your hair’s been done.” 

I chuckled. She was beautiful with her big dark curls, chocolate eyes and petite frame. She was my height when I was sitting down, any shorter and she probably wouldn’t have been able to do the job without a box to stand on, or without me sitting on a child-sized chair. I almost laughed at the thought. 

“Could you make sure tonight that this is covered up a little better, the make up sweat right off during last night’s show.” I pointed to a vague discolouration scar that was visible just beneath my chin – I’d been obsessing about it for weeks. 

“I’ll use a bit more, but when you come in here to get changed at the Medley break, remind me and I’ll touch up, okay? I don’t think you have much to worry about, but just for your own assurance.” 

“Thanks,” I replied quietly without arguing back. It didn’t matter if she didn’t think it was a big deal, I thought it was a big deal. I hated the way I looked and it just seemed to be becoming my entrenched within me as the years went on. 

“Okay, all done,” she announced a few moments later. She put her tools down and I felt transformed in to someone that I was confident in showing to the public.

That night’s show was in Mexico City, or so I thought, some nights it was hard to keep track. I reminded myself to double check before I went ahead and greeted a city that I wasn’t even in. It wouldn’t have been the first time, I thought with a bit of embarrassment. 

I eased up out of my chair and thanked the make up artist. I had around 35 minutes to go before I went on stage. I moved over to the couch of my trailer and opened a bottle of juice that had been left for me with a straw. 

“Have a good show, Mr. Jackson,” Rosa waved. 

“Thanks, see you in the breaks,” I smiled as she let herself out and I was left to my own devices. 

I used those last few moments before each show to complete my own personal, pre-show ritual of making sure I was hydrated and praying. 

Once I heard someone, an assistant, I think, ready to interrupt my quiet time before the show and then heard security stopping her. He politely told her it was my worship time. She informed him that God had better and more important duties to do than to make sure my concert went well. It angered me in the moment, but in hindsight, it just proved how misunderstood I was.

I didn’t care if the show didn’t go to plan – sure it would be irritating and if it wasn’t my fault, the person who was responsible would have been hearing about it, but performing to me was what I knew was a God-given talent. I never prayed for a fantastic show, I wasn’t an idiot, I knew that by comparison of the needy prayers of millions of others, that ask would seem vapid and selfish.

I used that time wisely to reflect on my life – to take stock of everything that I had rather than all the things that I didn’t. I prayed to God that no one would be injured in the crowd, something I always asked for after hearing too many awful stories on the news of each city I visited. I would pray for my family, friends and fans. On tour I would experience meeting many fans; sometimes they had similar stories; heartbreaking ones or ones of suffering; and some like me, just plain alone and so I prayed for every single one of those people, that God would be with them and help to alleviate their suffering.

I didn’t really feel the need to flaunt my faith or go in to detail with anyone about my pre-show ritual because it was personal.

After drinking my juice I sat on the floor and began to do a few stretches in between prayers.

God, take care of Casey, I know things feel a bit confusing, but it’s not her fault, I’m just glad she’s okay. I did tell her I’d see her when I get back, but everything felt so up in the air when I spoke to Diane.

She’s been through too much already, don’t let her them turn out to be greedy or disloyal, don’t let them hurt me, please.

I knew something was amiss though. The tone in Diane’s voice had changed; the conversation had felt strained. Since I’d been on tour a certain awkwardness had developed within our friendship that I couldn’t really place my finger on.

Perhaps it was a sixth sense, but I kind of knew to expect something that would upset me. I figured they would slowly drift from my life because I couldn’t help Diane the way that she wanted. I knew that would be devastating given how close we’d all grown over the three or so years I took getting to know the small, struggling family, but I also was aware that given my life, it was probably bound to happen.

If it happened with family, it would certainly happen with those who were not. Friendships were only ever part time in my life. People inevitably grew tired of me being so busy that I couldn’t speak for longer than a few minutes on the phone at a time, or that hanging out could only happen once in a blue moon.

Perhaps that was why I often found myself lavishing the people that came in to my life and probably why they began to develop a sense of entitlement to material items that I could provide upon their demand.

Money took away a lot of pride when it came to people, I’d discovered, especially when they weren’t as financially free as I was.

I breathed a sigh. I thanked God again and got up from the ground. I moved over to the costume rack that would be moved closer to the stage after I went on. I dressed myself in the same outfit as the night before and stood before the large, lit mirrors and stared at myself, fussing with my curls a little before feeling as satisfied as I was going to be.


**

“Michael, Michael…” someone rapped at my door urgently. It was a few minutes late. We were due to be on stage in less than five minutes and the assistant had yet to come and get me. I had been starting to feel annoyed.

“Come in, we’re late!” I hissed a little hurriedly, gathering my bottle of Gatorade. 

