Final exams were looming, and as the days grew colder, Nicole's school work became more intense. Michael would often quiz her on Geography and Economics or just read silently while she studied to enjoy each other's presence and grant her time to focus. They touched often now, innocent petting and happy kisses. Always holding hands, but nothing more. Flirting was rarely done in person, only through whispers over the phone when Michael was bursting with adrenaline or half asleep. So little had changed in the past month actually, Nicole feared they'd grown platonic, wondering if maybe Michael and her were better off as friends.
They weren't the type of couple to just lay around and make out aimlessly, though the thought lived silently in the back of their minds. Even if Michael were to submit to his urge, he could never be sure they weren't being watched by a nosey sister or nagging mother. The paranoia kept his hands and lips at bay. And while she loved that Michael was kind, a gentleman by all means, it left Nicole wondering if their incredible sunrise moment was all a dream.
Friday, November 2, 1979
It was a quiet Friday afternoon. It seemed like everyone had somewhere to be or something to do, except Nicole and Michael, who found it perfectly acceptable that they could just be with each other. Michael was laid on the floor, his preferred reading location, flipping through an old art book, marking the ears for pieces he'd love to see in real life one day. Nicole was sitting in the middle of his bed, restlessly rereading the same paragraph about the definition of "opportunity cost."
"The loss of potential gain from other alternatives when one particular alternative is chosen over the others--"
She slammed the book closed and groaned aggressively before getting up.
Nicole: I can't do this anymore!
Michael: Do what?
Nicole: I hate this class! Economics makes no sense!
Michael: .... You really should study.
Nicole: Nerd.
Refusing to play into her dramatics, Michael snorted a chuckle and kept his head down. It was odd sometimes, having Nicole in his room in such a casual way, but as the days passed it became more normal. Often she would absentmindedly stack books or try to organize his chaos just a little bit better. Never minding, Michael would watch her pace and fuss and tinker, then return to her studies once the frustrations passed. It was always the same routine. And though she still never complained about his messy habits, Michael knew Nicole lived much differently. He didn't mind her being nosey, he was the same way. Which was exactly Nicole's excuse for never inviting him inside her apartment...
New fan memorabilia was delivered recently in piles near the door. Letters, cards, artwork, anything that fans saw or heard Michael liked would show up in truckloads the next week as gifts of affection. Michael was always grateful for his fans and the unyielding love they showed, especially now in support of "Off the Wall," but filtering through and replying to everyone oftentimes felt like a chore. In a bag like the sack Santa carried, were at least 300 letters. One in a bright pink envelope, Nicole opened first:
"Hi Michael! I love you! My name is Stacy McMann and I live in Canada. Do you like living in America? I hope to visit so I can see you one day. I'm saving up to see you in concert. Thank you for making Off the Wall, it's soooooooooo goooooooood! My favorite song is Girlfriend ❤️ Please make more music soon. I LOVE YOU!" - signed Stacy, age 9
"Hello Michael Jackson, I've been watching you on television my whole life. You're only 5 years older than me. I want to be a musician and a dancer just like you one day. But I live in Chicago and my brother says there's no way I'll be a star like you and I should join the Army. Do you think I can be a star like you? I tried writing my own songs and asked for a keyboard for Christmas. I even have a neighbor who can give me lessons! I'm scared to join the Army. But I'm also scared if I fail at being a musician. Were you ever afraid to fail? What should I do? I hope you get this and write me back. I'm your biggest fan!" - signed DJ Navarro, age 16
"Dearest Michael, Do you remember me? I sure hope so. I've attached my photo to jog your memory. We met three months ago at your show in Miami. Do you remember that you invited me backstage? I was in the second row, and out of all the girls eyeing for you, you picked me. We had such a wonderful night together, I'll never forget it. I've tried calling the number you left me, but it doesn't go through. I didn't want to tell you in a letter, but, we're having a baby--"
Nicole: What the hell?
Michael: What's wrong? Shouldn't you be studying?
Still buried in his book, Michael didn't notice the fury in his girlfriend's eyes until she dropped the letter in front of his face. He sat up slowly to his knees and picked it up, then looked at her.
Michael: What's this?
Nicole: Who is she?
Michael: Who is 'who?'
Nicole: The woman who wrote this letter, Michael!
