I opened my eyes slowly, one eyelid after the other. I was really getting used to wake up feeling this rested and just entirely and genuinely good. I turned around in my bed, and closed my eyes again out of laziness. I looked on the left, where the alarm clock was, but realized that I wasn't in my room, but still in Michael's. Once again, I crashed my hand on my forehead as I understood that I fell asleep while in Michael's presence... in his bed. Again.
The previous night, Michael wanted us to eat snacks in front of the movie of my choice: I chose Batman. He asked me if I was comfortable enough to watch it in his bedroom, and I think my eyes must have doubled in size because it was not the type of question I was used to be asked. I have to admit that, at first, I was quite surprised by his demand. A man asking for a woman to come into his room to watch a movie would normally sound weird, but when the man in question is none other than Michael Jackson, then you know there's nothing to be worried about: all he really wants is to watch the movie and be with someone. Nothing more.
As I slung my legs out of bed, I noticed there was a sleeping bag and a pillow on the floor. I understood right away that Michael slept there, and I started to feel bad for stealing his bed from him. I don't think I would have minded him sleeping next to me, though, since I trusted him enough not to try anything. Plus, I doubted that Michael would see more than a friend in me. To be honest, I didn't even think about the nature of our relationship myself as well. Everything seemed so natural that I didn't even think much about it. We were just enjoying each other's presence. If we were bound to become more, then time would tell us. For now, we were living in the moment, which is quite ironic when we know that I have the ability to know what that moment could be made of.
I brushed my hands over my face, and stood up from the bed to open the curtains. I squinted my eyes as my irises met the Californian sun, and smiled at the beautiful weather outside. But it is when my eyes landed on the clock on the wall that my smile faded away, and my eyes widened at the time it indicated: noon. Again.
"Holy fucking shit," I cursed out loud, as I started running across the room. I opened the door of the room, and walked back to the guest room where I stayed. On my way there, I heard Michael's voice down the hall, he was talking to someone.
"I forgave Joseph for everything he's put us through, Mother," his voice echoed through the room, and I understood his mother was already there.
"Ah hell no," I muttered again, as I looked on my right and on my left. I needed to reach the guest room, upstairs, without being seen. I couldn't show up without at least taking a shower before, and changing my clothes.
I looked everywhere one more time, and finally got out of my hiding place, behind one of Michael's numerous statues. I ran the fastest I could to go upstairs and came in my room quickly, shutting the door behind me. I knew Katherine was there, and this didn't help me calm my nervous state. I really wanted to make a good first impression, but I felt like I might have started off on the wrong foot: I did sleep in instead of waking up to meet Michael's mother, after all.
I didn't bother blow-dry my hair since I was already late, nor did I put any make up on. Once I was dressed, me and my wet hair jogged down the stairs and followed the voices that were coming from the living room. To get there, I crossed the dining room where I greeted two of Michael's maids politely, still jogging, and entered the room, a bit out of breath, where Michael and his mother were.
"There she is!" Michael immediately exclaimed with his million dollar smile on, as he stood up from the little couch to come greet me. "Hey," he greeted once he was in front of me.
"Hey, am I late? I—I'm sorry I slept i—" I started, but he cut me off gently by giving me a hug. "Oh, okay," I chuckled, "good morning to you too, sunshine."
"You're not late. I didn't want to wake you up this morning," he gently said, and pulled away from me. "Come on, my mother can't wait to meet you."
I gulped at Michael's words, as he took my hand in his and dragged me to the little couch where his mother was sipping on her tea. Mrs Jackson was a very elegant woman. She was wearing a cream colored suit jacket and skirt, with a white blouse underneath. When she spotted us, she stood up, limping a bit. I was quite surprised to see how short she was, shorter than me. Michael, on the contrary, was quite tall, so I figured he didn't get that from his mother. When I got in front of her, she offered me a toothless smile, and I returned a brighter yet shy one, as I extended my hand for her to shake it.
