‘You're kidding, right?’ the reporter asked.
‘Nope.’ Michael started singing the song, ‘Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens…’ while he skipped down the hall, accompanied by four security men. As he left the auditorium with Brooke and Emmanuel, fifty people were elbowed out of his way by his guards – including Tatum O'Neal and her four friends. ‘I'll introduce you to him later,’ she promised them, again. As Michael's Rolls-Royce sped away from the auditorium, he rolled down the window and leaned out, both arms raised in triumph, clutching and waving a Grammy in one hand. ‘All right!’ he yelled out. ‘All right!’
Michael Jackson had become one of the most sought-after celebrities in Hollywood, always invited to a multitude of A-list parties. Often he needed an escort and, uncomfortable in his new role as a social butterfly, he sought someone safe – and older. Liza Minnelli was one of his favourites, partly because Michael had always been fascinated by the mystique of her mother, Judy Garland, but also because Liza had grown up in Hollywood, knew her way around, and was able to keep Michael comfortable and relaxed.
Besides, in 1984 it was Liza, not Michael, who received the coveted invitation to the 10 April party hosted by famed literary agent, Irving ‘Swifty’ Lazar. Held every year right after the Academy Awards, the event had once been so prestigious that even big-name stars considered it an honour to be invited. Celebrities often instructed their publicists to hound ‘Swifty’ for months in advance for an invitation. In 1984, the party was held at the Bistro in Beverly Hills. Guests included Orson Welles, Cary Grant, Jacqueline Bisset and Linda Evans.
It was obvious that no matter how famous Michael had become, in his heart he was just another star-struck fan. Judging from the expression on his face, his success didn't diminish his awe, but it did allow him to observe his idols up close. In return, the celebs fell all over themselves for a chance to meet Michael, a guy who had made only one movie (and that one a flop!).
Michael never strayed from Liza's side. Wearing one of his blue glitter military outfits, dark aviator shades, and the requisite rhinestoned glove, Michael looked around the room and probably couldn't help noticing that everyone was gawking at him. For her part, Liza strolled about proudly with Michael on her arm, as if to say, Yes, I'm with Michael Jackson. What do you think of that?
‘Let me have a scotch and Coca-Cola,’ Liza instructed the waiter. ‘And Mr Jackson will have the same.’
‘Oh, no,’ Michael protested. ‘I'll have a…’ He hesitated. ‘I'll have an orange juice, please.’
‘Oh, of course he will,’ Liza said. ‘And so will I. With scotch.’ She laughed merrily.
The waiter walked away. ‘Yoo-hoo,’ Michael meekly called out after him. ‘No scotch in mine.’
Joan Collins sauntered over to the couple. ‘Michael, my dear boy, how truly wonderful to see you.’ She embraced him warmly and winked at Liza, as if sharing a joke with her. Michael looked confused.
‘Quick, stand right next to him; let's get a picture.’ A woman shoved her husband next to Michael. ‘This is for our daughter, Natasha,’ the man sheepishly explained. Michael, who has no doubt heard a similar line a thousand times before, nodded patiently.
‘Oh, by the way, my name is Michael Caine,’ said the actor after the photo was taken. The two shook hands as Caine's wife, Shakira, snapped another picture of them.
Joan Collins turned to a friend. ‘You know, I must get the name of his plastic surgeon,’ she said. ‘I simply adore his nose, don't you?’
Johnny Carson, seated with his girlfriend Alexis Mass, took in the scene and walked over to Michael just as his orange juice was being served to him.
‘Nice to see you, Michael,’ Carson said with a firm handshake.
Michael seemed dazed. ‘I… uh, gee, nice to see you again too, Mr Carson.’
‘Call me John.’
‘Oh, okay. Call me Mike.’
Liza Minnelli grabbed Michael's hand. ‘Now look, Johnny, he's my date,’ she told Carson with a big smile.
‘Wow! What a nice guy that Johnny Carson is,’ Michael was overheard saying as Liza dragged him away.
‘Oh, yes, he's a dear,’ she agreed. ‘Now we're going to call my father.’
‘We are?’
Liza then led Michael off to a payphone.
