It seemed irresponsible to urgently wake Michael and demand answers as Laura repeatedly insisted the entire way home. Michael having an affair with Diana Ross? It seemed laughable! Yet, the weight in Nicole's stomach refused to ease.
Nicole preferred Good Cop tactics, unwilling to believe her boyfriend's intentions were impure. So immediately after returning to the condo, Nicole plated up a donut, poured a glass of orange juice, and went straight to Michael's bedroom. He was still asleep when she sat next to him, fingering his curly hair until he turned and flickered his eyes to hers.
Michael: Hey...
Nicole: Good morning Michael.
Michael: Am I still dreaming? You look so beautiful.
Even on the days she felt the ugliest, Michael called her beautiful. Oh, how she adored him.
No!
Focus!
Don't let yourself be distracted by his gorgeous eyes and spellbinding words!
Nicole: It's not a dream, Michael. I'm right here. I brought you breakfast. We just got back from a little bakery and got you some donuts.
Michael: Wow, thank you. It smells great.
But his eyes didn't leave her. She wondered what he was thinking, but didn't ask, forcing herself to concentrate.
Nicole: Can I ask you a question?
Michael: Of course. Anything.
Why would a man who's hiding something, say "anything?"
Michael sat up and reached for the juice on his nightstand. The black sheets slid down his body, revealing real pajamas, the kind with a patterned flannel button down shirt that matched the pants, though still probably two sizes too large. She was distracted by the formality for a moment, until she remembered her mission again.
Nicole: How's the project going? Did you get a lot done last night?
Michael: Oh yeah, it's going great! Last night was a real breakthrough. We're still creating. It's still the inception you know? Conceiving everything and formulating all the ideas. We want to really explore all our options before we set it in stone. It's like a child, you know, we're letting him grow.
Oh great, now you and Diana have a child!?
Nicole: Right. But what's it about?
Michael: Umm, a lot of things. Life and a person's journey in that way. Human circumstances and emotions and the collective consciousness we feel with the Earth and our spirits. It's about healing and coping and growth.
She wondered if the confusion was evident on her face as his words faded out. Clearing his throat, Michael kissed Nicole's cheek, then rose, walking towards the bathroom. Admiring his graceful stride, she remained seated, trying desperately to digest the word-jambalaya he just tried to feed her. The words repeated slower in her mind, still not making sense.
Alright, let's try this again.
Hearing the water run as he brushed his teeth, Nicole followed to the sink. Michael smiled brightly, mouth filled with foam, as she sat on the counter to watch him. There was finally a familiar comfort as they each remembered the times they met in this way in the past. One in the mirror, the other close beside. She remembered their reflection on Thanksgiving, on Family Day, on the infamous morning of their fight. These reflections revealed so much more than words alone could. Reflections that exposed the truth, uncovering the visions you hide in your mind. She watched him laugh shyly. He looked so sweet with his matted hair and dry lips.
Nicole: I miss you Michael.
He spit the toothpaste down the drain and pressed a towel to his mouth. A step closer and Michael was standing at Nicole's knees. Reaching for her hand, the memories of when this was easy came flooding back. She remembered the first time they truly missed each other. The way they wrestled, Nicole begging for just 15 minutes alone. They'd steal kisses, hidden together in the top of a tree, unable to keep their hands to themselves. Now, Michael seemed perfectly satisfied with a good morning peck on the cheek.
Michael: I miss you too--
Nicole: Then come home, Michael! There's nothing here that you can't do from LA. So come home.
He shook his head.
Michael Jackson had no home.
Michael: You're upset about last night, aren't you?
She looked down like the clever way to hide her lie was written in chalk on the floor. How was she supposed to answer a silly question like that? More than "upset," she was heartbroken and frustrated and confused and--
Nicole: I'm disappointed. I wish you would've told me sooner.
Michael: I didn't know for sure until yesterday--
Nicole: Oh! So once I was half naked in your lap, that's when you decided we shouldn't be having sex?
With a defeated sigh, her head rolled up to the ceiling in a sudden resurgence of resentment. Michael released her hand, shifting to balance his weight on either side, like a lion preparing to pounce. She could see the instant tension in his neck as he took a long deep breath, avoiding her eyes, just as she avoided his.
Michael: You know that's not what I meant.
Nicole said nothing, confused by the shifting levels of aggression she was feeling from her partner. Was it possible he spited her in the same way she had been hurt by him?
Michael: Do you think this is easy for me, Nicole? To have you here, in my bed, the way you looked last night?