"Hello Mrs. Jackson, my name is Hayley. Hayley Thames," I politely introduced myself.
"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Thames. I have heard only good things about you," she let me know, and I looked briefly at Michael was was already blushing at his mother's words.
"Likewise," I grinned. "I am sorry for the dramatic entrance. I don't want you to think I didn't want to meet you. I just slept in," I explained, as I rubbed my forearm in embarrassment.
"Don't worry, dear. Michael always sleeps in, I was surprised he was already up when I arrived here," he sweetly chuckled, and we laughed along with her. "Shall we eat now, Michael? We'll talk over lunch."
"Sure thing, mother," he smiled at his mother, as he put his hand on her shoulder. "Let's go."
***
Michael had his chef prepare a good lunch for his mother's visit, which was very thoughtful of him. The three of us settled in the dinning room and were eating in a pleasant atmosphere. But of course, there is no need to mention that I was nervous. I knew for sure that Mrs. Jackson would ask me questions about my family, and that I would have to ruin the mood with my tragic story.
"Michael told me you were a doctor, is that right?" she asked me in that sweet voice of hers that reminded me of Michael's.
"It is correct," I answered, after I swallowed the food I had in my mouth. "I'm a pediatrician at Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center," I informed her with a slight smile.
"Oh, I can imagine how much you love children. You are doing such a wonderful job," she sincerely said, and I kept smiling. "But isn't it tough at times? Seeing all these innocent children sick?"
"Most of the time, I really enjoy what I do. But it actually gets tough when I have to take care of sicker kids. Some of them have been staying at the hospital for months because they have to face chemotherapy and are too weak to go home," I explained, thinking about Kyle who's been at the hospital for over four months.
"Seeing them in pain must be hard to deal with at times. You are one brave woman, Dr. Thames," the matriarch smiled, and I got shy at her compliment. I pushed a strand of hair behind me ear, and looked over at Michael for a split second.
"She is," he verified, and I got even shier as I felt my cheeks heating up. "But she's not that tough anynore when she gets off of The Zipper all dizzy," he teased, before he started to giggle.
I opened my mouth in shock, and threw my towel at him over the table, which made Katherine giggle. "This again! He is the one who screamed at the top of his lungs in there!" I argued, pointing at him with my index finger.
The more I argued, the more Michael burst into laughter. His laugh was so infectious that I couldn't keep my serious any longer and laughed along with him.
"You're something else," Michael told me, as he wiped the laughing tears he had under his left eye. "It's so easy to mess with you."
"You're so annoying," I rolled my eyes playfully at him. "I'm pretty sure your siblings were always tired of you back in the days."
"My daughters were so tired of his pranks," Katherine chimed in, giggling the same way Michael did. "This little guy used to put fake spiders in his sister's bed, because she was scared of them."
"You're so cruel!" I put my hand over my mouth in shock. "Poor her!"
"She deserved it! Mother, please tell Hayley what LaToya put me through that one time, the time I cried for hours in my room," he asked his mother, as he started eating again. "You'll see I'm not half as cruel as my sister."
"Oh that time... LaToya called Michael's personal line and introduced herself as Mr Lumet's secretary. She said that he was in the neighborhood and that he would be taking him to dinner in a few," she narrated, and I listened to every word she was saying. "But Michael wasn't dressed, so he started to panic, running everywhere across the house like a mad person!"
"I was really panicked," Michael emphasized, and I could imagine the little version of him running everywhere. "But I was so excited at the same time."
"Somehow, you still managed to make yourself presentable in barely five minutes," his mother pointed out with a chuckle before she focused on me again. "But after that, Michael waited, and waited... But of course the film director never came."
"Okay, LaToya is definitely more cruel than you are," I admitted, and Michael made a face that translated 'told you so'. "What happened when she told you it was her on the phone?"
"I was so angry that I dragged her outside the house and wet her from head to toes with the hose. And I cried for hours after that. I was really disappointed."