The door opened and shut behind him again. I frowned. I had no time for idle chit-chat, I had to get on stage. I could already hear the crowd hysteria, “We love you! We love you! We love you!”

It felt pretty great. 

“Michael, sit down for a minute,” his face was serious and he never called me by my name. I was pretty sure I was about to get a lecture about something. I got in to trouble the night before for allowing a female fan to kiss my lips.

So what? It made her night. Apparently it made me look bad, I wasn’t aware of how, but anyway. 

“What?” I laughed in a disbelieving way. “Larry,” I began, glancing at the clock, “we’ve got like, 2 and a half minutes, can’t you hear the fans?” 

He was holding a small bit of paper and he took a seat anyway, ignoring me “Michael, sit down,” he told me. It was at that moment when I realized he wasn’t playing around, that something was wrong.

I thought about my family, I hoped everyone was okay. Had there been an accident?

Were my staff okay? The fans? Did something happen out there during the pre-show entertainment?

“W…what is it?” 

“Michael, something very serious is happening back home,” he said calmly. I sat down slowly and waited for the next words to come out of his mouth.

I had a bit of a paranoid mind – a creative one too. Had aliens landed and waged a war with America? Hey, I read up on Roswell—it was plausible, and quite frankly, I was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. I hid a smirk but it dispersed as quickly as it came.

Right. Serious.

But then there was the tensions abroad within the Soviet states – was it something to do with that? I wouldn’t have been surprised.

I could tell that Larry was having trouble trying to tell me what the problem was. He smoothed down his grew sports jacket and sucked in a deep breath.

“About 45 minutes ago, policed served a search warrant on Neverland.”

“What?” I exclaimed quietly before giving a laugh, “I mean… what?” I was confused, “why?” Immediately I thought about the owners before me, it was only a newly acquired property that I was now predominantly living in.

“They won’t say at this time for sure, but… Michael, which kids have you been spending your time with over these past few months?” 

The questions felt very unrelated and I wasn’t putting it together yet. “I haven’t been home for four months, but I did see Casey and Diane late last week and I had Aubery, Josh and Iggy here for a few days last month, but that’s it? Has something happened to one of them?” 

Immediately I prayed that my young friends would be okay. 

“They are reporting that you are being investigated, Michael,” he told me delicately.

“For?” I felt winded. Surely it was nothing serious, tax fraud? The IRS had audited me about five times in the past decade, but nope, I was squeaky clean. I did everything right by the book.

Larry took a deep breath and avoided my intrusive stare, “for improper conduct with one of those kids…”

What!

I stared for a few moments, letting it sink in. The next few moments felt like time had completely stopped. I couldn’t breathe.

I felt Larry’s arm on my shoulder, “Mr. Jackson, what do you want to do about the show?” 

“Th..the… sh-how?” I stammered as if the concert was a foreign concept to me.

“Yeah, do you want to cancel?”

I looked down at my empty hands and stared for a moment. I felt judged. It was almost as though I could feel his eyes staring in to my soul to see if they could find any traces of guilt.

But, as I’d learned that just because something was being reported, didn’t necessarily make it true. It could be all just a storm in a teacup. The media finding an idea and running with it, that seemed to be their way, right?

That must have been it.

Then I began to laugh. A maddening, relieving, disbelieving burst of laughter that I was sure came as a shock to Larry. He eyed me seriously, wondering if I was crazy and guilty.

“It’ll blow over once they realize there’s been a mistake,” I told him, breathing deeply feeling relief within my resolve. I had nothing to be worried about anyway, my friends would tell them the truth. I almost smiled when I thought of how Diane would react if someone merely suggested that I touched Casey inappropriately after all the ways in which I had helped her child find life again.

I wasn’t worried anymore.

I got up from the couch. “Don’t worry Larry, I’m fine. Maybe someone prank-tipped them, there is no way in the world someone is gonna tear my home apart based on a silly story. I’m late for the show, we better get going.” 

“Mi-Michael… I think this is serious.” 

I grinned at him, “You’re more worried than I am, don’t be,” I insisted, “I’ll give Diane a call after the show and I’ll call my sister-in-law and make sure those three are all fine too.” 

He didn’t look convinced, but in this industry every time the media breathed my name everyone could come and report to me solemnly as if a silly story about my nose or my ‘strange’ shopping trips would some how send me in to a panic.

I was used to it. The media had once accused me of being investigated for a stolen watch. They had to retract it since it was entirely made up. This was going to be another one of those stories.

Smear-Michael-Jackson.

It came with the territory.

Larry hesitantly led me down the short, empty corridor that led to the wings of the stage. I could tell he had some reservations, but I wasn’t going to be worried by mere gossip right before I was about to go on stage. The chanting of ‘we love you’ got louder and louder until it was completely deafening.

I’d basically already forgotten Larry’s concerns and gave my signal to the band.

 

I had a show to go on with.

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