If it were difficult, Nicole never would've guessed. He seemed so calm in the way he pushed her away last night, but now she could feel the pressure building to an intensity he could hardly restrain. She gasped when Michael gripped the side of her neck, not from pain, but the shock of his passion and the familiar power in his hands. His hold was heavy but kind, his thumb stroking her throat with the appetite of a vampire hungry for blood. He leaned into her ear and whispered.
Michael: Fifty-six nights since I had you in that limo, and I've been longing for you ever since. It took two weeks for me to stop sitting in the dark. Crying for you. I can't do that again, not now. This isn't about you, Nicole. I promise you that.
With every word his tone softened, reminding Nicole of the early days of being Michael Jackson's girlfriend. He was soft then, and shy, blushing behind innocent kisses. Romance was whispers and sweet secrets that you'd never imagine saying aloud to another soul.
One sexless weekend wasn't really the issue here. As she listened to Michael's confession of longing, Nicole realized it was that long-awaited romance she was craving far more than physical satisfaction. She missed their union. The act of making love was a comfort and demonstration of their commitment to friendship and love. Their bodies would freeze time, willing Nicole to consume Michael and surrender her own self in a way she couldn't be vulnerable with anyone else.
How could Michael Jackson of all people, be the one denying a declaration of their love?
As Michael's hand tinkered with the hem of her sweater, she wished he would pull it off. She wished his hands felt free to roam the warmth of her skin in the way they used to. In the way she longed for. She wished she had the nerve to grab him back and show him that their love was more important than a film.
Maybe just a kiss would be okay?
With caution, she dove. Nicole's tongue was soft and easy, willing Michael to take the lead. However far he wanted to go, she would be ready to drive. But he pulled away, still squeezing her neck, as she whimpered like a lost puppy.
Michael: Good God...
Still not quite matching her stare, Michael took two steps back with his full palm pressed to his chest. The way his massive hand hid his body draped in oversized flannel suddenly made him look so small... Lingering, he studied her. She could tell when he did that now, though she often wondered what he was learning. From this moment, did he discover that she's weak? Incapable of fighting for the love she deserved. Michael frequently challenged her, maybe this was all a test? It felt like she was failing. She felt like a loser.
Finally glancing up, Nicole watched him turn and walk to his closet.
Afraid and unsure, she followed again.
Nicole: So, when will you be home?
Michael was half dressed, pulling up a pair of jeans when he noticed Nicole at the door. He chuckled and shook his head.
Michael: You're relentless.
Nicole: I know. You used to like that about me.
Michael: No, I liked that you're 'insatiable--'
Nicole: Yeah, and look what good that's doing me now.
Pausing, he looked up for a moment. Then bit back his lip. Silently. Always watching. She wondered if the jab had been too much. She didn't mean to, the words just slipped out. Nicole hated herself for speaking to him this way-- but he started it! Right? For a moment she considered apologizing, starting over to be a better "Good Cop," but he interrupted her thoughts with his answer.
Michael: I don't know, Nicole. I'll be back when our work here is done.
Nicole: But you don't know when that will be! I miss you Michael. Your family misses you!--
Michael: If you miss me you can stay here. There are dozens of great schools for journalists right here.
Nicole: Don't be silly, I can't do that...
Michael: Silly? How is it silly, Nicole?
The frustration in his voice was evident, though to Nicole, the response was obvious.
Nicole: Because... I'm in school. I can't just leave--
Michael: But I can? You're asking me to leave my work? Why should I have to make all the sacrifices!?
She watched him grow more agitated as he spoke loudly with his hands. His tone was almost mocking, but to Nicole, the comparison seemed unfair. Michael Jackson had a wealth of resources and talents and a public resume no one would question. Nicole Dillard was virtually a nobody. She couldn't afford to just transfer schools on a whim, then pray it all worked out.
Michael squeezed his fingers through his hair and quickly apologized with a disappointed sigh.
Michael: I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell, I just-- I can't keep having this same conversation, Nicole. I just don't have an answer.
Nicole sighed too, disappointed but grateful at least for the honesty. She watched silently as he pulled off his nightshirt in exchange for something fresh. Nicole was shocked by what she saw.
Nicole: You lost weight?
Michael glanced down at his body, a hand over his firm stomach, then quickly pulled a white t-shirt over his head.
Michael: Yeah, a little.
Nicole: Are you stressed? Are you eating?--
Michael: Geez, you sound like my mother.