After Liza dialled the number, she began doing a soft-shoe dance routine and started singing, ‘Forget your troubles, c'mon get happy,’ she sang. She was feeling…good.
Michael laughed. ‘I love being around you, you know that?’ he told her.
‘Shhh,’ Liza said. Her father answered the phone. ‘Daddy, listen, I want you to meet Michael Jackson.’
‘Who?’ was apparently the question back to her.
‘Why, he's a wonderful singer and one of my best friends,’ she explained. ‘Now just say hello.’ A pause. ‘Oh, Daddy, just say hello. Now, c'mon’
She handed the phone to Michael. ‘No, I can't,’ Michael protested, his hand over the mouthpiece.
‘Oh, but you must’ Liza insisted.
‘But he's my idol.’ Michael had always enjoyed director Vincente Minnelli's films.
‘Well, then say hello.’ Liza punched him on the arm playfully. ‘He doesn't bite.’
Michael took his hand off the mouthpiece. ‘Hello, Mr Minnelli,’ he whispered. He listened for five seconds, his eyes darting left and right. With a giggle, he handed the phone back to Liza. ‘God, he's so nice,’ Michael gushed.
Liza got back on the phone. ‘Now listen, Daddy. Put on your velvet jacket. We'll be over in twenty minutes.’
Pause.
‘Yes, I'm bringing him over there.’
A pause.
‘Never mind what he's wearing.’
Another pause.
‘Okay, he's wearing one sequined glove, all right? Now, are you satisfied?’
Michael doubled over, laughing.
‘Okay, then fine. Goodbye.’
As Liza and Michael pushed through the crowd and out the door to the waiting limousine, Jimmy Stewart was overheard saying, ‘Well, there they go, Dorothy's little girl… and the Wiz.’
Almost twenty years later, ‘the Wiz’ would be part of the star-studded wedding party when ‘Dorothy's little girl’ married for a fourth time, in New York. Michael was best man and Elizabeth Taylor the matron of honour when, in March 2002, Liza wed David Gest in a well-publicized, star-studded extravaganza. Unfortunately, the union would end after sixteen tumultuous months.
‘Believe me, trouble's ahead’
The upcoming Victory tour promised forty concert dates and, at least as far as Michael was concerned, forty million opportunities for something to go wrong as long as Don King was in the picture. Michael felt that he needed someone to protect his interests. John Branca was an excellent attorney, but now he needed a hands-on manager since Weisner and DeMann were gone and Joseph was no longer managing him.
As it happened, Motown had just released a collection of songs by Michael that he had recorded in the early seventies. The album was called Farewell My Summer Love 1984, a misleading title since the songs were recorded more than ten years earlier. The record only sold about a hundred thousand copies, a minuscule number considering the thirty-three million copies of Thriller that had by then been moved in record stores. Michael believed that Motown was trying to cash in on his fame, and he didn't like it. ‘It's not fair,’ he said. ‘I had no control over that music. I don't even like some of those songs. I need someone to stop things like that from happening in the future.’
Michael took meetings with a number of managers, including Colonel Tom Parker, Elvis Presley's Svengali, hoping to find the most qualified person. When it came to choosing a manager, Michael was extremely cautious. He questioned everyone he knew about certain people, trying to determine their worth in the entertainment industry. He would talk to his brothers to see what gossip they had heard; he would check with record company executives. In the end, his choice would surprise many observers.
Seven months earlier, in August 1983, Michael had asked Epic Records head of promotion, Frank Dileo, if he would be interested in managing him. The two were having a meeting about Thriller in a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Michael firmly believed that Frank was largely responsible for Thriller's success, and also for the huge sales of all of its single releases. After his search, he again went back to Frank Dileo, even though the man had virtually no experience as a manager. Many industry observers wondered, why Frank? (‘I asked Michael the same question: why me?’ Dileo said.) Michael felt that the aggressive way Frank worked in the record industry could prove an asset to him. In Frank Dileo, Michael knew he was hiring a terrific record promoter, who may or may not turn out to be a good manager – but he was willing to take a chance.
