June 8th, 2001
Mariah rubbed her eyes as she rolled over and reached for her phone. It had been ringing off the hook all morning, but she wanted to avoid the outside world for the day. Her pregnancy was starting to take a toll on her body, and she wanted to spend the day resting with her family, but it didn't seem like that was going to happen anytime soon.
She sat up, absently rubbing Michael's empty side of the bed. “Hello?”
“Mariah, it's Louise.”
Mariah bit her tongue, not wanting to argue with her manager. “Louise, you know it's my day off.”
“It's important.”
“Are you on fire?” Mariah inquired.
Louise sighed. “That J. Lo girl is at it again.”
Mariah chewed the inside of her cheek. J. Lo was Tommy's new main artist, and she knew for a fact he was using the woman to get back at her for leaving the label. The pair had already teamed up and stole the sample she planned to use for her own single, “Loverboy”.
“Go on…”
“So she's been out shooting her video for the song and took the concept from what you were gonna do with Loverboy.” Louise explained.
Mariah balled her fist, preparing a lengthy response to Louise's revelation. She decided on a deep breath, instead, with Michael's doting, yet stern voice in the back of her head saying: ‘think about the baby’.
“We gotta do something about this, she can't just keep taking my shit. Tommy is the one behind this shit too, I bet. Can't you put out stories on her?” Mariah asked.
“Stories? You want me to get her bad press?”
Mariah nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I want people to know that she's a thief. I'm not even the only artist she stole from, that's the thing about it.”
“Are you sure? This can come back to bite you, you know.” Louise warned.
Mariah shrugged. “I don't care. Just do it.”
Louise sighed.
“Alright, it's handled.”
June 12th, 2001
It was nearing the final week of rehearsals for Michael’s concerts, which he'd affectionately titled the “30th Anniversary Celebration”, and he’d finally gotten all his brothers together for a few rehearsals. The group looked great individually--Jackie with his fresh box cut that should've been shaved off ten years ago, Tito and his brand new line of guitars that Michael just knew was going to fail, Jermaine with his side piece while Alejandra stayed home with his children, Marlon trying his damndest to dance like it was 1979, and Randy trying to run the setup like the boss Michael actually was and he only wished to be.
The group rehearsed the opening routine for the J5 medley while Michael and his backup dancers for the rest of the concert sat back and watched. Also with Michael was little Nicole, Michael opting to take her to his rehearsals while Noelle and Elizabeth stayed at the condo with their mother.
Nicole, held securely in Michael’s arms, pointed at Jermaine and started cackling. Poor baby couldn't help it--her uncle looked a hot mess trying to imitate Michael and Marlon’s new choreography. Michael giggled along with her.
“Yes baby, say dus-ty.” Michael instructed.
Jermaine threw the sweaty towel he'd been using to pat his boobs dry at Michael. “Shut it!”
Michael and Nicole both ducked, maintaining their joyous laughter.
“Y'all need to get it together!” Randy exclaimed. “Y'all look raggedy!”
Michael grimaced. “You do realize that includes you too, right, Randy?”
Randy ignored it. “Why don't we try this again. Start from the top!”
“Can we take a break?” Tito suggested.
Michael shook his head, lowering his voice to an agitated whisper. He emphasized his words, slowly, and through his teeth. “Get yo ass back in that line!”
Tito frowned but did as instructed.
Michael set the staging again, Nicole helping direct, and soon his brothers were up again, opening with “Can You Feel It?”
“Tito!” Michael shouted. “What are you doing?”
“I'm playing my guitar.”
“Nobody told you you could just stand there in the corner while we all run over to this fan. You need to run with us!” Michael explained.
“Us? You ain't even running. You just standing there barking orders at everybody!”
Michael tilted his head back in frustration. “Tito, please do the choreography with everyone else. I'm trying to get this right.”
Tito lazily trudged back into the line with the others.
“Oh and Tito-”
Tito smacked his hand on his forehead. “What now, Mike?”
“I just wanted to tell you; if you mess this up I’m sending you to Afghanistan.”
The dancers in the background howled laughing as the brothers reset to the top.
“Y'all are pathetic. All of you. Just embarrassing.” Randy said, taking a bite out of his sandwich. After a few more miserable attempts at getting the routine down, Michael decided to wrap for lunch. Today, he sat around his brothers and left his dancers and singers to themselves.
“Randy’s right. We have got to get this down. These concerts are fast approaching and by the way it's looking, y'all ain't gone ever get it back to the way it was.” Michael glanced at Nicole who quietly sipped apple juice from her sippy cup. “Hell, my baby could do it better than y'all bums.”
Nicole looked up at her dad. “Huh, Daddy?”
“Nothing, your daddy’s not being nice.” Jackie responded.
Michael shrugged. “I'm just saying. Nicki could out dance all of you.” He kissed her forehead. “Ain't that right, baby?”
