Michael Jackson_ The Magic, the Madness, the Whole Story, 1958-2009 Part 13

At this time, Diana had left Motown and was recording her second alb.u.m for RCA, Silk Electric. Silk Electric. The alb.u.m was shaping up to be a disaster and she needed something outstanding on the collection, which is why she contacted Michael. 'I was coming back from England, working on Paul McCartney's alb.u.m, zooming along on the Concorde, and this song popped into my head,' Michael recalled. 'I said, "Hey, that's perfect for Diana." I didn't have a tape recorder or anything, so I had to suffer for like three hours. Soon as I got home, I whipped that baby on tape.' The alb.u.m was shaping up to be a disaster and she needed something outstanding on the collection, which is why she contacted Michael. 'I was coming back from England, working on Paul McCartney's alb.u.m, zooming along on the Concorde, and this song popped into my head,' Michael recalled. 'I said, "Hey, that's perfect for Diana." I didn't have a tape recorder or anything, so I had to suffer for like three hours. Soon as I got home, I whipped that baby on tape.'

Diana has said that Michael seemed intimidated by her while the two of them worked together in the studio. He couldn't bring himself to direct her.

'You're the man,' Diana insisted, an admiring look in her eyes. 'You're the boss on this one.' Diana wanted Michael to take control of the recording session, but it was difficult for him. 'In the end, the song just sort of produced itself,' said a friend of Diana's. The kinky lyrics of 'Muscles' extol the joys of a man's muscles 'all over your body'. 'I don't know whether it's supposed to be Michael's fantasy or mine,' Diana said when it was finally released.

Either way, it was a Top Ten record for Diana Ross.

The Triumph tour began in Memphis, Tennessee, on 9 July 1981, and ended with a record-breaking, sell-out, four-night engagement at the Los Angeles Forum. The biggest numbers of the show were always Michael's solo songs from the Off the Wall Off the Wall alb.u.m. There were also special effects arranged by magician Doug Henning: Michael seemed to disappear into a puff of smoke after performing 'Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough'. Offstage, Michael also seemed to want to disappear, rarely socializing with his brothers or the rest of the entourage. 'This is my last tour,' he promised anyone who asked. 'I will alb.u.m. There were also special effects arranged by magician Doug Henning: Michael seemed to disappear into a puff of smoke after performing 'Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough'. Offstage, Michael also seemed to want to disappear, rarely socializing with his brothers or the rest of the entourage. 'This is my last tour,' he promised anyone who asked. 'I will never never do this again. Ever.' do this again. Ever.'

Being on the road with him made the Jackson brothers realize how far Michael had distanced himself from them. He started talking to the press about the possibility of a solo career. 'I think that will happen gracefully in the future,' he told Paul Grein of Billboard. Billboard. 'I think the public will ask for it. That's definitely going to happen.' 'I think the public will ask for it. That's definitely going to happen.'

It was not what his brothers wanted to hear. It didn't help them feel any more secure when Michael began involving himself more in the business end of the show. For instance, one day he was scheduled to rehea.r.s.e with the group when someone handed him a copy of the contract for the trucks that were to carry equipment for the tour. Michael glanced at it and said, 'Wait, I need to check something with my lawyer.'

'That can wait, Michael,' Jackie said, bristling with anger. 'This rehearsal is important.'

Michael ignored his older brother's remark, left the stage area and found a telephone. He called John Branca. 'He wanted me to explain a paragraph that dealt with what happened if the truck broke down, if it had a flat tyre, or the road washed out,' John recalled. 'I explained the paragraph. He asked a couple of questions and said, "Okay, I understand." He was all about details, always with the details, wanting to know everything. He used to say, "It's important that I know. know."'

Michael then returned to the stage, signed the contract, and went back to work.

Around this time Michael finally learned to drive so he could leave the estate when it became too difficult for him there. Singer Mickey Free (formerly of the group Shalamar) remembered his first meeting with Michael in the fall of 1981. 'I was signed to Diana Ross's management company at that time. She was staying at the Beverly Hills Hotel and asked me if I wanted to come down to her bungalow and meet Michael. Well, who wouldn't?' he recalled. 'So I had dinner with Michael, Diana and Gene [Simmons of Kiss, Diana's boyfriend at the time]. I was freaking out because I always wanted to meet Michael, and he was so nice. So it came time for me to go home. Diana's car had brought me there, and she said, Okay, I'll call the driver to come and get you.' Michael very softly said, "Oh, that's okay, I'll take Mickey home."'

Diana and Gene were astonished. 'Are you sure you want to do this, Michael?' Diana asked him. 'Are you sure you can handle it?'