At the time, Frank Dileo, whose nickname is ‘Tookie’ (Michael used to call him Uncle Tookie), was thirty-six, born and raised in Pittsburgh. He had got his start in the record industry as an assistant to a record promoter in the Midwest, and in the early seventies when he was twenty-one, landed a job with RCA Records in New York as national director of promotions. While at RCA, he turned that label's promotion department into the record industry's finest. In 1979, Frank was named Epic's vice-president of promotion. There, he developed a reputation at the label as being a confident man in complete charge of everything around him – even matters that didn't concern him. A flashy character, he would wear a sweat suit to the office, along with an eight-thousand-dollar Rolex watch given to him by the Epic recording group REO Speedwagon. He was largely responsible for successes by Meat Loaf, Culture Club and Cyndi Lauper.
A few years after joining Epic, Frank was invited to the recording studio to watch as Michael recorded Thriller. It was then that he and Michael developed a rapport, though opposites in almost every way: Michael was shy and retiring, Frank was loud and boisterous; Michael was a health-food junkie, Frank liked a good hoagie and a Budweiser with which to wash it down; Michael never smoked, Frank loved cigars, the smellier the better; Michael weighed about 120 pounds; Frank weighed twice that. Still, Michael admired the way Frank set goals for himself and then achieved them. ‘I'd like to be like Frank Dileo,’ he said. ‘He gets the job done.’
Also, Frank was a close friend and confidant of Walter Yetnikoff, president of CBS Records, and socialized with attorney Nat Weiss, one of Yetnikoff's trusted friends. Michael understood how politically valuable those relationships could be to him. However, Michael told Frank that if he took the job as his manager, he would not be allowed to manage anyone else. He had to be exclusive to Michael. Frank agreed.
By March, the Victory tour battle lines were drawn. Though the point of the tour was that the family presented a united front to the public, the business behind the scenes was so fragmented, it was almost impossible to find any commonality among the participants.
If Michael had to do the tour, he wanted more control of it. Not only was he exerting his independence at this time, he knew that if the show flopped it could hurt his career. Whereas his brothers only wanted to make a decent living, that was the least of Michael's concerns; he already had plenty of money. Still, since Michael now had his own manager, the brothers felt they had to have one, too. Therefore, they hired Jack Nance, who had been the group's road manager during the early days at Motown. So, now he had his manager, and they had theirs.
Making matters worse, Michael wanted nothing to do with Don King, especially when Frank filled Michael in on Don's reputation. Frank told Michael that Don had been criticized for his handling of the defunct US Boxing Championships on ABC Television. He also heard of charges, which King has denied, that he skimmed money from closed-circuit fights and sold five-hundred-dollar tickets to boxing matches but did not report the sales. If Michael had to do this tour, he decided, he would do everything in his power to distance himself from Don King. ‘I can tell you one thing,’ he told John Branca. ‘I don't want that guy telling me what to do, and I don't want him to touch one single penny of my money.’ Or, as Don King would later say, ‘With Michael, you're always on trial.’
Through John, Michael dispatched a series of instructions to Don stating:
1. King may not communicate with anyone on Michael's behalf without prior permission.
2. All monies will be collected by Michael's representatives and not by King.
3. King may not approach any promoters, sponsors or other people on Michael's behalf.
4. King may not hire any personnel or local promoters, book halls, or, for that matter, do anything at all without Michael's prior approval.
Don appeared perplexed by Michael's demands but he had no choice but to abide by them. Still, Don felt that Michael was too easily swayed by the opinions of his white manager, Frank Dileo, and white lawyer, John Branca. ‘I see that Michael has nobody black around him,’ Don said to a reporter. ‘Nobody.’ That might have been true, but it was a mistake for Don to say it to the press. ‘Fire him,’ Michael said, angrily. ‘Who does that guy think he is?’
But Don had a contract, and he wasn't going anywhere.
John and Don then had dinner at the Beverly Hills Hotel to try to work matters out. ‘Look, Johnny, there's no reason why you and me gotta be on bad terms,’ King told Branca. ‘I like Michael. I like you. Let's work with one another.’
They agreed that they should try to work things out. However, by this time, the brothers were also ambivalent about Don King, especially after that press conference.