Michael: But I--
Stuttering, he unfolded the paper and read it, first out loud, then the words faded to a mumble, then to silence. He raised his eyebrows and laughed when he approached the part that made Nicole react.
Michael: I don't know who she is--
Nicole: You don't know!?
Michael: Of course not. She could be anybody--
Nicole: Anybody!?! Are there that many!?
Michael: I didn't mean it like that--
Quickly standing, Michael found it difficult to restrain his laughter. He'd never seen Nicole angry before and never imagined it would be over something so silly. His naiveté only fueled her fire. She'd held the envelope and enclosed photo in her hand, waving as she spoke, and now flattened it in front of his face.
Nicole: Does THIS look like somebody you know!?
A printout of a big-eyed brunette was in her hands. The woman's legs were crossed coyly away from the camera, one arm behind her back, the other pointing to her pouty lips. Her sharp nipples aimed straight to the lucky photographer. Michael blushed, covering the exposed body with his hand.
Michael: Good Lord, Nicole, she's nude!
Nicole: I noticed. What's her name!?
Michael: I don't know!
She continued to step closer, forcing the photo in his face again. Trying to ignore the naked distraction, Michael finally snatched the picture from her and hid it behind his back.
Michael: Would you just listen to me please? I don't know who she is!
Nicole: Ugh, you're disgusting! How could you not even remember her name?
Michael: Because I've never met her!
Nicole: She said she's having your baby, Michael.
Michael: Yes, I know that's what she said. But it's not true. Women lie all the time--
Nicole: 'Women lie?' You gave her a phony number and now you call her a liar?
Michael: I didn't give her a phony number! She made the whole thing up!
Nicole: How do you know?
Michael: Because I know! I've never invited fans backstage or given anyone my number. I would never do that. And I've definitely never fathered a child. Never.
Nicole: But how do you know?
Michael: Because I know! It's my body and I've never-- I-- It's just not possible...
Nicole paused for a moment, suddenly deflated as she absorbed his words.
"Never?"
She quickly regretted everything, wondering why she would trust the words of a stranger over the man who stood before her. Embarrassed, she spoke quietly.
Nicole: ... You sure?
Michael: Yes, Nicole. I know how conceiving a child works. It's physically impossible.
Nicole: ... Oh.
They stood awkwardly before each other, neither knowing where to look or what to say. Michael scratched his head, contemplating if he'd said too much, before reaching to the floor for the letter again, lingering a moment before folding the photo back inside.
Michael: She is pretty good looking though--
He laughed as Nicole tried to swipe the photo from him now. But his arms were long and fast.
Michael: Hey now, she sent this to me! -- You know it's illegal to open a man's mail?
Groaning loudly, Nicole shrugged and gave up before walking back to the mailbag. Michael followed.
Michael: What are you doing over here anyway? You have school work.
Nicole: Oh Michael, it's Friday! I'm tired of reading boring stuff. I need some action!
Michael laughed, looking at the photo again.
Michael: Well you sure found some! I wonder how she--
Nicole snatched the picture midsentence and flicked it to the floor, watching the stranger's bare breasts glide softly under a bookcase. She rolled her eyes as Michael continued laughing.
Nicole: Not that kind of action... I'm sorry I yelled at you, Michael. And called you disgusting.
Michael: That's okay. I'd probably be upset too if I were you.
Nicole: Is a lot of your mail like that?
Michael: Um, the pictures sometimes. But the baby stuff is new for me. My brothers got them a lot before they married. I could never take advantage of a fan in that way. Never. These girls just grow up seeing how I am on stage but they don't know that's not how I am all the time. Gosh, sometimes I'll watch tapes back and can't believe some of the moves I do, you know? It's so embarrassing... Then there's other women who just lie and want money. They can be real dangerous.
She'd never considered it before, but it seemed so obvious now. If the first impression she'd had of Michael was immediately after watching one of his shows, she'd think him a completely different person too. When performing, Michael was loud, energetic, and always trying to be seen. But at home he wore plain clothes, played games, and was silly. Not that he wasn't still all the same things as he was on stage, but a much more subdued, boyish version of the sex symbol the public knew. And while Nicole was surprised to learn that Michael was a virgin, she was again reminded that those pre-judgements were her own blame, not his.