“Yeah.” She replied, most likely unaware of what she was agreeing to.
“I know- why don't you show these old fools how it's done, mama? You wanna go on that stage?” Michael asked.
She grinned. “Am I gonna dance?”
“If you want.”
She slid out of her father's lap and ran up to the stage, stopping to wait for Michael to help her up the steps.
Michael soon came up behind her and lifted her onto the stage. He pulled her toward the back so that she wouldn't get too close to the edge.
“Bearden, can you give us something on the loudspeaker?” Michael shouted.
Michael Bearden jumped up from the lunch table and ran over to the band area to turn on a track. It just so happened that “Billie Jean” was queued from the soundchecks right before lunch.
“Yeeeeaah!” Michael exclaimed. “Show your musty uncles how it's done, Nicki!”
Nicole started to pop and lock to the beat--much to Michael’s surprise. She had her own little dances that she performed that seemed beyond the level of anyone her age.
“Look at her go!” Beaden called out. “She really is your daughter!”
Michael, wide-eyed, stood speechless. The fluidity in her movements, the locking, it was something he wasn't expecting from his three year old. It was like the music traveled through her and she could best interpret it using various dance styles.
“She's a real talent!” Travis Payne called out from behind as Nicole began to utilize the stage more in her dancing.
“Bearden, stop the music!” Michael exclaimed.
He ran up on the stage and kneeled down in front of his daughter.
“Baby! Where’d you learn to do that?”
With a wide grin on her face, Nicole shrugged. “The TV?”
“The TV?” Michael asked. “What were you watching on the TV?”
“Uhhhm, Daddy!”
“You watched Daddy and then copied it?” He asked.
“Yeah.”
“Aye! I saw you back there, munchkin!” Marlon exclaimed, slowly approaching the little one. “You did a good job!”
“Mike you ever thought about getting her into dance classes?” Travis asked. “I can even coach her.”
“Uhhh- No. I mean- I didn't even know she could move like that. It's just as surprising for me as it is for you.” Michael replied.
“Well, I think you should. You don't know what kind of talent you have right here. She has potential.”
Michael sat down on the stage, Bearden switching back on the music.
He sat back and watched his daughter dance around a little more, his mind seriously contemplating Travis’ words. He never truly thought about what he'd do if he found out his children had talents like their mother or himself. He didn't know what Mariah would want to do either.
“Mike!” Randy shouted, probably for the fifth time.
Michael jumped out of his thought.
“You good man?”
“Yeah.” He focused his attention back on his bright and shining daughter.
“...I'm good.”
June 18th, 2001
Michael sat at the kitchen table having breakfast with his family. Breakfast had become quite a staple in their household since moving to New York, and with Mariah pregnant, he knew she needed to start eating normally again.
Mariah sat next to him, lazily picking at her food, while the girls were making a mess on the other side of the table.
He nudged Mariah. “Are you gonna actually eat?”
She grimaced. “I can't keep anything down. This morning sickness is killing me.”
“That's because you eat too much junk.” He chided.
She shrugged. “Can't help that I have cravings.”
“Still, try to eat.” He said, quickly turning his attention back to their daughters.
“Is it good girls?”
“Yes!” Elizabeth shouted. For no particular reason at all, the toddler wore her rain boots around the house this morning instead of her slippers.
“Don't yell baby.” Mariah said, rubbing her temple.
Michael rubbed Mariah's back, this particular pregnancy seemed to be harder on her than the previous two. She smiled at him before sitting up straight, observing the twins. The two girls were talking with each other, animatedly, about a new episode of SpongeBob.
“Mike, you know we need to start looking for preschools. You promised me you’d start when you had free time.” She said, eyes still focused on her daughters.
“It’s okay, we’ve still got a ways to go. We’ll just get them a tutor for now.”
She gave an exasperated eye roll. “It's time for them to start school.”
Michael's eyes flashed and he turned to look at his daughters. They were no longer the tiny babies he'd brought home from the hospital, they were slowly growing into little people.
“Okay so we’ll homeschool them.” Michael suggested.
“I want my babies at real school.”
Michael frowned. “Homeschool is real school. I was homeschooled.”
“You also were a child entertainer who had no childhood.”
“It’s not nearly the same thing.” He retorted.
Mariah studied her eggs. “You’re the one who drew the comparison, not me.”
“Point is...they don’t need to be going into no school getting harassed and stuff.”
“Daddy, what’s that?” Nicole asked.
“What’s harassed?”
The twin nodded her head.
“What rude people do to me and Mommy and what I’m trying to protect you from.” He explained.
Mariah rolled her eyes, popping up from her chair.
“Where you going?” Michael asked.
“I’m going to get my Powerbook. And maybe pee.”
Michael nodded, watching her leave the room.
“Daddy, I wanna go to school!” Noelle exclaimed.