"Aw, you didn't deserve this," I pouted a bit. I wanted to reach out for his hand, but I chose not to, afraid that Katherine would imagine things.
"And you, Hayley. Tell me about you. Do you have any siblings?" Katherine asked, as I dig into my food again.
"Sadly, I don't. I am an only child."
"Oh. How did you go through childhood? I know how it can be hard for an only child to go through it," she compassionately told me.
"School was sometimes difficult, but if we forget about it, I had a joyful childhood. My parents made sure I didn't lack anything," I told her with a smile.
"That is good, it is important to grow in a love-filled environment," she sweetly said. "And what do your parents do for a living?"
"Mother," Michael called in a warning voice. This time, I didn't hesitate to put my hand over his, and gave him a look to tell him it was okay.
"Did I say something wrong?" she wondered right away. She seemed genuinely concerned.
"No, you couldn't know, Mrs. Jackson," I reassured her, as I put my hands on my lap again. "Both of my parents are deceased. My father worked as a dentist, he built his own office with the help of my mother and grandmother. Concerning my mother, she used to be a paralegal, but she left her job to work with my father as his secretary," I let her know, and I could see that she felt sorry by the look on her face.
"I—I didn't know. I am sorry for your loss, dear," she said with tears in her eyes. "How long has it been?"
"It's been seven years, ma'am. Thank you," I smiled faintly. "My grandmother is the only close relative I have left. She's everything to me."
"I am glad to see you are not alone. But if you ever need to feel like you belong somewhere, know that we have a big family that we can share with you," she offered sincerely, and I looked at Michael who was looking at his mother with round eyes. He didn't expect that either, apparently.
"Thank you, Mrs. Jackson," I sincerely thanked her. She was one of the most adorable person I have ever met in my entire life.
***
Right after I said my goodbyes to Katherine, I went upstairs to collect my stuff while Michael was walking his mother back to her car. I felt a bit sad about leaving, though, for I didn't know when would be the next time I'd be able to come back. Michael would be out of the state for a while, and I didn't know what would be my schedule for the weeks to come.
I enjoyed the day in Katherine's presence, though. It was a real pleasure to have her around, it allowed me to get to know Michael even more. The love the two shared was one of the most beautiful thing I had ever witnessed in my life: it was obvious that Michael loved his mother with all of his being. He always made sure she had everything she needed, and always asked her if she wasn't in too much pain. She explained to me that she contracted polio when she was only a toddler, which explained her constant limping.
Before I left the guest room, I decided to take a moment to sit down on the armchair by the window with my diary in my hands. Of course I didn't forget to take it with me. I knew I'd feel the need to wtite my thoughts in there, sooner or later. It was weird sitting in a different spot, but it was also refreshing at the same time.
March 4th, 1991
Dear Diary,
Every good thing has an end. Today was my last day over the Ranch. It's actually weird how one place can make you feel so good. Whenever I set foot here, I feel home, I feel safe... I feel happy. Is it because it is remote? Yeah, it's probably part of the reason why I love it so much. But there is a bigger reason to it: Michael. He never fails to make my time here unforgettable. Everytime we see each other, we become closer. I would normally be scared to become this close to someone, but with Michael things are different. I don't feel in danger at all, I am not scared to be close to him, to be myself around him.
I can't believe I spent the weekend without having major episodes like the last time I came here. Michael barely noticed when I had visions of his friend, Debbie Rowe. Uh, friend... Only me know that she will be more than that, at some point. I heard that she would give him two children, but I also heard him saying that he wasn't in love with her. How can he marry someone who's gonna give him two children and not be in love with her? And what happened to Lisa Marie Presley, his first wife? It is all so confusing to me. It's like I'm missing pieces of the puzzle. From the beginning, I collected so many fragments from his future that I didn't know what to do with them. What was I even supposed to do? Where was I supposed to start?