'Yeah, I can do it, Diana,' Michael said, confidently.

Mickey got into Michael's Silver Shadow Rolls-Royce, and the two sped off down the driveway in front of the Beverly Hills Hotel. 'Be careful,' Diana hollered after them. 'Don't drive too fast, Michael.'

When they got to Mickey's apartment building about fifteen minutes later, Michael drove around the block a few times before sheepishly confessing, 'You know what? I can drive this thing, but I don't know how to parallel park it. Can you park for me?' Michael stopped the car in the middle of the road and the two traded seats.

'I rode around the block ten times to find a parking place so people could see me driving Michael Jackson around in his fabulous car,' Mickey recalled.

An Indirect Conversation.

By the fall of 1981, despite CBS Records' best efforts to keep the Jackson family's domestic turmoil a secret, most industry insiders were aware of what had happened between Katherine and Gina because of the public filings of the lawsuit litigation. Michael had made it clear that he did not want to have to face any reporters, because he was afraid that he might be asked to comment on the matter. However, the press grind to promote Triumph Triumph would continue, Michael's wishes notwithstanding. would continue, Michael's wishes notwithstanding.

Michael Jackson, who had just turned twenty-three, was a contradictory figure. He was decisive and determined, as he had proved a few times along the way, but he was also vulnerable and confused. Though he was beginning to seize control of his career, he was still reluctant to sever ties with his family. 'I'd die if I were alone,' he told me in a telephone interview on his birthday. He was unable to leave the womb, to move out of the house. 'No way,' he said. 'I could never leave here.'

Instead of growing up, Michael actually seemed to be regressing buying toys, playing childlike games and, for the first time, actually surrounding himself with children. Young fans who gathered at the gates of the estate to catch a glimpse of a Jackson coming or going were now being invited to spend time in the inner-sanctum with Michael. It was odd behaviour. Jackie now called him a 'Man-Child', explaining, 'He's a man, but still a kid, a wonderful combination.' When asked about the possibility of having his own children, Michael shook his head, no. He'd like to raise a child, he said, but it would be one whom he would adopt, 'in the far future'. He would not procreate, he said. 'I don't have to bring my own into the world,' he said uneasily. 'It's not necessary for me to do that.'

He continued, 'One of my favourite pastimes is being with children talking to them, playing with them in the gra.s.s. They're one of the main reasons I do what I do. They know everything that people are trying to find out, they know so many secrets, but it's hard for them to get it out. I can recognize that and learn from it. They say things that astound you. They go through a brilliant, genius stage. But then, when they become a certain age...' Michael paused. 'When they get to a certain age, they lose it.'

I was scheduled to interview this extraordinary 'Man-Child' on 3 October 1981, an encounter that was arranged by a publicist at Epic. In advance, I was warned not to mention Gina Sprague or ask questions about 'the incident' or the state of Michael's parents' marriage.

I was at my desk compiling a list of questions when the telephone rang. It was Michael. He got to the point, quickly. 'There's a certain way I want to do this interview,' he told me.

'Sure thing, Michael. Whatever you like.'

'Well,' he began slowly. 'I'd like for Janet to help.'

'Help?'

'Yes. See, Janet is going to sit in on our interview,' he told me. 'You'll ask her her the questions, and then the questions, and then she'll she'll ask ask me. me. Then, see, I'll give Then, see, I'll give her her the answers, and then she'll give them to the answers, and then she'll give them to you. you. How does that sound?' How does that sound?'

'It sounds strange, Michael. I don't even think I understand it. Could you explain that to me, again?'

He repeated the scenario and said that it was the only way he would consent to the interview. 'So, I hope you understand,' he said, briskly. 'Okay, bye.'

'Wait,' I said. 'I don't get it, Michael. You're giving me an interview, but you're not talking to me? What kind of madness is that?'

'It might seem like madness to you,' he said. 'But there are reasons for the things I do. You just have to try to understand. If you're willing to do it my way, I'll see you tomorrow. Okay? Bye, now.'

I wondered if I could conduct an interview in that manner. Did it make any sense? Of course, I had to try. How could I turn down the opportunity to engage in, no doubt, the strangest interview I'd ever had with Michael, or with anyone else, for that matter.

The next day, I arrived at the Encino home in time for the interview. 'Sure glad you could make it,' Michael said as we shook hands. He was wearing a black T-s.h.i.+rt and matching jeans. His feet were bare. I noticed that his nose was thinner and more defined than it had been the last time I saw him, which was about six months earlier backstage at a Patti Labelle concert in Hollywood. His falsetto whisper of a voice seemed even softer than it had been at that time.