With a stack of letters between them, Nicole and Michael sat on the floor, taking turns reading aloud the stories of Michael's fans. Some were sweet. Some were funny. Some were sad. It gave Nicole a new appreciation of "Michael The Superstar," never before realizing the impact he and his music had on so many lives. Children, sick in hospitals, would play Michael's music to help them get well. Couples, falling in love, would play Michael's music to serenade their beau. Parents, with children of all ages and races and interests, would play Michael's music to unite their families.
They sorted the letters as they went, into three piles. The first was trash. Consisting of demo tapes, sales pitches, and all naked ladies. The second would receive a standard letter reply, typed by Michael's assistant with an autographed headshot. The third would be someone with an especially heartwarming story to whom Michael wanted to handwrite a response. Most landed in the third stack as Michael felt personal connections with all of his fans, always thinking of a gift or doodle to add to close out their note. After what felt like 50 letters, Nicole was growing restless again. Though she could listen to Michael read, or watch his eyes light up at the sight of elementary handwriting all day. She started crawling around through his other mail. There was a heavy box, similar to a shoebox shape, but longer. Without asking, she opened it. Immediately inside was a letter she read out loud.
Nicole: 'Dear Michael, My name is Paul Gallegly. My wife and I are the owners of a small restaurant in Topeka, Kansas. Every morning, as our team prepares for the first round of diners, we listen to 'Off the Wall.' Though, I must admit, there have been several days we've found ourselves listening all day! We love your music. There's a track for everybody. First thing in the morning, my head chef loves 'Workin' Day and Night' but by the time we close, it's 'Don't Stop Til You Get Enough' for all of us! And my wife, Claire, a bit more of a romantic, you see, could listen to 'I Can't Help It' everyday of her life. Thank you, Michael, for creating this masterpiece and for sharing your passion and enthusiasm with the world. We've enclosed one of our passions for you, Claire's favorite bottle of sparkling wine straight from our cellar. I hope it brings you just a fraction of the joy you've brought to us. Thank you, and many blessings, Paul and Claire.'
Michael: Oh wow! That's so kind...
Nicole passed the card to him as he set it in pile number three. Then she dug deeper in the box to reveal the large glass bottle of champagne.
Nicole: Can I open it?
Michael: Oh, now you ask!?
They laughed and Nicole, rolling her eyes, took that as a "yes."
Michael: I didn't know you drink?
Nicole: Just socially, you know... Don't you?
Michael: Not so much.
Nicole: Oh-- well then, we don't have to--
Michael: No, it was a gift. It'd be rude not to try it after they wrote such a nice letter... I'll just have a sip.
She smiled, then twisted the metal cap off, before slowly popping out the cork. It bubbled over just a little, making Nicole put her mouth to the glass to keep it from spilling on the floor. She then passed the bottle to Michael, letting him get the first proper taste. He inspected it, rotating the bottle in his hands like the label was of any meaning to him. He'd drank a handful of times with friends, but would just agree to whatever they were having, never learning the difference between a Chardonnay or Pinot or Cabernet. But this was bubbly, and smelled sweet, so it probably tasted good, right? He tipped the opening to his mouth slowly. It was warm, but tasty. He took another long sip before passing it back to Nicole. He watched as she mimicked his motion and smiled again.
Nicole: Not bad. It'd be better cold but--
Michael: We should play a game.
He was grinning in a way she didn't trust.
Nicole: What game?
Michael: Hmm... Maybe... Truth or dare?
Nicole: Aha ... Okay?
Michael: You go first.
Nicole: Like, I ask you first or you--
Michael: I'll ask you first. Truth or dare?
His fast talking quickly increased Nicole's suspicions, but for now she would play along. Reclining on his elbows, Michael stretched his body in front of her in contemplation. He was wearing white socks, light colored jeans with a relaxed fit, and an oversized blue pullover, laying crooked over a white undershirt.
Nicole: Dare.
Michael: Okay... I want to see you dance.
She laughed loudly. Then uncomfortably.
Nicole: You can't be serious.
Michael: I'm very serious! I've never seen you dance before. Come on, you can't be that bad.
Unmoving, Nicole stared at him dumbfounded until his arms summoned for her to rise. With a groan, she stood limply, then picked up the champagne for another long swig.
Nicole: I need music...
She watched him jump up to the record player, instantly starting a song with a heavy drum beat. Michael turned it up loud, then leaned against his desk waiting for her to move. A knot was in her chest forcing Nicole to close her eyes, blocking out the vision of being watched. She sighed again, then slowly swung her head back and forth to the beat. When the lyrics started to play she recognized the song and it made her laugh, lowering her inhibitions just a little.