Nicole: She's a smart woman, you should listen to her!
Again Michael laughed weakly, lower and more annoyed than before. Now pulling on his second layer, a dark purple button down, Nicole could tell by the way it hung, he must've lost at least an inch in his waist.
Nicole: Here-- we got you a donut!
Simultaneously, she wanted to reach for him and turn back for the pastry still waiting on it's plate, but when Michael's voice, deeper than usual, called her name, Nicole couldn't move. She stood frozen in the doorway.
Michael: Nicole, please-- I don't want it. I can't eat that stuff anymore.
Nicole: Sure you can--
Michael: No, Nicole, I'm eating clean.
Nicole: 'Eating clean?'
Michael: Yeah. Fruits and vegetables. Straight from the Earth.
Well that explains why he's talking all loopy, he needs carbs!
Nicole: But that's ridiculous! You love donuts! Remember, Joseph used to--
Michael: I said I don't want it!
The tremor in his voice and darkness in his eyes made her jump and back away. He was staring straight through her. As his gaze refocused, the fear must've been apparent as he quickly raised his hands to apologize more sincerely than before.
Michael: I'm sorry, Nicole. Again, I didn't mean to yell... Uh, you're right, I probably am a little stressed. But I'm fine. I'm healthy. Strong as a rhinoceros!
Two steps closer. She could feel his eyes begging to match hers, as Nicole still watched his hands.
Michael: I promise I'm eating. I just forget sometimes without your good cooking to remind me. You know I'm no good at that stuff. There's a lot going on and I've missed you... I don't want to fight with you.
He reached for her, and when she didn't come, he took another step to close the gap.
Michael: I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.
Who are you?
How could it be the same man who woke up so soft and gentle, was now yelling at her about a donut? A goddamned donut! She was done following him and asking the same questions when his answers were riddled with contradictions. They seemed to be speaking different languages, and the longer they spoke, the more frustrated they each got. Nicole turned to leave, Michael calling behind as she stole his donut from the nightstand and slammed the door.
~* ~* ~
Bill and Laura were chatting in front of the television, then paused when Nicole appeared angrily chewing a mouthful of glazed dough, grateful the cashier didn't actually pick a disgusting flavor.
Laura: Oh no-- Are you okay?
Bill: I can go talk to him--
Nicole: No, guys, I'm fine. Michael and I-- We're fine... So, what's the plan? Where are we going next?
The day was still young. No need for a little argument to ruin everyone's hope for a good time. As Nicole wandered into the kitchen for a glass of milk and a second donut, Laura dictated the itinerary. First, the Statue of Liberty, which would include gift shops and a scenic ferry ride. Then they'd go further South for lunch and a hike across the Brooklyn Bridge. Finally, after coming home for a power nap and change of clothes, they'd end the day by seeing "Sweeney Todd" on Broadway!
Then Michael appeared, looking absurdly handsome in a sports jacket layered over his purple shirt. A bold belt defined his narrow hips. Nicole watched him walk closer, looking ready to apologize again, before Laura jumped in, her cheerful tone an attempt to lighten the mood.
Laura: Don't you look awfully dapper for going to see the Statue of Liberty!?
Michael: Huh? No, actually I have a lunch meeting up in the Bronx--
Nicole: You're not coming with us?
Michael: No. I thought I mentioned it.
Nicole: You didn't.
Another deep breath for them both.
Michael: ... Okay. I'm sorry, Nicole.
Nicole: Again!? You've apologized more in the past 24 hours than you have the whole six months we've been together--
Michael: So now you're angry with me for apologizing!? Sweet Jesus, I take it back. I'm not sorry! You knew I'd be working this weekend--
Nicole: Everyday!? Then what the hell did you fly us out here for?
Michael: Because I wanted to see you.
"Good Cop" be damned.
Nicole: Yeah, well I could've mailed you a photograph instead of wasting my time with your bullshit--
Michael: What the hell is your problem!?
Bill: HEY! Cool it, Mike.
Forever Joseph Jackson's son, Bill knew Michael's emotions could easily grow to an anger he would regret. And though Michael tried daily to force and pray those habits away, Bill was cautious and stepped in, loudly commanding the room's attention with his heavy voice and broad stance. Michael looked defeated again as his fists clenched and eyes closed tight. With a slow nod he acknowledged Bill's words and stepped back.
Michael: Bill, you can call Ray if you need to get in touch with me. I won't be out too long.
With another aggravated sigh and no words left to speak, Michael took his coat and walked out the door.