Elizabeth, grinning like a mischievous playground kid, ardently agreed. “Me too!”
Michael smiled. “Don’t worry, you’ll all be going to school someday soon.”
“Even me?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes, even you, lil mama.”
With the back of her nightgown trapped inside her rain boots, Elizabeth stood up in her chair, trying to leap her way over to her father.
Michael chuckled before walking over to her and giving her a kiss. “Daddy got this.”
She pinched his cheek. “Dad got this!”
Mariah soon walked back into the room with her laptop. She opened it up and plugged in the internet cable.
“Alright, so I’m just gonna do an internet search on h-t-t-p-:-/-/-w-w-w-.-y-a-h-o-o-.-c-o-m.” She started, repeating aloud everything she typed.
“And we’re here. What do you wanna search for?” She asked.
“See if there’s any preschool teachers in Manhattan who do in home service.”
Mariah blinked at her husband incredulously. “Okay so, No.”
Michael frowned at her.
“Uh, boy bye. Ain’t nobody doing no home-preschool.”
“What's wrong with it?” He asked.
“They need to be around other kids, Michael!” Mariah exclaimed.
Just as she raised her voice, her hand swiftly landed on her stomach.
“Are you okay?” He asked.
She grimaced. “Just a little pain. But anyway, about this preschool-”
“I still think we should homeschool them. They don't need to be out in the world by themselves.”
Mariah smirked. “You just don't want your babies to grow up.”
“Nooo, I'm trying to protect them.”
Mariah shook her head, then turned back to her laptop. “How about we look up a private school? Will that make you feel better?”
“Fine, but when somebody tries to bother them don't complain to me.”
“I won't.” She said in a sing song voice.
He leaned forward, watching her scroll through the search results until she finally clicked on a link.
“This one's downtown.” Mariah said as she clicked through the website.
Michael squinted, trying to get a good look at the school's information. “Stop clicking so fast, you know I ain't got on my glasses.”
Mariah paused. “I don't think I like this one.”
“Why not?” He asked, giving up on reading her screen.
She shrugged. “I don't like the vibe that I'm getting.”
“You haven't even been inside of the place.” He pointed out.
Mariah raised an eyebrow. “Well what do you think?”
“I still say we should get a tutor. But if you want them to go to a regular school, then I guess we could check the place out.” He responded.
“Alright, I'll call and see if we can get a tour.”
June 18th, 2001
Michael and Mariah walked through the doors of the preschool they'd found online. He still wasn't too keen on the idea of his girls going to a regular school, but Mariah seemed excited by the prospect.
“Look, babe. Isn't this nice?” She said, gesturing around the building.
He glanced around, taking in his surroundings. “Yeah, it's nice.”
They waited outside of the office for a little while longer before the Headmistress came around the corner, head down staring at a clipboard. “Alright, I'm sorry I'm late but-”
The woman stopped to look up at them, her jaw immediately dropped. “Oh! Well, um, M-Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, w-welcome!”
Michael gave a reassuring smile. “It's nice to meet you too, Miss…”
“Menzel! Fiora Menzel.” The woman stated.
Michael extended a hand in welcoming, though she should’ve been the one welcoming them.
Fiora, giggling nervously, haphazardly shook Michael’s hand. “Look- I- If it wouldn’t be too much of a hassle, would you mind if I got your autograph before we start the tour?”
Mariah folded her arms, clearly irritated. “Actually, we would mind.”
Oh god.
Fiora took a step back. “I- I don't mean to offend you, Mrs. Jackson.”
“I'm very offended. You're acting like a fan. If you're doing this with us, how are you gonna treat our kids? This is unacceptable.” Mariah explained.
Here we go again…
Michael gently gripped his wife’s upper arm. “Mariah,-”
“If you try to tell me to calm down I will hurt you.” She spat.
He released her arm and held up his hands in a conciliatory fashion.
Sorry Fiora, you on your own.
“Mrs. Jackson, this is a school environment and we do not condone violence here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”
Michael could sense Mariah's next move. Before she could even lunge forward, he grabbed her by her arms and pulled her to the side. “What's going on with you, girl?”
Mariah glared at him. “So what, you're taking her side?”
“Side?” He furrowed his brows. “What side?”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever, I'm gonna go sit in the car. Enjoy your tour.”
Mariah snatched herself away and stormed back outside.
The tour ended about twenty minutes later, with Michael and Fiora ending where they started. He was starting to warm up to the idea of letting the girls attend regular school.
“It was a pleasure having you and we hope that you'll be enrolling your daughters in the fall.”
Michael smiled. “Thank you, I'll definitely have you all in mind.”
With his jacket on, but no umbrella, Michael stepped out into the pouring rain and began walking in the direction of where he’d parked car, hoping that Mariah had cooled down a bit. But once he reached the parking lot he realized that it was completely empty.