Little by little, some of the visions I had started to actually happen, like one of the first ones I had with Michael over the loft, with the blue mug in his hands, or the time where I saw him with Charlie before I knew he was coming back to the hospital... But I don't know how to keep him from the allegations that are coming his way. I don't have the answers just yet, I need to be patient.
I put a final period at the end of my sentence, and closed my journal. I sighed heavily, and stood up from the comfy armchair. With my bag over my shoulder, I left the guest room, secretly hoping that I would find it back soon. Halfway through the stairs, I realized that I forgot my shoes in Michael's bedroom. I put my bag on the ground, at the end of the stairs, and went back there to get them. I opened the door, and came in, knowing perfectly that he wasn't in there since he was out with his mother. It took him quite a long time to say goodbye, but I figured they were probably talking about some family business.
I spotted my shoes, and of course they were right where I left them: by one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. I took them off of the floor, and I was ready to leave. On my way to the door, one of Michael's shirts caught my eye, and I stopped dead in my tracks. I took it in my hands, and put it over my black t-shirt. There was nothing too fancy about it: it was just one of his numerous red shirts, after all. What was so special about it to me was that it carried his reassuring smell I loved so much. The collar smelled just like him, it's like he was right behind me.
"It looks quite good on you," Michael's voice was heard, and I turned around in a swift motion, quite startled.
Well, he actually was right behind me.
"I uh, I'm sorry, I—I came here to get my shoes a—and I saw your shirt and I don't know wh—" I started babbling and stuttering, embarrassed that he found me with his clothes on. However, he seemed amused, for he started giggling at my uneasiness. "And you're making fun of me," I stated. "What a jerk!" I told him playfully, as I threw my shoe in his direction which he smoothly dodged.
"Hey! You gotta stop throwing stuff at me, young lady," he warned, as he picked up my shoe from the ground and walked up to me. "I know your weakness now, and I might just start tickling you again if you keep on being a meanie to me."
"I'm being a meanie?"
"You called me a jerk while I said you looked good in my shirt. So yup, you are," he concluded, and I rolled my eyes playfully at his remark.
"Okay then. You're not a jerk, and... thank you for saying that," I softly with a little shy smile, which got Michael ginning. "Is that better?"
"Much better," he squinted his eyes, and then smiled at me. "Do you have anything you need?"
I looked around, and nodded my head before focusing on him again, "I do. I just have to take this—"
"No," Michael said, as he stopped me from taking off his shirt with his hand. "Please, keep it. It looks better on you."
"Are you sure? I—I didn't want you to give it to me, I—"
"Take it. Consider it a gift," he insisted, as he buttoned the over-sized shirt on me. "Red really suits you."
"It doesn't suit me as much as it suits you, though," I retorted as I looked at him. He didn't look back though, because he was too focused on buttoning the shirt for me. I just noticed a shy smile appearing on his face, and it was enough for me to smile at the view.
"Okay, let's go then."
***
Michael was playing different demos from his upcoming album, and I knew for sure that the album would be a success. Out of the many demos he made me listen to, there wasn't one track I disliked. Knowing I wasn't a fan of Michael's before I met him, my opinion seemed to matter to him, because he knew that I would be objective and honest concerning his music.
The way he talked about his music was fascinating. I was amazed to see how his brain worked. It was clear that he was a musical genius: he was made to do this job. When he felt that something was missing to the song, he wrote it down to be able to discuss it with his crew. He knew every beat, every tempo, every bass line by heart. He knew exactly where he was going.
"How do you write your music?" I wondered curiously, as I was sitting across from Michael. We were both sitting in front of the mixing console. "For this song, for example. Dangerous, right? What was the process?"