Sittin' here, eatin' my heart out waitin'
Waitin' for some lover to call
Dialed about a thousand numbers lately
Almost rang the phone off the wall
Her hips rocked and shoulders bobbed as Nicole enjoyed the tune. She could certainly find the beat, she just... Didn't know what to do with it? Biting her lip and jumping, the chorus overtook her. She pictured herself on one of those dancing shows, like SoulTrain, flapping her arms as she marched around the room.
Lookin' for some hot stuff, baby this evenin'
I need some hot stuff, baby tonight
I want some hot stuff, baby this evenin'
Gotta have some hot stuff
Gotta have some love tonight
Suddenly hearing Michael's screeching laugh, Nicole's eyes shot open and she ran to stop the record.
Michael: No! Why'd you stop!? You're hot stuff, baby!
He teased like a boy, grinning hard as he spoke through a goofy accent. When Nicole's face burned red, Michael pulled her close for a kiss on her bashful cheek. Until she laughed too, he squeezed her closer, only releasing once he got a proper taste.
Nicole: Alright, alright -- Truth or dare?
Michael paced around the room, collecting the bottle and bringing it to the bed. Nicole followed, removing her neglected books and sitting at the opposite corner to face him.
Michael: Truth.
Nicole: Boxers or briefs?
Michael: Hey, that's personal!
Nicole: Well, duh, I thought that's the point.
Michael: Briefs... Usually. Never boxers.
Nicole: What's 'usually' mean?
Michael: ... Pardon?
She laughed, then spoke loudly, as if talking to an old man.
Nicole: You said 'usually!' If it's 'never' boxers and 'usually' briefs, what does 'usually' mean!?
Michael: ... Nothing.
Nicole: Well it must mean something...
Michael: No, I mean, it means 'nothing.' I'll wear nothing.
Nicole gasped, covering her mouth with both hands as she looked at Michael with wide eyes. Michael "America's Role Model" Jackson doesn't wear underpants! What would all the mothers think!?
Nicole: NO WAY!
Michael: On stage the clothes are all made for me so they build it in.
Nicole: And when you're not on stage?
Michael shrugged, smirking as he pressed the warm wine to his lips again.
Michael: I dunno...
Nicole: You don't know!?!
Michael: Hey now, you're asking too many questions. It's my turn. Truth or dare?
Nicole: Dare.
He didn't miss a beat.
Michael: You show me your underwear.
Nicole: NO WAY!
Swinging his head back, Michael laughed loudly as Nicole stole the bottle back.
Michael: Hey girl, you said we're supposed to get personal!
Nicole: I am not taking off my clothes.
Michael: You don't have to. Just show me the color.
He flashed a gleaming smile when Nicole stood. She was wearing a pink, short sleeved button-down blouse, tucked neatly into her fitted jeans. She undid the top button, just enough that she could see down to her breasts. Pulling the collar to one side, she flashed Michael a corner of her black brassiere. Glimpsing up, she confirmed he was watching as she untucked her shirt and opened the snap on her jeans. Without pulling them lower, she reached for her panties, showing the bright pink lace against her hip.
Nicole: Happy?
Michael: Oh yes.
She blushed, glancing up at Michael again to see that he was nodding slowly. He's knees were drawn into his torso now with a thumb resting between his lips. His eyes seemed far off, making her wonder what he was thinking about.
Nicole: Truth or dare?
Michael: Dare.
Nicole: I dare you to rub my feet! Two minutes, each foot. Then a kiss!
Michael: What!? That's silly!
Nicole: You should count out loud so I know you aren't cheating.
He rolled his eyes at her giggles as Nicole scooted closer on the bed. Her bright red toenails danced in his lap as she lay to face the ceiling. Michael counted softly, rhythmically, as his fingers flexed against her skin. She tried to remember the last time she'd laughed this much, when suddenly her leg was lifted and she felt Michael's lips press to her sole. Gentle lips and strong hands.
He repeated the process with her right foot now, focusing on his counts. He had a natural cadence in his voice, that made even numbers sound like rhymes. Again, a kiss. Again, a sip of champagne.
Michael: Truth or dare?
Nicole: Dare.