After Michael and I exchanged pleasantries in the living room, Janet, age fifteen, walked in wearing a red leather miniskirt, black boots, and a plaid sweater. She did not greet me. Rather, she sat at Michael's side in a robotic fas.h.i.+on, not even acknowledging his presence.

Michael introduced me to her, as if we had never met. (Of course, we had.) We shook hands, but she never made eye contact with me. I sat opposite them.

'Now, you'll do the interview the way you promised, won't you?' he asked.

When I said that I hadn't 'promised' anything, he rose from his chair. 'Well, then, we can't do the interview,' he said, his words clipped.

'Wait,' I told him, motioning for him to be seated. 'Let's try it. Let's start with the new alb.u.m, Triumph. Triumph. How do you feel about it?' How do you feel about it?'

Michael pinned me with his dark eyes and nodded toward his sister. I redirected my question. 'Janet, would you please ask him how he feels about the alb.u.m.'

Janet turned to Michael. 'He wants to know how you feel about the alb.u.m,' she said.

'Tell him I'm very happy with it,' Michael said, his tone relaxed. 'Working with my brothers again was an incredible experience for me. It was,' he stopped, searching for the word, 'magical,' he concluded.

Janet nodded her head and turned to me. 'He told me to tell you that he's very happy with the alb.u.m,' she repeated. 'And that working with his brothers was an incredible experience for him.'

There was a pause.

'You forgot the part about it being magical,' Michael said to her, seeming peeved at her for not doing her job properly.

'Oh, yes.' Janet looked at me with apologetic, brown eyes. 'He said it was magical.'

'Magical?' I asked.

'Yes. Magical. Magical.'

As I tried to think of another question for Janet to ask him, I scrutinized Michael carefully for the first time that day. It suddenly struck me that he was wearing makeup; his brows and lashes were darkened with mascara, his eyelids coated with soft pink shadow. Rouge emphasized his cheekbones and... was that lipstick? Yes, I decided, scarlet lipstick. Today, the notion of Michael Jackson wearing makeup in day-to-day living (as opposed to onstage or on camera, where practically all men in show business wear it) is certainly not novel. Back in 1981, though, it would never have occurred to anyone that Michael would wear makeup in his home for an interview. It was applied subtly and with great care. He looked exotic.

The 'interview' went on for about thirty more awkward minutes. Occasionally, Janet would inject a comment of her own, in an effort, it seemed to me, to keep the conversation alive. 'Michael, remember when that girl got upset because she had heard you had a s.e.x change?' she said to him. 'Do you remember what happened to her? She got so upset, she jumped right out a window. I think she died,' Janet said. 'Poor thing.'

Michael looked into s.p.a.ce, blankly.

Finally I decided that I'd had enough of the odd exchange and said I'd rather not continue with the interview. 'But why not?' Michael wanted to know. 'Wait. Janet will tell you what happened when I visited Katharine Hepburn last month,' he offered. 'It's a good story.'

'I'd rather you you tell me, Michael,' I pressed. tell me, Michael,' I pressed.

'Well, I can't...'

There was a small silence between us.

'Then, look, just forget it,' I said. 'Let's just forget the whole thing. Michael.'

'Okay, cool,' he said. Smiling somewhat ruefully, he rose. 'Nice to see you again,' he remarked, not connecting with my frustration. 'Let's do this again, sometime.' Then, he left the room. Janet threw me a look and extended her hands at me, palms up, as if to exclaim, Now, look what you've done.

Once alone in the Jacksons' living room, I tried to figure out what had just occurred. As I was putting my tape recorder and notes in my brief case, Katherine walked in. She looked disheartened. 'Did you just interview Michael,' she asked. 'Please be nice to him. The press is so mean these days.' She shook her head, at a loss. 'I don't know what to tell you,' she said. She slumped into the chair opposite me, practically speechless with fatigue. It was disconcerting. In the past, she always had such dignity and poise.

'I'm worried about him,' she said, finally looking at me. Her eyes were full of warmth and concern. 'There's so much pressure, things are so... difficult.' When she realized she was, perhaps, saying too much, she stopped herself. 'Would you let yourself out?' she asked me, abruptly.

I had a sinking feeling in my stomach as I walked out the front door. What is going on in this household? I wondered. While walking down the driveway, I looked up at the mansion and saw a face peering out from one of the upstairs windows. It was Michael. When he realized that I had spotted him, he ducked out of sight.