"For Dangerous, eventually, the melody just came, just hearing the music and the whole composition in itself," he said about the instrumental of the song he just made me listen to. "The first line, I wanted to talk the verses, like a rap, you know? Like: The way she came into the place I knew right here and there... There was something different about this girl. The way she moved, her hair, her face her lines... Divinity in motion. So, that's pretty much the verse. Then it goes into the B-section which leads up to the chorus which goes dam dam, ta-dam dam, I never knew but I was walking the line. Come go with me, I said I have no time," he sang, tapping his foot on the floor in rhythm. "And it goes—it builds to um, part of B-section to the chorus... umm, the lyrics are: She's so dangerous, the girl is so dangerous," he started singing again to my biggest pleasure. His voice was so beautiful. "And that's pretty much how it happened, just hearing those chords which inspired the melody. And I forgot the rest of the lyrics," he giggled slightly.
I didn't speak, but instead I looked at him with my mouth slightly agape. I was blown away by his talent and how passionate he was about the music. I could see how it took possession of his body and mind: he was driven by the rhythm.
"Oh boy. Did I scare you?"
"No, I'm just... Speechless. This passion for music you have in you—it's amazing."
"Thank you," he smiled, touching his bottom lip. "We all have a passion for different things."
"You can be passionate about something, but you can be bad at it," I pointed out. "In your case, you're passionate and extremely good at it. Well, I think it's pretty obvious, since Thriller is the best selling album of all time," I chuckled, and he chuckled along with me.
"I always try to do better than Thriller," he confessed. "With Bad, I thought I'd do better. I even put a post it on my bathroom's mirror to be reminded of my goal everyday."
"Bad still was a huge success, though. Even if you can't top your own record, you'll always be number one to many people around the world," I reassured, as I touched his knee for comfort.
"Oh, speaking of Bad!" he exclaimed gleefully. "I wanted to give you this," he gently said, as he handed me a Bad vinyl record. "Turn it over."
I looked at him for a couple of long seconds, and finally did as told and turned the item over. A smile spread across my face as I noticed Michael wrote a little note on it which said 'To Hayley. Now, you have all of my records. You are amazing. Love, Michael Jackson'.
"I remembered you telling me that your father used to be the one who bought you records, which is why you didn't have this one. So here it is. From my personal collection," he shyly smiled, and I looked from him to the record again.
"Thank you," is all I managed to say. I was quite moved Michael remembered what I told him. It proved me that he cared.
I gazed intensely into his eyes without being able to say a word, nor to look away. I came to ask myself what did I do to deserve such a perfect human being in my life, and even wondered if he was real because of the amount
of happiness, laughter and joy he brought into my life. I was aware that, at some point, things would turn badly, but I needed to keep on enjoying the present without thinking about the future.
That moment was interrupted by Bill coming in the studio to inform us that it was already two in the morning. It was a long trip back to Neverland, and Bill knew that perfectly. Even though I would have loved to spend the night with Michael, I also knew that he needed to rest because he had a flight to New-York the next day.
"I'll give you a few minutes to say goodbye, and after that, Matt will take you home, Hayley."
We both nodded, and Bill left the room again. I looked at Michael, and he looked back at me with the same sad look on his face as me. I didn't want to leave him, because everytime I did, I was afraid that something might happened to him, something I knew would happen.
"I'll be gone a couple of weeks, top," he softly said, as we both stood up from our seats. "I have to be back for the Academy Awards on the 25th," he let me know, and I nodded slowly. "I'll call you whenever I can."
"I hope so," I smiled faintly at him. Without wasting another minute, I wrapped my arms around his neck, and gave him a goodbye hug and hid my face in the crook of his neck. "Take care of yourself, okay?"
"I will. You do the same," he softy told me, as he tightened his grip around my waist. "Thank you for coming over this week-end and for helping me out with the interviews," he almost whispered, before he laid a small kiss on my head.
I pulled away from him to look into his eyes, but kept my arms around his neck. "The pleasure was all mine," I sincerely answered. "I'll see you soon, Maestro."
"Maestro, huh?" he chuckled, as we both let go of the other.
"It suits you pretty well," I shrugged, and took Michael's gift in my hands. "Call me, okay?"
"Oh, believe me, I will," he evasively said, looking at me as I left the studio.