At this time Chuck Sullivan, head of Stadium Management Corporation, of Foxboro, Massachusetts, and former owner of the New England Patriots football team, was brought in to watch over Don King. He would be organizing the concerts. Michael was also able to convince the brothers to allow Irving Azoff, head of MCA, to come aboard as a tour consultant. Meanwhile, in the background, there was still Joseph Jackson, who did everything he could to stay involved and not allow Don to overshadow him. Then, there was Katherine, watching and waiting until the next time she would have to speak to Michael in order to get him to do something he didn't want to do.
‘I said the Pepsi accident was a bad omen,’ Michael told Frank Dileo one day as they sorted out all of the characters. ‘But I didn't know what it meant. Now I know. Believe me when I say that trouble's ahead.’
Another Nose Job, and Katherine's Party
In the spring of 1984, Michael arranged for Dr Steven Hoefflin, his plastic surgeon, to give him another rhinoplasty – a third nose job. ‘He was determined that the last two weren't good enough,’ said a source who once worked in Hoefflin's office. ‘“It has to be thinner,” he insisted. “Did you see the way it looked on the American Music Awards when I was standing next to Diana?” he asked. “Hers was so thin and mine looked so fat. I hated it.” He didn't come out and say he wanted Diana Ross's nose, but it was pretty obvious it was the shape he was after.’
‘I saw him after that third operation,’ Steve Howell recalled. ‘I was at the house dropping off some film and Mike was home. He didn't know I was there and our paths crossed. He shrieked, “Oh no!” and ran off. It was like seeing a woman you don't know in her underwear and without her makeup on, that was his reaction. His face was black and blue. There was a gauzy bandage over his nose. He looked like a guy who'd been in a boxing match and forgot to put his hands up.
‘A couple of weeks later, we were talking and I was standing very close to him. I noticed what I thought were blemishes around his nose. I thought, All those natural creams and other cosmetics he uses, and he still has blemishes? However, studying the area on the other side of his nostril I realized those weren't blackheads, they were six small stitches around his nose. There was more work in weeks to come: his skin looked like it was being stretched, or peeled, or something. The reason I'm vague is that it was not something people around the house discussed.’
In May 1984, Michael hosted a birthday gathering with his brothers and sisters in honour of their mother, Katherine, at the Bistro Garden restaurant in B
everly Hills. No matter what was going on in their lives, the Jacksons loved their mother. Among her gifts, Katherine received a diamond ring and a rose-coloured, beige-topped Rolls-Royce. ‘The press later reported that the Rolls was from Michael,’ said his sister-in-law, the late Enid Jackson. ‘Actually, we all chipped in on it. How do you think that made the brothers feel, the fact that the world thought the gift was from Michael? But that's the kind of thing they had to get used to over the years. Little things like this can be very hurtful. If, God forbid, they all got into an airplane crash, it would all be about Michael dying in a crash… and the brothers were also there.’
Much of the extended Jackson family attended Katherine's party. Her children flew Katherine's father in from Indiana as a special surprise. As a Jehovah's Witness, some of her friends thought it strange that she would agree to a birthday celebration.
Michael hired Steve Howell to videotape the proceedings. Not to be outdone, Jermaine had his videographer do the same thing.
Steve's video of the gathering is revealing. On it, the family did not appear to be close, though everyone seemed cordial enough as they exchanged pleasantries in the formal setting. When Janet walked in with her date, a singer named James DeBarge, everyone scattered. It was obvious that no one liked him.
The most emotional moment of the evening was between Michael and Katherine. Michael, wearing an expensive-looking, sparkly silver suit and tie, walked up on to the stage and said to his mother, ‘This is one of your favourite songs. I'd like to do it for you.’ He seemed nervous, even embarrassed. He can sing before thousands of people with no problem, but intimate gatherings truly rattle him.
Michael was accompanied by country star Floyd Cramer, playing a Fender Rhodes piano. (Cramer had been flown in for the party because Katherine is such a big fan of his.) As Cramer played, along with a three-piece band, Michael sang the Kris Kristofferson country song ‘For the Good Times’ to Katherine, reading the lyrics from cue cards.
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