The next morning, I received a telephone call from Joseph. Just before I had pulled out of the Jackson estate's gates, I had seen him in the driveway. I stopped to tell him what had happened. His cocoa-coloured, weather-beaten face broke into a wide grin. He shrugged his shoulders, 'Well, that's my boy,' he said. Now, on the telephone, he could not have been more apologetic. 'I'm sorry about that, man,' he told me. 'I was thinking about it, and I wanted to explain.'

According to Joseph, Michael had told his record company that he no longer sought direct contact with the media for fear of questions about 'that girl, you know, the one we got that problem with.' I knew he was referring to Gina Sprague. 'Plus some other stuff that's going on,' Joseph continued. 'But when he said he didn't want to do no interviews, the label [Epic executives] forced him to. Me, too. I told him he needs to talk to you and the other guys in the press. It's the right thing to do,' Joseph said. 'So, what can I say? He did it his way. Sorry. Guess he wanted some control in his life, huh?'

'Guess so, Mr Jackson,' I said. We spoke for about fifteen minutes. He seemed fine, as if nothing unusual was going on in his life. 'Come on by sometime and do a story on LaToya,' he told me. 'We got some plans for her. Just wait till you see what we're going to do. Girl's gonna be a big star. Huge, I'm tellin' ya. Huge Huge.'

When I hung up, I thought about Joseph's explanation. Michael's tactic might have been ludicrous, I thought, but it's true that desperate people take desperate measures to make a point... especially when n.o.body will listen. I felt a grudging admiration for the way Michael had gotten what he wanted. He had manipulated the situation in order to make a mockery of the promised interview. I never wrote about the episode. Instead, I cancelled the feature. Michael got what he wanted: no story.

Katherine Tells Joseph to 'Get Out!'

By the summer of 1982, Katherine Jackson simply couldn't take any more of Joseph's unkind behaviour. Whatever had happened with Gina Sprague, it had certainly been a nasty bit of business. Joseph wouldn't learn, however; either his appet.i.te for women was insatiable or he simply couldn't fill whatever emptiness he felt in his heart. Looking back on it now, it seems he may have been inflicting his own pain on Katherine to make her identify with him, so lonely and marginalized did he feel in the family. Whatever his hidden motivation and maybe even he didn't understand it Katherine suspected he was having another affair.

One day, after a series of 'hang-ups' when she answered the phone there would be no one on the other end Katherine walked into the kitchen to tell Joseph that she was leaving the estate to go shopping. He kissed her goodbye, on the top of the head. As she walked down the driveway, the telephone rang again, just as she suspected it might. She calmly walked into the guest house and, once there, took a deep breath and picked up the extension. She listened in as Joseph spoke to the woman with whom he was apparently having a romantic relations.h.i.+p. He sounded sweet, happy. Katherine later recalled her heart tightening in her chest. She felt unsteady and breathless, as if she'd been punched in the stomach.

Once the conversation was over, Katherine's steps carried her down the driveway and back into the front door of her home. She found Joseph in the living room, his feet up on the couch, as if he hadn't a care in the world. Holding him with her eyes for a moment, she couldn't believe, as she would later tell it, that he would do this to her... again. She cleared her throat, loudly.

'Oh. Hi, Kate. I thought you were gone,' he said, springing to his feet.

'I'll just bet you did,' she responded. 'I heard your conversation with your little girlfriend girlfriend,' she remarked, spitting out the words. 'You b.a.s.t.a.r.d, you.'

Then, she let him have it. She pummelled him with her fists. She pulled his hair. She threw a vase at him. When he ducked, she lunged for him, again. There was no stopping her. 'I don't want you any more, Joseph,' she screamed at him. 'I don't need you, need you, any more. I want you out of this house. You're nothing to me, now.' any more. I want you out of this house. You're nothing to me, now.'

Joseph was floored, at least for a moment. 'Okay, okay,' he said, his hands up in defence. 'Not even going to give me a chance to explain, huh?' he asked. Now, his tone was even, well-controlled. It seemed as if he was trying to act unconcerned. How upsetting, Katherine would later say, for him to act as if he didn't have enough invested in the moment to even be troubled by it.

'Doesn't anything ever get to you?' she asked, angrily.

'Of course,' he said, sadly. 'You did, Katie. When I first fell in love with you.'

'Get out!'

As he turned to walk out of the room, a shaking Katherine Jackson grabbed a silver-framed photograph of the two of them from a table and hurled it to the floor with everything she had in her. She was filled with such contempt for Joseph, she didn't even know what she was doing. The gla.s.s smashed to smithereens, a fitting metaphor for her life.