Michael: ... I dare you to take off my socks... With your teeth!
Nicole: Ugh! You're so gross!
He didn't deny it. He sure wouldn't want to do this challenge either. But it made Michael laugh to see Nicole kneeling at the end of the bed, pinching her nose and pretending to gag. She used the tips of her front teeth in a full grimace to protect her lips. His socks were long, bunched at the ankles, requiring a bit of force to pull them off completely. Michael, enjoying the struggle, would point, then flex his toes right in her face.
When finished, she wiped her teeth and lips on the inside of her own shirt before stealing back the bottle, sloshing the flat bubbles through her mouth for a rinse. Michael had fallen over, laughing wildly. She could tell they were feeling the effects of the alcohol as they both were growing giddy and their inhibitions lowered.
Nicole: Truth or dare?
Michael: Truth.
Nicole: If you could pick three celebrities-- no strings attached-- to have sex with one night. Who would you pick?
Michael: Nooo, how could you ask me that!? Oh gosh...
Michael covered his face, chuckling into a pillow, but Nicole didn't back down, knowing he must've had some women already in mind.
Michael: Well... Donna Summer, for sure! And gee, Farrah Fawcett. She's so kind and beautiful ...
Nicole was quickly beginning to regret the question as she realized her boyfriend had likely already met all his famous crushes.
Michael: And hummm, I guess, Diana Ross probably...
Nicole: ... Really? I thought she was more like a mother-figure to you?
Michael: Oh she is! ... Well, when I was younger, really... She's more like a, uh, teacher-friend now in a way... But she's also so gorgeous and wonderful!... And 'no strings attached' so it wouldn't change my relationship with her, right?
Nicole: Yeah, true. Alright.
Michael: Truth or dare?
Nicole: Dare.
They laid weakly at opposite ends of the bed facing each other, Nicole at the foot, Michael at the head. She watched as he contemplated her next task, praying it wouldn't be as vile as the last.
Michael: I dare you to let me kiss you.
Nicole: Okay?--
Michael: Anywhere I want.
Prepared to object, Nicole opened her mouth but Michael quickly silenced her.
Michael: -- Close your eyes.
The strength in his voice made her obey. She felt the mattress shift as Michael moved closer, watching her breathing become shallow, then jump a little when he touched the hem of her blouse. Gently, he fingered loose the lowest two buttons, letting Nicole's top fall open to either side. Her belly was soft and delicate compared to his own. Since the morning of the sunrise, Michael had been dreaming about the velvetiness of her skin. His two fingers pressed upon the space above her belly button. An innie. Then he kissed her there, quietly lingering as he breathed in the fragrance of her. When he sat up to his knees, Nicole's eyes were already on him.
Nicole: Truth or dare?
Regardless of his pick, Nicole knew exactly what her next challenge would be.
Michael: Truth.
Nicole: Why haven't you kissed me again, you know, like you did that morning?
There was no need to specify. Both knew exactly what morning Nicole was referring to. It replayed constantly in Michael's mind. The way the sun illuminated her eyes and warmed her skin. The intoxicating taste of her tongue. The sweetness in her sighs. Still watching the rise and fall of her chest, he studied Nicole's body poised perfectly below him.
Alone.
On his mattress.
For him.
He chewed quietly on his lower lip. Hesitating, Michael knew he had to answer the truth, but was cautious to say the words out loud.
Michael: I was afraid it was a dream... And then... I was afraid it was real... Because if it was real, Nicole, and I kiss you like that again... I don't know how I could stop.
Nicole froze, physically paralyzed by Michael's words.
As much as Nicole longed for a kiss of that magnitude again, it would be just a matter of time before their bodies craved more. Did she want that? Was she ready for that? She crawled from under him and off the bed. Standing to her feet, she reached for the bottle.
It was empty!
Throwing it into a chair, Nicole started rubbing her neck-- a nervous habit to self-soothe. Michael watched for a second, then reached for her.
Michael: Hey?
Nicole: There's no more champagne, so--
Michael: Look at me-- Truth or dare?
Nicole: No, Michael, I-- I don't think we should play anymore.
Michael: Nicole, look at me. Truth or dare?
He was stern, holding her neck in his strong, yet comforting grip until she looked at him. Michael was smiling softly again. She let out a ragged breath and shrugged.
Nicole: Dare?
Michael: I dare you to race me to the pool!