Did she really…
He looked around one more time to make sure he wasn't crazy.
“She really drove off.”
Stunned and nearly soaking with rain, Michael walked back into the building.
He looked the Headmistress in the eye.
“Uh...so my wife just left me. And uh...I don’t have a ride home.”
“Would you like me to call a taxi, Mr. Jackson?” Fiora asked.
“Well, Headmistress Fiora, see, the problem is, and I don’t wanna seem full of myself when I say this, but the problem is, I’m Michael Jackson. And if I get in a taxi and have the guy drive me around, I’m gonna wake up the next morning in the middle of Bosnia with three of my limbs missing and an infected kidney. I don’t think anyone would want that.”
Fiora tried her hardest to not laugh.
“Point taken. Well, what can I do for you, Mr. Jackson?”
“Hmmm…” Michael started, stroking his chin as if he was actually thinking. “If only there were a mobilized computer application in which consumers could state their location and request a premium driving service to another location all for the reasonable price of eight dollars flat plus three dollars and fifty five cents per mile that celebrities, such as myself, could take. This would coexist with a few less expensive options on a carpool route that commoners, such as Madonna, would take.”
Fiora, befuddled at Michael’s extreme specificity gave a slow nod.
“But what would you call such a thing?” Michael questioned. “You-Chauffer? Youber? Lift me to another place? Hmm…”
Michael suddenly snapped out of his somewhat trance-like state. “Oh! Sorry about that. Sometimes I just get these ideas and run with them. Anyway, you got a phone? I left mine in the car. I’m gonna call my driver to come and get me.”
“Mr. Jackson, why didn’t you just say that in the first place? Of course we have a phone!”
Michael grinned, though he still felt a mild irritation from the situation with his wife earlier.
“Great!”
June 29th, 2001
“Mommy, I turn this fan on.” Noelle said, her tiny hand hovering over the knob of an old box fan.
Mariah popped a kernel of popcorn into her mouth, her eyes affixed to the TV screen.
“Mhm honey, that’s very nice.”
Noelle switched on the fan and climbed up onto the couch with her mother.
Mariah was spending the day in, again, while Michael was out doing a press tour for the announcement of the name of his new album, Invincible. She didn’t mind it too much since it meant eating all the junk food she and the baby could stomach without having to hear Michael’s mouth about it.
She had the TV on an Entertainment News show, waiting for Michael’s announcement.
“So our anchors caught up with J. Lo today in Manhattan and boy did she have a few choice words for a particular nineties starlet. Take a look.” The male host said, segueing into a snippet of an interview between J. Lo and one of the anchors.
“So this is your first public interview since all the craziness has been going on. How are you feeling?” The anchor asked.
“I’m doing good. I don’t let those types of things bother me.” Jennifer responded.
Mariah rolled her eyes. Oh girl shut the fuck up.
The anchor started again. “Now, we know you started filming your video for ‘I’m Real’, set to be released very soon, a few weeks ago and I do want to talk about that.”
Jennifer nodded. “Well, actually, I’m very excited about it. When we wrote the song we knew exactly how we wanted it to play out on screen-”
When you wrote what? Bitch that’s my fucking song! You stole the damn video too!
The anchor interrupted her. “Well, specifically, J. Lo, we wanted to ask you about the rumors surrounding that.”
Jennifer feigned ignorance, her expression giving her away. “What rumors?”
“Well, a very reliable source is saying that you not only stole music video concept for “I’m Real”, but the song itself from Mariah Carey. How do you feel about that?” The anchor asked.
Jennifer pursed her lips. “It’s lies- All lies. All of it. I- Listen to me, okay? I am not a thief. I don’t even consider myself a singer. I’m a dancer first. I’ve worked with Janet Jackson and all the great pop stars. I want to make that very clear.”
“Oh fucking please, bitch!” Mariah shouted at the screen, startling Noelle.
“Well do you have a response to anyone perpetuating these rumors?” The anchor questioned.
Jennifer looked directly into the camera. “I just want the world to know that I am a dancer before anything. I don’t strive to be Whitney Houston or any of them. I make my own living dancing--not being a washed up Minnie Riperton wannabe who lives off of my wealthy husband. That’s not me, that’s someone else out there. Some other fake Latina.”
What the fuck did she just say?
The anchor glanced, dramatically, back and forth between the camera and Jennifer.
“Welp, you heard it here, folks! J. Lo is nobody’s poor man’s Minnie Riperton! We’ll be back in a few with more J. Lo. And up next, Michael Jackson has an announcement for the world. Stay tuned.”
As the program went to commercial Mariah stood from her seat on the couch, picked up the TV remote, and hurled it at the wall.
Noelle scurried out of the room, her mother’s rage radiating throughout the room.
Mariah, breathing heavy and eyes on the verge of angry tears screamed in exasperation.
“Fuck that bitch!”