The next day, 19 August 1982, Katherine quietly filed for divorce. Her action got practically no press coverage. She was discreet, not wanting to jeopardize the family's image with a public and volatile divorce. In her pet.i.tion, she said: 'Approximately one year ago, Joseph told me that we were running short of money. I asked him questions about the business and he told me to "stay out of the business". I am informed and believe that within the last year, Joseph has spent in excess of $50,000 on a young woman and has purchased for her parcels of real property from our community funds. I am fearful that unless restrained by an order of this court, Joseph will continue to dissipate community funds and transfer community funds in jeopardy of my community property rights.'

Though Katherine had only a vague idea of exactly how much community property existed, she wanted to keep Joseph from transferring or otherwise disposing of any of it. The property she was aware of included her interest in the Encino home, furniture, furnis.h.i.+ngs, and other personal property, her interest in Joseph Jackson Productions and in various bank accounts. She made a list of the rest of the community a.s.sets: a 1979 Mercedes-Benz (colour not indicated in legal doc.u.ments), a 1971 blue-grey Mercedes-Benz, a 1971 white Rolls-Royce, a 1978 brown Mercedes-Benz, a 1971 blue Rolls-Royce, a 1974 G.M.C. motor home, a 1981 Toyota truck, a 1980 white Cadillac limousine, a 1978 Ford van, two boats (day cruisers) with trailers, and a Keogh financial plan.

There was only one snag in Katherine's declaration of independence. Jerome Howard, who would become her business manager in 1988, recalled, 'She told me that after she filed for divorce, she naturally expected Joseph to move out of the house. However, he refused to leave. So what could she do?'

'This is my house, too,' Joseph told Katherine, defiantly. 'You're my wife, I love you, and it's going to stay that way.'

Michael could not remain neutral and uninvolved. 'You have to kick him out,' he told his mother. 'Or call the police. Or get a restraining order. But he can't stay here just because he wants to.'

Katherine would not discuss the matter with Michael, or any of her children. This was her cross to bear, not theirs.

'This is killing me,' Michael told his oldest sister, Rebbie, according to her memory. 'I will never get married. I will never trust a person in that way. I couldn't bear to go through this again.'

'But, Michael, this is their life, not yours,' she said in her most compa.s.sionate voice. 'You will live your life differently. Trust me.'

'But how do you know that?' Michael asked, his eyes red from crying. 'Mother never planned any of this for herself, did she?'

'No, I'm sure she didn't,' Rebbie said, embracing him. 'I'm sure she didn't.'

Did Michael Get His Way?

In August 1982, Michael began work with Quincy Jones on a new alb.u.m at Westlake Studios in Los Angeles. The alb.u.m would be ent.i.tled Thriller Thriller with a budget of about $750,000 to produce, and nine songs carefully selected by Michael and Quincy from about three hundred. The sessions went well; Michael was satisfied with the work. However, once they played back the alb.u.m the 'master pressing', as the final mix was called it didn't sound as good as Michael thought it should. In fact, to his ears, it sounded terrible. He was crushed. Never one to shy away from a good old-fas.h.i.+oned 'scene', Michael ran from the studio, sobbing. with a budget of about $750,000 to produce, and nine songs carefully selected by Michael and Quincy from about three hundred. The sessions went well; Michael was satisfied with the work. However, once they played back the alb.u.m the 'master pressing', as the final mix was called it didn't sound as good as Michael thought it should. In fact, to his ears, it sounded terrible. He was crushed. Never one to shy away from a good old-fas.h.i.+oned 'scene', Michael ran from the studio, sobbing.

To solve the problem, each song had to be remixed, bringing up the level of some orchestration and voices and toning down others. It was time-consuming, tedious work at the rate of two songs a week, but in the end it proved to be worth the effort. Quincy Jones along with one of Michael's managers, Ron Weisner, and his attorney, John Branca, sat with Michael in the Westlake Studio as he listened to a playback of the alb.u.m. To Michael the music now sounded terrific. He was optimistic, bobbing his head to the rhythm and smiling broadly as each cut played.

'Mike, you know, the record market is off right now,' Ron Weisner told him as the t.i.tle track, 'Thriller', blared from the speakers. He had to almost shout to be heard above it.

'Yeah, Mike,' Quincy agreed. 'You can't expect to do with this one what you did with Off the Wall. Off the Wall.'

'These days, two million is a hot alb.u.m,' Ron added.

'Yeah, it's a tough market. n.o.body's having hits,' Quincy said.

'Turn it down,' Michael shouted out at the engineer. 'I said, turn it down. turn it down.' His smile was now gone. 'What's the matter with you guys?' he wanted to know. 'How can you say that to me? You're wrong. You are dead wrong.'

'But, Michael ' Quincy began.