1. Sycamore Valley Ranch

Monday February 15, 1988

Frank is going to kill me. 

I tried to stifle a giggle, amused at how crafty I was to manage international travel seemingly on my own. Jerry, my security, looked my way in reply to my laugh and then revisited his gaze outside the tinted black windows.

Me and Frank Dileo

Jerry was quiet, and very mindful of his position. He had saved my head from being lobbed off on many occasions, (my fans, they're passionate, ya know?) but he wasn't much fun. He didn't like to laugh and that made me uncomfortable. I didn't care I had to see it! There were a few offers on the table for it and I didn't want to miss my chance to find a piece of stability, a home--my first!

I had never traveled without my manager Frank Dileo before and it took all the begging and pleading in the world to convince Jerry to buy the tickets from Brisbane to LAX and sneak me back into California without a media fiasco. Rehearsals, airports, and a slew of press for the American leg of the BAD tour was all going rampant--but I didn't care.

Bubbles and I.

Bubbles squirmed in the black leather seat next to me. Limos, for some reason or another, always made him uncomfortable. I shot him a cross eyed face and he replied with a toothy grin and several claps. Why couldn't life be this easy? A funny face and boom, best friends till the end! With the BAD Tour making its way to the states, there was nothing but business meetings, merchandising, and legal mumbo jumbo. I'd let Frank deal with that. That stuff is boring. He was good at things like that.

The glass partition separating the drivers cab from the back of the car inched its way down, "Mr. Jackson-we're coming around to the security gate, Mr.Bone is outside waiting," I nodded with an uncontrollable smile spreading across my face. This was...liberating. Mind you I'm 29, but I at times felt as if my fame kept me in a child like bubble. Not that I'm complaining. I mean, I adore and live for my fans, but doing things like this...this...this helps.

William Bone was a golf course entrepreneur who was looking to sell a gorgeous estate called Sycamore Valley Ranch. Diana (Ross, ya know?) actually sent me the property listing when I was performing in Tokyo in '87, ever since then it had been an uphill battle to align a tour to view it. I still remember the air in her voice when she described it to me: "It has so much wonder in it, Michael I just know you'll fall in love." 

The car crept to a slow park as the engines dull rumble halted. Jerry scooted across the leather bench making his way toward the door. In his effort, he let out a small and high pitched flatulence. I met his gaze and smiled. He looked embarrassed and quickly made his way for the door.

"Oh come on, Jerry!" I complained, "it's just a little gas."

He wasn't amused, and he straightened his coat as he climbed out of the limo. I know he wasn't acting like that to hurt me, but I thought with all that's going on in the world today we should be able to laugh at the little things.

Deb and I on an off day from the
BAD Tour.

Gathering Bubbles in my arms, I stepped out of the limo into the bright California sun. Boy, was I glad I decided upon a wrist length silk shirt and slacks. This sun was relentless, and my legs were still sore from a recent visit to Dr.Klein concerning my pigmentation deterioration. It was getting worse, I thought maybe it would stop with enough visits to my dermatologist, but it's slowly getting brighter and brighter. Either way, the less sun exposure--the better. The only benefit to seeing my doctor was getting the chance to see this young nurse who was under him, Deb. Her spirit was so kind. I wasn't uncomfortable when I had to show her my body for progression checks. She never looked at me in pity like others who knew of my condition more intimately. I liked that. I could breathe around her.

"Did you find the place ok?" a pretty older woman said. She wore a long pleated skirt and a large string of pearls. I squinted through my Ray Bans at her as her face broke into a larger than life smile. "It was a piece of cake," I smiled grabbing Bubbles hand and placing him down on the paved walkway to walk beside us.

She must have been Mr. Bones wife. Joan Bones. (Tee-hee! What's in a name!) She spoke as if she had practiced the night before-like each word was chosen meticulously--like she was constipated. I never understood why people feel as if they need to "edit" themselves when around me. Everybody is so beautiful when they feel as if they aren't being watched. I guess if you think about it, they put on a show, kinda like me. But I love to put on a show...hmm, maybe she did too.

She touched my shoulder gently as she thanked me for taking the time to come to the property. I flinched,
not noticeably, more so on the inside. I hadn't had a woman's touch in a while, not since her. I bit my lip and shook my head as if to rid myself of that vivid memory. I cleared my throat, "so will Mr. Bone be joining us?"

Apparently I had spoken too soon. Off in the distance a tall white man with aviators was making his way across the magnanimous green pasture with a shorter, more rounder man following closely behind him.

Bubbles grunted and tugged at my pant legs plagued by boredom. I picked him up and hitched him on my shoulder so he could play with my fedora. Joan held a hand up to shield the sun from her eyes as she waved the men over toward the walkway.

"Your friend is here--the short one there with Will." She pointed and my eyes followed her manicured finger as the blurred figures advancing across the lawn became more clear. There was William...and...no. Frank?